#i have no space in my brain to add to the collection | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mariasont · 10 days

Text

Office Sleepover - A.H

a/n: this is honestly kind of shit but whatever

might make this a mini series?

part two here!

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: reader kind of flashes hotch, really inconsistent with how the gov works i'm sure, there's also definitely not an oven in the break room but in my world there is <3

wc: 3.8k

Hotch's voice reached you, but the words tangled into an indecipherable code as they hit the air. You nodded, a reflex, but it was as if your brain had short-circuited. You could make out fragments--a hit on you, stay at office, 24/7 protection, you can take the back office. But no matter how many times he said it, it seemed to ricochet through your head, making less sense each time. You were on a hit list? A hit list?

It all felt very made up, like a script ripped straight out of a tv show. Risk was a part of the BAU job description, but a hit list? For a fleeting moment, a chuckle hovered at the brink of your lips, but it was swiftly swallowed by a wave of dread that rose in its place. You blinked a couple times, probably too many in a vain attempt to clear the fog and bring Hotch's face into focus.

"But what about all my stuff? And you want me to camp out here in the office? For how long, Hotch? I mean, I'm all for overtime, but this is... this is a lot, and I--," you babble, your speech racing ahead of your thoughts. "And my baking? That's my biggest stress reliever. Not to mention my DIY projects--I can't just abandon my half-finished throw pillowcases. Plus, how many pairs of shoes is too many for an office closet?"

Your pout formed a delicate bow, and though he said nothing, his eyes softened. Hotch could feel the frown marring his features. He might never say it, but seeing you like this struck a chord, making it a little hard to breathe.

Circling the desk, he planted himself in front of you, his hand settling on your shoulder. "Hey, take a deep breath," he urges softly. "Let's take it one step at a time. List out what you need, someone will bring it here. Your baking supplies, DIY projects, even your shoes."

True to Hotch's word, as usual, you found every piece of your life carefully compartmentalized into cardboard boxes, lined up carefully in the office that now doubled as your temporary room. There was an odd sense of dislocation in finishing your workday and needing only to count about thirty steps before arriving at your room.

You swung the door closed, the sound sealing the room as a deep sigh wrapped around you and you started sifting through the boxes. The pullout couch serving as your bed was less than appealing, its worn fabric making you grimace internally. Nevertheless, you diverted your attention, busying yourself with the organizing of your extensive collection of things. Spencer would definitely shake his head at the sight of the vast amount of clothes you had brought.

The irony wasn't lost on you; surrounded by the office's ceaseless motion, yet you felt more alone than in the stillness of your own apartment. God, this was pathetic, and you needed a drink, but you had a nagging suspicion the office handbook would have a thing or two to say about that. You spent a solid two hours attempting to infuse the sterile space with a touch of home, it wasn't perfect (at all), but it would have to do.

Rossi knocks on the doorframe, poking his head in with a grin. "I didn't realize we were redecorating the bureau in shades of bubblegum," he teases. "How you doing, kid?"

"Actually, it's blush," you correct with a mock-serious tone, meeting his smile with one of your own. "I'm fine," you insist, but Rossi's knowing look prompts a quick add-on. "I am, really, I mean I've always said I wanted my own office."

"An office with a view of the bullpen, no less. You're living the dream," he says, his eyes scanning the room. "Need any help with anything? Or anything else from your place? Maybe your favorite mug to make feel more like home?"

"Don't worry, I'm already one step ahead of you," you assure him, revealing a drawer brimming with mugs.

Rossi lets out a low appreciative whistle. "Why am I not surprised?" he chuckles with a broad grin. "Well, I'm heading out for the night. Remember, I'm just a call away if you need anything. And Hotch is still here, buried in paperwork as usual."

He left, and you were alone--a cue to try and cling to some normalcy of your routine; you drew the blinds and slipped into the comfort of your pajamas. You hauled yourself off to the office bathroom, reluctantly at that, and proceeded to attend to your skincare, brush your hair, and polish your smile with a thorough teeth brushing.

Eyeing the hallway warily, you made a silent exit from the bathroom, the carpet softening your footfalls. But in your rush to avoid prying eyes, you crashed into a solid wall of a figure, the force sending you tumbling backward. You hit the floor with a muted thud, your ass hitting the ground, legs splayed inelegantly in front of you. Your eyes rose to meet the firm, penetrating look of Hotch. Of fucking course.

There was a pause as Hotch's eyes drank in the sight of your flushed complexion and the wide, doe-like eyes that seemed to capture the light just so. He felt like his heart could stop then and there. And he knew it was wrong, but he certainly liked the sight of you sprawled below him. He blinked, breaking the trance, and offered a concerned, "Are you okay?" His hands were outstretched, ready to pull you back to your feet.

Your cheeks turned a deeper shade as you held onto Hotch's hand, the feeling unexpectedly comforting, rough in yours but nice. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm all good, sorry about that," you managed to say, the words squeaking out a tad too eagerly.

You stood up, and his closeness was all-consuming. You were suddenly intensely aware of every breath, every throb of your heart, and your mind went blank; the usual stream of thoughts replaced by a buzzing silence.

His eyes held yours for a fraction longer than necessary before he stepped back, creating a respectful distance. The hallway's warmth seemed to dissipate with the space, leaving you with an unexpected stab of disappointment.

"Rossi said you'd be here. Anything I can do to help?"

You rationalized the offer as a gesture of your goodwill, but a small part, well a big part, of you knew just wanted to be close to him, to be alone with him maybe--in the office, after hours, in his office. This was weird, I mean, you'd always admired your Unit Chief, but this was different. You chalked it up to the day's unfortunate series of events--you were tired, and lonely, and you needed desperately to snap out of it before you made a fool out of yourself.

"No, you need to rest. It's been a long day, and you've been through enough." He paused, his gaze assessing you. "How are you holding up?"

"At this rate, I'll need a sign that says 'I'm fine,' to stop the check-ins." Although you silently doubted that would deter him. You gesture to the surroundings. "And this? It's like a sleepover at work. Just hoping this so-called hit man doesn't show up."

Hotch internally recoiled at your words, leaving him with the sensation of a cold grasp tightening around his heart. He cleared his throat, the joke falling flat in the gravity of his concern. "I'll be here for a while longer. If you need anything, don't hesitate to come find me," he managed a nod before retreating to his office.

A while longer? You knew Hotch was a workaholic, but it now occurred to you that he must never sleep. Quickly, you gathered your scattered belongings, and made your way to your office.

The pull-out couch seemed even less inviting than you remembered, if that was possible. You perched on the edge, the metallic frame cold through the thin mattress. As you lay down, the couch seemed to swallow you in its awkward angles. Perfect. Tossing and turning, you struggled to find a comfortable spot. Eventually, exhaustion won over discomfort, the rhythm of your own breathing lulling you into a fitful sleep.

Your eyes flickered open at some point during the night and the blinds drifted apart, as if by an unseen hand, and through the gap, your eyes fell on a hooded figure, the face not visible in the dim light. Your muscles locked in terror, an icy fear clawing its way up your spine as you tried to move--to reach for your gun, to call out for Hotch, to do anything. But as if imprisoned by an invisible force, you could only watch, confined to the bed, as the figure crept towards the door.

A scream tore from your throat, a raw and piercing sound that ricocheted off the walls and echoed through your eyes. This was it, you thought.

Then, in an instant, you were awake and disoriented, your breaths coming in short bursts, and your body covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Your fingers clenched the sheets, the fabric twisting in your grasp as you fought to decipher what was reality. Your eyes snapped to the blinds, half-expecting to see the figure from your dream materialize, but the emptiness beyond them slowly calmed your racing heart.

With a throat dry as parchment and your pulse still echoing in your ears, you drifted from your room towards the break room. As you ambled past Hotch's office, you paused. The door, slightly ajar, felt like an invitation. Despite knowing better, a foggy curiosity nudged your feet forward. With a shaky breath, you eased the door open wider and slipped inside.

His office felt different at night--it was quieter, more personal, and you felt like an intruder on Hotch's private world. You took a moment, absorbing the sight of his meticulously organized desk, the case files that were always present.

It was tempting to try to piece together the man from his workspace, but you held back. As you turned to leave, a familiar scent stopped you--the subtle hint of his cologne hanging in the air. It wrapped around you, easing the tension that had sunk into your limbs. Almost without thinking, you found yourself sinking into the couch.

The room, infused with his distinct scent, seemed to have your blinking growing heavier, more intentional. You nestled deeper into the cushions; the fabric familiar beneath your fingers, lulling you into a sense of security. Just five minutes, you thought.

Hotch's steps were slow, his eyelids having a hard time staying open as he made his way through the bullpen. He carried his briefcase, the leather handle worn and conformed to his hand. He contemplated a detour to your office, a silent check-in to ease his mind, but he dismissed the idea--you were probably still asleep, and he'd definitely look like a creep. Reaching his own office, he noticed the door ajar, a sliver of morning light spilling through the gap.

He stepped into the room, and time seemed to stand still as his gaze landed on the couch. There you were, fast asleep on his couch. Your hand lay gently under your cheek, a makeshift pillow softening the hard angles beneath, while your nose gave the faintest twitches. Your lips were parted as if mid-whisper and strands of your hair were splayed in a disarrayed crown around your head. He knew that in no way could that have been comfortable. It hurt his back just looking at you, but still you looked so peaceful.

He moved with quiet steps, heat creeping up his neck as he placed his things on the desk. Turning back to you, he couldn't help but notice the gentle dishevelment of your pajamas, buttons undone in innocent disarray, the fabric parting to reveal the gentle slope of your breasts. He felt an odd mix of emotions--a gentle chiding for finding you in such state, and the guilt of finding the sight so undeniably sweet.

A quiet cough escaped him, more out of habit than necessity, as he approached a cabinet where blankets were neatly stacked--a nod to many nights spent just as you were. He draped one over you, his movements slow and unhurried, shielding you from potential curious eyes before finding his normal place behind the wooden desk.

He tried to focus--really, he did. I mean, he had a towering pile of paperwork and responsibilities that demanded his attention. But despite his best efforts, his gaze involuntarily drifted to you time and time again. It was as if he needed visual confirmation of your steady breathing to assure himself that you were okay. He thought about you here all night, alone, and he found his knuckles whiten against the grip of his pen. He knew you had security on you at all times, but somehow, he found no comfort in that.

Hotch's eyes flicked to the clock--7:30 am. You still had at least another half an hour before you technically needed to start work, although truth be told he would let you sleep as long as your body allowed. There was no way in hell he was going to disturb you when you looked so content.

As Hotch worked, the morning light grew stronger, casting a warm glow over his desk. It was nearly 9 am when the sound of shifting fabric eventually roused you. You were waking up, blinking away the remnants of sleep, confusion etched on your face. As your eyes caught sight of the clock and Hotch, mortification set it.

"Oh my gosh, Hotch. I am so sorry," you blurted out, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. "You could've woken me up--I... I should've set an alarm. And I shouldn't even be here, but I can explain, sort of..."

In a flurry of motion, you leapt from the couch, only to feel a sudden tug at your chest as a button from your top snagged on a stray thread. The fabric pulled open, revealing way more than what was appropriate for your boss to see. Your face turned a shade redder as you scrambled to cover up. Hotch, momentarily sidetracked by the sight of the cleavage of your tits once again, quickly refocused and interrupted your flustered explanations.

"It's fine," he assured. "Given everything that's happened, you needed the rest." He nodded towards the couch. "You're always welcome to sleep here if you need to--though I can't promise it'll be any more comfortable next time."

"Oh no, it was super comfortable, really," you insist, despite the awkwardness clinging to your words. Hotch gives you a look that says he's not entirely convinced. "Okay, well, I'm going to uh... go," you mumble, stopping short at the door with a sudden concern.

Hotch understands immediately and offers, "They're all in the briefing room--won't be out for a while."

With a relieved nod, and minimal eye contact, you dash out, hoping to reach your office unnoticed. But because the world just hated you these past days, just as you're rushing by, Morgan's hands come to your shoulders to stop you.

"Easy there, mama," he teases, a smile on his face. But as he gets a good look at your attire, his grin grows wider. "What in the world...?" he starts, laughter in his voice. He glances from you to Hotch's office door, then back again. "Hold up, hold up--you didn't... with Hotch? Are you?"

"What? No, Morgan, absolutely not! Why would you even--oh my god," you gasp, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. God, I mean, the day hasn't even started, and you needed it to end. Realizing your voice has risen in your flustered state, you quickly lower it to a harsh whisper, your eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard. "Why would you even suggest that?"

"Um, maybe because you're making a grand exit from the boss man's office in your PJs? Just a wild guess."

"No, Morgan, it's not what you think," you insist, but your attention snaps to the sound of the team's voices nearing the door. "I don't have time for this," you mutter, darting back to your office.

In a whirlwind, you shed the pajamas, slip into your work attire, and hastily run a brush through your hair. Good enough.

You threw yourself into work, the stack of papers becoming a welcome distraction, a rare sense of relief rather than the familiar dread. It was a considerable effort to divert your mind from the distractions--Hotch, the hit man, and Morgan's incessant teasing. Not that anyone would believe that you and Hotch were together; he was the very definition of sophisticated, handsome, and successful, and you were just, well, you.

Not that there was anything wrong with you. You liked yourself just fine; you laughed too loudly at jokes, talked to your houseplants as if they were your old friends, and you had an odd fascination with weather patterns. These things made you wholly you. You just knew you couldn't be more different from Hotch.

With a bit of luck and purposeful avoiding, your day passed smoothly, sparing you any unnecessary run-ins with Hotch. Everyone had gone home for the day which is why you stood in the break room attempting some baking recipe from Pinterest.

The slippers on your feet padded against the carpet as you hummed around the room. With swift motions, you ushered the coffee cake batter into the oven, then turned to tackle the mess you had created on the countertops. Cleaning as you go wasn't your usual style, but office break room didn't seem like the place for your usual creative sprawl.

Your phone had buzzed incessantly with Penelope's calls--her offers the keep you company is why you loved her, but you weren't going to subject her to that, no matter how many times she said she didn't mind.

Hotch's office was quiet, save for the soft scratching of his pen against paper as he finally closed his files. He moved into bullpen and as he passed the breakroom, the soft hum of the light and faint sound of movement drew him in. There you were, engrossed in tidying up, with your hair casually gathered above your shoulders and wearing your sweats, Hotch found him instinctively pausing to watch.

He knew he shouldn't bother you, knew he was likely the last person you'd want to see, yet he found himself rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on you, the warmth in his chest intensifying with each fleeting second.

The moment you turned and saw a figure, a sharp gasp cut through the silence, and the icing in your grasp became a sweet projectile that flew across the room. Relief washed over you as you realized who it was.

"Jeez, Hotch, give me a heart attack why don't you," you said, half-laughing as your heart rate settled. "Especially when there's a hitman who might beat you to the punch."

Hotch parted his lips to speak, but you were quicker, a stream of thoughts tumbling out before you could stop them. "I thought everyone was gone. You weren't at your desk earlier--oh wait, you had that meeting with the DOJ, right? Did they have anything about the people who marked me?"

In your haste, you closed the gap between you, and only then did you spot the icing on his cheek. "Oh, sorry about that, Hotch," you said with an apologetic grin, reaching out as if to wipe it away.

As your palm made contact with his skin, a shared realization of the intimacy of the gesture washed over you. Time seemed to slow as your thumb traced a lingering path through the icing, your whisper barely audible, "There."

The word seemed to hang in the air as you froze, the proximity suddenly overwhelming, your breath caught in your throat. Hotch's backward step was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. You cleared your throat awkwardly, cheeks warming with a flush. "Um, did you need something?"

Hotch shook his head slightly, "No, just wanted to check on you before I head out."

You gave a thumbs up, mustering a smile. "Well, consider me checked."

Hotch nodded, his expression unreadable. "Goodnight," he said, to which you echoed in response as you watched him leave.

Alone now, you slumped against the counter, your hand pressed to your face. Consider me checked? God, someone needed to tape your mouth shut.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #hotch #hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #ssa hotchner #agent hotchner #cm #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #Spotify

523 notes · View notes

l4long-winded · 3 months

Text

o.s. fresh, unwilting daisies

summary: carmen gets possessive after your ex boyfriend stops by and leaves you a bouquet of daisies (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: wrote this yesterday and edited it today. i have received a few requests in my inbox if anyone is interested in leaving me some more, i'll get to those as soon as i can. let's relish in the collective carmy brain rot together <3 please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: cursing, cynicism, reader has an ex boyfriend, inner monologue, carmen's pov, filth, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, possessive!carmen, jealous!carmen, praise, multiple orgasms, use of "sweet girl," reader doesn't like daisies (they're pretty, let's pretend, sorry to all the daisy lovers), past relationship, donna mention, office setting, p in v sex, dom!carmen (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 1,750

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid motherfucker. Who does he think he is? Waltzing into Carmen’s restaurant, the cuffs of his dirt infested denim jeans dragging over Carmen’s pristine floor, said denim jeans hanging low on his hips like an asshole who can’t even present himself to you as an individual who actually gives a fuck. Grant didn’t hold the common courtesy to put on a belt, and Carmen doesn’t believe the man owns one, but if he’s going to saunter in and try and request time with you, Carmen’s girlfriend, then he should at least be decent and dress like he’s attempting to win you back and not as if he just got home after a hard day’s work of laying down brick. Grant doesn’t have a job so that explanation for his asshole outfit and his asshole beanie and his asshole demeanor is not worth excusing him, especially not as he smugly leaned over Carmen’s counter and let his jacket covered elbows smear his Grant-ness all over the surface. Carmen had no choice but to wipe it down with high-grade sanitizer, scrubbing away as if he could scrub away Grant completely out of your and Carmen’s life, since they’re entangled with one another now whether Grant likes it or not.

Carmen shifts his tongue within you utilizing a bit more pressure, undulating the pink muscle in and out until he forms the shape of a well to scoop your slick and curl it into his fervent, perpetual mouth. He gulps you down into the back of his throat, exhaling against your folds at the satisfying, addicting drink equivalent to a desert traveler’s first and desperate swallow of refreshing water. Carmen breathes your scent since it permeates throughout his office space and your wetness coats his cheeks and the tip of his nose, inhaling and exhaling air that causes your thighs to twitch in his hands at the sensation. He ought to be kinder to you, you’re sensitive from the two orgasms he’s endlessly worked out of your cunt, and it’s not your fault Grant continues to be an annoying fixture in your atmosphere having denied his pleas time and time again, but every time Carmen locks eyes with Grant’s lazy, complacent gaze, Carmen feels a surge of jealousy within him compelling him to mark his territory and reinforce the notion of you being his and his alone. Sure, you dated Grant first, but in Carmen’s eyes, you belong to him like you’ve never belonged to anyone.

“Mine,” he utters, slipping his tongue out to lick his puffy, swollen lips clean, exposing his line of thinking as he presses a kiss to your clit, growling and slightly smirking to find the little button still pulsing for him with need. His fingernails dig into the meat of your thighs as you attempt to clamp them around his head, and normally he would let you, but he holds them spread and open for him so he can continue to lap you into the whining mess you’re becoming atop his desk. The downside is how each of those adoring and pleasant sounds are muffled due to your palm actively pressing down against your lips, “good girl” muttered because that’s what he told you to do for him when you started and you’ve done an excellent job of quieting yourself while he practically drowns himself in your cunt. He doesn’t miss the whimper you reward him with at the praise, his right hand generously kneading the flesh of your thigh as a sign that he’s almost done, to just hang on a touch longer and allow him his fill.

“One more,” he promises, “just one more for me, sweet girl, one more,” Carmen litters your pussy and inner thighs with kiss after kiss, stamps of pure affection to calm you down and ready you for his next onslaught. He peers up at you, noticing how your body is trembling just as much as your thighs are, half your ass hanging off the edge of his desk, your upper shoulders slumping partially into the wall behind. Poor thing. Close to sobbing, your eyes glassy from the tears of pleasure that never fall from them, your shirt riding up your stomach since he only bothered to take your pants off in his rush to have you when you came in to check up on him. You deserve his fingers, and he plays around with the idea of sliding them inside you, drumming them against your skin as he thinks about stuffing you with them as his mouth closes over your clit. He’s done it in the past, he knows it would drive you to that climax he currently craves in an instant, but from scanning your disheveled features and writhing frame, his crystal blues eventually attach to the vase of daisies at the side of the two of you, taunting him as they have this entire time.

The notecard sticking out flashes Grant’s name. You don’t even like daisies, you’ve told Carmen, but Grant used to get them for you when he fucked up numerous times throughout your relationship. No matter how much you hated to accept them and therefore reinforced the habit, you would always vase them and frown as they started to immediately die the next morning. That’s who Grant is. He didn’t bother to at least buy you fresh and lively daisies, but the ones right on the verge of dying. Today, months and months into your and Carmen’s relationship, Grant stopped by with vased daisies under the intent of getting you back and they’re actually fucking beautiful, Carmen admits, but they’re pissing him the fuck off. Every glance to them sitting there has brought about this carnal desire to part your legs further for him. The flowers are taunting him, milky and lemony, an assorted arrangement plopped into a blaring, golden vase that Carmen’s mother would definitely keep if she had been gifted it herself, muttering something about hidden treasures, son while storing it away in her cabinet’s hoarding of dishes and “fine china” she gathered from the thrift store. They’re nice. Too nice. Carmen should get you some flowers, he decides to himself, flowers that you would actually like without some underlying motive, simply because he cares about you and because he wants to see your smile light up when he personally hand delivers them.

Fucking Grant. His fucking daisies are taking up too much fucking space on Carmen’s desk and he hates it, he hates that he had to move them from the front of the restaurant into his office so they wouldn’t obstruct the customers, he hates the contents of the notecard begging you to be Grant’s again as if you were ever his in the first place.

“Mine,” Carmen grunts again, lapping up your slit with the full flat of his tongue, dragging it to relish in your taste, in the moan you choke out against your hand, his nose catching between your folds. He glances up at the flowers, the line “want you to be mine again” ringing in his ears from when you read the note aloud to him. Well, fuck you, Grant, he thinks, it’s his tongue and mouth on your cunt and it’s his cock that’s going to be plunging in and out of you tonight on his couch, in his bed, in the shower as you brace yourself with your hands planted on his tile walls.

Fucking cry over it, motherfucker. Fuck your flowers. I’m the one fucking her.

And something… miraculous(?) happens. A single petal falls from the flowers as Carmen licks at you. He watches it swish and sway through the air, descending down until it lands right next to his hand, right on top of your thigh, his thigh.

He pushes his head in further, yanking you by your (his) thighs to meet his mouth as he simultaneously swipes away the petal like it burned you. You squeak out in surprise, your opposite hand flying down to grip the curls in his hair as you sputter above him. Carmen seals his mouth over your clit, done with the teasing, done with his thoughts, and all he wants is to send you over that blissful edge he’s pushed you towards already, stroking you with rolls of his tongue and strong suckles of his suctioned lips. You don’t even last a minute, swaddled pleas of something resembling his name being cried out into your hand, your head bumping into the wall behind as you cream around nothing. He glances down, petting your cunt with merciful, languid brushes of his tongue, in awe of the mess you’re soaking out onto his desk. He drops his jaw lower to catch all of it, close to licking your essence right off the surface if it weren’t for how you’re currently teetering on it. Carmen stands up, unbuckling his belt hurriedly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, your cunt’s release once on his lips and chin now transferred to the digits and knife tattooed over it.

“Wha-… Carmy?” You ask as you sit up, only for him to pull you by your hips back into position for him. You look so dazed, fucked out beyond belief, and as he manhandles you to spreading your thighs all over again, his elbow knocks the vase of daisies with enough force to send them crashing down to the floor. The glass breaks into scattered shards, causing you to jump, but Carmen doesn’t seem to have noticed. He’s just lining himself up and pushing straight through your walls, well lubricated with his spit and your cum, having been loved on long enough for your shared coworkers to begin questioning your and his whereabouts. You actually yelp this time, grasping at his broad shoulders as you adjust and clench around him. He latches his lips to yours to mute your noises, thrusting away, pounding the cunt belonging to him and no one else, growling as he bites at your bottom lip.

As he steps his feet apart from one another to open your knees up for extra access, glass crunches under his shoe, water splashing under the sole of the other, and a few daisies are crushed as he fucks you with a quickening pace. He’s not worried about it. He’ll get you some tulips or maybe some sunflowers, something pretty for you to look at as he has you bent over the kitchen table tomorrow morning.

#l4l.writes #carmen berzatto #fresh unwilting daisies #the bear series #carmen berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto imagine #the bear hulu #carmy the bear

476 notes · View notes

finniestoncrane · 2 months

Note

Gotta be honest with you, I need to hear every single Digger headcanon you have because they 2 you've shared are just so good.

General Headcanons

KTJL!Boomer Headcanons yippee!!! woohoo!!! someone wants to listen to my bullshit!! i am so happy to write down more of my headcanons by the way, but for anyone wanting any make sure to let me know what you want the 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: mentions of nsfw things, it's fuckin boomer so of course, there's a whole load of nsfw headcanons and i mention piss because duh

General Headcanons

this is a sort of universal belief i suppose but i do think he lives in his van and i will live and die by my faith. he likes having everything he needs with him at all times. he will spout some bullshit rhetoric about living a "buddhist" existence with few material goods. and he's half right in that he has two pairs of underwear, and a collection of empty (or maybe not completely empty) beer cans rattling around back there

he's passed out twice while getting tattoos and he will yell and scream and argue that it was because his blood sugar was super low and not because he's a total wuss

he smells amazing. not like... good, don't get me wrong i don't think he smells nice. BUT he smells fuckin great. he has a natural deep musk that just hits the receptors nicely, the kind of smell that's laden with all the right pheromones to engage your caveman brain and have you swooning over him

bad habits (which i count as a bonus tbh) include: picking things: ears, skin, nose, anything. drinking to excess and then never learning a single lesson. masking all of his emotions until he's certain you won't make fun of him for having feelings. pretending to hate people that he loves because he can't be seen getting hurt. leaving his clothes lying around and relying on the smell test to get him through the process of getting dressed. kissing you in the morning before he has brushed his teeth. having no concept of personal space: he will steal blankets, he will curl around you in bed, he will sit too close to you on the sofa, he will hang off your body, he will hug you from behind and not let go, he will stand beside you all the time. refusing to take things seriously until he really has no other option. bad temper, and then defusing the situation by kicking something

yes, he has great tits and strong arms, but in my heart of hearts i know his stomach is not flat and in my head he has the sweetest lil beer gut to ever exist. it gets worse once he's just finished eating or drinking, and he cradles it and makes jokes about it being a girl or a boy. and while they might not have added it into the game, they did add in his sweet lovehandles on those hips, and he likes being grabbed by them and pulled into a hug. reminds him that when he's no longer big buff boomer, you'll still be super into his hot body

i think he's 45 years old fuck you. i think youngest he's 40, there's no way he's near me in age. we can consider sun damage to an extent but he has wrinkles, he's a dad, he's got big ol bags under his eyes and a slightly receding hairline

he's competitive, but not in an aggressive way, more in an annoying way. like you play a board game with him, and he'll do everything in his power to distract you, or use the rules against you. and if he loses, he doesn't go in a big strop, maybe a tiny huff with a few whines. who can refuse him a pity win when he's looking up at you all sad with those big green eyes and batting those silly eyelashes?

if there is something about you that he can mercilessly tease you for (without making you cry) he will harp on about it constantly. it's his way of showing that he's comfortable around you, enough that he can make you want to punch him in the throat. he can give but he can't take though, so remember that before you point out that he is in fact ginger, or that his freckles make him look so cutie-patootie, or that his tattoos are kinda dumb

you have to laugh at his jokes and puns, it's a requirement and he'd be tempted to make you sign a contract saying you will adhere to this rule. it gives him a boost, makes him feel proud. plus he is genuinely very funny, and the dorky nature behind his silly jokes is so endearing

Relationship Headcanons

when he falls for someone, he falls first and he falls hard. he also falls pretty easily, and he's no stranger to heartbreak, but he has his terrible coping methods to keep him going

he finds it easy to find something about everyone that he likes, because he's just prone to liking people. he thinks everything and anything is sexy, and he can find your good traits like a pig sniffing out truffles

he regularly brings home gifts for his partner, stolen or otherwise. no one needs to know how you aquired such an expensive piece of jewellery or that really nice original looking bit of art. maybe you just happen to save a lot of money by living in the back of his van with him!!

gifts are just one of the ways he is surprisingly thoughtful for a boy with no thoughts behind his eyes! dates are another thing he's fuckin stellar at!! wherever you're going and whatever you're doing you are guaranteed to have fun, that's just how he is. he makes everything tolerable, and he can turn a shit day into a great one

he's desperate for friendship, far more than he is for anything romantic or sexual, although if the two could go hand in hand that'd be an ideal scenario. he might claim to be chill and looking for a quick root, but he's far more interested in finding a partner who can be his buddy as well as his lover

there's never going to be a moment when he's not touching his partner by the way, like that is just something you are going to have to put up with

hand on your shoulder, hand in your hand, hand on your waist, hand on your thigh, hand on your back, hands around you as he hugs you from behind, hands around you as he hugs you from the front, hands around you as he hugs you from the side, hand on your butt, hand on your chest, hand on your stomach, hand on your cheek. the man has borderline separation anxiety

holding hands is his favourite though, especially when paired with his habit of loudly announcing your status to anyone within earshot. "oh this is my partner!" "yeah i'm their boyfriend!" "i'm fucking that beautiful bit of arse over there, thanks for asking!" like thank you, digger

he's surprisingly emotional, and surprisingly open once you get past his protective exterior layer. he's still always joking around and trying not to take things seriously, but the minute you or he needs some serious feeling time he is down for it

i don't think he would ever choose a sexuality. personally, i feel like he's bisexual or pansexual, but digger would say he's just sexual. he'll go for anything with a pulse who was happy to see him. there's a bit of digger for anyone (or anything...)

he'd be quick to take things to the next level with a partner he really loved. like he comes to pick you up one day in the boomer-van and he's like "tah-dah" and in the bacl there's a plastic storage box duct taped to the wall with your name written on it. this is how he would ask you to move in with him. you might need to get rid of a lot of your posessions but he wouldn't be adverse to you cleaning up the van or making it your own though!! i bet he'd love to have fairylights on the ceiling and some rugs on the floor

NSFW Headcanons

he has a piss kink. i know that is not a thing for most people, but i have evidence backing this up. it's barely a headcanon at this point, it's just straight up fuckin canonical fact lmao!! anyway i don't think it's a goes both ways thing most of the time. he likes to be the one pissing, it's where he refuses to be a switch and will only be the dominant one, usually

speaking of being the dominant one, it's what he's most comfortable with since he's a loud, brash, bold and heroic villainous boy, but he really doesn't mind switching things up. he can be a gentle dom, a bratty sub, and any combination in between. really, he is up for literally any activity or kink or fetish or position you can throw at him

he gets very vocal during sex. he spouts all kind of filth at you, confirming what he's doing, what he wants to do, and what he's going to do to you. his preferred terms are surprisingly gentle though, calling you kitten or pup, princess or prince, love, babe, baby. a combination of them all. aside from that, he is loud. volume is not something he can control when he's deep in the heat of the moment and he is the literal definition of animalistic. he growls while he fucks you, and he howls when he cums, and he has referred to himself as a dingo before...

of course, if you're getting particualrly nasty, or he's in a far more feral mood, he'll be growling low into your ear, calling you a dirty, nasty little cunt while he grabs your body and keeps you close

he's into any kink, sort of believing in trying anything once (or twice... or three times...) but there's a few he just LOVES. ones that if you mention them, you run the risk of having him cumming in his pants or rutting up against your leg like a desperate, badly behaved puppy

obviously, previously mentioned piss kink, but specifically if it involves some level of servitude or worship. like you on your knees holding his cock for him while he goes to the toilet, you offering to lick him clean, or letting him piss on you because you're so beneath him and he's yours to mark and claim. begging for a taste of him or pleading for him to use you gets him going too when you combine it with this

body worship or worship in general gets him going too. he's so desperate to be loved and wanted and adored and needed, so having someone beg for him, tell him they want him, they need his cock, his fingers, his hands, his saliva, his drool, his cum, anything he's willing to give them. top that off by calling him captain and he'll melt into a sticky little puddle

he's also way behind on comfort, so a little bit of gentle love mixed with kink is a great way to help him relax. feed him a tit or a hard cock, let him suck until he's soothed himself. hold him on your lap and stroke his hair while you tell him he's amazing, and so good at everything he does

cowboy digger is reporting for duty at the breeding ranch! get you some horns, a teeny tiny cowprint outfit, a tail and a bell and he'll either milk you dry until you're crying from overstimulation, or he'll ride you until he's pumped every last bit of cum into you, making sure you're ready for him to be the daddy

he'll fuck with the hat on. he's a socks on kinda guy too. he just gets way too into it way too quickly and forgets anything else but rutting and grunting

this could have been soft, if it wasn't george, but he loves when you fall asleep on him, like your head resting on his chest or his stomach or his lap or his shoulder. he'll be sweet, of course, and place a little kiss on the top of your head. but then he will try and sneak a look down your top or at your ass or to see if you have a visible bulge he can ogle

#captain boomerang #digger harkness #george harkness #captain boomerang fanfic #finnie writes #captain boomerang headcanons #suicide squad: kill the justice league

155 notes · View notes

writing-intheundercroft · 5 months

Text

At Home - S. Sallow

AO3 Link

Word Count: 5,311

Rating: E (Smut, Oral and Vaginal Sex, slight breeding kink, NSFW, MDNI)

Summary: Sebastian drags you out of bed on a Saturday to look at a possible new home.

A/N: Two things: one, I'm now two for two on fics featuring a sink sex scene. Two, I put Sebastian through enough angst in my long fic that I need to write him happy and domestic in another universe. Enjoy!

Taglist: @legacygirlingreen @kaylasallow @eternalremorse @happyaccidentsonly @sallowslady @legendoftortor @sissyisawitch @rainychocofroggy @blueraineshadows @moonstruckmoony @beezlub @loving-him-was-red13

“I don’t know if I like the lighting here.” You frown, looking out the small kitchen window. It’s minuscule, and you’re looking straight out into a brick alleyway. “I think a kitchen should be bright, shouldn’t it?”

Sebastian leans against the door frame, his hand on his face. “Pet, you’re killing me here.” he says, a tortured look on his face. “This is the eleventh house we’ve looked at. At this rate, we’ve turned down half the available housing in London.”

“I know, I know.” You fuss, crossing your arms. “But it needs to be just right. I don’t want to lease just any house, you know.”

“I do know, but we’re going to burst out of my place any day now,” Sebastian grumbles.

That was the truth–your belongings had overtaken the space, and there was not a free spot in his bachelor pad for anything else. One night, you argued over all the books Sebastian had accumulated, while he griped about your ever growing wand handle collection taking over the dresser. Sebastian had tripped mid-argument, causing a fit of laughter on your end while you patched up his sprained ankle.

Only after you’d kissed it better did Sebastian declare that it was time to find a new place.

“But it makes no sense,” Sebastian whines. “You still have your flat, and you never sleep there.”

“Who’s fault is that?” You raise an eyebrow. “ Someone isn’t comfortable sleeping there. You know, it’s just a bed.”

Sebastian shifts uncomfortably in the doorway. He’s refused to sleep at your place ever since he found out your ex-fiance purchased your bed frame and mattress for you. “I won’t sleep in some other man’s bed.” he says firmly.

You roll your eyes, walking towards him. “It’s not another man’s bed, it’s my bed. You really won’t, not even if I want you to?” You pout, drumming your fingers against his chest.

The brunette gulps. “No.” he says, and that’s that.

Your fingers curl around his suspenders. “Then, we need to find a house with proper lighting.” you announce. “And a good kitchen. This one is rubbish.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Add that to the list of requirements then,” he drawls. “We’ll be looking for houses for the next five years.”

The two of you leave the house hand in hand. After having settled into your new day shift at the hospital, you finally felt comfortable taking more vacation days. You must admit, Sebastian forcing you to take more time off has been good for your mental health. Your brain has never felt clearer, and for once in your life, you’re planning more than a month ahead. Summer is rapidly approaching, and Sebastian has suggested a few places for the two of you to go away on a proper adult holiday. The last time you were together, you could hardly spare two galleons outside of your rent between the two of you. Now that you’re grown with successful careers and your own bank accounts, Sebastian is planning your first vacation as a couple.

As a couple. Those words sound sweet in your head.

It’s been nearly eight months since the two of you reunited, three since Sebastian was promoted at the department of magical law enforcement. It honestly feels like things can’t possibly get any better for the two of you. Nothing’s changed, not really . You still have your own life, your friends, your job–just now, you have Sebastian again. Every day you wake up beside him, you pinch yourself, thanking the gods it's still your reality.

Until you trip over Sebastian’s boots, which are littered all over the bedroom floor.

“It’s impossible to find a nice house in London,” you complain. “Either they’re too small, not enough storage, terrible lighting. Surely we make enough money between the two of us to afford a nicer place.”

“Well, location is a tricky bit.” Sebastian admits. “Somewhere close enough to the ministry for me, but close enough to St. Mungo’s for you. And while we do have a fair bit of galleons, I would like to save them for something more important.”

“More important?” you tilt your head in confusion.

“You’ll see,” Sebastian smiles devilishly. “Shall we get lunch?”

He runs his thumb over your hand as he swings it back and forth, guiding you through the bustling streets of London. You made a mental note to pester him about what he was talking about later, but for now, lunch sounds good.

It’s Saturday, and you have the entire weekend off for once. You were looking forward to sleeping in, but Sebastian decided to make a racket, tugging your ankle from beneath the sheets.

“Seb, please.” you whine. “I just want to sleep.”

“But I have a house I want you to see,” Sebastian says impatiently.

You groan. “Seb, it’s Saturday. Can’t you see it without me?” you grumble.

Sebastian shakes his head insistently. “No, you have to come. You’ll want to, I promise.”

Sebastian is tapping his foot the entire time you dress; you opt for a simple blue day dress, scandalously forgoing your corset for comfort. Your messy hair is left down and wavy, tying up a bow at the crown to keep the unruly pieces from flying into your face. Your impatient boyfriend all but drags you to the fireplace as he mumbles out the name of your intended location, tucking you into his arms.

You open your eyes to bright sunlight. Blinking, you realize you’re no longer in London–in fact, you’re somewhere that looks awfully familiar from your school days.

“Where are we?” you breathe, taking in the fresh air. Tall grass sways in the wind around the two of you, and Sebastian is walking up towards a house, turning back with his hand outstretched. You take his hand, and he helps you hop over a small stream.

“Marunweem,” Sebastian yells over the wind, smiling back at you. “Plenty of real estate around here–they’ve rebranded it as an up and coming village.”

You recall memories of exploring Marunweem Lake with Sebastian in your school years; it had always been rather desolate, considering neither of you were licensed to apparate and the only path to the hamlet was through a goblin mine. But the two of you had always had the time of your lives traversing the southern coast. You can picture your younger selves in the air, zipping around on borrowed school brooms together.

“Ominis found the listing,” Sebastian continues, beckoning you forward. “The Ministry has done quite a bit to rehabilitate the area.” Sebastian guides you up the hill, unlatching a well worn gate. The stone cottage is teeming with ivy, crawling up the walls. The storybook tiles on the roof make the house look like it’s straight out of a muggle fairytale.

You take a deep breath as you wave your wand, unlocking the door. The wooden floors creak beneath your feet, but otherwise, the place is in good condition. The walls have been replastered, the fireplace cleaned and sparkling. The only furniture is an old looking settee and a bear skin rug (a tad gauche for your taste). You make your way through the living room to the kitchen. Its positively bathed in light, a large bay window over the sink looks over an enormous yard. You practically run up to the sink edge, admiring the view.

“So much light,” you gasp. “Seb, it’s perfect.”

“You are,” Sebastian suddenly appears behind you, pressing himself against your back. You can feel his breath tickling your ear as he wraps his arms around your body. “The perfect view to watch our children play in the yard, don’t you think?” he murmurs into your ear.

Your breath catches as he stretches out his hand, his palm flat against the lower plane of your stomach. He presses it; almost wishfully. Your heart flutters at the idea of growing his child inside of you.

The two of you haven’t gotten around to talking about children yet. You both were far too young to even think about parenthood when you first got together, and even when you broke up. You had talked about raising children with your former fiance, and it had always been part of the ten year plan. You explained that you had wanted to wait until you were older, more stable in your career. Eric had always found that answer unsatisfying, but now you knew the true reason for your hesitance.

You hadn’t been talking about parenthood with the right person.

“Children, you say?” The word sounds so foreign coming out of your mouth.

You can practically feel the way Sebastian’s cheeks burn. “Only if you want,” he shrugs, but you know he’s serious. The way he’s pressing his hand against your womb is very much serious.

You look back out into the yard, picturing toddlers with unruly brunette hair giggling and running about. You can even picture Sebastian chasing them, whirling them in the air as you prepare an afternoon tea. Building snowmen in the backyard, teaching them to fly on toy brooms. Growing old with Sebastian at your side, with the family you’ve built together.

It's sickeningly domestic, but it feels right.

“I would,” you whisper.

Sebastian wastes no time spinning you around, a big goofy grin on his face. “Really?” he asks, completely lighting up. He plants his hands firmly on your waist, fingers digging into your skin. His eyes flit down to your waist when he realizes you’re not wearing a corset, squeezing you through your dress.

You laugh, placing your hands on his chest. “Really.”

Sebastian pulls you away from the kitchen. “Good, because there are plenty of rooms in the house,” he announces, moving towards the stairs. “There’s three rooms on the second floor, and the master bedroom is here on the main.” he explains, tugging your arm to show you around the house. The bedrooms first; they’re decently sized, enough for twin beds and toys. The main bedroom has enough space for several wardrobes, which you’ll be needing for all your clothes. The bathroom has a giant clawfoot tub, and you can envision the two of you wrestling a toddler for a bath in it.

“I was thinking, we could use a spare bedroom as my office for now.” Sebastian says as you two walk back into the kitchen. He’s clearly been thinking about this a lot longer than you’d realized. “The baby will sleep in our room for the first couple of months–”

“The baby?” you raise your eyebrow. “For months?”

“Of course,” Sebastian huffs. “Jorkins sent me this article about babies, said it’s best for their brain and magic development to stay close to us–”

“Sebastian,” you choke out, “have you been telling your coworkers that you’d like to have a baby?”

Sebastian pauses, turning bright red. “Too much?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. His hair is slightly messy, a few pieces sticking up in the back. He usually did his hair quite tidy for work, but you loved when he left it undone on the weekends. It reminded you of him as a teenager; you’d always flatten down his cowlicks for him.

It’s your turn to blush. “No, I just–I just didn’t realize you were ready.”

“Pet, I’ll be ready when you’re ready. You'll be the one doing all the hard work anyways, the least I can do is a bit of research.” he says, grabbing your hands. He pulls your palm to his warm cheek. “I just want to prepare myself, that’s all. You know I don’t have my parents around to ask these questions, so I’ve been asking a few of the dads at the office how they’ve managed–”

Sebastian doesn’t have enough time to finish; you’ve properly launched yourself onto him, breathlessly kissing him. He’s mad, you think, to start preparing for your pregnancy before even presenting the idea to you. But at the same time, it's incredibly alluring. Sebastian already dotes on you, and the thought of him worshiping you as you grow a human is tempting.

In short, the idea of Sebastian as a father is sexy.

“I was hoping you’d react this way.” Sebastian says, a shit eating grin gracing his freckled face as he embraces you. You gasp as his hips roll against yours.

Sebastian is blatantly hard in the middle of an empty house. You can feel his erection digging into your hip, turned on by all the talk of you possibly getting pregnant. While you had been peeved that morning at him for dragging you out of bed, you’re thankful to have seen the house. And considering you’ll be purchasing the home with him, you think what’s about to happen next is excusable. The house had to be christened at some point.

(Perhaps Sebastian’s attitude is rubbing off on you.)

Sebastian’s eyes are burning into you as you start unbuttoning his jacket. He licks his lips excitedly as you shuck it to the ground, going slack jawed as you start working off his suspenders. Stepping back, you put your hands on your hips, cocking an eyebrow at the normally shameless man in front of you.

“Am I going to do all the work then?” you tease.

Sebastian wastes no time–he never does. He rushes forward towards you, pulling you in for a hot, searing kiss. You let out a wanton moan as his tongue starts tracing circles on your neck, tugging at the buttons of your dress. He all but tears it off, leaving wisps of blue fabric in his path of destruction.

“Can’t wait–need you now,” he wheezes, tugging your undergarments down. You can hear the buttons snapping as he tears off his shirt. You laugh, which turns into a gasp as his fingers circle against your core, dipping into your wet center. He’s nudging your legs apart, fingers writhing inside of you as he runs his tongue over your bare nipple.

“Sebastian!” you scold him, but you know it's in vain. He knows your every desire, the spots that make you shake, and your head lolls to the side as he kneels before you, pulling your legs apart further. His big brown eyes are looking up at you, pupils blown with pleasure as he places his mouth directly over your clit, sucking hard.

“So fucking beautiful,” Sebastian murmurs against your sex. “Mmph, I can’t wait to be inside of you.”

His fingers are pumping in and out of you, tongue flicking at your clit with desperation. Sebastian wants–no, he needs you to come on his face. You grab a fistful of his messy brown hair and the tugging only encourages him to press his face deeper against you. You can feel the way his fingers grip your bottom, palming them as he fucks you with his hand. Your knees buckle as his fingers curl against that spot inside of you, the lewd sound of Sebastian lapping at your soaking wet cunt filling the room.

“You dragged me out here to have your way with me,” you stutter between moans.

Sebastian pulls his face from you, smiling up at you. His devious look and the glistening slick on his chin is enough to make you fold right then and there. “And so what if I did?” he asks, voice low.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you trying to impregnate me right now?”

Sebastian licks his lips as he stands, unbuttoning his pants. You feel like prey as his eyes rove over your shaking, naked form. Stepping out of his pants and undergarments in one smooth move, you bite your bottom lip as you watch him pump his thick cock in his hand.

“I brought you here with the purest intentions,” Sebastian murmurs. Your back is pressed against the sink, and he turns you around roughly to face the yard again.

“Somehow, I doubt that.” you sigh.

He laughs, but his voice is raspy from pleasure. “I wanted to show you our future home,” he whispers. His length twitches against your back and you shiver. “But you look so beautiful–and I just couldn’t stop thinking about how I’m going to take you on every single surface in this house.”

“Oh really?” you whimper.

Sebastian nods, pressing a kiss against your neck, guiding you to lean over the edge of the sink. He nudges your legs apart again, pressing the tip of his length against your bare arse.

“Really. When we properly move in, I’m going to make you fall apart in every room. Fill you with my seed over and over again until it takes.” he says through gritted teeth. His hand falls to your stomach again, pressing tightly.

Your breath catches as you feel the crown of his cock slip against your dripping core. You’ve never heard him speak like this before–Sebastian had been your first sexual experience, and because you’d broken up when you were still rather young, the two of you had been rather vanilla. The past few months have certainly pushed the boundaries, exposing you to new experiences with one another. There have been some discoveries, but the sound of desperation in his voice is revealing a new kink for Sebastian.

You’re certainly not complaining–the thought of him coming inside of you repeatedly with the full intention of seeing you swell with his child is doing something to you.

Sebastian bites into your shoulder as he slowly slips his length into you. You lean over the sink further, arms flying out to anything that will steady you as the brunette spears himself into you, slowly and intentionally. Sebastian palms your breasts with one hand, lurching over your back as he grinds his hips against your bottom.

“I want you to think about this moment, every time you’re standing over the sink.” Sebastian grunts, his other hand still pressed firmly against your belly. The cadence of his thrusts remain even and slow, entirely deliberate. “Want you to remember how good I fucked you here.”

You whine, arms reaching back to grip your lover’s hair. “ Fuck, Sebastian.”

Sebastian laughs breathily against your ear as he fucks into you. “So good for me, my beautiful girl. Fuck, I’ve thought about this for months,” he admits.

“About fucking me against a sink?” you joke.

“No,” you can practically envision him rolling his eyes. “Well, yes, that’s one of my fantasies. Mmph –specifically, about you, pregnant with my—our child.”

You let out an obscene sound. “You’ve been thinking about it for months?” The end of your question is punctuated with a sweet cry as Sebastian snaps his hips forward again.

“Since the moment we got back together,” Sebastian confesses. His arms tighten around you like a boa constrictor; you’re not sure how he’s still standing on two legs as he thrusts against you. You break free from his clutches to lean forward, standing on the tips of your toes. The move only makes him reach deeper within your cunt, both of you moaning in unison at the shift in angle.

“I’ve known–known since that moment it’s going to be you,” Sebastian pants. “ Fuck, I could do this all day. I could never have enough of you, pet.”

You whine, pushing back against him. Sebastian stumbles a few feet back, a shocked look on his face. Too much, the pleading eyes ask.

Not enough.

You surge towards him, a blue wisp as you push him to the ground (your ancient magic somehow padding the two of you as you land on the creaky floorboards). Sebastian’s eyes are wide open as you straddle him, placing kisses on his face.

“I want you to see me,” you whisper, straddling him and positioning yourself atop his cock. Sebastian lets out a throaty groan as you sink onto him, inch by inch, until you’re fully seated on his lap. You lean forward, pressing another kiss to his lips. “I want to look at you when you fill me.”

“Fuck, my love,” Sebastian whines. “You’re going to be so damn beautiful–gods, I can picture it now, watching you carry my baby,” he grits his teeth as you bounce up and down on his length. “I can’t wait to fuck you over and over again– ugh –until you’re properly full of me.” He starts pushing his hips up; you know how much he loves it when you’re on top of him, but he hates relinquishing control. He continues his loud praise, his voice cracking as he holds his hand lovingly over your stomach.

You can feel the coil of pleasure in your belly tighten, furrowing your eyebrows as your climax nears. Nearly there–almost–

You look down at Sebastian. You half expect him to have his eyes shut in pleasure, nose wrinkling as he focuses on his finish. Instead, you see adoring eyes roving up and down your body, a dreamy smile on his face. He looks proud, you think, as his thumbs ghost over your waist and stomach. The look of pure devotion on his face as you grind against him sets you off, wailing as you climax on top of him.

Sebastian wastes no time once you’ve lost control. He flips you over onto your back, his thrusts stuttering as he chases his own orgasm. Sebastian presses a searing kiss against your lips as you feel him spill inside of you. He bucks his hip against you a few times, gasping as he slumps against your body. He’s still inside of you, but you can feel the hot release dripping from your cunt.

Sebastian lifts his face, giving you a sheepish smile as he rests his chin on your breasts.

“Not exactly how I’d thought our Saturday would go, but I’m quite happy with it.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Oh, don’t lie. You’re such a scoundrel.”

Sebastian nuzzles his face into your breasts, still sheathed inside of you. “Oh, but I’m your scoundrel.” he smiles proudly, pressing his lips against your chest.

The two of you are silent for a few moments, until you clear your throat. “You really do want to have a baby with me?” you ask, your voice a tad timid.

Sebastian gives you an honest, pure smile. That was a quality you loved about him so much–he wore his emotions on his face, and you always knew when he was being truthful.

“I want to have a family with you, pet. I want us to have everything we’ve ever wanted, together.” he admits.

“Babies aren’t easy,” you warn him. “It’ll be a lot of work, a lot of sleepless nights.”

“I never asked for easy,” Sebastian reminds you. “I’ve only ever asked for you.”

“I’m not going to stop working.” You warn Sebastian, pulling a blanket up higher over your chest.

“I would never ask you to,” Sebastian stokes the fire before settling back down next to you.

It’s now late at night; the two of you have been at it all day. Starved, you let Sebastian leave the house to search for provisions. He ran down to the closest tavern, buying the two of you a feast to snack on throughout your impromptu stay. Meanwhile, you’d worked on the fire, conjuring some cushions and blankets from a small stash of moonstone you’d kept in your bag for emergencies.

It’s dark, the rural sky filled with twinkling stars. You’d missed the way the sky looked in the highlands, no city lights to pollute the view. The two of you are sitting naked in front of the fire, stuffing your faces with bread and cheese, washing it down with a local mead. Given your spirited activities throughout the day, you decide it’s time to be adults and talk logistics.

“Someone will need to watch the baby.” you remind him, passing a knife so he can slather some compote on the bread.

“We could ask Anne?” Sebastian suggests, taking a big bite. “I’m sure she’d love to. She always loved babysitting the children in Feldcroft when we were younger. She sure likes to pretend she raised me—y’know, on second thought, maybe not Anne then…”

“Do you think Ominis would mind? I think he’d be nervous around a child. Besides, there’s no way Anne would apparate here daily just to watch the baby.” You lean back on your elbows, biting back a smile. You never thought you’d be having this conversation with Sebastian, but it feels right; the most natural progression for your relationship.

“Well, I was planning on fixing up a floo connection in the fireplace.” Sebastian shrugs. “So we could get to work, and so Anne and Ominis can visit.”

“You really have thought of everything,” you say coyly. “Except to pack clothes for tonight.”

“To be fair, I hadn’t been planning on shagging you in broad daylight in the kitchen.” Sebastian snorts. “But I can’t keep my hands off you, pet.”

“I’m sure you’ll be singing a different tune when I’m the size of a graphorn.” you wrinkle your nose. Your hands ghost over your naked stomach, drawing circles over where a child may grow someday.

“Don’t say that,” Sebastian scolds. “You are going to be the most gorgeous mother. Merlin, I’m going to get hard just thinking about it again.” He sighs dramatically.

You roll your eyes, smacking his shoulder. Sebastian winks at you, a slight blush growing on his face. He pulls a cushion onto his lap, and you cannot believe the stamina on this man.

“At least let me finish my meal first,” you tease.

Sebastian rolls onto his stomach, playing with the tassels on the blanket. You resist the urge to slap his freckled bottom, instead trying to focus on the serious, adult conversation you were trying to have.

“So, we’re buying the house then.” You state, taking a bite of cheese.

“We’re buying the house.” Sebastian echoes. “When I saw the picture, I just knew. Remember how we used to race our brooms here? I couldn’t stop picturing us teaching our kids how to fly here, just like we did.”

You nod. “I always loved Marunweem.” It’s the perfect place to settle down, you think. Now it makes sense why none of the houses in London were quite right for the two of you. No light, no yard, no room to grow. Living in the highlands, you have fresh air, water nearby, and plenty of space for your future family. You haven’t flown on a broom in a long time; you can’t wait to see how long it’ll take you to get to Hogsmeade from here. With a floo connection in your fireplace, getting to work won’t be so bad.

Your hand absentmindedly flutters down to your stomach again. Everything will change with a baby in your life. You’ve just gotten back into the groove with Sebastian, are you sure you want to change everything now?

“What are you thinking, pet?” Sebastian murmurs.

You lick your lips. “That everything will change once we have a baby.” you admit. “Are we ready?”

Sebastian scoots towards you, his fingers catching under your chin. “I’m ready when you are.” he whispers. “If you don’t want this right now, I’m completely fine with that. You say the word, we’ll go to the apothecary tomorrow and get the necessary potions. I want you to want this for you, not just for me.”

Your sweet, thoughtful, loving boyfriend. Sebastian is the perfect gentleman. You nod your head shyly; who knows, it could take ages for you to get pregnant. You don’t want to start getting too far ahead of yourself.

“So, I’ll send an owl to the seller when we get back to London.” Sebastian says, tangling his fingers in yours. “We should start packing. We’re throwing away your bed, by the way.”

“Only if we throw away yours too.” You remind him.

Sebastian laughs. “Buying a new bed—duly noted.”

“Is that why you were saving your money?” you ask, looking into the fire. You remember the conversation the two of you had when you left the house tour last week. “For a house?”

Sebastian laughs again, this time sounding a bit shy himself. “Oh no, surprisingly, the house was dirt cheap. It was for something else.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “What for?”

Sebastian is as naked as the day he was born, but he rolls onto his knees to rummage through his jacket, which has been long discarded on the floor. Your eyes widen as he pulls something small out of the inner pocket.

“Was going to ask after you agreed on the house, but we got side tracked.” Sebastian bites down on his lower lip, holding up the diamond ring. It sparkles in the light of the fireplace. “Will you marry me?”

You blink down at him, mouth slightly ajar.

“I know it’s probably not as big as your last ring,” Sebastian admits, the tips of his ears red. “But I saw it in the shop and it made me think of you. And I thought, why are we waiting? We’ve been apart for so long, and even though it’s really only been eight months, I know it’s you–it’s always been you–I know I want you to be my wife, I’ve always wanted to marry you–” he shakes his brown mane, rambling on. “If it’s too soon for you, I understand, I just want you to consider it; you don’t have to say yes right away—“

Your lips crash against his. It’s so utterly on brand for Sebastian; forgoing the tradition of bending down on one knee, he’s stark naked next to you, rolling on the floor with a diamond ring in hand.

“You arse, Sebastian Sallow.” you mumble against his lips.

Sebastian holds you tight; you can feel his closed fist on your back, holding the ring. “Can I be yours? For the rest of our lives?” he whispers.

You laugh, pulling away to brush away a tear. “Of course,” you say breathlessly. “Of course I’ll marry you, you silly man.”

Sebastian’s smile is beaming from ear to ear as he slips the diamond ring onto your finger. You slide back against his chest, holding your hand out to admire it. He’s done well–a sparkling diamond set in gold. The feeling is so unlike your previous engagement; then, you’d wanted to hide it from everyone, but now you simply can’t wait to shout from the rooftops that you’re the future Mrs. Sallow.

You’d marry him tomorrow if possible, you think. As his hand brushes against your stomach, you think you might have to soon. The thought doesn’t bother you; it’s been blatantly obvious who you belong to since you saved him eight months ago.

“What a day it’s been,” Sebastian sighs, nuzzling your neck. “Bought a house, got engaged. I can’t wait to tell Anne and Ominis; they’ll kill me when I tell them how I did it.” he chuckles.

“We’ll tell them first thing tomorrow,” you announce, curling up in his arms. “I just want to remember this, just the two of us.”

“Hopefully not for long,” Sebastian whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Sebastian is babbling about his renovation plans for the house, things he wants to tweak and change to make it just right for the two of you. You watch the fire crackle in front of you, nodding absentmindedly. This is the first memory in your new home, you think. You’ll raise your children in this house, celebrate birthdays and holidays in front of this old fireplace. And one day, you’ll tell your children that you got engaged here. A far more appropriate version of the story of course, when they’re older and able to understand.

Mum and Dad got engaged at home. It sounds right.

#sebastian sallow #writing-intheundercroft #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #auror sebastian sallow #dad sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow smut #I have no words for the state of mind I was in when I wrote this

212 notes · View notes

skylersprompts · 6 months

Text

DC x DP Prompt *12*

Phantom knew that all of this would end badly, really. But as soon as he heard that Skulker was trying to get the pelt of the Superman he knew that he didn't really have a choice.

So he flew to Metropolis to rescue the struggling hero. When he reached them, it was worse than he thought.

Skulker was wrecking havoc without regards for the civilians, while he tried to catch Superman. The hero on the other hand was at least still standing and evading the ghost. But he also couldn't land a single hit. If Danny would let them be, this fight would go on forever or till Superman tired out.

So while Skulker shot another Missile at the Kryptonian, Danny flew invisible behind him and shot an ectoblast in his back. After a short fight with a lot of banter, Skulker found himself in the thermos and Danny and Superman landed on a rooftop.

"Thank you for your assistance! I don't think I recognize you, but I'm glad that you came to my aid against this unknown enemy", the Man of Steel smiled at him and really, Danny should have just nodded, gone invisible and fly of. But... Superman was a real life alien! A founder of the Justice League! Someone who had been to space missions! So yeah, he was a little starstruck.

"No problem, really! It was somewhat my fault... We just talked while fighting and somehow you came up and he just flew straight here, because he wanted to add your pelt to his collection. Normally he only really hunts me...", and his brain to mouth filter didn't work again, great Fenton.

Superman looked concerned for a moment, before he hid it behind an awkward smile. "I suppose he is one of your rouges then? I'm glad to see that someone with your abilities uses them to protect humanity like he should."

And that was enough to shift his expression of Superman. Just because he had these powers, didn't obligated him to protect anyone, except his own hunt and subjects! And Skulker was more of a friend nowadays, he just had become to excited because of a super rare alien and his obsession had kicked in in full force, because they hadn't really found a healthy outlet yet. Just hunting Danny every few weeks when the young adult had time between college classes wasn't really enough.

"You should consider joining us and show us how to defend ourself against a rouge like this", the superhero said, without realizing the shift in Danny's demeanour.

"He isn't really a rouge anymore... It's just a bit of a work in progress still. I also wouldn't really qualify as a member for you little team, since in terms of my species I'm still a literal baby. And I don't think that all of you will still be around when I'm considered an adult or even a teenager. So the answer is No, I won't be a child soldier for the League, nor will I tell you how to hurt my friends", Danny huffed with crossed arms, just to turn invisible then and fly off, not caring for the fact that the other hero seemed to be blue screening.

298 notes · View notes

augustinescruelsummer · 9 months

Text

MEMORIES | CP10

IN which you and Christian exchange heartfelt memories from your relationship while watching the stars, surrounded by a warm night fire.

fem!reader x cp10

content: fluff. teeth rotting fluff. reminiscing. she cleans a wound of his. the World Cup injury. christian’s a lovesick softie !!!

AN: this is so sweet like my teeth are rotting after writing this wtf. I actually have no idea where this came from it feels like the deep hell pits of my brain but I lowkey really like it LMFAO. Also this GIF? MY GOD. LORD. I am FINE.

WC: 2.7k

"REMEMBER that time you went flying into the goalkeeper at the World Cup?" You ask Christian while he nurses a beer, the fire pit providing a warm haze to the domestic night. The sky was crystal clear, minus the smoke your fire provided the air, and it was a perfect night to gaze at the stars. He chuckles softly at the random comment while running a finger down your hair, "How could I forget?"

You didn't know why you made the comment, suddenly overwhelmed with a collection of nostalgic memories while gazing into the fire between you two. Maybe it was the domesticity of the scene, the sun just setting over the horizon on a cold night, the two of them cuddled under her favorite blanket pointing out stars.

"What made y'think about that?" He prompts further, readjusting his arm to allow her more space to come closer. A soft smile falls over her lips as she fully recalls the memory.

THE MEN'S WORLD CUP. 2022.

A sound of horror falls from your lips as Christian goes to kick the crucial goal, flying into the goalkeeper. You watch intently as a blur of trainers come sprinting over to him as he holds his groin in pain, people repping the American flag around you craning for a look at the scene. He had been down for a couple of minutes, partly in pain and appreciating the goal he had just scored. You had felt nauseous, partly due to the fact you'd never seen Christian be intensely injured on the field. He attempts to stand on his own and walk towards the medical facility, but his face contorts with pain as his weight collapses almost instantly on a nearby trainer. His teammates look on despondently at the American boy and his abrupt exit, congratulating him on the phenomenal goal.

"I was so embarrassed," he recalls looking down at you, pulling you out of the trip down memory lane. Your eyebrows furrow at the comment, never knowing he felt like that.

"Why in God's name would you be embarrassed about an injury, Chris?"

He shrugs in an attempt to dodge the question, leaning forward with a long stick to probe the firewood around.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question," you push as he spends longer than necessary on a piece of wood that didn't need adjustment.

"I honestly don't know. The whole time I was in my own head thinking about how not-badass the debacle was, and at the end of the day I knew I was never going to live it down. Interviewers asking me if we could still have children because of it and the picture from my story getting leaked. I was playing for the damn United States and was going to have an early exit because of a groin injury. It brought the team publicity at the end of the day, but I was still mortified."

You lean back to look at his expression while he reveals his thoughts, comfortable in confiding. "It felt like I was 14 years old getting punched in the balls at recess," he adds with a soft chuckle, turning the neck of the bottle around nervously.

"I thought it was quite the badass exit," you told him confidently, "You went viral on social media for being attractive and diving into a goalkeeper for your country. You were labelled Captain America. That is nothing to be embarrassed about."

A grin creeps over his bashful expression and your heart warms at the sight of it.

"I was worried about you in the moment," you told him earnestly as more of the memory unfolded in your mind.

MEN'S WORLD CUP. 2022.

Qatar. A country you knew next to nothing about when it came to locations of hospitals. Your hands were shaking at the whispers Christian was being sent to the hospital. There was no crash course on what to do when your husband gets injured in the World Cup. You flip your phone over in your hands, making the decision to exit your place in the stands. The match had continued and you considered staying, knowing Christian wouldn't want you to worry, but that was inevitable.

"I was researching hospitals left and right, wondering where they would take you," You recalled, not missing the feeling of dread that overcame over not knowing where Christian was being sent.

"Still can't believe you took a fucking Uber in a foreign country to come and find me," he said with a snort. Christian's heart heated at the thought of it, his wife doing anything she could to come and find him. Even though he was delirious due to the pain meds, Christian had still found time to text you where they were taking him. You were in the next Uber to him the second the text hit your inbox.

MEN'S WORLD CUP. 2022.

You gazed into his room, a nurse patiently attempting to take his vitals as he held a thumbs up and snapped a picture of him laying on the bed. The match was on the TV still, Americans rallying to celebrate the valiant efforts of the team. A grin was plastered on his face watching his friends embrace each other. "It's called soccer!" Musah screams at the camera lingering by him, the saying a play at Christian's viral photoshopped meme. You revel in Christian's laugh before bursting through the door, the nurse just finishing his vitals.

"Hi baby!" He greets when you appear in front of him, the excitement of seeing you after a major win outweighing any logic as to how you got here. Sickeningly, he would do the whole thing a million times over just to be babied by you.

The memory is snapped when Christian once again returns you to the present moment.

"God, I don't think I've ever seen someone so proud of me," he said while laying a chaste kiss on your cheek. "I thought you might be upset or embarrassed about the whole situation, but I was incredibly wrong. My girl took pride in the fact her husband put their kids on the line for America."

"Hell yeah!" You chanted, pumping your first in the air. You laughed at the recollection of social media going wild after the event was over, fans wondering if their favorite football couple would still be able to have children. Talk about patriotic.

The fire crackled as a comfortable silence enveloped the couple once again, both of them in their own world thinking about heartfelt memories.

Christian, thinking about when he tied for the 17th International Goal Record in qualifying against Mexico, pulling up his jersey to display his celebration. "MAN IN THE MIRROR," his undershirt read in haphazardly written Sharpie, a true display of his poor penmanship. The moment froze in time, though, when he looked up from his shirt into the boxes and made eye contact with you in the crowd. He swore his heart stalled.

Along with the rest of the American crowd, you were screaming his name out for all the field to hear. His name, an action that had him transfixed watching the stands. You stared at him, shouting the three syllables of his surname, which were heavily enunciated so he knew what was being chanted.

He rose his pointer finger up at you, a sly wink in your direction catching the eye of the camera man. He followed the receiving end of the wink, and there, on the jumbo tron, was you turned around pointing at the proud PULISIC plastered on your back while he motioned towards you.

He took a swig from the bottle beside him to distract his mind from going down every single memory his heart held with you. It was a tempting offer. Christian watched you adjust so your head was in his lap, folding the blanket over both your bodies to fit. You scrolled through the Barnes and Noble app searching for a new book to read as Christian watched the stars twinkle in the night sky.

"Whatcha thinking about, Chris?" You pat his knee a couple moments later to catch his attention, noticing the dazed look in his eyes.

"You."

Your heart sped up at the word, confident it was now a puddle on the lawn. He continued his thought without being prompted,

"Thinkin' about that time when I scored my first ever goal in the pros and you blew me a kiss, and I knew right then that I was gonna marry you." He grinned wickedly down at you, "Thinkin' about that time I scored and the screens caught you with audio screaming I was your 'Captain America'. Hearing my own wife use the nickname was the only thing left needed to die peacefully." He gazes down at you lovingly, capturing your lips to secure the sentiment and sweetness of the moment shared.

"Those two moments you just described," you told him suddenly flipping to where you lie on your back, gazing up at his face. "Are some of my favorite moments too. I was so proud of you I thought my heart would burst, and I was wondering how much jail time I would serve for jumping the fence."

"Jail time?" He asked inquisitively with a laugh, "I don't know what'd I would do if security tried to manhandle you off the pitch for jumping. I wouldn't have enough time to stop laughing to help."

You both giggled at the thought of it. "Y'know after I called you Captain America on the 'tron, I sat back down and went on Amazon to get you a lego set of his shield. It didn't come in the mail until three weeks later because it had to be custom made."

He splits into a smile thinking about the gift, it sitting on the trophy case in the bedroom. It hadn't been moved since he placed it, being featured in personal interviews in zoom calls during lockdown. He took anytime to talk about it when given the opportunity, being his favorite gift ever. It was a fairly large shield, custom made and built with a "Pulisic" engraved in an arch into the middle.

He remembered when he unwrapped and squealed like a little girl, holding it in his hands like a newborn. "Baby, this is the best gift I've ever gotten! It's not even near my birthday!" You had come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist fondly.

"I got it 'cause I love you and I'm proud of you," you told him, leaving a sweet kiss in between his shoulder blades. He blushed under the praise. "Can I frame it?" He asks, gently setting it down on the kitchen counter. "Do whatever your heart desires, baby," you told him with a joyous expression.

"Y'wanna hear my memory, Chris?" You ask him while staring at the stubble beginning to grown in on his face. You take notice of an ingrown hair that needs to be removed before he starts itching and complains at the burn. He hums an affirmation, finishing off his beer.

"My memory is when you got that nasty turf burn after a Chelsea match, and instead of going to have the trainer clean it, you brought it home for me to deal with."

He laughs wholeheartedly, "What can I say? There's nothing better than being babied by your wife." You roll your eyes at him, appreciating his full honesty. Christian has no shame in his love for his wife.

You had freaked out when he walked through the threshold of your old shared apartment, his shoes squeaking on the freshly cleaned carpet.

"Christian!" You had chastised from the couch without looking up, "Take your dirty shoes off, were you raised in a barn!?" He doesn't respond, causing you to look up with a frustrated demeanor, before taking notice of his bloody knee.

"Christ, baby, I thought you would've gotten that looked at before you left the field," you said, beckoning him closer. Christian tries to not let the joy he's feeling show at the thought of you having to take care of him, knowing it's about to occur. He's a softie, what can he say?

"I needed my favorite doctor to look at it?" He tells you with a charming grin, phrasing it like a question in an effort to avoid a lecture.

You don't put up a fight, guiding him to sit in one of the dining chairs while you disappeared into the bathroom to get antiseptic and Advil. You pour him a cup of water, double checking to make sure you were giving him the right amount Advil. You always had an irrational fear of your star boyfriend overdose on it because of a misread by you. Satisfied with the information the bottle had given you the previous ten times you had read it, you reentered the battlefield, aka Christian's knee.

Meanwhile, Christian had been smiling like a fool at the TV running post-match highlights of his game. It was such a small thing for you to turn the matches on while working from home, but it meant the world to him. He knew you had probably sat on the couch with your feet tucked under you, the work iPad you lugged around resting in your lap as you worked. The TV was probably set to a low volume, not loud enough to distract you, but quiet enough so you could still listen for your husband's name. You wore an oversized Chelsea T-Shirt, his name adorning the back per usual.

"This is gonna sting," you told him drily, holding no sympathy for your husband at the moment. He had to know you were not qualified in any sort to be cleaning up a pro soccer player's wounds, but yet here you were at 11:30 on a Monday night.

"I have work tomorrow," you stated as you stared at the alarmingly late numbers on the oven clock, which motivated you to harshly rub the antiseptic onto the burn.

"Jesus, baby! Is it really necessary to do it this rough?" He asked you, biting his lip. You didn't respond, outstretching your free hand for him to squeeze which he took gratefully.

"You know, if the team trainer had done this it probably would've hurt less," you said through gritted teeth, taking one last swipe down the wound.

"Ok, ow! Fuck!" He whined at the contact and you rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to call him a big baby. You were not particularly inclined to be dealing with his antics this late, even though you loved Christian more than anything. You slapped a bandage onto the burn, placing a kiss to it, making the classic smile return to his face at the tradition.

"I'll make you breakfast tomorrow morning to make up for the fact I kept you up," he told you while sliding off the chair. You smiled at his words, always a giver.

"Baby, it's fine. You can if you want to, but I tend to your wounds and shit because I love you and want to take care of you." You gave him a kiss on the lips before handing him his water and Advil. "I put you out some sleep clothes after the game ended, I figured you'd be tired," you said while filling up your own water bottle at the fridge. Christian smiled like a fool, wrapping you into his arms for a proper hug once you were done at the fridge.

"God, I love you. Thank you," he said, placing a kiss on the top of your head before making his way to the shower.

One of your favorite things was reminiscing on moments like these with Christian, moments where the health of your relationship shown through. There were so many you could laugh about with him. Christian stood up after another stretch of comfortable silence, attempting to put the fire out to the best of his abilities. You folded the blanket up and placed his bottle in the trash facing away from him. You heard the whoosh of the flames going out, and then felt a tattooed arm wrap around you, scooping you up. He carried you into your house bridal style, a delirious grin on his face the whole way up the stairs, drunk on the joyous memories.

#christian pulisic one shot #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic #christian pulisic blurb #christian pulisic fic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic x you #football x y/n #footballer x reader

168 notes · View notes

xmhhoe · 1 year

Note

Heyo!

I'll resend my request!

Can I please request dom!lee know with sub!fem reader

Smut+fluff+ corruption

Reader is shy and inexperienced

Thank you 🫶

Wide-eyed (m)

lmh • f, s • 3.1k

I don’t know why this is so long lol but thank you for waiting literally months for this😭 I hope you enjoy it 💕

It’s lightly proofread, as usual I’ll probably come back and edit it later on lol I feel like I could add some more fluff, but anyone can feel free to give me other suggestions on how I could make this story or my writing better in general :)

Includes/warnings: corruption kink, innocent shy reader, female reader, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, lil bit of cum play, lil choking, loss of virginity, minho is very adamant about consent as we all should be

“This is my friend, yn.”

Felix motioned towards you as you shyly greeted his members. Minho slightly bowed his head, locking eyes with you once he stood up straight. You smiled softly but quickly looked away. Minho turned towards Felix as he spoke. “She’s a bit shy, takes a while to warm up, but she’s cool.” Felix nudged your arm as you blushed.

That was the first day he saw you. A pretty girl, shy and wide-eyed. Probably inexperienced. And for some reason, Minho couldn’t shake you from his mind.

You’d visit often, clinging to Felix’s side, the only familiar and comfortable face in the room to you. He didn’t know the reason, but your shy demeanor alit something in Minho. Minho couldn’t help but subtly glare at his friend every time you’d turn to ask him a question, talking solely to him. He wanted to be the one that you clung to, the one you spoke to, the one you felt comfortable around.

Sometimes you would catch him, his glares and not so subtle staring, and you honestly thought Minho didn’t like you. But one day Felix somehow flaked on a movie night, his seat replaced with Minho. You were stiff as a board, sitting straight up with your knees pressed together, your hands in your lap, trying to take up as little space as possible.

Minho chuckled to himself, watching you for a minute before he gently put his hand on your knee. “Hey yn, relax,” his smile disarmed you, your cheeks heating at your awkwardness. You sat back, now within earshot of Minho’s voice as he joked throughout the movie. He loved making you laugh, the rest of the boys knowingly ignoring you two.

As your relationship grew, you slowly opened up to him. Minho loved being in your world, loved picking your brain, and once his suspicions were confirmed, that you were inexperienced in sex and relationships, he loved fantasizing about ways to corrupt you.

Minho never pressured you, glad to take it slow. But when he caught you with your hand down your pants, you confessed that you were too shy to ask him.

“That’s alright, baby,” he said, climbing on top of you, slipping his hand right in your panties. “I’ll let it slide this time, but remember,” his finger swiped along your slit, collecting more of your wetness to flick the pad of his finger repeatedly against your clit in a slow rhythm. Your hips bucked at the rough movements you weren’t used to, biting your finger as you held your hands close to your chest, embarrassed to be caught like this, but loving the attention Minho was giving you.

“This is mine from now on,” he growled, cupping your wetness to prove his point, then teasing your opening, feeling the tension as it clenched around nothing. “Don’t touch it without permission.”

“Have you tried putting a finger in, baby?”

Minho almost choked when you shook your head, your voice squeaking out that you were too scared, that you only ever rubbed your clit. The hungry look in his eyes, the wolfish smirk on his lips, sent another wave of arousal between your legs, your mouth watering as his fingertip dipped deeper and deeper into you.

That night, he managed to get you addicted to his fingers and tongue. Which made it difficult when he was very busy for a few weeks.

You were innocent enough, sensing that he had had a bad day when he came in and slumped on the couch. You zeroed in on his empty lap, a perfect spot for you to comfort him. He watched lazily as you strolled up to him, placing your knees on either side of his lap.

You went to place a gentle kiss on his lips, but in typical Lee Minho fashion, he whined playfully as he moved his face away from your lips. You giggled at him, holding his face still in both hands. Minho couldn’t help but smile at your cuteness as you placed light pecks all over his face, but his attention was quickly drawn back to the short length of your shorts. The hems were riding up your soft thighs, teasing him by covering his favorite place to be. But when Minho met your wide, innocent eyes, your soft, sweet lips asking him how his day was, he was almost ashamed of his thoughts.

Almost.

Your innocence had seemed like a facade to him. But after all these years of taking your relationship slow, he’d learned that you were indeed often oblivious to the effect you had on him. That didn’t stop him from teasing you whenever you’d unknowingly turned him on, a blush spreading across your cheeks when you’d suddenly remember how easily you could drive your boyfriend crazy, the way the look in his eyes became ravenous as he hovered over you.

Minho’s hands found your waist, giving it a light squeeze. He sighed, knowing that, unlike him, your mind was probably far from thinking about the heat of your sexes pressed together through your clothes. “My day was… a bit stressful. But I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

You nodded, giving him a quick peck to his lips and smiling reassuringly at him. He smiled back, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes were darkened and hooded, the soft sparkle they usually had gone. “Now, tell me why are you on my lap?”

Your eyes briefly widened in confusion, that innocent look never leaving you. You tilted your head. “Just wanted to be close to you.”

“Is that all?”

You nodded. “Mhm. I missed you a lot today.” You looked down, his stare too intense, busying your hands with the necklace he wore around his neck. Minho grabbed your ass, giving it a squeeze as he pulled you closer, your crotch grinding against his. “Hm, what was that?”

“J-just missed you,” when you looked back up at him, his eyes were on your lips.

“Is that it?”

You didn’t answer, hiding your face in his neck. You whined his name, knowing your boyfriend would tease you to no end. “Look at me, baby.”

You raised your head, obeying his words. “Good girl.” He smiled at you before he dipped his head to kiss you. A sigh exhaled through your nose as Minho’s lips met yours. The kiss was slow, but no less sensual as it sliced the tension you built earlier by crawling on his lap. Minho felt you press your hips into his, that devilish smirk once again finding itself on his lips.

His lips made their way towards your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. “My shy girl, grinding her pussy on me.” Your eyes opened at the realization that your hips were moving on their own. “Minho…” your hips stuttered before stopping, your boyfriend continued talking.

“You sure you missed me? Or did she miss me?” His hand cupped your pussy through your bottoms. When you didn’t answer he spoke again. “Did this pussy miss me?” His voice was so soft, the vulgar words making you clench.

“Too shy to say, huh? Then let’s see what she has to say.” His hand dipped in your shorts, fingers running up and down your slit, your wetness already drenching it. “Is this okay?” He checked in. “Yes,” your voice was almost a whisper as you nodded.

His fingers slid easily, creating a wet slippery mess underneath your bottoms. The slight wet sounds made his cock twitch. “You hear her, baby? Sounds like she missed me too, hm?” You nodded your head, biting your lip as you made eye contact with your boyfriend. Minho grins.

You usually were never able to look him in the eyes as he played with your pussy. He’d tease you, tell you to look at him, pinching your clit harshly until you did. But now, your desperate eyes shamelessly pleaded with his, glazed over and low with lust.

“You’re turning into the perfect slut for me, baby.”

You nodded again, barely registering his words as your hips began to move, seeking more friction on his fingers, your clit brushing against his palm, a heat rising to your cheeks at the squelch it made. “Minho, please,” you whined. “Need more…”

Minho continued to caress your cunt, teasing your clit by barely touching it. Minho licked his lips, your fucked out gaze following the movement of the skilled tongue that you’ve come to know very well. “Tell me, then. Tell me who really missed me.”

You whined, your shyness returning, but Minho quickly slapped your ass with the other hand, giving you a stern look that you were afraid to challenge. You bit your lip, avoiding his eyes as you mumbled shyly. Minho's hand cracked against your ass again. You yelped, jumping a bit. Minho could feel your core pulsing against him. “Louder. And look me in the fucking eyes when you say it,” a harsh note entered his voice.

You obeyed, eyes wet with tears of frustration and embarrassment, but more wetness flooded into his hand. “My pussy missed you, really missed you.” You were surprised at how whiny your voice was. Minho really was doing things to you, molding you to satisfy and be satisfied by only him.

Minho grinned, bringing you in for a tender kiss as he slipped a finger inside. Your lips fumbled a bit against his, letting out a whimper as you tried to focus on finding a rhythm. It reminded Minho of when he gave you your first kiss, how nervous and awkward you were. But he loved it so much, loved how innocent you were, how he could be your first for many things, and corrupt you into a perfect plaything for him.

It didn’t take long for your clothes to be on the floor, your naked form in Minho's lap. He’d only managed to unbutton his shirt, his toned torso on display. His fingers were moving inside of you, curling on a sensitive spot as his thumb rubbed your clit. You held onto his shoulders, slightly bouncing on his hand.

“Look at you, baby. Riding my fingers, such a slut,” Minho rasped. He loved having you wrapped around his fingers, you tight, warm walls throbbing on him. He could only imagine what you would feel like around his cock, but it was up to you if you two would go that far yet. “Think you can handle something bigger, baby?”

Your heart beat faster as you immediately understood what he was asking. “Yes, please,” you breathed. Minho placed a hand on your hip to stop your movements, stilling his hand that was working on your core. His eyes were sincere as he looked in your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I need to hear you say it, princess.”

“Yes, Minho. I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately,” you admitted, already sensing the teasing as Minho's eyes became dark and playful again. He removed his hand from your panties, grabbing your hips as he flipped you under him on the couch. His lips immediately went to you neck, sucking and biting a mark into it. You moaned out loud as your legs fell open wider. “You’ve been thinking about my cock lately?”

He removed the rest of his clothes, leaving his boxers on. You watched him as he did, your eyes eventually drawn to his bulge. “Liked the show?” he teased, not giving you a chance to respond before he grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing them up and to their sides a bit, exposing your cunt to him. You let out a surprised yelp, as you felt the cool air on your wetness. Minho licked his lips, watching your hole clench around nothing, you keening in embarrassment at being so exposed.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. He couldn’t help it, your wet slit immediately tempting him to dip down and lick a stripe up your wetness. A high-pitched gasp left your mouth as he began to make out with your cunt, licking and sucking on your clit. You moaned and squirmed as you got closer to your high, but his hands on your thighs kept you pinned down. “Minho, I’m gonna cum, please, can I cum?”

The man groaned as he pulled away, a pop sounding out as he released the sensitive nub from his lips. It pained Minho to pull away from you, but not as much as it frustrated you, having the pleasure torn away from you twice tonight. He ran his fingertips down one of your inner thighs, admiringly as you shivered. “Want my sensitive girl to cum around my cock.”

He pulled his boxers down to his muscular thighs, his large, erect member twitching as he caught your wide eyes fixed on it. “Baby, do you still want this?” Minho asked again, your heart swelling at his concern. “Yes, I want this, it’s just… how will it fit?” your eyes flickered up to his.

Minho was officially convinced, you were going to be the death of him. “We’ll go slow,” he reassured you as he moved closer, rubbing his tip around your opening, spreading your slick around even more. “I’ll make you feel so good, baby. I promise.”

He pushed in slightly, closely watching your face for any discomfort. You were looking down, watching curiously as he pushed inside you. Your brow started to furrow, your mouth dropping open once Minho got half his length in. He stilled his hips.

“How does it feel, baby? Do you want to stop?” he breathed, holding himself back from just pushing forward, no matter how his body screamed at him to fuck the tight cunt in front of him hard. Minho hoped to the universe that you wouldn’t say no, but if you did, he would stop immediately.

“It’s so… feels full,” you couldn’t think straight, the weight between your legs foreign to you. Minho began to move his hips slowly, thrusting only half of his length in. “Does it hurt?”

“No, just feels different.”

Minho bit his lip, your wetness and warmth around even just half his cock was better than he imagined. After a few moments, he spoke. “You feel so good around me,” his voice was rougher than you’d ever heard it, your pussy clenching around him at the sound. Minho groaned. “I’m gonna try going deeper, okay?”

You gave him your approval, pleasure sparking in you as each of his thrusts began to get deeper and deeper, until he finally pushed all the way in. Your mouth fell open, your hands flying to his waist in reaction as he pressed his hips to yours.

He stopped moving, letting you get used to his cock inside you as he bent down to kiss you. Your arms found themselves around his neck, one of his hands finding your breasts and groping them. You moaned into his mouth, his hands finding yours and pinning them above your head. His fingertips slid down your arms before his elbows rested on either side of your head, looking down at where you both were connected. “So fucking warm, fuck,” he swore at the sight and feeling before bringing his attention back to you. “Can I move, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathed. Minho began to thrust into you gently, moans leaving your lips as you felt the textures of his cock gliding along your snug walls. “Feels good,” you said. Minho smirked as he sat up, his hands finding your hips. “I’ll make it feel great.”

His thrusts got rougher, angling your hips until the head of his cock met the sensitive spot that his fingers were well acquainted with, after months of just playing with your pussy and making you cum on his fingers. Your toes curled as your hands floundered around for something to grab. They settled above you on the arm of the couch, keeping you from moving upwards on the couch as the force behind Minho’s thrusts increased. “Fuck, Minho,” you cursed between mewls.

Minho leant down again, grinding into you deeply as he held you in place by your shoulders. “My baby’s got such a dirty mouth. You like my cock that much? Like it so much that you turn into a dirty whore for me?”

“Yes!” you sobbed, Minho’s movements not only fucking his cock into you so deeply, so good, but also his pelvis grinding into your clit, heightening the pleasure. “I’m a dirty whore.”

“My dirty whore.” he growled, correcting you, a hand making its way around the front of your neck. You gasped in surprise, a rough moan clawing its way out, Minho taking that as a sign that you liked it. “Gonna have to fuck this little pussy more often, make sure it remembers me.”

“Yes! Please, I’m gonna…” your voice trailed off. Minho felt as your thighs tensed up, your back arching as your arms held onto him.

“You want to cum, baby?” Minho asked, squeezing the sides of your neck, feeling your cunt squeeze down harder on his cock. “Yes, please! Please, let me cum!” you begged. Minho sat up, his other hand traveling down to thumb at your clit, his thrusts speeding up, his hand around your throat holding you in place, making your head feel floaty as your high crashed over you.

You screamed his name, loud whines as your cunt clenched with each wave of your high. Minho rode out your high, your sound spurring him on as his hands found their way to your hips. His thrusts turned sloppy, his own moans and groans getting louder. He pulled out, stroking himself until he spilled on your stomach.

His chest heaved as he caught his breath, one of his hands pushing his hair out of his face, as the other rested on your thigh. His eyes were low, basking in the post-orgasm euphoria.

You sat up on your elbows, still catching your breath, but also taking in the sight of your freshly fucked out boyfriend. You looked down at the hot cum on your skin. The white puddle intrigued you. You always wondered what it would taste like, but of course you were too shy to ask your boyfriend to teach you how to suck him off. And what if you didn’t like it? Of course, Minho wouldn’t make you continue if you didn’t enjoy it, but you wouldn’t deny that it would be kind of awkward.

But now, figuring that this was the best opportunity, you bit your lip as you swiped a finger through the puddle, placing it on your tongue. You let out a hum at the salty taste, noting Minho’s incredulous expression as he looked back at you. He let out a unbelieving laugh, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. “You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped before leaning down, his tongue salivating and ready to lick you clean.

#lee minho smut #stray kids smut #minho smut #lee know smut #lee know x reader #minho x reader #stray kids reaction #stray kids reactions #lee know fluff #minho fluff #lee minho fluff #stray kids fluff

422 notes · View notes

librarycards · 4 months

Note

i keep seeing that bpd is a response to complex trauma, but i developed bpd symptoms before experiencing any trauma at all. i would say it was probably "diagnosable" in high school, even tho nothing traumatic had ever happened to me. isn't it possible that there are mental illnesses that just exist? just an unhappy mix of genetics and brain chemistry? bc antipsychiatry seems founded on the predicate that mental illness is a response to life lived, but that hasn't been my experience

this is a good question! i think there are a couple of things to note here.

i should have been more clear about what i meant by trauma, and probably not used the clinicizing add-on. i disagree with the psychiatric monopoly on what does and does not constitute trauma, especially 'capital T'.

given the above, i think that it is more reasonable to say that personality traits - both those that are understood as normative and those seen as pathological - develop as a result of our lived experiences, traumas (quotidian and significant), relationships, and - i mean, maybe genetics, but i'm agnostic on the role of 'biology'.

i think that there is also space for the ineffable here. things that develop out of nowhere, for no discernable reason. part of the project of medicine/psychiatry is to name and "confirm" not only what it defines as problems but also their respective etiologies, hence the fixation with biology, life experiences, etc. as "creating" certain diagnoses.

so...

with all of this in mind, i think you have a few options. you don't have to identify with the diagnosis of bpd at all. you can use it as a way to contextualize the way you experience the world, with or without recourse to particular life experiences or perceived genetic antecedents. you can use it strategically to find support and abandon it otherwise. you can mix these up or imagine something else entirely.

i think what's important to remember here is that bpd, like any dx (especially PD dx's) are shorthands used to describe a collection of traits that a group of people seem to share. you are you before you are someone who has been marked as having bpd, and your personality is your personality regardless of what it's called, or if it's identified as somehow deviant. antipsychiatry doesn't mean that you need to find "organic" experiences that correlate 1:1 with pathologized traits, but instead to free yourself from the nosological impulse to find a concrete reason, definition, and reaction to everything you do/are.

tl;dr: you're you. you have traits associated with the contemporary diagnosis of bpd. what matters isn't so much "why," but what you do next.

#antipsychiatry #ask #anonymous #psychiatry #madness

54 notes · View notes

ghostlythunderbird · 1 year

Text

How they show their love ~ Task Force 141

Pairings: Simon Riley, John MacTavish, Kyle Garrick, John Price X Fem! Reader

Warnings: Sugar (SFW), Little bit of Spice (NSFW), and everything nice!

Author Notes: My brain do be shutting down while writing these HCs but that’s ok cause a little violence and sleep deprivation never fully hurts anyone, right?

Simon “Ghost” Riley

So to start things off personally Simon isn’t one to really go out with his love due to his past but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t show his love in general. Simon’s love language is gift giving but he actually does it more subtly, in ways not many can see even when watching him do these things.

Believe it or not but this big guy loves to leave small gifts in places that only you would know to look at. These small gifts include but not pertained to Candy, Favorite Drinks, a Single Flower, etc. If one day you have a headache/migraine and don’t have any pain meds, a random bottle of your preferred pain killers appear randomly in your backpack.

I’ll add this in but all of this starts once Simon starts to feel comfortable around you, maybe even trust you outside of a mission. It becomes deeper once you catch him in the act of leaving a candy bar you’ve been “Whining” about for the last week according to him. Having caught this looming giant in the act seemed to paint the picture that this guy isn’t as subtle as he seems.

You can’t help but smile seeing only small streams of who he really is. Of course you don’t want to make the poor guy melt into the floor in front of you, but he didn’t seem to stop you as you stepped towards him. Reaching up to touch his covered cheek you couldn’t stop the words pouring from your mouth “You know Ghost, I’m starting to think that heart isn’t as cold as you let on.”

John “Soap” MacTavish

This man is a teddy bear when it comes to showing his unconditional love for you. His way he shows his love is not just with quality time but physical touch too, like good luck getting this man off of you when he’s home. Johnny just loves to be around you but he will respect your space if you say you need to take a break from him.

Another way this man will show his love is by pranking you, whether it be small pranks or full on scares you better be cautious of this cheeky gremlin.

His best one he’s done was him placing EVERYTHING in different spots and acting as if it was normal. The dishes are now in the refrigerator, the pantry food is now in the cupboard with your favorite snacks in the very top, all the frozen stuff is now in the sink on ice. It may be a small harmless joke but it was still irritating regardless, mostly because now you couldn’t find your snacks.

If you end up being a little angry at him he will cling to you afterwards asking for forgiveness “Come on Bonnie I thought it was funny.” Does this end up with apology sex? You're goddamn right it does.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Now this sweet human here I feel like is a mix between a few of the love languages, he loves to give you small gifts that he’s collected off of his missions. While he’s off on missions for months at a time he ends up having a whole bag to bring back to you consisting of necklaces, bracelets, clothes, and small trinkets that he would think you would love.

Kyle also loves to help you whenever he can, he often feels that if he can’t help with anything that he’s not doing anything productive. Even after you tell him you don’t need help he will give you puppy dog eyes until you decide there is something he can help out with. No matter how small the task is he will see it to the end.

His favorite thing to do is help you redecorate your shared flat. From picking out new paint to new furniture if something in the flat has lost its functionality he loves to be part of the whole process. If anyone says that they don’t like your style you choose, prepare to hold him back cause this man will fight for you.

John Price

All I can truly say what johns love languages are both Physical Touch and Quality Time and y’all can fight me on that. Due to his job he can’t be home as often as he would like so the best way to get around it is with phone calls and face time. Of course if our dear captain if feeling more wound up than usual its bound to end up with phone sex.

But once he returns home after however long your not gonna be leaving the bed for the first week. While yes this might be a different form of quality time and personal touch, it still is the basic form of him showing how much he loves and has missed you. After the first week though he will be more doting on you more than usual.

Weather its watching T.V., cooking, going shopping in town, he has a hand on you as much as possible. It also grounds him, reminding him that he’s returned home safe for now. As much as he would like nothing more than to be cuddled up on the couch with you in your home, he understands if you want to go out during his time home so he’s willing when you drag him off to who knows where.

Sorry if this is super short, my brain isn’t as functional today. But if you enjoyed this post please leave a like and a reblog!

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #john price x reader #john price #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #cod modern warfare #cod mw2

391 notes · View notes

cha-melodius · 8 months

Note

Firstprince, and look don’t ask me why this is what my brain came up with but: meetcute at the STI clinic

(OMG, I love your brain so much. This made me cackle and immediately start writing it. Thanks so much, hope you enjoy!)

chamel's fandom fest info | read all the fics

Getting Clinical

(firstprince, 2k, T; read it below or on AO3)

Alex has to admit that the very last thing that he expected to get upon coming out to his mother was an appointment made in his name at an LGBTQ+ focused sexual health clinic near his apartment. Really, he should have known better, given the PowerPoints that resulted from said coming out, but still. He’s a grown-ass man with a career. He lives on his own in a city in which she does not live. He can take care of himself.

He still goes to the appointment when he gets back to New York. It’s already made, after all, and it’s been a while since he was tested. Since he’s had any sexual partners, in point of fact; he’s been more or less a hermit for the past couple of years, throwing himself into his work and only letting Nora and June drag him out on rare occasion. The whole bisexual revelation had been a slow thing, born of the unexpected feelings evoked in him when one of the senior partners at his law firm came out as gay, in combination with finding himself staring a little too long at the shirtless male leads when he’d put on The Mummy or Indiana Jones on in the background while working late nights at home. He hasn’t actually acted on any of this newfound knowledge save for flirting a bit with the barista at the coffee shop in his building.

He’s gonna, though. He’s determined to get out there and meet someone. A number of someones, maybe—why not have some fun while he’s discovering a bit more about himself? Explore what’s out there. So it makes sense to just go when he gets the email from his mom with a screenshot of the appointment confirmation.

“I wonder if anyone’s done a comparative study of these lubes,” Nora says, too loudly, from where she sits beside him inspecting a selection of samples that she’s collected from a display in the waiting room. More than one person waiting nearby looks over at them, and Alex sinks a little deeper into his chair.

“Ugh, why are you here again?”

“For the moral support,” she chirps with too much glee. “Not like I have any need to be tested right now. Although, June and I did meet this very intriguing guy—”

“All right, enough of that,” he interrupts sharply before she can say any more about her and his sister’s sex life. He already knows far too much about it as it is. “No one asked you to come.”

Nora tips her head at him. “Not in so many words, no. But if I had to listen to one more minute of you hemming and hawing about whether you could make the appointment or whether this was the ‘right place for you’”—she adds the air quotes, annoyingly—“I was gonna start breaking things.” Something softens in her expression, then. “You do belong in these spaces, you know.”

“I know,” he mutters, staring down into his lap. He’s even getting better at believing it.

At that, Nora returns to her lube investigation, and Alex rage-reads some twitter threads until someone steps up to the empty chair next to him and says in a mellifluous British accent, “Pardon me, is this seat taken?”

The waiting room is not that crowded, so Alex doesn’t know why this guy needs to sit directly next to him. He’s in the middle of trying to figure out a polite way to convey this when he finally looks up and right into what he’s pretty sure are the bluest pair of eyes on the planet. Jesus fuck, this man might be the most attractive person he’s ever laid eyes on in person. He doesn’t actually seem like he could be real, but he’s here, looking hopefully at Alex like he wants to be next to him, which is, let’s just say, intriguing—

“It’s only— there’s an outlet on the wall here, and my phone is dying,” Blue Eyes says with an apologetic smile.

Right. So, not particularly interested in sitting next to Alex, then. And that’s definitely not a hollow feeling of disappointment settling into his stomach.

“Yeah, no problem, man,” Alex says, trying to school his expression into something appropriate for conversing with strangers. “It’s all yours.”

Blue Eyes thanks him and takes the seat as he reaches into his bag to pull out a phone cord. The thing is, the outlet is kind of under the chairs and between the two of them, which necessitates some twisting and bending as he tries to blindly reach for it. That definitely doesn’t seem to be working, though, so Alex ends up twisting in his chair too to try to see if he can help.

“A little lower, I think—”

“Oh, thank you, I just can’t quite feel—”

“Fuck, you’re too far now— look, you need to shift to the right, yeah, there—”

“Ah, there it goes,” Blue Eyes murmurs with a pleased hum that brings to mind a very different setting than the one they’re currently in.

This seems to occur to Blue Eyes at the same time as it does Alex, which is approximately when they both look up and realize that their faces have ended up quite close together. Blue Eyes’ cheeks are rapidly turning a lurid pink; Alex quickly replays their previous exchange in his head and yeah, fuck. Suggestive doesn’t seem to begin to cover it. Slowly, Blue Eyes straightens, his posture stiff and eyes fixed on the floor in front of him.

“Er, thank you,” he coughs.

“Don’t mention it,” Alex mumbles in response.

A strained silence settles over them that’s somehow heavier than your usual odd-encounter-with-a-stranger awkwardness. At some point during this encounter, Nora had disappeared to god knows where, so Alex doesn’t even have her company to fall back on. He scrolls on his phone without actually reading anything on it, half hoping one of them will be called into the doctor and half dreading it. Next to him, Blue Eyes is typing furiously with his thumbs.

Alex shouldn’t interrupt him. Just… mind his own business. That would be the reasonable thing to do.

Oh well.

“So, come here often?” he tries to joke, only to realize too late the implications behind asking such a question in a sexual health clinic. He grimaces, hard. “Fuck, I didn’t mean— you don’t have to answer that. I was just— trying to make it not awkward.”

To his relief, Blue Eyes just looks amused. “And made it exceedingly awkward instead?” he replies with a tiny smirk tilting his perfect mouth. There’s a mole right next to the corner of it that Alex would very much like to bite. “I do visit regularly, in fact,” he continues after a moment. “I consider my and my partners’ sexual health to be very important.”

Fuck, that just makes him hotter, which shouldn’t be physically possible. “Lucky person,” Alex hears himself say. “Your partner.”

“Oh, I, uh,” Blue Eyes stammers slightly. “I’m not dating anyone. Currently, that is. I’m just getting out of a relationship, actually.”

“Sorry,” Alex winces.

“Don’t be,” he replies lightly, a flickering smile on his lips. “I’m well shot of him. Anyway, it’s been long enough. Thought I should get back out there.”

“Oh,” Alex says. That’s a good sign, right? Alex could just ask him out. They could have fun if nothing else. That’s all he’s looking for right now. And he’s good at picking people—women, anyway—up. Or was, historically. He just needs to… say something charming. “Well, good luck, then.”

Not that.

He’s really, really hoping he’s not misreading the look of resignation that flickers across Blue Eyes’ face. Before Alex can figure out how to make his big mouth say something useful, though, Blue Eyes’ gaze flickers up behind him. “Ah, your partner’s returned.”

Alex glances back long enough to see Nora flopping down into the chair next to him with more lube samples. “Oh, she’s not my—”

“Alex?” a nurse calls from the other side of the waiting room, leaving him little other choice but to get up and follow her. Blue Eyes shoots him a tight smile and a tiny nod of acknowledgement that they’re probably never going to see each other again before Alex turns and starts walking away.

He’s halfway through the door to the exam rooms when he glances back to see Blue Eyes still watching him, which is frankly more than he can take.

“Sorry, just— forgot something,” he says to the nurse before all but sprinting back to his chair. He plucks Blue Eyes’ phone right out of his slack grip, opens a new contact page, and types in his number. Then, as if he’s in some kind of fever dream, he actually says, “Let me know when you get your results,” and winks.

Alex hurries off again before the nurse can call after him, leaving one extremely stunned Brit in his wake.

~~~~

A week later, Alex’s test results from the clinic show up in his inbox. He’s clean, of course, no surprises there, but the visit itself had been worthwhile—he’d found himself talking to the doctor about aspects related to his health and wellness that went beyond what he might encounter now that he’d be branching out, so to speak—so all in all, not a waste of time.

His phone stays silent, though.

Of course it was always a long shot. That doesn’t change the bitter taste of disappointment on his tongue that not even his endless cups of coffee can cover up. He gets the results on a Friday and lets himself be dragged out to a club on Saturday night to ‘celebrate’, though he ends up politely rebuffing the advances of everyone who hits on him. Nora gives him a look after the third one—a tall, gorgeous brunet with a jaw chiseled out of marble and blue eyes that do give him a half a second of pause—but he shrugs her off.

On Monday morning, he’s in the middle of a conference with a partner and a client when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He assumes it’s Nora or June, so he nearly drops the damned thing on the floor when he finally gets out and swipes open to see a screenshot of an email that looks suspiciously familiar. There’s one key difference, though: under ‘name’ at the top, the text says Henry Fox-Mountchristen.

The screenshot has been sent without comment or followup, just a dry, clinical report, and somehow it’s still one of the sexiest texts he’s ever gotten. Fuck, he’s at work.

Which is exactly what he sends back to Henry. (Henry, he thinks, mulling over the name. It suits him. Alex would very much like to taste it, pressed into his skin.)

Apologies, but you did ask to be informed.

Am I to assume this was an academic interest, or…?

nothing academic about what i want to do to you, sweetheart

Right, then. Jolly good. Are you free this weekend?

Alex wants to say he’s free tonight, actually, so they can put those results to good use, but halfway through writing his reply, he stops. Yes, he wants Henry in his bed, but he also doesn’t want Henry to think he’s only interested in sex. Which is exactly the opposite of what he told himself he was going to do when he started exploring his bisexuality. He shouldn’t be looking for a relationship, and there’s no guarantee Henry is interested in one either. Maybe he’s just busy until then.

Alex thinks another moment, then sends back: what did you have in mind?

~~~~~

(Henry takes him on a date date, all romantic candlelit dinner with a single red rose and a walk in Central Park afterward with their fingers tangled together. And when he finally leans in to kiss Alex, it’s soft and sweet and Alex feels it down to his fucking toes. So, like. That’s a whole thing.

Turns out that they do make good use of their test results that night, thoroughly. And again, the next morning in the shower. And again and again, until they each get a reminder email from the clinic that it’s time for a regular screening.

Which they each promptly delete.)

#firstprince #rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #chamel's fandom fest #my fic

102 notes · View notes

toffeelights · 2 months

Text

falling into sonic again..

no i grew up watching those epic sprite animations and sonic final fantasies, sonic paradox even. The games I played were heroes and a few more like unleashed and mega collection and i adored black knights transformation sequence i would play it in the car repeatedly ( i never owned a wii). I watched all the sonic gameplay I could. My favourite characters being sonic and shadow. I, however grew up and believed sonic was not "famous" and was niche, jealous of the only sonic merch being the boys underwear in the superstore :(,

i didnt like boom or even lost world. it wasn't "sonic" to me, so i fell out, come forces and im burned, never touching this franchise again in my mid teens. I looked at how it was doing, would watch dubs and enjoy animations but eh that was it for me.

then.. comes 2023 and the thing that drags me back into this franchise, the thing that fucking pulls me in and keeps me buried... is those same two fucking hedgehogs but this time... their fucking ship. I suppose i can blame the art that took me here in the first place but holy shit. if you told me when i was 5 years old that i would come to adore sonadow and that would be the sole reason for my staying to the sonic franchise and all i would draw would be fucking sonadow, i would think you were fucking stupid and then go on word and make sonic comics of him running and pissing on eggman. no its the fucking fact, that now its come to a point where the dynamic of sonic and shadow genuinely have shifted my entire brain chemistry, they are everything, romantic subtext or not, they have literally shaped my interest for the past half year.

the fucking SYMBOLISM sega hints around them??!! them being stars, fated, destined to meet, mirror images, understanding eachother the most yet causing the most frustration. Sonic, is the one character that can get so, so personal to shadow, challenge him in a way and intrigue him in the most bizzarest of ways he never understands yet finds equal annoyance as much as admiration, sonic is a shift to his core. Shadow also does care quite a bit, just as much as he gets irritated at his presence, i find it funny how in sonic 06, the two characters saving sonic are amy and Fucking SHADOW the hedgehog. (albeit you dont see this alot erm due to segas insistence of making characters.. boring? but anyways)

their TRUST.. in eachother, the sonic x shadow generations descriptions do it so well (esp in jp).

in sa2 when they.. worked together for the first time in space and.. he called him the ultimate life form.. and sonic and shadow.. just in that moment.. were together as one. and oh man..

I could talk about prime but uh my favourite interactions in there are mostly when one of the other was uncouncious or in a state of unawareness (youd be suprised how much this happened). like sonic holding shadow and saving him, he seems to get really, REALLY emotional when it comes to shadow than anybody else.. for some reason... and shadow' reaction when sonic almost died. OWee that was done so well. the way.. he held him.. tight.. when sonic was dying.. oh my gosh. bride style. oahy.. im not too fond on talking about prime since in terms of the "sonic and shadow" dynamic it sort of slaps you in the face but hey I appreciate some sonadow anytime, if that was their actual only canon dyamic i dont think I'd care for it as much but its more of an add on to one of the most insane PASSIONATE.. crazy mutually charged dynamics ive seen in my life... like why are they like that.. can they STOP.. those two.. my brain will explode if we actually like actually like ACTUALLY see them togteher and if its anything like "them" with their subtetly and bizzare unique tensions, i think i will lose my sanity and just not function anymore. good fucking bye if i see a mention towards emerl or the ending of sa2 i will lose my absolute shit and you random person seeing this will see me go through it. my sketchbook would probably be overwhelmed by the amount of incoherent sonadow mess dear lord why..

ignore this i have an exam tomorrow and ended up going on a crazy rant about tbese two hedgehogs that have carried me through senior year, shout out to sonadow.. gotta be the only thing dragging me towards a degree.

#sonadow #sonic #shadow #sonic x shadow generations #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog

37 notes · View notes

soupgoose · 1 year

Text

I’m Right Here

Summary : After weeks, the Captain of the Invincible had still not woken from their Cryopod. And while most of the crew has lost hope, Mark, now as Acting Captain still held on to the thought that they would. Was it denial, or a foolish hope that his beloved Captain would wake up? Possibly. But whatever was going on in his head wasn’t going to change their fate. And Mark hadn't left their side. No one wanted their Captain to stay asleep forever, but in this state, they weren't really alive either.

Genre : Hurt/Comfort, Angst (with a happy ending)

Word Count : 2500

Paring : (Sort of) Head Engineer Mark / [Gender Neutral]Captain, Captaineer

TW: I’ll add these since there is mention of being in a comatose state and self-blame but that’s it!

A/N: I'M BACK BABY

No jokes, I have returned from my unofficial hiatus (cough-burn out-cough) and I am ready to write again! First time writing 2nd person for a fic, so please let me know how I can improve. Slightly shorter than how I prefer my writing, but I didn't want it to drag.

I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading! As always, if you have any ideas or critiques for how I can improve in the future, please let me know!

Happy reading! -Soup :D

“Hey, Mark? ‘You in here?” Gunther called out from the doorway.

The engineer sat alone in the small break room, hands in a fist held in front of his face. His expression was difficult to read as most of the lights were turned off. A few emergency lights at the corners of the room dimly lighting the man's figure.

“Mark…” Celci spoke quietly, a contrast from how she typically spoke to him.

Only receiving a quiet sigh from him, she exchanged a nod between herself, Gunther, and Burt. Burt stepped in, flicking the light switch by the room’s entrance. Mark winced at the sudden brightness, covering his eyes with his hands. He sniffed, turning his head towards them, “I’m guessing nothing new then?”

The man's eyes were glossy and red, now shimmering under the fluorescent lights. There were marks left from tears that had fallen from his eyes, leaving only the path that they took down his face.

“Well, they’re vital signs are stable, but they’re still sleeping.”

The corners of his mouth fell into a deeper frown, his eyebrows furrowed as he closed his eyes. His knuckles rested against his forehead as his thumbs pressed at the space in between his brows.

“We know that that’s not the news that you wanted to hear, Mark. But at the very least, they are still healthy…”

His brown eyes looked focused at the table in front of him. Only looking up when Gunther came over to stand next to him. He looked wordlessly at his friends, all sharing the same worries he had. “They’ve been “healthy, for almost a month.” he started, “What if-” he fought hard against the knot that formed at the base of his throat, “-What if they don’t-” stopping himself, he turned away from them as he attempted to clear his throat.

The four knew what he wanted to ask, even though he had already done so many times before.

Even when he already knew that their answer wouldn’t change. He just didn’t know what else to say.

He took a moment to collect himself before clearing his throat, “It’s been three weeks… how much longer do you think we should wait?”

Celci gathered a breath, “We don’t know. It's- we're worried that if we force them out of cryo sleep, their vitals and brain functions would suffer. But then again, if we wait too long, we aren't sure if they’ll be able to- ehhem- We’re not sure how much damage Cryo is doing to them as it is.” Her voice began to falter. Celci was known as a hard and calculated person, though she had her moments, but her mood had taken the same turn that everyone else’s had.

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

After arriving at their final destination, while every other crew member had woken up to begin work on starting the new colony, their Captain remained asleep.

In the beginning, no one was particularly worried. Cryo sleep can often be difficult to emerge from, especially taking into consideration how long the individual had been out for.

However, as days began to pass, more and more of the crew began to grow concerned. The Captain hadn’t shown any signs of progression in waking up. And their vital scans remained consistent with how they were when they had first entered the cryo pod.

The only distinguishable detail was that they'd showed a small spike every so often, similar to when a person enters REM sleep.

After 5 days, the leads from every division of the crew had gathered for a meeting. Without the guidance of the Captain, they decided that the four main crew leads, Mark, Celci, Gunther, and Burt, would take over leading the building faze of the colony, until the Captain emerged. Since Mark was the head engineer, and had been in charge for the creation of the Invincible 2, he was appointed as the temporary Captain. While the other three had to be involved in all decisions, his word was final.

Two and a half weeks have passed since then.

Was it denial, or a foolish hope that his beloved Captain would wake up? Possibly. But whatever was going on in his head wasn’t going to change their fate. Mark hadn't left their side. His coworkers had found him multiple times asleep leaned up against the cryopod’s door. The three had tried to convince him that he should try to let them go, but he always refused. No one wanted their Captain to stay asleep forever, but in this state, they weren't really alive either.

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

“I’m going to go see them.” He said, getting up from his spot.

“Mark… I- We know you don’t want to think about it, but the longer we wait, there will only be a higher likelihood of there being more damage.”

Ignoring them, he began to walk past.

“Come on Mark, we need to talk about this.” Gunther spoke firmly, grabbing him by his sleeve.

“I just need a second!” Mark's eyes had an irritated gleam to them. “...Please.”

Burt placed his hand on Mark’s arm before looking back at Gunther. Gunther’s hand dropped back to his side with a sigh.

“Another few minutes won’t change anything. I just need to collect my thoughts, okay?”

The group hesitantly let him go. They needed to decide soon. And they needed Mark to be the one to do it.

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

Their Cryopod had been moved to a quieter, more isolated and sterile part of the ship. An old additional medical bay was preferable to the front control room. With less foot traffic, the Captain’s attendants could better maintain and focus on taking care of them.

The room was a bit darker as well. So long as they didn’t leave the monitor screens on full brightness.

Mark found it to be… comforting? More relaxing, maybe? As the acting Captain, he found that the crew had taken an interest in talking and meeting with him more than they used to. He would probably have enjoyed the extra attention, if it weren't for the current circumstances.

On top of having to run a growing colony and managing all of the new affairs of his current job, he was bombarded with questions, including the ones that he didn’t have answers to, and the ones didn’t want to answer. “Mark, are there any updates on the Captain’s condition?”

“Have you and the team come up with a plan?”

“Are they dead?”

But here, as grim and morbid as it may be, he found an ounce of peace. Even though it was accompanied by a deep and profound sadness.

“Hey, Cap’n…” He greeted them quietly. Although there was no response, he still paused for one.

He sat with his back pressed against the wall adjacent to their Cryopod, so he could maintain a close distance to them, while also being able to see the cold blue doors.

“Now I get why you don’t like all of the crew's attention. I mean yeah, some of it’s nice, but all of the time? I understand why you like being alone.” He said before chuckling to himself briefly. He could almost hear their laughter.

As he did everyday, he relayed any updates and reports there were. Including any funny stories if they happened. He felt that it was his duty, since he wasn’t really the Captain. He needed to keep them up to date on what was going on with their colony. That roll still belonged to them after all, they had earned it.

He sat with them for a long time in silence. Well, kind of silence. Their heart and oxygen monitors, along with the various other beeps bops, were present in the background.

Eventually, he continued,

“C.C and the team want me to come up with a decision. I just, don’t think I can. I don’t want this to be a lost hope yet. I want to believe that you’ll wake up one of these days, and then everything will just go back to the way things were…”

“But… I don’t know how long that will take, Cap.” His voice wavered, and he forced out a hard sigh.

“I don’t know how to do this without you. I trust you more than anybody, more so than myself… I should have listened to you. I shouldn’t have tried to blame you. I- I shouldn’t have tried to be the hero…I was so reckless…now you-"

He brought his knees up to his chest as tears started to well in his eyes.

He scoffed, burying the quiver in his voice with a brief cough.

He looked up at one of their monitors. From what he had remembered it was one of the ones that showed some of their brain functions. He had asked to be present though the majority of the Captain’s "check-ups". While he denies it, there wasn’t anything that he wasn’t there for, despite the crew’s suggestions for him to “Let them do their work in peace.” He never really left the Captain’s side so long as he could help it.

Through that he had gleaned a bit of an understanding of what all the peaks and dips meant on the screen. He watched closely at the lines, taking note of what he believed to be them entering a state similar to REM.

"I wonder what you're dreaming about Cap." he started, "I hope it's something nice. Like a quiet beach or a cabin, where nothing matters… just peace…"

A small smile almost broke through his frown, imagining his dearest friend somewhere peaceful for the first time in multiple eternities.

Then reality hit him again. “It's my fault, isn’t it?” He asked in a quiet voice. “Everything we went through- It was my fault. The warp-core…The loops… It was all my fault. All you did was try to clean up my mess. You believed in us, you believed in me, and all I gave you in return was nothing but blame and hate.”

“How could you forgive me?”

For a while after that, he sat there, quietly sobbing into his knees. Out of every person on the Invincible, no one wanted the Captain to wake up more so than himself. He needed to apologize to them. To talk to them again. Face to face.

He didn’t need them to forgive him. Frankly, he wouldn't care if they never wanted to see him again after that. He just needed to know that they were alive. That all of their efforts had mattered.

From inside, unknown and unnoticed, a new movement stirred. Their stiff and sore body rose from its rest, their muscles trying to stretch within the limited room. They let out a stifled yawn, rubbing the sleep away from their eyes. Their hands moved to rub small circles into their neck, wincing every so often when finding a particularly sore spot.

Confused, they tapped at the screen in front of them, after having gotten used to the monotone voice waking them up, the quiet was unnerving. Through their slight shiver, they heard a very muffled and desperate voice from beyond the blue walls.

As they reached for the door they stopped abruptly.

“C-captain… I’m so- so sorry Captain. I should have trusted you more. I just- I need you-I need you to wake up, tell me what I should do…”

They were taken aback, surprised at hearing him sound so upset. Especially over them. How long had they taken to wake up? Why was Mark so desperate for their advice? Had their plan worked? Was all of this finally over? Were they finally free from the constant repeats and agony?

Continuous questions raced through their mind, only halting when they heard Mark speak again.

“We need you back, Captain. I need you….”

Their voice was hoarse, just barely able to call out to him as the words scratched against their vocal cords.

He hadn’t heard them.

“I can’t keep going like this- you’re supposed to be the captain, not me. I didn’t sign up for this. I never thought that you wouldn’t be able to lead. Why would I-”

They tried to call out to him again, a little louder. They tried the door, pushing against it, but their body still hadn’t regained all of its strength. It was still not enough

A few corridors down, Celci and the other cryo-engineers received a shocking notification.

"Holy shit."

"Please wake up…" his words were weak and desperate. "Captain please, just wake up."

Frustrated, they reached up to hit the emergency release latch, and the Cryopod door swung open.

Their knees almost hitting the ground before catching themselves. They squinted at the brightness from the screens flashing with warnings. Sterile air hitting their lungs as they caught their breath. Though heavily disoriented, they heard a small voice from behind them.

“Captain?”

The captain turned to look at their distressed partner. He looked so small, so… hopeless.

The flashing lights illuminated the streaks of tears that followed the curve of Mark’s face.

He was speechless, his eyes wide with shock. Unsure if he was dreaming this, or if all of his wishes suddenly were answered. Their face looked unscathed, their features just as he remembered them from when they first arrived on the Invincible. No bruises or cuts, they looked… alive.

He was expecting anger, hate, something to lash out on him at any moment. And the longer they stared, the harder he braced himself. Whatever was coming, he felt he deserved it.

After what felt like an eternity, they moved, taking a small step towards him.

“Mark?” the captain asked in a voice just above a whisper, “Is that you?”

As they inched closer, Mark instinctively brought his hands up, almost on guard.

He wanted to answer, but every word that came to mind got caught in his throat.

Only able to whimper, “Captain. I am so, so sorry…” He couldn’t stop more tears from pouring over and down his face, and a river of emotions raged. “I am so, so, sorry. I-I thought I- I thought you weren't going to wake up. I thought I had ki-”

“It was all my fault.” he sobbed. “I don’t care if you never want to see me again, I just needed to know that you were okay. So, please go ahead. Yell, scream, just do something! I can take it-” he stopped mid-sentence.

The Captain looked horrified. Years of memories and trauma lingered at the forefront of their mind, all of it pointing at the respective catalyst. Everything they went through, each ounce of pain should have made them so terribly mad at the engineer. It would have been so easy to let it consume them, let all of that rage take control and let loose on the poor man…

But they couldn’t.

Mark wasn’t aware of the opening door, or the gasps from the doorway. He could only feel their warm arms, and the steady sound of their heart-beat coming from their chest. Caught off guard, it took him a solid few seconds for him to react. The way their arms wrapped around him, the way they held the back of his head to their chest… They weren't mad at him at all.

Holding them back tightly, and burying his head deeper into their chest, he felt so relieved.

They were alive.

Through his shaky breaths and sobs, he heard the voice he realized just how much he had missed.

“I’m right here, Mark."

“I’m right here.”

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

A/N:

YIPEE I FINALLY GOT THIS THING OUT OF MY DRAFTS!!!

In all seriousness, thank you for reading. I know I’ve been absent from tumbler lately, however, I’m planning on hoping right back into writing! I have quite a few more WIPs that I plan on posting relatively soon (wink wonk) and I can’t wait for you all to see them!

If if you have any ideas or critiques for how I can improve in the future, please let me know! Thank you again.

Happy Reading!

-Goose :D

#markiplier #markiplier egos #iswm #iswm head engineer #iswm captain #captaineer #iswm x reader #angst with a happy ending #2nd person pov #gender neutral #I'm so happy to have this done #I swear #I dunno I had this idea in my pebble brain for like 5 months before I finally sat down to finish it #screaming #but in a good way

209 notes · View notes

random-letters-i-just-thought-of · 10 months

Text

Clones mourning the Jedi

Ok, so, bear with me, my brain is constantly making up scenarios that I want to happen in Bad Batch Season 3. Most of the time I don't do anything with them, but this one today was especially emotional, so I just can't keep it to myself. Even though it doesn't fit into the story at all and is probably also very out of character. So… I need the connection between the clones and the Jedi to be appreciated, right? So my brain was like: How about we have the clones collectively, in their little community that they built, (which will also totally happen, right? I mean… clone rebellion?!?…please?!!), mourn the Jedi? And I was just: Umm… I don't think… And my brain went: Shut up, I've already made up a whole fucking ceremony and the precise camera angles and shots it will be shown in. So anyway, it starts with the Bad Batch needing Rex's help for a mission or something, so they go to him, and Rex is like: "Sure, but not today." So Hunter asks why, and he just says: "It's Empire Day." No missions till tomorrow morning." "Why? You're celebrating?", Wrecker asks jokingly. Rex huffs and flashes a sad little smile: "We're mourning."

Empire Day would be roughly the day Order 66 happened, right? I mean, I have no idea how space time works so I just assume that. So anyway, they go inside and meet all the other clones from Rex's little Network who sit together, talk and laugh, and many of them, most of them, are doing some sort of pottery. Echo is also there (which doesn't make sense because at this point he would have been back with the Bad batch already, but honestly, I don't care when this happens. Could also be way earlier. Actually, that would maybe be even better, so we can have Tech and Omega on board as well) so after some big hellos, of course the Bad Batch asks what's going on with this pottery stuff. Rex has excused himself at this point, but Echo shows them they're making little bowls and explains that it is part of the ceremony to honor the Jedi. At this point, it becomes a bit awkward for the Bad Batch since they never had such a connection to the Jedi and also experienced order 66 differently. But it gets better when Wrecker asks if he can make one for the little Padawan (Caleb), even though he hopes he survived. Just to remind of him. And Echo beams and says "sure" and shows them the bowl he's making for Ahsoka. He started it, still thinking she died during Order 66, but then Rex found out, teared up, and told him everything. He still makes her a bowl. To remember her. Because wherever she is now, even though she survived, the sassy, lighthearted, funny little commander he knew is definitely dead. So the Bad batch mixes with the other Clones. Wrecker makes his little bowl; maybe Hunter and Omega (if she's there) make one for Shaak Ti and Tech (if he's there) helps with the technical preparations for the ceremony and makes some valuable improvements. (Um, yeah, I have no Ideas for Crosshair. I'm open for suggestions! As said, not following any continuity/timeline here.) In the evening, everything is ready for the ceremony. It goes this way: Everyone who wants to has made a bowl for a specific Jedi, or several bowls for several Jedi, one bowl for multiple Jedi at once, or just one for all of them or no one in particular. They fill the bowls with a special material that will create a colorful flame when burned. Normally, they choose the color of their Jedi's lightsaber.

So for the ceremony, one after another lights up their lanterns, takes them to the little shrine or altar they built, says the name(s) of the one(s) they want to honor/remember maybe adds a little prayer if they feel like it, and then returns to the group to watch the flames leaping up to the sky. A colorful, beautiful mess, so bright, so hopeful, just like the Jedi were. Many bring blue ones for Shaak Ti, their beloved guardian on Kamino, who was killed by the ones she protected and watched over so lovingly. I'm thinking some of the Ryloth clones, the ones from Howzer's squad, maybe served under Mace Windu before they were stationed on Ryloth after the battle, so we get a few beautiful, strong purple flames. Wollfe brings one for Plo Koon, and his hands, ever shaking, now that his mind is no longer trustworthy, are steady when he sets down the bowl. His eyes, that are now mostly clouded by thoughts he can't voice, are clear for once as he remembers the brave man he fought side by side with, that he knows died wrongly even though his mind, corrupted by the chip for far too long, won't let him believe it. Cody's Hands (of course Cody is there, why wouldn't he be?) on the other hand are shaking as he brings forth the bowl he made for his general. It's not the only one for him on their little shrine, but it is probably by far the brightest and the most detailed. "Obi Wan Kenobi", he says, his voice is not shaking, but it's oh so quiet. He swallows hard and thinks for a moment before he adds: "Wherever you are right now… be safe. I miss you. I'm so sorry, love." And he wants to say so much more, but he doesn't know how, and now it's too late anyway. Echo's lantern for Ahsoka burns bright in the yellowish green he remembers, so fresh, so young, and so free. Rex is the last one to set down his lantern. "Anakin Skywalker", he says, making sure to place it right in the middle of the shrine, next to the bright blue flame that is Cody's lantern for Obi Wan and in front of the green one that is Ahsoka's. His voice does not shake, his steps do not falter, as he walks back to the group and turns around to watch the lights. (We see Hunter shooting Rex a quick, slightly worried, slightly curious glance because he's still convinced Anakin and Rex had something going on after that very suspicious scene in season 7.) We see the Bad Batch exchanging glances because they kind of feel like intruders. Because they suddenly feel grief over something they never even really knew. But then again, did any of them? We see Omega holding on to Hunter, deeply moved but not completely understanding why or what this is all about. We have a wide shot of all the clones standing in front of the lights, watching them with varying stages of grief. Some of them look deeply hurt; some of them smile sadly or even relieved as they watch the bright light resembling their friends, their mentors, their comrades, their idols. Only a very few of them are crying. Because even after all that's happened, they're still so strong. So used to the losses. Most of them watch the lights and gain strength. Grow a determined look on their face. They're going to make up for this. If there's one thing they can do, it's fight, so you bet that's what they're going to do. Cut to Rex staring into the flames and putting on his brave face for his brothers. His strong face as the leader. The determined face that makes it so easy, natural to follow him. He stares into the lights and knows this is his fight, the role he plays, the task he is set to fulfill. He is setting himself to fulfill. Their destiny is in their own hands now. And they're going to use it to make the galaxy the Jedi couldn't. It's what they owe them. And, most importantly, it's what they want to do, too. They were made to protect the galaxy, and damn well, they will. Because the Jedi gave them hope. Showed them that it can be different. Taught them to believe in themselves. In the human in every single one of them.

Cut to the Lanterns burning on the table, the colorful dancing flames, and it slowly zooms in on the bright blue flames of Anakin and Obi Wan burning next to each other.

But it doesn't stop there. It continues zooming in on Anakin's flame. And slowly, through the flickering light of Anakin's flame, we catch our first glimpse of Darth Vader. I'm thinking a Kenobi-like reveal. With dramatically swelling music and then just…breathing.

And then the screen goes black, bam episode over, bam Vader is the villain of Bad Batch now.

I know none of this makes sense, but it made me emotional, so….

Anyway if somebody else is having feels now, go listen to "Goodbye" by Ramsey, it's the song that was stuck in my head while writing this and it makes everything 100 times sadder :).

70 notes · View notes