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tongue-like-a-razor · 3 months

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Hotter Than Texas | Part I

(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Alrighty y'all, this is for everyone who has so patiently waited for me to make this a thing XD Not sure if I could squeeze a whole series out of this one but we shall see. Maybe at least a part 2. Enjoy!

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

The mission is simple. Collect Seresin Junior from the train station near the main gate of the base and deliver said cargo to the Seresin homestead in Eastern Texas on his way to Atlanta, Georgia for a long overdue visit with his grandparents. It isn’t rocket science. It sure as hell doesn’t hold a candle to the canyon run he pulled off just the other month. And yet, Bradley’s drumming his fingers anxiously on the hood of his Bronco as he leans into its frame, waiting on the trolley from downtown San Diego.

While Jake and Bradley have recently made peace after their longstanding cold war, Bradley isn’t exactly thrilled to meet another one of his kind. Besides, he isn’t one for small talk, and the prospect of spending the next two days with a complete stranger is downright daunting. He prefers music to conversation and he’s hoping that his road trip companion won’t be offended when he turns up the radio and forgets there’s anybody else in the car.

When Hangman had asked for the favor, he assured Bradley that he was his last choice – which wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Bradley appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. By the end of the term, there was nobody from their squadron left on base except Bradley, and he would be heading east anyway, might as well provide shuttle service while he’s at it.

As the trolley whistles into the station, Bradley pushes off his car and straightens his back, watching the tinted windows as they zip by, a blur at first and then gradually separating as the trolley comes to a stop.

Bradley leaves his car to walk around the fence, not quite sure how he’s going to be greeting a person he’s never before seen, but it’s not like he’s going to fashion a sign for the occasion. He sticks his hands into his pockets, the breeze picking up his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt like a parachute before it starts whipping around his torso in the wind tunnel on the platform.

He glances around at the commuters stepping off the trolley, trying to pick out the blondes that might resemble his colleague, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns his head, just as you say, “Rooster, right?”

He blinks at you, slightly disoriented. You look nothing like Hangman, thank fuck, because Bradley can’t take his eyes off you and, as inappropriate as this reaction is, it would make it that much worse if you did. He gives you a sideways grin. “What gave me away?” he says.

“My brother told me to find the dorkiest guy at the station,” you respond, grinning at him.

Bradley chuckles. “So, you’re walking to Texas, then,” he says, stepping around you.

You laugh, struggling to redirect the wheels of your suitcase.

Bradley bends down to grab the handle. “I can take that,” he says, tucking away the retractable bar and lifting it off the ground by the strap.

“Thanks,” you say, cringing slightly as Bradley lifts the luggage as though you’re embarrassed by its weight.

But after the countless exercise drills over the years, Bradley hardly notices that it’s heavy. In fact, he could probably carry it over his head. He eyes you inconspicuously as you fall in step with him, wondering if perhaps that might impress you – not that he wants to impress you.

“Actually, he said I couldn’t miss you because you’d be a head taller than everyone else, and probably wearing a very bright shirt.”

Bradley looks over at you with a grin. “Hopefully I didn’t disappoint?”

You eye his shirt flapping in the breeze. “I found you, didn’t I?”

Bradley lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car and walks around to open your door for you.

You give him a suspicious look. “Thanks,” you say.

Bradley nods at you, offering a hand to help you in. Once you’re seated, he shuts the door behind you and exhales unsteadily the kind of sigh that often accompanies a guilty conscience. There’s no way he could possibly get entangled in a mess of this magnitude. And a colossal mess it would become if he were to develop any sort of soft spot for his recent enemy’s baby sister. Bradley, being a sensible, mature adult, understands this unequivocally. But, when he rounds the car and climbs into the driver’s seat next to you, the notion that he’s not allowed under any circumstances to find you attractive flies right out his rolled down window.

This is because you’re already tuning the radio like you own the place and because you smell like a goddess. Bradley has no clue whether it’s your hair or your perfume or your goddamn essence that’s permeated his upholstery in under ten seconds, but whatever it is, he certainly wouldn’t mind smelling it on his sheets in the morning.

Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.

“This alright?” you ask casually, as if you didn’t just hijack a stranger’s radio.

He cringes at the stereo; he’ll have to work on your taste in music. “Got your seatbelt on?” he asks as he pulls out.

You turn around in your seat and pull on the seatbelt.

Bradley promptly hits the breaks and you lurch forward slightly, the seatbelt in your hand getting stuck on its way out. He looks over at you with an air of seriousness despite the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The seatbelt should be the first thing you do when you enter a vehicle.” Not fiddle with the radio, he adds silently.

You raise your eyebrows at him in amusement. “Okay, dad.”

Bradley nearly shudders at your response. He’s probably a good ten years older than you, so, really, while dad might be stretching it, you’re not too far off. “Keep up that attitude and you’ll be listening to Metallica the whole way home.”

You smirk at him. “I like Metallica, so joke’s on you, bud.”

Bradley starts driving again. “If you like Metallica, then why are we listening to this trash?”

Your jaw drops and you reach for the volume dial to turn up the song. “How dare you?”

Bradley rolls his eyes. Something tells him he’s in for a wild ride.

…

About two hours later, Bradley pulls into a small gas station just past the border into Arizona.

“Want something to eat?” he asks, leaning across the console to pop his glove compartment and pull out his wallet. “Or drink?”

You purse your lips. “I could go for a coffee.”

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“With a pinch of salt.”

Bradley gapes at you. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

You snort. “I’m not joking. You should try it! Cuts the bitterness in half, my friend.”

Bradley cringes. “The bitterness is why I drink it.”

You shake your head and declare wisely, “You’ll see.”

“That you’re a nutcase?” Bradley mutters under his breath as he exits the car. He jogs over to the convenience store, determinedly blocking out the seductive quality of your persuasive tone. You could probably convince him to drink a pint of his own urine if you set your mind to it.

Bradley drums impatiently on the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish restocking one of the shelves with chips. While he’s waiting, he glances out to check on you as if you’re a child under his charge. You’ve stepped out of the Bronco to stretch your legs and Bradley doesn’t like the way the two guys in the convertible in behind are eyeing you.

Bradley cranes his neck to check on the clerk’s progress and lets out a stifled sigh. When he looks back outside, he sees that one of the men has approached you and, well, Bradley isn’t about to wait to see what happens next. He drops a bill on the counter and calls out, “Keep the change,” to the clerk before practically slamming his way through the doors with the coffees in his hands.

Why it bothers him that some random dude might want your number is not of consequence. What matters is that Bradley gets rid of this asswipe before you start enjoying his company.

He strides confidently past the man chatting you up and stops right in between you and him, handing you a coffee.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he cautions moodily, not entirely sure how to go about handling a situation in which, objectively speaking, he has no real authority.

You meet his gaze with a small smile. “You don’t say,” you respond with all the sultriness of a blazing, desert sun.

Bradley’s gaze remains unwaveringly on you as he unhooks a pair of Ray-Bans from the neck of his muscle shirt and slides them over his eyes. “Ready to go?” he asks in a level tone, hoping he can avoid what is bound to be an unpleasant interaction with the man still standing behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man speaks up. “Didn’t realize you were with someone, honey.”

Bradley keeps his eyes on yours for several moments longer, trying his best not to show the irritation he feels at the way this rando just called you ‘honey’. Reluctantly, he turns to face him, wondering what in the world he could say that wouldn’t make him sound jealous as fuck.

But before Bradley could speak, you slide casually into his side, leaning on him like it’s the most natural thing. “That’s just fine,” you say to the man. “No harm, no foul.”

Bradley looks down at your head as it nestles into his shoulder and then lifts his arm to let you move in closer. Trying to play it cool, he skims the tips of his fingers across your lower back, which is warm and feels like the perfect place to rest his hand.

Convertible guy promptly departs, and Bradley is left standing in an embrace with the one person on the entire planet for whom he should never catch feelings, at a derelict gas station on the outskirts of arid Yuma, Arizona, and the heat is really starting to get to him. Slowly, you start to peel yourself away and Bradley, sensing your withdrawal, drops his hand and recoils from you like you’ve burnt him.

Did it feel nice pretending you were his girl? Sure did. Is he going to erase it from his memory and never let himself so much as shake your hand again? Absolutely.

Read Part 2

Tag List

I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments probably tomorrow!

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@Topguncultleader

@avengers-fixation

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johannestevans · 5 months

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alien is like "what are these numbers?"

"oh those are calories."

"what do they represent?"

"well, theoretically, the amount of energy a meal or snack will give you."

"do they?"

"god no. they make up the numbers based on how the food would burn in a lab."

"oh. does the calorie number tell you how nutritious the food is?"

"nope."

"how beneficial for your body?"

"nope."

"so, what are they for?"

"for companies to make money out of giving people less, worse tasting food in the hope they'll lose weight."

"will they lose weight if they eat lower calorie things?"

"no. generally weight and body type are decided by several factors, primarily genetics, hormonal make-up, past trauma and injury, etc in conjunction with exercise they might do far more than people's daily diet."

"so why do they do it?"

"well, people are convinced that fatness only exists because fat people don't try hard to lose weight enough despite, apart from every study showing otherwise, the fact that fat people continue to exist"

"is being fat bad for you?"

"well, sure, theres health concerns that are made worse by being fat. theres also loads that are made worse by being thin or by being muscular. it turns out being alive is bad for you. but the most dangerous thing for fat people's health is medical negligence."

"doctors won't treat fat people?"

"they just tell them to lose weight instead of actually listening to health concerns, so fat people die at higher rates for everything from asthma and allergies to cancer."

"but you just said weight loss--"

"uh huh, i know."

and then the alien goes. well thats fucked up

and i go. yeah.

and then they leave earth forever and go somewhere better

#musings

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hyperlexichypatia · 11 months

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Neuroscience is real and important (while still beset by the same implicit and explicit bias problems as all human science and medicine), but pop culture understanding of neuroscience has absolutely made society worse, and I hate it. Every popular invocation of "dopamine," "serotonin" "trauma," "the prefrontal cortex," and "epigenetics" is used to justify some logically and/or ethically terrible conclusion. Recently I saw someone say that she lift weights to boost dopamine "Because my body doesn't make its own." My sibling in neurochemistry, that is your body making its own! A chemical your body produces when you exercise is still being produced by your body! Furthermore, why are we repeatedly told that exercise is good because it boosts dopamine, but video games and social media are bad, because they boost dopamine? Are dopamine-boosting recreational activities good or bad? The obvious answer, of course, is that it's just moralistic judgment -- exercise is Virtuous, games are not -- dressed up in neurochemical justifications. People even talk about being "addicted to dopamine" as if being "addicted" to a substance produced by one's own body can even be a meaningful or coherent concept. I'm not saying there aren't evidence-based things people can do to protect their neurological health (one that I strongly recommend is wearing a helmet). I'm saying that pop neuroscience is not a sound basis for logic, philosophy, ethics, morality, law, or public policy. If you're going to make an ethical or public policy argument using "the brain" or "brain chemistry" as a justification, consider, instead, not doing that. Instead, consider that other people know what's best for their own brains without your expounding on "dopamine" and "trauma."

#neurodiversity #mad pride #neurodivergent #neurobigotry #neurochemistry #dopamine #brains are weird #brains don't work that way #your brain is made of cholesterol #are you really going to argue what people should do based on cholesterol

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spnrs · 21 days

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aeon lust

pure smut, warnings/tags: spencer x fem!reader, shy spencer, rough sex, glasses reid my baby, penetration, riding, creampie

spencer thinks your shoulders are probably the most beautiful part of you. he looks at them through the lens of his glasses, the smooth golden skin, the delicate subdued plum of your bra strap. the swell of your breasts cupped by the sheer lace makes him swallow, his own hands trailing up your legs, settling on the generous curves of your thighs. outside, the summer rain splatters lazily but in your shared room, between your bodies, there's a shimmer clinging to you, an overheating feeling burning straight to spencer's cock. your hair falls over your shoulder, pushed to one side, eyes meeting his and then in a shameless flicker, fall at the hard rigid line of his dick. standing proudly between the two of you, your small hands press against it, pushing it flush against spencers stomach. he twitches, causing you to smile as you ride your palm up the underside. it's glistening, spencer can't help but notice, from seconds ago, when you had wrapped your fingers at the base, guiding the tip into your mouth, going down inch by excruciatingly inch. every little bob, swallow had done nothing but drive him crazy.

he watches, mesmerized, as you shift, feeling the cool air hit where your wetness had pressed against his thighs. delicate hands push the lace away from your wetness. you rise, on your knees, shifting until you're hovering right over the tip. palm pressing down against spencer's shoulder, you sink down slowly. you're so wet, he watches the easy slide of it. your other hand goes to his other shoulder, using the leverage to push yourself down, impaling yourself onto the delicious feeling of being full. spencers voice catches in his throat, a sound like a strained sob as your weight settles down onto him. it doesn't take much for you to bottom out, abruptly dropping flush against spencers hips. you clench around him and the feeling makes his eyes flutter close for a second, muscles tensing at the anticipation. "spencer," you say, voice soft, a whisper, "you feel really good." spencer groans, throws an arm over his eyes, unable to keep looking at such an erotic sight.

"i'm really wet," you continue, shameless. spencer whines your name, shifting with impatience, "stop saying things like that." you laugh a little, swiveling your hips in more of a tease then intent, "how is that worse than what we're doing right now together?" "it's embarrassing," spencer mumbles. you don't answer and he opens his eyes at the silence. your gaze is stuck on him, and it distracts him enough to miss the way you rise, and then drop back down on him. the impact is paralyzing, he kicks himself for not looking at the way his cock leaves and enters you. his eyes snap down, watching in silence as you begin to rise again, until spencer is almost completely out of you and then slams back down, almost painful, the slap of skin ringing loudly.

your cheeks are slowly painting pink with the exercise of it, the heat of your movements, and spencers own face begins to heat up with the lewdness of the sounds coming from you two. the wet slick sounds of your pussy sheathing him over and over again, tight and wet and so willing to eat up his entire length. spencer can't do anything but lay on his back and let you use him. rising and falling, bed creaking with the motion of it. your breasts bounce along, threatening to spill over your bra. the idea of getting to touch them is enough to tempt spencer into reaching up, pushing away the cups until your breast are bare, nipples hard with pleasure. he presses his thumbs against the the hard nubs, rubbing tight circles. you cry out, a soft moan as you keep riding him, hard and fast and unrelenting. the room is getting too hot, your hips start a small roll, spencer's own hips twitch at the feeling, hands cupping your breast, thumbs pressing painfully against your nipples. you shift, his hands drop from your chest for a second, before he reaches upwards, mouth half open, tongue out.

you stare at spencer the entire time, he gives a quick, kittenish lick, flickering the tip of his tongue against the already hard nipple. you sigh at the feeling, and he takes it as a sign to wrap his mouth around you, suck hard, your moans soft and pleased. "ah, spence.." you whimper, his mouth still sucking, licking, "i love how you feel inside me," you breathe, shuddering when spencer flattens out his tongue, gives a slow lick, your nipples now wet and hard. he starts saying your name then trails off, wanting to ask you to do something but he knows he doesn't have to say anything when your smile edges on devious. "what is it, spencer," you ask coyly, rolling forward just enough for his eyes to faintly roll back, "don't i look pretty just sitting on you?," you stop moving, chest rising and falling, bra more off than anything, "aren't i just the prettiest little cockwarmer?" your vulgar choice of words making him thrust deeper into you. you can't help but find the blush on his cheeks spreading down his neck, his disheveled hair, and the way he lips are barely parted cute. spencer feels the way his skin burns hot at those words, and you do nothing but look at him, still deep inside of you.

"i've been good, right?" you ask, voice low, "don't you want to come inside me?" he bucks up, jostles you with the force of it, he raises his hands again, pinches and pulls at your nipples as he starts thrusting. your moans get louder, bed creaking as his hips keep snapping up, until you're crying out, high pitched, whiny. "does it hurt?" it almost pisses you off the way he can ask a question like that sounding so genuine then follow it by saying your name in the filthiest tone. spencer grunts, his pace bruising, unrelenting. his thighs are starting to hurt from the movement. but the noises, the wet, slide of his cock, thrusting deep into you, the way he can feel just how wet you are, can see how it runs down your own thighs. his mouth waters, wanting to taste you, but that will have to be for another day.

he grabs you by the hips, pushes you down against his dick, holding you flush as he grinds up, the bed sheets rustle with your movements, your body rolls with it, reacting, oversensitive, but it's all spencer allows you to do before he lifts you off him, then drops you back onto him. the slide is smooth, you're that wet, and then spencer keeps you still as he just drills into you, over and over until the bed starts thumping and all you can do is hold on, fingers digging into his shoulders. you're not making any sense, coherent words gone as you whine and moan, little sounds that make spencer even more desperate. he rolls you over, he slips out of you with a wet sound, cock wet from you, dripping with it.

spencer wastes no time arranging you on your back, your hair fans out, and he is quick to enter again, easy. he lifts your legs, holds them together as he starts pounding into you, watching with eager eyes as your cunt eats him up, every last inch, greedily. "you take it so well," spencer breathes, mesmerized, "it's almost like you just want to be like this forever." you turn your head to the side, eyes fluttering as he keeps thrusting into you, body inching further up the bed, "i always want you inside me," you moan, cheeks red. spencer picks up his pace, out of desperation, a need to feel you come. he lifts you higher, until only your torso is still on the bed, fingers gripping the soft curves of your hips as he pulls you away from his cock, watching as it becomes visible again, slick with your wetness, tip catching at your opening. your body is pliant in his hands, letting yourself be pushed and pulled whichever way spencer pleases.

he straightens, knees digging deeper in the bed. "oh," you cry out, it's more like a punched out sound, surprised, as spencers hands push you back onto his dick, the wet sound of it does nothing but make him want to hear more of it, your little pants, hear just how wet you are around him. he does it again, pulls you off and then with forceful hands pushes you back against him, chest heaving with exertion, cheeks flushed as he makes you take him over and over again, his thighs tightening with the effort. your moans are loud, sounds of breathless pleasure, sighs as spencer makes you fuck hard into him. "spencer please," you whine, breathy, desperate, "ah, spencer," you start again but don't finish your thought, instead your mouth drops into a soundless moan, hands gripping tight at the bed sheets, now all twisted, messed up, under him. your body arches, until your shoulders and head are the only parts still on the bed, body desperately wanting more of spencer inside of you. "i'm-" you try again, but again spencer doesn't get to hear the end of it, feeling instead how you come, the muscles of your stomach, your hips, thighs, going tight, rippling as your insides clamp down harder, hips raising impossible high, still in his grasp. he pushes you flush, still inside you, until your thighs are sticking to his hips, then he comes. your hips start twitching again, body slumping, trying to get away.

spencer shifts, and the feeling of his impossibly hard cock, dragging inside you, is enough to have you whine, eyes fluttering close, tired. he pulls out slowly, more of a tease as he feels the slide of it, sees the way your stomach tightens at the feeling. your wetness combined with his cum slicks down your own thighs, glistening, connecting to the tip of spencers dick. his fingers go to touch, rub it against your folds, fingers entering you easily, crooking. "do you want to clean me up, spencer?" you murmur and he stops his movements. the image of you, hair rumpled, dark lace still on you, disheveled, pushed aside to get to him. "they're ruined," spencer says, "they were so pretty too." it sounds way more sad than it should and you laugh at it, "you will buy me more, right?" you ask, playful. spencer nods, smiles softly, "i think white would look nice against your skin." your eyes finally look at him properly, mouth turning into a teasing smile, "i'm glad you liked them as much as you did." he gets up, face red as he searches for his boxers laying on the floor, slipping them on. you turn to look at spencer, arms reaching to him, pulling him down into the bed. the rain outside has slowed to a splatter and your body is still warm.

"you didn't really have to send me pictures of you wearing them," spencer says softly, eyes flickering to his phone, where pictures of you in the lacy underwear are saved, "i would have believed you were using them either way."

"you said you wanted me to model them," you say playfully, eyes closing again, "was this a gift for me or you?" you giggle arms going limp with sleepiness. spencer presses a kiss to your hair, stares out the window for a bit before he gets up again, his hands roam up your body. with gentle movements he unhooks the bra, peels off the ruined matching panties and goes into the bathroom to start the shower.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #cm smut #spencer reid x reader #glasses reid

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flawdchaos · 3 months

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Spilled Drinks

Robert Rosenthal x Reader

Word Count - 1,735

authors note : hello friends, i have never written anything like this before and posted it. i had some free time today and an idea and dreamt this up. it is far from perfect but i hope you enjoy it, nonetheless. thank you!

The muffled yelling of multiple voices was enough to drag Y/N out of the daze she had fallen into. Her workday had started early and ended late leaving her feet and head throbbing - a shower and her bed, more of a cot really, were calling her name. Her venture to the communal showers she shared with her fellow nursing staff was quickly interrupted as Violet and Helen crossed her path.

With a tilt of her head Violet spoke up. “And where do you think you are rushing off to?”

“To shower and get some sleep.” As soon as the final word fell from Y/N’s lips her two friends were quickly shaking their heads in protest.

“You promised! You always say a person is just as good as their word. It will just be for a drink or two and then you can come and get as much sleep as your heart desires. I swear to you.” Violet said, wagging her finger in front of Y/N, like a mother would do a troubled child.

After a brief glare between the two women, Y/N sighed, hung her in defeat, and turned back in the direction of her bunk.

“I don’t even know what to wear to an army base bar. Those men already don’t take us seriously and you think this is gonna make it any better?”

“The more you fight it, the worse it’s gonna be Y/N. Just for once stop living and breathing being a nurse and just be a girl surrounded by a bunch of good looking men.” Hazel spoke up for the first time that night before being met with another glare from Y/N’s direction.

Y/N knew both her friends had a solid point. In the ten months she had been working at Thorpe Abbotts she had never allowed herself a break. She did her best to maintain a positive reputation among the men she treated but her friends, and now even herself, had noticed that the weight of the job had begun to take its toll. A night away from the blood, cries, and medicine couldn’t be all too bad - for her sake.

The August heat was enough to force a light sweat upon the girls as they journeyed from their bunks to the bar. As they stepped inside the building, Hazel quickly pulled her powder from her purse and turned to Y/N blotting away at certain areas of her face.

“You have to talk to at least one man tonight. One. And not someone you’ve treated.” Violet stated and lightly shoved Y/N forward to the bar, shooing with her hand. “Get a drink, enjoy the night.’

“One cosmopolitan, please” Y/N stated after reaching the bar, flashing a smile. She hoped and prayed, as the guy poured away, that the alcohol would be enough to calm the nerves she felt bubbling in her stomach. They only increased as she looked around and spotted Colonels, Captains and Majors. Leaned against the other side of the bar were the now infamous friends, Buck and Bucky. Gale Cleven was nothing but kind and a gentleman but Y/N had overheard talk of a girlfriend back home and John Egan, well, he was John Egan. There was nothing else to say. A few months prior, during a training exercise he wound up hurt and sitting in front of her in the infirmary bay, clutching his elbow with a shit eating grin plastered to his face as she wrapped his arm. Conversation flowed easily with the major but Violet had urged her to speak to someone new.

The bartender brought her from her daze as he placed the drink in front of her and she quickly took a sip. As she pushed back from the bar, she ran directly into a tall frame that had tried to squeeze in beside her, red juice spilling on both of their newly starched clothes.

Before an apology could tumble from her mouth, the man was already grasping her arm to steady her and ushering for his friends to grab a towel from the bar.

“I am so sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t watching where I was going and I ju-” she cut his rambling off

“No, that was all my fault. I was lost in thought and then - oh my god” taking a quick glance down to the tan and brown jacket, her eyes shot open even wider, “your uniform. I can’t believe I got that all over your dress jacket.”

An arm reached between the two of them holding a towel that Y/N quickly grabbed and started dabbing along the man’s chest, steadying herself by grabbing onto his arm.

“This is the first night I ever came out and I just ruined someone’s jacket, oh my god.”

A large hand landed on top of hers, stopping her from continuing her attempts at cleaning up the mess she, well both of them, had made.

“I promise you, ma’am, it was my doing. Let me order you another drink. This ones on me.”

For the first time during this whole encounter, she looked up to the man she had lost her Cosmopolitan to. She was silent as she stood with his hand still over hers, quickly losing her will to deny the drink once her eyes locked with his blue ones, a small smile adorning his face. All she could do was nod. He took a step forward, placing his hand on the small of her back to turn her with him towards the bar.

“A cosmo, right?” he questioned and a small nod was directed his way. “Another cosmo for the lady and whisky, neat, for me please?” The bartender quickly got to work leaving the two strangers standing closely together in silence. The man quietly cleared his throat and stuck out his hand.

“Robert Rosenthal, but most of the guys call me Rosie.” Y/N took his outstretched hand and lightly shook it up and down.

“Y/N Y/L/N”

Robert grabbed the drinks the bartender sat before him and motioned his head towards an empty table across the dance floor.

“Would you like to grab a seat? I think you owe me at least a conversation after this.” he said, looking down at the tan shirt that was now stained slightly pink. A small smile made its way across Y/N’s face.

“It’s the least I could do.”

Robert led the way to the table, nestled in the corner and sat the drinks down. In a swift motion he pulled a seat out and ushered Y/N to take it. As soon as he sat down, a wave of confidence overtook Y/N’s once anxious mind.

“So, Rosie, what is it that you do?” she asked, raising the glass to her lips. She had some worry that the appearance of a woman drinking alcohol would be ‘unladylike’ but all of her care went out the window when she realized with everything she had seen and done, it was the smallest token of appreciation.

“I’m a pilot. I’ve been flying for a while now.”

“Are you any good?” she teased.

“I sure hope. I have learned the hard way making impressions isn't all too easy here. I just embarrassed myself in front of those two majors.” He said, moving his head to the right.

“Buck and Bucky?” he answered with a small nod. “Don’t sweat it, Buck is too nice to make fun of you and Bucky will forget about it in about two hours when the whisky finally hits and his favorite song comes on.” Rosie cracked a smile at her, shaking his head at the thought of the once intimidating major belting out show tunes.

“Thank you, that makes me feel better.”

“Anytime.”

Rosie took a large gulp of his drink and leaned forward on his forearms.

“So, Miss Y/N, how did you wind up here in paradise?”

“I’m a nurse. I’ve been here almost a year. I still don’t know what I'm meant for.” She admitted, lifting her glass to her mouth to slightly hide her face.

“How do you mean?” he quipped.

She took an inhale, taking a moment to carefully collect her words.

“It’s not easy. A lot of these guys come here, make friends with their crewmates and drink and sleep their feelings away. I can’t really blame them. They’re fighting a war for Christ's sake. But, us women, see what comes back. The trauma, the injuries - all of it - and we get sideways looks for drinking a shitty cosmopolitan every once and a while.” she laughed sarcastically as she finished the rest of her drink. “I love helping people but it gets hard.” He nodded, looking down at his own drink and giving it a swirl.

“I never thought of it that way. You ladies get the best and worst of us.”

She sat for a moment, looking at her hands folded in her lap.

“Do you see those two girls over there?”

“By the bar?”

“Mhm. Those are my friends. They have spent the entire ten months we have been here urging me to come out, get away from the bubble I've made for myself and I fought against it until tonight. I thought it would be a disaster. Then I got here and got a drink and told myself it would be fine, only to spill it all over you.”

“Y/N, it's really no bother.”

“I know, because as crazy as it sounds - I am so glad that I did.”

A small crept across Rosie’s face as he sat back in his seat, downing the rest of his whisky.

“And why’s that?”

“Because, it gave me the perfect excuse to talk to you Mr. Rosenthal.” cheeks turning bright red as she directed her eye contact towards him.

“Well then, I’d be a fool not to ask for a dance Mrs. Y/L/N.” standing from his seat and outstretching a hand, which Y/N gladly took.

Together, hand in hand, they walked to the dance floor where Rosie pulled her close. Y/N settled her head on his chest, watching as their feet moved in harmony.

“Oh, and Y/N,” he spoke up with a small smile perched on his lips, leaving her to tilt her head up towards the pilot “, the next round is on you.”

#masters of the air #robert rosenthal #rosie rosenthal #masters of the air imagines #masters of the air x reader #rosie rosenthal x reader #rosie rosenthal imagines #john egan #gale cleven #john egan x reader #gale cleven x reader #bucky egan x reader #buck cleven x reader

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forgeofthenine · 6 months

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Hi, can i request our fav tieflings finding Tav who was hiding from everyone cus they were having a panic/anxiety attack? And tieflings comforting them?

Could be before them forming a relationship, could be after, however you prefer ^^

This one was an interesting request to write, particularly because I had to base the headcanons on both my own experiences and what I know of how other people experience anxiety attacks. I ended up deciding to be fairly vague about things, but all the tieflings are in an existing relationship with the reader in these :)

The bachelors helping their partner through a panic attack

Dammon

Dammon knows pretty quick when you seemingly disappear, especially if he already thinks you might not be doing so well

It doesn't take him long to find you hidden away in your shared bedroom, the panic radiating from you obvious to the tiefling

He's very aware that if he isn't careful it could make things worse

You'll find he's very careful with getting your attention, gently making his presence known

Dammons first response once he does have your attention is to check if he can touch you

There's no way he's touching you unless you initiate or tell him it's okay

If you do let him, you can expect to be wrapped up in a huge warm hug

Dammons breath on your ear as he talks you through it, using a mix of deep pressure therapy and his words

It's easy to focus on the feeling of him when your boyfriend acts like a weighted blanket for you

Warm hands rub over your arms, slow repetitive motions that sooth you as soon as he does it

Dammons careful with comforting you, and he's happy to sit with you curled up against him for hours if it's what you need

Zevlor

Zevlor always has a little latent worry for you, no matter what

He's lived through a lot and he knows how overwhelming anxiety feels

When he sees you struggling he keeps a better eye on you, and when you slip away for too long he'll go check in on you

It's when he finds you hyperventilating alone in your shared room that his heart absolutely breaks

Zevlor is quick to get your attention before anything gets worse, bringing your focus back to him

He's the type to take you through breathing exercises, leading you with his own breathing

It doesn't matter how many times he has to restart or regain your focus, he'll stay there for as long as it takes

And you can guarantee that once you're settled again he'll take the rest of the day to spoil you

You'd like a kiss? Absolutely, you look cold too, let him wrap this fluffy blanket around you

Zevlor delivers you food and drinks for the next couple days, knowing you're eating and drinking eases the tieflings own anxiety

Rolan

Rolan can act like he's better than others or that people are just an inconvenience to him, but he loves the people close to him fiercely

You're one of the people he's very protective of, possibly even moreso than Cal or Lia

When he finishes up with running the tower for the day and stumbles on you having a panic attack he's already kicking himself

Once Rolan has your attention he knows exactly what he's going to try to ground you

He leads you through the 5-4-3-2-1 technique

Name 5 things you can see, 4 you can feel, 3 you can hear, 2 you can smell, and 1 you can taste

Rolans so patient as he encourages you through it, holding your hands and praising you for every thing you can name

He's another that barely lets you out of his sight for the next few hours, but he tries to be smooth about it

Runs you a relaxing bath with all the extras, asks if he can wash your hair for you, the whole nine yards

Beneath his spiky exterior Rolan is truly very caring and sweet, a bit like a bright red magically inclined mother hen

#bri answers #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 dammon #bg3 dammon #dammon x reader #baldurs gate 3 zevlor #bg3 zevlor #zevlor x reader #baldurs gate 3 rolan #bg3 rolan #rolan x reader

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odderevents · 1 year

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I have had a thought. Steve secretly knowing how to play the piano bc he learned as a kid and had to stop bc his dad's an asshole is lovely. I've seen this floating around a few times and I love it. Eddie catching him playing the piano and being so fucking in love with him will never not be perfect.

But.

Consider

Steve playing the Harp.

It's definitely a rich kid instrument. Big ass fucking impractical instrument. Absolutely beautiful to look at and listen to. Hands playing piano is great. But have you ever seen an accomplished harpist? It makes you think impure thoughts about what those fingers can do.

So. Steve secretly knowing how to play the harp

Maybe his mom used to play it, so there's a big harp (the ones with the columns and super intricate base board, not celtic) that's just gathering dust in the basement. Steve started piano lessons, loved learning how to pull music out of an inert object. But his dad decides it's to effeminate, makes him stop. And sure, a harp is a different beast to a piano. But you've still got cords, and Steve's got a pretty decent ear, and he can barely remember seeing his mom play. So one day when he has the house to himself, which isn't an unusual occurrence at this point, he tries it out. And he's admittedly pretty shit at it, but so was he at piano when he started. Only difference is he has no teacher.

So maybe Steve discreetly finds a way to acquire a beginner's practice instructional book for harp. And works on it when he needs to get his brain away from things.

He's even more careful with it than he is with any dirty mags he might later acquire. He knows that worse, much worse than piano, harp is not a masculine instrument and under no circumstances should his father find out about his affinity for it.

It's still his go to when he can't sleep even years later, pulling out the now old and battered booklet of sheet music and exercises. Especially once the upside down bullshit starts. It's soothing and mindless at this point.

The harp that was much too big when he first started with it is now just the right size, it's weight against his shoulder comforting. He can close his eyes and his fingers naturally find where to land and pluck.

Even when he becomes friends with Robbin and then Eddie, both musicians who he knows wouldn't give a damn about him playing a woman's instrument, he can't bring himself to mention it. If he did, they would want to hear him play and he's self-conscious about being self-taught. Both of them play well, they play with other people and people come to listen. He doesn't consider himself a "real" musician. It's just something he does to keep his hands and brain busy on nights where the sheets feel like they're strangling him and the dark reminds him too much of when he can't see not because it's night but because something's hit him in the head again and he can't tell apart the sound of his heartbeat from something pounding through his walls.

So he goes to the basement. Finds his stool. Removes the dust cover. Goes through the meditative motions of tuning it by ear, because that's how he's always done it. And then he plays until the tips of his fingers feel numb. Somehow, he always comes out of it peaceful enough to pass out on the couch in the basement for a couple more hours.

Steve is so used to keeping it a secret he doesn't even think about it when he starts dating Eddie. It's just a thing that's always only been his, and most importantly, it's been vital to keep it that way for so long it's the natural state of things for Steve at this point. It doesn't ever come up. When Steve gets nightmares when he's sleeping with Eddie all he has to do is curl into his boyfriend's chest and feel the warm heartbeat that's not his own to settle back into himself.

The problem arises on a night when Eddie was supposed to stay with Steve but he got held up in Indianapolis when getting a new amp for his guitar. He would come back to Steve but it would be late in the night. Steve has been keeping himself busy all day so he passes out in the early evening on the couch in front of a shitty sitcom he put on to try to distract himself from the empty house.

Nightmares find him, which isn't terribly unusual, but he doesn't have his usual method of coping so he resorts back to his previous habit.

Eddie walks in bone tired after many hours of driving to and from Indianapolis, waiting while the clerk figured out they didn't have the amp he'd been assured over the phone would be available for pickup today, waiting some more while they had the amp driven from a sister shop an hour away because no way was he driving back and forth again to Indianapolis on another day. So yeah. Eddie is beat. All he wants is to dive head first into his boyfriend's impeccable pecs.

He doesn't find Steve waiting with a welcome kiss like he usually would when he walks in. Instead he's greeted with a hauntingly beautiful rendition of the melody of Master of Puppets in a way he's never heard before.

He drops his stuff in the entry hall and goes down to the basement where the music is coming from, curious to see where Steve might have found the recording. Eddie doesn't quite know what to do with himself when he finally lays eyes on Steve, with dried tear stains on his cheeks and his eyes closed as his fingers pluck and strum without hesitation. He's rooted to the spot as he watches Steve work his favorite song in a new and completely heartrending way. He hasn't been able to listen to it since he played it in the upside down. It always brings up the bitter blood tang of the air and the hair raising shrieks of the bats. But this is somehow different, it's soft and melodious but it's still got the same bones.

Eddie feels tears on his own cheeks. He's missed this song goddammit. And he couldn't be happier that it's Steve that's given it back to him

Queue tears and fear and confessions and comfort. Somehow much later in the future there's inexplicably a harp in some of the corroded coffin tracks. And it shouldn't work but it does

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington plays an instrument #steve harrington plays the harp #this ran away from me #it was supposed to be a random idea #sorry if it's disjointed #it's midnight and the idea was not going to let me rest #I'll probably come try to clean it up at some point #i dont even want to imagine the typos #i hate writing on mobile #but once again brain latched on the the idea like a chewtoy and didn't want to give it back #so you unwitting internet denizen are now graced with the aforementioned mess

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blade-that-was-broken · 2 months

Text

John hardly said a word on the plane ride home.

He barely said anything for the entire time leading up to the plane ride either.

There had been quite the process to get his brother out of there and Bruce heard so many different things he could barely keep track of them all.

They explained about different resources for Bruce's brother, the medications he needed to take, the exercises that he needed to do. They told him to make sure he got involved in a group and a hospital and he should probably continue some physical therapy. They tried to tell him a bit about the adjustment that this could be and a bit on what he could possibly expect. They explained a bit about John's history, although not much, most of the file he was given was kind of blacked out.

He had been a lot of places.

There were commendations too, although Bruce wasn't entirely sure what each of them were. John didn't look at the file and Bruce didn't ask.

He had a smaller bag and a large duffle and that was it. That was the whole of his possessions. Ten years and that was pretty much all he had. Bruce was told that if John didn't stay on base for trips and leaves home, he was staying with one of his squad mates or disappeared. He always came back when he was supposed to so no one seemed to care where he went.

Bruce thought he'd have to contact some of his squad mates at some point. It would probably be good for them. He hoped that some of them were still alive, at least. He saw a few pictures. There was a retired sergeant, Pete. Maybe Bruce could find him. Bruce wasn't sure how close John was to any of these people. There was a young man in his squad that barely looked older than Branch.

Bruce didn't know how to feel about that.

Bruce was warned that he might not talk much, although it would come in bouts. Pretty much everything was up in the air. They also told him that it was likely he was very, very happy to see Bruce. Every one of the nurses and attendants pretty much knew how much John loved his brothers. Apparently, he had pictures of them as children. It made Bruce feel worse. They tried to assure him that it was mostly chalked up to the shock of everything that had happened, the sudden changes - in both his life and mood swings - and depression in general. Everything had changed for him.

John mostly slept during the flight but seemed to awaken the moment they started their descent. Or at least, that was what John told him. "We are landing," he muttered under his hat.

"What?"

"We are starting to land," John repeated, taking the hat off of his eyes and placing it in the pocket of his jacket.

He wasn't wrong.

Brandy was waiting at the airport for them to take them home. John didn't seem to realize who she was until they were standing right in front of her. Probably Bruce's fault; he hadn't really told him or showed him what she looked like. They had barely talked at all and he didn't really know how to talk to him anymore. Bruce kept telling himself that the nurses and therapist warned him about that. That for a bit, he was going to be pretty quiet and he wasn't going to want to talk about personal things.

"Hello, hello!" Brandy greeted, giving her hand for a shake but then hesitating. "I'm Brandy! You're John, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded, shaking Bruce's wife's hand with a surprising ease despite his unsteady balance.

Brandy flushed and chuckled. She glanced at her husband, almost proudly. "You hear that, Bruce? He called me ma'am."

Bruce tried not to roll his eyes but let out an amused smile.

"I won't be any bother," John promised, making Bruce's expression fall a little. He was worried about that, for some reason, although Bruce wasn't entirely sure why. It was like John felt he had to make sure that he wouldn't be considered a nuisance or was worth keeping around. "And I can pull my weight... so to speak. You can put me to work and I can be a help."

Brandy glanced at Bruce, a little confused. "Well I'm sure... we can find somethin," she replied slowly. She always seemed to understand what Bruce was trying to get across. "It's good to meet you, John. I am very glad you are here. Let's get you settled at home, alright? I hope you don't mind a little mess. Our kids are... they can be rambunctious."

John shrugged lightly before following the couple towards the doors, Bruce insisting on taking his bag. "I don't mind at all. I have a surprising amount of experience with kids... not including the buncha boys in my platoon that could barely get up at a decent hour."

Brandy laughed. "Our boys can get up at an hour... well, it might not be considered decent. Perhaps pre-decent."

"I can probably fix that."

Bruce coughed. "What?"

Brandy just looked over at John curious and amused as they headed to the car. "Oh? Do tell!"

#soldier on au #jd and brandy are gonna hit it off mkay?#bruce is just confused #idk maybe clay reunion next time?#What would ya'll wanna see #I'm probably just gonna do mostly random snippets #so prompts open i guess?#john dory #brandy #bruce trolls #jd just being out here like i will be of assistance #i will help you can't stop me

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desmond69miles · 2 years

Text

maybe the only post I’ll do for kinktober? no idea.

this is very much something. what it is? you’ll have to read it. inspired by my med teacher who taught us about the history of vibrators today in class ✨✨

—> synopsis: Only woman in your house besides your gravely ill mother, it was a great concern when you fell ill out of nowhere. That is where your family physician, Doctor G. Way came into play. Despite your fathers otherwise wishes, you were brought to Dr. Way’s clinic for overnight supervision and treatment.

—> warnings: revenge era gerard, victorian au, vibrators, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, hysteria, female hysteria, loss of innocence, sexual inexperience, overstimulation, glove kink, mask kink, Doctor/Patient, medical setting/kink, older male/younger woman

by clicking read more you consent to anything and everything in the warnings.

It had made you feel like a bad person, wishing that your mothers condition got worse. Of course you never wished anything pallid or something that caused harm, maybe just a small spike in a fever or she had trouble sleeping at night. Or maybe an injury that happened to your younger brothers, just something that needed medical attention.

Because with every injury or sickness came your family’s physician, Doctor Gerard Way. He had been your family’s main care provider since you were ten, and what you thought was just a silly little childhood crush blossomed into an infatuation with the doctor. No one in your family knew, and of course the doctor himself could never know. The bite back that would happen if your family found out you had feelings for a measly physician would be terrible. The daughter of an earl dating a lowly physician? Blasphemy! Hell, you didn’t even know what his face looked like in full, not really!

Everytime Dr. Way came to visit, he wore an elegant mask, pointed into an elongated beak. It was mainly black with red and gold stitching, some red and white flowered etched in onto the base of the mask. It covered the bottom half of his face, leaving his deep brown eyes to show any hint of emotion. And they were expressive, you had learned.

They were gentle when caring for your mother or bandaging a siblings sprain, and firm when telling your father to lose weight or to not miss a medication dosage.

He didn’t look your way often, but you did try to give him opportunities to. You tried to provide an extra set of hands when ever he was at your estate, holding your mothers hand or calming your crying brothers. If he asked, you were already halfway gone to fetch what he needed.

Your father allowed your behavior, after all it is good for a housewife to learn first aid. Your older brother teased you for it, calling you a make-shift house-wench. Of course, if your parents knew your true thoughts, they would stop at nothing to prevent you from seeing Dr. Way again.

Because you were not just only emotionally infatuated with him, you found he did physical things to you, aswell. Even a simple brush of his eyes against yours, or his calm voice telling you “Good day, Lady [last]” sent sparks down your spine. Luckily, you were good at hiding your crush on the doctor, but you knew it would only be a short amount of time before your father found out about it. It was harder to keep still the longer you went without seeing the doctor, the last time being a month ago when your brother tripped down the stairs chasing the dog.

Your parents thought he had broken his ankle, but when Dr. Way came, he assured them it was only a bad sprain. You helped bandage your brothers ankle, and when Dr. Way bumped his hand with yours, you nearly fainted.

“Keep him on bedrest for at least three weeks, and when he can no longer sit still, light exercise only.” He said sternly to your father, your brother held in your arms as you stood next to the Doctor. “Thank you, Doctor. We don’t know what we would do without you.” Your father smiled, shaking the gloved hand of the doctor. “Oh, I think you’d be ok. Lady [Name] is getting exceptionally well at helping me around. She was very helpful today when bandaging [Brother].”

Then, he had done something he had never done before. He took your hand that was stationed by your side, placing the back of it to the underside of his mask in an imitation of a kiss. Your eyes blew wide, his own chocolate eyes staring into yours before placing your hand back down by your side. You smiled, “It’s all thanks to you, Doctor. I wouldn’t learn what I have without you.”

“Still, you have an exellect space for medicine. It’s not everyday I meet someone with the mind for health.” He tapped his temple. “If you were not the daughter of a noblemen, I would sure hire you at my clinic.”

“That’s very nice of you, Doctor.” Your father interjected, coldly. “My daughter is perfectly fine here. I’m sure you have other patients to attend to?”

Dr. Way nodded, rolling his shoulders. “Of course, good day Earl [Last], Lady [Name].” He said before taking his leave, exiting through the large front doors.

Most nights you laid in bed and replayed that fraudly kiss over in your mind, wondering what it would be like if it was his real lips. It didn’t mean that he returned your feelings, did it? Did it mean that he wished to court you? It was stupid. You can’t be seen dating a Physician.

But if that was the case, it explained his hesitancy. You were the daughter of a high Earl while he was a common physician. There was no glimmer of hope that you could marry him, let alone court him.

You couldn’t deny your mind though, what it would feel like. What it would feel like for his gloved hands to trail down your neck, down to your waist, his lips placed on yours, his hand dipping down to...

“[Name]!”

When you went to turn around, your head tilted and you felt yourself bump into the wall before crashing to the ground.

When you awoke, there was a horrible stinging smell in your nose. It took a second for your eyes to open, to see your sickly mother held up by your father, holding a glass of smelling salts. Your mother pulled the glass away from you and you looked to the door, seeing your brothers stand still.

“Mother? Father? What happened?” You groaned, rubbing your eyes with your cold and clammy hands.

“Well, you fainted darling.” Your father said, helping your mother to sit down in a chair next to your bed. “Why?” You asked. “Well, we don’t know. That's why we called someone who will.”

Despite having fainted a few hours prior, you felt your heart leap out of your chest. You were going to see the doctor, and it was going to be about you! You couldn’t help but get giddy.

A few hours had passed since you awoke, and you were starting to think that your little fainting spell had been nothing. But every time you tried to leave your room, your father or one of your brothers were there to send you right back into your room. After the third or fourth time, you had given up and changed into a nightgown, picking up a book and flipping to where you last left off.

It had been about three hours before your father knocked, “Are you decent? Dr. Way is here.” You smiled, and quickly replied with a simple “yes.”

Soon after, the brown-haired man opened your door and walked through, stethoscope around his neck. He was still dressed in that mask, eyelashes batting when he blinked at you.

“Why did you call me here today, Lady [Name], Gerard said, placing his medical bag on the foot of your bed. “Well, we called you because...” Your father was cut off when Dr. Way interjected. “I believe I asked Lady [Name], not you.” Way tilted his head at your father before turning back to you, crossing his arms. “My father called you here because I fainted, but truly, I’m fine!”

“No, your not! Dr. Way, not only has she fainted, but she has been acting really skittish and in her mind! She does not finish her meals anymore, and locks herself up in her room all day!”

The doctor could see you grimace at your fathers words, clearly exposed in your state. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, the Lady [Name] has to be properly relaxed for me to address her.” Dr. Way nodded before motioning a hand over to you.

“[Name], is this alright with you? He is a man... and a much older one than you.”

“Yes, father. I trust Dr. Way to remain professional.” You hoped you didn’t sound too eager.

Your father left a few seconds after you spoke, a clear dissatisfied look on his face.

With your father gone, Way sat down on your bed. “I need to check your pulse.” He said, pulling off one of his pristine white gloves.

His voice was so calm, so collected. It made you feel relaxed.

You nodded, outstretching one of your wrists for him to assess you, but it never came. Instead, his fingers reached out farther, tilting your jaw to the side and placing his index and middle finger on your necks pulse point.

After a good thirty seconds in that awkward situation, Dr. Way pulled his hand back and slid his glove back onto his pale skin, standing up to let your father back in.

“You said that Lady [Name] has been experiencing other symptoms, correct? Always being in her head and being more skittish?” He replayed your fathers words, adjusting his black tie. “Y-Yes! She has also been so quiet, unlike she normally is!”

Dr. Way closed his eyes and tilted his head, as if he was pondering about something.

“I think Lady [Name] is experiencing early symptoms of Hysteria.”

Your father gasped, though you weren’t sure he knew what the doctor was saying or if he was just reacting as a concerned parent. Either way, it did little to nothing for your nerves. Your mother was already diseased, and to hear you had an illness you never heard of spiked up your fear.

Luckily, Dr. Way noticed your discomfort.

“It is a rather common in young ladies around Lady [Name]’s age.” Dr. Way paused to make sure your father was as well listening. “It also has a fairly simple treatment.”

“Oh, thank heavens!” Your father exclaimed.

“A simple one, but I cannot perform it here. I will have her return to my house with me and continue treatment there.”

Your fathers eyes narrowed, his voice loudened. “Absolutely not! I will not have [Name] spend a night at a mans house not intended for her!”

You couldn’t help your stomach sink. This was your chance to talk to Dr. Way alone, and help your illness, your father be damned!

“Ah, my mistake. I meant to refer to the clinical wing of my estate, I assure you.”

Clinical wing? Does that mean he had more than one wing? How could a physician have such a large wing? You knew he lived less than a two hours carriage ride away, and there was nothing but Noblemen's houses around here. Was it possible that Dr. Way was a nobleman himself?

Whether your father came to the same conclusion as you, or he just had a huge amount of trust in the doctor, he allowed it, and had the maid pack a bag for you. About ten minutes later you were placed in the elegant carriage of Dr. Way, sitting right next to him. He smelled of fine herbs and laundry cleaner.

Once again, your emotions had begun to perturb you. The usual excitement was mixed with the fear of your new illness, and nerves of being away from your household for more than a few days. You were happy to be staying at Dr. Ways estate, but you would be staying in the clinical wing, where you wouldn’t necessarily be the center of the doctors attention. You sighed.

“Hysteria... I’ve never heard of it.” You pondered out loud, looking out the small carriage window. “It’s quite a common illness, I assure you.” Dr. Way spoke, turning his head to look at you,

“Although, it has more to do with the alignment of the mind than the physical body.” He tapped his temple. “It is caused by repressed emotions, negative ones. Fear, anger, anxieties, even the common day loneliness.”

Brown eyes fixated on yours with the last few words. There was a heavy weight on his gaze, one that made an uncomfortable lump settle in your stomach. Quickly, you turned your head over to view out the window again.

“It is a rather... Intimate cure I have to say. You’ll have to put a huge amount of trust in me as a doctor and a man.” Dr. Way said, eyes still staring into the side of you.

You turned back to look at Gerard, shifting in your seat. “Don’t worry, I trust you. I’m sure you know how to treat me better than my father.” You giggled, hand moving to squeeze his knee.

Before you could continue the conversation, the carriage slowed to a halt as it pulled in front of Gerards manor. Your jaw had dropped, never had you expected to see such an elegant house!

In the middle there was a large rounded porch, and from the sides there were two long flanking wings with windows covering a majority of it. You were sure that there was another wing behind the house as well. You were caught up in the beauty of his estate that you hadn’t notice him exit the carriage, waiting for you with an outstretched hand.

You quickly took it, hopping down from the box and adjusting your clothes. Dr. Way had gently squeezed your hand before tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow, the coachman grabbing your bag.

You gasped when you entered the foyer. A large chandelier hung from the painted ceiling. It was decorated with many shades of reds and whites, with the occasional black and gold entitlement.

“The clinic is that way.” Dr. Way motioned with his other hand. When you went to go step that way however, the doctor had gently pulled you back to his side. “I’d thought you’d prefer a room in the residency side, away from the chaos of the patients.” Gerards eyes crinkled, a tell-tale sign of a smile.

He had lead you up the fancy set of stairs and into a separate hallway with doors lining each wall. You both had stopped at one down near the end, Dr. Way opening the door for you and taking your bag from the coachman. It was cold in the room, and was not much different from yours at home.

Dr. Way placed your bag on the foot of the bed and placed his hands in his pockets. “You have a beautiful house, Doctor.” You said, the man chuckled. “Doctor is much to professional now that you are a guest in my house. Please, call me Gerard.” You smiled, turning your head to him and giving a short nod.

“Would you mind if I joined you for dinner tonight, in say, two hours? We could talk more about treatment then.” You had accepted, and with the tip of his head, he had left the room.

“Gerard, Gerard way. Lord Gerard way?” It fit him, as you thought to yourself. You flopped down on the bed, hand going over to pull your bag closer to you and pull out one of the two books the maid packed for you.

Then it had hit. You’d be having dinner with the doctor. You’d be having dinner with Doctor Gerard! You smiled to yourself and turned around to your back, giggling giddly.

Exactly two hours later Gerard had come knocking on your door, pushing a cart of yummy looking food into your room. Gerard had been dressed differently, much more casually. His usual beak mask had been replaced with a black fabric mask, and his pale gloves had been replaced for black leather ones. You couldn’t deny, he looked attractive in the casual outfit.

You jumped to help set the small make-shift table, allowing Gerard to fuss over you before taking his own seat.

And what had seemed in like a long time, you had one of the most pleasant dinners you had in awhile. Gerard could see that you were anxious and decided not to bring up the topic about your illness into the morning, encouraging you to eat and not be nervous.

You watched him intently while he ate, too. He did not take his mask off to eat, and instead pulled the bottom up a bit to expose a sliver of chin and sometimes his bottom lip.

You quickly learned that your doctor was quite a good conversation holder, now that he was not under the pressure of being professional. He was well versed in a multitude of things, all peaking your interest.

After dinner, you both had nursed a cup of tea when you decided to spark a conversation.

“Gerard... Is this manor yours?” You asked, almost sheepishly.

The doctor paused for a moment before answering your question.

“Yes.” He nodded, “Way manor has been in my family for generations.”

“Then you must be a noblemen, correct? How else would you have this house?”

Gerard paused again, setting his cup of tea down.

“You are right. I do not like bringing the fact up with my patients as it might cause them to doubt my expertise, but my full title is Lord Gerard, Augustine Way.”

You paused. Gerard was an Augustine?

Another thought popped into your head.

If Gerard was an Augustine, that would not only make your relationship allowed, but prefered! You felt a bit honored to have such a socially well classed doctor, but a bit silly as you were a daughter of a mere earl.

A gloved hand was placed onto your own. He had a worried hint to his eyes, did he think that you wished to return home and find help from another doctor?

“If your an Augustine, why become a doctor? Surely you don’t need the money.” You questioned, Gerard huffed. “No, you are right. I do not need the money, but I enjoy helping people. My father was a doctor as well and I wished to follow in his path. The more I looked the more I saw why he did it, the more I saw how people needed help. I don’t want to become another stuck-up, vapid, high-class socal snob.”

Gerard had sounded true, earnest. You smiled, and decided to place your hand in his in a brief moment of comfort. The doctor nodded, smiling.

A distant clock chimed, breaking up your moment as Gerard stood up, tearing your hand away from his. You were about to help clear up the table, but was stopped by Gerard.

“There’s no need, the servants will clean it up. I have gone ahead and took the preparation of a bath for you, if you wish.” A small ‘oh’ left you as you stood up and nodded.

“Tomorrow we will discuss the means of treatment and how it will forego. Please, do get a goods night sleep.”

Hours later, after you had been bathed, brushed, dried, and combed, you laid in bed and store at the creme colored ceiling. Three thoughts had ran rampant in your mind.

Your relationship with Gerard was not only possible, but favorable.

By judging the actions of dinner, there was a strong will that said Gerard reciprocated your feelings.

You were even more in love with the man then you had been before,

---

The next morning you were awoken by the same maid, she had brought you breakfast in bed. However, when you were finished and got up to change, she gently pushed you back down onto the bed.

“Your treatment has begun today, and Dr. Way had ordered that you remain comfortable.”

“That... makes sense, I suppose.” You say, the maid handing you a book before taking her leave.

It felt like days, which was only truly a hour, before Gerard came and knocked on your door. Before he had entered, you had a moment of panic, trying to straighten yourself up for him.

He sat aside you on the bed, still in a more casual outfit with a fabric mask and leather gloves. Gerard smiled, patting your shoulder.

“Good morning, [Name]. I hope that you slept well.” He said, watching as you returned the book to the table beside you.

“I did, thank you. How was your night?” Gerard sighed.

“We had a patient in the clinic last night that...” He paused, “Nevermind. We are here to talk about you, not other patients.” He matter-of-factly said, adjusting himself.

“Oh, ok. You said about how we should go about treating...”

“Your Hysteria, yes.” Gerards voice had took a clinical turn, “What do you remember about what I said of Hysteria?”

“You said it was more of a mind-thing than physical, and that it was caused by repressed feelings, right?”

“Very good. Now, there are two ways to treat a common case like what you have, one short-term and one long-term. However, the long-term one might not be a very available option for you right now, so we will go about the short term option for now.”

“...Which is?” You leaned forward, curious.

“Release. To relieve symptoms of Hysteria you have to release those built up motions that were caused there in the first place.” Gerard stated.

You pursed your lips, licking them after. “So we are going to be talking, then?”

Gerard shrugged, “Sort of,” His hand was placed on top of your ankle, and when you had no reaction, he moved it up to your thigh and gave you a light squeeze, a moan slipping out of your mouth.

“O-Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t me--aaaahhh!”

You cut yourself off as Gerard had moved to rest on top of you, gloved hands on either side of your head. His knee came to rest in between both of yours, spreading them apart. You watched as his pupils dilated, black covering until a small brown ring remained. He was close, so close.

“Gerard..! I-- What are you doing?”

Gerard’s head dipped down so his forehead was resting on yours, “Something I’ve wanted to do for a long, long time. From the first time I met you, you were like an angel sent to me, so eager, so earnest, so ready to help.”

Gerard knew. He knew how you felt about him, and he reciprocates those feelings. You watched as he pulled his head back, shifting his weight so he could pull the straps off of his face.

Before he did, he paused, unsure if he should do this. But all was confirmed when you placed your hand on his, gently nudging the mask away.

You smiled when you saw him, saw his face in full. He was what you could only describe as stunning. It was like you had imagined him to be, face round and perfect for him.

A few second later, covered fingers were placed under your chin so Gerard could tilt your head back, lips coming into contact with yours. A kiss, your first kiss. It was more calming than you had imagined it to be, his hand coaxing its way down your body to rest on your hip.

As he pulled away, you drew in a deep breath. That felt... Good.

“Was that the kind of release you were talking about? Telling each other we have feelings for each other?”

Gerard smiled, hand going from your hip to stroke your cheek.

“Yes, and no.” He paused for a split second. “There are two types of release; Emotional and physical.”

You dawned a puzzled look, speaking up, “what do you mean physic-ooohhh”

You moaned as you felt warm lips nip at your pressure point, giving small butterfly kisses around your throat. You felt as his hands wandered down your nightgown, him smirking into your neck.

“Angel, tell me to stop and we won’t continue.” Gerard spoke, still speaking into your neck.

“Gerard,” You whimpered, “it felt good, please continue!”

Gerard chuckles before one of his hands slip under your nightgown and caressed your thigh.

“Last chance, angel. Tell me to stop and I’ll walk away.”

You did not answer, but instead your hand went down to join his as it gave him a little nudge. His fingers went down to remove your undergarments, pulling them off and placing them on the ground.

Gerard adjusted himself so that he was lying on his stomach, face close to your sex. It felt awkward and embarrassing to have someone down there, but you trusted Gerard.

A leather-covered hand caressed your folds. You didn’t know if it was just the leather, or having anything near your vagina at all, but it felt weird. Good weird. You did know the basic functions of your vagina, but you never thought that it would feel this pleasurable, this good.

His finger slid up and down, up and down. It repeated the action a few times before it caught on something that made you yelp, Gerard smirking. The doctor petted that one spot a few times before speaking up.

“Give me your hand, angel.”

You brought your hand down, and he took it in his own, bringing your fingers down to the spot he was petting, making you gently touch yourself.

“Do you feel that little nub? It’s your clitoris. It's a small bundle of nerves, mainly used for pleasure.”

Gerard pinched your clit, and your back arched as a strange sensation shot through you. Your hand fell useless by his, fingers digging into the soft plush of your thigh. He continued to stimulate you, keeping one finger on your clit as the other hand danced around your folds.

Your other hand shot out in search for something to hold onto as something was building up in you. Gerard seemed to notice you, and removed one of his hands to entangle it with yours.

You felt the tightness of your stomach increase, that bundle of buzz swarming and building in your lower stomach and back. It was so close, it felt so close to achieve... please, please, please, please, please!

With a shout, that knot in your back snapped as you felt a warm liquid gush down in between your thighs. When you propped yourself up on your elbows, you were greeted with Gerard sucking that wetness off of his glove. You watched as he closed his eyes and moaned,

Still shuttering, you sputtered, “was that the release you meant?”

Gerard chuckled once again, “Yes, however the treatment of Hysteria is not cured by one orgasm, but by a few.” He stated, moving up so he was now sitting on his knees. His hand reached down to his pocket, pulling out a small, metal bullet-looking device.

“What’s that?” You question, slumping back down. “It’s called a vibrator, and it was invented to cure Hysteria.” He said. “It runs off electricity, and you see, when I turn it on...” He clicked a button and it buzzed on, gently vibrating in his hand.

You reached out, fingers brushing over the head of it. You giggled, “That tickles! But where does it go?”

“Oh my innocent little angel, where do you think it goes?”

You didn’t have much time to respond before Gerard was pressing the head of the vibrator to your clit, your back arching as a loud moan left your mouth. You squirmed, but Gerard was quick to pin you down with his body. “T-That!! UH-aHa!”

Gerard slotted his hips up against yours, getting the crotch of his dress pants wet. Without knowing what was really happening, you felt a knot quickly build up and release, another shout leaving you. You twisted, tears forming in your glossy eyes.

Gerard removed the head of the vibrator so you could recompose yourself, breath heavy as you sniffled. “Ger-Gee... I-Ahuh...”

“Still able to speak, honey? That just won’t do for this type of treatment.”

Before you were able to understand what he was saying, the buzzing head was back again, this time pressed harder.

You nearly screamed as you felt wet rush against your legs again, hands flailing as your legs kicked. “You did consent to this.” Gee said, one of his hands coming to rub against your thigh.

A broken moan left you as drool came out the corner of your mouth. A broken sound that might have been his name was all you could fathom, body tensing and freezing as you felt that coil again. That sweetly sick coil.

Throughout it all, Gerard hovered above you, peppering kisses into your neck as he ground his hips up against you. The final moment before that string snapped again was him licking a stripe up your neck, vision going white as another orgasm ripped through your body.

Luckily, Gerard pulled the vibrator away from your clit. You were still twitching in the aftershocks, hands squeezing the sheets tightly.

“Such a good, good darling for me. Do you think you have another one in there for me?”

You braced for the harsh vibrations again, but that never came. You barley felt Gerard shift down onto his stomach, lips coming to kiss at your wet clit. You jerked, hips accidently grinding down onto his mouth. You yelped loudly as you felt Gerard smile against your sex before inserting his tongue inside what you think was your vagina. That was all you needed before you screamed, gushing all over his face. With how wet you were, it was easy for him to replace his tongue with a slim index finger, his tongue going to dance over your clit.

You were a crying, screaming, kicking mess twitching in overstimulation, a painful coil building and snapping when you felt a finger prod at a very sensitive wall. With a suck on your clit, that was all you needed to pass out in pleasure.

vergilsladyfriend 2022. do not repost without permission. reblogs are appreciated!

#gerard way smut #gerard way #gerard way x reader #mcr smut #mcr #my chemical romance #mcr x reader

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raccoonsrummagerostrum · 1 year

Text

Chizome Akaguro x Chiropractor Reader

Chizome x GN!reader

Warning: back and joint cracking

Word count: 553

His posture is some of the worst out there. The way he perches on building tops could make hawks blush.

Really it's due to multiple bad injuries that never healed properly. But it's not like villains have health insurance.

So rather than going anywhere to get treated and risk being turned over to the cops, he just puts up with it.

But he does suffer for it. He's almost constantly in pain, and his bad posture is only making his injuries worse.

When you try to help he's skeptical at first. He will not let you talk him into going to a physical therapist. And he refuses to see you at work. But he will relent and let you work on him at home.

You have him lay down flat on the floor. As he stretches his legs out infrount of himself you both hear a loud crack from both his hips.

You give him a look before stating that his hip flexors are too tight. He rolls his eyes but lets you continue.

You pull one leg over, rolling his hips, and you haven't even put any pressure on before he's cracking like a fist full of dried pasta. Finally you twist his spine and you swear that all your neighbors heard that crack.

You let him relax and he looks mortified. You look at him and just smile while wondering how he can still walk.

After doing the other side with similar results. You flip him on his frount. Running your hands up and down his back, you finally feel the true extent of the damage. You know full well that he needs more help than you can give him. But you do what you can.

Gently but firmly you push on the muscles on either side of his spine, from the top of his pelvis to the base of his shoulder blades. And now for his neck.

Flipping him back over, you hold his head in your lap and gently run your hands over the nape of his neck. You can feel all the damage done overtime, your heart aches, but you press on.

Gently adjusting his head you find the perfect spot and twist. The sound is so loud that people down the block turn to figure out what that was.

Chizome shoots up and holds his neck. You ask if he's OK, and if you hurt him. But he assured you that he was just startled. Honestly you were surprised he even got startled after all he's been through.

He slowly leans back into your lap and you do the other side, much to the same effect. Again he shoots up holding his neck. Again he insists you didn't hurt him.

Pulling him up off the floor, you find that he's at least an inch taller. Asking how he feels, you can see the weight lifted off his shoulders. He won't get too emotional, but his pain is so much better he could almost cry. Almost.

You'll show him some stretches and exercises for him to do, and of course you'll do adjustments as needed. Over time he does feel better.

His posture is never perfect, and his body has suffered irreparable damage that even surgery couldn't fix, but he's getting better. And he loves you for it.

#fanfic #x reader #gn!reader #writing #hero killer stain #my hero academia #chizome akaguro #chiropractor #back pain

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eliserzilber · 11 months

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This post is to elaborate more on my experience in the DBT group and some of the reading and tools I found most helpful to me.

The DBT group I was able to take part in was a remote group that met once a week for 16 weeks via Webex. I was very lucky to get a spot and that my Medicaid covered any cost. It was run by two social workers as part of NYU Langone's Psychiatric Center at Sunset Terrace.

The weeks were broken down based on the 4 Modules (core skill groups) of DBT: Mindfulness, Distress Tolerance, Emotional Regulation, and Interpersonal Effectiveness.

Mindfulness: This is the base of any DBT practice, and what I always had trouble with in the past. Mindfulness is a kind of self-awareness that you can use to break down your experiences and give yourself a kind of reality check. Being mindful is being present and aware of your emotions, your body, and your though process.

There are 3 Minds with which we experience and react to the world: Emotion Mind (acting based on emotions alone), Rational Mind (acting based on facts alone), and Wise Mind (a combination of the first 2 and the goal of mindfulness).

Distress Tolerence: This module focuses on short term solutions for big emotions. The skills involved in this module are called Distraction skills because their goal is to just get you through the wave of emotion, resist any harmful urges, and survive your distress long enough to talk to someone or get to other skills.

There are quite a few skills in this module I found helpful, and I'll go into more detail on them in another post. The skill I think can do the most in the moment is called ACCEPTS, an acronym used to remember what you can do to distract yourself when feelings get too intense.

A - Activities: Watch a comforting tv show or movie, clean, do a puzzle, any task that requires most of your attention so you can focus mindfully on it rather than your emotional spiral.

C - Contributing: Talk to a friend or family member, help someone with a task like cooking or cleaning. The goal being to focus on being with someone rather than being alone in your thoughts. *This obviously would not be a go-to if the person would further trigger you.

C - Comparisons: Compare this emotional storm to a past, worse experience as a way to remind yourself that you've survived before, and you can do it again. *Again, the point of this is not to further trigger yourself, but to prove to yourself that you're strong enough to get through this moment of distress.

E - Emotions: Activate opposite emotions by watching a funny video or recalling a happy memory.

P - Push Away: Mentally push away the triggering thoughts or situation until you are calmer and more regulated and able to deal with the emotions. Commit, for a few minutes, to picturing your problems going into a small box, closing them in it, shoving the box deep in the back of a closet and closing the door. This exercise is a very short term way to remove the weight from your shoulders.

T - Thoughts: Actively think about something completely unrelated to your triggers. Sing your favorite song from memory, do a crossword puzzle or a math problem.

S - Sensations: Interact with your 5 senses mindfully; hug a stuffed animal or a pet, hold ice in your hand and feel it melt, lay flat on the floor and feel your body pressing into the hard surface.

**The best way to utilize this skill is, when you're calm and not feeling any distress, make yourself a list of specific things you can do that correspond with each of these steps. Thinking of something to distract you when you're in the midst of an emotional storm is incredibly hard, so preparing a reference guide for yourself ahead of time is a way to show up for yourself.

Emotion Regulation: This 3rd module focuses on learning to identify your emotions, understand where they come from and what they are trying to tell you, and processing them in a healthy way.

The purpose of all emotions is evolutionary survival. Emotions spur us into action to meet our needs (when you get hangry, you know you need to eat), and communicate danger to ourselves and others. Body language and voice tone can also often communicate emotions before words do.

*Use a feeling wheel to identify your emotions and dig deeper. If you can't process them right away, use a distress tolerance skill until you are able to sit with them.

*The best skill for emotion regulation is ABC PLEASE, an acronym used to help you recognize vulnerability factors in your life and minimize them.

Interpersonal Effectiveness: This last module focuses on skills that help us communicate with others. There are skills like GIVE, which can be used to maintain good relationships with others, and FAST, which can be used to help maintain your self-respect when making a request of someone.

*There are others that I will make graphics for, stay tuned!

Attending the group and learning the skills was only part of what I found helpful on my journey toward stability. I found a book, Mindfulness for Borderline Personality Disorder, that helped break mindfulness down in great detail and very easy to follow language. The book is written specifically for BPD-havers so it's really an excellent resource. The other tool I found helpful is something my therapist suggested I get, The Game of Real Life, which is a game that you can play to learn DBT skills in an interactive and fun way. It comes with a little book that breaks every skill and practice down, Skill cards which I find to be a great go-to for recalling a skill in a moment you need it (after all, it's a whole lot of acronyms to remember), and Conflict cards that give you examples of situations you might experience, and you have to pick a skill card to practice (can be done alone but better with someone you trust to really dive into the communication and regulation skills). I've actually been carrying a few of the skill cards in my purse wherever I go, just in case I need a quick reference in a moment of distress.

I have so much more to share with anyone who's interested. I'll keep posting, making graphics, and if anyone has a specific question about any of the modules, I'll do my best to answer or help you find the information online. DBT groups are super hard to find, in extremely high demand so it's hard to get in, and usually grossly expensive due to this country's horrible healthcare system. I consider myself extremely privileged to have been able to find a great hospital when I needed it and a great group that my insurance covered. I'm here for anyone who isn't as lucky. Let's make DBT accessible and break the stigma of the BPD diagnosis!

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self-loving-vampire · 7 months

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Unrelated but I also think "diet and exercise" as done by most people who aim for weight loss is kind of counter-productive.

If your body is not getting enough nutrients you will lose muscle and your metabolism will slow down, and if you're only doing a quick fad diet to begin with and then going back to normal that's even worse. Pretty much doomed to gain the weight back.

Instead of losing weight, it's best to focus on building muscle, which may actually make you heavier on the scale but is much healthier on top of still making you look leaner and improving your metabolism.

Your food intake may be the biggest factor in your weight gain or loss, but in the long term getting ripped is still your best option.

That said, it's also important to keep in mind that this isn't a simple thing where you can just choose to be thin. Some people have biological advantages or disadvantages in this.

For example, some people have a faster base metabolism, or simply a bigger urge to fidget throughout the day (idle movements burn a significant amount of calories but can't really be consciously managed). We have all probably known someone who seemed to eat whatever they wanted in huge portions without ever gaining weight (in my case that person was me).

Some people just don't like physical activity as much as others either. If you actually enjoy exercise or sports enough to do that without external motivations about your appearance then you're already much better-positioned to stick with that rather than doing it just for like one month with low motivation.

And some people are too disabled to do as much exercise as a normal person. This is also me now. I exercise 6 times a week but have to ration how much I walk because I can't generate much energy. I spend most of my time functionally bedridden.

These biological differences can be so pronounced that my husband weights significantly more than I do even though he is much more active than I am and eats less than I do.

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philliamwrites · 2 years

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Um do you do requests because If it alright can some one make genderbend story with fem eren and male reader and like fem eren is a bully and the male reader put fem eren in her place. Based on Eren pov if hard for you write for male.

A/N: Ooohhh this is so exciting, the first real request ehehehehe, thank you, nonny!

Since there wasn’t a specific mention if this should be nsfw or not, I kept it sfw-ish (except the end lol) I hope it’s fine! (and there’s always the option to commission me for very specific things, just DM me). I took some liberty and changed the dynamic that you’d usually read (bully! Eren / nerd! Reader) and made them both over-competitive jocks, only Eren is mean about it.

Warnings: fem! Eren / male! Reader; unresolved sexual tension, swearing, sport-typical violence; Reader is also taller than Eren; 18+ Minors DNI; not proofread; implied male receiving oral sex by fem.

You have it in the bag. Five steps away from the goal, a clear shot before you, nobody in your way. The stick feels good in your hands, its familiar weight an extension of your own limbs, a weapon to clear a path towards the goal.

Jean screams from behind the restraining line to take the shot—“Take the fucking shot, you dumbass, what are you waiting for?!”—but you feel Coach Levi’s inscrutable look from the side line like a physical touch around your throat; Patience with capital P has never been your strong suit, and you don’t want to spend another thirty minutes after practice getting chewed up by Levi; or worse, signed up to run a marathon.

Connie’s waiting behind the goal line, his eyes rivetted on you, goalie stick raised in anticipation. He knows your moves, you’ve both started playing at the same time, three years ago after making the drunk decision to give it a try and having fallen in love with the sport ever since. He’ll expect a feint. He knows you’re good at those, and you know nothing pisses him off more than falling for that dirty little trick. Which is exactly the reason you’ll do a behind-the-back-shot.

Or you’d like to, were it not for a lightning-quick body slamming into yours like a wrecking ball, throwing you to the ground. Multiple things happen at once. You feel a stick snatching the ball out of your pocket; you hear Jean’s swears as he roars for the defence to fall back behind the restraining line; you see Eren’s lithe, muscular form as she steals the ball from you and throws a long pass forward to Sasha, bringing the ball across half the field and away from the attack zone.

She turns around briefly, and through the metal bars of her face mask you see her striking green eyes flashing wish mischief as she looks down on you. When you try to get up, the head of her stick pushes into your chest painfully, keeping you on the ground.

“Don’t bother,” she says, and just hearing her voice, the snarl in it, makes you want to kick her legs from under her. “You’ll do your team a favour by staying out of the game.”

Before you can reply, she’s already rocketing off, down the field to your defence zone, and you’re not proud of the fact how your eyes immediately fix on her long legs in that short, white skirt that’s riding up her ass as she runs.

A gloved hand hooks around your elbow and pulls you up to your feet. Marco gives you a pat on the back, dusting dirt off you. “Don’t let her get to you,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice behind the mask. “She’s unstoppable when she’s having a good day. Let’s hope Mikasa’ll shut down some shots. Oh, and don’t take Jean’s complains too much to heart.”

You watch them squabble at the other side of the field, feeling your heart drop to your stomach. You don’t give a shit about Jean. Levi’s disappoint, however, is palpable from the side line. It’s like someone just shot his dog.

“Exercise patience,” he always says. “But if you see Jaeger coming at you, you take that fucking shot as if your life depends on it, got it?”

The locker room is empty when you finish showering and pack up. You should get a fucking medal for the self-restrain you’ve practiced not drowning Jean under the showers after he gave you so much shit because “If you’d put your little girlfriend on a leash, we wouldn’t have that fucking problem. Every. Single. Time.”

Girlfriend. As if anyone can put a leash on Eren, especially when her brain is hardwired to stop at nothing to accomplish her goal. Start a fight with someone from an opposing team for giving her a weird look? Eren prefers not wearing gloves simply for the fact that she loves having her knuckles skinned bloody. Get Floche to do her assignments for International Politics? He’s eating out of her palm like a dog, easily submitting herself to Eren laughing at him whenever he’s asking her out for a real date. Knock you down on your ass? Her favourite pastime.

Just the thought of her, of her wide, forest-green eyes, garlanded by pretty, thick lashes the colour of ink against her sun-kissed skin, hits you with the force of a train. Fury: white-hot, boiling, venomous. You want to do something that shuts her up, makes her swallow her mean words—Christ, if you could make her cry, make her feel small and insignificant; make her look up at you and really see you, her round, soft cheeks flushed crimson, her full, red lips slightly opened as you drag your thumb over her bottom lip, your other hand secured around her throat—

Your hand would fit around her neck so perfectly—

“You done wanking one in the showers?”

You make a disapproving noise at the back of your throat. Just like the devil she is, Eren has been waiting for you outside the gym, balancing her stick in the palm of her hand. She’s changed her field gear for a simple vermillion hoodie and black shorts. You can’t get the image of her wearing that tight, white skirt out of your head, so you do what any respectable man should do and ignore her.

Eren doesn’t like that one bit.

See, when she goes at something, she goes swinging—literally. Metal slams into your gut hard enough to crush your lungs into your spine. The only reason you don’t crumble to your knees is because you’re used to shit like this on the field.

Eren laughs. “What’s the matter, big guy? Cat got your tongue?”

“I don’t have time—” You suck in a deep breath; the air won’t fit down your throat. “—for your bullshit.”

“You mad? Why are you still mad?” Eren’s smile slices white. “You got a problem I brought you down? Shame, you look good on your knees.”

If you’re the keg full of powder in a room, Eren is always the one trying to throw a burning match inside. Tough shit she doesn’t know you’re secretly a pyromaniac.

You move too fast for her to react, or maybe she just wasn’t expecting you to fight back. When her back hits the hard wall with a satisfying thud, you consider smacking her head against it for good measure. She stares up at you with wide eyes—exactly the sight you’ve imagined moments before—and when she swallows, you feel her throat flex under the palm of your hand. There it is. Your hand around her throat. She has to crane her had back; you dip yours, head cocked to the side slightly.

“What a fucking brat you are.” Your voice is so quiet. Hoarse. You don’t recognise it. You have a hard time focusing right now because one thing becomes painfully clear: You’d do anything to fuck Eren and make her scream and cry. “Is that what get you off at night? Bullying other people? Really? What are we, fucking twelve?”

Eren snarls at you, showing her teeth like a captured animal. You tighten your hold around her throat, dig your thumb into her pulse point that’s jackhammering like a rabbit’s heart caught in a snare. Pressing her harder against the wall, bringing your bodies flush against each other, you slide your leg between hers, and the sound she makes is exquisitely delicious.

“You’re just so easy to tease,” she replies, just as quietly. She turns her face towards you, like a flower following the sun’s path. “Maybe I’m weak for big guys that cry.”

“If I’m done with you, Eren, I won’t be the one crying.”

She shudders against you and tries to bring your bodies harder together, pressing her tits against your chest. You dig your fingers into her jaw until you can see your nails leaving red half-moons on her skin. Hovering your mouth above hers, you watch every twitch and change on her face, and every time she tries to close the gab between you by slanting her mouth over yours, you push her head back. The frustrated growl at the back of her throat is almost adorable.

“Or do you want for someone to put you in your place?” you wonder aloud, jerking your leg only once, only a little. Eren melts against you, moving her hips against the strong muscle of your thigh.

Your mouth goes dry. Eren uses that moment to slap her hands around your cheeks and pull you down, slamming her lips into yours. Her mouth is hot, almost feverish. She strokes her tongue against yours, and you groan into her mouth—the vibration of the sound sending lightning flicks of pleasure down your spine. The kiss goes rough, deeper, and claiming.

You’re not done with her yet.

Sneaking the hand that’s been holding her jaw to the back of her nape, you curl your fingers into her thick hair—and yank it back. Eren gasps, bearing her throat to you. You reward her by running your tongue over her bottom lip, grazing the soft flesh with your teeth.

“You had to—” she starts, and swallows when you put your mouth to the curve of her jaw, biting hard. “Fuck—Ever since you split that fucking watermelon open with your fucking thighs, you fucking gorilla.”

You laugh against the hot skin of her throat. “Is that it? You got a crush on me, and that’s how you’ve been trying to get into my pants?”

“If anything, I’m creative.”

You consider that with a hum against the curve of her shoulder. When you raise your face again, Eren is already waiting for you, her mouth hungry and pliant under yours. You run your hands through her hair, over and over again while tasting her, feeling her hips stutter against your thigh. When you’re holding her hair in a ponytail, she separates for a moment to look up at you—eyes blown black with desire, but lucid enough to question what you’re doing.

You’ll change that.

“I said I’d make you cry,” you say against her cheek, feather-light and soft, deceptively so. “I think it’s time to see how pretty you look on your knees.”

Eren tenses up at that, you can feel it against your body. Tenses up in anticipation, you realise, when her hands begin to work on your belt buckle, her eyes wide, wanton. Excited. Your cock jumps inside the confines of your pants, half-hard.

“You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” you whisper, kissing her cheek, her nose, her neck. Why have you never noticed before how ridiculously good she smells. “You’ll be good and nice for me, right?”

“That depends.” Her answer is breathless, barely audible. She’s still fighting in the end, as though she isn’t completely melting in your arms already. So cute.

You tighten your hold on her hair, pushing her down slowly.

“You’ll find you won’t have much choice,” you say, smiling. “I’ll make you behave this time.”

And Eren, still looking up at you while working on your zipper, answers with a smile herself, accepting the challenge.

A/N: I had too much fun writing this lmao

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ghostssweetgirl · 1 year

Text

crazy over you ~ simon ghost riley x reader slow burn/enemies to lovers

description: y/n gets transferred to task force 141 and quickly becomes friends with soap and gaz, but her and ghost "hate" each other for the first part. warnings: mentions of violence and death (duh), alcohol intake, smoking (at some point), nsfw (at some point), subtle flirting with soap. i'm new to writing? so don't expect this to be the greatest. this is not in line with the game campaigns or missions. the only characters i included are y/n, soap, gaz, price, & ghost. i have no knowledge of the military this is just creativity disclaimer: i do not own modern warfare or any of its characters.

chapters: next [healing] last

After being in the hospital for nearly a week, you were finally dismissed. Price picked you up from the hospital to drive you back to base.

"Ugh, great to be going back... home," you laugh. "Yeah, home."

"Aye," Price nodded. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, just incredibly sore. It bloody hurts!" you emphasized on bloody, trying to use their lingo.

"Oh, I know," Price chuckled. "I know. 5 days of rest, kid - minimum. No missions until you're back in order."

Happy to be back in your "own" bed, you rest up for a few hours, after laying in a hospital bed, your base bed felt heavenly. You cleaned up, being careful around the wound, and had to head to the common room or kitchen to look for bandages.

"I've got some," Ghost's voice said from behind you.

"O-Oh, thanks, I could use some," you stutter as you look at him.

He walks to his room, and for some reason, you follow him. He opens the door to his room and clicks the light on, looks behind at you, and points to his bed. You sit on the edge of the bed, feeling incredibly awkward during the silence.

"Um... thank you, Ghost. For saving my life," you muttered.

"It's my job," he rasped, his way of saying "you're welcome" you assumed.

"Move your shirt over," he ordered.

You struggled slightly as you slid the sleeve of your shoulder up as far as it would go. "I could change it myself..."

He shook his head while he wrapped the bandage around your shoulder and under your armpit, gentle with you, something you didn't know he was capable of.

You awkwardly thank him as you leave the room.

As each day goes by, you heal faster. You start to be able to move your shoulder without wincing or feeling pain. What better way to test your strength than to do some light exercise? You head to the gym, nodding at Soap as you see him bench pressing, noticing how easy it seems for him with his wide biceps. You spot Ghost doing the same across from him, with heavier weights, seeming easy for him, too. He made quick eye contact with you as you nodded at him as well, going to a secluded area for yourself.

Starting with stretching, you hesitate as you stretch your injured arm, but discover that it didn't hurt that bad to stretch. Happy with your progress, you begin with your workout.

Soap walks up behind you, on the way to the locker room. "Good form."

"Thanks, Sergeant," you replied without looking at him as you lifted weights.

Ghost interrupts your run on the treadmill asking if you were up to spar with him. Your eyes widen at the request, and you don't know why but you accept.

"Why not? Just don't make my arm any worse, big guy," you laughed, trying to compromise.

"No worries," he nodded. "I'll try to be gentle."

If this was his way of warming up to you, it was weird. Not bad weird, just doesn't make sense weird. He hated you or at least acted as he did since you got here, even yelling at you, earning your tears. Yet he didn't hesitate to save your life when it came down to it, he visited you, he changed your bandages... You don't know what the fuck is up with him.

You get in the ring with Ghost and get in a fighting stance, and he does the same. You wonder how you're going to do this without hurting yourself further but brush that aside for now. You could use this moment to take out some rage on him, for how he's treated you.

He gestures a "come hither" motion, and you tackle him, grappling his waist and he goes down. You crawl upwards, still pinning him down, and knee him in his stomach as he struggles to lift you off. Which he easily could if he tried, you knew this. Was he seriously holding back?

"You're not going soft on me, are you, Lieutenant?" you smirked as you moved behind him, placing him in a chokehold as your legs lock him in place to the best of your ability, considering he was much taller than you. You tightened your elbow around his throat, definitely not going easy on him. If only you could-

He shook his head and breathed in, elbowing you in your rib, you groan and are forced to let go of the hold you had on him.

"Fuck," you panted as he helped you back on your feet.

You took another defensive stance and he pushed your hands down shorter than where you're used to having them.

"Good work, soldier. Now tackle me again," he ordered.

You run at him, and this time you try to knock him off his feet, but he dodged and pinned you down by your wrists. He turns you around and pulls your uninjured arm behind you, you arch your back as you try to lessen the pain.

"Yield," he commanded, tightening his grip.

There was no fucking way you were tapping out right here. Your legs kicked and your body wiggled as you tried to get out of the position. Your brain racked through everything you learned, and you went through each possible way to get out, but it was impossible.

You were running out of breath until you finally gave in, admitting defeat. His grip loosened, and he got up.

Soap walks out with hair still damp from his shower. "Good t'see you two, getting along, L.T."

"Fuckin' hell," Ghost spoke under his breath. "Get up here, Johnny."

Soap joins you and Ghost tells you to go against him, and Ghost shows you new ways to defend yourself, instructing you between positions.

Your 5 days minimum of rest were up, and you honestly felt good enough to go. Price called everyone to the conference room for an update about the next mission. In 3 days, everyone was to prepare to blow up an enemy tower. And it was going to be cold.

You, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost watch TV in the common room while rain poured outside.

"Pishin' out doon out there," Soap said.

"Huh?" you looked at him funny.

"Rainin' fuckin' hard!" Soap explained.

"Oh, yeah, it is," you softly giggled.

"English, MacTavish," Ghost said.

You go to sleep thinking about your time here so far. How you've made your way in and have been getting along with mostly everyone. You honestly haven't got to see much of the "horrors" yet, but you wouldn't mind if you were here permanently, you think.

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