#and 'where on earth is mat what on earth is he up to and does rand get to give him cpr?' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

royalsunshinehotel · 3 months

Text

How Can I? (The Kid x Reader, 18+)

Author's Note: Inspired by Taylor Swift's "Guilty As Sin?" from an inbox request. Thank you to my intrepid editor, and dearest friend @youlooklike-clarabow. You're the best ❤️‍🔥😭🤠🍊

The forest had welcomed him back, just like he’d hoped. Four months after Kid had taken his revenge, it had welcomed him home, as if it missed him, and it had taken him back, and taken in the hijras, as if all of you had always been there. Beating Rana to death had brought Kid back to life. He hoped that you and Sita felt the same.

Sita had been focused on farming the land, showing off her green thumb after years away from any kind of dirt, and Alpha, it felt, had retired. She had a rocking chair and would look over the makeshift village, from dawn until dusk, every single day.

And then there was you. Your hand was the one Sita reached for when she ran out to the back alley of Kings. Covered in blood, but together through it all. He had saved your life, rescued the two of you from the Queenie’s black stiletto heels standing on your necks, forcing you to do things you didn’t want to do. He should leave you alone, he shouldn’t want you the way that he does.

When was the last time he’d had such a luxury? He laid on his sleeping mat, bored bored bored, deep in his bones.

He hadn’t realized exactly how mentally caged he had been, but now he was free. What was left to do?

He’d learned about how you longed to throw yourself to the ocean rocks for the chance at freedom, and how grateful you were for him coming to break all of the locks with a chaotic flair.

He wanted you to be his- from the first moment he laid eyes on you. It was a difficult thing to admit. He’d have wonderful - shockingly vivid dreams about a world where your attachment was written everywhere on you, walking into a room and people know your his. The same for him of course, he’d want everyone to know he’s yours.

But why on earth would you agree to it? You’d been a bird in a horrible, dank little cage, why would you toss yourself to the likes of him, after all you’d been subjected to?

Such thoughts could live in dreams, he supposed.

Across the camp, you're in the branches of a banyan tree, sitting snugly, safely in its branches. You kick your feet, and bob a little, hoping to shake some fruit loose, but alas, the figs aren't ripe yet. Maybe some more sun the next week would do it. What a treat that would be!

You enjoy seeing the whole camp from up high. Deep in the heart of the woods, you’re all here, together.

It was remarkable, you think, how you had all been able to come together and make a home. It would be a true village with more time, but the fact that everyone from the temple, plus those left standing after King’s, all had their own shelter, and were working together for food and water…it was remarkable.

You flash in your mind, on Kid, watching him a little too closely as he weaved some smaller branches to make a door.

His arms were lovely, even to a strange woman in a fig tree. A flash of heat hits your face, as you imagine those arms around you. In dreams you’d been having, you take a fistful of dense, curly hair, and pull. Would he like it? Would he tell you to fuck off?

You kick yourself, and then you kick yourself for kicking yourself. Just a passing thought of his arms, and you were practically panting in the early summer heat.

Sitting up in your tree, you thought of all the men you allowed to touch you, how you faked smiles and orgasms like it was nothing. And then he’d just come bowling into your life with the spark of a firework, letting you know it didn’t have to be like that anymore.

Even if you did put your hands on him, touch him in the ways you wished to, would you know how? Would you know how to feel for him?

In your mind, you’d already felt all of him, to your heart's content and beyond…

Sita had said no one would send you to jail for your thoughts, but it certainly felt that way. You hadn’t even touched him - where did all this guilt come from? Did you really need to keep your longing for Kid locked in a vault?

Queenie had locked passport, your money, everything you were, into a vault - he was far too kind to be put in there.

Still, you did intend to be loyal to him, even if it was entirely one sided. You spoke to him only when necessary, and would continue to do so until this burning itch underneath your skin - ur desire, faded. It had to, right?

“Kanna, come here please!” called Alpha, voice clear and smooth, summoning you down from your perch, and you oblige her, moving slowly.

You trot over, feet feeling heavy on the grass, “Yes, Alpha?”

She takes your hand, and you link your fingers, admiring the manicure Sita had given her earlier that week.

“You fantasize. I can see it from down here.”

“I’m not sure what you're saying.”

“Your fantasies are no longer fatal, and neither are Kid’s. He’s free of the past, still, he does not sleep. You should perhaps see if he is alright?”

As if on cue, a groan floats through the air, towards the two of you.

“And do what?”

“Make sure that his past stays gone?” She suggests, not verbalizing what she’d observed these past months.

Your brow furrows. Kid would have to settle for a cup of water, and a bite of tangerine before settling back to sleep. That’s what your mother always gave you for your nightmares, why wouldn’t it work here?

You make the quick journey, waving goodnight to Alpha, but stalling at the door of Kid’s hut.

Another low groan.

If it had been daylight, you would have had it in yourself to admit to the fluttering in your belly, but you wouldn’t. The desire would subside, for now you have to see if he’s well. The light of the moon makes your path clear.

You take a breath, before opening the door.

It’s night. It’s dark - the moon only gets you so far.

And yet, you still find him, in the corner, on his sleeping mat, flat on his back. A low, almost imperceptible whine reaches your ears, and you furrow your brow. That didn’t seem like a nightmare, was he sick?

You crouch down next to his sleeping body, and place a cool hand on his forehead, just to feel him.

It wasn’t in Kid’s nature to feel casual annoyance, but if he could have, he would have been. In the midst of a wonderful dream, inspired by a bead of sweat he saw glistening in the hollow of your clavicle that morning, he was now dreaming about you - again, same as every night.

In his dreams, you fall apart under his palms, scratching desperately at his back, and you beg for more. In his dreams, you're a desperate, sweet little thing, not much different from him. Another self-indulgence, thinking of a world where you want him as badly as he wants you.

He jerks awake - where have you gone? He feels movement right beside him, and reflexively grabs it, a tight grip on your wrist.

“Jaanu, come back to bed.” His eyes are wide, still asleep in his mind. You crouched beside him, stunned at his words.

Alpha had said he was having a nightmare. He was neither sick, nor having a nightmare…

He was dreaming! About the two of you!

Heat rushes to your face, like a paintbrush in water.

“Back to…” You pause, “Yes, I’ll come back to bed.” Kid grunts at you, not giving your wrist back.

He’s still in his own head, he doesn’t realize that you’re truly here.

You allow him to pull you in, sighing as he tucks you into his side.

God, he felt better than you imagined.

You hold on to him, as his breathing slows, and you run your hands over a warm, flat stomach, tracing hearts there, for hours and hours.

You wake slowly, for the first time in years. A light brushing of warmth against your cheek. You crinkle your nose, slowly blinking, and remembering where exactly you were.

Your head is resting on his arm, his hand on your waist, in real life.

He’s looking over at you, brown eyes round, his mouth just inches away from yours. Over the past few months, his beard had gotten unruly, you slowly place a hand under his chin, to pet the new growth.

“Are you really here?” He rasps, voice soft with sleep, you let out a little sigh of relief.

“Yes, I didn’t want to wake you, Alpha was worried, and you grabbed my wrist so I just…stayed.” You explained, trying not to seem flustered.

“You're here, not just in my dreams.” He practically whispered, bringing up a palm to your cheek, same as you had for him. It had taken a couple of weeks to hear from Alpha about why Kid’s hands were the way they were. Kid had learned to live with the fact that his roots had been burned away, but as his hand touched your face, it certainly didn’t feel like that.

You think about his lovely hands. Regardless of any fire, any destruction they may have wrought, any scar tissue that grew there had only served to free you and the women at King’s. You like his hands.

“I want to kiss you. Can I?” Your voice shook, but you said those words anyway. You should be proud of yourself.

Kid nods his head, letting you inch forward, brushing your noses together. Something in his stomach flips, and you brush your mouth against his. Soft, almost delicate, the same way a leaf meets the ground in the fall.

Oh - you think.

You kissed him, like you had been longing, dreaming of doing, and nothing horrible happened! The stars were still in the sky, the rivers were still running, the trees still stood tall, protecting your village…

“I want you. Do you feel the same?” You ask him again, not sure where this confidence had come from. Maybe it was the fact that you were here, and so close to what you had wanted…

“I only sleep because it’s where I might find you.” Something goes plink in your heart, and you decide enough is enough.

“Well wake up,” you tease, “I’m right here.”

Something flashes across Kid’s face, and he pulls you back in. It’s hard not to fold completely as he rolls you carefully on to your back, he just feels too good. Even with the low light coming into the hut, it felt as if Kid had been drizzled in gold.

“I want more,” you command between kisses, his beard tickling your face.

“We have to be quiet,” he responds, clearly getting distracted. You had to get him out of his own head. It was ridiculous, someone with a past as checkered as his. He wanted to be with you always, be something you could crush under the heel of your boot if it pleased you. He only wants to please you. And now that he is getting the chance, he does exactly that.

He works his way down, ignoring the sticky summer heat, until he settles comfortably between your legs.

How lovely! How comfortable it was to lie here with you. Your body under his felt so surreal, soft and comfortable. Your hands on his shoulders.

When he has the time, he decides that he’s going to put each one of your fingers in his mouth, just for the sake of feeling every part of you.

How strange, how new it was! The desire to feel all of someone; to lay here on top of you and hope gravity might keep him here as long as possible.

He says nothing and hums into your soft thighs, stray hand wandering to push your cotton shift up slowly, higher and higher. You love him for that - that he’s giving you so much time to stop him, to call it all off, but you don’t.

Kid runs a rough palm over your heat, and begins to shake at the contact.

“May I?” He asks, polite as ever.

You reply, a simple “Yes.”

Gently, slowly, Kid nudges your legs apart, smiling, before taking an experimental taste.

It was embarrassing how you jerked into him, like an electric shock.

Something darkened across his face, that set your hair on end in the best way, and he dove in headfirst.

He flicks his tongue on your clit, chuckling against you as you twitch under the attention, “Do you like that?” He asks, and you nod, losing your thoughts.

Your heart leaps to your throat as the rough pad of his thumb meets your clit, rubbing a heart shape.

“Answer me!” He urges, growly, and it makes you want to smack him.

“Yes!” You squeak, a little too loudly, sitting up on your elbows. Kid stifles a laugh behind his hand as he rests a palm on your stomach to soothe you. He didn’t know you as one to squeak! You pout, just because you can, and he grins at you, leaning up for a kiss to your pouty mouth.

“Poor birdy,” he coos, “we should go deeper into the woods, where we can be as loud as we like.”

The thought makes your hair stand on end, being truly alone, together. The tantalizing thought fades as he ducks his face back down, into you. As he works, spreading the warmth of his mouth over you, it was hard to remember why you ‘had to be quiet’. How would that be possible? Flicking his tongue, you twitch again, relishing the attention he was giving so freely.

“Would you like more?” He hums, vibrations tearing right through you.

“Y-yesyesyes, more please.” His rough palms roam over you at a leisurely pace, his mouth back to your clit. You should be quiet, you try so hard to be quiet, but Kid’s sucking and slurping unnerves you. You can’t control yourself for long.

You want to beg him to grab you harder, like you might float away if he doesn’t, but you just can’t find words beyond, “Want you…”

“Do you promise?” Kid murmured into your leg, tugging the soft flesh there lightly with his teeth, “I don’t want to pressure you.” Please please please, he thinks.

“I promise,” you pant, pussy still fluttering, “Wanted you since I first saw you…” Your voice dies off, as he comes up to kiss you on the mouth, like he missed you.

“I was covered in blood.”

“A few more days and you could be again.” You freeze at your own words. Queenie always kept the girls on lockdown when it was that time. Kid was different.

“Don’t tempt me, jaanu. I should keep you in my arms until then.” It’s a threat. It’s a promise. It’s everything you’ve been dreaming about for months…

But the idea of Kid with your monthly blood on his face was something else entirely…

Your thoughts are cut off again, but Kid takes your hand, resting it above your stomach. Your fingers intertwine, naturally.

“Can I get you ready for me?”

“Do it.” Your voice is firm, and certain, and he absolutely adores you for it.

The look on your face through the rising light makes his hair stand on end.

Your eyes flutter shut as Kid traces your needy hole with his fingers. How could you have known that he’d be so gentle with you? What exactly had you been making yourself feel bad about?

You bite down a moan as he works one finger in, slowly, letting you feel every ridge, relishing as you try to squirm closer to his hand.

No.

You’ll take what he gives when he gives it, he thinks but then he revises, You will get everything he had, but not quite yet.

He pauses, letting you get used to his digit, only starting to move when you pant. You're too stiff, he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want it to be like before, he wants it to be better.

It’s hard not to melt, so you allow yourself the pleasure.

Who was he really? Did it even matter?

“Alright, Jannu?” He asks, and you take a grip on his shoulder, nodding ‘yes.’

And then, he starts to move.

It had been years since someone’s hands had worked you so thoroughly, and you simply had to enjoy it. He simply had to pull you closer, with his two fingers, other hand palming your breasts, to your thrill, in a less gentle manner than the rest of you.

He was simply petting you, playing with you, of course you had to purr. You couldn’t imagine anything else. Everything in your life has led you here, with him, to be underneath him.

Faster and faster and faster, and then. Nothing.

“Shh. Just hold on for me.”

Kid takes his hand from you, and you whip your head up, face ravenous.

All he offers you is a “Sorry, not yet.” You should slap him, but the emptiness he’d left turned into an ache. How could he do this? Even for a moment?

You whine, and Kid thinks he might die if he doesn’t fuck you how you deserve.

“It’s alright, I’m here. I’ll make it better, hm?” Your lover shifts above you, and you feel his cock nudging at your folds. The giddiness of it all goes straight to your head.

“Need you!” You are keen, rolling your hips into him, hoping to catch something, anything to grant relief. But the only thing that could help is him.

“Slowly, not too much now.” He cautions, but you can't. You simply can’t. Months of dreaming, waiting, lusting, handling the overwhelming guilt you didn’t ask for? No more waiting.

You pant, and he greedily breathes in your air, inching into you, measured and careful.

No. No more.

You take a cruel grip on his ass, and pull him down into you, losing yourself for either a moment or an hour.

He pants, sounding desperate to keep himself together. Maybe that wasn’t the wisest move, maybe he’d been going sooooo slooow for his sake as much as yours…

Kid is seated completely inside you, running his rough palm over the bulge he was making in your lower tummy. How quickly a life can change, he thinks, he was asleep, and now he’s here, above you, feeling exactly how deep he can fit inside you.

Your vision had gone white at the edges, he just felt too correct. Perhaps you should keep him hostage here, always. Kid lets out a low whine, pathetic and beautiful, and you feel your skin buzz so loud, you're certain he could hear it.

He has to move. Or you might die.

But carefully, he rolls into you, making you dig into him. He catches your wanton moan in his mouth, trying to soothe you in spite of his actions. Your words are gone…

“Good girl, do you like that?” He asks, as if you could respond, “Do you want more?”

You nod your head, drunkenly, and he snaps down again. You grip him even tighter, and he puts his mouth back on yours.

It’s just too desperate, does he know how badly you need him?

“Harder! Harder please.” You beg, eyes round and unfocused on anything other than the harsh pleasure he was giving you.

“More more more!”

Kid goes after your breasts, teasing with his hot mouth, bringing you closer with each shallow breath he takes.

You stifle a wail in his shoulder, fighting desperately. As soon as you bare down around him, it’s over. You don’t want to be over…

Kid seems to know this, watching you intently, same as always. You fight off your orgasm, defiant and determined, fluttering tightly around him, the least he could do is do the same.

But it’s simply too much, you knew you were going to scream. You couldn’t, it was too early, everyone would know.

You run a hand up the side of his face, catching his beard, feeling hair stuck to his forehead from the humidity. His eyes blank, absolutely lost in the throes of you, your squelching and whines burned into his bones forever.

He holds you as you scrabble at his back, eyes rolling, not losing his pace for a moment, only gasping into your ear as you finally clench down, fluttering around him, only coming back to reality when your teeth meet his chest and bite down, muffling the sound.

Your teeth meeting his flesh, makes him lose his composure. He moans beautifully in your ear, your teeth still in his chest, reflexively gripping you harder as he spills deep inside. You kick your legs up higher around his torso, so you could keep him trapped against you.

Kid pants into your mouth, murmuring all the sweet things he’d been keeping to himself. He’s free now, you both are.

But still, neither of you move, holding on to each other, and it must be heaven.

Someone has to move first. He should start some tea for you. He should start to show you how he was ready for the rest of his life now, with you.

But it’s not to be, the second Kid pulls out, you kick his rear with the heel of your ankle. All of your shared mess seeps out of your worn out body. Not yet. He’s too far away. It couldn’t be over yet…That’s not allowed, you decide.

“No. Put it back.” You command.

Kid has the nerve to bat his eyes at you, and obliges, face flashing with something you couldn’t place.

He holds you tight, and the two of you let the quiet soak in from the window. With you here, it wasn’t a hut, but a proper house.

His heart is about to beat out of his chest, the sheer weight of your eyes on his, it feels like an honor to be here with you.

The evidence of your rendezvous was hot and sticky between your legs. Kid was surprised that there seemed to be so much, and he didn’t mind one bit. Maybe he could take you down to the river to clean up, and care for you properly. Maybe the two of you wouldn’t be missed.

You close your eyes, and something flips in the Kid's chest.

“What is it you want?” He asks, forehead pressed against yours, “Ask for the moon and I’ll pull it down for you.” You squirm under the intensity of his stare, he was simply too beautiful and overwhelming.

“I choose you and me.”

“You can have it.” He gives you a peck, smiling into you, but quickly furrowing into concern. .

“Wait Jannu, it’s alright, what’s happened?” You stifle a small sob at the overwhelming softness of his tone.

The fist around your heart clenches, as you feel a wet trail down your face, to your jaw.

When was the last time you were allowed to cry?

You huff a little, to yourself, and bring him in for another sweet kiss, languid and comfortable. He brings the pads of his thumbs under your eyes, clearing the tears away. You take a fistful of his hair, and bring him in close, limbs intertwined, safe together.

“I’m happy. I’m so very happy.” And you cry a little more, because it’s true.

#the kid #the kid monkey man #dev patel #dev patel imagine #dev patel fic #monkey man #monkey man 2024 #the kid smut #the kid x reader #dev patel smut

168 notes · View notes

echo-bleu · 9 months

Text

Noldor Hair Headcanons (3/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3

Some lighter Kidnap Fam content, after the downhill freefall that was the last chapter. With a dash of Finrod in Valinor.

Elrond and Elros have never had their hair braided when they end up with Maedhros and Maglor.

They don’t realize what they’re asking when Elros grabs a hairbrush and puts it in Maglor’s hand.

Maglor understands that, but decides that the twins need parental care, even though he has no right. He brushes their hair and leaves it loose at first.

But the twins have watched Maglor braid Maedhros’s hair and they soon start asking for more interesting hairstyles.

Eventually Maglor explains to them that it can only be done by family.

The twins have a whole silent conversation.

“What does it take to be family?” Elros asks eventually.

Well, braiding an unrelated child’s hair is pretty close to informal adoption.

Elros forces the brush into Maglor’s hand again.

Maglor stares.

Elrond shakes his head and runs out.

Of course, Elrond must hate them. He has every right. Sure, Elros has started to warm up to them, but that’s just because he’s affection-starved, probably. They’re still kidnappers.

Maglor is about to put down the brush and try to refuse when Elrond comes back.

He’s holding a second hairbrush.

He hands it to Maedhros expectantly.

Maedhros cries.

Maglor cries.

The twins’ hair really doesn’t hold braids very well, and they’re still kids who run around and play, but damn them if Maglor and Maedhros aren’t going to do their best.

Now all of their people can see that the twins are well-loved.

Maedhros and Maglor also proudly sport a few clumsy, wonky braids each.

They’re less wonky with time, and eventually the twins are doing their fathers’ (kidnappers’) hair as often as not.

Finrod is reembodied shortly before Eärendil and Elwing gets to Valinor. It’s too early and he’s Not Doing Well. While in Middle Earth, he was the one who let basically every one of his friends braid his hair, now he can’t stand the thought of someone touching him that way.

But Beleriandic battle braids feel wrong in Tirion. And he’s desperately trying to reckon with his trauma, with Sauron defeating him by singing about the kinslaying, so he can’t leave his hair loose like the Teleri.

And he can’t quite get the sight of Edrahil’s bloody braids spat out by a werewolf out of his head.

He wears nothing but the very strange-looking (to Amanyar) Mourning Braids he designed after Dagor Bragollach for a couple of years.

Then after an episode of really bad depression and nearly fading, he cuts his hair short.

No-braiding-possible kind of short.

While not unheard of in Beleriand (sometimes former thralls keep their hair very short, like Rog), it’s unthinkable in Valinor, especially for the Crown Prince of the Noldor.

He is stared at a lot, his reputation goes down the drain, but to Finrod it’s liberating.

He does let his hair grow out again eventually, but only when other Exiles start coming back and choose to keep the Beleriandic braid styles, and it becomes a fashion statement rather than a mark of shame.

Finarfin is Very Shocked arriving in Beleriand when he finds his (single remaining) child with her hair loose and everyone else with weird self-braided battle hairstyles.

After a battle or three where he ends up with his hair matted with blood and mud, he caves and gets Galadriel to give him battle braids.

By the end of the war he’s even learned to do them himself! Let it not be said that King Arafinwë Ñoldóran didn’t rise to his calling.

The night before sending the Elrond and Elros to Gil-galad, Maedhros and Maglor undo all of their braids. Everyone cries.

Maedhros and Maglor meant this to minimize the ‘taint’ their names would put on the twins, by making it look like they were still hostages to the end, but the twins stop on the way to do each other’s hair because one does not meet a king with their hair loose, they have manners (which the Fëanorians taught them, so they’re Very Specific Manners), so the effect is lost. Gil-galad has Questions. The twins refuse to lie.

Then, before going to steal the Silmarils, Maedhros and Maglor do each other’s hair, in a style of their father’s that they haven’t worn since the Oath.

Maglor braids a single golden ribbon into Maedhros’s hair.

They have very few pieces of hair jewellery left of their brothers’, but they use all of them.

They both know it’s the last time.

To be continued

I did some sketches for visual reference of a few of the hairstyles mentioned here, if you want to see what I'm imagining!

#noldor hair headcanons #if i am to braid my mystic crown #noldor #maedhros #maglor #elrond #elros #finrod #kidnap fam #silmarillion #silm fic #tolkien #tolkien fanfiction #echo's fanfiction

315 notes · View notes

sentientgolfball · 23 days

Note

Maybe nr 3 "You look better with my hands around your neck." With mountain/ifrit

Mountain/Ifrit is a pair I think I need more of

send me a prompt and a pair !

Mountain nearly forgets why he came down here when he opens the door. Immediately he gets hit with a wave of heat so intense it has him sweating already. That’s not what makes him freeze though. Ifrit and Alpha are sparring on the mats. Shirtless. Sweaty. Flushed. He likes to believe he’s as unshakable as the earth itself, but every ghoul has their weaknesses. He stays in the doorway, eyes glued to the two ghouls in front of him. He’s sure whatever Zephyr needed Ifrit for can wait just a little bit longer. It would be rude to interrupt them.

Ifrit gets his legs swept from under him, landing hard on his back. Mountain’s ears perk up at the grunt he lets out. It’s all too familiar. Alpha moves quickly to mount him, straddling his hips to gain the upper hand. He leans over him, wrapping one hand around Ifrit’s wrist and the other around his own. He starts to pull Ifrit’s arm down, but before he can do much, Ifrit bridges his hips and rolls them over. Mountain can hear him panting and the sight of his sweat shiny chest rapidly rising and falling does not help to stop his mind from wandering. He’s almost jealous of the view Alpha has pinned under him.

Alpha uses it to his advantage though. He bridges his hips just enough to throw Ifrit off balance. He has to slam his hands against the mat to stop himself from completely smothering Alpha. Mountain has to bite his tongue. Ifrit’s chest is so close to Alpha’s face that all he would have to do is turn his head to be buried. Alpha slides up to rest his weight on his palm. He wraps his free arm around the back of Ifrit’s neck, effectively putting him in a headlock. He wraps his legs around Ifrit’s waist, locking his ankles and pulling him flush against him. Mountain can’t take his eyes away from where their hips are pressed together.

Alpha flexes his arms and legs at the same time. Ifrit chokes out a gasp as his airflow gets cut off. Mountain mirrors him, half hard cock kicking in his pants. He shouldn’t be so affected by this, yet when Ifrit’s eyes roll to the back of his head he can feel himself throb. He palms himself to try to relieve the pressure as he starts to go limp in Alpha’s hold. He really shouldn’t find this as hot as he does. Ifrit could be seriously hurt. The thought only makes the warmth in his stomach worse. Fortunately, Alpha releases him and he lets out a loud gasp as he sucks in air.

He lets Ifrit lay on top of him, panting as he comes back into himself. Slowly he sits up and Alpha takes that as a sign that he’s alright. Alpha stands and extends his hand out to him. He grins up at him like he didn’t just choke him out and lets Alpha help him to his feet. They clack their horns together before turning their attention to Mountain.

“Enjoy the show?” Ifrit smiles at him.

Oh he sure did. Probably more than he should have. He’ll blame the flush of his cheeks on the heat.

Ifrit and Alpha go about their business, toweling themselves down and packing up their belongings. Mountain shakes his head a little, trying to clear it so he can do what he came here for. He walks over to Ifrit fully intent on letting him know Zephyr is looking for him. Though when those big, bright eyes turn to him all hope is lost.

“What do you need honeysuckle?”

Mountain’s eyes rake over his body and he wants more than to trace his tongue over the trails of sweat on his throat. He gets in close, slouching so he can whisper in Ifrit’s ear.

“You looked good out there, but I think you’d look better with my hands around your neck.” He pulls his lobe between his teeth.

Ifrit gasps, hand coming up to grip Mountain’s shirt. His eyes flick to Alpha. He has finished putting his things away, slinging his bag over his shoulder and making his way towards the door. It only takes a few more moments before he hears it swing open and then closed. He pulls back enough to look at Mountain.

“If you can pin me then I’m all yours.” He flashes his fangs at him.

Mountain smiles, a low growl rumbling through his chest. He’s never been one to let prey get away.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fic #ifrit ghoul #mountain ghoul #golfball writes

86 notes · View notes

mistyresolve · 1 year

Note

Request for Reader asking to wrestle ghost and then he does that one move he does when he goes under someone’s legs and flips them on their back

Please if you want to 🫶

| Takedown

Word Count - 1.5k

Summary - Y/N is regularly called upon by Ghost to help out as a fake assailant. Today's close combat lesson is on disarming and takedowns.

Tags/Warnings - Depictions of combat, slight sexual tension,

A/N - i think i know exactly what you're talking about! i believe it's a finisher from MW2019 called "Fangs Out".

I also found this TikTok by cctvsoap that shows the actual finisher.

Masterlist ❤︎ Tag List Form

There was truly nothing worse than when Ghost roped you into agreeing to be his pretend enemy when he did his hand-to-hand combat training with his troops. Ghost preferred to demonstrate his lethality on someone who was resilient enough to take the blows and was trained enough to know how to safely take them. Why you agreed to it every time was a mystery, because you would go home at the end of the day and count all your new bruises. Last time, it was seven.

At the very least you weren’t alone. Soap has also fallen prey to this scheme more than his fair share. You and Soap had created a “Victims of Ghost” Club. It mostly consisted of you two texting each other to run and hide when Ghost began his training doll recruitment.

You could hold your own in a fight. Even against Ghost himself. However, this situation was different. You would be subjected to taking all the hits and tackles he needed to do for demonstration.

Today he was going over disarming and disorienting. His forte. Which meant a lot of being thrown on the ground and having your ass handed to you.

Ghost was explaining the purpose and importance of close combat when he signalled for you to join him on the mat. You positioned yourself at the front of the mat, with a plastic gun in hand. Standing as if you were on a watch. Feet slightly apart and gun poised.

He always started off by letting you know what moves to expect from him so you could prepare for it. The best you could. Then he would do a full run-through of the move, followed by a slowed down set-by-step explanation.

He began the training session with simple disarms. His motions were snappy and well-practiced, the gun was knocked to the floor and a hand was pinned behind your back. He moved like it was second nature to him.

“Sorry,” he said lowly, dipping down to your ear. Your heart dropped down to pulse between your legs.

This was why you kept saying yes.

You nodded, rubbing at your wrist where he had grabbed it and offered him a thumbs up. He returned the nod, eyes watchful. Once he was satisfied that you were truly fine, he proceeded to the step-by-step. He was extremely gentle when he did this, his hands ghosting across your body. A complete paradox from just moments before. Like when his fingers linger a second too long sometimes. Or when his thumb drew little circles on the bare skin of your wrist when he pinned it behind you once more.

Near the end of the session, you felt like you were going to burst into flames. The man radiated heat like he was a furnace and his proximity throughout the last hour has been torturous. That and every time he whispered apologies to you, you felt yourself melt a little more.

Only to be brought back to the cold earth when he announced the next disarming tactic and takedown. You had yet to decide if you hated or loved this next one.

Ghost turned back to you, “I’ll be going between your legs. Try and break your fall this time, would you?” he teased you about the last he taught this one in class he had moved in on you so fast you hardly had time to catch your fall. Your face had made friends with the floor that day.

If the situation was different the words “I’ll be going between your legs,” would have made you weak in the knees.

You glared over at him, “Go easy on me,” you had to force yourself to relax your muscles. It would make the fall hurt a little less. Once again you positioned yourself at the front of the mat, allowing a little extra space in the front of you this time. Since you’d be falling forward. You made sure you bent your knees and your grip on the gun lose.

Ghost tapped your left leg as he passed you, letting you know which leg he’d be attacking. It helped with knowing which direction you’d need to twist towards when falling.

He didn’t give any cues when he moved in. Aside from the quiet swish of fabric, he was nearly silent.

A foreign leg hooked around the lower half of yours, and a well-placed hand pushing at your back forced you to lose balance and teeter forward. It was instinct to toss the gun and bring your hands up in front of you. You were still free-falling when a large hand wrapped around the ankle of your right leg, redirecting your momentum to the side so you landed on your shoulder. By the time you were on the ground, you were facing him with your back to the floor. You struggled to catch your breath for a moment. The force of the fall had stolen the air straight out of your lungs. Ghost was kneeling over you, a hand placed into your chest to keep you to the ground. There was no pressure to the contact thought.

He kept his attention on you until you gave a reassuring tap to the arm pinning you down. He remained as he was to allow you extra time to regain composure. His eyes flicked between the group of soldiers and you as he decoded his motions for them. There was no anxiety behind his eyes, just a hushed concern. He knew you weren’t injured, but the fall was never pleasant and he was well aware of that.

He helped you back to your feet, squeezing your shoulder lightly before walking everyone through the action. This time when he hooked his leg around you there was no push or pulling. You still followed through with how it would have gone if it were happening at full speed. When he brought your right leg across his body so you were lying facing him once again, his watchful eyes were on you. Before he had to drag them away from you.

He allowed for the remaining time for the troops to use as practice. You made your way to your water bottle, needing the ice cold water to chill the heat in your core. Ghost trailed after you as he watched the soldiers try out all the different moves and techniques he showed them today.

“You’re going to have to go track down Soap for the next class,” You were half kidding.

“If you stop giving him a head start every time I try, I just might do that,” he fixed you with a bored look.

Of course, he knew.

You faked a shocked expression, “My loyalties lay with McTavish.”

“Then I’ll see you on friday,” he stated. He could pull rank on you, but you knew if you said “no”, he wouldn’t. He very very rarely pulled rank on you.

Bonus of Ghost taking the legs off Soap

If there was one thing in this world that Simon had no issues throwing class and grace to the wind for, it was when someone challenged him. He also had no qualms about besting Soap in a fight. So when Soap told Ghost that he could take him down in a fight, Ghost rose to the occasion. A few members of the 141, including yourself, were in the training room when Soap contested that he could take on Ghost in a duel. To which he immediately denied the thesis. Much to no one’s surprise, Soap didn’t back down. Claiming that his agility was superior to Ghost’s resilience and power.

You and Gaz set up camp on the benches. Placing bets on how long Soap would last.

“No holding back on me,” Soap pointed a finger at the Brit before taking a ready position.

As soon as Ghost tapped at his chest, a silent sign to begin, Soap was moving. It looked promising for the first few punches. Ghost on heavy defence.

...It ended quickly.

He blocked one of Soap’s punches, deflecting the momentum to create an opening for himself. With a quick jab to the abdomen to disorientate, then a sweep of his foot, and a body check, Soap’s feet were above his head.

You sighed, hanging your head as you dug into your pocket to retrieve a few bills, “I thought he’d last a little longer,” you mopped as Gaz took the money from you.

“You gotta stop betting on the dofus.”

Across the room, Soap rolled over to his side, “That hurt.”

Ghost was already walking to the bench, “It’s supposed to. It’s an ass kicking,” he turned and pointed a finger at Soap in the same manner he had done to him just moments ago.

Masterlist

Close Quarters

A/N - everytime i see ghost in hand to hand he goes for their legs... everytime

Taglist - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎ @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @v1naco ❤︎ @konig-breedme ❤︎ @wolfyland07 ❤︎ @cumbersome-robes ❤︎ @adelaidai ❤︎ @ddioriez ❤︎ @johfaam0 ❤︎ @ryethebrokengae ❤︎ @mychrysanthemums ❤︎ @purplefishingline ❤︎ @dog55teeth ❤︎ @mymommmy ❤︎ @lockleywife

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #cod x reader #mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n

673 notes · View notes

syoddeye · 14 days

Text

the warren, part six - natural

price x f!reader | 5.9k words | series page | ao3 tags: background ghoap, italicized flashbacks, skinny dipping, bathing, cunninglinus, vaginal fingering, breeding kink, darkfic. a/n: fireworks followed by fireworks. shout out to early and the arrangement. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

This must be what it feels like to open a tomb.

Fetid air sweeps over your cheeks. Warm and stagnant, smelling of earth and metal.

The room is maybe eight by ten feet and sinks another six down to an unfinished floor of exposed dirt and rock. Thin pipes run from under the floorboards and into the wall, disappearing further underground. An empty, dusty stack of wooden shelves stands bolted to the cement walls. You’d think it’s an old root cellar—if it weren’t for the door.

Four paneled. Old and weathered yet sturdy looking. You don’t dare hop into the pit to test the heavy lock affixed to it; no way you could climb out.

You take a photo, shut the hidden hatch, and smooth the rug over it.

It’s nothing. Has to be. Kate would’ve told you about it if it mattered. You haul the couch over it anyway and tuck into bed with a knife. In the small hours, you decide to call the landlady at breakfast, perhaps Phil too, for good measure.

“Oh, that? Old storm cellar.” Kate sounds amused, as if your trepidation is a cute joke. “The Warrens were originally from Tornado Alley. Hated storms. Brought that hate with them.”

“Where does the door lead?”

“A storage room. I emptied it.”

You lean against the counter, staring at the rug with your thumb caught between your teeth in thought. Since your arrival, you’ve seen two storms of note. Thunder and lightning, but nothing like the furies that roll over the Great Lakes, the ones that rattled the shutters and windows or leaked from cracks in the ceiling. Certainly no tornadoes. You, of all people, know what it is to carry a fear. A hatred.

“Everything alright?”

You fish for reassurance. “Yes. I feel silly, that’s all.”

The hook goes ignored. “Mhm.”

“Guess I’ll move the couch back.” You laugh, apologize for troubling her, and leave the couch where it sits.

You don’t call Phil. You’d sound ridiculous.

Later, you sneak some extra work in, at least you try to. A mechanical whir putters then skips. You swear a wisp of smoke leaks from the disk drive. The old laptop that could, no more. Rendered a fossil, unresponsive to your troubleshooting. Frustration burns your belly, whittling your patience to naught. It fractures at the ring of your phone.

“Yes?” You snap, instantly searing yourself with the white-hot brand of guilt. “I’m so sorry, hello?”

John chuckles. “Bad time?”

“John. Oh, no. I–I’m not scheduled today, am I?”

“No, you’re alright. Shop’s slow, so I thought I’d check in.” He pauses. “If you’re busy, I can chat later.”

“I’m not. Unexpectedly so,” you shove your laptop off your lap, rising from bed. You stretch and pace to the kitchen. “Mind if I keep you company? See the kittens?” Best clear your head.

“I’d be delighted.”

The kittens are feral. You know this, yet their instinctive rejection smarts. From a sun-bleached lawn chair, you watch them tussle and spar in the shade of John’s building. Their mother, the first time you’ve seen her, lounges on the welcome mat. She’s a proud creature. Big and gray like a storm cloud.

You haven’t come around to John’s understanding concerning the cats. The queen tolerates one of her kittens, nearly too old to nurse, as it tries to latch. You wonder if the baby’s a female. If she, like her mother, will fall pregnant in a few months. If she’ll end up with an unseasonably late litter, born to frost and snow rather than wildflowers and sunlight.

“Beautiful thing,” John observes, emerging from the garage with an ice-cold soda. He slots it in your hand and plants himself in the chair beside you. “Mama and her babies.”

“It’s something.”

“They’ll be off on their own soon. They’ll do fine.”

“And if not?” If one of the area’s predators doesn’t get to them, the road awaits.

“Then that’s that. Nature takes its course.”

You hate that he’s not wrong. Falling prey to a beast or an accident is simply what happens to creatures like the kittens. You chew your lip, thinking of how immutable that truth might’ve been once, but now? With the means to prevent all the unnecessary heartache? Knowing John’s attitude on man’s interference, you don’t voice it. Knowing your own.

You catch him staring. There’s something in the way his eyes linger. A quiet intensity that betrays the hunger he’s set aside for your benefit. Unspoken but raw. Crude. It claws at you as much as it does him.

Later, in the shower, you reacquaint yourself with your softer parts. You rouse a lovely pressure but fumble. It slips through your fingers and down the drain with the water.

Your first inventory trip to Ponderosa arrives. The ride is more pleasant than the last, and John shoos you away to the library when you try to help at the town depot. He warns you it’s a lot of dull conversation and lifting, so you slink off.

The whole town’s decorated for the Fourth. Its two hotels are bursting at the seams, sidewalk patios filled with folk. A shuttle to a resort ten minutes away stops in front of the coffee shop, making the decision to delay your visit for you.

The Ponderosa Public Library is cozy and welcoming. The gleaming white stone floor of the entrance lends a hallowedness. Phil Graves’s drawl drifts through your head at the sight of a local history display positioned near the front, but the honeyed voice of the librarian hooks your attention. Draped in a floor-length cardigan, the kindly older woman eagerly waves you in. She’s thrilled to register you with a temporary card when you inquire.

“I can count on one hand how many visitors have signed up this summer. Two!” She laughs. “Your name?”

~~~

In the pre-dawn stillness of the desert, the landscape is a vast, empty stretch painted in muted hues of gray and indigo. Hints of morning light graze the earth and highway, devoid of traffic aside from the occasional tumbleweed. The openness feels expansive yet intimate. Alien, yet familiar. Desolation and your lonely home of some years. Where life makes the best of it. The most stability you’ve ever known.

You arrive in town five minutes past seven.

Passing the gas station, you keep your head down and ring hand displayed to let the synthetic gemstone reflect the sun. It doesn’t stop one trucker from leaning out of his cab with an appreciative whistle.

The library’s office light is on, so you knock on the staff entrance. Robin lets you in thirty seconds later, chattering on about a game show. You clean the bathrooms while she prepares the rest of the branch to open. You finish with minutes to spare and settle at the boxy computer that keeps your back to a wall.

The usual patrons file and out in as you send a dozen inquiry emails to writing gigs and delete rejections. You write a father of the bride speech for $50, your biggest job yet. Every sentence is a penny, and pennies add up. You’ll have enough for the car, gas, and computer in a few months. Everything is planned out and locked safely away in your head, except for one detail.

You traipse slowly along the geography shelf, hand poised like a dowsing rod, waiting for a feeling. Your fingers brush a spine and shiver. Idaho Cities and Townships. Paging to the index, you trace your finger down the list like you’re looking for the right scripture in church. The psalm to sing. Something pulls your finger to a place called Grouse Bay. It burrows under your skin and nails. Hope.

~~~

You revere librarians. They’re the only people you’ve met who never pry, lest it be to help you. Jeanne, the librarian of this particular branch, leaves you to peruse without hovering. The bangles on her arms clink together like a bell on a cat. She minds herself until you approach the checkout with a short stack.

“Excellent choices, sweetie. These’ll keep you plenty company.” She scans them, apprising you of the upcoming fireworks, but abruptly pauses. Her eyes stare past you. “Are you expecting a handsome fella? A Brawny Man lookalike?”

From outside, John waves with a smile. You return both. “I am.”

She whistles low and slides the books to you with a knowing look. “I take it back. He’ll be plenty of company.”

Outside, John hooks a finger in your tote the moment you’re within reach and peers inside. Nosy.

“A couple of romances, nothing you’d like.”

“That so? You don’t think I’d like…The Arrangement?”

You bat at his hand, clutching your haul and tilting away as you walk. “I highly doubt it.”

A waggish grin lights up his face. If the man on the front cover of that particular text bears a resemblance to him, it’s pure coincidence.

On the ride home, his hand inches over your thigh. You let it rest and take another long shower.

You still can’t scratch the itch.

Despite John’s preparations, the Fourth of July cleans the grocer out of booze, cigarettes, and just about everything else. The store shuts after lunch, and he talks you into a boat ride.

“I didn’t know you owned a boat.”

“I don’t,” He hefts a cooler onto the tailgate, the last stash of crusher beer inside. “Kate does. Nik just patched her up.”

“Wish he’d fix my car.” Nikolai mentioned the part was delayed two weeks and blamed a train derailment further West.

Kate’s home is an aging two-story half a mile down the lakeside road. Two juniper trees bracket the entrance, with twin rows of bluebells and dogbane lining the path. Her Ranger sits under a carport, flanked by a muddy ATV and an old Bronco.

You shoulder your bag and walk to the rear of John’s truck, studying the unfamiliar vehicles. “Who else is joining us?”

“Hello, rabbit.” A gruff voice purrs. Outdoors, Simon looks larger than life with no fixture or frame to duck. His muscles bulge under a black t-shirt, the skin on his arms more bronzed than his face. However, as he steps directly behind you, leaning over you to grab the cooler, you see faint tan lines around his eyes.

You whip around to face the cab, trying to not look so obvious with your failed escape attempt, and see John’s mouth flatten. Simon’s chest brushes and bumps your back, pelvis ghosting your hip as he effortlessly hauls the packed cooler over your head. The smell of burnt rubber, oil, and sweat is fleeting but intense.

“How’s the boat?” John slams his door. You flinch and hastily close the rear gate.

“Glorified sardine tin.” Simon clears his throat and spits, then jerks his head. “C’mon.”

You follow in silence, crossing the road and descending a creaky staircase built into the slope of the hillside leading to the lake. Kate’s boat is bigger than you imagined, a double-decker pontoon. She and Nik stand at the mooring fixed to an aluminum dock, and as you step onto the last shallow flight, a man emerges from the cabin.

His grin is a crescent set on a chiseled jaw and hard to look away from. He isn’t as tall as Simon, but cuts just as imposing of a figure with wide shoulders and thick arms. He bounds closer, greeting the three of you like an excitable dog. Simon passes by, mumbling something that makes the man straighten and lock on to you with eyes an unnerving shade of blue, cynoid. Nothing like John’s.

John gently nudges you ahead and supplies your name. “And this is Soap. He’s Simon’s partner.”

Partner. That’s not as comforting as you want it to be. “Soap?”

An accent wraps around his words, catching you off guard. “Aye. Soap. Heard a lot about ye.”

“Good things I hope?”

He leans, voice dropping into a conspiratorial but genial whisper. “Plenty. Though if ye got a naughty streak, I won’t tell.”

The breeze off the lake doesn’t abate the heat his compliment evokes. A whiff of acetone blends with mint wafts off him, but it’s his nostrils that flare. He’s sniffing you. “I don’t–”

“Soap!” Simon barks.

“Chat later.” He whispers, then answers Simon’s call, disappearing with his counterpart.

A bit dazed, you greet Kate, and she steers you aboard. John unmoors the boat with Nik muttering in his ear, and you’re shown the prime seat at the bow. Kate takes the helm, and within minutes, the pontoon putters away from shore to join the dozens of vessels dotting the lake. Simon and Soap return with armfuls of bottles and cans, someone turns the satellite radio on, and John fits himself to your side. You don’t know the last time you celebrated the Fourth, and here you are, toasting two Brits, a Scot, and a Russian. If there’s a punchline, you hope to find it.

A flask eventually appears. You refuse, watching Soap’s mouth pucker in disgust and Nikolai drinking deep like it’s water. John squeezes your shoulder, his arm draping over you with his thigh pressed to yours.

He murmurs, “Why don’t you go see Kate? Get some girl talk in?”

Kate doesn’t seem the type for girl talk, but how the others seem to hold their breath at John’s suggestion propels you to your feet.

You find Kate atop the upper deck, sprawled with a book and a cigarette dangling out of her mouth. The boat rides the wake of passing speedboats, forcing you to crawl and sit cross-legged. You barely hear the men below save for another toast.

“Too much for you, huh?” Kate asks, taking a drag.

It’s a conscious decision to not mention girl talk. “Yep. They’re…a lot.”

She snorts and lets the conversation wither early on the vine, probably for the best. She is your landlord.

Basking in the sun, you drink your warming beer and watch the water. Listen to the whoops and hollers across the lake.

When your father moved you across state lines to a ramshackle home perched atop a steep hill, you often crept onto the roof to do just this. They called that lake an unsalted sea, vast and untamed. Choppy with whitecaps and an unfathomable shade of blue, always darker than the sky above. You lived in fear of it, listening dutifully when your father carped on your morbid fascination. He banned you from trekking to its shores.

As a child, he suffered visions of you getting swept up by a rogue wave. You believed him, wanting him to care. As a teenager, you wondered if it was his way of protecting you from the men who prowled the docks, the boogeymen in the dark. His tacit acknowledgment of your growing older. Now, a thousand miles and a lifetime away, you know it’s because he simply didn’t want another prisoner to escape.

The first man whose love you wanted tried to trap you with water. The second dragged you to a desert. Looking down at John, your stomach twists. The third time’s a charm. He’s not like them.

“Rabbit.” Soap’s shaggy head pokes over the deck’s edge. “Mind if I join?”

Kate turns a page, you scoot, and Soap hoists himself up.

“So. You and John. What’s that like?” He laughs at your wince. “C’mon. Dinnae be shy. Been a minute since someone’s turned his head.”

“It’s…new.”

“New. Aye. Steamy? At eachother like–”

“Christ,” Kate grumbles, suddenly rocking up to a seated position, simultaneously stubbing out her cigarette as she slides to the edge. “I don’t need to hear this.”

Soap snickers. “Dinnae mind her.”

Sensing a sliver of an opening, you redirect. “John said you and Simon were partners. How long have you been together?”

“Years, I reckon. Hard to picture life before him. I was a mess. Workin’ at his shop’s done me good.”

“Oh, I thought you were partner partners.”

He grins. “No, yer not mistaken. We’re partners in business an’ bed.”

With a gentle dig, his elbow finds your ribs, and you feign an affable chuckle into your drink. The cheap beer’s too tepid to stomach, but you swallow, hide a grimace and push on. “What brought you here?”

Soap rolls his shoulders and finally casts his gaze elsewhere. “Wanted to see the world. I was an artist. I fucked off from home at sixteen an’ never returned. Wandered for years. Traveled all over.”

Sixteen. Incomprehensible. Not that eighteen was much better, but you weren’t alone.

“And you stopped here?” You came to Grouse Bay to hide. Picked it at random. To think someone else did the same seems kismet.

“I ken. Ye probably think I’m daft. Of all the places I’ve seen, how come fuckin’ Idaho? Of all places? I dinnae. Set its hooks in me.” He glances at Simon. “Love’s got a way of changing people, aye? Transformin’ them. It could be ye, putting down roots next.”

The comment nips your soft underbelly. You pivot again. “Did you paint? Do you still create art?”

Soap turns. “Nae so much anymore. I mostly draw. Dipped my toes into painting, but too much to carry. The art I make nowadays…It’s gruesome.”

“What do you mean?”

“Taxidermy. ‘S what Simon and I do,” His eyebrows shoot up, teeth flashing in a puckish smile. “Ye didnae ken?”

Revulsion tightens your throat. “I didn’t.”

He bites his lower lip, clearly eager to fan your disgust like a fire. A hairbreadth of control keeps his mouth shut long enough to rethink it. Instead, his focus drifts once more to his partner.

Despite the acidity lapping at your throat, curiosity opens your mouth. “Do you know how Simon came to Grouse Bay?”

Soap’s lips press tightly together, enough to sap their color, then bend into a brief scowl. Without warning, he stands and rips his shirt off in one smooth movement. He tosses it, crows a complaint about the heat, and doesn’t look over the upper deck before launching off the pontoon.

Howls of laughter erupt, but surprise tethers you in place until John calls your name. Apparently, a sunset dip is tradition.

Ducking into the cabin under the premise of changing, you whisper to Kate, “I don’t have a swimsuit. John didn’t tell me about swimming.”

“He must’ve,” Kate quarters a lemon on the tiny counter and tucks a wedge into the bottle’s narrow mouth. She shoves it through with a thumb and licks the pad. “Nobody will bat an eye if you go in your underwear.”

“I’m not–that’s too–”

“You’re shy. That’ll pass. I’ll tell John you need his shirt.” She’s gone before you can argue.

A short eternity squeezes into less than a minute. John appears in the doorway, and beyond him, you hear Nikolai’s deep laugh.

“Kate says you’re shy.”

“I’m not shy.”

“Well, I’ve come to give you this just in case.”

You thought you’d see John shirtless for the first time under different circumstances. Not in a cramped boat cabin, surrounded by his drunk friends. Your chest tightens. All the muscle you’ve only glimpsed and imagined is there in front of you. A torso sculpted by labor and practicality, rugged with scars and fat cushioning his stomach. And, to your delight, decently hirsute. His hand drops to his belt.

“Shirt’s yours. Need me to turn around?”

It feels more intimate than any kiss he’s given you, and it seems a test. You muster your nerve, set aside caution, and peel off your dress.

“Blue and white. Festive.”

“And you’re in green.”

He kicks off his jeans with a shrug. “Not my birthplace, and not for long.”

Standing at the stern, you entertain second and third thoughts, toying with the shirt’s hem. John waits in the water, expectant. You catch a flash of white—he’s nude. Toward the bow, you hear the others. They’re all nude.

“What about Kate?” You ask, voice warbling with uncertainty.

“Kate never joins. She watches.”

“Watches?”

“For other boats. Voyeurs. Threats.”

You feel stupid for asking.

The shock of the cold water hits like a full-body slap, stealing your breath and sending a sharp jolt through your limbs. Arms wrap around you as you surface, and the scruff of John’s beard scrapes the juncture of your neck, chin pushing the wet shirt aside to briefly suck your neck. It’s sudden, it’s a lot, knowing what’s behind your back—

“John!” You sputter indignantly, giggling nervously as his broad hands slide to squeeze your hips.

“Gimme a second.” He noses your wet skin and plants a few kisses before relinquishing his hold. “Sorry, sweetheart. Hard to keep my hands off you when you look so good.”

Sufficiently flustered, you promptly forgive him. “It’s fine. Just not in front of the others, please.”

“Right,” he chuckles and pinches your bottom as he paddles past. “She’s shy.”

Affronted, you swim after him.

As much as you hate to admit, Kate was right—your shyness melts with the sun’s slow descent. You spend the rest of the daylight in and out of the water, racing the men and learning to automatically avert your eyes from their frankly proud nakedness. By the time evening falls, you’re worn out, dressed, and idle as you munch on a sandwich Kate packed. It feels surreal. The entire day. Breathtakingly normal despite the skinny dipping.

Not weird, just different.

Eventually, everyone finds their place for the fireworks. You nestle into John’s side, swapping your towel for a blanket. He’s still bare-chested, shirt drying over an empty seat. It’s natural, resting your head on his shoulder. Fits perfectly. Simon, Soap, and Nikolai climb to the roof. Kate reclines in the captain’s chair. Beneath the cotton weave, John’s hand strokes your knee, and the other rests across your shoulders. The conversations lull as the whole lake seems to hold its breath.

Flashes of red and white burst overhead, their reflections shimmering over the rippling, dark water. Blue sparks spill in glittering arcs, lighting the night sky in meteoric explosions. Cheers from across the lake erupt alongside them. John’s hold doesn’t lax. For nearly an hour, he keeps you close, palm searing your skin. Your attention strays from the show, instead admiring his crow’s feet, the mole on his nose, and the silver woven into his beard. The fireworks cast a glow, making him look almost ethereal. Not angelic, otherworldly. The lines and marks on his skin map to places you’ve never been. Never thought you’d go.

The sky returns to an unbroken, inky black, the scent of sulfur settling in a fog. Kate ferries you to land, and you disembark ahead of John with his keys. In the drive, you pop the tailgate and then load your things into the passenger seat.

“Bunny.”

You turn to see Soap hauling the cooler, huffing and puffing a bit. The thing’s empty, so he must’ve hurried up the stairs. He crosses the road, tossing his burden into the truck.

“Bunny?”

He shakes his head. “Must’ve misheard. Said ‘bonnie’. Endearment of sorts. Listen, I was hopin’ to get another chance to speak with ye. You’re a good time when you let loose.”

“Thank you. I haven’t in a while. Felt nice.”

“I can tell. Simon said ye were wound tight. He frighten ye?”

To the core of your being. A congenital fear. You swallow it. “No.”

“Really? Big fella scares me.” Soap pitches his voice low. He casually stretches and grips the window crank, effectively caging you into the wedge of the door. His nostrils widen like earlier, pupils dilating in the light. “Now. Need ye to tell me somethin’. Been eatin’ me all day, and I cannae be a dog and put my nose wherever I’d like. Gotta be good.”

Instantly, ropes harness your thoughts, prepared to draw and quarter them into the bleakest parts of imagination. The desert, the inland sea.

The plastic handle creaks under his grip as he forces the words out between his teeth. “Did ye find—”

“Johnny.” Simon. Soap immediately reels backward, tugged by an invisible thread.

“Here, sir!”

Sir? Johnny?

“ATV. Now.”

Soap doesn’t so much as spare a parting glance, obediently scurrying to the four-wheeler. You stare, dumbfounded, and jump when the driver-side door creaks. John smiles wryly, his shirt adorning his neck like a damp scarf. The trail of hair disappearing into his waistband is a momentary distraction from the brute stalking beyond the windshield. Simon’s scarred flesh is a beacon in the moonlight. His heavy brow focused solely on the man perched atop his vehicle. You hear him seething, growling under his breath at Soap—Johnny—and John’s door shuts.

“C’mon, sweetheart. They’re alright.” He coaxes you into the cab, patting your knee with a sigh. “Lover’s quarrel. Simon’s a jealous man.”

“Jealous,” you echo, gawking at the two men outside. “Of me?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” John starts the truck and lowers his window. He leans out some as Nik and Kate share a smoke at the end of her walk. “Night, Kate. Nikolai.”

Nikolai leers behind his cigarette, gesturing with it in your direction. A few words of Russian escape with the smoke, a throaty laugh on their heels. Kate looks impassive. Bored. Her house disappears in the rearview. A restiveness itches under your skin, exacerbated by the quiet crackling of the radio. Your head’s a crowded place. The silence’s a good place to unburden it.

“So. Soap’s real name is Johnny?”

John chuckles. “Nobody but Simon calls him that, but you didn’t think it was Soap, did you?”

“I’m assuming it’s to keep things less confusing.”

“Correct. I actually employed him for a spell, when he arrived. Earned the name ‘Soap’ on account of his mouth. Needless to say, his career in retail was brief. Kept flirtin’ with the customers.”

“And he got with Simon?”

“Simon swept him off his feet.”

You scoff. “That’s difficult to believe.”

“Simon has his ways.”

Nothing in your short, tense encounters suggests Simon to be a man capable of love or romance. You doubt it is uncharitable to think so, either. Ferine and rude, calculated and off-putting. Everything he does aims to disarm by making the very air around him feel heavy and wrong, whereas Soap seems keen to impress upon you his friendliness, conveying himself as human conciliation. ‘Opposites attract’ has limits.

Yet.

“Soap said love has a way of changing people.”

John hums in agreement. “Most powerful force there is.”

Can’t argue with that. Force for good or otherwise, though—that you may dispute.

You don’t tell him to, but he shuts the truck off in the drive. Cats scatter as he escorts you, voicing their displeasure at your late arrival. Under the exterior light, you fumble with your keys, his gaze heavy on your cheek. In the time it takes to turn the lock, you berate yourself. Plead with a jury close to hanging.

It’s swimming all over again. Are you shy? Timid? Are you allowing the long, creeping reach of your abandoned husband to touch you before you let John try? The verdict passes your lips.

“Won’t you come in?”

“It’s late.”

“Please come in.”

It takes two invitations to coax John Price into the cabin and a third to the shower.

A shuddering sigh of relief comes with removing your underwear and dress. The freedom from wet cotton eclipses the nervousness that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. The urge to cover yourself in front of the man who is not your husband sings loud, nearly shrieking when he brushes his knuckles down your arm and gently turns you around. He starts the water, returning to press his front to your back, the slight tackiness of lakewater and sweat melding you together. His fingertips run a track from your flanks to the sides of your breasts, a hum buzzing into the skin of your shoulder when you grasp the counter.

When Dusty—No. No. He’s not here. John is.

You banish the venomous guilt that tries to unseat your want and let John tug you into the shower to wash the day off.

He’s hard for most of it, his swollen cock skimming your hips and ass, glancing over your belly, and nearly driving the strength from your legs. He seems unfazed, reverent, and single-minded in his self-imposed task. It’s embarrassing, the way you squirm and fidget at every touch. Difficult to tell if it’s arousal or the unfamiliarity of intimacy.

John takes your place under the spray and chuckles softly when you finally look down. His fingers scrub through his body hair to the thatch at his cock’s root. You suck in a breath. He’s proportional—thick, heavy, and flushed. Hangs between the two of you, untouched, but you know it would burn your hand. Your tongue. The dizzying rush from that last thought alone reassures you because you don’t remember the last time you knelt because you wanted to.

Neither of you dress. Both of you barely dry. He insists on a light, hovering at the bedside lamp until you nod. When he climbs onto the bed, murmuring little nothings, your blood’s roaring in your ears, drowning out his encouragement. He opens your legs for a good look, but he might as well wrench open your ribcage.

“Quite the sight.” John whispers. His palms slide from your knees to your upper thighs, the rough pads of his thumbs stroking where your thighs meet your pelvis.

You imagine fastening an anchor to your brain, then a lure. Stay here, stay focused.

“Yeah?”

His eyes flick to yours, narrowing as he reads into the single word. “Yeah. Beautiful.” He slowly slides and sinks to kiss your thighs, positioning himself between your legs. His shoulders stretch them further, and an arm snakes around and pulls you closer all too easily, hand groping a greedy handful. His breath hits where it’s wet, coarse hair tickling skin.

The first contact rips a sharp breath from you, which he immediately meets with a hum that buzzes to the base of your spine. The fingers on your thighs brush soothingly as he continues, jaw pressing further. His mouth latches, tongue dipping lower and in, laving along your entrance before circling to your clit. Each stroke and circuit deliberate, adjusting to the sounds spilling uninhibited from your mouth. Your hands reach and thread into his hair with a moan.

He groans softly into your flesh, nosing the fat above your sex, chuckling when your hips pitch. His hand travels up your quivering inner thigh to ease a finger in, pulling away to sink it into the first knuckle with a wet sound.

“Look at you.” John sounds wrecked, beard and chin drenched in spit and slick, tongue licking the excess from his lip. Eyes boring into you with that look again. Unmasked hunger, barely tethered. The one you touched yourself to in the shower.

“Smelled you all day, smelled this,” He emphasizes with a pump of his finger, kissing your clit at the strangled, small noise you make. “Leaking into your pants, even after a swim. Nearly laid you out right there, during the fireworks.”

A filthy whine erupts at the thought. You picture it vividly. John tearing your dress off of you, hauling you to the floor of the boat. Nik and Kate and Simon and Soap—all of them watching John mount you, ignoring the spectacle for a different show. Would any of them intervene? Would you want them to?

You clench at the thought, and he smirks.

He introduces a second finger alongside the first, hushing your reedy whimpers at the stretch. “The needy thing knew I was near. Knew that I could scent her crying out for me. Poor thing, neglected and mistreated. Needed a man to fuss over her.”

Your face grows somehow hotter. Not enough that you’re naked and under him, he needs to strip you bare and sweetly flay you alive. “John—”

He cuts you off, tutting. “Don’t be embarrassed—it’s natural for a man to want his mate.”

His fingers plunge to the webbing, ratcheting up to earnestly fuck you now that he’s teased you into incoherency. “Never gonna leave you lonely,” he rasps, tucking his mouth back over your pearled clit.

Every year, the lake ice cracks and fractures with the arrival of spring. This is no different.

Muscles flexing and fluttering, dimly aware of the praises he murmurs against your cunt, you shatter.

He doesn’t withdraw his fingers until you score his scalp and beg, and even then they slide over your slit, cupping the slippery folds of your pussy. He kisses and wipes his cum-soaked whiskers over your spasming thighs and stomach, his free hand planting beside you. John looms, pleased but not quite sated.

He pets your cunt and waits for the worst of your trembling to cease. “Perfect,” he affirms, giving it a wet pat. He grunts, then abruptly knocks your legs open a second time with a knee, removing his hand to slick his cock.

Your eyes bulge, vision clearing in an instant at the view. Sat ignored for too long, his cock flushes a deeper shade of red, precome clinging to it like wax and seeping into his hair. He wraps his hand around the thick of himself, shuddering, eyes screwing shut as he strokes.

You think your orgasm might’ve knocked something loose. You reach a shaking hand and touch his knee.

“J-John? I-I can’t…I can’t, not yet.” You are selfishness incarnate, asking him to quash his hunger once more.

His eyes snap open. His pupils drill into you, flitting between your twitching cunt, his cockhead, and your face. Stygian and starving.

“I’m sorry. Please.”

He swallows, chest heaving with his unwhetted appetite, its festering close to spoiling. For a moment, fear poleaxes you into the mattress when he shuffles on his knees closer anyway, knees pushing under your thighs.

“Not yet? That’s…okay,” John breathes raggedly. He nods, fisting his cock faster. His free hand glides from the valley of your breasts to your stomach, tracing a circle. “We’ll get there, sweetheart…Can I…?”

Biting your lip, you nod.

He sighs, hips bucking slightly. “You’ll be taking my cock in no time. No tears, now. Wipe ‘em off.”

You obey immediately, not having realized you’d started crying, and see his cock jump in his hand at that.

John chuckles a little brokenly, struggling to speak through gritted teeth. “Soon, I can feel it. Gonna empty that head of yours, weed out what’s holding you back, and fill you, fuck, here.” His fingers press over your womb, and he jerks forward. Hot ropes of come shoot out, coating his fingers and your skin. He rocks into his fist a few more times, the motions stuttering, until leisurely sinking back to his haunches.

After he withdraws and returns to clean you up, wiping the sweat off your brow before the cum on your belly, he tucks the both of you into bed. He turns off the lamp and claims the side closest to the door. He spoons you with his heartbeat to your spine.

Staring into the night beyond the window, you apologize again.

“I want to. I really want to.”

“I know, darl. I know.” He kisses your shoulder. “What did I say? We’ll get there.”

He falls asleep wrapped around you. You, however, lie awake trying to remember what it is to share a bed with someone willingly. With someone who wants you.

Eventually, you wriggle out a hand and grab your phone, dimming its brightness all the way down. You haven’t checked it since work and swipe to your messages. A text from an unknown number sits at the top of your notifications.

>> F741 >> hold

#price x reader #price x f! reader #john price x f!reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price x f!reader #the warren

87 notes · View notes

faeriekit · 6 months

Text

Health and Hybrids (XXI)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Wonder Woman! Robin! Impulse! Danny! Dick drawings! Who says that occupational therapy and learning a second language can't be fun?

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

EXTRA TW for: vomiting, panic attacks (this chapter only)

Danny can hold a spoon now. He is unstoppable.

So, when the lady isn’t there to feed him dinner (more mush), one of the not-the-lady nurses gives Danny a tray, and lays a mat over his lap so that he can eat without completely messing up his bedsheets.

Eat he does. Slowly. Maybe a little messily, and it’s kind of embarrassing to have to admit to himself that food definitely spills out of his mouth and onto his lap. The doctor/nurse/medical person, whoever they are, turns on the television, and Danny doesn’t try to ask for the remote. The television only gets something like ten channels, and none of them are cartoons at lunch hour.

So. News it is.

Most of the news follows the same cycle; the weather, sports teams Danny can now recognize the colors of, traffic cameras, and events with long, scrolling text to detail the happenings onscreen. There’s something about dogs? That’s fun. The scientist/nurse/tech, whoever they are, says something in the tone of Aaw, aren’t they cute? as puppies run about and wrestle on screen.

Danny kind of misses Cujo. He picks at his bedsheet, and doesn’t say anything.

The dog program transitions away— there’s a bright banner in its place. Danny’s seen it before: it’s something to the equivalent of Breaking News. It’s usually weather, or crime, or something.

Um. But it’s not that. Danny’s spoon drops, because a ROBOT LADY lights up the screen with a glistening silver suit, not unlike the Ecto-Skeleton his parents used to keep in the basement. Or, well…this one might be more streamlined?

Danny shifts. He can’t help. He’s here, in the hospital. Or. Uh. The space…hospital. His body is very broken.

But there’s a robot lady wrecking a town on Earth.

And Danny can fly.

…Could fly. Could have flown. If he was. Well.

Danny’s not well, and his body aches and his hands don’t work and his legs work even less, but there’s people out there who need help. People who are getting shot at with rays and Danny can fight them, and humans can’t. Danny can help. He—

His core throbs. Danny chokes. He pulls at his chest, trying to find some kind of purchase on his medical gown to tug himself—up?? Out?? He can’t fly right now, but maybe—?

“Whoah, whoah, whoah, abide, abide.”

Danny grits his teeth. “Look!” he snaps, and jams a finger at the television. “There’s—look! There’s a giant robot out there punching buildings!”

“Wacie,” the human protests, but at least turns up the volume so that Danny can see better. “Wacie, þær eart firas þær nou.”

What does that mean?!

Danny hasn’t lifted himself in forever. His legs don’t work, but his arms…might.

He presses his palms down to the mattress. He pushes.

There is a liberated fraction of a second where Danny’s whole weight is on his arms.

—And then he comes crashing back to reality, his elbows snapping back into place. His butt slams back onto the bed and the whole frame jitters.

Danny pants. His arms quake.

The medic completely barrels through Danny’s usually meticulously-kept personal bubble, trying to make sure Danny didn’t dislodge his IV or rip his ligaments and tendons or tear his muscles or. Something. Danny barely notices, barely cares, because someone else blasts onto the television screen in a red bathing suit and gold boots.

And suddenly, both the people on screen are fighting. It’s brilliant. It’s bloody—it’s physical, in the way that flesh and bone and metal must be. Danny’s never seen serious fighting like that before.

And the new woman flies.

Danny stares.

She flies. She fights. She wins—narrowly dodging or displacing lasers with something shiny on her arms, and getting long hair singed in the process. In the end, the robot is tethered down with some kind of shiny metal rope, screaming and kicking all the way.

…Danny barely remembers to choke in air. That's so cool.

The medical person says something reassuring, but Danny’s too tired to listen. He watches this new woman take her applause, floating down on nothing but air to meet the reporter and answer questions. She looks poised. Confident. People clap. People shout things out. People smile. People cheer.

…No one is screaming. No one is running.

There are no ghost hunters in the crowd.

Danny’s exhale is manual. So is his inhale. His heart monitors are making all sorts of funky pictures most likely, but that’s not his business—he watches a woman in armor who flies take off into the sky, free to come and go as she pleases.

It…it hurts. It’s so beautiful and so peaceful and gentle and it hurts so much.

His eyes well up with tears. Why did she get this? This…niceness? Everyone had hated him when he'd tried to help—the teachers, Vlad, the town, his parents. They’d hated him! All he ever wanted to do was help like she did!

What made him so different?! Why was it Danny who got hunted down and shot at? Why was it Danny who got kidnapped and taken hostage?!

Tears burn his eyes like fire. It’s got to be the salt. Danny’s strangled whine turns into a choked off sob before he can catch it. His hand goes to his mouth, but he can’t stifle the noise.

He doesn’t want to. He wants to cry. He thinks he deserves it.

The tears come until he is sobbing, crying, wailing—because WHY WHY WHY was it so easy to hurt him?! WHY DID THEY HURT HIM, WHY DID MOM HURT HIM, HE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG!

A towel appears in his hand. They’re so nice to him here. So much nicer than when Mom and Dad had—

Danny’s cries are as much screams as they are anything else.

There are hands on his shoulder. On his back. Rubbing. Danny wants to shove them off but the lady isn’t here, which means that it’s one of the staff-members who isn’t supposed to touch him. They’re not supposed to touch him in case Danny hurts them but one of them gave Danny a clean towel to scream into and is rubbing his back because he’s crying.

They’re trying to be so nice and gentle but EVERYONE JUST WANTS TO HURT HIM.

They’re smart, though. They notice before Danny does, and have a bucket ready by the time heaving sobs turn into outright vomiting.

At least the mush mostly makes it into the bucket.

…So.

Having a breakdown…sucks.

Danny has to carefully brush his teeth with an extra-soft bristle brush and rinse out his mouth before he gets more water.

Someone is being very nice. There’s artificial fruit punch flavoring in his drink. He wants to feel grateful but he mostly feels dead.

…His eyes slide listlessly across the room. Ha. Dead.

Danny is horizontal and wrung dry and too tired to do anything but pant by the time the lady comes back to his room. She’s in quicker than usual—her gown is sort of sloppy, hair sticking out of her hair net, and she’s still looping her mask around her ear.

She gets down on her knees beside his bed. She asks him if he’s alright.

Danny’s not alright. He isn’t sure he’s been alright in…ages. Ages and ages. Before he was trapped and tied down. Before he was hated. Reviled.

…Before he was Phantom, maybe; before Danny Fenton had died a shocking, senseless death.

Tears try to wring themselves out of his aching eyeballs, but he’s too dry-eyed to cry; the lady make sad, wet eyes for him, and that’s probably enough between the two of them. Danny’s misery is a vast, gaping void, and all he has to show for it is the shovel he’s been digging through all this shit with for the last few years.

The lady brings her hands closer to his hairline, curled fingers hovering in the air. Her word’s don’t mean anything to him, but the gesture is clear: May I?

“…Mm,” Danny agrees. His eyes fall closed when she gently scratches at his scalp with her fingers.

No one’s touched him gently, on purpose, in…ages. When he was little, Dad used to pop him between him and Mom in bed. Mom would brush out Danny’s bangs with her fingers and Dad would hum. It was always something ill-fitting and silly. Guns N’ Roses. Led Zepplin. Santana. Sometimes Jazz would sit with them, crushing him until Dad had to pull him up and out of harm’s way.

In the quarantine lab, hurting him had just been part of the scientific process. What if there was some new discovery under his fat layer? On the other side of his ribs? Nestled between his alveoli?

Danny sniffles. He’s too dry to cry. He blinks invisible dust off of his eyelashes, and focuses on the weird lady who’s with him now.

Up close, when his eyes work, she looks nice. She has blue eyes, like him. Like Dad. They’re kinda…glowy, maybe? Sparkly? They remind him of ice in the Far Frozen—inhumanly brisk, and impossibly clean. She has eye crinkles where she smiles, tan skin making them more defined than their actual depth. Between her hair net and her medical mask, little wisps of black baby hairs shine through.

She pets him. She smiles. Danny isn’t sure why, but. Whatever. Jazz used to insist that human skin-to-skin contact was an essential need, so this is probably, like, also medical care.

Yeah. Danny squints. …Sure.

Whatever. It’s nice.

So Danny gets petted and it’s fine. He almost doesn’t notice the giant gauntlet under the paper sleeve of her gown, but then it’s right in his field of vision, and. Hey. Didn’t he see that on TV, like, an hour ago?

Danny stares.

He can’t actually tell if they’re gold under the pale blue color of the gown, but. The color is certainly some sort of unusually colored metal, cold to the touch even through the paper-like material of the gown.

…He doesn’t want to touch her, or let her know that he’s touching her. But. He brushes the back of his wrist against the bracelet, and it hums against the paper gown between it and his bare skin.

The lady blinks. She looks down at where they made contact, and asks him if he’s alright.

Danny looks away.

She knows she saw him reach out to her, though, so she takes her hand off of his hair (…hey…) and pulls back the sleeve on her gown. “Sest,” she offers. See?

It is the same kind of bracer he saw on TV. Up close he can see the designed etched into it—geometric lines stretching down from her fingers to her elbow, terminating in something structural. Not quite diamonds. Just…strong.

There’s a couple of very, very tiny letters down towards the bottom. His eyes strain when they try to make any sense out of them; they’re too small for him to actually focus on, which sucks.

She steps back, and pushes her sleeves down to show off her gold bracers. She lifts up the hem of her gown, revealing red boots that go waaaay up her thigh. They have the same gold metalwork as she does on the bracers.

Danny just saw those on the television. His eyes widen.

“You—“ he starts, and then remembers their difference in language. He points his hand at the television. “You fought? You were on TV?”

“Hwæt?”

“The TV?” Danny repeats. She doesn’t understand. Danny doesn’t know how to tell her what he means. “The…you were there?”

She looks at him to expand. Danny looks back at her.

…So they just stare at each other silently.

The door cracks open; the person who’d mediated Danny’s breakdown pokes their head in and says something. “Eower feoht wæs an þe box todæge.”

The lady blinks. Danny blinks. Wait. Did they just call the television the box?

“…Box?” Danny clarifies, and lifts a hand to shakily point at the television again.

The lady blinks, and grins. “Yea!” she returns, pumped up. She stands, to the powerful height she’d had on the television—excuse him, the box—and flexes her now-exposed arms to show off massive biceps.

Holy moly. Danny hasn’t seen any bigger biceps on his Dad.

She flexes one arm, the other, both—in front, and behind. If Danny had that much definition, he’d be showing off too! She leaps back impossibly far—and holy crap she can fly— to show off some mock punches at invisible enemies at speeds that Danny would be hard pressed to follow even with supernatural abilities.

He goggles.

She laughs at him, but she doesn’t sound mean—she sounds show-boating and silly, and teasing and playful, but not mean.

She’s like him. She’s not a ghost but she flies and she’s not human. She’s not human just like Danny. Just like that one green guy. Like the fast kid who visits him.

It’s such a relief. It’s so scary. Who are these people? Why are they healing him? Why are they keeping him?? Why do they have access to so many non-human people? What do they want him for? Is Danny supposed to fight like that?

He would fight. If he had to. He’s done it before.

If they make him fight, Danny’s pretty sure he’s going to fall apart like cheap glass.

The lady comes back when Danny goes quiet, her gloved fingers brushing up against his knuckles. The sensation is enough to bring Danny out of his…fog. Sometimes everything is so cloudy and vague. The pain medicine makes it go away, and the pain medicine brings it back.

Danny curls his hand into a shaking fist. He bumps her knuckles against his.

She makes a surprised noise. Danny feels her gently move his fingers, rearranging, moving where his thumb goes—

He huffs out a laugh. His fist wasn’t good enough to her standards. Her fist bump meets his in the middle with a smirk and a laugh, victory written all over her face.

#Whoever told you healing was linear was LYING TO YOU #my boy has PROBLEMS #'he's healing' Physically? Yes!#ngl I got through the whole chapter and wrapped up and started updating this post and THEN went. Wait. Is this a panic attack?#turns out! It is!#health and hybrids #dp x dc #danny phantom #dcu crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #tw medical #tw gore #tw body horror

164 notes · View notes

themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 16 days

Text

In Love and War (7)

Summary: Truths are revealed and Reader has to decide what that means for her revenge plans.

Content Warnings: Talks of Past Character Deaths, Blood and Violence

Author's Note: Really building up for more and more angst here, aren't I?

Chapter 6/Masterlist

---------

Rhysand is gone when I wake up in the morning, the mat beside me cold, the fur not enough to fully keep the chill out. There’s some dried meat and bread laid out beside the mat for me, but he’d tied the tent flap closed whenever he’d left. I pack the food back up and start the familiar process of rolling up the fur and blankets. I have no appetite, and the more monotonous the task, the less I have to think about last night. There was no time to finish the conversation, not with the men scrambling to ensure we had no more surprises. Rhysand hadn’t come back to the tent until long after exhaustion had pulled me under. I was only coherent enough to register the warmth of his body beside mine before I’d fallen back asleep.

I wait until everything is packed, save the tent itself, to slide back into my chest piece. The leather feels heavier today. Everything does, really. I toss my quiver over my head and strap it in place, the silence making the heaviness worse. There are too many thoughts to be had inside this little tent. Too many emotions I don’t want to touch. I sigh as I untie the tent flap and step out into the early morning light. Cassian should have checked in by now, the fact that all the men are still here is a good sign.

A few of the men are already taking down their tents, the small amount of personal supplies piling up near where most of their horses graze. It won't take long for them to be saddled up and on the move again. This is a process that feels as familiar as breathing; I tear down the tent without waiting for Rhysand to come back from wherever it is he and Azriel have wandered off to--their mounts are the only ones missing from the herd but I can't see them over the rocky incline we're perched on.

Perhaps that is for the best. I think if I saw Rhys now I’d throw up. I need the answers, but I don’t know how to face them. I don’t know that I want to believe him.

I tear down the tent and get it all nice and packed away before I remember that Andras was still alive when I’d fallen asleep last night. A quick glance to where he’d been tied up shows me nothing but a blood stain and all the tears I’d tried to keep at bay last night come flooding to the surface.

I’m so tired of the bloodshed. Why does it always end this way? Is that all we are? Just brutes that kill and maim until we share the same fate? Is that all life is supposed to be?

I’m spiraling deeper and deeper by the time I hear their horses return and I am grateful I don’t have powers to advertise it to everyone the way their shadows had last night. I make myself busy, hands shaking, as I hear their boots hit the earth as they dismount. Rhys’s eyes are on my back as I tie the rolled up tent, I can feel them like a brand.

What have I done?

He and Azriel separate, one set of footfalls falling away, down the path to confer with the scouts, the other coming my way. It would be weird that I knew him by the sound of his gate if I hadn’t learned early on in life that the best way to stay safe was to mesmerize the sound of everyone’s footsteps. Can’t be underprepared for a fight if you know who’s coming your way.

Except this time, there’s nowhere to run. All the supplies are packed and they go on his horse. I might as well be chained to the beast.

“Did you eat?” He sounds as tired as he had looked last night and my chest feels like it’s going to cave in on me.

“Wasn’t hungry,” I mutter as I brush my hands over my pants and turn to face him. I should just rip the bandaid off, right? I

The jasmine and citrus scent of him is overwhelming, invading my senses; I hadn’t realized just how close he was until I’d turned, nearly into his chest. I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes--something I really shouldn’t be doing, but he doesn’t have the cowl on today. I must be a sucker for pain, because I want to be able to see his face.

“Are you ok?” The same shadows that had circled his eyes last night still remain. I’m not sure he slept at all. At least we both feel miserable. Yesterday I might have been happy about it; today I just feel like an asshole.

“I’m-” Cauldron what am I? Certainly not fine, and truth be told, I don’t feel like lying about it. Not to him. Not after all the lies I’ve already spun.

“If this is about last night…” he pauses, frowning, and gives himself a little shake. “If you’ve changed your mind-”

No, no, no, we definitely cannot be talking about my loyalties! Just because I feel guilty for doing it, doesn’t mean I have to admit to it, right?

“Did you kill Andras?” I blurt instead. It’s the first thing that comes to mind, because looking at him for too long is too damn hard and I keep looking at the blood stain on that tree. And, well I am curious about that. I do want him to tell me no. I want someone, in all of this, to be less of a monster than I thought.

“Yes,” he says.

My heart plummets into my stomach.

“He slit Avos’s throat and left his body in a ditch, there were already animals feeding on him by the time we located him.”

I visibly shudder and he cups my cheek in response. “I meant what I said about not liking violence, but there are things I cannot let go unpunished.”

These are his people, those are his fighting men, it is his job as their warlord to protect them, and if he cannot, it’s his duty to avenge them. I know this. I was raised on that belief. But yet I still feel responsible. If I’d never given Tamlin a reason to throw me out, I never would have ended up here, and Lucien never would have had to bring anyone out to try and rescue me. I would have been blind to the truth of my own people, but at least no one would be dead because of me. At least my heart wouldn’t feel like it was trying to rip itself from my chest to avoid all these terrible things that keep happening.

“Come on,” he gently nudges me towards where his horse is waiting, munching on some grass, when I don’t respond. I don’t miss the hurt that flashes across his features at my silence either. “We have to get moving and we have things to discuss.”

I don’t argue as he helps me into the saddle. He settles in behind me, firm and steady and I have never felt so many conflicting feelings towards a person in my life. I don’t want him to touch me until I know the truth of the matter; I need him to hold me and distract me from the reality of the situation. I want to be far away and I never want to leave all the same.

He calls for his men to get moving and in the span of five minutes, all supplies are packed and stowed and we’re once again moving along the lip of the mountain, a glittering trail of starlight trailing from his hand as he stitches the wards. The pull of his magic is stronger today, I see the ward more clearly, but more than anything I feel it. It makes the hair on my arms stand on end and that thing in my chest stirs again at its response.

It’s a long while before he speaks again. “What did Tamlin tell you about that night?” His voice is subdued, I don’t know if it’s hesitation or the strain or doing this while warding.

I shiver as I run my fingers absently through the horse’s mane. I don’t even know the animal’s name. I don’t know anything at all, not because no one told me, but because I hadn’t cared enough to ask. “He said you rode in, attacked my parents while they slept…”

A growl rumbles through his chest at that.

“He said they were dead by the time he got there and that he managed to fight you off long enough for our men to assemble and they scared the rest of you off.” I run a hand over the scar above my ear.

“Why?”

I twist in the saddle to look at him, nose brushing along the underside of his jaw. He has a scar there I hadn’t noticed, just a little nick like he’d been caught by the tip of a blade just beneath his chin. “Why what?”

“Why did he say I did it?”

“Because you could,” I whisper. “Because you wanted to put us in our place.”

He stiffens. “And you believed him?”

“I-” The truth hovers on the tip of my tongue, too much of it and he’ll see me for what I really am. “Why were you there?”

“I had a sister,” Rhysand whispers. “She was a little younger than you, I think.”

Had. My stomach flips.

“Our people had been meeting to discuss alliances against Amarantha. It was suggested that Tamlin and my sister marry, to unite us.”

I’d never even heard an alliance mentioned. My father hated the Illyrians, even in all my earliest memories. I would have been old enough to be told this was happening, my mother never so much as whispered a possibility that Tam was to marry.

“I never knew,” the words slip out as that stirring in my chest turns into a cavernous ache that might just split me right down the middle. I never knew any of this. Everyone, my father, my mother, Tamlin, hell even Lucien, lied to me.

“If I had known about you then, I would have suggested us as an alternative. She was never keen on the idea of marriage, but you were one of your father’s well kept secrets.”

Marriage? I sleep with the guy one time and he’s thinking about how he could have married me? I can’t be that good in bed. I think this idea of a mating bond is going to his head.

“It is tradition for mothers and daughters to stay a few nights with a betrothed family to ensure that they are a good fit. I was supposed to go with the convoy to make sure they arrived safely, but I got called out here to help fix a broken ward at the last minute.”

His magic stutters for a moment, as if remembering.

My stomach feels like it’s in my throat.

“As I was returning to camp, so was their convoy, or what was left of it. We got their heads in boxes.”

Tears drip down my cheeks and those illusive fangs tear right through my gums as what little magic I have flares.

“We thought it was Amarantha at first. My sister was unmarked so she could be married to someone outside of our clan and my mother…” he clears his throat. “You’ve seen our different crests. The Dark Bringers are what is left of the Night Court’s nobility. Even though they merged with the Illyrians decades ago, they always considered them lesser. They held council and refused my father’s request to mark my mother because of her lowborn status, and insisted he marry another to continue the bloodline. So neither of them bore the protection of the clan and it is Amarantha’s style to attack any unmarked for the fun of it.”

That’s why he was so insistent about me taking his mark in the beginning.

“We were halfway to the Middle, prepared to invade the Imperial City, when one of our spies sent word that there were two sets of Illyrian wings being carted around the Grasslands as trophies.”

There had been a lot of commotion that day, but I’d never seen anything, I’d been inside, dealing with one of my Mother’s episodes before that fight with Tam. I’d conveniently missed every single one of the details I’d needed to see the truth, and I can’t tell for the life of me if it was intentional on either of their parts. This could be a tactic to turn me against Tamlin, couldn’t it? I’d used my own sob story to get inside the camp. But why would he lie now? I’ve already taken his mark, I’ve already slept with him, what would he gain?

“My father intended to kill everyone when we got into camp,” he continues. “He ordered the men to kill everything that moved and burn the rest. I wanted vengeance as much as he did, I will not deny that, but I did talk him down from harming the women and children. Enough innocent blood had been shed. We agreed on that by the time we rode in, but… he was ahead of me and I had gone looking for Tamlin.”

How the hell was Tam even alive after something like this?

“In retribution, my father killed your mother first,” he swallows hard, remembering that detail, and I feel the tears fall anew down my cheeks. “I don’t know why he changed his mind or if he only said he wouldn’t so I wouldn’t stick so close to him. We never really saw eye to eye and there isn’t a day I don’t wish that I had stuck with him when we rode through camp. I could have stopped him. I could have…”

He could have saved her.

“I’m sorry,” his breath is warm on my face as he whispers in my ear. “I’m so sorry.”

“I gave up trying to find Tamlin in the chaos when I heard her scream, but I was too late. By the time I got there, your father had managed to run my father through, but not fast enough to keep his own head from rolling off his shoulders. They died together.”

“And Tamlin?” I ask softly.

“It is tradition to bury a warlord with his sword. I took my father’s sword and I left him there. He had dishonored our traditions in killing your mother, and the Illyrians would see it as a weakness that he died alongside his enemy. So I took his sword and decided that my first act as warlord would be kill Tamlin and merge what was left of your people with mine. I would not abandon the women and children, they could come live in the valley if they took my mark and swore fealty. Except I found Tamlin and Lucien, not fighting, but trying to burn what was left of my mother’s wings.”

How could they have done this? Tam could be cold and cruel but this was… horrific! And Lucien? Lucien who had always said that he and Tam would have made better poets than warriors? Lucien who had often joked that the three of us should run away and start a traveling music group?

“I nearly killed Lucien,” he continues. “Truth be told, I thought I had.”

That was one of the few things I did know. He’d been in a coma for a week.

“And I had Tamlin by the throat, but…” his hand tightens around my waist. “I heard someone calling for him, and for a moment, it sounded like when my sister would call for me. I think it might have been you, now that I’ve gotten to hear your voice. But I never saw you. I just… I realized that if I killed him, I would leave someone alone, as I had become. And I didn’t want to start out my time as Warlord by doing that. So I offered him a truce.”

Gods, I’d saved Tam by pure accident, by being so distraught that I’d done exactly what I’d always been told not to do and had yelled for him in the chaos. Worse, Tam was alive because Rhys had been the better male and in response to that mercy, he’d made Rhys out to be the monster to hide what he had done.

“We wouldn’t kill each other that night, or otherwise, and we would go our separate ways. As long as neither of us raised a hand to the other, our clans would leave each other alone.”

I don’t want to believe that Tam is capable of such atrocities, but the longer I am away from him, the more I realize just how scared of him I have been my entire life. It is not that he has done terrible things, but that deep down I was always scared he was capable of them. I walked on eggshells around him to avoid his anger. He’d lash out and throw things, push me around, belittle me, but he’d never scarred me like my father, and yet, deep down I knew there was a chance he could be pushed to those extremes, I’d just, never dared acknowledge it. Somehow, I’d always rationalized his outbursts as my fault. I pushed him. I gave him too hard a time. I was being too demanding or making too much work for him. I had not let myself consider that maybe I was not the problem in our relationship.

“Maybe I made a mistake in letting him live,” he says. “I just… I didn’t want to turn out like my father. I wanted to be better.”

What have I done? I wish the ground would open up and swallow me. Despite every reason to be the monster everyone always made him out to be, he was a good male. And I turned out to be my father’s daughter.

I slide my hand over his, intertwining our fingers. “You are the better male, Rhys.”

He squeezes my hand in return as his chin drops onto my shoulder. He has to be exhausted from warding and Lucien and keeping watch over the camp last night. The burden of carrying it alone must be astronomical.

“I’m sorry for all of it, I truly didn’t know any of it,” I say.

“Can I ask you something?”

Please no!

“Yes.”

We reach a creek that flows down from the mountain peak. In winter it might be little more than an ice bed, but for now, it is just warm enough for the water to still flow down into the grassy plains beyond.

We stop to let the horses drink, Rhysand helping me off the horse to stretch my legs, his great wings flaring out behind him, as he asks, “Why did you stay, if you thought I had killed them?”

I debate on if the creek is deep enough to drown myself in for a moment. Probably wouldn’t get very far. Especially since he’s standing chest to chest with me.

“I-” I can’t tell him the truth now. If he were to find out what I had planned to do, he’d throw me out! I’d be on my own all over again. I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, go back to Tam, not after this. But now that I know the truth, I truly have nowhere to go. If he were to throw me out, I’d be on my own in the Wastes forever. No family. No shelter. No one.

I don’t know who I’m supposed to be or what I’m supposed to do, but I can’t be alone again. I won’t survive out there!

The guilt may very well eat me alive, but he can’t ever know. “I wanted to see for myself what kind of male you are.”

He cups my cheek, “And what have you decided?”

There is one truth I can give him. “That there’s a lot more to you than I was told, and I’d like to know you better.”

He grins and my heart drops into my stomach. When he kisses me, I kiss him back, hands threading through his thick hair. I won’t ruin his life, he deserves to have something good and happy after all the pain my family has brought to him; I just have to lie to give it to him. I’m already in this deep, is there really any going back now?

---------

Tag List:

@judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235

@landofpetrichor, @hjgdhghoe, @buttermilktea11, @yourforeveryoungblog, @sassyn

@zoeisdreaming6, @minnieoo, @girl-math-aint-mathing, @raisam, @inloveallthetime

@blessthepizzaman, @bxtchopolis, @erencvlt

As always, if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know! :)

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader smut #rhysand acotar #warlord!rhys #pro rhysand #acotar fic #acotar smut #in Love and war #my writing #my acotar fics #my fanfics #rhys fic #bat boys #acotar AU

78 notes · View notes

greenteabelle · 10 months

Text

feeling some type of way about q!philza talking about his wings healing .

as an immortal who has roamed the earth for centuries , q!philza knows how to adapt to his surroundings . against the blazing sun , thunderous rain , snowy blizzards and harsh winds , his wings have gotten used to adjusting to each type of weather no matter where he goes .

then he wakes up feverish and sweaty on the train to quesadilla island , immediately aware of the sudden loss of weight off his back . he doesn't know what the federation did to his wings , how rough they must have been as they snipped his feathers this way and that , but it did the job .

now bony and crooked , his wings are useless .

so he binds them with bandages , eyes red-rimmed from tears , and keeps them hidden securely under his cloak . he pulls himself together and does what he has always done best : move on .

when he meets chayanne , his wonderful , lovable son , he makes sure that the bandages are just tied a bit tighter .

because when he is faced with the starry-eyed gaze of wonder for each heroic tale he spins before chayanne's bedtime , he can't bear to tell him the truth . chayanne doesn't need to know how far he's fallen from grace .

how pathetic he's become .

but he makes do with life , as he always does , and takes full advantage of the surprising resourcefulness of the island .

the paragliders . then the tridents . then the grappling squok . the last one still freaks him out with its sounds , but he keeps one on him at all times .

anything to feel that rush of wind blowing against his hair , the weightless moments in the vast blue sky .

then he wakes up in purgatory with the other islanders , not a single item in his possession , and he does the only thing he can do .

survive .

that alone is hard enough to accomplish , especially when there's a group of misfits looking to him for directions as the island does its very best to get rid of them . despite the odds stacked heavily against them , he is anything but a man who lacks faith .

so they run as swiftly as they can , fight as desperately as possible , hide as discreetly as they're able .

over the course of two days , q!philza finds himself standing up for members he's barely interacted with and stepping in with a fierce determination when they're threatened .

somehow , in the shittiest place imaginable , q!philza has found himself another family to protect . maybe it's the adrenaline , fueling his desperation to finally have a family he can protect . maybe it's the habitual indulgence , finding himself fond over their amusing antics in the face of danger .

whatever it is , it makes him decide to trash the bandages that have grown worn and tattered and leave his wings hanging limply but exposed .

because in such a fucked up world , who the fuck cares about ugly wings anyway ?

the members notice , particularly q!jaiden and q!baghera , but they don't ask questions .

slowly adjusting to the ever-changing obstacles that the island throws at them , they keep pushing and pushing and pushing . things get better . they always do .

but sometimes … things are too much .

sometimes there are one too many disasters .

sometimes there are one too many altercations .

sometimes there just isn't much hope left to go on .

the first time one of those moments happen , q!philza finds q!jaiden and q!baghera still awake despite the late hour , huddled close to a campfire and their eyes dazed from fatigue . they're unusually quiet and twitch ever so often as the flames dance dangerously close to them . before he can stop himself , he asks them a question .

“ could i preen your feathers ? ”

their matted wings haven't escaped his notice even since day one , but he didn't want to overstep at the time . perhaps even now he's overstepping , so he scrambles to retract his question with an awkward excuse , only for them to nod quickly without a moment's hesitation .

so he shows them the ropes , and guides them through each step he takes as he handles their feathers with painstaking care .

he also doesn't ask why they don't know how to do it themselves .

just as he's done with both of their wings , he fully expects them to go to sleep immediately , finally finding some peace in the midst of constant chaos . what he doesn't expect , is for them to ask if they can do the same to his wings .

his broken , pathetic wings .

his first instinct is to refuse , as kindly as possible of course , but when he's met with the poorly disguised nervousness on their faces , what else can he do but say yes ? so he agrees , going against every instinct in his body for exposing the weakest part of himself to others .

and when they touch the first feather , q!philza physically restrains himself from swiping at their throats with his sword , digging his nails into his palms with a white-knuckled grip . as they continue , he can't quite conceal the violent shudder down his spine , but it gradually resides that by the time he finally has the sense to check on them , he's horrified by the sight of blood on their hands .

he immediately fusses over them , the guilt over not warning them beforehand about the razor sharp edges of his feathers making him sick to his stomach , but they only grin brightly .

“ didn't we do a good job , philza ? look at your wings ! ”

sure enough , his wings look better .

it's still tattered and utterly useless , but they do look better .

“ you did great . let's find some bandages for your cuts and i'll teach you how to avoid hurting yourself in the future . ”

the next day , the three of them look the most rested they have ever been since the day they stepped foot on this island .

so it becomes a thing . every night before they turn in , q!philza helps them clean their feathers and they do the same for him . eventually , q!cellbit , q!foolish and q!charlie join them when their curiosity is too obvious to ignore . their movements are clumsy and inexperienced , yet their touches are gentle .

a new routine is thus added to each member's day , though it feels as natural as if they've been doing it since day one .

one day , q!philza is gathering resources with q!etoiles for the team , when the latter makes an off-handed remark .

“ by the way , phil , your wings look cooler than before . ”

“ aww , thanks mate . ”

then the words really hit him .

slowly , q!philza extends his wings forward and sure enough , they look different now . there's visibly more feathers than before , almost covering his bones completely , and even a faint gradient sheen on them . his wings feel solid now , not just hollow reminders of what they once were .

they look familiar now .

when he sees the secretive smiles his members share as they see him spread his wings a little more , a feeling of overwhelming fondness fills his heart . how does he thank them ? how does he show how grateful he is for having members as wonderful as them ?

he plans .

every night , after their preening session and everyone has gone to bed , he sits on the edge of his bed , which is really just a straw mat , and spends just a bit extra time to stretch his wings and preen those feathers . there’s hope blooming in his chest , for the first time in a long time , and he persists .

then on the final day of battle , q!philza spreads his wings .

across the expanse of the blood red sky , he soars .

#quackity smp #qsmp #philza #q!philza #i hate the tumblr app for not having an auto-save feature #i had to rewrite this entire thing and it ran a bit from me #a q!philza au that's finally not angsty ? shocking !

323 notes · View notes

daddyy333 · 1 year

Text

Neteyam Smut Blurb

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

word count: 1.8k

warnings: smut, thigh riding, p in v, small daddy kink, ?

summary: Y/n can’t help but notice her mate has been getting much stronger recently, and Eywa does it turn her on

anything in bold like this in the middle of a sentence means it’s either Na’vi or meant to be in Na’vi but I don’t trust the translation websites so I just use the few words I know and make do with it💀

“Hi gorgeous,” Neteyam said lowly, his accent sexier than ever. He’d been training all day, running through the forest with Lo’ak and working out using weird earth methods that Jake taught them. He found them quite strange sometimes but they seemed to be making him stronger so he didn’t mind too much.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed though. You had been practically drooling anytime you’d seen your mate as of late. You’d noticed his shoulders becoming more broad looking, his back muscles more defined, his abs becoming more prominent. He was asking you to make his arm band bigger every 2 or 3 weeks because his biceps were getting crazy big.

But his thighs. Oh god, if there’s anything that can get you going it’s Neteyam’s thighs. The way you can completely sit comfortably on one and still have some room. The way they squeeze your head slightly when you blow him cause he’s just too sexy and you can’t help yourself sometimes. The way they tense when you use them as leverage as you ride him. Even seeing them flex as he walks or sits or bends down, you just can’t handle it.

Neteyam obviously has noticed this as well but hasn’t said anything. He loved seeing you all googly eyes, ogling at his muscular figure and often lingering on his thighs. He found it adorable, you’d completely forget where you were or what you were doing because you were too busy admiring him.

“Hi..” you said, gaze dropping to his thighs for a moment. He was on a mat on the floor, manspreading and showing off his delicious thighs. He had one leg up, leaning against the wall of your tent as he watched you stare right at his thighs and dick. He smirked and said “come here, my love”

You blushed and slowly walked over. He sat up a little and gently pulled you in, patting his left thigh. You gasped slightly and lowered yourself onto his thigh, knees spreading on the mat below you. He smiled and caressed your cheek, brushing your hair out of your face.

You smiled softly at him, trying to ignore the arousal gushing out of you as you felt his thigh tense and felt him move it slightly underneath you. He smirked when you whimpered slightly, he knew he had you right where you wanted.

He kissed you softly and said “how was your day, love?” “G-Good” you said, resting your hand on his chest. He nodded and began to untie your loincloth. Your eyes widened and he said “what’d you do, huh?”

“Nete…” you whimpered and he just smirked. He bit his lip and said “tell me what you did today or I’ll stop. I know you like it. Can feel your heartbeat,” You gasped softly and he smiled. You blushed adorably, trying to hide your face.

He grabbed it and made you look in his eyes again, raising his eyebrows as he stopped undoing your loincloth. “I-I…I made breakfast w-with the Tsahík and some o-of the other women” you said as he reached for your kuru. He wiggled it slightly, asking if it was okay and you nodded. He made tsaheylu with you, making you gasped and shudder slightly, pussy fluttering already.

Then, he grabbed your hips, slowly urging you to ride his thigh. “Yea….who’d you make it with?” He asked and you whimpered. Your eyebrows furrowed and you gasped as your sensitive clit caught on his thigh, sending a shock of pleasure through you. “M-Menaí…and Lalo a-and Päsì”

“I see…and then what?” He asked and you slowly wrapped your arms around his neck, resting them on his shoulders to try and ground yourself. You sighed harshly and said “then I…ohh, babe,”

“Tell me,” he whispered, kissing your jawline. You moaned softly and said “I went to…t-to the cre- ah! The creek!” He chuckled at how far gone you already were, setting your own pace now, his hands just resting on your thighs.

“Mm…it feels s-so good, Nete” you whimpered and he smiled. He moved his head and kissed you, pressing his forehead to yours after you broke the kiss to moan.

“I know, baby. I got you. What’d you do at the creek, tell me syulang” he said and you breathed shakily, scratching at his back slightly. You groaned and said “I…I hunted for f-fish….a-and made so-ome of the little ones a-a…a- ohh- a snack- fuck!”

“Mm…so kind, princess” he said and you bit your lip, whimpers and moans coming out uncontrollably. It just felt so good, and you couldn’t think about anything but cumming all over his thigh and you struggled to remember what you did today because of it.

He kissed you softly, just a quick peck to urge you to keep talking. “Th-then I…fuck- I checked up o-on some of t-the peoples wo-ounds” you said and he caressed your waist softly, squeezing every now and then.

“And then I…I spent the last f-few hours w-weaving…we- Neteyam! Oh Eywa…weaving a new t-top and m- mmm…I ca- I’m cumming! I’m cumming- shitshitshit! Nete!” You said and he smirked. He kissed you and worked you through it, feeling your cum gush out onto his thigh.

He smiled at your moans, hearing you scream his name and watching you roll your hips wildly to use him in order to get yourself off had him nearly ruining his loincloth. You slumped into his chest once you finally calmed down and he smiled leaning back letting you lay against him, rubbing your back.

“Nete…” you whispered softly. He hummed and said “what’s up, baby?” “Want it…” you said softly, pawing at his cock. He moaned unashamedly and said “what do you want, baby?”

“I want your dick…want you to fuck me” you said, obviously tired but still begging for more. He smiled and said “lay down, baby. I’ll take care of you, promise”

You whimpered and laid next him, panting softly as he untied his loincloth and removed his battle band and knife holder. He chuckled and said “look at the mess you made on me baby”

You blushed and he leaned down, cupping your cheek and kissing you softly. He got on top, resting between your thighs that you spread wide open for him. “Been noticing you stare at me lately. Can’t seem to keep your eyes off of me” he said smugly.

You rolled your eyes and he kissed you softly, caressing your thigh. You cupped his cheeks to deepen it but he pushed the tip of himself into you and you gasped, squeezing his biceps as your eyes widened, looking up at him with pinched brows as your pussy fluttered around his cock.

“Mm, baby…already squeezing me,” he said and chuckled, kissing your head. You whimpered and he pushed in slowly, getting about halfway before sliding out and thrusting back in again, pushing further till he was balls deep.

“So big…” you whimpered and pawed at his chest and arms, trying to adjust to his size. He caressed your cheek and said “shhh, baby…it’s okay. Daddy’s here. You can take it, I know you can” he said, kissing you softly.

You moaned as he pressed on the tummy bulge, slowly starting to thrust. You squeezed his shoulders, already begging him to go faster. “Don’t get greedy, baby. Take what daddy gives you, okay?” He said and you bit your lip, nodding.

You were squirming slightly, trying to get more out of him. He grunted and held your hips down, fucking you even slower. He scoffed and said “Be patient, my love. You don’t want to be punished do you?”

You shook your head no, but you almost did. You wanted it rough and fast, wanted to watch his abs flex as he fucked into you and his arms flex as he held himself up above you and played with your little clit.

You grabbed his face, slowly making out with him as he started to get lost in the kiss and finally sped up. It always worked, he’d get excited and would fuck you like an animal. “Fuck, babe…always know how to get what you want” he chuckled and shook his head.

You moaned loudly as he gave in, grabbing your hands and intertwining your fingers and pushing them above your head as he thrusted fast and hard. He was nearly pushing you forward with every thrust, but it felt so fucking good. You wrapped a leg around his hips, making him go harder if that was even possible.

“Nete…so good, so good!” You mumbled, tears spilling from your cheeks as you rolled your hips to meet his thrusts. It felt too fucking good, and then he moved one hand to rub your sensitive clit and you lost your mind.

Moaning wildly, you frantically kissed Neteyam, begging him not to stop. “Just like that…oh Eywa, I’m so close- Nete!” You said and he grunted, his cock throbbing in your wet pussy. He kissed your cheek and said “I know baby…can hear how wet you are, all for daddy. You gonna cum for me?”

“Mhm- mmm- yes! Yes, Nete!” You said and whined, right on the edge of cumming. You were almost getting frustrated, you were so close but you couldn’t get there. “Nete…Nete it’s not enough!” You cried, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Daddy will make you cum” he said and changed the angle of his hips, pressed down on your lower belly and rubbed your clit as fast as he could, really making sure to try and hit your g-spot.

Your moans grew louder as you closed your eyes, squeezing his arm and shoulder really hard, focusing on trying to cum. “Shit- oh Eywa I think I-…ahhh! Neteyam- Nete- uhh!” You moaned as you squeezed his cock hard, nearly forcing him out of you because of how hard you came.

He kissed you and then came with a grunt of your name, burying his head in your neck as he spilled inside you. He always came for so long and there was always so much, it turned you on even more. “Fuck, babe I- ohhh,” he moaned, panting hard as he nearly collapsed ontop of you from the exhaustion of his orgasm.

Both of you were panting, trying to come back to reality. You were still buzzing with arousal but you knew Neteyam had just had a particularly good orgasm and would need some time before round 2. “Eywa, I love this fucking pussy. So tight, so wet,” he said as he reluctantly pulled out with a soft groan. “so perfect.” he finished.

“Only for you, daddy” you whimpered, looking up at him with those big, round eyes that always looked at him with so much adoration and affection. He shook his head, kissing you because Eywa you were so adorable he wanted to kiss your whole face a million times over.

Taglist: @laylasbunbunny

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Lo’ak

Neteyam

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

#avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #avatar 2022 #avatar 2 #avatar jake sully #avatar #avatar way of water #neteyam #neteyam x you #neteyam fic #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut

768 notes · View notes

finnsbubblegum · 1 year

Text

Promise Me You Won't Fall In Love (Joel Miller X Reader)

Pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, sweet joel, domestic joel, rom-com

Summary (Series): reader as Joel’s neighbor. Joel’s wife left him so Joel asked his neighbor for help in babysitting Sarah.

Summary: Pov: Celebrating Joel’s divorce and he confessed his love for you.

Words count: 1.3k

A/N: I’m trying to make this as a rom-com, hope you like my new series! This is part 5 of Where It All Starts. But it can also be read as a standalone. I wrote this at work lol. I'm so so happy that many of you liked it so I hope you enjoy the next parts. Stay tuned and love you!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Joel went to court today and he won the child custody. It was a certain thing anyway. Joel’s ex wife didn’t want her daughter. In fact, her daughter was one of the reasons she left and filed a divorce.

“How was it? Today?” You asked as you fed Sarah who was sitting on the baby chair.

“Went well. I’m relieved actually. That everything is finally done. I have no reason to see her again.” Joel shrugged.

“I’m happy for you, Joel.” You hugged him.

“Thank you.” Joel hugged you back.

“I think I’ll head back now.” You patted his shoulder.

“You don’t have to walk me. It’s okay.” You stopped Joel as he followed you out.

“Okay. Good night, (y/n).” He kissed you on the cheek as he closed the door.

You walked to your house and grabbed your purse to get your keys but you couldn’t find it. You panicked. You hurriedly threw all your stuff out from your purse to get a good look. Yet you still couldn’t find it. You flipped open your mat in front of your door to find your spare key.

“Right, I gave it to mom.” You remembered you gave your spare key to your mom.

“Think. Think. Think.” Your heart beat faster and you paced back and forth hitting your head gently.

“Joel.” Joel, your neighbor, was the only one you could think of.

You hesitated for a moment but you decided to go back to his house and knock on his door.

*knock on the door*

“(y/n)? What’s wrong? Did you forget somethin’?” Joel raised his eyebrows.

“I-Uhm-Can I crash at your place tonight?” You put your hand behind your neck.

“Is there somethin’ wrong?” Joel let you in.

“Yes, actually. I forgot my keys.” You scoffed.

“Stupid me.” You shrugged.

“Oh.” Joel put his hands on his waist.

“I’ll call the locksmith tomorrow.” You said.

“Just for tonight. Don’t worry.” You were worried Joel was uncomfortable with you sleeping under his roof.

“No worries. You can stay here as long as you want.” Joel slipped those words. He was shocked at himself.

“Uhm-” You didn’t expect him to say that.

“Sarah likes you around.” He dodged the topic.

“Of course she does. Where’s my sweet girl?” You turned around to find Sarah crawling on the carpet in the living room.

“Where are you going, miss?” You crouched and stroked her head.

“Come here, babygirl.” Joel lifted Sarah, stopping her from crawling around the coffee table and she cried.

“You don’t like me? Did I disturb your play time?” Joel bounced Sarah on his lap while he sat on the sofa.

“Come here. Give her to me.” You sat beside Joel and opened your arms.

Sarah stopped crying right away. It was like you had this magic that gave Sarah comfort.

“She likes you but she hates her dad.” Joel got envy.

“She doesn’t hate you, Joel.” You looked at Joel while bouncing Sarah as she giggled.

“Here, try again.” You passed Sarah to Joel’s arms.

*Sarah started crying*

“And..you said she doesn’t hate me.” Joel gave up.

You pulled Sarah back closer to you and she rested her head on your chest. You stroked her smooth head up and down and she fell asleep.

“You’re amazing, (y/n). Anyone who marries you in the future is the luckiest man on earth.” Joel chuckled and shook his head.

"Thank you. But the last man I dated cheated on me." You scoffed.

"He doesn't deserve you." Joel rested his hand on your shoulder.

The two of you were quiet for a while. Your eyes locked to Sarah as you cooed to her face.

"Hey, can I take you to dinner?" Joel mustered up the courage to ask you out on a date.

You flinched at his invitation. Then you looked at him not knowing what to say.

"To celebrate I'm a divorcee now." He chuckled at his jokes.

"Oh right! Sure, I'd love to." You said yes as you stroked Sarah's back gently. She was sleeping so soundly on your chest now.

Dinner Day

You asked Flo to babysit Sarah while you and Joel went to have dinner just the two of you. This was the first time you spent time together without Sarah.

"Congratulations on your divorce, Mr. Joel Miller. You are now officially a single dad. Cheers." You chuckled and clanked your glass of wine with his.

"Cheers." Joel clanked his glass to yours.

"Thank you, (y/n). I couldn't have done this without you." Joel thanked you after he sipped his wine.

"You're always welcome." You smiled.

After dinner

"Thank you for coming to dinner with me." Joel parked his car in the driveway.

"I'm the one who should be thanking you. Thank you for dinner, Joel." You took off the seatbelt and faced him.

The two of you felt the tension and your breathing were heavier than normal. Joel suddenly leaned in closer to you and kissed you. You kissed him back for a moment then you stopped. You knew this was wrong. Your heart wanted him, your body wanted him, but mentally you couldn't be with him. You were still scared to start a relationship. You were not ready to open you heart for someone because your heart had been torn apart too many times.

"Sorry, did I-" Joel apologized.

"I-uh-it's-I'm sorry Joel. You're nice. If I'm being honest, you're the nicest guy I've ever met. I like you. Trust me. I really do. But I still need time to heal from my previous relationship. It felt good for a second imagining having a family with you and Sarah. But let's just keep us this way. Just see me as a neighbor who's happy to spend time with you and Sarah. I'm really sorry, Joel." You explained to Joel why you didn't want him to kiss you because you didn't want him to misunderstand.

You liked Joel. You loved him. You had fallen in love with him but you were holding yourself back. He just got a divorce and you second guessed him. You didn't want to be hurt again.

"It's okay. I totally understand." He pulled away from you.

"Promise me you won't fall in love with me, Joel?" You looked at him and he sighed.

"It's too late darlin'. I'm in love with you. But it's okay. I understand. Take your time. It can wait. I-uh-I can wait." He looked at you with tears almost falling down.

Your lips shook and a tear fell down to cheeks. You sobbed. You felt guilty. You expected him to be mad at you but instead, Joel cupped your cheeks and wiped your tears with his thumb.

"Hey, just tell me whenever you're ready. I'm always here." He placed a kiss on your forehead and rubbed your back.

You squeezed your eyes and more tears fell down. You couldn't believe yourself. You just rejected the nicest man you had met on earth. You rejected him yet he still treated you so nice and respectful. Joel stayed with you in the car until you stopped crying and calmed down. Then the two of you went home acting like nothing happened.

When you were finally home alone you wandered in your thoughts. You kept talking to yourself,

"Was it a mistake saying no to Joel?"

"It's the best for both of us."

"I should have kissed him back."

"No, no. It was the right thing to do."

You hoped Joel would still act the same tomorrow when you meet him. Crossing your fingers that your relationship stayed the same even after what happened that night. You enjoyed his company and you didn't want to lose it. If moving forward in the relationship might change it, then it was better to stay this way.

To be continued...

Taglist:

@lovelyygirl8 @skysmiller @moonlightdivine @crocodiile @angie2274 @pulchritudinousrogers @peqchsoup @msecho19 @happinessinthebeing @nyotamalfoy @nakedmoondiaries @dzaga890 @pa1g3-t0mm0 @prettysbliss @wanniiieeee @one-sweet-gubler @x-ap0llo-x @feministfanboi @ordinarylokix @afterglowsb-tch13 @padgraysonssram8re @tomorrowseverything @hummusxx @iranispunk @mrsyixingunicorn10 @likeanimagepassingby2 @mediocrewallflow3r @pedr0swh0r3 @mxtokko @dorck26 @cascactus28 @cheyxfu @stupidthoughtsinwriting @undermoonlightwalk @bigmoodyjoody @humanbug @sarahhxx03 @krisviciousx @quixscentsposts @dgct2 @dgraysonss @heybabyshae @fluffyspaceprincess @toottmblr @avengersfan25 @xixxala @dianaffddz @onzayhe @violetwitchmcu

824 notes · View notes

tteokdoroki · 2 years

Note

🦭: hi aali i just woke up in a cold sweat bc what if ur first kiss w deku is in the rain.. . .. . . .

no because, he would have walked you home from somewhere— holding an umbrella over your head all the way home and just before you get to the front door you stop him and shyly say. “i don’t want my neighbours to pry,”

after all, izuku is the number one hero and what you two have is so so new— what good would some meddling neighbours do? so you stop him in the middle of the street, rain pitter-pattering against your plastic umbrella overhead. “i guess this is goodnight, then.” he says with twinkling ever-green eyes and you can see the warm condensation of his breath hanging onto his every word as they break out into the cold january air. “i should give you this back too.”

“y-yes, goodnight.” you mumble, void like an object floating in and out of izuku’s orbit. you don’t even notice him lowering the umbrella to hand it back to you, you can barely breathe with the spark that jolts between you every time the hero gently touches you. his hands, now wet, cup your equally wet face— crystallised raindrops clumped in his unfairly long lashes as you breathe out. “izuku…”

“shhh,” he coos to you, not even flinching as the rainfall unleashes itself over you both. “i’m going to kiss you, okay? kiss you…goodnight…” he doesn’t ask nor does he demand, and you can’t seem to find it within you to care letting the pro hero grab at your cheeks and pull you up to his lips. they mould perfectly against your own, soft and slightly chapped, glossed in the flavours of raspberry and spare mint gum.

your first kiss wifh deku is like heaven on earth, he’s so warm, so close that you feel as if he’s holding your soul between his delicately placed fingers. he pulls away slowly, tracing his thumb over the curve of your bottom lip, slightly wet from the sky’s downpour and from where he’s kissed you.

“there,” izuku breathes through his nose, giving you a dazzling yet lop-sided smile that shows off the glint in his eyes though the rain mats his curls to his face. not to mention the freckles on horizons of his cheeks. “goodnight, beautiful.”

“g-goodnight, izuku.”

#deku x reader #deku x you #deku imagine #deku fluff #deku drabble #bnha x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #✧ ₊˚✉️੭ — new notification #✧ ₊˚💬੭ — unknown messenger #ʚ 🦭 anon’ ɞ

640 notes · View notes

gabessquishytum · 8 months

Note

Hob grows up in a small dead-end town where there are literally no options. Except one: joining the sons-of-anarchy style biker gang that basically runs the town.

The town is not safe. For much of hob’s life, he’s had to keep his head down, trying not to rub anyone the wrong way, trying to survive until he can get out. The police are corrupt and for a while, the gang has been unruly and very dangerous. Hob’s narrowly avoided catching their eye one too many times. Lots of people disappear around there.

But things have just changed.

The old leader of the gang, Dream, spent ten horrible years in jail. He just got back and he is taming his gang again with an iron fist. He’s gathering everyone back to him, chasing down his old right hand man (Cori, who took a shot at him and then, when Dream almost killed him, betrayed him to the cops, getting him locked up.) they say Dream is different. Dangerous and terrifying, but fair. He has rules; he doesn’t abide some of the evils the gang’s been up to in his absence.

Hob was applying for colleges, desperate to get out, until one day, he saw Dream and his whole center of gravity shifts. Instantly, he knew he would follow that man to the ends of the earth.

So hob ditches his plans to leave and sets about doing the one thing he never thought he’d do: join the gang.

The night comes where hob needs to prove himself. No one ever knows exactly what goes on there so Hob shows up to the club house nervous but elated by the idea that he might get to see dream again.

He doesn’t see dream, but dream sees him. And one of his soldiers comes over in the smoke-soaked room and tells hob to leave. This life isn’t for him.

Hob stands his ground and the biker then makes hob an offer. If he really wants to join, he can, but dream doesn’t need more foot soldiers right now. He has another use for him, if he is willing to prove his devotion.

So hob does what is asked of him. He strips down, lays on the pool table and lets himself be used however by whoever. If he lasts the night, maybe he’ll be allowed to join.

For the rest of the night, he is used. No one wants to hurt him—not badly—and hob can feel dream’s eyes on him the whole time.

But dream doesn’t move from his throne. he just watches hob, waiting to see if he will break.

Hob doesn’t break. All he can smell is sex and sweat. He eats out women, and sucks cock. He’s gently fingered open and fucked hard, over and over again. And he begs for more. Hob has come so much he’s coming dry, (moaning Dream’s name) but he still isn’t satisfied. He won’t be, not until he proves himself to dream.

Finally, countless hours later, hob feels a hand stroking through his matted hair. He is a mess. SOmeone’s still gently rocking into his ass but at a snap of Dream’s fingers, that faceless foot soldier leaves them alone.

“You have not yet given up,” Dream muses. “Why?”

Hob can barely think but he move enough to mouth at Dream’s hip. “For you,” he breathes.

Dream hums. “You do not know what it is to be mine. You do not know what you ask for.”

“I do,” hob insists. “I want this.” He’s never wanted anything more. Not even he understands why.

Dream considers him with all the grim absolution of a tired king. “Will you serve me? Be loyal to me? I have been betrayed before.”

“Forever,” hob promises, and offers his entire self, body and soul.

I'm feeling so rough right now so this is a perfect time to post and appreciate this mini ficlet. The setting is so good, the concept has given me so many different thoughts about dreamling in a small-town environment. I am so obsessed with the idea of Hob just dropping his whole life's plan because he saw the most beautiful man in the world and how can he just leave that behind?

And the idea of Hob proving himself to Dream with such dedication by becoming a good, obedient toy for Dream’s people to use? Holy shit. And the thing is, Hob is totally satisfied just knowing that he's serving Dream in some way. Even if Dream never even decided to fuck him, he'd be happy.

I'm so obsessed. Plus, Dream in biker leathers? No wonder Hob is under his spell. The day he gets fucked by a fully clothed Dream is the day he discovers that he can cum untouched.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

57 notes · View notes

rosaline-black · 1 year

Note

hi! for the blurb request for Hotch could you do something where they have to like spar against each other and hotch obviously doesn’t go 100% against reader even though she take it but he’d just feel guilty :) all fluff

No warnings just cute sparring fluff!

Hotch had never known some one to hold there own quite like you. Unlike himself or Morgan you didn’t seem threatening to many, but he’d seen you kick more ass then the entire team put together.

So when you flitted into his office, the distracting scent of your shampoo and your mouth moving. Hotch struggled to pretend like he was listening rather then admiring. Lucky for him he managed to catch the tail end of your rambles “-So would you like to spar with me? As I said the others already all have training partners…”

Ah yes. The bureaus new training modules had been insisted upon by Strauss. Apparently the team needed a refresh on combat training which the team had originally all groaned at. That was until they started to make it interesting.

JJ had come up with the brilliant idea to pair off with Morgan, betting that she could kick his ass which to be truthful, Hotch didn’t doubt one bit. Then Reid and Garcia had bonded over their mutual hatred for physical activity, deciding to work together so they could spend their mandatory sessions complaining. And Rossi was easy to convince when Prentiss had murmured something along the lines of ‘I bet you don’t even have it in you to fight me old timer…’.

So that just left you. Beautifully scary you. Hotch had planned to ask you formally, maybe even invite you to coffee after your sessions and somehow ween his way into actually asking you out properly but like he always had, Aaron feared the rejection.

The idea of your usually neutrally joyful expression moulding into one of pity and uncomfortableness kept him up at night. Worst of all he knew you wouldn’t even be cruel about it, you would let him down easy, spare him the inevitable embarrassment-

“If you don’t want to Hotch it’s alright… I can ask one of the trainees too-“

“Sounds like a plan agent… does 8am work for you?”

And so here you both were. 8am on the dot at the bureaus training gym. You looked just as beautiful in sports wear as you did in your every day outfits which was frustrating. He foolishly had hoped maybe your tired appearance would lower his nerves, but who was he kidding. He’d seen you bloody and bruised on the field and still then he had wanted to kiss you.

“So… should we just head straight into it?”

Hotch simply nodded and suddenly an onslaught of all new obsessive thoughts pressed there way into his head. Should I go easy on her? What if I end up hurting her and she hates me? What if she notices I’m not trying and feels insulted?

“Helloooo earth to Hotchner? If your mind is somewhere else we can reschedule…”

“No… no not at all, my apologies… let’s just practice combat punches today… I’ll hold the mat and you can start…”

He hoped maybe the early morning meant that you hadn’t noticed the way he tripped over his words, but by the looks of the smile creeping up over your face he assumed that wasn’t the case.

You took your stance, gloves on and shoulders firm. The first two punches were measured but after that the mat received the brunt of your wrath. He managed to keep steady but just barely, you were incredibly strong. Who knew that scary look of anguish nestling it’s way between your brows could be so… sexy?

“Right you go…”

“I’m not sure we have time…”

Pouting. Godammit you were pouting.

“Hotch we’ve been here less then 15 minutes… we have the gym booked till nine…”

Dark eyes flashing to the floor, Hotch had no choice but to concede to your demands. Aaron slipped his gloves on and forced his eyes not to latch onto the extent of your thighs that had been showcased as your shorts had rode up.

Rolling his shoulders back and aiming for the mat being grasped between your hands, poo Aaron took his first swing. It was weak… admittedly on purpose. And you noticed immediately. He swung a second time hoping it wasn’t too strong, the thought of knocking you over and was far worse then being perceived as an all show no cigar kinda guy.

“Seriously? That’s all you got Hotchner? Maybe Strauss was right… if our unit chief punches like that we do need training…oh-“

Before he could even think about what he was doing Hotch’s bravado got the better of him, and he took a third swing full force. Clearly you hadn’t been prepared because the mat had been hit so hard it put your balance of kilter causing you to stumble falling on your butt with an oof.

“Oh god… y/n- uh agent I am so sorry… I- are you laughing…?”

Your giggles echoed off of the walls of the training gym and Aaron couldn’t help but let his usual furrowed brow relax at the noise. Extending his arm, Hotch pulled you to your feet disregarding the mat as he scanned your body for any signs of damage.

“I tell you what boss I take it back… that was quite the hit…”

“My apologies again I… I’m sorry…”

So stuck in his web of self pity and guilt, Hotch missed your brazen grin as you took a daring step towards him.

“I tell you what… I know a way you can make it up to me…”

“How?”

Hotch was even more stunned when you pressed a finger into his chest.

“Take me to dinner after we finish on the next case…”

His smile alone gave you the answer to that request.

#Aaron hotchner x reader #Aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x you #Aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #aaron hotch hotchner

213 notes · View notes

drewsbuzzcut · 1 year

Note

Can you write the part where Mat and Y/N make love after their wedding reception ?

I Love My Name Inside Your Voice

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses fic

warnings: smut, smut, cuss words, alcohol consumption, being drunk, breeding kink

You should be joining everyone for breakfast right now. You should be basking in all of the happiness and compliments that you’d be receiving if you were with everyone, but right now you’re basking in a different kind of attention.

The sun is hot, shining in through the curtains in your hotel suite. Your salacious moans are hotter, though. Mat’s laid on the bed, pillows providing support and you’re straddling him, enjoying the way his thick length hits deeper in this position.

“Holy fuck, maty. Fuck,” you moan, trying to adjust to the fullness in your core.

Mat’s hands are gripping your hips, holding you to settle your squirming and to guide your movements. It wasn’t your first time riding Mat, but you still had to adjust each time as the position let him fill you more than he already does.

“C’mon, baby. Look at me. Look at me,” Mat tells you, your back arched and eyes focused on the ceiling. You take deep breaths, trying not to cum too soon. You place your hands on his strong thighs, anchoring yourself as you start to bounce on him.

His eyes are glued on you. The bright sun doing wonders at masking both of your evident hangovers. Even if it didn’t mask anything, Mat still knew you were the most beautiful person on earth. He watches the way your boobs bounce with your movements. Your stomach tenses at a particular spot being touched by his tip.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby. Keep fucking yourself on my cock,” he says to you, making you moan loudly, your walls clenching down on him.

Mat throws his head back, mouth open, a sweet moan clawing its way out of his throat. You continue bouncing on him, dragging an early orgasm out of Mat, but you aren't finished yet. The feeling of his hot cum painting your walls drove you insane, your movements becoming faster. It’s all too much, you throw your body to lay on top of his. When he gets through his orgasm, he moves to a sitting position. Your hands go to his back, scratching your nails into his skin. His hands still your hips, so he can thrust into you at an unforgiving pace. You scream out in ecstasy, most likely waking up anyone who isn’t already awake. The whole hotel could probably hear the animalistic noises coming from the both of you.

“Faster,” you say breathlessly, throwing your head back and trying to meet his thrusts.

“Gonna cum, pretty girl? Cum for me,” he circles your clit, driving your orgasm home. You tense and throw your body back, whimpering as his cock slips out of you, and landing on the blankets sprawled out at the end of the bed.

Mat tenderly picks you up and moves the both of you to the top of the bed to lay down, knowing you were in need of some aftercare.

“We need to shower and get downstairs to join everyone,” you whisper dazedly.

“Shower together?”

“Of course.”

You and Mat make it downstairs, red tinting both your cheeks at all the smirks and knowing looks you’re receiving. As you greet everyone, Nolan perks up when he sees you, jumping straight into your arms. His head nuzzles into your neck with his little hand reaching out, wanting Mat to hold it.

“Hey, little man. Good morning,” he greets Nolan, causing his son to squeal in your arms.

“You mean good afternoon,” Liana teases, earning a glare from Mat, but a giggle from you.

As you settle at the table and Mat serves the both of you breakfast, you chat amongst your friends and family, trading stories about last night. Your girlfriends are trying to get any details from you that they can. You’d eventually tell them what they wanted to know, but not in front of family.

Nolan, predictably, moves to rest in Mat’s arms where he falls asleep the moment his daddy starts patting his back. You watch as Mat eats with one hand while the other holds Nolan securely. It’s so natural for him. His large hands being so gentle transports you back to last night. The way he carefully undressed you and pulled you apart with those same hands.

Stepping out of the elevator and into your suite, Mat’s hands immediately attach themselves to the zipper of your dress. The feeling of the silk falling off your body is nothing compared to the warm touch provided by the soft drag of his fingers along your shoulder blades and spine. You’re only left in your white, wedding lingerie. You hear the surprised gasp from Mat, a smirk automatically painting your face. He saw the 13 embroidered in the back of your thong.

“You’re unbelievable,” he whispers, nosing at your hair before moving to press soft kisses onto the side of your neck.

You turn in his hold, wrapping your arms around his waist, feeling him trace the blue 13. Your heart is pounding and your fingers are twitching, dying to touch him all over, dying to hear him talk some more. His hands start to roam your back, teasing you with his touch. A soft whine escapes your mouth when he unclasps your bra with just one hand. Your mouth finds his chest, wanting to show him attention as well. His hands hold onto your cheeks, bringing your lips to his, finally. The kiss is slow and sweet, but it definitely makes your heart speed up. Lust starts to linger, infiltrating your every move.

“I love you, wife,” it sounds so sweet coming from him.

“I love you, husband,” you say, resuming your kiss to hide your shy smile, but you couldn’t stop it from forming.

He picks you up, your legs around his waist and hands in his hair, making a mess of it. He lays you down in the center of your hotel bed, the plush comforter surrounding you. He kisses the edge of your jaw, kisses your neck, kisses your collarbones, kisses your “13” tattoo on the swell of your boob, kisses in between your boobs, and all the way down your stomach until he reaches your panties. Your impatient body writhes under his lips, hips jutting up, eager for friction.

He pulls your panties down your legs, careful to not rip them, knowing you’d be bothered if he did. He starts kissing around your waiting core. Your inner thighs, hips, and your lower abdomen all receive attention that you want so badly to be focused on your needy cunt.

“Maty, please touch me,” you plead, hands trying to grab a hold of his face so you can guide him where you need him.

“As you wish, Mrs. Barzal,” he winks at you, holding eye contact as he leans down and presses kisses to your pussy.

He starts off with kitten licks, smirking every now and then at the silent squeals you let out.

The soft licks turn into strong flicks, ravenous noises slipping from him as he enjoys your taste. You try to remain still, but when his tongue starts to twirl around your clit, you lose control. Your back arches, mouth open, spewing moans and sounds of bliss. Your hands grip his hair tightly, pulling on the strands each time you edge closer to your release.

“Cum for me, baby. I know you want to. Let me taste you,” he hums into your heat, making you cum on the spot.

Your wet hole clenches around nothing, practically begging for something to fill you up. Your moans get a little louder as you pull harder on Mat’s hair. You try to scoot up farther on the bed, but he pulls you back to where you were by your ankles, making you giggle.

“I’m not done,” he says hotly, making you groan internally, ready for whatever he was about to do.

Mat doesn’t give you much time before he’s tonguing around your hole. You let out a moan that soon turns into a loud gasp when he starts sucking on your clit while fingering you. Your head turns sideways, mouth biting onto the sheets to keep your screams in.

“Look at me. I want to hear you,” he instructs, momentarily giving you time to breathe.

Your breathing gets more erratic with every movement his fingers and mouth make. Your back continues to arch up, he eventually has to hold your hips down. His thick fingers make a come hither movement inside of you, reaching your g-spot, catapulting you into your second orgasm of the night.

“Holy fuck. Maty, fuck me please,” you beg.

He ignores your begging, preferring to lick up your sweet release. He thrusts his tongue into you, very much loving the way your chest heaves and the satisfied moans and groans you’re letting out.

“No more, baby. ‘M sensitive,” you whimper.

Your husband makes his way up your body, kissing on your neck. You lazily unbutton his dress shirt and peel it off of him, feeling up his strong biceps. Between his kisses, he bites your neck, using his tongue to soothe the pleasing sting and blowing cool air on the wet spot, surely making you arch your back some more.

He moves his kisses to your lips, sending you humming into his mouth. Your body starts to relax with the way his body is resting against yours. His warmth surrounds you, melting you into a puddle of mush.

“Baby, I want you in me. Please, love me,” you whisper into the kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers into the skin of your neck, leaning his body off of yours, slowly unbuttoning his pants.

He smatters kisses all round the skin of your boobs before he’s licking your nipples and sucking them into his mouth. You bring your hands into his hair, massaging his scalp, but also holding him there while you bask in the euphoria of his mouth on you.

He pulls away from you, making you pout at him, but he just smirks at your blissed out state. Lips swollen, hair messy, nipples red and wet, and your eyes glazed over. He’s at the end of the bed when he pulls his pants off, eyes boring into you, further heating you up. Once he moves to be between your legs, so close to where you need him most, you reach up and pull the band of his briefs down. His thick, hard, and ready cock hits his abdomen, and you guide his shaft down to glide against your used core. His red tip nudges your swollen clit, sending your hips flying up.

His hands hold onto your hips before he lets himself be swallowed by your warm walls.

“Oh my god, you feel so good!”

“You’re so tight, baby. So wet, too,” he gasps.

His thrusts are slow, but strong, enough to have you moaning his name. Both your fingers are entwined while he holds your hands down on the bed. You’re not sure if it’s all the alcohol you’ve consumed tonight, or the way his body moves against yours, but you’re dizzy. You’re both drunk off each other.

Your legs wrap around his body when his thrusts start to speed up. Mat’s eyes close in effort to distract himself from watching the way your body is reacting to him, the way your walls clench down on him. You were close to your third orgasm of the night, and he didn’t want to release before you did.

“Maty, baby, I need to touch you,” you groan out, trying to free your hands.

He doesn’t release your hold, just fastening his movements, pounding into you. Your moans and screams of bliss start bouncing off the walls. Your body becomes damp in sweat, hair starting to stick to the skin of your neck and forehead. While his thrusts are fast, you can feel him start to tense up, meaning that he was close, too. You need to have your hands on him, so you squeeze down on him, making him release his hold and thrust even faster. Your nails dig into the skin of his back, finding their way down to his ass and squeezing the round globes. He silences your moans with a kiss, tongue sneaking in when you start to moan again. You can still taste the faint taste of your arousal on his tongue. You suck on it, wanting him to submit to his orgasm instead of holding it in.

“Stop squeezing me, I’m gonna cum,” he warns you, forehead resting on yours.

“No. Just cum in me, baby. I want your cum deep inside of me,” you answer, knowing that calling him “baby,” makes him weak. You didn’t often call him by that pet name, usually sticking to “barzy” or “hotshot.”

“Fuck. Want another baby? You want my cum to paint your walls? Fuck, you all pregnant and round with my baby is so sexy,” he moans.

“Fuck yes!” You whimper as his thrusts continue without an end in sight.

You throw your head back, gripping onto the sheets as you feel his hot cum spurt into you. The sensation causes you to hit your third orgasm. Your walls spasming around his member, both of your stomach tensing at the feeling. Your legs are shaking, whimpers falling off your lips when he eventually slips out of you. You feel Mat lay himself down next to you, so you turn on your side to face him. You let your fingers trail up his torso from his happy trail to his collarbones, enjoying the way he twitches because your touch heightened his sensitivity.

“I love you, baby,” you whisper sweetly, moving to rest on the upper half of his body and kissing his lips.

“I love you more. I’m happy we’re finally married,” he whispers into the kiss.

“Me too. You’re my forever, always have been,” you say, starting to come down from the clouds, falling into a satiated sleep.

He presses a kiss to your cheek, covering both your bodies with the sheet, and letting himself fall asleep, knowing damn well you’d be up and ready to start another round soon.

You both basically fucked the night away, well whatever was left of the night.

“Baby?” You snap out of your memories of the night prior, fixing your attention on Mat.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay? You spaced out,” Mat asks, adjusting a sleeping Nolan in one arm while the other moves to the back of your chair.

“Just thinking about last night,” you whisper, bringing your body closer to his and wrapping your arms around his neck.

He only smirks, a gleam in his eyes. He wraps his free hand around the back of your neck, pulling your face towards his.

“We get to do that for the rest of our lives,” he states.

“Hell yeah we do,” you say cheerily, closing the space between you both, loving the way his kisses will never fail to make you blush.

You will never grow tired of your life with Mat Barzal.

a/n: Wedding night smut is finally here! I hope you all enjoy!

#mat barzal #mat barzal blurb #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal fluff #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal smut #mat barzal angst #nhl imagine #nhl fic #new york islanders #visceral in doses

278 notes · View notes