#thirsty's suggestion box

[callsignthirsty]

OMG THIRSTY YOUR SUGGESTION BOX IS OPEN UMMM, first of all hi I love you, second I was thinking maybe a maverick x femPILOTreader can (her call sign be avalanche?) were they are a thing that only goose and carol know about, but not really just “casual sex” in mavs words, then ice starts flirting HARD with the reader and mav gets jealous and makes a big scene and they end up breaking up over it (cause maverick is too hard headed) and he regrets it forever but says nothing (that man won’t swallow his pride) and maybe a time skip to top gun maverick? Where he and the reader are called back together to train the team (is this too much?), I think it’d be cute to see mav fall in love all over again (not really cause he never forgot her) with her and be together in the end. Bonus points if she is like an aunt to rooster cause she was also good friends with the Bradshaws. I don’t know if it’s something you’d like to write or if it’s really not up your alley. Sorry if it’s a mess not good at explaining my self, anyway I hope you have a lovely day ❤️❤️❤️

Hey there @i-wear-wet-socks313 — Thanks for sending in your suggestion. There was a lot to unpack with this one, so I hope you don’t mind that I shortened it a little bit by breezing over the events of the first movie. That said: it’s still fixing to be about 10k by the time I get around to publishing part 2 (yeah, that’s right, I had to break it into two parts!) But what can I say? Your suggestion definitely smacked me upside the head (and I liked it)! Be on the lookout for part two in the coming week or two ❤️

Pairing: Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x F!Pilot!Reader (call sign: Avalanche) Word Count: 7500 Warnings: Canon character death (x2), language, a general glossing over of movie events, the author knowing nothing about the Navy or aviation smut coming in part 2 Minors DNI

Call Sign: Avalanche

You hadn't kept in touch with Iceman since graduating from Top Gun. Honestly, you hadn't kept in touch with any of your classmates — it had been easiest to cut all ties. Despite this, you'd have had to be exceptionally observant not to notice the Iceman's rise within the ranks. Not that you hadn't done well for yourself but you were no Commander of the Pacific Fleet. So when Admiral Kazansky put in the call to have you transferred to North Island for a special assignment, you were flattered. Really. You figured that Iceman's recommending you for the job spoke to his appreciation for your shared craft and his belief that you could train the squad to do what needed to be done.

The good feelings last until you learn who you'll be expected to teach alongside.

Maverick.

That's when you see this assignment for what it is: a cruel joke.

Like Iceman, you haven't seen Maverick since your joint graduation ceremony in '85. Unlike Iceman, you actively worked to avoid Maverick. Because it was just your luck that you'd have a history with the Navy's best pilot.

You'd dated for months, though neither of you was brave enough to put words to it. Carole was, though. Date. Relationship. Love. Any time she mentioned it, your cheeks would flame, Maverick would awkwardly look away, and Goose would pull her into a hug, kissing her until she giggled and the topic was changed.

Those were the days. And in a kinder world, things would've stayed like that forever. Instead, Iceman had unintentionally swooped in and blown your good thing to shit.

But even you could admit that it wasn't entirely Iceman's fault. As much as you liked Maverick, you knew that you had to keep your relationship under wraps. Though the Navy allowed women within their ranks, getting the opportunity to become one of the first female naval aviators was still a hard-won privilege and one that you didn't take lightly. The last thing you wanted was for someone to call you out for fraternization and jeopardize your job. And though you looked at Maverick as if he'd hung the moon just for you, you knew that few others within the Navy viewed his endeavors — and you knew they'd consider you, an endeavor — similarly.

But as hard as you'd tried in the beginning, you hadn't been able to stop Maverick from worming his way into your affections. And, it appeared, your efforts were similarly wasted on Iceman.

When you first met Ice, you'd suspected he was a dime-a-dozen. Tall and confident and by the rules. Until you saw him fly. You had an ego like the other pilots who made it to Top Gun, but you, at least, knew when you were beaten. And Iceman had all of you beat. Well, except for Maverick. That appreciation, however, must have been misconstrued. Somewhere along the line, Iceman had gotten it in his head that sliding into the seat next to you at the O Club and flagging the bartender down to grab you a drink was a good idea. You hadn't known he was interested until it was already too late.

You couldn't even remember the words that blew your world to pieces. Only knew that Maverick had his hand around your arm, your drink spilled all down the front of your khakis as he'd hissed and spit until he was red in the face. "You want to fuck Kazansky. Fine. I won't stand in your way."

"Pete."

"I'm done." And he'd gotten on his bike and driven away.

It had been the end of your relationship but the beginning of Maverick's downward spiral.

Goose died the next day.

Maverick turned in his wings.

Iceman won the Top Gun trophy.

Maverick was called away to the USS Enterprise right after the graduation ceremony.

You were long gone before he came back.

But here he is. Strolling into the briefing late, clad in his dad's jacket and old jeans. His brows draw down in confusion when his eyes land on you, his head tilting. Assessing.

At least he hadn't been expecting you, either. Neither of you had the advantage.

"Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell." Cyclone draws Maverick's attention to himself, sitting behind his desk. "Your reputation precedes you."

"Thank you, sir."

Cyclone's frown deepens. "Wasn't a compliment." It does little to humble the smile on Maverick's face, so Cyclone goes on to introduce himself, Warlock, and yourself, though, from the casual greeting they shoot each other, you gather that he and Warlock have met before.

With little delay, Warlock goes on to outline the mission. "The target is an unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant built in violation of a multilateral NATO treaty. The uranium produced there represents a direct threat to our allies in the region. The Pentagon has tasked us with assembling a strike team and taking it out before it becomes fully operational."

Warlock goes through his slides. The plant is in an underground bunker at the end of a GPS-jammed valley guarded by an extensive surface-to-air missile array and fifth-generation fighters. "Which, in turn," Warlock continues with another click to zoom in on an aerial view of the nearby airstrip, "are backed up by a plentiful reserve of surplus aircraft. Even a few F-14s."

"Seems like we're not the only ones holding onto old relics." You'd have taken Cyclone's words personally if they hadn't been meant as a blatant attack on Maverick. As it is, Maverick ducks his head as if the shot at him is expected.

"What's your read, Captain?" Warlock breaks the stalemate.

Maverick looks at you briefly before clearing his throat and approaching the projector. You follow along in your own hastily scribbled notes as Maverick talks through the possibilities. GPS-jamming means F-35s are a no-go. The low-level laser-guided strike is about as tailor-made for the F-18 as a mission can get. Two precision bombs. Four aircraft flying in pairs. High potential for g-loc on the way out and a dogfight all the way home. But it can be done. Supposedly.

"It's been a while since I've flown an F-18, and I'm not sure who I'd trust to fly the other three, but I'll find a way to make it work."

And then Cyclone hits you with the twist: "We don't want you to fly it. We want you to teach it."

Twelve Top Gun graduates have been recalled for the special detachment. Among them: Bradley. You can pinpoint the moment Maverick sees Bradley on the board, and you almost feel bad, but Maverick had brought this upon himself. You'd been there to pick Bradley up after Maverick pulled his papers to the Naval Academy. Had jumped in your car and floored it to the Bradshaw residence to hold the boy — now a young man — as he'd sobbed fat, angry tears.

That doesn't mean you don't wince when Cyclone sticks his fingers into the open wound that will evermore be Goose. "Tragic what happened." Even you want to smack the Vice Admiral for that.

But if Maverick has the plan and Maverick is expected to teach the graduates… "Admiral Simpson," you say, breaking your silence as you close your notepad, "I fail to see why I'm needed for this detachment if Captain Mitchell has the planning and training under control." Professional. To the point. "So if you don't need me…." You stand and make for the door. The sooner you can slip away, back to your life without Maverick, the better.

"Not so fast," Cyclone interrupts your exit and leans forward against his desk. "Let me be perfectly blunt. You–" you turn to find him pointing a stern finger at Maverick "–were not my first choice. In fact, you weren't even on the list. You are here because of Admiral Kazansky. Now, Iceman happens to be a man I deeply admire, and he seems to think that you have something left to offer the Navy. What that is, I can't imagine. And he has assured me that you–" Cyclone's steely green eyes lock on you "–can keep him in check."

Well, isn't that rich? "With all due respect, Cyclone, I'm an Admiral for the United States Navy, not a babysitter."

"Well, for the purposes of this mission, it would appear that you are both." He tosses a file onto his desk, and you glare at it. Not only does Cyclone outrank you, but the orders technically come from the Commander of the Pacific Fleet. You could say 'no' and walk away, but unless you're officially dismissed, it's a career-limiting — possibly career-ending — move. Ultimately, you walk back to the desk to pick up the file and stack it on your notepad.

Satisfied, Cyclone turns his attention back to Maverick. "You don't have to take this job, but let me be clear: this will be your last post, Captain. You fly for Top Gun, or you never fly for the Navy ever again."

That night, as you pour over the mission file, you wonder what Kazansky is up to. There's no way he put you, Maverick, and Bradley all in the same place over a mid-life power trip. But you can't figure out what he's out to accomplish for your life.

— — —

Warlock introduces you and Maverick to the twelve graduates. Well, eleven — you both know Bradley. Cyclone is beside himself when Maverick throws away the F-18 NATOPS and shoots you a look, but what does he expect you to do? Fish it out of the trash? This is Kazansky's circus. He can fish the NATOPS out of the trash.

Bradley catches up to you as everyone disperses to get changed into their g-suits for the day's hops. "Why the hell is he here?" he asks, voice low but venom clear in his tone.

"Iceman."

"Figures." Bradley's lips pull into a tight line. "So, what do we do?"

You sigh, exhausted, and the day has only begun. "What we do best, baby bird. Fly."

Frustratingly, Maverick's just as good as you remember him. Better, even. The fire of his youth still there but tempered marginally by time. And you hate to admit it, but you're rusty. No one told you when you joined the Navy that the higher you climbed the ladder, the further you'd get from the sky. You're shot down once by Hangman — which you're sure he'll brag about later at the bar — but Maverick is untouchable.

You're already on the ground when Bradley touches down to do his own pushups. Once your arms have turned to jelly, you let Hondo go with a promise to count the rest for Bradley.

"I told you to fly, not lose your shit," you say once Hondo has walked far enough away to give you the illusion of privacy. Bradley glares at you before returning to his pushups, sweat dripping off his nose and onto the tarmac. "When you let him get to you like that, you give him the edge."

"What does it matter?" Bradley says, taking a seat and looking up at you for the first time since he was thirteen. "He's going to wash me out."

"I won't let him."

Bradley shakes his head. "Don't."

"I won't."

"Well, you couldn't stop him last time." And that's not fair. You weren't the one who'd pulled Bradley's papers. You hadn't even known until the deed had been done. Until Bradley was asking if he could stay with you for a while, and you insisted on driving to him. The same night Maverick's name had become a dirty word to both of you.

You do your best to keep the hurt off of your face. Bradley isn't mad at you; he's stressed and lashing out. But on base, you're still his superior officer. "The four best pilots will be on the mission. Whether that includes you or not, Rooster, is up to you. But it won't if you keep flying like that." You leave when your phone buzzes with a message to meet at Cyclone's office in — you check the time — ten minutes.

— — —

It's cathartic, you decide, to watch someone else lose their shit on Maverick. Unfortunately for Cyclone, though, this is one of the rare times that Maverick's rule-breaking has a defensible reason behind it.

"The hard deck will be much lower for the mission, sir," Maverick responds at your side.

"And it will not change without my approval!" Cyclone snaps. "Especially not in the middle of an exercise. And that cobra maneuver of yours? That could've gotten all four of you killed. I never want to see that shit again." All you do is shrug when Cyclone's stare focuses on you. You aren't sure what Iceman told Cyclone to make him think you could make Maverick behave, but you're not sure what you're supposed to do when you haven't spoken to the man in nearly forty years.

And then they're off again: Cyclone and Maverick. Oil and water.

"You have less than three weeks to teach them how to fight as a team and how to strike the target," Cyclone says, and he looks like he's ready to wave a hand, dismiss you all for the day, and pour himself four fingers of whiskey.

"And how to come home." Your head snaps to Maverick. His lips are parted as if he wants to say something else, but the words must escape him because instead, he repeats: "And how to come home, sir."

You try to swallow, but your throat is dry like sandpaper. Eyes wide, you stare at Cyclone. Coming home had never been a part of the training plan. This — Maverick is the first person to mention bringing the team home. A pit settles in your stomach as the realization of what you've been assigned to hits.

A suicide mission.

You're sending six people into enemy territory to die. Less, if you're lucky, but not everyone is coming home.

Cyclone chooses his next words carefully — "Every mission has its risks." — but they do nothing to settle you. Your blood is on fire, and you're simultaneously hot and cold, an icy sweat breaking out across your temples. "These pilots accept that."

"I don't, sir." Maverick's statement settles around you like a well-worn quilt. You shiver, despite yourself as a part of you that you'd believe to be long-dead flickers back to life. Because at that moment, in those words, you know that Maverick will do everything in his power to ensure everyone comes home. It feels like hope. Like trust. Clumsy fingers pull the feeling tighter around you.

"Every morning," Cyclone breaks the silence, "you will brief us on your instructional plans in writing. And nothing will change without my express approval."

"Including the hard deck, sir?" You're running through a plan to get all the paperwork together to lower the hard deck as soon as the question is past Maverick's lips because, much to your chagrin, Maverick is correct, and you should all be flying much lower to properly prepare.

"Especially the hard deck, Captain."

Without skipping a beat, Maverick hands a manila file over the desk to Cyclone. "Sir." And it appears that years of getting on Admirals' bad sides have prepared Maverick for this exact moment. You have to fight the twitch threatening to bring your lips up at the thought that Maverick knew he was going to break the hard deck and had come prepared with the paperwork already filled out.

When you regroup the next day, the hard deck sits much lower.

In two-plane teams, the graduates take turns flying the simulated course on their nav systems. And because you're going easy on them, they have both extra time and a higher ceiling than they'll have when they fly the actual mission. Even with these allowances, no one can make it to the end of the course. Except for Bradley, but he'd flown too slow despite Yale's insistence that they would be late.

As Maverick and Rooster argue over whether or not running the course in four minutes would be a death sentence, you can see the graduates' faces drop as they come to the same conclusion you'd come to in Cyclone's office: that this mission might not be doable.

"That's no time to be thinking about the past," Hangman says as if he couldn't stand that Bradley's ire had been aimed at anyone else.

Bradley's head whips to Hangman. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Something about this screams danger, but Maverick is frozen to the spot. "Rooster," you say, hoping you can get in front of this; calm Bradley before Hangman can dig his nails in and give him a shake.

Hangman leans back against his seat, a smile curling his lips. "I can't be the only one that knows that Maverick flew with his old man."

"That's enough." Maverick finally snaps out of whatever had held him silent before, but Hangman is undeterred.

"Or that Maverick was flying when his old man–"

"Lieutenant," you bark, "that's enough!" But it's too little too late. The fuse must have been lit before you and Maverick had been on the scene because Bradley is suddenly out of his seat, other graduates clamoring to their feet to grab him or push Hangman out of his reach.

Maverick throws himself into the middle, ordering each man to stand down while Bradley snarls, "You son of a bitch!"

When you get a hand on Hangman's shoulder, he shoots you a self-assured smile. "He's not cut out for this mission."

You shove him away from Bradley. "Walk."

Hangman's pale eyes land on Rooster. "You know it."

"I said walk, Lieutenant." You give Hangman another shove for good measure, and his feet finally begin to carry him away from the situation, but not before his eyes lock on Maverick's over his shoulder.

"You know I'm right."

Back in the hangar, Maverick dismisses the class. You march Hangman to an empty classroom to reprimand his piss-poor behavior. Hangman nods in all the right places, but you doubt any of your scoldings get through to him.

— — —

Getting all the graduates on the same page calls for a new strategy. They can fly the course on their navs until they're blue in the face, but it won't bring them closer together. Won't keep Hangman from leaving his wingman out to dry or light a fire under Bradley's ass. With a few ideas in mind, you arrive at the hangar early, hoping you can snag Warlock and go over some of your ideas before seeking approval from Cyclone.

Instead, you find Maverick.

"You're a bit early," you say as you take a seat atop one of the desks in the back row. And underdressed. It seems that he hasn't updated his wardrobe since the '80s. Instead of khakis, Maverick must have walked onto base today in his jeans and an old, white t-shirt.

Maverick jumps a little bit, then erases an errant mark on the whiteboard with the hem of his shirt and returns to what he was writing. "Yeah," he agrees. "Wanted to get here before everyone else."

Clearly. "And what's that?" you ask, gesturing at the board.

"Oh." Maverick stands back and taps at the board. "New plan for the day. I'd have talked with you about it, but…." He doesn't have your number.

Class on the beach.

Meet at The Hard Deck.

Wear civvies.

"What's at the beach?"

"Dogfight football," he says as if that explains everything.

You cross your arms. "This isn't volleyball all over again, is it?"

"No." Maverick shakes his head with a fond smile crinkling his eyes. “No, this is teambuilding.”

"Ah," you play along and nod as if that clears everything up. "I think that's exactly what Viper called it when he sent us to the volleyball court." More like when Jester had chucked the volleyball at Maverick's head, and Viper ordered he and Iceman get their posturing bullshit over with. They hadn't, of course, but it had been worth a try.

"He did, didn't he?" Before he can start fiddling with the whiteboard marker, Maverick caps it and sets it down. You wonder if he's thinking about it, too. The long summer days. How the sun beat down on all of you until your shoulders were red. Goose. "Let's hope this goes better, then."

When you arrive at the beach, Hondo's already there with two nerf footballs in his hands and a referee whistle around his neck. Maverick's bike is in the parking lot, but you don't see him when you scan the beach.

"Avalanche."

"Hondo."

"Anything I can help you with, ma'am?" Hondo shifts his weight from one foot to the other in the sand. Maybe Maverick had told him about your history, maybe he hadn't, but the two seem close enough. Whatever he does or doesn't know, Hondo doesn't let it come between your professional relationship.

"Just trying to figure out what dogfight football is."

The idea is all Maverick's, but the concept is pretty simple. Offense and defense at the same time. Score by running your ball into the opposing team's endzone before they run their ball into yours. Stop the other team from advancing by grounding their ball.

As Hondo gets into the hastily made-up rules, Maverick comes down from the bar, jeans rolled up to just below his knees and dragging a cooler behind himself. "You made it," he greets you, his movie star smile warm like the sun as the sea breeze tousles his hair.

"What's in the box?" you ask, hiding behind the question and your aviators. Instead of answering, Maverick opens the lid to reveal a multitude of cans. "Beer? On the job?"

"There's water in there, too," Maverick says, digging through the ice until he uncovers a water bottle and hands it to you. You drop the bottle back into the ice with a crunch. "The class on their way?" he asks as he closes the cooler.

"I'm not sure." So you fish your phone out of your pocket and send Bradley a quick text to make sure he's on his way with the others. Truthfully, you hadn't stuck around long enough to be sure. Had simply added your own note below Maverick's before leaving yourself.

Erase after reading.

The class shows up, and shirts come off. You fight to keep your eyes on Hondo as he separates you into teams. For someone pushing sixty, Maverick looks good. Trim waist, toned arms–

"Avalanche." Your attention snaps to Hondo as he motions you to the left. "Orange team."

After a quick huddle, both teams line up. Maverick and Bradley against you and Hangman. You don't have enough time to overthink it when Hondo blows the whistle, and you all take off at the snap.

By the time you stumble to the cooler for some water, you've lost track of the score. Hondo might know, but you doubt it. Laughter rang out from the group as Phoenix brought Fanboy down to the sand. Count on Maverick to succeed where others have failed.

"Looks like your plan worked," you call out as Maverick makes his way over to you, jeans wet and sandy from all the times he'd been knocked into the surf, aviators crooked on his face. You get off the cooler to grab him a water bottle as he sits in the nearby chair and pulls his shirt back on. When you turn around, he's beaming.

"Get him!" Halo screams, and you and Maverick look to where Hondo has intercepted a pass. He looks between the ball and WSO as if he's surprised before he runs, but he doesn't get far before — regardless of which team they're on — the aviators jump on him like a bunch of puppies. Screaming and laughing and wiggling as they bring Hondo to the sand. A laugh escapes you, and suddenly you and Maverick are laughing together. It feels good to laugh with him again.

Not even Cyclone's shadow can dim your shine, but Maverick does peak at him over his sunglasses. "Sir?"

"What is this?" Cyclone asks as everyone sets up again, none the wiser to Cyclone observing from the sideline.

"This–" Maverick gestures to the surf "–is dogfight football."

"Offense and defense at the same time," you say once you take a sip from your water bottle.

Ever critical, Cyclone asks: "Who's winning?"

"I think they stopped keeping score a while ago," Maverick says, his own water bottle crinkling as he drains it.

"This detachment still has some training to complete, Captain." His words are said to Maverick, but they're directed at both of you. Cyclone shooting you a look that says he expected you to do more to keep Maverick on Cyclone's track than go along willingly when he decides to play hooky. And maybe it's because this is the most fun you've had in years, but you'll readily admit that Maverick's plan had worked better than anything you'd wanted to run by Warlock. "Every available minute matters. So why are we out here playing games?"

Bob scores a touchdown, and Bradley lifts him onto his shoulders. Bob raises the ball above his head as the rest of the squad mills about them and chants, "Bob! Bob! Bob!"

"It's a teambuilding exercise, sir," you say, catching Maverick's surprised look out of the corner of your eye. "You asked him to create a team. There it is."

The three of you watch as the group runs into the ocean to cool off, only Hondo appears to be aware of their spectator, but Maverick raises a hand in his direction as if to let Hondo know that you have it handled.

"I expect them to be ready to fly tomorrow." By the time the graduates fish themselves out of the surf, Cyclone is long gone. And as they begin to walk around The Hard Deck with the promise of food and a few rounds of pool, Maverick's eyes find yours through your sunglasses.

"Well," Maverick sighs, hands clapping against his thighs, but he doesn't make to stand up. "I've gotta see if Penny will take some of these beers back."

You nod, dusting sand from your legs and shaking your shirt before pulling it over your head. "Make sure they drink some water," you say because you remember what it was like to be young and in the Navy. "I don't want Cyclone on our asses about them being hungover tomorrow."

"You heading out?" He rises to meet you.

"Yeah." You pat down your pockets to make sure that you have your keys. "It's about that time."

"Stick around," Maverick says when your keys jingle in your pocket. "Penny makes a mean burger."

Mean might be an exaggeration, but it turns out that Penny's burgers are pretty good. You hadn't expected much from a Navy bar, but credit where it's due and all that. By the time Maverick finds you at your booth, he's returned all but two of his beers and passes one of them to you. "I'd have gotten you a glass, but I already paid for these, so…" he trails off, and now that you can see his eyes, he looks uncomfortable standing at the end of your booth.

Maybe you're still running on the endorphins from your teambuilding exercise, or your newly blossoming trust is making you do some weird shit, but you decide to accept the can that Maverick offers you. You crack it open and take a sip, nodding to the bench across from you. Maverick jumps at the chance and slides onto the seat, his elbows resting on the table as he takes a gulp of his beer.

"So," you say, not entirely sure where to start with how long it's been since you've willingly engaged in a conversation with Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, but you're in a mood to humor him, "still a Captain, huh?"

Maverick chuckles. "A highly decorated Captain." It sounds like he's been saying it for years.

The conversation is stilted. Strictly professional. But it's more than you've been willing to give Maverick in years. The conversation is shot dead when the jukebox is unplugged, and Maverick gets a faraway look on his face as Bradley begins tickling at the piano keys. Before long, the rest of the bar is scream-singing Great Balls of Fire along with him, but your silence stretches even after Bradley moves on to the next song. And the next.

Your anger rises with each change of the keys. Finally, you can't take the silence any longer. "It was wrong what you did." It's the least of what you've wanted to say to him for years.

"I did what I had to."

"Bullshit," you grit. You see red. Because who the fuck did — does — Maverick think he is? "You had no right–"

"Carole asked me to do it." He says it so softly that you almost miss it between the clack of the pool table and din of conversation. Of all the defenses you'd been expecting, all the excuses you'd imagined over the years, you'd never…

"What?"

"She– Well, she–" he stumbles over his words. A couple non-starters until he can finally spit it out with a careful look in Bradley's direction. "She never wanted him to fly. Not after what happened to Goose." So there it was. What you'd always assumed was Maverick's own selfish reason for keeping his best friend's son from flying.

But it wasn't his selfish reason. Fuck! You stared into your can, the carbonation fizzing against the thin metal until you could feel it beneath your fingers.

Fuck. You'd had Maverick wrong for years. Bradley had him wrong.

Maverick clears his throat when you don't have anything to say to his overdue confession. "She made me promise before she died."

"How long?"

"The next day," Maverick gives you a sad little smile.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

You still hate it, but you begrudgingly get it now. Years later. Maverick hadn't wanted to pull Rooster's papers. Carole had put him in an impossible position. "You could've lied." You hate to even offer it up. It feels wrong the second the suggestion slips past your lips. Who lies to their friend on the deathbed? But Carole wouldn't have known. She could have died in peace, and Bradley would've been none the wiser.

"I couldn't bring myself to tell her, then…" he shakes his head. "Anyway, I knew Bradley would fly." He gestures across the table at you. "Knew you'd be there to help him get back on track."

But something about all of this still doesn't sit right with you. "Why not just tell him?" You abandon your beer and lean across the table, catching Maverick's downcast eyes. "He's… It would've hurt in the moment, but you've had years." An urge seizes you, and you have to fight every instinct in your body telling you to reach across the table. To cradle Maverick's hand in your own and rub some comfort into the old bones beneath tan skin. "You have to know by now that he'd have understood." That he'd still understand. He'd be angry, but he'd understand.

For all that you were the wind in Bradley's sails after their falling out, you knew you'd always be a piss poor replacement for Bradley's Uncle Mav. God, you wished Goose was there to knock some sense into him.

Maverick takes another sip of his beer, his gaze on Bradley, surrounded by his teammates by the piano. "It's better this way," he says. "I'd rather him hate me than resent her."

"You're an idiot if you think Bradley ever could've hated Carole."

A smile tugs at the corner of Maverick's lip, but his dimples don't pop. "No one ever accused me of being smart."

— — —

You and Maverick play the role of intercepting fifth-gen fighters while the graduates practice the course at speed and attempt to hit an old refrigerator in the middle of the desert meant to simulate the underground bunker.

The day doesn't go as planned.

It starts with several unsuccessful runs, then Coyote going into g-loc, followed by a bird strike that forces Phoenix and Bob to eject. Your hands, steady in the cockpit, shake once you touch down while you try to keep your mind from spiraling. You try to do simple math in your head, and when that isn't distracting enough, you force yourself to look at the positives: Coyote is fine; Phoenix and Bob punched out, their parachutes deployed, and a helicopter is picking probably picking them up right now; Bradley hadn't been in the air.

Bradley.

Thinking about your baby bird makes your breath catch. Heart beating in your throat. How was he handling all of this? Had he watched them punch out? Had he ever–?

Before you can go to him, Maverick is there. "Hey," he says with a hand on your shoulder, and you don't brush it off. The touch is grounding. It's the only thing keeping you from entering a flat spin. "Are you okay?" All you can think is that you should be asking him that. What you muster is a nod. It's been a while since you've been in the air when something had gone wrong, and your mind keeps circling back to Goose. Maverick's eyes study yours before he ushers you toward the building. He asks you to wait before disappearing into the men's locker room and returning with a manilla folder. "Think you can bring Cyclone tomorrow's lesson plan?"

You accept the folder, looking at the thick card stock in your hands. "Where're you going?"

Hesitation and desperation war in his eyes. "Rooster." Ah. Yeah. That makes sense. You want to go after Bradley yourself, but Maverick needs it.

You swallow to wet your dry throat. "Yeah," you croak. "Good. Yeah. I'll make sure he gets it."

Maverick's hand squeezes your shoulder. "Thank you." Then he's gone down the hallway, peering through windows as he goes.

But bad news always comes in threes.

The call comes in while you're defending Maverick's lesson plan.

You hadn't even known that Iceman was sick.

Warlock offers his condolences to Cyclone, then dips out of the room to find Maverick and deliver the news. Seconds later, footsteps hurry past the door and out of the base. A door slamming as the rumble of a bike disappears into the distance.

You stand with your old Top Gun class at the service. Well, the ones who had been able to show up. Slider. Hollywood and Wolfman. Viper.

Ron had tried to get approval to fly one of the jets overhead, but his request had been denied, which, you thought, eying his hands as they shook during the eulogy, was probably for the best. After the service, the five of you grab a drink for old time's sake, and Viper pours one out for your fallen comrade. Maverick doesn't join.

But when it rains, it pours.

An email is all the warning you get that Cyclone is taking over the mission. Maverick's career as a naval aviator is over, but yours isn't. You're expected to stay on. Without Iceman to fight for him, Maverick is grounded. All over the world, you're sure, admirals and air bosses were breathing a collective sigh of relief — but to your surprise, you weren't among them.

For the first time since joining the Navy — with his best friend gone and his career at large buried alongside his wingman — Maverick is well and truly on his own.

Everyone is given a day off to mourn and collect themselves while Cyclone develops a new game plan.

New orders come through the following day. You arrive on base early and are briefed on the latest mission parameters, but they make you feel like you've swallowed lead. It's a feeling you can't shake while you change into your flight suit, a voice in your ear buzzing that you're sending your team off to an early grave. You're on your way to run through preflight to fly an example of Cyclone's plan when you swear you see Maverick out of the corner of your eye.

You squint through the early morning sun. "Maverick?" He puts a finger to his lips and waves you over, and with a quick look around, you go to him. When you're close enough, he pulls you into the shadow of the hangar he's hiding behind so neither of you will be seen by officers about their dailies. "What are you doing here?" you ask, quiet this time. "Cyclone said that you were done."

"Yeah," Maverick said, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "I'm sure he'd like to believe that."

"I don't like that look." But you're smiling.

"A lot of people 've been saying that lately." He smiles back. Then: "I'm going to steal a jet."

"Come again?"

Maverick holds his hands up to calm you down. You must've been loud in your surprise because he's looking around the tarmac like he expects to be found out any second now. "The only way they come home is the way we've been teaching them," he says, and it's truth. You both know it. The squad knows it. Cyclone knows it.

Every mission has its risks. These pilots accept that.

"I won't drag you down with me, but if you could just — I don't know — distract the ground crew while I climb into one of the F/A-18s, I'll deny that you had any part in–"

You hand Maverick your helmet. "Take mine."

"What?"

"I'm set to fly the course in–" you check your watch "–at the top of the hour." With your helmet in Maverick's hands, you begin loosening the strap that fits under your chin so it'll go on easier for him. "Keep your head down and use signals during preflight or you won't make it off the ground."

"Avalanche–"

"Cyclone doesn't think it can be flown, but it can," you say and place your hands on Maverick's shoulders. "Prove him wrong."

"Thank you."

"Turn 'n' burn, Mav."

You make your way to the class after you watch Mav take off in your plane. As luck would have it, you arrive just as your plane appears on the screen.

"Avalanche," range control crackles through the comms, "you are approaching point Alpha. Confirm green range."

"Copy, Range control. Green range is confirmed." Cyclone's eyes find yours when he starts at the very decidedly not feminine voice that responds to the tower.

"Umm… Avalanche?"

"Maverick."

"We have this event scheduled for Avalanche, sir."

"Well, I'm going anyway," Mav says. "Setting time to target: two minutes and fifteen seconds."

You might be the only person in the room who isn't surprised when Mav pulls off his stunt.

Cyclone takes off from the hangar with Warlock hot on his heels. You follow as they pass you by.

"You were supposed to keep him in line," Cyclone says, but he doesn't turn to look at you. Warlock does, you even think he understands why you did it, but Warlock wasn't the one Mav had to convince.

"With all due respect, sir–"

"Dismissed."

Your steps falter. "What?"

Cyclone shoots you a glare over his shoulder. "Go home, Rear Admiral. We will discuss this later." Then to Warlock: "Bring Mitchell to my office. Now."

With no other way to contact him, you head to the Hard Deck, knowing Mav will find you there eventually. You hope he's got good news when he does.

Mav takes significantly longer to show up than you'd anticipated, which is either good or bad. It's a busy night at the bar, the jukebox plays hit after hit, and one unlucky sod has the bell run on him for disrespecting a lady. No one is tossed overboard. You've only managed to drink half of your beer, your stomach lurching uneasily each time you take a sip, and your eyes jumping to the door every time it swings open, unsettled with the knowledge that you all ship out in the morning. That this was the last chance Mav had to prove the mission could be flown, to change Cyclone's mind before the team was selected. That he — you — might have been too late.

Then he shows up. Nostalgia personified in his dress whites, cap tucked beneath his arm as Loverboy croons over the clink of glasses and laughter that fills the bar. Your breath catches in your throat.

This is it. The moment of truth.

Mav's face gives nothing away as he leans in close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. "Take a walk with me?" You abandon your room-temperature beer and follow Mav onto the deck and down to the beach. He lets out a bone-deep sigh as his dress shoes fill with sand.

"What's with the whites?" You're shooting for casual, but you're practically shaking. Is this a final night of glory? A swan song? A victory lap?

"Just seemed appropriate." Mav shrugs and drags out your suffering.

"So," you say, drawing it out until the vowel is lost in the breeze, "did you get canned?"

"No." You give him a look, and he relents. "Close, but no."

The surf fills the silence, but there's only so much it can do before the space between you grows stale. The moment to say something has almost passed when: "Spit it out. We aren't getting any younger."

"I've been appointed team leader."

It crashes into you like waves against the hull of a carrier. The whites, the solemn expression. This is supposed to be goodbye.

"Don't go." And you mean it. Don't even have to think about it.

But Mav's eyes stay on the water. Dark waves gliding up the sand and retreating. "I have to."

"No. You don't."

His shoulders stiffen; you can see it clear as day with the way his whites contrast the inky black of the night sky. "Is that an order, Admiral?"

You scoff. "No. If it was, you'd just break it." Mav chuckles despite himself. "It's a request. From a friend." But the request feels hollow when you put it that way. Tastes like a lie on the back of your tongue.

"I'm the only one who's flown the course in the timeframe. It has to be me."

"Please," you say because you aren't above pleading. Because you're desperate and running out of reasons.

"I love you." The words feel like ejecting without a parachute. Like diving headfirst into an alpine lake at the height of summer — frigid water filling your lungs as you gasp. "Never stopped, but," he pauses, meets your gaze with his own, and for the first time, Mav seems every bit his age. You can't help but feel that he looks all the more handsome for it. "I wanted to say it now. In case I don't get the chance to, later."

You pull him into a kiss and breathe him in like water. Longing. Lingering. Drowning. Mav allows himself to sink beneath the surface with you before his hands cover your own on his cheeks and pulls away. He takes a step back, surfaces, stumbles slightly in the sand. "When I come back," he promises.

And that's precisely what echoes in your head when you hear that Dagger One has gone down.

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#thirsty's suggestion box #user: i-wear-wet-socks313 #pete maverick mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell x f!reader #maverick x reader #pete mitchell x reader #top gun 1986 #top gun: maverick #tg:m #top gun fanfiction #pilot!reader #fic: call sign: avalanche #call sign: avalanche pt. 1 #pt. 2 coming soon

[riaki]

hii! yk that trend on tiktok where the girl asks her man to name a woman and gets suspicious when he says a name beside hers? i would like to request that with gojo please! thanksss

name a woman | satoru gojo x f!reader thanks for ur req! here u go <3 slightly different from what u asked but i hope it works | cw fem reader + petnames, slightly suggestive, he's kinda a scumbag lol

it's a lazy saturday afternoon when you get betrayed by your boyfriend.

you're sitting at the round table on the patio of satoru's place; you always forget just how rich his parents are whenever you're around him. if not for that stupidly expensive cologne he wears and that one time you happened to see the price tag on the new pair of sunglasses he bought himself, you would've been blissfully unaware. after all, for a rich kid, he's pretty grounded. at least, when he isn't tooting his own horn.

but being here on the gojo estate, it hits you in the face like a ton of bricks; forces you to accept the fact that your boyfriend is loaded.

the breeze is gentle as it runs through your hair, but satoru's absentminded touch as he drums his fingers along your arm is more than you could ever ask for. it's the little things like this; habits of his that make you love him all the more. the way he'll throw his arms around your neck and latch onto to give you a big hug from behind, or carry you around like you're a little kid when you're worn out and you can't feel your feet from a day's worth of walking.

there's seven empty juice boxes littered across the table and a half-empty one in your hand; the paper straw is already folding in on itself, which makes it much harder to get any of the remnants at the bottom of the carton. at least the drink is nice and sweet; refreshing lime on a sunny day.

"why did they stop giving these things plastic straws? it's so soggy now," you complained, shifting in your seat as you shook the juice box. it did not relent, or give up any of its juice. you make a face, and you could swear it makes one back.

satoru glances up at you, tearing his attention away from his phone as a small grin appears on his lips. "don't you know? it's good for the environment. obviously, you're not in tune with nature like i am." he snickers, adjusting his shades on the bridge of his nose before turning his attention back to the screen between his fingers, withdrawing the hand that was on your arm to form a cushion for his chin on the crook of his elbow.

"oh, [name], [name]! you're hurting us! woe be upon thy and thou foul plastic tomfoolery." your dignified lover puts his phone down, straightening up to wave his arms about as if he's one of those inflatables you see in front of car dealerships. you think he's trying to be a tree, but you're not entirely sure. "hear that? the plants are calling you," he grins, pausing his arm waves to nudge you in the shoulder.

"stop doing that, satoru. you look stupid. the maids will think you've lost it," you chuckled, kicking his leg in jest as you leaned back in your seat and took another sip from the juice box.

"you're one to talk." he scoffs, and you glare at him, giving him a pointed look. he just giggles, sticking his tongue out before making a grab at your juice box. you swipe it out of his reach before he can wiggle his fingers any closer, and the way his expression falls an apple from a tree makes a laugh bubble from your throat. unlike the apple, it's not gravity that's pulled him down; you never indulge him, because you like making him chase. he enjoys it— he thinks it's good that you're playful. but it's annoying when he's thirsty and it's not his fault those juice boxes are so damn small.

"toru, i have a question for you. answer well and the rest of this is yours," you said, shifting in your seat to cross your legs and face him, propping the juice box on your knee. there's not much inside, but you know he'll scavenge for every last drop, like he's some raccoon. it's cute, you think.

he perks up immediately, turning his phone off and mirroring your position in his own seat; his limbs are slightly too long and too lanky to fit proportionately in the seat, but he doesn't seem to mind when his knee bumps against yours.

"yes? what is it, my sweetpea?" he grins, enjoying the sour expression on your face. it seems the lime juice has worked its way into your system.

you scowl. "sweetpea? what kind of nickname is that?" it's cute, though, so you don't say anything more. you stare at him for a moment, taking in his features; the wide smirk on his lips, the way his hair gently ruffles around his face like passing clouds.

you sigh; resigned, as you roll your eyes.

"name a woman."

"...what?"

he tilts his head to the side, staring at you through his lashes, an inquisitive squint that makes him look a lot like a white cat.

you laugh a little, and his grin widens. "you heard me. name a woman. any; the first that comes to your mind."

he hums in acknowledgement, making a show out of tapping his chin with a finger in deep thought, a mock pensive expression twisting his lips down before he looks at you again, a teasing glint in his azure eyes that gives you a terrible sense of foreboding.

"kuroki meisa."

...

now it's your turn to ask. "what?"

he shrugs, a shit-eating grin on his face yet again as he tilts his shades down to give you a look that he knows will get you bothered.

"you heard me, princess. i named a woman. the first that comes to my brilliant mind, right? now how about giving me that juice box—" he starts, reaching forward and leaning in his seat to make another grab at the box perched on your knee. you yank it away from him just in time; his fists close around cool air and he groans loudly.

"you're no fun." he pouts, biting the inside of his cheek.

"satoru! who the hell is kuroki meisa? you were supposed to say me! or your mom, at least. or shoko." you glared at him, turning your nose up and refusing to acknowledge him as he pouts and crosses his arms over his chest like some petulant child who got his ipad confiscated.

"i did what you told me to do! you can't be mad at me for that." he protests, squirming in his seat.

a lightbulb goes off in your head; normally, that'd be a good thing, but the way you're gritting your teeth so hard he thinks your jaw might crack doesn't bode well. "wait, don't tell me. is she another one of those models? satoru, i swear—" you start, but he cuts you off hastily, making a mad grab at the juice box and coming out successful and surprisingly unscathed.

"she is." he says sheepishly, toying with the sad paper straw before attempting to take a sip. he struggles, but eventually you hear the tell tale sign of liquid moving up the hollow straw. you're too busy seething to notice, though.

"gojo." you say his surname, and he flinches a little, an overwhelming sense of icy dread sinking its claws into his shoulders as his grin turns into one of nervous panic. it's familiar; the one he experienced when you'd found one of your missing bras in the drawer compartment underneath his king sized mattress (that he always complains about feeling ten times emptier without you in it).

"yes, my sweet?" satoru's about to face you when something hits him square in the face— with all malicious intent and cutting cardboard corners. seven juice boxes on the table plus one half-filled one has now become six on the table, a half-filled in his hand, and another on the floor. you're glaring daggers at him, still posed to strike in your chair. he rubs his cheek, grinding his teeth together and grumbling before he looks at you again with an extremely disappointed expression on his face. "the plants, baby! if they didn't already dislike you, they sure do now." he huffs. but with the way you're looking at him, he wouldn't put it past you to throw the table at him next.

"give me my juice box back, you brat." you hiss, and he laughs, staring down at you like you're some cute little zoo animal. he wants to dote on you; he can't help it! you're so adorable, with your cheeks all red and your bottom lip sticking out in a little endearing pout. he wants nothing more than to drop the juice box, drag you onto his lap and squish your pretty face until you start complaining and stop him with a kiss.

satoru knows he won't get anywhere if you're still pissed at him, though, so he at least has to try and make amends.

"aww, don't worry, baby! you're the only woman i think of when i—"

"that's enough out of you, traitor."

satoru just grins and finishes off the juice box, relishing in the look of mild anguish on your face as you watch the cardboard crinkle inward like some black hole sucked it in; a telltale sign of what was half-filled a moment ago becoming completely empty; a dry well that was once your reservoir of life. you retreat back into your seat, hugging your knees to your chest and putting on your best, heart-tugging frown. it doesn't take long for satoru to notice when you do, and he immediately melts, tossing the juice box aside to the poor plants and leaning forward to cup your cheek in his palm.

"what's wrong, love? you know i only did it to see you upset," he chuckles, and you can't help but smile before remembering you're supposed to be pissed.

"that was the last juice box, satoru. and i'm still thirsty. and a little hungry." you sighed, rubbing your forehead. you felt a little guilty. "but it's okay."

satoru sighs, before pulling away and standing up, stretching his arms and cracking his back with exaggerated movements, like he's making letters out of his body.

"alr-ight! up with you, then. let's go to the market." he grins, lending you a hand and nudging your foot with his. you stare up at him with those sweet big eyes, and he feels himself melt a little.

"are you sure? they're expensive—“

"shut it, sweetpea. it's all on me. how does katsu sound?"

your face lights up, and so does his. after all, he'd do anything for his sweet girl— no model could ever compare to the very sun of his life; the brightest star in his sky.

not proofread i hope we’re not surprised my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

#in other news would you rather be the city or country mouse #waht if i died #i feel like i make these analogies taht aren't written cohesively so no one knows wtf im talking ab #its ok i speak my own lanaguage 👨‍🍳 #the langauage of typos apparently #its oakgy #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #billet-doux #inbox 💌 #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo #jjk #why are there so many gojo tags i am TIRED

[buckets-and-trees]

Talk

Title: Talk Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky x Female!Reader Word Count: 2k

Summary: He's ready to give you everything you want and things you don't even know you need yet.

Content/Concept Warnings: BDSM AU, discussion of BDSM themes, oral female receiving, praise kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, forced orgasm

Notes: TRIPLE THREAT SUBMISSION for @buckybarnesevents WEEK TWO of Hot Bucky Summer: "What Should I Call You?", my fourth square of @buckybarnesbingo K4 "Kink: Forced Orgasm, and my second square for Connect4 Alternate June-iverse: C2 "BDSM." Also, @biteofcherry, you totally called the BDSM vibes from that little last line tag game sentence I posted the other day - it was this, mwahaha!

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You sat sideways on the couch, your arm draped over the back, legs tucked up comfortably beneath you. He mirrored your position, though with just one leg brought lazily up onto the couch, leaving his impressively thick thighs spread wide, teasing your fantasies.

Indulging fantasy was why you were there in the first place.

And you almost felt like this was any normal kind of Saturday afternoon with the new boyfriend you were eager to crawl into the lap of and be devoured by for the first time.

The setting fit – cozy living room of a sophisticated man’s apartment with leather furniture, modern art on the walls, small but sufficient kitchen, floor to ceiling windows along one side of the room that led to a private balcony, and a door that you knew would lead to the bedroom.

But it was just a little too tasteful to be real.

And he didn’t live here.

It was all designed to make you feel comfortable, an indulgent illusion of reality.

“You’re sure you’re not thirsty?” he asked.

He hadn’t offered anything alcoholic – strictly against policy so you were both sober – but you declined again with a shake of your head.

“Okay,” he said, “but remember it’s my role to make sure you always feel safe and taken care of, and that includes the small things like getting you a drink, and you can change your mind at any point. You’re not a burden. We are here for you and what you want.”

Warmth bloomed through your core – tinged with desire, but mostly just heat that was part comfort and part reticence. You had never taken such a bold measure of self-indulgence or self-care or self-discovery or whatever this could be called. It had taken almost two months for you to get from scoffing at the suggestion to sitting in the room on this couch across from the brunette Adonis who had said to call him Bucky (a nickname – you were asked to give a nickname as well when you registered and had gone with Rio).

“The last thing we should discuss, if you’re ready to move forward, is your safe word.”

“Brazil,” you responded without hesitation.

He smirked, but it was in no way unkind. “Rio and Brazil – I’m sensing a theme.”

“Another thing on the list of dreams to finally indulge,” the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“I hope that’s another thing you’ll choose to pursue.”

You laughed. “God, it’s so weird just how normal all this conversation feels. We just spoke at length about my kinks and limits and now I’m telling you my hopes and dreams. I’ve rarely shared this much of myself to anyone, and certainly not after only knowing them for less than an hour.”

“Well, part of that is that we all feel a little safer exposing ourselves to strangers because they’re not part of our routine,” Bucky said, “but there’s some trust that’s established by the mere act of us talking about your boundaries. It’s certainly a foundational part of the process. This only works when you feel comfortable with me, if you trust me – otherwise you cannot truly submit to me as your dominant in this arrangement.”

You nodded.

“Trust, strong communication – without them, there’s no way I can expect you to reasonably let go of your inhibitions either,” he soothed, moving his hand forward to brush his fingers over yours.

“The world of BDSM and kink is vast, but it shouldn’t be overwhelming. I never want you to feel like you’re an Alice who’s fallen down a rabbit hole and exposed to and expected to navigate the wonderland on your own.”

“I appreciate that. There’s…” you hesitated, but his rapt attention helped you feel like you could continue the thought on the tip of your tongue. “There’s a lot on the internet – a lot that I thought I knew about this stuff, but even just the registration and profile of preferences I had to fill out was pretty illuminating.”

After the basic registration you had been directed to complete an Experience and Curiosity Checklist that walked you through over 250 different activities and indicate whether you had tried it before or not, your pleasure during that activity if you had, and then a ranking of if you would like to try or do it in this setting – from never to need, if each activity was something you would entertain in a consensually forced situation, and if you would give, receive, or were up for both.

“Illuminating, huh?” Bucky grinned.

You felt just a touch of heat rise in your cheeks.

“You’re incredibly smart, and I like that,” he said, his grin turning to a softer smile. “That long and thorough profile? It’s the key to all of this – it’s not only for you, but also for me. I was matched to you ahead of anyone else on our staff. I’ve been preparing for you.”

“Like studying up?” you interjected.

“Of course, and the time we’ve spent up until now talking is for both of us, as well. You have a question you want to ask, something that wasn’t fully clear to you through your own research and filling out the profile. Ask it.” He tapped gently on your fingers, another motion of reassurance, connection.

“Forced orgasms.”

“I’m not surprised you would want to know more about that particular aspect.”

“I get the general concept, but I guess I don’t understand how that translates into practice,” you admitted.

Bucky nodded. “Sex should be engaged in for intimacy and pleasure – sometimes only pleasure, but not all the partners we are involved with are people we would trust to push us beyond our limits – either because a relationship is new, it’s a one-time thing, or because we don’t know how to communicate the limits and boundaries. Just like anything else, sex is a part of our experience as humans that we learn and grow and change with. A forced orgasm is a way to explore pleasure and power dynamics, but there must be that established trust. They can be both physically and emotionally intense because it could be exploring something new or pushing you past limits – you would give up power and be subjected to my whims.”

You took a deep breath and nodded.

“You give up power, but not safety – that’s important for you to remember. You always have your safe word or tap me three times if you can’t speak, I’ll always stop immediately. Forced can also be a specific part of roleplay scenarios. We can discuss it more, but I think you ought to experience it. Do you think we’ve built enough trust for us to begin?”

“Oh, now?”

“Yes, now, or we could talk more before we begin, we could talk and do nothing more tonight, or you could leave now and go think before your next appointment.”

You bit your lip, but only out of concentration for deciding, not out of nerves.

“What do you want?” he asked patiently.

“I want to begin the physical experience.”

“That kind of specificity will be rewarded, Rio.”

You grinned.

“You didn’t mark this very high on your profile, but I think you’re going to find out you have quite the praise kink.”

You half-gasped and half-giggled, surprised that he would say something so bold and yet also not.

“Strong independent woman like you? High achiever, determined. You’re not vain, and you don’t chase it, but you like recognition outside the bedroom, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’ll love it here, too, doll.”

You pressed your thighs closer together. A slow undercurrent of desire had been present since the night began, but as things began to transition, your core was beginning to thrum with anticipation.

“Bucky?”

“Yes?”

“Before we get started, I – well – just – thank you for not asking me why I decided to come here.”

“You didn’t ask me why I chose this profession. It might be oversimplification to say we’re both here because we want to be, but that’s the bottom line, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Know there will never be an ounce of judgment here – not for your desires, your kinks, your fears, your motivations. Don’t worry about doing anything wrong in there – we’ll be learning what your body wants together. You need to stop, we stop. You need to pause, we pause. You want to go slow or try something again or from a different angle, you tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.” God, he made you feel like the world was at your feet even though you were surrendering to him.

He stood up and pulled you with him. “One more thing.”

“Hmm?”

“In there, you call me ‘sir,’” he said. He brought your hand up and placed a whisper of a kiss on the inside of your wrist.

Everything in you melted instantly and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smirked.

You knew he was going to ruin you.

You knew this, you knew you were ready and eager, and yet you also could tell nothing in your life had quite set you up for what you were about to experience if he had you pliant and nearly pleading for him after that mere gentle touch.

“Why don’t you head to the bedroom, I’ll give you a few minutes to get comfortable, and then I’ll come in.”

Two hours later, you were a writhing mess on the mattress, completely naked and splayed out for him while he was still fully clothed. His head was buried between your thighs, your hips firmly in place by his left arm pressing down on your pelvis. The fingers of his other hand were buried in your cunt, stroking the sensitive spot on your inner wall slowly and torturously – because every sensation down there was too much now.

He had traced his fingers over every inch of your limbs, teased your nipples, stroked your neck, ghosted his hands over your hips, teasing until you were pleading for him to touch your pussy.

He had told you once he started, he wouldn’t stop.

You knew he wasn’t lying, but you had never known an experience like this.

He had edged and denied your first orgasm until you were desperate and crying. The ultimate bliss had been blinding. He had praised you, told you your first orgasm with him had been truly beautiful, and your back had actually arched at his words, an inner keening. He’d been right about that kink.

And then he’d been nothing but relentless, bringing you to the edge and back again, then hurtling you over numerous times, with only brief moments of reprieve before torturing you with his lips, teeth, and tongue, with his hands, and with his words. Filthy promises of things he would do, dangled your fantasies in front of you, teased out admissions from you of even darker desires he as he presented new options you’d never considered, all the while pushing you into orgasm after orgasm. You keened and cried.

It was too much, and you told him so.

He disagreed, coaxing that you could give him another, and another.

“Sir,” you sobbed, “sir, stop, I can’t.”

Now the crying was continuous, and those were the only four words you seemed to be able to utter. When it devolved to only hitched breaths and sirs, Bucky slowed and stopped.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked.

“Yes,” you rasped.

“And?”

“I didn’t say it.”

He chuckled. “Just checking, Rio.”

“I know it’s Brazil! Break over, keep going.”

“It’s the endorphins – even though the overstimulation is there and it’s uncomfortable, the high with the endorphin release through the pain is its own trip, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, now keep your word and don’t stop until I’m utterly broken,” you whined, wiggling your hips as much as you could manage.

His low laugh made you shiver. “You’re going to be one of my favorites, I can tell.”

And then he pressed firmly on that spot inside of you and sucked hard on your clit in one sudden moment and ripped another orgasm and scream from you as you twisted one hand in the sheets and tugged his hair with the other, not ready to stop yet. He was as addictive as he was relentless, and you were not going to leave an ounce of this unexplored, and this was only the beginning.

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

End Notes: I feel like I knew some of the basics when it comes to BDSM and some of my fics have had BDSM elements, but I did a fair amount of research because I didn't want to do any disservice to the what a healthy relationship exploring BDSM might look like. This is one take. I found some very helpful insight at theduchy.com (specifically their BDSM Experience and Curiosity Checklist) and an article Bustle published by two sex educators that took a very straight-forward approach in discussing some of the basics. I'd go so far as to say there things that I learned or had reaffirmed or got better language/theory about by studying about BDSM that I think should just be base safe sexual practices (around consent, boundaries, exploration, trusting your partner, etc).

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x y/n #buckybarnesbingo2023 #bbb2023 #hotbuckysummer2023 #connect4au #pleasure dom bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fan fiction #female reader #reader insert #aspen wrote something

[ladygoth]

OKAY SONE TEXT IDEAS EXCEPT IM NOT VERY CREATIVE? (Im so sorry your main got termed i hope you get it back! 🫶🏽) THESE R FOR THE GHOST TEXTS POST YOU MADE💜

Convincing him to go out on a double date?

Trying to get him to do a video or trend with you

Asking him to buy pads but not responding when he asks what size so he js buy the whole aisle 💀 (he definitely didnt freak out)

Texting him while hes deployed

Asking him to buy stuff at the store that slowly becomes concerning when he puts 2 and 2 together (idk if this makes sense)

Him seeing a thirsty comment you posted under his post asking you to explain ( LOVING THIS ONE LMAO)

Texting him hinting at y’all’s anniversary coming up seeing if he forgot

IMMA STOP BEFORE THIS GETS TOO LONG BUT EXPECT ME IN YOUR BOX OFTEN (may or may not be addicted to your writing 👀)

Thank you so much for your ideas, I decided for the 6th option because it was funny to me. And I do hope to see you more in my ask box :))

ᴛᴇxᴛ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ [02]

summary - you send a thirst comment and ghost is really confused.

18+

[this is n1ght4ngel my account is temporarily terminated so I’ll be posting short stories here until i get my account back; and the name call is still baby doll.]

i’d love to see more suggestions in my asks box!

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

[the1975attheirverybest]

Being Funny In A Foreign Language

Chapter 1- Never Gonna Love Again…

Warnings: smut.

read all aditional chapters here.

———

“So, where is it, then?” Amelia’s eyes darted between Patricia and Matty, both of whom looked puzzled.

“Where’s what?” Patricia frowned.

“The- the naked Matty. The body double! Matty, The Second? You know, the better Matty.”

Matty rolled his eyes. “Are you finished?”

“Ummm,” Amelia looked into the distance, pretending to think. “The One True Matty? Eh. That's lame. Okay, guess I am finished.” She gave him a charming smile, batting her eyelashes at him, jokingly. Matty tried to ignore the beating in his chest and play along, but his love for her was like second nature by now. He couldn’t help it.

“Seriously, where do you guys keep him?”

Matty started to respond, “Oh, not here. we don’t-“ but Patricia had already spoken over him.

“Right this way, he’s in the storage room.” She gestured.

Both ladies gave Matty a quizzical look. They made their way down the hall, Matty trailing behind them, dreading the inevitable.

“You’ve literally just landed. Haven’t even been to the hotel yet, and this is what you want to see?” He attempted to distract her.

“What? You think I flew all this way just to see you?… well I guess I kinda did.” Amelia giggled to herself, “but like….to see the better you.”

Patricia flicked the lightswitch on in the storage room, waiting a moment for lights to flicker.

“How’s he the ‘better me’?”

“He’s naked. And he doesn’t speak.” She grinned, throwing him off.

“Here he is.” Patricia pointer to a box in the middle of the room, surrounded by clutter, and labeled, “peanut. EXTREMELY FRAGILE.”

Matty watched Amelia’s eyes scan over the text, and turned around, looking away timidly.

“Awwww, are you fuckin kidding me?! That’s so sweet.” She chuckled, a hand on her heart.

Patrician unclasped the lid, dragging it to the side and opening the box. “Here he is. Amelia, meet Peanut.”

Amelia took small, hesitant steps towards the box. “Gosh I’m a little nervous. I think starstruck.” She stood over the box, peering down, as if at a treasure chest.

Matty rolled his eyes.

“Awww” she smiled, melting Matty’s heart. Then her expression changed as she leaned over to get a closer look. “Oh. Would you look at that. He’s got your penis. Surprisingly, anatomically accurate.”

Patricia was startled. “Okay. That’s my cue to leave. Have fun you two.”

Amelia smiled at Patricia as she walked out the door, turning to Matty once they were alone. “How’d you get it to be so life-like? Did you have to show your dick to the sculptor?”

He retrieved the box cover, shutting it closed. “Wanna join me for dinner? Took about the show?”

***

As they rushed into the room, Matty couldnt help but recall his conversation with Ross earlier that day.

“Please tell me you did not hire her to come along on tour just so you could sleep with her….” Ross had tossed the rash guard into the designated hamper, eying the gym showers for an available one.

Matty had scuffed at the mere suggestion. “‘Course not. That’s despicable!”

Despicable though it may have been, Matty found himself in a compromising position, a bulge forming in his pants as Amelia’s hot breath tickled his neck. He almost allowed himself to think about how much he’s missed her, her body, pressed up against his, her fingers, tugging at his hair with just enough urgency to send a sting through his— fuck! No, he can’t repeat the same cycle of events all over again. He must choose character growth.

“Erm…..Amelia,” he sighed out, the feeling of her kisses all over his skin almost melting him. “We- should…listen, Amelia-“ would it really be so bad, he wondered, If he let them both have this?

He finally mustered enough self-restraint to pull their bodies apart, “Amelia, slow down.” He flashed her a smile. “You’ve only just landed.” His voice shook in his throat as he spoke. “We- uhh- we should get some drinks or something?”

“Oh, I’m not thirsty.” Amelia brushed off his suggestion. “The beauty of a Dirty Hit funded, all-Expenses-paid, first class ticket is that the meals on the flight tasted nothing like airplane food came with drinks too. Nice drinks. If the flight attendant had walked up to me with a plate of Caviar, I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

Matty smiled.

“So, if this is what it’s like to work for your label….I might like it.”

“It’s not my label,” Matty eagerly corrected her.“Well….a small portion of it is. But- Jamie’s in charge, so-“

He lost his train of thought when he felt her finger tracing patterns in the skin of his hand, softly, but deliberately.

“Anyway,” her lips, were, once more, by his ear, whispering, “not in need of any drinking. But I do have a craving for something else.” Her soft, seductive voice was making his knees buckle. He leaned against the wall, his head pushed back.

This wasn’t how he’d envisioned his do-over going. The romcom-esque arc that he’d planned in his head. He was going to spend time with her. Show her that he cares about her for more than just sex. Earn her time and attention by being worthy. Not because she was in love with him and found it difficult to stay apart.

“Been thinking about your hands around my neck since I got into that car that you sent for me.” Amelia’s voice pulling him in again. “Have I said thank you for that yet? Eh. why say it, when I could,” she sank to her knees, “just show it,” undoing his belt.

Shit, he’s in trouble. He tried talking himself out of it but, instead, he found himself looking down into her eyes, his hand gently cupping her face. “Fuck me, I’m the worst.”

Matty felt like the devil, conjuring up sinful fantasies as he looked down at Amelia, who somehow, looked just like an Angel kneeling between his legs.

His belt-studded jeans hit the floor with a thud, Amelia cupping his clothed crotch and delighting in his hissing.

“How long has it been?” She asked, grinning and looking up at him through her lashes.

“Wh-wha- what?”

“How long has it been since the last time that you’ve had sex?” She repeated, nonchalant, rubbing the fabric of his briefs.

Matty swallowed harshly, “no- not since- not since you and me.” He blushed and closed his eyes, not baring to look at her as he confessed.

If Amelia was thrilled about this news, she made no show of it. By the way that she carried on her teasing without a hitch, Matty wasn’t even sure she’d heard him.

She sighed, after a long silence, “that’s ages ago.” So, she did hear him. “Why?” She looked him directly in the eyes as she waited for his answer.

In the heat of the moment, Matty considered simply blurting out, “because I’m in love with you.” But that’s not how he wanted to tell her. He’d been fantasizing about it for a long time. He wanted the moment to be perfect. “Just doesn’t- doesn’t feel right anymore”

Amelia hooked a finger into the waistband of his underwear pulling it as far away from his body as possible, then releasing it to snap against his skin.

“Ah- shit!” Matty cursed. “Not interested in chasing something that- erm…disappears as soon as you finally get it. Don’t wanna do that.”

“Oh, so you want me to stop, then?”

The coyness in her voice lit a fire within him, like an old, stale matchbox lighting up a cold room. He repressed the urge to whine and beg her not to move an inch. A smile across his lips, he chuckled, amused, his thumb delicately brushing her lower lip. “Open up, Amelia.”

Her mouth open, tongue out, just like he’d taught her months ago. Matty grinned, pleased with her responsiveness.

Amelia’s hands reached for his briefs to rid him of them, but a sharp tug of her hair fixed her in place. “Who said you could move?” His voice was sharp, admonishing, but his smile gentle. She knew she’d be a sticky, wet mess between her legs if he kept this up. “Sorry, I- just eager, I guess. Missed you in my mouth.”

Fuck. He was done for.

Ignoring the shaking of his knees, Matty remembered his aim. “Hands behind your back, c’mon.” He nodded, “good girl.”

His briefs slid down his legs; he pushed her head down on his hard cock. “Breathe, deep breaths, Amelia. Remember what I’ve taught you.”

***

“So…what happened after dinner?” Ross smiled, amused, “the two of you-“

“We fucked. Yes.”

Ross held back a giggle as his bicep relaxed, setting the weights back down. He sat up on the bench, gradually getting off it, and dabbing the sweat off his forehead with a towel. He nodded for Matty to take his place, patting his shoulder as his friend walked by him. “Mate,” he shook his head in disbelief. “You are so-“

“I know.”

Matty laid on his back, where Ross had been moments ago, staring up at the high ceiling.

“You ready?” Ross hovered by Matty’s head, ready to spot him.

“Let’s fuckin go.”

Deep breath in as his arms pulled down. His mind taking him back to the night before, as he laid there, breathing deeply, by her side.

“Cig?”

Amelia shrugged. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Ever the gentleman, Matty lit her cigarette first, then his.

Amelia looked into his eyes, not saying anything. He blushed, turning away. “What?” The cigarette dangled from his lips as he spoke. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“You look… tired.” She cupped cheek in her hand, caressing it slowly.

Butterflies fluttered in his stomach. He was surprised to feel his emotions bubble to the surface. The urge to cry lingered for a moment before he repressed it again and put on a smile.

“I haven’t really slept since….2022.”

Amelia’s hand let go of his face. He felt the loss of her touch keenly.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you.” She sat back against her pillow.

“What’s that mean?”

“I mean if my name were in the tabloids as often as yours has been….I’d have trouble sleeping, too.”

“Oh, that? I don’t care about that.”

Amelia giggled. “Yeah, that’s why you’re making a whole show about it.”

Matty tried to spit out a quick retort but stuttered instead. “ that-

Is- it’s not- You know me…”

“Yes, I do know you.” She kissed his cheek, “you’re sensitive. You care so much about a lot of things. You’re somewhat of an idealist. which is why I know that you pretend not to care. But deep down? It bothers you” she spoke in between kisses inching closer and closer to him until she was back on top of him, kissing his face and neck.

“A-Amelia?”

She took the cigarette out of his mouth, setting it down next to hers. She kissed his lips. “Wanna go again?”

“Amelia, I-“

“A second round? Please?”

Matty felt himself melt into the mattress at her small, gentle plea. His arms wrapped around her, rubbing her bare back.

“Need to talk, first.” He whispered against her lips at after a breathless kiss.

She opened her eyes, looking at him to assess his seriousness. He looked genuine. “Okay,” she got off of him. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Well- erm. I think we need to set some ground rules. F-for….I mean, we’re friends. We’ll be working together. I don’t know if- we should be having sex.”

Amelia frowned, “why not?”

“‘Fraid it’ll get too complicated.”

“We’ve done it before….” She shrugged.

“Yes. We have. And it went well for a while. You know, until…”

He let his sentence trail off, not quite finding the right words for ‘you told me you loved me following a particularly emotional

fuck and I never said it back.’

“Oh, that!” Amelia seemed to pick up on what he meant. “If that’s what you’re worried about.” She chuckled, “then worry no more. I’m over it.”

“You’re over it?”

“Yeah, I mean- we’re friends above all else, right?”

“R-right.”

“Yeah, good. So, I’m over the whole thing.” She watched his face shift into an unreadable expression. “Sorry, I’m confused. So are you saying we’re having sex or no?”

Matty stumbled over his words, “I- erm- I don’t- know.”

Amelia took that as her cue to get off the bed. “Well,” she spoke with her back towards him, collecting her discarded clothes off the floor. “Figure out what you want, and then let me know.”

Exhale….

“It’s never happening again.” Matty pushed his arms upward, grunting at the weights.

“whatever you say, Matty.”

“ I mean it.” His breathing quickened. “She said she’s over it. Like- like I’m a horrendous case of the flu or something.”

Ross rolled his eyes. “Oh here comes George.” They spotted him walking through the door. “George- I’ve got a quick fire question for you: should Matty tell Amelia that he loves her?”

George’s brows shot up. “You mean he still hasn’t told her? Matty, bro..”

“It’s- complicated!” Matty reached for his water bottle, taking a quick sip.

“No it isn’t. It’s quite simple actually.” George insisted. “Find a time and a place when the two of you are alone, look her in the eyes and say ‘Amelia, I love you. I want to be your boyfriend. If you’ll have me’ and just like that….it’s done. You’ve done it.”

“But I’m not ready yet. I- haven’t shown her that I’m different now. I’m not ready.”

George turned to Ross as he spoke, hoping for backup. “There’s no such thing as ‘ready,’ Matty. You’re never going to achieve perfection. No human is ever perfect. What’re you waiting for?”

“For her to get a boyfriend? A husband? The birth of her second child?” Ross added, then whispered something to George about having taken it too far.

“Relationships aren’t songs, Matty.” George placed a gentle, firm hand on his shoulder. “You can’t control and edit every single moment to achieve a flawless result. If you wait for things to be just right, you’re gonna find yourself waiting forever.”

***

Matty felt his heart skip a beat every time that the elevator beeped, indicating that it had passed another floor. He checked his hair in the mirror and straightened his leather jacket, fiddling nervously with the collar. By the time that he’d stepped off the elevator and onto Amelia’s floor, he was practically giddy, floating on the ground. He smiled, excitedly, as he stared at the room number on her door. He knocked on her door as his heart knocked against his chest.

“Oh, hey, Matty.” Amelia opened the door wider once she’d realized who it was. “Come in.”

“You look nice.” He smiled, Watching her walk over to the hotel safe and take out her jewelry bag.

“Thanks, Matty.” She struggled to hook the necklace around her neck, feeling blindly for the edges of the clasp.

“Oh- here- let me.” Matty rushed over to help. Unable to resist running his finger along the curve of her neck and watching the hairs on the back of her head stand.

“Thank you.” She turned around to face him. “Did you- need something?”

“Oh, right. I actually- well, I….had wondered if you’d like to watch a film or something. Maybe get some dinner?”

“I’d love to, Matty. I really would. But I can’t tonight. I have a date.”

The blood drained from Matty’s face. His heart dropping into his stomach. “A date?”

“Yeah, in an hour actually. Hence the…” she gestured at her outfit.

Matty felt his mouth run dry. He stared at her, wide-eyed, for a long moment. “I- erm- I thought you’d said that…you didn’t know anyone in this part of the country. That…you’ve never been here before.”

“Yeah, I haven’t.” She stood in front of the mirror with an eyeliner pen in her hand. “And what better way to explore a new place than with a local handsome boy who’s lived here for ages.”

Matty stood there, tongue-tied and frozen watching her apply her makeup.

“Rain check on the film?” Her eyes met his through the mirror.

“Uhh-yeah. Yes. Yes, of course.” Matty felt his mind spiral in circles, not a single discernible thought. “Well…I guess I should leave you to it, then.” He waited for his body to muster up the strength to walk away. It took him a moment, but eventually, he managed to step towards the door. “Have fun, Amelia.”

Her attention remained focused on the task at hand, but she mumbled an expression of thanks as he walked out of the room.

Outside of her room, Matty leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair. He was already too late.

#matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy smut #matty healy fluff #matty healy angst #matty healy x oc #matty healy writing #matty healy oneshot #matty healy one shot #matty healy imagine #matty healy fic

[wave2tyun]

policy of truth and lies | ☆

pairing: huening kai x reader

genre: highschool!au (kinda), band!txt, brother's best friend!kai, fluff, a bit suggestive

summary: a little white lie never hurts sometimes. to what lengths are you willing to go to protect it?

warnings: mentions of throwing up

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this all started just from my silly little desire to write a fic with the brother's best friend trope absdjhabj but honestly, this is one of the fics that i am most proud of, it has a special place in my heart :(<3 shout out to all my dear ningdungies!!!!😼😼💞 i love you all a lot!!!!<33 (and i hope you manage to survive this!!!)

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

“carefully planned-out coincidences” - that’s what your encounters with kai were; something that would appear unsuspicious to the naked eye, yet so obvious to a love connoisseur.

a fixed set of rules had been established in order for such meetings to be successfully completed, and continued.

1. no texting each other when you’re next to others. people love to snoop and steal a glance at your phone screen, getting you easily busted.

2. no form of physical touch is allowed on school grounds, unless you’re well-hidden. you never know what pair of eyes could be lurking around.

and, the most important one of them all: 3. do not, under no circumstances, get caught by soobin.

your brother tended to be more of a quieter person with an almost inhumane kind of calmness in him. that, however, did not apply when it came to unveiling lies. had he found out you had been kissing his best friend behind his back, it would have certainly not turned pretty. you knew that the longer you kept it away from him, the harder it would be to reveal the truth. even so, you kept postponing it, as you couldn’t figure out the right way to do it. you couldn’t just randomly go up to him and say: “remember that halloween party we held last year? yeah, me and kai kissed while you were in pain, next to the toilet bowl, releasing the obscene amount of sweets you had eaten that night”.

it was not the most romantic scenario, obviously, but it was one of the very few moments when soobin and kai weren’t glued at the hip, and neither of you could take the tension anymore. taking your brother’s pitiful cries out of the image, the kiss was actually quite sweet. and no, it wasn’t because of the jelly beans kai had eaten prior to that- maybe only party. the actual reason was kai’s hand on your waist, accompanied by the breathy “can i…?” that he whispered against your cheek.

as cheesy as it may sound, it’s a night that you will never forget.

-for various reasons.

one of them being the fact that it was pretty much the the starting point of a certain “shift” in your relationship with kai. from that day onward, it seemed like both of you tried to find as many opportunities as possible to be in each other’s presence. oh- kai came over and wanted a glass of water from downstairs? whew- well, you were thirsty too, looks like you had to go to the kitchen with him. kai was left on dish-washing duty after parties? you could spare a few minutes to help him out. movie night with the boys? the only free spot was so conveniently the one next to kai.

it was thrilling, adrenaline-inducing. you could never be too sure whether you were subtle enough, or completely alone, so you had to walk on eggshells every single time, no matter what. it got exhausting though, and you wished that, at least for once, kai could come over to your house to see you, not soobin.

kai, on the other hand, was definitely more of a risk taker than you, one that saw no harm in breaking some of the rules every once in a while.

and there are no risks, without possible consequences.

it was something that kai had learned…the hard way…on the lovely day of february 14th.

soobin had invited kai to spend the day together, playing games and trying out all the mystery flavors of a heart-shaped chocolate box. initially, they weren’t supposed to be the ones indulging in the sweet treat, but soobin had chickened out before giving it to his crush at school that day. sulking uncontrollably, he called his best friend so that they could console themselves from the soul-crushing fact that they were both (to soobin’s knowledge) “single”.

while he felt bad for his downcast pal, kai also couldn’t take his mind off you. love was in the air, after all: the rom-com that played on his tv as he was getting ready to come to your house, the lovey-dovey songs playing on the radio, the couples getting affectionate on the streets- they only added further to the burning desire that he felt today, more than ever, to see you. and perhaps…not only see you.

depending on the situation, those coincidences would often consist of: hand-holding underneath blankets or tables, winks sent to redden the other one’s cheeks and, if you were lucky, an exchange of swift, tiny pecks.

none of the outcomes above satisfied him though. the more he thought about crossing paths with you, the more he wished to caress your face, to hold you in his arms- to have an intimate moment with you that involved something more than a “kiss and run” type of situation.

“hey- the race started, why are you not moving?” soobin exclaimed, his mario kart character moving way farther than kai’s across the screen.

snapping out of it, kai shook his head, placing the controller down onto the coffee table before excusing himself “i have to go to the bathroom-” he said as he placed one hand on his stomach, mustering up all his theatre acting skills to put on a pained expression on his face “i think those sweets aren’t sitting right with me”

as soon as he finished that statement, kai basically flew up the stairs, skipping 2-3 steps at once. he made sure to flip the light switch to the bathroom before striding towards your room, to make it seem like he was there.

kai made his entrance with a finger over his lips and a catlike smile.

“what are you doing? you can’t be in here-” you whisper-shouted. kai had never- ever been in your room up until that point. it was too dangerous.

however, you still gave in, not pushing him back through the door he came in from.

he walked closer, coming to cup your face in his hands “i wanted to see you”

“is that so?” you asked coyly.

kai smiled more, sensing the bit of happiness sneaking into your voice beside your attempts to appear mad at him.

“it is so” he answered, waver in his voice from excitement.

“if you don’t believe me, then i guess i could go back to soob-”

“no-” you tugged kai’s arm, laughing “stay, i was kidding”

kai turned on his heel, lips falling into place perfectly on top of yours, transferring his smile to you in an instant “you know i didn’t intend on actually doing it” he whispered, caressing your cheek.

“i know” you chuckled “but you have to make it up to me for the teasing”

you pulled at the collar of kai’s shirt, waiting for him with closed eyes to initiate another kiss. kai chuckled before connecting your lips back together, starting off with agonizingly quick pecks, then attempting to initiate something more through longer, fervent kisses that trailed down to your neck, all while he slowly made you walk backwards to your bed. it wasn’t long before you hit the mattress and the two of you ended up tangled in your sheets, with one hand tugging at kai’s hair and the other one at his shirt as he hovered over you. soft gasps escaped through your mouth- the only acceptable way to lightly catch your breath, as it didn’t involve letting go of each other.

a knock on the door, however, sent kai flying through the air.

“y/n? can i come in?” soobin asked, completely oblivious to the events happening on the other side of the piece of wood that his knuckles had grazed a second ago.

the strong fear that he’d come barging in before you answered, turned you to push the poor lover boy away earlier, catapulting him onto the floor, the fluffy rug hardly alleviating his pain.

“what was that sound- are you hurt?” you heard a worried shout. it was a clear sign that you had no more than five seconds to prepare for disaster.

“i’m coming in, okay?”

seeing the doorknob twist, kai had no time to process his anguish. he wriggled his way underneath your bed, pulling down the blanket to hide his body.

“everything alright…?” soobin took two steps into your room then froze. the sight of your disheveled bed as well as your poor, motionless figure, scrambled up his feelings of concern with confusion.

“yeah- never been better” you replied, brushing out any folds on your clothes with your hand.

soobin’s eyebrow raised in suspicion; it was hard to make your breathing seem normal when your lungs burned like an athlete who had ran a marathon.

“i swear i heard a loud noise coming from your room-”

“nope, uh- nothing here. i was sleeping before you came in” you yawned, stretching your arms up in the air to reinforce your previous statement.

kai placed a hand over his mouth, careful so as not to move the blanket or make any sounds- why did you have to say something that would direct soobin’s attention right in his direction? your brother sneaked another glance at your bed, judging its unusually messy state.

“are you building a bird nest or something?” he huffed, placing his hand on the doorknob, about to leave “don’t answer that actually- i don’t want to know. i just wanted to tell you that the pizza is gonna arrive in about thirty minutes. if you don’t come down on time, i can’t promise that there’ll be any left for you”

with that, the door was shut, allowing your body to slide down to the floor in relief- and the breath trapped in kai’s lungs to be released.

it was only after this incident that kai’s venturesome nature seemed to be slightly tamed. not once did he try to sneak into your room again, nor did he dare to bring up the matter. the one and only thing that he could do, was to look up at you with troubled, wary eyes as he pecked your lips, knowing that it didn’t stand in his power to do more.

nevertheless, it wasn’t long before he proceeded to go back to his usual antics, the feeling inside his heart all too unbearable.

after all, not everyone can resist temptation, can they?

people knew that it wasn’t an unusual occurrence for you to be spotted in and outside the school with the most in demand band of the city, txt- your school’s pride and joy, which both your brother and his best friend were part of. so, whenever you tagged along with them, say it were to a local show, backstage, or during rehearsals, no one questioned a thing.

what was uncommon though, was you receiving private messages from the band’s notably fine pianist, kai, and giggling while responding to him, on top of it all.

this scene was witnessed by a certain someone who you thought had fallen fast asleep in the middle of class. little did you know how effective the bell ringing was to wake him up and how he had the most perfect view to the conversation taking place on your phone screen.

kai

[9:17 am] can you stay after the rehearsal today?^3^

[9:18 am] i miss you…

the witness slowly placed their head back on their desk, choosing to stay silent. this kind of matter required evidence, direct confirmation, and therefore they chose to follow you around for the rest of the day, like a shadow, thoroughly analyzing your words and actions; the texts were your first strike of the day, could there have been anything else you were keeping in the dark? the answer is yes, and you can take that literally- it turns out that the lonely, far corner of the school library makes a good spot for “discreet” pda.

you and kai were tucked away in that poorly lit spot, hugging, laughing- blissfully unaware of the third pair of eyes there with you, glossed with anger and action-driven by betrayal.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“and that’s a wrap- good job guys” yeonjun clapped his hands, turning from the microphone stand to face the group with a smile.

“kai, cleaning duty is on you today. make sure you don’t forget to lock up the doors before you leave” yeonjun threw the keys in kai’s direction, which he caught effortlessly.

“what? you always ditch on me when we get paired up together- what could have possibly gotten in the way this time?” kai’s brows furrowed in annoyance. he wasn’t one to enjoy picking a fight, but yeonjun was taking too much advantage of his compassionate nature. he had enough of all the chores landing on him every week, without fail.

“scored a date with that girl from the mall” yeonjun winked “which, by the way- starts in less than half an hour. so, i gotta go, sorry buddy. maybe you can get somebody else to help you”

everybody else’s eyes turned to the floor after yeonjun parted ways with them, blurting out random reasons to be excused: “i have a project to finish” “i did it last time” “i just don’t want to do it” ; nobody was enthusiastic about staying at school overtime.

nobody, except for you. you were about to say an excuse of your own when the realisation hit you: you and kai? alone? with none of the boys around? it was a rare occurrence, one even rarer than the blue moon. you couldn’t simply pass by it.

“i can help you”

soobin watched you from the corner of his eye, biting his tongue to prevent any words from slipping out. you had stayed behind to help the members out before, it would be weird if he only started commenting on the matter when it was kai you were going to stay with.

“we’ll leave you to it then” beomgyu swung his arms around soobin’s and taehyun’s shoulders, leading them towards the door before you could change your mind.

“yeonjun always does this” kai huffed, picking up the acoustic guitar from the floor “i love him but- for once, i wish he’d keep his word- or at least not cancel on me last minute” the more his spoke, the more reckless his movements became.

“careful with that- no matter how cheerful beomgyu might be most of the time, i don’t think he’d be too happy to see his guitar destroyed by you”

“sorry” he said bashfully, resting his body against the wall with a sigh “i guess i’m just fed up with everything”

as you placed a hand over kai’s cheek, his eyelids fluttered shut, comfort already washing over him.

“would a kiss make you feel better…?”

kai nodded eagerly “i might need more than just one kiss though” he whispered, bringing his hand to the back of your neck to pull you back closer.

his kisses were playful at first, with smiles and chuckles interrupting every once in a while. then, when he switched positions, bringing you to be the one trapped against the wall, he began alternating between pecking your lips and lightly biting them, chaste touches soon turning into something more…heated. hands brushing over each other’s bodies in a frenzy, swollen red lips caught in an endless, desperate chase, like you had never had a taste of something sweeter.

what had gotten into you both? doing something this risky in such an “honourable” place. it was the lousy heap of all your lies and yet the most enthralling point of them all.

too bad that adrenaline rushes don’t last forever though.

you felt kai’s heart thump against your chest as you cupped his jawline to bring him back for more, but your next kiss never came to fruition.

“am i interrupting something?” the person standing at the door’s threshold cleared their throat to grab your attention.

you felt your blood turn cold upon hearing the sound. having a hunch about the sight ready to greet you, you turned your head at an awfully slow pace.

“care to give me an explanation?” soobin stood with his arms crossed, the expression on his face indecipherable.

in a single day, all of the rules you swore you’d follow like a saint, for the sake of your relationship, had been broken.

kai was dismissed from the room by soobin without being given a chance to speak. it was your words he wanted to hear first and foremost, it was you who left him the most perplexed ever since he took a furtive look at your phone screen this morning, or since he saw what you were up to in the library.

you were silent, rubbing your hands with your head hanging low. lies can’t last forever, you knew that, but you wished the right to make that dreadful reveal was in your hands to hold.

your brother cleared his throat, awkwardly shifting his position in the plastic chair he sat down on. when he abandoned the boys earlier because he “forgot something” in the practice room, he didn’t have a concrete plan in mind.

“how long?”

“what?” you murmured.

soobin repeated himself “for how long has this been going on? this…thing between you and kai?”

your throat went dry- your first instinct was to spit out another lie. upon better thought though, you realised it was have been ridiculous to even try and deny anything, given the fact that you were caught mid-act. the only actual option left for you was the raw, honest truth:

“…a year” you said reluctantly. soobin only nodded his head.

the silence soon felt direful, and neither of you could tolerate it. soobin turned his head up to look into your eyes, he got the answers he was looking for, now it was his turn to be sincere with you.

“y/n, i’m not the one who chooses who you’re gonna love- and as much as it bothers me that, out of all the people, it’s my best friend who you fell for- i can’t tell you to stop seeing kai”

his words turned your mind in even more of jumble than before. that was it? no screaming? no need to pull out the classic “but i love him“? it was a rare occurrence for the two of you to settle things so easily, it felt like you were suddenly picked up and placed in an alternate universe.

“so, what i’m getting is…you’re approving of our relationship?” you asked, feeling the need to have a definite confirmation of his feelings; none of the scenarios you had imagined before where you revealed your relationship matched the result of this one.

soobin hummed “as long as you don’t hoard him on the weekends- he might be your boyfriend now, but he was my friend first. i’ll have him on saturdays and you can have him on sundays, deal?”

you smiled, shaking his stretched out hand “deal”

“shouldn’t kai have a say in this too though?”

“something tells me he’s already agreed to it” soobin laughed, pointing at a “totally-not-eavesdropping-kai”, the half-open door revealing his pink cheeks along with both of his thumbs up.

taglist: @huekalover3000

#wave2tyun #txt #txt fluff #txt x reader #txt fic #txt imagines #txt scenarios #txt smau #txt headcanons #txt huening kai #huening kai fluff #huening kai scenarios #huening kai fic #huening kai x reader #huening kai imagines #huening kai headcanons #txt kai #kai fluff

[globaloppaaa]

helllloooo!!!!!! I read your matthew and taerae things and they are super cute <33 I was wondering if you could do something similar for yujin? 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

ahh i’m so glad you like them!! thinking of making it a series for the rest of the guys but let me know if that’s something you guys would like!!

yujin things ₊˚🖇️ ✩ ₊˚ 🎧 ⊹

warnings: yujin is aged up in this writing, as i don’t feel the most comfortable writing for/about minors. still, there is no nsfw or suggestive content in this request. some swears are also included.

- is naturally so cute ?? this isn’t something new however yujin’s the kind of guy that just finds purity and sweetness in everything he comes across. ice cream, balloons, confetti, it makes him 100x more endearing because cuteness is his natural aesthetic.

- privately or with close friends though? he’s such a little shit

- will gaslight as much as he needs to get what he wants (which he doesn’t ask for often), but neither you nor the boys can resist him because he does that shy, “feel bad for me” look that’s gets you all worked up.

- CANNOT SIT STILL FOR ONE SECOND omfg- he’s finding all different kinds of ways to take “sitting down” to the next level. he’ll be rolling across the room in your office chair, bouncing on the couch head first, probably kicking his feet against your headboard…or stove..

- gets real up close and personal to your face at the most random moments. you could be sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone and- oh, there’s yujins nose in your business again.

- i’m taking ab these 😑

- on more than just a physical level, this man is always down to know what is going on with your life. pretends to seem uninterested until he finds time alone with you each weekend, where he’ll outright beg for the most recent drama.

- is always prepared, especially when it comes to things you not only need, but might simply want in the moment. forgot a pen? he keeps a few of yours in the front pocket of his bag. thirsty? he’ll drop a juice box at your side out of the blue and you’re left to wonder where the hell he got that from.

- the guy that will never leave you dehydrated, because he keeps a water drinking app on his phone to track you. he likes to make sure you’re taking care of yourself, because not seeing you at your best means yujin isn’t fully at his best either.

“ahhh but if you have this soda we can’t meet your goal for today! 😲”

“FINE, i’ll order a water please. 👹”

- if your female identifying, he also has an app to track your cycle. actually, this man has an app for everything about you, even a personal mood journal, where he can document what you said, did, and how you reacted. yujin loves his apps, and yujin also looooves to take care of you.

- not huge on pda, but he gets a little thrill from small acts of affection that are almost impossible to notice. holding pinkies, tying shoelaces, or zipping up your jacket really make him feel like a daredevil >:)

- calls you noona, doesn’t care if you’re older or younger than him. it’s a natural part of the relationship at this point and you just gotta deal with it. if there’s quite a big age gap between you two he’ll call you noona-baby and it doesn’t make much sense, but when it’s coming from his sweet voice you really can’t complain. 😵‍💫💗

globaloppaaa© do not copy, modify, or repost my work without consent and permission

#zb1 #zb1 imagines #zb1 x reader #yujin #zerobaseone yujin #zerobaseonesource #han yujin #zb1 scenarios #yujin moodboard #zb1 taerae #zb1 hanbin #zb1 ricky #zb1 jiwoong #zb1 matthew #zb1 yujin #zerobaseone #back to zerobase #zerobase1 #zerobaseone imagines #zerobaseone x reader #yujin x reader

[gooseloverfiction]

Will you be my girlfriend?

Part 2 (for "Do you know what time it is?")

Ken x f!reader

Part 2

(N) SFW? Mention of sex (explanation), anatomy, thirsty feelings, fluff and bit of domestic stuff

Word count: 1968

After almost an hour (you swear, it's time to get through all the boxes in your room and storage and throw away most of the junk) you got back to Ken watching with his mouth open some erotic movie. It wasn't porn nor very explicit but it raised an awfully loud alarm in your head. Just when you were halfway to the couch, the commercials started… 

Hearing your almost silent steps, Ken whipped his head to your direction and asked in the most curious and innocent way, “What is erection?”

You looked at the screen of the TV. Of course it was the hour of adult movies and commercials about libido, aphrodisiacs and erection pills.

You didn't believe yourself, when you started to talk… 

“You know women and men are different, right?” you've started, thinking of how you would answer a kid. But also this was a grown up man.

Ken nodded eagerly, his focus completely on you, your body and lips, waiting for continuation. 

“So a woman has a vagina, a man has a penis…” you continued and your guest rose from his place, his blouse open, bare chest in full glory. Focus! 

“Oh yes, Barbie said something like that to the workers on the street, but she said we don't have them” Ken mumbled, fascinated by things you were saying. 

“Well, yeah, apparently and…”

“Then who has an erection?” Ken interrupted you again and you almost laughed. But you momentarily gulped, getting to the ‘fun’ part. 

“Men do. When they're aroused and ready to have sex and…”

“Sex. Like in that movie? The man said something about them having sex. And he kissed a woman. Can we have sex too?”

You closed your eyes trying to stay composed and not freak out. But it was much harder, when a pair of strong arms caught you in the waist and swung around, dipping you and putting his lips on yours. 

When Ken did nothing else but kept his mouth pressed on yours, you opened eyes, big as saucers and tried to do something, free yourself. But you needed to also regain control of your melting body. God, being so long without anyone made you so vulnerable. 

You circled your arms around his neck, trying to have some support and pull yourself up. Feeling your hands on his nape and shoulder, made Ken open his eyes too, and bring you closer to him, getting you both in more… vertical position. He broke the kiss and you could swear that even in this dim light, his cheeks were pink or slightly red. He licked his lips and smiled happily. 

“Am I good at sex?” His question made you chuckle. He frowned, trying to capture your lips again to make you change your mind if he was bad. 

“This isn't sex, Ken. It's just kissing…”

“I know it's kissing. I also thought it's sex, because the couple on the screen kissed in bed and he said they were having sex.” Ken explained, showing the movie which was back on. You've managed to free yourself and moved away from the man, feeling your body absolutely tingling where you two touched. 

“Sex is more than kissing,” you've started, putting your phone next to a TV, hooking it to a charging cable. 

“And you can't just kiss people around, without their consent. It's… Not polite,” you ended awkwardly. It was so bad of you not minding it, tho… 

Ken nodded his head, keeping it in mind. His eyes suddenly shifted back to the screen, switching your attention. 

You've stopped in a track when there was a scene with a man burying his face in a woman's breasts. He moved fluently, suggesting they actually have sex but Ken didn't know that. Feeling suddenly hot, you jolted when a pair of hands captured you from behind. The blonde held you in your waist, his chin putting on your shoulder. 

“So what are they doing now? Having sex, or not?” he asked, curious but also slightly lost. 

“Yeah, they're having sex. He… Caresses her. Touch her body so she can feel good,” you tried to explain, not thinking about how much you would like to feel those gigantic palms of his, on your own body. No, no, no, you can't think about it… 

“And why does he move like that?” Ken asked, loosening his grip and taking a seat on a couch. You sighed. Someone has to explain it to him, right? 

“Because while having sex, a man puts his penis into a woman's vagina and moves like that,” you ended awkwardly and tried to snatch a TV remote but it meant passing Ken and his quite touchy hands. 

“We need to go to bed, Ken. To sleep,” you've tried to reason. It worked wonders because he switched off the TV instantly and got up to his feet. Seeing his readiness to follow you, it made you think if you had the same thing in mind.

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

You moved to the clutter room which was also a spare bedroom. You tried to make a way through a labyrinth of boxes and ended up tripping over and on the bed. Ken pulled you on your feet without effort and started to pat you from the dust. You've tried not to react to his hands, cleared your throat and moved away, finishing his work. With the plastic cover taken from the bed, it was actually ready to use. At least you hoped so. 

“Well, you can sleep here. I'll be in a room that is closest to the apartment door, okay?” while you moved, you heard Ken going after you. 

“We're not sleeping together?” he sounded genuinely surprised. You slowly breathed out and looked at him. 

“No Ken. I mean… I only met you today. I don't know you. I shouldn't even take you home and I really don't know why I did it and…” you had to stop. Or you'll go crazy. 

Man's face dropped and suddenly he looked like a kicked puppy. 

“Can I at least kiss you? Goodnight kiss?” he started and leaned towards you. You knew, you shouldn't but… catching his sad face in your hands, you guided him to you and kissed his lips. In the heat of the moment (and making a huge mistake), you licked his joined lips, making him part them in a gasp. When you moved back, Ken's eyes were positively glowing in the dark. 

“What w-was that?” he asked, trying to chase your mouth again but you've stopped him, with a firm hand on his chest. 

“I'll tell you the other day, okay? Goodnight Ken.”

With that, you left him and Ken watched you go through a short corridor, his focus being caught by the bounce of your hair and your lower body moving in a strangely nice way. 

He moved back to the room and closed the door, taking off his blouse, leaving pants and layed on top of the bed, stretching himself. With arms under his head he hummed to himself, enjoying the softness under his suddenly heavy body. Drifting off, he smiled, remembering his first, real kiss. 

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

The old phone didn't work after all and you just paced from the living room to the main door, with Ken walking around the house, watching everything and asking about each thing that caught his attention like, stereo, plants or pigeons. Or kitchen appliances. 

Earlier this morning he woke up first and feeling a familiar sucking in his stomach, he went to the kitchen area and tried to make himself something to eat. He first ate what was left in a pot from spaghetti and ate half a block of cheese and some old bun. 

And when you got up and saw the half open fridge, you felt the urge to tell him what not to do… The fridge is not a wardrobe, he will remember that. Whatever it meant…

So you ended up making scrambled eggs. 

Ken most probably left you a bruise on your shoulder, standing so close and putting his chin on it the entire cooking time. 

When you finished explaining the process and food was ready, he pecked your cheek and helped put the meal on plates. He then spent the whole 10 minutes watching and using a toaster. You didn't know why but you really liked him. He was adorably lost but also a really quick and eager learner. 

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

But now you need to think of a really good excuse for bringing a stranger to your flat for your landlord. You had way too nosy neighbors to keep the man as a secret.

And brainstorming on what to do with Ken was another thing. Because you most definitely couldn't take him to a police station. At night, when he went to bed, you went through all of his clothes (and you seriously couldn't understand why he had all of them on himself) and checked the pockets for some documents. He got nothing on him. No documents, no money, only the watch. So how do you explain he was robbed, was bumming around the park and beach to the authorities? They will probably close him up in a jail or mental institution. To be honest, you thought that you should be locked up with him. 

But there was something that didn't give you peace of mind. 

You believed him. 

After a sleep, you woke up and actually believed him. That he was a crotchless doll from Barbieland. 

You weren't THIS naive but you still believed. He had something around him, some kind of an aura that made you think it's all actually the truth. 

You felt dizzy from all the pacing and finally dragged yourself to the couch, dropping on it, old springs biting into your butt. 

Ken disappeared earlier in his room, going through all your boxes. It was like a never ending Christmas for him. You let him roam through those, in hope that away from you, you would focus enough to come up with a plan. 

“Hi,” his soft, low voice brought you back to reality. You took your arm from face and looked at him. He had a small, almost sheepish smile.

“Hi. Did you go through all the boxes?” you asked, looking at the watch. It was just an hour. 

“Not yet. I was just thinking… Since I stayed over. And we slept together. Does it mean you're my girlfriend?��

Your words failed you. Trying to understand the logic behind his thinking made your head spin even more. But then it hit you. He believed he was a doll. And kids playing those don't really care about social conventions. They just hook up those dolls and it is what it is. If life could be so easy… 

Ken jumped with ease above the couch and sat next to you, sensing he would get the answer. It was gnawing at him all morning. 

“No Ken. I'm not your girlfriend. It's not that easy here. There are dates, getting to know each other, meeting with each other, spending some time…” you started to enlist stuff you didn't do for quite some time. 

“So if we do everything from the list, will you be my girlfriend then?” His blue eyes almost sparkled on the thought. You had to suppress the chuckle on his eagerness. 

But you should be realistic here. Not in a million years a man like him would be your boyfriend. That's a big ass opportunity here, looking at you like a puppy waiting for cuddles. 

“It would be nice, sure… but,” he stopped you, kissing your still moving lips, muffling all doubt coming out of them. You caught his denim vest, trying to anchor at least your body, when your thoughts flew over the open window. 

That man was too hazardous for your sanity. But you will worry about it later. Much, much later… 

#ryan gosling #x reader #barbie the movie #ken #ken x reader

[locallixie]

“me or the ps5?„ — yeonjun

[🎮] — Why was he spending the whole night playing video games on his stupid console, when he could just play with you instead?

⇀ genre ; smut, suggestive, fluff, streamer!yeonjun, boyfriend!yeonjun, fem!reader, dom!yeonjun, sub!reader.

⇀ warnings ; general sexual themes, arguing, degradation kink, choking kink, strong language, marking, spanking, unprotected sex, nipple-play, cum-play, hair pulling, masturbation, voyeurism.

⇀ word count ; 2.2k

yawnzzn is streaming...

"The fuck do you mean 'throw me like a rag doll and rail my ass'? Guys, you are thirsty motherfuckers." Yeonjun read a comment from his chat box, still glued his eyes on his monitor screen. A popular streamer with a high sub count, always staying on top of the chart with people jumping onto his stream right when he would go live.

You, was dating this said streamer in secret, unknown to his online simps who still think he was single. It was such a blessing to have dated a wonderful person like Yeonjun, however, there were always two sides to a coin. Dating a full-time streamer meaning having to listen to shouting and loud video games everyday. You thought you could take it at first, but it got worse and worse every passing day you continued to live with him.

He sat with his hair pushed back, just a simple sight that was able to make the chat go wild, spamming dirty comments and the sweating emoji and suchlike. Controller in hands, turning the joystick and pushing buttons to get the right actions. With his hard earned money, he bought a PS5 console for his streaming career and himself also. But he spent all his times playing on his console and not with you, almost ignoring your existence even if you were in the same room as him.

"Capcom was crazy for adding the big titty vampire lady, the sole reason most gamers bought Resident Evil VIII." Yeonjun laughed, commenting on the fact that most people bought this game was for its amazing visuals, especially its characters.

He cursed under his breath, his character running out of ammo at the worst time. You watched his stream in the other room, not trying to expose yourself or disturb him. You could hear his commentary echoed throughout the hallway, a bunch of corny jokes and cursing. Yeonjun looked so hot on his face cam, his damp raven hair fell on his forehead as he concentrated on his game.

You bit your lips, running your hands over your body. You touched your breast, fondling them in your hands. You kneaded your soft buds with your cold fingers, the sudden breeze made contact with your sensitive skin, letting out a strain moan. If only he could get off his stream and come fuck you into oblivion, wouldn't that be heaven?

"Ah, fuck. Be good for me, chat, y'all are so naughty." His voice rang down your spine, as if his big hands was staining its touches on your body. Thinking of him telling you to be his good girl, and would give you a reward for it. What would it be? A kiss? Or his dick?

You moaned in satisfaction, your own fantasy made a small river run down your cunt, wetting your pretty lace panties. You dug a hand inside your undergarment, using two fingers, gently rubbing circles on your clit. Soon increasing the pacing as you began to chase for your high.

"Moans? Y'all hearing moans?" You opened your eyes, stopping what you were doing. Caught red handed, his stream suddenly ended as you saw the usual end screen.

The door began to knock, "[Y/N], what are you doing in there? Are you touching yourself?" You heard him laugh, opening the door in. Your boyfriend, in person, catching you pleasuring yourself on your shared bed. You tried to defend yourself, how he caught you in your most pathetic state, getting off to one of his streams.

"To my stream no less, what got you so desperate?" He asked, in a sly manner like the fox that he was. Yours clearly hot and bothered situation was turning him on just as much as it did you.

Wasn't it obvious? That you were needy for him, you simply wanted him to lay you down and fuck you 'til you couldn't walk properly. But his schedule was preventing him to do as you wish, streaming everyday, playing video games and chatting with his viewers. He was doing this to support the both of you, though sometime you wished he was nicer on himself. Instead of making a living out of streaming online, he could start making love to his girlfriend.

You exclaimed, "Is it me or the PS5?!"

Yeonjun grunted, “Why are you making me decide, [Y/N]?” His tone showed the frustration in his voice. Asking him to choose either his career or you was like asking if it was his mother or his girlfriend.

You cried, "You're always busy with streaming, you damn workaholic!"

"Please, can't you see I was live? My fans are going crazy on twitter already about the moans, what the fuck should I do about it?!" He told, a new problem added to his list.

Yeonjun rubbed his temples, "God, you're so needy, can't you just chill out for a fucking minute."

You felt attacked, he was cursing at you and raising his voice. The thought of him caring more about his job than his actual girlfriend was killing you, how could he? You stepped of the bed, running out without another word.

Tonight you would sleep on the couch, you were so angry at him that you couldn't bear to see his face. With a blanket and a pillow, you tossed and turned as you tried to find a comfortable position.

"Babe, please. Don't be like this." Yeonjun said, his tired self still came out of sleepiness for you.

You pulled the blanket, turning away from him, implying that you would not be listening to anything his mouth let out. Defeated, he returned to your shared room and back to bed. You couldn't quite fall asleep, knowing yourself, you could only sleep when you know he was with you.

yawnzzn is now live...!

Even if you were upset at him, you still watched his streams to support him from afar. A special stream today, it was, his five million subscribers celebration. He sat inside his usual work office, holding a cake, balloons and streamers hanged all over the background. On the cake in frosting, and big bold letters wrote 'five million subs'.

"Thank you so so much for five million subs, I couldn't have done this without you guys." He smiled at the camera, gazing at it with joy. Despite how cold he could seem to outsiders, he cared about his supporters and outwardly showed his gratitude for them.

You were happy for him, but sad that he had to come on camera after a unresolved fight with you. It wasn't right for either of you to lash out at each other, you supposed to be a team, you supposed to be his player two when he needed one.

"About the moaning situation, don't make big deal out of it, it's just my horny neighbours." He told, blaming on his neighbours for the scandal he found himself stuck in the few recent days. He hid his personal life away, including you from the public so he could protect you.

You knew how much he truly loved you, that childish fight was just an overreaction. But still, you felt quite hurt from what he said, he was cursing at you in uncontrollable anger.

He ate a fork worth of cake, his face displayed a look of joy. Then his next words shocked you, "I'll save the rest for my girlfriend." Your eyes widened when you heard him said that sentence. He exposed himself on live where over a million people were watching. The chat went crazy for a certain, comments flowing in at a pace that could crash the website.

@freeze.txt : GIRLFRIEND???

@lxvesxngz : girlfriend? where is she? :O

@hyeontae: girlfriend??? when???

His viewer count stayed, seeing it went down then up in a rapid speed. Twitter blowing up about his girlfriend news, people who have too much time on their hands were already typing a long thread about how Yeonjun lied to them yet some said the opposite.

"Yes, I do have a girlfriend, people. What's wrong with that?" He said in a sarcastic way.

He smiled, "Don't worry, there's still a spot in my heart for you guys!" The chat kept coming in but either with support or hatred.

"Thank you again for five million subs, take it easy, and I'll see you soon." He waved to the camera, "Goodbye!"

His stream displayed the end screen, following with the ending music that play at the end of every stream. You heard his office's door closed, footsteps echoing down the hallway. Everything was happening too fast, now the world know he has a girlfriend.

Still, you were thrill that you could finally go out in public with him. Dates, shopping, the general lovey dovey couple stuff, you could now do those things with him by your side. You wouldn't have to hide anymore, no more staying private on your socials, no more lack of cute outdoor pictures with your boyfriend. You were glad he exposed himself on camera.

He walked in your shared room, seeing the sight of you sitting on your bed wearing nothing but panties and his t-shirt turned him on, his cock pressed against his boxer. "You saw the stream?" He asked, pushing back his hair once more.

"Yeah, what you did there was really brave, babe. I love you, Yeonjun." You opened your arms out for him to hug you. Yeonjun came running into your embrace, holding you close to his body, letting you feel his hard cock that was tenting in his sweatpants.

You pulled back, "Oh, looks like someone excited. Did we forgot about our fight just like that?"

He laughed, "What can I say, I can always find a way to win you over." He knew you too well, he knew what make you and what didn't. Yeonjun kissed your lips, wasting no time to get a bit deeper. He explored you with his sweet lips, tongues dancing together in a beautiful rhythm.

He held your legs, pushing you back onto bed as he kept on kissing you. He took off his shirt, his fit figure on full display for you to admire. You loved his body, you loved running your finger through his collarbone, you loved touching his stomach, you loved holding onto his board shoulders. Everything about him, you adored.

You moaned against his lips, in pleasure you said his name. Stripping yourselves off of every layers of clothing, which was not much, quickly making skin-to-skin contact. He rubbed himself over your wet cunt, he groaned as his cock slipped and slid up then down your fleshy outside. It gently hugged his swollen tip, your wetness as lubricant.

He slowly entered inside you, you held onto his shoulders—which were already starting to sweat even though the air conditioner was blasting cold air on your hot bodies. A bunch of moaning and groaning could be heard when he began to pound into you. You hugged him close to you, marking his neck and chest full of your love. It appeared in form as a red and purple marks, some were teeth marks.

"You whore, you were so fucking desperate for me. Do you want me to come inside you? Would you like that?" He asked, calling you vulgar names and such. With his pelvis slamming into your own, and his cock buried deep inside you, you couldn't seem to conjure up a word; much less a sentence. You nodded, eagerly so.

Yeonjun placed a hand on your throat, tightening his grip with his fingers. "Verbally, babe, I want to hear an answer verbally." How evil, making you light-headed then asking you to speak while his cock was abusing your cunt.

"Y-Yes!" You choked out, slowly losing to the ecstasy.

He smiled, praising you finally. "Good, such a good little slut for me." He slammed into you like an animal, could possibly bruise your cervix. Pulled you even closer by the legs, going deeper and deeper each harsh thrust he made. The way he was railing you and actually treated you like some dirty rag doll was turning you on even more, of how raw and rough he was being with you. Absolute no control, himself couldn't contain the actual beast living in his body every-time you would fuck.

As you chased for your high, and he did for his own, your throat was feeling dryer from all the lewd sound you made. You felt as if you could pass out from his cock and his hands around your neck. You came finally, closing your eyes as your cunt dripped with more watery substance. Mixing with his seed, the white sprayed on your exhausted figure spread open on the bed.

You thought he was finished, you were oh-so wrong. He flipped you around, now behind your back. He grabbed on your hair, pulling it to him as he pressed his lips on yours. Yeonjun continued his movements, coming into contact with your backside. Using his hand, he slapped your ass cheeks, printing on it red with the shape of his big hand.

"What a slut, hearing your pretty voice makes me want to ruin it." He commented, at the same time, complimenting you. The man was changing his mind a lot, one second he would kiss you gently on the lips, the next he would call you nasty names.

Yeonjun let out his final cry, releasing into you, filling you up full with his warm seeds. You dropped on the bed completely, falling out of consciousness at a second. "I guess it was you all along." Yeonjun laughed, kissing your face.

#yeonjun #tommorow x together #yeonjun txt #choi yeonjun #txt #txt x you #txt x reader #smut #txt smut #yeonjun fanfic #txt hard hours #fem reader #ps5 #me or the ps5 #suggestive #fluff #streamer #boyfriend

[yes-divine-ruler]

Boy Next Door

part 11: so perfect

pairing: alex (from adult world) x fem!reader

CW: smut using sex toys

Taglist/ @v-love @evanpetersfav @demxnicprxncess @kitwalkersgfff @quicksilversg1rl @dahmevan @iruzias @alexxavicry @soaringcloud @laynna-mcknight t @humdrumexistence @simp4petermaximoff @sultrysullen @evan4ever @zoebens0ncult @therewasnothinginthekoolaid @therealsagasenior

Word count: 1540

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"So what are we gonna do with this little guy?" Alex held Weston in his arms so effortlessly I couldn't help but cross my arms over my chest and pout. He'd never took a liking to me, but as soon as Alex walked in, Weston padded straight over to him. I guess it's a good sign.

"Um well, my parents are in Hawaii so I have to take care of him," I explained, tilting my head to the side to admire how sweet it looked that Alex was holding Weston so comfortably.

"Let's take him for a walk?" He suggested, placing Weston back down on the ground and letting him sniff around my apartment again.

"Good idea, not sure how far he'll go though, you might need to carry him back home," I joked, walking over to the kitchen counter to retrieve Weston's leash and collar.

Weston let me secure his collar and leash, but stood still when I tried to guide him over to the door, even beginning to growl when I tugged gently.

"Oh, he's not a fan of you," Alex joked, taking the leash from my hand and easily following Weston out the front door of my apartment. I rolled my eyes with a small smile, and followed the pair to the elevator.

It had just turned dusk, the sun almost entirely set, the small line of warm orange sat at the bottom of the sky. I wouldn't usually walk at this time, but with Alex, I knew I was safe.

At the lobby of our apartment building, Alex held out his hand, and I laced our fingers seamlessly. His hand was so warm, and his fingers slid between mine perfectly. He smiled down at me, and together we began to walk Weston down the busy street.

It was nothing short of perfect, being with Alex in this moment, spending quality time together, making something that wasn't particularly interesting or different, feel special.

When Weston got tired, like I thought his 12-year-old legs might get, Alex didn't complain when he had to carry him all the way home.

"I'm just glad it wasn't me who had to do it," I teased as Alex placed him back down on the floor of my apartment once we'd made it home.

He laughed as we both watched Weston lap at his water bowl.

"You'd think he'd done all the work by how thirsty he is," Alex rolled his eyes playfully, and we both sat back down on the sofa.

"So..." Alex begins, resting an arm on the backrest of the sofa, "what did you think of your present?"

My cheeks heated at the mention of the vibrator, and I found myself not being able to make eye contact with him. It still laid untouched in the packaging, after Alex's offer to "help me if I needed it", I was kinda expecting to first use it with him. I was still unsure about everything, but after how good he made me feel when he went down on me, I felt more comfortable with him seeing me in that state.

"I'm..." I let out an awkward cough, touching my flaming cheek with my cold fingertips, "I like the thought of it, but I'm not sure I know how to use it."

I finally looked up at Alex, noticing the way his eyes began to sparkle lustily. He stood suddenly, outstretching his arm and offering me his hand to follow him.

"How about I show you now?"

I took his hand without another word showing my willingness, and followed him into my bedroom. He noticed the box on my nightstand, and I saw a small smile light up his face.

He sat on the bed beside me, and before I knew it, he was leaning in to connect our lips.

He kissed me softly at first, his velvet lips sliding against mine as I laid back on the bed, his fingertips caressing the exposed skin at my hip. I allowed his tongue access to my mouth, and the kiss heated as his tongue massaged my own.

His hand trailed from my hip to the waistband of my panties, and in one swift motion, the pads of his fingers were applying pleasure to my clit. I gasped against his mouth, my fingers tangling in his soft hair as he began to rub small figure-8s on my sensitive bundle of nerves. It felt out of this world, and so much better than anything I could ever do to myself. His finger dipped, and for a moment my stomach dropped when I thought he might enter me, knowing it was the first time that had ever happened. But instead, he collected my pooling arousal from my entrance, and used it to slick my already throbbing clit. I almost cried at how good it felt, softly moaning against his lips as he built a steady rhythm.

Suddenly, his fingers abandoned me, and I was left yearning for more. I whimpered as he pulled away, not realising how down bad I was for his touch.

"This is when this comes in," Alex chuckled softly, reaching over to the vibrator on the nightstand and taking in into his big hand. I watched with my bottom lip wedged tightly between my teeth as he sat at the end of the bed, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my sweatpants and panties. I arched my back as he pulled them down, closing my legs once they were discarded onto the floor.

"You're so shy," he teased, "you don't need to be, everything about you is so perfect."

I smiled at his compliment, feeling so warm inside already, and only feeling warmer now.

I let him part my legs, and covered my face with my hands as his thumb reached forwards and nudged my clit.

"You get wet so easily," he teased, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Just hurry up and stop teasing me," I whined, reaching to wrap my fingers around his bicep.

"Okay okay," he replied, kissing my fingers before clicking on the vibrator. It began to hum, and the noise alone sent a shiver up my spine.

"This is how it feels," Alex introduced me to its soft buzz by placing it on my inner thigh. I almost jumped from the contact, but settled in deeper into the mattress as he began to draw small circles with it.

My eyelids suddenly felt heavy, as he brought the vibrator further up towards my raging heat. He settled it just above my clit, his dark eyes bearing into mine as if he was waiting for permission.

I nodded, and then all the vibration settled on my clit. My eyelids shot open, the buzzing coursing through my core. He chuckled at my reaction, but it felt too amazing to let him get to me. He began to move it in small, intricate circles, a small groan leaving his own lips as my body reacted to his touch.

"How's that feel?" He asked, his eyes flickering from my pussy to my parted lips as I let out small moans almost uncontrollably.

"I think you can tell, Alex," I breathed out, spreading my legs wider to allow him access to more of me.

"Shit," he whispered, bringing the vibrator down to my entrance and eyeing the arousal that had dripped down to bedspread beneath us. He nudged it inside me, only a tiny bit, before bringing it back up to my clit. My stomach had formed into a tight knot, and suddenly I got the overwhelming feeling to just let go.

"Alex, oh my god," my eyes shut tightly as I arched my back into his touch, and soon, I was at my climax. The first orgasm Alex gave me felt amazing, but this one felt much more than the other. It felt different, and I hadn't realised how until Alex swore under his breath.

When my eyes opened again, and the effect of my orgasm had worn off, I could see the surprised look on Alex's face. He looked absolutely bewildered, it almost scared me.

"What?" I asked, sitting up and reaching for Alex again.

As if he'd snapped out a daze, Alex looked at me and his face softened.

"Y/N, you squirted."

My eyes followed his gaze down to the patch I'd formed on my bedspread, and I let out a small gasp. I didn't think I could even do that.

"Oops?" I joked, as Alex put the vibrator back on the nightstand for me to wash later.

"Oops? More like, fuck yeah, fuck I didn't think you could get anymore sexy," Alex tackled me down onto the bed, and his lips attached to mine feverishly. I laughed into the kiss and pushed him off by the chest.

"That's so embarrassing," I whined, getting up from the bed and pulling my sweats back up. Alex could not be more opposed, following me and wrapping his arms around me.

"No, not embarrassing, fucking hot," he breathed out, placing a kiss on my head.

"Now let me go change my sheets," I groaned, walking off to the linen cupboard, not without a slap on the ass by Alex.

#evan peters #evan peters fanfic #evan peters fanfiction #evan peters smut #evan peters requests #evan peters imagine #evan peters x reader #american horror story #2nd person pov #fem!reader #alex adult world smut #alex adult world #alex adult world x reader #alex adult world fanfiction #boy next door yes divine ruler

[callsignthirsty]

Call Sign: Avalanche (pt. 2)

Hey @i-wear-wet-socks313 —

As promised, part 2 of your request. This one isn't quite as long as the first part, but that's probably a good thing 😅

Pairing: Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x F! Pilot! Reader (Call sign: Avalanche) Word Count: 4700 Warnings: the author knowing nothing about the Navy or aviation, language, smut Read Previous Minors DNI

Phoenix and Bob, Payback and Fanboy, make it to the carrier moments after Overwatch reports that Dagger Two has been shot down going back for Dagger One. No one was around to tell whether parachutes deployed, and Bradley’s ESAT was either turned off in the ejection or blown up on impact.

You’ve never heard a command room go so quiet so fast. Even Cyclone leaves with a heavy sigh, hand over his mouth as he goes to debrief with Daggers Three and Four.

On the tarmac, Hangman hasn’t been able to climb out of his plane despite Cyclone’s clipped permission to do so. You’re similarly rooted to your spot, static ringing in your ears and a numb, cottony feeling taking over most of your senses. It doesn’t feel real. You’d just gotten him back, and in a blink, he’s gone. They both are.

Maverick.

Bradley.

Gone.

Shot down.

Tears threaten to spill over your lashes, a sob working its way up your throat. They were supposed to come back. He was supposed to bring all of them back.

The metronomic tick of an analog clock keeps the time, but as each tock blends together, there’s no way for you to be sure how long you’ve been standing there. All the shapes, colors, and sounds mix together until, like paint, they become a single, muddy brown and swirl down the drain with your hopes for tomorrow. Any second now, the third shoe will drop: Payback will collapse, the enemy airbase will retaliate, or Bob will break his glasses. Then it happens:

Miracle number three.

“Sir,” the static-y voice of the operator in Overwatch comes through the radio, “we’re receiving a signal from Rooster’s ESAT. There seems to be a malfunction.”

You wipe your tears away. The mission technically isn’t over yet, and with Cyclone out of the control tower, command falls to you. “Have we lost him?” Devastation still colors your voice that sloppy, drab brown, but it is what it is.

“No, ma’am. He’s supersonic.”

It clicks for Hondo a second before it does for you, the meaning lost somewhere in the cotton that has grown between your ears, each thought coming to you slowly like molasses. “He’s airborne.”

An operator’s screen pings to your right. “Overwatch reports an F-14 Tomcat is airborne and on course for our position.”

A smile cracks the corner of your lips as your heart catches in your throat. “That sonuvabitch.”

Mav.

Without a word, Hondo meets your eyes, nods, and stands in front of the control room’s door to buy you extra time. News on a carrier spreads like wildfire, and Cyclone is undoubtedly already on his way back to command. Your time is limited. Every second counts, so you jump in headfirst.

“Is Dagger Spare ready to go?” you ask the comms operator.

“Dagger Spare requesting permission to launch and fly air cover,” Hangman’s voice comes through the radio before comms can ask him to confirm his status.

Behind you, Cyclone is banging on the control room door and ordering Hondo — who is pretending he can’t hear him through the reinforced metal — to step aside.

With the comms operator distracted, you slam your hand down on the blinking green button and lean into the activated mic. “Control to Dagger Spare, you are clear for take-off. Launch immediately.” For once, Hangman decides to keep his mouth shut, and when Cyclone makes it into the room, he’s too late. There’s no stopping the canon once it’s been fired. Hangman is airborne.

“Hangman.”

“Ma’am?”

“Bring them home.”

— — —

Sex on an aircraft carrier is a young man’s game.

That doesn’t stop either of you.

You excuse yourself from the control room and onto the flight deck, one of a hundred faces rushing toward Mav and Rooster as they stumble out of the cockpit. Once he’s let Bradley go, Mav only has eyes for one person. You. But this reunion is trickier. You leave the Tomcat, Bradley, the rest of the Daggers, and the crowd behind in search of something more secluded.

Years ago, Mav would’ve dragged you into a broom closet, but those days are far behind you. The Mav you know now has bad knees from too many spills off his bike and pulling too many Gs, and some days your back hurts when you bend down wrong. You both need a bed.

Mav’s bed might be closer, but it’s also back in the bunks with the rest of the team. You, on the other hand, are an admiral and that comes with perks. Not big ones, but a double bed and your own room are more than enough for what you have planned.

You manage to keep your hands to yourselves all the way to your quarters — you’re still Mav’s superior officer, and these things require discretion. That doesn’t stop Mav from keeping close or placing his hand against your lower back as you near your destination.

With a cursory glance at the empty hall, Mav’s hands find your hips. You both stumble into your room as the door unlocks and gives under your combined weight, your lips all over each other.

You shut the door as Mav swings you around to press your back against it, but you drive him further into the room, your hands in his hair as you gasp, stealing each other’s air as you greedily take everything you’ve been denying yourselves over the years.

“God, Mav.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He winces as he falls onto your bed, looking up at you as you straddle him. One of his hands finds your hip again, the other running up your ribs, bypassing your chest to cup your cheek. “I was an idiot,” he whispers hotly against your lips.

“Gonna need you to be more specific, Mav.” And you feel his chuckle as you lick down his neck.

“Guess I deserve that.” He hisses as you nip at his collarbone through his white undershirt. “Never should’ve let you go,” he says, his fist clenching in your shirt as if to prove his point, but he’s only making it more difficult for you to push his flight suit off his shoulders as he tries to tug you back down. “I was an idiot. I should’ve listened to you.”

“You’re here now,” you say, nipping at the corner of his jaw as you finally get the heavy fabric of his flight suit pushed to the side and pull his t-shirt over his head. But then you pause, smile falling. “Mav,” you gasp, as your fingers run over the dark bruise still forming across his collarbone. He hisses at the light touch — so his wince earlier hadn’t been from surprise. The thought crosses your mind that you shouldn't have brought him here. He'd been shot down, ejected, and then crash landed on the flight deck. You should've brought him straight to Medical.

“Later,” he says as if he can read your mind, brushing your hands aside as you reach for his discarded shirt. With his good arm, he pulls your front flush with his and despite your worry the contact sparks something deep in your gut. “I’m not letting you go now that I just got you back.” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin. “I need you.” The vibration of those words raises goosebumps, a winterfresh zing of need shooting up your spine.

It's been years since you've had him last and you’re just as weak for him now as you ever were. Weaker, probably.

“Okay,” you promise and duck to catch his lips in another kiss. It's meant to be a peck, short and sweet, but Mav has other plans. You break away before you can get too lost in it. “But you’re going to Medical after this.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You chuckle and give him a gentle shove. "From admirals' daughters to admirals." You shake your head fondly.

“What can I say?” he asks, impatiently unbuttoning your khakis so you can slip the garment over your head. “I’ve grown.”

You roll your hips down over his, feeling the plump line of him between your legs and reveling in his surprised groan. “Still growing.”

“Gimme a minute. I’m not twenty anymore.”

“Thank god.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You grin mischievously. “Nothing.”

“Listen, sweetheart.” Mav bucks his hips for leverage and rolls so you’re caged beneath him, though he’s careful to avoid putting too much weight on his bad arm. “I’ve learned a thing or two in my old age.” As if to demonstrate, he reaches around your back with one hand, deft fingers unhooking your bra. “And I’m going to rock your world.”

You lick your lips at the promise glinting in his eyes. “Big words for a small man,” you say, unable to resist the temptation to rile him up, goad him into action. To get his lips back on yours.

“Not small where it counts.” His hips rock into yours again, and you let out a little gasp as the rough zipper of his flight suit drags over your clit through your own pants. “Or did you forget?”

“How could I?” You drop the façade as you whine and arch up into him. “Cocky, chip on your shoulder, something to prove,” you list off. “Best sex I ever had.” And it’s a bit of a shock to your ego that your words ring true. Almost forty years later, no one has been able to hold a candle to Mav.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mav says as he kisses down the hollow of your throat, and it’s the slightest bit condescending but also full of pride. Your little admission may have bruised your ego, but it’s clearly boosted his.

“Guess it’s better when you love the guy.”

Mav’s head pops up, lips parted and eyes wild. “Say it again.”

You suck in a breath, your voice shaking. “I love you.”

“Fuck.” His head falls to thunk against your chest, resting right over your heart. “Again. Again, sweetheart, please.”

“I love you.”

Mav surges up, your teeth clacking as he attacks your lips with a barely restrained hunger. Your stomach clenches and your nails dig in to leave red trails down Mav’s back until they snag in the fabric pooled around his waist. Your head swims, lungs catching as sweaty palms try to push the material from Mav’s hips while he pops the button on your slacks and shoves a hand inside. He cups your sex and your stomach lurches, a jittery feeling growing by the second, blood roaring loud in your ears as your heart beats frantically against your ribs, hard enough that you wonder if Mav can feel it where your chests are pressed together. If he also feels like he's about to throw up butterflies.

Your legs tingle, the heat from your cheeks settling deep between your thighs with Mav’s finger as he runs it through your slick folds and lets it slip inside you until his knuckles grind into your pussy lips. “Still so tight,” he says as he quickly slips a second finger into you. You hum at the stretch. You’re warm all over, knees trembling where they cradle Mav’s hips. He can’t stop the shift of his cock against the back of your thigh, seeking your heat and enough friction to take the edge off his need. “Wanna taste you.”

“Mav,” you whine, shaking your head as his fingers disappear from your cunt with a lewd squelch, and you try to drag his flight suit over his ass with your heels. “Come back here and fuck me.”

“I will, baby,” he murmurs, kissing his way down your body. “Just a quick taste, then I will.”

The first touch of his tongue to your core is electric. You jolt, legs instinctively trying to close around his head, but he holds you where you are as he moans and dives back in for more. It goes beyond a simple taste, Mav working your pussy over with tongue, lips, and teeth like a man starved. Taking his fill of you and giving you pleasure in return until his lips are puffy, slick with spit and your arousal.

“Pete,” you half-yell, your walls clenching around his tongue as your fingers tighten in his hair. He releases you with a parting suck to your clit, heaving for breath as he licks his lips and lets you pull him up from between your legs.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, kissing up to your ear.

“Want to cum with you inside me.”

Mav groans. He kisses your collarbone and kicks the rest of his clothes off until he’s naked on the bed with you. “Condom?”

“Are you clean?”

He gives you a confused look. “Yeah, but–”

“So am I.” You pull Mav into another kiss and try to wrap your legs around his trim waist, but he stops you.

“I think I have some in my bag. Let me just–”

“Mav–” you stop him before he can reach for his clothes “–I’m nearly sixty.”

“Yeah,” Mav agrees. “We’re both too old to be raising kids, sweetheart. I'll jus–”

“Mav,” you say because he doesn’t seem to be getting it. “I can’t get pregnant.”

But instead of reassuring him, your words send him reeling. He sits back on his heels. “What happened?”

“Menopause.” You pull him down until you’re pleasantly caught between his chest and your just-left-of-comfortable mattress. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind fucking me before you completely kill the mood.”

“That an order, admiral?”

“Only if you’ll follow it.”

It turns out ‘fuck me’ is the one order Mav isn’t opposed to following. When it comes from you, of course.

Your jaw goes slack as Mav sinks into you, but your legs tighten around him, your short nails digging into the meat of his shoulders to leave little half-moons for the medical staff to find.

“Fuck,” Mav groans into your neck. “Not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that.”

“Me neither.” Your voice trembles, tears threatening to spill from how right this feels. Mav in and around you. Then, when Mav shifts back so he can grind forward: “God, Pete.”

“I’ve got you,” Mav vows before his lips are on yours again. Swallowing your hitch of breath and subsequent noise. “Never should’ve let you go.”

You arch when he hits that spot within you that turns your legs to jelly, and you don’t quite manage to bite back a moan. “Don’t do it again.”

Mav pants a laugh, sweat beading along his temples. “I won’t. Never again.” His hand sneaks from your hip to your clit, rubbing tight circles into it that has your vision swimming.

“Mm– Jesus. Fuck. Mav!”

Mav grunts into your lips as the wet slap of your sex becomes louder and more frantic. “You gonna cum for me?” You nod, catching his bottom lips between your teeth and giving it a firm, wet suck.

You scream when your orgasm hits you, catching you by surprise with its intensity. It’s been a while since you’ve cum so hard, and from the animalistic noise that your partner releases, you can assume the same for him. You’d feel bad for your neighbors if you were capable of thought at all. Instead, you run your hands up and down Mav’s back and trade soft, wet kisses as you continue to come down from the kaleidoscope of emotion and sensation still singing through your veins.

All too soon, you have to return to work. You’ve stolen him away for selfish reasons, but Mav still needs to report to Medical, and so long as you’re on the carrier, you still have a job to do. So you help Mav get back into his flight suit, straighten your khakis, and leave the sanctuary of your quarters.

You leave Mav to explain away the fresh nail tracks on his own. Slipping away while he’s still fully clothed and the medical staff is giving him grief for not coming directly to them once celebrations on the flight deck ended.

It’ll be a while before Medical gets him back to you, so you go about your duties.

Medical keeps Mav overnight for observation. When he's set to be released, a nurse walks him out and hands you a bottle of pills which Mav — whose arm is set in a sling — had no doubt tried to leave behind.

“What’d the doctor say?” you ask as he checks to ensure that Medical is out of view before he shakes out of the sling and throws it into the nearest trash bin.

He shoots you a cocky grin. “That you did a number on my back.” You choose to ignore that and instead raise an eyebrow at how he gently rotates his shoulder. From the painkiller prescription and the abandoned sling, you suspect that his collarbone is fractured, but Hell would have to freeze over before Mav would admit it. “Really, Avalanche,” he tries again, his finger brushing over the back of your hand — as close as you can get to showing affection outside of your quarters —, “It’s nothing I can’t bounce back from.”

“Uh-huh.”

He catches up to you as you round a corner. “Bruising will stick around for a while, but it'll fade soon enough.”

“And the swelling?”

“It’s not that swollen,” he insists but angles away when you try to get a good look at him. Not that you’re sure you’d have been able to see anything beneath his t-shirt, anyway.

“When can you fly again?” Cyclone had said that this would be his last station, but with the resounding success of the mission, you doubted that the Navy had seen the last of Pete Mitchell.

“A couple weeks.” That’s definitely pushing it. You’ll have to stay on your toes to keep him on the ground until he’s actually cleared to fly.

“Who’d have thought pulling Gs would be good for healing broken bones?” Your delivery is dry, but it gets Mav to crack a lopsided smile.

“Doctor might have said something about bed rest.”

Your conversation halts as another officer passes in the opposite direction. Once they’re out of earshot: “Is that right?”

Mav nods. “Only thing is: my bed isn’t very restful.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t know the last time you slept in the bunks, but it feels like you’re sleeping on a concrete slab–”

“That’s an insult to concrete slabs.”

“–and I’ve got a top bunk, and I just don’t know how much more these old bones can take.”

You hum. “It will be hard to climb up there with your arm in that sling you threw away.”

“Yeah,” Mav says, leaning against the wall as you turn to face him. “So I was kinda hoping I could stay in yours.”

You fight down the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “What makes you think my bed’s going to be restful?”

“Well, for starters, it’s lower to the ground. Much easier to climb into.” Mav smiles, dimples popping in his cheeks and eyes sparkling with the same undeniable charm you’d fallen for all those years ago. “But to tell you the truth, Avalanche: I’m really hoping it isn’t restful at all.”

You give Mav a stern once over before looping your fingers into the sleeves of his flight suit tied around his waist and begin leading him the rest of the way toward your quarters. “Come on, then, Captain. We should get you back to bed. Doctor’s orders.”

This time, when you and Mav make it to your room, you’re both smiling, your hands kept to yourselves.

There is no stumbling. You let Mav into the room first, pushing the door open for him once it’s unlocked and leaving the main light off as he sits on the edge of your bed. Flicking on the standing lamp in the room’s corner casts your bed and Mav’s face in soft yellow light.

“Mood lighting?” he asks, but you say nothing. Simply stand between Mav’s knees to caress his cheekbones with your thumbs and lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, cheek. “Avalanche,” he sighs as you tip his head back and pass over his lips to kiss his chin, the soft spot beneath his jaw. And then, after you hum in answer: “Kiss me.”

With a tender look, you give in. Brush your lips over Mav’s slowly and sip him like a fine wine. Take your time to really enjoy it. His wind-chapped lips, the mossy green of his eyes, the scratch of day-old stubble, and the tickle of regulation-short hair between your fingers.

Mav’s breath hitches when your knees sink into the mattress on either side of him. One of your arms drapes over his good shoulder, your other pressed flat to his chest so you can track the steady beating of his heart. His hands tentatively find your waist and hold you as he tilts his head to the side and licks languidly at the seam of your lips, eager to deepen your kiss.

Your tongues meet with a sigh, the two of you leisurely exploring the other until your lungs burn, love bubbles beneath your skin, and a fluttery feeling behind your belly button pulls your stomach tight.

“Lie down,” you say, gently applying pressure with the hand against his chest. Instead of answering, he steals your breath in another deep kiss, but you shake your head and give him a light push. “The doctor said you need to relax–” you wait until he’s situated against your pillows, then follow him, littering his neck with lingering kisses “–so let me help you relax.”

You work your way down, placing kisses over his shirt until you can push it up his stomach to reveal the dark trail of hairs that dip below the waist of his boxers.

“You don’t have to,” he says, thumb ghosting over your lower lip.

“I know.” You kiss his thumb, looking him in the eyes as you work to open his flight suit knotted around his waist. “I want to.” Mav lifts his hips to help you draw the heavy fabric off him. He’s half-hard in his boxers, and you rub your palm over the shape of him.

“Two rounds in twenty-four hours?” Mav huffs out a laugh. “Give me ten minutes.”

“I’ll give you more than that.” I’ll give you forever. The sincerity of it catches you off guard, heart skipping a beat and fingers stilling.

“Hey.” Fingers under your chin bring your eyes back up to his. “I know you will.” His smile mirrors that same raw emotion that had colored your words. Calloused fingers stroke your cheek like he isn’t half-hard with his dick in your face. Like you aren’t about to choke yourself on his cock and ride him into the sunset. You can’t help but crawl back up to steal one more kiss, lightheaded with the joy that bubbles up.

You brush your lips apologetically over Mav’s collarbone through the cotton of his shirt, then trail further down. Your hands rest over his boxers, bunching the fabric as your touch runs up and down his thighs without touching where you know he aches for you. Mav bites back a moan when your open mouth finds the head of him through his boxers, your tongue working to wet the fabric and catching the barest taste of him as he twitches under the attention.

“Please,” he whimpers with his head thrown back. You think about drawing it out, but he asked so sweetly — Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly and tried to keep his hips from jerking. You draw him out of his boxers, one hand holding him at the base while you lazily press a kiss to the head and draw him into your mouth. The airy “fuck” he lets out as his legs tremble is worth it.

It doesn’t take long to get Mav hard enough for you to climb into his lap, holding him steady as you line his cock up to your entrance and let gravity inch you down. Once you take him to the root, you stay there. Each of you content to be precisely where you are. Holding and kissing with a smoldering heat that scorches the backs of your throats until you’re burning up and dizzy from the smoke. Hands wandering. Mapping each other anew after so many years — the bump in Mav’s other collarbone from a long-healed break, a smattering of silver scars across his torso, back, and arms from surgeries or crash landings — stories you’ll have to ask him about later.

It’s only when the embers of passion blaze hot in your belly that you begin to shift together, unhurried and sighing into each other’s mouths as your hips roll together. Barely lifting before coming together again.

Your head wants to loll back, but you desperately need to look into Mav’s eyes. To soak in the way he looks at you like you’re something precious. To stay hypnotized in the many shades of green overtaken by the depths of his lust. His love for you. He catches your head when it becomes too heavy, cradling it in his palm and curling against you until your foreheads press together, eternity flashing in evergreen eyes as he coaxes you into a kiss.

Your climax rolls through you, reducing you to a shuddering, keening mess. Mav follows you over the edge, holding you so you’re pressed flush from his thighs up to where he gasps into the curve of your neck. You luxuriate in the sweaty embrace, catching your breath until you’re sure you can make the short walk to your bathroom to grab a washcloth and clean the both of you enough to climb beneath your covers.

Mav’s arm wraps around your shoulders as you curl into his side and breathe him in, happy to spend the remainder of your off-hours tucked beneath his arm. Warm and safe and loved.

“What now?” Mav asks after you’ve settled, his eyes transfixed on the ceiling.

“Whatever we want.”

“Yeah?” You nod, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Nowhere you need to be?”

“Nowhere I’d rather be, Pete.” His arm tightens around you, his head ducking so he can press a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder blade.

“I’ve got a place in the Mojave,” Mav offers after a beat. “Not a lot. An old hangar. A trailer.”

“A plane?”

“Maybe.”

“Mojave’s a long trip from North Island,” you murmur. “How’re you planning on getting there?”

He shrugs. “Bike.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow, looking down at Mav where he’s settled against your pillow. At the mottled bruise over his collarbone. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll do it. “Guess I’m coming with you, then.”

Mav smiles. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

You shake your head, settling back into his side and pulling the duvet up to your chin. “We’ll rent a trailer for your bike.”

“Oh, we will?” It’s teasing. There isn’t a tense bone in Mav’s body.

“Someone’s gotta keep you away from that plane you may or may not have.”

“She’s not ready to go up anyway.”

An amused exhale escapes through your nose. “Good.” Then, as you drift, floating in that pleasant in-between of wakefulness and sleep, you ask: “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing,” Mav says. “Just gotta put on the finishing touches.”

You hum. “Teach me?”

“To fix up the Mustang?”

“A P-51?” He nods. “Well, now you’ve gotta teach me.”

“Yeah,” he says, picking up where he left off and rubbing circles into your skin. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

You nod, sleep steadily overcoming you. “Missed you, Mav,” you whisper as your breathing begins to even out.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he whispers back like it’s a secret, and your heart feels lighter for it.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

You aren’t sure what the coming weeks will bring, but you know you’ll get through them together. Wrapped in Mav’s arms and his love, you finally drift to sleep.

#thirsty's suggestion box #user: i-wear-wet-socks313 #pete maverick mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell x reader smut #pete maverick mitchell x f!reader #maverick x reader #pete maverick mitchell smut #pete mitchell x reader #top gun 1986 #top gun: maverick #tg:m #top gun: maverick smut #top gun fanfiction #pilot!reader #fic: call sign: avalanche #fic: call sign: avalanche pt. 2 #top gun smut

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Spell your last name, please.

What -- Daryl's back at the Green's farm after falling down the ridge twice, hallucinating you and Merle, then making it home only to get grazed on his head by a bullet. In this chapter, he wakes up after losing consciousness. S02E05 Chupacabra

Who -- slow burn Daryl x Reader

When -- ten minutes after Daryl gets grazed by that bullet courtesy of Andrea following Invisible, tugging strings, Part 2. <- Read this chapter first!

Perspective -- 3rd person Daryl

Reader's pronouns? -- neutral again, slowpokes, they/them

TWs -- a few cusses in Daryl's perspective

How long will it take me? -- 7-10 minutes

Specific chapters to refresh your memories with -- How's your head? Part 2, Invisible tugging strings, Parts 1 -> and 2 <-

The title of this chapter is weird -- I know, y'all XD. It's in reference to a common (medical) trauma question to check cognition

Where's your Masterlist? -- official one here, chronological one here.

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for better context, reread Invisible, tugging strings, Part 2 here. It's got the word-for-word part of S02E05 Chupacabra with Merle before Daryl makes his way home and sees an angel you.

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Hm? Where in the—where is he and what’s warm stuff he just swallowed? Who the hell's this holding hi—

A bunch of voices start saying stuff, and all he sees is brightness and the outline of faces.

But there’s one, familiar voice closest to his ear that soothes, “Shh, sweetheart, you’re safe. Close your eyes awhile, it’s bright in here.”

...oh shit, is this heaven? It's real? I made it?

“Oh man, sorry,” the voice chuckles. “You’re just so hurt, pet names are floppin’ out of my mouth. Which is what some of your tea just did, too. Here, I’m gonna give you the straw. You’re in the Greene’s house.”

He starts to open his eyes again as he sips down more of the warm, peachy drink through the straw. Once he’s aware of it hitting the back of his throat, he starts to slurp it down because hot damn, he’s thirsty.

Finally, he’s able lift his eyes to see the angel his friend beside him, holding a mug.

Y/N.

“It’s from the box of peach tea we found yesterday,” Y/N happily tells him.

They look miles better than they did a few hours ago. He’s relieved.

Awareness of what’s going on and what happened snaps into gear and he tries to look behind him at his side that’d been gashed open, but doing that makes his head spin.

Also he’s—got a tube in his arm?

Y/N notices his confusion. “You need fluids, dude. Maggie suggested I rub your throat to get you take the drink down while you were half-conscious. It was workin’, too, just like for a cat. You’re on your second IV bag already, the first one went in right quick.”

Not to mention, what’s left of the peach tea in the mug is empty within seconds.

“Don’t worry, there’s more of that. You weren’t out too too long,” they mumble, setting the mug down. “We already checked you over for bites, now we’re disinfectin’ your side wound. Mr. Greene and Patricia are gonna resume that, okay? Then Maggie and I are gonna clean up your head.”

The best he can do is grunt in acknowledgement. He’s tired as fuck. Mumbling and quiet conversation fills the room.

“Daryl, spell your last name, please."

Spell his—huh? “Why’d d’you need my last name?” he slurs.

“To see how loopy you are,” Y/N dryly puts it. “I’m going to ask you to tell me the number ‘thirteen’ in a few minutes, deal? Thirteen.” They then uncap a—ha, orange gatorade? That’s their favorite—and place the straw in it and direct him to, “Hold this, drink, spell your last name for me.”

“D-I, um, X-O-N.” Ouch, his voice sounds like he gargled with pebbles. Feels like it, too.

“Did you take any kind of drug this afternoon, mushrooms?”

He makes an nuh-uh type of groan in response, and mumbles, “Tossed Merle’s hard stuff this mornin’.”

He feels whoever’s cleaning his gash pause, then continue. There’s extra hushed whispering, too.

“Th-that’s, um, very good! Ohh my.” His friend clears their throat. “So I guess we’ll only clap you in irons over charges of grand theft horse,” they snort. “Now, did you get mugged, did you fall, what happened to you out there, man?”

Whoever’s cleaning out his bolt wound, they’re pouring liquid stuff and dabbing at it, and shit it is stinging like a mother-fucker, ow!

“Rough afternoon,” he groans. Then, Daryl remembers the most important thing and slurs out a rushed, “Th’doll!” while opening his eyes again and trying to sit up. Pain stops him from moving much.

“Yes!" Y/N giggles. "Straight up, everybody here could’ve kissed you when we saw you’d found it, Daryl. Can you tell us where you found it?”

This rush of heat from outta nowhere zaps his cheeks as he rests his eyes again and relaxes down onto the pillow. “Bottom of the ridge,” he tells them.

“Clever man, you said it would be the best vantage point. Now, about those injuries, what made your afternoon ‘rough’ specifically?”

“…Fell down it.”

A small noise left Y/N’s mouth.

It's the old man’s voice who asks, “Is that how you got the wound to your side, here?”

“Happened th’first time I went down. Bolt.”

“The 'first time.' Y-you fell down it more than once? That’s—” squeaks from Y/N's mouth, then some babbling. “Oh m—does he need a traction collar or, or—”

“You said ‘bolt.’ Would that be from your crossbow?” comes the old man's voice again.

“Mm.”

“It’s remarkable the injury didn’t perforate any organs, passed clean through,” he comments. “Do you have any numbness or a tingling sensation anywhere on your appendages?”

His negative groan was hopefully sufficient. He kinda wishes he had numbness, because all he feels now is sore. It’s like he got whumped by a Mack truck.

“Tap your fingers to your thumb,” the old man then orders.

He does.

“Did any of that hurt?”

Another negative groan. He tries to shake his head, too.

A woman’s voice he’s unfamiliar with hushes, “Y/N, he’s okay for now, just keep checkin’ his cognition and feeling his head. Ears and nose, too, for fluids. Maggie, sweetpea, you check his toes for movement and sensation.”

He liked the sound of the woman’s voice. It was down-home twangy and no-nonsense, in a good way.

Now his shoes are getting untied, which must be Maggie. That’s the short-haired chick, if he’s remembering it right?

His friend sighs. “That guardian angel of yours is having a very busy day, Dary-bear.” There are some rustling noises near his head. He opens his eyes to see them pull what looks like a very skinny flashlight from the first aid bag. “I’m going to use this penlight, now. Can, um,” they pause and look around the room.

Wait, how many people are in here?

“Teddy, please hold the drink for him?” they call behind them. “Let’s get that bottle drained.”

Sure enough, T-Dog walks over from wherever he was, crouches down, and holds the bottle by Daryl’s mouth so he can sip from the straw.

“Sorry you had to wake up to all this fussin’ and chaos, man. But, you heard ’em, drink this down.”

“Wiggle your toes, please?” the short-haired chick calls, similarly twangy like the blonde woman and Y/N.

He wiggles his toes.

“Now point, then straighten your feet and toes for her,” Y/N murmurs.

He does.

“Straighten, then relax your legs if you can.”

He can, and does.

“Any of that hurt or feel tingly?”

“No,” he grunts again.

“Next, look at my nose, please,” his friend says. They guide his left hand in theirs and position it so it makes a wall between his two eyes. “Keep your hand there and repeat the months of the year. I’m going to shine this near each eye a few times, just keep starin’ at my nose while I do.”

As he recites the months in between gulps of the gatorade, he notices by the time he says “October” that he’s been staring into their eyes and at their lips instead of their nose.

When they gently take his hand and lower it back down, he gets a rush that helps him feel more awake.

“Now let’s have the months backwards,” they instruct.

He does his best.

“Let me know if you feel anythin’ off,” the blonde older lady says to Y/N. “I’ll palpate when you’re done.”

“Yes, ma’am. Okay, please tell me what memory came into your head when you saw the orange sports drink,” Y/N asks him next, their hands lightly pressing around his head, almost in a massage type of way. He doesn’t know what it is or why they are doing it, or why he isn’t flinching at someone touching him, but here he is. It feels really nice—OW!—except that spot didn’t feel as nice, that hurt!

“I, um,” he croaks. For real, his voice croaked. Rough afternoon. “It’s your favorite.” He rests his eyes again and remembers how Y/N’s floppy sandals squeaked as they’d walked to the wash area together. He’d been holding their bucket. That memory helps him relax more…

“You rememb—um, y-yeah, it’s my—sorry, you remembered that?”

“Give the man credit, Y/N,” T-Dog says under his breath in a way that sounds like he’s joking.

“Theodore,” they whisper back. “He’ll think you’re serious.”

Daryl isn’t sure what that was about, his eyes are still closed and heavy.

Y/N clears their throat. “Anyway, here I thought you’d just mention that you’d given me a bottle, friend. Um, ten points if you can state the name of the generic gatorade?”

T-Dog has tapped him with the straw to get him to drink more, so he opens his eyes and manages a grunt in response while he sips, then closes them again.

“Eh, you’re right, that’d be a stretch even if you didn’t just go through the wringer. It was Sportsman’s Signature Electrolyte Rehydration Beverage,” Y/N fills him in. “Now, I’m gonna check both nostrils and both ears for stuff coming out them, just bear with me, I’m usin’ a gauze square for it, I’ll be poking it into those places. How about you remind me the name of your favorite uncle.”

“Uncle Jesse,” is his answer before Y/N even finishes saying ‘uncle.’ The tickling feeling of the gauze in his nose almost makes him sneeze, then the feel of it in his ears is just uncomfortable.

At least his eyelids and his body don’t feel as heavy as before.

He open his eyes again. Sees Y/N is scribbling something down in a notebook.

“And what number did I ask you to remember, sweetheart?” Y/N checks. “Ugh, there I go with the pet names again. Sorry, honey, ain’t nothing, please tell me what that number was?”

Number? Number, um, uh, honey…um…three…thirteen. “Thirteen.”

“High-five, perfect recall!”

He finds himself tapping his palm to theirs and almost smiling.

Whatever they’re talking about now, though, is going right over his head. He’s gonna rest his eyes again…

“GCS is a solid 14, I think? He’s oriented, it’s just takin’ him slightly longer to get his words. Long term recall was good, short term he passed, too. Seems like he’s wakin’ up. What’s your take, Miss Patricia? Do y’all even use GCS in real life?”

“Ain’t heard ‘GCS’ since workin’ third shift ER for my first job. Oh, that was years ago,” came the twangy woman’s voice. “But it’s used a whole lot. 14 means he’s doin’ pretty good now. We’ll check it again later, I’ll teach you all about RLA scoring.”

“What’s RLA stand for?”

“Rancho Los Amigos, right?” is what Daryl thinks he hears T-Dog answer, but it makes zero sense so he must’ve heard wrong. “A few buddies of mine got concussions back in the day,” T-Dog explains, but it still doesn’t make sense. He opens his eyes as if that’ll clear things up.

Lucky for him, his friend repeats “Rancho-Los-Amigos?” which really is the damn name, the woman assures them both.

Daryl tries to look back again to see his gash. He doesn’t feel as dizzy as bef—where’s his shirt?

His pulse starts to pound in his ears.

He’s got no shirt on. In front of all these people?

Cold chills and a hot waves pelt through him at the same time. If, if his shirt if off and all these people are in here, that means they saw it. His back.

“Please stop trying to twist around,” comes the voice of the old man from behind him. “The wound is clotted and I want it to remain that way before I stitch you up.”

Y/N chirps in like an oblivious damn canary before he has a chance to react or think. “Oh, Daryl, would you mind if I watched? I wanna see it done as much as I can so I can learn.”

Turns out, this was a good thing. Him not being able to react to realizing he’s got no shirt on gave him time to see that a clean towel was bunched around his stomach, as well as positioned over his back shoulder; most of him is covered.

He’s shirtless, yeah, but covered.

And he now sees that his position on the bed means that, although the door is behind him, he’s blocked by the angle and by the blonde woman with the twangy voice and the old man.

“You just paled like you seen a ghost. Brother, you feeling okay?” T-Dog whispers.

Daryl meets his eyes for a second. How is he supposed to admit to not wanting anyone to see him without his shirt without sounding like some priss?

It’s just that—he’s shit at lying and the scars he’s got are kinda obvious. He’d tried to lie to a doctor once about it, the guy saw right through it. Daryl had been over 18 by then, so none of that CPS stuff happened, but still. The look on the doctor’s face made him feel like some pitiful kid and it made him feel small and weak and like he’d done something wrong.

“Y/N, can you check his blood pressure?”

It’s pointless for Daryl to try to say it was nothing, because Y/N was beside him again and pumping up that cuff thing within half a damned minute. He ends up officially meeting the owner of the twangy, no-nonsense voice, too. Patricia.

“He’s 108 over 64, Miss Patricia. That’s good, though, not too low. Oh.” Y/N’s face drops and they pause removing the cuff. “But he is a smoker, d-do you think that means it’s-it’s too low? I-I don’t know his baseline! Honey, what’s your baseline?”

“Daryl, spell that last name again for me?” the woman asks, and way calmer than Y/N.

He spells it again. “D-I-X-O-N.”

“14 times 2 is?”

“Uh, it’s, uh 28.”

“Five squared is?”

Squared is multiplying a number by itself, so…“25.”

“Your older brother’s name was?”

‘Was?’ What does she mean ‘was?’

He perks all the way up, and with a vengeance. “His name still is Merle,” he pretty much snarls back. Merle ain’t dead.

The woman makes a one-sided smile at Y/N and T-Dog with a brow raised. “He’s definitely awake now, doin’ just fine. Hersh, I’m gonna check his skull for any issues, then let’s double check if he’s got spinal damage. Did you check his nose and ears for CSF, Y/N?”

“He’s clean.”

“Anythin’ feel off on his head?”

“Some goose eggs, especially by this area here.” Daryl feels the warmth from Y/N’s hand as it hovers over the area he’d winced at. Their fingers trail along his hair for a sec, if he didn't just imagine that... “But no wiggly bits or step-off. His pupils were good.”

“After I get a good feel for his skull and neck, Maggie and Y/N, please give his hair a quick wash before cleaning and bandaging his graze. Then which of us is gonna stitch him up, you or me, Hersh?”

“I think Mr. Dixon here would prefer fewer people in here. I’ll do it.”

Those words are music to Daryl’s ears. So many damn people fussing over nothing. Patricia is done checking his skull or whatever, now she's poking around his neck.

“How many people are in here, anyway?” he asks whoever will answer.

“Mr. Greene, Patricia, Maggie, T-Dog, Rick, and me. Carol, Lori, Shane, Andrea, Dale and Glenn and Jimmy are out in the hallway,” Y/N tells him. "Carl's still in bed, of course, so Beth's with him."

…The whole group? Even the teenage kid?

What’s he supposed to, um…why the hell are they all crowding around and waiting? For him?

The old man saves his ass again. “Let’s leave dressing his head wound until after he’s stitched up. Everyone out, please.”

The name Sophia pops into the forefront of this thoughts. If they all acted fast, maybe she could be back by tomorrow morning! “I gotta talk to Rick.”

The old man's fuse is low, that’s obvious. “You’re the patient,” he responds.

“Then Y/N, you can stay, too,” is not what Daryl expects would next leap out of his mouth like a frog over hot tar, but there it goes. They wanted to learn, the old man better let them.

Weird part is, he understands that in offering that they stay, Y/N is definitely, 100% going to see the scars if they’ll be watching him get stitched…he doesn’t know, it’s just weird; he doesn’t have any kind of dread or nothing in the pit of his stomach about it. It's better when they're around.

He looks at them for a second, a bloody rag in their hand that they're back to pressing to his head. There's one, little tug to his chest in their direction, then it's gone.

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> Masterlist link here

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats​​​​ @whistlesalot​​​​ @buffy-the-assbutt-slayerer​​​​  @dreamingaboutthewonderland @kwazii-kat​ @darylsmavis​​​​​  @outlanderhornet22​​​​​ @battinsonrobs​​

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore,  just let me know, we’re all friends here!)  

#twd #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl twd #twd daryl #reader insert #reader-insert #canon compliant #slow burn #slow-burn #the Slowpoke Series #Patricia twd #Hershel Greene #Theodore Douglas #T-Dog #Theodore T-Dog Douglas #Maggie Greene #Maggie Rhee

[loquaciousquark]

4-Sided Dive Highlights - Critical Role C3 up to E35 (Oct. 4, 2022)

Good evening, spooks and ghouls! It's a Halloween edition of 4-Frighted-Dive, and Matthew, Marisha, Laura, and most excellently Travis bring us into the season in the very dramatic costumes promised by the cast last episode. Travis wins host for the first time and his plastic fangs make him almost entirely unintelligible. There's an enormous coffin set up at the front of the heavily decorated Halloween set, and while pondering whether we should celebrate Halloween without her, we all ask What Would Laudna Do? Pate arrives at the set door with a delivery: a letter read by Travis in a cockney accent telling them to go on and do the show.

What the Fuck Is Up With That? The Otohan fight was complicated by unexpectedly struggling with the gate/crawler and accidentally getting Otohan's attention. When Laudna went spiderclimbing up the wall, she was not at all anticipating finding Otohan right on the balcony at the top. They all agree the darkness was clutch. I'm so distracted by how Matt's head barely pokes out of his robot box.

The attacking force was not actually intended to break into the fort, just to be a distraction.

If BH had managed to escape more quickly & cleanly, it wouldn't have been a fight at all. (There would have been a bounty on the unknown perpetrators, though.) The slow and cumbersome exit, the getting of her attention, and the leap to combat all triggered her deciding to directly intervene.

Matt thinks the infiltration on the first half was done really well. Getting Treshi was very smooth and the crates were a great idea.

Everyone speculates on if they could make a dunamantic fig tree. Matt has no idea what would happen if they tried to graft Possibility into a tree.

Travis says the Secret Word (Tempest) and must draw from the recently reassembled Tower of Inquiry. #41: How do cast members sent out of a scene avoid seeing spoilers on Twitter? They actively avoid social media! Episodes are still pre-taped, so they know when to avoid episodes & remind each other not to watch protected moments from the show. Great question!

Travis thinks Otohan knows who Imogen's mom is. Laura has deliberately not tried to cast Sending on her mom. Everyone does think she is alive; that Imogen has a memory of her being alive when she was about a year old & other people saw her twelve years ago when she'd originally been told she died in childbirth--surely she must still be around. Everyone wonders how Imogen's explosion managed to spare her friends yet destroy buildings. Did they go to the moon briefly? Matt descends turtle-like into his robot shell to avoid answering.

Marisha watched the last episode by herself. ;-; It was very weird.

Everyone peppers Matt with questions about the moon. "Answer, Robot!" Matt: "I'm thirsty." Marisha VERY clumsily tips a water bottle to his mouth and just about waterboards him. Her raptor hand gloves are too big, oh no!

When Orym, Laudna, Chetney, and Fearne all went down, everyone was convinced that was it--total party TPK. Travis is always looking at Matt's fidget energy when stuff goes down, trying to read his face for lifelines and hints, and he noted that Matt was unusually stoic and calm. Matt knew Otohan was powerful and important; he needed to honor that. When he built the encounter, he did build in escape routes, including the idea of a hostage held to draw the others back. The group did a huge chunk of damage to her and a lot of her resources were tapped by the end of the fight; she did have a damage threshold where she'd leave, and they were close to that. They all wanted to run but couldn't get away. The moment she did the 80-foot jump really scared them all. The fight reminded Travis of the Chroma Conclave attack in C1 where a 19 missed and took their breath away.

Laura says it scarily reminded them so much of Molly in C2--the villain was way beyond their means and the smart move was to get away. They just couldn't execute it cleanly. Matt suggests the conversation could have continued, but the party choices were too scattered: run, hide, fight, talk.

Otohan was more interested in information rather than murder at the start, but when she recognized Imogen & realized her personal connection to the party, she wanted to push Imogen instead & was willing to be ruthless in the process.

Travis loved the brush with total hopelessness. For as large as their party is, it's very rare to do the "advanced chess" and see no way out. They don't get to experience that risk of TPK often.

Matt has to constantly adjust encounters to keep them from becoming a slog while still making them hard. He thinks the party is really smart & have found ways to decimate encounters he'd thought would be hard in the past, and he knows this party likes the challenge and the risk of real danger, so he built this to be very challenging. Marisha says everyone at the table was completely okay with the way everything went down at the table. This is still a safe space for them as players and they are okay with the possibility of loss.

They all had a stairstep of expected outcomes in the following episode, starting with Laudna's die roll. Travis looked over to see the natural 1 and literally couldn't believe it. She has so many ways to get back up, but the Ruidus die refused to cooperate. Travis lauds Matt for the choice of Otohan striking an unconscious Laudna rather than moving on; it was realistic and terrifying.

They had planned for the possibility of everyone getting back up: Laudna rolling well, FCG bringing back Fearne to bring back Orym. Then Laudna rolled a 1 and FCG barely scraped the DC for Fearne coming back, and everything got a lot dicier.

The trouble with the death spiral is that when people start going down, people have to spend their turns bringing back other people rather than attacking. With this many healers & revivifiers in the party, Matt has to really push threat to make encounters hard.

Marisha had a bad feeling the entire break between the episodes. She did not think Laudna was going to make it out. She whispered to Travis at one point that they should rez Orym. The moment Ashley flipped the Changebringer coin and told Laudna they'd find a way to bring her back, it was like a punch in the gut and fatalistically accepting at the same time.

Laura, on the other hand, had convinced herself Marisha would roll her way out of it, so her failing was totally devastating. She was convinced they'd be able to persuade Delilah to heal Laudna through the rock. Matt acknowledges that they didn't expect Delilah to be so powerless.

Travis thinks Delilah was trying to take over Laudna's body, which is what Gentle Repose interrupted. Matt refuses to answer.

If resurrection magic were readily available, death would be meaningless. Matt relegates it to powerful casters, heroes, and noble classes that can afford it.

Everyone agrees it must have been so painful for Orym to ask Keyleth to heal Laudna when he knows she couldn't save his husband. Matt reminds us she tried to rez Will but couldn't.

Marisha keeps imagining VM burying Delilah in an iron box & throwing it in the ocean, just for BH to somehow recover it and open it right back up.

Matt knew with this campaign's characters' histories that there was a higher risk of crossing over with VM, and he was nervous about doing it justice while still avoiding the Essek free-taxi situation. More than that, he NEVER expected Keyleth to show up as a means of taking the whole party to Whitestone. Matt tells us Pike is likely in Whitestone too, possibly Grog. Marisha is so excited to see Matt talk to himself as all their old characters for an hour. Matt is STOKED to be able to revisit old PCs down the line--he's always wanted to explore this idea but has never had groups persist long enough in the same world.

Everyone got incredibly emotional seeing Keyleth & Whitestone.

Favorite scary movies? Laura: The Descent (we just watched this in movie night!). Marisha: Amityville Horror. Matt: Hereditary or the original Poltergeist. Travis: The Exorcist & The Thing, which he watched in increments because they were too scary to watch all at once. He also hilariously apparently bailed out of a theater during Jurassic Park & Neverending Story, haha! A concession stand worker gave him pity Reese's Pieces, bless his heart. Laura bailed once out of her grandma trying to show her Poltergeist when she was like six. Matt bailed out of the Ghostbusters. Marisha has never left a theater. Me either, Marisha! I paid for this ticket, I'm seeing the show.

I've hit that block limit again! Come on, tumblr.

Tower of Inquiry, Redux: minor character superpowers. Imogen never has to change a lightbulb. Chetney has super strong fingernails and doesn't need tools. Laudna wilts flowers when she walks by and would probably be a good crash test dummy. Eshteross always bakes the perfect cookies. Marisha is directed to pull from the tower with her enormous raptor gloves, which she does with tremendous aplomb. Who in TV and film would complement your character well? Chetney + Bilbo Baggins. Laudna + John Constantine (Matt suggests Elvira). Imogen + Jean Grey/Scarlet Witch.

Deep Dive! Matt can't reach his tumbler with both hands and it's honestly just sending me. He's loved introducing C2 elements into this campaign; he's been thinking about threads from the start of C2 and even into C1 that he's now able to bring into the world.

Marisha: What is it like to see Keyleth back without being at the table? It's like going into a fugue state. She thought Matt did a great job mimicking her more staccato mannerisms. "It was cute. It was good! Now do Vex." Matt descends again into his box.

Travis didn't recognize either name Matt dropped during the white out: Diana & Frenella Deanna and Frudell, I guessed VERY wrong on those names, sorry! He's going to see if he can meditate and ring a bell. Imogen might deep dive into him herself if he wants.

Laura struggled with the gnarlrock situation & Laudna. She would have kept the rock on her if they hadn't needed to move the body. She was going to leave it at Joe's then didn't; she was going to throw it off the airship then didn't. The draw of power the first rock gave her is such a background thought now with everything else.

Matt has the same conversation with every player about what happens when a character dies. His purpose is to have the players enjoying the game, and if a character dies prematurely, he is willing to open avenues for the party to pursue to bring them back. He also offers the chance to make a completely new character, a new character with strong ties to the old to continue the story, etc.

"With Taliesin, I asked him that question, and he said, 'No, Molly's not coming back. I intentionally made Molly as a character that if he died, he's not coming back, he's gone.' [...]He said, 'No, I'm going to start working on my new character,' and that's where Caduceus came from. And that's an example of character death being a very harrowing but important shift in story tone and character bonding & intense buy-in into a narrative. And then out of that, a great character like Caduceus that no one realized how badly the Mighty Nein needed him until he was there."

When Matt asked the current three what they wanted right after the Otohan fight, Ashley & Liam both started talking to him about their next characters (Liam sent a whole email of his secondary character right away), but Marisha didn't. Marisha wants to pursue Laudna's story but isn't necessarily invested in her coming back exactly the same. She's interested in what Pandora's box they're about to open in Whitestone and expects there will be consequences. Matt is excited to give her new character choices.

The art team asked for Marisha's backup to get character art going and she said no. She'll sit out as long as she needs to and will not play another character in the meantime.

"That shit's fucked up" that Laudna is being brought back to Whitestone to get resurrected. She has no idea how this will go.

Chetney is a sleuth because Travis played an idiot for his first character. He's learned so much from watching the rest of the table play over seven years. The detection of Yu happened because he was watching a spy show where assassins are texted a picture of the target, and he realized while on a treadmill: "Oh!" Calamity wrecked Travis in a beautiful way; he watched everyone else scheming and wanted to be part of that.

Matt laughed that this little trinket Fearne has been carrying for years as part of her backstory was immediately smashed by Ashton.

Imogen does not feel like a superhero; she feels dangerous and guilty. Marisha lauds Laura's roleplaying in the aftermath. Laura suggests that Imogen IS the moon.

Tower of Inquiry, Re-redux! Before the campaign, everyone shared classes & affirmed they didn't want to be as secretive as C2. Marisha & Laura both wanted to be sorcerers, so they paired up. Fearne & Orym were linked from ExU & Ashton & FCG matched up naturally. Laura's original character had Feywild & hag connections and changed it to not overlap with Fearne. Travis originally had someone else drafted but wanted to get away from the buttoned-up captaincy of Fjord.

Oh NO, hahahah! Travis goes to pull a block and someone in a black cloak and long claws creeps up on him behind to alarm him. It's hilarious and yet he manages to avoid toppling the tower.

Where did your character's names come from? Chutney is not Chetney; Pock O'Pea is a sound Ronin was making when he first started talking, adorable! Marisha had a long list of possible names for Laudna and liked the reference to laudanum; she wanted something weird and hazy that messes with your head. Travis is still on guard after the scare, poor thing. Laura just likes the name Imogen; she wanted something soft and flowy.

Five Nights at Freddy's in the OCULUS??? They want to kill this man, don't they? He dies immediately on the first night before the announcement even finishes. I will say that Laura's response to going second makes Travis look positively stoic. The editors also keep editing in a picture of Sam flickering in the shadows, and it's hilarious. Marisha accidentally picks the sequel to play and dies on night 2 IMMEDIATELY. Matt picks Dark Rooms, the sequel where you're in a house & have to play Red Light, Green Light with a monster coming towards you down the hall & by far handles the game the best. Travis gives a couple tries to the Vent Repair game and gets three of four lights on before being stymied by Simon Says. Good for him! The episode ends with the crew trick or treating and TPing the set. Adorable.

Great episode! Is it Thursday yet?

#critical role #critical role spoilers #4 sided dive #4 sided dive spoilers #long post for ts #very long post for ts #talks machina

[specialinterestshows]

Keep a water nearby, because this latest section of Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic is sure to give you cottonmouth and make you thirsty!

Warnings for this section: Cannabis (weed), sexual themes

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Absolute Smokeshow (Part 14 of ?): Take Charge

“Oh wow,” you breathe, tissue paper surrounding you, a box and a bag at your feet, “Is this-?”

You weren’t sure exactly what you were expecting Rhea’s present for you to be. Maybe jewelry, or wrestling merch; you could see her getting you a “she’s my Mami” shirt and smirking about it. But once you took the tissue paper out of the gift bag, the box inside had no logo, no writing - not a single indication of what you were about to open. There was no need to put a shirt in a box AND a bag, and the volume of the box didn’t speak to jewelry. Carefully pulling out the opening flap of the box, you let the objects inside - each in its own cloth drawstring bag - slide out and fall onto the table.

“Because there wasn’t enough packaging already?” you mutter, opening the smallest one first: a charging cable. After raising an eyebrow at Rhea, you continue to the next bag: a small remote, no words written on it, and very vague arrow symbols on the buttons. At this point, you were worried the rest of the gift would be one other seemingly random thing you had no idea what to do with. Finally turning your attention to the largest, heaviest bag, you open it and pull out-

“A vibrator?” you blush, holding the oddly-shaped pink toy.

“Not just a vibrator,” Rhea insisted, “a remote-controlled vibrator, with thrust options, and” - she pulled out her phone, tapped a few things, and showed you the screen - “I can control it on an app no matter where I am, or where you are.”

“Fuck that’s hot,” you say, making her laugh. Thrust and vibrate? Controlled by Rhea? You ached with want at the possibilities.

“Thought it might help when I’m on the road,” she explained, “We can do a video call and I can watch you come under my control.”

The thought sent shivers through your body, making you bite your lip.

“Thank you so much, Mami,” you say, setting down the items and pulling Rhea’s face into a kiss.

“Of course,” she smiles, “only the best for my good girl. Now let’s let that charge, hm?”

Nodding - turned on and thrilled at being called hers - you plug the charger into an outlet and connect it to the vibrator. A light at the base flashes, letting you know it was charging. It couldn’t charge fast enough, you thought to yourself.

As eager as you were to try out the toy, the overall feeling underneath the lust was relief; Rhea still wanted you, even when you were apart. This gift also let you know that whatever the two of you were, it wasn’t coming to an end anytime soon. She must care about you to some degree, right?

Placing the box and tissue paper back in the gift bag, you sit back down on the couch.

Looking down the neck of the bong, you see the ice cube hasn’t melted much. Then you get an idea.

“You know, now that you can take hits of your own, we could play a game to get us really baked,” you suggest.

“You need a game for that?” Rhea joked, “Being a stoner is a lot more work than I thought!”

After sticking your tongue out at her, you continue, “We could play “Never Have I Ever,” but with weed instead of drinks.”

She considered this for a moment, grimacing for a second at what was no doubt a memory of playing the same game, but with too much alcohol.

“Sure,” she finally agreed, “that’s got to be better than doing it with drinks. Go ahead and start us off.”

You were prepared.

“Never have I ever beat someone up,” you look at Rhea pointedly as she gives you a look.

“Too easy!” she protests.

“Hey, if you’re worried I’m gonna win…” you tease.

Rhea huffs in a somewhat exaggerated way before taking a hit.

“My turn,” she says, exhaling smoke, “Never have I ever… had sex with more than one woman my entire life.”

You weren’t expecting that one. You were the only woman she’d slept with? None before or since? It was difficult not to feel flattered, not to mention lucky. You take the hit smoothly, a satisfied grin on your face.

“Never have I ever,” you continue, “…had my face on a t-shirt.”

“Those shirts sell really well!” Rhea said, feigning defensiveness before smiling and taking a hit. She coughed it out, taking a sip of water before she kept going.

“Never have I ever… begged to be allowed to come,” she said, the seductive tinge in her voice affecting you immediately.

You could feel the want in your breasts, radiating through your body, longing for her touch as you remembered sitting on the counter with her mouth on you. Her eyes never left you as you took the hit. You glanced over at the flashing light of the vibrator. It couldn’t charge anywhere near quickly enough.

[end part fourteen of ?]

Part 15: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/724674001363959808/absolute-smokeshow-part-15-of-toy-with-me

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Tag List (thank you!)

@cherryberryshine , @littlemiss-fanficlover , @elisewithak

#wwe fanfiction #the judgement day #rhea ripley #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x dominik mysterio #lady!reader #weed #stoner themes #specialinterestshows presents #absolute smokeshow #if you’re reading this it’s HYDRATE

[dyrewrites]

Before Deluca -- rotten to its core

Oblong boxes, coffins all, waited beyond the dark red door—red as the wood of the ship, unnatural that shade—upright against the walls. And I gawked at them, studied them, confused by their need. Strange as they were, the crew were human, weren’t they?

The sigils said otherwise. I couldn’t know what they meant at the time, what spell they cast on those coffins, but I recognized their designs from Lucient’s own. Those were meant to aid his healing, ours, as I’d learned through experience more than asking.  So surely the ones for the crew did the same. But then, were they as us? Were they vampires, blood-thirsty and undying? More questions to be asked later, worried as I was of their groaning, their glassy eyes and puppet-like manner filtering in after me.

There were stairs beyond the coffins, out in the open, unhidden by rug or trap door...and an odor drawing me toward them. A familiar scent, one often found under my fingernails and in my hair whenever I had a day or two to myself to indulge it.

Linseed and gesso took me home, but it was what saturated it that worried, that drove my feet faster; blood—so much blood, yet not fresh. What spurred me quicker down those stairs was old, but thick.

And what it coated stopped me before I made it to the bottom of the spiraling staircase—another mystery of the ship, of all the glowing sigils on the walls I chased.

I had found the studio the scents suggested I would, but it was wrong, so very wrong. The easel—and a stool—sat prepared on one side of the uncomfortably wide room, paints and brushes laid out beside it on a thin table, lit well by candles that ignited as my hands slid along the banister. Behind the easel, on a wall decidedly not made of wood, were sketches and paintings in various states of ‘complete’ held seemingly by their own force to its dark surface.

Lucient dominated them, all of them, yet the poses and other figures joining him—and all the bright, angry reds between—were not ones I wished a closer look at.

It was the middle of the room that drew me, that hobbled me on those stairs and nearly chased me back up them. All the blood waited there, in dried pools and splatters, spread too wide and thick and red along that dark floor to have been from a single source—a single instance. They were not alone, of course, not without a source. The source was a bed, at least what my mind convinced me was a bed, but I knew no bed that came in metal with chains and clasps and spikes. Nothing outside paintings of the Spanish Inquisition’s preferred methods of conversion, anyhow.

I stood in a torture chamber. One whose activities were dutifully captured by a skilled artist and, with Lucient the subject of all the ‘art’ presented there, I could only assume it had been his Mistress recording it—inflicting it.

The question that filled me, as I backed from the horror—both real and assumed—was one perhaps a bit selfish considering, with all of that, would he let me sketch him, let me paint him...in a manner not soaked in blood?

I would have my answer sooner than expected, but not quite then. Though I did rush to the one who would give it, intent only in lying beside him, holding him, comforting him as I could not erase what had been done—could not protect from the terror he’d endured.

#writeblr #snippet #writing #novel #before deluca #tw: blood #tw: mention of torture #lucient is a broken little man and i will see him happy godsdamnit #i am actually sharing this bit in order even #huzzah

[td-tbbg-official]

Are you thirsty for another teaser? Well, luckily for you, I am here to fulfill that thirst for you!

note if you’re new here: in this AU, harold is a transfem woman named vickie.

coming soon to an AO3 near you.

questions, concerns, suggestions to be deposited in the ask box.

TD: TBBG is written by @canonically47. the blog is entirely run by the writer.

!!! reblogs > likes !!!

#total drama #total drama island #total drama reboot #total drama 2023 #tdi #tdi 2023 #td gen 1 #td gen 4 #chris mclane #chef hatchet #total drama all stars #tdas #total drama: the bridge between generations #td: tbbg #total drama: tbbg #tbbg #td 2023 #td all stars #all stars #td heather #td damien #td harold #td leshawna #td gwen #td owen #td alejandro