#is that tag buried enough for me to say that like i really cannot stand my actions and i wish i knew how to change them

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Ten

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 5.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Masturbation, dirty (self) talk, brief daddy kink. This fic contains mature themes. Domestic violence. Grooming. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Nurse!reader. Kissing. Lots of dialogue. Bun considers making a friend. Penny is cute. Flirting. Touching. Comfort. Bun refers to herself as "heavy". Simon is Simon. POV switch. Dinner date.

“I’m Philip.”

The handsome brunette smiles, grabbing onto your hand. You blink, trying to understand, trying to make it make sense, when he prompts you with a teasing grin. “This is the part where you tell me your name, sweet thing.” 

Oh. You stumble over it, tongue tied into a million knots, sweat from the Texas sun beating down your back, sweat slicking your shirt to your skin. 

He’s still holding your hand, and you’re standing there with wide, doe eyes, shell shocked. 

He’s… so handsome. And older. Older, and handsome. Polished type, with good teeth and good hair. He looks like he just stepped off the golf course. 

Why is he talking to you? 

He glances down at your drink. 

“You even old enough to be drinkin’ that?” 

“I-“ You’re terrible at lying, and like he can read it on your face, he chuckles. 

“You live around here?” 

“I go to Rice.” 

“A bit young for college, aren’t you?” 

“I just turned eighteen!” You’ve heard it a million times. You’re too young to understand something, or know something, or do something. You don’t get the way the world works yet. You’re not an adult. 

He holds his hands up. “I’m sorry. I bet you’re one of the really smart girls that make all us men look like Neanderthals.” Your face heats. 

“N-no. I just… I graduated early. I’m not a know it all.” You defend yourself, desperate to create distance from the usual stereotype, the way most people see you. The way boys see you. 

Too smart. Face buried in a book. Awkward and stiff. Uncool. 

He traces you from head to toe, appreciative gaze grazing over the swell of your hips, the generous curve of your ass. “I didn’t think you were. Too mature for that, I bet.” He croons, and your knees go weak. 

“Y-yeah. A lot of people say I’m really mature.” 

Two things compete for your attention when you open your eyes.

One: there is a soft, lovely song playing downstairs, something spring-like and sweet, vibrant without being too loud.

Two: the house smells like pancakes.

You check your phone, shocked to see you’ve slept for yet another 12 hours. There’s a text from Nia, and a text from your boss.

>You have a lot of time accrued. Take as much as you need. 

That settles that, you guess.

There are also text messages in the group chat, one from Simon, and one from Johnny, coming in only a few minutes ago.

Simon: >Penny gets pancakes on Saturday mornings. They’ll be plenty, come down and eat when you’re ready. 

Johnny: >I’m missing all the good stuff. 

You stretch, cautiously, wiggling fingers and toes, spreading your limbs as far as you can without pushing it too much. You’re sore, uncomfortably so, and still exhausted, but if you stay in bed any longer, you’ll rot.

In the kitchen, Simon holds Penny and a mixing bowl, alternating hands to get a whisk through the batter while humming to his daughter on her hip.

You stop dead in your tracks.

He’s… he’s not wearing the mask. 

You stare at his face, his whole, naked face for the first time, taking in the broad jaw, every shiny white scar, and his (twice, if you had to guess) healed broken nose. He’s handsome, differently from Johnny but no less striking, and you can’t look away, stunned by his raw, depthless and rugged beauty. Penny’s leg has kicked up the hem of his shirt, exposing his midsection, and the flash of skin there feels like a scandal, something you shouldn’t be seeing but cannot get enough of. He looks nothing like you expected and yet… everything you hoped for.

“Morning.” Pen tucks her face into his chest shyly, peeking out from the corner of her eye, curious and cute. “Can you say good morning to bunny?” He bounces her a little, and she giggles.

"Bunny." She says quietly, and Simon laughs.

“That’s right. Good job.” After a second of silence, you try to ask him about the missing mask, but the question gets confused on your tongue, and what comes out instead is clumsy and stunted.

“Your mask.” You cringe, immediately. It’s the first thing that slips loose, insensitive, and uncouth. “I uh, I’m sorry, I’m just… surprised?” you falter, and makes it worse. You think about trying to run back upstairs, hightailing it for the hills when he smiles, and points to the empty stool at the kitchen counter with a batter covered whisk.

“Sit.” There’s already a stack piled high, plain, and ones with big, juicy blueberries. Your favorite. 

“So, pancakes every Saturday?”

“Mhmm.” He settles Penny in her highchair to your left, and pulls an already cooled pancake from the stack, cutting it up into little, tiny pieces with a child’s knife and fork. “Pen and her Da,” he pads some butter across the top of his handiwork, grabbing her sippy cup and filling it with milk. “Have pancakes every Saturday when he’s home. It’s their favorite. Right?” He points at her, “your favorite?” and taps his middle finger to his chin, others outward, straight up. “Your favorite?” Signing?

“Are you teaching her sign?”

“Trying to. Pen’s birth mum is deaf. It’s important to us, that she’s able to connect with her when the time comes. Plus, my hearing is shot. So is Johnny’s. It’s a great way for her to communicate with us.” He strokes some fingers through her curls, and she doesn’t even look up, too busy shoveling as much pancake into her mouth as she can. You have a million questions now, curiosities bubbling to the surface, about Pen’s mum, about her life, about how she came to be their child. All too rude, and too invasive to ask. “Or, to use when she’s feeling sassy and can’t find the words. That happens, too.”

“She’s what…sixteen months?” You watch her intently, unable to not smile when she cheeses at her dad with a mouthful of food, even though your tender skin stings with the movement.

“Yeah. Top percentiles in a lot of things for her age. Said her first word before she was one.” He’s rich with pride, a deep well of love shining in his eyes, and you force your own down to the plate, stifling the ache bleeding from your heart.

“Of course she is.” Penny holds pieces of sticky, syrupy pancake with both hands, attacking them with vigor, smearing her cheeks purple with the squished blueberries.

You need to eat something, but your brain is buzzing, unnatural discomfort stretching long in the back of your mind.

What’re you doing? Sitting here eating pancakes like everything is normal? Like everything’s okay? 

Everything is not okay. 

You drift, back to your apartment, back the venom of Phillip, the hands around your neck, the twist of your shoulder, back slamming into the wall. You can still feel him, still hear him, these memories like all the others, your body beaten on the floor, mind nearly broken. Trying to shift away from the hot end of a cigarette, screaming for help, running through a-

A hand covers yours.

He coaxes the fork from your fingers, metal vibrating within flesh.

“I think… I think I should go back to bed.” You whisper.

“Are you tired?”

“No… yeah. I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to run away, you know.” He flips a pancake onto your plate from the stack. “Just because you were somewhere else for a little bit.” Your cheeks burn. “We’ve got a pretty nice couch in the living room though, if you want some time alone and don’t feel too keen on the stairs.” Saturday morning pancakes and curling up on the couch? It sounds so nice, so normal, and must show on your face, because he chuckles. “Help yourself. You might have to share the TV though, in a bit. We watch baby Einstein on Saturdays, and she’ll need some entertaining for a minute while I get ready.” Your lips twist, an entire hearth lighting up in the bottom of your heart.

“Alright.”

Baby Einstein is as enthralling as you thought it would be, though Penny disagrees. She stares at the screen, wide eyed, open mouthed, sippy cup long forgotten, and even Simon struggles to get her attention after returning from getting dressed.

You force your eyes away from the strain of his thighs in blue jeans.

“We’re goin’ down to the hospital.” He tells you, pulling her upward over the back of the couch and rubbing his nose through her curls. It’s still… weird, to see his whole face. To clearly watch his expressions, sublime bliss pushing his mouth upward whenever he looks at his daughter. “Want to come?”

“I can’t, not if I’m taking time off. It… looks bad to admin. I can probably go in at night but, during the day is just a recipe for disaster.”

“Of course.” He looks around, for what you don’t know, shoulders tensing, then relaxing. “Well, you’ve got the remote. And my number. Are you… going to be, okay? Alone?”

Say yes. 

You can’t. All you can do… is nod.

“Okay well if you’re not. Just call.” You nod again, getting to your feet. Once you’re standing, you’re out of place, flailing in their living room, about to be here alone, with your memories, your poisoned mind.

What’re you doing? You’ve ruined everything. Broken all your rules. 

“We can stay.” Simon steps close, hand grazing the middle of your back, and you shake your head.

“No, no- I… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t-“

“Yes, I do.” Your voice shakes, and you slam your eyes shut. You can’t do this. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m putting you in danger, and I… I’m putting myself in danger and I’m being so- so stupid, Simon.” His gaze is heavy, serious, and he steps around you, sliding Penny into her bounce seat, turning it to face baby Einstein.

“Listen to me.”  As he returns, he reaches, carefully pulling you close, close enough you’re nearly in his chest, timing the rise and fall of his diaphragm. “We are safe, you are safe, sweetheart. ‘m not going to let anything happen to you, or Penny, or any of us. Alright?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Tell me.” You almost laugh, but something comes over you instead, something delirious and desperate. You lean into him, letting him hold you, hand smoothing over the back of your head. “You can tell me. You can trust us. We’ll take care of you.”

God, you want to. You want to so bad it aches, burns a ravenous fire in your heart. You want tell him, let them in. Tell them everything.

“Bun.” He murmurs, bringing you back, a finger under your chin.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s… it’s too much.”

“It’s alright.” He soothes, but doesn’t pull away, and you’re drawn in like a magnet, rising to the balls of your feet, stuck in a trance, luring you closer.

He meets your halfway.

And then-

He’s kissing you, plush lips on yours, pancakes and fresh laundry and stained-glass windows of sanctuary on his tongue.

You’re standing in the sun, in the trance of another spell.

It’s a mouthful of butterscotch and maple. Sweet, delicious breakfast in bed, lazy Saturday mornings and whispered, tender words. It’s life unlike your own, a home, the promise of a love not fractioned, chipped away, or strangled… but multiplied, magnified. His touch is painfully gentle, slow and easy, encouraging you to follow his lead, carefully constructing a tiny universe to disappear to, where shadow cannot touch. A fantasy, cocoon of stars, ambrosial and sacrosanct, an escape from the hell nipping at your heels, the hell chasing you through your dreaming and waking hours. 

The anxious hum radiating through every cell in your body flatlines.

The girl in the mirror weeps.

Everything goes silent. Your breathing slows. Your hands fall to the side, listless and stunned.

Penny grunts. The moment shatters.

You can only stare with wide, terrified eyes.

“Johnny.” It’s the first word out of your mouth, the only thing you can conjure. “I’m sorry, I don’t know… I’m sorry.” Johnny. Johnny’s not here. How can he kiss you when his partner isn’t here? His heart will be broken, you’re destroying their family, you’re-

“I kissed you, bunny. Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Simon hums, still holding your face. “Johnny’s okay. He’ll be a bit jealous he didn’t get one too, but he won’t be upset.”

“How?” the question squeaks, and he takes your hand, tugging you towards the couch, settling you back into the cushions, easily guiding you with deft hands. He's so careful, so gentle, the touch of a man who raises a daughter, who loves his partner, adroit and nimble, anticipating movement before it happens. 

“After Penny goes down tonight, let’s have a drink. Or some late dinner. We can talk, and I’ll answer as many of your questions as I can. How’s that sound?” He strokes a thumb across the apple of your cheek. Talking can’t hurt, can it?

“O-okay. Yeah.” You try to shrug, pain lancing through your shoulder, and you try to smother your wince. He frowns.

“I want you to get some rest today.” A small grin creeps across your face.

“You always tell people what to do?” He nods, solemn.

“It’s my job. Takin’ care of you lot is an added bonus.” He breezes by the grouping of you with his family, like it’s a normal thing, rubbing circles in your palm. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

“I can-“

“I’m here. Let me help.” You don’t say anything at first. Can’t say anything, can’t formulate a response that encompasses everything you’re thinking and feeling, stuck on the mile high wall that is your fear and denial, afraid to jump. Afraid to fall.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask you to respond, He just… settles you, cautiously arranging the pillows to support your injuries, lets you sit there atop the wall, staring down at the ground where they wait. Patiently. He rubs your back and your good shoulder until you’re drifting away in heady, hazy dream world, unable to stir when he slips free, tucking the blankets in around you, and pressing another long, lingering kiss to your brow.

You wake in a panic to the doorbell ringing. Your heart races, and you’re up off the couch, tucked around a corner of the hall, hiding, in a blink, even though your shoulder and neck scream at the sudden change of position.

Breathe. You’re losing it. Philip wouldn’t ring a doorbell. 

The door clicks open.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice echoes to where you’re still curled around the hallway, back pressed flat, eyes closed. “Hello? Anyone home?” Who is that? 

You peek, like a child. Peering around to see a familiar woman with grocery bags in her hands, depositing them on the kitchen counter.

She spots you immediately.

“Hi!” She’s grinning, pretty and bright, pulling a carton of milk from a brown paper bag and putting it in the fridge. “I’m Lou. Sorry, did I scare you? I tried to ‘announce’ myself.” She makes bunny ears with her fingers before and after the word announce, with half of an eye roll. “John’s always telling me I have to when I come over. Can’t be giving anyone surprises, and I knew you were here. Just wasn’t sure if you’d be up for visitors. Sorry if I gave you a fright.”

“No, I…” you trail off, readjusting, giving her your name. She nods and smiles again. “I remember you. In front of the elevator that day.”

“Yeah, that was me.” She’s earnest in her focus, beaming at you, almost like she’s excited.

“You look a little different out of your cute scrubs.” That gives you a small laugh, and you smile honestly at her, flattered.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“Oh no, you’re not. I was just… I’m fine.” She pulls a flat of eggs free and stacks them next to a colorful pile of produce.

“I do the store runs for Simon right now. It’s too much, with Johnny in hospital and taking care of Pen. We’ve been trying to lighten his load.” Guilt twists. And here you are, adding onto it. 

“That’s very nice of you.” She waves it off.

“They’ve kept my husband alive a million times over. It’s the least I can do.”

“Right… they… work together?”

“Simon is semi-retired but yeah. They’re in a global task force. It’s the four of them. Have you met Kyle yet?”

“Oh, yeah. At the hospital one day.”

“Best guy, really.” Her clothes swish, warm and sweet aura practically glowing.

“Yeah, he was really nice.” She rests her hands on her hips and looks you over.

“You okay?” This woman is direct. She's got a no nonsense approach, and through intense, there's true ardor in her, passion and care. 

“Yeah, I’m just… still recovering.” You don’t know what she knows, not sure what they’ve told her or John, so you’re not sure how much, or what even, to say.

“Simon told us, about you being mugged. I’m so sorry, it’s just awful.” She’s sincere in her sympathy, big brown eyes sad and considerate.

“It’s okay, thank you. I’m okay.”

“If you need anything, I’m always around. Or if you want to talk to another girl that isn’t a toddler.” It’s an olive branch of friendship, you realize, or the beginnings of, and you’re startled, considering it, wondering if it would be so bad… to have a friend.

“Thank you.” She gives you her number, and you tap it in, shooting her a text with your name.

“You should sit.”

“I can help with these.”

“No, no. No offense, but you look half asleep. I’ve got it.” You laugh even though it hurts, awkward half shrug with good shoulder, and agree.

“Yeah, I’m still recovering. It’s been slow.”

“I’m sure.” You sit at the counter, watching her organize the fridge with scary efficiency. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. Just had to drop these off.”

“Oh, you’re fine.” It’s nice. You’re nice. She feels safe, the proximity to Simon and Johnny naturally leading you to feel comfortable, knowing she’s welcomed by them, she’s a part of their life. It makes you feel more at ease, and you try to convey it without getting tangled up in awkward words.

You don’t know how. Not really sure how to make genuine friends anymore, so you just sit there and watch, listening to her talk, enjoying how she rambles a little bit, laughing at herself.

When she says goodbye at the door, she promises to text you the next time she’s coming by, so you’re not surprised, and you linger there, watching her go, wondering if it’s real, surprisingly mourning the loss of companionship already.

“Johnny misses you.” The ice in Simon’s rocks glass clinks together as he sips his bourbon, corner of his mouth lifting in a partial smirk. “Not too fond of his new nurse, I’m afraid. Think he’s spoiled now.”

“How is he?” You’re on the edge of your seat for an update, but not wanting to pry too much. It’s a delicate line, one where you don’t know on which side to stand.

“Good. Wrist fracture is nearly healed, so he’ll be able to start on crutches soon. Once he does, he’ll be doing physical therapy for most of his day, and ready to come home. Should be soon.” He really smiles now, and you mirror it, unable to deny the infectious bloom of happiness spreading from him to you.

“And his liver?”

“No complications. Grafts for his burn are in great shape. Hip is the trickiest part.”

“Yeah, they take a lot longer to heal, but I’m sure he’ll do a great job of it, just like everything else.”

“Thanks to you.” You sip your wine, citrusy peach and passionfruit coating your tongue. It’s a nice bottle, and you were surprised when Simon brought it home, bag of takeaway in one arm, Penny in the other.

“No.”  Your cheeks heat. “I was just there. You guys did the hard work.”

“Wouldn’t have made it without you though. Think I would’ve lost it. Him too.”

“You would’ve been fine.” You brush it off, and he shakes his head.  

“You’re too modest.” He drains his pour, uncapping the bottle on the coffee table between you and refilling it halfway. Glass on glass chimes, and you sink deeper into the couch, relaxing, tucking your knees up until you’re half curled into a ball, wine glass cradled between your palms.

“So…”

“I told you; you can ask me whatever you like.” You knew this was the case, but hesitance is still brimming in your heart, uneasy feelings festering beneath your skin, burning question shoving to the surface.

“Did you tell Johnny we kissed?”

“I did.”

“Was he upset?”

“Only because he feels like he’s missing out. I told him we’d make it up to him.” Fire enflames your skin. We?

“And by we you mean… us. Together. Like… the three of us.”

“I do.” The girl in the mirror screams. She doesn’t understand, why you continue to act against her better judgement. Why you’re entertaining something so, so dangerous, something so stupid.

“Simon, I… I can’t.”

“You keep saying that but look where you are, bun.” He motions to the table, takeaway cartons scattered across the top, half empty bottle of wine, his bourbon, and a baby monitor. It looks like a nice night in, a simple, sweet life, not even close to being your own.

Still, the girl in mirror combats. Still.

“This isn’t… this isn’t a thing it’s just… we’re hanging out. I’m not going to be here forever, I’m looking for a place and I-“ His face changes, flicker of shadow fading across his brow before being chased away by the sunlight in his eyes. You thought he'd be easier to read, without the mask, imagined you'd be able to place his expressions but you're just as confused and lost as ever. 

“Slow down. There’s no need to look for a place to live.”

“W-what?” The wine has made you a little slow, a little sleepy, and you blink through the stupor.

“You’re still healing, sweetheart, and I know you're scared. I’ve known since the first day you stepped into Johnny’s room.”

“No.” You shake your head. Pain fizzles, numbed by alcohol, and your head swims.

“I know you weren’t mugged.” How? “I know you’re running from someone.” Oh god. The urge to get to your feet and bolt washes over you like a wave.

“I- I’m not.” The lie is bare-boned, pathetically unconvincing, and you know it. He knows it too; you can tell by the look on his face.

“You’re not ready to tell me, that’s fine. I’m patient. But you won’t be going anywhere if I don’t know you’re safe. And right now, to me, it doesn’t seem like you’re safe.” The pale yellow of your wine shines in the low lights of the living room, and you get lost in it, swirling around in his words, trying to put them together and pick them apart, desperate to understand what he means.

“Are you… are you saying you won’t let me leave?” You gulp. It’s a ridiculous conclusion, but the first one you jump to.

And in that, you know you’re giving too much away.

His face softens, and he reaches, pulling your free hand into his own, petting some sort of sequence into your skin. 

“Of course not, sweetheart. I’d never, ever force you to do something you didn’t want to do. But I do want you to stay, here with us. Where we can keep you safe, take care of you.”

“I don’t need-“

“I know you don’t. I know you take care of yourself just fine.” The indignant roar in the back of your mind settles. “But I’d love an opportunity to do it instead.”

“Simon…”

“Did you know the cells in our body hold onto trauma? They carry imprints of traumatic events. It can change your biology, the way you function.” He squeezes your hand. “It’s hard to realize… that it’s not normal, the way you might be, the way you think, or do things, when you’re carrying the physical memory of terrible things.” He’s not talking about you. There’s a fleeting flash of sadness in his eyes, ghosts circling the drain around his irises, and your heart aches. “We can help you. I don’t know who you’re hiding from, but I can guess what they’ve done- look at me.” You force your eyes back to him, and he cups your cheek. “You do not have to be afraid here. You are safe with me, with us. I know you don’t believe it, and I’ll tell you as many times you need, but it will never not be true. We can help you.”

“You don’t know… you don’t know what you’re saying.” Your denial is steadfast. They cannot possibly understand. 

A small seed of light blooms under darkness. It’s the sun, struggling to break free, trying to drag you into its warm, golden rays. It tugs and tugs, clawing towards you, illuminating the path forward.

The words come out before the girl in the mirror can stop them.

“You don’t know him. He’s sick and… powerful. He’s a monster but he’s smart, has connections, has ways of doing things that… I don’t even know. He’d kill you.” You clap your hand over your mouth in shock, surprised at yourself. It’s the most you’ve said about Philip in years.

You expect pushback. Expect Simon to flinch, or cower, or have good sense… a rational reaction to being told someone might try to hurt him.

He smiles instead, settling back on his side of the couch.

“I’d just have to get to him first, then.” Is he… is he? Simon watches you, reaches into your brains to peer inside, rooting around in your head. The way he looks at you, like he knows everything you’re feeling, can see what you're thinking, makes you shiver, makes you feel like you’re a tiny mouse in the shadow of a mountain. He sighs. “Give us a chance.”

“A chance?”

“A chance, to know you. Let us in, let us try. Stay here, with us, spend time with me and Johnny and Pen. No strings attached. If you decide it’s not for you… we’ll understand.”  

No strings attached. 

You could pick up and leave if you wanted. If you had to. 

What’re you doing? 

“How does it work? Would we all…” you trail off, confused.

“Date?” Simon finishes gently. “Yes.”

“So, you guys are… bi?” He chuckles.

“Yes, sweetheart. We’re bi.”

“Is this… a thing? Something you guys do?”

“We’ve never taken another partner before, no.” Your eyes widen. “You’re our first.” You don’t know why, but knowing is exhilarating and terrifying, all at the same time. You’re their first. 

He’s talking about it like it’s already happened. 

Fatigue settles in around you, thick fog of it draping over your shoulders and clouding your head.

“I… I don’t know.” You stifle a yawn. “I need to think.” He abandons his perch for one next to you, pulling your wine glass free and setting it on the table.

“Tired?” His fingers sweep over your cheek, skin warming under his touch.

“Mhmm.” You mumble, sleepily. Your head is very heavy, suddenly, hard to hold up.

“Alright.” He stands, bending to slide an arm under your knees, the other supporting your back in one fluid movement.

“What are you doing?” You squeak, grabbing onto him as he rises, lifting you into his chest at full height. Panic floods your nervous system, fevered tone pitching into a plea. “Put me down! I’m too heavy. Please, I’m too heavy, you can’t-“

“I’ve lifted a car off a teammate before.” He tells you, the thick of his body beneath your ear vibrating. “And I’ve dug Johnny out of a collapsed concrete wall. I’m made to pick things up, bunny. Heavy or not.” He holds you right there, all the way up the stairs, down the hall to the guest room, before settling you back on your feet, big hands around your waist for balance. Your back is to his chest now, and his nose drifts across the top of your head, slow path of his fingers stroking down your hip. “Alright?” He asks, and you nod, throat too dry to speak.

He squeezes. You stifle a gasp, resist the urge to press your thighs together.

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched, since anyone has handled you with reverence, with affection. You almost don’t recognize it.

His hand drifts, slipping between your thigh and cheek. “This okay?” He murmurs, and you manage a rough yes, word sticky and thick in your throat. Yes. Yes, don’t stop. A fingertip strokes along the crease there, back and forth, before trailing upward. He takes as much of your flesh in his palm as he can, squeezing again, caressing, mouth skimming along your neck.  

“Oh.” you breathe. The room is warm, barely lit by the bedside lamp, and you burn in the dark, sensations sparking alive that have long laid dormant.

The girl in the mirror curses you.

“Need help getting to bed?”

“N-no.” Yes! “I’m… fine.” His lips touch your cheek, then your ear, breath blowing over you, firm, solid warm mass at your back exhaling shakily.

“Get some sleep.” He steps away, but not before he swings, slowly, softly, into the pillow plush of your ass. It’s a gentle tap, but the fire between your legs roars. “Goodnight, bun.”

“G-goodnight.”

Simon's got his sweatpants and boxers off before he's even fully in the bathroom, running right into the shower, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock as the water flicks on. It's not hot enough, but he doesn't even notice, cock heavy in his grip, tip already smeared wet with pre-come. 

"Fuck, bunny." He grits, trying to stay quiet but unable to hold his tongue.

He's awful, for this. Awful for doing this after you've had such an emotional night. Awful for touching you when you're still healing, awful for grabbing a handful of your ass and imagining sliding his dick through the space between those cheeks. He can't stop, strokes himself long, squeezing the base and pulling up and back as he imagines you on all fours, perfect globe perked up in the air for him, his cock sinking into your soaking wet pussy as you moan. He knows you would make the prettiest sounds for them, sweet gasps and cries, bouncing on Johnny's cock in his lap. 

"Hop like a bunny." He'd coo, and you'd whine, riding Johnny as Simon coached you until you were so close, almost there on the edge. "Show daddy how bad you want to come, little bunny." 

He jerks himself harder, eyes closed, imagining the ripple of your flesh, the way you'd bounce so perfectly, how Johnny would be gripping your hips with his head tipped back, throat exposed for Simon to nip and suck a mark into.

His bunny. His boy. 

His toes curl. Water streams down his back, slicking his skin, forearm burning with each stroke, imagination running wild as he gets closer and closer, thinking about you and Johnny and him together, finally, your legs spread wide in front of their faces, perfect pussy on display. He can almost hear the way you'd whisper their names, and it blinds him, fills his head with white light. He knows you're beautiful when you come, as beautiful as you are when you let your guard down and give him a real smile, as beautiful as you are everyday, so pretty and perfect, kind, even as a ghost. He imagines it, pictures it, the sight of his and Johnny's come leaking out of your hole, fingers shoving it back inside, marking you as theirs. 

He comes with your name on his lips, a strangled whisper, painting the tile with himself. 

He falls asleep with a new addition in their bed, on top of Johny's t shirt and the baby monitor... there's now a long sleeved tee, plucked from your dirty laundry this morning as he was getting ready to leave. It smells like you, something he wishes he could bottle, and he holds it close, tied in tandem with Johnny's, curled in his arms on top of the pillow. 

#simple math #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #ghost x soap #if you saw my technical difficulty earlier no you didn't!

[corneliushickey]

dear @shinelikethunder tagged me to post eight tv shows to get to know me ~

under a cut because a) i did this with director’s commentary and b) i got too into this and it’s embarrassing

this exercise also made me wish that the tag was about eight movies because i really struggled to think of eight tv shows... i have definitely WATCHED more than eight tv shows in my lifetime, but it’s hard to name eight that have had a significant enough impact on me that i would show them to someone as a get to know me exercise, whereas i can think of like a dozen movies off hand that like, showing them to someone else feels like cutting my chest open and letting them root around in between my organs

okay, on to the tag! it’s organized by year the tv show came out because i am incapable of ranking things by how much i like them/they mean to me

good omens (2019); amazon

do you know how embarrassing this is to admit? 

i fully didn’t like the majority of this show because newt and anathema mean nothing to me and i hate being made to look at children

but crowley and aziraphale did something to me, man. on a molecular level. i got got. extremely got. i’m moving this week and tonight had the pleasure of taking everything down off my walls and a solid 30% of my wall space (which is a full coverage collage of stuff) is aziraphale and crowley prints... they inprinted on me in a way that i simply cannot justify nor explain. i have watched the intro to episode 3 more times than i can even attempt to count. it’s heinous. i’m serious.

the terror, season 1 (2018); amc

says tumblr user cornelius hickey...

the terror is a show i feel very comfortable telling people about because while i love it dearly and it means a lot to me, it’s a great example of craft and technical accomplishment, but it doesn’t hit any raw emotional wounds the way a lot of my most cherished media does. it’s just so technically well executed, an absolute masterclass of horror. it says and does so much in such a tight run. it is emotionally devastating and brilliantly written. it is hopeless and painful and dense.

i have a 3ft x 5ft print of an oil painting of cornelius hickey custom framed in my room. its haunting eyes will likely be moving to my office in the new place. he is a character that like very singularly stands out to me as one of the most incredible combinations of writing and performance i have ever seen on film.

i want this url buried with me when i die like digitally encoded onto my corpse

mindhunter (2017); netflix

this is another example where the show is just really really technically well crafted. beautifully written, acted, and filmed. i loooove a period piece and this one really captures a very specific time and place. plus it scratches my thomas harris itch because hannibalverse made me fond of quanitco stories at a young age

bill/holden is a whole ‘nother level

i want to study holden like a bug, and in fact i have!! the fic i’m most proud of is an intense play by play pov of his psychosexual hangups and while i only got halfway through writing it before the hyperfixation left me forever... i am still very proud of its concept and execution

true detective, season 1 (2014); hbo

another absolutely incredible example of television as a craft

this one though does get a little personal so while i recommend it to people often i am needlessly touchy about how people receive it because it hurts my feelings if they’re stupid about it

rust cohle you will always be famous!!

seven of its eight episodes really really really satisfy my need for hopeless, nihilistic media that wallows in its own despair and then episode eight always comes and bites through both my kneecaps with the blinding light of hope, the beatific face of god, the soul barring power of faith

hannibal (2013 - 2016); nbc

what is there to say, really?

if i loved it less i could talk about it more

the borgias (2011 - 2013); showtime

i literally almost didn’t submit my college applications because i was in a horrific depression hole watching and rewatching this show alone in my room in the dark for weeks on end. 

another show i watched at a very delicate time in my life but i have rewatched it since then and it 20000000% holds up, once again, as an exercise in the craft of television

a lot of the themes in this show really helped shape my own interests in media going forward

micheletto corella is really really really precious to me and the one thing i will never forgive this show for is how they handled his and cesare’s divorce because it is thematically inconsistent that cesare’s reaction to finding out micheletto was keeping a long line of secret curly haired brunette boyfriends half his age was anything other than scathing jealousy and extremely loud protest. like it’s just unrealistic that his reaction would have been anything but “why have you been fucking me by proxy when i have been desperate to fuck you for years” and the fight would’ve been really ugly and cesare would have lost because he’s not very good at fighting and then, well :) then 

house m.d (2004 - 2012); fox

absolutely humiliating

i was nine when this show premiered and watched it at a very delicate time in my development

the fucking unreal levels of 2000s homophobia did a psychological number on me as a very very gay child living in a violently homophobic environment

literally one of the worst shows ever put to television, and also, of course, one of the best

hugh laurie can still hit me up whenever

the twilight zone (1959 - 1964)

obviously didn’t watch this one while it aired lmao but back when it was on netflix in its entirety i watched it a few times start to finish

one of the all-time greats of american tv and a lovely comforting thing to have on in the background

rod serling is also welcome to hit my line

this show is still very much a cornerstone of how a lot of sci-fi and horror that came after it are done, and for good reason! being as those are two of my favorite genres, this is of course a staple of my tv loves

i tag @vincentpriceofficial @thegleamoftheknife @daemons @coweyed @awildwickedslip @voxceleste @intomyth @coffeeandorange

#roach.txt

[fandombead]

I hate the word filler. Are we not still getting an interesting stand alone story with characters we enjoy? Not all of a story is progressing the main plot. It can become excessive in some cases, but it still can bring joy in its own right. It’s leagues better than getting nothing. And I don’t like seeing that complained about to small creators just trying to give us fun content to hold us over until they can get back to the main story.

Seeing that in their comments and tagging them in it has to be so discouraging. It definitely won’t make it come out any faster. It’s just not a productive part of fandom. You’re allowed to criticize and critique works, I just hope that isn’t all you’re replying with when they try to provide something fun and lighthearted. Yes even if it’s been awhile. I dunno, I’ve just seen creators stop creating all together from the pressure because they’re human too and fandom spaces just really have a way of ruining good things by posting entitled replies. And then even once the “main” story gets updated, there will still be people going “okay next” and “fuckin’ finally, took you long enough.” And like. Would you really talk like that to someone’s face. Do you have nothing encouraging or positive to add about what is here?

I know what it’s like to be so invested in something and it being disappointing to not get it in some time, but posts like these are sometimes the very reason creators struggle and it’s painful to watch happen and everyone just goes with it.

This is NOT a post saying you cannot have con-crit. You can say whatever you want about a work. Just realize you may be having the opposite effect that you are hoping throwing that at the actual creator you’re a fan of. As someone who got utterly creatively crippled for years from a few bad experiences, it sucks to see that happening to people who actually got their idea off the ground and still intend to keep going. Like the creative rut guilt has to me ten times worse already with a massive audience having a very vocal part being disappointed no matter what you do. But I guess the positivity gets easily buried and negativity is spread more?

I dunno it’s like. They don’t owe you anything. They shared something for free with you, their animation or skit or show or story. I see people leave fandoms they loved because of it taking amazing world of love with them and I don’t want that pressure to run down yet another great story. You’re allowed to feel disappointed. People have different levels of patience and that’s not the problem. It’s projecting those feelings at others that don’t deserve that. We need to learn some etiquette and boundaries, or at least think “what if that was me/a friend of mine?” before posting.

Can’t believe I took all that just to reiterate “Golden Rule” please~ aaaaaa

#negative posts just keep showing up in my feed and it’s killing me #I can take criticism of the work what I can’t take is passive aggression on how fast the person is pumping out the work #or it not being the one a fan was hoping for #like #please take a step back and realize they work on other things and that’s okay #it just discredits the work someone puts into something to deem it unimportant filler

[aurynne]

As a proshipper I wanna say I don’t approve of the hate comments you’re getting telling you to off yourself or anything like that. That’s unacceptable and we’re supposed to be better than that. Like, I have my criticisms of your post and all, like I don’t agree with you on some of it, but if anyone is gonna skip making points to send that shit, or they’re gonna try to say them buried in a sea of insults and aggression directed at someone who hasn’t shown us the same, then you’re just gonna turn people against us. A major reason I’m proship is cause proshippers at least advocate for tagging things and making it easier to avoid content you don’t like while letting it exist but antis would keep shoving it in my face and demanding I vocally condemn it and when I tried to set boundaries saying I didn’t want to talk about it or see it they accused me of supporting child rape. If antagonizing someone with an energy level they didn’t bring to the table was enough to push people towards proship, don’t you think it’s enough to push someone away from it? But anyway, yeah, the hate you’re getting isn’t okay and I’m sorry you’re dealing with that. I don’t know if you’d even want to hear my thoughts on your post even before this, but like, I especially get it if you don’t want to after this.

thank you truly, i really appreciate this ask because i agree that i don’t think it’s ever okay to say those things regardless of who they’re to. i was actually just telling a friend about this that i used to think it was alright to only say those awful things to people like convicted pedos and rapists but as a Christian i realized that i really need to stop that mentality and do my best to love and have empathy for all, and after working on it, now i do. so i don’t condone telling anyone to hurt themselves, get raped, etc. no matter who they are let alone a proshipper. with that being said i also don’t like seeing antis say the same to those that they disagree. it’s just as bad.

another reason i appreciate this is because it’s discussion. i’m totally open to discussion and debate; that’s why i made the post. i just don’t have anything to say to the people yelling weird stuff at me lol. so thank you for being calm and wanting to have a sound discussion. it’s always appreciated and i’m definitely open to that. don’t feel bad about wanting to interact on my post with disagreement either. it’s a public post for anyone to speak their mind on so whether it’s pro or anti just go for it as long as it’s not overtly rude but i’m sure it wouldn’t be given the tone of your ask. :)

that is 100% true about negativity just discrediting your side of the argument. this is another reason why i don’t see why people fight so crazily with the purpose of changing minds. it’ll only keep people set in their ways.

i’m sorry you had a bad experience with antis. everyone loves to make assumptions unfortunately. if you had people making assumptions about you being a pedo just because you’re not actively saying loli/shota is bad then that’s not okay and i’m sorry that happened. people have also made plenty of assumptions about me for being anti about how i’m apparently cis, straight, neurotypical, and/or not traumatized in any way lmao.

here’s a more detailed explanation about my relation to being anti proship that you or others might find insightful:

i definitely appreciate when things are tagged

it’s mostly the lolicon/shotacon stuff i find disturbing

age gaps don’t really bother me if they’re legal

incest ships/shippers do make me uncomfortable however i see lolicons and shotacons as more of a threat to others

i have trauma of my own just like many people do which does influence why i’m anti however most people think if you’re “quirky” or “traumatized” then you cannot be anti lol

i don’t think anyone should force others to be activists in any way if they don’t want to be, like how you had people forcing you to vocally stand up against these things

i only have issues with the people themselves that support it, think it’s totally fine in every way, or even helpful

i don’t think all proshipping media should be banned. the only exception to this is loli or shota hentai

i don’t like when people assume that creators condone the things going on in their media just because they wrote about it

#these tags are just for exposure btw #proship #anti proship #anti proshitter #anti ship #anon #discourse #you’ve got mail 💌 #pro ship #pro shipping

[bnhamixjuice-sfw]

ANON REQUEST: Hawks, Dabi and Aizawa: spot an ex he had a bad break up with, he sees her walking around struggling to hold on to a bag of groceries while pushing a stroller with a toddler in it that looks awful lot like them, and the he awkwardly confronts them when the bag falls out of her hands.

Tags: Manga Spoiler, Mention of cheating, Angst to Fluff.

Hawks

“I’m so sorry Dove, I didn’t mean to–”

“Didn’t mean what? to deny that I’m your girlfriend in front of the media ‘cause you had a job agreement with the commission not to reveal me! okay Keigo you’re doing this for what reason exactly? Hero Reputation? More women you can use to cheat behind my back again and expect me to forgive you? I–I don’t want this kind of life anymore!”, you wailed in pure anguish roughly wriggling your wrist away from his firm clutch.

He felt suffocated when he needed to let you go for all the things that he did to hurt you, holding back the urge to chase you outside when you frantically closed the door, not looking back anymore on him. Leaving the top pro hero falling on his knees, lonely between these four walls of his house.

After all this time he can’t forget you, longing to see your face everywhere he goes even on pro hero awarding events or his usual patrol work with Endeavor looking for you through the crowds, praying to see your smile again that he misses the most.

His life was crumbling apart without you, but luck was on his side today when he spotted you not too far from where he was signing autographs for his fans while stealing some glances. As always, you’re still beautiful standing there.

Trying to fix your grocery bags while clasping the baby-carriage’s handle. He hesitated at first to approach you thinking you’re probably waiting for your husband to pick you up and your child. And that’s when a tuft of yellow hair popped out.

“Mommy look it’s Hawks, Awtoglaph pweasee awtoglapph”, his excited pleas reached Hawks’ ears. pointing his fingers towards your ex-boyfriend who waved a hand on both of you.

Soon red feathers clumped together on the ground, preventing your bag to fall.

“Wow what do we have here, a kid full of energy today, so where do you want me to sign your autograph?”, stooping down beaming a smile with his eyes crinkling behind his yellow visor making your child gasp in awe.

He knew instantly that his suspicion was right seemingly looking at his own reflection with those golden honey orbs and black lines on those eyelids and small bump protruding behind the kid’s shirt, red feathers similar to his, messily cramped inside.

“Ke–Hawks here… ”, almost calling out his first name when you handed him a notebook and a pen.

Slightly feeling his gloved hand against your palm.

“Hawks look I hab wings too–”

“Honey we need to go home now or else you’ll miss your favorite show again, now say bye bye to Mr. Hawks”, you interrupted, sneaking a warning glare on him not to tell him anything before gently freeing your child’s wings out from his shirt’s makeshift holes.

“Little fledgling I guess your wings were moulting, so did your Daddy tell you about it”

“Hab no Dawdy but Oh you see… Mommy Lov’ Dawdy so much that she booboo cries” you were shock-stricken softly hushing your child out of embarassment.

“Well kid make sure to tell your Mommy not to cry okay cause Daddy loves her so much, yes don’t forget to tell that to her every day I–”, he stammered with his voice started cracking, overwhelming him with emotions too easily, swallowing the lump forming on his throat.

“Your father loves you too kid trust me, and surely there’s not a single day he’s not thinking of your Mommy, his only Dove–Ah I think I’m taking too much of your time Miss I-I’m so sorry”, halting it immediately, muffling a few sniffles before finally signing his signature.

Your heart began thumping so loud, not expecting him shamelessly grabbing your hand, burying you into a warm embrace in public.

“Wait Keigo stop this, everyone’s taking so many pictures of you”

“No I don’t care anymore, listen Dove I’m so sorry and I still love you, come back to me please I promise I won’t hurt you again, I’ll do better this time just let me make up for it, and for our son”

You can’t blame yourself for giving in, accepting him wholeheartedly knowing this is what you promised to him once.

To never let your future child experience the same heartache he suffered from his past.

Dabi

He regret those cruel words that came out from his mouth the first time he was too fed up of your constant admonishment of putting a rest on his revenge against his family forever since you cannot bear to see him exhausting his body anymore, starting this heated discourse again between you.

“You always bring this up y/n every single day and it’s too annoying already, why are you siding on Enji too much Babydoll… come on just say it you really want us to have a perfect family, so cool to have a child with this debilitating quirk too right?”

Sucking your inner lips anxiously avoiding to tell him something about that last one, you felt his grip on your sholders constricting furiously waiting for you to answer him back, but your tears spilling from those precious eyes made his stomach churn in guilt realizing what he had done when you began screaming on his face that everything’s over, shoving him away and locking the door of your house shut.

He knew how much of a dick he was, the worst break up that’s been haunting him everyday with your terrified face forever etched on his mind

It’s been a long time since the last time he saw you after you moved from your old house and he cannot find you everywhere until today.

He saw you pushing a stroller on the side of the road and having a hard time balancing the bag of groceries on your other hand.

Perhaps you found someone better than him and additionally having a child; a normal child considering he’s not the father. that’s what he thought until something caught his attention.

Squinting his eyes, he was slack-jawed to find a familiar cerulean orbs and red hair on that young boy giddily calling you Mommy.

He took this rare chance of talking to you again by catching your bag of groceries that you clumsily dropped, your eyes met recognizing your ex-boyfriend instantly when he removed his mask. piercing eyes gazing down below observing your child’s similar features.

“Babydoll why didn’t you tell me about him, our son?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Dabi and refrain from calling me that nickname anymore, also stay away from MY son before I call the police”

You breathed heavily snatching back your grocery bag from his grasp, clutching the stroller’s handle in pure anger.

“Daddy you meanie, go home”, tugging his pants with those tiny hands.

It hurts you to see your own child begging for his father to go home, when you can’t even tell him how you often show his own picture to your child that’s why he recognized his own father easily, keeping him close to his heart and memory forever.

You can’t hate your only child’s father.

He was expecting him to cry on his intimidating face when he bent his knees down to look at his child closely, ignoring your earlier threat by patting his son’s head seemingly accepting this foreign fatherly instinct.

“Kid look I’m obviously a bad guy, I don’t want you to get in trouble so maybe next time when your Mommy allows me, don’t worry I’ll probably see you again next time pepperoni haired kid”, chuckling when he saw his son’s childish pout, letting him pinch his stapled cheeks annoyed at his nickname.

“Y/n this is goodbye then”, flashing you that thin smile noticing his lips quivering a bit as he stood.

Shoving both of his hands inside his pockets before turning around to walk slowly away from both of you ignoring your child’s tantrum cries calling for him to go back.

“Ssh… sweetie don’t cry okay–Wait Touya!”

He stopped on his tracks when you yelled his real name again, like how you used to call him that before out of endearment.

“We’re going to stay here from now on so same address, the usual okay knock thrice and use our anniversary day on pressing the doorbell and don’t forget our password, listen I’m doing this for our child only so you better show up tonight or I won’t ever give you a chance”

He disappeared quickly after that, and tonight he never failed to show up incessantly ringing the doorbell many times even greeting you that typical password; a kiss.

A yearning kiss, hands intertwining the moment you opened your heart once again.

Aizawa

“Shouta you keep missing my calls these past few weeks when I needed you the most, you barely have enough time to visit me when I was sick the whole week and now you’re late, fine I don’t wanna hear your excuses anymore”

Those bitter words pierced him like thorns, seeing you slip out that engagement ring from your finger and placing it on a table whispering those bitter words he doesn’t want to hear from you.

“It’s better if we end this relationship now before we regret something, I–I can’t imagine my future being married with you or even having a child with you who pathetically seek for time and attention from his workaholic father, sorry Shouta”, you covered your mouth trying to bite back your tongue from spilling about your unborn child.

Running outside the restaurant leaving him heartbroken that he can’t further speak out his words anymore because everything that you just told him was painfully true.

He doesn’t deserve you, blaming himself for not appreciating you enough despite of your effort of enduring the hardships of having a pro hero fiance who often risk his life for his students. A man who can’t even spend a time to take care of you.

Nevertheless, he wanted to mend back those strings that binds you to his heart, always pouring out his loneliness on visiting that Cat Cafe on his day off every week reminding him of memories you two share.

You often take him there to spend a date knowing he’s fond of cats and snapping lots of photos of him every time he ends up sleeping on the corner with cats huddling close to his face nearly suffocating him.

Keeping your engagement ring to him all the time was the only thing that calms him down whenever he’s in dire situation on his job, thinking how much he wish to meet you here again.

Unbelievably seeing you again one time, rubbing his weary eyes once and twice to know if it’s truly you. Indeed, he can’t forget that familiar caring smile of his beloved, finding you outside the cat cafe currently having a problem of organizing your bag of groceries.

“Mawmmy, neko pweasee I wanna touch it!”, your daughter began whinning clapping his hands to get your attention.

He can’t believe his own eyes when your child resembles him too much with that obsidian dull eyes and sleek black hair minus for that pigtail hairstyle but that scowl seems a carbon copy of his own.

“Wait Baby I–”

“I think you need help Y/n”

You were flabbergasted to find your ex-fiance taking a hold of your bag of groceries with his whip that was about to hit the ground and voluntarily offering his Neko tote bag for you which you persuaded him not to.

“Mawmmy pwease I want that too, Neko”, her tiny hands reaching out determined to get it no matter what.

“Baby no–”

“Well your daughter love cats so much, you can give this to her, please just a friendly gift”, taking out something from his pocket leaning down a bit to his side to rummage on that keychain, letting you see his necklace around his neck with that old engagement ring of yours dangling.

“Found it, here kid I’m not sure if you’ll like this”

“Aww Mawmmy have that too um…right Mawmmy, so no thanks Mister”

There’s no way you were married that’s what Shouta suspected when he saw you not wearing any ring, and obviously that cat keychain was closely similar to his anniversary keychain that you two bought for each other.

“Y/n I can drive you two back to your house if its okay–”

“Mawmmy please say yes”

You sighed in defeat not having a choice in the first place and also giving freedom to your child to spend time with her father who doesn’t know about this.

His car was still the same, sitting beside him and your child now sleeping behind after getting so tired ogling on his car’s cat accesories.

You chuckled upon seeing your daughter’s face on the mirror messily drooling, leaning slightly on your side to wipe the corner of her mouth.

“Darling is she our daughter”

“Eyes on the road Shouta, and yes so what will you do about it. Do you expect me to ask for any financial support from you oh maybe spending your precious time for our daughter that I can’t even get from you years ago”, you sarcastically uttered, stabbing him rudely with those truthful words he was unprepared to hear from you.

“I understand if you’re still mad at me y/n, but I just want you to let you know that I want to set things right first before asking you to forgive me. Because I don’t want to miss this opportunity again to tell you how much I wanted to talk to you or maybe to see you in your white wedding dress”

You can’t resist how determined he was to get close to you again, feeling his hand slowly making its way on you.

Giving back that engagement ring to whom it truly belongs, and that was you, a dream he wanted to come true despite it being too impossible.

Turning your head away to wipe your own tears, proposing for the second time that you have been waiting to hear from him all along.

“She’s your daughter Shouta and don’t you dare make her cry of I’ll scratch your face harder than what your cat does”

“That’s too kind of you, I mean my cat misses your deadly belly rub too, you named him Mr. Pickles right, well I’m sure he’d be thrilled to see his Mom again and his new sibling soon”,

You both exchanged soft giggling catching up on one another by starting the conversation about your lives and so on and so forth, and apparently your child was eavesdropping on both of you.

Your daughter muffled a “Pro hero mission success” after accomplishing her goal, peeking a bit to see you wearing that shiny ring.

She knew it the first time she saw that stranger recognizing him from one of the picture you often place under your pillow, her daddy.

Well she did inherit Shouta’s intellectual skills after all.

Do not repost this fic/headcanon.

Disclaimer: I don't own My hero academia nor its characters and plot.

#hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #dabi x reader #shouta x y/n #shouta x reader #shouta x you #bnha fanfiction #bnha imagines #Reposted my old fic/hc here cause I forgot to remove keep reading before deactivating

[oneprompt]

ITS ME AGAINN HI LOVE!! I love your writing I cannot resist <3. Maybe, a one night stand with ace ? (Nsfw I’m down bad yes….) and female reader. it’s kind of like the typical one night stand, you meet somewhere and things get heated quickly…. BUT ALSO LIKE you’re literally the best he’s ever had and he’s pretty surprised UMM IDK IF THAT MAKES SENSE 😭😭 IK IM KIND OF AWKWARD HAHA but I hope you’re having a good afternoon 🧡

authors note: hello , dolly <3 im deeply sorry for doing this so late ;; hopefully this makes up for the wait... please indulge yourself to the fullest + i just realized how short this is .. my apologies ;; i’ll make sure to make your next request the best i possibly can ..

NSFW WARNING BELOW , DO NOT READ IF SUCH A TOPIC IS DISCOMFORTING.

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Ace x F! Reader , One Night Stand Oneshot

tags : ( brief mentions of ) alcohol , vaginal sex , rough sex , ( brief + slight ) masochism

All it took was a few cups of vodka to have you two landed upon each other, limbs tangled up, pleasure coursing through your veins. It had all happened so fast, you could hardly remember what had happened.

You merely attended a party full of different crews, a banquet of sorts. Not a fancy one, no. A fun one, one that disregarded the need for cotton shirts and newly shined shoes. you had met Ace, chatting up a storm with the young man. Well, less chatting and more so flirting. Wether it was through seductive purrs or the occasional rub of a palm against his scorching skin. You two didn’t bother to hide your shameless flirting throughout the party. Not that it was a huge deal, most people went there trying to make their way into the pants of others

You had no shame as you and Ace went off to a more private area. I mean, what was there to be ashamed of? Who didn’t want to sleep with Fire Fist Ace?

And now, you laid down upon your stomach, Ace’s hands wandering your body. One spread out your soaking hole, your greedy pussy dripping with excitement. His other hand stayed gripping your hip tightly, preventing you from squirming away.

“You’re so wet, Y/n... what’s that all about?” Ace cooed out in a rather teasing tone, showing zero regards for the blush that perked upon your cheeks after he said that. He knew exactly what it was about, he just wanted to hear you say that.

You buried your face further into the depth of the pillows that laid atop of the bed sheets. “You know exactly what that’s about,” you huffed, which caused a raspy laugh to fall from Ace’s well sculpted frame. You could just tell what face he was making, just from the tone of his voice. An endless plane of smugness splayed across his freckled features. What a dick.

You were about to snap back with a snarky remark but your thought process was cut off as soon as you felt a sudden sense of fullness intrude the depths of your cunt. God, he was big. Was he in all the way? You couldn’t help but wonder. Part of you hoped so, as his dick was already pressed firmly within you but you also couldn’t help but wonder what pained pleasure could come from it being even larger.

A loud moan was swallowed by the pillows your face was pressed into, the cotton absorbing the noise you made as Ace slammed balls deep into your warmth. He was far bigger then you could’ve imagined. But again, what should you have expected from the son of the late Pirate King? You should’ve expected nothing but the best.

You continued producing lewd noises, ones that consistently were swallowed by the pillows. Ace really didn’t hold back, never ending the blunt force of his hips, his hips quaking desperately to fill you with every inch of him. You felt so god damn good, the way your insides clutched upon his shaft made Ace’s body tremble with ecstasy everytime he pulled back to push further in.

You were so good, almost too good. You were merely a one night stand, a woman who could surely extend into a friend after this night. Just a friend and nothing more. Well, that’s what Ace had planned. Ace wasn’t low enough to have sex with a girl and never speak to her again but he had planned to just become your friend, nothing like a boyfriend or anything of the sort. But with the way you writhed and tightened on him, it was giving him second thoughts. You were far too delicious to only feast on once, he knew that.

The view of your ass shaking with the needless pounding of his dick was a view he couldn’t pass up. Everything about you was perfect. The moans you let out were painfully erotic and the way your body was highlighted with sweat was far too sexy for him to ignore.

Perhaps... you’d be happy enough to be his fuck buddy or better, his partner. Ace wasn’t sure about status yet but all he knew was that he couldn’t let you go, he couldn’t let this type of sex slip through his fingers so easily.

And so, he didn’t. Even if it was just for tonight, Ace would use you to the fullest, pumping your pussy full of his musky semen, filling you to the brim. You were too good, certainly the best woman he had ever done such a thing with, upon all of his voyages.

And you were so hot. Everything about you made him go crazy, it seemed. It was that way even as the night was young. The way you fluttered your lashes at him as your hand would playfully collide with his shoulder made him tent in his pants every so slightly. You were too much for him. Ace wanted you more then anything. The thought of you screaming his name through the entire night never ceased to be. When you approached him in your rather skimpy outfit, Ace could only imagine bending you backwards upon the bar, taking you then and there. Now, he could. And there was no way in hell he would pass up the chance to milk this.

Even if he wasn’t aware, the feeling was just as mutual. You had been purposefully rubbing up on him all night, wether accidentally letting your thighs rub against Ace’s as you would get up to talk to your friends or placing your hands on his arms to ‘feel’ his muscles and inspect his tattoos. All of that had made your crotch ace and drip, every inch of him was infatuating to you. You couldn’t believe Ace would even do such a thing with you.

Many women could only imagine being plowed by Portgas D. Ace, son of Gol D. Roger. And you were one of the few women to have him inside of you, that feeling alone was electrifying. You could only imagine the jealous glares you’d receive if anyone found out. Part of you wanted that, yearned to see people jealous over you, over the fact you were drenched with Ace’s cum and repeatedly rocked back and fourth by his girthy dick.

“Ace!” You cried out, throat growing dry and tight from the strong strain of your vocal chords. This was too much for you, it felt so good. The way Ace used his hips with euphoric, he was one of few men who knew what to do with their bodies, surely. It was magical, running from your overstimulated brain to your curled toes. “I think...i’m going to cum!” You whimpered our, voice filling the room, pillows no longer capable of containing the beast.

Beads of sweat dribbled down Ace’s well built chest, grazing the hues of his nipples. He looked down at your body, feeling your walls close upon him, squeezing him as if they were yearning for his seed.

The sensation of Ace’s thick cum shooting into you triggered something deep inside of you, breaking your self control in two pieces. The way it reached your deepest parts made your eyes roll back, long lashes dotted with hot tears.

Your fluid coated his dick, slinking it’s way downward to his balls. Your arousal painted his shaft and the sheets that held you two, becoming damp with both sweat and cum.

Ace hadn’t bothered to pull out, yet didn’t move. The room was merely full of nearly eternal panting and gasping, shaky breaths acting almost endless. It took you quite a bit to muster up the energy to speak, your brain still rendered useless from all the pleasure.

“That was amazing...” You looked back at Ace, giving him a tired smile. Your heart sunk as you noticed Ace smirk widely, snickering ever so slightly. Oh boy....

“Who says we’re done, Y/n?” Ace whispered huskily, pushing his black curls backward, wiping sweat from his brow as he stared down at your nude form.

#one piece #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece reader inserts #one piece smut #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace #portgas d. ace #ace x you #ace x y/n #ace x reader #smut fanfic #ace smut #fanfic #oneshot #one piece imagine #one piece imagines

[oliviajdjarin]

Chapter 17: A Confession

Warnings: super mushy softness, a burial, and mention of past violence.

Author’s Note: This is it! The final chapter! I really don’t know what to say other than thank you. Thank you to anyone and everyone who has supported this, especially to those in my tag list. This experience has been absolutely surreal! I’ve been wanting to write something like this for so long, and the fact that people enjoy it makes it that much more rewarding. I cannot thank you guys enough! Enjoy the final part of Burning Red!

(Gif by bestintheparsic)

Your flight back to the Razor Crest was somehow the safest you had felt in a while.

Mando held you and the child close in his arms while the jet-pack carrying you roared on his back. You were cuddled close into his chest (for safety reasons…obviously), as was the child.

Mando had never felt prouder of what he held.

This, in his arms, was more important to him than anything. This was his. His clan.

He didn’t think he would live to see the day he was this happy.

Once you arrived back at the Razor Crest, Mando buried Kuiil and you told him how he died.

“I tried to protect him, I was just too late,” you say, the guilt creeping up your spine yet again.

Mando nodded understandingly, and took one last look at Kuiil’s grave before walking back to the ship. You followed him, swallowing your tears for the man you had to leave behind.

He had died for your freedom. He wouldn’t have wanted you to cry for him. His life deserves to be celebrated.

Mando put his jet-pack away along with his blasters in his armory. You put your longspear in the armory as well before placing the child down to bed.

He had been trying to keep his eyes open the whole time, and now that he was in the safety and comfort of his home, he finally let sleep win.

You grinned at his sleeping form, lightly brushing his ears with your hand.

This little guy was the whole reason you were here, and you protected him till the end. He was your favorite mission, by far. You owed it all to him.

Your admiration for the kid was cut off by Mando clearing his throat. You looked to your left to see him standing with his arms at his side, looking at you.

He looked…. tense?

“We need to talk,” he said gently.

You felt your heart flutter and your arms go slightly numb from anxiety.

“Ok,” you said calmly, trying to hide your anxiousness.

You didn’t honestly think Mando was going to kick you out now. You trusted him, but your anxious mind started getting the better of you.

He entered me into his clan. Unless he did it for show? Maybe he only did it because I asked him to? Maybe he panicked? Maybe he wants space? Maybe…

Your head was plagued with countless thoughts like these all at once, but you walked closer to Mando dispite them. You looked at him curiously, encouraging him with your eyes to tell you what was on his mind. Even if you were scared, he deserved to speak up.

“I entered you into my clan because….” he began, but he looked down to the floor before he could finish. He looked like he was trying to find words that didn’t exist. You could feel the anxiety and frustration coming from him, and you desperately wanted to ask him how to help, but he needed to find it himself.

You wanted his words. Not the words you put into his mouth.

“Because I… care for you,” he continued, and your entire body froze.

“Ever since that first day I saw the child in your arms I knew he belonged there. You guys have an obvious connection and it makes me….happy.”

Happy, you think. We make Mando happy.

You smile at his confession and let what he said sink in. You look down at the floor and allow his words to wash over you. Allow them to run all over your body and drip down to your feet.

“But that’s not it,” he says, and you bridge your eyesight with his once again.

“You make me happy. Just by being you. You care about my creed. You adapt to it and respect it. You repair my ship, you make me laugh, you make me nervous, and you make me feel. I forced myself to stop feeling a long time ago for my own protection. But…. I don’t want to do that anymore,” he states, and you nod a little frantically to show him you understand. He put your exact feelings into words.

How did he do that?

You choke out a giggle in agreement and feel the happy tears forming in your eyes yet again.

“And….I am not really great with words so I don’t-” Mando says, but you grab his hands in yours.

He stares into your eyes while a small tear glides down your cheek.

“My turn,” you giggle out and he breathes out a chuckle.

“Mando…. you have given me more than I will ever give you. Ever. For so long I have hated everything and everyone around me. I have been surrounded by evil and pain and fear and anger. So much anger. It drives everything on their side. So, I did the same thing you did. I stopped feeling. I shut everything down to just survive. But you, you make me want to live,” you say, and you bring your hand up to his helmet. You slowly caress it with your knuckles, just like he had done to your face merely hours before.

“You trusted me with your foundling. You sheltered me, fed me, and helped me do good. We made the Empire angry. I cannot tell you how good that feels,” you say with a slight laugh, still mapping out his cheek with your hand.

“You entered me into your clan. I have never had anything like a family before. Sure, I had Peli, but I did not want that to be my life.”

“This,” you say, gesturing to Mando and the child, “is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You hear Mando sniffle slightly under the helmet, and that sounds breaks the barrier you were holding up. You allow yourself to fully cry now.

“You make me nervous too,” you say with a laugh. Mando let’s out a light chuckle too, but you can tell his throat is burning from trying to hold back his tears.

“You make me think about longer than tomorrow, and best of all, I look forward to tomorrow,” you say, finally taking a deep breath.

You have both of your hands on Mando’s helmet now, and his hands are scraping up and down your sides. You don’t recall when he started doing that, but you’ve never felt so much in such a little touch.

“So thank you Mando. Thank you. I am so honored to be a part of your clan, and I will stay. As long as you’ll have me,” you finally confess, and you start wiping your tears away.

Before you can start to back up, Mando gently guides your forehead to his, and you quietly gasp at the coolness spreading down your face.

You see your breath on his visor, and relax a little into his touch. You shut your eyes and smile, rubbing your nose against the metal. You bring your hands to his chest while he holds the small of your back.

He never wants to pull away.

“It’s Din,” he mumbles, and you open your eyes again.

“What?” you whisper gently, your throat still tight.

“My name,” he says, “it’s Din. I would love for you to call me that.”

You smile so hard your eyes squish.

He told you his name. His identity.

How could I get this? you think to yourself. What did I do to deserve this?

“Thank you… Din,” you whisper out, still getting used to the name falling from your lips.

You both sit in silence for a few moments, basking in the feeling of your closeness and intimacy. You take a deep breath, absorbing the feeling, before letting your curiosity getting the better of you.

“Din?” you ask, smiling at his gorgeous name.

That will never get old.

“Yes?” he says, and you notice a small giggle in the back of his tone.

“What is this?” you ask gently, gesturing to your embrace. Forehead to forehead.

“It’s called a Keldabe Kiss. It is how Mandalorians show affection,” he explains gently, and you had never felt so full of love.

Din was kissing you. How could this get any better?

Din notices your smile, and can’t help but smile back.

“It is performed by riduurs, or partners,” he says, and you feel one of his hands glide up to the necklace he gave you earlier still on your neck. He rolls it around in his fingers, loving the sight of it on you.

You smile even harder somehow, and can’t help the shakey breath that escapes you.

“Would you… be my riduur?” Din asks you, and you giggle slightly at his apprehensive tone. A few more happy tears escape your eyes, and Din moves his hand from the necklace to brush the tears away.

He has plenty of happy tears sliding down his face as well.

You bring his free hand from your back up to your mouth and peck each one of his leather covered knuckles. Din let’s a choppy breath escape, never having felt this kind of affection from anyone, and you give one final kiss to the center of his palm.

“Yes Din,” you respond, and open your eyes to meet his in his visor.

“Always.”

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @farfromjustordinary @pinkninja200 @bookloverfilmoholic @440mxs-wife @impala1967666 @alanis-altair

#din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

[midearthwritings]

Heavenly Inferno

Nothing matters other than Tauriel.

Words Count : 1,054

Pairing : Tauriel x Reader

Warning : Making out

Author's Note : I’ve been wanting to write a Tauriel fic for so long now. I really hope it is as good as I imagined it would be, so please give feedback? I’m really anxious about this one bruh

I eryn e dûr = The forest is dark/gloomy

Meleth Nín = My love

A trail of fiery hair flies behind her, similar to a blazing shadow. It follows her, guiding you through the foggy woods. Tauriel’s steps are light, her toes barely caressing the shriveled ground, inaudible. You can only trust the faint sight of her mane and the wind’s whistles tickling your ears as she runs against it.

There is no light, and the moon safely keeps its silver rays to itself, above the shield of branches and leaves that separates it from you. But despite its selfishness, Tauriel’s skin shines like freshly fallen snow. When she looks back to shoot you the smallest smile, a simple twitch of her lips, you can only quicken your pace, encouraged by the need to be close to her. And she giggles at your childish behavior, causing your heart to swell and call for hers. 

The faster you run, and the more infected air you inhale, filling your lungs with a lethal dose of your love for her. The woods’ sickness tries to suffocate you, but all you can see is Tauriel and her light, as well as some shadows lurking in the darkness. 

Perhaps Tauriel saw them too, for all too soon, she stops, ripping the dream she has pulled you in into pieces. She stands there, unmoving, and you can see her eyes scanning the area. She looks like a miraculous bird of paradise blooming in an ocean of poison and desolation. 

“Meleth nin,” you whisper, walking up to her. Your fingers find their way into her hair. She must have washed them recently, for they feel like fine silk and smell of roses and honey. Tauriel leans into the touch with a content sigh, but her face remains somber. “Something is troubling you. What is it?”

She turns around to face you, her eyes clouded with the earth’s illness. Her grip tightens around the bow she brought along, ready to shoot at the first foreign movement. 

You smile in an attempt to appease her fears and take her hand in yours. She runs her thumb over your knuckles tenderly.

“I eryn e dûr…” she whispers, looking away. 

A crow screams at the top of its lungs in the distance, and you almost flinch. But you ignore it and, longing for Tauriel’s eyes on you again, you bring her hand close to your lips and press a soft kiss to her skin. 

“It has been for so long now. I can barely remember the time when leaves were green and the trees not dying.”

Tauriel shakes her head. “We have gone too far,” she insists. “We must go back before we encounter something eviler than the forest itself.”

Her words fly away, never reaching your ears despite the lack of space between the both of you. The feeling of her smooth skin under your lips is the only thing on your mind, and you kiss her hand again, lower this time. You repeat the action, peppering her skin with tiny butterflies until you reach the hem of her sleeve. 

Inside her chest, the sound of her heartbeat quickening is loud enough for you to hear. It pulses in the most melodious way, pumping blood and sending some to her cheeks, tinting them in light pink. 

Brown leaves that you had not noticed were falling land on top of her head delicately, tangling themselves in her mane. You pick them off, careful not to pull at her hair. 

As you do so, watching the leaves falling apart between your fingers, she cups your cheeks with her palms.

“We are not safe here,” she whispers. From the outside, it would look as if she was staring directly at you. But she is not. Tauriel is looking behind you, scrutinizing the darkness. 

She traces invisible lines on your skin, pulling an appreciative hum out of you. “Are you afraid?” you ask quietly, putting your hands on her hips. You feel the shivers that your touch causes, and she leans forward to give you a kiss.

It is chaste and lasts barely a second, a simple caress of her lips to yours. But it is not enough for you, and when she pulls back, you find yourself chasing her mouth. You draw her closer to your chest to kiss her again. 

Tauriel’s grip on your face tightens slightly, her fingertips somewhat digging into your flesh. You take your time, and so does she, exploring each other’s mouths as if it was the first time. Your tongue traces her bottom lips, brushes against the edge of her teeth before mingling with hers. 

Not too far from you, there is the sound of leaves cracking. But all you can hear is how she moans into your mouth, how it reverberates deliciously inside your throat. And all you can feel is her hands sliding from your cheeks to grab the back of your neck, her slender fingers scratching the nape gently. 

After what seems to be an eternity, she steps back, gasping for air. Her lips are wet with saliva, and her eyes are shimmering. You run the pad of your thumb over them, spreading the mix of your spits in an almost obscene way. 

“Are you not?” Tauriel questions, her hot breath wrapping around your thumb. 

“Am I what?” 

“Afraid.” 

Wrapping your arms around her waist, you shake your head. And maybe you are lying because your heartbeat quickens, and you know it has nothing to do with how your guts are burning with desire for her.

“I have no reason to be when you are with me,” you reply, burying your face into the crook of her neck. 

“I cannot protect you from everything,” she whispers. The wind blows angrily, making your hair fly around and sending shivers into every inch of your body. “I cannot protect you from the cold.” 

“Your love warms me up well enough.” 

Above you, she chuckles lightly, and it feels so good when she does it. Tauriel’s face is always so stern, so cold when you are around the others. Her smiles and soft waves of laughter are like a treasure that only you know about, which makes them even more precious. 

“We are not safe here,” she says again, caressing your hair. “I eryn e dûr, we must go back.”

This time, you nod.

------------

All time tags : @imnotevenhere9 @shethereadinghobbit @elvish-sky @katbby16 @dark-angel-is-back @shalinizhara @miriel-estelwen @thewhiteladyofrohan @vee-vee-writes @cameronsails @kumqu4t

And because they asked to be tagged in this one : @claraofthepen and @messiambrandybuck

#the hobbit #the hobbit reader insert #the hobbit imagine #tauriel x reader #tauriel #tauriel x you #tauriel x yn

[whumperooni]

Belonging

Pairing: Enji Todoroki x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 3k

Tags/Warnings: incest, possessive behavior, exhibitionism, mentions of being roughly handled by your big bros while daddy was away u.u

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

This is written in response to a big brained, beautiful minded nonny <3 I was going to put it in the answer to the ask but I’m gonna chuck this in ao3 too so I’m making it a separate post.

THANK YOU nonny for this /chef’s kiss of an ask and please feel free to slide into my inbox again because this is primo content right here.

I hope you enjoy your crumbs <3

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

How long has Enji been away from home? Two days? Three days? Four? Certainly not away long enough for you to be in this condition.

Enji frowns despite the sweet kisses you’re peppering all over his face and grabs onto your waist, lifts you up and holds you back so he can look you over. You’re a mess- bruises on your wrists and hickeys mottling your neck so much he can’t see a speck of your natural color. You look tired, worn out and Enji can tell that you’re exhausted, that things have been busy since he’s been away for his team up. He’s not happy about the vivid bruises on your thighs or the fading carpet burn on your knees. He is really not happy about the bandage on your forearm. Enji’s frown deepens and you grow nervous before him- smile twitching anxiously and hands clenching at the fabric of one of Touya’s shirts that you’ve been made to wear. When he puts you down and reaches to grab your arm, you flinch- barely noticeable, so tiny in your movement; something that anyone who wasn’t him would miss. Enji’s eyes narrow, big hand circling over your wrist and he tries to soften his expression when he feels you tense up underneath him. Whatever has happened while he’s been away is not your fault- he knows this. He is furious that you’re so skittish from it, though. Again, not your fault- his sons are sure to blame. “...what happened?” You tense up even more- eyes darting anxiously around the room and smile wavering and fading from your face. He thinks that you might pull away from him whenever he runs his thumb over the bruises on your wrists, but you remain as good and obedient as ever and simply twitch in place where you are standing. “N-Nothing, daddy,” you mumble, lips trying and failing to smile once more. Enji frowns at you and you squirm under your father’s stern gaze- anxiety whipping through you and upset starting to creep all over your face. “It was just...they didn’t mean…” Oh, yes, they did mean. Enji scowls and he sets his irritation toward the bandage on your arm, has to clench his free hand into a fist so he doesn’t hold onto you too tightly. “What is this from?” he demands. “Give me the truth, little one.” Your bottom lip quivers and he can tell that you are torn. You are such a sweet daughter, a sweet sister- you cannot bring yourself to lie to the father that you love so much but you also do not want to get the brothers that you hold dear in trouble either. You are a good girl- you should not be in this position right now. Enji breathes in deep and he lets it out slow, tries to keep a leash on his temper. You are the only thing he truly loves in this world- his little one, his youngest, his perfect little girl. He doesn’t want to see you cry over something your brothers have done. Enji huffs and he pulls you closer to him, picks you up. Your legs wrap around his waist on reflex- arms looping around his neck and face burying into his chest as he positions you. There’s a quiet whimper from you whenever he cups your bottom and Enji feels his anger grow even darker when he feels you sniffle against him. “Are you sore there?” he asks, gruff as he totes you off to his bedroom. You don’t answer him for a  moment and even then you can only give him a tiny nod in response- arms clinging tighter to him. Enji lets out a tch and he’s careful as he sits down on the bed, as he sits you in his lap. Your upset is more than clear on your face now- bottom lip wobbling and eyes glistening with unshed tears. Enji frowns as your head lowers and he rubs your back with one big hand, touches your cheek with the other. “Did they spank you?” he asks. Your squirm in his lap- eyes averted and fingers curling into his shirt. Enji waits, patient, until finally your lips tremble and you give a tiny nod. “Touya-nii...he wasn’t...he wasn’t happy that I slept in Natsuo-nii’s bed,” you whisper. “They’ve been…” You trail off, nerves and upset skittering over your expression, and Enji grunts his annoyance as he eyes the bruises littered all over your body. “They’ve been fighting over you. Again.” A wince passes over you and you hang your head as if you are ashamed. There is a sniffle and that is all it takes to further cement Enji’s decision that his sons need a reminder of their place. “I- I’m sorry, daddy,” you whisper- eyes wet, lashes wet, voice trembling. “I- I tried to be good so they wouldn’t fight, but- but Touya-nii told Natsuo-nii that I- that I belong to him and it made Natsuo-nii mad and then- then Natsuo-nii was sad after and I tried to cheer him up and then that made Touya-nii mad and then- then they started fighting and then they kept dragging me to their rooms and I couldn’t- I couldn’t make them happy and I’m sorry, daddy! I didn’t mean to make them fight!” Your voice pitches with a whine of a sob and Enji grits his teeth, wraps his arms around tight so he doesn’t let his temper explode. “It’s not your fault, little one,” he tells you- gruff, stern, but soft for him. You sniffle against him, tears wetting the fabric of his shirt, and Enji rubs your back, places a kiss to your hair. “Tell me how your arm got hurt.” You sniffle, again, and it is pathetic, weak. It grinds at Enji’s fury more, but he closes his eyes as you press against him and seek comfort. “I- I fell,” you mumble to him, voice wobbling. “N-Natsuo-nii was holding my hand and- and Touya-nii didn’t like it so he...he grabbed my other one and he yanked me away, but I- I lost my balance and I fell...I hit it against the table and it...cut me…” Your voice gets smaller and more quiet with each word- reluctance to get your brother’s in trouble making it so hard to admit what happened to your father. Enji���s control snaps as he listens and his fire flares from him- something he is quick to put out whenever he hears your panic sounding against his chest. Enji breathes in deep and he buries his face into his daughter’s hair, holds you just a little too tight in his arms. “...okay, little one,” he says once his temper calms down enough that he can talk without growling every word out. “Did anything else happen?” You shake your head against him and it’s a bit too swift of a denial for his taste. He senses that there is more- knows that there must be- but he does not push; he does not want his little one to collapse further into upset. Enji takes another deep breath and lets you go, cups your cheek to smooth away one stray tear. “You’re a mess,” he tells you. “Come- take a shower with me and then we will relax.” You nod- one small, upset sniffle leaving you- and Enji presses his lips to your forehead before gathering you up in his arms and carrying you to the bathroom. He strips you down and reduces Touya’s shirt to ash- letting it fall into the waistbasket with a scowl. You do not comment on it, but you hug yourself tight- eyes wide and worried and body littered with bruises. They have been especially rough with you this time and Enji is not pleased. He is careful with you as he washes you- big hands moving as gently as he can manage but still firm as he washes your tangled hair, scrubs down your tired body. You relax as he takes care of you, melt under his warm fingers and let out soft, sweet noises as your father eases the anxious tension that has wound your body up so tight. He kisses you when you tilt your head back to look at him- your eyes half-shut and sleepy, a serene look on your face as he runs his hands over your breasts. It is a chaste kiss- loving and brief- and Enji feels a certain satisfaction whenever you sigh after, lean against his broad chest. “Daddy takes good care of me,” you mumble- words fuzzy with exhaustion and the gooey warmth spreading through your body and making your mind melt from much needed tenderness. “Not like…” You trail off softly, guiltily. Enji knows what you mean, though, and there is pride in him from it- a possessive, vindictive pleasure as his little girl nuzzles against him adoringly. You are daddy’s little girl- you always have been and you always will be. Enji finishes cleaning you and he sets you out of the shower to wrap yourself in a towel and wait for him. Your clumsy attempts to clean him before he does are cute, but he knows that you are tired and does not wish to push you just yet- he has plans and he needs you to rest while you can. He cleans himself and you wait for him obediently- wrapped up in a towel and yawning, propped up on the sink where he had sat you down. Seeing him emerge from the shower is a treat- water steaming from him and dripping down rippling muscles, through chest hair and a thick happy trail. A soft noise leaves you as you watch him dry himself and your cheeks pinken without notice despite heavy eyes and a fuzzy, tired mind that’s begging for sleep. Enji watches your soft thighs rub together and he goes to you, kisses you like you deserve- lovingly, hungrily but not forcefully. He breaks it once a sweet, low moan sounds from you and then he kneels, parts your legs and hooks them over his shoulders before burying his face into the honeyed crux of his little one. The bathroom echoes with your whimpers and mewls as Enji runs his tongue through your folds and burrows his tongue deep inside your cunny. He keeps your hips still whenever they begin to twitch, but he allows you to grab onto his hair, grunts with approval when you arch your back and whine out a needy little, “Daddy, please!” You come whenever he slips a thick finger into you- slick and warm insides fluttering and clamping down onto the digit as you cry out, grip his hair tight. Enji works you through it and he slips a second finger in at the peak of your orgasm, makes it trip into another and has you whimpering, gasping out “daddy, daddy, daddy!” “That’s right, little one,” he praises- voice coming out low and husky as your cunny clenches and cums around his fingers. “Who makes you feel good?” “Daddy does!” Enji hums, pleased by your mewled answer, and he allows you to ride out your pleasure before slipping his fingers from you. You look so sweet as you pant and flush- so worn out and vulnerable; a tender girl flustered by the dulcet, mellowed pleasure that you have been craving for days. You whimper whenever Enji stands- arms reaching for your father and eyes bright with needy tears. He picks you up and he kisses your cheek, cups your bottom whenever you wrap your legs around him and teases your wet, fluttering hole with a stretched out finger as he totes you off to the living room. The boys are there- arguing as always, in each other’s faces with heated, hissed words and glaring eyes- and they only look up when Enji slips a finger inside your cunny and coaxes a moan from you. Their reaction is immediate- heads snapping up and shock halting their anger only to multiple it. Touya’s lips pull back into snarl and Natsuo’s eyes widen, narrow as he watches your hips grind down against Enji’s finger. Enji glares them down as he eases another finger into your eager cunny, kisses your cheek when you whimper and cling to him even tighter. “Little one,” he asks, voice gruff but calm even as he glowers down at the furious brats that he calls sons, “who made you feel good earlier?” “Daddy did,” you mewl out- sweet and sleepy and showing the pleasure that is slowly wrecking your tired body. Enji hums and he spreads another finger to smooth over your clit, makes you moan softly and try to grind your hips against him. A growl rips from Touya and your lashes flutter from it, a tiny noise of worry leaves you and is instantly forgotten when Enji curls his thick fingers inside of your honeyed insides and causes your mind to blank from pleasure. “And who is making you feel good now?” Enji demands- hard and nearly imperious as you tremble and cling tighter to him. “D-Daddy is!” “Do you want your brothers to fuck you, little one?” Enji asks, narrowing his eyes in challenge when Touya takes a step toward him. A hiccup of a sob leaves you and you shake your head, bury your face against him with a whimper. Enji’s lips twitch with the hint of a smirk and he pushes you to answer with, “And why is that?” Another sob and you shake as guilt, frustration, repressed anger and upset at your brothers twine through you along with the honeyed, warm pleasure that your father is giving you. You sniffle- hips rocking against thick fingers and your syrupy, sticky juices leaking from you and coating your father’s hand. “Because- because,” you whimper as your heart pounds and your cunny throbs with need. “Because they’re- they’re mean! I don’t want- I don’t-” Guilt causes you to whine against your father and Enji hums as he teases a third finger against your entrance, looks over his sons. Touya is furious- hands clenched into tight fists and shaking with anger that’s close to exploding out. Natsuo, at least, has the decency to look guilty, ashamed. He ducks his head and looks away as Enji spreads your little cunny wider and makes you cry out as he slowly stuffs your squishy, warm insides full even more. “Who do you want then?” Enji asks- voice low and gruff. He grunts as your insides spasm around his fingers and his cock flexes against himself- hard and big and so ready to fill his sweet baby girl. “Who do you want to fuck you, little one?” You choke on a sob- the questions overwhelming your tired mind and your body racing toward another orgasm. You arch against him, head tilting back with a cry whenever he places a hot kiss to your neck. You can’t help the way you pant and shake against him and you can’t help your answer either, the way you moan out a loud, needy, truthful- “Daddy! Want- I want Daddy!” You cry a little after from guilt and need and the pleasure that is making your mind melt and your head spin. Enji lets out a growl of satisfaction and he slips his fingers from you- soothing you with a kiss whenever you let out a panicked whine. Enji slides you lower down his waist and presses the head of his cock against your fluttering hole, looks at his sons with challenge and superiority in his eyes, the set of his lips. “And who do you belong to?” Enji asks- voice low and demanding, making a desperate shiver crawl up your spine. You whimper and you lift your head from him, turn it so you can look at your brothers. There is no fear in your gaze- not like how there was over these past few days whenever they yanked you to and fro between them- and you shudder against your father- eyes heavy and cheeks flushed, body soft and pretty and clinging to him with pressing, loving adoration and need. “Daddy,” you mewl out sweet as honey. “I belong to daddy.” “Good girl,” Enji murmurs to you, sliding his cock into your eager cunny. “My good girl.” Choked anger tears itself from Touya and he snaps out a “fuck you” to Enji before stomping out of the room- singing the doorframe whenever he slams his hand against it in fury. Natsuo is frozen in place- eyes wide as he watches you come along your father’s cock- and he flushes from frustration, from anger whenever he finds himself hardening at the sight of Enji’s dick stretching your pussy and making your glistening folds part as he slides into you slowly. He clenches his fists whenever your moan and then he stomps out of the room- angry and needy as your chanted mewls of “daddy, daddy, daddy!” sound behind him. Enji smirks as his sons flee in a temper tantrum, smiles as he kisses your cheek and rocks his hips up to make you moan and go limp against him in pleasure. You nuzzle against him with a needy, tired whine and Enji hums his satisfaction at that, turns to carry you back to his room and his bed. “Shh, little one,” Enji tells you. “Daddy will take care of you.” A whimper leaves you and you tremble before giving a weak nod against him, clench around his cock even as he slips out of you to lay you out on his bed. “Love you, daddy,” you slur out through your pleasure and exhaustion, the overwhelmed feeling making your mind melt. “Love you so much.” Enji braces himself over you and he kisses your forehead, soaks in the soft mewl that sounds from you as he sinks his cock back into your honeyed insides. “I love you too, little one,” he tells you. “My little one.” You nod, panting and dizzy, and Enji kisses you, starts to fuck you slowly. You’re his. You will always belong to your daddy.

#enji todoroki x reader #endeavor x reader #enji x reader #bnha #rooni's shit #tw: incest #this ask made me so dreamy #thank you nonny <3 #i hope it scratches that craving for you #todoroki degens

[javier-pena]

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna​ who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

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The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao​, @filthybookworm​, @frannyzooey​, @khalysa​, @leannawithacapitala​, @mothandpidgeon​, @mrsparknuts​, @mxsamwilson​, @piscespussybabe​, @something-tofightfor​

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #yes i've queued this #yes i'm asleep right now #and yes i'm too much of a coward

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE-OT7

It's not easy dating a member of the mafia-let alone seven of them at once. And honestly, living life constantly on edge is starting to drain you-wondering who will get hurt next, who will disappear on what mission, or god forbid won't come home at all. But, luckily, the same seven men who keep you perpetually worried, are also the same seven men who always manage to take those worries way.

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS Drabble, Angst, Fluff, Bts imagines, Bts reactions, Bts scenarios, OT7, Poly!BTS, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Kim Seokjin, Min yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon jungkook, Mafia AU

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Title: Unconditionally

"You promised! You promised me you wouldn't get hurt!"

Namjoon's hands close around your upper arms, his broad chest and shoulders blocking your view of the injured man who struggles to hold himself upright between two of his brothers, his expression stern as his eyebrows draw down over dark eyes.

"(Y/N), why don't you take a walk-" He starts to say, tone low and serious, before you interrupt him with another shriek of your own.

"Take a walk? Are you serious, Namjoon?" Your words are harsh and angry as they spit past your lips, and you wrench your arms from his grasp, his fingers reluctantly peeling away from your skin as you focus back on the other men in the room with a dagger laced glare. "I can't just pretend this didn't happen! Look at Jungkook!"

You wave a fierce hand in the direction of said boy, growing paler by the moment, slouched between Yoongi and Hoseok, dark crimson dotting the edge of his rib cage through the fine, white material of his dress shirt.

You feel the anger start to fade, and the bitter feeling of tears begin to choke your throat as Jungkook manages a weak smile in your direction.

"Really, noona. I'm fine. It's just a-" He stops to take in a hissing breath, as the older men holding him up jostle him slightly while readjusting his weight. "It's just a scratch." He finishes lamely, voice nothing more than a whisper now.

Namjoon glances over his shoulder to Jungkook, and seeing the state he's in, gives a curt nod to the older men. "Get him outta here. The doctor's waiting for you."

You resist the urge to reach out and touch Jungkook gently as the men half carry, half drag his weakened body past you and out the door of the study, but only because you're worried about hurting him.

Yoongi-Jungkook's left arm slung around his shoulders-grunts with the effort of carrying the heavy boy, eyes dark, and barely gives you a nod as they pass you, while Hoseok-glancing across Jungkook's body to you-manages half of his normally bright smile, as if to reassure you, before they disappear from the room.

There is silence in the room, the only sound the departing footsteps, and then Jin, leaning against Namjoon's large, wooden desk on the other side of the room, lets out a heavy sigh and reaches up to push long fingers through tangled brown hair as he glances at the leader, still standing in front of you.

"Namjoon, I'm sorry. When we heard Jungkook was in trouble we tried to get back to his position as quickly as we could-" Jin's words drop off, and he glances at the other two men still left in the room, silently watching their leader with guarded expressions.

Namjoon takes in a sharp breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, stepping away from you to cross the room and stand behind his desk, palms planted flat on the oak in front of him, as he stares down at nothing, before he says firmly, "We'll discuss what went wrong tomorrow. For now-" He glances up, and the dark, warning hint of his eyes has you feeling like he's sucked the breath from your lungs. "Get out. I have some phone calls to make."

The remaining men all nod and bow their heads respectfully, Jin ghosting past you with a brief hand on your shoulder, before he leaves the study.

Taehyung and Jimin appear on either side of you, and though Jimin's large, dark eyes hold a hint of worry to them, he offers you the start of a soft smile, before his fingers close around your wrist and pull you toward the exit.

"Come on, baby girl. Let's leave Namjoon alone for now."

You allow him to pull you from the study and into the dim quiet of the hallway-darkened by the night outside-before you can manage to take a breath and feel like you are no longer drowning.

Well, not as much as before.

Taehyung's long arm slips around your waist, and a look of surprise flashes across his handsome features, as he pulls both you-and consequently Jimin-to a stop in the hall.

"You're trembling, sweetheart." He cocks his head, expression grave, eyes dark and unreadable. "Did seeing Jungkookie really get you that worked up?"

"Of course it did." You snap back, trying to soften your tone slightly, as you bite your lip and think over your next words carefully, Jimin's fingers still looped around your wrist, Taehyung's arm idly hanging from your waist. "You promised me that none of you would get hurt."

Jimin's eyes are soft as he pulls you to him and presses a gentle kiss against your forehead. "We tried, baby girl. We really did." You feel his gaze drift to that of Taehyung's over the top of your head, and you can feel the worry tense his body once more as he admits, "Kookie was just in the wrong place at the wrong time this go around."

The reminder of Jungkook-shirt crimson with blood, wide doe eyes narrowed with pain, lips sucked between his teeth-sends your body into another shivering fit, muscles tense and aching from the emotional trembling.

Jimin, still standing close to you, must feel the sudden violent shaking of your body where it comes into contact with your own, because his fingers tighten around your wrist and when you look up at him, his normally full lips are pressed into a thin line of worry.

Taehyung reads the two of you like an open book.

"C'mon, sweetheart." He says gently as he starts to pull you down the hallway once more. "Let's get you into bed."

******

You disappear beneath the covers, and you don't come back out.

You cannot see Jungkook-he's still with the doctor and apparently resting-and the thought of doing anything other than burrowing beneath your blankets sounds mentally and emotionally exhausting when you can think of nothing but holding back your tears while you worry for the youngest boy.

It's dark now-the deeper dark of the middle of the night-and you can tell by the soft glow outside the blankets that someone has turned on the lamps in your room.

The men have tried to leave you alone, but you know they've been flitting in and out of the room silently, checking on you periodically as they too wait and worry in silence.

"She's really upset, hyung."

Your ears perk as you hear Jimin's voice from just the other side of your cracked door, followed by a heavy sigh, and then Namjoon's deeper tone responding quietly.

"Has she eaten anything?"

You can almost imagine Jimin shaking his head. "No. She won't talk to any of us." There is a pause, and then, "What do we do?"

You pull the blanket to your chest as you wait for Namjoon's reply, and you can picture the way his brow furrows in thought when he's thinking over his words carefully. Finally he states firmly, seriously, "Get Yoongi-hyung."

There is no more conversation as the sound of footsteps fade down the hallway, and you are left alone once more, and once more, as soon as you know they no longer watch over you, your muscles-of their own accord-begin to tremble.

You reach up and swipe at your eyes with the backs of your hands as the hot tears press more insistently, breath coming in panicked, emotional gasps, filling up the cocoon you have made beneath the blankets with hot, moist air.

You feel like you're suffocating, and not because of the heavy layer of blankets over your head.

The door creaks and the pad of heavy footsteps sound, coming in a pointed direction toward the bed, and then the corner of the blanket lifts, just enough for you to get a brief glimpse of the lamplight, before the glow is swallowed up in the mass of a dark body sliding beneath the sheets beside you.

"You need to eat, you know." Yoongi mumbles gruffly as he pulls the blanket over his head, successfully trapping the two of you once more in the cave you have created.

You can barely make out the almond shape of his dark eyes and the line of the bandanna pushing back his bangs in the dim, warm atmosphere of the blanket cocoon, before he slides closer to you and pulls you against his chest, arms encircling your frame.

Instantly, the smell of his cologne in your nose makes you feel a little less crazy than you had a few moments before.

But the tears are still pooling at the corners of your eyes, and the damn trembling in your body still persists, even as you bury your face into the strong planes of Yoongi's chest.

"I can't." You whisper back, and your words choke in your throat, as if they're stuck there, held back by clogged tears. You shake your head against him. "I'm too worried."

"About Jungkook?" Yoongi asks, and when you nod, he scoffs, but in a gentle, nonjudgmental way. A way that is just purely Yoongi. "He'll be fine. He's young, unlike most of us, and his body can take a beating. This is nothing. You'll see."

His words trigger the waterfall you have been holding back and suddenly, your chest is tight, as tears cascade down your face, dampening the material of Yoongi's shirtfront.

"You promised me." You cry out, fingers twisting into his shirt, as you bite down hard on your bottom lip and taste copper, trying to quell the shaking of your body, which is now verging on violent. "You promised me that none of you would get hurt. I can't, Yoongi. I can't lose any of you." Your breath is coming in hard gasps, and you feel like you're drowning again. The thought of losing them-any of them-is like a hot knife in the middle of your chest. "I don't want to live without any of you."

Yoongi's long fingers splay out across your back, as he tucks you beneath his chin, the length of his body curled to yours, and the warmth and solidity of his muscles against your own seems to calm the trembling-if just a bit.

"Hey, baby, stop, okay?" He murmurs out, breath warm as it washes across the top of your head, lips a cool contrast as they press to the edge of your forehead. "Stop."

One of his hands comes up to the back of your head, pressing your cheek more firmly against his chest, moving evenly with his breaths, before he asks softly, "Can you hear my heartbeat?"

You force yourself to take a couple of calming breaths and listen, and the sound of his heartbeat-loud and steady and rhythmic-beneath your ear, has your own heart calming slightly as you nod against him.

Yoongi's chin rests on the top of your head, as you listen to his heart, and the shivering subsides even more, the tears drying on your cheeks. "Good. Just focus on that." His long fingers move to stroke down your back, over and over, in a comforting pattern.

Your eyes grow heavy as you realize you cannot do anything for Jungkook now. Maybe, if you sleep, they will let you see him first thing in the morning.

And so, listening to the steady pound of Yoongi's heart, you allow yourself to give into the darkness of sleep.

*******

When you wake up the next morning, Yoongi is no longer beside you, but Hoseok is sitting in the armchair beside your bed, reading something that looks eerily similar to a Jane Austen novel.

"Good morning, sunshine!" He greets when he sees you awake, setting aside his book to jump up and give you one of his radiant smiles. You note, briefly, that his hair is tousled as if he-unlike you-didn't sleep the night before.

"Hobi." You breathe out, sitting up so suddenly your head spins, the blankets still clutched to your chest. "Can I-"

"Yes. You can see Jungkookie." He grins, finishing your sentence, eyes bright, as if he knew what you'd want to ask as soon as your eyes opened. "Namjoon's with him now."

You are out of the bed before your feet can catch up with what your brain is doing, and Hoseok catches you as you almost stumble into him.

"Okay, okay. Slow down there. Jungkook isn't going anywhere." He laughs, and takes you by the arm, dragging you from the room behind him, and even though his words state patience, the way his body bounces as he walks indicates he's just as excited as you are.

The walk down the hallway and up the stairs to the back of the house-and consequently Jungkook's room-seems to take an eternity.

Hoseok opens the door after a soft knock, and you instantly feel the breath whoosh back into your lungs, a sigh of relief leaving your lips, as you see Jungkook sitting up-propped among pillows-in the middle of the large bed.

He's still pale, but he's alive.

"Dammit, Jungkook." You exclaim breathily, unable to breathe properly with the weight of relief that is now sitting heavily on your chest as you rush toward him and take his face in your hands, inspecting him sternly. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I'm fine, noona." The younger boy manages a weak chuckle, as you continue to keep his face firmly between your palms, not wiling to let go of him, the feeling of warmth, breathing flesh making up for the agonizing twenty four hours of uncertainty before.

Jungkook grimaces slightly as your fingers dig a little bit too deep into his skin. "Really." He reaches up to pry your hands from his cheeks, lacing your fingers between his own, as you finally let yourself sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him. He tilts his head and his large doe eyes crinkle as he smiles at you. "I'm sorry I worried you. The hyungs said you were pretty upset."

"Upset is an understatement." You chide back, your fingers stroking across the smooth skin that covers his knuckles, as you glance over to Hoseok, who stands beside Namjoon's tall frame silhouetted by the window. You direct your gaze back to Jungkook, and your face softens slightly, as you free a hand to reach up and push long dark curls back from his forehead. "The thought of losing you-any of you-is enough to turn me into someone insane."

Jungkook leans into your touch, like a cat looking for affection, and manages another smile in your direction, though his big eyes have gone more serious and less jovial now. "I know, (Y/N). I'm really sorry."

"Jungkookie." Hoseok breaks the silent tension between the two of you with a bright smile that rivals sunshine as he plops down in the chair beside the bed and you wonder briefly, how many times the boys switched their vigil over their wounded brother last night. "What do you wanna eat? I'll have the kitchen make you anything you want. On the house." He winks at the younger man playfully.

You stand, as the two men begin discussing their breakfast orders, and wander to the large window to stand beside Namjoon, who has been silent since you entered, eyes brooding as he stares out at the length of garden and courtyards below you framed by the glass.

It is a rainy and gloomy sort of morning, the sky blocked out with plump, gray clouds, the window pane streaked and distorted with patterns of cold water, and your warm breath fogs the glass as you sigh, the outside world reflecting the somber feeling that has blanketed the house ever since last night.

Your eyes are drawn to Namjoon as he makes a subtle movement in the edge of your vision, reaching up to rub at one of his shoulders with idle, distracted fingers, as he continues to stare down at the courtyard in deep, solemn thought.

You remember that one. You remember it clearly. And even now, it sends a cold shiver down your spine to bring back the memory.

The mission that had gone wrong, the frantic, unhinged, uncharacteristic panic of the other six men as they had dragged their unconscious leader-bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound to the shoulder-into the foyer, dripping with rain and defeat.

The way Jungkook had cried as you'd held him and the other boys close as the doctor whisked away the still barely breathing Namjoon, the way the crimson streak of fresh blood had looked so stark and bright against the black and white tiles at your feet, the absolute cold feeling of terror settling into the pit of your stomach as trembling had overcome your body.

No, that time-and all the other times-would never go away. Ever. The memories were here to stay.

Without thinking, you reach out and place your hand over Namjoon's fingers where they still massage the sore tissue beneath his shirt, and he startles slightly, as if just now realizing you're standing beside him, as you jerk him abruptly from his thoughts.

He glances down at your fingers covering his own. "It still aches when it rains." He offers quietly, as if this is an explanation, and because you know him, it is.

"I know." You say simply, as you move to wrap your arms around his narrow waist and rest your chin on one of his broad, firm shoulders, following his distant gaze back out to the rain chilled landscape before you.

And you do know, because you know all of them-inside and out. Absolutely, incredibly, deeply.

And in just the same way, they all know you. Completely, essentially, openly.

And you wouldn't change it. Not any of it.

Because the same seven men who make you go feral with worry-day and night-are also the only seven men who can soothe those fears beyond the shadow of a doubt.

Wholly, unconditionally, perfectly.

#bts #bangtan #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bulletproof boy scouts #beyond the scene #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts angst #magicshopnet #purplearmynet #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #ot7 #poly!bts #mafia au #bts x you #bts x reader #seokjin x you #yoongi x you #hoseok x you #namjoon x you #jimin x you #taehyung x you #bangtanarmynet

[yespolkadotkitty]

BEAUTIFUL art by @thepoisonofgod 

Masterlist  ~  Chapter 29

Words: 1800  Warnings: Unproctected sex, swears, intimacy.

Thanking the goddess that is @astroboots for the beta!

*********

As the sky got darker, the celebrations amped up.

Zach fit like he’d always been part of our family. He supported Ahma when she staggered a little while watching the lion dance - standing for long periods had never been her forte.

Later, when we watched the fireworks before heading back home, I came back from using the nearby restroom to see that he’d procured a folding chair for her. No one had asked him. I instinctively knew he’d just done it, and my Ahma beamed up at him like he’d hung the moon.

When we got back to Mom’s, she made tea while I changed into my new dress. The fabric felt cool and silky against my skin.

When I came out of the bedroom, Mom and Ahma were fussing over Zach, blocking my view of him.

“I can’t accept this,” he was saying, his voice low.

The two matriarchs in my family parted, giving me a view of the man I’d come to care for so much. 

He wore a smart white shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of charcoal suit pants. A jacket in the same fabric lay over my Mom’s arm, and Ahma held a pair of smart, black sneakers - indistinguishable from dress shoes from a distance, but shoes he’d be able to wear every day.

My heart squeezed, hard.

“Aiyah!” Ahma cried. “You cannot tell me how to spend my money. I will be dead soon and what good will it do me then?”

Zach looked up at me, torn. I shrugged helplessly.

“I am too old to walk to the store to return the clothes,” Ahma said, affecting a feeble air. I swallowed back a laugh.

Mom cupped his face in her hands. “Just say thank you, Zach.”

Zach smiled slowly and nodded. “Thank you. Thank you both so much. Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” we all echoed.

Mom handed Zach the jacket and he bent and bussed her cheek.

Satisfied, Ahma and Mom disappeared into their respective bedrooms to change for dinner at our favourite Chinese place. The table had been booked for three hundred and sixty hour days, I reckoned.

Zach spread his hands, awe on his face. “Martha…”

“It’s useless to protest,” I murmured, smoothing my hand down the lapel of his shirt collar. “They got your size just right.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t. I assume that’s why they waited until I went to change to give it to you.” I slid my palm up and cupped his jaw, rubbing my thumb over his lower lip, over the little crease, the little kiss from the angels who made him. “You look very handsome.”

“You look…” Zach settled his hands on my hips, his gaze travelling from the top of my head to my feet and back again. “Wow. There are no words. Am I really the guy who gets to go home with you tonight?”

“Yes. You are.” I leaned in and kissed him softly. He drew me close, and his lips parted under mine. I felt his cock twitch through the dress pants and pulled back, sighing.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, Martha Song.”

Mom and Ahma appeared as Zach put his new sneakers on. He looked so good. I was overwhelmed by the urge to unbutton that smart shirt and press my lips to every inch of tanned skin, to breathe in his scent and mark him as mine and never, ever let him go.

“Ready?” Ahma asked. She wore a red and gold embroidered jacket and a smart, pale grey top and trousers. Mom had donned her best cheongsam, a rich, dark green with coiled black brocade forming a floral pattern across her left shoulder. Her hair fell around her face in soft waves, and I was struck by how beautiful she was.

“Ready!” I said, slipping my arm through Zach’s.

He bent his head to mine. “Proud to be on my arm tonight, honey?”

“I’m always proud to be on your arm.”

He shook his head, muttering “Stupid,” like I wasn’t playing with a full deck, but he dropped a kiss on my forehead anyway. I could feel his smile.

Mom unlocked the door, and I tugged Zach towards it, but then remembered something. “Wait!”

I hurried to the kitchen drawer where Mom kept a little box with special knicknacks, and fished out Bryan’s dog tags, slid them around my neck, where they rested under my cheongsam, next to my heart.

Zach was watching me with softness in his gaze.

“I always bring him with us for New Year dinner,” I said quietly.

Mom caught me in a big hug, squeezing me tight. I squeezed her back, and felt the cold metal of Bryan’s dog tags between us, and it was momentarily like there were three of us again; and then we locked up and made our way to Da Mao Jia.

*****

“I had plans, I swear,” Zach groaned as we practically fell through the door of my apartment. “I did. But I can barely breathe right now, let alone engage in anything more… enthusiastic.”

Just the thought of him lying on top of me made me shake my head. “Unfortunately, I agree. We were no match for Da Mao Jia’s new year banquet.”

Zach closed the door behind him and shook his head. “I’ve never seen so much food. I have never eaten so much food.”

I hefted the takeout box in my hands. “I hope you want beef ho fun and har gow for breakfast.”

He made a face. “I need to lie down.”

I settled the box of leftovers in the fridge. Zach was sitting on the couch, eyes closed, hands on his stomach. “I may never need to eat again.”

“That’s a shame, because that takeout box begs to differ.”

He chuckled. “Stop talking about food and get over here.”

I started to sit, then thought better of it. “I need to change.”

I unbuttoned the cheongsam and slid down the side zip. I felt like I had a little food baby and I sighed with relief as it was given more space.

Zach watched me over the back of the couch as I shimmied into an old t-shirt and took my glasses off, setting them on the shelf above the futon. 

“God! That’s better. I’m sorry we didn’t get to have fun with the dress.”

“Plenty of time for that.”

My pulse quickened. He was talking about the future. A future with me. I was careful not to mention it, though.

He patted the couch and I dropped down next to him. He curled his arm around me, and I snuggled in. Outside, the fireworks exploded in the black of the night sky, spears of red and plumes of gold splitting the darkness and shaming the pinprick stars.

Zach’s fingers played lazily in my hair. “Your Mom and Ahma are too generous,” he said eventually.

“No, they aren’t.”

He mulled this over for a few moments. He was so warm and solid beside me, and I never wanted to get up.

“While we were out - you were in that little fried chicken place with your Ahma - I asked about the pot washer job. They said yes.”

I sat up. “Zach, that’s amazing!”

He flushed. “Well. It’s a job.”

“Don’t downplay it. I’m pleased for you.” I pressed a kiss to his lips, felt them curve under mine. “I am. Congratulations.”

His arm tightened around me. “Don’t know how I’ll cope in the kitchen. It’s in their basement, so there’s more space than most places. We’ll see. I have to try.”

His quiet determination made me love him even more. If that was possible. “You’ll do great. I’m sure of it.” I kissed him again, felt interest stir between my legs. I sat up further, then turned and swung my leg over his thighs so I straddled him. “And I’m also sure that I’m ready for dessert.”

Zach’s eyebrow arched. “Oh, yeah?” He smoothed his palms up my bare legs to cup my ass through my thin underwear. His hands were warm, a little rough.

I shivered. “Very much yeah.”

He inhaled sharply when I unbuttoned his suit pants, my knuckles brushing against his cock, now at full mast. My muscles clenched greedily at the feel of him. 

“You know,” I whispered against his neck. “Before you, I had a little scare. Had to get tested at the clinic. I was clean, and there’s been no one since. I take the pill to control irregular periods.”

I felt his cock jump in my hand. He blinked. “I’m trying to work out if you’re saying what I think you’re saying. It’s making all the blood leave my brain.” He cleared his throat as I palmed him eagerly, his breathing getting heavier. “Um. We had regular tests in the marines. There was someone, during, but we always wore condoms. So I’m clean. But you don’t have to….” He sucked in a breath as I twisted my wrist just so. “..take my word for it. I’ll wear a condom for as long as you want me to.”

“I trust you, Zach.” I used my free hand to push my underwear aside and rubbed the head of him where I was soft and wet.

Zach closed his eyes. “Fuck.”

He started to stroke me just where we were almost joined. Watching his thumb circle my clit while I rubbed his cock over my entrance made me wetter, more excited. “Zach.”

“I got you, baby girl,” he murmured, his eyes hazy, gazing at me with something that was maybe half lust, half love. “I got you. Let go for me.”

And I did, gasping into his neck as I rode the high. As my muscles clenched and spasmed, I slid myself down on him, feeling him inside me without barriers, and the heft and fit of him was divine.

“Martha,” Zach rasped, his palms hard on my hips. “Holy shit, Martha, you feel so good-”

I picked up the pace, riding him hard, his little grunts and quick inhales stoking the fire, until his hips stuttered under mine.

“Shit. I can’t - I’m coming, honey-”

I clenched hard around him and with a guttural murmur of my name, he spilled inside me, shuddering, his face buried in my neck.

I love you, Zach, I thought. I love you so much.

**********

Story taglist:  @endlessearlgrey  @knittingqueen13 @sarahjkl82-blog @disgruntledspacedad @theflightytemptressadventure @thirstworldproblemss @hopeamarsu @mouthymandalorian @absurdthirst @songsformonkeys @chattychell @the-feckless-wonder @cyantomatos @scorpionerd​ @mrsparknuts @chicken-nugget-puta @oceaninfourhours @buttercup–bee–bee–bee @heatherbel @f0rever15elf @fangirl-of-randomness @skvatnavle @poenariuniverse @booknerdswiftie @dornish-queen @lunaserenade @wigwitch @kindablackenedsuperhero @havenforafrazzledmind @yoohoo307 @sketchy-britt @frankiecatfish @skdubbs @ladygrey03 @pascal-rascal424 @miulola @badassbaker @voteforpedropascal @littlemissthistle @wowtory @the-ginger-hedge-witch @ennuiandthebourgeoisie @tardisfangurl @confusednerd09 @autumnleaves1991-blog @myoxisbroken @pedro4ever @idreamofboobear @reluctantshipper @leonieb @casualpalacebagelrascal @jazzelsaur @fangirl-life @lackofhonor @helloannbananalove  @zaniasky @mrsparknuts @giselatropicana @nymphonet @hopeamarsu  @pedro4ever @88dragon06 @missredherring   @wantingpedropascal @browneyes-djarin @scorpionerd  @kindablackenedsuperhero @pascalsky @pitaparka @myoxisbroken @ezraswife @thism00dymermaidisamess @charityjoy22 @feministmoodymermaid @pedro-pascal-wife @pascalslittlebrat @bison-writes @starlightmornings  @winterboobear77 @cynic-spirit @lunar-lucky @a-skov @sebastianruinedme @motheroftrashbirds @annathewitch  giizhkens-cedar  @luminescentlily @pintsizemama @pascalslittlebrat @the-ginger-hedge-witch​  shsoba05 @silverwolf319 @hnt-escape @myoxisbroken 

Please ask or DM to be added to the taglist! And please tell me if you asked before and I missed it, I’m just a rabid fangirl in the body of a 36 year old.

#zach wellison x ofc #zach wellison fic #brothers and sisters au

[itjazzbicch]

Blame

Pairing:  Joey Janela x Fem Reader

Summary: On Television, the reader is a member of the Best Friends, portraying as Trent's girlfriend, but no one knows that she is dating Joey Janela. On her big night, when she wins the title in AEW, Trent professes his love to her, kissing her in front of everyone and Joey does not take it kindly...

Warnings:  SMUT!!!!!!!! (18+ ONLY!)

Requested by:  @hungmanhorsecarriage​ (I hope you enjoy!!)

Word Count:  2400

Tag List: @demonqueen29​ @jessiebean00​ @new-zealand-chic​ @crowleysqueenofhell​ @justamess44​ @thatpanpal​ @hungmanhorsecarriage​ @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch​  @linziland13​ @xxx-jazz-xxx​ @writtingrose​

I DO NOT OWN THIS GIF

“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner and NEW AEW WOMENS CHAMPION, Y/N!!!”

That was something that I thought I would never hear and instantly, tears began to streaming down my cheeks slowly.

Everyone told me that I couldn’t do it. My opponent tried to take me out so many times, but I prevailed and now, I was the champion.

I hugged that title so tightly then raised it up high when the referee raised my hand.

If that wasn’t any better, I had my best friends there.

I was a part of the Best Friends, Trent and I being a couple on television, but we were really just friends. It was a good feeling to know that they were all happy for me, still holding the title in the air when they did our group hug.

There was nothing that could bring me down, everyone growing silent when we noticed that Trent had a microphone.

“I hope you guys don’t mind if I have a moment on the microphone and speak from my heart, ” Trent began, turning to me with a smile, pointing at me when he continued:

“There is nothing that this woman cannot accomplish! Since AEW started, she has busted her ass! Making this women’s division stronger! Having first-time-ever matchups! Facing the men in this industry! Being the best friend that she has always been! Being the best girlfriend that she has always been and now, she is the champion!”

Everyone agreed with Trent and even though we weren’t really dating, his words still meant a lot to me because we were friends.

“Baker tried to injury her! Got her jumped! Played so many mind games, but she prevailed and I want you all to know-” Trent added, coming to me, putting the title around my waist, then standing in front of me, “I want you to know that I am so proud of you and that there is no woman on this earth that I love more than you, Y/N!”

I thought Trent’s, I love you, was a friendly one, but I was wrong because what I thought was going to be a hug, was much more than that.

Trent hugged me like it was the last he would ever have and he kissed me, in front of everyone, on camera.

Everyone was cheering, but I was losing my shit! We were just a couple on television! Trent has never done anything more than hug me or wrap his arm around me!

No offense to Trent, but I didn’t love him. I loved my boyfriend, Joey Janela.

He was my real boyfriend and he was the first person I thought about when I felt Trent’s lips against mine.

I kept my eyes closed, telling myself in my head:

This is just a dream. Just a crazy dream. Haha

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a dream. Trent kissed me one more time after our lips parted, smiling down at me before he picked me up and put me on his shoulder.

It was so hard to pretend to be happy like I was a few moments ago when I won, showing my title to the fans.

The moment we got backstage, I lied and said I needed to use the ladies' room, but I rushed to Sonny and Joey’s locker room, finding Sonny just like I hoped.

“Sonny, I’m gonna die! Trent’s gonna die! Where the fuck is Lance Archer because everybody is going to fucking die?!” I stressed, not holding back the emotions and losing my mind.

“Y/N, deep breath’s, okay?” Sonny sighed, trying to get me to calm down, “You just won the title! You should be happy!”

“Thank you,” I smiled, truly appreciative, but snapping right back into panic mode, “But Trent just professed his love for me and kissed me in front of fucking everyone! Joey is going to lose his shit! I’m losing my shit!”

“Joey is the type,” Sonny admitted, hugging me, but the bit of peace we had didn’t last long when we heard a loud knock on the door, anger in Joey’s voice when he said:

“I know you both are in there!”

Sonny didn’t hesitate to unlock the door, letting him in and god, he looked angrier than he sounded, his face turning ready.

“Joey, please don’t-“ Sonny began, but Joey wasn’t having it, snapping:

“Sonny, don’t even bother!”

“It’s not her fault and you know it!” Sonny snapped back, not taking his shit and standing up for me.

“Can we just have some time alone?” I asked Sonny quietly.

He answered with a smile, but shooting Joey a dirty look and slamming the door shut when he left.

The silence between Joey and I was so damn scary like a horror movie. He was huffing and puffing, his hair frizzing when he began sweating a little from all of the anger.

“I told you that you needed to get out of this storyline and now look!” Joey yelled and at first, I wanted to stay quiet, but I started freaking out again when I yelled:

“How the hell was I supposed to know that was going to happen? Usually,, He always keeps things professional. I’m not a damn mind reader, Joey!”

“Yeah, and it’s pretty obvious that he had enough of being, “professional”!” Joey mocked, “And the first thing you do is run to Sonny and avoid me?!”

“Yeah! Because when you’re jealous, you always lose your shit!” I snapped, “I’m losing my shit too!”

“I have every damn right to be “jealous”!” Joey argued, “How would you feel if another girl kissed me, huh?!”

“Tonight was supposed to be my night,” I cried, holding my title, “You see this Joey? I busted my ass for this!”

It became hard to fight through the tears, but still able to continue:

“Trent can kick rocks! I don’t love him! I love you! He’s the one who did this, not me. All I wanted was to bask in the glory of winning my title, but I guess that’s too much to ask for.”

Finally, Joey calmed down for a moment. He was breathing normally again after a deep breath, realizing that I was right. Even though that was hard for him.

But when I told him that I loved saying quietly:

“You know that I love you too, Y/N. I know how hard you worked for that and I’m proud. Not only are we going to celebrate, but I’m also making sure everyone here knows that the champion is my girl.”

“Please,” I smiled, putting my title down while we almost to each other, my soul about being smacked out of my body when his lips hit mine and hard.

His whole body felt like it was on fire and during every touch, it was like I could feel it, feel how frustrated he was and I couldn’t blame him. I was frustrated too, but this was our time to let that all out and we sure did.

The next thing I knew, clothes were flying all over the locker room, my wrestling boots, and knee pads just being launched in all directions, and when he tried to get on the couch, we were moving too fast and fell on the floor.

“Fuck that couch!” Joey groaned, throwing one of his shoes at it, shoving the small coffee table into the corner, “We can do it on the floor.”

I was just about to spread my legs wide, kind of wanting to tease him, but there was no time for that.

My body followed along when he flipped me over, putting me in a doggy-style position, wasting no time, about splitting me in two when he lined his tip with my entrance, then slamming into me, all of his cock in me with just one thrust.

“Oh,” I whined sharply, being a smartass when I said, “I just wrestled a match you know?”

“Don’t act like this is the first time we fucked after a match,” He groaned, giving me another quick thrust, shutting me up and making me moan.

Joey was definitely dominant, animalistic at times, but this time, with what happened tonight, that was all quadrupled.

Hard, fast, unrelentless.

I couldn’t even have a second to try and collect my thoughts with the way he was giving it to me, hands refusing to leave my hips, pulling me back to make his cock go even deeper.

Not even five minutes and I was being turned into a whining, moaning mess, keeping my ass perked up while my upper body collapsed, trying to take deep breaths, but I ended up burying my face in the floor, smacking it.

“This ain’t no submission match,” Joey chuckled, taking one of my arms and also taking a handful of my hair, pulling my head up.

Both holds gave him more leverage, my back arching hard when I felt hard, pounding shots at my sweet spot that were nonstop.

His hand was tugging at my hair a little harder, pulling me up towards him and since he was kneeling, I could kind of sit on his lap which helped, but with the way he was going, fucking me senseless, it didn’t matter.

“I wanna hear you screaming my name,” Joey growled in my ear, biting at it, the bites falling down to my neck and shoulder, while his hand left my hair and found my throat, giving it a good squeeze, “I can’t hear anything when your face is in the floor.”

“Joey,” I whined loudly, “Baby, you’re so damn good.”

“It’s good when I fuck your brains out, huh?” He snickered, biting my neck again, making sure marks were left behind.

At the same time, his hand let go of my arm, taking a handful of my breast, twisting my nipple and it sent this tingling feeling through my body, my core and walls clamping up.

Joey must’ve liked the feeling, his hand quickly falling to my hip, his forearm pushing my hips down while his fingers were at my clit, going in circles.

“Just know, you’re going to cum more than once,” He smiled against my shoulder with a kiss, pulling down to just his tip and railing my walls on every thrust, with having me up straight and bouncing up and down.

“‘Now, cum all over me,” He commanded, “I wanna be soaked.”

“Joey,” I moaned out, every moan so dirty and it was to the point where I was just about screaming, never experiencing such an overwhelming orgasm.

It about drained me, my body growing tired so quickly when all the heat flushed out of me and soaked all of cock and thighs, even the floor.

Joey lived up to his word but was kind enough to give me a second. I fell to all fours, finally having a moment to breathe properly until I felt a hard smack on my ass, and then another one.

I turned back to look at him with a smile, seeing his eyes still full of fire, unable to control himself again when he picked me up and turned me around.

“Get over here, ” He growled, kissing me hard with so much tongue, wrapped his arms around my waist, picking me up so that I was up straight, my legs wrapped his waist while my arms held onto his neck.

“Oh my, oh my God,” I cried, drooling on his shoulder, taking all of him in a quick, smooth thrust again.

I took a handful of his, holding on tight as he repeated that same cycle, just as fast as before. He knew how good he was, loving the sight of my head falling back, all of the pleasure making my eyes roll back when I felt him in my lower core near my stomach.

Even with my eyes open, my vision started turning white, in a bunch of flashes, my walls clamping tighter than ever. I could feel another orgasm building up more and more as I held onto his neck tightly, turning his red flesh white.

One of his hands went around my neck, the other holding the arch of my back, letting my back fall back to the floor, still keeping my lower half up and arched while he hammered away b

Salacious moans and screams, wet skin, groans were all anyone in the entire place could probably hear because we were going like wild animals.

It was to the point where I couldn't breathe again, looking back at anything to try and distract myself, but then I saw the door and shadows, feet by it, just standing there.

Joey was curious as to what I was looking at, noticing and it put an evil smile on his face.

“Looks like we attracted attention, ” He laughed, slowing down for a moment so I was laid down properly and he could be on top of me.

“Joey!! I’m so close baby,” I whined, but looking back to the feet and they were still there.

“You’re going to get what you want,” He assured, “Just couldn’t help but notice what you were staring at.”

We both looked and then I ended up moaning loudly, unprepared for the crazy thrust I received.

“Everyone is going to know that you’re mine after tonight,” Joey whispered in my ear, smothering me with kisses on top of my wicked moans, working harder than before, “Even if they walked in right now, I’d still keep going, show them who really rocks your world.”

“We all know it’s you, Joey, ” I said quickly, growing frantic, scratching up his back when I felt my orgasm forming up and it was ready, “Joey! Joey!”

My body seized when I latched all around him, holding on for dear life, my whole body pulsating to the point where it was the only thing that I could hear.

“Oh hell yeah, that’s it,” Joey groaned, it rumbling in his chest while he took the time to enjoy it, his cock sure enjoying it when I felt it beginning to throb.

“Baby,” I whispered, still panting, but wanting something.

“Yeah, baby girl?” He asked, his hair falling down when he looked at me.

“If we get in trouble, I am blaming you,” I warned, both of us blurting out in laughter.

“Go ahead,” He smiled devilishly, kissing me, “I’ll gladly take the blame.”

#wrestling #wrestling imagine #wrestling fic #wrestling smut #wrestling oneshot #aew #aew imagine #aew fic #aew smut #aew oneshot #joey janela #joey janela x reader #joey janela fic #joey janela imagine #joey janela smut #joey janela oneshot #request #read and enjoy'

[pascalpanic]

hey hey!!

For a short fic maybe something with a really shy, touch starved reader? With javi or frankie perhaps?

Thanks so much love 💕

YES you read my mind, mads, as per usual.

my baby frankie hasn’t been getting enough love lately as my focus has been Javi, and for that I’m so sorry. Let’s fix that!

Teddy Bear (Frankie Morales x gn!Reader)

Summary: You’re touch starved, and Frankie is just so damn cuddly.

W/C: 1.1k

Warnings: language, lots of talk of feeling/being lonely and isolated, rlly brief mentions of alcohol

A/N: u already know Frankie is my dream teddy bear. PS! I’ve begun tagging all of my fics that involve Charlie as #frankie and Charlie

Frankie is a hugger. The man is practically a living teddy bear, is it any surprise? You love spending time with Frankie, going out drinking with him or spending time at one of your houses. He radiates warmth and love and his three-legged dog absolutely adores you too.

You hug Frankie somewhat often. Every time you hang out with the Delta Squadron men, he gives you a hug goodbye along with the other men. He’s amazing at it, and it always feels like such a soft and intimate moment. His neck smells like patchouli and leather and warmth, sometimes like the bonfire you’d sat around with him, sometimes like the alcohol the two of you consume. He always wears a flannel, and it makes his arms all the warmer when he squeezes you to his chest.

You live alone and work a relatively isolated job. The nights you spend with your best friends, Frankie and Santiago and Will and Benny, are the only nights you feel human again. You always feel sadder when you drive home, when the moment is over and you go back to loneliness.

You don’t know it, but Frankie feels the same. He has Charlie now, which is a big factor in his happiness, but he still feels isolated when he heads home again. Like there’s something that’s only complete when he’s with his friends, when he’s interacting with other people.

Tonight, Frankie’s shitty truck is in the shop for god knows what now, and he needs a ride home. You’d texted him about it earlier, agreed and even drove him over to Will’s place, where you all sit now. You’re gathered around a bonfire, the night sky dark against the warmth and brightness of the flames. You all laugh and joke and talk and it’s wonderful, until Santiago stands and sighs and says he better head out. It’s getting late. So you and Frankie agree you probably should too, and the two of you get in your tiny car.

You really like Frankie. Have for a while now, actually, in a way that’s more than just friendly. You want the feeling of his warm hugs all of the time, whenever you want it. On demand, just for you. His presence is like the way his arms feel around you: just being near him is soothing and calming and it makes you smile.

The two of you chat as you drive him home. Frankie teases that he’s a much better driver than you, and you have to agree. He’s a fucking military helicopter pilot, of course he’s better at it, you tease, which makes Frankie laughs and smack your bare arm lightly. His hand is warm against your skin. His hand is tough and a little dry but it radiates warmth, and you swear you can still feel it on the air-conditioning chilled skin of your forearm. Your body is a heat map, your skin glowing an icy blue, and Frankie is a burning red. The place where his hand touched you is a ethereal, glowing purple. You smile and force yourself to focus on the road as you continue the drive.

When you park in his driveway, you smile over at him. “Can I get a goodbye hug?” You ask. The look in your eyes gives away more than you want it to. That you need it, that you don’t know if you can make it until the next time you see him if you don’t feel his arms holding you right now.

“Of course,” the man grins and gets out of your car. He meets you in front of the car, and he opens his arms. You fit in perfectly, his strong biceps enveloping you and gently flexing against your body.

You hug him tighter than normal, and he can tell. Your muscle can’t measure up to his, but instead of the loose wrap your arms usually hold around his middle, you’re gripping. The muscles of your arms tense and you bury your face in his chest, breathing in his scent. “What is it?” Frankie asks and kisses your head softly.

You shake your head and press your face further into his t-shirt, breathing deeply and gathering the courage to say it. You can’t. You cannot say it, you think to yourself. Start small, come on. Frankie probably likes you too. “Just appreciating you,” you admit with a soft chuckle.

Frankie gives a chuckle too, a soft vibration through his chest and into your head. “Oh yeah? And why is that?”

You come out with it. “Because I don’t know if I can survive until the next time I get to hug you if I don’t squeeze you as tight as I possibly can. I love your hugs,” you giggle and press your forehead to his shoulder.

Frankie’s face warms and pinkens. “You like my hugs that much?” He asks, laughing softly. “You know, I can always change my plans so that I can hug you more.”

“Would you?” You ask, somewhat teasing and somewhat real. “I just… love being with you. More than any of the other guys,” you admit. Your face remains pressed to his torso, so that he can’t see your emotions. You can’t make contact with those big, brown, coffee-colored eyes.

“I feel the same way,” he admits back. “In a different way. They’re my brothers. You… you’re something different. Something I want to kiss and cuddle and hold onto.”

You lift your head finally, a small and close-lipped smile on your face. “You want to kiss me?” You ask, tilting your head. Your arms remain thrown around his neck from the tight hug. “You can, you know. I’d like that.”

“I’d like that too,” he nods in agreement. He gets lost staring in your eyes for a moment, smiling, before he snaps out of it. “Shit, should I?”

“Yes, you should, Frankie,” you laugh happily.

He removes his ball cap and tosses it on the hood of your car. “Then I guess I will.” He finally leans in and kisses you slowly, your lips molding to his. They’re warm and soft, just like the rest of him. Frankie is a teddy bear, you decide, full of warmth and comfort and love. There whenever you need him.

A few moments later, you both break away and you grin up at him. “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” It’s a Friday night, and the gears in your brain shifting, making new ideas.

Frankie chuckles. “No. Do you?”

“No.” You stop for a moment. “Can I come in and cuddle with you?” You ask shyly, looking at the plaid of his flannel.

“I’d want nothing more,” he says with a grin. “Turn off your car and meet me inside.”

“Okay, teddy bear,” you giggle and press a kiss to his cheek.

-

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie and charlie #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #benny miller #william ironhead miller #william miller #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia

[vennilavee]

salt & the sea

pairing: levi x reader (perp universe)

summary: kuchel has passed away, and levi makes a visit to the sea.

warnings: descriptions of death

word count: 1.4k

a/n: hello it has been 3 months good day all, missed u<33

Levi has always had bittersweet memories of the beach. He can remember many, many weekends in his childhood with his mother and with Kenny. He can vividly recall the feeling of comforting sea water and a salty, sea breeze fluttering in his hair.

But the sight of nebulous, grey storm clouds over the sea has always made him nervous. His mother always told them that there was nothing that compared to an angry sky and an upset sea.

Even as a child, he would cling to the skirt of his mother’s dress even if he saw a single storm cloud. But Kuchel always loved the sea, no matter the weather.

Sometimes, when Levi was safe inside with Kenny in the little cottage she had rented for a weekend getaway, she would stay outside on the beach. She would sway with the gentle breeze as if she could fall over with even the slightest push.

She has always loved the sea, the openness and the unknown. The thought of the sea sets Levi on edge- after all, the idea that the ocean was vastly unexplored was enough to set anyone on edge.

But not Kuchel. She loved everything about the sea.

Which is why she had asked that when she passes away, her ashes be scattered into the sea, at her favorite beach. Levi had stilled at the request, his entire body going rigid.

But here he is. Standing at the nearly empty beach with his mother’s ashes in an urn. It’s the middle of the summer, but this beach is tucked away from anyone who doesn’t know that it already exists.

He’s alone on this beach. Except for him and his dead mother’s ashes, he’s alone.

But then there’s you. You, who had held him in the early hours of the morning last week, when the doctors had called him to tell him that Kuchel had passed. After so many months and years of suffering, she was dead.

Some part of him feels relief that she is no longer in pain. No longer feeling the absurd weight of life sucking her dry.

But still. His mother is gone and his heart is torn into insignificant little pieces.

Levi had operated on autopilot the day he found out. To the point that it worried you. The only inclination he gave you that he was struggling was the way he squeezed your hand tightly as you drove to the hospital together. Or the way he would uncharacteristically lose focus.

He insists he’s fine, ignoring your soft, concerned questions to focus on the logistics that come with a loved one passing away. You wish he would stop for just ten minutes. He’s hurting, you know he is.

His steely eyes are still and stormy, and he hardly meets your gaze. Whether on purpose, or because if he meets your eyes, he’ll break apart thread by barren thread… you don’t know.

Levi has always had a level head. This time, you worry that he’s too collected. This is uncharted territory for you, too. You don’t want to push him before he’s ready.

You watch him with careful eyes as the sand beneath your bare toes softens. Levi stares out into the open, neverending sea. His eyes are narrowed, lips pursed into a thin line. You don’t know what he’s thinking.

It makes you nervous. You don’t know how to approach him, how to talk to him. But you think not saying anything at all is worse.

You wrap a steady arm around his bicep and squeeze lightly. “Levi,” you say gently, “It looks like it’s going to rain in a few hours. We should go inside.”

“I need to stay,” Levi says tonelessly, “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course, honey,” you murmur, squeezing his hand gently. He squeezes back. You stand with him in silence for a while, your thoughts straying to the funeral ceremony from only days ago-

Levi’s eyes were blank, his stare hollow. People came and went but he cannot recall who he spoke to. What was said.

All he can remember is his mother’s dead, gaunt face. She looked so peaceful. Like she was only asleep in the hospital bed that had become her home.

He wants her to wake up. He feels so tired.

Is he asleep? Is he awake?

Kenny is somber next to him, looking at the casket warily. He almost can’t bring himself to look at his sister, but he does. He has to.

The cremation is the worst part. Levi managed to hold himself together through it, mostly with his hand in yours.

His mother, his dead mother who was previously so warm and filled with life in the apples of her rosy cheeks, is now reduced to ashes. Levi holds onto the urn tightly.

What else is there to hold onto after all?

You. There’s you. He squeezes your hand, reminding himself that he’s not alone.

“Levi?” you ask quietly. The lines in his face are tense, eyes vulnerable and closed off at the same time.

He hums in acknowledgement, the gentle sea breeze rustling his hair. It’s familiar, the salty taste of the air melting on his tongue.

“What are you thinking?”

Silence rings heavy in the air for a moment, but it feels like much longer. His words struggle to scratch their way out from his throat, somehow still held inside in a tight knot of unspoken sadness.

“I used to hate it when it stormed here,” Levi muses, “Was always so fucking eerie. But… Ma loved it. For whatever reason.”

“Then let’s stay.”

Heavy winds whip through Levi’s hair (you think he needs a haircut, the ends are getting long these days) as it starts to rain. It’s a cold type of rain, the type of rain that you know you both will end up sick from.

A soft headache is already forming in the forefront of your skull, but you stick it out. For Levi.

Who hasn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

The urn containing Kuchel’s ashes sits half buried in the sand, as if Levi doesn’t know what to do with it.

And then somehow, the sky splits open once more with the crack of lightning and rain pours down you.

The glossy sheen of wetness in Levi’s eyes doesn’t surprise you.

Levi doesn’t say more than ten words to you as the onslaught of rain and wind only increases in the next few minutes. You shiver next to him and notice that the apples of his cheeks are reddened from the cold.

You sneeze. He looks at you, as if being ripped out of his trance.

“I’m ready,” he says softly, rubbing your thumb with a featherlight touch.

“Okay,” you nod.

He takes a hesitant step forward, the rain whipping in his face. He tries, he really does. He tries to loosen the lid of the urn off to drop the ashes of his mother into the cold, unforgiving sea.

But he can’t.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, “Let’s go inside. We’ll get sick if we stay out here any longer.”

“I have to do it now. She loved the sea, even when it was shitty like this,” Levi says forlornly.

“If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready. It doesn’t have to be today,” you say over the noise of the wind, “It can be tomorrow. Next week. In eight months. When you’re ready.”

Levi stares at you long and hard for a moment, only pulled away when the sharp crack of thunder startles you. He cradles your wet cheek and takes your hand, leading you into the small cottage.

Once you’re both warm and dry, wrapped in blankets and comfortable clothes, you stand by the window to watch the rain fall against the sea. It’s chaos all concentrated in one place, and you’re mesmerized by it.

You feel Levi’s presence behind you before you see him.

“Ma loved watching all of this,” Levi murmurs into your ear, pulling you into his arms.

“I can see why,” you reply, rubbing his hand, “It’s pretty to watch. When you’re not wet and cold, I mean.”

Levi exhales a laugh into your skin. He holds you close without saying a word, only wanting to feel the softness of your hips and the warmth of your skin against his.

He tilts your jaw towards him to drop a desperate kiss to your lips. He wonders if you know that your presence is a bright light in his life. While he’s always had a level head and had his feet on the ground, you bring comfort along with your light.

He never wants to see you dim yourself.

Levi doesn’t realize that tears are slipping out of his eyes and onto your cheeks until you thumb them away, pulling him in for a long, long hug with only the surrounding storm to keep you both company as evening turns into night.

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#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman