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smolvenger · 8 months

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Could I Have The McOrgasm, Please? (Loki x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Summary: You love Loki, but he loves another. You must join Loki on his trip to get Sylvie back by going to the McDonald's she's working at. No matter how much it hurts you on the inside...

Warnings: SMUT AT THE END! NSFW! (Oral, fem receiving, inappropriate uses of Loki's shadow powers, dirty talk, p in v sex). Angst and unrequited (or is it?) love with eventual fluff. Being Anti-Slyki and Anti-Sylvie so if you like the character or pairing you have been warned. This is my indulgent coping method for not getting with a fictional character. Also, as this is published, I don't know what the eff is going to happen in season 2. I just want this out so I can escape to delulu land when canon disappoints me.

Word Count: >8K (phew)

Comments, reblogs, dms, and asks about my work are always appreciated!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract (smut starts at the line "I want to have you, btw bestie) @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

“Yes, she will be there,” Loki confirmed, looking at the restaurant.

You put your hands in your pockets. You were with Loki, Mobius, and a gentleman in a TVA jumpsuit at the McDonalds where Sylvie apparently worked. Just a hop, skip, and jump away. How much you took for granted-just traveling anywhere in space and time. Only, for this place and time was the one place you didn’t want to be. You wished you were anywhere else. A natural disaster, the poorest section of a medieval village, a gladiator tournament, a tuberculosis outbreak in London in the 1870’s-not this.

You didn’t want to watch as the man you loved went to pursue someone else. It was a peaceful place- just a McDonald's in the middle of a regular strip. The sun was gentle. Big clouds drifted in the sky. The birds were singing. You wanted to scream.

You didn’t just like Loki as a friend. You loved Loki- him and only him. Loved him for a long time. Through the misadventures of life in the TVA, you helped him for long hours scouring over files. You ate lunch together. When the little capsules of pies arrived in the cafeteria for the lunch hour’s dessert options, you would pull out one for him and hand it with a smile. And when he cried over seeing what events were supposed to happen, you ran to embrace him.

Then one day he ran into the mysterious Loki variant- as it turned out her name was Sylvie. Just two days later he went missing with her. Then they reappeared. And then they vanished again. Then he reappeared and people were running in a panic.

She left him. Kissed him, killed Kang, and then left him in the dust. But it didn’t occur to Loki that this was a betrayal he should be angry about. You remembered that day. He kept talking about her- until there was one phrase that hit you in the stomach.

“Please Y/N- I love her. Help me…help me find her and fix this!”

You would have preferred to be stabbed.

When he did say he loved her, you simply said “Oh, okay. I will.”

You returned back to your room later that day. Forgetting the chaos and Mobius’s mysterious loss of memory. You sank onto the floor and cried. Cried so hard you couldn’t breathe. Cried so hard and curled up into a ball. Cried so hard you hardly slept for want of crying more.

Even after what she did, he was still talking of her. No. All he could talk of was Sylvie this and Slyvie that. Even with you. Why were you even doing this?

“Uh…I don’t think I should be here…I think I should go back…” you murmured, taking a step back.

“You’re scared…of her? Y/N! You shouldn’t be! She’s incredible, you’ll love her! And you must- you’re the one who remembers what happened!” he insisted.

“What happened?” Mobius asked. The man in the jumpsuit only blinked.

“Y/N…please-I’m nervous…I need the support…” Loki begged at you. His mouth curled into a little frown and his eyes so big they shone like big stars. You held in a breath. Those eyes. Damn, those eyes- like that of a kitten. You wanted to hug him and cuddle him- but you couldn’t.

“Okay…” you voiced.

It was odd-not only being rejected, but being rejected for himself! How the hell would you explain that to a therapist?! The more you thought about it, the more it made you sick. The Spidermans in New York apparently weren’t kissing each other, you heard. You shoved your arms to cross them and continued on. Perhaps if you walked quickly, you could get it over with. Holding your breath, you folded your arms and walked quickly in. Thinking of it like a vaccine- just a little pinch of pain for a brief bit, and then it would be over with.

You stopped inside that bright, yellow building with its bright lights. There was a woman at the counter.

“Is that…” you asked.

Loki’s pale face turned a shade paler. “Yes.”

There you saw her. Not a glance- seeing her. Truly saw her up close. There were only glimpses when she ran around in the TVA. Here, her blonde hair was cut short beneath her cap and her eyes squinted in tired boredom. She smoothed her uniform.

You noticed Loki see her. Frozen in his tracks, his mouth open.

“What are you waiting for?” you pressed.

They kept looking at each other. With a shrug, she moved her eyes forward where a customer showed up to order a McFlurry. Loki blinked and turned to you.

“Does she recognize me?” he asked.

“Go ahead and find out. .” you replied.

“I…I feel like I can’t take another step…” Loki said, his chest falling in shallow breaths.

Mobius waltzed up in front of you guys along with the variant man.

“Well- I myself am starving hungry! Y/N-I bet you are too! Let’s order!” he churruped.

You followed them as Loki stayed a the door. Frozen in place. Mobius gestured to the counter.

“Ladies first!” he chimed.

You stared at her as she finished the last order before you. Drinking in that now your invisible rival had a face. That “Sylvie” wasn’t a wisp of air, a pedestal you could never reach. But flesh and blood. That this was the woman Loki preferred. This was the woman who was Loki. Pale skin and short blonde hair. It seemed damp under her cap. Slender with a long, straight nose and pink lips. Sharp eyes like that of a falcon. Slight grace and ease with how she moved. And you knew from the hundreds of times how Loki boasted of how stupid Sylvie won some stupid fight with a stupid enemy in a stupidly easy manner.

So many words were in there. You knew what she did. How miserable she really made him. After everything he did for her. And no matter if she felt the same or not, her actions did not account for it. What she did to him. The pure misery and despair on your beloved Loki’s face when she left him. The suffering she put him through even if he wasn’t aware of it.

And envy. Yes, you were sick with envy. You hated yourself. You hated yourself because you weren’t her. And yet you hated her too. Only hate was swirling in her stomach. Your mouth stopped, for want of the thousands of things you could have said. The thousands of things you fantasized about saying, or doing. You took in a shaky breath, maybe to start one of them. To finally let it out. To scream at her. Yell in her face. They were there- words forming at you like grey clouds forming a thunderstorm.

She beat you to it.

“Hello, welcome to McDonalds,” she said with a practiced smile.

She did not recognize you. She only gave you a nod and replied dutifully, like she repeated it 1,000 times every day.

“What would you like?” she asked, continuing on like she was an actor saying her lines.

To rip out all of your hair and scalp you until you’re screaming and bloody. You thought bitterly. But you did not say that.

“Could I have the-uh, Quarter pounder and small fries and a fountain drink, please?” you requested.

She nodded with a small smile and tapped into the cash register.

“My pleasure, coming up…” she said.

When you paid, she handed you the receipt. Then all you had to do was wait until the giant screen announced your order was ready. You felt dizzy as Mobius and the new guy ordered their food.

Simple as that. Your motivation failed you. She didn’t know you. If you said or did anything, she would flee and get her manager. You would be known as “that” customer who made food service worker’s lives miserable. A story to be gasped or laughed about. And never showing you sympathetically. Or knowing the stories Loki would boast about her-whip out her own daggers and slice you into ribbons.

You took a step back. Unable to peel her eyes off of her. Imagine her as he would describe- not in a uniform but in tight leather showing a perfect and beautiful slim body. A fighter who could defeat anyone in combat without blinking an eye and who could bring down the whole TVA.

Could you do that? No- you weren’t some fierce, flawless, warrior goddess. No- you were afraid. Vulnerable. That was your curse-she was extraordinary. You were just ordinary.

You began to mentally list your personal insecurities. How could you even compare to her? No wonder Loki worshipped the ground she walked on after she used him as a punching bag. The screen announced your food and another worker handed you a tray with the burger, fries, and cup. That was a clear sign from the universe itself- might as well drown yourself in comfort food.

You noticed Loki finally moved from his place. You couldn’t even watch- not even to get your drink. You grabbed your tray of food and fled to a far corner near the bathrooms. Where you couldn’t hear them, couldn’t see them. You wanted to huddle and hide and make yourself invisible.

Then you heard footsteps- rapidly walking around. You looked up to see who it was. It wasn’t Mobius. It wasn’t even the variant in the tracksuit- You could recognize that peachy ass in those brown office khakis anywhere.

He turned his black curls everywhere as he turned his head to search. Loki went up to you, and then his shoulders relaxed. He even bent a little to meet eyes where you were sitting.

“Y/N, all the way here?” he asked.

You were such a sucker for that face, especially how soft, how sweet he could look. How could you say no to his presence now?

“Uh…yeah,” was all you could say.

As he took a step forward to where you sat, he leaned down, his hands still in his jacket pockets.

“Where were you- I got worried. Maybe someone had attacked you, or took you,” he fretted.

“I’m fine,” you lied as you took a bite of the burger. “Just wanted to sit here-more private.”

He then pulled up to the chair and sat across from you.

“How’s the wedding planning?” you wanted to ask bitterly. You did not. You looked down at your food, then up at him. He sat so casually, so easily. He folded one leg over another and set an arm down. You pulled out your bag of fries. It was so piping hot it hurt a little- but that was how you liked it.

“I’m nervous too, Y/N. I have to tell you…I cried this morning…I know I have to face her. I’ve taken over cities, I’ve battled monsters, but this…this is different…” Loki confessed.

You chewed on a fry instead of replying. Tasting the crispy hot potato flavor. He let out a deep exhale, putting a hand lightly over his mouth.

“What’s wrong with me, Y/N?” he asked.

You wiped the salt onto your pants. The words flowed out of you easily. Too easily.

“Nothing is wrong with you, Loki! You’re the nicest, sweetest, bravest, sexiest being in the whole-”

“What was that last one?” he asked, tilting his head, his blue eyes squinting.

You immediately froze, the fry you were about to eat hung in mid-air. You felt hot with embarrassment.

“You’re the nicest, smartest being in the whole universe!” you said.

Before he could say anything else, you began digging further into those hot fries. “Mmph, These are so good. And just right-right when they’re out of the fryer.” You chatted on, desperate to change the subject after your little Freudian slip.

“Can I…try one?” he asked.

He held out his hand and you pressed a few fries into it. He chewed on them and then smiled as he tasted them.

“Not bad! Midgard food isn’t as pitiful as I thought!” he replied.

Mobius returned with his tray along with his companion. They ate and Mobius commented on how the Sweet and Sour sauce was his favorite. Loki looked at him, his smile dropping. Then he turned to you, his voice low. Mobius kept on chatting about everything to the variant.

“He still doesn’t remember…It seems all who care about me just…either die or leave or hurt me…” he mourned.

“I don’t…and think of Thor. Yes, you two fight. But he loves you. And remember your own mother! They care about you. They always will…and so will I…” you assured him.

Your hand moved up to touch his, then froze and retreated. Then he turned to you.

“Y/N?”

“Mhhm?” you asked, a mouth full of food.

“...You have salt on your chin…” he commented.

He reached out his hand to cup it. Your breath stopped at his touch- so gentle, so soft. His large thumb grazed over your chin slowly. Your mouth opened a little, feeling his light brush as his thumb swiped the bits of salt away. How small it seemed under his large hands. But he wasn’t hurting you in the slightest- it felt like a caress. A light kiss. Once his thumb went back to his hand, his eyes went to yours. Seeing his blueness, his large, dark pupils. As if something unspoken was exchanged between you. You saw him swallow hard.

Taking in a deep breath after that, you retreated, putting your hands on your lap and looking down. The heaviness of sudden arousal from his touch had shocked your system. You reached for your drink to cool off but realized it was empty. You had eaten all of your meal. There wasn’t food you could use to hide now. You forced yourself to take deep breaths- in, two three four, out two three four.

“There that’s…that’s better,” Loki said.

“Thank you- it won’t be easy, but….one day, you won’t be sad about what happened. You won’t feel nervous or scared…you’ll get over it Loki, bit by bit,” you encouraged softly.

He leaned forward in his chair, his hands folding on the table.

“Ah, tell me, my dear Y/N- Have you ever had your heart broken?”

The burger in your throat dried up. You took your napkin and bunched it into a ball in your hand.

“Yes,” you answered plainly. Fighting back the urge to laugh.

“I never did! Never! None of that drama! I’ve never been more relieved!” Mobius sang out as he chewed on a nugget. His companion only kept tearing at his burger.

“Is it terrible?” Loki asked. His brows knotted in curiosity.

“Very. Still is,” you replied.

“How did you cope with it? You little mortals-going about your own lives and your own heartbreaks?” he asked generally.

You shoved aside the tray and folded your arms. Then you began to speak.

“Realizing that love shouldn’t be a prison.”

“A prison?” Loki repeated. He leaned forward. Staring right at you. Truly listening to you. You continued, though you felt your body tense up. Knowing what you said was honest- too honest.

“I was…not with him in any way. He wasn’t my boyfriend or lover or hookup or whatever. This guy- I thought… he should be with whoever makes him happy….”

Even with someone who betrayed him, manipulated his feelings, and left him crying.

“Love means letting go. It’s the right thing to do- it’s still hard though,” you finished.

Loki registered nothing beneath the surface of that. He merely shrugged and raised his eyebrows. He looked at you, giving you a small smile.

“I’m glad you’re alright and happy now, Y/N. I remembered the time you were about to fall off the TVA balcony right over those statues last month…”

“And you caught me-you saved my life!”

“To think…me…a hero for once…” he commented.

“That’s a Loki for you! A pure miracle for your kind!” Mobius commented.

He took a long sip of his Sprite.

“Wow! Now this is a drink!” he exclaimed, inside the cup for the bubbly carbonation.

“Well, Mobius, this isn’t fiction. No one is all good or all bad. And Loki, no one entirely bad does that…everyone’s a mix of good and bad,” you added on.

“What’s your bad parts, Y/N? Any weaknesses” Loki asked curiously.

“I…get jealous…” you confessed.

The god’s jaw lowered to the ground. His voice dared to raise a little bit from his surprise.

“Jealous!? But…you’re…you’re so kind! I’m the jealous one!” he said.

You continued on. The words poured out of you more quickly than you could register or control them.

“It doesn’t mean I never feel jealous. Or am tempted to do things like take her face and smash it over the McDonad’s register.”

“What?!?!”

You stopped. A hand flew over your mouth to cover it. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, what the fuck was I thinking?!?! you cursed silently. Another slip. And this time, he heard it clearly. No hiding around it.

“Whose face are you talking about?” Loki asked further.

“I…Forget that…I didn’t say anything! Good luck with your meet-cute and reunion and all that. Have fun- bye!” you dismissed quickly.

You grabbed your tray.

“Y/N…wait…” he said.

“Where is she going?” Mobius asked, tilting his head. He then remembered he had more sweet and sour sauce with his McNuggets and began dipping into them with a childish glee.

He reached out and grabbed your arm. You pulled against him and he held you back.

“What’s going on!?” the god asked.

“Don’t touch me- save it for her!” you hissed out. Yanking away from him- not even looking at his face.

You looked right at the door and walked hurriedly. Momentum, panic, pulling you out of there. You kept your eyes on the exit as you dumped your trash into the bin. You walked to the outside of the McDonalds. It was sunny with the sun’s orange glow and a little chilly. You got the tempad from your pocket to return. But then you heard Loki jog behind you. You kept walking down the pavement. Glad that there weren’t moving cars right now. If not, you wished a moving one would hit him and send him flying. But it didn’t.

“Y/N, stop!” he insisted.

You stopped walking. But you turned around. You didn’t look at him- only at the rows of cars and empty parking spots in the strip. But you heard him behind you.

“I’ve stopped. Now what?” you asked. At least you could hide behind sass and snark. It made the pain better.

“Whose face were you talking about?” he asked.

“I’ve got to go, Loki,” you urged.

“Y/N, wait!” he cried.

You felt him grab you. He turned you around, his arms gripping you into place. His eyes were intense and his jaw lowered. He still looked so handsome- like a dream. His intensity, the feel of his bare hands on you making it more intense, making him more attractive. You were forced to face him. Your eyes were brimming with more tears. He almost shook you as he held you- so strong. His skin, his scent. Like he wouldn’t let go of that for the world. If only you could experience that for yourself.

“Y/N….are you…jealous of Sylvie?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry I said something about hurting her. I know it was wrong to-but yes. I’m jealous of her. Have been for a while. Isn’t it obvious?” you asked.

“Why?!”

You burst into tears. Your jaw tightened.

“I need to go, Loki…just let go, please,” you begged.

As you moved he held his grip on you.

“No! You’re not going anywhere until you tell me why!” he demanded.

You thought confessions like this should be done in moonlit gardens or sexy hotel suites or something. Not the parking lot of a fucking Mcdonald's. But here you were.

“Why? Because I love you, Loki. More than as my friend-much more.”

“You…love me?” he asked. His eyes were wide. His jaw dropped and then it closed back, his pink lips barely parted.

Your words sputtered out. His grip relaxed on your arms. You had no choice but to look him in the eye and talk.

“ I’ve always loved you…I’ve loved you every afternoon, on weekdays, on coffee breaks. I’ve admired and taken note of every one of your feats. I stayed by when you were sitting at the TVA crying when she opened the multiverse and left you. But…the thing with love…is that it means letting go…”

How handsome he looked. His jacket-how warm would it feel? Would it smell like him? And the shirt that hugged his body. You glanced down and felt twinges of lust mixed with your sadness. With a man as delectable as he, you couldn’t help it. How broad yet lean and strong he was. How his bare skin would feel against your bare skin. How many times have you fantasized nightly about having him in your bed? But there was only one being in these universes and timelines who would know. And it wasn’t you.

“What…Y/N…really…all this time…” Loki murmured.

. You felt anger in your throat and venom in your voice.

“If you think the best relationship you need is with a woman who is literally you with a vagina who you knew for three days and then left you in the dust for her own gain, then take it! Because…beacuase…”

You began to step away. Ready for him to be angry at your words about her. His eyebrows lowered and there was no anger- only his parted lips of shock. You began Crying again. You thought you saw him tear up too.

“Because that’s what you want, what you choose…and I have to let you go…”

You turned on your heels and promptly left. Wiping your tears on your sleeve. Using the tempad, you returned to your home. You ran inside, fell on your bed, and sobbed.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When Monday began, you were ready to work. You got in your nicer dress and cardigan for the day. The TVA office could get chilly. Right when you walked in, there was Loki. In his own work wear. You froze. What on earth were you going to say? What could you say?

“I was worried about you. How are you, Y/N? Feeling better?” he asked, putting his hands back in his pockets.

“You know…yes….yes I am…” you nodded.

He gave you a kind smile. You waited for him to bring up what happened, what you said. He did not.

“How did…McDonalds go?” you asked.

“For your information, it went alright,” he informed you.

You felt a giant lump in your throat. You pulled your cardigan further over you-looking down on the floor as you spoke.

“The reunion- did she-”

“She just wanted to focus on her job,” Loki answered before you could finish your statement. He went up closer to you. “I hope your day at work goes well, my dear…if any supervisor gives you trouble, they’ll answer to me…wait- there’s a hair on your shirt,” he said.

He gently brushed it away on your shoulder.

“There you go- you look…you look nice today. The colors suit you,” he said.

“Oh, thank you.”

It was a normal, boring day. And the next day was a normal boring day- that was comforting.

When you went into the cafeteria, you decided to buy lunch. After all, it was going to be the best meal they offered at the TVA- grilled ham and cheese with tomato soup-nice and warm. You counted your coins from your pocket to make up the total. It was cheap-but still eating at it every day could take a toll if you weren’t careful.

As you walked up with your change, the cafeteria lady shook her head in her hair net.

“Oh no- it’s on the house!” she said.

She gave you a smile as she brought a tray ready. Your own surprised face gleaming from the glass over the food.

“Really?!” you gasped incredulously.

“Yes-your lunches are free from now on!” announced the cafeteria lady.

“Oh…thank you!” you cried.

Smiling, she handed you a grilled ham and cheese and poured tomato soup into a bowl before handing it to you. They tasted especially warm and decadent.

Loki appeared here and there. But he would ask after you. Talk to you. He never mentioned the warrior goddess version of himself to you. Not anymore, at least. But he didn’t bring up what he said.

As you got to your office desk on the fifth day, he was standing there- waiting for you. Your coworkers were watching with one eye from where they sat and worked. Some even stood up to see.

“Hello, Y/N!” he greeted.

He walked forward and you gasped aloud when he turned. In his white hands was a glass vase full of fresh, beautiful flowers- your favorite kind. Bright and beautiful with a fragrance that sweetened the area that used to be full of the smell of crisp paper and old coffee.

“I…I thought you might like this,” he offered, handing you the vase.

“I…I, uh…uh-thank you,” you said.

Why was he suddenly being nice? It then hit you- he still valued your friendship. Even if he didn’t feel the same, he didn’t want to let you go yet. Probably making peace. But you were in public, this wasn’t the time or place to discuss matters of the heart openly. But…that was better than a full friendship breakup. Of never seeing that mischievous, handsome god ever again.

You smelled the flowers and set them on your desk. He leaned against it, something glinting in his eyes. Something that made you feel fluttery and distracted you from the start of the day.

“How’s the…Kang mission going?” you asked.

“Oh, it’s alright. If not well. A few bumps here and there- but things will probably be fine. You have nothing to fear…but what about you? How is work?” he asked.

“It’s been downright slow the past few days. Then today it’s picked up, but…nothing I can’t handle.” you reported.

He leaned a little closer, the old trickster light beaming in his eyes.

“Anyone being difficult? He asked.

You couldn’t help but smile.

“Some were in the past, but…but no.”

“Then…I hope you have a good day, Y/N. I will talk to you later. Don’t let them work you too hard, darling,” he said.

He gave you a wink that sent butterflies into your stomach and then walked away.

How nice he was. Taking it so well. You always knew there was a little good in him. Even if all that was for someone who didn’t deserve him…

After work, you splurged on cheesecake and a bottle of wine. You were going to need it.

After you got back home, you brought in your goods. You listened to sad music and cried to flush more of it out of your system. Grieving Sylvie and Loki being a couple. Imagining them kissing and doing more than kissing by now a hundred times. You took a hot shower to cleanse every picture of it from yourself. You changed into your pajama shirt and shorts. You sat on your chair in your room, ready to eat a generous helping of cheesecake and a generous glass of wine.

You were going to go somewhere far from the TVA. You had to. Get a new job somewhere. Meet as many men as possible. Try other forms of dating. Or not just dating– just meet anyone. Forget him. Forget Loki. Forget his dark curls and blue eyes and sinful waist in those tight shirts and mischievous smile. Move on from him, move on from being rejected. Even if he was nice to you and wanted to still be friends. You were going to forget it all. Sacred timeline be damned. Your happiness and peace of mind was shattered.

Then it hit you…it was odd that out of nowhere you had free lunches at work. Why was that?

An answer hit you.

Could it…could it be…it was… No. It was bribery. Yes! All bribery because he needed help with some villain who lived in a mansion with purple robes and a flair for the dramatics. All being beside his perfect, flawless girlfriend. Having their love rubbed in your face. You wanted to spit.

Right as you were about to take your first bite of cheesecake, There was a loud knock.

“Y/N…please let me in…I have to talk with you,” a voice you knew too well asked from the door.

You gripped the seat of your chair.

“Loki?! Is that you?” you asked from where you sat.

“Who else, darling?”

“Just use your magic and break into my place!” you replied.

“I’d rather enter with your permission…” he said.

Not caring that you were in your sleepwear, you opened the door. Still in his jacket and TVA office wear, he stepped inside. Your hands curled into fists. He was beautiful as ever-jacket and cheekbones and all. You could have screamed at him. You could have punched him. You could have slammed the door in his face.

But…you didn’t. You couldn’t. You crossed your arms and took a step back, but you looked at him.

“Loki…what are you doing here? What else can I say to you? Thanks for your gifts. I know you need help with Kang but…I can’t…I can’t do it…and you have someone waiting for you. Go to her. Go to who you love.”

“But….I am with who I love…” he replied.

A stone dropped into your stomach. Your whole body tightened. Your breath stopped and your throat ran dry.

He stepped inside. Then he cupped your face with both hands.

“Y/N…I’ve been so blind…” he confessed.

Before another word was said, he kissed you on the lips. Deeply, sweetly. You smelled him- smelled popcorn and musk. Yet he tasted of cream on your lips, of froth. Like a dessert after dinner and twice as sweet. He held you so that your lips could stay together. Then he released, still holding your face.

“Loki…what is this? What’s going on? Is this another…another of your tricks, then…” you asked, your voice only half of its strength.

He kept you close. Looking right at you. His voice was so dulcet, so earnest.

“It’s not. Y/N…I never realized how much you cared for me. How much you really did…and to think…I thought I was alone. But I wasn’t. No one saw me…but you…and to think…all this time I was chasing after someone. A shadow. A dream. An illusion better than any I could conjure. An idea of her. Not realizing…that love, that sweetness I have wanted my whole life…was right in front of me…” he said softly.

“You finally came to your senses!” you cried.

Both of you let out a small laugh at that.

“But…she’s with you to fight Kang- and you’re back together?” you asked.

“She doesn’t remember me. And she… wanted nothing to do with me. It struck me what she did…how she treated me. And then I thought of how you treated me…I kept thinking of you, thinking of you. I missed you. I looked for you. I…I didn’t want to cross paths with her…I realized…there was someone always there for me…yes-you…Oh, Y/N, I’ve been a fool,” he breathed.

He held you and kissed you again and you almost gasped into it. Feeling him. You grabbed onto his jacket. Held him close-felt how close he was. His eyelashes. His tall cheekbones graze against your face. It made you shiver. He let go of the kiss, pressing his forehead onto yours.. Both of you closed your eyes and could hear his breathing fluttering.

“Y/N, my dear…can you forgive me?” he asked.

“I can. Can you forgive me?” you asked.

“I already have.”

He let go. He still kept his eyes on you as he reached his hand to the door and pushed it close. The momentum made it shut. His long finger made a swipe-out of it came a bit of green seidr. And you heard a click! The door locked in place.

“I wanted someone who loved me…who would take care of me…and it was you the whole time….it was you, Y/N…I…I don’t…” he muttered.

He paused. Then he put his hands on his hips and looked down. He licked his lips and his eyes scattered, a blush on his cheeks.

“I don’t…even know what to say now…how to put it…uh, Y/N…I…I, uh-”

“I love you too, Loki…and…I’m glad you’re okay now,” you breathed.

You were on him to kiss him again. He pulled you close. He moved a little tongue in. Your breath hitched from feeling him there. His hands on your back-keeping you pressed against him. Never wanting to let go.

“Y/N…don’t let this end here. Let me stay…let me stay for tonight…” he whispered.

“You can stay,” you said with a nod.

You felt his fingers dig into your skin. To leave his fingerprints on you.

He then moved on to kiss your neck. It tickled you a little. But he found a sensitive spot- a spot rarely kissed. He pressed his lips to it as he held you close. Then he used a bit of teeth. It elicited a groan from you. You felt him tense up as it escaped your lips. He sucked the area.

“Here…now you’ll never doubt that you are mine…and I am yours…”

He made another bite, another mark. Arousal squirmed inside you, releasing out to your panties with his touch, his lips on your skin. He kissed you again and you melted into it. The friction between you was building up. He squared his hips to meet your own and you stifled a gasp. His hands wander down your body-exploring each curve and shape, hidden only by the thin cotton of your sleepwear. Feeling you like a discovery of forgotten land. Finding each nook and curve of your shape inside your clothes. But you did not move an inch away-but kept him there. You ran a hand up to feel his back-always so warm. Masculine even.

“Loki…darling…” you moaned out as he kissed each bit of the sensitive skin between your neck and shoulder. His hands wrapped to be around your back.

He kissed you again. You reached your hand to rake through his dark curls- they had been washed and were so fresh and clean and soft-softer than the petals of the flowers on your desk.

You could feel something getting hard from his office pants. It brushed against the crotch of your own clothes and made you quench beneath.

“Y/N…my pet…I want…I want to have you…to have you now…will you let me?” he asked.

“Yes…yes, I do…I want you…” you agreed.

“Then… let's make up for lost time…” he growled.

He kept kissing you as he put his hands around your waist, grabbing you and taking you right to your bedroom. His hands moving back up to cup your face, to keep kissing you so close. He released and looked down at your clothes. He then touched your collar, seeing where it dipped, and showed a bit of your chest. He smiled as his hands went down, feeling the material.

“If I knew this had any chance of happening, I would’ve worn something else…” you confessed.

“Does that really matter when the best part will always be beneath it?” he asked.

With a flash of seidr from his fingers, the pajamas vanished and you were naked before him. You gasped at the cold. You fought the urge to cover yourself. It wasn’t that this was your first- but to show your body before Loki was a different matter. You have never wanted someone so bad, and you never felt more…vulnerable. Your arms flinched to cover your breasts then he caught you.

“Ah-ah, Don’t hide your beauty from me, not anymore…” he said with a playful tone.

He moved your arms aside to see you. He cupped one breast in his large, beautiful hand- thumb grazing the nipple, making you shiver.

“Yes…that is the best part…” he said.

He kissed you again, his hand wandering down- feeling your bare back. Even grazing your bottom, then going up to your hips, your curves. He was feeling you- treasuring each inch of you. He kissed you again as you connected your hips to his. Electricity shooting through you. You let out a shuddering groan. He gave you another smile- it was so lustful, so devilisih, so him.

“There’s something else I can do, my Y/N…would you like to try it?” he boasted quietly.

“Yes…show me what it is…”

“I can hold you back…tie you without any silk, any rope, any chains, any restraint…” he whispered.

“How?” you pressed.

There was a light flashing in his eyes-so light, so different. From the dim lights of your room out came shadows like his- with his horned helmets on them. The shadows lurched over and you almost gasped. Then they went down to the floor.

“They can touch you- do you want to know what they feel like?” he asked.

“Yes…”

The shadows reached out their arms, traveling up. They felt like mist when they grazed your skin. But then one pulled up your first arm high- and it was strong. You couldn’t break out of it, no matter how you tugged. Then the other lifted your other arm up high. The light was still in Loki’s eyes, the shadows lifted you up before him. A prize free for his taking. He grinned as they wandered on how your position made your breasts dangle before him.

“Now…where were we…ah, yes…” he said.

The shadows were strong but gentle as they moved you over. You were floating-then they laid you on the bed. Your arms were lifted to remain high over your head as your back went over the duvet. Your arms were held over your head, laying over the pillow.

“I…I like this power…”

He smirked, his hands still in his pockets.

“As do I…and I am bout to like them even more…”

More shadows appeared- they flicked across your legs.

“What pleasure is hidden between here- they can help show me, perhaps…”

They curled to your ankles and then gently opened your legs before him.-showing your dripping pussy before the god. He played cool. Only his quick breaths and the bulge in his pants hinted at his craving, his desire. Your breasts out and your legs opened- nothing hidden. Now the shadows had you out and open-something for him to devour, something out to be fucked.

He walked forward. He brought out a long finger. He touched your folds gently, sliding them down. You let out a gasp.

“L-Loki…” you breathed out. It was so sinful, so filthy you couldn’t help but love it.

“Why…this is quite the picture. If I could only paint it…but I only want this masterpiece for myself, and no one else.” he rasped.

He walked over to the bed. Then he crawled so he was between your legs. The shadows keeping your legs open. His hand grazed over your inner thigh.

“Here…you’ve been a good little angel Taking care of me. Shhhh-shhh- you don’t need to object, to think of my pleasure for now. You’ve worked so hard…now relax…let your god take care of you this time, darling.”

You were gasping and whimpering. He began to taste you- his tongue inside. He groaned as his tongue went further into your folds. His cold breath against your private wetness made public for him. Your arms flinched but the shadows held you tight. He flicked his tongue and you let out a small groan.

“L-L-Loki…yes…I-oh, oh god-yes…” you sputtered out.

His shadows lifted your hips so he could taste further. His tongue delved. It found your clit and you shuddered from it. He gave a few licks. He went up closer to where your clitoris was swollen and waiting for him. Then he stopped.

“Now this…this tastes better than any of those Midgardian meal down there…This one is sweeter, with much more juices…and this one I can devour at no cost at all…”

You were whimpering-letting him lick your clit. Letting his tongue go through- each bit of you. Explore you. Your own cries filled you up. But the shadows kept you wide open.

“L-Loki…that…that feels so-so good…”

With a small gasp, you felt pleasure spiral in you. He licked a bit further-and soon it broke on you. Like the wings of a bird when it catches the wind and lifts up. The pleasure burst and you let out a gasp from your petit mort.

Your heart was racing, and your blood coursing through you. Loki was smiling- his lips wet with your juices. And still fully clothed.

“I hope they don’t replace me-I’ve yet to get my hands on you again, my pet.”

He crawled on top of you. He kissed you so his tongue got into yours-another hole for him to claim. You could taste your own earthy scent and thick juices. Still restrained, he held you, grinding lightly onto you. Your hips lifted a little to meet his- no shadows needed. But you felt their cool touch curling around you. Touching all over you- he wanted to touch you, feel you, know you, devour you in every way.

“Please…I want more…I want you…I want you inside of me, Loki…” you begged.

He smirked, a curl coming loose on his face.

“Oh…my tongue was only to prepare you, my dear…I hope you are ready…”

“Yes…yes-please..I want you to fuck me, fuck me until I forget everything else…forget Kang, the TVA, timelines, all of it! I don’t care if it’s by your shadow’s cock or yours- I need you! All of you!”

“You need only ask, my dove,” he purred.

The green seidr flashed with a tilt of his head, then down it went. It melted his clothes off. He became naked. You underestimated how fit his body was. You forgot your words at this sight of his nakedness. How strong, muscled, and broad he was despite his leanness. His masculine hairs across his chest-his large, strong biceps. Abdominals and a very happy trail leading to his erect largeness. The shadows curled their grip around you. They pulled your legs to open wider.

“I hope you’re ready for the love of a god,” he murmured.

He embraced you, kissing you as he began to sink in. Bit by slow bit. He got himself in, groaning. You let out a cry when all of him was inside. He was so big, you had to adjust. Your arms flinched again but they remained held back. His arms reached around you-keeping you close. He then held you- his own hands digging into your hips and thrusting into you.

“Oh-oh, god!” you whimpered

“That’s- that’s what I like to- to hear-shall you try it again? Yes- yes-urgh- so-so tight, my love-yes-” he growled.

He began to slowly thrust into you. He groaned into it- slow, but steady. Intruding your insides. He rolled with you, a gentle rolling of his body. Kissing you deeply. Then he kept at it. Your voice escaped you. His cock disappeared and reemerged. But he looked at your face, in your eyes as he fucked you into your bed.

With a flick of his head, the shadows moved your legs so that your knees bent and you were angled deeper.

“Fuck! Oh-oh dear-Loki I-I-I can’t-shit-can’t believe this-this is-fuck- happening--happening right now-it’s-it’s-its-fuck!- too good to be true-” you breathed.

“Oh, it’s-it’s true darling…”

He thrust carefully, slowly. Then he picked up. His voice was like that of a hiss, right into your ear.

“And you’re-” Thrust. “-Mine.” Thrust.

He kept kissing you as he thrust, thrust, thrust. His shadows testing you, splaying you a little more open. Hearing each other's groans. Moaning your name, repeating it like a prayer of his own. A prayer only a god could give. His own grunts were deep and guttural. He found the right pace. Painting with each thrust, thrust, thrust.

“Yes…yes, you’re-you’re mine and-yes-I will…I will be yours-we are at each other’s mercy…now…yes-”

His pace increased. His shadows holding you back bed hitting itself against the wall. Then the shadows moved so your legs flew right up by him. It was so wild, so fast. Then his long finger curled to your entrance. Finding the clit. Rubbing so hard- so much. Slam, slam, slam, slam. You gasped- it was the right, perfect place. You were going up, up in your pleasure. His finger tested your clit faster, harder with his thrusts. You felt his voice, his groans rising in pitch. And that bubbling, spinning feeling was going inside you, your toes clenching as your legs were up in the air.

“Oh…oh gods…Loki…I’m going to cum again-I-I am…”

He held you close- this time his own flesh-his thrusts wilder, desperate. He was breathless, with every gasp, every taking in of pleasure, he urged you. His voice husky and to the point of breaking.

“Yes-yes-go-there-I…I can’t—cum, darling, cum with me-your heat, your wetness-it’s going to-going to overwhelm me-I…I can’t I-yes-yes-cry out-cry out my name, darling…I-I-I-”

His thrusts were so wild, pounding you right into the bed. Nailing you there, completely taking you over. That sweet spot- thrust, thrust, thrust, thrust, thrust-when it hit like lightning that you let out what started as his name, and then you hit it, it became a shout.

“L-Ah!”

It reverberated throughout your home. Whoever was next door or nearby would definitely hear it. With a strangled cry of his own, he arrived as well.

His shadows retreated. He still wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling into you. His arms wrapping around you. He felt so warm- you could smell his sweat, feel how he had to catch his breath. Your heart was still reeling after that bout of pleasure. He hugged you close.

“Holy shit…” you breathed out.

He let out a small smile and you both laughed.

“To think I could’ve been enjoying…that all this time, my dear…” he said, he kissed you on the forehead. “And now…I hope you don’t mind that again….”

“Can it be every day?” you asked.

“Of course!” he laughed.

He sighed as you settled into each other.

“What are we going to tell Mobius…the TVA?” you wondered.

“We’ll think of something…” he said.

You sat up, wrapping the blanket around you. With a bit of magic, he conjured a large shirt over you-soft and comfortable.

“I was going to get some wine and Cheesecake- would you like any?” you asked.

“Both Sounds lovely to me…but Y/N…I am genuinely sorry, I really am.” he said, his eyes wide and sweet.

“And I genuinely forgive you…emotions make people do things-”

He grinned.

“Such as this,”

He pulled you to his lap. You hugged and kissed his cheek. Yes, you would figure out life as a couple in the TVA together. Life with some new villain back and on the rise. But for now…you had to just enjoy each other. This new, blossoming, new love. Yes- how good that word felt rumbling in your mind. It echoed as he joined you to get plates and glasses.

You both smiled as you had your first sips and ate your first bites. He thanked you with a kiss- tasting sweeter than any food, dessert or dinner- could ever taste to you.

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alleycatchitchat · 6 months

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TROLLS BAND TOGETHER SPOILERS

SO I WATCHED TROLLS BAND TOGETHER!!! MANY FEELINGSS! INCOHERENT!!!

I have SO much to say and think about this movie (positive) buuut I need a few days, or maybe weeks, to process... but I made some notes while watching just to chronicle the emotional journey I was experiencing, and wanted to share! There are SPOILERS here, please PLEASE do not read if you don't want to see spoilers!!

Ready? Ok:

"Let's play some rummy! But I won't let you win, because I play for the money" i think im in love

BRIDGET WEDDING JUMPSUIT FUCK YEAH 😭😭

"I can't remember all my suitors, Grissie" yes you go girl. you're powerful and amazing and people love you, don't ever forget it

apparently poppy casually refers to branch as her boyfriend and that's normal now. i'm (choke) gonna need (sob) gonna need a minute here guys

love that floyd signs his letters "the sensitive one" like yeah babe pretty sure your brother knows who you are no need to specify

sweet dreams IS featured in this movie!! omg im so happy you have no idea. i saw somewhere that velvet and veneer performed that song and it's my favorite ever and i was SO freaking excited to see it featured in one of my favorite franchises but i couldn't find it when the soundtrack came out so i thought it was fake but its not im so happy

peppy how many more dark secrets are you hiding?? he was so straightforward in the first movie but now it looks like he's just gonna keep pulling bigger and weirder hidden drama out of his sleeve as the franchise progresses. not necessarily a complaint just something i noticed

floyd is branch's favorite brother CONFIRMED

floyd! the sass!! ok he's DEFINITELY related to branch and also i think i love him

FLOYD SWEETHEART BABYGIRL DONT BE SAD I CANT HANDLE THAT

“Branch? One word. KEEPER”

Wait but how can floyd be my favorite brozone member when bruce is also so wonderful

I can also totally see the family resemblance between branch and bruce when they simp over their girls

I KNEW peppy was gonna be talking to mr dinkles i knew it i knew it

Also just so happy to see them acknowledge the events of the original movie. Don’t think bridget and gristle were even in TWT?? And the trolls’ history with the bergens in HUGE, and something that they shouldn’t have just written out of the story like that

They’re going to FLUSH floyd?????

Yes clay grandma got eaten try to keep up

Floyd and branch hugging THROUGH the glass is everything i ever wanted and also killing me slowly and painfully

I mean i guess its diamond not glass but you get the idea

“Its fine. we’re not gonna press charges”

Anna is unfrozen with the power of sisterly love but short, male, and blue

Do i like veneer now? What’s happening?

Wow. branch has come a long way since the first troll movie, and i didn’t know how to feel abut that because i was so nostalgic, but seeing him happy and confident like this makes me feel so at peace. yess i know he’s a fictional children’s character what of it

#trolls branch #trolls poppy #dreamworks trolls #trolls dreamworks #trolls band together #trolls 3 #trolls john dory #trolls floyd #trolls clay #trolls bridget #trolls king gristle #bergens #trolls veneer #trolls brozone #spoilers #trolls 3 spoilers #trolls band together spoilers #trolls spoilers

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avidfics · 4 months

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Chasing you

Summary: You’ve been on the run from Carol after sending a drunk voicemail. A month later, Carol has found you and doesn’t plan to let you go.

A/N: Came out of a writing hiatus cause I love this woman. There’s not enough carol x reader fics on this app and she gives me the warm fuzzies. Comments and reshares are appreciated :)

Warnings: Pretty PG-13, playful teasing, fluff, some tears, few misspellings, mentions some characters from The Marvels

Three things were painfully obvious as you woke up. This wasn’t your bed. These weren’t your clothes. The “Space Girls Do It Better” sleeveless crop top didn’t belong to you.

Oh, and there was a fluffy, orange flerken licking its genitals ontop of your chest. A pretty deep cleaning by the looks of it.

“Um.” your voice croaked, the result of a long nap. “Mr. Flerken sir, I’m going to move you and place you on the floor-” Three tentacles shoot out from the confines of its mouth, wraps around a nearby metal dresser, and swallow it whole.

An audible nervous gulp can be heard from your throat. “New plan. Leave when it pleases you.”

Armed with the killer fluffball, you creep along the cramped halls of the spaceship and take in the colorful murals that are painted inconsistently through the halls. One reads vaguely familiar, “New Jersey.”

What’s a New Jersey?

In the back of your mind you have a nagging suspicion of the identity of the owner of the ship. But if you were right, then that would be a bigger problem than someone undressing you while you were unconscious.

You enter the main pilot room as a childlike scream jars both you and the flerken.

Kamala Khan’s wide eyed, all teeth smile shines from across the room. “OMG you’re awake!”

“God, no.” you groan. You plead to the heavens that this is all just a stress conjured dream even as the teenager morphs a hard light disk to propel her forward to tackle you into a warm hug. “Kamala, please tell me you're the owner of this ship and you’ve gotten your spaceship driver’s license early?

Her lips curve. “Sure.”

A relieved sigh depletes from your body.

“Sure, I missed you. But this is Carol’s ship. After you left she’s been tracking you for the past few weeks. We got an alert that you were involved in a bar brawl on the planet Aladna yesterday. When she found you, you were already beaten unconscious and bleeding from the attack. Carol scooped you up and took care of your injuries in the med bay.” Her signature dopey smile returns. “She nearly blasted the whole bar apart when she found you. It was epic.” she sighs with a faraway look.

Her smile wouldn’t be so bright if she knew you had no interest in being on the same planet yet alone on a small ship with her honored captain. Your frantic eyes start to scan every nook and cranny of the room. As if Carol would materialize from the launch keys at any moment. You drag Kamala to the control panel and start to hit buttons at random. “No, none of this is epic. Kamala, afraid we need to cut this reunion short. Drop me off at the nearest planet or station. Shoot, give me a space jumpsuit and I’ll simply float outside in outerspace. But I Can Not. Be. Here.”

Kamala gives a sly look at how you’re acting. “Carol said you’d try to jump ship once you woke up.” she smiles as she pets the flerken still in your arms. “Something about you being embarrassed over something moronic.”

And there it was. Until now there was a slim grasp of hope that Carol hadn’t known what you did but this just confirmed not only did she know but she wasn’t going to let it go. Goody. No way would you tell the whole story of how you’d gone out drinking with some Skrull girls because Carol was driving you crazy in her freaking halter tops. Then you found out she was married to a prince! Sure, it was only a political marriage but still the revelation made you want to punch something or someone. So drunk out of your mind, you left the most pathetic voicemail of all time sounding like a teenager with a crush. Talking about how she attracts you more than the rules of gravity. What was that! The voicemail ended with your declaration to take the prince of Aladna in a fight if that’s what it took to get her attention.

In your defense, she does like to fight. So you did punch someone…or several someones at the bar.

“It’s nothing.” you blink away the memory. “Carol didn’t have any right to kidnap me off the planet”

“Aren’t you a little old to be “kidnaped?” the dreaded voice calls out from behind you both.

You whip your head around, guilt written all over your face even as your jaw slackens at the hottest, yet fatigued, space hero in the galaxy.

But at the moment Captain Marvel just looked like Carol. A half smile gracing her lips even as she leans against the entrance. Bare arms out, another damn crop top that barely covers her belly button, and an empty space of tantalizing skin at her stomach before the top half of her supersuit hangs limp at her hips.

It was giving off duty lesbian about to repair an engine and it was making you absolutely feral.

Which is why you held the flerken outstretched in her direction.

“Not another step, Danvers.” you warn. “This flerkin here has taken a liking to me and isn’t afraid to defend me.”

Carol tilts her head and her full teasing smile tasks force, causing a full quiver in your heart.

Taking slow, meticulous steps toward you, not caring about the fur-covered danger dangling from your hands. “You’ve taken a liking to my pet, sweetheart?”

A spurtle of incoherent nonsense leaves your mouth. “It found me when I woke up. I even named him Ginger.”

“Real creative.” her deadpan sarcasm does not go unnoticed. “Put Goose down before he decides to eat you.” You get ready to fight the command but ‘Goose’ does a loud meow and you decide that’s him agreeing with his apparent owner.

Her eyes flicker to the noisy teenager next to you. “Kamala, go find another wall to destroy.”

“Aye aye, captain.” You make a desperate attempt to grab Kamala but the small betrayer just mouths “You’re in trouble.” before prancing away.

With Kamela’s exit the room is too quiet and the once spacious room feels tiny and empty, leaving only the bruising reminder of why you’ve avoided Carol for weeks. Sure, your friend can fly, shoot rays of energy from her fist, and literally crush you with her bare hands but none of that ever scared you. It wasn’t your physical body you were afraid she would break, but the fragile, sensitive heart you always protected. But then there was Carol with her small, gentle smile and her laughing eyes and a warm presence that made you want to be soft instead of sharp with pointy edges.

Under Carol’s gaze you were a giant raw wound that was left open and too exposed. You just knew Carol could see it.

Which is why getting off this ship was imperative. With a new, hardened resolve you turn around and commerce pressing every button in sight.

“You trying to order a pizza? Because there’s an easier way than having us crash into the nearest asteroid.” The pull of her voice is so strong after weeks of zero contact but you ignore it nonetheless. Not that it deters Carol. “But maybe your bad driving is a result of getting your ass whooped down on Aladna.”

She’s baiting you. Do not give in.

“I mean the fact that you got your butt handed to you by a group of people who normally only fight in song has to make you mad, right?” The silence in response finally gets to her as she stomps up to the dashboard controls and undos every button you’ve pushed in concession. Each time she reaches for a button near yours, fingers a centimeter from touching, you yank away and take a step away. She grunts in return and counters with another step closer.

Her next jap finally hits her mark with stinging precision. “Maybe next time you should ask the Prince for backup.”

A response fires out your mouth even as you slam your hand against a particular shiny button. “I had it handled, okay? That pretty boy prince might’ve impressed you somehow but his presence in a fight is as needed as yours is to me right now.” The lie turned your stomach and made you feel like Goose’s shit. “You had no right and no reason to take me off that damn planet because I had it covered. Just drop me off at the nearest planet.”

Carol could smell the lie a mile away. The words bounced off her chest. If anything she was trying to hide her arrogant grin at successfully getting your undivided attention, knowing it would make you more pissed. Which was always an adorable sight.

When her sources flagged a sighting of you on Aladna she’d left the spaceship at supersonic speed to reach you after hunting your trail down for the past month.

At first, friendship was all she needed. But time spent together on various missions gave her deeper understanding on how darn sweet you were despite scratching at anyone who tried to get close.

But once she clicked play on that cute, yet slightly violent, voicemail any vague restraints of being only friends were dashed. Now here you were, her prickly kitten, and she wasn’t going to be deterred by any of your rounded jabs.

Now here you stood. Causing internal issues to her ship's mainframe. Slight bruises marring your delicate skin. All reminders that you’d rather be dropped in outer space than occupy the same room with her. Well tough luck. Patience was never her strongsuit.

A blur out of the corner of your eye was the only warning before the sudden warm body surrounded you from behind. Two unyielding hands grasped yours in an attempt to halt any further error messages from appearing on the dashboard. “Are you not satisfied with my ship, sweetheart? Because you’re awfully determined to break it.” In another determined step she removes any space separating you two until her front is flushed against your back. Tense doesn’t begin to describe how rigid your body gets as you realize, to your detriment, she’s forgone a bra. Even the tiniest move from her causes her soft, malleable breast to move against your back. Your knees buckle even as you silently curse Carol for completely smashing the boundaries of your personal bubble.

Warm fingers grasp each of your hands and her thumbs caress circles on each hand that shoots straight to your flamed core. A whisper of her lips speaks into your ear, tingling all the way into your spine. “Six. There’s six bruises across your delicate body from that stupid fight. But you didn’t need me, huh?”

The touch and slight reprimand in her voice makes your body shiver. “T-that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” You peek behind to see her face as her fingers gently travel down your arm. Brows furrowed with an intense glare as she inspects your minor injuries in detail. “But that’s what you said, no?”

In an effort to clutch the last remaining shreds of your pride you squint up at her but end up lowering your glare. “Even if you helped me, that didn’t give you the right to take me off the planet.” you murmur. “And who changed my clothes!”

The gentle hand remains on your arm but the dark look is dashed away, replaced with a serene smile. “Obviously that was me. Like I would allow anyone else to get a peek at what’s mine.” she snorts. As if the idea was simply absurd.

All fight leaves your body at the new startling news that Carol, your Carol, just called you hers PLUS she’s seen you naked?

You gear up to start a rant but two arms twirl you around and hefts you up. Your legs and arms cling to her even as you yell at her to set you down.

Bullheaded Carol ignores you and instead leisurely walks to her pilot seat. As if this was just a normal Tuesday. When she plops in the driver seat, she settles your weight to straddle her hips. Immediately, you try to scramble away but she wraps her arms around you in a metal vise. That damn innocent smile returns. “The chast act ends now. Because I was prepared to let you go but then you left me this.” It’s like a slow motion car accident as she pulls her cell from her pocket and the dreadful voicemail is played at full volume.

Renewed vigor allows you to break out of her arms but you're too slow as one hand holds you in place on her lap. Making you listen to your drunk declaration of love.

The tears come as you're forced to helplessly listen, already anticipating the mockery that was soon to come, except Carol didn’t laugh. Instead, you felt soft, slow kisses press against your wet check, trailing your tears.

Carol nuzzling your neck is the only thing stopping your crying as you realize she wasn’t laughing. Her tired smile and fatigued smile returns. “You're so dramatic, kitten. Don’t ask me what “right” I have to kidnap you and bring you on our ship after you left a message like this for me.

Sensing you were no longer a flight risk, her hard grip releases your wrists. Instead, she traces your face, rubbing away your tear trails. “For now on, you're coming back and helping our missions, warming my bed, and if you start anymore bar fights you better finish them or have your girlfriend there to finish the job for you.”

For the first time in a month, a genuine smile graces your face. Brave enough to fully settle your weight on Carol’s lap, you grasp the nap of her neck to angle her lips for a kiss. When your lips finally connect a deep, dragged out moan leaves Carol’s mouth. Her hands slide up your thighs and squeeze your ass. “Don't run away again.” she warns.

“Aye aye Captain.”

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers #captain marvel #captain marvel x reader #the marvels #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x you #carol danvers fanfiction #wlw

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hamsterclaw · 4 months

Text

Humbug

Bangtan Christmas 2023 drabble 1 - read the rest here.

Paediatrician Dr Jung Hoseok is beloved by all his patients and everyone he works with. Unfortunately, his cheerful demeanour is only a front, underneath it all, he's a humbug.

Pairing: Hoseok x f! reader

Genre: Paediatrician Hoseok, social worker reader, fluff, smut

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, medical emergencies

Hoseok looks up from the computer screen at the sound of his name. His eyes take a moment to adjust, the screen’s the brightest light in the otherwise darkened paediatric ward.

The nurse, Jihyo, holds out a mug of coffee, just how he likes it.

Hoseok accepts gratefully, stares at the words on the side of the mug.

Big patience for little patients.

He blinks, indifferent, and goes back to prescribing.

His phone rings, muted because it’s 3am but he can hear it loud and clear.

He lifts it to his ear. ‘Dr Jung,’ he says by way of greeting.

‘You’re needed in the ER,’ comes the crisp tone of the ER charge nurse.

Hoseok sighs, doesn’t bother to ask why. ‘I’ll be there in 5.’

He hangs up, signs the chart and gulps the rest of his coffee, scorching his tongue and the roof of his mouth but preferring the burn to the desolate pang of his empty stomach.

The dry sandwich he’d bolted at 6pm the day before is nothing but a distant memory, churning its partially digested way through his intestines.

He takes a shortcut to the ER, cutting through the works alley between buildings.

Ironic that he has to pass the unofficial smoker’s alley to get fresh air.

Kim Namjoon, his friend and the resident cardiothoracics surgeon, nods and waves a vape pen at him in greeting.

Hoseok lifts a hand back, pushes the back entrance door open that someone’s propped open with a brick, hospital security be damned, re-enters the hospital next to the mortuary.

He glances askance at the double doors. It always makes him feel a little twitchy passing the morgue in the early hours of the morning.

He reminds himself he’s a grown adult as he picks up the pace, allows himself a little sigh of relief as he turns the corner and sees the bright lights of radiology.

He’s greeted by a cacophony of noises as he enters the ER, monitors beeping, people barking out instructions, distant sirens as ambulances pull up to the drop off.

He narrows his eyes against the fluorescent white strip lighting, looking around for the charge nurse’s familiar navy tunic.

He spots her by the resus bay, grimaces a bit at the carnage from a trauma that hasn’t been cleaned up.

‘Called for a paediatric consult?’

The charge nurse nods, brisk, waves an arm in the vague direction of the paediatric area.

‘15 year old, intoxicated.’

With that she’s off, and Hoseok trudges away.

The atmosphere in the paediatric area is less jarring, not so much because of the cheerful murals on the walls, but because it’s quieter, less hectic.

Hoseok assesses a teenager in a glittery jumpsuit who smells so strongly of alcohol and hairspray he reminds him of his own high school leaving prom.

He does an assessment, makes the mistake of asking the teen if he wants a drink on his way out of the exam room.

The teen chortles gleefully.

‘Yeah, gin and tonic, hold the tonic!’

Hoseok rolls his eyes as he exits.

He’s looking for a free computer to write up his notes when there’s movement in the periphery of his vision.

‘Need a computer?’ you ask.

Hoseok blinks to wake himself up. You’re way too pretty considering the early hour. Judging by your attire, more casual than smart, your carelessly styled hair, he makes an educated guess.

‘Are you with social services?’

‘Y/N, duty social worker,’ you confirm, nodding towards the exam room he’s just exited. ‘Jaebeom’s one of ours.’

‘Yeah?’ Hoseok asks. ‘I’m Hoseok, paediatrics. I’m admitting him until he sobers up.’

You nod. ‘His foster carer can pick him up in the morning, she’s got another child that she needs to drop off at school.’

You look around, yawning delicately behind your hand. ‘Is there a place to get coffee around here at this time?’

There’s an on-call room waiting for him, a bed, but Hoseok doesn’t hesitate.

‘If you have five minutes for me to write up my notes, I can take you to the lounge?’

You give him a look he doesn’t bother to interpret, it’s now 4am and if you say no he can always go to bed.

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘Thanks.’

Hoseok types up his notes with you sitting in one of the empty chairs in the otherwise deserted paediatric department.

When he logs off he’s amused to find you engrossed in sorting shapes to slot into a sphere.

‘I can give you a few more minutes if you want,’ he says, dry.

You laugh. ‘I’ll be quicker once I’ve had caffeine.’

You follow him down the corridor towards the main hospital to the lounge.

Hoseok swipes his ID badge, pushes the door open.

You take in the ancient mismatched couches, the big screen TV, the tiny kitchenette with the top-of-the-line coffee machine, the chipped mugs drying next to the sink.

‘So this is how doctors roll, huh?’ you say.

Hoseok laughs. ‘Yeah baby, stick with me and I’ll show you a good time.’

He waggles his eyebrows, and you burst out laughing.

Hoseok’s struck by your smile and the way your eyes light up. He clears his throat, tells himself to stop staring at you like a creep.

‘Latte?’ he offers, picking up the nicest mug he can see.

‘Yeah, thanks,’ you say.

You’re fishing in your bag, emerging with a half-opened package of cookies.

He exchanges your coffee for a cookie, gestures to one of the couches.

He’s not expecting you to sit next to him, there’s plenty of space, but after a moment, you choose the seat beside him.

You sip your coffees in silence.

‘Been busy?’ you ask.

‘Yeah, a little,’ Hoseok replies.

Up close like this, he can see the tiny piercings in your ear, the gleam of gold through the fall of your hair.

Again, he pulls himself together with effort.

‘Have you been busy?’ he asks.

You stretch a little. ‘Yeah. We’re short-staffed, like always. Also something about the cold weather makes people be shits to each other.’

Hoseok’s not surprised. Winter’s always hard, fuck Christmas spirit and all that jazz.

‘I hear you,’ he says.

You sip your coffee, offer him another cookie which he accepts.

Your phone rings in your bag, you glance at him as you fish your phone out.

‘Duty calls,’ you say ruefully. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

Hoseok’s about to bid you goodbye when you lean towards him, close, thumb brushing a corner of his mouth so quickly he barely registers it before you’re pulling your hand away.

‘Crumbs,’ you say. There’s the tiniest twinkle in your eye.

Hoseok’s voice comes out raspy as he says, ‘Thanks.’

‘See you around, doc.’

You’re not waiting for an answer, shouldering your bag, tossing him one last look on your way out.

Hoseok leans back against the couch, willing his heartrate to decelerate.

Outside, the darkest part of the night’s just about over.

***

Hoseok’s working hard to keep his bright smile on today.

He’s had a parent ask him if he has kids and then tell him he couldn’t possibly understand how precious their child is, as he doesn’t have children of his own.

He got an email from a conference he’s applied to saying due to the huge number of applicants, his abstract wasn’t selected for presentation.

His intern, Hyunjin, seems to be on a mission to aggravate him as much as possible.

‘We need a derm consult,’ Hyunjin tells him at the end of presenting the patient he’s just seen.

Hoseok closes his eyes briefly, desperately summoning what remains of his rapidly dwindling stores of patience.

‘Why do we need a derm consult, Dr Park?’ he tries not to bark.

‘This patient has verrucas.’

Hoseok blinks, takes a breath.

‘This patient needs nebulised albuterol and oxygen and an admission to paediatrics. The verrucas can wait until he gets better and the mom can stop by a pharmacy for some over-the-counter verruca treatment.’

Hyunjin stares at him.

‘He’s satting in the low nineties,’ Hoseok points out, words coming out brisk, staccato. ‘I can hear him wheezing from here.’

The ER nurse behind Hyunjin’s already tutting and prepping the neb.

‘Was there anything else, Hyunjin?’ Hoseok asks, getting up, staring at the rapidly expanding list of patients waiting for a paediatric consult.

His phone rings, and he pulls it out of his pocket with a sigh.

‘Dr Jung,’ he says.

‘Is that Hoseok?’

The voice is vaguely familiar, but he can’t place it.

‘Depends who’s asking,’ he snaps.

‘It’s Y/N, the social worker. You got me coffee last week at 4am?’

Hoseok has a flash of a memory, of your hand on his face.

‘Shit, sorry,’ he says, running a hand through his hair, already sticking straight up in all directions, courtesy of the shitty haircut he got in the barbershop on his way in.

‘Rough day, huh?’ you say, the sympathy in your voice making warmth bloom in his chest.

‘Yeah.’

‘I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner after work today,’ you ask, no preamble, so direct Hoseok takes a moment to process.

‘I’d love to,’ he says. ‘I don’t get off until 8, though.’

‘I finish at 8 too,’ you say. ‘That works for me.’

You exchange numbers, and you promise to text him details.

‘Hope your day gets better, Dr Jung,’ you say, the teasing note in your voice making him smile, genuinely, for the first time, today.

‘It already is,’ he says.

He’s still smiling when he hangs up.

‘Hoseok,’ comes a voice from behind him.

Hoseok raises a brow inquiringly at Hyunjin, who, inexplicably, is still standing there.

‘About the verrucas,’ begins Hyunjin.

‘Nope,’ Hoseok says, pleasantly, still smiling.

He brushes past Hyunjin and picks up the next consult.

***

It’s ten to eight and thank fuck for that, because Hoseok’s had enough of today.

He’s getting changed out of the scrubs he was forced to change into after he was projectile vomited on by a chubby 10 month old, grateful he has spare clothes in his locker, when the door to the changing rooms opens.

Hoseok pauses, shirtless, hands on the tie of his scrubs bottoms.

Hyunjin blinks at him.

‘Nice abs, boss,’ he says.

Hoseok eyes both the fluffy white tee he was about to change into and the scrubs top he’s just discarded, questioning why he ever thought going into medicine was a good idea.

He grits his teeth.

‘Yes, Hyunjin?’

‘There’s a blue light call - breathless five year old, ETA 3 minutes.’

‘Jisoo is on tonight, let her know,’ Hoseok replies. ‘Also, close the door, damnit.’

Hyunjin looks surprised at the three medical students who have clustered behind him, all of whom are staring at Hoseok wide-eyed.

‘Jisoo’s going to be twenty minutes late, something about a train breakdown?’

Hyunjin’s got the wisdom to stay out of Hoseok’s reach.

Hoseok’s hand lands on his soft t-shirt, longingly.

With a sigh, he bypasses it and reaches for his scrubs top, pulling it over his head.

‘I’ll be right there,’ he says.

***

By the time Hoseok’s assessed the breathless patient and handed over to an apologetic Jisoo, the time on the clock on the wall says 9pm.

Hoseok pulls his phone out, dials your number.

You answer on the first ring.

Without waiting for him to say anything, you say, ‘The food’s still hot, I took the liberty of ordering for you. Are you on your way?’

Hoseok breathes out, a sigh of relief so profound he feels lightheaded.

‘Marry me,’ he says. ‘I’ll be there in ten.’

He gets dressed in record time, emerges out of the carnage of the ER like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

You’re the first person he sees when he gets to the restaurant, and you’re the best thing he’s seen all day.

He greets you with a hug and a cheek kiss that you weren’t expecting, judging by the shy smile on your pretty face.

‘I —’ you start, then you stop, adorably flustered.

‘You’re beautiful,’ Hoseok says. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this all day.’

‘I was just going to say I ordered tempura that’s on its way,’ you say.

‘I’m sorry I’m so late,’ Hoseok says. He’s got his hand on yours on the table without any memory of how it got there, but he likes the feel of it.

‘Make it up to me,’ you say, easy.

‘I’m going to do my best,’ he promises.

***

At least four people have seen Hoseok’s bare chest today, but you’re the only person he cares about impressing, at least right at this moment.

Because holy fuck, you’re beautiful, pressed tight to him on your poky couch, mouth on his, lips and teeth clashing as he kisses you over and over.

You’re making noises that are driving him slightly crazy, making him feel hot and desperate, and he has to stop himself from looking at your tits in that black bra or he’s going to embarrass himself.

Shit.

Your hand’s slid down, brushing over his dick, and he’s so hard already he has to will himself not to nut right now.

He tugs experimentally at the strap of your bra, and when you don’t protest he tugs it down, cups the weight of your left breast.

God, you feel so good. Soft, warm, exposed nipple begging to be kissed.

He runs his thumb over your areola, a slow pass.

The low moan you let out gives him the confidence to scrape the tip of his nail over the peak of your breast.

‘God, take it off, Hoseok,’ you tell him, and Hoseok’s sure as hell not going to make you ask twice.

He slides a hand around your bare back, unhooks your bra, can’t stop himself from looking.

His dick, already trying to stand at attention in its denim prison, twitches at the sight of your bared breasts.

Hoseok’s trying to remember what colour briefs he has on, if it’ll be obvious when he takes his jeans off that he’s leaking precum just from looking at your tits.

Then you cup the length of him over his jeans, and he finds he doesn’t give a fuck.

Your skirt’s ridden up, your thighs part under his hand encouragingly.

You’re so soft Hoseok can’t suppress a groan.

He hooks a couple fingers under the gusset of your panties, tugs, and your hand lands on his.

Hoseok looks up, hand stilling.

Hoseok’s been told that he has a gorgeous smile, but just at this moment, you’re the one who’s blinding him.

‘You can touch,’ you say, voice husky, teeth in your bottom lip.

‘Yeah?’ Hoseok asks, his own voice raspy, dropped low.

‘Yeah.’

‘Can I taste?’

You help him tug your panties down, over the curve of your ass that he can’t resist squeezing.

He tugs the flimsy cotton down your thighs, helps you slide a leg out.

He realises, belatedly, that you never answered his question, but you don’t seem to mind as he bends down, flicks his tongue against your pretty cunt.

Damn, you sound even prettier when he’s eating you out.

Hoseok licks into your folds, nudges your clit.

He doesn’t have any hangups about giving head, especially not in a girl like you who seems to enjoy everything he’s doing.

‘Shit, Hoseok,’ you moan, breathless, eyes squeezed shut.

He pushes a finger into you, curls it, and you cry out so loudly his cock hardens even more.

He tugs at the button fly of his jeans, loosening them for a little relief.

‘Please tell me you have a condom,’ you plead, voice thick, so sexy Hoseok can’t believe you’re under him like this.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you come and I’ll fuck you?’

‘Fuck me now,’ you tell him.

Hoseok seals his lips around your clit, flicks his tongue, slips another finger into you, scissoring, pressing, slow, making every movement count.

‘Hoseok!’

He doesn’t reply, because he can tell by the way your thighs are shaking that you’re close.

He just needs another minute.

He doesn’t know if you’ve realised that your fingers are in his hair, pulling, but he’s taking it as a positive.

He keeps doing what he’s doing with his tongue, because you seem to like it.

Your cunt tightens around his fingers, you call his name again, buck your hips into his face, and Hoseok doesn’t even need you to tell him you’re coming because he can feel you pulsing, can hear it in your voice, can feel the way everything tightens as you reach your peak.

It’s the hottest thing he’s seen in a while.

Fuck.

Hoseok draws himself out of jeans, takes himself in hand, pumps once.

You haven’t forgotten him.

‘Get inside, Hoseok,’ you say, and as he fishes the condom out of his jeans you flip it out of his grasp and rip it with your teeth.

Hoseok closes his eyes as you squeeze the tip and roll it onto his dick, concentrating on not coming in your grasp.

You push him back onto the couch, get on top of him, and Hoseok could weep at the view.

Your hair’s a mess, your lips bitten and flushed, and goddamn, your tits need to be in a museum.

He doesn’t realise he’s said that last bit out loud until you burst out laughing.

‘Shut up, Hoseok,’ you tell him, but you’re still riding him so there’s that.

Hoseok grabs your hips, helps you move even though you’re doing a pretty damn good job already.

‘You like this, Hoseok?’ you ask.

Hoseok flexes his cock inside you. ‘Yeah,’ he says.

‘I like it too.’

‘Yeah?’

You lean forward, tits bouncing in front of his face, and Hoseok thinks that if he died right now, smothered in between your breasts, he wouldn’t mind one bit.

‘Go on, baby, take what you want,’ you say.

Hoseok bucks his hips hard, up into the wet warmth of your cunt, tugs your head down to kiss you deep, open-mouthed, and comes with a groan, deep in his chest.

Bliss.

***

Hoseok wakes in a bed he doesn’t remember getting into, a bedroom that he finds soothing, with its neutral colours and soft sunlight filtering in the crack between the curtains.

There’s an arm flung across his chest, the soft curve of a breast against his chest.

You’re turned away, boneless, in a deep sleep.

His incorrigible cock stirs as he takes in the line of your back, down to the tempting curve of your ass.

He spots the clock on the wall, groans when he realises he should really be up now if he wants to get to work on time.

You’re still dead asleep even after he’s fully dressed, splayed out in the sheets, gloriously naked.

Hoseok pulls the duvet over your bare shoulder, resists the urge to kiss your upturned cheek, and makes sure the door’s locked behind him as he leaves.

***

Hoseok tightens his scarf around his neck as he waits for you at the entrance to the Christmas market you’ve managed to convince him to accompany you to.

The fact is, he hates the cold, he thinks all Christmas markets are gimmicky and overpriced, and after a run of incredibly busy shifts, he’d much rather be in bed with you right now than here.

Hoseok sidesteps neatly as he’s approached by a jovial couple dressed as Father Christmas and Mrs Klaus.

He’s about to pull his phone out to check on you when you hurry up to him, tuck your arm in his.

‘Hobi! You weren’t waiting long, were you?’

Hoseok looks at your bright smile and can’t bring himself to say anything other than ‘no, not long.’

Your lips are cold, but the kiss you plant on his cheek, next to his mouth, goes a long way towards improving his mood.

He doesn’t even give the three elves handing out tiny candy canes a dirty look.

‘Crepes?’ you suggest, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the longest queue is in front of the crepe stand.

‘Sure,’ Hoseok agrees.

You get in line and immediately turn to him, sliding your arms around his waist, under his coat.

‘How’ve you been?’ you ask.

Hoseok and you have met up a couple times over the last three weeks, enough that he’s left a spare shirt and some toiletries at your place.

You’re sweet, and fun, and he hopes you like him as much as he’s starting to like you.

‘I’m better now,’ he says, just so he can admire the glow of your smile.

‘You’re cheesy,’ you say, but the brightness in your eyes tells him you don’t mind.

‘Nah,’ Hoseok replies. ‘You dragged us to this Christmas market, I know you’ve got your eye on one of those tacky reindeer tree ornaments, you don’t get to call me cheesy.’

‘I like the blue one,’ you say, conceding so easily Hoseok has to smile.

‘Wait here, I’ll go and get it,’ he says.

‘What crepe do you want?’ you ask, as he pulls away.

‘Surprise me,’ he tells you.

Hoseok walks over to the ornament stall you’ve been eyeing for the past five minutes, picks out the blue ornament, hesitates over the collection of tiny gold Christmas bauble earrings.

He makes a decision, pays, shoves his purchases into his coat pocket and walks back to you.

You hold a crepe out to him, and he accepts with a ‘thanks’, taking the warm paper-wrapped bundle out of your hand and taking a bite.

The warm melted chocolate floods his taste buds, and he tries not to moan at the gooey sweetness of it.

‘Good, right?’ you ask. ‘Worth the wait.’

You’re not waiting for an answer, skipping ahead, heading for the chestnuts and hot chocolate like you’re a walking Christmas cliche.

Hoseok follows behind you. He finds he doesn’t really mind.

***

You stick your key in the lock, unlock the door to your apartment, don’t bother with the lights before you turn around and slide your hands up Hoseok’s chest, fingers tucked under the lapels of his coat.

Hoseok doesn’t have a lot to say, not when you’re looking up at him, lips pouted for a kiss.

He slips a hand around the back of your neck, cupping your head, and tilts his head down to yours.

‘Mmmm,’ you murmur. ‘You taste like chocolate.’

Hoseok leans down again, kisses you deep, tongue sliding into your mouth.

‘It’s cold,’ he says. ‘Warm me up.’

He’s only half-serious, having you pressed against him like this is doing a hell of a job of warming him up.

The wicked gleam in your eye gets him the rest of the way.

‘Come on. Want to take a bath?’ you ask.

Hoseok makes out with you in front of the mirror in your bathroom whilst the tub fills, is a short second away from guiding his cock between your legs when you pull away, bend over in front of him to test the temperature.

‘Get in,’ you say, and Hoseok’s always been good at following instructions.

He slides into the warm heat of the bath, groans at the feel of it, reaches out to steady you as you climb in on top of him, right into his lap, impatient like he feels.

You look so good bare and wet like this, the steam making tendrils of your hair curl against your neck, the tops of your breasts visible above the water line. Hoseok hadn’t thought he could get any harder but he does.

‘Sit on me,’ he says, and there’s a slosh of water, wet skin against wet skin, and then the slippery warmth of your cunt, taking him in.

The tips of your breasts jiggle in front of him as you move, and between the tightness of your walls around him and the prettiness of your moans, Hoseok’s in heaven.

He slips a hand around your hips, helping you ride him, and curls his hand around your breast, lifting it out of the water so he can suck.

You cry his name as he flicks his tongue over your nipple, and Hoseok squeezes the flesh of your hip, tight, under the water.

Your rhythm’s erratic but it’s making the pleasure build, short, tight circles of your hips against his.

‘Hoseok,’ you moan.

‘Yeah?’ he mumbles, lips around the peak of your breast.

He flexes his cock inside you, hums in satisfaction at the way your face goes slack, eyes half closed.

Shit, you look so pretty in the throes of pleasure.

Hoseok slides a hand up, fingers curling around your neck, thumb pressed into the hollow between your collarbones.

Your voice is hoarse now, raspy like his, as he urges, ‘Go on, take it.’

He presses down, you gasp, and lose your rhythm entirely as you come around his cock, walls spasming around him.

Hoseok takes over, fucking you through it, hardening until he comes with a low grunt.

Wet, slick, warm.

You’re tired, he can tell, the way you’re slumping against his chest.

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I’ll wash us off.’

He coaxes you into your shower with him, soaps over the marks he’s made on your skin, wraps you into a towel.

By the time you’re both in bed, you’re more asleep than awake.

‘Work tomorrow?’ you ask.

‘I’m working,’ Hoseok tells you. ‘Want me to set an alarm for you?’

He doesn’t get an answer, you’re asleep on his chest already.

He should get up, switch some lights off, but a moment later, he’s asleep too.

***

Hoseok never thought he’d see the day he would want Hyunjin to be around, but he’s getting slammed, and the way things are looking, he needs all hands on deck.

He’s jogging down the corridor to his second emergency call for the day despite it being only 10am. It’s busy even for the holidays.

‘House fire,’ barks Mira, the ER charge nurse as Hoseok snaps on gloves. ‘Three children, five minutes out.’

‘How bad?’ asks Hoseok, prepping an IV access kit.

‘PICU are aware, they’re sending backup when they can but they’ve got their own internal collapse, they’re dealing with an arrest on the neurosurgical ward,’ Mira replies.

The doors slide open, and Hoseok can already tell from the looks on the paramedics’ faces that it’s not looking good.

Fucking hell, where’s Hyunjin, what a day to be in resus training instead of on the floor.

The second patient’s wheeled in as the first is still being parked, and Hoseok’s surprised to see you accompanying them, covered in soot, but he doesn’t have time to process now.

All he can do is deal with what’s in front of him, so that’s what he does.

***

It’s well into the afternoon by the time all three patients are stabilised and wheeled up to the PICU.

Hoseok’s washing his hands mechanically in one of the resus sinks, buying his brain some time to come down from the adrenaline of the last few hours, when he hears his name called.

‘Hey,’ you say, holding out a cup to him.

Hoseok takes a big gulp of the steaming hot coffee. There’s sugar in it, he doesn’t usually have sugar in his coffee, but today it goes down smooth, giving him a much-needed glucose boost.

He drinks most of it before he can muster a ‘Thanks.’

You don’t seem to be in a hurry.

You’ve cleaned most of the soot off your face, but your top is ruined.

Belatedly, Hoseok notices a plaster on your arm, remembers that you came in with the ambulance crew and the three kids.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks.

‘I’m fine,’ you say. ‘I was just outside the house when the gas oven imploded. I saw the kids in the window and got them out.’

Hoseok blinks. He hadn’t been expecting that.

‘You ran into a burning house?’

You frown a bit. ‘It wasn’t burning then, there was just smoke everywhere.’

You cough, and he notices that your voice is a little hoarse.

‘Besides, I was right there and I saw the kids, I couldn’t leave them.’

‘Shit,’ Hoseok says. He pulls you into a hug. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Do you think they’re going to be ok?’ you ask, resting your head on his chest.

‘I hope so,’ Hoseok says.

He pulls away. ‘Did they check your carbon monoxide levels?’

You laugh, and the tension in his chest eases a little. ‘Yes, doc, I’ve been cleared for discharge.’

You grab his hand, squeeze. ‘I’m probably doing better than you right now.’

‘This is why I hate Christmas,’ Hoseok blurts out.

You’re looking at him, but you don’t say anything, and he can’t stop anyway.

‘Everyone goes on about Christmas and goodwill and people helping each other and yet the same shit happens as the rest of the year. It means nothing, just a commercial holiday that big companies use to make money out of dumb people.’

‘It’s bullshit,’ Hoseok says.

‘My parents feel the same as you,’ you say. You give him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. ‘They never celebrated the holidays.’

‘They had the right idea,’ Hoseok agrees.

‘When do you get off today?’ you ask. ‘I can make us dinner, if you want.’

‘I don’t think I’ll be good company,’ Hoseok says, honestly.

‘You’re welcome, even if you’re the biggest grinch in the world,’ you say, with a sweetness that makes warmth bloom in his chest.

‘I’m not a grinch,’ he says, half-heartedly.

‘A humbug, then,’ you say.

You reach out and touch his cheek.

‘Come over, later, if you want.’

***

Hoseok finds himself outside your apartment after his shift, wondering if you really wanted him to come over.

You don’t keep him waiting long, soon enough you’re opening the door, handing him a glass of wine, putting food in front of him.

Hoseok hasn’t even so much as showered, he came straight from work.

You notice him looking at the half-decorated Christmas tree you’ve got in your lounge, the open box of ornaments next to it.

‘I like Christmas,’ you say. ‘I thought I’d cheer myself up by putting up a tree.’

You seem to be worried about his reaction, so Hoseok grasps your hand.

‘Just because I’m a grinch doesn’t mean you have to be,’ he says.

You smile. ‘My parents never had a tree and I always wanted one.’

The food and the wine are going a long way towards making Hoseok feel normal again after his day.

‘Are you going to see them for Christmas?’ he asks.

There’s a brief shadow across your face, so quick he isn’t sure if he saw it.

‘They’re doing relief work in South Sudan,’ you say. ‘They’re doctors too.’

You ask, ‘Are you away for Christmas?’

‘Yeah, my parents and sister are upstate. I’ll drive up to them.’

‘Are they grinches like you are?’ you ask, teasing.

Hoseok laughs. ‘I’m the only grinch in the family. My mother goes all out, and my sister loves Christmas too.’

‘Sounds amazing,’ you say, a hint of wistfulness in your tone.

Your top’s slipped down over your shoulder, and between the way your skin gleams and the way your lips are stained from the wine, you’re so pretty Hoseok’s distracted.

He reaches out, tugging you into his arms.

‘Can I take a shower?’ he asks.

‘Sure,’ you say. The mischievous twinkle is back in your eyes now. ‘Want company?’

‘Always,’ Hoseok says.

***

For once, you’re up before him the next morning.

He must have been more tired than he realised.

You’re fastening your bra in a feat of dexterity he’s always admired.

‘Shame I missed the show,’ he says, his voice raspy in the darkness of your bedroom.

‘Happens every morning,’ you say. ‘You’ve got an invite every time.’

Hoseok laughs, rolls over, sheet around his waist.

‘What time is it?’ he asks, propping his arm behind his head, looking out the crack in the window as the snow falling outside.

‘It’s 6am on Christmas eve,’ you tell him.

‘Shit, I gotta pack for tonight,’ he says.

You pull a sweater on over a tee, sit on the edge of the bed to put socks on.

‘I probably won’t see you until after the holidays, huh?’

‘I’m back in a couple days,’ Hoseok says, hand on the small of your back where your sweater’s ridden up.

‘Yeah. Merry Christmas, Hobi. Eat all the turkey for me.’

‘I don’t even like turkey,’ he says, honestly.

You laugh, amused, and cup his cheek. ‘See you after Christmas, grinch. There’s coffee in the kitchen.’

Your goodbye kiss makes him want to pull you back into bed with him.

***

Hoseok pulls up outside his parents’ house, rubs the back of his neck, trying to get the crick out.

He can see the living room and kitchen lights are on, and he already knows that when he opens the front door and steps in he’ll be greeted with familiar smells.

Cinnamon. Fresh bread. The chicken dish his eomma always makes the night before Christmas.

He realises with a start that he never thought to ask you what you’d be doing for Christmas.

He’d spent an hour finishing decorating your tree after you left your apartment, so that you’d have a fully-decked out tree when you came back from work today, and had only belatedly realised that perhaps you’d have had fun decorating the tree together.

He’d put the earrings he got you under the tree, hung the gloriously tacky blue ornament he’d picked up for you at the Christmas market.

He’d packed the red lace panties you’d tossed merrily in his face when you’d stripped for him the night before, in the shower.

Shit, maybe that was a creep thing to do.

Too late now.

The front door opens, and his sister stands in the doorway.

‘Come on, what’s taking you so long,’ she asks.

‘Coming,’ Hoseok says.

He grabs his bag out the trunk and goes inside.

***

Hoseok wonders if he’s even in the right place.

You’d once told him, offhand, that you often volunteer at the shelter close to your apartment on Christmas day, and when he’d gone to your apartment and you weren’t in, he’d driven here.

It’s a women’s shelter, and he’s trying to make himself look as harmless as possible as he waits to be let in.

A woman dressed in a light-up jumper opens the door, eyes him suspiciously.

Hoseok has a sudden feeling that he’s made a terrible mistake.

It’s too late now.

‘I’m Hoseok, I’m a friend of Y/N’s. Is she here?’ he asks

To his relief, the woman’s face transforms into a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

‘You’re the doctor friend she keeps telling us about! Come in, she’s here.’

The woman grasps him by the arm, pulls him in out of the snow.

‘She’s helping in the kitchen, you can help too, if you want.’

‘Sure,’ Hoseok says. Her grip on his arm is strong, there’s no way he’s going to say no.

He’s led to an industrial looking kitchen, dated but clean, greeted by the sounds of chatter and Christmas classics.

There’s mess everywhere, like Santa exploded, but all that falls away when he sees you.

You look up, spot him, and the smile on your face makes him smile too. He probably looks like an idiot, here grinning at you, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

You get up, and then somehow you’re in his arms, the reindeer headband you have on poking him in the jaw but he’s still not bothered.

There’s heckling, teasing, whooping, but all he sees and hears is you.

‘What are you doing here?’ you ask, holding him so tightly he can barely breathe.

He likes it.

‘I forgot to wish you Merry Christmas,’ he says.

‘Merry Christmas, humbug.’

Hoseok wants to argue that he’s not a humbug, not really, but you’re kissing him, so he shuts up and kisses you back instead.

©hamsterclaw 2023

#hoseok x reader #hoseok smut #hoseok fanfic #bangtan christmas 2023 #bangtan christmas #bts fic #bts smut #jhope fic #jhope smut

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avoxrising · 5 months

Text

The Feral One • Ch 15

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

The plot thickens…

Content Warnings - Boggs kills the mood

“Do you really want me to?” he purrs, stepping closer to you. You were sitting on the edge of his bed, looking up at him mischievously.

“Well that depends,” you hum. “Do you love me?”

His lips are on yours before you know it. Despite being in love for years, this was the first time you’d had physical contact of this sort, and damn, you should have done this sooner. Why hadn’t you done this sooner?

He finally pulls away after a few moments, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Always,” he replied.

“Do you love me?” he asks, kissing along your neck.

“Yes idiot!” you exclaim. “Are you that oblivious?”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Johanna,” he laughs, giddy at your confession.

“Shut up,” you state, pulling his lips back onto yours.

His hands roam your waist as yours toy with the buttons on his jumpsuit. The moment heats up and you can tell where this is headed, but his watch buzzes, killing the mood.

“We’ll have to finish this later,” he sighs, checking his watch. “I’m needed in command before dinner and you are needed back in your room.”

“Ugh, fine,” you reply. “But we will be finishing this later.”

And finish it you did, spending the next afternoon making out on Finnick’s bed. He seemed hesitant, however, to take it any further with you.

“Why don’t you want to have sex with me?” you ask him as he pulls away again. He’s a bit shocked by your question.

“I just think it’s not something to rush into,” he explains. “And I didn’t think you wanted to because of what happened before.” You see him wince at the mention of this previous event which only confuses you more.

“What happened before?” you ask, sitting up.

“Your victory tour…” he replies. “The night in the capital.”

“We never had sex in the capital,” you tell him, still confused as to what he’s talking about.

“No we did not,” he confirms. “Do you seriously not remember?”

“I cannot think of anything you could be referring to,” you respond. You had no clue what he was talking about.

“Forget it then,” he says, trying to drop the subject. “I just don’t think we’re at that point yet.”

“Fine,” you pout. “What were you referring to though?”

“It’s nothing,” he says, shaking his head as he avoids eye contact. “It’s probably best not to remind you.”

He was jealous that you could forget the worst night of your life, while he had to constantly relive all of his.

“Finnick and I had the best idea!” you announce as you waltz into command, Finnick following behind you. The two of you had come to a sort of compromise last night that may fix your living situation.

“And what might that be?” Plutarch asks.

“So you won’t let us live together because we aren’t married, right?” you state. Coin mutters a quick “yes” before you continue. “And you guys need more stuff for your propos…”

The two adults just stare at you, unsure of what’s going to be suggested.

“So… we thought of a compromise,” you explain. “We will let you film a fake wedding of us here in 13 if you let us live together. It will not be legally binding but it can appear real enough on camera so people who see it outside of this bunker believe it.”

“What do you think?” Plutarch asks Coin.

“You two still wouldn’t be able to live together as you are not legally married in 13,” she states.

“Oh my god it’s not like we’re going to make any babies!” you exclaim, causing Finnick to cringe. “We literally just want to be roommates, like we have been for nearly 6 years.”

“I like the idea,” Plutarch shrugs, looking over at Coin. “It would definitely be good footage.”

“Fine but I have some caveats to the arrangement,” Coin relents. “Firstly, Miss Y/L/N must still attend regular checkups with our doctors as well as follow an assigned daily schedule like the rest of the district. Mr. Odair must actually follow his schedule and will commence combat training with the other victors.”

“Deal,” you smile.

The district is a buzz with the news of a wedding. You receive congratulations from many people, most of whom you’ve never met, and confused faces from the victors. They knew you two liked each other but what changed?

“You’re engaged?” Johanna asks, nearly choking on her water.

“Fake engaged,” you clarify. “We made a deal with Plutarch that he can film our fake wedding for a propo if Coin lets us be roommates.”

“I see,” Johanna sighs.

“Why don’t you guys just actually get married?” she asks. “It’s gonna happen with you two eventually.”

“Finnick doesn’t want to,” you reply. “He says marriage is something you do because you love someone, not because you want to be roommates.”

“Ugh men,” she groans. “You mean to tell me he doesn’t realize that the two of you are in love?”

“No we’ve established that already,” you explain. “He just doesn’t want to rush into anything.”

“What do you want?” she asks.

“Him,” you respond. “He’s being weird though. The other day I asked him why he didn’t want to do anything past making out with me and he said it’s cause of my victory tour but literally nothing out of the ordinary happened on my victory tour so I’m super confused and he wouldn’t explain it to me and told me to drop the subject.”

Johanna looks at you in shock and you can’t help but get the feeling that everyone knows something you don’t.

“Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?” you ask her.

“Uh if you don’t remember then I don’t think I should remind you,” she responds. Before you can ask her what the hell everyone was hiding from you she suddenly turns serious.

“What did they do to you in the capital?” she asks. “Like what did your treatment include?”

You are a bit taken aback by her change in subject but respond anyways.

“They, um, would take me to a room down the hall and make me sit down in a chair while they gave me some medications,” you respond. “They said they had been recently approved by the capital to treat ptsd and other illnesses I was suffering from. The medicine would make me super sleepy but outside of that I felt fine. I can’t exactly pinpoint when it started working but I know that once it did I felt so much better that I had ever have before.”

“Did they tell you what was in the medicine?” Johanna asks, concerned. “Or what it was called?”

“Nope,” you shrug. “I questioned it at first but after a few dosages I stopped questioning what I was taking because it made me feel better.”

“I think you should tell your doctor about the medicine and treatment,” Johanna tells you. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Taglist:

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#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair smut #the feral one #mockingjay #finnick #finnick smut

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sardonic-the-writer · 5 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

↳ warning: supernatural elements

↳ notes: requested by anonymous. was going to be headcanons but ended up turning into a one shot. enjoy

↳ song: ghostbusters—ray parker jr.

masterlist | commisions | carrd

This really wasn't supposed to happen.

It was supposed to be a simple job. One of the easier ones you all had gotten hired to do all month. That's what Ray had said to you as you zipped up the front of your uniform in the firehouse, and you believed him.

A customer had called in last week, sounding out of breath as they complained of a room in their house that always felt cold when they walked into it. You could practically smell the incense through the phone, and your suspicions were confirmed when you later stepped into their house.

After Peter had sarcastically made sure it wasn't just a problem with their AC unit, Janine penciled them in for an inspection a few days later, and that was that. You and the rest of the Ghostbusters went to the nearby Chinese restaurant that night and forgot all about it.

Now, you were hiding behind an overturned table as an apparition whizzed over your heads, shrieking in a language none of you could decipher.

"I thought you said this was a class one spook!" You shouted at Egon as he fumbled with a trap nearby. He shot you an irritated look through the rims of his glasses, as if to say 'what am I supposed to do', before going back to tinkering with the trap in his hand.

"Someone's gotta get out there and distract it!" Peter yelled over the noise of plates being smashes. You winced, imagining that the client wouldn't be too happy to hear that their kitchen was ransacked during the procedure. If you could even call it a procedure.

"Ray! You're up!" Winston called from his place next to you, shoving his coworker out of the hiding spot just a little.

"No way! It was my turn last time!" Ray griped. As he said that, a stray fork flew by his head, nearly missing the side of his face as he yelped and ducked further under the tables cover.

"I'll do it." You volunteered whilst reaching for the proton pack at your back. You were sure that if you looked over at that moment, you'd see Ray sending you the most grateful look you'd ever seen.

The others waited for Egon to finish preparing the trap, Peter mostly yelling at him to hurry up, as you rose from your place on the tiled kitchen floor.

The ghost turned to look at you as you let out a wolf whistle. It's hair floated wildly around its head like a crown of thorns, and you heard one of the guys from behind you gulp with difficulty.

"Hey Casper!" You grinned with what you hoped was a considerable amount of bravado. "Why don't you don't you pick on someone your own size?"

You wouldn't remember falling onto your back after the ghost charged straight at you. Nor would you remember how it slimed down into a fine mist, slipping into your mouth with a hissing noise. Bruises covering your spine would leave the evidence of a fall later on, but that was the only sign that anything had happened.

The boys watched as your eyes rolled back to reveal a milky white gaze. Peter nearly dropped the nozzle to his proton pack as you began to levitate; your chest rising and falling at a rapid rate. For a minute, it reminded him of when Gozer had possessed Dana. Although, you were his friend, not fiancé, and wearing a jumpsuit instead of a dress.

"Uh guys?"

"I'm seeing it, Winston." Ray replied without taking his eyes off of you. Wind began to pick up in the house, blowing his hair to the side as he watched you with wide eyes.

"Egon!" Peter yelled over the noise. "The trap??"

"Done!" He finally announced. "Someone hold them down!" The scientist shouted, forehead beaded with sweat as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He stood up with shaking hands, nearly dropping the trap as he stepped around the table and towards you.

Ray and Winston both grabbed your arms and legs, pulling you down from your spot in the air with a considerable amount of force. Peter attempted to push you by your chest, but was headbutted by the ghost and sent flying backwards. You, or rather the ghost occupying you, made a sound between a cackle and a scream.

"I've never wanted to punch a ghost more than I do now." Peter groaned from the floor as he hauled himself back up. He'd have to get Dana to check him for a concussion later.

"I need a stream, Venkman!" Egon stepped away from the Muon trap as if it was a live bomb. "Ray, Winston, on our count let go of them and duck!"

"Don't have to tell me twice!" Winston said as he avoided yet another kick from your boot.

The sound of an engine powering up filled the room as Peter and Egon switched on their packs, directing the end of their nozzles at you. The two men glanced at each other nervously and Egon's foot hovered over the traps pedal anxiously. You just continued to flail.

"You sure this won't hurt them?!" Ray yelled. He brought his head back a significant amount as the ghost inside of you attempted to bite at him.

"No idea!" Egon fumbled. His glasses were nearly flying off of his face with the wind, but he pushed on. "Now, Peter!"

Ray and Winston made a dive for it as two multicolored streams encased you in a bright light. The spirit inside howled with discomfort, kicking its legs in an attempt to escape.

Without warning, Egon stepped on the trap, releasing a beam that shot into the air and struck the ceiling. He knew from experience that there would be a faint singe mark left on it later, but that was the least of anyone's concerns. The client would just have to deal with it.

Taking careful measure not to bump your body into any stray debris, they guided the spirit closer and closer to the trap until its form began to separate from yours. The horrible sucking noise it made nearly coerced Egon to drop his gun to cover his ears.

One moment, you were floating in the air, speaking tongues and way too close to a piece of dangerous machinery. The next, you were laying in a pile of broken china plates as your eyes rolled back into place.

"Hey. Hey, bud, come back to us." Peter said, slapping your cheek slightly to bring you back down to earth. He had been the first to drop to the ground next to you, lifting your head up to make sure nothing had scraped it in the fall.

Ray came next from his hiding spot behind a now splintered chair, then Winston's wide eyed form, and finally Egon holding a smoking trap.

"Vitals appear to be steady." Ray said. He pulled his fingers away from the spot on your neck he had been checking, looking at the rest of them. He sighed like a ten pound weight had been lifted off his chest.

"You worry too much Stanz." Peter said, jesting. But his usual playful tone was dampened, and he didn't look up until you groaned.

"Did anyone catch the number of that bus that ran me over?" You hissed, shielding your eyes from a nonexistent bright light.

Silence.

Winston broke out into laughter first, with the rest following suit. Egon smiled as Peter giggled, and Ray was practically rolling on the floor.

"Trauma response." Egon said between baritone chuckles, only able to get one word out at a time. "Surprised this is the first time we're having one."

"Do I even have to ask what happened?" You said while pushing yourself up on your forearms. Winston just shook his head at you, and slapped you on the back.

"We'll tell you back at the firehouse, kid." He said with a shake of his head. You frowned at the nickname, but eventually let a smile crack.

The five of you sat in each other presence for a little bit, letting the laughter die down as the mood came to a stop.

"So—" Peter cleared his throat.

"—who wants to be the one that talks to the client?"

You were left sitting on the floor as they all scrambled to get out, surrounded by broken glass.

"Assholes."

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jamespotterismydaddy · 6 months

Text

Best Friend's Brother

modern!jace x reader

Pt 2

A/N: this is from a request for mutual pining with jace and since it's october, i decided to make it set at a halloween party! I will probs do a pt 2 with smut because it wasn't specifically requested.

word count: 698 words

jace pouting ^

“Should we not… you know, get going?” You ask Baela as you both sit in her bedroom, 20 minutes after Floris’ Halloween party has started.

“We’ll be fashionably late. Nobody will be there at 10.” She says with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Will Jace be there?” You almost regret asking as she smirks at you.

“Of course he will. I’m sure he and every other guy there will appreciate the costume.” She says as she eyes up your sexy cop attire. “Someone may or may not have given him a tip off to go as a prisoner.” She shrugs.

“You didn’t!”

“I did. You’re welcome.” She speaks with a cheeky grin on her face as she dons her devil horns. “He practically begged me to tell him what you were going to wear.”

“Don’t lie.” You stick out your tongue at her but little do you know…

~~~

When you walk into the Baratheon household, the smell of liquor immediately reaches your nose.

Gods, I didn’t pregame enough for this. You think to yourself.

Baela makes a beeline for Cregan Stark so you make your way to the kitchen, looking for a drink.

“You don’t look like you’re having a very good time.” The sultry voice of Aegon Targaryen rings in your ear. You turn to look at him, a red pair of swim trunks and a whistle around his neck are his only clothing.

“I only just got here.”

“Let me get you a drink then.” He says with a cheeky grin as he pours you a full cup of spiked punch. “Gotta stay hydrated.”

“I hardly think this will keep me hydrated.” You say but take a sip of the punch anyhow. He steps closer to you, a hand on your waist.

From the other side of the room, Jacaerys Velaryon is fuming. Aegon knows he’s had a thing for you since forever. He made sure your costumes would match for gods’ sake, so why in the Seven Hells does his cousin have his hands on you?

“Why don’t we find a room upstairs? I am a lifeguard. I can give you some mouth to mouth.” Aegon whispers in your ear, seeming far too pleased with the line.

“Back off, Aegon. She’s not interested.” Jace speaks up before you can. You didn’t even notice him walk over but you sure as hell appreciate his costume. He lets his orange jumpsuit hang like overalls to show off the white wifebeater he wears underneath, giving you a perfect look at his arms.

“Oh I think she is.” Aegon tries to tighten his grip on you but Jace shoves him off.

“Don’t touch her.” For the fact that he’s usually such a happy go lucky guy, you’ve never seen Jace so pissed before.

“Okay fuck you then.” Aegon murmurs before wandering off to bother some other unsuspecting girl.

Jace turns to you. “What were you doing talking to a guy like him?” You don’t like the way his anger is turned on you.

“He came up to me.” You say defensively.

“That doesn’t mean you have to entertain him!” His voice rises a bit.

“What’s your problem? You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend.”You say. He gets quiet at that, a blush rising to his cheeks.

“I’m trying to protect you. He’s just trying to get into your pants.”

“So? How is that your problem?” You ask, not that you were interested in Aegon but why would Jace care so much if you were?

“Because I don’t want you to, that's how!” It’s your turn to blush now.

“Why don’t you want him to?”

“Because i’m into you, okay? I’ve been into you since like the 10th fucking grade.” He says in a frustrated tone and you grin.

“Really?”

“Yes really. And I know you probably don’t feel the same way but-” You cut him off with a little kiss on the lips.

“Jace i’ve liked you since 9th grade.” You tell him honestly.

“Really?” His face breaks out in a grin too.

“Really.” You confirm and he grabs you by the sides of the face and kisses you again.

“Gods, i’m never letting Aegon near you again.”

taglist(comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy

#jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #modern!jacaerys #hotd #hotd x reader

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kiss-theggoat · 8 months

Note

Hii I see you have requests open :3

Can I please get short fan fiction of Art the clown x female reader with glasses ?

Maybe a bit

Smutty

A/N: Thank you for the request!! I hope you like it! (For the sake of this fic, Art’s suit is a two piece, ik it’s not canon but I couldn’t find a way to write the scenario with his jumpsuit 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤)

Specs

Art the Clown x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: A mysterious man returns your glasses at a party, and you find a very nice way to thank him.

TW: Art is bloody, Handjobs, Cum eating, you are drunk during this encounter so dub-con

Music thumped through the club and filled you completely, moving up through your feet and into your chest where you felt the bass boom. Your eyes were closed as you lost yourself in the rhythm, a large crowd of people surrounding you doing the exact same.

The center of the dance floor was crowded and hot, people bumping into you and sweating on you, but you hardly cared at this point. You felt yourself getting lost in the music, melting away all of your stress and your body never felt more at one with the music, but of course, the liquor you’d consumed helped with that quite a bit.

You knew exactly what happened, and as you touched your face, your fears were confirmed. You whipped around and tried to see the floor of the dance area, but all you could see was every square inch covered by someone’s shoe. There was no way you’d find your glasses, and if you did, they were surely broken. You groaned and turned around, taking your shot of vodka without drinking your water. After losing your expensive glasses, you needed to get back out on the dance floor.

As you made your way back over to the center of the dance floor, maneuvering through a horde of sweaty, dancing bodies, strangers rubbing up against you without another thought, your entire body felt like it was tingling. You’d come to this party alone, but hoped to change that before the night was over. In your drunk and blurry haze, you scanned the crowd, hoping to find someone who was alone and feeling the same way you were.

Your head started to spin as you felt the shot that you took, cheeks flushed and sweat coating your back. The music filled your ears and you swore you could feel it behind your eyes, your brain was immersed in the bass and rhythm, you moved your hips without caring who was around you.

After what felt like an eternity of you getting lost in the music and losing yourself to the rhythm, you felt a very firm finger tap your shoulder, yanking you from your trance. You wiped the hair that'd stuck to your lip gloss away from your face, turning to see who touched your shoulder.

A clown clad in black in white raised his stained glove to wave his grimy looking fingers at you. I’m your drunk and blurry haze, all you saw was a man wearing a costume. And he was alone. You reached forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, starting to encourage him to dance with you, but he stayed stiff as a board. From what you could tell, he was still smiling. His hand raised between both of your bodies, holding onto the expensive glasses you’d lost.

You let out a gasp. “Oh my god! You found my glasses!” Vision was restored to you as you slid the finger-print stained glasses over your face again, allowing you to really take in the man who’d returned them. His teeth were stained red and black, black grease painted like stretched into an inhuman smile.

“Good costume!” You told him, stumbling a bit as you started to move to the rhythm. You were drunk and you both knew it. The clown crept forward, blatantly checking out your body as you moved, the grin never leaving his angular face. You turned your back to him, moving your hips to the best of the music, closing your eyes and letting the bass move up from the floor through your body to your head where it made the spinning from the alcohol worse, but you didn’t care.

You also didn’t care when you felt those same stained hands that returned your glasses slide around the small of your back and to the front of your hips, holding them firmly. You turned your head to see the clown, dancing behind you with a smirk on his face.

The warmth that you felt in your cheeks from the alcohol spread through your entire chest and down to your stomach. This was the first time tonight you’d been touched, danced with like this. In response, you pushed back against him with fervor, arching your back so that your back was flush against his chest. He seemed to enjoy this, pushing his hips forward against you and his hands slid up your stomach to your chest, holding your tits through your clothes.

A smile broke out on your face, your smaller hands sliding over his. You knew getting groped at a Halloween party isn't exactly the best way to meet someone, but in this moment, you couldn’t care less. As you danced, feeling him move behind you, you figured that you owed the man a favor. I mean, he returned your glasses right? Those things are expensive! It’s only fair that he gets a finder's reward.

Your hands left his, moving behind you to find his narrow torso. The silk of his clown suit felt nice against your fingertips as you trailed them downwards, finding the waistband of the silk pants he wore. You slid your hand beneath them, quickly discovering that the clown wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

You laid your head back against his shoulder, staring up at him from below. He gave you a look that you couldn’t decipher, mouth falling slack and eyes narrowing just a little bit, but his hands continued to massage your chest, and you took that as your green light. You moved your hand lower and finally wrapped your fingers around his cock, watching his face contort at your touch.

With a firm grip you began to slowly stroke him, taking a look at your surroundings. No one had noticed you two yet, too enamored with their own affairs to realize you were giving a clown a handjob in the middle of the room.

You continued to dance as you moved your hand back and forth, collecting the precum that leaked from his tip to drag it down to the base, lubricating your hand. You could tell from how he scrunched his eyes that he liked that, so you did it again, running your thumb over the tip of his dick.

He flinched for a second and held onto your body tighter. He’d stopped dancing now, stiff as a board except for the occasional thrust forward into your hand. He leaned his head back, jaw slack and black lips making an ‘o’ as you watched his eyes roll back. Your chest swelled with pride, knowing you were making the painted stranger feel so good.

The music continued and as did you, still moving your hips to look as natural as possible, masking the fact that you were speeding up now, hand pumping the shaft of his cock faster and faster each time he reacted to you. He leaned his head forward again and stared down into your eyes, his own looking sleepy and half lidded. His mouth was still open, but you leaned forward and gave him a playful nip on the bottom lip, watching his face scrunch in reaction.

The way his breathing sped up clued you in on the fact he was close, his hips thrusting into your hand with every stroke. You tighten your grip at the base before running your thumb over the tip, repeating this with every pump and before you knew it, the clown dug his fingernails into the soft skin of your chest, hips jutting forward and head throwing back, eyes closed tightly. You looked around, no one had their eyes on you.

Warm cum shot over your hands and on the inside of his pants, and you slowly stroked him through his orgasm, waiting until he looked back at you to take your hand from his pants. You gazed into his eyes as you licked his cum from your palm, tongue sticking out before you swallowed.

For once, he looked shocked, feeling a surge of arousal go through him again at the sight. Maybe he’d keep you.

#slasher x reader #slashers #horror movies #horror fanfiction #slasher x y/n #art the clown x reader #art the clown fanfiction #art the clown #art the clown x you

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itsgodepi · 7 months

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If I lose my mind | Ch. 4

Series summary: When life has given you more than enough lemons and you cannot figure out how to make a lemonade, the only way to make it work is to get rid of the whole basket. But was it neccesary to send you to a whole different dimension for that? A juicer would have done the job, really. Or, one day you go to sleep as a normal person and the next you wake up as a Formula One driver. You've never been a fan but isn't it like, one of the most exclusive sports? Pairing: CL16, LH44, CS55, DR3 x fem!reader Chapter: Previous | Next Word Count: 2.3k Also on AO3

“And that is the sound of your Grand Prix ending before you’d even formed up on the grid. That is such disappointment”

The commentators' words bounce off your ears like a cacophony, the images of your car coming to a stop on the grass being shown on the screen for the third time in a row since you arrived at the garage. There you are again, jumping out of a Formula One car that has just begun blowing smoke, hand over your heart like that would stop it from breaking out of your ribcage.

How on earth had you been persuaded to sit down on that car yet again, remains a mystery. Nick had come to retrieve you after an hour-long ceremony, hand on your back as he hurried you out and towards the two lines of Formula One cars. Nobody had seemed to be on as much of a rush as him, the rest taking a walk to wherever they had come from while you both were almost sprinting through the road.

You had not even been able to say goodbye to this Lewis guy, who you had been stuck like a lost puppy for the whole ceremony. He had seemed so comfortable there, in the middle of all those people screaming and taking photos of him while he moved around the place with a constant smile on his lips. A natural. You, on the other hand, could only follow his steps as your eyes jumped from one place to another, completely dazed by the situation.

Lewis had not batted an eye at your antics though, had instead kept the conversation going until the presentation started and managed to sneak a few comments and smiles during the show, keeping you calm.

Other people from the private zone had seemed to recognize you as well, greeting you with nice words and wishing you good luck all around. Some of them wore a jumpsuit akin to yours, like the group of men you and Lewis had been talking to, while others were simply dressed in formal clothes. The fact that all their jumpsuits had matched the Formula One cars parked behind you was a clear hint of what would soon start, why would you all be lined up on a red carpet on the middle of this road otherwise? But you were way too nervous to see that.

Yeah, let’s blame the nerves and not the man in that orange jumpsuit who you had been stealing glances at the whole time.

You had expected him to greet you in a similar manner to that of Nick this morning —literally crossing every single boundary that exist between strangers—, but that man had instead chosen to completely ignore you. Well, he had greeted both you and Lewis when you first approached the group, making light conversation with everyone there. But after that, silence. Like nothing had happened the day before, and you being there in the middle of a road surrounded by strangers was a normal thing.

It had reached the point where you wondered if you were mistaking him. It is not like you were in the best state of mind yesterday, to really pay attention to anything other than the clear nervous breakdown you were having either. And he might have been dressed a bit different as well, a bit more rundown and sweatier than now, that’s for sure. Even his hair is now neatly under a matching cap rather than in that mess of curls you saw then. Yet, you would never forget the fear in his eyes as you cried your heart out, or the way he had held you with such care before you lost consciousness.

It has to be him.

The man himself comes to confirm your suspicions later on, when the event comes to an end. He finally appears when Nick and you are nearing the first row of Formula One cars “Okay, don’t be mad” he starts, sliding to your right side and swiftly matching your pace to look at you properly “Just want to know if you’re feeling alright, that’s all”

It takes you a second to realize that he is in fact talking to you, the different conversations around mixing in as you try to navigate the crowd. However, Nick instantly picks up his words “I sent you a message already, doctor said it was the exhaustion”

Nick’s quickness catches off guard, a frown setting on your face when you only manage to nod in confirmation at the other man’s questioning gaze. It is what Nick said in the car earlier today.

The man’s expression sours at that explanation, eyes showing clear as day that he does not agree with any of it. “Yeah, sure, that’s why she was freaking out too, right?” he scoffs, sarcasm and pure irritation dripping out of his words.

Nick does not react to any it though “She’s been good all morning...”, voice calm and collected, as if he had already been expecting some pushback.

The man in orange can only laugh at that, hands coming up to fix the collar of his suit while he shakes his head in disbelief “You and I know she shouldn’t-”

Although his tone was calmer this time, that statement had seemed to be the last straw for Nick, who came to a sudden stop before the man could even finish talking. “Daniel, we’re not talking about this in front of everyone. It’s done”

Now that you are back in the garage, seated with a pair of huge headphones on your ears and surrounded by strangers, you realize that maybe that had been the perfect opportunity for you to step your foot down and stop this nonsense. What better time to demand an explanation that when you were literally in the scene of the crime? Standing between the only two people you had seen before fainting yesterday, the same ones who were now fighting about your condition like you were not even there. They knew something, they had to. The look of uncertainty Daniel had given you before ending the conversation and walking away said as much, his words “We’ll talk later” etched on your brain.

And still, you could not force yourself to act on it.

The race had restarted a couple minutes ago, as shown by every single television on the garage, each one giving a different perspective of the circuit and cars. A Formula One race you would have been participating in if your car hadn’t broken down, which sounds crazy in itself, but your surname being in that list of drivers on the side is what is ticking you off the most. OUT.

Oh, and there it is, you are being shown on screen yet again. This time in an incredible close-up where you look like you have been run over by a truck, hair sticking in every which direction and sweat making your cheeks shine.

When you arrived at the garage, they had suggested for you to sit inside to cool down and relax, that they will call you latter on for the meeting. An offer you had politely refused. You had already committed that mistake once this morning, so no more closed off rooms for you, it is best to be out on the open where you can see everything. However, that also meant everyone could see you. You attracted way more attention that you had expected, your face being plastered in the screens at every possible opportunity while they talked about how unfortunate your exit had been and how attentive you were now watching the race. You had even felt bad about leaving the race at first, the dejected looks, pats on the back and half-hugs from the people in the garage making you almost forget how close to a mental breakdown you were mere minutes ago.

A ball of mixed feelings that follow you throughout the rest of the day, the random strangers appearing out of thin air to comfort you not making any of it much easier to handle. You are completely exhausted, mentally and physically, brain a mush of incoherent thoughts that do nothing but weight you down. No matter how much you think about it, you cannot figure out what is your place in all of this.

Do you even want to find out? It seems much easier to assume that all of this has been a complex dream made up by your overworked brain and that you will wake up in a minute. Just one more minute.

The meeting after the race is calmer, the same people from this morning seated around a table plus a new face, a blond man with the same white jumpsuit as you and who politely smiles when he enters. You do not understand much of what it is said in there, but manage to repeat a diluted version of it at the following round of interviews anyways.

Yeah, interviews... At this point, it’s better not to ask question you will not get answers to.

It is one in the morning when Nick finally walks you back to the hotel, the mechanical sounds of the door unlocking bringing back some of that anxiety you had felt earlier in the day.

“I’ll come pick you up at... eleven,” Nick informs from the corridor, rummaging through that huge bag of his while you lean on the door “I left some food in the fridge, and... here’s your phone”

You mouth forms an ‘O’ at the sight, body acting faster than your mind as you quickly take the device from his hold. Finally, there it is, your way out. You hold it close to your chest, nodding at Nick’s plans for tomorrow without really listening to any of it, your internal screams of joy too loud to focus on things you do not care about.

If everything goes alright, you won’t be here tomorrow.

There is a spring to your step and a smile tugging at your lips when you approach the floor-to-ceiling windows of the room, door locked and phone secure on your hand. It easily switches on, a numeric keypad appearing and disappearing on the screen before you can stress about not having the password.

The caller app is the first thing you open, fingers pressing your mother’s number at lightspeed, tears springing to your eyes from the sheer anticipation while you hold the phone to your ear. One tone, two tones and three until it sends you to the voicemail. You look at the screen in shock, it is true that it’s quite late but...

You silence yourself, forcing yourself to focus before your emotions can get a hold of your thoughts. Instead hanging up the call to type your father’s number. One tone, two tones,…

The tears finally race down your cheeks when you hear the call getting through, “Papá? (Dad?)” a string of voice making its way out your lips.

However, there is no response from the other side of the line, only some distant noise. “Papá, soy yo (Dad, it’s me)” and when an answer finally comes through, the words and the other person’s voice are unrecognizable.

You take a look at the lighted up screen, reading over and over the number you have called, pulling it back to your ear when you are sure you have not made a mistake. It is his number, who is this person? But when you go to ask about it, they have already hung up the call.

What is happening?

You call your mother again, then your father, continuously alternating between the two only numbers you have ever memorized, sobs racking your body when none of them answer. The opportunity to scape gradually disappearing in front of your eyes.

When a message comes saying you cannot reach your father’s number sounds, your body gives out. Hand holding onto the glass for any possible support as you slowly fall down to a seated position on the ground, tears rolling down your face while you listen to the robotic voice.

The night welcomes your sadness like no other, gaze fixed on the darkness outside, vision blurry and teeth gnawing at your lips as you try to hold in your whimpers. You lock your arms around yourself, nails digging into your forearms like that would distract your brain from the emptiness that is consuming you whole.

This does not make sense. You have tried to log into your accounts, from your social media apps to your email, anything that could get you in touch with your friends and family, anyone that could help you. Yet, the same message comes up again and again: the password or username you entered doesn't match our records. Please try again.

The desperation prompts a stupid idea to surge on your mind, an exhausted sigh slipping through your lips while you type your name on the browser, as if some missing report from the police would suddenly pop up. And although you had prepared yourself for some webs with totally unrelated information to appear, what you did not prepare for was to find pages upon pages about yourself.

There are photos and videos of you, a ton of articles talking about the ‘disastrous start of the race’ which have your face plastered all over them. Of course you had noticed the cameras all around and up into your personal space, but you had figured it would be something to be kept private, not that they would be put all over the internet, a literal Google search away.

Still, there are so many images… You cannot even recognize yourself in half of them. What is all of this?

Lower on the search appears your name, written in big bold letters and paired with more photos that you do not remember ever taking, the subtitle reading:

Professional motorsports racing driver.

Next chapter

___

Author's note: Thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying the fic 💚

Taglist: @purplephantomwolf @raye2000 @yuiiimd @drezzerk33 @leclercdream @homie0sapien

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x you #formula one x you #charles leclerc x you #carlos sainz x you #daniel ricciardo x you #lewis hamilton x you

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fetchen · 1 month

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★˙ ̟ karen x gretchen/fetchen fluff in which gretchen drives a tired and slightly drunk karen home after the halloween party <3

•◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡◠◡•

as the commotion of halloween night fizzled out and the people began to drain out the front door, karen couldn’t help but cling to gretchen, her energy draining by the minute. she felt herself stumble over her heels with every step, her eyelids fighting the urge to droop.

when the party is ostensibly over, gretchen takes her hand out of instinct, leading her out the door, down the steps, and to her car.

“are you okay to get home?” gretchen asked just a moment before karen nodded while taking a dizzied step forward, her body betraying her pride. gretchen steadied her with gentle hands on her shoulders and a quiet chuckle. “i can drive you.”

with a sigh, karen just mutters, “yes, please.”

gretchen led karen around each dimly lit space to the bathroom, knowing the taller girl’s home like the back of her hand. in front of the room’s rectangular mirror, gretchen reached for the mouse-eared headband atop karen’s head, slowly pulling it up and off of her. after resting it on the marble countertop beside them, she brushed a stray curl from karen’s eyes, giving her a look so soft that it made her exhausted heart flutter.

she couldn’t help but smile as karen resisted sleep, running a cloth underneath warm water. karen squeezed her eyes shut as gretchen dragged the cloth along her face, slowly removing her makeup.

before karen knew it, it’s over and she’s able to flop into her bed, about to close her eyes when-

“you’re not just gonna sleep in your costume, are you?” gretchen asked, placing a hand on karen’s waist. “why not?” karen mumbled into plush blankets.

“c’mon, mama. change really quick.” karen rolled over to face gretchen, pouting before reaching up to be pulled toward her closet.

“gretch,” karen whispered, slowly combing through oversized t-shirts as if her parents were home, “can you stay the night? my family’s gone.” while changing her clothes, she glanced over her shoulder to monitor gretchen’s reaction.

“huh? why?” gretchen asked as karen laid down beside her, draping an arm over her thighs. “i dunno. i just…don’t wanna be by myself,” karen muttered, looking up at gretchen with a sparkle in her eyes that she can’t help but say yes to.

placing a gentle hand atop karen’s head, she just whispered “okay,” as she combed her fingers through the taller’s hair.

gretchen continued to look back at karen tucked under the covers and checking her nails as she fished through various items in karen’s closet.

“hey, kare,” gretchen hesitated for a moment, “can i wear one of your shirts to bed?” karen nodded, mumbling a confirmation. “i dunno why you’re saying that like you don’t wear my stuff already.”

gretchen chuckled to herself, struggling not to make her awkwardness audible.

right. why’d i do that?

a strangely empty silence falls over the two as gretchen begins to undress, removing her black jumpsuit and replacing it with bare legs and a white t-shirt that reeks of karen, her sweet perfume permeating gretchen’s senses.

gretchen walked toward karen’s bed, part of her expecting, hoping that karen would have fallen asleep by the time she arrived. but she hadn’t. somehow, she seemed even wider awake than she was when they first got back.

she took care to attempt to slide underneath the velvet covers with some degree of finesse so as not to disturb karen’s fidgeting. it doesn’t work as well as gretchen hopes, karen craning her head to face her and giving her a heavy smile before squeezing her weakly.

with a sigh, karen’s face became burrowed into gretchen’s clavicle, softly nipping at her skin and bringing gretchen’s heart rate up so high she becomes scared that karen can hear it. she tangled her legs between gretchen’s, a wave of calm rushing over them both, gretchen shifting her focus onto the candle she’d bought for the taller girl a few months before.

“hold my hand, gretch.”

and of course, gretchen concedes.

she can’t help the way their hands fit together so perfectly. she can’t help the way karen’s teeth feel against her neck. she just can’t help that she loves her best friend so much. because god, how could she not?

as karen drifts to sleep, gretchen giggles under her breath, twirling thin strands of her dark hair between her fingers.

“your costume was really cute tonight, kare. we…kinda matched.” gretchen muttered, stringing her thumb along karen’s knuckles. “we did?” gretchen feels karen’s warm breath against her as she asks. “yeah. cat and mouse.” karen takes gretchen in, just for a second.

“hm. that’s so cool,” karen mumbles. “it’s probably, like, meant to be.” she continues, before returning to nibbling at gretchen’s neck.

karen presses gentle kisses to each spot she bit, forcing gretchen to take in deep breaths. and then her eyes widen at the sudden memory that she’d forgotten to buy regina anything for the holiday. and then she remembers, too, that karen is right there next to her- drunk and tired, but still there.

karen’s bed is so comfortable, her body so warm that it pulls gretchen right back to where she is. there with karen, she feels everything melt away.

karen soon falls into sleep, the rhythm of gretchen’s pulse lulling her to rest as she lays on her chest. when gretchen sees karen’s eyes fluttering shut after the long hours she’d spent awake, she allows hers to do the same.

for a few hours in the night, everything will be perfect. everything will be okay. karen is huddled into gretchen’s arms and, god, she looks so beautiful even while she’s struggling to stay awake.

“you should go to bed, gretch,” karen yawns. “you’re so tired.”

karen’s right and gretchen knows it. she never has to chase karen for her to pay attention.

everything’s fine, at least for tonight. and gretchen revels in karen’s warmth, leans into her touch as if she’d been stuck at sea and karen was the one who brought her to shore.

karen was sweeter than the candy they’d collected every halloween for years. for the first time, gretchen thinks that if every halloween can be like this, she loves the holiday just as much as karen does.

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kiwikiwiandkiwi · 1 year

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H+L moments in 2022

I’ve seen these recaps before so I thought I’d make one with my favorite moments of 2022 since it was such a special year for them (and for us too):

1) I’m gonna start with probably my favorite moment (and this was just the beginning of everything) Louis wears the same blue and green shirt for his shows in Houston and Seattle (aka HS) 28 days apart of each other:

2) Louis pointing nonstop to a Larry sign during his show in Washington (here's the moment in different angles x, x, x):

3) Louis, during his Pittsburgh concert on Valentine's day, wears pants with a butterfly logo on them - a butterfly that was inspired by the movie Papillon, the same movie which inspired Harry’s butterfly tattoo:

4) Louis, on his Reykjavik show, wears a shirt that's written Maison - home in french - on the same day Harry announces his new album, Harry's House:

5) Ok, maybe this is my favorite moment. Harry, during his first concert of 2022, sings You're Still the One while wearing a rainbow jumpsuit (knowing exactly what this song means to us after singing it in 2018 and fonding way too hard while looking up at the VIP box):

6) Harry doodles an "H" and a subtle-ish “L” on his shoes while stunting in Italy:

7) The peace ring makes a comeback in May and then for a few days in September (worth mentioning that the first appearance in September was on the 7th, the exact same day the ring made a comeback in 2021:)

May 19th:

Sep 7th 2021 and Sep 7th 2022:

8) Louis and Harry being in Italy at the same time and Louis pretending he is not aware of it:

9) Harry dresses up as Danny Zuko (making him look a lot like Louis) aka a character from Grease aka one of Louis' favorite movie aka a character Louis played when he was young (a play so important to him that he still has the jacket he wore in it):

10) which leads me to this moment, because while wearing a Danny Zuko costume, Harry sang Hopelessly Devoted to You, a song that speaks for itself but that later on, Louis said was his favorite song from Grease:

11) After years of Harry telling us he's the little spoon, Louis finally confirmed that he is in fact the big spoon:

12) so many songs and lyrics from Harry's House and Faith in the Future (big, big, big, biiiiiig shout out to Keep Driving, Daylight, Written All Over Face and Lucky Again)

#masterpost #2022 #larry 2022 #if anyone wants to add anything else feel free to do it #i feel like these were the major moments

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deimos-awaits · 2 days

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Dreams of the Chaptermaster

My first little writing from Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita did not know where he was. This deeply concerned the Chaptermaster of the Ironsong, in a way the few other things did. He almost always knew at the very least where he was or what made his surroundings. To be so unprepared and unknowing of either was troubling. He was not wearing his armor that much he was sure of. The comfortable feeling of tons of ceramite was gone from his chest. It made them feel rather light and airy. The area around them was light and fragrant. Though covered in such a deep smoke or mist that it was hard to tell where anything was really. It reminded him of one of the poetdens on his homeworld of Astraea, at least on the side that devoted itself to the arts.

It took less than a minute for him to take stock of himself. He seemed to be wearing the robes and tunics common on the more wealthy parts of Astraea. He would rather have been in one of the old jumpsuits he had long grown accustomed to wearing. Further he wished that he had a mechandrite harness or any of his armor. Artificer Siderénia felt naked without it, especially without any knowledge exactly of where they were. The last thing that he could remember was celebrating a successful campaign against an eldar craftworld force with the Knightly House of Phobos and the First Deimos Explorator Fleet. The celebration was a subbed event, the heads of the three organizations, themself representing the Ironsong Chapter of Astartes, though he did indulge in specially acquired Fenrisian Ale. Maybe that was the mistake, and the ale imbibed by the sons of Russ. Warpcraft was his second supposition as to what was occurring though he was hoping that wasn't the case. The third most likely situation was he was dreaming.

Artificer Siderénia took one more moment to examine the air around him. It resembled the smoke clouds more often found on the poetdens of Astraea though unlike there, where a simple wave of the hand would result in more clear air with the incense brushing away and the ability to see whatever poet was crooning against the sound of brasswind instruments. He strode forward, though they were unable to out which direction they had initially started facing. Siderénia was confident enough though that the ground beneath was made of marble or some other similar stone. He bent down to feel it and it was as smooth and cold as they would otherwise expect. The smooth surface indicated some form of polishing and the as of yet unidentified light source seemed to confirm it was white stone with gold veining. Artificer Siderénia could Even see his own well kept beard and violet eyes in the reflection from the stone.It felt truly like he was in one of the more gaudy Emperor forsaken poetden. Upon recalling the simple fact about his homeworld’s musical traditions, a soft melody began to play in the air.

It sounded wrong, as if there was a faint hint of static with what was normally a live performance. The melody itself was strange and Artificer Siderénia did his best to try to appraise it before approaching. It seemed to be a strange melange of the work songs of his youth and the more restful ballads of a poetden though he could not make out any district words that either might have. He was put on high alert no matter where he was it was trying to put him at ease and failing.

If only he had his Omnissian power axe.

He was not often given to strong emotions, moderation and balance was after all key to his chapter's survival and thriving but he yearned for it now in this strange place. If this was the result of any of the Magi of Deimos they would learn why to never do this again. With little emotion visible he began to move towards whatever source of the music he could find. Damn Magos Aleph-Gimmel Bellerov-2.0 and her Fenrisian ale for addling their head enough they could not remember where they were. With a simple breath he moved forward, less a man moving forward but a rumbling mountain of steel, flesh, and ceramite moving forward in thundering footsteps. He never was one for subtly though there was an itching in the back of his head that wished that was more the case.

Artificer Siderénia kept walking until the smoke began to clear and his surroundings seemed to take a more solid form. The room they found themselves in was a similar amalgamation of all the poetdens he had ever been in. There was a stage at the edge of his vision where there was a youth of indeterminate gender - not uncommon on Astraea - crooning into a microphone hanging from the ceiling, tables spread out with small arrangements of flowers on them, gilded seats and incense burning everywhere. The song that youth with light hair and even paler skin was crooning was strangely difficult to focus on. There was also no band visible behind them to give the backing music. Dream or warpcraft Siderénia decided. Perhaps both. He was leaning towards dream given how most of the seats and tables present seemed suited to accommodate a man of his size and build and although that was not uncommon on Astraea due to it being his chapters homeworld but all of them being his size or larger? Strange.

He began to walk towards the youth on the stage. The fact that the youth either did not notice him despite seemingly being the only other person in the room or did not care that a nine foot tall transhuman was approaching was troubling. It was further troubling that the youth only had one breast whose swell was visible under their tunic. Warpcraft of what flavor was quickly becoming obvious to him.

Could he use any of the chairs here as a welcome? Were the chairs also similarly tainted? What would he have to do in order to escape this place? His thoughts began to march through his head in ordered fashion trying to discern exactly how to leave this warp spawned nightmare. The Ruinous Powers would not have him.

Siderénia was so focused on that he didn't notice at first the clapping congratulating the Youth's latest unintelligible song. The Youth took a bow before returning to croon in some language that was definitely no form of Gothic Siderénia had ever heard. He turned to see the source and perhaps find any other person here to find a giant of a man even by the standards of the Astartes. He has the same white hair as Siderénia, like the marbled floor and matching violet eyes. Siderénia’s hearts felt as if they had just stopped.

He yearned once more that he had his power axe.

It was impossible to deny who was sitting in front of him and Siderénia would not even begin to attempt to. The other man laughed. The laugh was far similar to the music playing. It was a thousand desires and dreams fulfilled all at once, and ten thousand desires left aching.

A few moments passed between them again with the smell of incense and the crooning threatening to overtake all of the senses. Siderénia simply stared, a gaze that in most cases would have caused any member of the Ironsong Chapter to shrink. The other person simply laughed again. “Hello darling. Are you enjoying the performance?”

Artificer Siderénia simply stared over more at the man begging the Emperor to be wrong about who this was.

“Well. Aren't you going to say something?” The other figure asked as if the few seconds, maybe even a minute, if that at most, of silence had begun already to bore him. The voice was similar enough to the laughing that it made him want to talk and respond. It was oozing with joy.

“No.”

The other man's broad smile seemed to twitch for a second. “Oh come on, Siderénia, you know you brought yourself here, won't you as least ask who I am? This is modeled after your homeworld after all.”

Siderénia glanced at the crooning Youth. Their performance though still entirely musical had begun to verge into a style that would have never been accepted on Astraea, Even given their relatively progressive standards. He looked back at the figure lounging in front of him. The tunic the other was wearing seemed to be made out of snake skin. “What would you have me say Fulgrim, snake, Gorgonbane?”

The Primarch of the Third Legion's face, Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita own Primarch, laughed again though there was no mirth this time. “First Rylanor, now you. Oh darling, darling. " Fulgrim tuted at him as if he was a child. "When I heard the little whispers the Imperium had decided to make a new chapter with my geneseed I just had to watch you know. It was so fascinating to watch you all grow.”

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita stood as impassively and emotionless as any proud son of Ferrus Manus would. His chapter claimed their descent from the Gorgon. Now would be no different. “I hope you are disappointed.”

“Disappointed? Oh my dear son, Siderénia, I'm far from it. Your precious Ironsong has been an exemplary finishing force! And while the art you make tends to be more subdued, that can be fixed in time! I'm sure I can find a place for all mechanists.”

“No.” the world around Siderénia began to shudder and shake. It was like a hololith losing connection.

“No? Again that's really quite Dornian or even rather like… you haven't even heard my offer.”

“Snake, I want nothing of what you offer me.” Siderénia Teleiótita count feel the tug within him to submit to his primarch and do whatever the demon and but the chaptermaster held firm.

“I am your father,” Fulgrim stood now white hair cascading down in an impossibly beautiful wave. “I know what you have gotten up to with those Magi-”

Siderénia Teleiótita, against his better judgment, stepped forward and grabbed a chair as he did so. It was no Omnissian axe but it would have to do. “You are not my father. He is buried in Astraea’s soil, and though you are my primarch my allegiance is to the Emperor and Ferrus Manus.”

Fulgrim’s languid and easy attitude had swung towards anger and frustration. The entire poetden seemed to flicker into static. “I do not know by what Warpcraft you think you can escape but you will see,” and the human form he was talking fell away to reveal the demon prince beneath. Writhing scales and four arms reaching towards the all too human history master. “You are my children, you are not his!” one of Fulgrim's claws scratched his chin.

The Youth began to scramble and run off of the stage as the dream world was shaking.

Siderénia Teleiótita had no idea what Warpcraft was happening either. As far as he was aware no one even remotely close to them had access to warpcraft. He swung the chair at the daemon primarch ready to fight to his last here.

Then his eyes shot open.

Siderénia Teleiótita’s hearts were pounding and he was covered in sweat.

A familiar, though a tad forgettable Magos of Deimos, loomed over him. “Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita! Are you alright? Your heart beats were elevated, I was simply coming to ask for your presence at a meeting with the local planetary governor.”

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita simply looked up at the Magos Tsephor-10.54 and attributed the headache to hangover as that dream faded almost instantly from memory. The rather fat techpriest had the strange ability to be almost forgettable while also unnerving. “I am fine. Aid me in putting on my armor and I will be there promptly.”

Siderénia Teleiótita did not notice the new scar on his chin.

#ironsong chapter #siderénia teleiótita #fulgrim #i guess I never thought id actually tag him #tsephor #techpriests writting #that's just me writing tag

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wolven91 · 7 months

Text

Human Guardian - One Size Fits All

Jon's radio crackled to life on his hip.

"Jon, can you get across to the 'Emmalis' sector please. We have an urgent escort request." Came dispatch's dispassionate and clinical tone.

The human grunted as he lifted with his knees to put the box that he was running inventory on, back onto the shelf where it belonged. With it safely secured he grabbed for the radio and thumbed the button for him to speak.

"Jon confirms, heading to Emmalis now."

"Acknowledged" Came the immediate reply.

He returned the radio to his hip and began a swift march to the part of the station which hosted the shorter alien delegates. It had been a busy week, it felt like every race had turned up all at once and realistically it wasn't far off the mark to say that. It was the first time since the circus when Jon had first passed the Guardian Initiative selection process that it had been this busy.

Apparently there was a summit of some kind coming up and with the impressive range of creatures appearing on station, both great and small, Jon ,like his colleagues was being run ragged. Most Guardian work wasn't actually being dedicated to a single person. At least, not for a Guardian who stayed on one station. Jon's role was to just being a helpful, welcoming presence. If there was a job to do that helped the station, he was there for it.

He smiled, nodded, waved or gave short cheerful banter to the other aliens he passed on his way. Most wore the similar blue and yellow jumpsuits of Guardians, or the grey and white of maintenance. These corridors being off limits to other creatures that weren't part of the station's staff. Plenty of vulnerable points in these sections, unwise to let crowds of people into the access corridors.

The access corridors ran to every corner of the station, regardless of who's sector it was or which race occupied those quarters. Staff would always be able to reach a delegate or guest in rapid time compared to those who had to use the more formal and fancy public walkways. The warren of tunnels weren't a secret, but like the 'Disneyland' of old, they weren't readily acknowledged by station as a whole. It was easier to just be as unobtrusive as one could be while playing host to the other races.

As Jon reached the 'Emmalis' sector, the half of the station that hosted much smaller races than the majority, he slipped on his 'Escort Harness' and showed his security card to the reader.

As he waited for approval and when his harness secured, he grabbed at his radio and thumbed the button again.

"Jon at Emmalis Sector, Subdoor 'Itty bitty'."

"Acknowledged. Stop calling it 'Itty Bitty', it's the 'Ikit Bitaris' entrance." Came a different voice from the radio, but none-the-less as formal as the last.

The light flicked from red to green and the bulkhead's bolt snapped open allowing Jon to walk through the door and into the 'airlock' checkpoint. A glass booth with a canid guard sat at a desk gave him a courtesy glance before allowing him to step forward.

"Mornin' Jon." The guard drawled. "You got a delegate needing to get to the council room early, 'parently it's urgent."

Jon nodded and shrugged.

"That's fine, are they ready to go?"

"Yeah, 'got their whiskers in a twist so don't wait around."

Jon stepped through the now open sliding door to see a pair of chintians waiting together on a raised platform. Chintians were one foot tall, furred or even spined mammalians. They reminded Jon of meerkats or perhaps chinchillas? Or some demented mixer of the two. The human gave a mental shrug. All the races could be compared to old Earth fauna, but you'd think yourself mad as none of them ever fit the mould 'perfectly'. There was always too many differences to say, 'you are a bipedal X'. Christ the taurians looked like cows and bulls but were carnivorous! Ever seen a cow with a set of teeth that would be better suited to a shark? It causes the mind to lurch.

The two chintians had delegate badges pinned to their belts and turned to the human as he passed through the checkpoint. As Jon stepped up, he turned his back on the delegate and stood still. This was all protocol, they had done this before and so had he.

The two chintians clambered up onto the various hand and foot holds of the harness that Jon wore and settled themselves.

Jon waited a moment before stepping away from the platform, at first taking practised care not to go too fast or jostle the harness that had countless loops sewn into the fabric allowing for easy grabbing and carrying of the smaller races, but there was still a knack to not jostling passengers. They simply hung on and Jon, or any escort, would carry them to their destination. This way, the smaller species didn't need to worry about being hit or accidently kicked by the larger or perhaps unobservant others.

Too many diplomatic incidents had happened and all parties involved considered this an acceptable resolution.

"We need to go fast! We must be there fast!`` Came the voice of one of the chintians, over his left shoulder. He felt the weight shift as the creature clambered up the harness with ease.

"Do you consent to running? Do you understand the risks and dangers of this action?" Jon asked, hoping they'd agree.

"Yes yes! Speed is needed!" the voice confirmed.

Jon began to sprint. Avoiding the busier paths, he kept to the edges of the corridors which were usually left empty for exactly the reason Jon was using them. Go-fors, messengers, assistants. They could always been seen scuttling from one location to the others, whilst those not on a time crunch could meander in the middle of the corridors.

He made good time to the centre of the station. From afar, the giant central council room looked like a crown jewel of the station. It was truly gigantic and often would have fog or clouds develop inside due to the sheer size of it.

He crouched and dropped off the delegate who thumbed a tip for Jon, but said nothing as he scuttled away from view and into a room.

Jon shrugged and mentally asked himself what he needed to do next and how to get there the quickest.

He was interrupted as his radio crackled to life again, he grabbed at it before the voice finished speaking.

"Jon? You done with that Escort?" Came the voice of a priority dispatcher, distinct as they were more like 'Account Managers', dealing with those who pay extra for services and their role was to ensure the higher paying guests were served in the right manner.

"Yeah, he's arrived."

"You got a 'Ursidain' request, a request by name this time. You've made an impression with folk."

Jon's face scrunched in puzzlement. He wasn't aware anyone even knew him. Although the name tag's all over his uniform would not lend him any anonymity.

"Got an idea as to what it is?" Jon asked as he jogged towards an access corridor to take the shortest route to the ursidain quarters. It shouldn't take long, he'd just circumvent the Council Hall.

"It's an ursidain called Fon, she sounded a bit distressed? Does it ring any bells?"

The realisation hit Jon like a bucket of cold water.

"Ah, yeah, I dealt with her last week. She's got hefty anxiety. It's likely I'm going to be 'booked' for the rest of the day."

"Cool, no problems, I'll ready 'double pay' if you're engaged through a break or the end of your shift."

Jon wrapped up the conversation and eventually made it to the ursidain quarters.

His next role was almost certainly going to be a 'Support' role. Even some of the larger species on the station had a habit of being nervous like everyone else. On a confined, diplomatic station, it was better to devote resources to calming them down then let them work themselves up.

Jon had met this 'Fon' a couple of weeks back, a mature giantess of a teddy bear, but one with pretty severe anxiety. As it turned out however, having Jon nearby, simply holding her paw or rather being held in her paws, was enough to keep her calm. He'd made the error at the end of his work to try and reassure her that everything was fine, she hadn't been a nuisance and if she needed him; he wouldn't mind.

Jon never thought for a second that she'd actually ask for him, let alone pay through the nose for him specifically to come help her. She must have serious cash to be able to not only request him by name, but double pay due to a person request is paid for by the person who made the request.

Exiting the next checkpoint, he didn't have a chance to even look round before a massive thick paw appeared and snatched him from his own raised platform, the environment now designed for creatures far larger than a human. He was immediately pressed into a sea of thick and soft brown fur. He had to tilt his head backwards just to give himself the space to breathe as a second giant paw began to rapidly stroke his hair again and again as a deluge of words poured from a frantic, motherly voice far above the trapped human.

"Oh I'm so glad you're here! I was so worried! The speech is coming up and I don't know if it'll go well and I suddenly got a feeling that something had already gone wrong! And then I thought about you and was worried the feeling was to do with you! It was-"

"I'm fine! It's okay! Take a breath!" Jon cut in; his voice strained as his ribs creaked from the pressure of being squeezed into the matronly Fon.

Two giant bellows beneath the fur and flesh that Jon was still being pressed into began to inflate, it was humbling to feel such massive biological machine work as he was pressed into it.

The bellows deflated in a loud sigh above him.

"I'm sorry Jon. Do you need me to put you down? I-I-I can go without you if you're busy?"

Jon mentally kicked himself for not taking the opportunity to escape, but he was a resolute professional. He was one of the very first human guardians and he was glad to be the one that showed the aliens that whatever they can do; humans can too.

"No, I've nothing else to do today." He lied. "When your call came in I was twiddling my thumbs, you know?"

The pressure increased again as he was swung from side to side by the giant bear-like alien.

"Oh I'm so glad! You could sit on my lap while the speech is given! Oh that would help so so much! Thank you thank you!"

He was pulled from the chest and brought up to a familiar face, that had puckered its lips before planting them firmly against his face. The 'light' suction nearly pulled his entire head in between those lips before they disconnected with a dramatic 'mwah' and he was returned to a galactic sized bear hug and it felt like they were moving again. He rubbed the wetness from his face as the voice spoke up again, vibrating him as it rumbled through the giant's body.

"I'll get some snacks, and a blanket and we'll make it all cosy in my delegate booth!"

Jon tilted his head at that. The delegates, especially the ursidain ones,did always get the nicest food after all.

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #haso #hfy #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #bear #ursidain

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defectivevillain · 4 months

Text

this winding labyrinth

chapter 1: suffocation.

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read that, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: canon-typical blood, violence, gore, mutilation, death, & animal death. the animal death is pretty detailed, so please don't read this fic if you're triggered by that kind of topic.

author's notes: This first chapter is a little bit of a mess imo, but I wanted to post it to assure you all that I don’t want to abandon this fic. It may take me longer to post and update chapters, especially since I graduated from uni (mwahahah) and my schedule may get busy. Still, I really enjoy writing this story—and you all seem to enjoy reading it. Both of those things are enough to keep me going.

Something extremely ironic happened around the time I was writing the last few chapters of Act 1. So… if you remember, in Chapter 6, Hannibal and the reader go on an opera date (of sorts). During that date, the reader remarks that they “don’t know the first thing about opera.” Those words were pretty much taken directly from my mouth. Fast forward to about mid-fall, I get a call for an interview for an internship. I end up doing the first interview, then a second interview… Then I get the internship. The irony? This internship is at an opera house. (What’s even more ironic is that I’m now getting to the point where I do actually know things about opera—I know different productions and directors and technical terms… It’s absolutely crazy. The universe is making me eat my words, lol.

To make matters even stranger, I was in the office for the internship one day and caught a glimpse of a television, which broadcasts what’s happening on the stage. Imagine my absolute surprise and fear when I look up at the television screen with absolutely no expectations and see a single man in a beige jumpsuit with something over his face standing on stage, his shadow silhouetted against the wall behind him. Imagine my surprise when I see that, not only is he standing in an enclosure with iron bars (just like the ones at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane), but it also looks as if he is staring right at me—and he looks exactly like Hannibal Lecter in captivity. It was simultaneously scary as hell and weirdly reassuring. Anyway, I’ve taken these experiences as cosmic confirmation that I should continue writing this fic. Lol.

Anyway. Back to the important things… I’m planning to borrow elements from both Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon, but, similarly to the first act, there will be canon divergence and canon non-compliance. Also, as you probably discerned in the past act, there is some plot armor. But, this is fiction.

Your life currently takes two forms: before the Chesapeake Ripper… and after.

Before the Ripper, the leaf-stained pavement of the Bureau filled you with hope. Walking through the agency’s halls was a testament to the hard work that brought you there. Each assignment was an invaluable opportunity to further develop your interrogation and combat skills. You went to classes, completed assignments, trained, slept, and repeated the cycle the next day. Over and over and over again. But you were happy.

Life doesn’t feel so simple anymore. You feel like you’ve been fading for a while now, slowly deteriorating as you invest more and more energy into catching criminals. Your work has morphed into an exhausting mutual exchange, one in which you take murderers’ freedom and they take your restful nights. You can’t remember the last time you rested unencumbered by the horrors you’ve seen in the field.

By some miracle, Jack manages to keep the press relatively uninformed about the happenings behind the Ripper case. Everyone is too absorbed with the fact that Hannibal’s in captivity to remember to ask just how he got there, and you’re very grateful for that lapse in memory. You can just imagine the interactions you’d have with paparazzi. Is it true that he stabbed you? Is it true that he purposefully left you alive, only to surrender in your front yard and torment you with the constant knowledge that he will remain in the same place, lying in wait until the moment you will inevitably need him? You shudder.

Even with all the chaos that comes from the Ripper case—the media coverage of Hannibal and the attention the FBI gets—life goes on. Back at the Bureau, you occasionally lecture the new recruits and you take on assignments along with the rest of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Jack is still wont to call on you at the most ungodly of hours; Beverly still trades lighthearted taunts with you; Brian Zeller still seems to hate your guts, for reasons you’re not quite sure of; Alana and you are back to a steady friendship, albeit with occasional beats of unexplained tension and awkward silence.

Criminality continues to occur in the Ripper’s wake. You’re not surprised: the imprisonment of one criminal doesn’t beget the imprisonment of another. Even so, it’s difficult for you to proceed as if things are normal. You see traces of Hannibal in each of the monsters you apprehend. Your emotions are starting to eat you alive from the inside. You don’t have a therapist to assist you with those emotions anymore. And, while you think therapy would be helpful, you also know that there’s no way in hell you’d be able to actually be honest with a therapist without being imprisoned yourself. The things you’ve done and the urges you’ve felt… Neither is even close to a semblance of normality.

You take a deep breath. You have no issue stopping other criminals, sending them to empty white walls and thin mattresses. Why was Hannibal Lecter any different? You suppose you shouldn’t fool yourself—you know the answer to that question already: you got to know him. Beyond the mask of the Ripper, beyond the bloodied skin and cruel smile… You started to see him as a man, perhaps even a friend. Perhaps, even-

You tear yourself away from that thought process before it gets too far along. The semantics don’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re back in the field, back popping pills for your headaches and blinking fresh horrors from your eyes. All that matters is that the memory of Hannibal Lecter begins to fade away in the face of work— so much so that keeping busy helps you forget the pain.

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, a veterinarian walks into a stable under a farmer’s guidance. The two stand over a dead horse and the veterinarian frowns. The farmer explains the horse’s death before stepping aside, letting the professional work.

The farmer quickly becomes lost in their thoughts. They hadn’t expected the horse to die in the middle of her pregnancy. The farmer swallows past the tightness in their throat and tears their eyes away from the horse. They were looking forward to the birth of the foal, looking forward to helping the mother raise her offspring. The stable air suddenly feels suffocating and they take a look at the veterinarian’s turned back before stepping outside to get some fresh air.

Moments later, the veterinarian rejoins them. The doctor’s lips are drawn in a tight line and there’s a troubled expression on their face. The farmer feels any remaining composure promptly seep out of them, as the veterinarian suggests they come back into the stable.

“It feels like there’s something here,” the veterinarian says, their expression conflicted. They touch the horse’s womb with a gloved hand and frown.

“She was pregnant,” the farmer chokes out, their throat feeling tight again. It hurts to utter the words aloud.

“With twins?” The veterinarian asks, turning around to look at them.

“No, just one baby,” the farmer shakes their head. Why would they ask about twins? Surely, they don’t feel another baby in the womb. The thought of two deaths is morbid and distressing enough, but three? The farmer inhales shakily.

“There’s… something else here.” The veterinarian remarks, their face contorting as they feel the horse’s womb once more. They turn back to look at the farmer for assistance. The farmer feels a horrible, inexplicable sense of foreboding crawling up their skin. Despite that feeling, they nod to the veterinarian. The doctor nods in response and turns to the horse’s womb, before making an incision.

The veterinarian unearths the dead foal and places it on the nearby hay with infinite gentleness. The farmer’s chest begins to hurt as they come to terms with the sight before them. Their pain doesn’t end there, however. The veterinarian continues slicing along the skin before stopping and glancing back at them inexplicably. It’s as if they’re waiting for permission to continue. The farmer appreciates the gesture and they nod in affirmation. This mystery needs to be put to rest.

The veterinarian inhales sharply, sending the farmer’s heart racing. The farmer prompts them to step aside, revealing the horse’s womb. There’s… something there. The farmer squints at it, a gasp ripping its way from their lips as they realize just what they’re looking at. A human corpse lies on the stable floor, a stark shock of muted crimson against the golden strands of hay. The farmer brings a shaking hand to their pocket and calls the police.

Unaware of these occurrences, you slowly exhale and pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on. You busy yourself with grading your students’ papers, and you don’t learn of the corpse until a few hours later, when the medicine begins to kick in and you’re foolishly convinced that you’ll be fine. Before you can leave for the day, Jack is walking up to you and beckoning you to the lab. The two of you grab Beverly along the way, which leaves the three of you to enter the laboratory that Price and Zeller are currently situated in. When you walk in, you’re immediately assaulted with the scent of formaldehyde. Price explains the situation behind the corpse, how a veterinarian found the body within the womb of a horse. The notion is strikingly similar to the other deaths by suffocation that have been eluding the BAU for several weeks. Jack seems to think the same thing, as he rattles off what he knows so far about the killer. You add things here and there—small things you can notice from the state of the corpse itself—before Price gets the group back on track.

“I called you here because…” Price trails off, frowning before readjusting his stethoscope and placing it on the victim’s chest once more. The room is deathly silent as he concentrates. “...There’s a heartbeat.”

“That doesn’t come with the onset of rigor mortis—we all know that,” Zeller continues, looking down at the corpse with a somewhat puzzled expression. He seems to sense you staring and looks up, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze meets yours. “She’s dead.” He announces with complete certainty.

“She was found in the womb of the horse?” Beverly asks. Everyone else nods and she pauses for a moment. “Make an incision and check the chest cavity.” There’s an unshakeable certainty in her voice and it throws you off for a moment, before you realize what she’s getting at. It’s not unfathomable that something was buried within the victim’s chest cavity. Suffocation seems to be a common theme with this killer. Did they put some sort of dead animal in the corpse? The thought makes your stomach turn.

“Alright,” Price acquiesces, after glancing at Jack for approval. Crawford nods, evidently attributing value to Beverly’s suggestion. The four of you—Crawford, Beverly, Zeller, and you—watch as Price leans in and makes a careful incision in the chest. For several moments, there’s nothing but a tense silence in the air as Jimmy works. The quiet is broken a few seconds later when Price takes a sharp breath. “I saw something.”

“Keep going,” Jack demands, bringing Jimmy’s attention back to the task at hand. Price nods and makes the incision a little bigger. All of you are watching in anticipation, waiting for something you’re not quite sure will appear.

All of a sudden, there’s a flash of motion. A yellow blur flits about the cavity, before reaching upwards and extending its wings to fly out. You watch in disbelief as the bloodstained bird stretches its wings and flies about the lab, colliding with the sheen of the fluorescent lighting and sending shadows flickering along the floor.

Jack is the first one to respond. He quickly paces over to the small window located near the ceiling and opens it, allowing the bird an escape. For a few moments, the bird doesn’t seem to notice: it’s too overwhelmed with the sudden change in environment to comprehend that it has just been granted an escape. It has a chance at true freedom, but it’s too busy taking in the laboratory’s flimsy promises to notice. The bird eventually notices the open window and flies out of it, before Jack closes the laboratory off from the outside world once more.

The group begins discussing what just occurred, but your mind is elsewhere. You feel a strange sort of kinship with the bird: suffocated beneath rows of ribs and walls of tissue and skin; banished to the space between; too taken with the small allowances to notice freedom within reach. You pinch the bridge of your nose. Your headache is returning, as pressure builds up in your temples and constricts your very skin. It’s significantly harder to breathe. Every time you blink, you’re greeted with the memory of that bright yellow bird bursting from its confines, greeting the stale laboratory air with beating wings. You step outside the lab to get some fresh air, trading your smaller prison for a bigger one—just as the bird did mere moments ago.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to find you. After all, you’re not hidden—you’re simply leaning against the wall in the hallway that leads to the laboratory. Jack strides up to you, his hands in his pockets and that familiar tight line drawn across his face. You suspect he’ll get wrinkles a lot sooner than everyone else his age—sheerly because of all the responsibility he holds and the pressure he’s forced to perform under. It must be exhausting to be the one calling the shots in these horrible situations. You had always assumed Jack had the easy job, but looking at him now, you think that assumption must be incorrect. He is suffering, just as you are. Perhaps… Jack has just grown better at hiding it.

The thought makes Jack’s remark slip in one ear and right out the other. You ask him to repeat himself and he sighs. “We need to go to the stable where the corpse was found. There are several police officers there already, but…” But we need to do a more thorough investigation , he doesn’t say. You hear him anyway and nod. Jack walks past you and paces purposefully down the hall, not even bothering to look and see if you’re following him. Perhaps he already knows you will follow him.

What follows is an awkward car ride. Neither of the two of you attempt to break the tense silence, leaving a suffocating air of uncertainty and indecision. You don’t know what to say to Jack, so you instead busy yourself with looking out the window. You resolutely pretend not to notice your boss’s gaze repeatedly flitting over to you and, after a painful amount of time, Jack is driving up the gravel path that leads to a modest farmhouse and a beautiful wooden stable.

The place is already crawling with police officers and FBI agents. Unfortunately, the police were the first ones to be informed of the case, which means the FBI is forced to share jurisdiction with them. You know Jack isn’t too happy about that, especially once you see the frown on his face as he watches the police officers clumsily investigate. They don’t have the right training for a situation like this and Jack is delighted to inform them of that fact—albeit with much more sugar coated wording than you would have utilized. A few minutes later, the cops are gone, leaving Jack, you, and the set of agents that Jack requested to follow after your car on the drive over. The other agents are quick to secure the crime scene, while Jack and you decide to explore the premises a little first.

The property features a small, rather unremarkable house with slightly dirty bricks and a well-loved bench swing on the porch. The front door is agape, revealing hardwood flooring and items strewn about. Jack and you exchange a glance before walking into the home. You don’t see any sign of life until you reach the kitchen and come across an older woman sitting at the table, stirring a cup of tea. You’re quick to show your badge and explain the situation to her. She doesn’t seem to have a great idea of what’s going on, so you eventually decide to leave her be and keep looking about the property.

Next to the house is a rather large stable, complete with several different stalls and a wide variety of tools. You have no idea what half of the tools could possibly be used for, but the majority of them look as if they’ve been used at least once. There are bales of hay in the corner of the room and various accessories hanging near the post of each horse’s stall. There are only a few horses in the stable—you think you could’ve seen a few in the pastures out back earlier. There’s a horrible stench pervading the air, and it’s not the typical odor that comes from a farm. It’s the smell of death. You look at Jack and he nods, inclining his head and gesturing for you to continue exploring the stable. It isn’t until you reach the last stall—one that is inexplicably larger than the rest—that you find the source of the stench. The rotted corpse of the horse rests at the back of the stall, the womb flayed open. The organs have been removed, but the smell of decay remains. Surprisingly enough, you’re not alone in this stall. A brown-haired man sits cross-legged on the floor next to the horse, a blank expression on his face.

“...Hello?” You decide to try. There’s no response. “Excuse me?” Still no response.

You glance at Jack and he raises his eyebrows, before turning to the stranger. “You must be Peter Bernardone,” Jack remarks. The mention of the man’s name seems to be enough to get his attention. On second thought, you remember Jack offhandedly mentioning that there may be a stablehand on site. It seems you’ve found him.

“That’s me,” the man replies flatly, staring ahead with glassy eyes. He looks as if he’s on an entirely different plane of existence, as he looks at the wall ahead of him with enough intensity to melt it.

“Jack Crawford, FBI,” Jack answers with an introduction of his own. He flashes his badge for a moment before putting it away. You can’t tell if Peter is even paying attention, but you do the same to make him more comfortable. “We’re just here to ask you some questions.”

“I want to talk,” Peter murmurs quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard. He pulls his knees up to his chest; his eyes haven’t strayed from the corpse of the animal in front of him. You feel your chest constrict a little at the sight.

“Good,” Jack responds with a nod.

“...To you,” Peter finishes with a gesture. To your complete surprise, he doesn’t point at Jack—he’s pointing at you. Jack blinks in equal surprise, looking at you for answers. You send him a helpless look. At first, you’re not sure why you seem more trustworthy than Jack. Then you remember Jack’s position and the intimidating aura he tends to give off. You think you’d want to talk to someone like yourself too, were you in Peter’s situation.

“Alright,” you agree. You don’t see the harm in having a conversation. You need information and, more importantly, answers. Jack stares at you for a long few seconds, before exhaling in evident exasperation.

“I’ll be outside,” Jack promises, before walking away. You wait until Jack is out of sight before you take a step closer to Peter, placing your hands in your pockets.

“What do you do here, Peter?” You hear yourself ask. Your voice sounds foreign to your ears.

“I volunteer here,” Peter responds, still facing the corpse. His voice sounds hollow, empty. “Sometimes.”

“Did you… know this horse?” You ask hesitantly, looking down at the corpse.

“Yes,” Peter answers without hesitation. There’s a hint of emotion in his voice now.

“Ridden her before?”

“I don’t ride the horses,” Peter replies, “I just like to brush them.”

“Okay,” you acknowledge. You begin pacing around the stall in an attempt to calm your restless nerves. “Peter, were you here on the day that the veterinarian visited?” Jack had briefed you on the circumstances of the horse’s death, how a veterinarian had been called to investigate before the corpse was found in the womb.

“I don’t remember a veterinarian,” he stares ahead with a frown.

“That’s fine,” you answer. He may not have been there that day. “The veterinarian was the one who cut open the womb and found the corpse… Did you know this horse was pregnant?”

At that question, Peter turns around and stares at you. His hollow gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine. For a moment, he just stares at you, before huffing in amusement. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you echo. You suppose that was a rather dumb question on your part. “Were you… sad about the foal?”

“Of course,” Peter huffs again. “Why do you think I’m sitting here?” This discussion isn’t getting you very far.

“Fine,” you acquiesce. You take a deep breath. “This doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I’m going to give you my extension, and if you ever feel like talking about what happened, you can call me, okay?” Thankfully, you know for certain that Peter isn’t the killer—the psychological profile you built on this murderer tells you that much. Jack clearly doesn’t think Peter is the killer either, and those two facts are enough for you to rule him out as a suspect. However, you’re still contemplating the possibility of him tampering with the crime scene.

Peter clears his throat pointedly and you remember what you were supposed to be doing. You grab a notepad from your jacket pocket and quickly scrawl down the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s phone number, followed by the extension to your office phone. You take a step closer and hold it out to Peter. For a fraction of a moment, you think he won’t take it. Just before you can pull your hand back, he takes the paper and slips it into his pocket.

You turn on your heel and take a step towards the door of the stall, fully intent on leaving, when the door falls open of its own accord. Jack Crawford stands in the doorway, staring at you.

“Good, Agent,” Jack remarks. This must be important. “We have a lead,” he says vaguely, his eyes falling to Peter. You can’t discuss confidential information here—the details will have to wait until you’re both in the car.

“Excellent,” you remark in relief. “I’ll meet you at the car?” You can sense that Peter’s attention is piqued. Maybe you can still get something out of him. Jack nods and walks away once more. You then turn to Peter, who has turned his body away from the horse to face you. Somehow, he’s intrigued now. Something has caught his eye. “Sorry, Peter,” you apologize, taking a step backwards and emphasizing that you’re a moment away from leaving, “I have to go.”

“What is it?” Peter asks, “Did you find him?”

“It’s classified, I’m sorry,” you respond, ignoring the inexplicable sound of alarm bells blaring in your head. Peter isn’t the killer. “But we’re tracking down this killer. I promise he’ll be put away.”

“You promise?” Peter asks, a dangerous conviction in his eyes.

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation. You don’t have the authority to make that kind of promise, but you do anyway. The sincerity in your expression must convince Peter, because he takes a slow breath and the tension seems to fade from his form. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Peter. It was nice to meet you.” Peter says the same and you turn to leave the stable.

“Price and Zeller found soil in the corpse’s throat,” Jack recounts to you as he drives along the highway, moving at a comfortable speed. His eyes are fixed on the road, but he recalls his conversation with Price with perfect consistency. “We traced it to a burial site about thirty minutes from here.”

“Great,” you remark, relief coursing through you. To your surprise, Jack doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply nods ever so slightly and continues staring ahead. Now, it seems as if he’s avoiding something. “What is it?” You ask. Something seems off about him.

“You may want to brace yourself,” Jack warns vaguely.

“Why?” You hear yourself question. Jack doesn’t answer, and he’s quiet for the rest of the car ride. When the two of you pull up to the supposed burial site, you’re filled with trepidation. This job always comes with the knowledge that blood and gore could be waiting at every corner. That’s the normal day for an agent. So… why does Jack feel the need to warn you? You grapple with the prospect as the two of you leave the car and join the group of agents circled around something.

It isn’t until you get closer that you recognize the familiar stench of rotting death. Sure enough, the group of agents is clustered around a hole in the ground—one that houses a woman’s corpse. You stare at the marks around her neck, the dirt caked under her nails and staining her fingertips. She was on the brink of death when she was buried. She was trying to escape. You stare down at the body for another moment, searching for any more abnormalities, before taking a step back to let the other agents resume their investigation. You exchange glances with Jack.

“She’s not the only one,” Jack says. You stare at the field around you—the grassy, open expanse. It seems to stretch on for miles now. You feel your heart steadily thudding in your chest, at a rate slightly faster than normal. Your head begins to ache.

“How many of them are there?” You murmur. The question is quiet, as you practically whisper it against the wind. For a moment, you think Jack doesn’t hear it. You then realize that he has comprehended it, but is simply declining to answer. Indeed, your boss stares out at the field with a conflicted expression. “Jack?”

“Sixteen,” Jack responds, turning his attention back to you. You feel something in your stomach twist and pull.

“That can’t be right,” you remark. It sounds as if the wind is picking up. It takes you several seconds to realize the sound is being conjured by your own mind, and that the air is damp and still around you. You swallow hard and take another look around at the field, suddenly understanding why the agents are now evenly dispersed across the space. They all have shovels and each sound of metal hitting dirt is enough to send a bolt of pain down your temple and through your cheekbones. Your teeth hurt as you watch the unearthing of sixteen different victims. They’re uniformly dispersed across the field. This is no happy accident—the killer meticulously planned for their graves to be close (but not too close). The thought brings a burning feeling to your throat and you feel your knees suddenly buckle. You place a hand on the ground, feeling the familiar horrible feeling of nausea climbing past your throat until you’re vomiting on the killer’s ground. It takes you a few minutes to stop, and even longer for you to fully recover. Your eyes sting and you can’t tell if you’re going to cry or pass out. There’s an overwhelming clarity in your vision and a rhythmic pounding at your temple.

This graveyard is a gruesome display, even to someone who has spent their entire career surrounded by carnage. You’ve seen your fair share of murder victims. You’ve never seen sixteen of them lined up in two neat rows of eight, buried in a nondescript field under layers of muddy soil. Moreover, you can sense the killer’s feelings—and it makes you sick. This was not a gesture born out of respect for the victims. The murderer did not dig up these graves to give these women a final resting place; he buried them to trap them, so that even in death, they would never truly be free. Their existences would be tied to him forever. They would never be allowed to breathe again. It’s nothing short of sickening. There’s nausea stewing in your stomach again, revulsion prickling across your skin, and sweat trickling down your neck.

You can’t seem to push yourself up to your feet. You’re grounded to the damp soil, to the wrong side of the earth. What deems you worthy of living? What deemed these women worthy of dying? Your hands are twitching at your sides. A deep breath causes your chest to hitch and you nearly vomit again. You look down on your body as you claw at the grass and tear it up, shakily pulling at the dirt and plants and grass and rot and death and injustice and horrible, terrible guilt and indescribable anger and vengeance -

There’s a hand on your shoulder. You instinctually tense, your movements beginning to slow. It feels as if you’re suddenly catapulted back into your body, forced to inhabit the itchy, dirt-stained skin and the endless remorse that wants to eat you alive from the inside.

“They’re dead; there is nothing left for them here,” Jack says. It’s his strange way of comforting you. It sort of works. After a moment, he takes a step forward and extends a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to pull you up. Jack seems to be fighting against the urge to say or do something, because his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are pulled taut in a thin line. There’s dirt all over you, yet you are still privileged with life.

You don’t remember how you get back to the Bureau. All you remember is staring blankly ahead as you’re half-led through the halls by Jack himself, his hand on your shoulder providing equal support and increased pressure. All you remember is the worry on Alana’s face as you walk past, the way she gets up from her desk and walks over to you, how she leads you towards the far restroom with a gentle hand. It ends up being the same restroom where Zeller accused you of killing Franklyn. The memory of that encounter is far fresher than you want it to be.

Alana leads you to a sink and guides your hands towards the water.

“Allow me,” she remarks, turning on the sink. She steps away for a moment and you stare at the water dripping from the faucet. Alana returns moments later with a washcloth. She pumps some soap on your hands and helps you wash them clean. Your head aches. You don’t know what to think, what to say. All you can think about is the graveyard. It haunts your vision every time you blink, forcing you to think of suffocating under piles of dirt and debris. You inhale sharply, gasping. Regaining your breath is a chore. “I’m worried about you,” Alana soon admits. You hate that her concern makes you feel appreciated. Your relationship with Alana ended years ago. You don’t want to be hers again, but this very moment reminds you of the intimacy you no longer get to see.

“You shouldn’t be,” you remark. Alana laughs under her breath. You both know that’s not how it works. Emotions don’t bend to logic.

“What did you see?” Her hand on your forearm keeps you tethered to reality. You shake your head, unable to begin describing the scene that will most certainly haunt your nightmares. The two of you are silent for the remainder of your time together under the flickering fluorescent lights, as you try to come to terms with the terrible regret, revulsion, and rage threatening to spill over your frame and inhabit your every waking moment.

next chapter

endnotes: thanks for reading! i'm very excited to continue this story, mwahhahahha

here's a lil sneak peek for the next chapter: “Peter,” Clark practically coos. You hate him, more than you’ve ever hated anyone before. He is a bundle of contradictions: a fine-dressed man with a fine-dressed smile and fine-dressed lies and cruelty and violence and- “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

hannibal taglist <3: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

#Hannibal Lecter x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #transmasc reader #male reader #gn reader #hannibal x gn reader #hannibal x male reader #gotta cover all the bases

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