#and the barrels weren’t all lined up completely with each other (some were turned on their side) and I thought that was a nice touch!

[theladybarnes]

DON’T YOU WANT ME, BABY? : CHAPTER SEVEN

“I always thought stuff like this happened in movies and comic books.”

▸ summary: the waiting game begins, but just what are you waiting for? ▸ characters: steve harrington, dustin henderson, lucas sinclair, and max mayfield  ▸ word count: 4.5k     ▸ warnings: semi-fluff, angst, canon violence (ish) ▸ series masterlist

Thankfully, for a short while. There’s no real talking involved as the five of you set up to barricade the bus. 

It’s the most amount of physical work you’ve done in years. And while you wanted to join in with the kids when it came to whining about being tired, you bit down on your tongue. Not wanting to risk being caught under Steve’s stern glare.  

It was almost comedic with how much he acted like such a parental figure. Rushing over to help Max adjust her grip on a heavy sheet. Calling out to Dustin and Lucas to be careful about touching anything sharp and even going as far as to rush over to you and take heavy objects for you despite having another task he was supposed to do.

“You know you stare at him a lot.” 

You nearly dropped the hammer from your hands as you jumped at the sound of Max’s sudden voice. The red head was down at the ground, watching you with an amused smile while you stood on the ladder. 

“Can you not sneak up on me, please?” you groaned, readjusting your grip before you finished hammering in the nail you had been working on. The metal was hard to pierce through and you were already getting more nervous the darker it got. “And who are you talking about?”

The younger girl crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the bus for a second before she nodded over towards the boys. The three of them were sorting through the piles to find more flat sheets to press against the walls inside. “I’m talking about that guy, Steve. Every time I look at you two you’re always looking at each other.”

“What?” you chuckled, giving her your back to hide your face. “I do not stare at him.” After a few seconds of silence, you glanced back down to find her giving you a look of doubt. “Besides, I doubt he’s looking at me. We’re all busy fixing this place up.”

“Yes, we’re all busy. But for some reason, that’s not stopping you two from having googly eyes with each other.” 

A small heat spread over your face. Because while you definitely know you weren’t having googly eyes for Steve. You were sort of fascinated watching him now and then. But that’s just your natural curiosity. It’s not your fault you’ve become an observer since moving here.

“He’s just..different today.” 

“Different today? What, is he an asshole or something?”

Reaching for another nail, you waited until you had another one hammered into the bus wall before answering her. “No. He’s..he’s complicated!” you sighed, climbing down from the ladder. “Before all this mess with the monsters..he was a cocky jerk and totally betrayed my trust.” 

The two of you watched as he gave both boys a pat on the back as they found more barrels to line up around the bus. Giving them each a small smile as he pointed back over to the stack. Max frowned over at them, tilting her head before she turned back to you. “Okay, so he’s a jerk until today?”

“Well, no. He’s been..well, I guess he’s sort of been changing for a while now.” 

“You’re losing me here.” she huffed loudly.

“He’s been trying to be my friend since last Christmas. And I completely ignored him until a couple of days ago at a Halloween party when he took me home because I was too buzzed. And yeah, last night we kinda talked things out a bit. Maybe a little bit too much. But today he’s nice to you guys and totally confusing to me. Therefore, he’s complicated.”

Max chuckled, giving you an amused look while she pushed a red lock behind her ear. “Oh man, you got it bad.”

“I don’t have anything bad, okay?” you frowned. “I’m perfect.”

“Nope. BAD.” She giggled, nudging you with her hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

Rolling your eyes, you move past Max to grab another sheet from the pile near you, pushing it over towards the next panel you needed to cover. There was definitely no way that you were coming off in any sort of way interested in Steve. Honestly, if anything, you were only feeling a little bit nervous about tonight.

Max moved quickly to join you back at your side, handing you the last few nails you had with a small smirk. “It’s okay if you do like him, you know.” she said softly.

Sighing softly, you placed the sheet against the bus before giving her your attention again. “It’s not. He’s..interested in someone else.”

“Well maybe he’s become uninterested?”

You wish you could dive into telling her just how down in love Steve was with Nancy. The way he was absolutely heart broken the other night on the drive home. But even if you did have time, you weren’t sure you could stomach the story.

“Besides,” she shrugged, looking over at Steve again. He caught notice of you two staring at him and raised a brow before he waved over to Max to come join them.  The young girl waved back, rolling her eyes a bit before she turned to you with a friendly smile. “He seems pretty cool. And..he’s better than Billy.”

The mention of her step brother has you frowning down at your hands. It’s been a few hours where you were blissfully Billy free and the reminder of him is almost enough to ruin your mood. “Yeah, well anyone is better than Billy.”

“True.” she sighed, stepping back to let you go back to work. “But this guy has pretty cool hair..”

  Darkness fell over the junkyard in record timing. Surprisingly, the group was able to get a lot of coverage on the bus. But not enough to your liking. Without proper supplies, there wasn’t much you could do with the nails you guys managed to find. The inside of the bus was worse. It was mostly placing objects in a certain way against the windows and open areas to try and cover up. The sheets outside could only cover so much. 

It had been hours since Dustin’s last attempt to reach the others and you guys were still met with radio silence. Meaning, when Dart finally makes his appearance. It would only be just the five of you taking him on. Which lead to even more worries.

What if Dart had grown even more since Dustin last saw him? What if it’s really like a lizard and lays eggs to multiply? How were two teens and three kids supposed to defend themselves? 

Feeling the panic, you began rummage through the objects the other dragged inside the bus. Looking for any type of weapon you could hold in your hand to help fight off anything that might come inside. But after a few good minutes of sorting through things, the best you found was a old rusty metal crowbar. 

“Hey, you okay?”

Steve's hand gently reached out for yours. Causing you to stop your search and snap your head up to look up at him making you snap your head up from the corner you had been looking in. The look of concern was heavy on his face as his eyes wandered down to where your shaking hands were. 

Over his shoulder you could see that the other kids were all getting in their places. Moving to climb the ladder and take a seat on the few rows of bus seats that were left. He took the privacy as a chance to lean in closer towards you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What if..what if this isn’t enough?” you asked softly, forgoing the act of confidence now that it was just the two of you talking. “They’re kids, Steve. What if something really bad comes?”

“Then we take care of it like last time.”

“Like last time?! Steve, the four of us could hardly get that thing down. I stabbed it and it barely broke through the skin! Nancy had a gun!”

“Lower your voice!” he hissed, shushing you momentarily. The kids thankfully didn’t seem to notice your tiny outburst.

Scratching the back of his neck quickly, he waved for you to get up from the floor. Moving to the bus doors, he showed you a view of all the work you guys had done today. “Look, the plan is foolproof. Okay? These guys..won’t even have to leave the bus.” He whispered as he leaned in close.

You looked back at him, not even noticing how close he was to you before you nodded your head. Through the dim lighting of the moon seeping into the bus, you were barely able to see the usual warmth in Steve’s brown eyes. Something you didn’t even think you needed to see at this moment. But despite some of the logic screaming at you that it won’t work, you nod your head anyway. Hoping that Steve’s confidence is enough to pacify you. For now. 

“I’m sorry..I’m just nervous since it’s just us.”

He nodded his head a bit, before he cocked his head to the side, giving you a sly, smile. “C’mon, trouble. With my bat and your–” he reached down to pick up the rusty crow bar before shaking his head. “With my bat, we have nothing to worry about.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s failed to mention how there is one more worry. If your weak weapon isn’t something to rely on, that would leave Steve by himself to defend the group. And the thought of that had your chest tightening even more. 

“What about if your bat isn’t enough? You could get hurt.”

“Oh,” he breathed. Something flickered across his face and he suddenly turned his face away from your gaze when he moved to lean against the bus wall. “Don’t worry about me. Nothing’s gotten me yet.” 

Something in tone sounded almost bashful. Like he wasn’t expecting to hear that. But you knew you couldn’t point that out. And since it can’t help either of you if you continued to drag out this, you nod your head quickly. Giving him a gentle pat to his shoulder.

“I hope you’re right.”

  Eventually you’re all seated and slowly counting the time while waiting for Dart to come down the trail. For a good few minutes you thought the scent of the meat wouldn’t be strong enough, or worse, bring something else from the woods. 

But you guys could only wish to be so lucky to fight off bear tonight.

Max, who was currently beside you, had grown just as impatient as you expected her to. Only believing Lucas’ story so much. You couldn’t blame her for finding all this peculiar and unbelievable. It felt the same way last year. 

“So you guys really fought one of these things before?”

Picking your head up from the seat, you glanced over at Steve to see if he’d take the lead on this. He paused flickering his lighter to give you a similar look before he answered Max with a simple head nod. 

“And you’re, like, totally 100% sure it wasn’t a bear?”

You’re about to speak up and tell her you’re pretty sure you didn’t attempt to stab a hairless bear when Dustin rudely cut in.

“Shit. Don’t be an idiot. Okay? It wasn’t a bear. Why are you even here if you don’t believe us?..Just go home.”

Nothing can stop your jaw from hitting the floor at his reaction. Was this really how he wanted to treat the girl he likes? Did he think a snarky attitude and insults were the way to go about his crush? 

Before you can attempt to cool down the situation, Max got up from her seat. Face in full disbelief as she made her way to the ladder that led to the roof of the bus. “Geesh. Someone’s cranky. Past your bedtime?”

There was a slightly hurt tone in her voice, despite the harshness in her words. You’ve heard it before whenever she’d defend herself in front of Billy. And now, she was unfortunately doing it here with Dustin. 

The light sound of Steve’s lighter clicking was not helping with the tension building up.

Dustin, who ignored the jab, continued his pacing in the small space. Keeping his face low and hidden underneath the shade the brim of his hat gave. Even in the dark lighting you can tell he’s more than just annoyed by it. He’s upset. And for some reason, instead of apologizing to Max, he’s allowed her to leave to join Lucas.

Steve on the other hand is somewhat amused by the interaction, glancing over at Dustin to give him praise. “That’s good. Just show her you don’t care.”

“I don’t.”

He winked over at him, thinking he’s actually still playing along to his advice. The small headache over their conversation from before was beginning to make it’s turn. But this time, you might not hold back.

“Why are you winking, Steve? Stop.” 

“You both are seriously idiots.” you butt in pinching the bridge of your nose. The boys grow silent before you peeked your eyes over to where Steve was. Pointing a finger at him. “How you’ve gotten any date is beyond me.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve scoffed, continuing to flick the lighter. Each annoying click practically taunted you. Making you squint your eyes at him before you stood up from your seat finally. Rushing over towards him, you reached a hand out to pluck it out of his hands. But he’s quick to pull it away, giving you a playful smirk.

“The kid did great.”

“Really?” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Calling Max an idiot and making her feel bad. That’s great to you?”

“They’re kids. They’re used to jabbing. The girl’s tough. She’ll probably get over it by the time she comes back down.” he volleyed, frowning up at you.

“And what if she’s not? Your shitty advice could have led her away.”

Steve stole a glance over at Dustin, who at this time, stopped pacing to watch you two. He opened his mouth up to speak. Most likely to chime in on Steve’s defense. But one glare from you had him keeping his mouth shut. 

“Look, my methods have worked before. So I don’t know what you’re freaking out about.” Steve said simply, leaning back in his seat. “Just let the dude work it out for himself and see what happens.”

“I’m seriously considering sending your past girlfriends in for a CAT scan.” You huffed as you kneeled down on the seat beside him. Moving over towards the window, you peered out to observe the area. Almost wishing for Dart to stop taking his sweet ass time.  

“Tell me, Trouble. What do you suggest then?” 

“What do you mean?” you said, still ignoring his gaze beside you.

“You think you have this all figured out. How would you have told him to do it.”

Giving in, you turn your head down to look at Steve. He’s still in the same spot, unfazed by your closeness, giving you an expectant look. Sighing, you adjusted yourself to sit against him. Feeling your arm brushing against his while you leaned back against the cushion. 

“Simple. I’d suggest he’d go about this the normal way.”

“Which is?”

Your attention focused on the way Steve toyed with the lighter in his hands. He ceased the clicking, but you couldn’t help but be distracted with how he moved the small object with his hands. It was oddly distracting.

“Girls just want it simple. They want someone who’s honest, loyal, and nice. They‘re not gonna want a guy who’s gonna play mind games with them.” 

“Girls constantly play mind games. You guys perfected it.”

“Maybe the immature ones. But really, Most girls are like Max who expect people to be real. And if your past girlfriends aren’t like that, then you’re in the wrong dating pool.”

The reply stunned him a bit. While he muddled over your words, he slowly flicked his tongue over his lip, tugging the bottom one for a moment before another question came to him. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you a like Max? Looking for honesty?”

A flush of heat came over your face. This definitely wasn’t the time for anyone to try and pick inside your head and figure out what kind of person you wanted. Not even you had figured that out yet.

“I’m not looking for any guy at the moment..” 

His brows furrowed together and he leaned a bit, eyes narrowing at your reply. “But what if you were? What kind of guy?”

There’s two different emotions coming at you. One, telling you to shut down this conversation and pull away from Steve. There wasn’t going to be any good from this anyway. But the second one, who’s practically screaming at you. Is telling you to be honest with Steve again. At least just a little bit.

“..I just want someone who actually likes me for once.”  

His brows raise up, and he opened his mouth to speak when suddenly the roaring sound of Dart ripped through the junkyard. All of you scramble up to peer out of the window, squeezing close to squint through the small space to try and see if you could spot the monster through all the fog. 

“You guys see him?”

“No.”

You can’t help but let out a shaky breath. It’s been so long since you’ve heard that type of noise from the creature. This was really happening again. And you were honestly scared you weren’t going to be so lucky this time. 

A sudden warmth engulfed over your hand, making you tear your eyes away from the window to look down. Steve, who was looking at you, had placed his hand over yours. Giving you a small nod that helped relax you a little.

“Lucas, what’s going on?!” Dustin called out.

“Hold on!”

The beat of your heart was loud in your ear. You twisted your hand around to lace with Steve’s not caring so much of what that might look like in order to help ground yourself with him. 

A squeeze back let you know that he might have needed it too.

“I’ve got eyes! Ten o’clock!” he stuttered. “Ten o’clock!”

Steve was quick to find out where that was exactly as he pointed over towards the right entrance of the yard. “Over there.” he whispered. Dustin reached out to grip onto the seat as he looked for the creature. 

“What’s he doing?”

“I don’t know.”

Leaning in again, you squint over towards where Dart stood. He was almost like a statue, only giving away that he was alive by turning his head around to look over the area. Oddly, nothing seemed to show that he was interested in being fed like the rest of you assumed. Had you three left too much on the trail there?

“He’s not taking the bait. Why is he not taking the bait?” Steve asked, sounding like his thoughts were following yours.

“It’s like he’s waiting for something..” you grumbled.

“Maybe he’s not hungry?” Dustin offered. Sounding slightly worried.

“Maybe he’s sick of cow.” 

You can’t help but frown at Steve’s words. “Sick of cow?” you scoffed, turning to remind him how the only option on the menu was meat. But the look on his face quickly shut you up.  He looked wide eyed out the window before he gave your hand a quick squeeze before he let go.

“Steve?” you whispered.

With very small shudder from his breath, he backed away slowly, reaching down to grab his bat. The two of you stared over at him, mouths slightly slacked before you realized to speak up.

“Steve, what are you doing?” Dustin asked, looking at you confused.

Turning around, he held up the lighter towards Dustin. “Just get ready.” he said, glancing at you only for a moment before tossing the lighter to your cousin. Turning on his heel, he opened up the bus door. You leaped from your seat, almost reaching out to stop him before he closed the door behind. Leaving you speechless.

The idea of Steve facing Dart alone has your heart beating against your chest. Why would he go against the plan? Why wouldn’t he stick around and see what happened next? He’s only supposed to step in if Dart managed to get on the bus before you guys were ready. Why does he have to act like the goddamn hero?! 

“What’s he doing?” asked Max as she joined you and Dustin back below.

“Expanding the menu.” 

Blinking hard, you managed to get out of your frozen state to join the two over at the windows now. Steve’s approached the trap now, calling out and whistling for Dart like a dog as he kept his swinging arm ready. You bite down on your lip, feeling instant regret for not stopping him sooner. The looming threat of what Dart might do was still in the air.

It wasn’t sitting right with you to let him fight on his own. Despite the difficulty of taking down the demogorgon last year, it wouldn’t have been nearly possible if you guys didn’t work as a team. Especially when Steve turned around to help instead of leaving.

“He’s insane.” Max gaped.

“He’s awesome.” Dustin grinned, leaning in closer.

“He’s an idiot.” you sighed, pushing away from the window. The two watched quietly as you reached over the ridiculous rusty crowbar that Steve tossed before. “But he’s not alone. You guys sit tight.” 

Pushing open the door, you barely took a step down onto the grass when you felt the chill go up your spine. There was a feeling of being watched but nothing to prove otherwise. Pushing through, you slowly inched closer towards where Steve was. 

“Guys! Watch out!”

Snapping your head around, you’re expecting almost for Lucas to be hanging off the side of the bus with how urgent he sounded. But he’s only waving his arms at you and pointing to your right. 

“A little busy here!” Steve hollered back.

“Three o’clock, three o’clock!” 

You turn to the right, noticing now another demodog has suddenly appeared. The glistening lizard like skin still shined through the dim moonlight as it crawled over slowly. Just as quickly as that one joined in, the sounds of branches breaking on your left, point out it’s other pack members.

Dart wasn’t taking his time before. He was setting up for an ambush.

Steve’s eyes found yours and widened. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” he shouted, turning back to keep his face focused on the demodog before him.

“I’ve got your back, just get your ass back over to the bus!” you shouted, keeping your focus instead on the ones that tried to creep up on Steve. Dustin opened up the bus doors again, calling out for the two of you.

“Guys! Abort! Abort!”

Steve barely has time to react as one of the demodogs suddenly leaped over at him. Sending him running back and jumping over the hood of the car. Another demodog, blared it’s face open, snarling towards where Steve. Before it had the chance to lung for him, you gripped onto the curved end of the crowbar, dashed over and jabbed the sharpened end into the face of the dog.  

It let out a yelp as it rolled back from your blunt hint. You used the chance to back away, keeping your eyes locked as you caught the attention of another pair approaching. A hand gripped onto your arm and it’s a second before you realize it’s Steve dragging you towards the bus.

“Are you out of your mind?” he growled, pushing you to go forward while he swung at the ones behind you two.

“I couldn’t just leave you alone!”

“Guys, argue when you get on the goddamn bus!” Dustin yelled, waving for you to come in. The two of you dashed the rest of the way.

Quickly climbing inside, you watch as Steve barely made it in past the door before the demodogs began to attack the bus. “They’re gonna break through!” you yelled. 

Steve turned around and pulled out one of the panelling from the window to press against the door. There’s a crashing sound against the side of the bus and suddenly the vehicle dipped to the side. Causing you to lose your footing and fall forward towards the door.

A claw scratched its way through the metal, slicing at the side of your arm quickly. You let out scream as you fall back against the floor. Holding the remaining piece of the metal up with your legs as you used your other arm to hold down the wound. 

You stared down at your jacket, watching as it began to pool up with a hot red liquid. “Shit!” you hissed, feeling the pain come in.

Steve reached back for his bat, swinging continuously down on the arm until he was able to break it off the beast. It’s messy and gross and you’re barely able to look away as more demodogs are given the same treatment when they tried to enter after.

Dustin, moved behind Steve to help pull you up from the floor. His eyes went wide when he looked down at the amount of red that was beginning to stain your jacket before he left you at the driver’s seat to go towards his radio.

It’s complete chaos. 

“Is anyone there? Mike? Will? God? ANYONE? We’re at the old junkyard and we’re going to die!” Dustin yelled into his radio. Steve’s struggling to finish off the rest of the demodogs at the door when suddenly Max began to scream.

Using another sheet, you pushed it against the door, ignoring the pain in your arm as  you nodded towards the kids. “Go help them! I’m fine!”  There was a hesitance on his face, but he went over anyway. Climbing up and dashing over before he began to poke up the ladder with the bat. 

“Out of the way! Out of the way! You want some? Come get this!”

The creature screeched down at him before suddenly cutting off.  There’s a second of silence before it let out one solid roar. All around the bus, the creatures, including the attacker on the roof began to disperse, leaving the area quietly as they seemingly followed their pack leader. 

Confused, the group slowly made it’s way back over towards the door. Dustin reached out to help you up from the seat. Steve gingerly took the first step outside, worried about another form of attack as he made his way back outside. 

“What happened?” Lucas said slowly following after him. Max was next, sticking her head out the door.

“I don’t know..” she replied. Dustin let go of you momentarily to step after her.

“Steve scared ‘em off?”

Finally it was your turn to step down, peeking out over their heads. The yard was completely empty now. Making no signs of the attack that just happened. How could the creatures just stop mid hunt? What was the bigger alpha that could call them out and change their direction? 

Finally you caught sight of Steve. He stood straighter, holding the bat against his shoulder as he slowly turned back to face the group. A definite answer on his mind.

“No. No way. They’re going somewhere.”

 But where was the next question.

a/n: this was a bit rushed, but i’ve had such a busy week and wanted to get something out for you guys.

tagged request: @hollandweather​

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #dywmb

[ethereumhq]

Hours crawled by with rowdy partygoers, blissfully unaware of what was happening all around them. Every room was filled to the brim with possibilities, both good and bad, and some had even made their way to the final circle. The last task completed, costing them more than they had bargained for. At least they got away with their lives. Others weren’t so lucky. Tonight had been deemed a success. Hell was waiting.

8pm / Anger

The fighting was savage. Blood spraying across the walls in timing with every fist connecting to a jaw. Who knew that the promise of an answer would be enough to send everyone into a frenzy. To catapult the civilized world into nothing more than madness. They should have known. There were sharks in the room, preying on the weak, spying those who were much too pathetic to make it through the rest of the circles. And they knew it was over from the moment they made eye contact with a foreboding set of blue eyes. The kind that spelled out horror more obscenely than any scream possibly could. One moment they were taking in the gruesome battle before them, and the next there was a hand around their throat, a barely contained smile in their line of slowly blacking out vision. “Please,” they managed to whisper, and then there was no ability to speak at all. This was the end. They would leave the world to the sound of dull groans of agony, and a quiet whisper that everything was going according to plan. With one singular ripping motion, their head was removed from their body, flung around carelessly.

10pm / Heresy

Screams. A hammer. Nails. No one else in this circle will remember the horrors that they witnessed. They will not recall the cross that came bearing their fellow partygoer. But they, in their last moments of being alive, can feel every hit of the hammer, driving that nail into their palms, stringing them up against the wall until they transformed into art itself. They could see those around them, looking at the moment as if it were just a performance being put on. A show to be admired, and not a person in distress. Had they forgotten what happened to those who stood aside while Jesus was prosecuted? Did they not understand what happened to those who turned a blind eye? The stake to the heart finished any further thought of religion in a room where none could truly be found. God couldn’t see them, and God wasn’t waiting for them, either. Only Death held that kind of power.

12am / Treachery

“There you are!” His arm was heavy, muscles relaxed under the pressure of all he’d consumed that night. Ethereum, blood, drink, drugs… Well, he certainly hadn’t expected to find himself on the doorstep of the seventh circle—shit, he didn’t think he’d make it past Lust—yet here he stood, arm around the shoulders of the same masked companion he’d started the night with. Presumably the same companion, anyway. The halls were dark, his sight was double and all these damn masks looked the same after a certain point. “Right,” he leaned in to get a good look at the entry fee. They were the only two souls at the gate, each circle thinning out more and more as the night went on. “Shit man, I don’t know about this one.” 

But his companion did, and pressed the barrel of a gun to the young vampire’s back. Before the mostly innocent party boy could revoke his trust a gloved finger pulled back the trigger and an ethereum plated bullet exploded inside the immortal, who would live no longer. The killer tucked away the gun, grabbed the vampire by his boots, and dragged the body somewhere it wouldn’t be found until the time was right. Then they entered the seventh circle to have their question answered. Sure, they were being paid well for the killings, but knowledge was invaluable. They’d have that before they left the scene, too.

OOC: We’ve made it to the end (well, almost all of us)! As you can tell, there is something run amok at the Helloween Masquerade, and only time will tell what has been happening with these rather suspicious and well-timed murders. We aren’t going to leave you all hanging, so be sure to keep your eyes peeled for more information.

Also, after a very deep, intense discussion, we’ve decided to forgo any masquerade outfit voting, and give everyone 100 points/posts to go toward purchases at the Armory. So, gear up pals, it looks like it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

#post: event

[sweetest-honeybee]

I watched Xisumas recent vid and I cannot tell y’all in words how much I loved the interior of his flower shop like bro I had a huge smile on my face it was so lovely 🥺☺️

#I’m so gonna use the ceiling of leaves in one of my future builds #but yeah like that and the redstone lamp/leaves trim #and the barrels weren’t all lined up completely with each other (some were turned on their side) and I thought that was a nice touch! #also the FLOOR #I like that he’s been using glazed terracotta in his builds recently! #also the greenhouse looks lovely and the end rods were a cool little detail! #the outside didn’t look super flat and I loved the green blocks (great use of the kelp) and the dark oak #my goodness I could do on about it forever I just really love it #tbh I could go on about a lot of his build #especially the brewing cathedral thing

[2goth2moth]

Hi! How are you doing?🤗

This is my first request that I ever made soooo I hope I'm doing everything okay😅

If I may ask for an alpha!werewolf x reader smut where the reader just flirted with another wolf to make their alpha jealous? And his reaction is.. i would say special😂 lot of teasing, dirty talk, rough sex and so on😊

Thank you!☺

Here you go, I hope you enjoy! :-)

In a String of Bad Ideas (M!Werewolf x GN!Reader, NSFW)

Word count: 2834

Includes: Jealousy, dirty talk, marking, scent kink, face-fucking, thigh fucking, rough sex

You had never exactly been known for your good ideas. It certainly wasn’t that you were unintelligent, but your years growing up could be read as a roadmap of ideas that would have definitely gone better if you thought them through. In a word: impulsive. But in retrospect, this particular idea was definitely one of your less thoroughly considered.

It started at a party. Well, if you were splitting hairs, it started with Finn. With your boyfriend, and with him not paying enough attention to you. You had both been busy, so you couldn’t really fault him, but still. You hadn’t had sex in a month, and even when both of you were free, he hadn’t really taken you up on offers to even hang out. Enough was enough. So there you were, at a party. Trying to make your boyfriend, your alpha werewolf boyfriend, jealous.

Another alpha werewolf was standing in front of you. In the pulsing lights of the party, you couldn’t really make out any features other than abnormally tall and solidly built, both very much standard for werewolves. You didn’t remember his name, if he’d even told you yet, and you hadn’t really heard the joke he’d just told over the music, but you still laughed indulgently. Your hand found a place on his forearm, and a little flicker of satisfaction went through you as his eyes came to rest on your exposed chest. The shirt you wore was unbuttoned a hole or two too far to be decent, your shorts cuffed an inch or two too high to be entirely appropriate. All on purpose. You weren’t sure where Finn was at the moment, but you had to make the scene look right. You let yourself drift closer to the wolf’s large form, rubbing your hand along his hairy arm.

He began to move his hand down to just graze your hip when another hand, broad and clawed, yanked you away and into a large, distinctly wolfish form. A quick glance up revealed Finn towering behind you.

“Hands off,” he growled, lips pulled to expose sharp teeth in an obvious display of aggression.

The no-name wolf you had been flirting with flashed his own teeth back. The air became so heavy with alpha pheromones that even you could start to smell them. “Why? It’s not like they’re yours.”

Finn’s claws dug into your waist and pulled you flush back against him. “Actually yes,” he said, tone steeped in possessiveness. “They are.” He leaned down to lick the side of your neck messily, keeping eye-contact with the other werewolf the whole time.

You knew that where he ran his tongue was roughly where scent glands would be on a werewolf omega. Such explicit and public claiming was something that he had never done before. It sent heat licking down your spine. He stayed there, staring down the other wolf, lapping at your skin, until Mr. Nameless dropped his gaze to the floor in submission and backed away.

The wet strokes against your neck let up. “Hey Finn,” you said, a little breathless, “Where were you- HEY!”

What you began saying was cut off with a yelp as Finn locked a hand around your wrist and began dragging you through the house after him. You went along with it, hoping that this reaction would lead to something fun. He threw open the door to an empty bedroom and pulled you inside, locking the door behind you.

“What was that?” He asked, backing you against a wall.

You feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play fucking coy. You were all over that guy. You’re basically half naked. What’s going on?”

You sighed. You were going to have to tell him at some point. “I was trying to make you jealous. You haven’t really been paying attention to me lately.”

He crowded even closer to you, wedging his thigh between your legs. You were completely flush with the wall now. “So you let some other wolf’s filthy hands on you...to make me jealous? Why? Are you that desperate for me to fuck you?” His voice was perfectly even and dangerously quiet.

You knew that you were still playing with fire, but you barrelled on ahead. “Yeah, so? It seems to have worked out well enough,” you teased, grinding slightly against the leg he had tucked between yours.

Finn dipped his head down to run his lips along the shell of your ear. “And what exactly makes you think I’m gonna fuck you?”

“Um, this?” You asked, slightly confused, pressing your leg even closer to his groin. His cock was was hard and heated against you.

“Oh, ‘this’?” He said. His breath fanned out over the side of your face and he ground against you properly, letting out a harsh little grunt. “This is getting dealt with, but I certainly won’t be fucking you.”

A whine broke from your throat. “What? Why not? I thought that you would have wanted to prove I was yours.”

“Believe me, I do. By the time I’m done with you, everyone will know who you belong to. But you actually want me to fuck you, and what would be the point in me rewarding bad behaviour?”

“Finn!” You complained, trying desperately to not buck your hips into him.

He chuckled against the skin of your neck. “Shhh. Maybe if you ask me nicely, I’ll let you cum sometime tonight.”

You barely had time to let out a whimper before Finn crushed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. It was messy, almost violent, more tooth and tongue than proper kiss. You moaned helplessly into his mouth, grabbing at the hem of his shirt to steady yourself. He quickly moved down to your neck, the skin completely exposed by your own mostly-undone shirt. Sloppy, open-mouthed kisses fell along your collarbone before he latched onto the soft patch of skin under the corner of your jaw. Right where he had licked earlier, right where a werewolf mating bite would go. You gasped loudly as he began sucking a mark there. It was only seconds before the skin felt swollen and bruised. He pulled off with pop and a harsh nip.

“You’re mine, do you understand?” He growled.

Not trusting yourself to say anything, you nodded helplessly. He kept assaulting your neck, leaving hickies and shallow bite marks on every inch of your neck that he could reach. It all felt so good that you didn’t notice his hands wandering until your shirt was ripped clean from your body.

“Hey!” The cold raised goosebumps on your flesh. Finn’s hands began to roam your bare torso, claws lightly scratching lines too soft to really hurt. It was getting difficult to stay fully composed. “I liked that shirt. And I don’t have anything else to wear back home.”

“I’ll buy you a new fucking shirt. And you can wear my shirt back,” he snarled. His hands landed on your hips and he bodily flipped you so that your chest was pressed against the wall. Your shorts and underwear were yanked down your legs in a single motion. “Or walk back naked, I don’t really care.”

Claws dug painfully into your hips as he pulled them back enough to make your spine arch. A single messy kiss on your shoulder was the last thing you felt for several seconds before Finn was licking a slow, broad stripe over your puckered hole. The sudden feeling made you moan and arch even further into the wall.

He took the meat of your ass between his teeth and bit down, hard enough to sting, before soothing the mark with his tongue. “Do you want me to eat you out?” He kissed your other cheek. “Want me to drive you crazy with my tongue?” A bite to the top of your thigh. “I’ll make it so you’re so turned on that you’re dripping, then I’ll fuck your thighs.” Another lick to your hole. “If you really beg for it, maybe I’ll let you suck my cock.”

“P-please!” You pleaded, mind getting fuzzy with what he was saying.

Finn dipped his face back to lap at your perineum. The very tip of his tongue caught on your rim on a particularly teasing upward drag. “I won’t knot you properly, only good little omegas get knots.” You weren’t an omega-- you weren’t even a werewolf-- but the term being thrown at you so casually sent sparks through your blood. It felt so right. “But I’ll mark you so completely that you won’t even be able to burn my scent off of you. No one is ever going to forget who you belong to. Especially not you.”

You barely got to choke out a “Please, Alpha” before he shoved his face back in your ass. His tongue teased your hole on each slow lick, tip not quite breaching the rim. He was definitely just teasing you now, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you beg. At least not yet. You sank your teeth into your lip to stifle any noises and let your head drop forward against the wall. Your attempts to maintain composure were quickly broken down by the feeling of a hot, slippery tongue plunging into you. A strangled moan broke out of your mouth with each flick against your insides.

“O-oohh God.”

Finn’s answering hum was muffled. His jaw kept working against you, slowly drawing more noises of pleasure from you. Saliva was steadily dripping out of his mouth where he moved. It ran in thick rivulets down the inside of your thighs, and with a desperate little movement you ground your hips back into his face.

Claws dug deep into your ass where he was still holding you. With a loud growl and another hard bite to your leg, he pulled himself up to stand behind you. A zip and the sound of fabric rustling sounded before he plastered himself against you, cock hard and leaking against the small of your back.

He kissed the side of your throat, wet and open-mouthed, with the barest scratch of teeth. “Keep your thighs together.”

You obeyed, squeezing your legs together as tightly as you could. You could feel Finn adjust his stance before pushing himself into the miniscule space between them. Despite how tight it was, the movement was slick, aided by his pre-cum and the spit that had dripped down from your ass. The shaft dragged against you on its way through, making you groan low in your throat. The feeling of him fucking your thighs and kissing your neck was good, especially when his hard length ran against your crack and groin. But the touch was just barely a tease. It was nowhere near satisfying to you, and the gentle grazes were making you writhe in a fruitless attempt to get something-- anything-- more fulfilling. The head of his cock appeared between your legs, shiny and glistening red. Pre-cum was beaded at the tip, and you couldn’t help but swipe your finger over it, gathering the clear fluid, and putting it in your mouth. The taste was one you were intimately familiar with, musky and rich, supposedly the same as Finn’s alpha pheromones.

A sharp smack landed on the fullest part of your butt. It felt equal parts painful and pleasurable, and the shock sent you jolting forward into the wall with a yelp.

“Did I tell you you could do that?” Finn huffed into your ear. He began pistoning his hips even harder, dragging his shaft between your thighs, making your legs shake with each stroke. You shook your head. Another hard thrust slammed your chest into the wall. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“No, A-alpha,” you choked out.

“No, I didn’t.” He aggressively sucked another hickey onto your neck, right under the hinge of your jaw, so high that there was no way you’d be able to cover it. “So why exactly did you think it was okay?”

“I want you, Alpha, so bad. I just couldn’t wait.” There was no doubt that your voice was whiny and more than a little pathetic at this point. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

You could feel Finn’s mouth curl into a vicious smile on your skin. “Do you want to suck my cock that bad? Filthy little omega can’t wait for me any longer?”

That word again. “Omega”.

You squirmed in his hands and shook your head, not completely trusting your voice. The way that Finn was talking to you, the way he touched you, like you properly belonged to him, was turning your mind to goo. For a split-second, you wished that you were a werewolf omega so that you could take his bite, so that he could take yours, so that you could possess each other the way mates did.

“Do you want to suck me off?” You nodded, a little shakily. “Hmmmm, I’m not sure I believe you.” He stopped thrusting through your thighs, just standing at your back, massaging your ass. “You may have to convince me.”

Determination crystalized in your chest at the challenge. You turned to face him and sank to your knees. The dick in front of you was massive, flushed and slick with pre-cum, knot beginning to bulge at the base. You kept yourself carefully levelled with the shaft and stared up at Finn through your lashes. This was a dirty move, you knew, he had told you numerous times that seeing you kneeling like this drove him wild. The ball was back in your court, even if you were the one desperate and begging.

“Please, Alpha,” you whined. Exhaling into the sound, you drifted forward slightly, letting his dick hit your cheek, leaving a trail of slick pre-cum on your skin. “Fuck my mouth, cum all over me, please. Make everyone know whose omega I am.”

At the end of it, you opened your mouth and let your tongue hang out. Finn held for a breath, staring down at you. In one swift, sudden movement, he seized your jaw and plunged his cock inside. The intrusion made you gag for a second, but you relaxed your throat around him, settling comfortably into your usual rhythm for this. One clawed hand stayed locked around your chin as he began driving his length into your mouth. The girth of his shaft stretched your mouth uncomfortably. Each stroke sent the head into your throat, making you choke and spasm around him. The feeling sent little spurts of gloriously rich pre-cum shooting into you with each forward thrust. You could see his knot swelling in front of your nose, already close to popping from when he fucked himself between your thighs. You began swallowing around him as well as you could, trying to milk him to completion.

His grip on you was getting harsher, biting into you with those big, sharp claws, and his thrusts were getting sloppier by the second. Each ragged breath was edged with an animalistic growl as he became more desperate for release. He wasn’t talking anymore, just fucking into your open mouth, chasing his pleasure with single-minded determination. You moaned wantonly around him, the sound muffled by his heated flesh. Spit was leaking out of your mouth, mixing with pre-cum and sliding down your chin and dripping down.

“Gonna- fuck- gonna cum!” Finn snarled above you. He dragged you off of his cock, leaving you panting, covered in saliva, mouth hanging open. He pumped himself a few times before squeezing his knot and cumming all over you with an aggressive yell. Pearly ribbons of white, the same thick musk as his pre-cum and pheromones, fell across your face and hair, catching on your eyelashes and landing in your waiting mouth.

You swallowed what landed on your tongue. A large hand swiped cum away from your eyes and rubbed it into the warm skin behind your ear. Opening your eyes, you looked up into the warm, adoring face of your alpha. He brought his hand up to your mouth, coaxing you to lick it clean. Your thighs were still sticky from his mouth and cock, and cum was now dripping from your face onto your chest and legs where they were folded beneath you. Hickies and bruising fingerprints littered your neck and hips. You looked so thoroughly fucked-out, and yet…

“Was I good enough? Do I get to cum now?”

Finn grinned at you, toothy and wicked, promising pleasure and pain in equal measure. “I’m going to take you home now, omega. And I’m going to tease you until you cry, until you’re sobbing and begging me to let you cum. And then I’m going to leave you there for hours. And only when you’ve really learned your lesson will I let you finish.”

He hauled you upright and kissed you, deep and filthy, swallowing up every whimper that fell from your lips at the threat.

#exophilia #terato #monster fucker #monster lover #monster x human #werewolf boyfriend #smut #nsft #minors do not interact #terfs dont fucking touch #bigots dni

[tangerinemoon]

Something Wonderful

A/N: I wrote a self indulgent fic based on a musical because I have no self control. This is also the 3rd time I've attempted to write a fic like this, and this is the first time I've actually enjoyed it! 18+ DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!

warnings: angst, smut, more angst, language, blatant references to the last five years

word count: 2860

Part of the Bakguo Birthday Bash server collab hosted by  @jodrawssmut @phasmwrites @katsukikitten @bakugotrashpanda @lady-bakuhoe and @ramen-rambles 

Event Masterlist Here

-----

Five Years

The door slammed shut, a loud bag echoing throughout the apartment. Pictures on the wall shaking from the force of it, one of them crashing to the ground, the glass of the frame cracking. Emotions swelled up inside of you, threatening to spill over, to crack as well. 

You had told yourself in the beginning that a relationship with a Pro Hero would be hard, especially with someone considered the number two hero. He had assured you that you’d be fine, that the two of you could do it. Somewhere down the line you’d realized he’d been wrong, that you were both lying to yourselves. A fleeting thought in your mind wondering if you chased after him, would it magically make everything back to the way it was? Maybe if you tried more. Maybe if he communicated better.

“Maybe” doesn’t change a thing. It doesn’t turn back time to allow for do-overs. It doesn’t take back the words you said and the actions he made.

“You walk out that door, Katsuki, you’re walking out on us, so don’t bother coming back.”

A sob racked through your chest, as you pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes. You’d given him the invitation to leave and he took it. The truth was, it had been over long before that door slammed, before the argument that led to it. Both of you knew it, but only now you could admit it to yourself. You couldn’t paint your life with lies because you wanted it to work so badly. 

It started it out with small arguments. Frustrations bubbling over and spilling out. While Bakugo’s Pro Hero career had taken off, landing him quickly in the Number Two spot. Your career seemed to fall deeper and deeper into the cracks. It wasn’t that you were mad at Bakugo for saving lives and helping people. No, you were so unbelievably proud of him. That didn’t stop anxiety and self doubt creeping in after every failed audition as you watched the world fall more and more in love with him. There was no comparing your work to Bakugo’s. There was no comparing hero work to acting. They were two different worlds. In the beginning you were both so supportive of each other, but as time went on, Bakugo was coming home less and less. Which should be fine, he’s out saving the world. It’d be selfish to be upset over that. But hero work wasn’t just saving the city and catching villains. It was public events, parties, galas, meet and greets. Things you weren’t always invited to. Things he started picking over you. It was part of the sacrifice. He wanted to be the best, and the things apparently helped him become the best. But did that mean you had to be left behind? The last event you accompanied him to, he had been swept up by a swarm of people, leaving you alone at a table the whole night. With every time he was gone, self doubt would crawl into your mind and you couldn’t help but really wonder if you were still a part of his life. 

Tonight was no different. Another event, another party, another time to get dressed up and sit alone in the corner all night. Watching as reporters, heroes, and fans alike fawned over him. You had told him that you wanted to stay in, he told you that he had to go. 

“It’s not even your party, Katsuki!” you had said, “can’t we just stay in? Your whole pro hero career isn’t going to fall apart because you bailed one party. I don’t want to go, please. ” 

One thing led to another, and soon you were in a full blown screaming match in the main room as he continued to get ready. It seemed like all you did was fight now when you saw each other. About his job, about your job, about nothing, until finally one of you cracked. 

“Although you’ve made it clear that you’re not going, I’m still going, okay?” he clenched his fists, back turned to you as he spoke, “I’m not going to pause my career because yours is failing!” 

With that you told him to leave. After everything was said and done: Bakugo left. 

The life you’d built together was done. It felt like all you could do now was cry. Cry until you could pick yourself back up and try to put yourself back together. Sitting alone in the apartment that served as nothing but a bombshell of your five year relationship. 

You don’t know how long you were sitting there. It felt like maybe hours had gone by. Every time you thought you were done crying, a new fresher wave of tears came barrelling down your cheeks. It was starting to feel cathartic, to release every emotion that’d been stirring up inside of you. Eventually you pulled yourself up off the floor. Walking around the apartment now felt like walking in a stranger's home. You made your way to the bedroom, the room that once felt like a safe haven for the two of you, but now served as a cruel reminder by how empty it’d felt. Empty long before he walked out that door. 

You sat down at the edge of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes. In a few moments you would clean out your things from the closet and dresser. Taking any and all that you could with you, before calling a friend and seeing if you could stay with them. For now you’ll let the weight of the situation sink in just a little longer.

Your relationship was over. Gone. Somewhere along the way, something wonderful died. 

First Year

You’d met at a bar. He was out celebrating his birthday with some friends, while you had been dragged out by your roommate and their friends. It seemed like neither one of you wanted to be there, and by chance you both ended up sitting next to each other at the bar top avoiding your respected friend groups. He was hard not to notice, tall with messy blonde hair and bright vermillion, his arms flexing under his tight black shirt. You hit it off surprisingly well.

“I’m Bakugo Katsuki.” 

His name came out more like a grunt than an introduction, but you smiled nonetheless. You introduced yourself, and soon you found  yourselves spending most of the night together. He told you that he was a hero, on his way to becoming the best pro hero in japan. You told him you were an actress, and though you didn’t know if you were going to be the best, you just wanted to be good.

“You’re gonna be the best damn actress. Number One.”

His bluntness wasn’t something you were used to. He wasn’t trying to smooze up to you, buy you a drink and try and get into your pants with stupid one liners. Sure he was a little gruff but that’s what kind of made him so nice to talk to. At the end of the night you still went home with him…

The bedroom door shot open, Bakugo using one hand to keep you pressed against him while the other reached out behind him to slam it shut. Your shirt was long gone left somewhere between his front door and the hallway, along with his shirt and jeans. Bakugo pushed you down onto the bed, pullining is lips from yours. He stared down at you, placing a hand softly on your cheek, a stark contrast to the rough feverish kisses you had been sharing only moments ago. You nipped playfully at his thumb then lightly bated his hand away. You pulled him towards you by his, coming face to face with the prominent bulge in is black boxer briefs. You tugged them down, his cock springing free from the confines. He was big, very. Not too long but incredibly thick, with two prominent veins running along the shaft. Your mouth watered at the sight of him, your thighs clenching. 

Bakugo let out a quiet grunt, placing a hand at the back of your head. He didn’t push, waiting for you to move first. You took him in your hand, giving his cock a few firm strokes before leaning down and tentatively giving the head a lick. His hand tightened around the back of your head, a deep groan coming from the back of his throat. You took that as the go ahead, guiding him into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the tip, your hand continuing to stroke what wasn’t in your mouth. You took him further into your mouth, sinking in about halfway before pulling back and sinking back down again. Bakugo’s hand guided you in a steady rhythm, cursing everytime you would take him fully in. 

“Ah, fuck baby. Yeah that’s it, fuck...just like that.” jis eyes fluttered shut, his head rolling back on his shoulders. 

You pulled back, wrapping your lips around the head and giving a firm suck, then pulling off completely. You sat back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and staring up at Bakugo. He stared back down at you, chest heaving and face flushed. 

Then he was on you in an instant, lips crashing against yours as he pushed you back onto the center of his bed. His hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, squeezing your thighs, finding their way around you back to the clasp of your bra. His hands fumbled only for a moment before you felt the cups loosen around your chest. You helped him pull it off, you skirt following soon after. His hands found their way to your chest, giving your breasts a firm squeeze. You moaned against his lips as he continued to massage your boobs, as he pulled away from your mouth, continuing his assault down your neck. He nipped at your pulse point, at the same time he flicked thumb against your right nipple, causing your eyes to roll sut with a soft moan. 

“Bakugo..” you whined. 

“Katsuki.” he whispered gruffly in your ear. 

“Hm?” you pulled back slightly, catching his gaze. 

“Call me Katsuki.” he spoke quietly, almost like he didn’t want anyone else to hear. You nodded, pulling him back in for another kiss. 

You stayed like that for a moment, just kissing and holding each other, Eventually, Bakugo’s hands started moving again. The tips of his finger grazed the hem of your panties, dipping in before pulling back. You whined, hips rolling into his touch, desperate for some kind of friction. He chuckled, fingers tracing along the sides of your hips then wrapping around the elastic and tugging them down in one swift movement. The fabric pooled around your ankles and you kicked them off, your panties landing somewhere off the side of the bed. Bakugo shifted his weight onto one hand, the other drifting to the space between your legs. The pads of his fingers were rough and calloused, different from his surprisingly soft touch. He traced down your slit circling arond yor entrance then grazing backup. His middle finger brushed against your clit and you let out a high pitched moan. He smirked , tapping his finger against the swollen nub. He began to rub firm circles against your clit and his lips slowly made their way down your chest. His lips latched onto your nipple as his fingers picked up speed. Your stomach tightened, you were panting and your skin felt so hot, Your senses were overwhelmed, the only thing keeping you grounded was him. He pulled off your chest, his lips continuing their trail down your torso. He nipped at your hip bones His tongue tracing along the skin in a pattern you could only assume was his name. It was all too much, yet not enough. You threaded your fingers in his hair, bringing him back up to meet your gaze.

“I need you insead me, now.” you panted,

Bakugo chuckled, “Easy there, princess.”

He reached over to the drawer in his nightstand, fumbling around until he pulled out a foil packet. He tore it open with his teeth, tossing the wrapper on his nightstand to be dealt with later. He pinched the tip of the condom, rolling it onto his length. Once the condom was secure, he settled back between your thighs, lifting one of your legs to rest on his hip. 

“You still good?”  he asked. You smiled up at him, nodding your head. Bakugo nodded in return then slowly pushed himself inside. He went slowly, stopping once he was in to let you adjust. You wrapped your other leg around his waist, giving him the ok to move. 

He didn’t hold back, pulling out and thrusting back in hard. His pace was unrelenting, in the absolute best way. He had your back arching and toe curling. Your nails raked down his back, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent moons in their wake.

“God, yes Katsuki! Don’t stop!” you cried out. You didn’t care if his neighbors heard. Afterall it was technically his birthday and he deserved to know if he was doing a good job. 

“That’s it princess, say my name. Let everyone in the building now whose fuking you this good” Bakugo groaned. He shifted up onto his knees, holding your thighs even tighter around his waist. The new angle allowing him to thrust in even deeper into you, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot everytime. You threw your head back, a load gasp falling from your lips.His hand snaked up your thigh to your clit, resuming rubbing harsh circles against it. Your abdomen tightening, you were close, and he knew it.

“Fuck  baby, I can feel you squeezing my cock. You’re close aren’t you? Come on princess, come all over my cock. Be a good girl and come for me.” 

Like his words held some kind of magic, you wall clenched around him and you came. Crying his name out. With a few more harsh thrusts, Bakugo followed soon after. His head thrown back as he came with a loud groan, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. Not that you cared. If he could make you come like that he could mark up your entire body if he wanted to. 

You both stayed there for a moment, the room quiet except for the sounds of panting. After a minute, Bakugo pulled out with a sharp hiss. Your legs fell limply at his sides as he got up to dispose of the condom in a trash can under the desk in the corner. You sat up, looking around for your bra and panties.

“Here” Bakugo grunted, tossing something onto the bed next to you. You looked down to see it was a grey t-shirt, his shirt. 

“Bathroom is the first door on the left,” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, towards the door. 

You were shocked for a moment, fully ready to call a cab and do the walk of shame home. Not expecting him to ask you to spend the night. You slipped the shirt over your head, thanking him before slipping out the door. You didn’t spend long in there, cleaning up and then heading back to the bedroom. When you walked back in, Bakugo was already in bed with the bedside light on. One arm propped behind his head while he scrolled through his phone with the other. When he heard you come in, he looked up, quickly setting the phone down. 

“Hey.” you greeted, making your way over to the otherside of the bed, crawling under the covers. Bakugo didn’t say anything at first, almost as if he was trying to rack his brain for what he wanted to say next. 

“You like breakfast, right?”

You were taken aback slightly by his tone, he seemed almost nervous. Was this the same Bakugo who just fucked your brains out?

“Yeah, I like breakfast.”

Bakugo nodded at your answer, that being enough for him. Reaching over to the nightstand to turn the light off. 

“Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Katsuki.”

You settled into the covers, almost a little unsure of yourself. You were about to turn over, when you felt Bakugo lightly grab your arm. He pulled you towards him, wrapping an arm around you and laying your head on his chest. You smiled softly, curling into him and getting comfortable, bidding him goodnight one more time. 

True to his word, Bakugo took you out for breakfast the next day. After which he asked for your number. And when you kissed him goodbye in his car after he dropped you off at your place you couldn’t help but think that every moment spent with him was something wonderful.

#bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki smut #mha imagines #bnha imagines #anime imagines #mha fic #bnha fic #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo oneshot #bakugo angst

[thelovelylolly]

Perfect

Summary : You were the perfect padawan and jedi knight. You had everything in line and under control, which may or may not have caused you to catch Obi-Wan Kenobi’s eye.

Warnings : None :) the only thing is the reader is depicted with having longer hair, or long enough hair to pull into a bun. (also not proofread bc im lazy)

Notes : instead of us simping, how about he simps for us? am i right guys? also the start isn’t my favorite and a lil weak. also pt 2, sorry i’ve been dead for over a month now, i havent had motivation to write that much and school is ending which meant testing :) hopefully ill get my motivation back so i can pump out more fics

Ever since you were a youngling and padawan, your master and other jedi praised you for being the perfect example of a new jedi. You got all the training forms down quickly, you were in control of your force abilities and you were always on time to everything.

It wasn’t even hard for you to do so, it was just natural for you. So that’s what stood out Obi-Wan Kenobi the most. You and him had classes together, bunked near each other and advanced around the same pace. You two were knighted around the same time as well.  

You even helped Obi-Wan out when his padawan, Anakin, caused him stress and trouble. Especially during the Clone Wars. You were a very put together general and your clone squadron was highly renowned, so you were ready to go help 501st and, if needed, the 212th. In Obi-Wan’s eyes, you were perfect 

Now, here you two were, working together again. You were on Obi-Wan’s star destroyer and the two of you, along with both of your clone squadrons, were tasked to go check in on a planet. The Republic had gotten reports of Separatist forces trying to turn the planet against the Republic. You and Obi-Wan were standing around a hologram of the planet with points highlighted where there were attacks.

“I saw we spread our forces out in order to reach all those areas quicker,” Obi-Wan commented, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

You put your hands on your hips. “I agree with General Kenobi. Cody, go tell the men our plan. Once we get on planet, we’ll split into groups then and spread out,” you replied.

Cody saluted you and left, leaving you and Obi-Wan alone. Your gaze fell on Obi-Wan, who was avoiding it. “General Kenobi,” you said, breaking the silence.

His head flicked towards yours, a little bit of blush forming on his cheeks. “Yes General L/N?”

“I’ve been sensing your emotions shifting a lot lately, is everything alright?” You asked, your head titling to the side ever so slightly. Your question made Obi-Wan’s blush increase. 

“Uh,” he paused to clear his throat and think of a excuse, “it’s nothing, just some stress with Anakin is all.”

You hummed as a reply and nodded. “Well, we should go get to the transport ships.”

-----

The trip to planet was easy and so was splitting up. Your men, along with the 212th, were assigned a area of the planet to patrol. Once everything was evenly divided, there was still a little bit of land to cover. It was a flat plain of tall grass with a few tall mountain formations in it. You and Obi-Wan both volunteered to cover it with land speeders.

A transport ship dropped you and Obi-Wan off with two land speeders, once again leaving you two alone. You two prepped your bikes and small amount of supplies you had. The sun was close to setting on the planet and you two planned on only taking a few hours. You pulled your hair into a neat bun so it wouldn’t become a mess from riding your speeder. Obi-Wan watched you and how the late day sunlight made you look as if you were a golden goddess.

“Are you ready to go?” You asked, snapping him out of his thoughts as you mounted your speeder.

“Oh, yes,” he quickly replied, following your actions. The two of you set off towards the setting sun, scanners ready and eyes peeled for any separatist action.

A little while into your patrol, you were getting tired of being quiet. Twilight was setting in at that point. “Do you wanna talk about your stress with Anakin? I know you mentioned it earlier and it seems intense, at least from what I can sense,” you said louder than usual, since you were speeding through tall grass.

“Well, um,” Obi-Wan paused to think of a excuse again, “I think him and his padawan are pulling risky moves in their missions.”

“Don’t they complete their missions successfully?”

Obi-Wan mentally slapped himself. Anakin and Ahsoka were very successful their missions, of course you’ve heard about them. “Uh, yeah, well-”

“Bandits.”

“What?”

“Bandits, coming our way on speeders,” you said, switching the gears on your speeder so you could speed away. You turned right and Obi-Wan followed you. After a few moments, you two saw the bandits still on your tail. “We have to shake them!”

“Let’s split up! I see four, we can each take two,” Obi-Wan replied. You nodded and turned right again while Obi-Wan turned left.

You were doing fine until you looked behind you and saw one of the two bandits following had their blaster rifle out and aiming at your speeder. You gasped as they shot. You jumped right as your speeder exploded. Luckily there was tall grass beside you so you weren’t that hurt from the fall. You had to act dead though, you sensed the bandits coming to check that you were.

Obi-Wan heard an explosion behind him and looked, seeing your speeder blow up. His eyes widened as he thought he worse. He quickly made a sharp turn with his speeder and turned around, causing the two bandits following him to crash into each other in confusion. 

Obi-Wan sped over to where you were, seeing the two other bandits speeding over to him. He jumped off his speeder and grabbed his lightsaber, activating it. As the two speeders were barreling towards him, Obi-Wan simply inhaled and exhaled. Then raced towards them, slicing through both of them. The bandits jumped off their destroyed speeders and hopped onto Obi-Wan’s, stealing it and riding off. Obi-Wan stood their for a moment before deactivating his lightsaber and running to find you. 

You sat yourself up and rubbed your head. Obi-Wan quickly made his way over to you and crouched beside you. “Did they take your speeder?” You asked.

“Yes, come on. I think I see a cave not to far from here. We can stay there for the night and you can contact Cody. My comm link was on my speeder,” Obi-Wan answered, helping you up. Your hair was messy now from the fight and your clothes were dirty from falling on the ground.

“My comm link is a little bit busted, but I think the tracker still works on it. We can activate that once we’re safe,” you replied, following Obi-Wan as he lead you to the cave that he had seen.

--

Obi-Wan was able to make a fire while you tried to fix your comm link’s tracker. You two sat in silence, the fire crackling every once in a while. Obi-Wan watched as you worked, so focused on what you were doing. Some of your hair had fallen out of it’s bun, framing your face. Obi-Wan smiled to himself.

“There, I think I fixed it,” you said, breaking Obi-Wan out of his trance. You pressed a button and moved over to the opening of the cave. “It may take a while to reach the ship since the signal isn’t that strong. I think setting it over here will give it a better chance to reach.”

You sighed and leaned your head against the cave wall, a wave of tiredness washing over you. 

“If you want, you can get some rest. I’ll take first watch,” Obi-Wan said, moving over to where you were so he could see outside. You smiled as a thank you then closed your eyes. 

You were making it harder for Obi-Wan to ignore his feelings for you. Attachments were forbidden by the jedi. With you being the perfect jedi, he didn’t want to be the reason you messed up. No matter how much a struggle it was for him.

Only a little bit in his watch, he felt something heavy fall on his shoulder. He looked over and saw your head there as quiet snores escaped your mouth. Obi-Wan smiled then went back to watching outside. Though, it wouldn’t be long until he got tired and leaned his against yours as he fell asleep.

--

The morning light shined through the cave entrance and woke you and Obi-Wan up. Your fire had died out a while ago, only the ashes and burnt ground left behind. Your comm link was right where you left it. You got up tiredly and picked it up to check on it. 

Obi-Wan stretched a little while you looked around outside. Moments later, you went back into the cave. “There’s a transport ship landing right now,” you said, taking Obi-Wan’s hand and leading him out.

He felt his face heat up at your touch. You didn’t let go of his hand as you two watched the transport ship land in the field below. “Obi-Wan, one last thing,” you started to say.

“What is it?” Obi-Wan replied.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek before letting go of his hand and making your way down to the transport ship. Obi-Wan smiled and touched where you kissed on his cheek. He watched as you met up with Cody in the field and started to explain what happened on your patrol together. Obi-Wan sighed happily before making his way down to you. You were so perfect to him.

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi wan x you #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars imagine #obi-wan kenobi imagine

[twelfth-harbinger]

Hello!! I just finished reading your Zhongli piece and it’s so so good! I love the way you write and your descriptions, unlike other writers who just dive into dialogue and feels very 1D, yours is 3-D!! I love it! Do you plan on continuing the Zhongli one with part 2 NSFW?!?

Also, may I please request a NSFW Diluc piece with female reader, who’s his co-worker/bartender who works at angels share with Charles?

Thank you for your hard work!

A/n: Firstly, yes!!! & thank you!!!, ilysm <3. Secondly Diluc is fucking hot & this is something I couldn’t get out my mind once I read your request. Pls Enjoy ^^

Mentions: Master Diluc likes being called...Master Diluc. Don’t taunt him it’ll lead to something spontaneous and igniting! Bar sex.

Warnings: Nsfw! So spicy hehe

The Angel of Angel’s Share

He spotted you on his occasional endeavors to Angels Share, being an outstanding and tremendous help to Charles when it came to cleaning up and serving drinks to the patrons of his humble business. You insisted that Charles let you help out once in a while as a side job — you needed the mora. Upon getting Dilics rather passive approval in a letter you got in! You spend most nights tidying up, wiping down tables and cleaning glasses periodically. Many of the bar patrons converse with you. Calling you the literal Angel of Angel’s Share. Your beauty was no secret, every man and woman there simply adored you. How could they not? You were friendly, outgoing and most importantly, kind. Your smile was as radiant as the sun itself and of course Diluc had to witness it with his own two eyes. Word did not spread around his establishment without him in the loop. Kaeya frequented the bar more often to flirt with see you; he was a regular before, but now? You rarely go a night where you don’t see him, even if it’s for a short while. Charles has to make snide comments about him slacking off to get him to leave.

All it takes is one night for things to burn brightly into something new, a night akin to this one. Diluc stood behind the counter to relieve Charles for the night shift — he had been there all morning and the night before. You walked in as Diluc was speaking to Charles, you wasted no time in maneuvering to the second floor to clear those tables first.

“Enjoy your night off Charles, I’ll take it from here.” Diluc waved him away and well, it left you there with him. Not alone of course, not yet. As the night pressed on you entertained the customers, served them delicious drinks Diluc prepared and made friends with Stanley?? The busy happy hour of Angels Share gave you no time to take a break. Not until it was well after hours and Diluc had locked the doors to Angel’s Share for the night.

“Good work today.” You chirped happily, as you sat at the bar of the counter atop a stool. Diluc prepared you spiked wolf hook juice on the house; it had a bearclaw kind of taste to it. One of Dliuc’s hands held an empty glass whilst the other dried it with a plain off-white dish cloth.

“I should be saying that to you, you overachieved tonight.” He didn’t mean for his comment to come off as brash, even though it did. You glanced up at him over the top to your glass, your eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. He quickly corrected himself with a light clear of his throat. “Not...that, that’s a bad thing. You..did well.”

Talk about awkward, you and he hadn’t spoken much since your employment over the past few months. You were undoubtedly curious about this handsome man with hair the color of fire. All dressed in black and a wielder of a claymore. He had to have some form of immense physical strength to do so and it only made you wonder what else he could do.

“Why thank you Master Diluc.” Your lips curled into a coy smile as you peeked up at him over the rim of your glass once more. His eyes were like flames too, and his gaze made you burn. It’s strange, so many people address him as Master Diluc regularly and yet you were the only person that was able to stoke the fire within him. Intentionally or not he enjoyed the way it rolled off your tongue and he wanted to hear it again. His hand stopped moving in the glass and he set it down neatly next to the others that were lined up.

“There’s no need to thank me, everyone deserves recognition for their hard work.” He played it cool, you’ll give him that. You stood up, hopping off the stool to the bar, only to walk around it and move past him. You were shorter than he was, he saw the top of your head. He was in the midst of asking you what you were doing but you stopped in front of him to drop to your knees. He fucking froze, he watched you completely unsure of what was going to happen next. He prayed to the gods that you weren’t going to do what he wanted you to do. He wouldn’t be able to keep it together otherwise and he doubted he’d stop you. With a cheeky grin you stood back up with a large jug of homemade grape juice in a hand. He exhaled quietly, letting out a silent sigh that caught in his throat. His face remained straight with a hint of a slight irritable frown threatening the corners of his lips. You proceeded to stand in front of him, turning your back to him to pour a glass of his favorite beverage.

“I know you don’t drink and I heard you liked grape juice from your brother. Why not sit and join me for a while?”

His eyes drifted down the back of your figure before he stepped aside shamefully, Kaeya rubbed off on him more than he cared to admit. Even so, he was ignoring any and all signals you were sending him. Or at least he was trying his very best to. Certainly nothing came that easy— a passing thought you both shared. He sat beside you at the bar, it was silent for a little while. You looked at him with a slight turn of your head and moved to place a hand on your cheek. He lowered the glass from his face and looked over at you. Seeing him up close was making you nervous, you thought you had it in you to seduce this man but you began having second thoughts. He stared at you as if he was trying to read you like a book. It only made things more complicated which lead to you doubting yourself even more. Kaeya never made you this nervous even when he flirted with you.

“My brother told you I liked grape juice what a nuisance.” He said, breaking the silence; he had to the cat ripped out your tongue. You looked at the glass jug and then at him and finally smiled, breaking a light sweat from your overthinking.

“O-Oh, yes haha.. he was teasing you quite a bit.” Diluc didn’t find it amusing Kaeya could get under his skin like it was his job. A light ‘tch’ left his lips as he raised his glass. You followed suit needing more liquid courage than you initially thought. “It’s okay,” You sighed out, you cheeks warming from the bitter sweet drink. “Apple juice is superior in any case.” Diluc looked at you and a light smile crossed his features as he shook his head.

“It’s not.” He stated, “At all in fact.” You caught his semi playful gaze, you narrowed your eyes a little at the comment. “Sunsettia juice is even better in all aspects.” You chuckled and lowered your hand onto the table.

“Coming from the juice enthusiast himself why am I not surprised.” Diluc smirked a bit, finding your comment funny. He looked at you and your radiantly warm smile; it really did resemble that of the morning and setting sun. The two of you remained there conversing with each other well into the night, losing track of time. He hadn’t felt this at ease with anyone by his side in a while. Jean was a great friend to talk to but she was so busy he rarely got to speak with her. He was too in his own right, running the wine industry in Monstadt was no easy task.

“Do you enjoy working here?” He asked as you stood up to stretch, the tables in the back still needed to be cleared, a few drinking tankards, bottles and glasses were scattered about. His question made you think, you loved the night atmosphere of the tavern and the people that came with it.

“Of course I do, it’s very inviting I dare say more than Cats Eye.” You looked his way with a grin he stood up along with you a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Though I do have my work cut out for me here.” You quipped lightly before making your way to the back of the bar where a wooden bench table sat nestled in the corner with a small cabinet and barrel behind it. Diluc followed after to aide in an easy clean up you worked hard enough for tonight. With your back turned you bend over the table without fully walking around it to reach for the glasses and tankards. Your arms were quite short given your stature, without thinking too deeply into his actions Dilic stood halfway behind you to grab the bottle.

“It’s fine to take a break once in a while. There is no need to overwork yourself.” He stated plainly as he picked up the second bottle that sat next to the first. Unbeknownst to him you felt his presence the moment he stepped up behind you. He smelled like a freshly lit fire in the middle of the Whispering Woods his warmth drew you in. You stepped back somewhat unintentionally, your backside grazing him lightly as you turned around to face him. Even on your toes you wouldn’t be at eye level, he stared down at you a bit embarrassed by what he believed was his fault. He opened his mouth to apologize, you couldn’t stop yourself from stealing a kiss. When your lips pressed against his in a sweetened and heated kiss, you noticed Diluc tensed up. The bottles he had fell over onto the surface of the table. Upon hearing that you pulled away and stood flat footed against the edge of the able. You avoided looking at him and tugged on the ends of your hair sheepishly.

“Sorry I...don’t know what came over me, I thought maybe...“ With your half hearted apology you trailed off looking up at Diluc who stared down at you with a perplexed look in his eye. With his gloved hand he reached up to cup your cheek and leaned down to press his lips firmly against yours. His other hand moved up to hold the other side of your cheek. He wanted to kiss you the moment everyone left. Your lips moved in time with his, your hands finding themselves holding onto the sides of his coat. Without breaking the kiss, he lowered his hands to your waist and then to your thighs. In one swift movement he effortlessly lifted you to sit you on top of the table. The bottles on the surface rattled upon him doing so, slightly moving the table in the process. Your hands moved up his chest from his sides as his own slipped further down your legs to hold onto your waist. His pants were growing tighter by the second, you were so beautiful and he hadn’t voiced it yet. Not that he was given the chance to, the moment you both came up for air you pulled him into another fierce kiss, you legs locking around him in efforts to draw him closer. You needed him to ruin you on that table top and he wasn’t going to deny you of one of life’s simple pleasures. After all this man made it so that people could drink happily within the safety of Angel’s Share. Your tongue moved past your lips and Diluc gladly glided his own over yours to gain access. His hand moved back up to your cheek only to slip down to your neck to hold you in place as his other hand moved up the side of your thigh to squeeze. His leather gloves felt so good on your skin, you wanted to feel more of him.

Your hands moved from his sides to his pants, fumbling with the belts and buttons to try and get them loose. Diluc moved to kiss your neck, his warm lips trailing hot kisses against your soft skin. He made an audible sound, a muffled moan as he kissed the nape of your neck. You tugged him closer upon finally undoing his bottoms. His hand wandered down your side and moved to hitch up your work tunic, the other pulling onto the string to your top. He yanked it down to reveal your bare chest, as he exposed your legs and thighs. He was going to thoroughly enjoy fucking you on top of that table. A slight smile crossed his features as his index finger and thumb moved down to grip your chin, he tilted your head up to look into your eyes. Never has a man made you this weak with such a simple gaze.

“Is this what you want?” He asked quietly, he wasn’t going to begin without asking you. Your brows furrowed in need and you nodded as your eyes searched his face. His own were a bit complacent when he didn’t move to give you what he knew you wanted; he wanted to hear you say it. He only moved in to kiss you once more before his lips found the skin of your neck again.

“Diluc..please.” You whined, he smiled lightly against your neck and kept kissing. You wondered why he was only kissing you, unbeknownst to you his hand moved down in between your legs and his crotch to free his fully hardened member from the confides of his trousers. “M-Master Di—“ Your breath hitched in your throat and you moaned out the rest of his name, a deep growl moving past his lips as he slipped inside of you. He stretched you out continuously as you contracted around his length in utter bliss. Your legs squeezed around him and his hands gripped your waist and thigh. Pulling you closer to his chest as he bottomed out inside of you. Your eyes rolled back as he pushed himself further; your lips parted in a light moan and your hands tangled in his red locks. Diluc’s hand moved from your thigh to your neck to hold you in place briefly as he leaned back to look at your face. It was intoxicating, if he could get drunk off your facial expressions he would. He pulled back and thrusted hard into you, your body jerked up and the table moved along with the bottles and glasses on top of it.

You cried out in pleasure and your hips bucked against his. He bit down on his bottom lip to surpress a groan, he thrusted once again, finding a hard and steady rhythm that left your body jerking upwards against the table and your chest exposed for him to see. An alluring sight that made him thrust even harder and your loud moans to fill the atmosphere of the bar. Mixed in were his own light goans and mild grunts, even as he laid you flat onto the table he didn’t stop. Though the pace slowed a bit, he became more forceful with his movements which made your back arch into his chest and your legs shake. You were going to cum a lot harder than you expected, you could feel it and so could he, you caught wind of a faint smirk that slipped across his face as he kissed you. A kiss deep enough where you could lose oneself. Your hands tugged at his hair and your face pleaded with a need for release.

The bottles, tankards and glasses had since fell onto the floor of Angel’s Share. Not that either of you could be bothered by it now. As your climax rushed at you like a battering ram Diluc groaned out low into your ear the sound made your body quiver, you were about to milk him dry. Your hands slipped out of his hair and fell back onto the table as you convulsed in an intense high. Diluc held you in his arms and sat you back up, with your legs wrapped around him once again. He turned and sat on the edge of the table with you on top, allowing you to ride out the rest of your orgasm as he filled your depths with his hot seed. The feeling itself made you shutter as he buried his face into your chest and his arms wrapped around you, the moan he let out was something you could never get tired of hearing. The area in Angel’s Share that you two both shared had grown hot, the sweat you broke out was enough to cause your breathing to be ragged.

“Master Diluc...” You mumbled into his hair with closed eyes and a smile, his hands rested on your waist as his head rested on your chest. He moved back to look up at you, his hand moving to brush your cheek. He kissed your cheek as he pulled back to look at your face.

“Yes?” He replied, a smile crossing his features, you grinned at him finding the humor in his answer. You kissed him once more, this time slowly to savor the taste of his lips. He looked up at you, his eyes flickering like fire. “There’s going to be a shipment at the Dawn Winery from Liyue, Charles usually comes to pick it up but, I trust you enough to be there in his stead.” Upon hearing those words you knew you’d see him again.

“I will gladly be there, Master Diluc.”

Bonus

After your visit to the Dawn winery a few day ago, you decided to get an afternoon drink at Angel’s Share. Outside you ran into Kaeya and Diluc sitting at one of the tables outside. Kaeya spotted you first of course and when your eyes met Diluc’s a smile surfaced onto your face and his own softened a bit. Which, caught Kaeya’s attention quickly; being the absurdly perceptive man that he was.

“You’re here early, I thought your shift doesn’t start until sundown.” Kaeya spoke with a smile that was suspiciously sly. Diluc sat there with his arms crossed and a placid frown on his face, you sat with them and looked at Kaeya unamused.

“I thought I’d get a drink before my shift, I’ve been quite busy as of late.” You replied moving a hand to rest on your cheek, Diluc was silent and Kaeya looked between you both before his eye settled on you.

“Have you now? You know, a few days ago I went to the Dawn Winery looking for you and Diluc seeing as Charles said you were going to be there.” Kaeya held up a letter from grandmaster Jean and waved it in the air idly. “I needed to deliver a letter from the active grandmaster to Diluc and hoped I’d run into you there and yet...I couldn’t find either of you.” Diluc frowned deeper and your smile began to fade slowly, your hand moved up casually to cover your mouth a bit and Kaeya’s smile grew as he went on. “So, I took it upon myself to look around given your maids told me you were in his study.” Diluc’s expression shifted from displeasure to pure annoyance. You were a bit nervous though wondering if you two had been found out already. You knew the answer in the back of your mind though. “When I couldn’t find you there I saw a maid walk out of the west wing hallway with blush staining her cheeks so, naturally I went that way and much to my surprise there you two were behind the semi closed doors to dear brothers bedroom-“ Diluc snatched the letter from his brother and narrowed his eyes. He stood up and narrowed his eyes at him.

“You finished ?” He asked, short tempered as always, you were a blushing mess on the other hand, with your face covered in attempts to hide your embarrassment. Of all the ways to be found out, it had to be Kaeya happening across you two at the Dawn Winery! Kaeya chuckled lightly and leaned back in the chair.

“Ah-Ah you interrupted me brother, I was just getting to the good part.” You peeked up at him and shook your head Dliuc let out and irritable sigh and turned his back to Kaeya and then looked over at you, a smile on his face one he’d only show to you really.

“I’ll see you later.” You nodded with a warmth to your cheeks as he walked off ignoring Kaeya all together. The three of you knowing Diluc was working tonight with you again. It left you two sitting there in a painful kind of silence where only one of you were inflicted and the other found it jovial.

“He must like you.” Kaeya sighed raising his wine glass to his lips, you glanced over at him with a slight glare and he smiled your way.

“Your point?” You retorted, it lead to him shrugging lightly as he finished the drink. He stood up, preparing to take his leave, moving to place a hand on his hip.

“None really, it’s just he got to you before I could.” Kaeya wouldn’t admit to him being beaten at his own game, he also wouldn’t voice at how it made him proud and happy for his brother at the same time. You looked at him with a straight face and he chortled. “You’ll make each other happy, especially with the sex you’re having. I’m not worried.” He patted your shoulder before he walked off in the opposite direction of his brother. Leaving you there blushing and with the future to think about, one where both you snd Diluc shared.

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc #diluc x reader #I deadass had to open the game to describe the bar and where he was fucking you lmfaooo!! #I feel like Diluc is a great kisser bc Kaeya gave him tips on how to do it right randomly one day #like — Kaeya: You’re awkward with women so let me tell you how to kiss right Diluc: :/ go away #genshin impact x gender neutral reader

[whosscruffylooking]

Promotion (Aaron Hotchner x Reader)

oh geez...this is my first time ever publishing my writing, especially a reader insert. a little cheat sheet: any time the writing is in bold and is italicized, it’s the readers inner monologue (aka my thought process while writing 🤪)

Warnings: None. Angst? Maybe? And then some fluff at the end.

Words: 1.4k

“Although Freud said happiness is composed of love and work, reality often forces us to choose love or work.” -Letty Cottin Pogrebin

Perhaps it was the speed at which his heel was tapping against the floor of his office, the pale color of his knuckles as his grip tightened around his pen, or the way he anxiously kept running his hands through his hair.

God, I'd love to run my hands through his hair. Now is not the time.

For the past twenty minutes, you've found yourself captivated by your boss's troubled appearance. Aaron Hotchner is notorious for being stoic and virtually unreadable. He once stared down the barrel of George Foyet's gun and boasted that he wasn't afraid of him. But here he was, visibly distraught, and all you want to is run to his aid. That's all you've wanted to do for the past three years that you've been a profiler with the BAU.

In all fairness, Aaron was a very closed-off man. He rarely brought his work home with him and never brought his home life to work. Somehow though, you've managed to break that barrier. Even if only slightly. You'd been there for him in his darkest hours, refusing to let him push you away because you knew that if you'd allowed that, he'd suppress himself to death.

Much to your surprise, he didn't put up much of a fight. Instead, he opened himself and his home up to you. He let himself be vulnerable, and he let you help him explore the dark inner workings of his mind. You did so without trepidation, and slowly, you found yourself falling in love with him. You knew the feelings weren't reciprocated, though. At least, you told yourself that. In some twisted way, you'd reasoned that if you refused to acknowledge that he may feel the same, it would make it easier to deny yourself the ability to love your superior. It's wrong. Unprofessional. It could only end in disaster.

Yet, here you are, timidly knocking on the door to his office. Your heart is beating out of your chest, your hands clammy, your teeth drawing blood from your bottom lip.

"Come in," his husky voice mumbles.

Opening the door, you make your way to the chair across from him at his desk. You cross your legs and anxiously pick at the skin around your nails. He looks up from his paperwork, his bloodshot eyes meeting yours, "Can I help you?"

You swallow the lump in your throat, "I can tell somethings wrong, Hotch. You finished your reports an hour ago, and for the past twenty minutes, you've been staring at the same piece of paper, agonizing over it. I haven't seen you like this since-"

Since the divorce papers.

You shake your head, choosing to gloss over that thought, "Is everything okay?"

Silence pierces the air. A pit forms in your stomach. A glossy haze clouds Aaron's eyes, and a small gasp escapes your lips as you notice it.

"Aaron? Aaron, what's the matter? What's on the paper?"

"It's my letter of recommendation for you. You've been chosen as a candidate for the Counterintelligence Division."

You freeze and stare at him with wide eyes. Unable to gather your thoughts or formulate the right words, or any comments for that matter, you sit in silence with him.

Wait. His eyes were watering. Why would he be tearing up?

He's the Unit Chief; his job is to lead his team and hopefully mentor them into a position where they can advance when fit. In fact, he told you after your first year with the unit that he could see you achieving the goal of progressing to Counterintelligence and eventually to FITF.

Is he not happy for me? Proud of me? Of course, he is. He's always wanted me to succeed. This couldn't possibly be because...oh. Me too, Aaron. Me too.

You take a deep breath. Someone has to break the silence...again.

"When would I find out whether or not I got the promotion?"

"First, you would go through a series of interviews and tests before solidifying your position. My recommendation is merely to give my stamp of approval for your transfer."

You let out a stumbled scoff, "Right. You are just giving me your permission to leave. And that's what you want? For me to leave?"

He furrows his brow, "That's not what I meant. You know that."

"Do I, Aaron?"

The honorable and upright team leader reluctantly turns the piece of paper around, pointing out the empty signature line.

"This is what I've been agonizing over. I'm torn y/n because, on the one hand, all I want is for you to live your life with no regrets. To achieve all that you've worked so hard for. And on the other hand, all I want is for you to stay here with me..." he stutters, "With us. The team."

Did SSA Aaron Hotchner just say he wants me to stay with him?

A pink hue paints his cheeks, and you feel yours heat up to match his. You're in disbelief. In one night, it's as if all of the things you've ever wanted have come to fruition, and yet you realize that you can't successfully have them all. Being in Counterintelligence would take you away from your home, your family, the man you're in love with. But if you stay with the BAU, you can only imagine the repression of dating your supervisor; Strauss would not make your life and job easy. You need to make a choice.

Tears sting your eyes, and you can feel your heart yearn for the man sitting across from you.

"Aaron, can I do something wholly unprofessional and beyond all sound reason?"

Aaron narrows his eyes, trying to read exactly what your motives are; his posture straightens as he recognizes your shared longing. He quickly nods and stands up. You mirror his actions and meet him halfway.

Whoa. He's tall. Very tall. And his face is very close to mine.

With bated breath, you gaze into each other's eyes as if asking for permission one last time. It's now or never. As if in complete synchronization, you both lean into one another, claiming each other's lips. He gasps softly, earning a slight chuckle from you. Your entire body tingles, and his hands find their way around your waist, squeezing your hips softy.

He's good at this. Too good. I'm not complaining though.

It's as if his lips are a paintbrush and yours are his canvas. You should pull away, but you're being held captive by his touch. It's as if you both have been starved for year's and your hunger is finally being satisfied. Nothing could taint this moment.

Except...lungs. Stupid, lungs gasping for air.

Forced to separate yourself from him, you touch your forehead to his, determined not to break all contact.

His smile glistens as a small laugh escapes his lips, "You have terrible timing. I had finally convinced myself to sign the document."

You adamantly shake your head, "No. No, I don't want you to sign it. I want to stay. Stay here with the team. I want to stay here with you."

He clears his throat, his voice hoarse, "This job opportunity is too good to pass up y/n."

"No, Aaron Hotchner, you are too good to pass up," you say, pressing your palms to his chest and peering into his beautiful chestnut eyes.

"Well then," he pushes a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, "Looks like I get to boss you around for a little while longer." A devilish smirk spreads across his face.

"Not too fast. I do have an idea of something else you could sign for me."

"And what's that?"

"A check for a raise?"

A hearty laugh echoes from his chest through his office, "I'm gonna kiss you again instead."

"Oh yeah?" You smile, lacing your fingers around his neck.

"Oh yeah." He encloses his lips on yours once more.

It's in that moment when his scent is filling your lungs, his touch imprinting on your skin, and his lips leaving you addicted and craving more that you realize you made the right choice.

No job or promotion could ever give you the feeling you have right now in Aaron's arms. You have never felt more alive than you do exploring your love for Aaron. The best promotion is going from being on the outside of his life to being the one that fills his heart.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner imagine #Aaron Hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #hotch x you #hotch x reader #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner angst #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #spencer reid #emily prentiss #derek morgan #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds angst

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say no to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either.

knight!natasha x lady!reader

sort of royalty au (there’s social hierarchy and a king and queen and knights and commoners and all that so- yeah it’s a royalty au nvm lmao)

warnings: this is fluff, angst, uh, basically everything but smut and serious angst.

word count: 2.5k, starting off short before we get into this 

part one!

also, to the very few people who look for fics up here- i promise i’m alive, sorry for being m.i.a! work and school are bodying me right now 

A lot could change within a year.

In a year, one was expected to grow wiser and older, and for you, because you were a woman, prettier. And because you did all three of those things in one year, you were herded off like cattle from your small farm, where the old pig you would soon be forced to call “husband” had seen you in the first place, and carted away to his large estate. You were supposed to be his wife, bear his children, and love him unconditionally even though you knew nothing about him, and he was supposed to do not even half of that for you. He had chosen you purely because your father had an abundance of wheat and animals, and he thought you were nice looking. He would surely never go hungry if he had the owner of a relatively large farm’s daughter with him.

Regardless of his reasoning for wanting to make you his wife, it ended up happening. You cried yourself to sleep the night before, and when you were done consummating the horrid marriage, you cried after he fell asleep, unable to shut your own eyes. That was how you spent your first night at the female counterpart to your lord husband, and as Lady Mirellis.

The marriage was loveless. The only thing you got out of it was a nice roof over your head and some silky clothing that made you feel like you were betraying who you really were. He was a brute and a pig, and he hardly ever spoke to you other than to tell you to get on your back, your knees, or something else as equally vile. You were the lady of his large manor, considered a small castle, but that was all you were. You made friends with the staff around, and that made things just the tiniest bit better. He was still cruel and crude, still insanely aggravating, and getting more and more angry with each month that you weren’t carrying his child.

And then, all of a sudden, he grew ill. And, within a month after he fell ill, he died. And then you were a single woman who had a large estate to her name, and a growing line of suitors who wanted nothing more than to have their last names attached to the great patch of land. You were the lady of the house without a lord, still young and still capable of marriage. After a large fuss over whether or not a young woman from your background was fit to take over, you had inherited everything.

So, yes, a lot could change in a year. And you decided that the changes that took place in that year were ones that you could barely handle.

§§

You knew exactly what the letter with the King’s Seal on it was when it was put into your hand, and you very easily guessed the contents of it.

You supposed that you should have seen it coming. Miraculously, your late husband and lord had gotten out of the Hosting, which could have been seen as treasonous or dishonorable if he had been any less careful. You grew up on a farm, and you had no idea how to go about denying or questioning royal decree, so you weren’t going to. You were going to have to Host, for the first time in your life.

Your family was never important enough to have to do it, so you had no experience with it, other than knowing that a high up lord of a small castle, or big estate, whatever one wanted to call it, was in charge of having a knight in their home while the knight completed his year long training. The training was said to come from within, and the job of the knight was to be a good, honorable guest, and to come back to the castle after their year expired as a new and improved person.

But it was rare that they truly soul searched, you had heard. Mainly because they were ninety nine percent male and thought with their penises more than their brains and hearts. The Hosting was a knight’s last stop before true knighthood, more or less a time that humbled young knights. It was a test of the true intentions of a knight, the true desires of a man who wished for glory and authority.

“For you, Milady.” You grimaced inwardly at the title, the title that you used to have to call the lady that you used to bring barrels of hay to on Sunday mornings. You nodded at the young boy, a smile on your face. He was new, and it was clear that this was his first task that involved him to speak to a “higher up” person.

You patted his head. “Thank you,” you said, and his eyes widened comically before he laughed and ran away, obviously shocked by the way you spoke to him back.

It wasn’t against the law, but it was frowned upon for nobles to speak to servants more than necessary. A noble person was not required to have manners or ask kindly for things, and when they did, it was certainly an out of the ordinary experience. You knew that well enough.

You broke the red seal and took in a deep breath, going to sit at your late husband’s desk (that you of course inherited, as you inherited everything the man had) and finding your name in perfect and Royal handwriting.

Lady Mirellis,

As you know, the time for the selection of The Hosting has come. Your house was not a host during the previous Hosting, therefore, you will be required to sponsor a knight this year. Out of respect for your late husband and all he has done for me, I will choose a knight for you, a knight that I trust. You will be safe with my choice, and the year will flow smoothly. Once again, I am sorry for your loss.

Please expect your knight within the fortnight, Lady Mirellis.

With respect, King Anthony Stark.

§§

Two weeks later, your keep was buzzing. You hated hosting things, even if they were short dinners. And you knew that you were going to hate hosting a person for an entire year. A brand new knight who was full of himself, no less.

King Anthony had given you what he thought was going to be an easy charge for a reason. New knights were known for being rowdy, disgusting, perverted, and authoritative when they shouldn’t have been. No lady should ever have to deal with the crude words or behavior of a man—certainly not. And with you and your poor husband gone, that meant that no one was there to help you.

You appreciated the kindness, but it was obvious that every man thought that women were only an extension of their husbands. If you weren’t able to handle the loud voices and taunting shouts of men and boys, you would have melted or turned to dust by the time you were thirteen years old. If you had survived a man who carted you off and away from your family like you were cattle, you could handle a boy who was staying under your roof.

Nonetheless, your people were busy, and so were you. They were making accommodations to the largest guest room, because it was to be someone’s for an entire year. They were cleaning things that you never thought would be cleaned, washing random sheets and hanging them to dry. And you? You were making the welcoming package.

You had never made one before, but you were trying your hardest. It was more or less a care package to make the knight feel comfortable. It was a starter kit, so that they wouldn’t have to ask for much or seem unfit for knighthood, because it was all about pride. So help anyone above, you wouldn’t be dealing with a knight with a bruised ego.

“Men,” you scoffed out, rolling your eyes as you fluffed the silk pillowcase and folded the top of the woven basket over, closing in everything and tying the top with a bow. 

“Y/N,” a woman’s voice called out, and you turned to it with a gentle smile.

Of course it was Wanda. Her and her brother were always by your side, ever since you had arrived at the keep. Pietro was the messenger boy for Lord Mirellis, because he was so fast on his feet. He delivered a message meant to go hundreds of leagues away and came back within days, when it would take others weeks. You liked Pietro a lot. He was a funny man, cheeky, but he knew his boundaries with people, whether they were lowborn or highborn. He had the same amount of respect for everything, and you admired that about him.

Wanda however, was your favorite person in the castle. She was the first kind face that you saw when you walked into the keep. She was the first person to actually ask you if you wanted help being dressed or brushing your hair. She was able to see that you needed help with your corset before you even asked. There were so many trivial things that Wanda did for you that made you so loyal to the friendship you shared, but there was one thing you were sure to never forget.

She had been the one to help you out of bed after a rough consummation night. She was also the only woman who had offered you even a sliver of sympathy, and for that, she was your greatest ally, and on a deeper level, a true friend. 

You had barely even seen her for more than five minutes before you woke up in bed by yourself the morning after that horrid night, crying silent tears and feeling sore between your legs. A knock sounded on the door, and instead of her turning away and apologizing for coming in on such an improper moment, she shut the door and asked you if you needed help, without any fear of being scolded. Wanda Maximoff was different. That’s why you liked her so much.

She was standing beside you as you waited, even though waiting for a knight was somewhat improper. You were supposed to wait inside and have them knock on your castle door, and you were to welcome them inside and have a warm dinner ready. That was how it was always supposed to go, but you decided not to do that.

You were standing outside, like the lady you had been forced to become. Your chin was slightly lifted and your hands were at your sides, even though you were desperate to fiddle with your thumbs. You took in a deep breath as you heard the sound of a carriage coming, horses and the chatter of men getting louder with each passing moment.

You would be a liar if you said that you weren’t scared to have a man in your house that you didn’t know. Not only would he be a man, but he would be a man that knew how to do things that most didn’t, such as how to properly wield a sword. You were a woman alone, a widow to a lord, and people had tried things with you before, ever since your husband had died. Most of the time, those things ended up with their hands being cut off as the legal and unyielding punishment for their attempted crimes.

“No one here is going to let a stupid knight hurt you, you know.” Pietro had come out of nowhere, chest puffed out as he looked to his sister for a moment, and then back at you. “Wanda is practically with you every second of every day, and I’m never too far.” It was true. There were guards around, as well, but you were still scared.

“If you don’t like it this year, you can always say no next year.” Wanda offered, but you whined under your breath when you remembered that this was no visit. The man would be living with you for an entire year. “And King Anthony said he would be giving you a man he trusted to sleep under your roof. I trust his word.” 

“As do I,” you said quickly, ringing out your hands one last time before the carriage got closer. “I’ll be fine, you two. Thank you.” And they knew just how grateful you were for them.

The carriage was being pulled by two white horses, both looking around carelessly and cluelessly as the coachman pulled them to a stop. “Lady Mirellis,” he said, looking you up and down, clearly judging you for not yielding to tradition. “It is very kind of you to meet us outside.”

“I thought it may be easier to begin the tour early,” you said, remembering at the last moment to school your voice into sounding ladylike. The stark difference between your public voice and the one that you spoke to Wanda and Pietro with always made Wanda smile a bit, and you knew that you would have laughed if you were looking at her. “I don’t want to give my new guest too large of a culture shock. I am not quite sure if he would appreciate being hoarded inside a place he hasn’t seen before.”

The coachman gave you an odd look, almost like he wasn’t understanding what you were saying. Or maybe, why you were saying it. But, he knew that because of your status, your word outweighed his, and he would do as you said. Your heart was beating nearly out of your chest as you watched him climb out of his chair and walk around, and you saw his hand wrap around the handle of the white and gold carriage.

There was a flash of brilliant red. That was all you saw at first, and then you saw shiny armor, glinting in the sun. Your eyes trailed up from the shoes that you knew were crafted specifically for knights, up to the legs and then to the breastplate, which you noticed was curved outwards. Your brows furrowed as your eyes got stuck in that place, and you willed yourself to believe that it was a trick of the eyes. There was a pinch on your arm, and you realized that you had been staring without speaking for much too long. In your embarrassment, your eyes flickered up to meet the man’s, and then, you nearly choked.

The knight was no man at all.

*****

so this is a series! this idea has been cooking up in my head for a while now, and i figured it was finally time to go through with it! i’m really excited about this one, and i’ve already got most of it planned out. i hope you guys liked this!

also- if you would like to be tagged, you are free to ask! (bold of me to assume that any of y’all want a notif for this bye 😭) please interact with this if you liked it, it makes me so happy and motivated to hear from you guys!

#natasha x female reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanov fluff #natasha romanov x reader #knight au #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #my fics #natasha romanoff series #knight!natasha #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Page of Swords

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | three

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt a new skill. Mando attempts to teach you.

Word count: 4.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: gun usage/mentioning throughout, mature language, pining, more dirty thots-ish, angst because why not, does this count as fluff? sure, gun kink if you squint w/o your glasses

Notes: As the reader (you/us) begins to become more familiar with Mando, his perspective starts bleeding in to the narrative, without a blocked off POV. Also, the reader’s past will start weaving (incoherently?) into the story as well. The large italicized chunks denote past tense interactions (which is probably obvious but who knows any more). Cheers x (gif credit: @djarinsgf)

A shot rings out.

Birds explode from the canopy with offended squawks, squalling in a winged flurry to scatter every which way until they recede again into the green, disappearing back into their hiding places. You groan. You thought you’d be better at this.

It’s not that you thought you were some sort of savant, you just didn’t expect to be this bad. Honestly, it’s embarrassing—you’re embarrassingly terrible— like statistically, you should have hit something by now, but you just keep missing—a crowded tree line in front of you, and not a scratch in sight—nary a singed branch nor a bullet holed trunk. It’s almost impressive how poor of a shot you are—and you would be, if you weren’t so damn exasperated with the whole affair. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your hands up, brandishing the weapon haphazardly.

“Careful,” Mando warns slyly, “you could hurt someone with that thing.”

“Yeah, well at least I’d hit something,” you grumble.

The kid had been fussy - almost unbearably so - in the weeks that followed your short stint on Bajic, and your party was itching for some time off the Razor Crest. After his third tantrum in a day, Mando decided to land on some unknown planet you couldn’t even spell to stretch your legs and take a breather.

You had almost sobbed when you saw him drag his menagerie of weaponry over. You knew what this meant, you knew what came next—his weekly, routine buff.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since the first time, when you damn near had a conniption ogling him, you swear it’s like he’s doing it just to mess with you. He isn’t—of course he isn’t, rationally you knew that, in fact there was plenty of evidence to the contrary. He’s a Mandalorian—weapons are apart of his religion for kriff’s sake—but Maker does it seem intentional. Premeditated. It’s like you can feel the blistering ray of his gaze on you as he takes his time, roving a leathered hand over the bulge of the shaft—greasing it, stripping it, part by metal part…

It’s all in your head, you told yourself. It’s all in your fucking head and you need to get a grip.

Immediately you sprang into action, busying yourself with anything you could get your stupid, little hands on—in this case, being one of his many blasters.

“I wanna give it a go,” you said.

He let you, surprisingly. He hesitated, at first, his helmet tipping at a disbelieving angle. But he gave in—it took less effort on your part than you’d figured—and Mando conceded. He obliged.

How hard could it be? You thought.

Famous last words.

He’s parked there, settled on a throne of crates pushed flush to the Crest, slouched against the outer hull of the ship as he cleans, from the looks of it, every item in his arsenal—a front row seat to your pathetic endeavor and you’re failing—epically, ridiculously—shot after errant shot.

You line yourself up, scrunching your face in concentration as you bare the blaster in your hands. Maybe this time…

You fire off a round and an animal scampers scared in the thicket. Nothing. Another sublime miss.

You hear a noise come from Mando’s direction, something subtle like a blip of static through his helmet - Maker, he’s laughing at you - and you pivot around to him.

“What,” you ask, although it's less of a question and more of a griping pout. He replies with silence, that fickle language he's mastered to perfection all on his own, his focus pitched down to the bristled rod he’s driving in and out of his rifle, scouring out the residue from the inner barrel. “Ugh, what Mando?” you say, just shy of a whine, one hand slotted on your hip, the other dangling by your side, the pistol foreign and cumbersome in your grasp.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replies with a half shrug, his pauldrons shifting so imperceptibly you almost miss it. You pause, hurling him a look that misses him completely before you heave a frustrated sound.

“Fine, you show me how it’s done then.”

The T of his visor finds you. Its cold and unknowable as he rolls his helmet, tilting it up to you, hands slowing their ministrations to a rest. He’s wears a glare, carved into the steel hollow of the plates—unamused and smoldering—and with it, you feel small; microscopic and withering under his pointed gaze— suddenly too exposed in the open patch of jungled wilderness they’ve landed in and your mouth tweaks, teeth grazing the plush there. You assume he won’t do it. There’s no way he’ll rise to such obvious of a challenge, but he’s sighing—you can see it in the slant of his armor—and marching towards you before you can take it back, drawing closer and closer until Mando’s slated in front of you, expectant and postured and you forget— like the skip of a record, you forget why he’s even there— not a foot before you— and your eyes dance across his helm, flickering back and forth.

“May I?” he nods down to the pistol in your hand and you start - oh, shit - and offer it to him clumsily.

Mando squares off against the untamed green. The air lays hot and sticky around them. There is no trace of wind, no glimmer of breeze, and his cape hangs mute down his back. You’d never seen him fire his weapon. He surrounded himself with them, sure, always had at least two strapped to him at all times— probably even slept with one, you reckon— but you’ve never seen him use one.

With one solid movement, he cranes his arm, taking aim.

Now, you aren’t one to condone violence, but he just looks right doing it; an extension of himself with how natural it is, how innate— an added appendage, born unto him. The pistol looks good in his fist, like it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else, the orange tips of his glove curling around the hilt, looping over that sensitive release.

He has practiced hands. Methodical. Sturdy. It’s sensual, to watch him like this. Pornographic even— sacrilege in a way. A part of you wants to look away and turn your gaze, grant him privacy as he handles the blaster— delicately, confidently. It’s intimate.

The pistol croons in his palm. She bends, supple and lilting. He knows just where to touch, where to stroke— she does anything he tells her. She melts for him.

Warmth pools in your mouth. Mando pulls the trigger.

He lands an impressive shot onto an impossibly narrow tree trunk nestled further in, and your features contort with amazement. Maybe you want to see it again—like a nosy neighbor peeping in through drawn curtains. Maybe you’re being reckless and smarmy, and maybe you know it. A Mandalorian’s got a gun in his hand and you’re prodding him - brilliant strategy, top marks - but your adrenaline is pumping something fierce and you feel yourself grow bold with each seize of your heart.

“Lucky shot,” you huff.

He pans to you, lolling his head, visor locked onto your face. Without flinching, without gracing you with a remark, he raises his arm and fires— doesn’t even have to kriffing look. The scorch mark sizzles - haughtily, jeering - no more than a few inches away from the first. You nearly choke on the arrogance of it— the lazy, smug performance— like he can’t be bothered with any of it, as if your taunts are all so beneath him.

You have to bite down on your lip to stop it from snaking into a wicked grin.

Mando offers the pistol back to you, flipping it grip-side up in a fancy flourish before striding - strutting - back to his post. You shake your head, a determined set to your jaw and you retake your aim, squinting in the hazy afternoon light, pulling the trigger— and nothing happens.

Again, click. Nothing, click after fruitless click. You make a face, pinching—

“Safety’s on.”

You flush, thanking the Maker that your back is towards him, and switch it down with your thumb. “Right,” you mumble sheepishly, wetting your lip. You align your sights, bracing yourself for the impact—

“It’s your stance.”

Three words.

Three words, the only solace Mando provides before devoutly returning to his work.

You wait for him to elaborate, to edify you— for any manner of sage advice— but the explanation never comes; he leaves you like this, marooned with three fucking words and you have to screw your eyes shut. This man is baffling— maddeningly unhelpful— infuriatingly sparse. It makes you want to howl and rip your hair out— and you whip around violently.

“What about my st-”

Your question comes scampering to a halt, tail between your legs, throat gone dry. Mando has planted himself directly behind you— standing so close you can see your reflection in his beskar, see the blush blurring your cheek under the alien sun.

“What uh, what about my stance?” you ask, mousier now, swallowed up by the sheer size of him so near to you.

“It’s not wide enough.”

You glance down at your feet before looking back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Turn around,” he says.

You quirk your brow at him before he repeats himself. “Turn around and spread your legs. Hips distance apart.”

Fuck, he has no business sounding like that— like bourbon and smoke and iron tang—but you do as he says. You’re shakier than you want to be— you wish you could be cool and collected but you’re not. You’re anything but, and you’re nervous. Maker, Mando makes you nervous— it’s not just the weapon in your hand, it’s him— setting you off and giving you butterflies like you’re some sort of forlorn schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman, and this is what he’s rendered you to— jittery, molten mush. It’s embarrassing. Fucking mortifying.

You guess it’s the day for it.

He doesn’t touch you, but it hardly matters; you can sense him there all the same, a shadow in your peripheral. He leaves a thick breath of space between your bodies and with your back towards him, you can feel the waves of heat radiate off the bounty hunter, pulsing out out out from him and it’s almost intolerable— as if you’ve flown too close to the sun, waxed wings melting in pearled streaks down your spine.

You scuttle your feet open, parting just outside your hips.

“Arms up,” he says, and you hoist them into position. You’re sure you look as awkward as you feel, if not more, all the angles of your body feeling perfectly wrong and misplaced. “Relax your elbows,” he adds, and you do— you try to, at least.

“Too much. Somewhere in between.”

You try again, strengthening through your triceps and down your forearms.

“Better,” Mando gives. You think you feel him nodding approvingly behind you. “The important-”

Kriff, you panic.

You spin towards him, dropping your form and cutting him off with a humbled, worried look, throwing up barricades and hurdles— landmines for him to dodge. Or step on.

“Wait hey Mando, you don’t- I don’t want to take up your time,” you begin.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to bother you with this.”

“You’re not.”

You blink.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right.”

He speaks so plainly, unvarnished and matte— unflinchingly earnest in a way that gives you pause. It leaves no wiggle room for interpretation and you sigh, defeated, shoulders slumping as you haul yourself back around.

“Arms up,” he reiterates, but there’s no malice there; he sounds kind— untroubled. It always surprises you how mild he can be— Mando should be anything but, he’d have every reason to, but he’s calm. Patient. You wonder if he even realizes it, if he even recognizes the tenor of his own voice— how gentle it can be— under the helmet. Despite it.

“Think of your posture as firm, without tensing,” Mando explains. “Soften your knees, don’t lock them— same goes for your arms— don’t stiffen against the recoil, let your body absorb it.”

You mirror what he coaches, shooting him a curious, hopeful look over your shoulder.

“There. Good,” he says. “Now, which is your dominant eye?”

Your arms fall down to your sides. “My what?”

“Dominant eye.”

You give him a baffled look like he’s speaking another language - in all fairness, he is - and Mando emits another puff of air through his modulator, chortling.

“Eye dominance. We’re all either right handed or left handed. Eyes work the same— right eyed or left eyed. We favor one or the other— you’ll focus that one to aim.”

Oh, huh.

You still appreciatively, basking in the novelty of the information. “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s- that’s actually pretty interesting,” you muse. “Brains and brawn, huh?” You flash a cheeky grin back at him.

Mando grunts, nondescript and unaffected and robotic but he swears he can feel pink creep over his clavicle, tainting the tan of his skin concealed there.

He fits his gloved hand over yours, if only for a second, and you do your best to ignore the rough patch of his leather grazing against the thin flesh there. You try to ignore the chill that sweeps across the curve of your waist, how the peach fuzz prickles up, electrified and magnetized, as he unfurls your fingers from the gun, letting it slip from your grasp. He tucks it under his arm, keeping it pinned there with his bicep.

“Hold your hands out like this.” Mando shows you, creating an oval with his fingers— like a view finder or a scope. You mimic him, feeling like every bit of an idiot, but you don’t contradict him— you do as he does. “Now, set your focus out on a fixed point through your hands,” he instructs and you do, setting your sights on a gnarled tree branch.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” you respond.

“Now alternate closing each eye. The image should stay in the frame with one, and then shift out of it with the other.”

You frown, concentrating, and close the right before blinking over to the left— kriff, he’s right.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “My left. It’s my left eye.”

“You sure?”

You check again, squinting through either eye, the tree bouncing in and out of the frame of your fingers. “Mhm. Yeah, my left eye keeps it centered.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. “Left eyed but right handed. Interesting,” Mando murmurs.

You glance up to him, dropping your hands. “Why is that interesting?”

“Not common. The brain’s typically wired the same way all the way down— one side of the body will be dominant. It’s not usually split.”

“You telling me my brain doesn’t work properly, Mando?” you quip dryly.

“You said it, not me.”

He holds the blaster out to you and you swipe it from him with a huffed snort, returning towards the tree line and stars your face hurts. Your face hurts and it’s burning with this asinine smile that’s digging mercilessly into your cheeks. It makes you want to massage your jaw, get the damn thing to relax. Honestly, it makes you want to give yourself a slap.

“Make sure to cross your center with it. Line it up towards the left.”

“Maker, do you think about all this every time you shoot?” you ask, mystified, as you fix your aim.

“Muscle memory takes over eventually. You’ll get there with enough practice.” Mando replies gruffly and you guffaw, loud and wonderfully ugly. You seriously doubt it.

After a series of very near misses— you are getting closer, you’ll give yourself that— your arms grow tired; the joints and muscles protest as you extend them out from your body, taut and tense— the gun dead weight in your wobbly hands.

Your shoulder smarts where you injured the tendon in the explosion. You roll it out, earning snaps and pops as it notches over the bone there. They told you you were lucky. They congratulated you - it’s not a complete tear! - and it’s on the mend well enough, but it’s weak. It doesn’t matter the weight of the object.

The longer you hold anything, the heavier it feels.

You suppose you could throw in the towel at any point, but the fact of the matter— as terrible and true as it may be— is you want to impress him. That awful, nagging feeling— you want to impress the Mandalorian. You want him proud of you— you want to be nice and shiny for him to admire, like one of the guns he polishes until it’s sparkling, until he can mount it on display and show it off. It’s absolutely nauseating— but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to, and you don’t. You don’t want to.

He isn’t blind to it. He sees the exertion, the tax— how beads of sweat congress around your temples, dampening the base of your scalp, butterfly kissing your skin with a sheen. A trail of wet salt, one lone pilgrim, ventures down the back of your neck, wandering lower and lower, past the hem of your shirt, disappearing into the soft valley of your spine where Mando can’t follow. His throat bobs rough against his cowl.

Transferring the pistol into one hand, you shake out the other, flexing through it and relaxing your grip.

“Wait,” he says and you cock your head back at him. Mando’s retreating to his pile of guns, rifling through the metal anthill before selecting something sleek and chrome. “Here,” you exchange pistols, giving him back the bulkier of the two. Immediately you feel the relief of this new one— it’s lighter and smaller, slighter in your grasp, too— and you turn it over in your hands, noting the way the nozzlelike barrel glitters in the sun.

You’d almost consider it pretty if it weren’t a literal killing machine.

“That’s a CDEF model. Lightweight, reliable, Dedlanite casing, standard issue for CorSec officers.”

You nod along, as if you have any clue what he’s talking about— you don’t. You really, truly don’t.

“Should be easier.”

“Mm,” you hum out in ignorant agreement, slotting your arms back up into position.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” You rest it against the slide of the barrel, hovering nearby.

Mando shifts closer towards you, the grass grinding under his feet as he takes a half step in to your backside.

“Breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let me hear it.”

Fuck, this feels like a sin; this small gap of distance he’s erected between you as tense, as strained and feverish, as whispered confessions in the dark. Like sneaking back into your parent’s house late at night— the morning moon peering down at you with a heavy lidded gaze— knowing, knowing, keeping your secrets to herself, pressing them to her chest, winking sleepily.

It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he just put his hands on you. Placed your body where he knows it should be, force you into the shapes and positions he’s so intimate with himself, but he doesn’t. He draws it out. He respects your space and autonomy and it makes it worse. Your imagination fills the void separating you two, and it’s running wild and rampant and depraved and—

“Focus,” he utters, his voice no louder than a purr. You’ve never heard something so mechanical make a sound so deliriously smooth, and you have to suppress a nervous scoff. Focus, he says, as if he isn’t suffocating you with how close he’s standing— as if you aren’t enjoying it— as if you aren’t vibrating down to your very bones at the proximity of the bounty hunter—so close, you bet he can hear them, rattling and slapping against each other deep beneath your skin.

“Remember what I said about your posture,” he suggests quiet-like and murmured, without a trace of condescension there—a harmless reminder. You make the adjustment, fixing your shoulders down your back, and release the stress in your arms.

“Firm without tensing,” you respond under your breath—more for your sake than his— striking it from your mental checklist.

“‘Atta girl.”

No.

No no no, Maker, you feel it. You can fucking feel it—how something low and resonant spasms beyond your belly, the clench of your empty cunt at the encouragement—the heady praise of it all.

Atta girl.

He said it softly - rudely husky - just above a whisper, something tailored specifically for you—almost like it slipped from his lips and he didn’t even notice its passing. It meandered out of him, so easy—too easy. It practically sauntered.

You’re trembling— stars, you hope Mando doesn’t see it. It’s humid and muggy and yet you’re shaking as if it’s freezing, as if you’ve got icicled snot dripping from your nose, and your nerves go haywire, fraying in every direction as you sip in a whistled breath.

You can do this. You can do this. Focus.

“Take the shot,” he orders.

Focus.

Pressing into the slope of the trigger, you fire.

You gasp excitedly— a surprised, whooping laugh tearing through you and you whip around, giddy and beaming - bright, beautiful - a lock of hair sticking to your lip. It’s the youngest, the freest, Mando’s ever seen you; maybe the happiest, too, and his stomach twists at the sight, a tourniquet cinching around him, winding and coiling until he’s convinced it’ll burst. His fingers twitch, every instinct begging him— demanding him— to reach out and return the stray strand behind your ear alongside the others but you beat him to it. Deftly, you flit it away yourself instead, and he’s relieved.

Devastated, too. Gutted.

“Did you see that?” you ask, gleeful as a child.

He pries himself off you, dragging his gaze over your shoulder to where you struck the trunk, a coaled mark charred there into the bark, before returning his attention back to you. You meet his eyes, despite the blackness of his helm— you hold them, for a breathless, ageless moment, you hold him there.

“Not bad.”

He can’t muffle the jolt of his heart as it rumbles through his chest, breaking his mouth wide open into an aching smirk. He doesn’t know if you hear it. He fears you might.

He prays you do.

///

“Cooling vents,”

Metal scrapes against the table as you place the delicate bits down, deconstructing the blaster. The Mandalorian nods, silent as a specter.

“Gas refill valve,”

Another clunk.

“Actuating blaster…” You turn over a particularly knobby bulb before peeking up at Mando through your lashes, a wry grin tugging rosy and coy at your lips. “… thing-”

“Module,” Din corrects.

“Module, right, that’s what I said.”

He sits across the galley from you, arms folded over his chest as he eases back against the hull of the ship, overseeing as you take apart the blaster, the slender little thing he gave to you - he rarely uses it anyways - as you name the pieces and parts just like he’s taught you.

“Keep it,” he told you.

You resisted. You fought it, laughed it off incredulously— stubborn to the end— argued you wouldn’t even have a need for it.

“What am I gonna do with a gun, Mando?” you balked, and Maker he’d hoped you’d never have to use it, would never have to see a firefight in your damn life let alone be in the middle of one, but he wants you to have it— have a part of him, strapped to your hip— the closest he’ll get.

He’s selfish. Din is a greedy, selfish man. He wants to see himself on you, wants you to carry him around like a souvenir from something unforgettable— something irreplaceable— a memory like warm bathwater you dip into long after it passes, and he’ll take whatever he can get— just like you, hungry for anything you’re gracious enough to feed him. And fuck, if he doesn’t hate it— doesn’t want to bury that feeling, cold and lifeless, six feet under the earth. No ceremony. No elegies. Dead and gone, returning to the dust from whence it came, crawling back into the ribcage it sprung from.

Din said your name. Firm— gentle, too.

“Keep it.”

They’ve been at this ever since you managed to hit the target that first time. Hours have passed, dawdling by on the fat little legs of a toddler, plodding and slow. The sun had set, and winged bugs the length of your palm had taken up residency in the dark rainforest, making themselves known with a haunting tune, screeching and singing into the lush wood. After the child had tried making a pass at one, no doubt in the mood for a quick snack - isn’t he always - you had agreed to retire back inside the Crest.

You were so excited, your whole face lit up— like fireworks he remembered once, through the eyes of a boy in the summered night— and you wanted more; like a sponge, sopping up all you could, sucking Din in and ringing him out for it and fuck, he couldn’t say no.

He can’t say no to you.

You start prattling out questions about everything and nothing - what blaster do you prefer, do you have a favorite rifle, what’s the difference between plasma and gas charges, you have a flamethrower on your wrist? - and before long you get him lecturing, going on about weapon safety and trigger discipline and slide bites and ammunition rounds and gun brands and serial numbers and Din knows this isn’t you. You’re a borderline pacifist for kriff’s sake— he’s almost certain that if push came to shove, you’d rather lay down your life than take one. You’re no gunslinger, and you don’t hold any aspirations to become one.

But here you are, fist tucked under your chin and leaning in to him, hanging off his every word.

You have no personal interest in weapons. Frankly you’d be pleased if you never held a gun again in your life. No, and whether Mando realizes it or not, you want to know because it’s him. You want to know him. And maybe it’s because its the most he’s given to you since you stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest— almost a month, and what you’ve gotten from him today alone has been more than he’s given in weeks— not a door so much as it is a window into his life, an allowance, a glimpse behind the beskar. Its more attention, more words and insights, more tiny gestures and maybe you’ve been a little starved for it— maybe you’ll eat up any scraps Mando tosses with a calloused glove, molded and rotting, from his plate.

Even if it’s this, even if its fucking firearms.

You want to know.

It’s who you are: it doesn’t matter what someone’s passionate about, you’re interested in their interests. You care what they care about. If they matter, then it matters. It’s who you are, webbed and weaved into the innermost fabric of your being, and you can’t pretend to be anything else; you don’t know how to unbecome.

You’re splayed before him— a bleating heart, kaleidoscoping and blooming and twisting in his hands. If only you could pry open your chest— turn yourself inside out at the seams, spill yourself to splatter, sanguined and slippery right there on the deck. You’d do it, if you could.

Am I loving enough  Am I giving enough  Have I paid my debts  Am I worth this now, finally— Worth that which I offer, have I earned it back

So effortless, this vignette, seated here in his galley, dismembering a blaster and labeling the parts, terminology klutzy on your tongue— tripping over yourself just to get it out— looking to him for hints and clues, fluttering your doe eyes with cartoonish bats.

He answers. You laugh. He smiles.

The kid is in his pram, entranced by all the shiny baubles and bobbins just out of his reach - thank the Maker -  and giggles at their little game— happy, for once, just to watch.

You and me both kid, Din thinks. You and me both.

#king of cups #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female oc #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x female oc #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #star wars #din djarin #din djarin smut #mando smut #star wars fanfic #slow burn #slow build #fic rec #writing #gun kink #angst #mutual pining #soft!din #pedro pascal #the mandalorian x female oc #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #no y/n

[pleasantanathema]

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter One

Chapter One: Living Ghosts

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader 

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of violence, enemies to lovers, angst, and eventual smut (don’t worry, it’ll come sooner than you think).

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Here’s chapter one of my multi-chapter series for Reiner— chapter two is already ready!

A very special thank you to @present-mel​ , and @whats-her-quirk​ for encouraging me to take the plunge and create this monster (I’ve got a lot planned for this fic and I’m so excited for it) 💕

Masterlist | Next Chapter

           You were having that same dream again, the one where you felt like you were dying. Your shoulder ached with the memory of bursting pain, but there were warm hands there, holding you, pressing down to keep the bleeding at bay. You could never recognize the face, never identify the voice, your ears still ringing from the sound of a piercing gunshot. It was always the same; a delirious memory warped into a nightmare. Sometimes the dream ended in the hospital, other times with you staring at the inside of a coffin, or in a shallow grave.

           But this time, you were waking up, eyes flickering open to meet harsh fluorescent lights and clinking, cold handcuffs around your wrists.

          A white-hot sense of dread pooled over your body.

          You knew where you were. You knew how you got here. And suddenly, you wished you were dreaming again.

          You could still see it all, still hear the deafening blades of the helicopter whirring above you. None of your team had expected the Marleyans to be in the warehouse; they hadn’t been on the soil of Paradis in years. They’d caught you off guard and sent your escape plan into action sooner than expected. You’d tried to follow Mikasa and Armin, but Jean was in your way. The lines of your vertical movement gear had tangled with his as you both hurriedly attempted to ascend and meet Levi in the aircraft, sending you spiraling back into the window, back into enemy territory.

          Someone kicked you in the skull when you landed, you could still feel your head throbbing with the soreness. That must’ve been what did you in, what made you easy pickings to become a captive to the Marleyan government.

          You sat up, taking note of your surroundings: of course, they’d put you in a cell, one void of a bed but thankfully containing a fucking bucket. How considerate. Just outside the iron bars was a table scattered with broken pieces of your gear, undoubtedly torn apart to be studied and to keep you from using it to escape.

          Anger brewed inside your chest, a familiar feeling of betrayal returning that you hadn’t felt in years. There were faces here you didn’t want to see, enemies with broken facades that still haunted your thoughts at night. People you’d trusted, people you’d loved.

          You knew they would show themselves soon. If you were still alive, it’s because there were questions that Zeke Yeagar wanted answers to, tendrils of doubt and duplicity that he wanted to sink into your mind.

━━━─── • ───━━━

          Reiner felt sick. He’d never wanted to see you again, yet he’d been the one to carry your unconscious body through the compound, to cuff you and leave you on the frigid concrete floor. He’d stood over your figure for a while, heart pounding his chest out of fear that you’d wake up and flash that scrutinizing gaze of yours toward him again. But you’d just laid there at his feet, small, vulnerable, like a lost memory washed back upon the shores of his life.

          And of course, now that you were awake, you weren’t talking, refusing to take Zeke’s bait.

          He watched the older man pace around the room, glasses glinting as he wrung his hands. Truly, Reiner had been surprised that Zeke didn’t kill you on the spot, instead opting to transport you all the way across the border to their headquarters, insistent that you be treated like precious cargo. Though, it had been hard to keep Porco from poking at your body in the floorboards of the armored truck. Reiner had tried to keep his gaze away from you, eyes glued to the dark horizon outside of the rain smeared window. Maybe if he had stopped looking at you, you would have disappeared.

          There was something pressing Zeke, something worrying him that he wasn’t sharing with the rest of the warriors. He thought you knew something, or perhaps that you could be valuable in some way.

          Reiner knew that if you were to live, you needed to speak, needed to give them a piece of information to work with. He placed his head in his hands at the table, palms rubbing at his eyes. He shouldn’t—he didn’t—care if you took your last breath here. You were the enemy, someone who’d once held a knife to his throat when his true intentions within the ranks of The Scouts were revealed. He almost wished you’d killed him then, that you’d ended all the years of misery and regret that still clung to his mind like a poisonous leech.

          “Maybe she’ll give in to someone she knows,” Zeke stopped his pacing, attention turning to Annie Leonhart who sat across from Reiner, “why don’t you give it a go?”

          “Absolutely not,” she rejected, long legs crossing at the ankles upon the table.

          “Bertholdt tells me that you two were quite the comrades during your reconnaissance mission.”

          “I wouldn’t say that. We just found each other tolerable. Bertie was always sweet on her, though.”

          Zeke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Bertholdt is kind to everyone, he’s as soft as they come.”

          Bertholdt, per usual, stayed quiet in the face of Zeke’s remarks.

          Porco Galliard chuckled at that statement, straightening his shoulders before he spoke.

          “Which is exactly why you should’ve sent me to Paradis instead, Chief. I could give her a go. You were being too easy on her, anyways. Once you start ripping off fingernails people really start to give in, you know.”

          Reiner’s gut twisted at the thought.

          “You’re not allowed anywhere near her, Gailliard,” Zeke crossed his arms as a smirk settled into the lines of his beard, “she’s far too pretty, you’d break down and grovel to her before it was all over.”

          Galliard huffed, a pink tinge dusting his cheeks as he shrunk down in his seat.

          “Reiner—”

          He had an inkling that it would come down to this. There would be no point in disputing it, he’d have to come face to face with his past, with sins he thought he left behind four years ago.

          He stood before Zeke could complete his thought, heavy knuckles rapping at the wood of the table.

          “Well, looks like we finally have a volunteer.”

           Every inch of Reiner’s skin bristled as he marched down the corridor to the prison cells. His footsteps were jarring, heavy, like he was determined to leave prints in the floor to mark a final walk of shame. Some part of him hoped you’d be gone when he opened the door, that you would have used your wits and crawled through some air duct and run away from this, from him.

          He almost didn’t turn the door handle. He felt invisible, burdensome hands pulling at his shoulders, calling at him to run. He’d always been a coward, especially when it came to you. He hated you, loathed you because he knew you pegged him as fraud from the beginning. You never threw a kind word in his direction, always looked at him like he was below you, like his pride meant nothing to you.

          Reiner just wished that you had meant nothing to him. Even when the opportunity had presented itself, he couldn’t even find the strength to kill you like his orders demanded. He wondered if you remembered it at all, if your memories had finally flooded back after all this time. Something inside his heart wouldn’t let him that night, some unknown, egregious feeling that by some means overshadowed his hatred. 

          That feeling returned when he entered the room and found you sitting with your back to the wall, your tightly bound hands in your lap.

          He took in a deep breath as he averted his gaze, teeth gritting at the sight of you awake. Zeke was right, four years had done you justice; time had only made you more beautiful than before, and he worried he might fall to his knees before you.

          “Reiner.”

          Sometimes, he just really wished people would stop saying his name.

━━━─── • ───━━━

          A strange relief settled into your stomach at the sight of him. Reiner was as hulking as ever, broad shoulders stretching the threads of his shirt to their limits. But he was different, older…demure, in some ways. He didn’t hold his head as high anymore, didn’t immediately cross his arms across his barreled chest to appear larger. He took tired, golden eyes less intense than you last remembered. His fingers rubbed at his lips, at the facial hair that adorned more pronounced cheekbones.

          You hated to admit that he appeared even more handsome than you remembered.

           There was a red armband tied around his bicep, an insignia emblazoned on it that you’d never seen before.

          “Do I make you nervous, Braun?”

          You caught his attention then, made his eyes look at you as you leaned your head back against the stone wall.

          “Tough question from the one behind bars.”

          His voice had changed, too. He sounded more stoic, more serious. There used to be a hint of glee under that tongue of his.

          “Why am I here?”

          “I’m supposed to be the one asking you things.”

          You shrugged, biting at your cheek as you wiggled your toes to try to make them feel again. Your limbs were starting to ache, your head too, body feeling like it was starting to cement to the floor. You didn’t want to be Zeke Yeagar’s plaything, but you knew that if you were alive, there was something they wanted. There was some leverage you held, but you weren’t sure what it was just yet. You had hoped they would send Bertholdt in to talk to you, you always could get under his skin.

          Reiner was a more difficult case for you. He always coated himself in arrogance, made it harder for you to chip away at his armor. He never let anyone in, just always grinned, acted like he had everything under control. But before you was a man with cracks, a man that time and guilt had eroded. You almost felt sorry for him, almost. A man like him deserved to bear the weight of his burdens.

          “Listen, if you don’t start talking—”

          “You’ll what? Kill me?”

          “We’ll torture you.”

          He said the words with a weight that knocked you back a bit, stole the last breath of gusto you were holding onto. You expected as much, but hearing it said aloud made fear crawl up your spine, made the cuffs around your wrist feel even more strained against your skin.

          “What do you want to know? I could tell Yeagar was prodding for something tangible to use against Paradis.”

          “I just want to know what you know about us, if you know anything about what Marley has been doing in the last few years.”

          “You’ve been fighting a war, that much I know.”

          And he looked like he had been through battle, been through hell in trenches and gunfire. Your intelligence agents had reported that Braun had been promoted to be Vice Commander of the Warrior Unit, and the hardline of his frown told you he’d seen more horrors than you wanted to know about.

          “Tell me something you don’t know from news headlines.”

          Levi had trained all his scouts for this situation once upon a time ago. You could still hear his voice in your head, commanding you to give up as little as possible, learn what the enemy wanted and then give them something else to cling on to. You had a few things you knew you could feed to them, beneficial tidbits that would satiate their hunger and keep them from feasting upon your teammates. But relaying any kind of information was a death sentence within itself; give the dogs a treat and eventually they’ll want more.

          And you knew that Reiner, that Zeke Yeagar, was a very greedy host.

          You stood slowly, releasing the aching tension in your lower back. Reiner didn’t flinch away from his place beyond the rusting iron, instead eyeing you like you were some exotic thing in a cage.

          There was a nostalgia of being in his presence, even if the atmosphere around him was contrary to what you were used to perceiving. He still made your blood boil, still made your fighting instincts come alive in the back of your mind. You still felt small in his shadow, but there was still a lingering feeling, a fleeting memory, about how being around him once made you feel safe.

          Your bare feet moved toward him, toes stinging against the cold of the floor.

          One of your hands wrapped around a bar to your prison, the metal of your handcuffs clinking against the barrier.

          You could catch his scent from being this close, and at least that much stayed the same—he always smelled like cedarwood, earthy and sweet, like the spice of the forest floor after a fresh rain. It was almost funny how smell created memories more frequently than any other sense. 

          Suddenly, you felt like you were back home, like nothing had changed, as if his deceit had never been revealed. Your mind’s eye flashed images of your old training camp, of Reiner lifting Connie onto his shoulders after the small boy had successfully managed to triumph over Jean in his marksmanship practice. He’d used one of the tricks that Reiner had taught him. That once sweet memory turned sour as you remembered just why Reiner was always such a good shot.

          You tilted your chin up to look at him, to come face-to-face with the imposing penumbra you thought you’d warded off. He was a living ghost brought back to haunt you once again.

          “You seem pathetic, Braun, like you’ve lost all that bravado that made you so special.”

          He took your words, let them bounce off his chest like you hadn’t even spoken them.

          “Why did they send you in here? Did they really expect I’d crack under such pitiful pressure? You’re a deplorable, miserable—”

          His fist wrapped around your hand, crushing your fingers between his might and the metal bar you’d secured yourself to.

          You hissed at the pain, but…there was something you had missed in that touch of his; he felt warm, worn, like there were secrets being pressed into your skin.

          “Be. Quiet.”

          You expected his fingers to flex, waited for him to crack your fingers under his pressure. But he kept his strength at bay, electing to keep a steady, continuous tension against your knuckles.

          “Talk, or tomorrow will be your last day. You wouldn’t want to die at the hands of a pathetic, wretched man like me, would you? No, you’re too proud for that.”

          He took a step back, releasing his bruising grip before turning on his heels to leave.

          A string of panic began to uncoil inside you, snapping as his arm extended towards the exit.

           “Reiner,” you called, “tell me something. How much do you really know about Zeke Yeagar?”

           “I know enough.”

           “No, you don’t,” you were starting to sound worried, you could hear it, “there’s something I know that you don’t, and I’d be willing to give you information in return for you answering a question for me.”

           You could feel your heart beating in your chest, every pump within your ribs like the ticking of an oppressive clock. He was silent, steady, back still turned away from you. You noticed that his fists were clenched by his side, a vein starting to appear up the exposed length of his forearm.

           “I’ll consider it. Depends on what your question is.”

           He still didn’t turn to look at you.

           “Reiner…tell me what happened to Marco.”

           The door was slamming shut before the last syllable of the dead man’s name left your lips.

Next Chapter

#reiner braun x reader #reiner braun #reiner x reader #snk reiner #AoT #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #aot reiner #aot reiner braun #snk x reader #snk reiner braun #reiner #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan x reader

[drabbles-mc]

Stay Put

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Combining 2 Anonymous requests for this: Juice x female reader, where they are in Belfast - and when the barn explodes, reader was one of the ones inside, and got hit a bit in the explosion outside - getting flung a bit, and Juice comes running back because it's her. And she's fighting to get up despite her injury to check he's alright; and there's this small cute moment, before her adrenaline wears off and her injuries prevent her from standing. Maybe a, "well, that was cute", from Happy in his deadpan way & Juice x femreader, possibly a Teller, where, mother like daughter, she insisted going to Belfast with the sons. But, in her case, instead of staying at Ashby's with the girls, she snags a ride to the barn with the boys. She acquires a minor injury in the explosion (maybe pulling Paddy ((Chib's nephew)) of the truck to try and save some folks, and Juice get's really panicky - and it is revealed they're in a relationship

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of blood/injuries

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I didn’t explicitly made the reader a Teller because I didn’t really feel like it would’ve added to the plot of this fic. But pretty much all of this other stuff is in here. Hope you enjoy! xo

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SOA Taglist: @garbinge @masterlistforimagines @adela-topaz-caelon @chibsytelford @mijop @mayans-sauce @shadow-of-wonder @i-just-read-stuff @unicornucopia-fuckers @multiyfandomgirl40 @toni9 @kkim120 @xladymacbethx​ (If you want to be added to my taglist just let me know!)

You’d spent most of the morning going tit-for-tat with the guys. It was a minor miracle that you had gotten to Belfast in the first place. It was all a blur at this point—between the chaos and the jetlag everything was starting to blur together. They hadn’t been happy about you managing to come along with them, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

However, insisting to come along with them on their run that day was pushing it, and you were meeting resistance at every turn. Things had already gotten heated between you and Jax and you really weren’t looking to get into another blowout if you could help it. However, none of the guys wanted to disagree with Jax at this point, and truthfully, they all wanted you safe back at the house with everyone else.

You stormed into the room that you were temporarily sharing with Juice, slamming the door behind you as you did. A few moments later you heard the quiet creaking of it slowly opening again. You stopped your pacing, turning to see who it was even though you already had a pretty good idea.

“Hey,” Juice softly shut the door behind him and walked towards you. He wanted to reach out and wrap you in a hug, but he stopped himself, “I’m sorry.”

“Why is it so different?” you shook your head, “You guys could all use the extra fucking backup, to be honest.”

Juice paused for a moment as he tried to carefully construct his answer. He didn’t want to upset you more, but he couldn’t deny that he’d rather have you out of harm’s way, “It’s club business. We…we don’t want you getting hurt in the middle of all this shit.”

“I’m already here, Juan!” you threw your hands up, “It’s a little late for that argument, isn’t it?”

“Hey,” he was so good at keeping his voice soft and gentle, especially with you, “I hear you, alright? I do,” he rested one hand on each of your arms, “But you gotta look at this from the other side of it. We don’t…we don’t trust them. We can’t take you with us when we don’t know how things are gonna go down.”

You shook your head, “I don’t need to be protected,” you waited for Juice to meet your eyes, “I don’t need you to protect me.”

You didn’t say it with the intention of hurting him, but you knew that it did. He tried so hard to keep you safe and happy. And normally he did that with no issue, which was impressive since the two of you were keeping things under wraps. You were surprised that the two of you got roomed together, but you figured that was because they assumed that Juice was the most harmless out of all the guys. In a lot of ways they were right. You saw it in his eyes that he hated the entire situation that you were in.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, “I didn’t…I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”

He pulled you against his chest, “I know.”

You let yourself lean into him a little bit as you took a deep breath, “I know you don’t want me there, but—”

“It’s not that I don’t want—”

“Hear me out,” you ran your hands up and down his back, “I know you don’t want me there, but I can’t just sit back here and feel useless. There’s gotta be something I can do.”

He pressed a kiss to the edge of your forehead, “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

You chuckled, “Does that sound like me at all?”

His chest vibrated with laughter but neither of you said anything else. You could feel him soaking up the contact with you, his hands carefully tracing along your sides and back like he was trying to memorize everything that he could. You reveled in his body heat, wishing that those moments didn’t have to be stolen.

You weren’t sure what exactly Juice said to the guys, but whatever it was must’ve been convincing because next thing you knew, you were going on the run with them. The two of you exchanged a brief look as you all got ready to head out. You mouthed a silent thank you and he nodded in response, but you could tell that he was conflicted about what he had done. There would be another conversation about it later, you were sure of it.

When you got to the barn, you could tell that things felt off. And if you could tell that things felt off, it must’ve been pretty obvious. You could feel the tension radiating off of Jax and the other guys in the MC. No one was saying anything, but they didn’t have to. The longer that you were all standing around waiting, the thicker the tension got.

You saw Juice get assigned to keep an eye on O’Neill and your stomach twisted into a knot. Everything felt wrong but there wasn’t anything that you could do about it at this point. Before you could think about it too much, you heard Juice’s voice cut through the air, “Hap,” he turned to you, “Y/N,” he nodded for the two of you to follow him.

You walked with the two of them, waiting for some kind of instruction as to what to do next. Juice leaned in close to you so no one else could hear, “Keep an eye on SAMBEL, alright? Anything seems off come and get me.”

You nodded and separated yourself from Juice and Happy. You laid low but kept yourself close enough to everyone outside to be able to hear what was being said for the most part. Every now and then you would look around, making sure that you could always see Juice and Happy regardless of where any of you were.

Within what felt like a split second, absolute chaos broke out. The barn doors were slammed shut and locked, guys taking off in every direction. Juice grabbed you roughly by the arm and pulled you along with him and Happy, desperate to make sure that the three of you stuck together. He let you go as he pulled out his gun, shooting at the lock on the door.

Over the sounds of everyone screaming, you heard the truck start inside the barn. Happy grabbed both you and Juice and yanked you to the side, out of the main line of fire when the truck came barreling through the side of the barn. You stumbled but managed to catch yourself just in time before completely wiping out.

As everyone was running and shouting and scrambling, all you could think of was when Chibs nearly got blown to pieces at T-M. Fear shot through you as you realized what was going on. You started shouting, telling everyone to get off and away from the truck. Everyone who heard knew exactly what you were thinking and like a hivemind everyone started to book it.

You didn’t know if it was bravery or a complete lapse in judgment, but you ran towards the truck, desperate to save anyone that you could. “Get off the fucking truck,” you jumped and tackled Chibs’ nephew to the ground. In no time at all you were back on your feet, practically dragging him by his kutte to get him as far away from the mess as you could.

You were fast, but not quite fast enough. The explosion was deafening and it propelled both you and Paddy forward, throwing you to the ground. Your head smacked into the ground and all your body could register was the ringing in your ears—you couldn’t even force your eyes open for a moment.

Adrenaline kicked in and you were able to open your eyes and push yourself up slightly, looking around to try and take in the damage. It was too much to process all at once, though. There was blood and bodies everywhere. You looked to your left and saw Paddy sprawled out in much the same position that you were. You reached over, slapping his back aggressively and were rewarded with a grunt. He was alive and that was all that you cared about.

“Y/N,” Juice was running over to you as you stood up, “Jesus fucking Christ.” You stumbled a few steps, eventually having to lean onto Juice for support. You winced and Juice looked you over, eyes getting wide when he saw the shrapnel sticking out of your calf, “Shit, your leg.”

You looked down and groaned, “Fuck me,” you peeled yourself off of him, determined to stand on your own, “It’s not an artery, I’ll be fine. Are our guys alright?”

“Y/N, fucking sit down, please,” Juice never spoke to you like that but you could feel the worry emanating from him.

“Juan,” you never called him that in front of everyone else, it felt too intimate to do in front of the club, “I’m fine. I promise.”

You went to take another step when both of your legs turned to complete jello underneath you. Juice quickly stepped in and caught you, keeping you from smacking your head off the ground a second time. Without thinking better of it he pressed a kiss to the side of your head as he helped you slowly sit down on the ground, being extra mindful of your leg.

“You’ve scared me enough today, alright? Just please do this one thing for me.”

You wanted to argue but you didn’t have the energy. Before you could come up with a half-assed attempt, you heard Happy let out a chuckle. Both you and Juice turned and looked at him, and despite the laugh that had come out of him only moments before, his face was as neutral as it ever was.

His eyes darted back and forth between the two of you, “Cute.”

That was all he said before walking away and continuing triage on the entire situation. Despite the pain, and the exhaustion, and the fear, you let out a laugh, “They blew up the barn and you blew our fucking cover, huh?”

Juice looked at you and shook his head, “Now is not the time for your commentary.”

“It’s always time for my commentary. I just saved that kid’s ass I get to have that much.”

He could see the dazed look in your eyes and he knew that you could be more than content to keep debating the point with him. He let it drop, just wanting you to sit still and not injure yourself further. Despite the fact that your brain felt scrambled, you could see it in his face that he was torn between staying with you, and going to help the rest of the guys.

“Go. I’ll stay put,” you patted his leg, “Promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” he shook his head.

Before the discussion could turn into an argument, Jax interrupted, “Get her to the van, Loverboy. Don’t break her other leg.”

“It’s not broken!” you shouted after him as Juice scooped you up off the ground.

“Why are you trying to start fights right now?” he mumbled as he carried you towards the car.

“She’s gotta balance out the good deeds,” Chibs chimed in with a laugh as he helped his nephew limp away from the wreckage, “We should bring her more often, lad.”

“Absolutely fucking no—”

“Yes!” you patted Juice’s chest, “Yes.”

He shook his head as he climbed into the back of the van with you, “You’re going to be the death of me if we make it back to Charming.”

#soa #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #soa imagine #juice ortiz #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz x you #juice ortiz imagine #juan carlos #juan carlos ortiz #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[cozycryptidcorner]

Abel the Asrai, Chapter 2 (lemon)

Tags: pegging, masturbation, dom reader/sub fae

Faebruary prompt:

To be honest, you were expecting to spend your first day on land inside a sex shop, after all, you had promised to help Abel find something he could use to find some relief. You did not, however, expect to be the expert consultant in the matter.

The little boutique is tucked away in the recesses of this island's designated red district, curious bystanders and sexually frustrated crewmen alike flocking to witness its various wares. The windows are high and open, letting a steady stream of sunlight filter through the hundreds of different phallic-shaped sculptures lining the shelves. It's the largest and most dependable store in your experience, and you plan on doing your own shopping once Abel is distracted. Or when you gather enough courage to do it in front of him.

He seems positively fascinated with all the different options, face turning a strange shade of teal as one of the clerks lets him hold the so-called Destroyer of Bussy, the damn thing as long as his forearm and as thick as a mast rope. It makes his long fingers look nothing more than a child's, swallowing up his fist and palm. You put an end to that debacle, knowing full well he needs to start out small and go up from there.

As you drag Abel away from the dragon-sized dildos, he seems to quickly forget about them in lieu of the far more decorative selections. Some of the more expensive examples are secured behind display glass, locks magicked against thieves. Cock rings embedded with pearls, handcuffs made from gold, the kind of objects that can't be used for much more than a show of opulence are snuggled in red velvet for the sake of being ogled at.

"What about this?" He asks, pointing to a maroon, glass blown object, one that's curled with bumps protruding on one side, suspiciously akin to a tentacle.

"That's a little too advanced for inexperienced hands," you suggest, "let's try to stick with a basic shape for now."

"And your hands are not advanced?" Abel asks, arching his eyebrows.

You try to brush him off, your own face heating up with embarrassment, "my hands are plenty advanced, but you can't tack this one to the wall to pleasure yourself with."

"And that's what I'll be doing?" He dares to ask. "I thought you were supposed to help me with my little problem."

"I'm helping you right now," you say, reaching over his shoulder and pulling down a rubber dildo. It's not the same size as the positively enormous Orc Cock Delight (trademark pending), far from it, but given Abel's slim frame and inexperience, it would be a decent start. "Here, this one's probably best."

As though inspecting its shape and sculpture like an art authenticator, he takes it from your fingers and holds it in his palm. Then, to check for its plasticity, he flicks his wrist, watching it wiggle with the movement, lips pursed, eyes narrowed. "Well," he remarks at last, "I trust your judgement on the matter."

"We can get the tentacle one too, if you like," you offer, "these are your wages you're spending."

Abel has also only recently been made aware of how money actually works when you're not some pampered prince living up in a tower. After some… hazing, you think, from the rest of the crew about some misconceptions of how one can't just go to the bank and withdraw a large deposit, he's a lot more thoughtful about what he says. And definitely more frugal, too.

You see his lips purse with frustration as he has to mentally tally what he has versus what he wants to spend, but you see a breakthrough moment where he relents. "Alright," he says almost sullenly, cradling his dildo like it's an infant, "this one will do for now."

"Good," you say, glancing over the selection of glass sculptures yourself to see if anything catches your eye, but you're mostly happy with what you already have. "Now we need to get you some lube."

"What for?" He asks, following close behind as you slowly make your way to the other side of the store.

"Trust me, you can't just shove something up a hole without a bit of lubricant. Ever had carpet burn before?"

By the way his face twitches, the answer's yes.

"Same concept, but inside your body." Glass vials decorate the shelves, some small, some large, each advertising a different benefit for its use. There are various massage oils, lube, and other select liquids that claim to aid with libido and arousal… Mouth pursed, you run your fingers over the labels, trying to decide which one you'd like to use on yourself as well. "This one says it's coconut and rum flavored."

"Why is it flavored?" Abel is also looking over the bottles, brow furrowed in thought.

"Sometimes your mouth goes where the lube is, and tasting honey lemon is more palatable to some." How does one get the taste of champagne in lube, you wonder, trying to figure out if you even need something infused with flavoring.

As though reading your mind, Abel asks, "which one would you prefer?"

Oh, fuck him, he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Why?" You ask, testily. "Do you think I'm going to be licking it off your poor little cock?"

Abel sucks his breath in, but you see that the barb did none of the damage you wanted it to. Instead, he seems…. Excited? Aroused? "Only if you want to."

Everything inside of you ignites, but you tamper it down. Sucking your breath in to ground yourself, you gesture vaguely in his crotch direction, "wouldn't be that great for you if you can't even cum from it."

"The long row of chastity belts seem to disagree." He points to the shop's opposite side, furthest from the windows, multiple mannequins showing off the various different styles available for purchase. "Might as well see what the appeal is since I'm stuck with one."

You don't want to admit he's making sense here… but he is. Wordlessly, maintaining eye contact, you aim your finger, watching him grasp the bottle without being told twice.

"You know," you say, walking leisurely over to the apparel section of the shop, "there's a lot of flack that comes from being the captain's special whore."

"Is that what your crew thinks of me?" He asks, running his fingers over a leather whip.

"You're not particularly subtle about it."

"Only because you weren't paying attention to my advances."

"Only because I didn't want you to think I only brought you aboard for the pleasure of wrecking your virgin ass."

He snickers but doesn't say anything in response, now looking over the different options to hook his dildo onto. Though, since it's really your decision, you begin poking around the mannequins yourself. Even though you wouldn't necessarily want something with all the bells and whistles, maybe one that's colored to set off your eyes? Some of the leather ones have been stained with various hues and tones.

"I just want you to know that I do already have a strap," you say, picking a new one out, "it's just not on my ship."

"So you're telling me," Abel says, almost completely serious save for that slight twitch on his mouth, "that you don't fuck every single damsel in distress you come across?"

You sigh loudly, heading towards the front of the store to purchase your tiny collection of pleasure toys. "Not all of them, just the ones that ask me so nicely."

Abel hums, and you sense a trace of jealousy aimed towards your previous bedmates, but he doesn't say anything more. Once the both of you complete your purchases, hiding them in your respective satchels, you hop down the steps out of the shop. It's just the afternoon, with plenty of time left in the day, but you know that Abel is quite literally aching to try out his new toys, so you let him drag you back to the docks.

"Where are we going?" He asks in protest as you take him down to the lower decks instead of your private room.

"Do you have any idea how many people probably ran their hands over that thing before we bought it?" You're relieved to see that no one's occupying the kitchen, especially since the cook isn't a fan of people using the giant kettles to do what you're about to.

There's a barrel of water already sitting to the side, mostly for washing dishes and scrubbing the floor. You find a clean pot and fill it halfway full of the seawater, setting it on the still lit wood stove to boil. With little ceremony, you rummage through his satchel, pulling out the dildo, and plop it into the water to boil.

In the meantime, Abel seems to struggle over what he should be doing with his hands. Nervously, he folds and unfolds his fingers, weaving them together and pulling them apart, only occasionally looking you in the eye.

"Are you okay?" You ask, and he jumps.

"Y-es," he mumbles, "just excited."

"We don't have to do this today if you're-"

"I am literally begging you," he interrupts, face blushing, "to help me now. Please."

Steam begins to curl up from the pot. You nod, poking at the rubber cock with a stick, as though that will somehow speed the process. "Just a few more moments, Abel."

Once the thing is done sanitizing, and in the safety of your cabin, the door firmly locked, you can hear his breath quickening as you pull out the different objects to start experimenting with. Slowly, you pull at the front of your leather fest, loosening the laces until it's wide enough to pull off. Your nipples rise, not from cold, but from arousal, hard at the promise of shoving that false cock up his ass.

"Abel," you direct, calmly, "you need to take off your clothes."

He obeys without question, pulling his shirt up over his head and throwing it on your chair. His body has filled out slightly with muscle, no longer a wiry frame of skin and bones, but he's still not nearly as stocky as you or the rest of your crew. Anyone on this ship could lift him over their head and toss him across the deck like he weighs nothing.

Already, he's so excited that he's erect, though the head of his cock is swollen with unspelt arousal and pleasure.

"Did you ever touch yourself after the spell?" You ask, coming up close, resting your hands on his bare hips.

"Yes," he whispers, eyes almost ashamed.

"It's alright," you rub your thumbs in soothing circles right over the bump of his bone, "I'm just wondering how this works." Pause, let him think. "Did you ever um… leak precum at all?"

He blinks. "I don't understand."

You try to rephrase the question. "When you touch yourself, sometimes before you finish, a clear liquid will come out. Did that ever happen, or no?"

"No, nothing comes out." His voice is slightly raspy, you aren't sure if it's from embarrassment. "I've always had to use lotion or oils, and it would feel good for a little while. Then it would just hurt."

"And you would have to wait until it went away," you nod, as though this isn't the first time you've dealt with such a stupid, controlling and abusive curse. "But the wording is going to be our friend, here, and many males cum when being penetrated without the use of hands."

"Thank you." There's an awful lot of hope in his eyes, so you bite your lip and pray to whatever god that might hear for your success.

"Help me out of my clothes." You gloss over his adoration, feeling a tightness in your stomach.

He gets on his knees, watching you for any twitch of approval you might give, and begins to unclasp the straps on your boots—one by one. When you step out of them, you don't even have to tell him where to go next, because he's lifting your shirt up and kissing your stomach as he works your belt. Carefully, he undoes the buckle, sliding it out and opening up your waistline.

Down go your pants, then undergarments, and you take the initiative to remove your shirt yourself. Now you're also naked, standing before Abel, just two bodies open for mutual exploration. His breath quivers as you reach up and brush some hair away from his face, dragging your fingers down to cup the side of his face. Slowly, as though you both have all the time in your little shared infinity, you press your lips up against his.

This isn't the first time you've kissed. The first time was after a particularly brutal sword fight that you had managed to win with only a few scratches, Abel practically jumped on you once you had kicked your opponent overboard. That one was quick, numb with relief and over faster than it started. Now there's time, locked away from the prying eyes of your crew.

Abel has kissed before, that you can tell by the way his lips move and adjust to where you lead them. You wonder if he had done it in some hidden nook somewhere in the palace he grew up in, under cover of darkness, all hormones and drive without the promise of relief. The practice has paid off, you decide, leading him back to your bed, gently setting him down, legs spread.

"Alright," you breathe, "show me where you touch yourself."

His face is dark and blue, mouth half-open, his tongue swiping over his lips. You get the bottle of lube out, pouring some onto the palm of your hand as he slowly begins to trace the outline of his cock. Propping one of your knees up on the bed, with an arm wrapped around his shoulder, you begin to mimic his movement, rubbing the lube up the shaft and over the head. Abel winces and whimpers at how cool it is.

For encouragement, you press your mouth onto his neck, gently nipping at the skin. "You're doing so good right now, baby, it's okay."

Slowly, you cover the entirety of his cock in the lube, pumping your wrist and watching it throb and pulse between your fingers. Abel was right, nothing seems to bead out from the slit at the top, his stones even quicker to puff up and become swollen. As he arches his back, leaning towards the mattress, his hips quake and shake, but where you might expect a ribbon of white to burst out of the head, nothing happens.

You suck in your breath sympathetically rubbing the tip with your thumb to see if you can't tease anything out, but whatever cursed him is concrete and binding. When you retract your hand, he almost whines, face bright with blood, tears threatening his eyes, lower lip swollen from his teeth biting down. At this point, you think, impotence would have been the kinder option because the brief sensation of pleasure would quickly be overruled by the misery of being unable to actually spill.

"Good boy," you whisper as he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, "that must have hurt, but you're so strong for me."

He lets out a little whimper, one you swallow away with a kiss. Slowly, he lays back against your blankets, letting you straddle his waist as you nip his lips far gentler than you usually would.

"There are two ways I can take you," you say, your tits pressed up against his chest, "like this, with your legs spread out, or from behind, while you're on your hands and knees. Since this is your first time, you may pick."

He squirms beneath you, his cock painfully hard and delightfully present against your stomach. As you drum your fingers right by his ears, you can see the gears running circles in his head, carefully weighing the pros and cons of each position while so aroused his entire pelvis must feel like it's being crushed.

"Whatever you don't choose, we can do next time," you offer, hoping that might motivate him to choose a bit better.

"I-" his face becomes more flushed than it already is, "I just want to look in your eyes."

Oh, he’s sweet, the little fucker. If he keeps this kind of syrupy attitude, you might just end up falling in love.

You slide back off the bed, planting yourself firmly between his legs. "Like this?"

"Yes… please." He adds the last bit like an afterthought, but he's learning at least.

"Good boy," you purr, gently rubbing his thigh. "I'll put on the strap."

He watches you like you're a prized prostitute putting on a strip show for the ages, irises locked on your hands as you begin to pull at the various buckles and buttons. Carefully, you loop his choice dildo through the metallic ring centered right in front of your pelvis, tightening the straps to secure it in place. Once you're satisfied it won't fly off once you start thrusting, you grab the bottle of lube and bring it over to where Abel lies.

Pouring some out into your hand, you warn, "this is going to feel a bit strange at first. Since you're not used to it, I will move slowly, but you need to tell me if it hurts."

He nods sharply, his breath quickening as you start massaging his ass with the lube. You're careful here, wondering if it might be easier on him if his legs were restrained, one hand firmly on a thigh while the other experimentally prods at his hole.

"You're doing so well," you tell him, pushing your thumb up into his asshole while he whimpers. "You're going to take this cock so good, Abel, it's going to slide right in."

After adding a touch more of lube, you push your index and middle finger in together, making a gradual scissoring motion to stretch him out further. His breath quickens, his hands clawing at your blankets, but he doesn't say anything beyond a soft, wordless moan. Satisfied with how his body seems to be adapting to the intrusion, you add a third finger, and begin to pump in and out in a sort of thrusting motion.

"How does that feel?" You ask, watching the way his cock twitches and shudders.

"Good," he manages to choke, his eyes begging you for more.

"I think you're ready," you nod, taking the bottle of lube from the bed and tantalizingly rubbing it onto your fake cock. "Are you? Do you want me to start thrusting into you, baby?"

"Yes, please," his breathing accelerates, his face wild and pained.

You stretch his ass out, careful with the head of the dildo as you slowly push it in. Just to make it easier on him, you pull his knees up, spreading his legs out further and holding them steady while he quivers. Then, inch by inch, you keep moving forward until you've buried it to the hilt, your hips brushing up against his innermost thigh. You stay like that for a moment, allowing him to get used to the object's size and intrusion, petting his thighs right where your hands rest to offer some comfort.

"Does it hurt much?" You ask soothingly.

"Just a bit," he murmurs, wiggling a little as though trying to get comfortable, "not as much as I thought it might."

"Good," you bump your hips a bit, just so he knows what you're about to do. Still moving without a bit of urgency, you move back, pushing your hips away, watching his face as the pain transitions away into pleasure. Then, repeating the previous movement, you thrust forward, a bit quicker this time.

"Fuck," he curses, "that feels… that feels nice."

At that behest, you pick up the pace slightly, still going significantly slower than usual, but still maintaining a structured speed. "You like it, baby?"

"Yes," he breathes, "I like it."

"Good," you keep going, watching his body struggle to stay still as you begin to up the speed of your thrusts.

He raises his hands to his mouth, biting down, so he doesn't cry out. You feel his thighs spasm and shake beneath your fingers, his body rolling up against yours as though silently begging for more. His eyes are shut tight, brow furrowed, a strange expression twitching at his face like he's experiencing a sensation that he doesn't know is positive or negative.

"I think," he gasps, his hips thrusting in their own accord, "I- It's-"

A thick, white spray of liquid shoots out of his cock, flying high and landing on his stomach. It doesn't stop there, though, seemingly a lifetime's worth of unspelt cum trying to escape while it can, a thick, hot layer erupting out and dripping down on his waist in tandem to your thrusts. You don't stop, either, especially not when he cries out, holding his legs firmly in place as he squirms and sobs with pleasure. Only once his cock falls limp do you stop, pulling the dildo out, and a river of lube drips down his ass.

He's shaking, as though experiencing some kind of awakening. As he props himself up on his elbows, he looks down, noticing the ribbons of cum that have accumulated on his chest and pelvis, then at you. After he sees some on his hand, he licks it, not to be coy, not to be sexy, but with the general curiosity of someone who has never tasted cum in his life.

"It's salty," he says, blankly, voice void of either dashed or met expectations. Like he legitimately has no idea what he's supposed to think.

And then he begins to cry.

You're so shocked by the action that you just stand there, dildo still in hand, as tears fall out of his eyes and dribble down his cheeks. Then you snap into action, wiping your sticky fingers on an available towel before threading them through his hair, pulling him close in an embrace, ignoring the cum that's now on your skin. His face is wet against your chest, his arms wrapping around your torso in a tightening hug, chest shuddering.

"You did so well," you say soothingly, petting his hair as he tries to get himself under control, "I'm so proud of you, Abel, you really did so wonderfully for your first time. You can cry if you need to, I know this was probably very difficult."

Before you know it, you're laying down with him, his body pressed up against every single curve and crevice of yours. His face is up against your chest, arms around your waist, and you hold his head in the crook of your elbow. While his chest shudders and shakes, you whisper and murmur a myriad of encouragement and praise, but you think that's only adding fuel to his emotional fire.

So you let him process his state of mind, remaining present throughout so he has someone to lean on. After a while, he quiets down, but he makes no motion to either sit up or start round two. To be entirely honest, both of you are probably done for the day, especially with how he's handling it, but you can't walk around with stale cum on your body. Once his breathing evens out, you untangle your limbs from him, waking him up from a shivering nap.

"Hey," you say softly, poking at him, "we need to clean off."

"R-right," he sniffs, rubbing his eyes, "I-I'm sorry, that was-"

"Don't apologize," you say, almost sharply, "that must have felt very intense, and you have a right to express your emotions."

He kisses you, slowly, lazily, and you cradle his face in your hands.

"We only need to wipe off a portion of this gunk," you say, unbuckling the strap from your waist, "I think that tonight we can spend some extra money and time in a bathhouse."

"What do you mean?" He asks, glancing down at the mess he spilt on his skin.

"There's this absolutely incredible bathhouse up the mountain, right where a hot spring is. The water is supposed to be three times as effective for cleaning and rejuvenating your skin or whatever, I think you deserve a little extra pampering tonight."

"Really?" He looks like he's about to cry again.

"Come on," you pull him up until he's sitting, "let's first get marginally cleaner, so it doesn't look like we've participated in a street-side orgy."

As he pours a bit of powdery soap in your tub of scrubbing water, you begin to unbraid his hair, brush in hand, running your fingers through his green tangles to smooth out the evidence of sex. He sponges his chest and torso clean, using smelling oils to hide the scent of cum as you begin to twist and knot his hair again.

"You handled this size very well for the most part," you say, using a pick to sharply part a section of his hair away, "I think that you might be ready to upgrade in a few months, we could get that little glass one that you wanted so bad."

"I would like that," he rasps, face just as flushed as when you bottomed out inside him.

Once you clean yourself off, you dress and leave, Abel in tow. The bathhouse is a large building, overtaking a fair amount of the presumably dead volcano that overlooks the bay. You've been there before, most of your crew has, but it's the sort of place that's so far from the docks that it's a hassle to get to. By the time you're up the cliffs, Abel is panting like he's never walked this far before.

You pay the teller, not bothering to make Abel take care of his own entrance fee. A wave of wet, sticky heat hits your face when you walk into the large marble atrium, the steam from the hot springs thick in the enclosed area. There's a convenient marble map on the wall, the building's outline labeled with thick letters.

"Where do you want to go first?" You ask, mentally wondering how they make the currents for the so-called wonderous whirlpool.

He points to one of the private pools, the side of his mouth twitching up.

"Those costs-"

"I can pay," he says, patting his satchel.

Okay, he wants to play games, you can get on that level. So you shrug, and follow him down the hallway, down the stairs to the long row of private rooms. After paying the attendant down there, you pick out a random section and close the wooden door behind you for some much-needed privacy.

Abel is already stripping bare, throwing himself in the water once naked. A window lets a small amount of light through its wooden blinds, only bright enough to see his outline. Once you're also undressed, you slip into the water, sighing with relief at both the heat and the scent of the oils. You settle on a curved section, probably explicitly built for laying on, and slowly begin to scrub at your skin with a bar of pumice you brought.

Oh, and Abel seems to be enjoying himself a lot, floating on his back, face staring up at the ceiling. He looks like he's in a faraway place, mouth in a soft, genuinely content smile. You let him be in his own little world for as long as he needs to be, satisfied with cleaning the last remaining hints of sex off your body while waiting for him to come back to you.

"You know," he says finally, rising out from the water and coming close, "despite everything else, I was very spoiled as a prince."

"No," you deadpan, "really?"

"Yeah- wait," he sniffs out your sarcasm much better now, "I mean, yes, it's probably undeniably obvious."

"Supremely so," you say, remembering how another captain asked you if you were holding Abel hostage because he was too goddamn refined compared to the rest of your crew.

"I was always told that I wasn't in a place to complain," he angles your body so he can play with your hair, "and I suppose in some aspects, that was true, but now I know that everything that happened beneath that roof, golden gilded or no, was… not healthy."

"No, Abel, I can't say that it was anything remotely so." Every time you hear about some aspect of his childhood, you're filled to the brim with murderous rage on his behalf.

"But at least now I can say that after living in the quote real world, I most definitely prefer this to that." You feel his fingers twist your hair into braids. "For example, your crew doesn't follow your commands because they're afraid of what will happen if they don't, they follow your commands because you've proven to them that you're a trustworthy and capable leader."

You open your mouth, but he interrupts you.

"Luck has nothing to do with it, either. I saw you dive after a freed slave in open water because she couldn't swim. That's not luck, that's courage, and those are the kinds of actions that your people take to heart."

"I guess," you don't like accepting heartfelt compliments, especially when you think you don't deserve them.

"Which is why," he finishes, pulling you closer, "I trusted you enough to ask you for help."

"And are you satisfied with the help I provided?" You ask, remembering how much cum he had spilt from that one single session.

"Oh, yes," he purrs, seemingly completely recovered from his near mental breakdown. "I'd give you a five-star review, but I don't think I like to share."

"Really? I garner that well of a reputation?" You ask, watching his hand slide between your legs.

"I want to thank you," he says, mouth on your ear, "but I need you to show me how. Teach me where to touch you?"

You suck in a lungful of steam, watching his long, elegant fingers slowly draw little circles on your thighs. "You're going to be walking all the way back with an erection."

"But you would like that," he accuses, entirely correct, "watching me walk back while so fucking hard I may start crying."

You believe you will, realizing that the idea of him trying to keep his fucking shit together while out in public does has some kind of appeal. So you remove yourself from his lap, hauling your body up onto the cool marble floor. Trying to seem enticing, you spread your legs for him, bringing your fingers down to offer up a clearer view of your entrance and clit. Breathing harder, you say, "Remember when we kissed?"

He nods solemnly.

"Similar concept, but here. Use your tongue and mouth."

With reverence, he places a hand on both your thighs, sinking down to his knees. Of all the things you've noticed about him, one of his better qualities is how he's such a fast learner. He kisses your lips as instructed, eyes flickering up to make sure you approve of his actions. When you nod encouragingly, he continues, opening his mouth to start licking at your pussy.

You lean back, pushing your weight onto your hands, lifting up a leg and placing it on his shoulder. "That's good Abel, just like that."

He presses his face further into your slick skin, kissing and sucking on the dark puckered flesh. While his tongue is only slightly rougher than you would have expected, it's not… painfully so, no, it's more like an added texture you didn't know would feel good. Up and down, he licks, capturing a bit of your opening between his teeth and gently pulling, if only to see your reaction.

To help him a little more, you push two of your fingers between your legs, finding your clit. "Here, Abel, lick me here, baby."

The obedient little thing, he does, finding it with ease now that you've directed him. He kisses it with reference, like it's a thing to be worshipped, taking your clit between his lips and sucking. When you hiss with pleasure, his eyes turn elated, like the two of you just shared an intimate secret, and he does it again.

"Fuck, Abel," you gasp, trying to find words of encouragement, "you lick my pussy so good, baby, it's like you were made for me."

"Does that make me your little whore?" He asks, voice thick with arousal.

"That makes you my special little whore," you correct, tucking a flyaway hair behind his ear.

He smiles lazily, pressing his mouth back between your legs, returning to work with more enthusiasm than before, flicking his tongue against your clit. Then, as though mimicking how you had opened him up earlier, he slowly presses a thumb through your slit, rubbing your inner, slick ridges. Fuck, he's a clever little bastard, and by the way you buck in his mouth, he's going to know it, too.

The pressure in your stomach grows, a wave of warm arousal dripping out of your core. Abel licks it all up like a seasoned prostitute, pulling you closer to the edge so gravity shifts your body down. He presses up, mouth and nose grinding up against your clit, now, adding far more pressure than before. You swallow thickly, trying to find the words to praise him, but thoughts start escaping your mind, replaced by pleasure.

"Good," you manage to croak out, "that feels good."

You can feel the smugness emanating off of him from making you speechless, his boldness only growing as you further spiral. As your hips start jerking, your thighs shaking, he continues to eat your pussy like he's a starving animal, the sounds from his open-mouthed sucking driving you positively mad.

It doesn't hit you all at once; instead, your orgasm comes in waves, each more volatile and pleasurable than the last. Abel must have sensed its arrival, locking his arms around your hips to hold you in place as you buck into his mouth. Nor does he deem you worthy of mercy, either, showing you every amount of vigor and determination you offered him barely hours before.

When you've ground it out, only plagued by a few aftershocks, he pulls away, a long trail of saliva and cum connecting his mouth to your core. And he smiles, he smiles, heaving for breath, lips flushed and swollen.

Slowly, you slide back into the water, legs weak and still shaking, right onto his lap. True to your prediction, he's hard, cock upright in the water, but he doesn't seem too bothered as you straddle his waist. You kiss him, taking things nice and slow, tasting the scented oils and sulfuric water along with your pleasure on his tongue.

"Did I do good?" He asks, digging for more praise.

But you give it to him, he deserves it after this kind of day. "Yes, Abel, you ate my pussy like a fucking slut."

His breathing quickens in excitement.

"I don't think the whores down in the red district could eat me out like that, and you did it on your first try." You pet the side of his face, running your fingertips over his pointed ears. "My clever, sweet little prince."

He nuzzles his face between your breast as you play with one of his braids.

"I think I'm going to keep you," you muse aloud, "would you like that? Would you like to be my bedmate from now on?"

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly. "Yes."

"Good," you whisper, tracing the path of his spine, "I think I can buy you that glass dildo, after all."

#fae/reader #asrai/reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #water fae

[ckbookish]

BATMAN BINGO MASTER POST 2020

1 "I thought you were dead.": I Still See Your Ghost 

Today was just not Dick's day. First he overslept his alarm and was late to work. Amy had been less than impressed at his tardiness... Then He had bungled what should have been an easy take town... But the straw that broke the camel's back was Tim. Dick had forgotten to call Tim. 

2 Friendly fire: Fratricide 

Jason was pissed. No, Jason was enraged. Yeah, he was enraged at the whole mess his family-- if that’s even what they were to each other anymore-- had gotten him in. It was meant to be a simple night. Break in. Torch the drugs. Maybe shoot a couple of people and go home. But no, Batman heard about his plans and decided that arson was too extreme. “Someone could get hurt.” Well someone had gotten hurt, a lot of someones. 

3 Hypothermia: Weekend Commute 

Dick Grayson makes his way home during the first snow fall of the year, when he finds himself confused and cold, miles from home.

Chapter two Bruce's perspective.

4 Superman: Bringer of the Dawn

The Aftermath of when the Joker shoots Dick.

or

Where do you go when your family tells you to get out?

5 Shot: The Gratitude Trap

Bruce finds himself in the dark, a place he never thought he would be when it came to Clark Kent and Dick Grayson. Yet here he is digging for answers, because he is too scared to pick up the phone and call. 

6 Two-face: The Better Choice 

How do you reconcile the man who was once your friend with the monster he has become? Bruce reflects on how the man he once called his best friend changed. How could the man who helped him foster Dick, hold that baseball bat? 

7 Drowning: Omori’s Law

Deep in the sewer's under Gotham, Batman is trapped. There is no back up, no Robin. He is faced with the single truth that he tried to teach each of his partners... You have to save yourself. 

  8 Found Family: A Restoration from a Resilient Heart

Dick just wants to not be alone with the shadows in the house. Bruce doesn't realize he has lived with them for far to long, and maybe he doesn't have to anymore.

9 Adoption: The Irrefutable Truth

When he reached the reception, he found himself looking around a fairly empty room. There were a few call girls in the corner filling out forms, an older woman holding a dog, a kid that looked about twelve and a middle aged man who looked like he was ready to cry. He knew no one. Dick was about to turn around and head back to his desk when the on duty officer called out to him. Officer O’Conner was one of his fellow rookies, he had a thick accent. Dick thought he might be from Louisiana. “Grayson! Why didn’t you say your brother was coming to see you?” Dick looked at him with his mouth slightly open. There was no way he heard that right. “My what?” 

10 Bruises: Mr. Wayne

Tim is new to this. He's only been Robin for a little over six months. It was going well. But now he was going to be fired. Batman wouldn't want a partner who got caught at school with a black eye. Would he?

11 Bruce is dead: You Have One Saved Message 

Gotham gossip columns spread lies and smear good people's names. But yet Damian can't help but think maybe this mornings article was true.  That despite all his claims of being the true son of Bruce Wayne, he was in fact the only unwanted one.

12 CPR: Vital Signs 

Robin wakes to find him and Batman in an exploded factory. With Batman injured and the building burning around them, Dick struggles to get them both to safety.   

13 Dad:  Storge 

Bruce could have sworn his spirit had left him momentarily.  The sudden hollowness that filled him couldn’t be explained in any other way. 

 “Your dad must have his hands full with you.”  Elizabeth Ribbons leaned forward and patted Dick’s shoulder, as he reached for yet another slice of cheesecake from a passing waiter’s tray.  

Bruce fixed his eyes on the ice sculpture that hid him from view.  It suddenly seemed like the most interesting design in the world.  The soft lines of the ice on the otherwise insignificant over sized swan seemed like a lead shield...  Because Dick would read it easily in his expression. He wanted to be Dick’s dad.  But he wasn’t. 

14 Stealing the Batmobile: T-Minus Six Hours

Some days Tim is sure that he’s gonna be killed. Usually it’s some luck shot or near miss that made his life flash before his eyes. Not today though. Today he was positive Bruce was going to kill him. Yes, today was the day that Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be put down. He’s not sure that even Nightwing could save him. He was going to go down in history as the first sidekick to be murdered by their mentor. Because the Batmobile was definitely not where he’d parked it.

15 Wayne Enterprises: Amidst the Absence of Meaning 

Bruce is worried. He's running on less than three hours of sleep, and way too many cups of coffee. He had messed up. That much was obvious. The question was would Dick forgive him?

A gruesome night on patrol bleeds into Bruce's work day and now all he can wonder is if this is the thing that will push Dick over the edge? Had he finally seen to much pain?

16 Ransom: Sum of My Worth

The ring of the phone seemed to echo through the manor’s still too quiet long, winding halls, and everyone present collectively held their breath. Bruce lunged for the phone.   

17 Secret Injury: Hiding in Pain Sight

“What?” Dick asked sharper than he meant to. He was tired.

“Nothing.” Tim said with a small smirk. “Heavy is the head.”

Dick closed his eyes, glad that Tim couldn’t see them. He was so sick of this. Tim, Jason, Damian and Cass all didn’t think he was good enough, well Cass hadn’t said that, but Dick could read her. They didn’t think he was up to the job. Well they didn’t need to tell him that. He knew it.

18 Superboy: An Interlude in Breathing 

Tim looked out over the water in a daze. Bruce and Dick had gone somewhere below deck and he was alone. Well there were strangers on the ship mingling and talking excitedly--but Tim gave them no notice. Instead he watched the water lap up against the hull and crash down back to meet the dark, cold waters. They were far enough out that he could no longer see the shore. It was just endless expenses of sea and sky. Something tickled his neck and he started, only to realize he had been crying. It was only a tear slipping under his collar.

The days after the battle of Infinite Crisis

19 Betrayed: Smother

She took another drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke roll in her lungs for a long moment before allowing it hiss out between her teeth. The screams from the warehouse weren’t completely muffled by the distance, or the walls. Perhaps she was only imagining them. But then, sounds like that, she didn’t think she could dream up. She jumped after a particularly high pitched yelp. “Get a grip.” She dropped the cigarette and pulled out another. Her hand shook as she lit it. “It’s just some random kid. He’s not--” She bit back a sob. She didn’t deserve to cry. She had no right to tears, not when it was her fault.   

20 Crowbar: Breaklights

The mail fell to the ground and the paper smacked the tiles hard.  The sound in reality couldn’t have been all that loud, but it seemed to echo around the entryway.  Bruce didn’t look at the dropped bills and the invitation to a fundraiser for the new Gotham women’s shelter.  He was too fixated on the small stamp with the queen of England's head on it.  Wolverhampton.  

The large envelope was far heavier then it should have been.  Bruce could feel bile crawling up his throat.  

He had forgotten.

21 Deathstroke: Debts and Dues

There were some things that were never pleasant, getting caught in the snow without socks, losing your keys, and not being able to remember the name of a song. Having a gun pointed at your chest, Dick felt, qualified as extremely unpleasant. He stood stock still. The barrel of the gun was still hot, it burned slightly as it dug into his sternum. Even with his uniform he could still feel the heat left over from previous rounds fired. He didn’t flinch. He couldn’t flinch. “Move.” “You know I can’t.” Dick wondered if Slade had the guts to do it.   

22 Mission Gone Wrong: Murmur in the Quiet Hours

Superman? Clark froze. He knew that voice. But-- he had never heard it sounding so sad. Was that-- no. Clark dove for his phone, still on the counter from when he got home last night. The screen was black. Dead. Clark swore and dropped it. He was in his coat and shoes before it hit the counter top.   

23 Kidnapped:  Chum 

Dick trumped through the leaves, stopping his feet roughly. He relished the sound of the crunch beneath his shoes as he tread on the brown, dead leaves before him. He felt rather justified in his satisfaction. After all the world had taken so much from him, why wouldn’t he do his best to crush it in return. The woods were cool and as he went deeper into them they grew darker. The sun had long set, and the sky was quickly vanishing as the trees grew thicker. Wayne Manor was far behind him. He was never going back. He hated those pristine walls, those old floor boards. He hated the quiet. He hated the stuffy furniture and the rules and the vases and pictures. He hated his new guardian and that… that… Dick couldn’t remember what Alfred was called, but he hated it. The bag on his back felt heavy. It had everything Dick owned in it. Well and a toothbrush that Alfred had given him. But he didn’t think that was really stealing. 

24 Riddler: Seeking Silence on Shortwaves

Normally Dick would be happy to listen to Tim talk. In fact, Dick thought it was one of his favorite sounds in the world. Tim rarely allowed himself to be excited about things. Hearing him speak so freely and openly to Bruce and him about his plans was refreshing. Dick only wished it wouldn’t be at the cost of his life.

Batman hadn't always been so strict about talking unnecessarily over comms. When it was just two of them it hadn't mattered, their walkie talkie system had always worked. But now that Nightwing and Robin were in Gotham, it seems insane that they never realized: if only one person can talk over the radio at a time... how could they call for help?

25 Mr. Freeze: Glimpsing the Sun While Trapped in the Rime

He almost called Bruce between his fourth and fifth class. He pulled his phone out, leaning against his locker, and half dialed his number when a warm hand fell on his shoulder. “Hey.” Dick spun around and blinked back black spots as his body protested the sudden movement. A blaze of red hair filled his vision and Dick felt a small fire build in his chest. His face split into a wide smile.

After a run in with Mr. Freeze Dick finds himself feeling odd at school, but he can't go home, not when Barbara's asked him to drive her to Betty's party after school.

#batman bingo 2020 #Master Post #Batman #CK Writes #Nightwing #Dick Grayson #tim drake #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Red Hood #Red Robin #robin #My Writing

[maybedefinitely404]

Not Your Typical 2

Genre: college AU, hurt/comfort

Pairings: romantic Demus, background Logicality, and Prinxiety

Content: autistic characters (Logan and Janus), arguments, panic attack/anxiety, ASL, talk of pretty bad ableist parenting/manipulation.

Song mentioned is Electric Love by BØRNS

Word count: 3.3k

“BABE!”

Janus’ head shot up seconds before Remus barreled into their room, clearly having run there, possibly all the way from his night class. He dropped his load of textbooks onto the floor, hopping from foot to foot.

“You have a backpack for a reason,” Janus sighed affectionately. His boyfriend shuffled the empty bag off his shoulders so it fell to the floor with his school supplies and resumed his hopping.

“Listen to this!” He held up his headphones, clearly holding himself back from just popping them on Janus’ head himself. 

“New song?”

“Just listen!”

Janus snorted but put the offered headphones on, watching as Remus restarted the music from his phone.

It began quietly, a lilting melody that was quickly underlaid with a sharp beat. He raised an eyebrow at Remus; it was catchy, but did not seem like his boyfriend’s type of music. There was a surprising lack of… screaming. Or profanity. Or yodelling . 

He had interesting taste in music. 

But Remus just bounced on his toes, nearly wiggling until an electric guitar riff made Janus jump a bit. It wasn’t necessarily a bad jump, more one of surprise, but he gave a thumbs up anyways to reassure Remus. He closed his eyes as the verse began, relaxing in his chair and shutting his brain off. 

Janus hadn’t even noticed he was tapping his hands on the arms of the chair until he peaked an eye open to see his boyfriend’s excited expression, not unlike a child on Christmas morning. 

 A bit after they’d started officially dating, Remus had accidentally discovered Janus’ once-least-favorite neurodiverse trait in himself; happy stimming. It was overly vulnerable and had gotten him teased too often when he was younger, so he had made a habit of masking the excited movement. It had only taken one date to the animal rehabilitation centre, and an hour long detour in the reptile area, for that barrier to break. But Remus had taken him for the sole reason of showing Janus the snakes, what was he supposed to do?

The first time he’d been totally natural around Remus (due to finding a green tree python, because oh my god Remus look at it!), bouncing and tucking his cheek to his shoulder and flapping his hands, his boyfriend had solemnly taken his hands, leaned far too close, and uttered something along the lines of ‘What the fuck was that and how do I make you do it again?’ Apparently he thought it was cute.

Preposterous. 

And judging by the slow rising in the song’s pitch, that was exactly what Remus was attempting to trigger. Janus could feel a smile forming against his will as the music crescendoed, and with it came a floating sensation. It felt like fire shooting up his spine, or pop rocks in his skull, an addictive rush of joy that filled his body with adrenaline, the best possible butterflies in his stomach. His hands flapped in an effort to release the energy and for now he let them, the grin now making his cheeks hurt.

All at once the beat settled back to it’s verse tempo and Janus pulled the headphones off somewhat sheepishly. 

“Hell. Yes.” Remus whispered, a matching wide smile stretching across his face. He cradled Janus’ face between his palms, as if he were something fragile, and edged forward until their noses booped, “You’re so. Goddamn. Cute.”

“Am not,” Janus forced out between his squished cheeks. It would have been much more convincing if he weren’t fighting off more happy wiggles. 

Remus snorted and pressed a peck to Janus’ lip before whirling on his heels, more or less skipping to the common area.

“Logan, I did it!” He sang grandly. He twirled around the living room with a whoop, startling a laugh out of Janus. Virgil and Roman, who must have been situated on the couch, yelled as Remus splayed across them just out of Janus’ line of vision. 

“Get off us, you oaf-”

“Jesus, Remus!”

“Oh Logaaaaan!” 

Janus leaned against the doorway of their room to watch the scene unfold. Remus finally gave in to the pushing from their roommates and rolled onto the floor with a brilliant thud and a cackle. 

“Get him off my foot!”

“He’s your brother.”

Remus snickered and promptly attached himself to Roman’s leg like a koala, digging his teeth into his shin.

“REMUS!” 

“Yeth?” He asked around his mouthful. Roman freed the leg not being eaten and, with no preamble, delivered a solid kick to his brother’s side. 

“I’ve been shot!” Remus wailed dramatically, rolling onto his back.

“I’m going to need a rabies shot!”

“I see the light-”

“Am I bleeding? Virgil, get the first aid kit!”

“Alas, the world goes dim! What an end, what an end…”

“What if they have to amputate?”

Janus’ hand could no longer muffle his laughter, and his laughing distracted Remus enough to get a dazzling smile from where he was laying half under the coffee table. The diversion seemed to remind him of why he’d come into the living room in the first place.

His face fell into a pout and he shrieked, “LOGAN!”

The door to Logan and Patton’s room flew open and the latter poked his head out with a violent shush. 

“Logan is on the phone!” 

True to his word, Logan was pacing their room behind him, stimming anxiously while he spoke into his phone in a completely neutral voice.

Virgil sat up straighter, earning a concerned look from Roman, who gave up on nursing the bite mark on his sweatpants. However, Remus was oblivious to the sudden tenseness in the air, kicking his feet onto the coffee table.

“Who is he on the phone with?” Virgil asked, slowly getting up from the couch.

Patton shut the door after a quick glance into the room. The rest of the dorm stayed silent until he’d clicked the latch into place, as if all holding their breath. Logan’s voice became just a murmur behind the wall as Patton met Virgil’s eyes nervously.

“It’s his parents,”

“WHY-” Patton shushed Virgil wildly, hands waving up a flurry. The man continued in a hushed tone but with just as much fury, “Why is he talking to his parents?”

Roman jumped up, probably to try and ease an almost-spitting Virgil but only succeeding in stepping on Remus.

“Ow!”

“Then why are you on the floor!?”

Virgil took a step toward Patton. “He hasn’t talked to them in a year-”

“I will eat your whole leg off!”

“I’d like to see you try!”

“Oh? OH!? When you wake up tomorrow with no legs, you’ll regret that!”

“Remus, just get up!”

He froze from where he’d been pushing himself up from the floor, gingerly lowering himself back down and crossing his arms. “Well, now I’m not going to.”

“Why don’t…” Janus faltered as every eye in the room settled on him, fighting his instinct to shut his mouth. They want to hear you, they want to hear you- “Why don’t we like Logan’s parents?”

Virgil and Patton answered at the same time.

“They’re assholes.”

“They’re not great p- language!”

If Janus remembered correctly, Virgil and Logan had known each other far longer than any of the others, though it wasn’t hard to surmise from Virgil’s reactions. He’d never seen him get so worked up. 

“They’re ableist, homophobic pieces of sh-”

“But!” Patton interrupted, “We probably shouldn’t say more without Logan here.”

Virgil grumbled under his breath and dropped back onto the sofa, followed by Roman, who placed an arm around his shoulders. It did nothing to placate his anger, but he did lean marginally into his boyfriend’s side.

“We don’t like them,” Remus said in a falsely bright tone as he squirmed out from where he’d been trapped. “How long does he have to talk to Tweedledee and Tweedledick?”

“Language…”

“What do they want from him?” Virgil demanded. Was it Janus’ imagination, or were his eyes shinier than they’d been a minute before?

“I don’t…” Patton glanced at the closed door, “I’m sure Logan can tell you later. I’ll tell you as soon as he’s ready to talk, okay?”

They were given one more reminder to hush, and then Patton disappeared back into their room. The group fell into silence as soon as he was gone.

Remus broke the lull with a loud knuckle crack and a, “So, American Horror Story, anyone?” 

No one complained, which Remus took as affirmation. Virgil had turned to burrow his face into Roman’s shoulder, which smartly, no one addressed. The opening credits flashed across the scene as Remus scrambled onto the loveseat, patting the spot next to him.

“Snakey, sit.”

Janus shook his hands briefly to dispel his nerves before taking the spot next to his boyfriend, leaning into his side. Every bit of contact that he initiated excited Remus to no end. He swung his arm over Janus’ shoulders and pulled him even closer and then, to Janus’ revolt, began to run his thumb lightly over his hand. 

“Yuck, no, no no no, stop,” Janus squirmed, stilling Remus’ thumb with his other hand, and nestling even further into him. 

“Oh, right. Forgot.”

“No harm done.”

They’d barely gotten through an episode of the show when the door opened behind them. Roman wasted no time shutting the TV off, and the four of them watched with rapt attention as Patton and a slightly disheveled Logan emerged. 

“I hear there was some commotion over the content of my phone call.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” Virgil snapped. 

“Your concern is noted but unnecessary,” Logan replied curtly, “My parents called because I was not answering their messages.”

“They’ve been messaging you?!” Virgil hissed, pulling away from Roman’s hold to stand. 

“Do they ever stop?” Logan rolled his eyes and finally released his death grip on his cell phone. He slid it into his back pocket instead. “For some reason they insist I come back home this summer.”

Him and Patton did that bizarre communicate-silently thing they did often, as Logan lifted his arm and his boyfriend attached to his side immediately. Perhaps one day, him and Remus would have that level of intuitiveness that puzzled him so. The thought made his face grow hot. A glance at Remus confirmed he hadn’t noticed, though. 

“You haven’t gone back since first year. Why now?” Roman asked. His twin hummed in agreement.

Logan turned his gaze to the floor, taking a while to answer. “I don’t understand their timing. But they are threatening to withdraw financial assistance towards my schooling if I refuse.”

The room exploded into chaos. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“That’s not fair, after all they’ve done to you-”

“Would anyone notice if they went missing?”

“Remus-”

“You can’t go back there, Lo…”

“I wasn’t planning to! But now I may not have a choice, Patton.” 

“When do you have to decide?” Roman asked, earning a glare from Virgil.

“It’s not a choice, he can’t go!”

“This is my choice, not yours, Virgil! Either way, the due date is in a week. I’ll have made my decision by then.”

Janus stiffened as the air was pulled from his lungs. “Wait, what due date?”

No one seemed to notice his question, however, as the volume in the room raised another octave. His words were lost to the level of shouting, completely invisible to everyone. He tried to pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it did. 

As easy as it would have been to just fade into the background, as per usual, the unanswered question was burrowing a hole in his chest. Janus tugged on Remus’ sleeve.

“What due date?”

Finally, Remus turned sharp eyes from the conversation to him. The slightly manic glint to them softened as soon as he saw Janus’ panicked expression, and he shifted their hands so their fingers locked. 

“S’when we gotta let the school know if you’re staying on campus for summer break. Didn’t you get the email?”

“What email?!” Janus hissed just as the arguing reached its peak. Logan had pulled himself away from (a decently distraught) Patton and was gripping his own arms with white knuckles. 

“Why do you even care?! I’m fine!” He said through grit teeth.

“You’re clearly not,” Roman retorted. Virgil had pulled up his phone and was scrolling through it with purpose, clearly trying to find something. 

“I’ll figure it out! This doesn’t have to be an event for everyone!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re-”

“Will you just drop it, Roman?!” Logan yelled, voice cracking.

Janus nearly bumped into Remus with the way he flinched. The other’s arm immediately tightened around him, a grounding pressure across his shoulders. 

“I think we’re all tired,” Patton broke the tense air with a pleading tone, “Can we come back to this tomorrow? Please?”

Logan was gone without another word, followed by Patton after a round of strained good-nights. 

---------------------------------------

As clingy a couple as they were, sleeping was a different matter. One time, one time only, they’d tried to cram onto one of their puny twin beds and that had lasted a whole half hour before they decided to never try it again. Janus needed his space if he even wanted a chance at a peaceful sleep, and Remus had the lovely habit of embodying a starfish with a caffeine problem, even when unconscious. How he fit on the tiny dorm beds by himself astounded Janus, what with how he splayed. Janus had gotten two full hits to the face before he’d leaned against the wall and pushed Remus to the floor with his feet. The man hadn’t stirred. 

The next morning Remus had suggested (without thinking) that one day they’d just get a bigger bed, and Janus had turned a bright crimson at the easy way he had discussed their future together. 

Either way, for now, they stayed in their respective beds, but at that moment, Janus was missing the distinctive feeling of being Remus’ teddy bear. His mind was a whirlpool of thoughts, or perhaps a tornado. It was a flurry any which way, one that kept his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he couldn’t even see in the dark. Across the small room, he could hear Remus shifting, his breath catching every time he moved, meaning he was probably still awake as well. 

“Remus?”

“Yeah, snakey?” 

Guess he was right, then. Janus rolled towards him, even though he couldn’t make out anything in the pitch black. 

“I can’t sleep.”

There was a chuckle from across the room. “Have you even tried?” It was a valid question; it hadn’t been more than five minutes since they’d turned off the lights.

“I mean, I won’t be able to sleep.” Janus sighed. He gnawed at his fingernails as louder shuffling came from Remus’ bed.

“Why not?”

There were a few things, if he was honest. 

“Does Virgil get mad like that a lot?” Not what he’d meant to lead with, but oh well. 

“Oh,” Remus replied lightly, “He wasn’t mad. He probably sounded real pissed though. He was just worried about Logan. They grew up together and all that shit, so Virgil got like a front row seat of all the shit they did to him. Taping his hands to tables so he didn’t flap ‘em, all that.”

Janus was speechless. 

“Is that all that’s buggin’ ya?”

“Not really.” 

“Spill the tea.”

In a familiar moment of self consciousness, Janus curled his knees into his chest. He wants to hear you, he wants to hear you. The blankets pooled around his waist as he sat up, hoping the position would somehow grant him more courage.

“I started thinking about… what Logan said, and now I don’t know if I want to go home or stay on campus over summer. I didn’t know that was even an option. But it would be so much easier to not have to pack up again, and I’m just getting used to it here, but what if my parents are mad, like Logan’s?”

The fairy lights that encircled their room flickered to life, revealing Remus had stretched to reach the switch from his bed. 

“I didn’t get the email and now I don’t even know if it’s possible for me to stay on campus, what if I missed a due date? It’s my fault, I should have checked every folder and now I don’t know what to do, I…” Janus’ sentence bled into a hum from the back of his throat. The swirling flotsam of thoughts thickened, a swarm of bees being swallowed by their own honey; worries still existing, but now infinitely harder to reach and express. 

“I don’t know what to do- I… I don’t, I can’t think, my brain’s too busy-” He wrapped his fists in his blanket to keep from gripping his hair. All of the sudden, he was a coiled spring and there was nothing he could do to loosen the pressure. He needed a release, he needed to move and to be held still, his chest full of helium but his arms filled with a colony of ants under his skin, every molecule separating and floating away. Janus shoved his fists into the blankets, pushing and pushing and begging for the awful pressure to disappear. 

“Hey hey hey, take a breath, snakey. I’m right here.”

The bed dipped under Remus’ weight and his first reaction was to reach out but no, no the ants were still there, in his hands, and he bent them backwards at the wrist to kill the itch. Curl curl curl, and his fists were jammed against his jaw, pressure push stop stop-

“I’m trying, I am, I just-” He cut himself off with a sob that was more of a cough, drawing in a wheezing breath. Remus must be freaking out, he could tell, and god he wanted to stop but the cycle continued, cough and breathe in and try to squish the fucking ants.

“Do you want me to get Logan? Or Patton?”

No, no, no. Janus shook his head vigorously and pushed his fists under his legs, leaning forward to force his whole weight on the limbs. Yeah, yeah that felt better, more weight, he needed more-

“Pressure,” Janus gasped, interrupting whatever Remus had been saying but finding he couldn’t care less. He removed one hand from the safety he’d found and hit the heel of it to his chest. “I need- I need pressure, weight, I can’t-” Cough. Hum.

“Weighted blanket? Is that it?” The worry in Remus’ voice was so clear it was almost embarrassing, but Janus would never admit how much he adored it; it was a level of softness no one else was privy to. 

“No-” The weighted blanket would have been his go to before, when he was alone, but it was never enough. 

Deep pressure therapy, he remembered Logan calling it. A way to regulate the nervous system when it was going nuts, something about resetting the ‘fight or flight’ reflex. He couldn’t remember the details. But he could remember Logan’s explaining different forms of it.  

“Hug?” Janus pleaded, rocking forward onto his hands once more.

“I- What…- Are you sure?”

Janus let out a broken sound. He nodded quickly, freeing a hand to circle it over his chest, palm flat, over and over. Please. Logically, he knew there was no time pressure, but there was an undeniable feeling of ‘hurry, hurry, hurry’ rushing through him. Fight or flight, maybe.

Remus opened his arms and Janus was scrambling across the gap immediately, curling sideways on his lap. The only thing he could compare it to was dumping sand on a fire as Remus’ arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer to his chest and pressing his nose into Janus’ hair. Remus swayed them back and forth like he was reading Janus’ damn mind, and he finally took a deep breath. All the stress trickled from his tense muscles bit by bit, and the younger could have cried from relief. 

Janus was quickly finding it hard to keep his eyes open as Remus kept rocking them, listening to his heartbeat and following his breathing in the rare quiet of their dorm that had come to feel like home. 

“Feeling better?” Remus whispered.

Janus tensed immediately. “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

And he didn’t.

Taglist:

@max-is-tired​

@joylessnightsky​

@marshymoop​

#lywrites #sanderssides #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssidesfanfiction #dukeceit #prinxiety #logicality #autistic janus #autistic logan #sanders sides college au #anonymous

[shini--chan]

OKAY IMAGINE THIS - by some mirracle, s/o get teleported back in time to the pirate era and suddenly just drops from the sky as Antonio and Arthur are battling! Everything comes to a halt because a friggin woman fell from literally nowhere - Arthur is quicker and he captures s/o first, DEMANDING to know where she is from, how did she get here. Poor s/o tries to tell him the truth but it just isn't working. How stupid do you think Arthur is, huh?! He's not buying what you're selling love! (1/?)

Oh blazes, my dear. You’re trying to seduce me into writing a novel for you, correct. Well, not today (sadly) so I’ll be going ahead with my usual mixture of headcanons and snippets. Also, to everybody out there: Requests are still being accepted – I just can’t bring myself to close my ask box.

Also, I wanted to write Arthur’s and Antonio’s lines in an older English, but then I remembered what it was like having to read books from the 19th century for school and decided not to inflict the torture upon you.

Yandere Love Triangle: England vs Spain (Historical Pirate AU!)

As mentioned in the ask, you would be minding your own business, more or less, when you would suddenly be granted two of the wishes many harbour in their hearts: to time travel and have an adventure. Unfortunately for you, that wouldn’t happen with a forewarning and you wouldn’t have any chance to blend in. I wouldn’t say the battle would completely stop – with all the smoke and gunpowder and bangs going on only those close by would have a chance noticing.

Antonio was having a wonderful day. Yes, extremely wonderful. Life on the ship had been very good as of late, supplies running high and spirits even higher. They were reaching their climax now, with Spain showing England the business ends of sword and cutlas and cannon. It was a fitting sort of revenge being able to rob the lilly-livered bastard after he had stolen so much Spanish silver and gold.

The runt in question was baring his teeth and snarling like a cornered dog while their blades were interlocked, when Antonio heard a loud crash from behind England. It was probably just part of the ruckus of a sea battle, yet something – his fantastic intuition most likely – advised him to take a look. Of course, making the other combatant to move just how he wanted proved to be tricky, because Arthur had always been an uncooperative like blight and liked to fight dirty.

Yet he wasn’t a famed duellist for nothing. The sight that caught his attention when he got the opportunity to see it nearly caused him to lose an arm due to inattention. Men of both sides had briefly abandoned the battle to crowd around a failing figure that was desperately trying to free itself from a tangle of nets and torn sails. The onlookers whispered amongst themselves. The chorus of voices only grew louder when a very confused woman.

He found himself remarking: “It seems like you’ve finally started to develop a good taste in bed mates. Say, when did that happen, fishy. I always thought that you’d have luck to get a starved old tramp to warm your bed.”

“Shut up, Anthony!”, came the immediate reply, proving that the island nation wasn’t aware about what he was playing at. “Let’s not get on about you. Or should I tell your precious monarch about what you do in the stables when all the servants are gone?”

Pathetic little weasel. Enraged, Antonio brought the hilt of his sword down on that pale, cruel face and busted a pair of thin lips. “You should guard yourself from spreading lies, English pigdog. Or else the Almighty himself will smite you.”

Naturally, being the cunning demon he was, England used the opening Spain had provided him to barrel into him and send him flying overboard and into the sea.

That action would be quick to turn the tides, especially with so many men coming to aid their captain and help him out of water. This would result in Arthur then discovering you on his ship, probably when his first mate would rush to him and explain that a very strange women in a strange get-up had just suddenly appeared on the ship.

England would go and investigate and discover you surrounded by his crew, each of them having different responses to your presence and hence causing quite a commotion. He too would find you utterly alien – in your attire, in your mannerisms, even in your speech. But Arthur would be ever the pragmatic and reason that there would have to be another explanation to your appearance, one that doesn’t include miracles. But because he wouldn’t have either the time or the head space to deal with you at the moment, he’d have to thrown in the brig with strict orders to leave you alone. That would also be a way for him to torture you and force you to wallow in your worries and terrors.

The brackish water of the brig had long since made your feet wet, cotton soaks completely soaked through and chilling you. The stench it all emitted, and Arthur’s relentless questioning only further enhanced your discomfort.

He was prowling in front of your cage-like cell, like a tiger in the zoo. Only that he didn’t want to break out, rather that he was being continuously tempted to drag you out of your cell and onto the deck to be flogged for your insolence.

“At every turn you say to me that you’re from the future and that you don’t know how you came here”, he rehearsed the main points of your conversation with him. There had been a snarl on his face the whole time throughout the interrogation, his anger only making his voice curl tightly around the vowels and roll the r’s harder until you had to strain to understand him.

Mutely you nodded – you yourself had come to the conclusion that he understood you better when you kept your words simply, underlay them with gestures and expressions and spoke slowly.

In return, England shook his head and spat: “I do not believe you. Going backwards in time is impossible, it only goes forward.”

In any other situation you would have been inclined to agree with him. But you were living proof that there were glaring exceptions to that rule. Having unexpectedly landed in a long-gone era, you had first found yourself desperately grappling with your new reality. You had pinched yourself and read the letters on crates and barrel and closed your eyes and read them again to see if anything had changed – everything to assure yourself that you were dreaming.

You weren’t, nor had you taken any psychedelics, so this was painfully, gruesomely real. A fact that Arthur wasn’t excepting even with evidence right past the tip of his nose.

“Then how do you explain the ripped sails then? How do you explain my strange clothes?”, you questioned him. Then, after a brief pause, you asked: “How do you explain that I know who and what you are?”

You knowing that he was a personification of a budding Empire was a sore spot for him and made him even more suspicious of you. Something that was now backfiring on you.

He waved your words off with evident irritation and countered: “There are more reasonable explanation for all of that. That you’re a spy from a foreign country for example.”

Arthur would never cease with side-eying you and constantly be on the look-out for more logical explanations for your otherness. He would find them as well. Yet there would always be a little voice in the forefront of his mind nagging him that you are telling the truth and that he was wasting the opportunity of the millennia by blowing your words in the wind.

Those doubts would be the main reason he would keep you alive, along with his quest to extract the “truth” from you. However, there would be times when he would be tempted to fetch those thumbscrews from his quarters to see if you’d crack under pressure. Yet he would still restrain himself.

That wouldn’t mean your stay on his ship would be pleasant. You’d constantly be wet and cold, with rats crawling around the brig and your meals being a near inedible gruel that would be set aside for you.

Therefore, it would be an absolute relief when Spain would swoop in to rescue you. It would be an even greater wonder when he would actually listen to you and take into consideration what you would say.

“Tell me if I’ve got this right: In the future, you don’t send letters anymore that take months to reach another country. Instead, you send messages from small machines which the other person can read only after a few seconds, no matter how far away they are”, Antonio summed up what you had just cautiously explained to him.

You had been so shy when he had taken you aboard his vessel, so afraid he would just maltreat you like Arthur had. It had taken its time for him to convey that he was different from that godless brute, that he was civilized and patient. He wouldn’t disregard miracles and let them slip through his fingers. It had taken its own sweet time to coax you into telling the truth, but now you were sitting across him in his quarters, nodding enthusiastically.

“More or less, yes. There is a lot more to that, but that is the start of it”, you affirmed his words. You were relieved that you finally had somebody to talk to in this time were you previously had nobody. The food being served helped you weigh yourself into safety – fresh fruit and other perishable treats, an absolute luxury onboard a ship with a sizable crew. Indeed, you were becoming so comfortable with your host, your lifeline at this point, that you were betraying things about your future that you otherwise wouldn’t have.

And wasn’t yet about detail concretely concerning him, but you would both get there eventually. Spain was sure of that.

Meanwhile you didn’t notice the hungry gleam in his eyes when he purred: “Fascinating, my dear. What else can these things do?”

Being a Catholic, Antonio would be far more inclined to believe you on the time-traveling thing. He would also add two and two together on your strange clothes and their material, not to mention your different attitudes and behaviours and realise that you would be telling the truth. He would treat you kindly as a way of getting you to talk to him, eventually becoming the only person you could trust.

He would guard you jealously and ensure that you would only speak to him – having knowledge of the future would be a right he would reserve for himself alone. It would also cause him to become obsessed with you, keeping you in his quarters or leading you onto the deck at night for short walk. Of course, he would paint the whole isolating thing as he keeping you safe, saying that Arthur was after you.

The argument with Arthur would have far more validity then Antonio would even imagine. The wisdom that you don’t know what you really have until you lose it would be especially true in his case. It would finally dawn upon him that you were telling the truth the whole time and that would lead Arthur to beat himself up over it. A pursuit to recapture you would ensue.

Not to mention that it would make his blood boil to think that Spain would be courting you, persuading you to tell him everything he could ever want to know about the future. Besides  being a threat to his future existence and ongoing success, England would like to have all that knowledge himself and for himself only. Knowledge is power, after all.

Arthur would also miss you for your wit and endurance, fantasizing and dreaming of you to the point of obsession and never quitting his chase for you.

#yandere spain #yandere england #yandere hetalia x reader #yandere hetalia #x reader