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fortheloveofwonderland · 3 years

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Oh Baby! [Spencer Reid x fem! reader]

Send me a I wish you would write a fic where…

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From this Anon prompt - “you're drunk, you have sex, the only problem is that you hate each other, and you think you're pregnant so you have to deal with it (you're not, it's just late)”

Not me posting two fics in one day! I like to think of this as a prelude to Odd Socks which I posted earlier. Mild hints at smut, drinking and bad language. Enemies to lovers.

WC: 3.8k

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Spencer Reid was not your favorite person. He wasn’t even in your top twenty. Or fifty. Or even a hundred.

Working with him was a chore. He was constantly correcting you, always had to be right and you found it exhausting. After four years of working with him you’d all but reached the end of your tether.

You just tried to distance yourself from him the best you could which was easy in the field but not so easy when Penelope insisted everyone go out for drinks. Everyone. Including the anti-social Doctor Reid.

Even with copious amounts of wine in your system, he was no less annoying.

“Statistically speaking, one in five American’s-“

You cut him off when you started to make a high pitched squeaking noise. Spencer and the rest of the team turned to look at you with frowns on their faces.

“What was that?” Spencer asked in confusion.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you sipped your wine. “That’s just the sound my brain makes whenever you speak.”

You saw Spencer’s jaw clench the way it always did when you insulted him; it was his way of trying to bite his tongue and not rise to it.

But he’d also had a few glasses of wine and try as he might, he couldn’t hold back this time.

“It surprises me to know you have a brain.” He scoffed.

You growled at him, literally growled like a dog before you threw back your wine and got up from the table.

“I need another drink.” You spat before storming away.

You ordered a drink and were waiting to pay when he sidled up next to you.

“What’s the matter Y/N? You can dish it but can’t take it?” He was smirking at you and you wanted to slap that stupid look off of his face.

“Just leave me alone Reid.” You rolled your eyes. You didn't want to get into a fight with him, not here.

“I find it funny that I’m expected to just take the insults you throw my way but the second I bite back you go running.” He folded his arms, his expression telling you he found it anything but funny.

“I’m ducking smart.” You growled again. “I have a higher than average IQ but you are always belittling me and making me feel like the stupidest person in the goddamn room!”

“That’s what this is about?” He frowned a little, his arms falling back to his sides. “I’m not trying to belittle you Y/N. I’m trying to challenge you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I’ve never met anyone who can keep up with me. I’ve never met anyone who can give me a run for money. It’s nice having someone almost as smart as me around.” He smirked a little, accentuating the word almost.

“You were so close to saying something nice.” You scoffed, tossing a note on the bar before grabbing your drink and turning your back on him.

You started back to your table but he was quick to catch up with you and you felt his large hand on your shoulder.

“Does it always have to be like this?” He asked when you turned back to face him.

You contemplated this for a moment before you stepped out of his grasp.

“Yes.” You spat and then you continued back to the table.

***

You groaned loudly as you peeled your eyes open and the sunlight hit your retinas. Clearly in your state last night you’d forgotten to close the curtains.

You’d had more than your fair share of booze last night and your head was pounding. At least today was your day off. God you hoped you didn’t get called in on a case.

You wriggled yourself up against your pillows and ran your fingers through your tangled hair.

At around the same time you realised you were naked was almost the exact moment a small grumbled startled you.

You practically screamed, turning over to see the other body in what you assumed was your otherwise empty bed. He had his back to you, his head buried under the pillow.

You didn’t remember meeting anyone last night, let alone bringing someone home.

“What the fuck?” You raised your voice making your head throb.

The man grumbled again and when he spoke his voice was muffled under the pillow.

“Jeez Y/N keep it down, my head is pounding.”

You froze. You would know that voice anywhere. That voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you.

You grabbed the pillow and lifted it from his head. As expected you were met with messy, brown curls.

“Reid?” you yelled even louder than before. “What the fuck are you doing in my bed?”

“Please, keep your voice down.” his voice was low and croaky. He rolled onto his back and you could see his eyes were bloodshot, probably from all the alcohol. He was also shirtless too and you would be willing to bet he was wearing as many clothes as you were.

“What. Are. You. Doing. In. My. Bed.” you slowed down, pausing between each word.

Spencer sat up a little, ruffling his hair.

“Well I’m naked.” he croaked. “And I can only assume you are too, which would lead one to believe we had sex.” he spoke casually as though it wasn’t the most ludicrous thing in the world.

“No.” you shook your head. “No way. There is no way I would have sex with you.”

“The current situation begs to differ.” he smirked at you.

“Nuh uh. Nope. No way.” you shook your head again. “Absolutely not. There must be another explanation. You are the last person I would ever sleep with.”

“Well trust me, you did.”

“You remember?” you frowned.

“Eidetic memory.” he smirked again, looking proud of himself. “Even when drunk. We most certainly had sex and you most defintely enjoyed the mulitple orgasms I gave you.”

“No.” you shook your head again. “No, that didn’t happen.” you swung your legs out of the bed, making sure to keep the bed sheet wrapped around your naked body.

Your clothes were just out of reach. You would have to get up to reach them.

You looked back at Spencer over your shoulder and he was staring at you.

“I need to get up, don’t look.” you spat at him.

“I’ve seen it all already Y/N, it’s all up here.” he smirked once more, tapping his head with his index finger. “I’ve got it all memorised. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips. The small red wine coloured birthmark on your inner thigh. The way you smell. The way you taste. The way you screamed my-”

“Stop it!” you cut him off. “Stop it for christ sake.” you needed to distance yourself from him so despite knowing he was watching you, you stood up and keeping your back to him made a grab for your dress.

You pulled it over your head and covered yourself before turning back to him.

“Why are you just sitting there?”

“I was hoping you’d maybe have the decency to make me some coffee? After all I did for you last night.” he winked at you and you hated that it sent a twinge between your legs.

You had never seen this side of Reid, this confidence. You always assumed he was probably a virgin but you supposed it was always the quiet ones.

“Well you know hope leads to disappointment. Get up and get out of my apartment.” you wrapped your arms around yourself, as though protecting yourself from something.

“Now that’s just rude.”

“Reid, this was clearly a huge mistake. We were both extremely drunk otherwise there is no way we would have ended up in bed together. So let’s just agree to pretend this never happened and never speak of it again.”

Spencer chewed his lip looking as though he was contemplating this. Then he smirked again.

“Or,” he had a mischievous look in his eyes. “You can come back to bed and we can have a repeat of last night. Last night I made you come four times. I think I can beat that.”

You felt your cheeks burning with embarrassment and more worryingly, arousal. You hoped he didn’t notice what his words were doing to you.

You liked this confident side of him. There was something so hot about the way he was looking at you and talking to you. If this was how he had talked to you last night you were surprised you ended up here.

“Get out!” you forced yourself to say. The thought of getting back into bed with him was too tempting. But at least you could blame last night on the wine. If you got back into bed with him now you had no one to blame but yourself. And you knew he would hold it over you forever.

“If you insist.” he shrugged, slipping out from under the covers. He stood up and faced you, stark naked. He was hard and you had to force your eyes away from his erection up to the ceiling. He clearly noticed because he laughed.

“I don’t know why you’re fighting this.” he chuckled.

“Because you are an ass and I can’t stand you.”

“But I’m an ass who can show you a good time.”

“Good god Reid just please...please get out of my apartment.” It was taking every ounce of your strength to keep your eyes away from him. You knew if you looked back at him it would be game over. You would pounce on him and throw him back on the bed and he would win.

You kept your eyes fixed on the ceiling while he reluctantly dressed in last night clothes. Once he was fully clothed you finally allowed yourself to look back at him.

He looked so different from how you were used to seeing him. His shirt was wrinkled and he kept the top couple of buttons undone. His tie was slung open around his neck and he dangled his blazer from his finger. He almost looked normal.

“Are you sure you want me to leave?” he asked with another small smirk and you swore you were actually going to smack that look off his face in a minute.

“Very.” you folded your arms in defiance.

“Fine.” he shrugged. “See you tomorrow Y/N. Thanks for a great night.” he gave you another wink before he headed to the bedroom door.

You forced yourself to stay rooted to the spot and not go after him. You stayed put until you heard the apartment door open and close behind him.

Once you were sure he was gone, you fell back to the bed with a sigh.

What had you done? Why on earth would you sleep with Spencer Reid?

Little did you know, it was about to get a whole lot worse.

***

Three Weeks Later

“Nope. No. No way. Not possible.” you paced your apartment, muttering under your breath. “Nuh uh. Nope. Nada. Not a fucking chance.”

The knock on the door startled you, making you physically jump. You’d been expecting him, you’d invited him, but you’d been so wrapped up in your thoughts you’d momentarily forgotten.

You took a few deep breaths to try and calm your breathing before you made your way to the door.

You flung it open, he was standing on the other side looking a little frustrated that you had dragged him across town on your day off.

“Yes?” he scoffed.

You were regretting this immediately.

“Come in, come in.” you motioned Spencer hurriedly inside.

“If this is some kind of booty call Y/N, I am not interested.”

You closed the door behind him rolling your eyes.

Since your stupid drunken night spent together things had been even worse between the two of you. Spencer barely spoke to you anymore, not that you were really complaining but it was odd. He gave you the cold shoulder after you’d told him to forget all about the night you spent together.

What you didn’t realise was your words had hurt Spencer. He had been waiting four years to make a move on you but had always been too scared of the ultimate rejection. When you had come on to him that night he had been elated. It had been the best night of Spencer’s life and you’d just wanted to act like nothing had happened. It hurt, so he’d had to distance himself from you as much as possible.

“Booty call? You really think that’s what this is?” you frowned at him.

“No of course not, how could I be so stupid.” he rolled his eyes now. “God forbid you would want to sleep with me.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Just forget it.” he grumbled. “What did you drag all the way over here for?”

Oh yes, that.

You sighed loudly, feeling sick just thinking about the words you needed to utter.

“I...I uhm...fuck. We fucked up. We made a big fucking mistake.”

“Excuse me?” He spat. “First you tell me to forget anything happened but now you are telling me it was a complete mistake? Wow, that makes me feel fucking great thanks. You know what Y/N you-”

“Shut up!” you cut him off. “That’s not what I...not like that. We just...fuck this is fucked up.” you started pacing again.

“What the fuck are you talking about Y/N?” he grabbed your wrist to stop you pacing and pulled you to a stop to look at him. He saw tears behind your eyes. “What is this about?”

You had to just say it, blurt it out. Just like ripping off a bandaid.

“I t-think...I m-might be...I’m not sure...but I’m late and I’m n-never late…” a few tears escaped your eyes. “Fuck Spencer!” you sniffed, you had never called him by his first name before. “I think I might be pregnant.”

Spencer felt the air leave his lungs, as though your words had just punched him in the gut.

The words hung in the air between you like stale smoke in a bar. Time stood still. His head was spinning.

“P-pregnant.” he choked out. “With a b-baby.”

“Yes genius.” you dried your eyes on the back of your hand.

“And it’s m-mine?”

“Do you think I would be telling you this if it wasn’t?” you spat. “Fuck Reid, say something useful!”

“I don’t know w-what to say.” he swallowed hard, struggling to grasp at a coherent thought. “Are you s-sure?”

“No.” you shook your head. “I said I think I might be. I haven’t taken a test yet, it’s probably too early. But I was due five days ago and that is not normal for me. I am like clockwork.”

He could tell how much this clearly pained you to admit to him so he knew if you were telling him this you were pretty damn certain.

“Pregnant.” He repeated, still trying to wrap his head around it.

“What the fuck are we going to do Spencer?” You started sobbing then and Spencer couldn’t help but come to you and throw his arms around you.

You tried to resist at first but then you gave in and buried your head into his chest while you cried.

He ran his large hands up and down your back and placed soft kisses to your head. It was a very strange situation for the two of you.

“Y/N I am going to be here for you every step of the way.” He used his finger to guide your chin up so you were looking at him. “You and our baby will not be alone in this ok?”

You chewed your lip trying to sniff back your tears.

“You don’t have to. You don’t have to be involved.”

“I want to be.” He stroked your cheek. “The truth is Y/N, I’m crazy about you and I have been for a really long time. I want this. Us, this baby. I want it all.” He brushed away your tears and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Spencer Reid has feelings, who would have thought.” You teased him.

He laughed a little.

“You can say something nice every once in a while you know?”

“I hope our baby has your eyes.” You smiled softly at him. “And your smile.”

“I hope they have your everything.” He replied.

He bowed his head a little to meet you and he let his lips brush cautiously over yours as though testing the waters. When he went to pull away, you gripped the back of his neck and kept him close, your mouth opening and allowing his tongue access.

It felt right. It felt like you should have always been doing this. It felt like the stars and planets aligning.

But of course, it couldn’t last. You should have known better.

***

Over the next few weeks things changed dramatically between you and Spencer. It was amazing how this had brought the two of you together and seemingly washed away four years of contempt you held towards each other.

Despite the pregnancy the two of you decided to take things slow, you went on dates, held hands and had the occasional make out session but that was as far as it went, despite being desperate for each other.

This was the time to get to know each other, really get to know each other. You were going to be parents after all.

Or so you thought.

The day before you were going to take your first pregnancy test Spencer found you in the bathroom at Quantico, on the floor in tears.

You’d been away from your desk for a little while so he’d gone looking for you. He had never expected to find you like this.

He ran to your side and fell to the floor next to you, instinctively wrapping his arms around you.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You pushed him away.

“Don’t touch me.” You sobbed.

“I-I...what’s happened Y/N? Please talk to me.”

“What’s wrong?” You spat. “What’s wrong is that I just came on my period, that's what’s wrong!” You raised your voice.

“You...you’re not…” he croaked, unable to form a sentence.

“I’m not pregnant Reid.” He finished for him. Hearing you call him Reid again was weird and it didn’t sit right with him.

His own eyes welled with tears. He’d already gotten so used to the idea of having a child with you he felt his heart shatter in his chest.

“Oh.” He croaked. He had no idea what to say.

“Just go Reid.” You wiping your eyes on the sleeve of your blouse.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He sniffed.

“We don’t have to do this anymore. I’m not pregnant, I’m not having your baby. You’re free. You don’t have to pretend this was any more than what it was.”

“And what was it?” He chewed his lip with a frown.

“We were trying to force feelings that weren’t really there. We were just trying to pretend for the sake of the baby. But there is no baby. So we don’t need to bother anymore.”

Spencer’s frown deepened.

“Pretending?” he scoffed. “Y-you thought I was pretending?”

“We both were Reid and it’s ok. We just wanted to make it work because we thought we were having a child. But we aren’t so let’s just go back to normal and pretend nothing happened.”

“You expect me to pretend nothing happened?” he swallowed, his mouth feeling suddenly dry. “You want me to pretend I wasn’t excited at the thought of being a father? You want me to pretend I hadn’t started thinking of baby names and planning our future together? A future for the three of us. You think I can just pretend that baby or not that I’m not head over heels in love with you?” His words came tumbling out of his mouth so fast he barely had time to realise he was saying them before they were out.

He saw the moment you registered what he’d said. He saw your mouth fall open and your eyes widen. Understandable really, he’d just confessed his love to you in the bathroom of the BAU.

“I-I…” nope, there were no words, at least none that you could find anyway.

“It wasn’t supposed to come out like that.” He swallowed a lump in throat. “But uhm...now it’s out there I can’t very well take it back. I’m in love with you, I probably have been since the moment you walked through the door. I remember it like it was yesterday. Hotch introduced us and I knew when our eyes met you were the person I’d been searching for.” A few tears escaped his eyes.

“Y-you...me?”

“Yes you.” He laughed a little cupping your face and you let him wipe away your tears. “I’m sorry you aren’t pregnant, I’m really, really sorry, because it would be a privilege and an honour to father your child.”

“I-I had no idea you felt that way.”

“You’re a worse profiler than I thought you were in that case.” He teased.

“Oh if you're so good, tell me Doctor Reid, what am I thinking right now?” You gave him an unimpressed face.

“You’re thinking,” he moved one hand around to the base of your neck. “That I’m an ass and you’d be right. But you’re also thinking that you want me to kiss you.”

“Oh am I now?” You raised an eyebrow at him but you couldn’t help but glance down at his lips.

“Let’s see if I’m right.” He smirked and then he captured your lips with his own in a deep kiss. When you opened your mouth to allow his tongue access, he knew he was right.

When you pulled back both of your tears were all but gone.

“I guess I should say, I love you too by the way.” You told him with a shrug.

“Oh I know.” He shot you a smirk as he pushed himself up to his feet.

He held his hands out and you took them and he hoisted you to your feet.

“I don’t like cocky Spencer.” You grumbled.

“No, you love him.”

You nudged him playfully in the ribs. To your surprise he suddenly enveloped you in a tight embrace.

“I really am sorry you aren’t pregnant Y/N.” He kissed your head. “One day we’ll make one, I promise. But in the meantime,” he smirked to himself. “We sure can have a lot of fun practicing.”

————————————————————— Taglist -

All ships & genres -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl

@measure-in-pain

@ptrs-prkrs

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@takeyourleap-of-faith

SR all genres -

@boxofsparklingmuses

@frickin-bats

@reidandhisgourd

@ukai-hoe

@dreatine

@adoringanakin

@hsbavery

@amesandpineapples

@goldeng1rl8

@dr-spencerr-reidd

@90spumkin

@battinson

@sleepretreat

SR oneshots -

@seasonfivereid

@willowrose99

@multixfandomwriter

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n

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lxvebun · 3 years

Note

*slides you a 20* Miss bun president of the soft!dabihawks simps, can we get a protective!dabi/hawks hcs ty you

Also can i be 🌟 anon

Protective! Dabi & Hawks x so

*eats the 20* yes you can

Also welcome dear 🌟anon

We love our protective boys

english is not my first language so im sorry for any mistakes<33

Cw: talk about hurting/killing people, curse words,mild insecurities ig, angsty thoughts but nothing in too much detail, dabi calls you doll, hawks calls you dove

Read my DNI before interacting

Dabi

Protectiveness scale 10/10

You are the love of his life, he can't let you get hurt

Mentally physically emotionally doesn't matter

Someone looks at you the wrong way? well the only reasonable solution is to claw their eyes out

Someone says anything rude? Ahaha may god have mercy on them cause Dabi wont

Ever come home slightly off

He will notice and he is ready to kill the reason for your sadness.

"Hey doll how wa- what the fuck happend ??who do i have to kill?? i need a name. Are you okay? are you hurt ? I swear when I find them I-"

" relax im okay noone hurt me just bad day with bad thoughts"

"Why didn't you call me I could have been home sooner :("

Didn't want to bother you, it's not like you can fight my thoughts XD

Challenge accepted

"Im making an appointment with the eye doctors for you" (it that what you call them idk lol)

What why ?"

"Cause for some reason you cannot see how incredibly beautiful and amazing you are. Idk doll maybe need a check up"

*laughs* omg stop jesus"

"Hey made you smile :D"

Will leave a shit ton of notes all around your house telling you how amazing you are.

Probably sticks them on you as well

Randomly texts you throughout the day when he's not with you

"Doll" send 3:45

"Hey dabi everything okay?" Send 3:57

"Hi, yes this is your daily reminder that you are incredibly talented and beautiful and im so fucking in love with you it's probably ruining my reputation of edgy asshole but idc. I will do anything for you to make sure you are safe. are you okay? Are you out or at home text 1 if you got the message text 2 if I have to yell at your brain to stop lying, text 3 if you want unsubscribe" send 4:03

Omg 3 lol" send 4:05

"That was a JOKE you cannot unsubscribe from my love. See you soon doll :)" send 4:05

If the thoughts are more about possible situations hell just shut them off

"Im just worried that some day you will not make it back home :(

"I will always come back to you doll, what you really think some fake ass heroes are going to stop me lmao?? You never have to worry about that okay? now get in my lap we are going to cuddle"

":,)"

Can't battle your thoughts my ass

He will try

And he will succeed

Will do anything he can to make sure you are safe happy and loved.

Hawks

Protectiveness scale 9/10

He knows you can protect yourself

Does not mean you have to

While patrolling he will check up on you

Sometimes he will just come into your house

Have one of his feathers scan the house real quick to locate you

Give you a kiss and fucks off again lol

Always double checks your door to make sure its locked

Same with the windows

But you open them up again because sometimes dumbass forgets they are closed and just crashes against it

You can make a pillow from all the feathers he leaves around

"Baby i already have one ?"

" i know but here *shoves a bunch in your hands* take these too just to be sure."

"Will have you on videocall when patrolling

You can enjoy the view

He can stop worrying about you for a sec.

Blows up your phone with hundreds of text messages and is not embarrased by it at all

Mans also expects you to message him back within 0.001 seconds

Will get extremely worried if you don't

So don't you dare take a nap without telling him

He will have an actual breakdown lol

If you're out he'll just fly along with you

"Dont you need to work?

"Wdym i am working gotta make sure my dov- i mean you as a civillian are alright :D"

Anyone is stupid enough to try something

He'll fly down and "accidentally" hit them with his wings multiple times

And then flies off with you in his arms

He will do anything he can to make sure you are happy and safe

For some reason i struggled a lot with hawks? So it may be actual shit but i tried also i really cant tell if this is good or not 😀

Read my DNI before interacting

#dabi fluff #dabi headcanons #dabi imagine #dabi x you #bnha fluff #dabi x gender neutral reader #dabi x reader #hawks headcanons #hawks x you #hawks fluff #hawks imagine #hawks x reader #keigo takami imagine #keigo takami x reader

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teddy06writes · 3 years

Note

could we have more sapnap x karl x quackity x reader maybe about how reader joins, or how the relationship is revealed, or angst, also is there a reason that anon asks are turned off? i mean it might just be me also cause i cant switch to anon, ik that hairbrush anon loves this blog and wants to request but they cant cause anon is turned off, (i know hairbrush anon irl so thats how ik this for some background context) sorry if this is rude

anon: “ Your karlnapity fanfics are sooooo good. I was wondering if you could make another one, it could be about literally anything and I’ll read it. Keep up the great work! “

sapnap x karl x quackity x reader

trigger warnings: swearing, mentions of panic attacks

premise: how you joined the Karlnapity poly cue

{also the anon thing was fixed once I got this ask}

“belp” talking

‘blep’ texting

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

You didn’t meet them intentionally, far from, actually, you had only met Alex, the first of the boys you’d met, by pure chance.

Well, pure chance, and an asshole who didn’t look where he was going outside A hall.

You had just emerged from your first class of the year, a debate class, with maybe 50 students total, and were immediately slammed into by some jerk who didn’t even stop at first.

You had fallen into someone, who after making sure you were stood up right began to cuss the guy out in Spanish.

“You got something to say to me, dick?” The guy had asked as he turned around.

“Yeah bitch! Why the hell did you push them?”

If you thought this dudes 5′ 9′’ ass wasn’t gonna square up to a huge football player you’d’ve been wrong.

“They were the one who didn’t fucking move, so don’t fucking start with me!”

“Bro you literally slammed into them! You could’ve fucking moved man!” He shoved the guys shoulder, “You didn’t have to take the asshole route, yet we’re still here.”

“Listen Dick, I don’t give a shit, they were in the fucking way.”

“Man your really looking for a fucking fight are you?” He shrugged off his back pack and let it drop to the ground.

The guys laughed, pushing up his sleeves, “I could take your scrawny ass any day, chicca.”

Before he had a chance to blink a fist had been launched toward his face, catching him right in the jaw.

He stumbled back, looking almost as surprised as the guy you’d tripped into, who was looking down at his own fist, clearly in pain.

“Oh you little bitch!” The jock growled, moving to punch him back.

Quickly you scooped up his bag, shoving it into his arms, “We gotta go!!” You shoved the guy, grabbing your saviors hand and tugging him along as you started to run.

As you dodged around campus, trying to lose the yell of the jock behind you the guy who you’d dragged with, offered, “I’m Alex.”

“(y/n),” You slowed to a stop, “I think we lost him.”

Alex nodded, wincing as he examined his knuckles.

You took his hand, checking over it carefully, “It’ll bruise hard, you might not have full dexterity for a while. That’s what you get for punching someone without preparing,” You chuckled, glancing around, “My dorm’s not more than five minutes away, if you don’t have another class to get too, we can go get you some ice.”

“That’d be good.” He winced.

After taking him back to your dorm and getting his hand iced, he disappeared, saying he was late to meet someone, and you rarely saw him again except for your debate class, where you hardly spoke.

~~ You’d met Nick not too long after, though this time, pure chance was more purely your friend George catching you sneaking out of a party you didn’t want to be at.

“Seriously (y/n)? It’s barley even been an hour!” The brit yelled.

“It’s way too loud in there,” You hissed, motioning to the frat house, “I can’t hardly think, let alone stand it.”

“George! Get back in here! Clay challenged someone to a drinking contest and it about to start!” Someone yelled from the house.

“Yeah, in a second Sapnap!” He called before turning back to you, “Stay a little while longer?”

“I don’t want to be here.” You growled, but he was already dragging you back towards the house, saying:

“Come on, it’ll be entertaining if he wins and if not, well, it’ll still be pretty funny.”

Sighing, you allowed yourself to be pulled back inside, following George through to where Clay stood across a counter from a curly dark haired man, and Niki, a woman you’d met a few weeks prior, quietly pouring shots.

“Now the only reason I’m letting you do this Wil, is cause I know you won’t be able to do more than three.” She muttered, sliding the shots between them.

George laughed, “This is gonna be great!”

You sighed, moving to stand back against one of the walls, next to a dirty blonde man, who said, “You don’t look to happy to be here.”

“Not a fan of the noise.” You muttered, rubbing at your forehead.

He nodded, “Makes sense, one of my boyfriends doesn’t like the noise either. I’m Nick.”

“Didn’t George just call you Sapnap? What is with people around here and having weird nicknames?” You shook your head with another sigh, “I’m (y/n).”

“I dunno. Half the people I know at this school have weird nicknames,” He began to point at various people around the room, “Dream, Fundy, Skeppy, Hbomb, Quackity’s around here somewhere. Hell I even know someone who calls himself ‘Technoblade’.”

“Sounds like a prick.” You chuckled.

Nick nodded, “Oh he is.”

You continued to talk for a while, watching as Wilbur tried to out drink Clay, and failing miserably not to laugh when he nearly fell down, totally wasted.

“Hey, uh I think we should head out. I feel bad leaving Kar...” Alex trailed off as he realized you were standing with Nick, “Hey, your uh, (y/n) right?”

“Yeah, Alex, you almost busted your knuckles trying to fight McAllen outside debate with Fenner.” You chuckled.

Nick turned to Alex, “You what?!”

“uhh...” he stuttered nervously.

“You told Karl you fell!”

“In my defense he pushed- no not even- he slammed into (y/n)!” Alex said desperately.

“He did, Alex was just defending me,” Alex grinned at your addition, “But...” his face fell, “This one also is essentially just an angry chihuahua.”

“Dude!”

Nick chuckled, “Their right. You are an angry chihuahua.”

Alex rolled his eyes, glancing at his phone, “We should go, Karl’s texting me angry emojis.”

Nick nodded, “It was nice to meet you (y/n).”

“You too.” You smiled, and then they were gone again.

You didn’t meet Karl for almost a month after that, only encountering the man in the colorful sweater when you had been left sitting alone in the dining hall, after a late night study session.

Niki had left a few minutes earlier, but it was long enough that he’d assumed you’d been sitting alone.

“Oh hey, sorry I’m late!” He had called, just a hair too loud.

You blinked up at the mousy haired boy, confused for a moment, before motioning for him to sit down, “It’s okay.”

The few people still left in the hall barley paid attention, so you stifled a laugh, “I wasn’t waiting for someone, my friend just left actually.”

His face got red, “Oh, I- sorry- I’ll just leave then.”

He started to stand up but you held out a hand, “No- uh- you, can stay. I don’t mind.”

He grinned, “I’m Karl! Karl Jacobs!”

“I’m (y/n). Thank you for trying to save me from mild embarrassment.”

“It was nothin, just don’t think people should have to be alone.”

You giggled, “Knight in shining armor.”

That made Karl grin even more, giggling a bit as he asked, “Whatcha working on?”

“Oh, Niki and I were just studying for finals, it may be a few weeks away but I want to be ready.” You chuckled.

“Man, I’m glad I’m only taking one class this semester.”

“Lucky.” You sighed, tucking the last of your papers into folders and stowing them away in your bag, “No late night cram sessions for you then.”

“Nah, my boyfriends’ll rope me into helping them study.”

“Thats the price you pay.” You chuckled.

He nodded solemnly, “A price I am very willing to pay.”

“They sound like lucky guys.” You smiled wistfully, quietly wondering why all the cute guys you’d been meeting were dating, either other people, or each other.

Karl not noticing the almost bitterness in your voice chirped, “Yup!”

“Come on! They’d love you!” Karl exclaimed.

You’d been becoming friends with Karl over the last few months, and now he was begging you to go and meet his partners.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah!” Karl was practically bouncing up and down, “Your like the best! I want my boys to meet you!”

You groaned, letting your head fall into your hands, “Fine.”

“Yay!” Karl giggled, tugging at your wrist, “Come on!”

You looked up from the table at him. “Right now?”

“Yeah, I was suppose to be meeting them at the library.”

Sighing you stood up, “I hate this.”

He smiled sympathetically, “Sorry.”

You slipped your bag over your shoulder, and followed him out of the dining hall towards the library, trying to ignore the stupid feeling in your stomach at his hand in yours.

Upon reaching the library Karl excitedly dragged you over to a table in the corner where your stomach dropped upon seeing who was sitting there.

“(y/n)?” Alex asked.

You chuckled, “Snapmap and Chihuahua boy, I didn’t realize this Karl was your Karl.”

Karl looked confused, looking back and forth between you and his boyfriends, “You guys know each other?”

“That one talked to me at a party when my friends all but ditched me,” You pointed at Nick, and then too Alex, “That one tried to fight someone who bumped into me.”

“Thats- you know what, I’m not gonna ask.” Karl said, plopping down next to Alex.

You sat down on the opposite side of the table next to Nick, “Karl you text in angry emojis?”

Over the next few weeks Karl continued to drag you along to various study sessions, movie nights and other things you assumed would normally just be the three of them, making you confused heart even more confused.

It was strange that they willingly let you intrude on there dates, and any time you tried to bring it up with Karl he’d just brush it off, and if you mentioned it to Nick or Alex, they’d say something about how they were good with it cause Karl was.

And then one night, you were all piled up on the fire escape of the boys apartment building, Alex had just gotten back from a seminar, and was half curled on Nick’s lap, legs stretch across Karl, who was also leaning against Nick.

You quietly hummed a song you heard Wilbur playing, freezing as Karl tugged on your hand, pulling you closer to lean on him, Nick’s arm stretching just a bit farther to wrap around your waist as well, almost cementing you into the moment.

“I like this.” Karl murmured.

Alex nodded sleepily, and Nick looked at your over Karl’s head, “(y/n), uh- I guess we’ve been meaning to- uh- to ask-”

“He means, do- do you want to join this relationship?” Alex asked, cutting him off.

You blinked, surprised, and Karl quickly started talking in your silence, “You don’t have too, we just figured, you know, we, really like, you and- it- we think you like us-”

Cutting him off, you grabbed the sides of his face, quickly pressing your lips to his, and then pulling away, you leaned over to kiss Nick, and then Alex.

“I knew there was a reason you kept letting me in on your dates!”

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #sapnap x reader #karl jacobs x reader #quackity x reader #sapnap x karl x quackity x reader #karlnapity #karlnapity x reader #teddy06 writes

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thewayshedreamed · 3 years

Note

Congrats on the 800 followers bby you deserve it! I have a good one for you. I slipped and fell in the shower and the only person who can help me is my enemy for nessian 👀👀👀

Well, Sim, it was you who BLEW my word count. I should have seen it coming, I guess 👀

Although, I will say you didn't do it alone. I also combined @maastrash 's prompt "Are you hurt? What happened?" and one from anon, "You're cute when you're all worried."

They all went together so well that I couldn't resist. And as a result, you got this 3k+ beast. RIP 800-word limit.

Anyway, I hope you like it, my love! Enjoy!

Nesta wasn't sure why she had agreed to go to the beach with Feyre, Rhysand, and his brothers. Gwyn had come through in her time of need and agreed to join them, but she'd quickly flipped her allegiances to spend more time on the beach with the others instead of retreating back to the house with Nesta. She had a suspicion it had something to do with a certain tall, dark, and broody man who hoarded his smiles from the public eye.

Unless the public eye belonged to Gwyneth Berdara.

After the long trek to their rented beach house, Nesta stopped at the edge of the dock to knock the sand from her shoes. There was a small shower outside the backdoor to rinse the saltwater and stubborn sand from her body, and Nesta hissed against the stark cold that rained down on her legs. A proper shower was the only thing that was going to combat the chill in her blood, and that realization was enough to solidify her decision to stay inside the rest of the afternoon with a romance novel.

Her towel was full of sand, so she hanged it over the porch railing and headed directly to the bathroom. It was best if she peeled her bikini off in the shower to avoid scattering any lingering sand all over her bedroom, so she moved swiftly into the small bathroom and cranked the water nearly to the warmest setting. The firm grip of her arms around her body did very little to combat the goosebumps on her skin, and she let out a near moan at the feel of the hot water.

She closed the shower door behind her and stood beneath the spray properly to rinse her hair. Her bikini made a loud slopping sound against the tile in the corner. Dealing with it was a task for someone with any motivation beyond warmth and cleanliness.

Nesta lathered her hair and combed a generous amount of conditioner through her strands to help with the detangling process. The wind had created a monster, adding another notch against the beach in her book.

While her conditioner did the Cauldron's work, she grabbed a wash cloth and body wash. As she moved back beneath the spray, her foot slipped over the suds near the drain, but Nesta righted herself with a firm hand against the tile wall. The excessive amount of conditioner wasn't helping matters.

She rinsed her hair and body all at once to get to her lounge clothes as soon as possible. Stepping out of the spray to hang her washcloth on the nearby rack to dry was near torture now that she was properly warmed, and Nesta wasted no time in stepping back into the water for one last hit before shutting it off.

That was her intention, anyway. What happened instead is that her traitorous feet were no match for the slick tile, and the backward steps were all it took to send her careening to the floor. She slapped at the wall to no avail, finding no ally in reach. What she did find was insult to injury when various toiletry bottles rained down on top of her.

She had stupidly tried to brace her fall with her other hand, sending a spark of pain from her palm to her shoulder. Her groan echoed off the walls and the shower showed no mercy as the water rained onto her chest, all over her face.

A booming voice made her eyes snap open, only to snap them shut against the sting of the water.

"Nes?"

Her delay had been too long. The bathroom door burst open, and through the frosted glass, she saw Cassian's imposing form assessing the situation.

"Nesta? Are you hurt? What happened?"

This could not be happening. Of all the fuckers to be in the house at one of her lowest points, it had to be Cassian. Gwyn would be hearing about this.

"Go away."

She cringed against how dejected she sounded. Turning her head and shielding her eyes with her uninjured arm, she found that he did no such thing.

"Cassian," she warned. "Get the fuck out of here. Now."

He propped a hip on the bathroom counter. Arrogant bastard. At least, from what she could tell, his chin was turned up toward the ceiling rather than his gaze being fixed on the frosted glass.

"Something tells me things aren't going well if you've yet to peel yourself off the floor."

Nesta rolled her eyes and turned her face toward the water once more. Maybe she could drown.

"Let me help."

"I thought I was pretty clear. I'm not accepting help from you."

A deep sigh sounded in the bathroom, but before she could snap, his rough voice followed.

"Fine. Don't accept my help. Rhys came with me to grab snacks for the others. I'll have him switch with me."

"No," she roared, cringing against the command in her voice and her lack of options.

Every time she tried to sit up, pain tore through various parts of her body. Her ass, the hip that had taken most of the impact, her shoulder. She needed help, and while she hated the idea of accepting it from Cassian, she would rot in hell before Rhysand helped her out of the shower. How had she found herself in a situation where her only chance at help was the man who spent the majority of his life being as big of a pain in her ass as possible?

His voice sounded again, but it carried away from her. "Rhys, head back without me." His brother's voice came next, but Nesta couldn't hear him over the patter of water in the shower. "Nah, I'm good. Just taking a break from the sun. I'll catch up."

With that, he shut the bathroom door behind him. At least Cassian had the good sense to lie to Rhys rather than recruit any additional attention to her compromising position.

"Alright, Sweetheart. I've got a towel ready. I'm going to open up and shut the water off."

Nesta's breath hitched at the rush of cool air, at the form that cast her in shadow almost entirely. She pulled her legs up and shielded her chest with her good arm, earning a throaty chuckle from her savior.

"I'm not looking. I'd rather when a woman wants me to see them naked."

Why her need to launch jabs at him overpowered her pain was lost on her. "Must have been a while, then."

"Saw a good set out on the beach, actually. She was feeling pretty generous after watching me and Az play volleyball, I guess."

Nesta scowled. That tingling sensation down her spine didn't feel secondary to her injuries at hearing the story.

"You're a pig," she grumbled, but she let Cassian drape the towel over her front and ease her into a sitting position.

"It felt rude not to look."

Her huff of a laugh was genuine. Damn him. He moved to wrap the towel tightly around her shoulders.

"Think you can stand up?"

Nesta grimaced against the soreness in her hip. "Yeah. In a couple of minutes."

Without a word, Cassian hoisted her into his arms with measured gentleness. Her cheek rested against his shoulder since she didn't have her arms free to prop her up, but she barely had the energy anyway.

He maneuvered them out of the tight bathroom and down the hall to her room, easing her onto the edge of her bed. She opened her mouth to say thanks, but he had already spurred into action.

"What did you want to wear?"

"I'll get it."

He shot her a glare. "Fine. I'll pick."

Nesta growled her frustration, but Cassian only ticked his eyebrows upward in challenge. She hadn't realized initially that he wore only his swim trunks, half of his black hair pulled back and out of his face. The sun added color to his already bronze skin and left a soft blush on his cheeks that accented his hazel eyes. And she, to the contrary, was a lump beneath a massive towel. One that had managed to injure herself during a simple shower, evidenced by the soaked strands of hair plastered to her face and shoulders.

"There's a large night shirt in my suitcase and some sleep shorts."

Cassian grabbed them before turning toward her, a hand gripping the back of his neck. "Anything... underneath?"

Nesta allowed a sardonic laugh. "Underwear are for people with the use of both their arms."

He cleared his throat and left the clothes next to her on the bed. With a final instruction to call for him if she needed anything, he was gone.

She assessed the clothing and picked the shirt up first. One of her arms was through a sleeve in no time, but the second one was another story entirely. With a defeated whimper she gave up, dropping her arms into her lap with a hiss.

"Cassian!"

No response. Maybe he didn't hear her; the house was rather large. Her voice was louder the second time.

"Cassian!"

A muffled thud sounded, followed by a quick, "Coming!"

He appeared at the threshold of her door, dripping with water and suds. A large towel was wrapped around his waist, his grip white-knuckled to keep it in place.

"Everything alright? Where's the fire?"

Nesta blinked at him. "You said to call you if I needed anything," she pointed out, running her eyes over his state in accusation.

Cassian let out a long, suffering sigh. "I meant it, but you said you had this part covered. I take a 3-minute shower, tops."

"Well, I don't have it covered."

There was more bite to her voice than she'd intended, but self-pity and shame were settling into her bones. She hugged the nightshirt tighter against her body to serve as some form of armor, but it wasn't nearly enough.

Cassian's shoulders sagged, but she barely noticed in favor of watching beads of water travel down his torso, over his strong calves, and make a small puddle on the floor below. "I'm sorry. I was full of sweat and sand. I thought you'd be more likely to take help if I was clean."

Something in her chest softened at his forethought, even more so since he was right.

"Go finish your shower," she relented, settling her hips deeper into the mattress. "I can wait until you're done. I just— I need some help with my clothes."

He was on the balls of his feet, ready to haul himself straight to the shower. The water beneath his feet made her breath hitch. The words left her before she could think better of them.

"Careful! Don't rush." He blinked as if seeing her for the first time, but his usual cocky grin eventually stretched across lips. "I can't help you if you fall, too. And I'm not keeping you company on the ground until the rest of them come back."

Cassian's smile grew. He offered her a wink before he replied, "You're cute when you're all worried."

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Go."

He hurried off on balanced feet, whether that was on Nesta's orders or a natural grace, she wasn't sure. While she waited, she opted to set them up as best as possible to make the process quick and painless. Well, minimally painful, considering there was a layer of awkwardness that was going nowhere fast. That was without counting the actual physical pain she would no doubt endure.

With a pathetic swatting motion, she knocked her sleep shorts to the floor and began shuffling them around with her feet. She'd managed to slip one into the proper leg hole before she heard Cassian's rich laugh from the doorway.

"Stubborn woman," he mused, seemingly allowing a sliver of affection to slip through. Nesta knew better.

She scowled, turning her chin up to make sure he knew how unwelcome his teasing was. He laughed harder and dropped to his knees in front of her, adjusting the tee he’d pulled over his head on his way into the room.

"What do you want to put on first? You're half-committed to both."

"Let's go with the shirt. It's long enough to cover me while we work on the shorts." Cassian nodded, reaching toward the crumpled article of clothing in her lap. Nesta jerked back to establish some expectations before moving forward. "You're about to see me naked."

"Yeah, probably," he sighed, as if it was a burden to him, too. "I won't look more than necessary though."

"Okay, good. And this doesn't change anything, so don't start acting weird around me. We take this to the grave, too. We'll never hear the end of it otherwise."

Cassian bit the inside of his cheek, pursing his lips in a failed attempt to hide his amusement. "You have my word."

He gently peeled the shirt from her grasp, sliding each sleeve beyond the crooks of her elbows before pulling the opening over her head. Nesta hissed at the pinch of pain through her shoulder but bit her tongue.

"I know. I'm sorry." He pulled the fabric down her sides and over her back. The backs of his knuckles dragged across her soft skin, and she barely contained her shiver.

Clearing his throat, he looked to the floor where her shorts were still tangled around her feet. He got to work on straightening them and allowed her to slip her other foot into the proper place. He didn't dare look up at her through his next request.

"Think you could put your weight on the leg that's not as sore?"

Nesta swallowed and said, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Use my shoulders to brace your weight, too.”

Her hands trembled as she reached for him. He was solid beneath her, the muscles in his shoulders unyielding under her grip. She had to resist flexing her fingers more firmly in a test of their resilience.

Cassian eased her shorts upward, the roughness of his knuckles tracing the same blazing path as they had over her back. His gaze was fixed resolutely on the floor, yet he managed to release them at the proper moment. The soft pop of the elastic snapped her out of whatever trance she was under, but the echo remained in the feel of his warm hands easing her hips back down to the mattress.

"Maybe we should have someone take a look at you; make sure you're okay." His brows came together when he realized she was already shaking her head in refusal.

"I'll rest a bit, and I'll be fine. I may be sore tomorrow, but I'm good."

Without a word, Cassian braced one of his legs outward and scooped Nesta into his arms. It grated her nerves how easily he'd lifted them both into a standing position.

"What are you doing? You can't make me go to the doctor."

Cassian leaned back and shook his head, trying to get his rogue hair out of his face. "I'm not manhandling you to the doctor, Nes. Settle down." His bottom lip jutted out to try and blow the strands away while he walked. "I'm taking you to the couch and getting you ice."

Oh. Well, that hadn't been what she expected. The gesture was enough to have her mindlessly raise a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. His eyes snapped to hers, his steps slowing to a stop in front of the couch. Their faces were close enough that she could run her nose along his if she wanted to, but she definitely didn't. Not even at the feel of his firm chest heaving against her.

They stayed that way, transfixed by the contact that was somehow more intimate than when he had draped clothes over her naked body. Their breathing settled into a rhythm together, and Nesta couldn't resist tracing the path of his sharp jaw. His slight stubble scraped against the pads of her fingers, all the way to his chin, where she grazed over his skin with her thumb. She snatched her hand away like he'd burned her.

Cassian's throat bobbed, and his fingers flexed against her ribs. His other hand did the same against her thigh, except his thumb traced a soft, idle path back and forth along the sensitive skin at the back. He made no moves to put her down.

Nesta knew she would regret the loss of his warmth immediately, but the line they flirted was thin. Not to mention, it was irresponsible to succumb to such a base urge considering, any other time, they would be poised to rip each others' heads off.

The shrieks of children at the neighboring beach house snapped their attention to something beyond the bubble they'd created for themselves. Cassian eased her to the couch and positioned pillows around her to keep as much pressure off of her aching joints as possible. He threw a blanket over her legs before heading to the nearby kitchen for ice.

Nesta watched his retreat with shameless appreciation. How had she never stopped to look at him through her current lens? Doing so may have been enough to make her more agreeable in nature. The thought made worry sink in her gut with what had transpired moments before, and she craved the oddly familiar banter they'd engaged in since he showed up to the scene of her demise.

"So," she called, eyes fixed on the intricately patterned throw pillow beneath her injured arm, "how much did you see?"

His voice was closer than she'd expected, but she managed not to startle. "Uh— I mean. I saw some things."

Nesta fixed her glare on him, and he gave her a sideways smile while he placed the ice strategically over her shoulder. She hissed against the cold, earning a look of apology.

"What things?"

He let out along breath. "A bit of everything, really. Not on purpose. " A slight blush turned the tips of his ears pink, but Nesta didn't comment on it. "Mostly, you know—" He gestured back and forth between his pecs. "—everything else was more... indirect, I guess."

Nesta groaned, allowing her forehead to fall to her good hand, cradling it in her palm. Cassian moved to the nearby armchair and took a sip of his bottled water.

"Don't be embarrassed, Sweetheart," he soothed, albeit mockingly. "They're not the worst ones I've seen today."

—

They had watched a movie in loaded silence until the others trudged up to the house near sunset. Nesta gave the cliff notes of how she'd wound up injured on the couch, making no mention of Cassian's help. The last thing they needed was an onslaught of questions from their nosy friends.

"I thought you were coming back out there. What happened to you?"

Cassian's brows drew together at Rhys' question. "Well, I saw Nesta laid up on the couch and offered to watch a movie with her. I lost track of time."

Rhysand eyed him skeptically, but no one questioned it. Cassian redirected everyone's attention to the matter of what they would cook as a group that night, but he was sure to give Nesta strict orders to stay planted on the couch. Overbearing prick.

With so many hands on deck, dinner was ready quickly. They all settled around the table, and Gwyn had made it a point to cushion Nesta's chair with pillows before letting her sit down. Her best friend must have sensed the verbal lashing that awaited her in the privacy of their shared room that night.

Laughter filled the space while they told stories from the day's events. Apparently, Azriel had rescued Gwyn from a feared creature of the deep while taking a dip in the water. He had hardly been able to stop laughing himself to tears long enough to complete the epic tale of how he defeated the bundle of seaweed that had threatened Gwyn's life so mercilessly. The latter hadn't found it quite so amusing, but Az offered her a broad smile in apology.

Nesta wasn't sure she had ever seen one quite so wide on his face, and holy gods. If she'd thought him to be beautiful before, she had been sorely mistaken.

As they usually did, Rhysand and Feyre settled close to each other as the other talked. Rhys was busy murmuring things into Feyre's ear that made her cheeks as red as Gwyn's sunburn, which earned a proper warning from Cassian to "stop being gross with his little sister". Nesta agreed with him enough to refrain from reminding him that he was in no way related to Feyre.

"Don't mind him, Darling," Rhys purred. "He's pouting because the only action he'll see during this trip will be self-directed."

Cassian nostrils flared in annoyance, and for whatever reason, Nesta found herself rising to his defense.

"I don't know," she sang, "I hear Cassian saw a pretty good set today."

A chorus of questions broke out, but he only had eyes for Nesta. The gleam in his eyes told her he knew she hadn't been referring to the ones flashed to him and Azriel after the beach volleyball game.

"I did," he agreed, sipping some of the amber liquid in his glass. "Perfect, actually."

The questions continued, and Azriel reluctantly began recounting the tale of he and Cassian's victory flashing. Nesta used her good arm to raise her wine to her lips, mouthing a subtle thank you over the glass for everything he'd done for her. The least she could do was preserve a bit of his dignity.

Cassian lifted his class in mock cheers and said everything he needed to with a single wink.

The pleasure was all mine.

#nessian #nessian au #acotar au #cassian x nesta #nessian hurt comfort #nessian tension #enemies prompt #800 followers celebration #twsd writes #twsd fics #perseusannabeth #sim tag

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

Chick Flick Before Dick

A/N: Sooo I know I’ve written tons of fics featuring reader worshiping Jax’s dick – and I do plan to continue – but we also know he’s all about the service 😜 Based on the below requests, here’s a fic about the wicked magic Mr. Teller can work over you, with those talented fingers and tongue of his...

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, teasing, edging (fingering + oral, fem receiving), semi-public setting (movie theater but no one else is there) Requests: 3 separate anon requests – 1 | 2 | 3

Word Count: ~2.9k

“You say that shit to me one more time, bitch—I swear you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

Oh, you don’t doubt it... Jax Teller has become more possessive than ever, since he claimed you as his wife. But today you have taken a stand, sticking to what you’ve planned; you’re not about to let him use some idle threat to get you out of it.

It never fails to make you smile, how your husband whines and grumbles like a child, when you turn down his cock to hang out with your friends every once in a while.

Jax respects you too much to seriously hold it against you, and yet it’s no secret just how much he hates it when you ditch his dick to spend time with your girl crew. Leaving him high and dry, so horny he could die... alone with thoughts of all the dirty shit the two of you both love to do...

You tease your man about it for a minute, just for kicks. “Say what—‘chicks before dicks’...?”

He cringes and sticks out his tongue, as if hearing that phrase makes him physically sick. “Yeah, I mean, it’s just wrong. It’s insulting. Disgusting. The reigning queen of Charming shouldn’t say that to her king.”

“The queen says whatever she wants.”

“She better remember the king owns her cunt.”

“Well, now that’s what the king likes to think...” you taunt, though it’s a struggle to stay strong when his tone gets all dark and dominant.

Your husband knows just what you want. “Bitch, I know what you’re doing. You’re pissing me off on purpose ‘cause you’re desperate for some kind of punishment.”

You pretend to be appalled, although you really are aching for him to slam you up against the goddamn wall. “Behave, my king! Your lady would never do such a thing...”

“Cut the shit and run off to your ladies-in-waiting,” Jax says as he opens the car door for you to get in. Chivalry isn’t dead, though he’s less of a gentleman when you’re in bed. “Tomorrow you’ll spend the whole day as my personal plaything.”

Well, okay—fuck if that didn’t get you soaking wet. And yet tomorrow is a special day; your man has never missed special occasions ever since you started dating. “But did you forget—”

“That it’s our anniversary tomorrow? God, no,” he insists with a kiss on your forehead, amused that you thought he forgot. “Of course I didn’t, darlin’... but I said what I said. About you being my little plaything. Anniversary or not, won’t change a thing.”

***************

It’s eleven-thirty on the morning of your anniversary... and your husband hasn’t even fucked you once yet. After finishing your second cup of coffee you’re still thirsty. Jax had cooked you a whole feast of chocolate chip pancakes and maple-glazed bacon and your favorite style of eggs, but until you have sex, you won’t feel fully fed.

“But I thought we were spending the whole day in bed...” you protest, as he drags your ass out of the house after breakfast.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” he huffs, promptly plopping you onto the back of his Harley and then speeding off. “Just ‘cause you’re spending the day as my slut, doesn’t mean we’ll be cooped up all day. Plenty of other places to play.”

Oh, boy. Just what he means to say... you’re not sure. Jax has fucked you in public before, but you don’t want the whole town of Charming to see him use you as his personal toy. His filthy little whore. What does he have in store...?

You don’t bother to ask where you’re going; you know him well, know he won’t tell. He loves feeling you squirm against him from behind as you agonize over not knowing. It’s literal hell.

And then, suddenly yet smoothly... his bike redirects and pulls up at the last place you’d ever expect: the movies.

What the hell? This early in the day? You can’t even remember when you and Jax last saw a movie together, out in theaters, and most certainly never a matinée. What kind of game is he trying to play...?

Scratch that—you definitely do remember the last time Jax Teller took you to the movies, at this same exact theater. Years ago on the day you first met. Day you’ll never forget. The first day of your last year in high school... that fall when you’d just moved to Charming, the new girl on campus that morning, fumbling through the halls like a fool... then you laid eyes on this guy who captured your heart without warning and had you drowning in a puddle of drool.

Needless to say, you played hooky on your very first day at Redwood Hills High. ‘Cause when Jax Fucking Teller offered you a ride on his bike... that was not something you were about to deny. Powerless to resist cutting class when he already owned your ass in every way. You were psyched. So damn psyched you could die.

And you did in fact die on that fine afternoon, when Jax took your ass out to the movies and spent the whole time ruining your pussy with his fingers and tongue and that huge monster cock till you came like a fucking monsoon.

Now here you are again. So much has changed since then, when your lifetime beside Jax began. Yet so much is the same. High school sweethearts, in love from the start... it’s been almost a decade and nothing can tear your apart. To this day you are still that same girl who repeatedly moaned out his name, in a movie theater with no fucking shame, as you came, came and came...

Your man can see the memories replaying in your head, as he removes your helmet. The sweetest little smirk lights up his gorgeous face. “Remember this place?”

You smile and nod, swooning just from the thought. “Yeah, it’s crazy that we’ve never been back here since our first date...”

“I figured it’d be cute to recreate.”

Ugh, this man is so perfect it’s rude. You playfully scrunch up your nose as the two of you hop off his ride, holding hands like teenagers as you head inside. “Since when do you do cute?”

“Since I met you, babe,” he coos, as you practically trip over your shoes, stumbling through the doorway. “What can I say, you put me in the mood...”

Jax knows already what he plans to see: some dumb romantic comedy. One that’s been out in theaters for months, so the space will be empty just like he wants. Picks up your tickets and passes right by the popcorn since you both have had plenty of food. And since he’s bound to spend the whole film facedown in your cunt. His face is gonna be fucking glued.

Well, except for when he shifts position every so often to pound you with his massive dick. You already can’t wait for it. Hope he gets to it good and quick; you’re fucking desperate...

You have no clue, just yet, how much your man is gonna make you beg for it.

***************

“How many minutes of the movie do you think we managed to see on our first date?” Jax asks, as he sits his fine ass in the row farthest back. Looking like a damn snack. He’s all yours to attack, just as you are to him, and you can’t fucking wait. The lights dim, as the last of the trailers just played.

You’re the only two souls in this place, thankfully.

Scooting in beside him and all ready for him to devour your pussy, you think back to that day so long ago. “I don’t know... three?”

“Yeah, sounds right to me.”

“Let’s go for zero now, shall we...?”

“Nah, babe—that’s too easy,” he teases, resisting your hand as you reach toward the bulge in his pants to squeeze it. “We should give ourselves some kind of challenge, don’t you think? We were just kids back then. Now we’re the queen and king.”

“What’re you saying?” you mutter as you try and fail to grab hold of his dick. “Jax, please...”

“Think we should double it, at least. Let’s make it six.”

“You fucking serious?” you whimper like a spoiled little bitch. “You’re gonna make me sit through six whole minutes of this shit? You know I hate these sappy crappy chick flicks...”

“Shut up and watch,” he commands, slipping into his natural-born role of pure dominance. “Get your greedy whore hands off my crotch. I’ll tell you when you get to touch.”

Well, fuck. You know you shouldn’t push your luck, although you’re absolutely aching for his cock. You’ve never wanted anything so much.

Squirming in your seat, burning with need, you’re about to explode from the heat. You can’t be asked to keep your damn eyes on the screen, when Jax looks hotter right now than you’ve ever seen. Good enough to eat. Gawking at his chiseled profile limned by the light that projects, you just marvel at how he’s so totally perfect...

“You watching the movie, or me?”

As if he has to ask. You can’t wait till six minutes have passed. “What the fuck do you think? Don’t you wanna use me as your plaything...?”

“Sit back and obey your king.”

“Why are you being so mean...”

It’s no secret that Jax loves to torture his queen. But your juices are leaking all over the cheap fabric seat, and the mess that you’re making is fucking obscene.

That’s why you need his face to be down there to lick it all clean.

“Payback, bitch,” he replies with a devilish wink. The wink that always makes your pussy throb and twitch. It’s a whole fucking kink. “You know how it is...”

And with the words that Jax says next, denying you the privilege of having him between your legs—you understand exactly why he’s doing this. Dishing out punishment and getting off on it, because he knows that you deserve this shit. So savage and sadistic. After the way you spent yesterday pushing his buttons for kicks... now the king is the one playing tricks.

“Chick flick before dick.”

***************

“Jax, I think it’s been six—”

“I’m the one keeping count, bitch. Two more minutes.”

Fuck. Every minute feels infinite. With no luck, you struggle to think about anything other than Jax Teller’s cock. How he’s probably already hard as a rock, how your pussy is bursting and needs him to get all up in it...

Now you’re pretty sure it’s been another two minutes. Moaning like a slut, you know that you should keep your mouth shut, but it’s so hard to resist. Why can’t he just get down to business? You’ve already gone ahead and taken off your panties underneath your dress, to give your husband easy access.

Forcing yourself to take your gaze off Jax, you lean your head back, close your eyes, and try to just ignore the flood between your thighs. His brutal punishment is pushing you right past your limits. Now it’s definitely been more than two minutes...

Oh shit—just then, you feel his touch upon your clit. Right here in this empty theater. You honestly couldn’t be wetter. “F-fuck, Teller… I need your dick…” “Know you do, bitch,” he snickers and wickedly curls up his fingers. “You just gotta wait till the end of the chick flick.”

Till the end of the—what?!? You groan out, needy and loud, unable to keep your mouth shut. “What the fuck...!”

Now he’s shifted position to kneel before you on the floor. The dim light in the room reflects off of the black of his kutte, as he seals your fate as his dirty little slut. Still the one in control, even down in his kneeling position, sending you reeling even deeper in submission as he uses his skillful fingers to service your soaking wet hole. “Thought you heard me before. You naughty fucking whore.”

Holy mother of shit. You’re already about to explode and can barely fight it. “Yeah, I did—”

“Then repeat it.”

You’ve never been so fucking heated, so wrecked in the head, as you echo the words he’d so cruelly said. “Chick flick before dick.”

“That’s a good girl,” Jax purrs as he slides his two fingers straight into you. Long and thick, stirring you up as they twirl, so damn sinful and slick. Growling in satisfaction, watching your reactions, enjoying the view, the sensation of you being so wet and tight. “You know what that means, right? Of course you do.”

God, this man is too good and too bad to be true... “B-but I didn’t think—”

“Bitch, I swear by the end of this flick you won’t be thinking anything,” Jax interrupts viciously, as two fingers become three. “Now sit back and be good. Let me use you like I said I would. As my filthy fucking plaything.”

Thirty seconds letter you are quaking. Heart aching. Feels like every fiber of your being is fucking breaking.

Although you know you shouldn’t dare cum without his permission... it’s harder and harder as Jax drives his digits in farther and farther, his every move sparking your fucking ignition. The tight coil of arousal inside you is past your control, as he ruthlessly ruins your hole, filling you to the core of your soul.

And before you know what’s even happened, your body explodes with an orgasm more intense than anything you have ever imagined. Beyond your wildest dreams. The whole town of Charming can no doubt hear your screams, as you frantically shout out the name of your king, in this fucking theater, cunt spastically squirting all over the letters engraved in his thick metal rings.

“Such a sweet fucking cunt,” he grunts, watching your face with a devilish chuckle, as he slurps the taste of you off of his knuckles. “But you’re so disobedient. Cumming before I allowed it? Mmm, almost as if you want more fucking punishment... can’t live without it...”

Your whole body shivers and convulses, as your pussy quivers and pulses. “J-Jax...”

As you clumsily try to pull him toward you for a kiss, he pins down both your wrists. Has no patience for any of this. Jax’s dominance hits like a fucking attack. “Slut, I told you to shut up and sit... the fuck... back.”

The first time you came, only his hands were to blame; your sex god of a husband had not even started to use his mouth yet.

Now he starts. And the second his tongue hits your sensitive pussy, so swollen and juicy, unspeakably wet... you already feel ripped apart. Ripped to shreds. Already dead.

He’s licking at your slit, while sucking on your clit, and you’re losing your absolute shit.

You’re pretty sure you just came three times in less than a minute, but it’s not as if you’re in a state to keep track. You can’t bear to look down at him doing his thing, golden hair gleaming in the faint light as he feasts on your cunt like a king. You’ve always been his personal plaything. He has every right to eat you like a snack.

Yet he’s pushing you past every possible limit of orgasms and that’s a fact.

You just moan and gasp, losing what little grasp you have on sanity, slipping away from reality, throwing your head further back. “Jax—fuck, Jaxxx...!”

After his next round of wrecking, he finally pauses for just a few seconds. You need him to cut this shit out but can’t say it aloud; you don’t have any breath left for begging.

His flawless face is glistening in your juices, snickering as he gets off on putting you through this. Whenever the king and queen go to battle in the bedroom or any damn context involving sex... queen always loses.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for what Jax says next.

“You good?”

What the—did he just—

But before you can even attempt to protest, the bastard goes back at it like no man on earth ever should. ‘Cause of course he would. He fucking would.

The audacity?!?! You have officially lost any hope of regaining your sanity. Ever.

FUCK Jax Fucking Teller. You should’ve known that you were doomed from the day you two first got together, right in this theater...

But then again, you fucking did. Of course you fucking knew it. Knew all along that this would happen. And that is exactly what you had imagined, what you had signed up for: to serve him forever, to let him destroy you whenever, wherever, use and abuse you as his own personal fucking whore.

Your soul doesn’t even belong to you anymore. Jax Fucking Teller just sucked it right out of you, several times over. He’s not even done yet. Won’t be till you’re dead. Your man is one goddamn savage motherfucker, but that is what makes him the most perfect lover.

Although you’re not sure if you’ll ever recover... you do know one thing for sure: by the end of this movie—even if your poor pussy physically can’t take an orgasm more, really, truly—you’re taking his dick. Dick is the only cure. You fucking live and die for Jax Teller’s dick. Fucking need it more than you can even afford.

And that is why from this day forward, you both know that no chicks—and sure as hell no goddamn chick flicks—will ever come before.

***************

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

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pascalpanic · 3 years

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hi i love ur writing so much!! can i request something with mutual pining, denial of feelings, idiots-to-lovers, hurt/comfort/angst , maybe some jealousy and fluff and smut if you want i just need something really angsty with javier peña, frankie m or din djarin?? tysmm!!!!!

The Bantha (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Being an animal lover does not work well with the plans the Tuskens and Mos Pelgo citizens have to kill the krayt dragon. A retelling of S2E1 of the Mandalorian: The Marshal.

W/C: 4.4K

Warnings: talk of animals being harmed/dying, lots of arguing and angst, Vanth kind of is gross bc I hate his character aha, we respect the Tuskens in this house and use proper terminology for them, language, tiniest mentions of alcohol

A/N: Not gonna lie, the idea for this fic came to me pretty quickly but it took me a long time to properly figure it out. Lots of drafting and editing so THANK YOU to my beta readers, you’re all the best ever!! Anon, I’m so sorry this took so long but I hope it’s worth it!

Of all the dilemmas you’d expected to face as you traveled the galaxy with a tiny, Force-sensitive, 50-year-old toddler and a Mandalorian with the emotional capacity of the earlier-mentioned child, the last one you’d ever predicted you’d face had to be the challenge of ridding a tiny desert town of a giant sand beast that eats their banthas.

“You are so fucking dense,” you groan as you and Din settle on a speeder bike, the little green child tucked in a wrap on your chest. “You’re a Mandalorian, a battle-worn bounty hunter with a kill streak probably in the thousands, and some random man asks for your help and not only do you fucking freely give it, you decide to help them kill the sand dragon terrorizing their town.” You groan to him, rubbing your temples.

Din nods and starts up the speeder bike. “You don’t need to summarize what we just lived through,” he grunts and you wrap an arm around him.

“I do, because I need to clarify that your dumb ass would do that. Sometimes I really do think you don’t have a brain under that beskar bucket,” you shake your head, trying to keep the anger that you’re feeling. If you’re not careful, it’ll turn to adoration and love.

You’ve been battling your feelings for Din for a while now, trying to force the giddiness bubbling in your chest deep down inside. The man is everything you look for in a partner: strong, committed, tall, protective. He’s good with the child, adorably cuddly and loving. He’s even funny sometimes, making dry-humored remarks around the ship.

“Excuse me for caring,” the man grumbles through the modulator. He’s strong and warm beneath your arms, the Tatooine heat making the beskar warm like your bunk in the morning when you don’t want to get up. Stop it, stop it you remind yourself. This is not the time to be enraptured by the Mandalorian man’s body.

That’s yet another trait you love about him- how caring he is. He’s a bounty hunter, a warrior by oath who never shows his face and probably knows millions of ways to kill someone with his bare hands. Yet he cares. He raises the child well; he even raised him alone before you came into the picture. He puts himself in harm’s way for innocent people on the daily, all because he simply thinks it’s right.

You take a sip from your water canteen and hand it to the baby on your chest so he can drink too. “No, I will not excuse you for caring when you’re doing stupid shit, Din,” you scowl and cap the canteen as two three-fingered green hands give it back to you. “You came here- we came here, our family did, to find Mandalorians. There are none.”

“This man will give me his beskar if we help,” Din hisses, revving the engine of the speeder, non-verbally telling Vanth to get moving. The man is dawdling along, a few meters away, as he packs his bike up.

“What do you need it for, huh?” You ask him, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “I’m not a Mandalorian. This little shit doesn’t need beskar. You have a full set of armor already.”

“Beskar belongs to me, to my people, by my Creed,” he says, articulating himself with his hands too. It’s a habit he’s picked up from you. “You wouldn’t ask a Tatooinian to deprive themselves of the moisture they farm.”

You put your face in your hands and groan. “No, you’re right, because they fucking need water to live. You do not need beskar to survive, Din!” You shout, getting off the speeder bike. “And please, forget I called us a family. We’re clearly just a bounty hunter and his… assistant, whatever the fuck I am, and some little kid we picked up for the ride.” You stalk off towards the building.

“Where are you going?” He asks as you turn.

Cobb is standing to the side somewhere, and you approach him. “You got another speeder? I don’t want to put up with him for the ride.”

The man chuckles and claps your shoulder. “Sure thing, pretty thing.” He wanders off and returns about a minute later with another speeder. Din watches the two of you in annoyance, visible from his rigid body language. “Hop on. You know how to drive?” You nod once and he heads to his own speeder. “I’ll lead. You two follow.”

The ride is uneventful at first. Cobb Vanth tells the two of you the story of how he came to be the town marshal, and Din nods his silent comprehension when the man in beskar looks over at him. Most of the stories are aimed at you, desperate to crack your stony anger. It doesn’t work. You stare straight ahead, daring to break your frown into a neutral expression when the little green baby coos excitedly at the wind in his ears.

There are valleys and caverns to navigate through, nimbly ducking and weaving on your speeder bike. The kid loves it, squealing happily when you fly over a bump or turn a sharp corner. It’s a joyride to him.

When Din and Vanth suddenly stop your ride, you panic, holding the child close against your chest. From your holster, you grab your weapon and stand next to the two men. The growling noises are revealed to be massiffs, huge dog-like lizards. You squeal in delight, immediately dropping to your knees and summoning the beast in Tusken.

“What in the hell is she doin’?” Vanth mutters to Din as the big animal comes bounding toward you.

“She’s always like this with animals. Thinks they’re all big puppies,” Din rolls his eyes but can’t help himself: he smiles beneath his helmet as the beast licks your face and you scratch its sides.

You’re such a wonderful person, Din sighs, even though he’s mad at you. You’ve always been amazing with other species, like massiffs and the little green child strapped to your chest. You’re so intelligent too: speaking seemingly endless languages.

“They are big puppies!” You coo and press a kiss to the forehead of one massiff. Another finds Din, who also bends down to give it scratches and attention. “Green bean, look!” You tell the child and put out his hand for the massiff to lick. “See? They’re our friends,” you tell him, admiring the way the little green child giggles at the scaly skin.

From around a corner, a Tusken appears, then several. You stand and lower your weapon, speaking to them first in their native language. “We mean no harm. You have beautiful massiffs,” you tell them then turn to Din and Vanth. “Drop the weapons.”

“Are you crazy?” Vanth shouts.

“We are here to put an end to the krayt dragon,” you explain to them in their language. “Your assistance and knowledge would certainly help us. You want it gone too, yes?”

They affirm you that it’s a yes, and you nod back at the men. You know Din understands. “They’re willing to help if you’ll stop being a douchebag.” Vanth starts to talk but you hold up a hand and cut him off. “I know, I know. We can strike a deal. Are you willing?”

Din’s heart is nearly exploding. In any other timeline, he’d be the one conducting negotiations, using his threat as a Mandalorian to run the show. But here you are, with your gentle nature, making deals and completing them through cooperation and kindness. It’s hard to speak in a soft tone when speaking Tusken, yet you can do it. All with a baby strapped to your chest. Maker, Din thinks, he might be in love with you.

Vanth sighs a few moments later. “Why the hell not?”

Din talks with the Tuskens for a while at the camp, planning and negotiating as night falls and the air starts to get cold. To entertain the child, you spend time with the banthas, brushing their fur and letting the baby get exposed to the animals.

The kid loves them. He coos happily as he strokes their thick fur, giggling as one of them gives him a kiss and covers him in slime. You wash him off and return, quietly talking with the Tuskens caring for the creatures.

You’ve taken a liking to them. They’re gentle and soft, like big lumbering puppies, really. They moo when you brush their fur just right, let their eyes slip shut when you scratch them between the eyes. You’ve always had a soft spot for animals, like Din said earlier.

Cobb likes you. That much is clear from the way he finds you when he’s not working with Din and the Tuskens, bringing you food and water as you and the child mind your business. He’s overly flirtatious, to the point of annoyance. He’s rude and crude about the Tuskens, calling them words you’d never use to describe a human.

Politely excusing yourself, you allow the child to run with some of the other Tuskens’ children and spot a silver-plated man sitting by the fire.

“Vanth is such a goddamn xenophobe,” you grumble as you sit down next to the fire with Din, the child off playing with some Tusken children. He’d ranted about the Tuskens as you rode with them, luckily in Basic so that the people couldn’t understand him.

“Thought you liked him,” Din says and cocks his head. “He certainly likes you.”

You roll your eyes and sip the canteen of water, looking at the crackling fire. “Those things are not mutually exclusive,” you chuckle, looking over at him. “What, are you jealous, tin can?” You tease and knock on his beskar pauldron.

“In your dreams, cyar’ika,” he teases. It’s clear to him that whatever tension had been between the two of you earlier has dissipated, enough for him to steal the water flask from your hand and pass it to the child as he toddles past.

“I was drinking that, you fucking bantha,” you laugh and smack him on an unarmored part of his arm. The Tatooinian desert gets cold at night, you find, and you pull into yourself a little more from the cold.

Din unclips his cape and drapes it over your shoulders, tucking it in beneath where your arms press against your ribs so that it wraps tight to your body. “Hm. You do have a heart under there,” you tease and sigh, naturally leaning against Din and resting your head on his shoulder pauldron.

“So it’s been said,” he nods and even dares to rest his head on top of yours. Through the bare spots in his beskar, he can feel the way your body radiates warmth into the chilly night. You spot a little green head toddling past again, much slower than the other children thanks to his tiny legs, and Din scoops him up.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly, the roar of the Tuskens’ conversations creating a soft hum around you. “For what I said, when I yelled at you. You’re right. You really are just caring for them.”

He nods. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I’m more sorry for saying we aren’t a family. I mean, we are, right? Not that we’re like, a couple or anything,” you say hurriedly, your voice low as you stumble over your words. “But you and this little womp rat…” you muse as you scratch the baby’s little green head. “You are my family. That much is clear to me.”

Din nods once more. “I agree.”

You smile up at him. “What’s going on under that bucket, huh?”

He turns, looking off. “Just going over the plans for how we’re going to get that krayt dragon.”

“Ooh, share,” you ask, taking one of his hands and lacing through his glove-covered fingers. “I didn’t mean it when we said all of this for some banthas, you know. I’ve really fallen in love with them lately.”

Din is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t answer. “Din?”

He knows you’re going to hate him for this. Your big heart, your animal-loving, sweet talking kindness is not going be okay with this, but he has to tell you the truth. “We’re going to have to sacrifice some of the banthas for this mission to work.”

“What?” You exclaim, dropping his hand. “You can’t possibly do that.”

“We have to. We need to lure the dragon.”

“Do it some other way!” You frown, looking over at the big soft desert cows. “Seriously, please, Din.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head. “They’re not sentient.”

“But they can feel!” You exclaim again, standing. “Fuck this. Why don’t you sacrifice yourself to the krayt dragon and see how that feels?” You shout, storming off. You’re aware it’s childish, but you stomp to your tent and lie down. You close your eyes and hope Din doesn’t come to find you.

Of course you didn’t mean it. Of course you didn’t want Din to sacrifice himself to the krayt dragon. So why is he doing it? Why are you on your knees, screaming to the sky that he did exactly what you said?

You’d been avoiding him since that night, since you showed vulnerability and subsequently returned to anger towards the man. You’d wanted to apologize, but you couldn’t get over the sacrificing of the animals for the cause. You just couldn’t.

Din had flown straight into the sand dragon’s mouth, just seconds ago, and is now deep inside its bowels, you’re sure. You clutch the baby to your chest and wail, agonized and terrified. Vanth stands at your side, a hand resting on your shoulder as you wheeze and sob.

But this is Din. He must have a plan. He has to have a plan; he’s a battle-worn warrior and you’ve never seen him lose a fight. You’d stormed off before you could hear the rest of his plans the other night- maybe this was part of it. But the way Vanth stares at the dragon in terror makes you think that maybe it isn’t. Maybe Din just really fucked it up. You set the little green kid in his cradle and stand, sniffling and clinging to the metal sphere as if it’s your last lifeline to Din.

Suddenly, there’s a burst of green goo and out flies a shining silver rocket: it’s Din. “Oh thank the fucking Maker,” you shout as he lands not far from your small group, the wailing and dying sand beast behind him.

He’s covered in slime, but you’ve never been so happy to see the man. You rush to him and throw your arms around him, not giving a single fuck as you jump on him. “Please, never fucking do that again,” you wheeze into his cape, getting yourself covered in slime.

The hug is not comfortable. Din is all beskar where you want to feel his strong body, but it’s all worth it when he wraps his arms around you too. You’re crying, he knows it, and he knows just why. “I didn’t do it because you said it. You know that, right?”

You let go of him, sniffling and wiping your eyes. “Yeah. I was just so scared- oh Maker, Din, I can’t fucking lose you,” you admit, freely crying now. “I love you, I really do, and I can’t-“

“How?”

You look at him in confusion.

“How do you love me?”

This damn man. He’s full of surprises, just getting literally eaten alive by a krayt dragon, and now he’s asking you for a full emotional confession. You’re still reeling from the shock, but the fact that he’s there is enough. You don’t care that Cobb is definitely listening over your shoulder. “Every way. All of them. Romantic, friendship, family. You feel like my home and I want to be with you.” No better time than now, you suppose, to admit this all.

Din walks a step closer. “Romantic. Huh.”

“I hate that fucking helmet,” you admit, trying to deflect the emotion between the two of you. “I can never see your face. Can’t know what you’re thinking, your tone, your-“

Din cuts you off. “We ride back to the village and clean up. Meet me in the home as the suns set.”

What that means, you have no clue, but you nod. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” you murmur, putting a hand on the cut-out cheek of his helmet.

The town rejoices when you come back, shouting and celebrating over the dragon’s death and the plentiful meat that came with the creature. You’d joined in the reverie, taking a shot of spotchka and chanting along to a Tatooinian call-and-response they’d started. It was wonderful, really, and you and the little green thing were the stars. They admired the little green thing, cooing over him. You were proud to stand there as his mother.

The party died as the suns set. Din was notably absent from the hubbub, preferring to be alone as usual. You and the kid talked with the villagers, but as the suns started to sink, you excused yourself and found your way to the spare home you and Din each had rooms in.

Vanth and the women had taken the baby when you told them you were going to talk with Din. Not that it was hard: they all loved the little beast, showered him with affection. It was practically a competition over who got to play with him most.

The building has a warm glow as you wander over to it, wrapping your arms around yourself. The night has become cold now that the two harsh suns have sunk below the horizon, and it’s a relief to open the door to the home and feel the warmth radiating from a fireplace inside.

You find Din staring out of a window on the back, watching the endless wind sweep across the sand dunes, a dark sky contrasting the golden ground. Just his silhouette is visible, black against the deep blue. “Hi,” you say quietly as you walk in, the worn floorboards creaking beneath your feet no matter how deliberately you step. “Glad to see you got cleaned up.”

The man tilts his head in an obvious eye roll, even through the helmet. The slime was disgusting, although Din’s adoptive son had seemed to enjoy the gooey texture, as little ones are prone to. “I almost died and you’re already back to the sarcasm.”

“It’s called a coping mechanism,” you laugh gently and place a hand on his shoulder. There’s no beskar there, just soft fabric warmed by his body. It makes you shiver; even in the safety of the Crest, Din never takes off the armor. You wonder why it’s gone. Maybe to clean it?

Din’s quiet for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your fingers splayed over his shoulder in such an affectionate gesture. “You know how much I trust you, don’t you?” He asks and the black visor turns toward you, admiring what’s visible of your face in the moonlight. Your eyes glimmer and he admires them, the color he’s always loved.

You nod and smile just a little, cheeks growing rounder with the movement. “Of course.” He’s trusted you with his son, the most important thing to him in the galaxy. There’s one clear gesture even now: the absence of the beskar from his form. Maker, he’s broad, shoulders just as wide as with the metal.

He nods and shuts the window’s shutters, allowing even less light in before turning to you. There’s just a soft glow in the room, outlining the shape of the helmet and his shoulders. You can’t see any detail, just the shape. He walks over towards the long comfortable seating in the middle of the room and you instinctively follow, standing in front of it and stopping when he stops, facing him. His hands find your shoulders and his fingertips brush down your arms until they find yours. “Take off my helmet.”

“What? No,” you exclaim, frowning even though he can’t see it.

“Can you see anything?” He asks, a hand gesturing, an even darker shadow through the already murky visibility.

“No.”

“My Creed says you cannot see my face. Not that I can’t remove the helmet.”

You gulp hard, your fingers lacing through his. They’re bare. You’ve never felt them before. Often you’ve wondered if they’re calloused and tough from his work, soft from being hidden beneath the soft leather for all those years, or somewhere in between. They do fall into that in between, but they’re warm and strong and large, even without the leather casing them.

“I can’t do that to you,” you shudder, squeezing his fingers. “It’s the very thing about you, that you can’t take it off,” you start to ramble. You want to, desperately, but there’s no turning back now. If you feel his face, if you’re even so lucky as to kiss him, you’ll never be able to get enough of it. You’ll be subjected to an eternity of longing, even more than you’re yearning now.

“I want you to,” he breathes, his beskar-covered forehead falling against yours. “Please, cyare.”

“Why don’t you hate me?” You ask, your voice straining. You need to keep stalling, need to keep pushing it off or you’re actually going to do it. “I’m so mean to you. All the time,” you point out to him. You do it to keep him away, but he’s persistent. He never seems to care. “All we do is argue.”

“I may not be able to use the Force like the kid,” he mumbles, bringing one hand up to cup your face. “But I can sense your feelings. You don’t hide them well.”

“Din,” you plead, biting your lip and closing your eyes to prevent the tears that are threatening to well in them. “You can’t do this.”

“I can, and I want to.”

“Why are you so fucking patient with me when I’m only ever a bitch to you?” You practically wail, half annoyed and half honored. “You’re such a good man, Din. You don’t deserve someone shitty like me. I’ve got no hunting skills, I’m too stubborn, I’m mean and-”

He stops you by lifting your hands, setting them on either side of his helmet. “You can’t see me, so it doesn’t break the Creed. I want you to do this, because I want you.” He’s eternally blunt, but in this moment you can’t tell if it’s breaking your heart or warming it. “I love you too. Please. Take it off.”

“This is your last fucking chance, Djarin,” you tell him with a wavering voice.

“Cyare.”

“Okay,” you nod and take a deep breath. Din unlatches the little bit at the bottom that keeps it sealed against his head, and there’s a soft rush of air. Your hands grip either side and you slowly lift it off. Din takes it once it’s gone and rests it on the plush seat.

Your hands are drawn to his face like you’re being pulled on a string, your skin prickling as you feel the stubble along his chin and jaw. Your fingers trace his face for a few moments, exploring the new terrain. His cheeks feel hot, and his lips make you shiver again with how soft they are. Swallowing hard, you dare to look at his silhouette, noticing his hair is mostly matted down from the helmet. “What color are your eyes, Din?”

“Brown.”

You smile at that, and you rest your head against his shoulder, your hands dropping to your sides. His arms encircle you and it feels perfect, like you were meant to be like this for all of eternity and it took you long enough. “Of course they are.”

He chuckles at that and presses a kiss into your head, his hands finding your waist. “I did take this off for a reason.”

You lift your head, looking at his just-visible shape. “Really? I don’t know what you mean,” you flirt.

He’s silent. You’re sure he’s rolling his eyes, absolutely certain. “May I kiss you?”

The words are ever blunt, just like Din. “Yes, you bantha,” you tease, but the laughter is gone as his hands find your face again.

Just like that, his lips are on yours, radiating heat and love and it immediately tops the feeling of his arms around you. You gasp, not expecting him to do it so quickly, but your lips quickly meld to his and you sigh in content.

You stay like that for a while, hands traveling each other’s heads and necks and shoulders and sides as you kiss. He’s so warm and strong, his muscles just as sculpted as the indestructible metal that covers him. He’s so human.

After a bit, Din breaks away and presses his forehead to yours once more. He doesn’t speak, just rests there, his hands on your waist. His breath mingles with yours. For once, you’re speechless, unsure of what you can say back. The sarcasm has been stripped from your body like the beskar from Din’s.

“I better put the helmet back on,” he murmurs.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, tucking your face into the curve of his neck. You sit on the couch and he follows, desperate not to lose your touch. “Just… we’ll stay like this.”

He nods. He can’t say no when you kiss his neck feather-lightly, when your skin is pressed to his like this. He hasn’t had contact like this in years. He’ll prolong it as long as he can.

You do stay like that, relaxed and curled into each other. His arm wraps around you and you curl into a ball, nestled into his side. It’s been a long day for Din, you know, but the depth of it occurs to you as his breathing slows and his muscles relax.

He’s fallen asleep in your arms. You press a soft kiss to his neck and set a timer on the wrist-comm you’re wearing, so that you’ll both wake while it’s still dark in the room. For now, he deserves his rest. His face nuzzles into your hair, and he gives a soft sigh in his sleep. Yes, this is exactly what the beskar warrior needed: rest and you.

taglist:

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#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #din and grogu #grogu #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #baby yoda

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Note

I may or may not have just sent the 3 word challenge in my real account instead of anon... I'm sorry. Please don't answer there. :)

When you post, post answering here please.

Again, much love,

📚🌻

Don't worry dear! Your identity shall remain a secret 🥰 Here's yet another fic with my Resident Evil OC: Gwen Winters (she’s an adult guys, don’t worry. However this is still an Older Man/Younger Woman relationship)

The words dear 📚🌻 Anon gave me in their previous ask were: Unruly, endurable and system. Please enjoy!

What happens in the gym....

Pairing: Chris Redfield x Female OC

Warnings: Swearing, Spoiler Free 😊

Genre: Angsty Romance

“Sure, throw me in the fire like you always do, Leon!“ Chris snaps, clenching his fists tightly as he glares at his best friend while the two stand in the dimly lit gym.

“Chris, you’re a BSAA captain, for the love of God! You should know better than to complain about something as little as this!“ Leon, while significantly calmer tone and demeanor-wise, is glaring daggers of his own.

“Why me, damn it?! And why her?!“ Chris is not done with his attempts to get out of the situation Leon’s trying to land him in and his partner’s honestly done with it.

“And why not?! You see the same potential I see, why would it be so hard to train her? She’s a quick learner, she’s disciplined when she wants to be and she’s already skilled to a certain degree. You’ve made soldiers out of total wimps before, why is she such a hassle to you?!“

“Because she’s disciplined when she wants to be and I guarantee she won’t want to when she’s around me. She’s unruly, selfish, arrogant and a Chris-phobe. I’m telling you, she hates me!“

It’s about time Leon’s had enough of this conversation. To be honest, he was done with it as soon as it started but he stayed, thinking he’d be able to change Chris’ mind but seeing as how this is a hopeless case, he’s just been wasting his time. “Does she? Or are you projecting your hate for her onto her?” Slinging his duffel bag containing his training gear over his shoulder, Leon finally makes that realization that these are ten minutes of his life he’ll never get back and storms out of the gym without another word.

Chris doesn’t attempt to stop him, in fact, he’s relieved he left. He sighs, silently hating himself for all the shit he said and how he meant none of it. It was all hard bullshit and he doesn’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed that Leon didn’t realize. Either way, he’s been cleared of possible suspicion, even if training the newest BSAA rookie still remains as his task.

Gwen Winters, she’s such a fucking handful. One cannot tell if it’s because she’s angry with the world, angry with herself or just straight up picked up on the habits of the family that took her in when she was rescued from Raccoon City where she was held as an experiment hamster. A chemistry project basically. Ethan and Mia were recovering from the events back in Louisiana at the time, still probably are, that is not some shit you get over, so they thought having another person in the house would help them. And help Gwen did. See, Gwen isn’t a handful with everyone. In fact, she’s a real sweetheart and Chris knows it too, despite his bogus claims. He knows she’s got a heart and soul of gold and is built with the will of a BSAA soldier already. All she needs is a bit better fighting skills and she’s good to go.

He sees how she acts with everyone around him. She’s been quick to make friends with Jill and his sister Claire and she’s even got Leon’s liking and trust which is hella hard to get, especially after all the shit with Ada. She’s overall a super sweet and lovely girl, even with him from time to time. He’s seen her welcoming, friendly smiles whenever he stops by the Winters’ home. He’s heard her laugh at the jokes he rarely cracks.

Then why does she act like she hates him so often? And why does he claim he hates her?

Chris is snapped back to reality by the sound of rough impact. It’s a very distinct noise, one he places immediately: the sound of fists hitting a punching bag. It’s the middle of the night, almost midnight actually, and knowing how lazy the soldiers on his team are, he can only assume it’s either his sister or Jill, given that Leon just left. However, they’ve had people sneak in to train for free before, so it’d be for the best if he went to check who was releasing some pent up energy on the poor punching bag. Judging by the intensity of the punches being thrown, sounds like the person might be angry as well.

And they have every right to be. Because they are Gwen.

Chris’ face goes a bit red at the sight of the infuriated rookie giving the punching bag her all, punishing it the way she’d want to do to her superior she just heard call her all the names she hates being referred by.

“Winters I-“

“Unruly?“ Punch “Selfish?” Punch “Arrogant?” Punch

She stills herself, sighing and wiping the droplets of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, “You say all that and expect me not to be a Chris-phobe?” She lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her shoulders before continuing her wrath over the piece of equipment she’s threatening to destroy. She hasn’t spared him a single look yet, something he’s rather grateful for because the last thing he wants to see is whatever her gaze is hiding right now. “I’ll talk to Leon.” She says, her voice leveled and breathy, far from the pissed off tone she was just using. This calmness is a lot scarier though. “I’ll tell him I don’t want you to be my trainer. To be perfectly clear, I never wanted you to train me in the first place. I’m just not the type to complain, you know. I’m not picky. Beggers can’t be choosers. I take what I can get. And you were all I was offered, but...” she trails off, delivering a particularly hard punch, “It’s not gonna work. I may not be picky, but I know when to draw the line. I know when I deserve better.”

“Kid, you really have no idea what the case really is here.“ He attempts desperately, taunted by the thought of acting on his instincts and approaching her even if that means being the recipient of one of those hard punches.

“You know, I’m strong. I’m skilled. I can hold my own in a fight quite nicely. I’m endurable. I’m not afraid to work my ass off and sweat and pant like a dog after workouts. There’s not a line I wouldn’t cross, but you still choose to make me feel lesser than any soldier you’ve ever come across, that’s really lovely of you, Captain Redfield.“

“Winters, please...“

“It’s ok, I won’t tell Ethan and Mia. I’m sure they’ll send you to hell over it. I’m not petty like that.“

He’s had enough. He’s had enough of hearing that hurt tone in her voice. He’s done hearing these words she’s so certain are true but aren’t. He’s done lying to her and to himself. Before he can even think twice about it, he grabs her by the arms gently but firmly, turning her to face him despite her hostile attempts to free herself from his hold like a wild animal caught in a trap. He’s surprised when she relaxes, probably seeing that as a quicker way out of the situation rather than struggling though if she tried to free herself any longer he would’ve probably let her go.

“Fucking hell, Gwen, listen to me.“ He looks her dead in the eyes, catching onto the spark of shock created by his use of her first name. But he also sees something else, something that looks dangerously a lot like tears. He knows she won’t cry, especially not in front of him, but knowing that he’s the cause behind the welling of those crystal droplets in her always shiny, always smiling eyes breaks him. When she doesn’t look away nor protest, he continues, “I can’t be your captain. I can’t be your trainer. I can’t be any of that. I’m a strictly professional man, and it’d be highly unprofessional of me to take you in as my soldier.”

“But why?“ She’s fully aware she sounds like a whiny kid - exactly how she thinks he envisions her sometimes - but she couldn’t care less. She wants and needs answers. She knows she won’t be able to fall asleep or keep coming back to the training center if she doesn’t get them.

It’s blatantly clear this is far from easy for Chris. His first instinct is to look away, let go of her, run away like he always does - not that she’d let him do such a thing but still. He’s finds the words impossible to spit out yet he oh so desperately feels the need to get them out of his system. And so, he gathers all the strength within him and finally forces himself to say it.

“Because a captain isn’t supposed to look at a soldier the way I look at you.“

Sure, it sounds cryptic as heck but he has no doubt she’ll catch on. Gwen is a smart and sharp girl, among many other things. She confirms this when barely three seconds after he’s said it, he notices her eyes widening

“Sir, I-“

“Don’t.“ He says simply, a small, regretful smile playing across his lips as his hand slides down her arm to take hold of hers, “I just admitted my dirtiest secret to you and you are still gonna remind me how unprofessional I am by using my title, Kid?“

She purses her lips, the shock momentarily replaced by her signature mild glare, “Well, you just admitted your biggest secret to me and yet you still choose to call me ‘Kid’, huh?”

He chuckles, letting his other hand repeat the movements of the first, “Sorry, force of habit.” His thumbs brush against her knuckles briefly as his head falls, his gaze fixating on where their bodies are connected, “You know, I didn’t tell you this to get myself any pity or anything. I just wanted you to understand and....wanted to get it off my chest. Ethan will kill me if he finds out, won’t he?” He suddenly asks, regaining the courage to look up at her once again.

She giggles, “Who says he’s gonna find out?”

Chris bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “You’re right, there’s nothing really to find out abo-”

Gwen has never been a chatter nor can she tolerate when people beat around the bush so she’s quick to cut them off sometimes, no matter how rude that may seem or sound. However, just to clarify, her chosen method of cutting a person off isn’t always kissing them. Just saying - this is a special situation requiring special methods.

Taken aback by the sudden feeling of her lips on his, Chris’ eyes close automatically but not even a second later he responds to the kiss properly: wrapping his arms around Gwen’s waist as her hands travel up to cup his face. The kiss is short - too short if either of them is to be asked - but it’s worth all the words they didn’t say despite wanting to.

When they pull away, Gwen gives him a mischievous smile, “Now he could find out about that and then shit would go south. That’d suck, wouldn’t it Chris?“

He’s only ever heard her say his name twice, once in passing conversation with Claire and once earlier when she paraphrased his term ‘Chris-phobe’, both time spoken with some dose of dislike he now realizes was a cover-up all along. Turns out the two are a lot more alike than they initially thought. Regardless, hearing her say his name with fondness instead of bitterness makes his heart flutter, his body yearn to have her closer, his lips wanting to be in contact with hers again. But he’s a patient and self-controlled man, he’s nothing if not willpower sculpted in a human body, so he keeps his distance, waiting for her to pick the moves, waiting for her to make the decisions just like she’s his captain.

“Big time.“ He manages to say, voice coarse all of a sudden, barely able to leave his throat. “So it stays here, right?”

She giggles again, bringing her lips within an inch or two away from his, taunting him, threatening to break his self-control, “What happens in the gym stays in the gym, Redfield.”

Golden rules of discretion, ones he mustn’t break ever. Especially not when his captain - Captain Gwen Winters - holds so much power over him.

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candychronicles · 4 years

Text

unrequited love, or not? // k. bakugou

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon who requested this, and thank you for being so patient!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,668

WARNINGS: mentions of being drunk, blood, mutual pining, dumb best friends

SYNOPSIS: you’ve been best friends since you could remember, but what if you wanted more?

the first day you met Bakugou Katsuki was on the first day of school, ever. you were bubbly, upbeat, someone who introduced yourself to everyone and made as many friends as possible. nothing could get you down, well, besides Bakugou. despite your best attempts, he was mean, sassy and definitely didn’t want to be your friend. for awhile, you resigned yourself to all your other friends, but the grumpy gremlin never left your brain.

over the following years, you slowly broke down the anger and superiority of his childhood, peeling back the layers to find a kid who wanted to save lives and be a hero, a kid who used his confidence to keep himself going against all odds. it wasn’t until your years at UA high that you really figured out who he was to you, but by then, things were too late, him being too focused on climbing to the top to even spare anything other than a friendly glance your way.

it wasn’t as if he ignored you. in some ways, that may have even been better, for you would’ve been able to push aside your feelings, but no, Bakugou was anything if not an attentive friend. he was one of the few people you trusted with your life, and vice versa. he came to you for everything, with everything, about everything, because you were his partner, his best friend. this closeness only complicated things, but you persevered, determined to be the greatest sidekick you could be to him.

your friendship wasn’t one that many people understood. while you were bright, extroverted, smiling brighter than the sun, moon and stars, he was grumpy, reserved, focused, but it worked. he called you annoying every day, and yet you two were inseparable, eating together, doing homework together, shopping, spending holidays together and taking selfies that, when you posted, he threatened to blow you up.

you watched as he blew every challenge out of the water, both literally and figuratively. from every challenge that came in high school, all of the death and destruction that you two fought together, coming out on top despite the pain, and continuing to help save people as he became a sensationalized pro hero practically overnight.

despite his constant successes, he wasn’t the number one pro hero, and until he achieved, and consistently maintained, his biggest goal of his life, there would be no other priorities in his life. you slowly watched, year after year, as he worked tirelessly, throwing away other opportunities in order to continue to pursue his goal. it wasn’t until you confronted him casually one day that your worst suspicions were confirmed.

“Katsuki, why haven’t you ever dated someone?” you questioned not so innocently one day, waiting with baited breath to hear his answer.

“Becoming the number one pro-hero has and always will be my number one priority,” he replied casually, shrugging his shoulders and continuing on with eating like he didn’t just shatter your heart into a million shards.

little did you know, his heart was also breaking, threatening to rip his chest open from the inside, suffocating and strong. he liked you, loved you, for longer than he could remember, but he was sure you didn’t feel the same way. he thought that every lingering touch, every suffocating hug, every time you called him when you were sad and drowning in tears, begging him to make you feel better, was just you being a best friend, nothing less and nothing more.

you became a bit more distant after that, nursing your hemorrhaging heart, attempting to fix it back up, using any stitch or glue that you could find so that you wouldn’t bleed out. this need to not hurt led you to a very drunk night with Mina and Jirou. it started off innocent enough, but as the night drug on and the alcohol tickled your veins, your blood began to thin and pour out of your mangled heart, and the tears followed soon after.

“why did i have to fall for him? he doesn’t love me, he never will. i’ll have to sit back and watch him continue on with his life, blissfully u-unaware that there is someone here who loves him so much that it hurts. i’m so dumb, so so dumb,” you rambled on, liquid pain streaming down your face as you cuddled a bottle of wine.

the girls tried to console you as best as they could, snuggling deeply into you and rubbing your hair, wiping the tears off your face and assuring you that you were loved, before you promptly passed out, the bottle of booze replaced with a pillow that you clutched tightly to your chest, attempting, even in your sleep, to fix the ache in your heart.

you awoke with a pounding headache and a steely resolve to distance yourself from your best friend even more than you already were. while you knew it would hurt, nothing could compare to the emptiness you felt standing next to him knowing he didn’t feel the same way. texts were replied to hours later, calls missed, and you once even pretended you weren’t home when he stopped by randomly to check up on you.

Bakugou didn’t know what he did wrong, and it was eating him alive. he texted, he called, he even tried to break down your door, knowing you were home, but you still barely responded, claiming you were busy. never in your combined friendship had you went this long without talking, even when you were truly mad at each other.

the lack of communication took a toll on Bakugou and he finally decided to confront Mina about it one day, despite not wanting to look desperate.

“why has she been avoiding me?” he asked the second she picked up the phone, not bothering to even say hi.

he heard a soft sigh on her end of the phone before she replied, “i’m not supposed to tell you.”

“bullshit. if she’s hurt, mentally or physically, she should be coming to me. i’m her fucking best friend.”

“and that’s the problem,” she replied cryptically.

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean? does she not want to be my friend anymore?”

“well, yes and no.”

he swore, at those four words, his heart stopped.

“if she doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore, then she needs to man up and tell me. i don’t have time to waste on cryptic shit. i’ve got more important things to do.”

“and that’s the problem!” she suddenly exploded, before replying more evenly, “all you care about is being the number one pro hero to even see what’s going on in front of your very eyes. someone cares about you very, very much, probably more than your shitty ass deserves, and you can’t even return those feelings because you can’t and won’t prioritize more than one thing in your life.”

Bakugou hung up on her after those words, immediately calling you, to no avail. he grabbed a jacket and some shoes and raced out of the door, heading towards your house with nerves of steel.

how stupid could i be? does she really feel the same way?

once he reached your house, he barged in, not even bothering to announce his presence as he headed towards the kitchen.

you appeared out of nowhere, alert and ready for anything, before relaxing your body, though there was still tension squaring your shoulders back.

“what the hell are you doing here?” you asked, confusion and a little bit of anger tinging your voice.

“do you love me?”

you quirked your head at him, face heating up in embarrassment, not sure how to respond.

“are you ignoring me because you love me and you don’t think that i love you back? are you so dumb to think that if you confessed to me right now, that i would reject you?”

your mouth gaped open and closed, unsure of how to take his questions, so you nodded meekly back, before responding, “you told me that being the number one pro hero was your number one priority-”

“my number one priority right now, sure, but that doesn’t mean you’re also not one of my priorities in my life. sometimes you’re even my number one. i don’t spend all my time with you, tell you everything, help you with everything, just because you’re just one of my ‘friends’. you’re my other half, you idiot. will you go out with me?”

your head cocked side to side, mouth still open, attempting to process his words, all the information that he had just thrown at you like it was nothing. he liked you? he wanted to go out with you?

“the question isn’t that hard. you also look like a fish. close your mouth and just tell me how you feel, how i know you feel now, so i can kiss your dumb face.”

at those teasing words, your face broke out in a smile before you rushed forward to capture his lips in your own, pouring all of that pent up pain and sadness into the kiss, allowing your heart to finally stitch together.

“you’re such an idiot. of course i like you, and of course i’ll date you. i’ve loved you for a long time, maybe even since you were a snotty nosed little brat, but not much has changed since then,” you teased, eyes twinkling in mischief.

“hey, just because you’re dating me doesn’t mean i still won’t kick your ass for being rude.”

“catch me if you can lover boy,” you called out, leaping away from him and into the kitchen laughing.

he shook his head, finally allowing himself a moment to breathe, feeling the heat rise into his cheeks and his blood pumping throughout his body, before he called out threateningly and began chasing after you around.

i’m in love with my best friend.

maybe being number one pro hero wasn’t the number one priority in his life anymore.

TAGS: @jojosmilktea @redbeanteax @softforshigi @katsuki-bakugous-lady @katsukisprincess @secondhand-trash

Want to be a part of my taglist? Message me!

#bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha

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lancearcherinrippedjeans · 3 years

Note

I missed you guys!!! I hope you’re feeling better Parker and it wasn’t anything serious!

Okay starting off I feel so so so bad for Nova! I hate that she isn’t a crowd favourite like Sawyer and Veronica. I love the banter and relationship between Nova and Ricky and I love their relationship with Brian. I love how warm the commentators were to Nova and enjoyed her input. Taz is mad lucky he’s not catching these hands when he was trying to undermine Nova and prod at why she isn’t wrestling BUT I’m super happy that he complimented her at the end of the day with the commentary!!!

Madi??? Wtf are you doing??? Look how well that worked out for you tho Sawyer still beat you 🙄 Matt and Nick are so annoying and such out stirrers lol can’t stand em acting all concerned with their ‘oh are you guys still upset with each other’ and then the hard stare when Sawyer goes over to talk to her LOOOL get outta here 😭breaks my heart that all Sawyer wants to do is go out for dinner with her girls and Kenny is here acting all macho and clingy URGH (I love Kenny but this Kenny is a nightmare lol but I love how you’ve written him) but Chuck for the win with the ‘L’

Kenny is on some next level conspiracy theory! Poor Veronica she can’t even have one night out and the fact she lobbed her phone when she was in the room 👀

I love private party and I loved the bated between them the 5 of them!

I hate how rude Trent and Chuck were to Veronica!!! 💔 she was so nice to them and they disrespected the hell out of her nah uh and Sawyer you’re my girl and she didn’t even try to defend Veronica?

The Hangman Veronica allegiance I’m here for

Ricky and the merch!!!!!!!! KING

‘He’s out there kissing OUR GIRL’ LOOOL I hate private party 😭

Honestly when Adam and Veronica came back to the room was pure chaos like from Veronica lunging at Trent, which I don’t blame her, for Adam stopping it, the picture and then ADAM KISSING VERONICA

Omg what a chapter and is was so worth the wait!! I loved it cannot wait for more!

-💗

ANON MY LOVE 🥺 WE MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!! i’m (parker) finally feeling better and it wasn’t too serious, i’m tough 🕺

Nova supremacy. She deserves better, Daily’s Place crowd wtf??? But I want Nova, Ricky and Brian to be a comedy trio. They’re the best. But Taz FINALLY BEING SWEET TO NOVA WAS SO FUN WRITING LIKE THEYRE FINALLY BONDING.

Madi GO AWAY CHALLENGE

the bucks UGH. BE RUDE TO SAWYER AGAIN IMMA WHOOP YO ASS 🙄

*flashbacks to when Kenny told Chuck “I BROKE UP WITH YOU!*

Chuck and Sawyer’s relationship >>> Me and Adriana love to write the Chuck/Best Friends and Sawyer parts, it’s always so cute and fun!

Like I said before, Kenny gotta back off but ADRIANA DOESNT WANT HIM TO 🙄 SHE THINKS ITS CUTE.

It was really funny cause when we were planning out this chapter we were like “They need to get drunk/do some fun.” and at first we were like Hangman?? but then BAM, MY BEST FRIENDS, PRIVATE PARTY (it’s funny cause i’m actually somewhat friends with Marq and Isiah)

So the Best Friends and Veronica thing, Adriana wrote this part while I was sick and when I read it I ASKED HER THE SAME THING. But her idea was that Veronica’s friends hate Sawyer (except for hangman that angel) and Sawyer’s friends hate Veronica, THIS BEEF THEY HAVE.

RICKY AND NOVA FINALLY TOGETHER LFGGGGG

In our insta book (that we need to update) we have SO MANY COMMENTS OF PRIVATE PARTY FLIRTING WITH THE GIRLS. ITS SO FUNNY CAUSE ITS MAINLY ISIAH AND HES SO UGH 😭

Bro for once ADAM IS ACTUALLY DOING SOMETHING WRONG!! LIKE STOP THIS!! THE WRITERS HAVE TO DO THIS BRO!!!

we love you anon! cant wait to hear your next review/ask, these make writing for days worth it !

#anon <3

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darkblueboxs · 4 years

Note

howdy i love your aftg writing!! here’s a concept: i feel like once neil’s past is out, he has no reason to hesitate absolutely sucker punching someone. like we know he made neil a pushover because it raises less questions, but now that everyone knows who he is im SURE he’s just bitch slapped someone mid-game. no holding back, like if u say something fucked up he’s just gonna try to kill you!! do you know who this man is?? there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows some quick and lethal punches!

Oh yes, anon. Bruiser!Neil I can DEFO get behind.

Here’s 3k of Neil punching stuff, and Andrew being wildly turned on by it. Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 notes for content warnings, etc.)

*Edit* : In the original version of this fic, Nicky faces racist abuse in addition to homophobic abuse, and quotes the offensive language and slurs used against him. After concerns were raised regarding how I handled this abuse (specifically, the language used, the context in which the abuse takes place, and my position as a non-latine) I censored and subsequently removed the relevant dialogue. I sincerely apologise and promise to do better in the future. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and concerns regarding this subject.

[01/06/2020]

All the Guys Love a Bruiser

Neil’s mother taught him how to throw a punch, of course she did. Their lessons took place anywhere spacious enough to swing a fist, in empty parking lots behind greasy gas stations or in dingy motel rooms if she thought the walls were thick enough to cover up the noises they made.

Mary had always been more flight than fight, an instinct she had forced into Neil over years of running. Even she had to admit, however, that sooner or later they would hit a dead end, and while that would spell certain death for both of them, it would be better to go down fighting than it would on their knees.

If their lessons ended with Neil aching black and blue, it was his own fault. He needed to be quicker, smarter, crueller. More like his mother.

Matt’s teaching style is different from Mary’s, as is his fighting style. It bears the hallmarks of professional athleticism, all stances and positioning and strategy. While his mother’s idea of a lesson in self-defence was to hit Neil until he figured out how to dodge her blows or hit back, Matt talks him through how to angle his body, how to make a fist in a way that won’t break his fingers. At the end of their first boxing lesson, the only bruises on Neil’s body are the light purple spreading across his knuckles.

That evening, he and Andrew take over the beanbags, TV muted in the background while they dig into ice-cream. The tub is pleasantly cool in Neil’s hands, and he rubs his knuckles against the sides like an improvised icepack. When the residual cold has melted away, Neil flexes his fingers, enjoying the faint tingle dancing across them. These marks are different from those his mother gave him; they weren’t inflicted on him unwillingly but earned with sweat and exertion. When Matt had let go of the punching bag and told him they were done for the day, Neil had been surprised by his own disappointment. He had never been sorry see the end of his mother’s lessons.

Andrew takes his hand suddenly, startling Neil from his thoughts. It’s a purely analytical touch; he turns Neil’s hand over and runs a finger across the blossoming bruises of his knuckles.

Neil bites back the I’m fine, knowing the look it would earn him. Instead he says, “I had fun. We’re meeting again next week.”

Andrew nods. It’s a few moments more before he relinquishes Neil’s hand, however. The heat of Andrew’s skin mingles with the singing twinge of Neil’s bruises like an after-print.

Next week, Andrew slouches into the gym after Neil. He ignores Matt’s invitation to join them, flopping onto a rowing machine and leaning back against the machinery so he can kick his feet up on the seat rail. They’re lucky that they chose unsociable hours for their workout, or a line of athletes would be forming to glare at him.

Andrew watches them train from across the room with apparent disinterest. He can feign boredom all he likes; Neil knows he wouldn’t have bothered following him to the gym without reason.

Matt, if anything, seems amused by Andrew’s presence. “Dan comes to watch me practice sometimes, too.” He pauses to correct the angles of Neil’s feet before nudging his arms into blocking positions. “She did it even before we started dating. She used to sit on an exercise bike and pretend she was cycling so I wouldn’t know she was there to watch me. It was never very convincing.”

“Why did she want to watch you?” Neil shifts his weight, trying to copy Matt’s position.

Matt’s face crinkles up with laughter. “That’s the most Neil thing you’ve ever said.”

“Everything I say is a Neil thing.”

“She liked it when I took my shirt off. C’mon, man, join the dots.”

“You don’t take your shirt off to box.”

“Yeah,” says Matt. “Don’t tell her that.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Can I hit you now?”

Matt barks out a laugh, and training resumes.

“Enjoying the show?” Neil asks Andrew an hour later, dropping down on the gym mat next to him. Andrew hands Neil his water bottle with an unimpressed look.

“You’re awful.” Andrew flicks a look over to Matt, who is using their break to chat with the only other gym regular insane enough to be working out at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. “He could knock you on your ass with one right hook.”

“I know I’m awful. That’s what training is for.” Neil pauses to gulp down most of the bottle. A droplet escapes his lips and tracks down his jugular before falling into the dip of his clavicle. Andrew’s eyes track its path. “Matt isn’t going to hurt me. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not here to babysit you.”

“Huh.” Neil drains the last of the water before shaking the residual droplets over his head. The beads glint in the corners of his vision as they catch in his bangs and fleck his cheeks, mercifully cooling against his skin. Andrew is still watching him intently. His eyes flick to Matt once more, checking that he is still absorbed in his conversation.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil replies, and he watches as Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his. The skin is flushed from strike after strike, not yet coloured in bruising patches but soon to be. Neil’s hands feel softer for it, sensitive to Andrew’s touch.

“I know my limits.” Neil isn’t sure why the gym suddenly feels three degrees warmer. “Really, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know. I trust you.” Andrew sends one more look over Neil’s shoulder like he’s checking the coast is clear before pressing Neil’s knuckles to his lips.

The breath Neil was in the process of catching slips from his grasp entirely. “Oh.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like watching me fight.”

“It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil leans in until he can see each individual freckle on Andrew’s cheeks. “Interesting?”

Andrew’s cool look is betrayed by the twitch of his jaw. “Something like that.”

If Matt notices Neil’s new vigour when they return to practice, he doesn’t comment on it. When he catches Neil’s eye, however, he grins knowingly. Perhaps Matt’s conversation had not been as absorbing as he made it out to be. Soon, however, the rhythm of the exercise draws Neil’s attention back to the task at hand.

Neil first learned to throw a punch because his mother believed that one day his life could depend on it. That isn’t the reason that he has resumed his training with Matt; it turns out that a good instructor and fewer death threats make the activity far more pleasant than Neil remembers. It may be a useful skill, but he values the challenge more than he does the practicality. The physicality, too – in fact, he likes boxing for the same reasons that he loves Exy. Quick, brutal, thrilling. He finally understands, too, why Andrew likes to spar with Renee whenever his emotions get on top of him. There’s a certain a sense of control that comes from putting his fist through a break-board. Not that he needs the empowerment as much as he once might have – most of Neil’s tormentors were killed long ago, his fears with them. Given his new life of safety and security, it’s likely that he’ll never really need to know how to throw a good punch.

It takes all of one week for Neil to be proven wildly, wildly wrong.

Opposition strikers – with one glaring, now very dead exception – are not typically Neil’s problem. Generally, if they end up playing on the same side of the court as him, something has gone wrong in the team’s strategies.

He can tell even from a distance, however, that one of the Terrapin strikers is causing difficulties. Not in terms of ability – of which Terrapin’s #13 has little – but in attitude. Thirteen is a vocal player, and Neil can hear snatches of his voice echoing across the court. No fists have been swung, which is an impressive feat for the Fox defenders, but perhaps only because the luck of substitutions has put Thirteen against Nicky more than anyone else, and Nicky is more likely to react to insults with mirth than anger.

Shortly before the end of the first half, Nicky is subbed off at the same time as Thirteen. Nicky passes Neil on the way to the court doors, clacking their racquets together with half a smile. “Give them hell, Neil.”

Thirteen passes them at the same moment, slamming Nicky’s shoulder as he passes. Nicky mutters a word under his breath that would have earned him a month of washing-up duty at Abby’s house before heading for the Foxes’ bench. Neil watches him go, eyebrows creasing together. Nicky isn’t easily upset by the cruelty of strangers; it’s the cruelty that comes from within his own family that is most likely to shake him from his good humour. The barbed insults of nameless players on the court, on the other hand, are usually brushed off with a rude gesture and no more.

Swept up in the rush of the match, Neil forgets about Nicky’s discomfort until half-time. The team pours from the court in high spirits; they have a decent lead over the Terrapins which should carry them through the second half when exhaustion starts to kick in. Nicky, despite having blocked more shots on goal than anyone, reacts to the arrival of the rest of the team with only a pallid grin. His grip on his water bottle is tight, and the cheap plastic crackles and caves in his hands.

Nicky is an easy read, and it doesn’t take long for the other Foxes to notice. After he brushes Renee’s concerned enquiry off, however, the team leaves him be.

When Neil returns to the court for the start of the third quarter, he breathes a sigh of relief to see that Thirteen is nowhere near Nicky. He’s standing closer to goal than Neil is happy with, but Andrew is more or less impervious to verbal abuse and Thirteen has yet to show signs of physical violence. As much as he wants to keep a closer eye on the situation, Kevin’s barked commands draw his attention to the match at hand. The best thing Neil can do for the Foxes’ defence is to spend as much time lobbing the ball at the Terrapin’s goal as possible.

Neil and Nicky are substituted at the same time; they collapse onto the bench and drown their exhaustion in Gatorade. Thirteen crushed Nicky against the wall moments before the substitution, and Nicky is uncharacteristically quiet as Abby examines the cut over his eye.

“You’re not whining about cramping your style,” she says as she presses a plaster in place. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, this is great for my style. All the guys love a bruiser.” Nicky winks despite the blood crusting in his eyelashes. “Neil knows what I’m talking about, don’tcha, Neil?”

Abby makes a noise that isn’t convinced, but doesn’t press the issue. Neil waits until she’s out of earshot before saying casually, “I still have a few contacts in the mafia.”

“Your sense of humour is dire,” says Nicky, but he’s grinning, so Neil counts it as a win. “Don’t worry about it. I think Andrew’s drawing his fire now. Andrew handles that kind of thing a lot better than me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Nicky winced. “Don’t ask.”

“Tell me.”

“Let's just say he isn't exactly lining up to lead a Pride march.” Nicky snorts humorlessly.

The joke doesn’t land, and not because of Neil’s non-existent sense of humour. He may not be as obvious as Nicky in his preferences nor as dark-skinned, but he has still been on the receiving end of enough of that brand of bullshit to know how it scratches at one’s insides.

“I wasn’t joking about those contacts.”

Nicky sighs. “I was worried you would say that.”

Neil’s attention keeps slipping from the game and over to Andrew, who is standing in goal and ignoring the tirade of insults being thrown his way like a statue facing down a breeze. His non-reaction only seems to stoke Thirteen’s fury, spittle catching in the mesh of his helmet as he watches Andrew knock yet another attempt away from the Foxes’ end.

Andrew spares Thirteen no more than a second of blank indifference in the face of his tirade. Then he drops his stance, shoulders setting into a silent challenge that sends a hot bolt of excitement straight Neil’s to gut. Andrew is locking down the goal.

The Terrapins don’t score again for the rest of the match.

Neil is through the doors before the final buzzer has died, charging into the crush of Foxes at centre-court to join in their celebrations. Andrew, as usual, hovers at the edge of the throng, but he accepts the clack of Neil’s racquet against his. A light sheen of sweat dances across Andrew’s forehead and his lips are parted as he regains his breath after the exertion of locking the Terrapins out.

“Did Thirteen give you trouble?”

Andrew snorts derisively despite his breathlessness. “He tried.”

Neil gets to see Thirteen up close during the handshakes. He barely grazes the tips of each Foxes’ fingers as he passes one by one, but he stops when he gets to Neil. “I remember you. You were all over the news, weren’t you? The runaway Wesninski.” His expression speaks to his delight at the revelation. To no-one’s surprise, Thirteen is a sore loser.

Andrew barely moves, just a slight adjustment to his footing so that he presses a little closer into Neil’s shoulder.

Neil smiles. It is the kind of smile he has not had use for in some time. “Looking for an autograph?”

Thirteen snorts. “Bet you think you’re real bad. Bet you think those scars make you look tough. Too bad you’re still a puny little bitch.”

Neil flexes his hand before clenching it into a fist. “I do think I’m real bad, actually. Want to find out why?”

The striker waits for the hit to come. Neil doesn’t give him the satisfaction; the guy is a piece of shit, but he isn’t worth the trouble he’s clearly looking for. Neil drops his hands, meets his gaze, and waits for him to give up on getting his reaction and leave.

Most of the other players are moving off to their own respective sides, and their stand-off is beginning to attract attention. Kevin squints over at them, and at his side, Aaron pulls off his helmet.

“Oh shit. Twins.” Thirteen’s gaze swings from Aaron to Andrew, flashing with sudden recognition. “I remember you too.” His expression turns sharkish. “Now that was a story. So, which one is the murderer, and which is the brother-fucker?”

Andrew barely twitches. Neil’s reaction is less restrained.

It’s almost a play-by-play of decking Riko at the Winter Banquet. The key difference between that punch and this one is hours of training with a borderline-professional boxer.

Neil squares his stance, draws back his fist, and puts his whole body behind the punch. He’s rewarded with the sickening crack of a nose breaking and a hot spurt of blood splattering his knuckles.

Thirteen staggers back, shock registering for a second before he spits blood at the floor. He’s swaying on his feet, but there’s still fight in his eyes.

Andrew’s hands go to his sheaths, but Neil waves him back. He wipes the hand bloodied by Thirteen’s face across his jaw unthinkingly, feels the wet, red heat clinging to his skin. “Hey. This one’s mine.” The smile he tacks onto the words is toothier than he means it to be. With blood still smeared across his chin, he can only imagine how he looks.

Andrew’s hand judders to a halt at the hems of his armbands. His jaw is clenched tight but roaring over the current of concern is something far darker. It creeps into his eyes, a weight to his gaze normally only visible in the privacy of their bedroom. Andrew’s gaze runs the length of Neil’s body before coming to rest on Neil’s mouth. His bottom lip catches momentarily in his teeth as he nods.

Thirteen’s first swing hits, and a burst of blood dances across Neil’s tongue as his lip is split open. Thirteen’s luck ends there; Neil blocks his second punch with a move Matt taught him the day before. He drives his free hand into Thirteen’s solar plexus, knocking the air from him.

Neil doesn’t get much time to appreciate how the striker falls on his ass as they’re rushed by teammates and officials who break them apart.

Neil stands placidly before Wymack and bears his row with the bare minimum of decorum. The lecture is undercut by Nicky, who’s expression alternates between elation, amusement and mock disapproval from moment to moment. Matt, at least, waits until Wymack is finished before applauding.

“I’ll give you some notes later, but all things considered it was a solid right hook.”

Neil brushes the team’s reactions off as best he can; he certainly didn’t do it for their recognition.

He takes his time showering, watching with a strange, sick pleasure as he rinses the striker’s blood away. It turns pink in the shower basin before swirling at last down the drain. Beneath the blood, Neil’s knuckles have begun to bruise, satisfaction burning them blue.

It’s at these times that Neil worries that he may have inherited too much from his father; the temper, the violence, the bloodlust. Then again, they all served as tools to his survival at one point or another. The key difference between Neil and his father is who they choose to turn their anger on. Neil’s father always set his sights on the underdog. Neil prefers to punch up.

No; if there’s one thing Nathan gave him, it was a distaste for bullies.

There’s a familiar tap at the door to Neil’s stall. The rest of the Foxes cleared out some time ago, still rowdy from the post-match high. Tonight was a home game; most of the team will be halfway back to Fox tower already, thinking only of booze and the weekend stretching ahead of them. There’s only one player who would have any reason to linger.

Andrew steps under the spray, his hair is plastered to his head by the steamy drizzle. He holds his hand out, and Neil offers his without question for Andrew’s inspection.

Andrew’s voice is dispassionate as he inspects the damage. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour. Nor for you to fight my battles for me.”

“The fight was for my own satisfaction. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Once again, Andrew presses his lips to Neil’s raw knuckles. The contact stings, sweet and savoury, pleasure and pain. “Would it kill you to make life easy for once?” The words tingle against the tender skin.

“I thought you liked to watch me fight.”

“Just because I find your stupidity entertaining doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“It’s my stupidity you like, is it?”

“What else do you have?” Andrew’s eyes track the rivulets of water snaking down Neil’s neck.

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” Neil says. Then, for clarity, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Andrew doesn’t let go of Neil’s hand, thumb running across the reddening knuckles once more before leading it to his chest. Neil leaves it resting there, marvelling at the colours bleeding between them under the shower’s onslaught, pink and brown and red and blue. Andrew soon tires of Neil’s staring, and is the first to bridge the gap between them.

Neil once compared Andrew’s kisses to a fight with their lives on the line. Countless kisses later, this fact has not changed in the slightest. Andrew leaves a bruising trail of kisses across Neil’s neck until he can’t remember which marks are from Exy and which are from Andrew. They all sting the same, sweet way.

Each kiss pressed to his mouth carries a metallic tang from Neil’s burst lip. He can tell from the fierce pressure of Andrew’s mouth against his that Andrew can taste it too, is feeding off the adrenaline rush just as Neil is. He catches Neil’s bottom lip between his teeth and with it sucks a groan from deep in Neil’s chest.

Andrew draws back to level him with an unimpressed look. “You’re far too into this.”

“You’re one to talk.” Neil raises his hand to Andrew’s eyeline, wiggling his fingers. Andrew’s eyes catch on the blooming violet patches. “You like this. Admit it.”

Andrew steps forward until his cheek brushes Neil’s fingers. Neil turns his hand automatically, cupping Andrew’s face.

“Yes,” says Andrew. His eyes stay on Neil’s, even as Neil’s hand drops lower.

It’s a small miracle, Neil thinks, that Andrew can trust Neil’s hands on him, after all he knows they are capable of. Maybe that’s part of the appeal, the evidence painted into Neil’s knuckles that Neil’s gentler touches are reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. It’s strange that Andrew should love Neil’s fighting spirit as much as he does. After all, it was Andrew who taught Neil how to stand and fight in the first place.

It’s a fact that neither will ever let the other forget.

Neil leaves the shower sporting several more bruises than he entered with. Some are from Exy, some are from fighting, and some are from Andrew’s mouth.

He loves them all just the same.

* Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! Still open to prompts etc.

#tfc #aftg #andreil #the foxhole court #all for the game #my fic #asks #anon #WHY IS TUMBLR FUCKING WITH THE POST FORMAT ASKDHSKDFGGGG

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phobiadeficient · 4 years

Note

A punishing B by making him wear a remote controlled vibrator? (Speeding bullet or spy/engie please! Also I love your work :) )

i want you guys to know that like the majority of the time when y'all go “this pairing or this one, shrug emoji” i literally just like. coin flip abt it. i don't even have an app i just google “coin flip” and just pick like Any option from the list. that's the brand of messy bitch disease that we have going on up in here. anyways here's your porn like a month late anon sorry

Spy didn’t even realize how hard he was clenching his fists until he heard the leather creak and realized his knuckles were aching.

To be honest, he’d half expected it to be more of an endurance thing. That it’d get turned on and he’d just be expected to ride through it until the Engineer was good and ready to end his silly little game and get on with it. But that didn’t seem to be the direction things were going in.

Because first of all, the Engineer was fiddling with the remote for the thing every few minutes, switching up rhythm and speed and force what seemed to be entirely at random.

And second of all, it had been—and he hadn’t even been checking his watch, wasn’t entirely sure, but it felt like hours, and had probably been at least forty minutes of this, and he wasn’t even looking at Spy all that much besides cursory glances every now and then before promptly returning to what he was working on—the sketch on a blueprint, it seemed, something that required an amount of focus.

He’d started this little game pretty cocky, because he was good at this sort of thing, at ignoring physical urges and keeping a cool head in situations that other people would be entirely distracted by. But some combination of all of this, of the sensation plus the presence of his lover plus the pressure of it being some kind of game, plus the fact that the aforementioned lover was ignoring him plus the idea crowding into frame that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t read the game correctly and something else was going on, well, it was pulling him apart.

He’d started out with good posture and nonchalance and a smirk that he damn well knew was charming and could send shivers through anyone he chose, composed and flirtatious and unaffected. But forty minutes in, his posture had crumpled, and he was sweating and overheated, his shirt clinging to his skin, his pants entirely uncomfortable, his knees trembling a little bit.

The only thing the Engineer had told him to do was get his clothes back in order and to keep his hands up above the table. And he’d glanced up exactly twice when Spy had moved them, once to adjust his tie and once to tug on his mask to make it sit a bit more comfortably. He knew he wouldn’t get away with sneaking them below the table to make himself more comfortable in any sense of the word.

He stared hard at the Engineer, and the Engineer didn’t even look at him.

He broke somewhere around minute forty-five.

“How much longer is this going to take?” he asked flatly.

He hummed. “Probably somethin’ like an hour or two, haven’t blocked out much besides the general shape,” he replied, tapping some part of the blueprint for emphasis.

Spy clenched his fists. “That isn’t what I meant,” he deadpanned.

The Engineer looked up at him, finally, and Spy felt all the more aware of what a mess he probably looked like. “Oh, right,” he said, as if he’d forgotten, even as he clicked a button and the rhythm shifted again, making a muscle in Spy’s jaw shift. “Well. Guess that depends on a couple of things.”

“Such as?” Spy asked, voice tight.

“You sayin’ you give up?”

He wasn’t entirely sure why the Engineer phrased it like that, only that doing so made him immediately shake his head, maybe a touch too quickly. The Engineer nodded, and returned to his work.

Five minutes passed before a Spy spoke again. “Dell, what exactly is the point of this game?” he managed through gritted teeth.

“Not sure what you mean, darlin’,” he hummed, drawing a line with precision and care using a ruler.

“I’m getting extremely frustrated,” Spy said outright.

“Mm-hmm,” Engie hummed.

“I would very much like to get to whatever happens next,” he said, even more outright, stressing his words.

His focus was swimming so much that somehow he hadn’t noticed the Engineer’s other hand drifting to take hold of the remote again, first and foremost feeling the vibrations cease altogether.

A breath of relief as for a few wonderful moments he thought that the Engineer was moving things along. But after a few seconds, a minute, two minutes, Spy felt confused.

The Engineer looked up at him, adjusted his goggles. “Want me to turn it back on?” he asked calmly, coolly.

The frustration flared back up in an instant. “I want for you to touch me,” Spy all but snapped.

“I know you do. But you don’t get that yet. So do you want me to turn it back on?” he asked, and underneath the calm in his tone and the softness of his voice was a hard edge that sent a shiver down Spy’s back, made him swallow hard.

He hesitated for only a few seconds before he nodded. His head fell as the toy turned back on, thrumming to life and setting his nerve endings aflame.

The short break made the sudden flood of pleasure all the more potent, made him have to fight not to make any kind of noise. And even then he exhaled shakily, eyes screwing shut hard, heartbeat thrumming.

A minute or so later he was already feeling that desperation creeping back into view, making him wish he could at least lower his hands to undo his belt to get a little more comfortable. But even just flexing and curling his hands to try and distract himself gained the Engineer’s attention, his head tilting just slightly for a moment towards him until the movement stopped.

“When will this game be over?” he finally snapped, working hard to keep his voice filled with annoyance and not pleading.

“That depends,” was the level, easygoing reply, and a click, and the rhythm of the toy shifted again, making Spy bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to stay quiet.

“On what?” Spy demanded.

“On whether you’re gonna behave,” Engie said, turning his head to look at Spy.

Alright, he knew this one. “And what exactly is it that you want me to do?” he asked, voice dropping to a purr, even if it was a little unsteady, a little breathless.

The Engineer hummed, started tidying up his workspace a little, putting pencils and rulers and erasers back where they belonged. Once it was reasonably tidied, he looked back over. “I want you to quit mouthin’ off so much to the team,” he said, and Spy blinked.

He laughed incredulously. “You can’t be serious,” he managed. “All of this over—“

“You’re bein’ a real menace,” the Engineer interrupted, cutting Spy off cold. “Usually it’s just a snide comment here and there, but lately you’ve really been hitting the team hard. Makin’ a damn fool out of everyone, belittling people—hell, I’d call it outright bullying. And what you’re gonna do now, after tonight, is stop that.”

“Or what?” Spy couldn’t help but challenge.

“I guess you’ll see,” he shrugged.

Spy huffed. “Am I supposed to be scared?” he teased.

The vibrator shut off.

He blinked. Shifted. Held eye contact even as his eyebrows furrowed.

There was a long pause before the Engineer spoke, and when he did, he was still casual, conversational even. “That was a bit rude, darlin’. Ought to apologize,” he prompted.

Spy sneered, even as he shifted, weighted his options. Ultimately, his head didn’t win out. “Fine, I’m sorry,” he said, flippant, only to become significantly less flippant as his apology was rewarded with the toy being switched back on.

Then the Engineer was standing up, rounding the table. Spy turned to meet him, but was flipped right back around again, wrists pinned to the tabletop with one hand, the Engineer’s broad chest pressing into his back and trapping him even further in place. “You sorry for makin’ fools of the team?” he asked.

Spy managed to gather his thoughts enough to consider his options. “...And what do I get if I apologize?” he prompted.

“You’ll see,” the Engineer said.

“And if I don’t?”

“You already know that one,” he said, meaningfully turning the remote around in his free hand.

Spy scowled. “Ugh. Oui, I’m sorry.”

The remote was placed on the tabletop—within his reach, although he’d never be able to grab it with his wrists pinned—and the Engineer’s hand trailed down his abdomen and to his pants, and made quick—if slightly rough—work of getting them open. He sighed in relief, extremely pleased with this turn of events, even if the Engineer didn’t touch him much beyond that. Just that much was a blessing.

“You sorry for acting like an ass to everyone?” the Enginner prompted.

“Oui,” Spy answered easily enough, not much meaning behind the words, more easily giving over into the pleasure once the pressure and immense discomfort of his pants was resolved.

His reward was the Engineer helping him pull his pants a little way down his legs, freeing him outright, and he gave a gaspy little noise at it, rocking forward slightly when he was able.

“And are you sorry for being so damn mean?” the Engineer asked next.

“I suppose,” Spy joked.

Silence, stillness. “I beg your pardon?” the Engineer asked, squeezing his wrists slightly, almost threateningly.

“If it moves along the game, then I suppose,” Spy teased, trying to glance over his shoulder.

The Engineer was quiet for a moment, then he was moving—except he was pulling Spy’s clothes back on, movements rough.

Spy was shaken from the euphoria, blinking, startled as he realized what was happening. “Oh, come on. Don’t you want to move on from this ridiculous game?” he tried, a little frustrated.

The Engineer moved the remote out of reach and released Spy’s wrists long enough to do his pants back up, absolutely no care or gentleness in the motion.

“Ow, ow! Dell!” he yelped, indignant. “Fine, fine! I’m sorry!”

Stillness again. He steadied himself with a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I apologize,” he repeated, tone uneven, well shaken.

“Good,” the Engineer said quietly, and moved to undress him again. Spy only got to relax for a moment, though, before he spoke again. “But if you’re gonna misbehave like that, I might need somethin’ to help me...”

Spy was left alone for only a moment, only long enough to have an internal argument about whether he was allowed to turn around and see what was going on. Then his arms were being pulled behind his back and tied together, and this time both of the Engineer’s hands were free to torment him.

They traced meaningfully up Spy’s chest, left somewhat vulnerable when his arms were tied. “You said you were sorry for being so mean to everyone?”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Spy nodded, too keyed up to argue the point again, and was rewarded with his tie being pulled off and his jacket and dress shirt being undone and left to hang open.

A moment’s thought from the Engineer, tracing over his undershirt. “The suits themselves are expensive, but not so much the undershirt and all that,” he said, only partially a question.

Spy nodded hesitantly, distractedly.

In one motion, he siezed the undershirt in both hands and ripped it clean open.

Spy cried out, alarmed, before he realized what had happened and relaxed again, muscle by muscle, heart absolutely pounding as the moment of fear resolved itself as absolute lust in the aftermath, his face heating up bright red.

“You gonna keep acting like a damn menace to the team?” the Engineer prompted, hands smoothing up Spy’s freshly-bared chest.

He swallowed hard. “Dell, please. I would like for this game to be over,” he said, voice breaking a little bit as his desperation reached its boiling point.

“That’s not an answer, doll.”

Spy steadied himself with a deep breath. “Fine. Yes, I’ll be civil.”

“You’ll be good?” he was prompted, and he shivered bodily.

“I’ll be good,” Spy agreed, head hanging.

“Prove it. Say please.”

The flood of conflicting emotions resolved as a kind of overload, his arms starting to tremble a bit. “Please,” he said, terribly quiet.

The toy shut off.

Spy immediately began to struggle against his bonds. “Oh, come on, I said it, I said I was sorry, I apologized, I-I said please, what more do you want from me—?!” he began to protest, outright desperate.

“Hush, hush,” the Engineer was quick to say, urging him to stand, to bend over the table. “Toy just ran out of power is all, darlin’, you did good. You did real good.”

Spy couldn’t quite bite back his moan as the toy was pulled free of his body and set aside, and god, it looked so small there on the table, and yet it had pulled him apart so effortlessly. “Dell,” he managed, voice shaky but still full of warning.

“I know,” he said, voice teasing, and then Spy was full again, this time of three thick fingers, gloved and slick, and any further complaints were pushed right out of view as he was pushed back open and slicked back up. “Think you can hold out long enough for me to get in?”

Spy had to think hard about it, could only distantly register his own heaving chest for a few moments. “I—I am not, sure,” he managed between panting, and cried out sharply as he got the first firm touch of that night in exactly the right place, and after so long of teasing it was almost too much for him to handle, too much pleasure making his toes curl in their shoes. “I-I-I—“

He was gently shushed again by a hand petting over his back, and his fingers moved softer and more slowly from then on, drawing out his pleasure in gentle throbs rather than in lightning bolts, a tide on the shoreline instead of being hit by a truck or three.

He wasn’t entirely sure that he was making sense anymore, could feel words exiting his mouth and could hear them being said, but he couldn’t process them on any level. He just heard the Engineer responding to them with praises and affirmations, and it drew him up higher and higher.

“Dell, please,” he managed, fighting hard to say it through the haze he’d fallen into, voice wavering.

“I’ve got you, doll, I’ve got you,” he assured, and then the Engineer reached around in front of him to tug him off, also so gently, so aware of how close he was to being entirely overwhelmed, and when he finally came it took him a few moments afterwards to remember how to breathe.

He was a model teammate in the following few days, at least until he was sure that the Engineer had probably had enough time to charge that toy again.

#//engiespy #//bondage #//teasing #//powerplay

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megadimension · 5 years

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A brief defense of the most genius duo in anime history

In anime, being known for consistent quality is something of a rarity. Amongst bland seasonal adaptations of the same tired ass manga, most of us lay our hopes in those few legendary creators that have yet to let us down. Currently, my hope lies in the next Hiroyuki Imaishi/Kazuki Nakashima project, Promare. I've seen a lot of people very excited for this, because these two as Director/Writer respectively, has yet to produce anything not largely heralded as some of the most genius pieces of media to have ever been produced. But within this wide acceptance of expertise, exists a narrowly held, yet strange caveat: Kill la Kill wasn't good.

There are quite a few common and strange complaints leveled against Kill la Kill, from the animation being low quality, to being outright misogynist. The latter has always struck me as a strange conclusion to draw from the show. It’s a reasonable conclusion to draw if you’ve never watched the show, and only know that it’s an anime and the women don’t wear many clothes. These two things are generally a recipe for an objectifying male fantasy. However, the show is not an objectifying male fantasy, and that is the failing of the entire concept. The idea that Kill la Kill is misogynist is born from a misunderstanding of what makes women in anime poorly depicted: The secret to moe waifus that fill the porn folders of degenerates all over the world is not being scantily clad, but rather reductionist moe fetishing. I'm going to use Eromanga Sensei as an example for your standard fetish filling object show, marking the first time it's ever been involved in something good. Sagiri is, by all marks, not a human being: she is a loli fucktoy, and the show makes no question of this as they introduce her interests: porn, and trying to fuck some self-insert degenerate bastard. That's literally all she does. She exists for no other reason than to fulfill a fantasy. She has no aspirations beyond serving a man. This character is then dropped into numerous situations where she’s attempting to court her brother by flashing her panties and being generally perverted for the enjoyment of the viewer. Conversely, in Kill la Kill, our heroine, Ryuko is a high school delinquent-type character who seeks revenge for her father's murder, and, over the course of the show, is forced to reconcile with the world her father left for her and what her role in life really is as she fights through to see her father avenged. She spends the whole show growing, fighting, and eventually reasoning that the woman's role is not to be decided by the culture, but by the individual. In these senses, Ryuko very much escapes the trappings that reduce her to a fetish object.

It would be disingenuous of me to not cover the elephant in the room that is “Okay, but why the hell do they still dress like that?” It’s a pretty fair question, honestly. It’s no secret that in our society, a woman showing a lot of skin is regarded as an erotic object, serving the male fantasy to ogle them. Kill la Kill, however, dresses the women like this to outright challenge the concept that a scantily dressed woman is scandalous and erotic in a genius scene early on in the series, where Satsuki hounds Ryuko for being embarrassed to show so much skin because she naively believes it to be a sexual exposure. The show posits the concept that there's nothing inherently sexual about the naked body, or a partially revealed woman, to be more specific. Kill la Kill then goes on to establish throughout the show that clothing is a vehicle of subjugation, in the most literal possible sense. In the metaphorical sense, however, it expresses that clothing in the real world is a vehicle men have used to subjugate women: It hides the body to offer males exclusivity to the nude body, causing the female form to become coveted and sexual. Kill la Kill in general has a tendency to use clothes as allegories for the ideals imposed on women that exist to bind, like when Ryuko has a wedding dress forcefully has a wedding dress sewn onto her body, obviously parroting the pressure on women to marry and live a subservient life of child-bearing and house upkeep.

In the end, the interpretation of Kill la Kill as a genuine exultation for sex positive feminism or a misogynist nightmare lies in how you read the show, and I’ve always felt that reading it in a way that suggests misogyny requires some level of inability to read subtext, or flat out personal incredulity. I’ve never seen my thoughts more concisely presented on the matter than the reply by YouTuber and good media liker Harris Bomberguy to a curiouscat anon who decried Kill la Kill as a demeaning show to women, so I suppose I will leave you all with an excerpt.

“Not to be rude, but I think your version of reading places the expectation to be narratively coddled, TOLD who is the bad guy, over your own duty to decide the meaning of the text. You want Kill La Kill to point at you personally and explain why narrativisation of feminist empowerment stories still contains exploitative and reductive generalisations that affect not just your perception of real women, but women's expectations of themselves, in straight-laced terms, and thereby shirk the burden of actually interpreting a story in which a woman is sewn into a wedding dress and it controls her mind. “

#anime #anime blogging #kill la kill

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standfortheangels · 5 years

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Probably unpopular opinion, but here I go

If you make a post with a line like "no (member of X race/nationality/group) cares about this" or "X group won't ever reblog this", or "no-one on this site will read this" to try and provoke action and support for something

I will back the fuck out of there.

It doesn't matter how much I agree with your premise, or how much of a good point you were making until then. It doesn't matter how much valid evidence you have. It doesn't matter how much I cared about the issue before I saw your post, or how much you made me care about it while I read it.

It won't affect my opinion on the whole issue afterwards either, to be clear.

But it will impact my opinion on You. As an individual.

If you try to Guilt me into supporting you, especially through a reblog, I'll hate it, and I won't support you at all.

Odds are I'll stumble over someone else saying the same message without the Specifically Directed aggression, and reblog from them instead. But not you.

Telling me, in an angry or judgey way, that I don't care about something, will never end in me supporting you.

If you're right, and I don't care, maybe I'd get argumentative, or defensive. I won't bring that to your door and shout it back at you, but it won't change my mind and Make me care. Maybe I'd just roll my eyes and move on, if I REALLY didn't care.

But your angry judgement would not Make me care.

If you're wrong, and I do care? You harshly criticizing and judging me falsely will not make me want to support you to prove myself. It will make me angry that you've taken such a harsh stance, against someone who- up until that sentence- agreed with you whole-heartedly. That you've pushed me away on the basis of something that, actually, really didn't stop me from being on your side.

And if I'm angry at you for that, though I may still support the cause you've highlighted, I will never reblog your post. I won't want to interact with You, because I would be angry and incensed. By. You.

If I want to make a cup of tea, and I stand up, and someone rudely orders me to put the kettle on, you can bet your ass I'm sitting back down. Even if tea is all I want in the world, I'm not putting that kettle on now. Because I don't want anyone thinking they can be rude to me and I'll do what they want.

If I stand up to make that cup of tea, and someone bitterly says something like "I bet you're going to make tea, but you won't ask me if I want one because you don't give a crap what I want" I could have had my mouth open and breath in my lungs, ready to ask you exactly that. Heck, I could have already started the question. But if you come at me with that, you've just changed my mind.

And now you're half right, because now I won't ask you if you want a cup of tea. Not because I didn't care when you started speaking, but because you just chose to attack my character, or my morals, or what I care about, out of nowhere. Yeah, I don't care what you want now, because apparently what you want is to start a fight with me. If you want tea, just ask. Just the bare minimum amount of normal courtesy will do here.

If I feel unfairly attacked by a post, why the hell would I reblog it? That's not only telling you that I agree with everything you said, but also means someone else who cares has to read YOUR words, from MY blog, TELLING them that they don't and won't act, instead of telling them they should do both.

You're not even leaving these people a window to support or reblog before you shoot them down for being unfeeling.

Will I get anons now telling me I'm irrational, or a bitch, clearly white/straight/privileged and don't understand? Possibly.

So just one more time for anyone tempted, I want to reiterate something I said above. These statements in posts will not stop me from taking in their messages.

I will read facts, and feelings, and knowledge, and I may be 100% ready to support the cause, or adjust behaviours or language I'm displaying to be more considerate.

I might broach the subject with other people who might have more knowledge and experience than me, to find out if I need or feel called to do the stuff above.

These things will happen whether I like your methods or not. Because if there is an issue in the world I might be contributing to, I want to fix that.

But if you tell me I don't, or won't, or can't give a shit, I'd rather let you think you're right about me than spread that accusation onto other people. I will never reblog a post that Challenges me to PROVE myself by reblogging. That isn't even proof in the first place. And I don't want your words next to my icon, or on my page.

Your destructive pessimism can cost you allies.

Tell me why I should care. Tell me That I should care. Tell me the consequences that not caring brings.

But don't you fucking dare tell me I won't try.

#ooc #rant #does it count as vagueposting if i see this ALL THE GODDAMN TIME from different people?

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chenziee · 6 years

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Do you have any ereri fic recommandation? I read the 6th ward yesterday (and I'm still slowly moving on, it was so sad ;-; but in a weird way it made me accept Sasha's death in the manga more easily, and it's all good), so preferably a long one please. Thank you for being awesome!

Aaahh, thank you ;__;

Hmm, I have a few fic recs but I’m not sure what you have and haven’t read so I’ll just throw in whatever has stuck with me through all these years and I can think of off the top of my head meaning these might be fics that have been recced a million times over already because they are good. If you want more/something else, let me know :)(On that note, I’d like to direct you to @fuckyeahererifanfic who have a large and beautifully categorized database of ereri fic to fit any specific needs

I’m only going to link COMPLETED fics, because I tend to only read those AND I have a particular track record of fics being abandonded after I pick them up and now have trust issues but if you want some in-progress fics, I can rec some too.

The Little Titan Cafe by @pocketsizedtitan (66k words): Modern, coffee shop AU and the cutest thing.

Just another cliche AU in which Eren works as a barista in his mother’s café, specializing in latte art. And then there’s Levi, who’s not exactly your typical patron, because, well, he’s blunt and rude (which Eren supposes isn’t that much different from regular customers) but mostly he just confuses Eren’s poor little homosexual heart.

Nuthatch (31k words) and the sequel Sparrow (116k words) by @sugarplum-senpai Canonverse. Pining and slow burn at it’s finest. All I’m going to say about it.

After the war has ended, Levi finds himself thrown into coerced retirement. With nothing but time on his hands, he buys an old house, and throws himself into renovation work to fulfill himself an old, almost forgotten dream: opening a tea shop. If only he could forget about expressive, green eyes and a smile like sunshine. Luckily, he’s still got Hanji.

[Prequel to “Sparrow”]

After the war has ended, Eren’s life is finally good. He’s seen the ocean, is back at HQ where he trains the new Scouts, and he has dinner with Levi every single night. So yes. Things are just as well.

[Sequel to Nuthatch | can be read as stand-alone work]

The Old Boat House by @oppa86oppa (102k words): Modern/fantasy AU, Levi is a merman (fitting to read during mermay no?) Has some andgst and some fluff, a bit of everything, really.

One night after Eren and his friends share a bottle of whisky, two bottles of whatever Annie brought and a couple of ghost stories, they walk the path along the gravel road, through the wheat field and past the small forest and stumble upon the old boat house. Inside they find something that’s sleeping on the bottom of the lake, someone clearly not human. One of them comes up with the idea they should catch it, probably fucking Jean, and in their surprise they actually succeed. However, in mere seconds the situation is suddenly turned completely upside down.

Eren doesn’t fall into the water, he doesn’t jump, he’s pulled down.

Art of War by catsonfire(53k words): Modern AU, fluff and comedy

Noisy neighbors, nursling dinosaurs, satanic box cutters, shitty convenience store management, the word ‘fuck’, hereditary (but not really) homosexuality, beer and ramen, pennies, truckstops, strippers, closets, semi-public defacing, rings, house parties, “recreational” drug use, accidental rendezvous, toxic stew (don’t eat the stew), nice abs, housewives–batteries not included, over-educational movie sessions, copious domesticity, kittens named after landlords, a shit joke at participating locations, and many, many happy endings.A modern AU in which Eren moves into the apartment directly above Levi’s.

Do you want me or do you want me dead? by fmaloser (82k words): Modern not-your-typical-high-school AU. A personal favourite of mine and the amount of kudos is a sacrilage. Although yes, it’s dark. There is blood and gore. The relationship they have is not healthy. Lots of angst. Boys are both broken and break other peoples’ bones, but I love them for it. (Read the tags before reading the fic.)

It’s decided that the school douchebag, Levi, needs a tutor to help get his grades back up. It’s also decided that high school senior, Eren, is perfect for the job.At first, the two hate each other. But after their pasts come back to bite them in the ass, they realize that maybe that’s not the case.

An Unlikely Alliance by @monsoondownpour (117k words) Arranged Marriage Between Waring Kingdoms AU. Everything you want from a good fic.

When Scouting Legions main trading partner, Wall Maria, is experiencing economic strain from constant attacks by the neighboring kingdom Titan, the leaders of the two nations come to an agreement: Scouting Legion will provide military protection in exchange for land and financial aid for the still growing nation.Their new alliance will be sealed with the union of King Jaegar’s son Eren to the Scouting legions strongest soldier, Lance Corporal Levi. But how will the cold, impassive soldier warm to his new husband, who is far from the weak, spoiled princess he was expecting?

Witch’s Vein and Bloodstains by @monsoondownpour (38k words) Fantasy AU. Not that long but so beautifully written it’s unreal. The atmosphere and how it’s delivered is honestly something I aspire to.

In a land of sentient forests and unpredictable magic, it is never wise to venture far without a witch.

The Survey Corps is in dire need of a replacement after a tragic accident took Ilse’s life in a quest gone horribly wrong. Eren might not be what anyone expected, but he has raw talent and curious allure that even Captain Levi can’t deny. When circumstances conspire to pit the squad against the same adversary that took Ilse barely a year ago, will they be able to handle the challenge a second time round?

Fallen Star @monsoondownpour (31k words) Modern AU. Lots of angst. Actually it’s mostly angst because even the ridiculously fluffy parts hurt. (But spoiler: happy ending, yay!)

Detective Levi Ackerman had his life in order; a steady job he enjoyed, a close circle of friends, and a spitfire little sister who was all the family he could ever want or need. His world was a simple one until ballet prodigy Eren Jaeger stumbled into it.Someone like Eren didn’t belong in his world.Now he wasn’t sure how he would live without him.

Lists by Trick_Fantasy (72k words) College AU. Can be highly triggering for anxiety, there is emotional manipulation, and VERY toxic friendships. It’s about learning to get past all of that. Read at own risk. But it’s an amazing fic and will forever be one of my favourites.

The story of Levi (“Why bother trying to make friends when you can learn to control people instead?”) and Eren (“Because you can control people better when they think that they’re your friends. They don’t even know they’re being manipulated.”) coping with social interaction at college in their own different ways.

Augenfresser by @foxicology (75k words) Modern/Fantasy AU. Horror/Thriller. Deals with heavy stuff, the ending is up for interpretation and known to fuck people up. Be warned.

Monsters did not like to hide under beds, as his father had told him. No; he found the monster hiding in his closet.

Love.exe by @cofferi (70k words) Modern AU. Finishing off with more fluff/comedy so I don’t seem like such a psycho. Definitely a fun read.

All Levi wants to do is drink tea, run his goddamn convenience store, and not have to deal with this kid who keeps coming in to leech his wifi bringing down high-end corporations.

Also literally anything by @sciencefictioness is a sure bet. Just saying.

Also going to take the oppotunity to throw in my own AO3 because why the hell not (although it’s mostly oneshots).

I’m very sure I’m missing some amazing fics and authors but this is what I could think off at 1AM and not make it a mile long post. I hope you find something you haven’t read and that you enjoy these gems anon :)

Also I can’t help but throw this fic in:

Tinsel Town by TheWonderYears (33k words) Modern AU. Psychotic-murder-boyfriends AU. Seriously. It’s very graphic. Blood, gore, torture, all the fun stuff. I love it. My ultimate fave, always and forever.

There’s Definitely Something In The Water.

Aaaand there goes my ‘I’m not a psycho’ claim.

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