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delopsia · 4 months

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Silver & Gold | Bob x Reader x Rhett

Word Count: 7,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Bob's in deep internal debate, mentions of wedding planning, setting up a Christmas tree (no religious themes included, we're doing it for the ✨vibes✨), domestic fluff, protective Rhett if you squint, usage of a ribbon for light bondage purposes, cunnilingus, hand jobs, and thigh fucking. Brief Summary: Bob's having a crisis over whether he wants a silver or gold wedding ring. All you and Rhett want to do is set up the new Christmas tree. Shenanigans on the couch involving a ribbon ensue.

There goes that damn snowman again. Moving across the screen in all of its vintage, stop-motion glory, strumming his banjo, singing that infuriating song about silver and gold. Like it's so simple. Like you just get to up and have both. All willy-nilly, fully embracing the concept of childish indecision, ignoring the constraints of society, and normalization of picking only one.

...or maybe Bobby has simply fallen into the curse of overthinking.

It shouldn't be that hard. Silver or gold? It's simple until he's once again struck with the fact that he will wear this ring for the rest of his life. He had such an easy time picking metals for you and Rhett; he knew your favorites inside and out.

So why can't he make a decision for himself, the person he should arguably know the best?

"You're lookin' at that phone awful hard," Rhett grumbles from his left. Snug against the naked mattress, jeans clinging to his hips, tattered cowboy hat resting atop his belly. An offhandedly placed thing that both adds to his rugged, cowboy glory and conceals the softness he's acquired, hard muscle a little squishier now. Thicker.

Healthier.

"Like you haven't had your nose in that notebook all month," there's a pop in Bob's neck as he tilts his head, muscle, and bone protesting movement after being still for so long. "What are you working on, anyhow?"

Rhett's mouth closes, teeth audibly clattering together. Soft blue eyes darting up to the ceiling, "It's nothin'."

Those furrowed eyebrows suggest otherwise, but in the back of his mind, Bobby supposes he'll leave it there. Rhett'll talk about it when he's ready. It doesn't alleviate the genuine curiosity that has been brewing ever since that notebook appeared last month, but alas.

Door hinges squeal. Bare feet padding across the floor, a bundle of sheets concealing the face of the third person in the room. But he recognizes those arms as well as he does the ring on that dainty little finger—perfection, in your favorite metal and all.

"I thought one of you was gonna fix the door?" You chirp, dropping the sheets onto the bed in an unceremonious heap. Pillow cases and a stowaway face cloth spilling out, still warm from the dryer.

Rhett's eyes dart to meet with Bob's. Who's plan was that, anyway?

"I'll take a look at it in a minute," Bob's thumb blindly feels its way to the power button of his phone. Turning the screen off before he can be caught staring at rings for the umpteenth time this week.

But even though he's no longer staring mindlessly at his phone, those little rings sit in the forefront of his mind. Burned into his eyes, as he helps pull the sheets onto the bed. Silver and gold, and a make-believe third option, rose gold. All of them menacing with their ridiculously high numbers; within a reasonable price range, but still strange to think about. That much money for a uniquely shaped hunk of metal.

"Bobby."

Whatever happened to simpler traditions? A fancy rock would do him much nicer. Free of their metal confines and special in their own natural way, unhindered by the standards of man and artificially constructed value. Blue lace agate would quite suit him, or a nice geode, picked out with the vague guide of what felt right, then split into three.

"Bob?"

What ever happened to simplicity? Marriage sounded awfully simple as a child. Why couldn't it have stayed that way? Who can even settle on just one flavor for cake, and who the hell decided that more than two flavors were too many? Why can't there be multiple small cakes that each suit them, rather than fighting to even out clashing styles? Why must there only be one big cake?

"Robert Benjamin Floyd!"

"What?" Lifting his head, not quite expecting to find you and Rhett staring back at him. Rhett's hand is still outstretched, offering up a corner of the comforter. "Oh."

"Thought we'd really lost ya this time," Rhett's chuckling, a softened tease that he's uttered three times today. A newly formed habit, triggered every time Bob's mind slips down the slippery slope of what-ifs.

Your eyes narrow a little suspiciously; always have been the one to catch on to his internal stresses before Rhett does, or anyone else, really. The voice in the back of his head openly wonders what triggers the alarm bells, if it's the spacing out in thought or some minute shift in his expression.

For a couple of hours, he's able to forget about the concept of wedding rings entirely. Preoccupied with tackling the task of fixing the squeaky doors that were supposed to have been repaired before the house was sold to the three of you. Jumping from that and straight to dinner, bustling about the kitchen, gingerly guiding Rhett's wary hands in a feeble attempt to teach him how to knead dough.

Then there are the dishes to be cleaned, flour that needs to be ruffled out of a cowboy's hair, and the movie you three agreed to watch under the assumption that someone else had one picked out. As it panned out, nobody had a single title lined up, and it fell back on Rhett's number one Christmas default.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

In fact, Bobby doesn't catch himself thinking about the rings for the entire night. Until two tiny rings clank against the bedside table as you and Rhett remove them for the night.

Will his ring sit on that table, too?

"You're thinking again," he doesn't remember when you got into bed, but you're right here next to him. Pawing at your nose with the side of your hand after an itch that seems to have been bugging you all afternoon.

The pains of getting dusty Christmas decor out.

"I'm always thinking," he murmurs, blindly reaching out to curl a hand around your cheek. A daunting task without his glasses. Can see just enough of your face to know where all of your important features lie, but the finer details have gone blurry. Left with no choice but to move based on the terrain of your body, roaming up the soft skin of your cheekbone and up the hill of your nose.

There's movement from behind his back. The weight of a cowboy settling down, throwing a heavy arm around Bobby's waist, as he squirms closer. "Ain't we s'posed to be always thinkin'?"

Your eyes roll so hard that Bob worries they'll get stuck in the back of your head. "Something like that."

Rhett hums, the soft whiskers of unshaven scruff tickling Bob's shoulder, his head perfectly snug in the cap between shoulder and neck. In the very place he will stay for the rest of the night until Bob inevitably pries himself free come morning.

For now, though, he's not going anywhere. Making it so, so easy for you to snuggle in, your legs tangling with his and Rhett's, just close enough to steal some of their body heat but not enough to melt. A comfort that has taken you months to perfect and only works when Bob's body is there to block Rhett's burning velcro hands.

But you do take the liberty of blindly stroking your cowboy's arm beneath the covers, soft ups and downs that trace an exposed vein until you're certain he's smiling.

Sleep comes early, but then again, it always does when all three of you are here. Free of life responsibilities and the incessant call of the Navy, determined to take your favorite backseater away. Dreams burn a little sweeter when the three of you are crammed up against each other, even with all the space granted by this oversized Alaskan king mattress.

You're caught between the edges of sleep when you feel Bobby's hand against your cheek. Gingerly stroking something free of your skin, an eyelash, you suppose. A movement that sealed with a soft kiss, like it'll keep anything else from disturbing you.

Rhett whines. Bob shifts. Audibly giving him a kiss, too. Always keeping things equal.

It feels like your eyes are only closed for a couple of seconds. One moment, Bob is sliding his arm over your waist, and the next, you're snug as a bug in his arms, squinting against a bright beam of light. Aren't quite sure what woke you, but you're more than content to sleep a little bit longer. Squirming closer, readjusting your head against the pillow.

Thump thump thump.

One eye opens.

Thump thump thump.

Is someone at the door?

You don't have a clue who it could be. Nobody mentioned coming over for a visit, and you're more than certain nobody would invite themselves over without asking first. Not after you've made it clear that this weekend is reserved for setting up the—

shit.

The Christmas tree is here.

Your feet hit the ground before you can even comprehend what you're doing. Stepping into the pajama shorts you left on the floor as you scurry out of the bedroom. A slow-motion race that you're hardly awake for, darting down the stairs, through the living room, and past the kitchen.

The front door opens so quickly that the delivery driver jumps. Caught halfway off of your porch, ready to head back to his truck and mark it to redeliver another day.

You can feel his eyes raking across your body as you sign the little box on his tablet, but you're quite frankly not awake enough to find the words to do something about it. Sleepily resting against the door frame as he begins to head back to his truck, chirping that he'll even carry the box into the house for you.

His smile drops before he's finished turning around.

Rhett.

Forearms crossed over his chest, a protective, looming shadow that settles up behind you. His palm bracing against the frame next to your head, scruff tickling as he leans in to press his lips to your cheek.

"I'm glad you heard 'em," he grumbles, voice still at that deliciously low tone, rough with sleep and unspoken perfection, "'cause I sure didn't."

"That's because you could sleep through the rapture," you're speaking through a yawn, halfway into leaning against him when the driver comes back around the corner, oversized tree box in tow.

He leaves it right on the doorstep.

Evidently, carrying boxes into the house is a courtesy reserved for the single-folk. Yet, you can't complain too much because now you get to watch Rhett's biceps bulge as he lifts the box. A sight that could damn near make you drool this early in the morning. It's almost unfortunate that he doesn't have to carry it further. Is it too late to request to move the tree upstairs?

The box hits the ground gently, right by Rhett's feet; you wonder if he's realized that he only has one sock on.

Based on how he's hardly got his eyes open, you're beginning to wonder if he's even awake. His jaw pops as he opens his mouth, "'Y reckon we should wake up Robby?"

"He'll wake up soon enough," though you're the only one speaking, you're fairly certain that both of you are sharing the same thought.

Bob's always been quiet, keeping to himself on most occasions, but the silence that's overtaken him as of late isn't the kind you've come to know and love. His eyes going unfocused when he thinks you're not paying attention, wandering off into his own sort of world. There are no rules defining when it may happen: in the grocery store, in the middle of a movie, hell, he's done it in the middle of a conversation.

Just like he did it last night, with making the bed.

Surely, it can't be second thoughts about this whole wedding thing. No, that wouldn't make sense; he's the one who proposed.

You'll have to worry about it some other time; him, his thoughts, and Rhett's curious notebook be damned, there's a Christmas tree that needs to be set up, fluffed, and decorated.

A very big tree. Ten feet sounds a lot smaller on the screen.

"We either get one too big," Rhett's eyes flick over to the tiny tree sitting on your left. Scrawny, hardly two and a half feet tall, and happens to be last year's lesson about reading the dimensions, "or too small."

Your head tilts up. Straining to get a look at the top, still crooked from its time spent crammed in the box. "Do we still have them ornaments in the garage?"

Rhett's sigh echoes. "We're 'bout to find out."

Locating the ornaments is the easiest part; they're still sitting in a neat stack on a shelf, stacks, and stacks of unopened bulbs and a box of garland—silver, gold, fake popcorn,, all tangled with the neverending red ribbon and faux pine that decorated the banister last year. It's a lot, but it felt like so much more when it was just a memory.

"Where did the silver come from?" You don't remember those making their way onto the list of ornament colors, but unless your eyes are playing tricks on you, those on the bottom right are certainly silver.

In an instant, Rhett's face drops. "Was I not s'posed to buy silver?"

"We were only doing red, pink and gold, remember?" The color list Bobby wrote out last year is still taped to the box of ornaments you're holding. A long ranking of colors, all crossed out until it left you with three. Silver never even made it onto the list.

Rhett's eyes dart away, suddenly too embarrassed to look down at the offending color of bulbs he's collected in his arms. "Oh."

"Did you..." you're still connecting the dots as you speak, eyes flickering between Rhett's fading smile and the plastic decorations, "want silver?"

Wordless, he nods.

Okay. Silver it is. But as you go to put your armload of gold decor back, his frown only deepens, like that's not what he was expecting in the slightest.

"Why can't we do both?" He asks, brows furrowing.

You don't get what he's on about. "Silver and gold?"

His head tilts to the side, and you can almost see the puppy ears flopping with the movement. All big blue eyes and pure confusion. "Ain't they s'posed to go together?"

"What makes you think that?" Maybe it's the sleep still clouding your mind that's making it so difficult to understand what he's on about.

"They got that song," he's nodding in the direction of the living room, like that'll help him explain, "in that Rudolph movie."

So it's a Burl Ives song that gets a fourth color added to the tree—red, pink, silver, and gold.

Two dozen bulbs were perfect for the strangled excuse of a Christmas tree that you had last year. But with every bulb that you take from Rhett's hands, curling its brand-new hook into an artificial branch, you begin to wonder if there are even enough. The boxes of red disappear quicker than planned. Then come the pink, and now you're grabbing for the silver and soon the gold.

And it's still not enough. This tree is so large that it swallows up every ornament you hang from its branches. The massive gaps between bulbs are impossible to ignore, even from across the room.

"Y' think puttin' the garlands on will make it a little less...?" Rhett doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already get the picture.

"It can't hurt?" What's the worst that can happen, you make the tree look a little less baren?

Though it's easier said than done.

The bottom half of the tree is relatively simple: passing the garland back and forth, trying your best to keep previously placed bulbs from dropping to the floor. They fall regardless. One after the other, clanking across the floor and rolling every which way.

Then comes the middle portion, and suddenly, you're standing on the tips of your toes. Have long since given up on caring about what being knocked off, the muscles in the back of your neck straining to keep looking at what you're doing. Then comes the top of the tree, and neither of you can be bugged to even begin to try that without a second ladder. Instead reaching for the silver garland, beginning to wrap it in the opposite direction of the gold.

"Getting festive without me, huh?"

That isn't Rhett's voice.

And it certainly wasn't yours.

"G' mornin'," Rhett's smiling at the half-awake figure standing in the threshold.

Bobby's eyes aren't even halfway open, leaning his weight up against the wall. His sleepy grin doing nothing to distract from the short hair sticking in every direction, cheek still imprinted from a fold in the sheets.

He's heard Rhett. You know he has because his eyes dart right to him. But he doesn't react. Staring aimlessly at the shimmering tinsel in Rhett's hands, eyes seeming to conceal every thought in the world and nothing at all.

Right as you're about to call his name, his mouth opens.

"What if we got rings in both metals?"

Your hands freeze. "I'm sorry?"

"I mean—" His eyelashes are fluttering, pale pink tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. "Rings in silver and gold."

"You fixin' to put another ring on us, Robby?" Rhett's quicker to catch on than you are, thin lips twisted into a wild grin. Slowly spreading across his cheeks until his eyes curl with it.

Your attention darts back to the tinsel in your hands, silver overlapping gold, then to the thin golden band clinging to Rhett's ring finger. Your own is still bare, the ring sitting safely in its dish on the bedside table. Forgotten again.

Nobody ever talks about how hard it is to work up the habit of keeping a piece of jewelry on.

Bob doesn't realize it, but his thumb is idly stroking his empty ring finger. Not yet brandished with jewelry like you and Rhett because he hasn't even answered your question about what metal he prefers for his ring—

"Is that what you've been thinking all this time?" You blurt, hardly able to fight the urge to spring to your feet.

He doesn't need to even open his mouth. You know you've gotten your answer the moment his face turns a brilliant shade of ruby. Socked foot kicking at the floor, suddenly unable to look at you or Rhett any longer.

"I didn't..." his face only seeming to grow redder by the second, as he shakes his head back and forth, "you..."

You're so fortunate that this isn't your first speechless rodeo with Bobby. Have seen him fight to translate thoughts into words so many times that you have already put together what he's trying to say.

And you've only got a half second to realize that Rhett is bolting across the room before your ears are being met with an earth-shattering thunk. The house rattles as Rhett all but tackles Bobby to the floor, with no regard for the fragile decor sprinkled about around them.

Bob's feet are scrambling for purchase on the hardwood, socks giving him nothing but a smooth glide as he squirms beneath Rhett, squealing something you can't interpret. His big hands clutching Rhett's biceps, knuckles whitening as he tries to shove him off. But Rhett's got the upper hand, downright smothering with his weight.

"That's what you've been on about?" Rhett's shout is broken apart by his own giggles, knees thumping against the floor as he tries to straddle the wriggling hips below him. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Bobby's still kicking up a fight, hips bucking up hard enough to lift Rhett with it, if only for a second. "Like you ain't been secretive with that notebook, Abbott."

"It ain't secretive. It's a surprise!" Rhett's arms cross in front of his chest, frowning.

Did you miss the memo that you were supposed to have a secret project to be working on, too?

"Baby," Bobby begs, reaching aimlessly in your direction as if he has any hope of reaching you from a few feet away. "Help me."

But you're not entirely sure if you can do that. As you scoot closer, Rhett's attention darts to you, excited eyes daring you to try him. He's figured out how to win recently, and it's only a matter of time before he has you pinned on the floor, too.

You can't be bugged to even try fighting him for Bob's honor. Not only because you would lose horribly but because you're already preoccupied with leaning down and pressing your lips to the side of his cheek. Feeling the warmth of his flushed skin, the way his face wrinkles with that content smile.

"'s this what we're doing?" Rhett's asking as if he's not already leaning in, too. Audibly pressing kisses to the soft underside of Bob's jaw, where he's garnered the slightest bit of stubble overnight. "Kisses?"

And this room is far too quiet for Bobby's soft inhale to go unnoticed, his uneasy hand gliding up your arm. Always has to be holding on to something. In the corner of your eye, you can already see his other hand making a grab for Rhett's bicep, greedily squishing the thick muscle between his fingers.

Rhett's blindly reaching off to the side, mouth only briefly leaving Bob's flushed skin as he produces a thick, red ribbon. The silky soft one that had been hiding in the box of garland.

"Huh?" Bob's nose wrinkles, unable to do anything but watch as Rhett collects his wrists together, wrapping them in that smooth material. Only begins to squirm when it's too late. Rhett's already cinching the knot closed, forcing those pale arms back together as he finishes it off with an obnoxiously fancy bow. Perfectly pinned over his head.

"There we go," Rhett's grinning, leaning back in to nip at Bob's jaw, "first present of the year."

Bobby's eyes roll so hard that you briefly lose sight of those pale blue irises. Arms flexing as he tests the strength of Rhett's handiwork, frowning when he finds no give at all.

Not a word spoken, you flip to the same page that Rhett is on. Resuming your peppering kisses, tongue poking out to lick down Bob's pretty neck, working your way down to his collar. Nibbling where he's most sensitive, relishing in that surprised grunt. There's hardly any room for Rhett to fit, but he's squeezing in any way. Shoulder bumping into yours as he torments the opposite side, peering at you through the corner of his eye.

"In the middle of the floor?" There's no way Bob could have seen that look, but he's already understood what you two are up to. Wasting no time, with the way your unruly hands dip beneath his shirt, roaming over the soft expanse of his belly. Not quite as defined as Rhett, but equally loveable and squishy.

Rhett's beating you to it, shoving Bob's shirt up without a single shred of grace. "Y' got a problem with that, flyboy?" Thin lips wrapping around a soft pink nipple, yanking a gasp out of him.

"My back does," Bob's words are more of a mumble than anything else. An uneasy confession of the one thing he's guaranteed to suffer with in his career.

There are a number of solutions to this. Migrating upstairs to the comfort of the bed, grabbing a couple of the many decorative pillows off the couch and propping them beneath Bob's back, or even standing up and backing him up against the wall, perfectly cornered while you and Rhett have your way with him.

That list of solutions did not involve you sitting on the edge of the couch, with Bobby kneeling between your legs and Rhett sidling up behind him like the minx that he is. Wasting no time with peeling that thin t-shirt from Bob's pale body, exposing miles upon miles of lightly freckled shoulders and pale skin. And all Bob can seem to think about is getting his mouth on your inner thighs, daring to start right where the fabric of your shorts ends.

"'s this better?" Rhett downright purrs with those half-lidded eyes.

He doesn't get much of an answer. Just a weak 'uhuh' that's muffled by your inner thigh.

Idle, your hand combs through Bob's short hair. Has had enough time to grow past the rigid constraints of Navy regulations, the perfect length to curl around your fingers, tugging gently. Drawing his eager mouth closer, hot tongue trailing along your skin. Sending superheated bolts of lightning rippling up your nerves. Familiar warmth blooming between your legs, head beginning to spin the slightest bit.

That soft mouth of his is the definition of heaven. Sucking gently, adding his handiwork over top of Rhett's extensive assault from a few days ago, so dark that they've hardly faded at all. A mottling of patches that only worsen the further he works, all too eager to mark you up.

But it's a far cry from Rhett's vigor, working away at the crevice of Bob's neck. Loud. Reckless as he sucks a darkened mark into the thin skin stretched over his collarbone. Crafting a sinful trail leading down his back, a soft mark over every little knob in his spine.

Fingers curl into your waistband. Wordlessly urging you to lift your hips to let them slide past the soft curve of your ass, yanking the fabric down your legs and tossing them off to the side, underwear and all.

But Rhett's hands are on Bobby's hips, and they're certainly not yours. Which can only mean...

You're cut off before you can even begin to speak. Bob's flat tongue stroking between your folds, peering up at you from beneath his lashes. Dark, hardened gaze daring you to call him out on his antics.

He's slow. His hands dropping onto his lap, quietly concealing his newly found freedom, working with his mouth alone. Leaning in until his glasses fog with his own breath, lazily lapping at your sex, roaming feather-light over your clit, a ghost of what he could be giving you.

"Bobby," you gasp, and though your thighs are squishing his cheeks, it's impossible to miss the way his lip upturns into a grin.

Rhett bumps into him from behind, and that's all it takes to have the tip of his tongue pressing directly into that rapidly swelling button. A sudden pressure that damn near makes you squeal, yanking a hand out of his hair to muzzle yourself with. That darkened gaze hardens into a glare. Craves the sound of you whimpering his name, but there's not a damn thing he can do about it. Not if he doesn't want Rhett to see his untied hands.

He's pushing harder now. Aggressive strokes, swiping invisible x-shapes with this audibly wet noise that threatens to make your head float right off your shoulders. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that's a lot all at once.

Rhett's hand bumps into yours as he tangles his fingers in Bob's hair. Gently yanking him back with this absurdly loud pop, chin already glistening as he's hauled back to lean against Rhett's chest.

But it's not to torment Bobby or for Rhett to steal his fair share of attention. No, he's shoving Bob's pajama pants down his hips. Half-hard cock bouncing the moment it's free of its confines, a sight so distracting that you can't bring yourself to look away.

Until you realize that Rhett has long since lost his pants, that is. Your thighs squeezing together from the sight of them alone.

Rhett's brows knit together, suddenly perplexed with a realization you've already made. "When did y' get your hands—"

The end of that sentence never comes. Cut short by Bob's sudden burst of energy, blindly reaching behind himself to grab a handful of Rhett's dark hair. And it's like the fight immediately dissolves from Rhett's bones. Face softening as he's held in place until Bob can get behind him. Nothing but an unruly puppy that got put back in his place.

"Thought you knew better than to tie a sailor with a basic knot," Bob's chuckling into the shell of Rhett's ear, reaching forward to wrap Rhett's pliant arms in the ribbon. Not as decorative as before, opting for an intricacy that has you tilting your head, unable to keep up with what his nimble hands are doing.

You should have seen it coming. But quite frankly, you can only think about one thing right now, and it's certainly not the intricacies involved with tying a ribbon. Speechless as Rhett's pretty head is pushed between your legs. The scruff of his jaw scraping your mottled inner thigh, peppering it with a kiss.

"Sweetheart, can you look under that pillow for me?" Bob's pointing toward the decorative throw in question, the small square one that used to sit in his apartment, "Think we left the lube under there last time."

Blindly, your hand reaches behind it, patting against fabric and cushion until your fingers graze the cool plastic of the bottle.

But then Rhett's tongue darts to lap at your clit, suddenly too hungry to wait anymore, and you're fumbling with it. Nearly dropping it onto his back before Bob can even reach out to take it from you.

"Jesus, Rhett," you breathe, falling back to rest against the couch cushion, gazing down at the new, messy sight you've gained. The too-eager cowboy who doesn't have the strength to string you out like Bob does, so content that his eyes seem to smile as he gently sucks on your clit.

"'m sorry," he grumbles directly into your pussy, unable to draw himself away for even a second, "couldn't help it."

He's everywhere. Laving your clit with all the attention he can give and then dipping down to nudge his tongue against your neglected entrance. Shallowly working his tongue in and out, downright drooling into you, short little jabs that make you flutter around him. Only for him to break away the moment he's found a rhythm. Licking his way back up and over your clit once more. Collecting every bit of you, and yet he's still not satisfied.

Your hand settles against the back of his head, tangling your fingers in those long locks, pulling until you can guide him right where you want him, holding him in place. "Right there," you murmur with a shiver, "right there."

Though your grip is strong, it's not enough to stop him from jumping at the sudden appearance of Bob's lube-slicked hand dipping between his thighs. Carefully spreading the cool substance against the thin skin there, working his way up to his balls and the underside of his cock.

"What..." the rumbling of Rhett's voice sends sparks racing up your spine. Sends you involuntarily jolting up into his mouth, "are y' doin'?"

Your eyes are just open enough to catch the way Bob grins. "You'll see," is all he provides. Kneeling down to place his hands on the sides of Rhett's thighs, pushing them together so quickly that Rhett squeaks.

The first pass of Bob's cock between Rhett's thighs is a thing that surprises all of you. Rhett at the sudden appearance, you with the obscene sight, and Bob's muttering something about those pretty thighs being so fucking soft. His dick just long enough to brush against Rhett's heavy balls, gives him the slightest amount of attention.

And oh, does it have him whimpering into you. "Keep doin' that," he stutters, pushing impossibly closer into your cunt. Working you in earnest now, swirling his tongue around that swollen bud, punctuated with a soft suction that has your heart jumping in your chest. His body rocking with Bob's deep thrusts, bound arms helplessly pinned against the couch.

It's so much. Oh, it's so much. Your hips are beginning to squirm, legs clamping down around his shoulders, squeezing impossibly tight. Yanking on his hair, pulling him closer, only to try dragging him away. Don't know if you want more or less or exactly what he's doing right now, or, or—

"Untie me," Rhett's babbling all of a sudden. Sounds as far gone as you feel. "Please. Want, want...wanna hold..."

His biceps flex, straining against the thin ribbon with everything he can muster, the threads of the fabric audibly ripping as it's stretched beyond its limit. And it's all Bob can do to lean down and yank on the knot. Undoing it before it can be torn in two; technique doesn't always outweigh pure strength.

Rhett's arms are around your hips in an instant. Hugging you close like a man starved, and it's all you can do not to fall apart right here and now. Frantically pawing at his biceps, pushing at his head, unable to stop his hungry mewl from vibrating up your core. Impossible to avoid the pleased smile that plasters across his face, lightly sucking on your clit like it's his favorite candy.

"Rhett," you're whining, squirming helplessly as he downright eats you alive, tongue so sloppy that it's loud, has a sickly wet noise ringing in your ears,"Rhett I...I'm—"

"Cum on my face," pleading in that hopelessly deep voice of his, "Please, please, please."

You hardly feel it hit you. All you know is that your head is falling back against the couch cushion, and you're cumming on his burning tongue with a strangled whimper. Legs damn near locking around his scruffy face as your back arches up, fingers pulling so hard on his hair that it has to hurt. And yet he licks you through every jolted spasm, hot breath fanning out against you, humming in tune with your noises.

Bobby's pulling him away right as you grow oversensitive, pulling on those soft brown locks of hair, but you hardly expect him to haul Rhett up onto his feet. Blindly pushing him forward onto the empty space next to you, his back flat against the cushion, head falling haphazardly into your lap. Unshaven jaw glistening with you as he pries his eyes open, gazing up at you with that far-gone emptiness you've seen so many times.

Doesn't react as Bob squeezes into the little bit of space available, pushing Rhett's thighs up and together, guiding his cock through the small gap in them. Pretty pink cock head bumping right where Rhett's weeping length begins.

And Rhett's whimper sounds like your name. Big hand pawing around until he can get ahold of yours, squeezing it gently.

"Ain't you two a sight," Bob's grunting. Has only just begun to find his pace, but he's already begun to shake. Too close. Too fast.

It's enough to get Rhett's eyes fluttering, hips jolting upward, "Y' like my thighs too much." And he's going to be so sensitive once Bobby's done with him, thighs red and tender from the abuse, but fuck is all of that worth this. The sight of his trembling legs being held together, flushed cock leaking against his belly as his thighs are fucked for all he's worth.

On its own, your free hand lifts, traveling down to wrap around his neglected length. Letting the weight of Bob's thrusts push him in and out of your grasp. A shallow, lazy motion that makes his mouth fall open.

"You like that, cowboy?" You're teasing, voice a touch hoarse. Thumb finding its way beneath his plush head, swiping back and forth at the precum-covered underside.

"T-tighter," his hand squeezing yours a little harder as if to demonstrate what he's craving. And as soon as you follow his instruction, his back is arching off the couch. "jus' like that, jus' like—fuck."

But that's not enough. No, no, he's opening his mouth again. "Harder," he begs, pale feet defiantly kicking where Bob's got them held in the air, "Robby, fuck me harder."

"You're purty demandin' for a pillow princess," you don't know what's made Bob's accent slip out so suddenly, but it damn near makes your head spin. And though he's complaining, he wastes no time hardening his pace. Balls smacking against Rhett's flushed skin as his thrusts become heavier. Rough, just how Rhett likes it.

Knocks the rest of Rhett's words right out of his mouth, silences him right and proper. Dissolving into nothing but pitchy whimpers and hitched breaths. Noises growing higher and higher, until he's beginning to twitch in your grasp, your only sign that he's close.

"Cum for us," Bob's egging him on, pulling those shivering legs up to his chest, drawing him back into every thrust, "c'mon, be a good boy 'n cum."

Rhett's head lolls backward, eyes rolling, gazing up at you and nowhere at all. Eyelashes beginning to flutter and fall closed, cumming with a feather-light gasp that ought to knock you off your feet. Ropes of white paint his spasming belly and your hand, coating his spasming length.

And Bob's still fucking him, rhythmic pace dissolving into something sporadic, rubbing right against Rhett's oversensitive balls with every push and pull. Rhett's whines rising into hopeless cries, squirming, fighting to escape the way Bob's still railing into him.

Only takes a few shaky jerks of his hips for him to stall, too, staining Rhett's thighs and cock with rope after rope of cum. Glasses obscuring the way his eyes roll, head tilting back to show the new mottling of marks on his collar.

Everything is still. Quiet, except for two labored breaths, intertwining like the tinsel on the tree. Bob's shaky hand dips down, collecting some of the mess he's made of Rhett's thighs, lifting his cum-covered fingers to Rhett's swollen, parted lips. And all your cowboy can do is open his mouth and lick it off, too far gone to fuss.

Two pairs of exhausted eyes peer up at you as if to check that you're on the same page as them.

"What 'bout Floytt?" Rhett's blurting, all of a sudden, evidently unable to keep the silence for too long.

Bobby's eyebrows furrow, tilting his head down. "Pardon?"

For a moment, Rhett flounders. Mouth opening and closing. Seems to have completely forgotten how to conjure up the words he needs to speak. "Remember, the uh..." he tries, "las' name thing?"

You can't help but giggle. "You two are horrible at bringing up your ideas." Because what are the chances that you'd wind up with not one but two fiances who can't seem to give context to save their lives. Wildly blurting what's on their minds, under the assumption that you'll know what they're talking about.

"I take it that's what the notebook was for?" Bob's question is more of an observation than anything. To which he receives a nod and a faint 'uhuh' from Rhett. Can't be brought to provide a proper 'yes.'

It's not the solution you'd expected when it came to this last-name debacle. Debating on whose last name to take, the three of you are too passive to insist that your name be taken out of fear of hurting feelings. But the concept of picking an entirely new one didn't feel so personal. There's no special weight to the names you've found online.

"Floytt." It feels strange in your mouth and yet oddly familiar, as if it's been present from the moment you all met. Lifts your tongue like it does for the beginning of Floyd, still carries the short and sweet ring of the Abbott family name.

"Floytt." Bob's parroting you, pausing if only for a moment to think, and then opens his mouth once more, "I like it."

For a three-month-old debate, it sure did end abruptly. You can see it now: a pretty new name engraved on a plaque hanging below the mailbox. An obnoxious, cursive sign in the kitchen, as if you and your families can possibly forget something like a last name. Bills and new dog tags with the name stamped in pretty letters.

"Now we just have to plan the actual wedding," your smile wavers; you've got a little over seven months to figure out a theme, outfits, finalize who is being invited, and, worse of all, figure out the cake situation.

How is anyone supposed to layer Bob's beloved lemon on top of Rhett's affectionately chosen bananas foster? And then still have space for yours as well? Who gets to be the biggest layer? Who draws the unlucky straw to have the smallest? And how do you even begin narrowing down three icings to one? And themes. How the hell do you get a cowboy and a pilot theme to look good together on the same damn canvas?

You wonder if they'll object to three separate cakes.

"And finish the tree." Bob's nodding his head toward the half-finished decor; you've got to make another ornament run if you want to get anywhere close to having it done.

Rhett's resounding "ugh" resonates to your core. "C'n we take a nap first?" He grumbles, punctuated with a big, whining yawn. Batting those long lashes of his up at the two of you like it'll earn him some favors.

It does.

You're snuggled up with him in an instant. Squeezing in on one side while Bob takes the other, barely fitting onto these wide couch cushions. Your arm splayed out across the soft fat of Rhett's belly, squishy until he intentionally flexes the thick muscle there. Has rounded out in all the right places, in the chest, cheeks, ass, and cum-covered thighs.

A clean-up should have come before the nap, but you can't be bugged to get back up. And by the looks of it, neither can Bob.

"You're really gettin' us more rings?" Rhett's asking, half-lidded eyes flicking between the two of you as if he can possibly garner an answer from your expressions.

Bob's shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "Why not?"

And it's only now that you tune into the soulless drone of the television. A familiar, festive song chiming to life as a stop-motion snowman twists across the screen, mindlessly strumming his banjo, singing about silver and gold.

Quietly, Bob begins to hum along to it. A soft rumbling that draws a heaviness into your eyelids until you can no longer lift them. Drifting off to the tune of an old song and the deep rumblings of a Navy pilot who reaches over to stroke an eyelash from your cheek. Your wonderful little unconventional trio, with your extra partner, two colors of rings, and three separate wedding cakes.

Something pops. Hitting the ground with a shrill clatter; ornaments bouncing across the floor, twinkling lights flicking off within an instant.

One eye opens, peeking at your newly fallen Christmas tree.

It closes.

Rhett's elbow finds its way to nudge Bob's chest, "you're settin' it up this time."

"I wouldn't have to if you two woulda woke me up," you knew Bob would hit you two with that eventually. Always does, at some point.

"We were tryin' to let you have yer beauty sleep, flyboy," Rhett's chirping, in that taunting sort of fashion that can only mean one thing. You don't need to open your eyes to feel the playful glares being fired back at one another.

And then comes Bob's too-calm warning. "Don't start that."

"Well, I'm startin'!" And there they go, tumbling off the couch in an instant. Ornaments knocking around as they tussle about on the living room floor. Fighting to see who's stronger, as if this outcome will be any different, swearing between giggles as they twist and turn.

You don't get to take that nap.

#bob floyd #rhett abbott #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott #oneshot #x reader #afab reader #hawthorn au

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macsmoods · 10 months

Note

Hey love, can I request a hobie brown x fem! mma fighter reader who’s also a spider person or symbiotic (meaning they have a venom or something like him). Maybe Miguel sent hobie to go retrieve a new recruit and he finds her at a fighting expo absolutely kicking to crap out of her opponent.

feel free to ignore tho

THE PUNISHER

Hobie Brown

Summary: Miguel is tired of Hobie complaining about have no competition at HQ, so he sends him to find the new recruit. Miguel knows you’ll be his match. You are low on cash even though your the spider women of Earth-233. You decide to take it up in the ring to make some extra money.

warning⚠️ swearing, hitting

not edited ———————————————————————

Hobie entered Miguel’s office ready to get yelled at again. It was the third time this week he’d been called in for his “bad” behavior as Miguel put it.

“You know if you want to talk to me this bad all the time might as well just ask for my number.” Hobie yelled up to Miguel. Miguel scoffed as he lowered his desk. He turned already glaring at Hobie.

“Ah yes i just love the bullshit that comes out of your mouth so much that i have to hear it every hour.” miguel retorted as he walked towards Hobie.

Hobie rolled his eyes before beginning again. “What did u do this time, boss.” Miguel turned towards his desk going to sit again. He motioned for Hobie to join him.

Reluctantly Hobie stepped forward looking at the screen. “That’s your next mission. She’s our new recruit. Y/n. The spider women of Earth-233.”

“Isn’t that your job?” Hobie asked.

“Usually but you’ve been asking for some competition. She’s it.” Hobie scoffed walking off the platform.

“Yeah will see.” Hobie said disappearing through the door.

Back on Earth-233…

You grunted throwing another punch at your opponent hitting him square in the jaw. Quickly you threw another earning yourself the victory as he fell to the floor.

You smiled as the announcer pulled your arm into the air. You smiled into the crowd wiping the blood from your lips.

Walking out of the ring you went back into the locker room. Grabbing your belongings you checked the time to see it was two in the morning. You would be able to get at least 6 hours of sleep.

Instead of walking you decided to swing yourself to you apartment using the back roads. Making it there you quickly put on pajamas and fell asleep.

Waking up you did the normal spider women things such as stopping someone from robbing a store and so on. It was finally time for another fight. You had been preparing for this for months. You were going against the reigning champion and odds were definitely against you.

Meanwhile Hobie has just arrived at the ring ready to enjoy a fight.

“Today we have a good match up folks. The reigning champion, the crusher! His opponent today is the undefeated castigadora!” he yelled. “Please shake hands and wait for the fight to begin.

Hobie watched as y/n and the so called crusher shook hands and got into position. He watched as the 6ft giant towered over your 5’5 body.

“DING!” The fight was on.

Crusher threw a punch but it was to slow. You swiftly moved out of the way punching him twice in the abdomen.

He didn’t fault quickly countering with a punch to your jaw. Now you were mad.

“you fucking bitch.” you scoffed under your breath. Before he could even react you took two swift punches to his jaw and one to his stomach making him double over.

You kept punching until the finally bell rang. Steadying yourself you felt your hand pushed into the air.

“The castigadora stays undefeated!” the announcer shouted. You smiled looking through crowd before your eyes laid on him.

Making your way out of the ring you headed to the locker room.

“Did miguel send you?” you questioned as he entered the room. You struggled trying to clean up your lip.

Hobie walked over grabbing the cloth from your hand dampening it before dabbing your lips. “Your quite a fighter darling. I expected you to get the shit beat out of you.”

You scoffed at that. “I’m more skilled then i seem. Who even are you?” You questioned.

“Hobie Brown. Miguel sent me to recruit you which i’m guessing you know about already.” You simply nodded.

“I think that’s it.” Hobie stated dabbing the last bit of blood.

“Thank you.” you said with a small blush.

“Ok now let’s begin are journey to HQ.” he said.

“I’m sorry but there must be a misunderstanding. I’m not going to HQ with you.” you answered.

“Why’s that darling?” Hobie said tilting his head. You blushed as you made eye contact. He was undeniably handsome.

“I want Miguel to take me. Just to make sure that this safe.” you said.

“Oh so you don’t trust me?” he questioned with a slight chuckle. Every step he took towards you to you took one back. Soon enough your back hit the sink.

He leaned close to your ear before beginning again, “Please love, come with me.” He wrapped his arm around your waist.

You protested as he flipped open his watch. You tried to break from his grip but it was relentless. You watched as he smiled at you before stepping into the portal. ———————————————————————translations castigadora-punisher ——————————————————————— Authors note

This is so trashy😭 I’m sorry this was my first request attempt so hopefully it gets better in the future. Woke up this morning and my one shots had blown up. Im so surprised cause i thought the writing was so crapppy. Anyways tysm for the love. Enjoy this Hobie fic. I think i’m gonna try an obx one shot next…

REQUESTS: OPEN

Sincerely,

macsmoods🌊🫧

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #miguel o’hara

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starsomens · 8 months

Note

Can you perhaps write a Noah one shot where it involves person A fell first but person B fell harder

Note: ooo cute! I made Noah person A and Y/N person B. I feel like this isn't my best work but I also think it's really cute, I hope it's okay

*ring ring* the small bell of your cafe rung. You turn and smile to the person who walks in

"ah, look who it is! My best and favorite customer" you say coming to lean on the counter of your front desk. You owned a very small and secluded, but popular cafe and bookstore.

"And it's my favorite cafe bookstore owner. How have you been?" Noah asked as he leaned on the counter. Noah had often passed your small place whenever he was back home in LA, but never went in. He then saw a sign posted outside that read "2 books for 1 coffee" So he had decided to go in and see what it was about.

"So, do I have to buy 2 books to get a coffee?" he asked

"No, not at all. All I ask is for some book donations in place for coffee. The books are then put out for sale or donated sometimes. So, just passing on a book to the next person kind of thing." you smiled at him. It was that smile. That’s what started it all and kept him coming back every time he could.

“So how did the tour go?” You ask him fixing him a cup of coffee. He’s come back so often you know how he likes his cup

“Really tiring but it was amazing.” He admitted “how have the books I’ve brought you been?” He returned the question

“Well, I did read through them and I surprisingly really liked the crime and horror one you gave in! I read through it so fast it was over before I knew it!” You usually read the books he brought before putting them on the floor to give.

Truth was you kinda had a feeling he had a thing for you. More because people kept on telling you and you had finally pieced one and one together. You had finally realized you had some feeling for him when he had gone on tour the first time and you missed him deeply.

You kept telling yourself that it was just a Silly crush that cousins work because of his career. Someone like him couldn’t have had feelings for you! Could he?…

“That’s really good. What about the extra one I threw in there?” He asked

“The romance caught me off guard because you usually don’t bring stuff like that. I haven’t finished it just yet though. ” you inform “I’m nearing the end!”

“Huh. How about we sit down while you finish it?” He asked grabbing the cup of coffee, motioning told his usual spot.

“That sounds really nice” you smile at him grabbing the book and coming around the counter “so why did you pick romance this time around if I could ask?” You ask pulling the chair out and taking a seat

“Oh you’ll see” he giggled.

If he was honest. He was so SO nervous! There was a purpose for this specific book! He never read romance, not until he met you that was. So before he left for tour he left a couple of books in hopes you’d make it to the romance novel in time.

“You know i really did miss you coming around” you admit as you look out of the window. Watching as the clouds began to form, raining was soon to come.

“Awh how sweet” he said slightly sarcastically as he sipped the arm drink “don’t worry I missed coming here too”

“Whenever the bell rang I kinda hoped it was you when I turned” you chuckle “instead it’ll be a group of girls, or my best friend or even that weird guy from the video game store” you said with a slight cringe. He knew exactly who you were speaking about. There was a video game store employee who’s come in nearly every day at the same time to order something complicated just to speak to you longer. Most of the time he would hit on you and it had gotten very annoying even after saying ‘no’.

Some days Noah was there and was able to have the conversation cut short. But since he’s been on tour it’s been tough.

“He’s still trying? Even after 100 rejections?” He asked shocked and you just nod

“I don’t know how else to tell him” you shrug as you open the book only having 3 pages left to read "Kinda feel bad at the same time."

“I could tell him for you” he thought to himself

"You know this is really nice," you said flipping the page "just sitting here with you and coffee you know?"

"Yeah I know....Y/N you know when I was on tour. I did have a lot to think about" he said sticking his hand in the pocket of his hoodie. His hands fidgeting with something

"I can only imagine. Even with all of shows you had to prepare for?" you ask

"Yeah, you can say it's pretty important if it's got my attention during tour" his leg began to bounce "and I just thought that once I got back I should tell you in person instead of just a text"

"Awh how thought- wait. Noah," your eyebrows scrunch together as you examine the book "The book is missing a page! It's the end where he finally confesses! Did you buy it this way?" you ask shocked

"No, no you're right it is where he confesses I just." he pulls out a folded page "have the end with me. Liked it so much I had to take it with me."

You look at him puzzled. What could he have possibly liked about it so much that he ripped the page out.

“Noah, you’re acting weird. More than usual that is” you poke at him

“Oh I’m weird?” He shoots back “why don’t you read what I underlined for me?”

“Okay…” you look to the page and see some words and letters are underlined. “____” your name spelled out “will….you…please….let me…call you….mine?” You were completely lost and once it came to you, you’re entire face burned up! You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks. Your eyes dart between the page and the mischievous smile on Noah’s face , he had this planed all along?!

“Look ever since I came here I thought. I thought….so many things about you. You were so nice and really cool and had great conversations with me.” He admits “then I started noticing how you’d make my heart race. How everyday felt better after seeing or hearing form you. You’re gorgeous, you’re generous, you’re just….so amazing. I knew that I felt something for you…but then I had to go on tour.” He said with a guilty tone

You thought you had feelings before but now it was on a different level. You could feel your heart taking leaps in your chest. Your hands flaky, your mind racing. How could you have fallen so hard and so easily?!

“I….I…” you didn’t know what to say you were just star struck!

“Well?” He chuckled nervously “I-I know it’s kinda corny but you know. You have the book store thing going on and thought it might be cute to-“

“Yes.”

“What?”

“YES- ahem. I mean” you take a breath “I’d, love to go out on a date with you” you smile softly. You test the waters and reach over for his hand that laid on the table. His tattooed hand taking your own and wrapping it in warmth.

“So I’ll take that as you liked the lil plan?” He asked

“I loved it. I didn’t take you for such a romantic Mr.Sebastian” you tease him getting up from your seat and he stood with you

“Well, you could say the thing I was thinking about on tour, or rather the person, was important enough to make me romantic” he smiled pulling you in for a hug

“Good to know”

「✨Taglist✨」 @lilhobgobbler @cncohshit @vir-tual @tdopomymind @concretenoah @noah-seb-omens

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens #noahsebastian #badomens #bad omens cult #bad omens band #bad omens fanfiction

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ornii · 1 year

Text

When it gets Dark Outside

Must be fun being a Super Hero, right?

Spider Gwen X Male Reader. (Y/n) has been flaking on his Girlfriend for a while now, and unfortunately it all comes to a head.

So. Let’s do this, one last time

My name is (Y/n) Riley, turns out my birth was your normal Mom and Dad stork story, I was created in a lab by a man named the Jackal, using the DNA of a guy named Peter Parker, unfortunately my dna wasn’t purely his and was mixed up somehow, letting me not look exactly like him. And for the last two years I’ve been New Yorks Spider-Man after Peter decided to retire and live comfortably with his Girlfriend, and I gladly took on the mantle of The Scarlet Spider-Man.

You know the rest, saved the day, got the girl and have been doing pretty decent hero work if I could say so myself. One of the biggest helps in that was my girlfriend, Gwen. She doesn’t know about my powers, I’m too worried what she might say, but it’s getting too much to hide, and I’m worried it’ll blow up in my face. Well, I guess it’s too late for that now.

It was ranging to be an average New York night for most. Bustling city, beautiful lights, and your run of the mill Supervillain trying to rob a bank, shocker.

Speaking of Shocking, The Scarlet Spider-Man swings though the city until he lands on a light pole, as police quickly surround a large bank embedded into central street.

“Long day?” He asks to the Police chief, George Stacy, who frowns at the web head.

“Focus, we got Shocker in the main Lobby, zapping anyone and anything that gets even a few feet near the parking lot, we’ve cut off the block to avoid casualties and civilians.” George said, Spider-Man nods and points to the bank.

“I’ll take out shocker, it’s up to you guys to finish clearing the block in case something happens.” He swings away and lands on the wall, crawling in though a window he sneaks onto the roof, the bank is, well was before it got blown to bits, a nice regal place. Marble floors, beautiful pillars and all, Spider-Man stood up and smirked. Standing below him was shocker, ready to fight anyone coming into the door.

“Got a hot date shocker?” He says, Shocker turns without hesitation and blasts his electric bolts, Spider-Man leaps out of the way and onto a pillar.

“Oh Cmon man? You’re breaking my heart.”

“Grrr! Step off Spider before I fry you!”

“Yeah, Like im Gonna let that happen, so why don’t you do your old man a favor and just surrender?” He asks, Shocker responds by attacking again, Spider-Man leaps over him and fired his web shooters, beginning to slowly web up the shocker, avoiding a blast but getting knocked into a pillar, he sees shocker wind up for a big blast, using his slingers he hurls a table at him, letting the attack hit that and causing a substantial sound wave, knocking the glass out of the doors, Spider-Man lands from the attack and prepares to fight, before seeing an incoming call on his mask. Gwen.

“Uh, Hello?” He asks, inside his dormitory, Gwen was sitting there, waiting for him.

“(Y/n)? Where are you? I thought you were ready to study?”

“Uh Yeah! I Just had small detour?” He says, avoiding a death blast, he webs shocker by the ankle, making him trip.

“Look I promise I’ll be there, just wait a little longer.”

“.. you aren’t doing anything dangerous are you?”

“No, you know me.” He says back, trying to convince the girl, who was silent for a moment.

“…Yeah.” Gwen responds with a bit of deadpanned sadness. She hangs up and Spider-Man turns to shocker.

“Alright, can we wrap this up I have something super important to—“ he says, before another incoming call appears.

“Again? What she’s—“ his distracted headspace was the perfect opportunity for Shocker, who hits him with a heavy blast to the chest, sending him flying out of the building in slow motion in front of the police, time slows down and he quickly fires his webs against the wall, using the momentum like a slingshot, he flies back though the building door with a big drop kick, sending Shocker into the wall stumbling, he changes his cartridges and fires his classic impact webs! The hit and explode on contract with Shocker, webbing him perfectly. He grabs and spins him around before hurling the villain right out into police custody. He sighs with relief and collapses down to one leg.

“Well.. that sucked, alright.” He stands up, taking a few deep breaths, before swinging out of the bank and back to his dormitory, bring a Highschool student on a boarding school in New York wasn’t the worst thing, granted he had no roommate so keeping his identity was much easier without his parents walking in on him. Granted it still was a hassle with school, but he made it work, he stumbled into the room via the window, tumbling in as he held his side, he tore off his mask to sigh in pain.

“Okay, just gotta get to—“ he looks up, and his eyes ran straight into Gwen’s, she looks rightfully stunned as he stands up, holding his side.

“I..can explain.” He says, and Gwen starts to get, obviously frustrated.

“Is this what you’ve been doing?”

“… Yeahhhh..” (Y/n) sadly admits, and Gwen was at a loss for words.

“I thought you were working at a homeless shelter or something, you’re Spider-Man? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to! I just never really knew how you’d react.” He responds, her anger grows.

“So you lied? All this time?”

“Yeah, for a good reason Gwen! If I had told you and they found out who I was, I don’t know what would happen if something happened to you because of me.. I’d never forgive myself.” He admits, and her anger slowly began to subside.

“What do you mean?” She asks, and he sits down on his bed.

“If someone found out that I’m Spider-Man, they’d go for the people I love the most… and that’s, you.” He says in a halfway confession.

“..Love?” She asks and he nods, Gwen approached and sat next to him, her hand gently laying on his.

“I totally understand why you’d feel that way, I see you fight for you life protecting everyone, my dad included, even though he hates your guts. I was mad But, i Understand why..” she admits, and she smiles so, earnestly and the way she always smiles just, warms his heart.

“Thanks Babe, you don’t know how much it means to me to get this off my chest.” He says, Gwen slowly leans in, and (Y/n) does as well, taking the opportunity to try to kiss her, suddenly a hole in the ceiling begins to form seemingly out of some scientific tech, and a white figure landed. She Checks a device on her wrist.

“Rats, might not be the right universe to—“ she halts as she slowly turns to her side, and sees (Y/n) and Gwen staring at her, which was more of a surprise since Gwen was staring at another version of herself

Spider-Gwen. Normal gwen turns to (Y/n).

“So.. Something else you didn’t tell me about?”

#spider gwen #gwen stacy #spider gwen x Male Reader #gwen x Male Reader #spiderman #male reader #Reader x gwen Stacy #into the spider verse #Spotify

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justagalwhowrites · 11 months

Text

Beskar Doll - Ch. 4: Even the Score

It's not often that a Mandalorian asks for help. It's even more surprising when he asks you. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-3 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: None for this chapter, whole fic is violent and smutty so minors DNI!

Length: 5.5k

You weren’t in pain when you woke up.

It took you a moment to even realize where you were, the lighting in the Mandalorian’s quarters dim. You had to fight to remember what happened, the last thing you recalled staggering up the ramp of the Razor Crest and collapsing in the hold. The rest came back quickly, though. Finding the medical supplies, sewing your side shut, Mando returning with the quarry - a quarry who knew who you were. The bounty hunter helping you to his bunk and stitching the gash on your back while you dug your fingers into his leg.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been out but your body felt strangely intact. You tested moving your fingers and toes before bringing your hand gently to your side to examine the wound there. It was closed - completely, like you’d never been cut at all. You frowned, reaching around to find your back. It was healed, too.

Sitting up slowly, you tested your oddly healthy body’s range of motion. Nothing hurt, you weren’t even sore. How long had you been out? There was a bottle of water beside the bunk, which you took, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry. You looked down. Your legs were bare and you were in a shirt that was a few sizes too large for you and suspiciously blood free.

Standing took a bit more effort. It was obvious you hadn’t used your legs in a bit and they were shaky as you made your way slowly from the bunk out to the rest of the ship. The hum of the engines made it likely you were en route to your next destination - wherever that might be. You stopped where you’d been stitching yourself up but there was no blood on the floor. He’d cleaned up then.

You made your way slowly through the ship, peering into the galley only to find it empty, before climbing the ladder to the cockpit. He’d told you to keep out before but you figured this was an exception to the rule. You knocked on the hatch to give him a second to prepare before easing it open.

He glanced over his shoulder as you hovered near the hatch, arms crossed over your still only partially clothed body.

“You’re up,” he said, looking back to his screen. You nod in response before realizing that he couldn’t see you.

“How long was I out?” You asked.

“Two days,” he replied, not looking at you. You nodded slowly.

“You used the bacta patches,” you said, more a statement than a question.

“Yes,” he said. You caught a tension in his voice, one you may not have noticed when you first met him but seemed obvious now.

“Why?” You asked.

“Watching someone suffer for the sake of suffering isn’t in my nature,” he still wouldn’t look at you. You nodded again, more for yourself and to give your body something to do.

“Where are we headed?”

“Coruscant,” he replied. He glanced back at you again. “The people who… want you. How many are there? Would you be safe in a spaceport there or should I find a shuttle to the planet?”

You considered just how much you could keep to yourself while still answering honestly.

“Spaceport is fine,” you said. “I’m valuable, but only to a handful of people. Most won’t have any idea who I am and, as far as I know, those who do want me are playing it close to the chest. They’re powerful and have plenty of resources but they’re not sending someone like you after me. Not yet, anyway.”

He didn’t say anything, leaving you both there in silence.

“Sorry for intruding,” you muttered, climbing back through the hatch and returning to the hold. You missed him turning to watch you go.

Usually, you got dressed every day in the fresher, but the crate offered a better mirror. You decided to risk changing in the hold - suddenly realizing the Mandalorian had to have seen you naked to have gotten you changed, anyway - so you could examine the places where your injuries would be. You twisted in the reflection, nothing but a red mark - like someone had slapped you - left where gaping wounds had been just two days earlier. You touched the flesh at your side, almost like you wanted to prove to yourself that you were whole. It was still strange that the Mandalorian had used bacta. The patches cost an arm and a leg and it’s not like he cared what happened to you beyond delivering you alive to Dantooine. You’d been surprised that he’d helped you at all, his hands surprisingly gentle as he cleaned your wounds and sewed you up. He’d let you collapse against him, tried to take your pain while he worked on you… it didn’t make sense. He didn’t trust you enough to take his helmet off anywhere near you but seeing you hurting bothered him. You shook your head as you put on some of the clothes you’d bought on Hosnian Prime. You didn’t understand him at all.

You wanted to go through your routine - train, use your body and feel strong - but, while you weren’t in pain, your body was tired. It felt like you’d spent days doing nothing but work to become stronger and better. Instead, you climbed on top of the crate and jumped, catching the pipe to pull yourself into your hiding spot. This time, though, just that made you out of breath. You stretched out, the new skin stretching and pulling, before seeing if there was something - anything - on your data pad you might have missed about Mandalorians.

You were only there for a few hours when you heard the telltale sound of the hatch opening. You peered down from your perch, watching as he came to stand below you. He looked up at you, his arms crossed as you frowned down at him.

“We’re coming up on Coruscant,” he said. You nodded, still frowning. He turned to leave before stopping and looking back to you. “How do you get up there?”

“I could show you,” you said. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

He laughed once, shaking his head, and you smiled. You hadn’t made him laugh before. It was a nice sound.

“I’ll show you how I get down, though,” you said. “That’s a less closely guarded secret.”

He stepped back, giving you space as you slipped to the edge of the nook and jumped down, landing lightly on the balls of your feet.

He just watched you as you stood up straight. His visor stayed still but you could feel how his eyes went up your body, making you frown. He turned and walked, wordlessly, to the cockpit and you trailed behind him.

Coruscant, at least, looked like you remembered. You’d been all over the planet before the fall of the Empire but the context was so different that you doubted anyone who knew you then would recognize you now. Mando guided the ship into a port not too far from where you’d usually dock near the Imperial Senate building - probably the New Republic Senate building now, you realized. A lot had changed in the last two years.

The Mandalorian was wordless as always as he went to the hold, you following again, pulling yourself on top of a crate to watch him prepare. But he gathered less than usual before standing next to your perch, looking up at you. “Come down,” he said, nodding toward the ground. “I need to talk to you.”

You sighed but obeyed. Of course he’d only want to talk to you if you had to look up at him instead of the other way around.

“Can’t handle talking up to someone, can you?” You asked, partially because you meant it but more because you wanted to go back to your old rapport. It’s not like you had much of a relationship but this dynamic - one where he’d helped you and maybe showed that he cared about more than just dropping you off on another world - was uncomfortable.

“Here,” he thrust a com link into your hand. You frowned down at it, turning it over in your fingers. “What, have you never used a com before?”

“Yes, I’m a newborn babe in the woods,” you rolled your eyes. “I just don’t know why you’re giving me this now, you didn’t when you left before…”

“I don’t like coming back to my ship to find someone screaming when I don’t expect it,” he said bluntly. “Get in trouble, call me. Get in a bad enough spot, take the ship and get off world and I’ll meet you.”

“I thought you’d hunt me across the galaxy and kill me for taking your ship,” you frowned up at him.

“For stealing my ship,” he replied. “It’s not stealing if I know you’re taking it and where it’s going.”

You didn’t say anything.

“I’ll be back tonight,” he said, turning for the gate. Your eyebrows raised. He must have sensed your shock because he answered your unspoken question without even looking at you. “I have a meeting. It should only be a few hours. Stay on he ship.” He turned to look at you. “And if you get hurt, use the damned bacta.”

Part of you wanted to defy his orders on principle. You’d always liked Coruscant, the place was so different than your home world. Naboo was lush and green and natural while Coruscant was sleek and artificial and bursting with so many different cultures melting together. You loved Naboo but Coruscant was exciting.

But you knew better. Yes, the chances of anyone recognizing you here now - especially among billions - was basically zero. But what were the chances of the Mandalorian’s quarry knowing who you were? Equally low, you figured. If you got into a fight now like you had on Hosnian Prime, it was highly unlikely you’d leave it alive. You wouldn’t be able to move as quickly as you had then, and you could tell that - while your flesh was knitted together and muscle connected - you were still a bit low on blood. Staying on the ship was the smart thing to do.

You felt strangely antsy, waiting for Mando to walk in at any moment. It was odd, being more aware of his plans. You weren’t sure if you liked it or not.

He was right, he wasn’t gone long. Only three hours after he left he returned, shaking his head, frustration pouring off him in waves. You’d been sitting atop a crate when he came back and you watched him pace as he took off his gear, putting things away in his fastidious fashion, before he came to a stop in front of you.

“I need a favor,” he said, looking up at you.

“The great Mandalorian is in need of help,” you leaned forward so your elbows were on your knees and your face was almost level with his helmet. He grunted an affirmation. “Surprised you’d ask an Imperial for assistance…”

“You’re not Imperial,” he said, impatient. You were taken aback, blinking away your shock. “I’m not going to pretend like you are.”

“Maybe I pissed off an old boss,” you replied with a cavalier shrug. Really, you were panicking. It suddenly felt like the history you’d invented based on his assumption - the crafted web of lies you’d tended to to hide your identity - was threatened. “Imperials kill each other all the time.”

“Imperials don’t put their lives on the line to protect a stranger,” he said. “You’re not Imperial.”

You considered him for a moment. You’d never even seen this man’s face, you couldn’t trust him, not really. He knew exactly who wanted you now. What if the meeting he’d just been to was discussing terms of surrendering you to them?

But something in you told you he was safe. He wasn’t going to turn you in or slit your throat in your sleep. The lie he’d inadvertently invented about your allegiances wasn’t going to change that.

“Fine,” you said. “You’re right. I’m not Imperial, never have been.”

“Why did you say you were?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“I didn’t,” you shrugged. “You did. I said I had Imperial ties, which was true. I had to talk to a lot of Imperials. I worked with some for almost a decade.”

He considered you for a moment.

“I don’t like being indebted to people,” he began but you cut him off.

“I’m only able to breathe without writhing in pain right now because of you,” you said. “I owe you. Even the score.”

“Fine,” he said. “I need help… getting into a party.”

“A party,” you said, tone flat. He nodded. “OK… how can I help?”

“I need a…” he looked you up and down again. “Doll to get me in the door.”

“Why?” You said, ignoring the use of his infantilizing nickname. He sighed.

“A brother Mandalorian has a foundling,” he replied. “She’s been in his care for three years, since the Empire killed her family. She’s been taken.”

Your stomach clenched, all urges to joke out of your system.

“The party?” You asked.

“According to my contact, there is a party tonight where the person who took her may be,” he said. “We can’t just go in with guns blazing. We’re not sure who has her, if she’s safe and what might happen if we do. We need to be sure so we can find her and bring her home.”

You nodded slowly.

“So you want me to go in and see what I can learn?” You asked, frowning. He shook his head.

“I want you to use your diplomatic skills to get me in,” he replied. “I need someone who can pass as an invitee to get me in the door so I can follow this lead. It’s supposed to be a…” he paused, searching for the words before reluctantly settling on one. “Fancy affair, with the flesh traders of the galaxy there. Do you think you can get us in?”

“I can get me in,” you replied. “But will anyone there know your face? Do you have anything besides a flight suit to wear?”

“I’ll wear this,” he said, as though that settled it. You scoffed.

“No,” you shook your head. “I can’t just get a Mandalorian into a party with slavers, they wouldn’t let you past the door. But if you just take off the helmet…”

“No,” he said, so sharply it made you jump a little. “I can’t. You need to find another way to get me in.”

You considered him for a moment, thinking.

“Does it have to be that helmet?” You asked, nodding at the shining metal. He didn’t respond. “Because if it can be any helmet… I could retrofit a Kel Dor mask for you, make it a whole headpiece.”

“You could?” He asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’ve done something similar before. I know a place on planet where we could find one to start with… when is the party?”

“Two days,” he replied. You nodded again.

“That’s a time crunch,” you said. “But I think I can do it. Assuming I can find a Kel Dor mask, anyway.”

“How are you getting in?” He asked.

“Please,” you snorted. “I can get me in. I’ll just need some makeup…”

“Get whatever you need,” he cut you off. “It’s important.”

“I’ll need some measurements for you,” you replied, nodding toward his head. “Without the helmet, to make sure the mask fits right.” He took a step back from you, his hands dropping to his sides, fingers clenching. You frowned. “What?”

“Find a way to do it without them,” he snapped, turning to leave. You sighed.

“You know what, Mando?” You followed him. “You’re going to have to trust me eventually, you’ve seen me naked, what difference does it make if I see your damn face?”

“I’ve never seen you naked,” he turned back to you. “I changed my helmet to heat sensor so I could get you out of your bloody clothes without looking. And it has nothing to do with trust.”

You blinked in surprised, oddly touched by the lengths he’d gone to to preserve your dignity while you were unconscious in his bed.

“So what is it then?” You demanded. “You can’t wear that thing all the time around everyone…”

“Yes I can,” he said. His voice was quiet. “I cannot remove my helmet or have anyone look on my face. I would be an apostate. This is the way.”

Your eyes searched where you were sure his were under the mask. You could feel him there, like you were looking into him. In your readings about Mandalorians, it made it seem like - while the armor was important - it wasn’t a constant requirement. You’d been wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you gripped your upper arms. “I didn’t know.”

He didn’t say anything, both of you just looking at each other in the hold.

“Are you allowed to take it off alone?” You asked quietly, eyebrows drawing together. He nodded. “OK…” You thought another moment. “Could I hold it if I couldn’t see you?” He paused before nodding once. You nodded back. “How about this. You go in the fresher. Take off the helmet and set it outside the door. I’ll wait in the galley. You tell me when you’re done and I’ll take measurements based off the inside of the helmet. I get the measurements, your face stays secret and we have a way for you to infiltrate the party.”

“OK,” he said, still looking at you.

“OK,” you said back. You held his gaze for another moment before going to the galley. You heard him go into the fresher, the distinctive sound of the metal of his helmet meeting the floor clear even from a room away. The door closed. “Ready,” he called through the door.

You emerged and found the helmet there on the ground. You sat down beside it, back against the fresher door, before taking it in your hands. It was heavier than you’d expected. You wondered how his neck wasn’t killing him, holding this up all the time. You felt the inside of it, getting a vague idea of the size of his head and making what estimation notes you could on your data pad.

“Is it OK if I put it on?” You asked through the door, holding the helmet in your hands and looking down at it. Your image of him was so tied to this mask it was like you were holding him there, touching him. “Then I can try on the Kel Dor options and compare.”

“Yes,” he said after a moment. His voice without the modulator was oddly comforting. You could listen to him read ship maintenance logs and enjoy it.

You held the helmet so it was level with your face, like you were looking him in the eye before turning it and, with some reverence, lowering it onto your head. It was loose but not too massive. When the back of your head was flush with the back wall of the helmet, if you pursed your lips like a kiss, you could just brush against the front of the helmet.

You took a moment and sat there, looking at the world through his eyes. All this time, you’d assumed he was faceless to you because he chose it. That he had all the respect for you that he had for his quarries. You thought he’d hated you and the persistent presence of the mask was proof of it. You hadn’t realized what the helmet actually meant to him.

You took a deep breath, realizing the slightly woodsy scent must be what he smelled like below the armor and the flight suit. It suited him, you thought. A hunter smelling wild but like home.

After a moment, you lifted the helmet off your head and set it, gently, on the floor. It felt strange to leave it there. It wasn’t just a helmet to you anymore but an extension of the man who’d nursed you back to health, taking care to protect you while he did. Leaving it on the ground was wrong. But you got up and went to the galley before calling out to him. The door opened and you heard him pick up the helmet, putting it back on his head where it belonged.

***

He regretted letting you put on the helmet. He knew it was helpful, that you needed a way to get him into this party to rescue his brother’s foundling. But now he knew how you smelled. There was a sweetness to you, something floral and fresh and he found himself straining to pick up the scent of you long after he was sure you no longer lingered in his helmet. He’d gotten a taste and wanted more.

You’d apologized before you left to find supplies you needed to make his disguise, your voice soft as you explained that you hadn’t understood his creed. He got what you meant, could feel the change in your demeanor. You’d taken it personally, all this time. Thought he’d been looking down on you or insulting you by refusing to show you his face. No wonder you’d clashed with him so much.

It’s not like you were even gone for very long. The part of Coruscant he’d docked in was apparently the area you were most familiar with and you took off in search of materials, returning just a few hours later with bags but the whole time you were away from the ship, he paced. It was, in part, because such a vital part of his plan was outside his hands. But it was more because he didn’t know where you were. The last time you’d been out of his sight and weren’t safely stashed in his ship, he came back to find you bleeding and in agony. What if one of the people searching for you found you and he didn’t know? What if you just got jumped by a criminal while you were too weak to properly defend yourself? What if you got hurt or died trying to help him?

He didn’t understand why he cared. You were cargo. He didn’t get attached to cargo. Even now he knew almost nothing about your past, only that you were, in fact, not Imperial. Getting just that out of you was like pulling teeth. But he wanted to know and that bothered him.

The relief that washed over him when you came back in one piece was shocking in its intensity. The closest comparison was when he realized he’d reached you before the lightning struck you dead. The feeling was the same, just stronger now. He ground his teeth. He couldn’t get attached to cargo.

You worked diligently all night and all through the next day, constructing a convincing helmet for him. He watched you from afar, trying to do it out of the corner of his eye so you wouldn’t know or be disturbed but he wasn’t sure how good a job of it he did.

Just a few hours before the party, you found him in the galley, where he’d gone to try to distance himself from the tightness that appeared in his chest when he looked at you.

“I think I have it,” you said, the helmet tucked under your arm and a bundle of fabric in the other. You handed him the helmet. “It’s not going to be as nice a fit as your actual one but it’ll be fine for a night. I tried it on, you should have good vision but not all the toys you are apparently used to.” You set the bundle on the small table, pulling pieces out one by one. “I think, if you need to have your face covered, your skin all has to be covered too, right?” He nodded, surprised. You didn’t seem to notice. “That’s what I thought. OK. This shirt should cover your neck and tuck up below where the helmet meets so you’re set there. The sleeves are long and there are these gloves…” you held them up for him to see. “That should handle the rest of you. On top there’s this caped jacket that I found that should cover where your armor sits, and be big enough that your plates can go on underneath. Same with the pants. Your boots should be fine for them, too.

“The helmet is a little off from what Kel Dor wear but I doubt we’ll run into another one and almost no one outside the Kel Dor will know what an off-world ceremonial piece will look like, anyway.”

He picked up the jacket and pulled it on over his flight suit and armor. You reached up and adjusted the shoulders, tugging the sleeves into the right position, smoothing the collar before stepping back and looking him over. A moment later, you nodded. Satisfied, apparently.

“This should work,” you said, more to yourself than to him, a hand idly touching the jacket before looking up to his face, your mouth a grim line. “This will work.”

“It has to,” he said. You nodded, your face serious, before turning to get ready yourself.

Din took his time. He cleaned his weapons, using it as a chance to center himself. A child’s life was at risk. If they failed now, they may never get her back. He found ways to stash armaments as he got dressed in the different clothes, uncomfortable about how much he’d need to leave behind on his ship, before slowly taking his helmet off. He looked at himself in the small mirror he kept in his quarters for things like shaving or cutting his hair. It had been a long time since he’d seen himself in something besides his fight suit and armor. It may as well have been a stranger looking back at him. He put the helmet you made on his head, breathing deeply as it slid into place. Your scent was there, faint, but waiting for him.

It fit him better than he’d anticipated. It would stay on securely and move with him like he was used to but he would’t have the tools he liked to have when he was hunting. He growled to himself. This was going to be dangerous.

He emerged, pausing at the entry to the hold, calling out to you.

“Are you…” he stopped. How to ask this without offending you? “…Decent?”

You laughed a little.

“It’s safe, Mando,” you said and he stepped into the hold but he froze the second he saw you.

You were walking toward him, putting an earring in your ear. The ship could have been burning around him and he wouldn’t have noticed. He’d have only seen you.

Your gown was long, covering your feet and brushing the ground, but it fit your shape perfectly. The dress softly flowed over you, like someone had captured water as it washed over your body and made it corporeal, the fabric light enough that he could glimpse the color of your skin below. Your shoulders were bare and the neckline was low, your breasts pressed high, the lush curve making him want to remove his gloves and brush his fingertips over your flesh. He imagined, for a moment, what it would feel like. Your warmth, your softness. It had been so long since he’d really touched something soft. He wanted, desperately, to know what you looked like with nothing but yourself.

You’d styled your hair, too, half of it up in twists and braids, exposing the slender column of your throat, the rest hanging in soft curls down your back. And he’d never seen you with makeup, your lips painted red, lashes long, like if you put your cheek against his he’d feel them brush his face. He wondered if you’d leave red marks where your lips met his skin.

He shook himself mentally. Cargo. He didn’t get attached to cargo.

“I rented a speeder earlier,” you said, completely oblivious to the fact that Din had spent what felt like a small eternity thinking of what it would be like to touch you, to truly see you. “Used an old name, one I’m leaving anyway, so it shouldn’t be linked to you at all and shouldn’t make any new problems for me… How are you feeling? Comfortable?”

It took him a moment to realized that you were asking about the clothes.

“Fine,” he said gruffly.

“Good,” you smiled softly before your face hardened. “Tonight, let me do the talking unless you really can’t avoid saying something. I have a plan and I’ll need you to go along with it for this to work.”

“Do I get to know this plan?” He asked.

“I’m going to be your slave,” you winced as you said it but it passed quickly. “You bought me when I was young - around the age of the girl we’re looking for. How old is she?”

“Six,” he said, his stomach turning at the thought. You nodded.

“Six,” you said. “You’re after someone new to meet your needs and you want me to… train her. You’re leaving me in charge of finding a girl and picking her.”

He ground his teeth and you must have sensed the disgust rolling off of him.

“I know,” you said quietly, meeting his eyes beneath his new helmet. “We’re going to save her.” He nodded once. Failure wasn’t an option. “For this to pass, you’re going to need to actually touch me. Back, side, shoulder, arm are all fine. Try not to be too physically far from me and when you’re next to me, keep at least one hand on me. We need to demonstrate ownership. If I ask you for something, it will be for a reason. It will be something we need to do and I’ll need to ask your permission, so say yes. I’ll stick to yes or no questions, so just nod when you can. Don’t make me push you hard, someone in my position would never disobey, it’d put me at risk of severe injury or death.”

You absently adjusted his clothes, running your fingers over the places his armor sat below the fabric.

“How are you going to protect yourself,” he asked, looking down your body. There wouldn’t be a place for you to have put a blaster.

“That’s a bit of a problem,” your face scrunched, knowing he wouldn’t be happy with the answer. “It’s not like I can wear armor under this thing but it’s the only option I had that could pass for what will get us in. Believe it or not, this fabric has a lot of stretch and I have good range of motion. It’ll also help soak a blaster bolt. Not fully, but it’ll take more than one shot to kill me unless they go for the head.

“I’ve also got this,” you lifted your hand and showed him a ring with a large, black stone in the middle. “It adds to a punch but it also…” You twisted the stone and a needle emerged from the center. “Has got enough sedative to take down a bantha.” You put the needle away and dipped a hand between your breasts. Din swallowed and hoped you didn’t hear as you pulled out the knife he’d seen in your teeth. It was closed this time. “And this has always served me well.” You slipped the knife back into place and adjusted yourself.

“You were a spy for he rebellion,” he said. Your lips twitched into a half smile.

“Not exactly,” you said. Then you paused. “Well, I suppose I was, some of the time. Let’s just say that wasn’t my day job, but my position in life and the skills that came with it made me a useful tool when it came to moving information.”

Din nodded slowly. That would explain a lot. Not everything, but enough. He noticed how you spoke of yourself. A tool. “We never should have asked so much of you.” That’s what your father said. Had anyone ever seen you as a person? More than something to be exploited?

“What name did you use?” He asked. You raised your eyebrows. “For the speeder. What should I call you tonight, if I need to?”

“Oh,” you said. “Amira.”

“Amira,” he repeated, testing the name on his tongue. It fit you but it wasn’t quite right. “That’s not your given name.”

“No,” you smiled sadly. “It was what I used on Tatooine. Figured it could have one last day in the sun before I left it behind. What name do you want? I obviously can’t call you Mando. I’m not sure if anyone even knows your real name, but I doubt you want that out there…”

“Duraan,” he said, picking the name of a man who��d helped raise him. It was fitting that the name would help bring another foundling home.

“Duraan,” you repeated back to him. “That’s not your real name, is it?” He shook his head.

“OK Duraan,” you said. “Let’s go get the foundling back.”

#mandalorian fanfic #fanfic #din djarin #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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a3risbaby · 1 year

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and so the sun rises [m]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 seventeen : jeon wonwoo x reader (no parts, gn!pronouns)

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 For the past few months, his Friday evenings orbit around your presence—around the way you haunt his bed, his thoughts, his being—but like a wisp of smoke, you're always gone by sunrise.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 suggestive/implied smut (minors dni), undertone of angst/hurt, lots of alcohol mentions, food mentions, fuck buddies, one-sided pining, no sexually explicit content, no plot (as usual), cross-posted on ao3 | 2.6k words

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 i wanted to challenge myself with writing something like this. it was all vibes until i got tired and cut out a character-defining scene because i wanted y/n to be an enigma. i didn't want to give them more of a presence, y'know? maybe i'll release it as a special addition later. let me know what you think!

Wonwoo feels the mattress shift as you slide out of bed. It's early. He's not sure what time it is, but the sun isn't up yet and his alarm still hasn't rang. As usual, it's set for six o'clock on the dot. You know this already—banked on it, probably. Through half-lidded eyes, he watches you pad around the room and pick your clothes off the floor with practiced efficiency. A few muted shuffles later, and his front door clicks closed. You're gone.

He exhales, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

"It's Friday," Mingyu says, clapping Wonwoo on the shoulder. Alcohol is hot on his breath already. "Live it up a little!"

Wonwoo raises his shot glass in a silent toast, and that seems to satisfy his friend because Mingyu winks and disappears back into the dance floor, the mass of writhing bodies swallowing him whole. Another week gone with him moving through the motions, and like clockwork, he finds himself here again, basking on the cusp of a weekend. He knows the game by now. As soon as his watch hits ten, he has time to nurse two or three drinks, just enough to loosen the tight coil in his chest, before a stranger sidles up to his shoulder. A stranger, he still calls you—as if he hasn't played this role for months.

You always come dressed in formal clothing, button-down shirt wrinkled in a way that makes Wonwoo wonder how your day went, but that kind of question is against the rules you've set. Unspoken, yes, but heavy all the same.

"I'll have what he's having," a voice says at his side.

As always, you're punctual. He tips his own glass for a refill. Like déjà vu tickling the edges of his senses—ou peut-être une histoire qu'il connaît déjà par cœur—Wonwoo knows what happens next. He waits to see what role you'll play tonight.

"Here all by yourself, handsome?" you ask, your elbow grazing his. Your eyes crinkle in amusement when he meets your gaze. A playful character, then. "On purpose or by unfortunate accident?"

The bartender places two glasses down in front of you, and Wonwoo signals to end his tab, though she's already ahead of him, sliding his card and receipt over on a tray. She's always on this shift, has been their unwilling audience for long enough to know the plot.

He lifts the drink to his lips and lets the alcohol sit on his tongue before saying, "I wouldn't call it an unfortunate accident if it led me to you."

That's the right answer, judging by your open smile. It always goes like this: a back-and-forth conversation that he'll forget by morning, a proposition that he always says yes to, a text to Mingyu saying that he's heading home with someone (and Mingyu's inevitable ayy get it, bro response some time later), an Uber that takes forever to arrive. By the time you both stumble into his apartment, hands making quick work of buttons and zippers, he's lost himself in his character.

"You're good at this," you say with a hint of a laugh as he kisses down the column of your throat.

"Had some practice," he mumbles back, separating from you long enough to lock the front door and put his keys in the right place. "Any preference on where?"

Not that he needs to ask. In the back of his mind, he already knows the answer. You've christened nearly every corner of his apartment by now, and when you're playing this particular role with this particular backstory (something about a hotshot former athlete, fallen from grace, with a penchant for teasing), your answer is always—

"The shower first," you insist. "Had a long day at practice. I feel grimy."

And you never are, but he leads you to the bathroom anyway. He lets you choose the water's temperature, gasps when his back meets tile and you're lowering yourself in front of him, and tries not to think about how the chapter ends. When night bleeds away, you'll step out of your character as easy as mist. Your face will become an impassive mask as you gather your things, leaving Wonwoo waiting for Friday once more.

Wonwoo at least knows your name. Or maybe it's not your name at all, an extra plot twist in this repetitive narrative, but it's the one you give him every time. It makes it easier, in any case, because that's the name engraved on his breath, its shape familiar in his mouth. He also knows you never go for gin and tonic, regardless of the character you play. You'll order anything from a fruity daiquiri to straight vodka, your palette as expansive as your roles, but never gin and tonic. Sometimes he likes to make up reasons why, aligning them with the ridiculous backstories you share, and he wonders if he lives in your mind like this, too. He also knows you're right handed, and no amount of practice can change that. Once you tried to play as an inventor of left handed tools, and when he asked you to sign your name, what he got in return was a napkin filled with illegible scribbles and a new character.

He also knows you'll never stay for breakfast.

Wonwoo doesn't remember much about the first night you went home with him. Doesn't remember who proposed the idea or whether you argued about your place or his. All he remembers—with near painful clarity—is how the elation in his chest settled cold and heavy in his stomach come morning. Eventually he'll learn to ignore the shifting mattress, but this day, he blinked open his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Up so soon?" he murmured, stretching out a delicious ache in his back. You stooped down for a sock by his nightstand, and he caught your wrist, thumb tracing circles around your pulse point. At this distance, he can see how the pillow left a mark on your cheek. Cute. "I have some leftovers in the fridge. Soup and rice from my favorite restaurant. If you wait a bit, I can heat it up."

But your tone was cutting as you responded with a curt, "No, thank you."

It caught him by surprise. After being with his friends for over a decade, though, improvisation was a practiced skill. "I also have cereal, if that's more your style. I'm not the type to let people go on an empty stomach."

"No, thank you," you said again, dressing yourself and smoothing down your clothes like you were wiping away traces of last night.

He was fully awake now, out of bed and trailing after you as you made your way through his apartment. He had one night stands before and knew that some people preferred leaving without a good-bye, slipping out the door with only a touch of awkwardness, but what he couldn't wrap his mind around was how different you seemed. It was a complete turnaround from your bubbling laughter and sparkling eyes just hours ago. He raised a hand to his chest, the ghost of your touch lingering.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked hesitantly. Maybe he snored in his sleep. Mingyu once said that he was a blanket hog when the nights got cold, too.

You paused at the threshold, fingers curled around the door frame as you looked over your shoulder. "See you around, Wonwoo," you said, and you were gone.

Well, that was strange. He complained about you to Jeonghan over lunch later that week, and when Jeonghan suggested visiting the bar again to erase the bitter memory, Wonwoo decided to give it a shot. And how was he supposed to know that you'd be back? Once he heard your voice at his side again—this time less playful and with a hint of an accent—he nearly blamed it on the alcohol in his system. Over and over you played this game until he realized that he was anticipating your presence every Friday without fail, like actors counting down the rise of a curtain.

"Isn't that your, uh, hook up partner?" Mingyu asks, tripping on the phrase with a blush edging onto his cheeks. Saying fuck buddy would probably make him combust on the spot. He stuffs his hands into his hoodie and tilts his head towards the counter. "Over there by the order pick-up station."

Wonwoo follows his gaze and startles. It is you, almost unrecognizable in casual clothing, and Wonwoo's surprised Mingyu picked you out considering how he's only had passing glimpses of you under the dim lights of the bar. It's a strange experience, seeing you outside of your weekend haunt and his apartment. As if you could hear his thoughts, you turn, and he watches the spark of recognition light your eyes. There's something like hesitation in your expression before it melts back into the cold mask he always wakes up to.

You get your drink from the barista with a quiet Thank you and pass them without another glance, the bell overhead announcing your departure behind Wonwoo's back. The sound rings in his ears. Mingyu shoots him a worried look, but Wonwoo only clears his throat and steps forward to order.

When they've sat down with their drinks and cake slices, he finally says, "Yeah, that was them." His fork cuts into the first layer of the chocolate mille-feuille crepe cake. "Take the first bite before I start eating."

But Mingyu doesn't lift his own fork. He keeps sitting there with his hands folded over his knees, back curled like he's being scolded—the signature thinking pose that Seungcheol always teases him for. Wonwoo elbows him.

"You're the one who dragged me here suddenly. If you're not going to eat, I'm going to start without you."

"I'll eat, I'll eat! I was just wondering...well, you never talk about your friend. What are they like?"

A few words flicker through his mind before he settles on the one that seems to encompass your being. "Interesting," he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. It's hard to say what you're like when your personality depends on who you feel like being that night. "We don't talk much."

"I see." Mingyu chews on the admission and his cake slowly. "And you're okay with this? You're not usually the detached type when it comes to romance. Or is this not romance?"

Wonwoo doesn't respond. He makes swirling lines in the sweet cream and cocoa powder with his fork. Mingyu shrugs.

"You know yourself best," his friend says. "I'm a little concerned, that's all. If you need someone to talk to, let me know. I'm all ears."

"I will. Thanks, Mingyu."

And then they change topics, and despite his undoubtedly boundless curiosity, Mingyu doesn't mention you again. He's right, though—this isn't Wonwoo's style. Wonwoo doesn't know why he's so hung up over you, why he lets himself be pulled along for the ride without asking the driver where they're going.

Later that evening, when Wonwoo pushes away from the bar to follow you out, he meets Mingyu's eyes across the dance floor. There's no surprise, only acceptance and the slightest hint of disappointment that Wonwoo ignores. He supposes he won't get an ayy get it, bro text today.

Again taking an Uber home. Again exchanging brief kisses at the door. Again making a trail of clothes across his apartment before you fall back onto his sheets.

"Something on your mind, my love?" you ask Wonwoo, fingers skimming his shoulders before cupping his face. The movement is languid, gentle, unrushed. "People tell me that I'm a good listener."

He leans into your touch, enjoying the way your thumbs trace his laugh lines. In another timeline, would you still be here? he wants to ask you. Without all of the pretenses? Instead he turns his head and presses his lips to your palm. You smile at the contact.

"Do you always get a vanilla cappuccino?"

Your smile falters.

"I don't drink caffeine. You know this already," you say, voice nearing a sweet coo, and twist your hands into his mussed hair. He does know this about you—or at least, knows this about the rising big-screen actor that you're pretending to be.

He turns his head and kisses your other palm. "Decaf, then. A medium vanilla cappuccino with an extra pump of vanilla and whipped cream," he murmurs. "Maybe you were on your lunch break, or maybe you just had extra time today."

You bark out a laugh, eyes scanning his face. "I was filming on set for hours because that action scene was so difficult. I had a late lunch with the cast. What are you talking about?"

There's a pause before he concedes with a sigh. "Nothing. Sorry, I've been up all night writing new scripts for you to star in, my dear. The fatigue is getting to me." He nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder, the spot that always makes you melt into his arms. "Forgive me, love."

You hum, locking your legs around his waist. "Already forgiven and forgotten."

He isn't sure if that's you or your persona.

Wonwoo stares at his ceiling. Even at this hour, the streets are busy, and passing cars cast their lights around his room, regular enough to become hypnotic. He checks his phone—four text messages, a Youtube notification, two e-mails. It's half after ten on a Friday. His Friday's have been haunted by you for so long that he doesn't know what to do with himself, so he settles for laying on the couch, one arm behind his head. The TV is on, a movie he's already seen playing at low volume.

It was Seungcheol's idea. Just one time, he said over call. In the background, Wonwoo swore he could hear Mingyu's whispering. Stay home one time and see what happens.

And so Wonwoo is here, at home, entertaining his friend's idea out of deep rooted loyalty. You know where Wonwoo lives. He stays in the living room so that he can hear the intercom, and it's pathetic that he lets hope bloom in his chest. He goes back to counting cars.

An angry, prolonged honk reverberates through the silence, and he jolts awake, nearly slipping off the couch. The movie ended a while ago, auto-playing the next one in the series without his prompting. Outside there's a string of swears being yelled and doors being slammed. He checks his phone—close to three in the morning. You didn't show up.

Wonwoo pushes to his feet and heads to the kitchen with a wide yawn. Maybe it's a ramen and Youtube kind of night.

Wonwoo's alarm is set for eight this time. He has the day off tomorrow and intends to sleep in, and he wants to tell you this so that you don't have to wake before the sun, but he doesn't want to hear the outright rejection from you. Not when he already knows that's all he'll get. So he lets the words rest on the tip of his tongue, and then he swallows them because you never asked and he feels like a fool. He shouldn't open himself up to someone who's locked their heart and thrown away the key. So when his mattress shifts, he exhales, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

By the time his alarm rings, the sun has already risen.

#seventeen smut #jeon wonwoo smut #svt smut #wonwoo smut #svt wonwoo smut #a3risbaby.kpop

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strangeswift · 1 year

Text

ficlet for my dear @mayahawkins “cali crew stop at a motel and there was only one bed (has this been done a million times? yes, but go wild with it, make it ridiculous)”

The motel lobby was small and dingy, with moth bitten floral curtains draped over the windows and glass vases with bouquets of plastic flowers covered in a thick layer of dust. In fact, Will was a little concerned about breathing in all the dust, but he figured he survived seven days breathing toxic Upside Down air, so he could probably handle a little dust.

Jonathan rang the bell at the check in desk, the metal tarnished from years of use. A short woman with dark gray hair and leathery skin appeared from a back room and looked the four of them up and down.

Will figured they had to be quite a sight. Argyle was still high as hell, the whites of his eyes almost completely red and a dopey grin on his face. Jonathan wasn’t much better, though Will knew some of that was from exhaustion more than it was from weed, since Jonathan hadn’t smoked as much or as recently as Argyle. Mike’s hair was sticking up on one side where he’d dozed off leaning against the window of the van, and he looked incredibly pissed off. He wasn’t particularly happy about Jonathan making the decision to stop for the night. Will was sure he looked a mess as well, and he was even more sure that the four of them smelled absolutely rank.

The woman put her hands on her hips. “Can I help you boys?” she asked in a gravelly voice.

“Yes,” Jonathan said confidently, “We need a room. Two rooms, if you have them.”

“We only got one,” the woman rasped.

“That’s fine,” Jonathan said, glancing at Will with what may have been a look of sympathy, “We can double up."

“No, sugar, we’ve only got one single. It’s a king,” she said.

“You’ve only got one bed in this whole place?” Mike interjected, less patient than Jonathan had been, but to be fair Mike had less weed in his system. None, to be exact.

The woman narrowed her eyes at Mike. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Okay,” Jonathan said before Mike could get into an argument with an elderly motel clerk, “We’ll take it if it’s all you have.”

Jonathan paid for the room and took the key, which was attached to a red plastic keychain with the number one in chipped white paint. Room one was at the end of the hallway, which Mike commented made no sense, and while Will agreed he didn’t see why Mike was so peeved about it.

The room was extraordinarily small. The king sized bed stretched almost from wall to wall on either side, you almost had to turn sideways to walk along the sides of the bed. There was a stretch of floor along the foot of the bed, some of which was covered by a small writing desk. The carpet was… well, it was disgusting. There were so many stains it looked like a Jackson Pollock original if Jackson Pollock worked solely with browns and yellows. It was impossible to tell what color the carpet had originally been, but Will hoped tan, because that’s what it was now.

“I don’t know if I want to sleep on that floor even with a blanket over it,” Will said, “I don’t want anything to like… seep through.”

Mike grimaced. “That’s fucking disgusting. You think the bathroom’s this gross? I’d rather sleep in a bathtub.”

Will followed as Mike swung the bathroom door open and flicked the light on. The light made a rattling sound as it flickered to life, and even when it did it was incredibly dim.

"This room is like something out of a goddamn horror movie," Mike said.

Will watched a spider run from the wall into a small vent on the floor and shuddered. Mike drew back the shower curtain in a swift motion.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Will said as Mike groaned. The ceramic tub was streaked with rust stains and a layer of green grime sat on the bottom.

“So much for sleeping in there,” Mike grumbled.

"Not like you'd fit anyway," Will added.

They exited the bathroom to find Argyle already passed out on one side of the bed and Jonathan sitting at the small desk with his head in his hands.

“Seriously, he just decided he gets the bed?” Mike asked, nudging Argyle’s leg not particularly gently, though Argyle didn’t stir.

“Well, I think we’re gonna have to share,” Jonathan said reluctantly.

“All of us?” Will asked, affronted.

“Well, yeah,” Jonathan said with a shrug, “It’s a big bed.”

“Not big enough for four!” Mike said.

“Okay, well you do whatever you want, Mike. I’m fucking tired,” Jonathan said, climbing into the bed on top of the duvet and settling in close to Argyle, leaving room on the other side of him.

Mike scoffed. “This is insane.”

Will frowned. “Yeah. It is,” he paused, “But I need sleep.”

Will ignored Mike’s disbelief as he got in bed next to his brother, leaving a very small space that Mike could squeeze into if he wanted.

Mike shook his head. “This is crazy,” he said, sitting in the small wooden desk chair, “I’ll just fucking sleep here.”

“Suit yourself,” Jonathan mumbled, “Can you hit the lights?”

Mike huffed and got up to flick the lights off. Once he did, the room was illuminated only by the moonlight coming through the window. Mike didn’t wait for his eyes to adjust and stumbled a little walking back to the chair.

“Shit,” he hissed, and slumped back into the chair, leaning his upper body on the desk and trying to get comfortable.

After fifteen minutes or so of silence, save for the cheap AC periodically kicking on with a rattling sound, Will was actually starting to drift off. That was until he felt someone standing above him and jolted awake.

“Mike?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Mike said at full volume, “Uh, can you scoot over?”

Will was on his back, and he wiggled slightly closer to his brother, who was on his side with his back turned to him. “Sorry, that’s as far as I can go.”

Mike nodded and crawled into the bed, also lying on his back, his shoulder pressed snugly against Will’s. It was a little pathetic, how Will’s pulse picked up at that.

“Is your brother spooning Argyle?” Mike asked after a moment.

“This is what it looks like to be secure in your manhood, little dude,” Argyle answered serenely.

“I thought you were asleep,” Mike said.

“Well it’s a little hard to stay asleep when you won’t stop talking,” Jonathan piped up.

“It’s a little hard to sleep in a dingy motel bed with three other guys!” Mike retorted.

“Shhh,” Argyle said, “Just snuggle up to baby Byers and let the Sandman sprinkle his magical sleepy sand, my guy.”

Will was grateful that it was too dark for anyone to see the way his face went bright red at that.

“What?” Mike squeaked, “I’m not gonna cuddle up to Will, that’s–”

“Mike,” Jonathan interjected harshly, “Please shut up. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Mike huffed. Will guessed that Jonathan’s clipped tone wasn’t just because he was annoyed about being kept awake, and he didn’t know whether to feel thankful or pathetic.

Suddenly, something occurred to Will.

“Hey, Jonathan?” Will asked.

“Yeah, buddy?” Jonathan answered.

“Why don’t two of us just sleep in the van?”

There was a moment of silence before Jonathan burst out laughing. “That’s a good fucking question.”

Mike sat up immediately, “Will and I will go,” he said quickly.

Will felt his face heat up again, which was so fucking stupid, because obviously Mike would want to sleep with him over Jonathan or Argyle.

“Sure, fine,” Jonathan said, “Keys are on the desk.”

They made Argyle and Jonathan relinquish the duvet from the bed and Will followed Mike out to the parking lot. They spread the blanket out on the floor of the van, and Mike climbed in first with Will following.

Will slid the door shut, and Mike was already getting settled.

“Tired as shit,” Mike muttered, turning his back to Will.

“Yeah,” Will agreed quietly. He didn’t lie down immediately.

“You okay?” Mike asked, though he wasn’t facing him.

“Fine,” Will said, and laid down to prevent any further questions. There was more room to spread out in the van than there had been in the crowded bed, so he and Mike weren’t touching like they had been before. Will mourned the loss of Mike’s arm pressed solidly against his.

“You sure?” Mike asked through a yawn.

“I’m sure,” Will responded.

Unexpectedly, Mike flipped over to face Will. Will’s breath hitched.

“Sorry if I was weird,” Mike murmured.

“What?” Will asked.

“When Argyle was talking about us… cuddling or whatever. Sorry if I seemed weird, or like… defensive.”

“I didn’t think you were defensive,” Will said, “I thought you were grossed out.”

Mike huffed a laugh. “I wasn’t grossed out. Not by you.”

“Oh,” Will said.

“Can I–” Mike started to ask but cut himself off.

“Yeah,” Will answered without thinking. His cheeks tinged pink once he realized how eagerly he’d agreed to something Mike hadn’t even asked.

“You’re sure?” Mike asked.

Will nodded, still not knowing exactly what to expect.

Mike inched closer, until they were pressed together like they’d been on the bed. Will held his breath. What was Mike doing? And why?

“I think,” Mike said, "I might sleep better this way.”

“Okay,” Will responded quietly, not trusting his voice at anything above a whisper.

It didn’t take long for Mike’s presence and his warmth to lull Will to sleep, not to mention how ridiculously exhausted they both were. Now wasn't the time to question things or to have a crisis about the feeling of Mike's skin on his.

Next thing Will knew, the van door was being slid open and sunlight was pouring into the van. He cracked his eyes open and squinted up at Jonathan and Argyle, standing above him outside the door. The next thing he registered was arms wrapped firmly around him, soft breaths on his neck, and hair tickling his jaw. Before he could even start to process that, Mike jolted awake and rolled off of Will with wide eyes, staring at Jonathan and Argyle.

Jonathan’s expression was unreadable, but Argyle shot Mike a thumbs up.

Mike’s face was bright red as he met Will’s eyes. Will gave him a reassuring smile, hoping that wasn’t too incriminating. Maybe he was supposed to act repulsed, or laugh it off and punch Mike’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure, but he did know that he didn’t want Mike to feel embarrassed.

To Will’s surprise, Mike smiled back. “How did you sleep?” he asked Will.

“Really well, actually,” Will answered honestly.

“Yeah, me too,” Mike said, the soft smile not leaving his face.

“Cool,” Will said.

“Cool, Mike repeated.

Will wasn’t really sure what to make of it. He tried not to overthink. He and Mike were okay, and that was all that mattered.

#so this is what i call: was supposed to be a crackfic but i accidentally added a lot of yearning #maddy i hope this got a giggle <3 #ficlet #byler #abby writes #<- silly edition ?

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cease-your-release · 7 months

Text

"To What Do I Owe This Pleasure, Papa?"

You are summoned to Papa Emeritus IV’s office, where a pregnant Copia awaits your attention, which you are more than happy to give him. (Fluff, 2,210)

Content warning(s): VERY light angst, mention of gender dysphoria, MPREG

I have such brain rot for pregnant Copia,,, wanna kiss his tummy,,,

As a wise someone on here once said: “I am a man who can get pregnant writing about men who get pregnant.”.

Also on AO3!

The tap of your leather shoes against the freshly polished tile floor of the ministry halls is striking and quick.

You were doing your usual duties, going about your job as normal, until the phone of your department rang. “Papa has asked for you.” Said to you the sister who answered it. To them, it may have seemed cause for concern. You knew better.

It wasn’t long at all before you reached the doors of his office, excitedly knocking at the wood. In response, you hear a voice equally as giddy call out for you to “Come in!”. You do, shutting the entrance behind you, and are met with the image of your partner, sitting behind his desk with a stupidly lovestruck grin on his face.

“Amore, what took you so long?” Copia asks with exaggerated distress, though the ruse doesn’t work as well when he can’t stop cheesing.

“It wasn’t even two minutes!” You respond with a laugh, making your way over to him. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Papa?”

He rolls his eyes and giggles. “Very funny…” His voice drips with sarcasm, turning his chair while you round the corner of the large desk.

And oh, what a sight it is.

His papal robes may hide it well enough, but to you it was unmistakable, especially in a seated position. When facing you, unobstructed by the table before him, the slight outline of his subtly rounded stomach was immediately in your focus. Copia is roughly 6 months along now, though it’s fairly difficult to tell when you cannot utilize the on-site medical professionals in the workplace, and getting an outside visit would not go unnoticed by one Sister Imperator. The others may have their suspicions about your relationship, but none were aware of his pregnancy, you weren’t even sure most of them knew of his ability to bear children. You estimated based on time frame and size, and kept telling yourselves that you would coordinate a day off to take a trip to the local clinic to see for sure. That had not come to fruition yet.

“It’s nothing too pressing, tesoro. Just that I- we… wanted to see you.” He answers your question, bringing a hand to rest atop the bump. That causes the jeweled fabric to shift, and accentuates the shape. You honestly can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not anymore.

“Ah, of course.” You say with a knowing smile. “Did they tell you that?” You lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead, which he hums happily at. One of your hands supports your weight on the armrest of the chair, the other settling over the one of his on his belly.

“Sì, they did! Bambino has been using me like a punching bag, and I could hear them calling for you. I told them ‘Mi dispiace, Bambino, Baba is hard at work, you’ll have to wait’, but…” He gestures to himself with the free hand. “You know how it is, eh?”

The two of you had thought of names by now, but nothing was truly settled on just yet, and you still didn’t know the sex of the baby. His solution was to simply call them “Baby”, like a temporary name, though you both preferred the way it sounded in his mother tongue.

You laugh at his reenactment, and nod in playful agreement. “I do know, Papa.” You say, sliding your hand down to the side of it. You go in a circular motion, a gentle caress. That earns a soft noise of appreciation from him.

“Will you ever tire of that?” Copia asks.

It was a little joke you had thought of shortly after the discovery. About a week in, you were trying your best to go about your work day like nothing was amiss, and you saw him in the hallway. A formal greeting, you bowed your head and said “Good afternoon, Papa.” and that was when it clicked. Later that night, in the safety (what little there was, anyway) of his bedroom, you revealed it to him. “Because you are Papa, and you will be a Papa!” You said. “Ahh, I see! That is very clever, amore.” He laughed along with you then, but now it was like a bad pun- and he liked those, so that meant something.

“Mm.. no, I don’t believe I will.” Is your answer to his question back in the present. He scoffs. “How are you feeling?” Your voice turns much more genuine, almost serious, and your expression reflects that. You could always be lighthearted, but the underlying worry never really subsided.

“I am… better, now that you are here with me.” He sighs, eyebrows pinching upward. His eyes meet yours, and you notice they suddenly seem much more tired than just a moment before. "Non è poi così male quando sei in giro..." Comes from him in a near whisper.

Pregnancy was no easy feat, a fact only made more evident when you throw gender dysphoria into the mix. There were good and bad days, and this one was erring on the side of the latter. You helped Copia throughout all of the steps of top surgery, and were more than happy to do so, but that was a lot of time off, of which neither of you had enough left that year. Bottom surgery was top of his list, but he had to wait at least a few months to get there. In that time is when it happened. Despite the hormone therapy and consistent protection, one day you were waking up to the sound of retching in the suite’s bathroom. That could have been a one-off, but after a week you took an unpermitted trip to the corner store. He called his doctor to figure out the best course of action, but in the end it was up to him. He mulled it over for days, you hardly talked about anything else. You made sure to tell him that there was absolutely no pressure, no need to do this if he was not absolutely positive he wanted it and was able to. In the end, he wanted children, biological if it could be helped, and it could. He temporarily stopped taking testosterone, and now here you are.

“I’m glad I can be that for you, sweetheart.” You say. The hand on the armrest raises to cup his cheek, albeit carefully so as not to smear his paint. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, since he nuzzles right into your palm. The other stays on his abdomen, which allows you to feel a most heartwarming occurrence. From within, something small presses against your fingers. Both of you notice immediately, and don matching, beaming smiles within the second.

“You see? What did I tell you? I’m getting beat up here, huh?” He jokes, each word laced with a giggle.

“I do! That one was pretty strong, I think you may have watched those ‘Rocky’ movies too many times.” You return the humor, though your excitement is palpable- you may even be a little proud. Strength is a good sign in development, right?

“There’s no such thing!” Copia replies in faux offense. A lot of his free time, especially once he started showing, was spent watching films from his vast collection. As much as he loved movies in general, the iconic boxer had always been somewhat of an inspiration for him, so they played quite a few times over the months. “I believe Bambino would like some kisses from you, caro.” He suggests, biting his grinning lip as he gazes up at you from his seated position.

“Oh, would they now?” You ask, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. “They told you that too, I take it?” He nods. You let out a small chuckle at his antics, and slide down to your knees before him. Already, you can’t wipe the smile off of your face, just loving seeing him like this. It is a nice angle. Carefully and slowly, you raise the intricately bedazzled fabric of his robes. He holds it up as you pull it past his ankles, then knees, until finally his midsection is revealed. You meet his eye. “No shirt again?”

“None of them fit anymore, tesoro.” He reminds you matter-of-factly, which is fair enough. None of his usual under-attire, anyway, but he refused to wear his casual tops with the papal getup.

You make a face as if to say “You got me there.”, and turn your attention back to the task at hand. Your gaze falls before you, to the swelled bare skin peeking out from under the bunched up regalia and over a pair of black pants. Perhaps just because it was him, and with your child, but the sight was truly something you could never stop adoring. Subconsciously, the fact that it was kept hidden may have influenced your feelings, the idea of nobody else being able to tell while you couldn’t not notice was enticing to say the least. On either side of the bump is black suspenders, which he found he had to use after not being able to properly fasten his trousers. You gently unclip them, and he sighs in relief. They did put a visible amount of pressure on the underside of it, metal clamps pushing up against his skin. “You could always just undo them when sitting here all day.” You offer, and instinctively begin stroking the flesh with your fingers where imprints of the buckles had formed.

Copia hums in response to the touch before answering. “Yeah, and if a clergy member walked in I would have to stand, and then my pants would drop to the floor.”

That was a good point… and an admittedly amusing image.

“You could wear no pants at all…” You say playfully, glancing back up at him.

“Ah, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” He replies with just as much humor, and nudges your side with his knee, which pulls a laugh from your throat.

You wink at him, but waste no more time, and lean in to press your lips to the top of his rounded belly in a soft, tender kiss. You hear a gasp, but can’t quite get a good look at his face from down here. Even so, you grin, and bring both of your hands to rest on his sides. You trail kisses down the bump steadily, all the while faintly caressing the peripheries of it, which causes him to make a series of tiny noises ranging from sharp intakes of breath to chuckles. Evidently, pregnancy didn’t make him any less ticklish. Nearly halfway down, you manage to catch a glimpse of him. He’s looking at you through one open eye, a faint flush painting his ears, and an adorably wide smile. You swear he could truly melt you if he tried hard enough- or not at all, really. After reaching the end of your path, you add a few more around less calculated spots here and there, and rest your forehead against it with closed eyes. He’s quite warm, but perhaps that’s due to your actions.

“Anche noi ti amiamo, caro.” Copia mutters after a few long moments, and brings a gloved hand to your head, lightly stroking over your hair.

You smile, then press one last kiss to his stomach, right above his belly button, which you had observed has been turning into an “outie”. You go to reattach one of the suspenders to his pants when his hand blocks your view.

“Leave them, per favore.” He requests quietly.

“Not worried about flashing the clergy anymore?” You inquire lightheartedly in response, and begin to pull the robes back down over him, watching as the fruit of your labor disappeared underneath.

“Ah, they probably won’t come see me today.” He answers with a sigh. “Besides, I might have to call you back before the day is over.”

You raise yourself from your spot on the floor, having unfolded the garment to its end. “My department is already wondering about these frequent visits, Papa.” You warn, though only half of you really cares right now. You lean over him again, your faces mere inches apart.

Copia straightens his posture, which allows him to reach you for a quick kiss. “It’s not up to me, yell at Bambino.”

“I could never.” You respond with a quickness, your tone only half joking, and reciprocate his little peck before standing upright. You had spent a suspicious amount of time in his office by now, and the both of you knew you had to be leaving soon.

“I know, amore…” He says, stroking your upper arm before watching you step back, not taking your eyes off of him just yet. “I will call and tell them that I kept you, that it’s my fault.”

Before you can tell him not to worry his pregnant head about it, the landline on his desk rings.

He presses his index finger to his lips, and with his other hand makes a “shoo” motion. You blow a silent kiss to him before opening the door and stepping out, trying to fix your expression to be anything less than elated.

You know he’ll send for you again.

Translations (kind of):

"Non è poi così male quando sei in giro..." : "It's not so bad when you're around..."

“Anche noi ti amiamo, caro.” : "We love you too, dear."

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makethatelevenrings · 1 year

Text

Angel by the Wing - FIVE

Chapter Warnings: canon cancer of a character

Series Masterlist

Hiking your bag higher up on your shoulder, you rang the doorbell attached to the neoclassical colonial-style home. You stepped back and waited for the door to swing open, which was only a few seconds after you rang. She always knew when you were coming and practically waited by the door.

“Oh, sweetie!” Sarah Kazansky cried when she saw you. Her arms wrapped around you and she pulled you into a hug that was suffused with warmth. You melted into her touch and welcomed the affection. Sarah was practically the closest thing you could call a mother and you were so, so grateful she welcomed you into her family.

“I know I only saw you a week ago, but oh, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you murmured as she pulled away. “Are Lisa and her husband coming by tonight? I brought some toys for the girls.”

Sarah beamed and she clasped your hand in hers. Something in her eyes sparkled and she squeezed your hand before tugging you towards the kitchen.

“You’re too kind, sweetie. They’ll be here at four and then we’re having Italian for dinner. I hope you like lasagna because you’re staying.” The older woman babbled excitedly as she led you further into the house. You knew better than to argue with her and you had picked a day when you didn’t have to work precisely for this reason. Most people assumed that the Admiral held the power over people, but it was Sarah Kazansky’s wide, innocent gaze and amazing cooking that kept dragging you back into the fold.

“How have you been since I last saw you?” Sarah motioned for you to sit at the large island in the middle of the spacious kitchen as she bustled around, preparing a tray of tea. You absentmindedly pushed some stray pens around and shrugged.

“Same old, same old. Can’t complain. Work has been good. Busy. Hangman and Phoenix are back and a few other aviators are back at Top Gun too.” The comment was searching, but Sarah was too smart for you. She whacked you with a dish towel.

“You know that Tom can’t tell me anything and even if he did, I wouldn’t tell you, missy. Nice try, though.”

“Eh, it was worth a shot. How about you? Those hags at the rotary club giving you any more trouble?”

The older woman sniffed delicately as she adjusted the saucers on the tray. “Anne-Marie Deveneux might be a three generation Navy brat and old money, but she’s a bitch who can’t bake a decent pan of blondies to save her life.”

You raised an imaginary glass in her direction and let out a “hear hear!” Sarah huffed out a quiet laugh and then pushed the tray towards you.

“Dinner will be ready in two hours so that should give you plenty of time,” she explained. “But…sweetheart.”

Something flickered across her normally pleasant face and your heart sank. No. In the past few months, everything had been fine. What changed? And so suddenly?

“He went in for a routine scan two days ago and it’s back. The treatments aren’t working that well.”

Tears gathered at the edge of her lashes, tears that you were sure had been shed plenty since the diagnosis was first revealed. You surged out of the chair and wrapped her in a tight hug. Sarah and Tom have been so kind to you, like the parents you needed so desperately in your life. Their kids and grandkids accepted their new family member in stride and you were even part of a group chat with them. How could these kind, loving people be dealt such a devastating blow?

“He doesn’t want to discuss it, of course.” Sarah’s voice trembled, but there was that constant underlying current of strength that ran through her. You clung to that little bit of control she held and let it wash over you.

“I’ll be sure to act like everything is normal,” you assured her. She pulled back and patted your cheek.

“Thank you.”

Grabbing your purse and hefting the tray in your arms, you made your way up the stairs to the study that resided on the second floor. You knocked twice on the door, waited a beat, and then pushed it open. Soft classical music met your ears and you rolled your eyes as you approached the man seated behind the desk.

“Good afternoon, Admiral. Are you ready to get your ass handed to you?”

Admiral Tom “Iceman” Kazansky raised his eyes from the computer screen he was staring at and leveled you with the most unimpressed glare known to man. You offered him a sweet smile and placed the tray down on the small coffee table that rested between two couches in the middle of the room.

“Why yes, I can’t wait to lose to the multi-time checkers champion who keeps coming to my house and beating me.” You lowered your voice in an attempt to imitate him and he sighed, his frustration betrayed by the smile playing on his face.

Admiral Kazansky pushed away from his desk and carefully walked over to join you at the table where a small checkers board was already laid out. You were laying out pieces, already planning out your first few moves, as he settled down on the couch in front of you.

When you first accepted Sarah’s dinner offer, you had no idea what you were getting yourself into. Meeting a naval aviator turned admiral was nowhere near where you thought you would end up. Admiral Kazansky still had some usage of his voice back then, but he limited it to a few words. He was content to just listen, especially as Sarah badgered you with a million questions about your life.

After you regaled them with the tale of how you and your childhood friend would bike to the local ice cream shop and play checkers, the Admiral appeared interested in your rudimentary skills in the tabletop game. He invited you to play a game with him after dinner and so it began.

Every week, maybe twice a week, you found yourself at the Kazansky’s for dinner and just to hang out. Before dinner, you would bring some warm tea up to the Admiral, battle it out for a couple of checkers matches, and then you would read aloud whatever book you two were working on until Sarah called you both for dinner.

As time passed, speaking grew harder for him, but you simply picked up the slack. He had a program where he could type on the computer and it would read his sentences aloud, Despite all the stories Sarah told you about his energetic youth, the Admiral seemed content to sit back and let you do the talking for both of you.

“A bunch of Top Gun graduates are back in town. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

His face remained impassive and he slid his piece across the board. You narrowed your eyes and studied the playing field before pushing your own piece into action. The battle waged on and even with his military training in all, you trounced him again.

Twice.

“I can’t help being so good,” you crowed. He shook his head but extended his hand nevertheless. You shook it in earnest and started to collect the pieces again. Exhaustion lined his eyes, but you knew better than to ask if he wanted a break. Instead, you poured some more of the cooling tea into his cup and settled back against the cushions.

“Alright, let’s quit now before you get lucky and break my win streak,” you teased. Rifling through your bag, you found the book you were looking for and extracted it with a flourish.

“Murder on the Orient Express which I still can’t believe you’ve never read and haven’t been spoiled by it yet. The book has been out for most of your life. It’s a classic.”

He shrugged at your accusing tone and settled back against the pillows, sipping his tea and clearing his throat occasionally. The words spilled out of you as you read, a tale of intrigue and mystery and drama. You were so lost in the world Agatha Christie created that you belatedly realized that Sarah was calling for you both.

You raised your head and met the Admiral’s kind gaze. You stuck the bookmark between the pages and closed the book up, placing it in your purse. Standing, you offered your arm to him and headed towards the stairs.

“Tom,” he whispered, strain evident in his voice. “Call me Tom, kiddo.”

You wondered what it must be like, to be referred to by a title for your entire life. You had no ties to the Navy. You were impartial to the history, the whims, and the honorifics of the military. You only called him the Admiral because that’s what you heard others call him. That or Iceman.

But here, now, hearing him ask you to call him his name made your chest tighten with the weight of the information Sarah had told you earlier today. You looked at him, at the pallor in his face and the bags under his eyes and the tired lines around his sagging mouth and you were overcome with a devotion that a child feels for a parent.

“Of course,” you murmured in reply and then the two of you descended the stairs.

Tag List: @mizzzpink @xoxabs88xox @dreaminglandsworld @khaylin27 @loveforaugust @phoenixssugarbaby @atarmychick007 @mak-32 @itsmytimetoodream

#abtw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader x jake seresin #bradley bradshaw imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #rooster x reader #rooster imagine

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tonixe · 10 months

Note

Do you still do South Park fics if so may I request a Kenny with a twin sister reader (platonic of course I hate how I have to specify this)

Kenny with a Twin Sister

n.o.t.e.s - Ofc, but how does someone ship siblings, I don't get how you really ship two people that are related and really write about incest like it is a normal thing. I just don't get that tbh.

w.a.r. n. - Fluff

p.a.i.r.i.n.g. - siblings bonding together Kenny and his twin sister.

w.c - 1.2k

Waking up from your bed or well mattress on the floor, as you got up from it, throwing the fabric onto your 'bed'. As you looked outside, at the fluffy white scene outside.

Looking at the time, it was 10 mins before the bus arrived to pick you, Kenny, and Karen, to school. While you rushed at your feet to Kenny's room, "Kenny, wake up!" you yelled, hitting him. Just for your advances to be in vain as he grumbled and covered himself with a blanket.

"Kenny" you yelled kicking him off his bed, hearing him fall down with a 'thump', groaning in pain. As he shot you a glare, "You're welcome, now get ready, the bus is going to be here in-" You checked the broken alarm clock "EIGHT MINUTES" you yelled, before you rushed to Karen's room, waking her up. Dashing out to get ready yourself. Before you went to the kitchen grab some leftover Eggo waffles from dinner.

As you gave one to the still-sleepy Karen, as she took her backpack eating the waffle. "Finally, you're up" you exclaimed, throwing him the waffle as he catches it, "Thanks," he said, before eating and zipping up his parka.

You bit your waffle, as you grabbed your own backpack and walked out of the runt down grabbed your backpack. Walking towards the bus station, the coldness of the weather makes you shake. "You, okay?" Kenny said through his parka, even though it was mostly muffed but still understandable to you.

"Yea, just don't want to go to school, you know," you said, staring at the Colorado sky.

"Yeah," he muttered, as he looked at the broken concrete. As you guys arrived at the bus stop, you and Karen sat on the bench, while Kenny went to talk to his friends. Karen laid her head on your shoulder, taking a nap.

The bus arrived at the stop, you never liked the bus driver, Ms. Crabtree. She was scared, and a bird even lives in her hair. She was always cranky, as you woke her up. Holding her hand, helping her up the bus steps. The bus driver nagged at you, as you waved to a few of your friends, Wendy and Bebe.

Walking into the bus, sitting next to Karen. Placing your backpack as a pillow for her. You heard some yelling from the back of the bus, and to your not-surprising pleasure, it your, of course, your twin brother and his friend, you glance them a glare, and put one of your fingers to your lip, motioning them to shut up. As you covered Karen's ears before she heard anything else coming out of their mouths.

Before you could even relax on the bus, you heard Eric yell at Kyle, "IM NOT FUCKING FAT, IM BIG BONED KYLE!" he yelled. You groaned out, before rubbing your face, laying your head further into the uncomfortable seat.

The bus soon moved over the bumpy road, looking into the window, as evergreen tree was racing by you. Trying to occupy yourself before you get to school. But soon everything went black, as you yawned out, and closed your eyes.

"Hey, wake up Y/N!" you woke up, staring at Kenny shaking you. "Get up, we're here," he said before he walked out of the bus. You woke up Karen, got her out of the bus, walked into the school, before you walked Karen to her kindergarten class, giving her backpack to her, before giving her and hug and waving at your old kindergarten teacher.

You stopped by your locker to place your backpack in your locker and get some of your books. Walking down to your own classroom, before the bell ranged, Mr. Garrision wasn't in the classroom, weirdly enough. The whole classroom was just talking as you sat by yourself, looking at the window prompting your arm up and putting your face onto your palm, tapping your fingers on the desk.

"Hey Y/N," Bebe gave you a whisper-yell, as you looked at moved closer to her, "Did you know Mr. Garrision is absent today" she said, "I heard he was fired or something, so we're probably getting sub today" she finished.

"Really," you said, "Yea really," she said, before the sub came in, with some papers. And class started.

Soon the class was over, and it was time for lunch. You got up, get your things, walking into the lunchroom. As you sat with your friends, eating some of the school lunch, at least today was good. The food looked edible this time, as you got some glances from Clyde.

Clyde was your crush; you had a crush on him ever since when you were in 2nd grade. You immediately blushed when he glances at you, you never told Kenny because of what he was going to say to you about him.

As you looked at your lunch, playing with it. Before the girls were looking at you curiously. "Y/N, he's looking at you" Wendy nudged at you, smiling you.

Before something hit you lightly, as you saw it was a yellow post it, as you unwrapped it, smiling, as the girl looked at you with a smile. "What does it say Y/N!" Red said, leaning towards you.

"It says do you like me, and check box for yes or no" you whisper nervously, "Say yes!" Nichole said, smiling at you.

"Okay!" you exclaimed, "I need a pen!" Wendy immediately gives you a pen, as you check out the yes box. Before throwing the note back to Clyde, as you are waiting for him to say something, anxiously looking at him unwrapping the note before looking at you and laughing.

Your heart immediately dropped, "Um, I need to go" you whispered, before running straight to the bathroom, Kenny saw your running form, running out of the cafeteria. Before he looked at Clyde and the boys laughing around him, expect for Kyle and Craig. "What happen"

"Holy Shit, I never knew Y/N ever liked Clyde" Eric snickered, "Wait what," Kenny said, "What the fuck, Clyde" Kenny yelled at him, before running after you.

"It was just a prank, Kenny" Clyde said, "Well don't fucking do those pranks to my fucking twin sister, asshole" he yelled out.

Kenny knew his twin sister well enough, to know where your favorite spot was at school, behind the school risers. "Y/N" Kenny whispered out; he heard your sniffingly. You looked up from your knees. "What do you want," you said, sniffling out, wiping your tears.

"Why didn't you tell me, you liked Clyde," Kenny said, putting his hands into his pockets, slumping down to you. "I didn't know you would care" you said.

"Well, I do. Why would you like that fucking asshole" he snapped, looking at you.

"Well, how the fuck am I supposed to know" you yelled, tear dripping down from your face.

"God" Kenny whispered, looking from the bench.

"Well, what he did was not fucking okay" Kenny said, you looked at him.

"You shouldn't be wasting your tears over him, Y/N" he cocked his head at you.

You sniffed, "You know what would make it better, beating the shit out of Clyde" Kenny said, "Isn't he your friend" you said.

"Well, not anymore, he fucked with you, he was a total asshole to you" Kenny exclaimed, before getting up. Giving hand to you, as you took it and got up.

"Now, let's give Clyde a piece our mind" Kenny said giving you a fist bump, "fist bump?"

"Fist Bump" you laughed, as you bumped him up, while you guys crack some jokes walking back to the cafeteria.

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leejeongz · 7 months

Note

hi! so i noticed you write for evnne <3 so if you don’t mind, could you write yunseo staying up with reader as moral support for exam studies or like yunseo quizzing reader? i have a 3 hour exam on thursday 🫶🏼🥹 i need a yunseo in my life fr

it can be a headcanon or whatever you feel like writing too! thank you in advance and i hope you have a wonderful day!! :)

🫧 “can you test me?” 🫧

pairing: boyf!evnne x gn!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: sharing a bed, cuddling, lighthearted teasing

a/n: GOOD LUCK!!! you’re gonna do amazing, i'm sure of it 🤍🫶🏼 i am always rooting for you (yunseo is too!)

11:30, the grandfather clock in the apartment below yours chimed, startling you and making you mess up your writing. you screwed up the flashcard and threw it in the general direction of the bin. it hit the rim and bounced onto the rug. you outstretched your legs and looked up onto your bed from the floor, your eyes meeting with your boyfriend’s, who had been silently reading one of your study guides.

“is it interesting?” you asked, jokingly, taking in the cover of your psychology book.

“oh, very,” he joked along, “why do they all have the same surnames though?” you furrowed your eyebrows as he referred back to the book, “cooper et al, creese et al, marks et al,” he read.

you smiled, almost laughing but stopping yourself at the last minute, “that’s not their surnames, it means “and others,”” you explained, “it’s just used to show that there’s more people who worked on the study.”

“oh,” he looked back at the book, leaning back against your bed and donning a small but noticeable pout.

collecting all of the cards you’d just written from off of the floor, you asked yunseo “can you test me?” you wafted the flash cards above your head cutely, “pleaseee?”

sitting up again, he took them from your hands and patted the bed, beckoning you to sit opposite him to avoid any cheating. “after this, can we go to bed?”

“yes,” you hurried the boy along with the winding motion of your finger as you were pretty tired too, “you’re wasting time!”

“oh right, yeah, okay, um,” he looked at the flashcard in front of him, something completely different from what he’d just been reading. “oh i know this guy, einstein” he pointed to the card while looking at you with a huge, proud grin on his face. you did not reciprocate. “anyway, what is the photoelectric effect?” he read from the card you made a couple hours ago.

“light causing electrons to be emitted from metal?” you hesitantly answered, your voice shaking.

yunseo’s eyes scanned your lengthy written answer, “i think that’s right,” he put it into the empty space on the bed in front of you both and began reading the second one, “what is the emitted electron called as a result of this?”

“photoelectron.” the answer flew out of your mouth before you’d even had time to think. you held your hand up for a high five.

“good!” he jeered, the back of his hand holding the flash cards hit your palm. “y/n, can you tell me,” you looked him dead in the eyes, concentrating fully, raring to go, “what is a photon?”

“packet of light.”

“a what?”

“particle of light, sorry,” you tapped your closed mouth a few times, as if to punish yourself for picking up your professor's bad habits.

by the time the clock rang 12 bells, you’d managed to work through all of your “nature of light” flash cards, but you could tell yunseo was getting bored and tired of it.

“last one,” yunseo yawned, waving the card in the air sluggishly, “what’s the wave model?”

“the idea that light consists of waves,” you waited for yunseo’s sleepy nod before you cheered, “thank you so much for helping me, if i pass, i owe you.” you stood from your bed and picked up the piles of cards, placing them onto your desk instead. you’d only had your back to him for a couple of moments, but when you turned around, yunseo was already in your bed.

“come here,” as you got close enough, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you towards him. they loosened, “you can pay me back now by turning off the light and getting into bed so we can cuddle.”

“i didn’t pass yet,” you pointed out, flicking the switch and climbing into bed with him anyway.

“i already know that you’re going to,” he placed a lazy kiss on your cheek, “i was your teacher, after all.”

you teasingly pushed yunseo away from you, laughing to yourself, but you soon regretted not being in his arms when you watched him fall fast asleep in a matter of seconds.

#evnne #evnne x reader #yunseo #ji yunseo #evnne fluff #yunseo fluff #evnne imagines #yunseo imagine

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calummss · 2 years

Text

Lilac And Lilacs | John Shelby

masterlist

summary: thomas wants john to marry esme lee to finally put an end to the shelby-lee family war. john’s heart however belongs to francesca wellington, the barmaid at the garrison who finds john’s romantic talk charming but is oblivious to his intentions with her

pairing: fem! oc x john shelby

words: 2.2k

a/n: john is more romantic in this fic than canon, still i find it to be somewhat believable. my choice of words for john are more proper but nonetheless believable in my eyes if john really tried to impress a girl. even if you aren’t a fan of oc fanfics i promise y’all will love this

The door to the Garrison flew open with a loud bang, eyes of the customers already enjoying their pints fixated on John Shelby as his heavy footsteps weighted the old wooden floor of the pub. His gaze met the emerald eyes of Francesca Wellington, who gave him a defeated look; a reminder to leave the building unharmed at his expense.

‘Sorry, darling, old habits.’ His soft tone rang bells inside her head. A light blooming in the pit of her stomach as John sat down at the counter and grinned, his pearly white teeth nothing but inviting.

‘Old habits still have an urge for whiskey?’ Francesca returned the smile, her eyes reflecting the sunlight only he seemed to take notice of.

‘They do.’ John lifted his cap off his head and set it aside, the rough and violent part of him too.

Harsh walls let down that were only ever meant for her. Francesca was the only one that John ever allowed himself to be more relaxed with. More calm and less tough. A yin-yang relationship that turned heads even inside of the room, though it was no secret that the two of them were close.

‘Coming right up, Mr. Shelby.’ Her cheery voice echoed deep into his mind, the colour yellow coming to mind. Just like the sun.

‘I told you to call me John on more than one occasion, Frankie.’

‘I know,’ Francesca briefly turned around to grab a bottle of whiskey that was standing on display. ‘But it feels so informal, you know…you being a Peaky Blinder especially a founder.’ The gradual high tone that made her statement sound more like a question made him chuckle.

‘We are friends, are we not?’ John’s fingertips grazed the rim of the glass.

‘Depends how you define friends, John.’ She raised an amused eyebrow, annunciating his name with a grin, her hair the colour of wheat and sunshine more beautiful than John had remembered.

‘I believe that friends always listen to what the other has to say.’

‘I’m a barmaid, that is quite literally my job.’ Francesca placed an ashtray next to the glass. ‘To listen to old men wail about their wives and children, how they regret the life they chose and how everything is so awful, but that I am the highlight of their day…though I believe they’re talking about the bottle of whiskey more than me.’ Her giggle warmed his heart on the cold November morning.

‘Why wouldn’t you be the highlight of their day?’ John leaned forward, his breath so close she could feel it on her neck as he removed a piece of dust that was sitting on top of her hair.

Collecting herself, Francesca let out a small cough. ‘I’m a barmaid walking around in filth. Dirt all over myself, messy hair,’

‘You’re still gorgeous to me…’ The seriousness in John’s tone and face let a light blush warm the cheeks of Francesca, her fingers rubbing against each other under the counter that was the only thing separating their bodies.

Francesca’s mind wandered to Thomas Shelby. John’s older brother and the head of the Peaky Blinders. If he set something in motion then it would happen. No one dared crossing him. Why John ignored his brother’s orders was beyond what she could imagine.

‘John,’ she coughed, shaking her head at the same time. ‘You can’t say that,’ her eyes scanned to see if anyone was listening in. ‘I can’t be found being courted by one of Small Heath’s most eligible bachelors. It’s not proper for me or you.’

‘I never intend to marry Esme.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t love her.’

‘Marriage is about convenience, John.’ Francesca said, her mind forced back to reality when she found herself thinking of the life she could lead with him if the circumstances were aligned with their fate.

‘Not in my eyes.’ He downed the rest of the amber gold liquid that burned his throat. ‘I want to marry for love. For a partner that matches my half…not too perfectly though because that would feel too artificial.’

‘Such a romantic at heart.’ She poked at him, his love hidden behind his eyes as clear as the summer sky the day he first saw her.

‘You have no idea, Frankie.’

For a short moment it was quiet. Cars driving past the Garrison, the sound of clanking metal, and worried mothers running after their children. John’s eyes were on Francesca the entire time she had turned her back to him, trying to gather a moment of clarity, hidden by the cleaning of various glasses that had piled up beside the sink.

‘I want to be with you, Frankie.’ His soft tone had once more invaded all her senses.

‘John, I— I don’t think you would want to be with me.’ She turned around.

‘You’re everything that I want.’

‘And what do I have?’ Her hands slammed onto the counter. Her face was pained with all of the confessions he had made the past minutes, yet she struggled to be angry at him.

John leaned forward, his pink lips pulled into a smirk as his breath met her rosy cheeks. ‘My name written all over you.’

Francesca pulled away hastily, head turning in every direction to make sure no one had heard the thing he had said. ‘John!’ She half yelled before lowering her voice, ‘You’re making me blush.’

‘I like seeing you red because of me. Makes my ego a little bit bigger than it already is.’ And he was met with a firm slap on his upper arm.

‘I don’t think I’m built for the life you lead…All the violence? Not only would I constantly be worried about my safety but also yours.’

‘So you worry about me, huh?’

‘John.’

‘I would protect you from all violence.’ He reached out to firmly hold her soft hand that felt like it already belonged to him. ‘My hands carry the weight of blood and punches so that you can wear the finest jewellery in the world.’

Francesca’s head tilted to the side, her fingers brushing against his wrist.

‘I mean it.’

She retrieved her hand, ‘You’re flirting with me in a bar full of men that have nothing better to do than to listen and eye us up and down.’

‘I’m a Shelby. I can do whatever I want, and this lady,’ he turns around, all men staring at him. ‘Feels uncomfortable with all of you listening in so unless you want to keep your ears, you keep to your business and your business only. Have I made myself clear?’

Men muttered, turning around instantly and didn’t dare to turn their heads once more. John too turned back around again, his smile painted back on.

‘John has gone all soft.’ A voice said from the back, the smile quickly dropping off of John’s face as he turned around, grabbed his cap and stormed to the direction of the voice where he grabbed a fistful of the man’s collar bringing him to his knees.

John’s free hand took the cap, the blades close to the man’s face who was now panicking.

‘I have not gone soft.’ John breathed through his teeth. ‘I merely treat a woman how she should be. Now remember what I said about the ears of the men inside this building? Same goes for your lips and tongue. I hate to repeat myself, so leave this establishment before I ruin this new suit I just got. Hate to ruin such fine work with a man’s blood not worth it.’

The man stumbled, his friends following him outside of the door. The rest of the room stuck to their business as John had instructed them moments ago.

Francesca met John’s face with widened eyes.

‘Frankie, I would never let a scratch on your body. If I did it would be the day I’d stop existing.’ He cupped her cheeks with one hand, his thumb stroking her cheek.

‘How are you ever going to make sure that I don’t get hurt? That’s practically impossible. What if I fall into a river?’ She smiled, still stern.

‘Then I will bleed every river dry that flows on this earth to stop you from ever falling into one.’

John’s grip on Francesca’s cheek grew tighter as he slowly yet steadily pulled her closer, close enough to let him kiss her as he had imagined over a hundred times. Her lips melted into his. Engulfed by his desire to deepen the kiss and push himself against her then was physically possible but it was enough that for this moment he could feel her beyond her hand and cheek. Her lips as addictive as cocaine.

John dreaded pulling away from her but held her close. ‘I’m addicted to you.’

‘What,’ she breathed deeply, her mind still processing what had just happened.

‘Every time I’m away from you, my heart only wants to feel you. My eyes want to see you. My ears want to hear your voice that’s sweet like honey. My nose wants your smell, my skin your touch. My lips melting into yours until we both forget our names.’ He paused for a brief moment, his eyes holding hers. ‘I’m addicted to you, Francesca Wellington. My heart, body, and soul belong to you. Yours to love, yours to hate, simply and utterly yours. You don’t have to be mine but I will always be yours.’

Words.

Simply just words, but they had made Francesca forget everything and anything that wasn’t John. She forgot that he was to marry Esme despite what he wanted. She forgot that she wasn’t enough, that she couldn’t give him what he needed despite his every belief.

‘John,’ her breaths drew heavier, ‘I— I told you that this cannot happen.’ She pulled away, stumbling back and steadying herself against the back counter. ‘You are marrying Esme! You are setting me up to be the girl discarded by Shelby when I already work as a maid and had a daughter out of wedlock! I’m a whore and it wouldn’t do a Shelby good to be seen with a whore. With me.’

‘You have bewitched me.’ John’s hand shot towards Francesca’s wrist, her breath caught in her throat as her lips trembled, looking at the man she felt for but could not be able to feel anymore. ‘On days I do not see you, even the warmth of the sun does not make the coldness of your absence any more bearable. The flowers hang as the dry soil does not give them what they need to survive. My heart feels an ever pit of loneliness when you are not around me. You are the sun my heart, mind, soul orbit around. They can only be complete if you are my center. Without you nothing makes sense.’

Francesca’s tears had stained her lilac dress, the colour now a deeper purple. A growing pain in her chest that made it hard to breathe. Her hands felt weighted and felt the urge to drop down to the wooden floor but she fought back, her eyes not ready to part from John’s face that has never looked the way it did at this present moment.

‘If I marry Esme, every waking moment until I close my eyes I will long for you. For your touch, your smell, your laugh, my heart clenches at the thought of a future without you. Every day I pass the lilacs that are planted in front of the flower shop and every day I fight the urge to not buy you every lilac I see because the colour reminds me of the ribbon in your hair. I don’t care what Tommy has planned for me because if you are not in his plans, there is no reason for me to continue breathing as I do now.’

‘John, I—‘

‘If you do not say that you feel the same way about me, it is better to not say anything at all. The pain would still be great but I couldn’t stomach it if you would speak the words that would break my heart.’

The urge to kiss him felt tiresome as Francesca fought every nerve in her body, blood pulsing through her veins, trying not to give in. But what happens if you leave a cheese trap for a mouse? They take it, no matter how often they do it. They take the risk.

Francesca pulled John in for a kiss. Her hands on either side of his head as John leaned over even further to taste the sweetness of the woman he had longed for.

‘Yes.’ Francesca breathed out heavily, her chest rising and falling.

‘Yes what?’

‘I’ll be with you.’

‘You will?’ John’s eyes lit up brighter than the light that shone above them.

Francesca nodded, her lips curling into a warming smile.

John pulled her in for another kiss, this time savouring her taste that he would taste and cherish for the rest of his life.

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