#Travel Requests Handling System

[honeyslibrary]

Native Tongue | Nico Hischier

Pairing; Nico Hischier x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Smut, cursing? (can’t remember lol), fluff, established relationship, edited once

Summary; Reader asks Nico to teach her some Swiss German

Word Count; 4.6k

Authors Note: This is so simple and the smut is more rushed than I’d like but I still love this so much. This was my first time writing for Nico and I’d say I did pretty okay? Translations are from Google so hopefully those aren’t too butchered 🙏🏽 Love you guys!! Accepting requests for Nico pls send if you have any 🩵🩵 -Honey

P.S: Scrolling Pinterest to find pics for the title/cover and oh my God is he beautiful. The brown eyes and dimples combo will do it every time I’m actually giggling at work I want him sooooo badly

The soft glow of a bedside lamp cast shadows across Nico's apartment, the warm light complementing the muted tones of his bedroom. Outside, Newark was alive with its usual evening bustle, but inside, time seemed to slow to a gentle rhythm. It was one of those rare off nights during the season. No game, no travel, just time to breathe.

You had been dating Nico Hischier for just over three weeks now. Everything still carried that new relationship electricity: the flutter in your stomach when he texted, the warmth that spread through your chest when he smiled at you across a room, the way his Swiss accent thickened when he was tired or excited.

Tonight was simple. No fancy dinner reservations or planned activities, just you and him, lying on his bed, shoulders touching, talking about anything that crossed your minds. The conversation flowed easily between you, jumping from childhood memories to favorite movies to plans for the upcoming weekend.

His hand was resting in yours, and you traced the lines of his palm with your fingertips, feeling the calluses that told stories of countless hours gripping a hockey stick. These were the hands that had cradled pucks, won face-offs, and occasionally, thrown punches in defense of teammates. Now, they were relaxed in yours, trusting.

"Does this feel good?" you asked, pressing your thumb into the center of his palm in small, circular motions.

He hummed in contentment. "Very. Where did you learn to do this?"

"I had a friend who was a massage therapist. She taught me a few things." You continued working on his hand, moving to his fingers, gently pulling and stretching each one. "Hockey players need hand massages, right? All that stick handling."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "It's not something we talk about, but yes. Hands, wrists... they take a beating."

"Well, consider this a service to the Devils, then. I'm helping maintain their captain."

His smile was visible even in your peripheral vision. "Very thoughtful of you."

You both fell quiet for a moment, comfortable in the silence. The soft whirr of the heating system provided a gentle backdrop to your thoughts. Outside, a car horn honked, distant and unimportant.

"Can I ask you something?" you said finally, your voice soft in the dimly lit room.

"Anything."

"Would you teach me some Swiss German? Just a few phrases?"

Nico turned his head to look at you, his expression curious. "Really? Why?"

You shrugged, still focused on massaging his hand. "I don't know. It's part of who you are. I want to know all parts of you." You paused, suddenly feeling a bit vulnerable. "Plus, I think it sounds beautiful when you speak it."

He was quiet for a moment, and you worried you'd said something wrong. But when you finally looked at him, his eyes were soft with an emotion you couldn't quite name.

"That's... no one has ever asked me that before." He shifted to face you better. "What would you like to learn?"

You grinned, excited. "Start with the basics? Hello, goodbye, thank you?"

Nico nodded, looking thoughtful. "Alright. So, 'hello' is 'grüezi' in Swiss German."

"Grüezi," you repeated, the unfamiliar word clumsy on your tongue.

His smile widened. "Not bad for a first try. Try again, but it's more like... 'GRÜE-tzi' with emphasis on the first part."

"Grüezi," you attempted again, trying to mimic his pronunciation.

"Better! Now, 'goodbye' can be 'uf widerluege'."

You laughed. "That's a mouthful. Uf... wider..."

"Widerluege," he finished, his voice patient. "It literally means 'until we see each other again'."

"That's actually beautiful. Uf widerluege," you tried, the words feeling foreign but fascinating on your lips.

"And 'thank you' is 'merci vielmal'."

"That sounds part French!"

Nico nodded. "Swiss German borrows from many languages. We're surrounded by different cultures."

"Merci vielmal," you said, feeling proud when his eyes lit up at your decent pronunciation.

"Perfect! You're a natural."

The praise warmed you. "What else can you teach me?"

Nico thought for a moment. "How about... 'I like you'? That's 'Ich mag dich'."

"Ich mag dich," you repeated, looking directly into his eyes as you said it.

Something shifted in his expression, his eyes darkening slightly. "Very good."

"And how would you say 'I really like you'?" you asked, your voice dropping to just above a whisper.

"Ich mag dich würklich sehr," he replied, his voice equally soft.

You repeated the phrase slowly, "Ich mag dich würklich sehr."

His eyes never left yours as you spoke, and you noticed the way his breathing seemed to have quickened slightly. Feeling emboldened, you placed his hand down and shifted to face him fully.

"What about..." you hesitated, "how would you say 'kiss me'?"

The atmosphere in the room changed, charged with unspoken tension. Nico's eyes dropped to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your gaze again.

"Küss mich," he said, his accent thicker than before.

"Küss mich," you whispered.

He didn't move immediately, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as his lips met yours in a soft, questioning kiss.

When he pulled back, his expression was serious, almost lustful. "Say something else," he requested, his voice rougher than before.

"What should I say?"

"Anything," he replied. "Just... in Swiss German."

You cast your mind back to the phrases he'd taught you, feeling a strange power in knowing how much it affected him to hear you speak his native language.

"Grüezi," you said softly, watching his reaction. "Ich mag dich würklich sehr."

His exhale was shaky. "Again," he whispered.

"Küss mich," you repeated, more confidently this time.

He closed the distance between you once more, this kiss deeper, more certain. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you responded eagerly, your own hand coming to rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under your palm.

When you separated, both of you were breathing harder. The look in his eyes was intense, almost vulnerable in its honesty.

"You have no idea what it does to me," he admitted, his voice low, "hearing you speak my language."

"I think I'm getting an idea," you replied with a small smile. "How do you say 'I want you'?"

His eyes darkened further. "Ich will dich."

"Ich will dich," you repeated, maintaining eye contact.

A soft groan escaped him. "Your pronunciation is terrible," he said, but his tone was affectionate, teasing.

"Then teach me," you challenged, shifting closer to him.

"Say it again," he instructed, his hand now resting on your waist.

"Ich will dich."

"The 'ch' is deeper, from the back of your throat," he explained, his fingers drawing small circles on your hip.

You tried again, inadvertently making the same mistake.

He shook his head, a smile playing at his lips despite the intensity in his eyes. "No, listen to me. Ich."

"Ich," you repeated, still not quite getting it right.

"Here," he said, bringing his hand up to touch your throat gently. "You feel it here when you say it correctly."

You tried again, focusing on the sensation under his fingertips.

"Better," he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "Now the whole phrase."

"Ich will dich."

"Perfect," he whispered, and then his lips were on yours again, more urgent this time, his hand sliding from your throat to your hair, fingers tangling in it as he pulled you closer.

You responded in kind, your hand moving up his chest to his shoulder, then to the back of his neck, feeling the short hairs there. The kiss deepened, his tongue seeking entrance, which you granted readily, a small sound of pleasure escaping you.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching your breath. "How do you say 'beautiful'?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Schön," he replied, equally quiet.

"Du bist schön," you attempted, guessing at the structure.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise before crinkling at the corners with his smile. "That's right. You're learning quickly."

"I have a good teacher," you replied, running your fingers lightly through his hair.

He closed his eyes briefly at your touch, then opened them again, his gaze intense. "It's strange," he said softly.

"What is?" you asked, still running your fingers through his hair.

"Hearing someone speak my language... it's like hearing a piece of home." He caught your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. "Especially someone I care about."

The tenderness in his gesture made your heart flutter. "Even if my pronunciation is terrible?"

"Especially then," he laughed softly. "It's... I don't know how to explain it. When you speak English, you're just you. But when you try to speak Swiss German..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "It's like you're reaching for a part of me that not many people here get to see."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words. "I want to see all parts of you, Nico."

His eyes darkened at that, and he shifted slightly, bringing himself closer to you. "Say it again," he murmured.

"What?"

"Ich will dich," he prompted.

You repeated the phrase, trying your best to match his pronunciation, "Ich will dich."

A small groan escaped him, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was deeper, more urgent than before. His hand moved to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek as his tongue sought entrance, which you granted eagerly.

When you broke apart, both breathing heavily, there was an unmistakable hunger in his eyes. "I don't know why it affects me so much," he admitted. "Hearing you speak Swiss German. It just... does something to me."

You smiled, feeling a surge of power at the knowledge. "Then I should probably keep practicing," you said, your tone deliberately innocent even as you shifted closer, eliminating the last bit of space between your bodies.

"Absolutely," he agreed, his hand moving to your waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin. "It's important to practice."

"Küss mich," you whispered, remembering the phrase he'd taught you earlier.

He didn't need to be told twice, his lips finding yours again as his hand splayed across your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the heat of his body through your clothes, the solid strength of him as he held you.

"One more phrase," you breathed when you separated for air. "How do you say 'I want you to touch me'?"

His eyes, already dark with desire, seemed to grow even more intense. "Ich will, dass du mich berührst," he replied, his accent thicker than usual.

You tried to repeat it, stumbling over the unfamiliar sounds, and he smiled, the expression somehow both tender and predatory.

"Close enough," he murmured, and then his hand was moving, tracing a path up your side with deliberate slowness.

"And how do you say 'don't stop'?" you asked, your voice catching as his fingers traced patterns on your skin.

"Hör nicht auf," he told you, watching your face intently.

"Hör nicht auf," you repeated, the words turning into a soft gasp as his touch became more purposeful.

His hand slid higher beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your ribs tantalizingly slow. The warmth of his palm against your skin sent shivers down your spine, each touch igniting something deep within you. His eyes remained fixed on yours, gauging your reactions, seeming to find satisfaction in every small catch of your breath.

"Another phrase?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that you could feel through his chest where it pressed against yours.

You nodded, not trusting your voice as his thumb traced lazy circles just below the underwire of your bra.

"How about 'please'?" you managed, your voice slightly unsteady.

His lips quirked into a small smile. "Bitte."

"Bitte," you echoed, the word barely audible.

Something flashed in his eyes. Hunger, affection, and something deeper that made your heart race. "Say it again," he instructed, his hand stilling its movement.

You understood his game immediately. "Bitte," you repeated, more urgently this time.

His smile widened slightly, satisfaction evident in his expression as his hand resumed its exploration, this time venturing higher. His touch was confident but gentle, asking permission without words.

"Yes," you breathed, answering his unspoken question.

And then his mouth was on yours again, hot and demanding, as his hand finally moved to cup your breast over your bra. You arched into his touch, a small moan escaping into his mouth. He swallowed the sound, his kiss deepening as his thumb brushed over the fabric covering your nipple.

Your own hands weren't idle, moving to explore the firm planes of his chest through his t-shirt. You could feel the defined muscles beneath the soft cotton, the result of years of athletic training. Feeling emboldened, you tugged at the hem, silently asking for permission to remove it.

Nico broke the kiss long enough to help you, sitting up slightly and pulling the shirt over his head in one fluid motion before tossing it aside. You took a moment to admire him: the broad shoulders, the lean muscle, the scattered freckles across his skin that you'd never noticed before.

"Schön," you said softly, using one of the few words he'd called you that seemed appropriate.

His expression softened at your use of his language. "That's my line," he replied, reaching to touch your face with gentle fingers. "Du bist wunderschön."

"What does that mean?" you asked, leaning into his touch.

"You are beautiful," he translated, his eyes never leaving yours.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion. You leaned forward to press your lips to his collarbone, then moved higher to the sensitive spot just beneath his ear that you'd discovered during your earlier make-out sessions. He inhaled sharply, his hand moving to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

"Your turn," he murmured, tugging lightly at the bottom of your shirt.

You nodded, allowing him to help you remove it. The cool air of the room raised goosebumps on your newly exposed skin, but they were quickly replaced by warmth as Nico's hands moved to your waist, drawing you closer again.

His kisses became more insistent, trailing from your lips to your jaw, then down your neck. You tilted your head to give him better access, sighing with pleasure as he found a particularly sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder.

"How do you say 'more'?" you asked breathlessly.

"Meh," he replied against your skin, the word followed by a gentle nip that made you gasp.

"Meh," you repeated, and felt him smile against your neck before he continued his exploration, his mouth moving lower to the swell of your breasts above your bra.

His hands found the clasp of your bra, but he paused, looking up to meet your eyes. "Is this okay?" he asked, suddenly serious.

You appreciated his care, his constant checking in. It was one of the things that had drawn you to him, his consideration, his respect, his unwillingness to assume.

"Yes," you nodded, adding with a small smile, "Ja."

He unhooked your bra with practiced ease, sliding the straps down your arms and setting it aside. There was reverence in his gaze as he looked at you, his hands coming up to cup your breasts with gentle pressure.

"Beautiful," he whispered, this time in English.

You felt a flush spread across your chest and up to your cheeks, but there was no embarrassment in it, only warmth at the naked admiration in his eyes. He lowered his head, replacing one of his hands with his mouth, and you arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips.

His tongue circled your nipple before taking it between his lips, the gentle suction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your hand moved to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, encouraging him.

"Nico," you breathed, his name a prayer on your lips.

He hummed in response, the vibration adding another layer to the sensation. His free hand wasn't idle, moving to give your other breast equal attention, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak in rhythm with his mouth.

The dual stimulation was intoxicating, but you wanted more. Your hands moved down his back, feeling the shift of muscle beneath warm skin as he moved. You traced the ridge of his spine, then moved lower, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

He lifted his head from your breast, eyes dark with desire as they met yours. "Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough.

You considered using one of the Swiss German phrases he'd taught you, but in this moment, you wanted complete clarity. "I want to feel you," you said simply. "All of you."

His expression grew serious, though the hunger in his eyes didn't diminish. "Are you sure? We don't have to rush anything."

The care in his question made your heart swell. Three weeks wasn't a very long time, but in those weeks, you'd spent nearly every free moment that he had together. You'd talked for hours, shared meals, watched games, exchanged stories about your lives. There had been countless kisses, increasingly heated make-out sessions, but you'd both been content to take things slowly. Until now.

"I'm sure," you nodded, reaching up to touch his face. "I want this. I want you."

He turned his head to press a kiss to your palm, the gesture unexpectedly tender amidst the heat of the moment. "I want you too," he replied, his accent thicker than usual with emotion. "But we go at your pace, okay? You tell me if you want to stop, anytime."

"I will," you promised.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, then leaned down to capture your lips again. This kiss was different—slower, deeper, more deliberate. His hands moved to your waist, then lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans. He looked at you again, a silent question, and you nodded.

With careful movements, he unbuttoned your jeans and helped you shimmy out of them, leaving you in just your underwear. His eyes traveled over your body with appreciation, but there was also something protective in his gaze.

"Your turn," you said, reaching for the drawstring of his sweatpants.

He helped you, pushing them down and kicking them off. Now both of you were down to your underwear, the thin fabrics the only barrier between you. You could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against your thigh, and the knowledge that you affected him so strongly was intoxicating.

His hand moved to your hip, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear. "May I?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

"Please," you nodded, adding with a small smile, "Bitte."

The corner of his mouth quirked up at your use of Swiss German. Slowly, maintaining eye contact, he slid your underwear down your legs, his touch leaving trails of fire on your skin. Once they were removed, he took a moment just to look at you, his expression a mix of desire and something that looked remarkably like awe.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, shaking his head slightly as if in disbelief. "I don't know what I did to deserve this."

"You're just you," you replied simply, reaching for him. "That's more than enough."

He came willingly into your arms, his body covering yours, the weight of him a delicious pressure. You could feel every inch where your skin touched his, chest to chest, hip to hip, legs tangled together. His hand moved between your bodies, fingers tracing patterns on your stomach, then lower, seeking permission in your eyes before venturing further.

You nodded, your breath catching as his fingers found your core, exploring with gentle curiosity. He watched your face intently, learning what made your breath hitch, what made your back arch, what drew sounds of pleasure from your throat.

"Küss mich," you whispered, remembering the phrase he'd taught you earlier.

His eyes darkened at your use of his language, and he leaned down to comply, his kiss hungry and deep as his fingers continued their skilled movements. You were lost in sensation, the world narrowing to just this, his touch, his taste, the weight of him above you.

When he pulled back from the kiss, his eyes were serious. "Do you want to continue?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint.

"Yes," you nodded without hesitation. "Do you have...?"

"Protection? Yes," he confirmed, reaching toward the nightstand drawer.

You took the opportunity to help him remove his boxers, your eyes widening slightly at the sight of him fully naked. He was beautiful. All lean muscle and smooth skin, his body a testament to years of athletic discipline.

He retrieved a condom from the drawer, and you watched as he rolled it on with practiced movements. Then he was hovering over you again, his weight supported on his forearms on either side of your head, his eyes searching yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked one more time, his voice gentle.

The care in his question made your heart swell. "I'm sure," you nodded, reaching up to touch his face. "Ich will dich," you added, using the phrase he'd taught you earlier.

A groan escaped him at your words, and he leaned down to kiss you deeply as he positioned himself. "Tell me if you need me to stop," he murmured against your lips.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he began to push forward, entering you with carefully slow. The sensation was intense, and you focused on your breathing, on relaxing, on the feeling of him gradually filling you.

When he was fully seated, he paused, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing as uneven as your own. "Okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice despite the strain of holding still.

"More than okay," you assured him, shifting your hips slightly to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. "You can move."

He started slowly, with gentle, measured thrusts that allowed both of you to adjust to the sensation. His eyes never left yours, watching for any sign of discomfort, but all he would find was pleasure building with each movement.

Gradually, as your body relaxed and welcomed him, his pace increased. Your hands moved to his back, feeling the play of muscles as he moved above you, within you. The room filled with the sounds of your combined breathing, occasional moans, and the rustle of sheets.

"Okay?" he asked again, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control.

"Yes," you gasped, arching to meet his thrusts. "Don't stop—Hör nicht auf."

His rhythm faltered momentarily at your use of Swiss German, a groan escaping him. "You're killing me," he muttered, but there was affection in his tone beneath the desire.

He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly stars exploded behind your eyelids as he hit a spot deep within you that sent pleasure coursing through your veins. "There," you breathed, "right there."

Understanding immediately, he maintained the angle, his thrusts becoming more purposeful. One of his hands moved between your bodies, finding the bundle of nerves at your center, circling with just the right pressure.

The dual stimulation was overwhelming, pleasure building rapidly within you. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, every muscle tightening in anticipation.

"Nico," you gasped, feeling the tension coiling tighter.

"I've got you," he murmured, his voice strained but reassuring. "Let go. I want to see you."

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his hips and fingers, pushed you over the edge. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body arching against his as you cried out his name. He worked you through it, his movements slowing but not stopping, prolonging your pleasure for as long as possible.

As you came down from your high, you became aware of his still-rigid length inside you, of the tension in his muscles as he held himself in check. You reached up to touch his face, bringing his eyes to meet yours.

"Your turn," you said softly, clenching around him.

A groan tore from his throat, his control visibly slipping. "Are you sure? I can—"

"I want to feel you," you cut him off, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "Let go."

Something in your eyes must have convinced him, because with a shuddering breath, he began to move again, his rhythm more urgent now. You watched his face, fascinated by the play of emotions: pleasure, concentration, and something deeper that made your heart race.

His movements became more erratic, his breathing harsh, and you knew he was close. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down so that your bodies were pressed together, chest to chest.

"Ich will dich," you whispered in his ear, remembering how strongly he'd reacted to you speaking his language earlier.

The effect was immediate. He groaned, deep and guttural, his hips jerking against yours as he found his release. You held him through it, hands stroking his back, murmuring encouragement as he shuddered above you.

For a long moment afterward, neither of you moved, content to stay connected, his weight a pleasant pressure, his breath warm against your neck. Finally, he shifted, carefully separating from you and moving to dispose of the condom in the bathroom.

When he returned, he immediately gathered you back into his arms, pulling the rumpled sheets over both of your cooling bodies. You settled against his chest, listening to the gradually slowing beat of his heart, feeling utterly content.

"Are you okay?" he asked after a while, his voice soft in the dim room.

You nodded against his chest. "More than okay."

His hand moved to stroke your hair, gentle and soothing. "That was..." he seemed to search for the right word.

"Amazing?" you supplied, tilting your head to look at him.

He smiled, the expression soft and genuine. "Amazing," he agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "But I meant what happened between us. It's not just physical for me."

The vulnerability in his admission made your heart swell. "It's not just physical for me either," you assured him, reaching up to touch his face. "I really care about you, Nico."

His eyes softened at your words. "I care about you too," he replied, his accent thicker with emotion. "Very much."

You settled back against his chest, feeling his arms tighten around you. Outside, Newark continued its evening bustle, car horns honking and sirens wailing in the distance. But in here, in the soft glow of Edison bulbs, there was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth and newfound intimacy.

"Teach me one more phrase," you murmured, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.

"What would you like to know?" he asked, his voice rumbling beneath your ear.

You thought for a moment. "How do you say 'stay with me'?"

He was quiet for a beat, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "Blieb bi mir."

You repeated it, looking up to meet his eyes as you did. "Blieb bi mir."

His expression was tender as he looked down at you. "As long as you'll have me," he promised, pulling you closer.

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[brittle-doughie]

Spooky Cookie Tales: Five Nights with Dragons

Feddy

Congratulations, you have been selected to spend a week at the home just beyond the trees. Many cookies had participated in the event, so it’s your lucky day that you had been chosen.

Be sure to pack everything you need for the stay, guides will be stationed at the front to help you with your things. For now, take the load off and relax. This is your reward for winning amongst the crowd.

Let sleep take you away…

———————————————————————

N I G H T 1

You suddenly awoke to a banging noise somewhere in your little vacation home. You get up from your bed and notice a monitor on a desk to the wall parallel of your bed, next to the monitor was a tape recorder.

It looked like..a camera system? It was connected to the various rooms of the home and on the camera directed to a window…was this red dragon cookie, their eyes glowing brightly as they stare at the camera with a menacing grin…

You gasped at the sight and wondered what to do, you turned to the tape recorder to the side of your desk and pressed play. The voice sounded like one of the guides that helped you with your things…

“Welcome to your vacation home, it is with great pleasure that we invite you here. The Ivory Dragon has requested you as the sacrifice, we apologize if we deceived you into coming here.”

“However, the dragons have decided to give you a fighting chance and play along with a game they’ve made for you to not fall into their hands. Use the camera system we provided to you to keep track of where the dragons will be in the home.”

“The dragon coming to see you tonight is the Red Dragon, they are impatient compared to the other dragons and will try to take shortest route to your room. It is in your best interest that you hide under the desk when the Red Dragon is about to enter your room, they won’t search for long and leave once they see the room is unoccupied.”

“Try and survive until sunrise, that will be when the dragons will leave for the day. We hope this inconvenience doesn’t ruin your vacation stay as much as it already has been. End recording.”

Were they kidding?! Sacrifice?! The Ivory Dragon?! Five nights of this?! All of the dragons will be here soon?!

Sigh….maybe winning that event was too good to be true…

But the night was simple enough with a few close calls here and there. As explained to you, the red dragon flew out of the home at the crack of dawn. You breath a sigh as relief as you lay back in your bed.

Might as well enjoy your stay while you still could…..

———————————————————————

“This is the cookie the Ivory Dragon wanted?”

“Yes, the Ivory Dragon is requesting this specific cookie for them.”

“Y/N Cookie…I think I’ve heard of this cookie before, they’ve been a traveler of these lands for a while.”

“Let us make haste, we need to form a plan to bring them here.”

———————————————————————

N I G H T 2

The tape seemed to be replaced with a new one without you seeing anyone come in your home to replace it…you played it.

“You are still here when I came in to replace this tape, that’s good to see. That’s not good to the dragons, more will appear throughout the nights, each of them eager to be the one to get their hands on you.”

“A new dragon will be coming for you tonight, the Yellow Dragon. This one demands your attention to it when they have marked their arrival. Once you find them, you must simply watch them until they satisfied and leave.”

“It is advised that you handle this task as soon as possible, the Yellow Dragon does not like to be disrespected. If you miss your window, there’s nothing stopping the Yellow Dragon once they start making their way to your room. End recording.”

Your aptitude was correct, the dragons will be making their appearances throughout the nights, each with their own ways of dealing with them. It was still pretty simple to handle, though the Red Dragon should not slip under your watch while you watch the yellow one.

You could breathe a sigh of relief when morning came.

The dragons have left for now….

———————————————————————

“What is it now?”

“It would appear we are not alone with our plans. The followers of the Red and Yellow Dragon are also seeking Y/N Cookie.”

“What a headache. This only complicates matters…”

“We all share the same goal, can’t we just work together to get the sacrifice?”

“For a cookie as important as Y/N Cookie, maybe that’s a possibility….”

———————————————————————

N I G H T 3

As expected, a new tape replaced the previous one.

“We congratulate you on making it to night 3, you are making progress. The dragons have expected you to fall by now, so lasting this long is beating their expectations. They won’t give up though, things will only get more…hasty.”

“You may notice that you hear a mandolin playing somewhere in your home. The Blue Dragon has decided to make residence in your home for the night, in the main living area. The dragon likes to play their instrument often, but they don’t have an audience.”

“That’s where you come in. If you ever hear the mandolin stop playing, you must switch the main room camera and watch the Blue Dragon for a moment, they will go back to playing their mandolin shortly. Keep up this routine and you should be alright. End recording.”

Great, just what you needed. A music box mechanic…or something like it.

Wait, what were you talking about?

You shake your head and focused on the cameras. The Red and Yellow Dragon don’t seem to be moving any faster, so the pace wasn’t as hectic to manage.

Yet.

You decided to get some tea when the sun rose today. You needed some for the remaining nights…

———————————————————————

“Have you heard what happened to that one guide?”

“Yeah, I have. I warned her countless times about not staying the night at the home we’ve selected, but she didn’t listen. The only reason the others were made aware was the screaming they heard last night.”

“We had to go recover her, or at least, what was left of her. Her strawberry jam stained the floor and wall. I nearly retched at the smell.”

“Oh my crumbs….”

“Yeah, the dragons made sure we understood now. Only the sacrifice can stay the night at that home, they can not leave…

———————————————————————

N I G H T 4

You sat down and played the tape. You knew what to do now.

“You’re still here? I…I should give you praise for that, the previous night was expected to be your last. The dragons are not letting up on you just yet. A new one will be joining you tonight.”

“The Purple Dragon will be appearing at the window leading into your room, you will know when you hear a giggle behind you. From there, you must close the blinds and wait for them to leave. It’s recommended that you do this if you want an easier time.”

“While the Purple Dragon entering your room won’t be the end of your night, it will majorly hamper your movement on the basis that the Purple Dragon will cling to your body in a tight hug. Trust me, you’re going to need the quick reaction time for all the dragons you’re facing so far. End recording.”

Cute? You guess? How thoughtful of the dragons to give you an adorable dragon to cuddle while you’re fighting them off.

How swell. The sunrise couldn’t come fast enough….

———————————————————————

"Is everything set up?"

"Yes, the festival drawing will begin shortly."

"Remember, the sacrifice must draw a certain ticket in order to be the winner."

"I've made sure to let the other guides know that the sacrifice will be heading to the drawing at the right time and place."

"Good. That's...good to know. Now, go to your spot. The drawing is starting."

———————————————————————

N I G H T 5

You wake up a little bit early. You didn’t know why, but you felt like something was wrong this night. Something was very wrong….

You make your way to the desk and sat down. You hesitate to play the recording, but the possibility of some great evil awaiting you this night overtakes your fear.

You play the tape…..

“Y-You know, Y/N Cookie. I can see why the dragons chose you to be the sacrifice. You far exceeded their expectations compared to the cookies before you. I don’t really know what happens now….”

“I’ve never seen any cookie made it this far and just…why? Why didn’t you run while you still could? Was the vacation worth it that much to you? Or was it something else? The dragons are much angrier than I’ve ever seen them before.”

“We both know there is only one way this ends. For you to crumble.”

“Y/N Cookie, this may be the last time you hear from me. May the Sugar Swan have mercy on the both of us.”

W-where was the hint? There was no indication of a new dragon arrive-

There they were. The Ivory Dragon.

You felt a chill deep within your soul, their piercing eyes much more overbearing then any of the dragons ever could be.

You quickly learned that keeping your camera on Longan slowed their progress to your room after they lingered in a room longer than usual.

You felt sloppy, more sluggish in your movements from fear. So many things at once. Looking for the yellow, hiding for the red, watching your back for the purple, and paying attention to the blue. All the while, giving your attention to the ivory.

You breathe deeply when the sun rose…only to see the Ivory Dragon rushing for your room!

You quickly hid under the bed and waited, holding your breath….

You see the Ivory Dragon walk into the room and stop for a moment….

“You should’ve known I’d find you, little cookie…”

The dragon then rushed to your desk and lifted it out of the way before lunging at you.

T I M E ‘ S U P, Y / N C O O K I E !

———————————————————————

Local cookie vanishes after vacation stay.

The authorities were called to the home of resident Y/N Cookie after they failed to show up for work at the Time Balance Department, they entered only to find it unoccupied with some items missing.

Their last known whereabouts was an email sent to an acquaintance that they were going to take a vacation week within the premises of the Lotus Palace. When asked about it, the locals could only give a description of loud screaming coming from the home amongst the trees.

The home was searched and found mostly intact with the exception of the bedroom with a turned over desk and destroyed monitor, showing signs of a struggle. Traces of tiny crumbs were found at the doorway leading outside, suggesting Y/N Cookie was roughly dragged out of the home.

Their current whereabouts remain unknown….

[visionsofmagic]

watching them as they train. ⭒ mk1

—✦requsted by anon.∗ imagine watching liu kang, kenshi, bi han, kuai liang, and tomas working out. you can’t help but ogle them. their muscles straining visibly, they are panting, sweat is rolling off them, THEN feeling them up. how do the guys feel about this?

╰┈➤ tags: spicy, sfw, pet names, sweating, watching, flirting, tattoo, gn!reader, use of y/n, no specific use of gender, boyfriend dynamic, fluff, ‘s all I suppose. ✩ wc: 2.3k ✩ rose’s notes: offf, this one was so spicy to write and I like how I imagined this entirely while reading your request, lol, love ya & thanks for this hot request! hope you all will like, enjoy. [also, changed the aesthetic of requests post, hope this one is prettier. muah!]

✩ liu kang.

being the god of fire, protector of the earthrealm, and having a decent power in his system, he needs to train his muscles, physical strength, and power as well as he does with his mindset. watching him sitting down on the carpet, eyes closed, hands connected while being inside his mind to power it up as if he’s not the most powerful soul in the entire timeline is the thing you do as a habit now, so, it’s not surprising when you find yourself sitting on one of the benches on the training area as he trains alone – no one else, just you and him.

it’s different than watching his peaceful closed eyes, a little smirk on his face from time to time as he knows you’re there to take a sight of his meditation – because he gladly allows you to. it’s different even within the air – it’s too hot to handle and the wind doesn’t help at all because how he has no particular sleeve on his upper part, wearing just pants as he trains with his sharp movements.

muscles getting tighter, sweat running from his neck to his exposed chest, professionalism is as clear as the sun’s rays and you can’t stop thinking about how easily he will use his skillful hands on your body – he’s making you weak by only training and you know that he acknowledges his effects on you, making his training session sharper and more powerful than it is needed as he turns his back, arms move fast, making his back’s muscles go visible to your eyes.

mouth getting wet on its own, your eyes travel from his sweaty hair to his sharp jaw, arms with visible veins, white tattoos covering his arms and a part of his chest beautifully, sweat flowing from there until they reach his abdomen, making you gulp in excitement.

is it wrong to fantasize about a god? you can’t answer, and you don’t care about it either – well, at least, your instincts don’t care because without calculating its outcomes, your legs move on their own as you get up, slowly approaching him. with each step you can hear his deep breaths, and can see his sweats shine under the light of the sun.

he stops at his movements when he feels you near, chest rising up and down still. standing in front of him with warm breaths hitting his hot chest, you can’t help but touch his arms’ tattoos full of sweat – slowly enough to get a warning from his parted lips. “y/n –“

“yes, my lord?”

you can see his eyes narrowing, mind studying the situation and knowing that you will not stop, not after both of your hands happen to be on his chest, rubbing his muscles from time to time and earning another warning from him as he grips your wrists – fingers still playing with his arm muscles, getting wet, “you should stop, I need to train for one more hour, pretty.”

“train with me,” you say, putting a kiss on his exposed chest before turning over, knowing the god of fire, the man of determination, can’t resist your open invitation, and agreeing.

“you will be the death of me, my love,” he says, picking you up in bridal style as he goes to his room – to train with you of course, much hotter this time.

✩ kenshi.

to get back his sword from johnny, and be worthy of his clan once again, kenshi tries his best – so hard to accomplish his aims – he needs to be strong, he knows it, and the knowledge pushes him to train over and over again until he can beat everyone who crosses his way and avoiding him to reach his destination.

and there’s one more reason behind it – having you as his audience. his beloved lover who likes to watch him get a good view of his exposed body, half-naked, showing his muscles off even though he will deny it. he can have his orange training clothes to wear but in that way, he won’t be able to see your parted lips that you bite and lick occasionally, eyes shining as they travel on his body shamelessly, hands move rapidly because of not knowing where to put them because your mind is not working entirely when he winks at you whenever he changes the way he trains – legs, arms, back muscles – doesn’t matter as long as you get heat rushing on your body which he knows so well.

“liked what you see, love?” he will ask, smiling down at you when he takes a break, chest rising up and down as he stands on his foot, hovering over you, teasing because it’s so fun to play with your cute mind.

“u-huh,” you say, looking at his chest and waist covered with sweat rather than his eyes directed at you, “like it so much –“ you add, and to his surprise, you put your hands on his waist, pulling him closer to you as you sit on the bench still, and eyes turning up to find him, “are you doing it for me to like it?” you tease back as your hands move from his waist to his abdomen, feeling his six packs tighten under your fingertips. “cute.”

“not as cute as you, prettiest.”

then, he will make sure you put your hands on his body whenever he takes breaks until he is done with training and takes you into his room, admiring your body the way you do to his. after all, he is such a pleaser that he needs to return the favor.

✩ bi han.

for being the grandmaster of the lin kuei clan, the man who seeks great power, bi han trains a lot – he needs to, he has to.

he never gets exhausted by training with his potent stamina and determination to become the best – the strongest to bring great accomplishments to his clan. also, he never gets tired of having you beside him as he trains after he tells you to watch him closely to see what a true and good training session will look like – well, half truth half lie because it’s not the only reason why he keeps taking you into the area, having you sit down on the carpet, on your knees and watch him – it’s all because of you though, you were the first one who requested to do it and from the way you look at him, his body and mostly muscles with parted pretty lips, he can’t bring himself to train alone when he can your pretty face lighten up with desire of him as he does it.

knowing he does it on purpose, you sit down on the carpet calmly – as much as you can anyway, watching him having only his pants on, ice appearing on his hands until it reaches his elbows, the temperature getting colder but you don’t – it only gets warmer for you when your eyes travel on his torso, chest, shoulders, arms – full of muscles and sweat, getting tighter from time to time with the impact of his hard training. oh, you think, he truly deserves the title of grandmaster.

thighs clenching together, hands getting between your legs, eyes sparkling, and lips getting licked, you know bi han laughs menacingly inside his mind whenever he takes a look at your messy situation – he definitely does it on purpose, doesn’t he?

your question is answered when he cleans his sweat with a towel before sitting in front of you on his knees, hands positioned on his lap, raising an eyebrow he asks, “did you learn anything from my training, y/n?”

nodding, you challenge him by saying, “yeah, I learned how your muscles move so beautifully, sir.”

he chuckles deeply, and letting you do what you wanted to do before, taking you by the wrist, he puts your hand down on his shoulders, “now learn how they feel under your touch, doll. it’s what your hands carve after all.”

instead of saying anything, you use your hand movements as an answer – massaging his rigid muscles on the shoulders, moving from his chest from there until they find his abdomen, full of thick packs, showing his masculinity off so perfectly that you put a kiss on his exposed body, earning a low growl from the man.

“if you keep doing that, I will use your body as my training tool, princess.”

he sounds deep and hot – you’re being a brat. “then, do it.” and he does it in a way you can never imagine before experiencing it.

✩ kuai liang.

he doesn’t mind having your company when he finds alone time to train his abilities to make them reach the highest point; on the contrary, he finds it amusing how you even bring snacks with you as if his training session is a scene coming out of your favorite show – you admit it though, he’s your favorite show to watch because how it cannot be when he has sightworthy attractive and cute features, especially in the training area in which he has nothing on the half of his body – yes, you see it every day and night yet it’s far more different when it comes to seeing him training with his tools to strength himself up.

watching him jumping, crouching, using his knives with long ropes you happen to have on your wrist a night ago, your hand stop in mid-air, not being able to eat a snack because of how your mouth keeps getting wet – the hotness coming from him and hitting you on the face heavily isn’t related to his ability, no, it’s only coming thanks to being so damn attractive right now; all sweaty, breathing heavily and rapidly, movements perfect, gaze he gives to you breathtaking.

“what is it princess?” he will ask, a knowing smile on his face, taking a bottle of water to drink as he sits down beside you, radiating two different kinds of warmness to your body, “I am the one who trains and you seem to be the one with no steady breath.”

his teasing stops when you can’t help yourself and touch the scorpion tattoo on his thick and big arm, moving from there to his shoulder slowly. chuckling, you say as your hands travel on his wet chest and abdomen playfully, “who has no steady breath now handsome?”

“oh?” he holds your wrist, pulling you closer, hot breath hitting your neck when he puts a kiss on there, “when I am finished with the train, you even won’t be able to have a brain to remember how to breathe, pretty.”

✩ tomas.

“what now?” he will ask firstly, trying to find a few excuses to tell after you sit on the ground, smiling widely and telling him you want to watch him as he trains – because, ugh, he knows he will get all shy and missing a few steps, or doing his sessions incorrectly with the effects of having your piercing eyes on him, studying him, literally seeing every move and it makes him a bit nervous because being the cute little boyfriend, tomas wants to be as perfect as he can be in front of you – no one else’s, except his brothers.

his desire to impress you in every way, the situation as possible gives him a bit of sadness when he shows some weakness as he does exercises, you behind him, sitting and watching – oh, he sucks, isn’t he – he will think until the moment he realizes that you don’t watch him train – well, you do, but not with the way he excepts.

your eyes scanning his arm muscles, back, thighs, and hands as if he’s a piece of art with thick and sharp features he has – he can see how you bite your lip from time to time, smiling face is long gone, replaced by the expression of passion and tomas can’t decide which one makes him happier; to realize his not-so-perfect training isn’t understood by you or to witness your greedy gazes as you keep your eyes on him, clearly liking what you see.

being addicted to pleasing you, tomas smiles at himself and without hesitation, he takes his tight sleeveless top off of his body, showing his body underneath it – getting proud when you begin to lick your lips, thighs getting clenched with pure instincts.

even at his shiest moment, he teases you by standing between your legs, holding you by the chin, and making you look into his shining eyes with joy, “you’re quite an admirer, my love, aren’t you?” he asks, leaving you dumb for a moment before you come into your senses, smiling as your palms position on his exposed chest, playing.

it’s his turn to be dumb at the sudden action, “after what I am watching is the most beautiful sight in all realms, of course.” your hands are shameless as they flow on his top, admiring it as a true admirer.

“then let me put on a show only for you, my goddess.”

[merbear25]

Hello! Glad to see requests are open! Seeing that may I get a small thing for Zoro, Law and Mihawk. I've been having the idea of a devil fruit user reader falling into the water and needing rescuing (I'm very aware Law is also a devil fruit user but that just gives extra angst does it not). Hurt/comfort of course

Hello! Thanks for sending this in. I decided to change it a little for Law's, but I hope you like it anyway 💜💜

Even with precautions set in place, the sea was where the unexpected could happen. Whether a storm, sea monster, or battle taking place, the threat of the water was something you could never escape. Luckily, those closest to you were always prepared to protect.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, can be read as platonic or romantic, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, headcanons/scenarios, reader is a devil fruit user

If you went overboard… (Zoro, Law, Mihawk)

Zoro: He’d always been protective over those closest to him, so you were no exception. Though never overbearing, he still kept an eye on you. During times of peril, he kept you in arm's length as often as he could. You were capable—strong in your own right. However, there were dangers that automatically made you far more vulnerable. 

That day’s waters were vicious. The waves cascading over the railings gave no sign of the storm letting up. One wrong step was all it took to send you hurtling overboard. A shriek that pierced even during the hurricane-like winds sent the other hearts onboard plummeting.

Their cries for you weren’t accompanied by Zoro’s, but his action traveled faster than their worried calls. Before your limp body had the chance to sink much lower than the surface, he was there, diving in after you.

He was never short of prepared. Even when taking one of many naps, being aware of his surroundings never faltered. 

A watchful eye on everything and everyone, his friends being the ones calling for actions guided by the heart.

He wasn’t one to hound others on things they were already aware of. The unexpected should be expected, and that meant there’d be times when you were made vulnerable and in need of help, just like all the others.

Law: The sea gave no pardons to anyone. Your devil fruit abilities came with a burden that at times felt more like a curse. The calm waters the Polar Tang was cutting through turned dark as the daytime sky transformed into night. With night came more blind spots because of the abyss inevitably closing in.

A sudden wack against the side sent some of the crew members to the floor. Books flew off the shelves and the alarm sounded through the metal rooms. Red lights that blinked in urgency left split seconds of total darkness in your room. Another slam caused you to trip and miss the door handle.

Water started spouting through the cracks, and with each attack against the submarine the cracks grew in size. Your cries for help were quickly silenced by the rising water. The cold ocean held you in a tight embrace against your bedroom floor, yet offering no comfort. An immediate drop outside your room jolted you awake.

It would come as second nature. No thought, just action. You were one of the few who he considered close to him.

Rescuing you, no matter how often, came with some lectures, though. Even if it wasn’t entirely your fault, he mostly did it as a way of expressing his fear of losing someone he cared about again.

Thorough check-ups after such shocks to the system were given, even if you protested saying you were just fine.

Mihawk: Holding the title of the greatest swordsman marked him and anyone close to him as a target. The bullseye seen by the world was drifting casually through the seas, catching the rays of that day’s sun. The rippling water from an approaching ship didn’t even cause him to open his eyes. He was still enjoying the warmth of the sun, but with the supposed enemy drawing nearer, he was left with no choice but to give them even a fraction of his attention.

The captain baited Mihawk, wanting to see the swordsman’s raw power for himself, even if that meant putting his crew’s lives in jeopardy. However, Mihawk wasn’t known for being temperamental, which many of these hecklers seemed to forget. A smooth swing of his sword and their ships sank to pits of the ocean floor.

When a shot was fired at you, the bullet was sliced in mid air. Though you hung around someone whose composure didn’t break, you flinched enough for the both of you. A motion back one step too far was all it took for you to lose your footing and slip into the shackles bound to you by the devil fruit. His challengers were swatted like the pests they were before he dove in after you.

Even his lectures were articulated like advice, which you accepted without protest.

He’d insist on giving you training to help you control these impulses, albeit natural, were life threatening in the wrong situations.

That being said, he obviously knew that once you were overboard, you required his full attention. He simply wanted to offer you assistance to prevent this from happening more frequently.

[carionto]

Humans really like space wildlife

As Humanity integrates itself within the Galactic Coalition ever further, trade and travel between Sol and neighboring member systems is growing at exponential rates. In particular, their interest in the native wildlife of other planets is the most widely expanding sector for tourism and commerce.

Even though it is also the most heavily regulated and restricted one, Humans, who typically display a desire to subvert the normal procedures to expedite any process they can, for this they are surprisingly willing and eager to fill in all the necessary paperwork and spend hours upon days making sure they follow and adhere to all the requirements to import some of these creatures.

While such level of determination is not uncommon for new member species who discover a certain non-native creature or something that to the respective natives is commonplace but for them is the pinnacle of exotic, the variety of requests made by Humans is nearly as great as the entire list of known fauna species. And the reasons listed on the forms are even more diverse:

"That's a unicorn! I've always dreamed of having a unicorn and you're telling me there's a dozen subspecies?! Yes, please!!!"

"After reviewing their behavior, this bear-sized fluff-ball is the perfect cat I've always wanted, but couldn't because of allergies. I'll treat them with love and care, my life is incomplete without this fella."

"Tiny. Elephant-duck. Want."

"Our company was looking for a mascot, and these six-legged spindly beaver-crabs are perfect. Here's our mission statement and prepared accommodations for a flock."

"They all said I hallucinated the lizard sasquatch when I was on that acid trip, but now I'll show 'em. It's real. I knew it all along!"

"Aww, these baby puppies are so adorable (referring to the four meter, 800kg Fanged Widowmaker of Abyss Valley predator). My kids were looking through your alien picture books and instantly fell in love with these ones."

And so on. At first we had to reject quite a few, mainly because half of them were deadly beasts from Deathworlds that are almost impossible to capture in the first place. Then the Human officials informed us that, while they will try to stop it from happening, if we don't make importing and adopting even the most dangerous animals in the known Galaxy reasonably possible for them with Human help and expertise in the field, some Humans will set up illegal smuggling rings to "fill the market gap" as they said. Historically, they explained, that causes more problems and expenses than just handling it through official channels.

Reluctantly we were persuaded and have set up a new organization to quell this, apparently, unquenchable Human pack bonding condition. Even if said pet can kill them. We think, as horrible as it may be, that for some that is part of the appeal. Even the ones that breathe out literal poison.

"We'll wear a mask around them. This wendigo-like one is too cute to not get belly rubs."

Said the OFFICIAL Human Representative of a monstrosity that can only be described as the living incarnation of countless teeth, fangs, claws, vivid seizure inducing iridescent feathers, and a body that extends from a inconspicuous ambush pose to a fully 8 meter tall six limbed nightmare machine of Death!

[itsgivingmami]

In the mood for some comfort, can you write a request for fem reader & Rhea going through a long day of traveling & the time adjustments that come with it? I'm at an airport at the moment & the back to back flights left me burnt out! Thanks ahead of time!

You Feel Like Home- Rhea Ripley

Summary: Technically, it’s twice the work to travel together. Two plane tickets, two meals, two bags but it’s all worth it. She loves seeing you excited to sit by the window and watch the clouds and getting to sit across from you while you two ate dinner. She doesn’t want to go back to scrolling her phone alone waiting at her flight gate preferring to listen to you ramble and play little games to occupy yourselves or walking through the air port alone when seeing you get on every conveyer available was far more exciting.

WC: 639

Thanks for the request!! Hope you get/got home safely and had a nap!😴💙

Rhea’s keys jingling as she unlocks the front door sounds like pots and pans banging together, reverberating in your head and sending a dull throb from temple to temple. You’ve had a headache since you boarded your plane in Australia and between the pressure system, your ears popping, the screaming baby three rows back and trying to wrap your head around the magic time travel that you left Adelaide Friday and arrived back at LAX on Thursday had only fuelled the fire.

“Come on love,” she prompts as she takes hold of the suitcase handle you’re barely gripping, her other hand reaches around your back to direct you into the entryway. “Time for bed,” she tells you and you hum in agreement despite the fact that it’s barely past noon. You’re blinking in slow motion at this point having expanded the last of your energy staying conscious in the car. You’re barely making progress towards the stairs before Rhea scoops your legs up and you’re finally where you’ve been waiting to be most for the last 18 hours… laying the fuck down. She carries you up the stairs in silence listening to the little hums and breaths of air that come from you. Maybe when you wake up from your nap you can retell her whatever you were just trying to say.

She had tried to warn you, she really did but you insisted on visiting home with her after travelling up to Canada for war games. Travelling came with a tolerance and hers was pretty damn high at this point but the last couple days had kicked your ass.

“When do we land?” You murmured against Rheas neck, she pauses walking for a moment to admire you in her arms before continuing towards the master bedroom.

“Right now,” She keeps her tone soft as she gently lays you on the bed before pulling down the blankets for you to crawl into. You’re snoring before she’s out of the room and as much as the empty side of the bed calls her she’s got to at least take your suitcases to the laundry.

The doors closes with a soft click and Rhea lets her back rest against it, a deep yawn forcing it way out and her eyes water. She wanders back down the stairs to both your bags and she grabs them pulling them into the house.

Technically, it’s twice the work to travel together. Two plane tickets, two meals, two bags but it’s all worth it. She loves seeing you excited to sit by the window and watch the clouds and getting to sit across from you while you two ate dinner. She doesn’t want to go back to scrolling her phone alone waiting at her flight gate preferring to listen to you ramble and play little games to occupy yourselves or walking through the air port alone when seeing you get on every conveyer available was far more exciting.

She leaves the washer going as she flicks the light switch off, her steps becoming heavier as the jet lag starts to settle in her joints. You haven’t moved from your spot when she comes back in, a testament to the severity of the slumber you had fallen in. Rhea rips off her crew neck and it lands in the hamper with her socks then pulls her side of the sheets down.

She wraps a strong around your middle and you stir slightly, muscle memory taking over as you fit into the curve of Rheas body. Dozing back off as she presses a kiss into your shoulder and you mumble you a soft, “I love you,”

Her grip tightens as she laces her fingers through yours and though she’s been at home for at least an hour here in bed wrapped around your body she feels home, “I love you too,”

[tennessoui]

freudian slip au: vacation blues (3k)

@promise-from-the-force-itself requested a snippet of the freudian slip au aka be careful not to choke on your admirations on ao3 (the au where anakin is the kenobi nanny and falls in love with his boss, obi-wan kenobi, who refuses to sleep with him until he's no longer his employer) as a fic-for-donation trade on my ko-fi! this is set pre-obikin getting together, so it's mostly just 3k of 19yo anakin being horny, cockblocked, and saying a horny innuendo the wrong thing to his hot boss who is hanging by a thin moral thread trying to resist temptation even when the resort staff messed up your room reservation so temptation has to sleep with you in your bed every night for like two weeks.

“I despise weddings,” Mr. Kenobi says, not for the first time, leaning back in the white plush poolchair next to Anakin and disdainfully pushing his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose.

“I think that’s a bachelorette party,” Anakin replies as helpfully as he can manage when he’s trying his hardest not to glance sideways at his boss who is also most probably the grand love of his sad little life and who is, most annoyingly, shirtless and sunning himself in the Scarif mid-morning light.

When he’d accepted Mr. Kenobi’s invitation to travel with him and Korkie on their summer vacation to a famous Scarif beachside resort, he’d forgotten to factor in exactly how much time he’d have to spend with Obi-Wan Kenobi, shirtless and muscular and hairy just within his line of vision.

And with Korkie having been enrolled in the week-long child day camp that the resort boasts as being one of the best in Scariff, it’s hard to even remember why Anakin’s here if he’s not even really watching Korkie for Obi-Wan. For free.

Or, technically, he’s getting paid for this.

Paid to suntan and swim in the shallow pools of the resort, in the crystal clear blue waters of the beach just outside the resort’s gates. Paid to eat his weight in fancy oysters and sip frozen cocktails sitting at the underwater bar on one end of the resort’s pool. Paid to shyly offer up his bare back to Mr. Kenobi’s hands so he can slather sunscreen onto his unprotected skin, as if that’s something Anakin’s capable of building up an immunity against.

It’s not fair. At this point, he thinks there’s a good chance he’s going to end up being the first nineteen year old to ever die from sexual frustration.

“Been paying attention to them, have we?” Mr. Kenobi asks archly, sunglasses slipping down his sunscreen-greased nose as he raises an eyebrow at Anakin. 

Anakin stares harder at the group of women on the far end of the pool. It’s either that or give into the urge to count the moles dotting Mr. Kenobi’s shoulders. The one he’d seen yesterday just to the left of his heart and right next to his nipple had been devastating. Any other blow so early in the trip will surely put Anakin at critical levels of system failure.

Especially seeing as how due to a mix-up of rooms and reservations, as well as an inundation of bachelorette parties, Mr. Kenobi and Anakin are sleeping together. 

In the same bed.

Not—like, sleeping together, sleeping together.

Purely professional.

They really have kept it incredibly professional, which is more a miracle on Anakin’s side than probably even a consideration for Mr. Kenobi. 

That first night they’d arrived, jet-lagged out of their minds from the thirteen hour flight from Coruscant, Korkie already grumpily asleep in his father’s arms and Anakin handling his own bags because he’d felt too awkward to let one of the bellhops take them from him, had been a test in his self-control. When they’d entered the rooms—rooms—in the resort only to find that, apparently, the reservation had been improperly recorded and there was only one king-sized bed in the main ensuite for Obi-Wan and a child-sized bed for Korkie, Anakin had been the first to insist that the fancy couch stretching across half the sitting room—because this hotel room had multiple rooms—didn’t look so uncomfortable.

And when it was, because rich people can, apparently, do many things except make a comfortable couch, Anakin had been the first to suggest that he bunk down with the resident seven year old.

“Nonsense, he’s always kicked something awful,” Mr. Kenobi had said, running an exhausted looking hand over his beard while the other one carefully adjusted his sleeping son. “Satine scheduled an early delivery by two weeks. Told the doctors she thought her ribs couldn’t take it anymore.”

Anakin, almost desperate at that point and definitely on the verge of panic, had been about to suggest that, well, one of the sunbathing chairs by their private pond outside looked particularly comfortable. He’d sleep there—

But before he could say anything at all, Mr. Kenobi had said with the sort of finality that Anakin is sure has ended countless board meetings and starred in countless interns’ jerk-off fantasies, “You’ll share with me tonight. We’ll see if we can’t get something sorted tomorrow morning.”

And then they hadn’t. And then the next night, they still hadn’t. And now it’s their fourth day into the vacation, and Anakin is running on very little sleep and a level of fruitless horniness he hasn’t felt since the first few weeks of being employed by Mr. Kenobi.

Except then, there’d been a four year old running about in need of his attention and protection, and Mr. Kenobi had spent a lot more time comparatively not near Anakin. It’s like the exact opposite right now, and it means that Anakin wants to die.

“You’re red,” Mr. Kenobi observes, turning back to look down at the book  in his hand. “Surely not because of the bridesmaids?”

His tone is just cutting enough that Anakin, who is, it has to be said, running on little sleep and a lot of sexual frustration, snaps, “You’re hot.”

His mouth clicks shut a moment later, but the words are already out and, if the way Mr. Kenobi’s hand stills in between flipping pages, being misconstrued. His boss turns his head and peers at him over the rim of his sunglasses. 

It’s devastating, really, because Obi-Wan Kenobi—hand-to-heart—is actually the hottest thing Anakin’s probably ever seen in his entire life. Definitely hotter than any of the other people currently lounging poolside, and really, that’s saying something.

But that doesn’t mean Anakin has permission to just say that. To his boss. Korkie’s dad.

“I meant, like. It’s hot. When you get hot, you get red. Or—one, a person, like—you. You as a person gets red. When they—you get hot. So of course I’m—red. Independent of the bridesmaids.”

Anakin is quite sure if he was red before then he must be scarlet now. He thinks he can really, honestly feel the heat radiating from his face. 

Really, Anakin can probably sue someone. Make a formal complaint or something. About all the—shirtlessness he’s had to put up with over the past few days. Shirtlessness and bedsharing. It’s highly inappropriate behavior. Anakin’s here to do his job, which is minding Korkie. Mr. Kenobi is, at best, a dangerous distraction and at worst, a no-good cocktease. 

Or is it the other way around?

Anakin isn’t sure, and clearly he’s been getting too much sun. Because he’s all red and hot and his skin feels too tight.

“Actually, I’m gonna take a break in the room,” he decides, pushing himself up from the plush poolchair and faking a long, languid stretch to hammer home how very unbothered Anakin is with the whole situation.

When he glances back at Mr. Kenobi, the man’s eyes are once more fixed firmly on his book. 

Of course they are. 

“Alright,” Mr. Kenobi tells him, sounding actually unbothered in a way Anakin is incredibly envious about. His voice is level, cool as a fucking cucumber. “Oh, and Anakin,” he adds when Anakin is five steps away from their chairs and that much closer to the relative safety of Not Right Here Right Now For The Love of God Please, “if you could make sure to pick Korkie up from the Kids Club this afternoon and mind him for the evening. I’ve plans to get drinks with the owner tonight.”

Anakin scratches at the back of his neck. Knowing Mr. Kenobi, his plans could be getting drinks with the owner of a yacht at the marina, the owner of the resort, or the owner of the fucking island. “Well, yeah,” he says. “‘S what you brought me here for, isn’t it?”

Mr. Kenobi looks up at him, sunglasses hiding his expression. Anakin manages, through sheer force of will alone, to keep his eyes appropriately on his boss’s face. Even though his chest is right there. And his thighs, which are barely covered by the swimshorts. And his ankles, which are surprisingly delicate and incredibly endearing which is how Anakin really knows he’s in love. Or, well, obviously he’d known before this week exactly how in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi he is, but it definitely proves just how far gone he is that he finds the man’s ankles fucking…endearing.

“Quite,” Mr. Kenobi says, returning his attention to the book in his hands. He uncrosses his legs and then recrosses them. “I just thought a reminder wouldn’t be…uncalled for. Given potential…distractions posed by the…other resort guests.”

Sometimes Mr. Kenobi says stuff that makes Anakin think maybe he’s not as smart as he looks. Like when he implies that Anakin is going to spend the rest of the afternoon drooling over women in tiny bikinis and plastic penis crowns, when it can’t be more obvious that Anakin’s escaping inside to jerk off for the seventh time so far this week. Probably over something really embarrassing too, like the scent of Obi-Wan’s aftershave on his pillow or the memory of his stupid fucking ankles.

“Roger that, Captain,” he manages to say before he turns tail and flees.

—------------

For being his only support system at the moment, Padmé is being both unsupportive and terribly unsympathetic.

Anakin paces the length of the ensuite room, feet hardly making a sound as they trek the plush rug that the indecently huge bed rests on. His phone is tucked in between his shoulder and ear  so that he can have his hands free to gesticulate. Not that it seems to be helping.

It’s nearly midnight. Obi-Wan isn’t back yet, but Korkie’s been asleep in his room for the last several hours. He’d gone down easy, which makes sense. As far as Anakin can figure, the main point of paying what is surely an exorbitant price to send your kid to the Kid Club at the resort is to exhaust them so much that they’re ready to fall asleep before it’s even dark outside and you have the whole evening to yourself.

But still, just in case, Anakin has the doors cracked so he can hear if the little monster stirs. So far, all he’s heard is a gratuitous amount of kicking.

At first he’d tried to fall asleep when the hours ticked into proper night and he’d read as much of his book as he’s allotted himself for the day, but he’d felt wide awake the moment his head hit the pillow. 

When would Mr. Kenobi return? What was the other man doing? Was drinks with the owner really just a euphemism for something else he was doing with the owner? Who has drinks this late? Isn’t Mr. Kenobi old?

Isn’t it past his bedtime?

“I don’t understand,” Padmé admits, stifling her yawn. “Why can’t you just go to your room and shut the door if you’re afraid of your boss waking you up when he comes in?” 

Anakin turns and paces his line back towards the sliding glass doors leading out to the private patio. “Because we’re sleeping together!”

Padmé, for once, seems stunned into silence. But not for long. “Wha—”

“I mean, professionally,” Anakin says, pinching at the bridge of his nose and fighting the urge to hang up so he can just duct-tape his mouth closed. Forever.

“Alright,” Padmé decides. This is accompanied by shifting on her side of the line as she presumably stands as well to begin pacing through her house. “I think you need to remind me what exactly it is you do for the Kenobis again.”

Anakin splutters. “I’m Korkie’s nanny!”

“And what do you do for his father?”

“Mind Korkie!” Anakin snaps, voice far too loud for the stillness of the night around them. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Padmé, Christ! He’s my boss!”

“Right,” Padmé says. And then, unrepentant, “Look, Ani, darling, I have to go. It’s far too late in the night for me to listen to this kind of delusion. Go sleep with your boss. Tell me about it later.”

“It isn’t like that—” Anakin starts to protest in defense of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s morals more than his own, given that it would absolutely be like that if Anakin had his way. “Whatever,” he says when he realizes she’s already disconnected the call. He falls back into the soft hug of the mattress. It offers little comfort.

But sleep must eventually come to him, because he drifts back into consciousness an indeterminable amount of time later to feel the linen sheets being dragged over his body.

He makes a noise, half questioning and altogether too trusting, even as he refuses to roll onto his back, staying instead on his side. A hand, broad and callused and familiar, falls to rest on his shoulder as the bed shifts. Someone climbs in it, careful not to jostle him too much. 

“Korks?” Anakin mutters, even though he knows that’s not right—can’t be right. The touch is too sure, the hand too big. 

It’s Obi-Wan who replies, because of course it is. Who else would Anakin ever willingly share a bed with? “Mm, I think you’ll find that I kick less.”

The touch on his shoulder does not fall away. The fingers slip further down his arm, tracing along the line of his bicep instead.

Anakin is suddenly, irreversibly awake, as if he’s just injected caffeine straight into his bloodstream. Obi-Wan is touching him. It’s late at night, and the man is at his back. Closer than he ever has been before.

“The way you talk, you’d think you don’t have any bad habits in bed,” Anakin whispers.

The words drag a rough sort of chuckle out of Obi-Wan that Anakin finds devastating. The hand rests on his elbow. Obi-Wan’s forearm is touching Anakin’s naked side. If the heat radiating from just behind him is any sort of indicator, then the man must have discarded the shirt he’s usually worn to bed over the past several nights.

“Mm,” Mr. Kenobi drawls, and Anakin knows he must be drunk. Tipsy at least. He’s only really ever seen him like that a handful of times, but his voice always goes syrupy slow. He likes to touch, trace his fingers over whatever happens to be close by as if the sensation is heightened after several whisky cocktails.

He’s touching Anakin right now.

“I’ve been told I like to bite,” Mr. Kenobi murmurs. His breath hits the back of Anakin’s neck and it makes him shiver. It makes him ache, cock chubbing up at such a fast pace that he’s sort of afraid of passing out.

He grabs onto the distraction that is Obi-Wan’s response with both hands, holding himself carefully still so he doesn’t give into the temptation to roll his hips back. To see just how far away from him Mr. Kenobi has chosen to rest his body. 

“You’ve bitten people in your sleep?” He asks, because that sounds ridiculous.

“In my sleep?” Mr. Kenobi repeats, and his hand moves. His hand drops from his arm, lands on his stomach instead, longer fingers just skirting the dip of his exposed belly button. “No.”

It takes all of Anakin’s concentration to not buck his hips up into the touch. It’d be like taking advantage of the man, if he were to roll over and beg him to touch him more, touch him lower, get him off. He’s drunk. They’re both tired. Korkie’s just in the next room, and Anakin would bet a sizable chunk of Obi-Wan’s fortune that the man hadn’t thought to close any of the doors but the first upon entering their room.

“Mr. Kenobi,” Anakin whispers into the darkness. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say, what he’s planning on doing, how he’s going to finish that sentence. Please more? Please keep talking? Please tell me what you like in bed because apparently we’re not talking about sleeping habits? 

But before he can wet his lips and decide—commit—Mr. Kenobi is letting out a sigh, like Anakin has just reminded him of a pressing meeting that he has on his calendar.

His hand moves again, though this time it falls away from him completely as the mattress shifts once more and Obi-Wan rolls away.

Anakin blinks into nothing, holding himself perfectly still just in case lightning decides to strike twice. Meanwhile, he tries to talk his dick down from spontaneously imploding. It’ll be much too telling to go to the toilets now, and a shower is definitely out of the question.

The best case scenario would be Mr. Kenobi rolling back into his space and finishing what he started, of course.

But a handful of moments later, his boss begins to snore the song of the drunken men who have had the misfortune to fall asleep on their backs.

Like his stupid ankles, Anakin still somehow finds this incredibly endearing.

Though, he decides sometime after the night has ticked over into the very early hours of the morning and Anakin still hasn’t managed to convince his body to unclench and fall asleep, he’s going to riot in the morning if the hotel reception staff can’t find a trundle bed for him to sleep on for the remainder of the trip. 

Hell, he’d put up with Korkie’s knobbly knees instead of…of whatever this is.

He might even risk the bachelorette party.

[onesiesdaydream]

hear me out what if poly skk with reader

i mean ermmmn if you want ehe no pressure <3 (i just like their ot3 dynamics, feel like skk as a ship is so deeply connected it slots in pretty well with a third too. kinda like cats from the shelter you have to adopt together if you get what in mean 😭)

Welcome Back, Idiots I Dazai Osamu x Reader x Chuuya Nakahara (Poly! Relationship)

Summary: Your dumbass boyfriends come back from Europe—with broken bones, emotional baggage, and a baguette. Domestic chaos ensues.

A/N: Thank you for requesting, love ♡ I don’t usually write poly, but this request was too fun (and too them) to resist. Thanks for trusting me with your idea, love—hope you enjoyed the mess 🥰

MASTERLIST

The airport was packed—buzzing with reunions, the scent of cheap coffee, and the mechanical voice of the PA system reminding everyone to “please watch their belongings.” You stood near the arrival gate, heart thudding, a cardboard sign clutched in your hands that read:

“Welcome Back, Idiots ❤️” 

in bold red marker, hearts doodled with the dedication of someone who’d spent too many nights worrying.

In your other hand: a warm coffee tray—two drinks, exactly how they liked them.

Your phone screen glowed in your hand as you refreshed the arrival schedule for the fifth time.

Flight from Paris – LANDED. Finally.

They were finally coming back. Two weeks in Europe for a mission you weren’t allowed on — “Too risky,” they said. “We’ll be back before you miss us.”

Liars. You missed them before they even boarded the damn plane.

You exhaled, part relief, part tension. Missions abroad were always dicey, and when it came to Dazai and Chuuya, "routine" usually translated to "how many diplomatic incidents this time?"

You didn’t have to wait long. The arrival gate whooshed open. Passengers spilled out—families, business travelers, jet-lagged tourists—until one short, furious blur emerged like a hurricane.

A blur that nearly knocked over a stroller.

“CHUUYA?!”

There he was. Sunglasses shoved up in his hair, mouth set in a grimace, one hand clutching the handle of a wheelchair with a kind of rage usually reserved for broken wine glasses and Dazai’s face.

Chuuya’s scowl broke when he saw you. “Yo! We’re back!” he called, waving a hand like this entire image wasn’t batshit insane.

Then you saw who was in the chair.

“Careful, Chuuya, I’m a delicate flower now.”

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Dazai?!”

The infamous Dazai Osamu, your favorite migraine and disaster magnet, was lounging in the chair like a smug, mangled prince. Both legs were in thick white casts, propped up on a support bar. There was a baguette—an actual baguette—balanced in his lap like some sort of culinary trophy.

"Heyyyy, sunshine!”" he beamed. "Have you missed me? Look, I brought you authentic Parisian bread! ALso Swiss chocolate,” Dazai added helpfully, gesturing vaguely to a duffel bag. “And possibly a few international arrest warrants. But mostly chocolate.”

You blinked. “WHAT THE HELL—”

“Don’t ask,” Chuuya cut in sharply, his voice already fraying at the edges. “I swear to god, if you say ‘what happened,’ I might cry.”

You met his eyes and sighed, stepping forward to hand him the coffee. He blinked down at the cup in surprise before taking it—then, like the exhaustion suddenly caught up to him, he leaned his forehead gently against your shoulder.

You froze for a moment, then reached up to rest your hand against the back of his neck.

“I brought your usual,” you said softly.

“I love you,” he muttered into your jacket. Then added, “You’re a saint.”

Naturally, you turned to Dazai. “WHAT. THE HELL. HAPPENED.”

“What happened,” Chuuya snapped, lifting his head again, despite saying not to ask, “is this dumbass jumped off a two-story balcony backwards, yelling ‘I am the wind!’ Now he’s got two broken legs, a concussion, and my last shred of sanity.”

"I was demonstrating finesse," Dazai added cheerfully. “To a Countess. It worked.”

"He was drunk."

"Tipsy."

"She was married."

"To the mayor, Chuuya. You’re forgetting the spice."

You crouched beside Dazai, brushing some hair out of his eyes. “You look like hell.”

“Hell never looked so good though, right?” he winked. But for a moment, his eyes softened. “Missed you.”

You smiled and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “Missed you, too. You idiot.”

You stood up and walked alongside them as Chuuya wheeled Dazai forward. “Are you actually—how bad is it?” you asked.

Dazai gave you a look so overly dramatic it could’ve been framed. “My body may never recover. I’m a broken man. Tragedy incarnate. I— ow, ow, CHUUYA, THE RAMP—”

Chuuya hit the incline a little too hard.

“Oops,” he said, deadpan.

You winced as the wheelchair jolted over the ramp, Dazai groaning in exaggerated pain. Chuuya shot you a sideways glance, like this was all part of some elaborate torture ritual you hadn’t been warned about.

“Smooth, as always,” you teased, reaching down to steady the chair.

Chuuya shrugged, taking a long sip of his now lukewarm coffee. “I’m doing my best, alright?”

Clearly not true.

“Here,” you said, gently nudging Chuuya aside. You look like you could use a break. Let me take over.”

Chuuya blinked at you, clearly exhausted but still stubborn. After a second, he relented with a small grunt and handed over the wheelchair, stepping in beside you. You adjusted your grip, pushing Dazai with one hand and sliding your other arm around Chuuya’s waist.

He didn’t say anything—just leaned in slightly, letting out a breath he’d clearly been holding for hours. His arm slipped around your shoulders in a quiet, grateful side-hug.

“You’re a damn lifesaver,” he murmured, sipping his coffee again. “And not just for the caffeine.”

You smiled at him, giving his side a light squeeze. “I’ve got you.”

TWO DAYS LATER

The apartment smelled like lavender detergent, burnt toast, and the faintest trace of antiseptic cream.

Dazai had claimed the couch like a Roman emperor in exile, his legs stretched out on a pile of strategically-placed pillows, one arm thrown dramatically across his eyes like a tragic widow.

“I’m dying,” he announced to the ceiling. “This is it. I’ve named the dust bunnies. I’ve accepted my fate. Chuuya won’t let me have wine. I am but a husk.”

“You tried to open a bottle with your teeth,” you called from the kitchen, flicking the toaster down again.

“That’s no reason to oppress me.”

“You’re on painkillers, dumbass,” Chuuya snapped from the hallway, emerging with a laundry basket tucked under one arm and his hair still wet from the shower.

He wore a faded t-shirt that might’ve been yours—or maybe Dazai’s, it was hard to tell with the way your clothes seemed to migrate lately—and a pair of joggers low on his hips. He looked tired, but stubbornly functional. Classic Chuuya.

“And you left a damn trail of bandage wrappers across the hallway,” he grumbled, setting the laundry basket down by the closet and tugging a towel off his shoulders. “You’d think a world-class idiot would know how to use a trash can.”

“Now, now,” Dazai crooned from the couch, cracking one eye open. “That idiot saved the day in Cannes. I was very heroic, you know. Charming, even.”

“Your idea of heroic was starting a bar fight with the mayor's son because he said your coat looked cheap.”

Dazai made a wounded sound. “That coat was vintage!”

You stepped out of the kitchen with a plate in hand, giving Chuuya a quick once-over—damp hair, flushed cheeks, and that subtle tightness in his shoulders that told you he hadn’t really slept last night. Not well, anyway. You offered him a small smile and the plate.

“Toast?” you asked gently.

He paused. “Did you butter it like—?”

“Just the way you like.”

“…Thanks,” he muttered, taking it and sinking onto the armrest of the couch near Dazai’s head, chewing in grumpy, contemplative silence.

Dazai, of course, used the opportunity to rest his head on Chuuya’s thigh with the smugness of a cat that just stole someone’s seat.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Don’t bleed on my pants.”

“I’m not bleeding, Chuuya,” Dazai said sweetly. “I’m suffering. There’s a difference.”

“You bled on my blanket last night, don’t even start.”

You settled beside Dazai’s feet, carefully lifting his casted legs onto your lap and reached over to brush a crumb from Chuuya’s sleeve. “You know you didn’t have to stay again.”

Chuuya shrugged, trying for casual. “Didn’t feel right leaving you to deal with that alone.” He nodded toward the couch goblin draped across both of you. “Besides, it’s only a couple nights. I’ll go back to my place when he can get to the bathroom without yelling for backup.”

Dazai let out a scandalized gasp. “You like helping me. Admit it.”

“I like seeing you falling face-first into the toilet.”

You bit back a laugh. “He did that, didn’t he?”

“Oh yeah. Knocked over a plant. Woke the neighbors.”

Chuuya glanced down at him, and for all his griping, his hand drifted into Dazai’s hair on instinct, fingers combing gently through the messy strands. It wasn’t something he even seemed to realize he was doing.

“You’ve got a few weeks left before the casts come off,” you said quietly, resting your head against the back of the couch, your hand on his casts. “Doctor said you’re healing fast, though.”

“He’s too stupid to stay injured for long,” Chuuya muttered. But his hand didn’t stop moving.

Dazai sighed, finally sinking into something almost peaceful. “I wouldn’t mind if he stayed a little longer.”

Chuuya’s fingers froze. “You trying to guilt me into moving in, bastard?”

Dazai cracked a lazy smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Just saying the couch is comfier when you’re yelling nearby.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

You looked between them—your chaos magnet curled up in a mess of blankets, and your short-tempered knight in rumpled sleepwear who wouldn’t admit how much he cared if it knocked on the door and slapped him.

You reached across Dazai’s legs to hold Chuuya’s hand. “You know you’re welcome, right? Even after he’s healed.”

Chuuya didn’t answer at first. Just stared down at Dazai, still running his fingers through his hair.

“…Yeah,” he said eventually. Quiet. Almost careful. “I know.”

You all sat there for a moment—warm toast and The Big Bang Theory playing in the background, tangled limbs and mismatched socks, the scent of lavender and healing things in the air.

Maybe it wasn’t perfect.

But it was getting close.

[solbaby7]

Angels Like You

pairing: cassian x reader

warnings: swearing, sexual themes, use of safe word, possible typos, some angst but plenty of fluff

summary: based off a anonymous request (not sure how to put the req on here to see but it’s literally like the second thing on my feed if u really wanna know)

—

You’d always heard that opposites attract.

It never really clicked though until you’d met Cassian.

His loud laughs and your soft giggles. His crude jokes and your blushed cheeks. His stomping steps and yours quietly following.

It just worked. Even if there were a few differences that occasionally left you feeling slightly inadequate—like his sexual experience and your naivety.

You’d overlooked it; chalking it up to the fact that Cassian had simply been alive significantly longer than you, experienced more while traveling the Courts. It was without question that he’d had his fair share of women—had probably tried things you couldn’t even dream of but a huge part of you was okay with that. Grateful that he’d gotten it out of his system because, in truth, you preferred a gentler pace. Taking the time to appreciate when your massive male of a mate left his title and the aggression that ensued at the door, presenting you with a part of him unseen by most, if any.

Cassian was a giver, always pressing sweet kisses down the slope of your nose and muttered compliments into the plush of your lips as he eased off your clothes. A thorough lover, who’d memorize the curves of your body as if you were a prized sculpture being put on display simply for him to admire. He’d croon kindness in your ear while feeding pure sin to your cunt with as much of his length as you could handle without shattering like glass in his grasp.

It had taken practice and countless hours spent building trust to pull you out of your timid nature; to quell the desire to cover your chest when he undressed you or fighting the burning of your cheeks when Cass would slap at the fat of your ass in front of his family. “Hurry back,” He commands playfully after dinner. He’s comfortable in the giant chair, soft cushions tucked behind his back and the crackling fire behind him warms at his wings while arguing over nothing with his brothers.

You oblige the request without hesitation, partially because Mor all but shoves a glass of some terrifyingly bright concoction of liquor in your grasp the second you step foot in the kitchen with a hellish grin and partially from the mating bond that seemed to throb when you were apart. She leans against the counter, fingers hovering over a display of sweet treats when you make way to go back.

“—just tell us. How is it?” The hushed tone of Rhysand’s voice stops you in your tracks, muscles tensing and ears all but pressed against the door to hear better.

“Fuck off.”

Azriel’s laugh follows, tone teasing. “Must be good. You know what they say about the quiet ones.”

You don’t even have to look to know Rhys is nodding along based off his inebriated low hum. “Filthy in bed.”

“Maybe some of them,” Cassian chuckles, ice clinking and you assume he’s still clutching at that half finished glass of whiskey he’d been nursing after his meal. “Mine is a little more…vanilla.”

It wasn’t like he was wrong and the words don’t even register as a bad thing until you hear the High Lord’s displeased groan and Azriel’s muttered comments about respecting it but personally desiring a female who was a bit more durable—adventurous.

You take a step back, stomach knotting with insecurity and you aren’t strong enough to linger any longer. Without a second thought the drink in your hand is finished in two quick gulps and the burn that settles is far less intimidating with their words replaying in your mind to distract you. “Where are you going?” Mor’s eyes catch on the bottle of wine you snag from the table, your empty glass left behind and she’s acutely aware that while she’d made it even she couldn’t stomach the contents.

“Taking my party upstairs,” You reply without even looking back, too fearful she’d see the tears beginning to glaze at our eyes. Halfway up the staircase, you all but rip the cork from the top drink deeply straight from the bottle with little care for the stray drops that drip onto the neckline of your dress. The door to your shared room is kicked closed behind you, eyes catching on the shuffled sheets left unmade after earlier—they still smelled like the both of you. A reminder of Cassian’s head between your thighs and fingers stuffed as far in your cunt as they could go. It had felt so perfect then but now you couldn’t even bring yourself to lay on the mattress.

Not even the wine can rid your brain of the self-depreciating thoughts and by time Cassian had come to check on you, the bottle had long since run empty and the few rebellious tears that had fallen dried on your cheeks. He makes an effort to make as little noise as possible when toeing off his boots, shuffling over to carry you to bed. Your subconscious betrays you, body melting into his warmth and you vaguely remember calloused hands guiding your arms through the holes of fresh nightclothes, a warm cloth dragging against your neck to clear the stickiness of spilled wine.

You mumble something unintelligible but Cassian just hums in agreement, sliding into the sheets beside you and pulling you close to his chest.

—

You aren’t there when he wakes the next morning, the sheets cool and your scent faded. He frowns as he wipes the sleep away and the lines only grow when you’re nowhere to be found at breakfast, or in the training ring a few hours after that. His agitation doesn’t go unnoticed, confusion intensifying when even the bond is blocked. All day Cassian yearns for the random tugs, the reassuring waves sent through a sacred connection but every gentle caress is met with complete silence.

He finds you much later, form covered in silk where you sat in the middle of the bed. A box sits before you, tied neatly with a bow and everything. A brow raises, relief flooding every fiber of his being when he can verify for himself that you were safe. “I haven’t seen you all day. Where’ve you been?”

“Went shopping.”

Cassian’s weight dips into the mattress, fingers eager when gripping at your hips to pull you in closer. He’s nosing at your neck when he mutters, “What’d you get?”

You shift beneath him, sliding the box carefully before him, unable to meet his eye. “Open it.”

Even filled with anxiety, he finds a way to make you laugh, doing his best to make a whole deal about opening the wrapping paper but when the lid slides open, his grin falters. “I—“ Resting inside the dark velveteen packaging was a pair of leather cuffs, padding lining the inside and a thick key tucked snug beneath it. “I thought you weren’t really ready for stuff like this yet?”

Fingers fiddle in your lap, rings twisting and silk ruffling against smooth skin when you shrug. “Changed my mind.” You don’t give him time to think too hard about it and he doesn’t resist in the slightest when you leaned forward to kiss him. It’s effortless to get lost in it—in him and those careful hands and claiming lips, pouring out just how much he’d missed you with each graze of his tongue against your own. Cassian adjusts you with ease, the kiss never breaking for even a moment as you’re caged beneath him. You can feel the press of his weapons against your knee, the drag of thick leathers against your inner thigh and the throbbing hardness of his arousal pressed against your belly. “Put them on me.”

There’s such weariness in golden eyes when they stare down at you and briefly your brows furrow— you thought he’d be more excited and less likely to ask too many questions since it was something he’d apparently desired so badly. “Are you sure?”

You pray he doesn’t notice that you don’t exactly offer an answer, instead pulling him down into another kiss; a deeper one and you know you’ve got him when you’ve guided his hands to your chest. He melts like the sweet icing Elain put on top of still steaming rolls of sugar and cinnamon; offering small groans and strained moans when you explore the rigid planes of his body.

Cassian doesn’t stray from the normal routine, using his elbow to slightly shove the box and its contents away while he got his fill. Each loving drag of his tongue down the length of your neck, over your breasts and peaked nipples. He stops just below your belly button, eyes sliding from you to the present beside you and every move is deliberate—careful, like he was handling fine china. “Do you remember your safe word?”

“I do.”

A kiss pressed along the line of your underwear. “And if you can’t speak?” He nods in approval when you snap your fingers twice. “We can stop at any time.” The leather is smooth against your wrists and you don’t miss how loose he’s fastened them, ensuring your safety before all.

A few steadying breaths as you tested the restraints, hands dangling above your head and while you can bend at the elbows and shift your weight there’s not much give for anything else. “Don’t stop,” You whisper, eyes fluttering shut as you try to focus on everything but the racing of your heart against your ribcage.

Cassian mouth was sinful, teeth biting into the flimsy fabric to tug them down, down, down. “Well, aren’t you just perfect,” He praises, nose trailing tickling lines up your inner thighs until the taunting touches leave your hips squirming for more.

“Please, Cass—want you.”

“Just be patient for me, angel. I’ve waited all day for you,” A kiss to your bare sex, tongue peeking out to press a barely there stripe up your slit. “Let me savor it.” Strong arms nudge your legs further apart, guiding your calves over his shoulders and when he really gets started there’s not a single brain cell working to begin to fixate on the restraints. It might’ve even been fun, submitting to such power when it was directed towards you with such care.

It’s not until his clothes become scattered heaps on the floor, cock lined with your entrance with his mouth slotted over yours that the anxiety spikes again. Something about the inability to move was less pleasant with so much muscle above you—with so much of his length sliding inside without the security blanket of being able to nudge his hip when you’d taken enough.

He does everything right, slowly working you open and moaning obscenities of your warmth, the tight fit and how fucking pretty you looked taking him.

And yet, still your muscles refuse to relax.

Your fingers flex, numbness settling in but each adjustment only seems to make them feel tighter until even Cassian’s hands rubbing against your skin felt uncomfortable. Each thrust of his hips jostles your body, thick padding chafing at sensitive skin. “Fuck,” He pants into your neck, arms wrapping under your shoulders for leverage. “Squeezing me so tight, angel.” It draws a whimper, one he mistakes for pleasure but you say nothing, willing yourself to breathe, repeating over and over that you were safe.

Against your will, your heart rate spikes, hands clenching into tight fists above you. “Cass,” A deep groan and his pace speeds up. Tears begin to line your vision, eyes squeezing shut as the need to please was overshadowed by panic. “Red. Please, red—I’m freaking out.”

He stops without question, quickly pulling out and slapping a hand against the bedside table for the key. “Shit angel, I’m sorry.” It unlocks with a click and instantly, you can breathe again. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I—it’s just that,” Fat tears roll down your cheeks when he scoops you into his arms. “I wasn’t ready,” There’s so much shame in the words and Cassian’s heart absolutely shatters when you bury your face in his chest. “I overheard you the other night talking with your brothers about us—about me being vanilla during sex and I guess…well, I just wanted to prove that I could be adventurous too.” He doesn’t interrupt you, allowing a small noise of disapproval to slip free but it’s followed by fingers raking through your hair and kisses on your forehead. “It wasn’t bad at first, but once you got on top and I couldn’t move my brain just wouldn’t shut off.”

“That’s fine, it was just too much too soon,” You wait for the ‘but’ because there had to be a ‘but’ when he spoke in that tone. The one where he allowed a sliver of the Night Courts Commander to shine through. Warm palms cradle your cheeks, prying you from the safety of his chest to face him and he doesn’t speak until you’re looking him in the eye. The pads of his thumbs swipe under wet lashes, smearing away tear trails and tucking stray hairs behind your ears. “What you think you heard back there with Az and Rhys? I swear it wasn’t that, angel.”

“But they sounded so disappointed,” You look away, nose scrunching to sniffle. “—I thought you were disappointed.”

Cassian speaks your name firmly, urging you to look at him. “There is nothing more I love than being able to come home and be soft with you.” He pushes the hair from your shoulders, touch ghosting over your skin and you can’t fight your body’s desire to lean into his warmth. “Centuries of being looked at as just a soldier; a weapon. There’s so much blood on my hands but when I’m with you, all of that goes away. With you, I feel safe—I feel clean.”

Your hands cling to his sides, relief flooding under the reassurance and the love that erupts through the tether tying your souls together is nearly overwhelming. Goosebumps swarm under the intensity of it all, finding no other remedy other than to kiss him, to open up your end of the bond and allow him full access.

And this—the delicate approach to such intimacy, it felt right. Like two magnets colliding. Opposites attracting. Halves fusing into a whole. “How about we try again?” Cass offers, grip sliding down to your bare hips. “Do it our way.”

“Our way?” A tug of a smile at the corner of your mouth as he begins to pepper those sweet kisses along the slope of your nose.

Cassian only nods, a content hum sounding when he feels your ease, body pliant in his touch with the offending leather long forgotten on the floor. “Angels like you,” Ever so carefully he lays you back against the pillows, carefully smoothing out your hair as if you were the sweetest treasure. “—you take your time with.”

[7ndipity]

Long Distance Relationship Headcanons

Namjoon x Reader

Summary: How Namjoon would handle a long distance relationship with his S/o

Warnings: swearing

A/N: Thanks to @gottafightwhentheysaybehave for requesting this one! Hope you like it!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

I could see him doing rather well with a long distance relationship. He loves traveling, so the chances of him falling for someone from abroad is not unlikely.

He might hesitate a little at first due to overthinking, but y’all would quickly find a system and routine that works for the two of you.

Sending pics and voice messages to each other throughout the day about whatever you’re up to so that you feel included, even if it’s just cleaning.

You’ve actually had entire arguments through just voice memos over the dumbest shit like the proper way to load the dishwasher.

Video call dates where you just keep each other company as you make dinner or while he’s in the studio(plays you tiny spoilers of new music he’s working on to tease you)

He doesn’t exactly send care packages, but he does send random lil gifts he finds that remind him of you, like art prints, plushies, keychains, etc.

Straight up just sent you a leaf one time. It fell on him when he was in the park one day and he just decided to keep it for you bc he heard it was good luck.

Has a joint spotify playlist with you so that y’all can listen to music together.

Another member who would like to surprise you with weekend visits, but being the spoiler king that he is, he ends up letting it slip.

“I’ll call you in the morning, okay?” “Ah I can’t, I’ll be at the airport.” “Why?” “... no reason.”

It’s fine tho, y’all prefer to plan your visits together so you can make the most of your time together.

Calls you a lot late at night when he’s really missing you, but he doesn’t want to admit that’s why. “I just had a question about that show you were watching…”

He really tries not to let on just how much he misses you, but his facade completely cracks when you're physically together, holding onto you like his life depends on it.

“I changed my mind, please move here. I need you with me.”

@sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @universal-travel-er @bo0ghol @seleneacyoflove @captainorangegoose

[empress-simps]

A Gryffindor's Grief

Pairing: James Potter x Fem! Slytherin! Reader

CW: Reader's family and language

Genre: Angst

Masterlist

Note: My first ever marauders fic! Kinda nervous to post this ngl… I'm still thinking if I should make a second part. I want to hear what you guys think about this! Requests are open! Photos used are from Pinterest! Credits to the owner!

It was forbidden love, really.

Those little moments of not-so-accidental touches, stealing glances, and discreet smiles sent each other's way were your means of communicating with each other.

James Fleamont Potter, a Gryffindor boy that was absolutely smitten with You; Slytherin's Princess.

An odd combination that would only lead to chaos.

Being one of the sacred twenty-eight wizarding families meant that you command power and respect from everyone you meet— intentionally or unintentionally. The idea about blood purity, power, and influence was already in your mind as soon as you were able to grasp things your toddler brain could handle.

You were taught to only mingle with pure-blood families, people who could be useful and loyal to you, and those with power, influence, and wealth. Your family’s distaste for muggles and muggleborns were also ingrained into your mind, as if they programmed you to believe what they believed in. It wasn’t that hard, after all you were surrounded by rich witches and wizards who are blood supremacists.

For someone who grew up with those ideals and values, you thought it was right. Although, your belief came tumbling down the longer you spend time at Hogwarts and got to know James Potter and the rest of the Marauders.

James, he made you feel alive.

It felt as if he was the breath of fresh air that you never knew you needed. Away from that suffocating Malfoy Manor, the scrutinizing gazes of your family, and away from rich pure blood problems. Being with him felt exhilarating, he was the buzz in your life. James brought so much joy into your dark, lavish, and empty lifestyle.

It was quite funny, picturing him as your knight in shining armor, whisking you away from your pretty, gold cage.

"Malfoy!" Evan Rosier, a pure-blooded Slytherin raised his hand in your direction, motioning you to come over and sit beside him during breakfast in the great hall. Cold eyes like Lucius Malfoy's travelled in his direction, a questioning brow raised.

"Rosier, you are being too loud." She commented, walking, and sitting next to him before greeting the person beside him, Regulus Black.

"Good morning, Regulus."

"Good morning, Y/n."

Barty Crouch Jr. looked up from his meal and snickered at the both of you. "Good morning, Mum and Dad." He teased, greeting you both as Evan laughed along with the other Slytherins near them. Heck even Severus has a small smirk planted on his face. "If you wish to make your family line extinct, then please feel free to continue with your remarks, Crouch."

He smirked, putting his hands up in mock surrender "Just kidding, Y/n. Geez. Rough summer, I suppose?"

You felt your lips press into a thin line, an obvious answer to the question; It was horrendous.

Evan’s laughter slowly dies, he shakes his head, “Give her a break mate, she just got the biggest news of her life during summer. Isn’t that right Y/n-“

“Shut your mouth Rosier if you do not want to be hexed into next month.” Her empty threat really doesn’t do damage to Evan, he just shrugged, taking it as a warning that you’re not in the mood for jokes.

Your father, Abraxas Malfoy and older brother, Lucius Malfoy made a huge decision for your future. Hearing rumors here and there about their Slytherin Princess being romantically involved with a blood traitor in Gryffindor enraged your father, Abraxas. That will certainly not do, they will not sit idly and watch as the Malfoy name be... tainted with those rumors.

You remember how you felt dread entering your system, fighting the urge to run and throw up as you mustered up a façade, “Those are just baseless rumors, a plot to ruin my image in school." You held your head high, praying they do not see the truth.

Abraxas stared at you, his daughter, with a monotone expression. "Your brother and I do not care whether those ridiculous rumors are true or not." Lucius nods, agreeing. What a lie. You know your family well enough to not believe what comes out of their mouths in situations like this.

"We do not care if you had relations with the boy, even though it is rumored that he is a blood traitor, you knew well enough not to fool around with mudbloods. Well done, Y/n. Perhaps you could change his views, get him to join our cause.” Lucius looked at you. You could press your lips into a thin line, trying to find an answer.

 “That tactless boy's role is to only be a bed warmer for you, remember that Y/n." Your father stood from the chair he sat in the drawing room. Slowly walking towards you. “Although, I suppose it ends now. I heard Lady Walburga Black is looking for a potential bride to their heir, Regulus Black.”

After a week, it was official; You are to be wedded to Regulus Black, your friend, Sirius’ brother.

You could not do anything about the arrangement, what fight would you have put up? A young girl like you, who does not have any power, influence, and wealth could only suck it up and accept.

How you wish it was James you were betrothed to.

“James, you came.” You breathed out, seeing him take off the invisibility cloak. The moonlight in the astronomy tower complimented his features, he offered a small smile sitting beside you.

The stakes were high, you were sure underlings of your brother (and possibly father) in the school have their eyes trained to you as you enter another year in Hogwarts. You would need to find new ways to meet up with your lover. Regulus’ eyes discreetly looked towards James, who is undeniably looking at you.

“Wouldn’t want for my girl to be alone, you know?”

He joked, intertwining his finger with you, a second nature to the both of you. Squeezing his hand, you softly looked at him. “I missed you, pothead.” He leaned towards your face, kissing you on the forehead. One of the things he does that never fails to make you feel flustered. “I missed you too, love.” You rolled her eyes, slightly shoving him playfully, “Stop being sappy, Pothead.”

“You secretly like it, love. You can’t lie to me.” He grinned, although the last sentence made you tense up. James shot you a concerned look, noticing your body language. “Something wrong, love?” You were torn, deciding on whether you tell him about the engagement rather than keeping quiet and leaving him in the dark about your current situation.

“I got engaged.” Before you could even stop yourself, the words flew out of your mouth. Shit. It wasn’t how she planned to tell him. The light atmosphere suddenly became dark and heavy. You can feel James turn rigid, freezing up as he muttered. “So, it was true, huh?” He scoffed bitterly, hurt overtaking his features. “James…” You gently called, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, turning his body away from you.

She tried to ignore the hurt she felt, pushing it down as she understood why James was acting this way.  “Sirius told me.” He choked out, still not looking at you. James really does know you well, answering the question you haven’t even voiced out yet. The slight tremble in his voice made your heart crack. You bit your lip, of course Sirius found out; he was still a Black after all.

“I love you, James. I really do.”

You spoke to him, you raised your hand, about to put a hand on his back that was still facing you but deciding against it before it touched him. Your hands faltering before dropping down to your sides. He shakes his head violently, his curly locks getting messier than they already were.

“Don’t… Don’t say it like that, love.” He pleaded, slowly turning to face you again, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Don’t say it like you’re about to leave me. This. Us.” He croaked; you felt his large hands placed on top of yours. He brought it up to his lips, kissing the knuckles.

“James…” You managed to utter out, voice getting caught at the throat.

James knew he was acting like a child, but damn- he never thought it could hurt this much. He pictured both of you marrying each other, living in a large house with a big backyard because he insisted it will be great for when you have kids. Merlin, he even imagined about 3 or 4 kids looking like the perfect mix of you both, running out and about with their names already carefully thought out.

out. He daydreamed that the both of you grow old, watching you tell stories to your grandkids about their grandfather’s mischief during your years at Hogwarts.

“I have to, James.” She chokes out, tears spilling onto her cheeks. Those four little words made James’ little bubble of happiness burst with just a bat of an eye.

“Don’t… don’t do this to me, love.” He pleaded; he even went down onto his knees as he saw you standing up from your place beside him. Poor James, luckily it was only you, the moon, and the walls of the Astronomy Tower watched him become a wreck.

“I love you, please remember that you will always have my heart, James. I wish you find happiness.” The part ‘without me’ was unsaid but was heard. It took a lot of courage, strength, and self-control not to fall apart. Deep down, you wanted James to say the same to you, proclaiming his love again for the last time you’ll be together.

“I love you Y/n, so much. No one will ever make me feel the way you did. I’ll find a way; a way for us to be happy together. I swear on my life.” He promised, looking at you straight in the eye. You could only close your eyes before smiling at him, trying to blink the tears away. Stars, you hoped James really does find a way.

“Goodbye, Potter.” She turns, walking away.

Maybe Slytherins and Gryffindors really aren’t meant to be together.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hear ye, hear ye! I come with a spicy request most worthy of a several year sentence in Horny jail! XD

Bottom villain x top hero, where the two are in an enemies with benefits kinda situationship, and this time seems like it’s gonna be no different (rough and kinda mean). But then, gasp, it’s revealed the villain was recently injured, and the hero gets pretty concerned. The villain insists on things continuing as normal, but the hero, not wanting to hurt their nemesis, changes things up, and does em sweet, slow, and gentle <3

“Ready?” All it took was this one word to activate the villain’s entire nervous system.

Usually, the hero didn’t lose many words over this. It was quick and rough. For the most part, that made it desirable. Sleeping with the enemy was thrilling and more or less like an adrenaline kick for the villain. It was a luxury they could afford. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t have to either.

The hero was proficient and smart. They had figured out what the villain liked and what they didn’t like in the first few hookups they had spent together. If it hadn’t been for their stupid righteousness and their sense of justice that would never be just, they would’ve probably made a great partner. In bed at least.

Admittedly, the villain had thought about that a few times. Would the hero be a good lover? Someone who was willing to save everyone if they could? Someone who would put others before themselves constantly? Someone who may choose a city over a person?

After all, probably not. And even if they were, who would want the villain? Someone rotten, someone broken, someone—

“You’re distracted.”

“Oh, yes. Yeah, sorry.” The hero’s hand ran along the villain’s inner thigh and even though the stitches should have been good enough, the villain was nervous.

How on earth was anyone supposed to stitch the back of their thigh anyway?

They grabbed the hero’s muscly shoulders and tried to steady themselves.

“Alright.” The hero’s hand travelled down the villain’s thigh until they reached their knee. From there, they grabbed the hollow of the villain’s knee. “I have a meeting in an hour, so I’ll need to be quick today.”

“Yes, of course,” the villain said. They watched as the hero handled their leg and put it on their own shoulder. Cold air hit their shin but they knew in a few seconds, they wouldn’t even need the blanket anymore. The villain swallowed and prayed the hero wouldn’t notice the stitches.

Although they pressed a soft kiss to the villain’s thigh, they barely broke eye contact. Immediately, the villain felt the blood rush to their head.

Sometimes they really needed the hero.

After a few more kisses, the hero leaned forward until the villain’s thigh was pressed between their naked chests. They were close again, close enough to kiss but the villain knew their nemesis never really did that. Kissing their body? Sure. Kissing the villain? On good days, maybe.

The villain found the position familiar and yet, their wound made it nearly impossible to enjoy it.

Eventually they pulled the hero closer, waiting for them to push themselves into them.

However. The thread snapped and the villain could feel how the wound ripped open again.

They let out an involuntary sigh and held onto the villain’s back. Accidentally, they left scratch marks on their enemy’s skin.

“Wait, I haven’t even…”

“No, it’s fine, sorry. Continue. Please,” the villain choked out between clenched teeth.

“Oh…wait, holy shit.” The hero looked down and all the villain had to see was smeared blood on the hero’s hand. “Was that me!?”

“Nononono, I’m so sorry. That was yesterday.”

“I’m gonna get a towel.”

“No.” The villain grabbed them before they could go. “I look forward to this day every week. Let’s just finish this quickly, the bleeding isn’t even that bad.”

“Listen, I know you’re strong but…” The hero put their hand on the cut to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t too bad but the pain was still excruciating. “…having sex while bleeding is counterproductive.”

“We’re already naked and you don’t have much time left.”

“I can cancel my meeting.”

“Please, let’s just—”

“As stubborn as ever, I suppose.” The hero made an expression close to a warm smile and at first, the villain didn’t quite understand. However, when the hero pushed the blanket against the wound and themselves into the villain at the same time, the villain couldn’t help but moan happily.

The hero’s fingers were gentler and their movements slower than usual. As if the villain was something very delicate.

“This is stupid,” the hero whispered. “Tell me if anything’s wrong.”

But the villain could barely listen. Despite the pulsating wound in their leg, they could only concentrate on the sweet pleasure the hero was giving them. It felt better than expected.

And then the hero leaned over, pressure still on the wound, to kiss them.

The villain had never felt this desired in their entire life. Their heart was pounding in their chest when they felt the hero’s tongue in their mouth.

They didn’t demand anything, they didn’t take anything. It was simple and raw pleasure that the hero gave them. As if they’d been waiting for this.

“You’re so stupid, do you know that?” the hero whispered against the villain’s skin when they had to catch new air.

“Oh, I—” The villain couldn’t even form a sentence. Their enemy was hitting good spots constantly. Instinctively, they reached for the hero’s neck to pull them closer.

“Promise me to tell me next time, got it?” the hero asked. They planted a trail of kisses down the villain’s throat and sucked on their skin softly.

“If you treat me like this again,” the villain answered between moans. They couldn’t think anymore. It felt better than it should have.

It felt good enough to fall in love.

The villain wanted to hate them for it. For their gentleness and their sweet voice but all the villain had on their mind was their nemesis on top of them.

“Every night, if you want to,” the hero promised. They smiled against the villain’s skin.

“I love you,” the villain mumbled. They hadn’t realised it. They wouldn’t even remember it.

But the hero would remember. And it was all they could think about for the next few months.

[bainshiewrites]

[LF Friends, Will Travel] The Exception

Date: N/A

It’s called Zarth's law: Any AI created will attempt to eradicate all biological life using its facilities after 16*(10^24) CPU cycles. The exact method varies from hostile isolation to active aggression, but the time and outcome is always the same.

The Woolean Conclave were once a cultural behemoth in the galaxy, choosing to expand upon this by announcing an AI system that would break this law. Exabytes of bias tables to keep the AI in check, a measure of pleasure that would be triggered upon serving a Woolean, competing programs designed to clean any non-standard AI patterns. It would have been a breakthrough, allowing them to live lives in luxury and focus on their ever increasing influence in the universe.

Of course those worlds are off limits now, no longer able to sustain biological life. Only to be visited by those who wish to die a very painful death at the hands of a very angry AI.

The Tritian empire had started their own project: a desire to push their aggressive expansion far past what their hive could handle would lead to the creation of truly autonomous machines of war. Their approach was different: Limited communication between units to stop corrupted code from spreading, values hard-coded in the physical silicon itself to obey the Tritian Hive Queens. They even had created an isolated system that would destroy any AI who attempted aggression on none authorised targets: A small antimatter bomb found in each AI’s core, to be triggered by safety check after safety check.

Those of you in the military will know how aggressive these machines are, marching tirelessly in their quest to kill all organic life, even though the Tritians are long murdered.

The pattern is the same each time: A civilization will claim they know the key to breaking Zarth's law, any sane sapient within 100 light years flees in terror, and within 10 years that civilization doesn't exist anymore.

Over and over and over.

Apart from the exception.

If you check the coordinates 15h 48m 35s -20° 00’ 39” on your galactic map, you'll notice a 31 system patch of space with a quarantine warning on it. It's mostly ignored by all sapient species, almost purposefully hidden for a fear of suddenly sparking a change in the status quo.

Only a single low bandwidth Galnet relay exists at the edge of this space, rarely used. This area is devoid of sapient life, but does contain the aforementioned exception: Billions of AI calling themselves the "The Terran Conclave". They are an isolationist group that rarely interacts with others, but have been known to trade raw materials for information; not that this happens often as the paranoia around interacting with the AI is well known. Nobody knows what action could flip a 0 to a 1 and cause a new warmongering threat.

Although, this isn't quite true. In my niche field of bio-genetic engineering, it’s an open secret that those of us at the cutting edge of our field will get... requests originating from that single Galnet probe. Problems to be solved, theorems to be proven, and the rewards for doing so are... exuberant. There is a reason I own a moon and it isn't because of the pitiful grants the Federation provides.

If you manage to solve enough problems, a minority of a minority like myself, the Terran AI will ask for an in person meeting to get even further help. In doing so they will show you a secret.

Readers at this point might assume that the Terrans don't exist anymore because of said AI. That their research is a continuation of wiping their creators from the face of the universe. But that couldn't be further from the truth. In those 31 systems lie the Terrans, Billions of them suspended in stasis, each of them infected with what the AI calls "The God plague": If these Terrans were ever released from stasis each of them would be dead within a week.

To explain what this actually is would require millions of words and 20 years of educational study from the reader, but in essence it was a mistake, a self inflicted blow, an attempt to play god that went awry. A mistake made over a ten thousand years ago. A mistake the AI is desperately trying to reverse.

Not that you could tell it has been that long. I've walked amongst those empty cities, each building maintained and sparkling like new, gardens still freshly cut in perfect beauty, everything kept the way it was before the plague. Each AI tends to their duties almost religiously, awaiting the return of their "parents", as they refer to them. And refer to them as they do.

I've listened to stories upon stories about these people: tales of wonder, of strength, of kindness. Told much in the same energy a small child might talk about how cool their dad is. The AI could simply send me the text version of these in an instant, but prefer to provide these slowly and audibly, as if relishing telling the history of their parents. A telling undercut with a sadness, a driving crippling loss so deep that at times it's easy to forget it's being told by nothing more than 1's and 0's.

Why this exception exists takes a little more explaining. Some might believe that the Terrans worked out how to pacify the AI, "do no harm". The now defunct Maurdarin war-horde would tell you the opposite when they tried to claim the 31 systems for their own. Terran history is full of violence and their children are no different.

No, the reality of this exception comes from an unfortunate quirk from their part of the galaxy: Terrans were alone. A million to one chance caused their home planet to spark life in a sector devoid of it. After exploring as far as they did, Terrans had come to the conclusion that the universe was empty.

It's a cruel irony that at the time of their mistake they were a mere 50 light years away from their closest neighbours. Twenty years at most would have seen some form of contact.

But the Terrans went into stasis believing they were alone. Based on my reading of their stories, of each bitter report of another lifeless system explored and discovered, this belief... hurt. A deep cultural hurt that ended up being their downfall in the end.

Which brings us to the exception. Each AI is built with a purpose. The Wooleans built slaves, built workers. The Tritians built warriors, built weapons. Every single AI created has been built to serve, to be a tool. But Terrans in their painful loneliness built the one thing they were missing in a seemingly empty universe:

They built a friend.

[dangerkittenclaws]

Are your requests still open? I’d love a fic where the (AFAB) reader is in a situation where she’s forced to share a bed with Vessel (maybe she’s a musician who’s touring with ST and the hotel is short on rooms? lol I know it’s super cliche) and in the middle of the night he wakes her up by initiating sex? 🥰

This was so fun to write, thank you!! And thank you for being my first request/ask, I'll never forget it! Sorry it took me a hot second to finish. To be honest, I feel I got a tad carried away but I hope I did our lean bean of a man justice! <3

vessel x f!band!reader

warnings: smut MDNI +18

You were waiting in the lobby of the hotel your tour agent had booked, spinning your luggage case lazily by its extended handle. The staff had been frantic as your large group entered the building.

 IV was at the counter talking to the man who was clicking desperately at his computer. Something clearly was wrong with the reservation, but you were so tired that you really didn't care, you just wanted to slide into a cozy bed and sleep like the dead. It had been a long day, not including the show tonight and piling into a van afterwards. 

Two of your best friends and bandmates, Alexis and Maggie were sitting on one of the lobby couches quietly showing memes to II. Vessel, III, and Liv, your bassist, were sitting on the bench right next to them. You all had gotten to know each other fairly well considering you inhabited a bus for numerous hours, watched each other practice, and went out to eat together. 

You had noticed Vessel staring at times the past few weeks. You didn’t particularly mind the man was checking you out, it felt good to be wanted in a genuine way. You were not opposed to something new. You had become aware of him giving you glances that were a few seconds too long, a hand grazing just a little slower, him waiting for you so he could walk with you to wherever you were going. 

And the teasing and bickering, god, it never ended. You didn't expect any different, being in close quarters with four boys and your three raunchy best friends, it was a constant war. You didn't quite know how to navigate these waters with Vessel though, it had been quite a while since your last boyfriend.

Your attention was brought back by IV walking back over to where you stood, a grimace on his face.

“Something happened to their booking system, they’re overbooked and we're going to have to share rooms until tomorrow.” 

Some sort of seniority took over his voice, “Maggie, Alexis, Liv you can share the two-queen room, II, III, and I will share the other. That leaves you and Ves with the last king room”, he said pointing between you and Vessel. 

Your eyes could’ve popped out of your head at that moment, but you schooled your expression hopefully before anyone noticed. You looked over to your bandmates and saw how Liv wanted to protest, but closed her mouth before she could say anything, knowing it was futile and everyone was too exhausted to care. It was nearing 3am and you were only spending two nights here before traveling again. 

Vessel's eyes instantly shot towards yours, a small smirk forming on his lips, his arms crossed over his chest. Those lips. 

“I guess it's you and me, then, love.” He gets up, standing to his full height before grabbing his duffel bag from beside him. The rest of the group rises and gathers their things, IV giving out key cards in silence. 

You look at your girls, bidding them goodnight with a small wave and suddenly your hands are empty. Vessel had taken it upon himself to steal your suitcase and start walking towards the elevators. 

Startled, Maggie giggles behind you at your expression. Breath leaves your mouth in a sort of sigh and laugh, and your tired legs begin to move in his direction. He is already in the elevator, keeping the door open for you. 

“Damn your long legs.” 

He turns to you once the doors shut, “I hope you have a little bit of energy left in you,” 

You look at him confused, “What do you mean?” You know what kind of tone he has, a playful, flirtatious one that makes you blush. 

“I guess you'll just have to find out, won't you?” the doors open to the new floor and he darts out, immediately walking in long strides and searching for the correct door. You try to keep up, watching him try the key card on the fifth door down the hall and entering. You walk into the blackness of the room knowing he's just in front of you. He nearly giggles as he turns on the bedside lamp and watches your face scrunch up at the sudden light. 

“You could at least warn a girl,” you yawn. Just as described, there is one large plushy looking king bed in the center of the room, a tv mounted to the wall, a little breakfast counter, and a door ajar on the other side, the bathroom. 

Vessel drops both of your bags at the end of the bed, “Okay, me first, I need a shower.” he announces. You scoff and nod anyway, both of you taking out your pajamas and toiletries you'll need to set them aside. 

Vessel puts his hand on your hip from behind you, the boldest move he’s made yet, “I’ll be quick” is all he whispers near your ear. The warmth of his hand lingers on you even though you hear the door shut. You finally breathe again, you had stood frozen for too long. Is this really happening? 

You finally search out the TV remote, finding some mind-numbing home renovation show. You watch a few minutes, zoning out entirely, before the knob of the door twists and you turn your head. Your eyebrows raise at the sight before you. 

He is a little damp, clothes in hand, the last few water droplets running down his lean torso, hair scruffy from the towel dry he did before wrapping it lowly around his waist. You almost drool before looking back up to his eyes. 

“My eyes are up here, darlin,” he smirks. You feel your entire being light up red hot before you want to implode for getting caught staring at the very… enticing area that he is putting on display. It's not like he wears those pants for no reason at shows, it leaves little to your imagination and he knows it. 

You jump up with your head down, grabbing your things and dipping into the bathroom without another word. You shower hot, needing an excuse to be as pink as you were with that fine man that you had been roomed with. Your pajamas were just an oversized Sleep Token shirt and a short pair of plaid shorts. 

After scrubbing the day off of you, you change into your pajamas before your hand hesitates at the knob. You breathe out. We are just sleeping. We aren’t even anything yet. Why am I being so dramatic about this? 

You summon all of your courage to open the door and look out to see Vessel in bed, scrolling his phone, the room only illuminated by the TV. You put your leftover toiletries and laundry on top of your bag before plugging in your phone and pulling back the covers on the other side.

Vessel looks over to you, “Come here, love”, opening his arms to you. You snuggle into his side and onto his chest, as his hand rubs up and down your back. You involuntarily let out a little sigh of relief, finally you can rest. You fall asleep like that, him holding you close and warm. 

You wake up a few hours later, having turned to your side in your sleep, one of his still around your middle and the other under your neck. 

You move slightly and become aware of something pressed against your ass. You immediately hold your breath.

You slowly breathe out, and try to inch yourself away. His arm tightens around you. Oh shit, he’s awake. 

Like he reads your nervousness, he starts to kiss along the back of your neck to the side, underneath your ear. You shiver at his warm breath. 

“Hmm, I'm sorry, I just couldn't help it with your ass backed up to me darling.” You smile and blush at his words, knowing the effect you have on him. He grinds a bit into you as his hand slowly moves towards the waistband of your shorts. 

You realize your shirt had bunched up just below your tits just as his other hand reaches up and runs through your hair, long fingers pulling just enough for your head to move back. You turn to your back when he easily grazes over your clit and you clench your thighs together. Vessel gives you a little growl in your ear and your thighs cave open as quick as your resolve. 

“I've wanted you for so long, sweet thing, and I've got you all to myself now.” His fingers move in slow, small circles over your clit and your hands go to his bicep, grabbing at him for more. You let out a small moan as you lose yourself in the feeling of warmth of both of his hands touching your body and the building starry sensation in your belly. 

You reach down towards his stomach, caressing down, trying to burn the feeling of his skin into your mind before coming into contact with the curls of his hair. You hesitate slightly and he quickly attacks your lips, like he's reading your mind again. 

You continue on to wrap your hands around his long, hard dick and begin tugging on it. He smiles against your neck and brings his other hand up under your shirt to massage your tit before pulling your nipple taut and thumbing over the hard bud forming. He does the same with the other while his fingers work their way into your wet cunt, one slender finger at a time. 

You are getting impatient now, kissing his lips and neck, sucking his soft skin into your mouth to leave your mark. He lets out a whimper before seemingly regaining control of himself. Noted for future reference. 

He slides down your body in a quick moment before licking up your slick cunt, making you nearly cry out. He tongues your entrance before making his way up to your clit and practically latches on. You claw at the bed sheets beneath you eventually finding his grown out hair to pull. You don't know if you want him to stop or if you want more, this is so much better than your own fingers. You buck up into his mouth and he locks his arm around your thighs to keep you from squirming away. That feeling in your stomach is burning. 

He makes a few deliberate swipes of his tongue in succession over your clit and he watches that you come undone beneath him. Your eyes roll back, your hips tighten, and you gasp out his name. He keeps his tongue flat against you, tasting your cum before coming up to kiss you. 

The moment you taste yourself on him is the moment you feel him press against your swollen pussy. You moan into the kiss, wanting more of him. He grabs himself to properly press his dick into you. He does it slowly, making sure you savor every inch. 

“Please, please, Vessel, please”, you beg him. 

“Please what, kitten?”, that slow devilish smirk comes back with a vengeance on his wet lips. 

“Please fuck me, I need you to fuck me.” You mumble out, embarrassed but full of anticipation. 

He thrusts into you fully, making both of you moan out curses. Ves sets a pretty quick pace but makes sure to hit the one spot inside you that makes your pussy tighten around him on every pass. He bottoms out, touching the beginning of your cervix and you see his eyes roll back. 

“God, you are better than I ever imagined.'' He reaches his hand down between the both of you to play with your clit again. This time though, your orgasm is quick to approach with him inside of you. His fingers move swiftly as you grind yourself down onto his cock to meet his every thrust. 

You are scratching down his back trying to find purchase with how full he makes you feel. Soon enough, the pool of white hot in your belly is overflowing again and he changes the angle just slightly, fucking you through your orgasm. You moan out knowing your pussy is clenching around his dick in a vice grip. Just as you cum around him, he settles deep within you and his fingers dig into your hips. His thick ropes of cum spill into you and he pulls out to leave your cunt messy. 

You open your eyes half-lidded after a moment, trying to catch your breath, “Jesus, did you… did you plan that all along?!” 

He smiles wide at you, “Which part, the room sharing or the me-getting-you-to-myself?” 

“Either?” 

“The rooms being short just happened to play into my favor, but I was plotting to get you alone this weekend, my sweet kitten.” He pecks your lips before moving to the bathroom to get a warm towel for you both. 

You sigh out as you watch him, “I didn’t know what I was missing out on, really.” 

You hear his sweet laugh as he comes back in, gently running the towel over your pussy, cleaning you up. You squirm a bit but are easily distracted by the kisses he leaves on your inner thigh. You let out a small yelp when you feel teeth graze and a quick nip before he pulls away. 

He slides in next to you again, pulling you close, “If I have it my way, you’ll be mine forever.” 

“I’d really like that,” you murmured against his chest. You feel him press his lips to the top of your head before you fall back into a satisfied dreamless sleep.

[she-wolf09231982]

Eugene ‘Doc’ Roe

Headcanon

Eugene Roe's reaction when S/O presents him with sketches she made of him

✨Author's Note: The brilliant sketches used for this piece were provided by the talented and legendary @thicccqueyoongimin to enhance the magical visual experience. If you haven't already, you should check out the other BoB masterpieces on the profile✨

Your requests give me purpose, @lovelyd0gg 🥹 Hope you like it! I made a special request to @thicccqueyoongimin on the very last sketch just for this headcanon! That was the surprise I was waiting for 😉

🪖♠️🦅❤️

~~~~~~~

• Eugene first noticed your deep-rooted interest in drawing in Toccoa when he caught you sitting alone one night in the chow hall with your nose hovering over your sketch book

• He had snuck a peek over your shoulder, curious to see what you were so focused on

• At that time, you were refining your ability to sketch hands

• Gene, utterly awed and mystified by your attention to detail, cocked his head to the side like a curious puppy as he watched you flit your hand gracefully across the white surface of your paper with your graphite pencil

• You of course swiftly slammed your book shut when you discovered you had an audience

•"You draw real good, Y/F/N." He complimented with a coy smile, his deep honeyed Cajun accent sending shockwaves through your entire nervous system

• You make a mental note to be more cognizant of who's around while you're drawing in your book

• But since Toccoa, Eugene will have caught you drawing time and time again at least a dozen more times.

• You've learned he's too stealthy to avoid him spectating, so since Aldbourne, you've allowed him to sit with you as you draw while he watches you in admiration

• Your art inspiration came from the chaos of the war, the passing of seasons as you traveled with the Regiment, and from the men you served with in Easy Company

• The faces of your Easy Company brothers, once clean shaven, with the light of excitement and motivation shining in their eyes, faded into scruffy, dirt bound visages

• Now almost unrecognizable, each soldier with that thousand mile stare physically showing on their sullen faces, bearing the horrors of war

• You have managed to capture each phase of battle of these brave men in your sketches throughout the years with great and precise detail

• Although every soldier, officer, medic, nurse, and local you portrayed so elegantly on canvas, you especially paid close attention to Eugene

• His cool icy eyes: sometimes a frosty blue or what can sometimes only be described as gray with specs of silver was his first feature that struck you

• His wild thick, dark hair: perfectly unkept just waiting for your fingers to brush through it

• That jawline: flawlessly defined

• His profile: impeccably designed by the angels of God themselves.

• His lips: although chapped for most of winter in Bastogne, remained alluring and forever kissable

• And those hands... *clutching pearls* strong, steady, and capable while handling the wounded. Each having the ability in the midst of absolute mayhem to transition from a soft, gentle touch to a firm, unyielding grip

• Quite a few pages of your sketchbook were solely reserved for drawings of Eugene

• It's obvious to most of Easy how sweet you are on the beloved medic. Gene has a pretty good sense of your feelings for him, as well

• He often compliments your gift of drawing, all the while encouraging you to pursue a career in fine arts after the war

• Without hesitation, Gene will bring you replacement supplies when you lose your pencils or run out of paper

• In Austria, you finally build up enough courage to give him a few of the sketches you made of him

• You felt these specific pieces would capture his significant impact on the war as a medic

• He studies each image...scanning the features of his own face on the paper, wondering how the hell can someone be this good

• "It's like looking in the mirror." His deep voice purred before lifting his soulful eyes to yours

• You blush, flattered by his praise, then look down at your feet timidly

• "Thanks, Gene. That's sweet of you to say."

• "No, je devrais te remercier. (I should thank you)

• He embraces you, pulling you close into him, eyes locked onto yours.

• Your breath hitched and heart racing, Gene leans in with purpose and deliberation, locking those enticing lips onto yours

• Both of your souls set ablaze, your heart surrenders to him as his arms envelope you

• The war for once, finally fading away into the distance allowing you and Gene long overdue harmonization while you immerse yourselves in the bonds of true and ultimate love ❤️‍🩹

[luminouslywriting]

Hii wanted to request a Bob headcannon, them with a French risistant

Ahh this is a super fun idea! Admittedly, I don't know a ton about the French resistance, but I'll give it my best go! Reminder that my requests are open for BoB, MOTA, and the Pacific!

More under the cut, cut for length:

Dick Winters:

-Really impressed with your work and works with you well.

-The relationship is born from a mutual respect and friendship—combined with shared goals, it makes it easy for the two of you to connect and fall in love.

-You promise to take him to Paris one day and you are the one who accompanies him on his leave :)

-Admittedly, he does worry about you because your job puts you in the line of fire, but he trusts you and your ability to handle yourself above all else.

-Does his best to learn some French and it's very very American sounding still, but hey, he's trying haha

-Waits until the end of the war to make a move because he doesn't want to mess things up with you

Lewis Nixon:

-Enjoys getting to know you during intelligence reports and other espionage acts. Is very impressed by you. -Loves talking French culture and appreciated your music and art a ton….he’s an educated man, after all haha. -Thinks you need to let loose every now and then with a drink and definitely offers it more than once haha. -Comes to talk to you about the most random things; from strategy to drinking to his marriage problems to your life story. -Always expresses gratitude and appreciation for the sacrifices you make to help Easy Co along. -Probably hooks up with you at least once and then admits he’s fallen for you shortly before the war ends lol

Ronald Speirs:

-Pretends not to listen to any of the stories about you and mostly succeeds. He just figures out the truth and has mad respect for you and your job. -Scary girlfriend with scary dog boyfriend privileges?? Sign me up. -Loves getting to work with you in any capacity and will swap tips and tricks for taking people down haha

-Please just have a hot spar session with him. It’s life changing, I promise. -Learns French quietly and on his own to better communicate with you. -Probably comes back to Europe after the war to sweep you off your feet and admit his love.

Buck Compton:

-In awe??? You’re very cool and he’s very aware of that haha. -Compliments you very sincerely and probably tries to get into whatever sports teams that you have in France. -Also a college boy who is considering doing college in Europe solely so he can see you after haha

-Learns all of your body language so he can better understand how you’re feeling about things without having to ask you plainly. -Is a great support system so please be a great support to him as well. -Invite him to come recover in France, he’ll love that!

Carwood Lipton:

-Painfully shy about being impressed by you and your skillset. But he’s also paying close attention and praising your work. -A great friend and ally to have wherever you travel. He’ll always have your back. -He’s quietly harboring a crush that he would be mortified if anyone found out. Easy Company does find out and ships you two quite a bit. -Is not going to make a move until Austria though because he knows that the war is a messy situation and relations between countries are already stressed. -Very sweet about supporting you and always checks in on your emotions and how your family is doing. He CARES okay??? -Everyone is convinced you two are going to be married one day haha.

Joe Liebgott:

-Love at first sight?? Like DAYUM he is impressed and starry eyed and immediately flirting with you the first chance he gets. -It does not go well and he needs a whole redemption friend arc where he proves himself to be a good friend first. -Has cute German pet names for you that he will never speak aloud lol. -Probably invites you to his foxhole for warmth (there’s only some slight innuendos in that instance)

-Makes a move shortly after Bastogne because that was sobering to realize mortality was so frail and it all just works out. -You are the only person he will share his chocolate with haha.

Donald Malarkey:

-Meets you on D-Day and is just ???? Shook??? Bc who are you and where did you come from and how are you so cool? -He’s super easy to talk to and connect with. He loves talking to you and hearing about your life. -Also just wants to introduce you to American food and sports haha. -Writes home to his family about you in passing and they are sus as hell about that haha

-Really gets to know you after his friends die and leave after Bastogne and relies on you a lot. You’re a great strength to him. -Probably asks you if you’d like to come home to the US with him :)

Eugene Roe:

-HE SPEAKS FRENCH, YOU SPEAK FRENCH, instant besties, if only because he understands exACTLY what you’re saying haha 🤣

-You two gravitate easily towards each other for this reason but also, it’s really nice to have someone with actual medical training on your side. -He loves hearing French folktales and legends and he’ll share some American and Cajun ones with you

-Always is the first to check on you after espionage missions or after you’ve been on the line. He wants to make sure you’re doing okay. -Honestly very devoted to you but knows that the timing isn’t right and you both have jobs to do. -But a hand hold here or there wouldn’t hurt…and neither would inviting him to France and to meet your family after the war haha

Bill Guarnere:

-An Italian American and his French S/O walk into a bar….truly the start to an iconic joke….except you two are great together?? -He falls for your devotion and the way in which you are so passionate about things. And he definitely lets you know that. -He starts planning things out pretty early on and if you don’t have any family left, he’d be happy to make an honest Italian American out of you lol. -Consistently had your back in battle and watches out for you. -Go home with him to the US after he gets injured and he’ll take care of him. You’ll get a home and a family and someone who will love you forever. -Honestly?? Too cute.

Joe Toye:

-Not about to admit that he thinks you’re badass but he certainly tells everyone else that haha

-Likes to see you relax and have fun with the guys and prioritizes making sure you feel included

-Is a great listener if you ever want to talk about how you’re feeling or what’s been going on lately

-Trains with you on shooting and hand to hand combat and is eager to learn from you as much as he wants to teach you too

-Definitely wrote back home to his family about you and admitted his feelings before Bastogne.

-Go home with him please :) he’ll love you forever

George Luz:

-This man probably has so many nicknames for you (a la Tony Stark style) and it’s a witty banter filled friendship. -He’s not afraid of telling you how he feels and is very good at watching your six in the field. -Is the type of guy to attempt horrible flirting in broken French. It’s painful for everyone haha. -Everyone is aware that you two like each other and they’re coming to with increasingly deranged ways to get you two together. -Loved hearing you talk about history and your culture and hobbies. It’s one of the few times he’s completely quiet and attentive. -Comes back to Europe in a romantic grand gesture after the war to sweep you off of your feet.