#but I thought maybe I should leave the pronouns neutral so other peoples imaginations could go wild

[wetdeviant]

A sub who has been holding for hours and is at his limit. He wants to please his dom and hold it just a bit longer– Oh, there's the first leak. He gasps and tries to wiggle, but is held back by the ropes his dom tied around him when this all started. Hands behind his back, thighs forcibly spread. If he could just squeeze himself he could hold it longer, it's not fair! His bladder spasms again and a tiny pool of liquid has gathered on the chair. The feeling of it gently lapping against his aroused but neglected crotch is too much. No, no!– he can be good, he can hold it! His dom seems to have noticed his worked up state. “Oh, is it too much for you? I really thought you could control yourself.” They ask as they come closer, and begin to caress the inside of the sub's hip bones. Please, gotta pee so bad! Gonna pee gonna pee– The sub heaves a sob as his privates twitch once, twice before wetness erupts out of him. His stream so strong and desperate it arches in the air. The sub closes his eyes and slumps back in the chair, sniffling quietly. He couldn't hold it, he wanted to so bad... But his dom just hums and kisses his forehead. “Did so good for me. You held it for so long, didn't you? Such a good boy...” The sub sighs as he gives into the relief.

[glowingbadger]

Hi it’s me, crawling through the window. Would it be possible to get a crumb of arranged marriage w/ Hubert? His line w/ Dorothea about being willing to get married for politics sake has fueled my brain rot for him.

Good God I need to secure my windows-

I mean HELLO FRIEND ANON YES IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE

Lol actually though, I have been thinking about this for Hubie since we all started chatting about that arranged marriage stuff! I think it's a perfect concept for him~

This like... got weird while I was writing it though?? Idk man hahaha it ended up on the less-spicy side of what I usually write, and with some very weird dialogue in places... Idk, I hope y'all like it. Maybe if there's interest, I'll follow this up eventually with a more smut-focused piece?

I've been traveling and working so much lately that I just don't even know what writing is anymore or how it works hahaha

TW: A brief mention of non-con

Hubert (FE3H) x Reader ("wife," neutral pronouns)

Arranged Marriage - semi spicy i guess?

"Frankly, he's a pain," Linhardt must be able to see your surprise and confusion written across your face. He goes on, "He's reliable and capable, of course, but also the most persistent nag you'll ever meet. Actually, no-" he glances upward as though to cross reference his own thoughts, "No, her Majesty is worse. But Hubert is a close second to be sure. Always on and on about sleep schedules and proper nutrition and etiquette..." He sighs and closes the massive tome on his lap, as though to close the conversation with it, "frankly, he's an insufferable mother hen. Does that help?"

"Well, it's... Not what I expected," you admit with a shrug, "but thank you all the same."

~

It's been several weeks since the papers binding you in marriage to Hubert Von Vestra had been signed- and this alone had sufficed. No ceremony, no grand ball, just paperwork and a handshake with your father. A handshake that ensured that, even under the Empire's unification, he would maintain nominal control over his considerable portion of land, and in return, would swear absolute loyalty to her Majesty. It was a beneficial arrangement for all parties, and you were not ignorant to the part you played. You were hardly even a bargaining chip- moreso, a hostage.

Your new husband had made no secret of what manner of harm may befall you if your family were to renege on their deal. Fortunately, you know your father to be a reliable coward, so you have no reason to believe he would be bold enough to step out of line.

Hubert Von Vestra is a terrifying man. A zealously loyal man of storied cruelty and a frigid disposition. His frame looms over you whenever he's near, and though he's hardly placed a finger on you since you'd been given over to him, his mere presence is... arresting. There's a sort of charisma to him that's equal parts frightening and fascinating. Perhaps it's madness brought on by your circumstances, but you can't help wanting to glimpse just the slightest bit into that brilliant, ever churning mind.

Unsurprisingly, he has been resistant to your attempts to understand him. He hardly indulges you in small talk, and if you were the paranoid sort, you'd think he intentionally makes himself busy when you're around. Eventually, perhaps out of sheer stubbornness, you'd settled on a routine of bringing coffee to his study adjoined to your bedroom in the evenings. He'd been visibly surprised the first time. It wasn't until the fourth night that he'd given a curt "thank you." About two weeks in, he'd actually sat back in his chair and laid down his quill pen to receive the cup from your hands. After a month, he'd leveled his narrow gaze at you and said,

"I cannot begin to fathom what satisfaction you glean from playing 'maid' to me."

"Well, I, uhm," you hadn't expected him to address you so directly, but you managed to say, "You... work so hard, I wanted to do something for you, I suppose."

His expression is inscrutable as he replies,

"You are aware that my work was much the same before you arrived."

"I am," you say softly, "But- all the same..." you trail off, and Hubert seems content to let the matter rest. And so you leave him be amidst his reports and correspondence, coffee at his side on the desk. Yet for as unproductive as your exchange might have seemed, it does leave you with an idea. The thought to learn about the man from those who knew him long before your arrival at the capitol.

~

Your investigation into the true character of your husband does not stop with Linhardt. In fact, his testimony only leaves you with further questions. But perhaps the others would say otherwise; perhaps the United Empire's most up and coming crest scholar simply inspires maternal behavior. This has to be the case- you simply can't imagine that the notoriously ruthless heir of the even more notorious Vestra lineage would be so... Doting.

And yet the more you learn of him, the more contradictory he seems.

Caspar's take is much like Linhardt's- a picture of a man far closer to a school marm than any assassin or master of torture. Ferdinand seems both smitten and incensed by him, oscillating wildly between the two. Then eventually, to your shock, Bernadetta takes the initiative to speak to you about Hubert of her own accord.

"I'm, uh, really so-sorry to bother you!" she approaches with arms drawn close to her chest and eyes resolutely avoiding yours, "I- I just heard that you were... asking about Hubert, so, I, uh..."

It takes some time to prompt her further. You assure her again and again- no, this isn't intrusive at all- yes, you'd very much like to hear her perspective- no, you're not mad at her. In truth, you're endlessly intrigued about what a gentle soul like Bernadetta would have to say about a man feared across the continent. Finally, she manages,

"He's... actually really kind!" she blurts out, as though the words would abandon her if she gave them the window of opportunity. Your eyebrows raise slightly.

"You think so..?"

"Yes, completely-!" she stammers, "I know he's super, super scary, and powerful and spooky and cold and, uh, all of that. But still," her voice falters as she continues, "He only scolds people when they do something dangerous. And he only hurts people to protect others. I... I know he's done some te-terrible things. But... he's always been nice to Bernie," finally, she meets your eyes with an imploring look in hers, "So, uh, I'm really grateful to him. And I think it would be really nice for someone to reach out to him. If... if that's not too weird or anything. For you."

You smile warmly and nod,

"Thank you, Bernadetta. I know it can't be easy for you to come to me with all of this, but... I'd like to try, if I can."

The opportunity doesn't come in the way you expect.

At first, it seems the night will proceed like many others before. You bring a cup of coffee to your husband's desk, setting it down quietly so as to not disturb him. He's silent, but this is common enough, so you head back to the bedroom to undress for the evening. All nights prior, he would lay beside you long after you'd settled in, then rise to resume work in the morning before you woke up- all the while never allowing your bodies to interact in any way.

Tonight, just as you're about to close the door to Hubert's study behind you, long fingers catch around your wrist, visibly startling you.

It's the most physical contact you've had to-date, but he only says,

"One moment."

You whip around to face him, a touch of anxiety evident in your eyes. It's clear in his own that he notices, but if anything, he only seems amused. He steps forward, his taller frame menacing you as he speaks,

"I understand that you have been busying yourself with some manner of investigation as of late."

It takes a moment for his meaning to reach you. When it does, your face burns and you can't bring yourself to meet his scrutinizing gaze,

"Oh, uhm..."

"I assure you, my dearest wife," he says with barely concealed venom, "anything that I do not wish for you to know will be kept from you. Aside from which, your efforts thus far have proven amateurish at best."

Something seems off about his tone. You could understand if he felt uncomfortable or hesitant about your efforts to learn about him, but this seems far more grave, more... business-like. He steps towards you once more, and you step back in turn. Yet before long, you feel your legs bump the edge of the bed. A gloved hand trails a fingertip down your jawline to your chin, then urges you to look up at him.

"Whatever you are planning, my dear, I promise it will be fruitless. You had best rethink how you spend your days before your actions bring you to harm."

"No, I-" your brow creases deeply, your face burns, your body burns hotter and you don't want to consider why, "I've just been trying to learn about you as a person, nothing else. We're- we're married, after all, so..."

He gives an abrupt, dry laugh.

"Ah, so I am to believe that you've been interrogating my allies out of some misguided affection, is that it?"

"Hubert, just listen to me!" for a moment, you feel bolstered, defiant, and you straighten your posture, "You won't tell me the first thing about you- the only way to learn so much as your favorite color is to ask someone who's known you for a decade!"

Briefly, he does seem to consider your words. But his eventual reply is as aloof as any prior,

"If you're no spy or politician, then you're worse- a fool." he says, and before you can respond, he's seized both of your wrists and pushed you back onto the bed. For a moment, the room spins and your voice leaves you. A shrewd eye watches you with cruel condescension as he pins you against the sheets.

"I should think that you'd be well aware what I'm capable of," he nearly whispers, "I personally ensured that the rumors spread through your father's territory and further still. Do you think that anyone would even dare lift a finger to help you if I chose to seek retribution for this recent behavior?" He draws nearer, his grip tighter at your wrists, "Perhaps as punishment, I'll simply take my pleasure from you by force."

Your lips tighten, you take a breath. Then, meeting his gaze directly, you reply,

"You won't."

His visible eye narrows.

"And what evidence do you have to prompt such unfounded confidence? Perhaps you have crafted a flattering falsehood of me in your mind," a mocking smirk curls his lips, "Am I a misunderstood sentimental sort to you, then? A sad, lonely man for you to save?"

You scowl, though you suspect it looks more like a pout to him.

"I don't know what I think of you yet- not completely. But I don't pity you like that, and I don't think you're sad or lonely. I know you're not."

For the first time, it seems that you've caught him off guard. That frigid mask falters for just a moment, and you go on before he can replace it,

"You're surrounded by people who care about you. I've seen it for myself. Whatever you've had to do in the service of your ideals- it hasn't kept the people around you from wanting to know and understand you, even if it's despite you."

Hubert is silent for a moment. His gaze bores into you like he thinks he'll discover some hidden layer if he can just keep digging. Then, he sighs,

"How did I ever become bound to such a troublesome spouse..."

When you wrest your arms from his grasp, his hands fall away with little resistance, and you think that perhaps he had never truly intended to keep you in place by force to begin with. He moves to leave the bed, but your fists find the front of his clothing and tug him back down to you.

You press your lips to his without hesitation, and you can feel him inhale sharply, his entire body rigid above you. His lips are surprisingly soft, his scent like coffee and old parchment, and though your heart threatens to burst from your chest, you hold firmly to him by his clothes. Near imperceptibly, he leans down against you, and your fear, along with any remaining doubts, begin to dissolve. Knowing he won't pull away, you let your hands relax against him, running up his chest where you can feel his own pulse pounding. It's so human, so entirely reasonable and normal. Now, at last, Hubert Von Vestra is merely a man of flesh and bone.

Your tongue meets his naturally, your lips parting in time with his as your kiss deepens to a fevered pace. One hand reaches that sharp, handsome jawline, reveling in the erotic sensation of his mouth moving against yours. And yet, all the while, his hands remain staunchly on the bed beside you. He doesn't touch you- doesn't even let his body meet yours.

It's impossible to tell whether passion or madness drives you to bring your teeth to his lower lip, a single insistent bite communicating desire mounting faster than you can contain. And for a moment, you sense something new; a sound catches in Hubert's throat, a reaction he fights to stifle. Then, he pulls away. His pale skin is tinted a rare shade of pink, and his hair is ruffled out of place enough to reveal both narrowed eyes. His cloak has spilled around his frame to surround you both, and somewhere in your frazzled mind, you imagine that you're caught in some beautiful, velvet-lined trap.

"I- must... return to my work." Hubert says stiffly. He pushes up from you and turns away, leaving you still flustered on the bed behind him. You sit upright, holding your arms tight around your body as you watch him straighten his hair and clothes.

"You, uhm..." your face reddens still as you search for the right words, "you could... join me in bed, if you liked."

Hubert turns to the door of his study, speaking without daring to even glance your way,

"Anything that you offer to me now will be born from the impulse to survive. I have been bargained with before." His shoulders slack just slightly, his voice low and sober, "The proudest nobleman will even sell off his own child to a monster if he feels it will spare him its teeth."

You open your mouth to protest, then shut it without a word. You feel that you know your mind and heart, even in this moment, but you lack the words to convince a man like this. In a feeble attempt, you murmur,

"You don't frighten me, Hubert. Not anymore."

He half turns toward you, though his hand remains on the handle of his study door.

"You yourself said that you do not know what you think of me," he says, "As such, I will not lay a hand on you until the day that you do."

You stare down at your hands in your lap, barely registering the sound of the door clicking shut as he leaves you in the bedroom. No matter how you try to sort out your tangled thoughts, the memory of his lips on yours won't leave them. If anything, it eclipses any sense of reason, standing resolutely in the way of your path to clarity. Letting out a groaning sigh, you fall onto your back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as if it could offer you any advice.

What do I think about my own husband? You wonder, the thought nearly enough to make you laugh. Well for one, he's a pain.

[wri0thesley]

hi nat!! i noticed requests were open and remembered “randomlyncrying during/after sex” angst being mentioned and i just👀😳🙏

ive had personal experience with that (mostly bc being vulnerable and intimate is scary yet cathartic for me, its not even necessarily sad crying or happy crying its just Strong Emotions) and i was wondering if u could do some like smut to hurt/comfort kinda with that specific scenario please🤭 maybe with risotto or abba bc i just want to be fucked AND comforted by a big strong goth man!!😩🙏

overwhelming - risotto x reader (2k)

warnings: crying during sex. afab reader. neutral pronouns. 

Everything about Risotto is overwhelming. The way he looks at you; the colours of his eyes. The low, gravel voice – the way he speaks only when he thinks he has something worth hearing. The touch of his hot, large hands on your skin – his width, his height, the knowledge of what he could do to you--

It’s even more overwhelming when you are beneath him in bed.

His body caging yours; the scarred, muscled chest and how it seems to heave in and out as he breathes. The scent of him – leather and iron and smoke – wrapping all around you, until he is everywhere. In your nose, in your mouth, his face flashing across your head as you pull him down into another kiss and he worries at your bottom lip, insistent and hot and needy.

Big hands run all over your form; taking his time to enjoy the way you feel, the curves and divots of your figure, the softness of you beneath his own calloused, work-weary hands. You feel like you fit into his grip perfectly – like you were made for him. You inhale sharply as his hands spread your legs apart, exposing the heated, slick valley of your sex to the warm air of the bedroom.

It always seems to be warm when Risotto is around. He kicks out heat merely by existing; and you cling to him in bed for it, grateful to be reminded of his presence.

“You’re so beautiful,” he dips his head to murmur, his voice deep and dark. Whenever he speaks, you feel a rush of desire go through you to pool at the apex of your thighs; there is something about the sonorous bass of his voice that makes your toes curl and that echoes through you, making you feel as though you are the only person in the world. “Look at yourself, tesoro.”

You do not see what he sees – but you do see the worship in his eyes. The hunger as he presses your legs further apart and leans into you, as you feel his hard cock press against your thigh insistently.

He is a careful man, despite his profession, and he knows that what he has between his thighs is too much for many people. He never sheaths himself inside of you straight away; even now, when you are fair pooling slick on his already messy sheets, one of his big hands is cupping your mound.

Calloused thumb rubbing over your clit, coaxing heat and sighs and little rocks of your hips. One large, lone finger – sliding inside of you, rubbing against your walls with the practise of a man who knows your body as intimately as he knows his own. Your head rolls back and you display your neck for him; vulnerable, and needy, and utterly his. He does not leave your neck unmarked – his lips are on you in moments, sucking love-bites, nipping bruises, his finger still pumping in and out of you.

Two fingers. You tangle your own grip into his silvery pale hair and pull his mouth to yours so that you may kiss him – he tastes like iron, always. You do not find it unpleasant; blood is a taste that you have grown to appreciate, because it reminds you of him. Three fingers, and you hear the wet squelch of your arousal, feel it dripping out of you with every rock of his hand. His thumb has stopped teasing your clit, but the rough heel of his hand is now continuing the onslaught of pleasure. With every thrust, it rubs against the swollen bud, and you feel your stomach begin to tie itself in knots.

He pulls them out of you with a slick gush, the hand formerly buried inside of you coming to lift your leg so he can slot his hips in between you. His fingers are dripping wet, but he has eyes for nothing but you beneath him. Rose-red irises meet your own, as if to ask you; ‘is this alright? Do you need me to stop?’

For an assassin – for a man feared around Italy, though they do not know his name – Risotto is never anything but gentlemanly with you. He asks your permission, holds you afterwards, kisses you and soothes you and murmurs your name filled with affection even when you are around the other members of your team.

“Special treatment,” some of them huff, rolling their eyes – but they shoot you sly smirks. They do not begrudge their capo his happiness – not in such a business as theirs.

“Risotto,” you breathe, looking up at him. “Please—”

The please is enough. Your other leg is lifted gently, hitched up so he can press your knees to your chest. You’ve had to experiment with positions plenty, in order to find things that are comfortable with Risotto’s height and his size and your own limitations – but this one always makes him seem to hit you deeper, further. His cock head pushes against the tight ring of your entrance, catching on you--

And his eyes meet yours as he begins to press himself inside of you. There is so much tenderness contained within them that you are almost lost for words. You would not think that eyes like that could make you feel so utterly adored – when you had first met Risotto, they had filled you with fear. Now, though, you look at them and you see all of the things that Risotto is too afraid to say out loud, contained within their multitudes.

He’s slow as he hilts himself, letting you feel the stretch of your walls around him. He’s always slow with you – like he’s afraid you will break. People who see him out and about, you know, never imagine how careful or tender he is.

Your head tips back again, into the pillow, as you see stars. He always fills you up. It’s indescribable, how right that he feels inside of you. You feel like he was made to slot inside of you – every time this happens, you don’t feel quite right until his heavy balls slap against your sex and he has bottomed out, filled you up, and the two of you are as connected as it is possible for two human beings to be.

Your breath catches as he pulls out, as he seeks to find a rhythm that works for both of you. In this position, you cannot quite get purchase on his shoulders – but Risotto sees to that himself, his big hands entangling and entwining with your fingers to press your held hands either side of your head.

The position is intimate, his eyes staying glued to yours even as he slips into a rhythm. His face is softer than you usually see it as he looks down at you; his sculpted lips tilted at the corners in a way that makes your breath feel like it doesn’t fit properly in your lungs.

You adore him so much.

Everything about him makes you feel like you are free-falling through a summer sky. You are, you’re sure, not supposed to be so deliriously happy with anybody, when you’re in a career such as your own. You should not be allowed to love him so freely and deeply – but the world has said you are. The world has dropped Risotto Nero into your lap in all of his occasionally awkward, stoic, handsome glory.

His hips flex in and out. He slides easily, through the slick glide of your sex – stoking up hunger and need, the tight little ball of tension inside of you that signifies your release. You hear the sound of him fucking you, the slap of him bottoming out, and you lose yourself entirely in the sensation of Risotto filling you up.

The world seems to fade into nothing but the place where the two of you are joined; nothing else important, aside from Risotto inside of and above you, his breath unsteady in his chest. The heat that’s gathering low in your belly, as he chases your release along with his own--

After his earlier ministrations, it’s no wonder that yours creeps up on you faster. Your ball of tension is the first one to take too much pressure, to be unable to do anything but explode into pieces – and it does so in a great rush that has you wailing, your mouth opening, as your mind seems to blank out into nothingness at the same time as every feeling in the entire world seems to hit you all in one go.

You’re crying?

You’re sobbing.

Your shoulders are shaking, your lip wobbling, your throat so dry that you can barely gasp air as it feels as though every emotion that you have ever experienced seems to come around to visit you again, the feeling entirely overwhelming. You can’t think. You can’t breathe--

Risotto’s eyes are wide and full of concern, blood and ink gone to uneasiness that this is all his fault. Your eyes are blurry with tears, but you see him open his mouth to speak nonetheless.

“Hey, hey--” his voice is quiet, through the haze of your tears, his hips stilling inside of you. “Tesoro, amore, cara mia--”

The pet names just make your bubbling sob get worse; your breath short. You don’t know what it is! You’re not upset, you’re not angry, you’re not even so happy that you can’t help yourself.

You’re just feeling so, so, so much.

“Risotto,” you breathe out, hiccuping, and your legs are gently dropped from your chest. “Risotto, I’m--”

“Please tell me if something’s wrong,” he murmurs, low and dark. “I’ll stop, I’ll do anything--”

“N-no,” you shake your head, aware that he is still buried inside of you – that your tears are stopping him reaching his full completion. “I-it’s not that—”

He pulls out, carefully, and you miss the feel of him inside of you like a physical ache, even though he is still on top of you. He reaches down and kisses your cheeks, chasing the tears away. A half-laugh bubbles up through the heaving of your chest and the tears clogging up your throat.

“Please tell me,” he repeats, again, all concern. His hands are still entangled with yours, as he leans down and puts his face very close to yours. If you stretched forward, just a little, you could rub your noses together, and the thought makes you smile despite yourself and despite the tear-tracks still drying on your face. “Amore, I promise I won’t be angry at you--”

“It’s just-- s-so much--” You say, eventually – lost for words, because how does one explain quite why they started crying with no real reason to? It had simply felt like everything had washed over you in one go, and your heart had not been able to handle it. Something about your orgasm had pushed forth all of your feelings, whether good or bad, and they had scrambled inside of your chest until all you could do was let tears roll down your face.

“I’m here,” he says, soft and slow. He lets go of your hands. Large arms wrap around you, pulling you up so you’re pressed against the broad expanse of your chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s so warm. Your cheek rests against him; hard muscle and scar tissue. You can hear the beating of his heart, and in the end it’s that – steady, constant, true – that makes the tears finally stop leaking down your face. Your breath calms.

A big hand comes up to stroke through your hair, reassuring.

“I’m always here for you,” he says. “Forever. Through anything.”

“I love you,” you say, all in a rush. You two avoid it; it’s hard to deal with constants when you’re in a business like Passione. ‘I love you’ is not in the vernacular of an assassin – but neither is ‘forever’, and Risotto had said it to you as casually as breathing--

“I love you too,” Risotto says. His voice does not quaver. He is certain and sure; as strong as the arms around you, the chest you’re pressed to, as strong as his convictions always are. He means it.

And you are so, so very glad that he does.

[reidgraygubler]

sunflowers, daisies, lilacs, dahlias (spencer reid/reader)

Title: sunflowers, daisies, lilacs, dahlias

Requested: yes, was a request someone sent to @imagining-in-the-margins​, but I took it of her hands :) (So i get this is sorta hard to do but i was wondering if you could write a spencer x nonbinary (gender-neutral pronouns) reader where reader isn’t out to the team yet but spencer finds out somehow and the reader is afraid he’ll reject them but instead he confesses his feelings and just starts info dumping about third genders in other cultures and the roots of binary america, etc. just like fluffy and accepting. once again, i get it if you don’t want to/can’t but that would be awesome)

Couple: spencer reid/non-binary!reader (they/them pronouns)

Category: fluff

Content Warning: swearing (if any), misgendering, usual criminal minds case work stuff, bi!spencer, lgbt+ history lesson, platonic cuddling (or is it?), kissing (not platonic), Doctor Who season 12 spoilers (weird, I know), afab!reader

Word Count: 4,110

Summary: reader comes out as non-binary to their best friend, Spencer, after they notice he changes the pronouns he uses to talk about them and after the team misgenders them.

A/N: pom (aka @imagining-in-the-margins​) posted this in her discord and said if someone had any ideas for this, we could have it. and i loved the request so i took it off her hands. im also non-binary and only out to a few friends, so this piece is dear to my heart. also, i wrote reader as afab, since that’s also me, but also the request says that reader isn’t out to the team yet, and i had to give reader a gender. so im sorry about that. that’s where the mis-gendering comes in. spencer’s nickname for reader is bumblebee when they’re friends, but once they start dating it’s honeybee… bc reader is…  enbee… thank you all so much for the support! i really do appreciate it. check out my masterlist!

{***}{***}{***}

It was a new day at work. A new day, a new me… Kinda, not really. It’s still old me. I’m just trying to figure out the new me. I think that makes sense. It makes sense to me, so that’s all that matters, I think.

Maybe today was the day I came out to the team as Non-Binary. That’d probably help my feeling of garbage. Not even my own family knew about my little secret. So that’s been something I’ve seriously been thinking about, telling everyone that I was Non-binary and preferred they/them pronouns. 

I kept my head low as I stepped off the elevator and onto the floor of the BAU. The good news is, people weren’t rushing around like I was partly expecting them to be. The bad news is, when I got to my desk, there was a stack of files, waiting to be looked over. And the unfortunate part was, I wouldn’t get to get through half of them, because something told me there was a current case we had to go on. 

That something being Emily Prentiss standing outside her office, looking for everyone on the team. I looked up at her with a pout as she nodded towards the conference room. I looked back at the stack of files before grabbing my go bag and going up to the conference room.

Everyone was already there, waiting for me. Although, I was usually late, in a sensible fashion. So I quickly took my seat beside Spencer and remained quiet as Penelope and Emily told us about the case.

{***}{***}{***}

“We can go to the most recent victim’s house, interview the siblings,” Spencer spoke up as we both walked up to Emily. I looked up at him and nodded, silently agreeing that I could go with. It’s not like I had anything better to do anyways. Tara and Luke were at the newest crime scene. David and Matt were with the ME. And Emily was about to go interrogate the suspect. So, going with Spencer would give me something to do. 

“She’ll have to conduct the interview,” Emily looked up from the file she was reading and right at me. I looked down, away from anyone who was possibly looking at me. Getting mis-gendered was something I was used to, by now anyways. But, for some reason, this time it really bothered me. Emily doesn’t know, it’s fine. It’s mostly my fault anyways. And, I guess it bothered Spencer too, because the expression on his face shifted from normal to… annoyed.

“Of course, they can do the interview. They’re the most like the victim,” Spencer looked at Emily before looking back at me. I looked at him and smiled softly. It was more of a nervous smile than anything else. A change, and correction, in pronoun… I hadn’t exactly told anyone that I preferred different pronouns, I had honestly gotten used to the unfortunate misgendering.

“I can do it, I’m perfectly capable of it,” I smiled at Spencer then over at Emily. So much for a change.

“Then that’s settled, she’ll do it,” Emily looked up at Spencer and smiled before allowing us to leave. I dropped my shoulders as I glanced at Spencer, who was glaring daggers at Emily. He wasn’t usually one to glare at his superiors, especially Emily. 

“We should get going, don’t you think,” I whispered as I looked up at Spencer. He finally looked down at me and nodded. “And, you can do the interview, if you want. I get that I’m a lot like the victim’s sister. But, you do interviews better than me,” I laughed and shook my head. 

“We can do it together. That’s the only way you can get better at interviewing,” he returned the laughter before following beside me. 

“That’s true,” I smiled at him. 

{***}{***}{***}

“I know we always do this, but thanks for letting me stay the night after hard cases,” I looked over at Spencer as he got in his car. I readjusted the grip on my bag as I looked away from Spencer.

“Of course, sleeping over at someone’s house after a case makes it easier to relax, especially after hard cases,” he looked over at me with a smile, “We can order Chinese food if you want,”  he added as he looked back at the road.  

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” I nodded with a smile. Sometime between solving the last case, and the jet landing I gained the courage to bring up what happened before the interview. You know, the whole they/them thing… With Spencer. I still don’t know how he knew to change my pronouns. 

He was talking about something, it sounded like an episode of Doctor Who.  I sort of felt bad about that too, because I was hardly listening. I was one of the only few people who actually watched Doctor Who with him, and thoroughly enjoyed his commentary. 

“And then the Doctor, who, have I mentioned is a woman now, is in fact the Timeless Child. Did you know that?” He glanced at me as he went on. Again, I felt bad because I wasn’t totally paying attention. “Of course you knew that, we watched the episode together,” he continued to ramble about the episode.

“Spencer,” I spoke, my voice just loud enough for him to hear.

“Mhm, what?” he glanced over at me for a quick second. I looked at him, my mouth opening and closing a few times before actually saying what I was thinking. Which was...

“How did you know?” I asked, my voice a bit of a whisper. I was a little bit scared. How did he know? Sure, Spencer knows everything. But I’m not exactly… Out to the team, let alone Spencer. I don’t think I told him. 

“How did I know what, Bumblebee?” Spencer glanced over at me for a brief second. I sighed deeply as I looked over at him. 

“You used 'they'… When you and Emily were talking about me and the interrogation… You used 'they' and 'them' when you talked about me… How’d you know? I haven’t told anyone…” I whispered as I looked over at him. He stayed silent for a long time. I wasn’t too sure what he was thinking, but it made me very nervous. 

“I saw you at the library with a book about gender/sexuality history and science… And I saw you looking at a non-binary/gender non-conforming forum the other day. So, I connected the dots,” Spencer looked over at me as he pulled to a stop at the red light. I swallowed roughly as I looked at him. “I didn’t mean to off-”

“You didn’t offend me, Spence,” I whispered and shook my head before dropping my gaze from him. My fingers fiddled with the seatbelt across my lap. I could feel my heart going a million miles an hour, and no matter how hard I tried to calm it… nothing worked. “I just… I haven’t used the words out loud before… I’ve haven't told anyone… I mean, I’ve just figured it out myself,” I shrugged again. I glanced at him as he started going again. “I’ve always known I didn’t really identify as… Ya know… And I guess just recently I finally put a name to it,” I sighed as I pressed my head into the headrest. Spencer glanced at me, again. He was obviously trying to keep his eyes on the road, but he was very concerned about our conversation.

“You’ve never said it out loud? Or told anyone?” He asked, clarifying what I had just said. I swallowed roughly and nodded.

“Yeah, I just…” I stopped, letting my words trail off. My thoughts ran wild. If I just said that I was non-binary, it’d make my life easier, I’d be so much happier. So, why haven’t I just come out and said it? “So, say it now. It’s just me,” Spencer whispered as he looked over at me for the briefest second. My heart stopped with his words, and suddenly my mind was quiet. “No one else to hear."

“What?” I spoke, my voice a breathless whisper. I looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. 

“Only if you want to. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Spencer’s voice was soft as he spoke. I looked over at him, feeling my stomach do an anxious flip.

“What if it changes the way you think about me?” I asked, feeling my throat tighten up around the words. Out of all of the friends that I had, Spencer was the only one I didn’t want to lose. In a weird way, I felt like he understood me. Like we were both the outcasts of the team, for our different reasons. 

“Why would that change the way I think of you?” Spencer looked up at me and I shrugged. I stared at him, feeling my face twist up in confusion. Even his face had some confusion on it. 

“I don’t know. People usually…” My words trailed off again, not knowing what I was exactly wanting to say to him. “You’re not mad at me? Or hate me or anything…? Right…?” I asked, my voice wavering slightly in fear. Fear of what? I was scared he would resent me. It wouldn’t have been the first, or last, time someone resented me. So, why would I expect him to not resent me? 

“Why would I hate you? Because you’re finally more comfortable with yourself? Or want to be more comfortable with yourself?” Spencer looked at me as he furrowed his brows. I looked down at my lap and shrugged. “You still haven’t said it, but we’re talking about it like you did,” he pointed out. I dropped my shoulders as I looked over at him. 

“You really want me to say it,” I laughed dryly. Spencer smiled at me and shrugged.

“Only if you want to. Just think about how much better you’ll feel,” he offered. I looked down at my lap and sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” I looked back up at him and smiled, “I’m non-binary.” I could feel a certain weight get lifted off my shoulders as I looked at him. Spencer also had a genuine smile on his lips as he looked at me. Like, he also seemed happy with my words.

 “There’s nothing wrong with that, you know,” Spencer smiled at me as he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building. I glanced at him before laughing. “I’m being serious,” he chuckled lightly.

“I sure hope there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re the one who encouraged me to say it!” I laughed as I unbuckled. Spencer returned the laughter before looking over at me.

“Then, why do you care what the team thinks?” Spencer asked as he searched for his apartment keys. “Their opinion shouldn’t matter. It’s your life,” he shrugged and looked up at me once he finally found his keys.  

“Everyone on the team is all my friends and all my family…” I whispered as I looked over at him, “I don’t know what everyone will think,” I knew he wanted me to say it out loud to the team, but I was avoiding it. It’s not that I’m not ready. I just don’t want him to think differently of me.

“When has anyone on the team thought bad of you, Bumblebee?” Spencer asked again before parking the car. I swallowed roughly and looked back down at my lap. Of course, when I actually cut my hair short the first time… I had gotten a horrible haircut and everyone commented on it. “No one’s going to think anything bad about you if you come out,” he reassured. I sighed deeply as I looked towards the ground.

“Yeah, but I don’t care about them Spencer,” I rolled my eyes. I rolled my eyes because even though I do care what the team thinks, I think I care more about what Spencer thinks about me. But, I didn’t want to tell him that.

“Then, why were you so worried about it,” Spencer looked over at me before getting out of the car. I stayed in the car for a moment, silent with my thoughts. He’s got a point though. Why was I so worried about it? Of course, the team was my family. I don’t think I could risk losing the team for being… well, me. Maybe Spencer was right. Who am I kidding? Spencer’s always right. About everything. Maybe I should just tell the team… I’d feel a lot better.

I stayed quiet as we walked into the apartment building. In fact, we were both silent. Which was a rarity in our friendship; one of us was always talking, and it was always Spencer. He always had something to say. I wondered what he was thinking about in that head of his. Until I didn’t have to wonder...

“Native American people have a third gender, generally called two-spirit, where the person takes on roles more or less attributed to the opposite sex or both sexes,” Spencer suddenly started an info dump. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I read this exact thing in a book not too long ago. But, it meant so much to me that he wanted to tell me this.

“When europeans came along, they came with the strict gender binary rooted in Puritism, which put heavy emphasis on community and the importance of procreational (heterosexual) marriage within,” he paused to glance at me, probably to make sure I was still listening. And I was. There would be nothing to stop me from listening to him. 

 “Once the colonizers became a country after the american revolution, they wanted to get as far away from britain as possible. Part of this came with separating themselves from the effeminate man of Britain, whom they saw as feminine and dainty. As a result, they made the American Man, who is basically Teddy Roosevelt in that he is rugged, bold, strong, brutish, daring, and able to survive on the frontier and provide for his family,” he continued as he unlocked the door to his apartment. It was nice to be in a familiar place that felt like home, and felt safe.

“In comparison, the woman was supposed to be the American Housewife who stayed at home, cooked the meals, and raised the children. Thus, the American binary,” Spencer continued his info dump, clearly not knowing he was talking outloud. 

I just stared at Spencer with the utmost adoration in my eyes and face. A small smile grew on my lips as he continued to ramble and info dump about stuff I was newly introduced to. I don’t know why I didn’t tell him sooner, I’m sure he would have been a big help. “That’s very interesting, Spencer,” I smiled at him and cocked my head to my shoulder. Spencer looked at me, a slight panicked look in his eye. 

“I’m… I’m sorry, was I rambling?” He stopped talking and looked at me after a moment of him talking. I shook my head, silently telling him he wasn’t rambling, even though he totally was. At this point we had parted ways, but still held the conversation between rooms, and across his apartment, him being in the kitchen while I stayed in the living room.

“Anyways… I could continue going on about it all. How WW2 influenced the LGBT community and how Nuclear Families messed it all up too,” he spoke before stepping out of the kitchen and leading me to his bedroom. 

“I’m sorry, what?” I looked back at him with furrowed eyebrows. I was honestly surprised with that tiny tidbit of information. “Go on,” I raised a brow as I looked at him. I got comfortable on the bed while I waited for him.

“Yeah! The advent of urban areas provided the perfect place for sexuality and gender identity expression,” he continued talking as he stepped into the bathroom to change, and even continued while in the bathroom, “Many single people suddenly began moving from rural farms with family and religion to urban apartments on their own or with someone of the same identity/gender/sex,” he finally concluded before stepping out of the bathroom. I looked at him and cocked my head to my shoulder. I didn’t have anything to say after he rambled on, so we both stayed silent as we got comfortable in bed. 

“How do you know so much about gender identity and the LGBT community?” I asked, turning to face him more. Spencer looked at me with a nervous smile before looking out to the blanket spread out over us. 

“Oh, I, uh… I did a lot of research when I saw you in the library… And, after I saw you on the forum,” Spencer looked at me and nodded. I could sense that he was lying, and he knew that I could sense it. So, I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure this is the exact reason,” I smiled before shifting down the bed to get comfortable, “No other reason?” I looked up at him. 

“Nope, no other reason,” he looked down at his book before shaking his head. I could tell there was definitely something, and I could tell he wanted to tell me. But, I won’t force it out of him, just like how he didn’t force it out of me.

“Well, if you have something to tell me… I won’t force it outta you,” I looked over at him with a smile. Spencer glanced at me before grabbing for a book on his nightstand. I shifted down the bed and looked at my phone. “No one’s going to think anything bad about you,” I glanced at him again, repeating the exact things he said to me early in the evening. Spencer glared at me before looking back in his book.

“You’re the worst,” 

“You’re worse than me, Spence,” I laughed as I looked at my phone. I grinned as I browsed random social media. “It’s okay, I get it,” I shrugged before falling silent. 

“I suppose it’s only fair,” he spoke out loud after a moment of silence. I looked up at him, watching as he shifted in his seat. He closed his book before looking down at me, “I guess I’ve been in the same boat as you for a while… Not knowing what anyone would think if I came out, fearing that they’d hate me or judge me,”

“Spencer, you’re the most loved person on the team. No one would ever hate you or judge you,” I sat up before turning to look at him. Spencer looked up at me and nodded. I’m glad we could both agree on that. If anyone hated Spencer Reid, I can guarantee that they’d have a whole fleet of FBI agents on their ass. “You can trust me with anything, Spencer,” I whispered before reaching out for his hands. He looked down at where our hands sat before cocking his head to the side.

“I already trust you more than anyone on the team,” he smiled and chuckled with a nod, “I’ve never told anyone except for one person,” he whispered as he looked up at me.

“That’s okay,” I shrugged as I looked at him. 

“I’m bisexual,” he whispered, his eyes dropping away from my. I stared at him, taking a deep breath. A small smile tugged on the corner of my lips as a worried look grew on Spencer’s. 

“Was that so bad?” I whispered as I fell forward to give him a hug. Spencer laughed as he embraced me. “It felt good, didn’t it?” I backed away from him slightly. Spencer smiled and nodded.

“Like a weight off my shoulders,” he laughed as he looked back at me, “Thanks for that,”

“No, thank you, Spencer, I really needed you and your wonderful words of wisdom… I’ve been struggling with my sexuality a lot, ever since I was a teen really, and you just being there helped,” I smiled at him as I got comfortable in the bed. With that, we fell into a comfortable silence. Sleep wouldn’t find its way to us anytime soon. I think we were both still reeling on the adrenaline of the day. 

But then, I started thinking about our conversation in the car. When I had mentioned I was worried about him (or anyone else) thinking differently of me. I mean, that’s been a fear of mine for years. Someone can go from loving you to the ends of the earth to wanting to be on the furthest end of the earth just to be away from you. So, my fear was totally valid. I didn’t want to lose my friendship with Spencer, or anyone on the team.  

I quickly glanced at Spencer, noting that he was still quietly reading his book. He seemed at total peace with, well, everything. How did he do it? How did he get out of his head after a rough case, and after such a serious conversation? There were too many things I wanted to know, and too many questions I wanted to ask… Why not just ask them?

So, I did...

“Earlier, when you said me being non-binary wouldn’t change the way you think of me… How do…” I paused for a minute, trying to figure my next set of words. Because I could say something wrong, and it’d be the end of everything. “What do you think of me?” I looked up at him as I spoke. He smiled softly and nodded. It was probably a mistake, asking him what his thoughts were on me. I could only think of the worst. Well, I shouldn’t say the worst possible. Worst case scenario was that he was faking it all and he actually hated me. Well, don’t be too hard on yourself.  

“Well, you know,” Spencer shrugged as he shifted closer to me. I looked up at him before leaning away from him. 

“No, I don’t think I do know,” I stared at him, furrowing my eyebrows. He looked at me, dropping his book to his lap and slumping his shoulders slightly. 

“I love you… Okay? I love you whether you’re they/them, she/her, he/him, I don’t care, as long as you’re happy. If you’re happy, then I’m happy, because that’s all that matters to me. Your happiness,” he rambled for a minute. I just stared at him, feeling my shoulders relax as he spoke. My heart rate raised as he continued to talk about how he really felt about me, and I wished he said something sooner… “Hearing Emily misgendering you, and knowing what was going through your head… Sucked… It sucked watching! You deserve the best things…” He continued on, not caring that he was still rambling.

“Spencer,” I whispered, resting a hand on his shoulder to gain his attention. 

“And it’s ridiculous how long I’ve been in love with you too! I should have said something sooner but I didn’t! I don-”

“Spencer!” I shouted this time. It wasn’t an angry shout, though. No, the giggles in my voice and joyful smile on my lips told a different story. And that seemed to get his attention, considering he stopped talking and looked at me. His eyes scanned my face, landing on the joyous smile on my lips. 

“Yes?” He asked softly. I nearly fell into his body, and face, as I let my excitement get the better of me as I tried to kiss him. Spencer laughed as he lifted his hands to my shoulders to make sure I didn’t crash into him.

“I love you too,” I smiled as I looked up at his face. His eyes landed back on my face, his smile becoming soft as he looked at me. The expression his face held showed me that I was now his everything. And, it was a new feeling. I would never get used to a feeling so… grand. But, it was a feeling that I loved, and knew it’d be around for a long time. “What do you think the team will say?” I asked, looking at Spencer as he cupped my face in his hands. 

“About what, Honeybee?” he retorted, his voice a soft whisper. 

“About us, you and me being, well, you and me,” I tried to bite back my smile but failed when Spencer smiled back.

“Who cares what they think… I just care about you,” he smiled before pulling me back in for another kiss. 

“I think I like that answer." 

taglist: @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ , @thebluetint​

[writing-in-april]

Training wheels

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Years later after Spencer teaches Reader to drive even though he hates driving, Reader becomes good enough to ride a motorcycle they get him to come along on a ride.

A/N: hey heyyyy- this is my seventeenth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April! This fic is based on this request- which I decided to make smutty instead of full on smut so I could make it a bit more fluffy. Disclaimer- I know nothing about motorcycles and I can’t even drive lol so sorry for the lack of terminology. This ended up being gender neutral- I checked it over for the correct pronouns a few time but I could have missed something- please let me know if so! Feel free to give me your response by sending something to my inbox here. Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy.

Warnings: 18+- (if you are found to be violating this I will tell writers who you are), no full on smut- in the smutty/spicy category, a bit of grinding, implications about having sex in the future, In public sexual teasing (who’s fucking surprised), hints at Sub!Spencer, A few swear words

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.0k

Spencer hated driving. He always shook whenever he couldn’t stop the racing thoughts about the dangers of moving vehicles. He knew he was a good driver, but it was easier for him to trust the metro which stayed on its tracks (most of the time). A car with no rigid path and with so many variables just made Spencer’s mind race too much.

You were the only person that could get him to get into a car, without any sort of coercion. At his job he had accepted it as a reality of his situation; there was no way that he could get around it. He agreed to teach you how to drive to your job, which happened to be where you had met him. You ran a small thrift store just walking distance from your apartment. There had been no need to drive anywhere, until you opened up another branch on the other side of town.

You had met Spencer there, he had come in at night, just before close. He shopped around for a few sweater vests and cardigans until you had told him that you needed to close. His mumbled apology had been so cute you remember it to this day.

When he noticed that you walked home in the same direction as his, he offered to keep you company. At first you thought he had done it out of guilt since he made you stay late, until you realized he liked your presence. It was not a romantic relationship (not yet at least), you both didn’t kiss or anything, but you did love to tease him.

He cared about you, and you about him, which is why he eagerly offered to teach you to drive when you mentioned that you were scared to learn with an instructor. You preferred to be taught by someone who you knew and knew was a good driver. Spencer was just that, even with jittery fingers and tapping feet.

Since then you had become a great driver, good enough that you felt confident indulging in one of your dreams. You had always wanted a motorcycle, the wind blowing in your face and the freeing quality it had, had always made you desire one. Despite Spencer’s protests about the potential for even more safety hazards than a car you still indulged your dream, confident in your skills that Spencer had laid the foundation with his excellent teaching skills even while slightly fearful.

You had taken to it like a fish to water, it had been even easier than when you had Spencer teach you. Now it was the time to show the master how the apprentice approved, though you highly doubted Spencer liked to be called a master at driving. More like a teacher, a nervous one.

It did take some convincing for him to agree to ride on your motorcycle with you.Somehow, through gentle persuasion throughout the last few months, you had done it. He had prefaced it saying that it would be the only time it would ever happen, and you made it your goal to change his opinion. You highly doubted he’d ever want to drive it, which was fair considering he couldn’t stop the thoughts of statistics about safety in his head. You hoped though, that maybe he’d like riding with you.

“Is it safe?” Was his first question as soon as he arrived at your small thrift store you owned, jittery with nerves.

“Well- hello to you too.” You sassed cocking your hip to the side while holding your helmet in the small of your waist. He blushed bashfully, then finally said hello before you assured him, “I wouldn’t be bringing you if it wasn’t safe- I wouldn’t be driving it if it wasn’t safe.”

“Ok- I trust you.” He relaxed a little, though he was obviously still nervous.

To cheer him up a little you pivoted the conversation onto a more jovial topic, “Will you wear a leather jacket?”

“Maybe next time- if you convince me to get on the death trap again.” It was rare to see Spencer tease you back, but you thoroughly enjoyed it.

Quipping back you said, “Maybe I could get you to drive it too”

“I think I’d need training wheels for that.” A snort came out of you at that; it was funny imagining Spencer riding a motorcycle with bicycle training wheels.

“That would be a sight to see.” You swung your leg on to mount the vehicle, ready to take him on a spin. You then prompted him while getting your helmet on, “Come on pretty boy, let’s do this- and get that helmet on.”

He was a little nervous just going by the shaking in his palms, but he still put the helmet on and climbed on- albeit a bit awkwardly.

He wrapped his hands around your waist snugly when you roared the motorcycle to life. Whenever you had to break he clenched tighter, maybe not enough to leave bruises, but enough that it would be implanted in your memory for a good long while. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him.

You could tell he had slowly relaxed a little bit more even while keeping a strong grip on you as you made your looped path charted out in your head. Starting at your store and ending at your store, it was longer than maybe it should have been, considering Spencer’s grip on you had made your arousal spark to life.

You soon realized you weren’t the only one enjoying this, feeling something slightly stiff as Spencer shifted slightly at a red light. Oh, he was enjoying it. His cock confined in his pants was growing harder as the journey progressed.

“Did you have fun?” You questioned just as you pulled back into where you started, even though you already knew he did.

He squeaked out a measly, “Yeah!”

You smirked again, out of sight from his face. Biting your inner cheek in thought, you contemplated whether or not to act on it. It would be so easy to just swivel your hips and begin to grind down on his erection that had been pressing into you during the whole ride.

Fuck it, this might be one of your only chances to make a move. You tilted your hips just a smidge, leaning back just a little into him. You heard a hitch in his breath, his hands he had around you tightening back around you, pulling you in closer.

He whimpered when you sat back a little more, testing the waters just a little further. When he himself rolled his own hips once you had to ask, “Do you want me to keep going, Spencer? Do you want this?”

His helmeted head dropped into the crook of your neck, nodding into it as he began to rock into you a little. You gripped around the handles that you were still holding, all you had done was break so far. You were both in broad daylight perched on top of the vehicle. Turning your head as much as you could when you realized he hadn’t verbally responded you prompted sharply, “I need you to speak up, pretty boy. Do you want this?”

“Yes!” He gasped quickly at your prompt.

You then ground yourself back onto his bulge, rotating yourself slowly to feel the torturous friction. The fact that your bottom halves were still clothed only made it even more devastating. No one was around as it was the weekend, when you weren’t open and no one was really around. You still tried to stifle any noises you were tempted to make as his own hips started to undulate into your own.

A person could round the corner and immediately see two people grinding like teenagers onto each other. You both may have been completely closed, but it was quite obvious what you were both doing.

The extra friction you were getting was building a burning orgasm in you, the noises you had been trying to hold back were too hard to stifle. A moan came out of your mouth when Spencer moved down his hands from your waist to the outside of your hips, pulling you down on him with even more ferocity.

When his phone then began to ring you both let out a groan, your hips stopping any movement you had been making over his hard bulge. He reluctantly pulled out his ringing and buzzing ancient phone. Which you would normally find endearing that he carried around somewhat arcane technology, but your weaning arousal was wanting you to smash it on the ground.

“Hello? Hotch?” You groaned, knowing exactly what this meant. There was no way this was going to go further tonight, Hotch wasn’t calling him on the weekend just for paperwork. He was about to leave for a case.

You ripped your helmet off of your head out of frustration while he continued to talk. Grumbling while wiping the sweat that had started to accumulate, Spencer chattering away quickly at Hotch telling him he’ll be there in about ten minutes.

When he got off the phone he began to stammer in apology, this was the only time I’d ever want to cut him off, “There’s no need to apologize- go catch a bad guy.”

“Thank you- and thanks for-r the ride and- um the other thing… I’ve got to go now, I’ll uh- talk to you later.” He then awkwardly shuffled off, trying to conceal his obvious bulge even though you were the only one around to see it.

When he got into his car, you were happy he had brought it for once. You wouldn’t have let him walk all the way to his office from here, and you would have had to drive him with his bulge pressing into your ass again.

“I’m gonna need a cold shower.” You added, mumbled underneath your back as you put your helmet back on, ready to drive back to your apartment to hopefully freeze your frustration away.

—-

The next time you saw him- about a week later, a little blush immediately graced his cheeks, probably thinking about what happened last time. You kissed his cheek and felt how hot they had gotten just by being in his presence. He was here again, early this time, ready for you to open up your shop for the day.

“You’ve got to wait 30 minutes until you can buy something, I don’t open till then,” You then flashed a smirk towards him, he might die from being overheated if you kept teasing him. Still, you continued to do it, “Can’t be seen to show you any favors, pretty boy. Then everyone would want one.” As soon as the keys turned to unlock you didn’t open the door right away, instead turning back to face him. He fidgeted even more underneath your direct gaze, also averting his eyes. You let go of your hold on the keys, bit your lip and added, “Though, I think you’d be the only one I’d want to be my favorite.

He stuttered a bit at that, before changing the subject, “Um- I came here to actually thank you for last week… I had a lot of fun.”

You then cocked your head to the side in question, “Didn’t you already thank me last time?”

“Yeah.” He responded meekly, clearing his throat a few times while he collected his thoughts. “Can we finish what we started?”

You beamed, as it had been exactly what you were hoping for. You made your way back over to him, this time to pull him by the front of his shirt to press a steaming kiss to his lips. He moaned, letting your tongue run over his teeth a few times before you deepened it further. You were panting by the time you released him, but worked through the gasping breaths to answer verbally now, “Of course- come inside with me. If you won’t go on another ride with me after this while wearing a leather jacket, I’ve got a leather jacket you can wear while I ride you.”

Ask Me Anything

—-

Tag lists (fill out this form to join):

All Works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @spenxerslut @boxofsparklingmuses @katexrichardson@takeyourleap-of-faith

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99 @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat @anaagraceeberr @ashcakes1918 @reid-me-a-story @cosmic-psychickitty

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @spenxerslut @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat

Sub Spencer: @thatsonezesty13 @pastathighs @virtualpeanutartisanjudge @calm-and-doctor @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat

[searedwood]

30 Day Gay Journal Prompts

This is specifically designed for Pride Month and self celebration, but this can be for literally any other use. Except hate. No hate allowed.

Day 1- Write your preferred name(s), pronouns, nice nouns (nouns you like to be referred to as), and bad nouns (nouns you don't like to be referred to as).

Day 2- Record your triggers, from really bad to not as bad to getting over it. Add any specifications or notes if you feel like you need them. This is so you can identify what makes you uncomfortable or panicked, which will help you be able to identify and avoid a situation in which you may feel threatened, uncomfortable, or panicked.

Day 3- Make a list of signs that you are having a panic attack. This will help you be able to communicate to close friends or family members what may happen in an event you become panicked. This will also help you identify when you're having a panic attack, which will help you be able to calm down. Additionally, record some ways that will help stop the panic attack. For me, some ways of calming down are to go outside, my stuffie, breathing and grounding exercises, comfort music, and puns or jokes.

Day 4- Take some time and think about what makes you happy and relaxed. Write down your comfort music, comfort videos, and comfort characters. If you have a comfort game or movie, include that as well. This is to help you identify a source of calm, relaxation, and happiness that you can easily fall back on if you are uncomfortable or scared.

Day 5- Do some research on LGBTQIA+ labels, flags, and symbols. Write down your gender identity and what it means for you. Write down your sexual and romantic orientations as well, and what they mean for you. Additionally, draw little Pride Flags and symbols beside each label. I drew the genderfaunet flag on the inside cover of my journal, along with corresponding flowers that represent what I see in my identity, as well as what I hope to integrate into myself (Snowdrop - rebirth, Chrysanthemum - truth, Rose leaves - hope, Lilacs - growth/progress, Yarrow - healing, and Narcissus - self love)

Day 6- Write down the titles of your favorite LGBTQIA+ books, movies, TV shows, and games, or titles you want to see/read/play. Do a little digging and find out what titles sound interesting. Supporting LGBTQIA+ creators is a wonderful way to celebrate Pride.

Day 7- Journaling doesn't have to be just writing. Try drawing some LGBTQIA+ inspired art, whether it's just a few doodles, a flag or two, or a beautiful painting. Dedicate this entry to expressing yourself and your identity in a way without words.

Day 8- Write gay poetry. You may not think yourself talented or particularly good at writing poems, but that doesn't mean you should keep yourself from doing it, even for a day. Poetry is a wonderful way to bend language to your will and express yourself in a way that only you have to understand. Write a poem expressing your experience in the LGBTQIA+ community, or a poem detailing your first gay crush. Whatever you feel on your heart today, put it into beautifully unique words.

Day 9- Write about the moment you realized you weren't straight or binary. Alternatively, write about the moment you learned what the LGBTQIA+ community was. Describe your feelings and thoughts in the moment, and reflect over how they have changed and evolved over time.

Day 10- Take a moment and think about where you would be if LGBTQIA+ rights have existed all along, without the need for reform laws or protests. Write down who you think you would be, how you would live, and how easy it would be to do things you can't right now. At the same time, think about the disadvantages. Consider the lack of a fight for freedom and how that may influence your opinion or thoughts.

Day 11- Write a letter to your younger self. Tell your younger self about who you are and who you've become. Give them words of encouragement about the journey ahead. Remind your younger self that no matter what happens, you turn out to be a wonderful and beautiful person.

Day 12- Write a letter to your older self. Detail your present experience as a member/ally of the LGBTQIA+ community. Present your ideas about where the community will be moving forward and how much progress society as a whole will make. Ask yourself some questions, like "How do you celebrate your identity?" Later in the future, you can come back to this letter and respond.

Day 13- Learn some phrases or words of Polari. Polari is a critically endangered language invented by young gay men living in Britain. It was also used by circus men and theatre kids. Few LGBTQIA+ people now know of the language, so there's no better time to try to revive it.

Day 14- Do some research on Pride history. Record interesting or important events that marked the history of the LGBTQIA+ community. What happened at the first Pride Parade? Who was the first advocate for gay and lesbian marriage? What was the LGBTQIA+ community like before it was acceptable to be openly queer?

Day 15- Write a letter to those that are anti-LGBTQIA+. Explain why queer rights are humans rights. Tell them that love is love. Or, if you're feeling like letting loose that anger, just tell them off. This letter is for your eyes only, so don't be afraid to get mean if it makes you feel better.

Day 16- Take a moment and think about how you wish to represent yourself. Do you want to wear skirts and dresses? Do you prefer baggy pants and a puffy jacket? Do you like wearing makeup? How do you style your hair? Record how you currently dress and look and how you wish you could dress and look. Write about how your wishes reflect your identity.

Day 17- Write some ways you can improve on the way you treat yourself. Are you hard on yourself because you just can't make the right grade? Do you obsess over how you don't fit in to your family's standards of gender and sexuality? Give yourself some love and think about how you can be nicer to yourself. Remind yourself that school grades aren't more important than your own needs. Remember that if you are in an unhealthy relationship with friends or family, it isn't your fault.

Day 18- Write about what really makes you feel like yourself. You know better than anyone what your authentic self is. So what is it? What makes you feel really... you?

Day 19- If someone described you, what would they say? This can be anything from physical appearance to personality. This can help you think about how you present yourself to others. Do you want more people to know exactly what gender you identify as? Do you not want people to know what pronouns you prefer?

Day 20- Do some research on neopronouns. If you don't use any, perhaps you'll find a set or three you feel comfortable with (if not, that's fine!) If you can't do your own research, try making up your own set! I sometimes feel semi-feminine, like just a little teaspoon of femininity, but I don't really like she/her pronouns. So, I made for myself a set that sounds similar but isn't quite there. Xe/Xer/Xers/Xerself. The 'x' is pronounced like the 's' in 'measure.' A good way to make sure you know how to use a set of neopronouns in a sentence is to use this example I got from pronouny: Today I went to the park with xer. Xe brought xer frisbee. At least, I think it was xers. By the end of the day, xe was throwing the frisbee to xerself.

Day 21- Have you heard the phrase "black sheep of the herd"? It refers to someone that doesn't really fit in to their social group. In what ways are you the black sheep? Is it because of your identity or orientation? How can you help others to see you aren't different and shouldn't be alienated? How can you encourage people to welcome LGBTQIA+ people to the herd?

Day 22- Imagine you are teaching a class of young children about LGBTQIA+, gender, and sexual/romantic orientations. What would you say? How would you encourage them to be open minded and to explore their own identities?

Day 23- With great Pride comes great hardships. There are many obstacles and difficulties when it comes to finding your true self and figuring out your identity and orientation. What hardships have you overcome? What have you learned from them?

Day 24- One of your friends comes to you about having questions about gender identity. They are questioning their own identity and seek your help and support. List some ways you would help your friend feel supported and loved while also helping them discover their identity.

Day 25- List three things you would do if you weren't afraid. (For me, these would easily be: attending Pride Parades, advocating for queer rights, and coming out)

Day 26- Take your favorite or least favorite LGBTQIA+ ship and rewrite a scene as if they were together, or list some of your favorite queer ships.

Day 27- Discover some gender-neutral terms for things like family members, romantic partners, or honorifics (Mister, Miss, Mx.). If you can't find any you find interesting or comfortable, try creating some of your own. My pibling (parent+sibling) calls me their nibling or nibkid (NB term for sibling's child).

Day 28- Have you ever wanted to write a story? Record an idea or two, or three or four, for LGBTQIA+ stories. They can be anything from lesbian princesses to a coming-of-age trans story. Maybe you'll end up planning out your best seller!

Day 29- Think about what rights aren't granted to LGBTQIA+ people. What are they? Do they directly affect you as well? How do these lack of rights make you feel? What can you do to help advocate for these rights?

Day 30- The last day of Pride Month doesn't mean it's the last day of acceptance and love. How can you spread Pride throughout the year? How can you keep and open mind and heart and advocate for LGBTQIA+ rights? Maybe set a list of goals for yourself, things you want to keep up through the year.

[madhyanas]

a place at the table

Pairing: Din Djarin x gender-neutral!Reader

Rating: T/PG-13 [mild]

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Spoilers for s2ep3, Chapter 11! Reader uses they/them pronouns. References to drowning, not explicit. Descriptions of freezing/extreme cold. One reference to Chapter 9 (s2ep1). Din being as self-sacrificing as always. Din’s particular brand of Mandalorian family values. Pining, yearning, affection - just think soft.

A/N: well then. first time posting for din! this has been cooking since ep3 came out, i’m just slow. it’s soft!! and worried!! and din severely procrastinating his own identity crisis!! they’re really fuckin married, guys. lovely stuff. also, if you can’t tell, i adore frog lady. and bo-katan. mwah.

BIG thank you to @justrunamok​, @pettyprocrastination​ and @generaldamneron​ for beta-reading <33

gif credit: @captrex​ - from the post here. thanks!

masterlist

You thought you knew cold.

Days and nights in the Crest have acquainted you with it. A hollow metal hull in the depths of the galaxy, surrounded on all sides by a vast expanse of nothing. Keeping the heater on burns fuel that you can’t afford, not with three mouths to feed. Space is cold, as cold as it could get.

And then you nearly drowned.

The briny depths of Trask are frigid, you’ve come to realise. Logically, you know it’s nowhere near the freezing vacuum of space. That’s real cold; true, absolute zero. But the thing about water is that it gets everywhere. The searing, ferocious chill of it had slammed all mental processes to a halt, petrifying your rationality before all else. It drenched your clothes, your hair. Snaked into your nose and seeped into your lungs. Rushed you as a swarm; no other sensation was relevant.

At the time — scrabbling at a grate hanging overhead, right there but always just out of reach — it’s what you imagined carbonite to feel like. Conscious but consumed.

Space is cold from a distance. Water freezes from the inside, cracked and jagged and burning.

So you should be grateful for your saviours. Mandalorians, unlike any you’ve ever seen before.

Which is to say, unlike Din.

There’s a lot to think about. So many things have happened in the span of a day that you can barely keep track. And beyond all else, you want to ask how Din’s coping—

“Trask is a black market port. They’re staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet. We’re seizing those weapons and using them to retake our homeworld.”

—but there are more important things to deal with at the moment.

“Once we’ve done that, we’ll seat a new Mandalore on the throne,” the red-headed woman explains.

Bo-Katan. She speaks regally, like she’s been on that very throne before. More importantly — like she’d earned it. In truth, she scares you. All three of them do, these new Mandalorians who show their faces — they scare you in the way Din did back when he was just a gruff, faceless employer. A tinge of instinct; a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

What she’s saying is important, you know that, and you can’t place the onus on Din to handle it after the day he’s had. But you can’t bring yourself to focus either. You’re barely holding it together as it is, taking mild, balmy comfort in his and the baby’s presence on either side.

The three of you, together. Right now, at this table, that’s the only thing keeping you from splintering right down the middle.

Even with a steaming bowl of broth in your hands, your fingers ache with the chill. It hurts, regaining body heat. Hurts as feeling returns to your toes. Hurts to clench your jaw, to stop it from chattering. Hurts the delicate skin of your face, thousands of icy needles jabbing into the nerves. There’s a pounding between your ears and behind your eyes. You’re tired, and you suspect Din is, too.

You really do want to ask how he’s dealing with…this. The Way has been part of his life — and part of yours, in as much of a lifetime as you’ve known him — for many, many years. An oak tree, offering security and strength to the garden. How must he feel, stoic at your side, to see these three fell theirs so easily?

An identity crisis is the last thing Din needs.

What he needs is a break. You need him to want a break.

A coo at your elbow catches your attention. The baby — safe and warm, thank the Maker — seems fascinated with the water dripping from your hair, patting his hands into the small puddles forming on his high chair and giggling at the splashes. It’s as if he was never swallowed whole in the first place; that’s another thing you’re going to recall decidedly later. Nonetheless, he bounces back fast, your child.

You smile, hearing your teeth click, and pet the sensitive spot between his ears. He blinks at you sweetly.

Someone clears their throat.

You look up, startled, to find three pairs of eyes on you. Expecting. None of them saying… anything.

The other woman, the one with braids on her forehead, slurps her slithering noodles without blinking. Unnerving, to say the least.

“Sorry,” you blurt, more on reflex than anything else. “Did I… miss something?” The uncertainty in your voice doesn’t escape anyone’s notice.

Beneath the table, a broad thighs shifts to press against yours. Comforting. You glance at its owner.

“It’s… Mandalorian business.” Bo-Katan tilts her head. Her gaze flits between you and Din, polite and clear. “I’m sure you understand.”

You blink, bemused. “Oh?”

And then you realise.

She’s asking you to leave.

“Oh!” Your brows shoot up. One of her partners smiles ruefully in your periphery, and you are struck with the distinct feeling of being other. “Of course.”

That’s… well. It’s justified, is what it is. She’s right. You aren’t Mandalorian.

You stand quickly, and the chair grates against the floor unpleasantly. You manage not to cringe, somehow.

There’s a free table on the other side of the cantina, you think you saw it as you entered. Should you take the baby? No, Din’s never liked being away from him, even if you’re there. But they’re armed, all three of them, and you don’t know them, even if they did save your life, saved the baby’s, saved Din’s—

There’s a hand at your elbow.

“They stay.”

Din’s voice is unyielding. He hasn’t moved at all besides his grip on your arm, keeping his visor trained on Bo-Katan, who raises a brow.

No one says anything for a long, tense beat. Until—

“They’re not Mandalorian,” Bo-Katan says bluntly. It’s something you don’t have the nerve to state aloud. Something Din is apparently ignoring, however much you’d never believe it.

He stays silent.

“It’s okay,” your murmur, and the silver helmet you know turns to you fractionally. Barely anything, and you know you’re heard. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s still staring Bo-Katan down. “I don’t mind.”

There are three sharp, foreign gazes on you, and your newly-rejuvenated toes curl in your boots. After so many days bundled up in the Crest, you’d forgotten what it felt like to be watched and unwanted. The company inside had never made you feel that way.

“They stay,” he insists, making you jolt. “As is their right.”

Bo-Katan’s half-smile is faintly amused. “And which right is that?” she asks, like she already knows the answer. It seems like they all do, daring Din to state this mysterious ‘right’ that you’re in the dark about.

“It is their right as a member of my clan.”

The gloved fingers on your elbow tighten, leather creaking ever so slightly but just enough to remind you to breathe.

You blink at the silver helm dumbly, forgetting your onlookers for the time being.

He’s— He means that. Din doesn’t say what he doesn’t mean. Every word is measured, deliberate. He chooses his words like he chooses his weapons; they’re specific, well-cared for. Only to be used when necessary. Which suggests that—

Well. Maybe you should sit down.

As you do so, the woman opposite Din releases a slow, steady breath — Maker, you’d almost forgotten she was here — and squares her shoulders.

“Very well,” she says coolly. Her eyes flit to you, appraising, searching, before returning to Din. “As I was saying…”

And then you tune out again, ever so slightly. The information is going in, but you’re not truly registering its significance. Stupid, really, considering Din’s quite literally just fought for your place at the table. But you do.

You stare at the chipped, stained wood as if it holds the answers to questions you don’t know how to phrase. The baby babbles something incoherent, trying to get your attention, so unjustly denied to him, and you offer a finger for him to hold.

Clan. As in, part of. It’s new.

It feels like a small, three-fingered hand, gravelly warmth next to your thigh, and a hand pulling you back to the table.

———

Tracking down the Frog Woman and her husband isn’t too tedious. Trask’s daylight hours are long, for a moon, so even after Din’s aside with Bo-Katan and her people, it’s barely dark as you make your way to the inn.  

“It won’t be long,” Din had assured you. “I go with them, assist with their mission, and come back within a day. Routine transport raid.”

Them. Their. It didn’t bode well that his so-called brethren are this… dissimilar.

“Last time you helped someone out, you got swallowed by a desert dragon.”

“That wasn’t last time.”

“Still counts.”

Childish, perhaps. Petulant. But correct.

The problem was, so was he. There was no choice.

Now, Din leads your party of three briskly down the street.

Since his father had manually adjusted the drift range on the crib beforehand, the child has no issue being carted along express-style, making curious noises at the various fishing apparatus he sees scattered around the port.

You don’t have such luxuries as the little womp rat, so you’re left to frantically try and match your Mandalorian’s pace. The lingering shivers wracking your frame are shoved aside for the wheezing burn beginning to creep up your sides.

“Hey, uh, Mando?” you ask, somewhat out of breath. “You think you could slow down? You’re going a little fast—”

Your shoulder clips a passing Quarren roughly, spinning you round with the force of the collision. The point of impact throbs unpleasantly, painful but superficial. Stunned, you can only blink as the tentacled man snaps something unintelligible in your face. An apology sits ready on your tongue and you open your mouth to speak, before a solid wall appears between you.

A breathing, unyielding wall of leather and beskar, glowering at the Quarren silently as you’re turned away, closer into the gentle bend of his hold. Quietly surrounding, protecting. Something else you’re not used to, from when it was just the three of you in the ship. But this feels… good. It feels like it’s yours.

The other man balks, and leaves with a grumble under his breath.

Din glances around above your head, ever aware, ever cautious. “Stay close,” he murmurs and—

You could probably pinpoint the exact moment your body temperature spikes, as a large, gloved hand comes to rest on your lower back. “Oh. Okay.”

The rest of the walk passes you by.

“I wasn’t trying to rush you,” he says tersely, having slowed his pace considerably. There’s an apology in there somewhere; you can hear it. “But you’re soaked, and you’re cold. You need to get warmed up.”

You smile. It’s really not the time, but— “Are you offering?”

A huff from the modulator, and he shakes his head silently. Less rejection, rather than fond exasperation.

“You must be cold, too.” The realisation dawns on you in an instant. Oh, Maker. He’s been freezing for just as long as you, now. If not more, since he hasn’t eaten anything warm.

The next shake of the helmet is more insistent, purposeful. “No. I wear more layers than you do.”

“You dived into the ocean, Din.” His name is hushed, spoken after a quick look to confirm that no one can hear you.

“So did you.”

“I was pushed, that’s not the same thing.”

Din doesn’t respond, and your smile dims. He seems to hesitate for a moment, before pressing a button on his vambrace, and the baby’s crib floats a little closer.

Oh.

He doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the walk. You regret bringing it up.

But his hand doesn’t stray from your back.

——

The building is small, cozy. Barely a couple of stories tall. And, to your delight, it’s warm.

“Thank you for having us,” you tell the Frog Woman gratefully. One of their towels is wrapped around your shoulders; a placeholder until you can find a clean, dry change of clothes. You feel better already. “We’re sorry to impose like this.”

She croaks something vaguely welcoming and you smile, keeping a shrewd, wary eye on the baby — now staring at the egg canister with wondrous intent, reaching his stubby little hands out from his place clutched to your chest. Now there’s something to keep you occupied for the evening.

A hand on your shoulder, warm and light, and you turn around. Din tilts his head towards the door. “I’ll be going,” he says, barely a whisper past the lip of the helmet.

“What? Uh, Mando, hold on!” Halfway out of the chair already, you stare at him incredulously, before turning back to the expecting parents. “Just— Just a second, please. Could you take the baby?”

However disinclined she may be to your carnivorous terror, the Frog Woman takes him into her hands gently. She’s sweet, kind. You hope she understands the depths of your appreciation.

A polite nod from Din to the couple. “I’ll be back for them soon.”

He follows you into the narrow corridor. The door slides shut behind you both.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

You stare at him for a moment, tugging the edge of the towel at your shoulders. Your mouth opens and closes, faltering around words that don’t have the courage to form.

“I…” You deflate. “I just— I wanted to ask you that. Before you left.” It’s a foolish question. What’s wrong, like his entire way of life hasn’t been upended in a heartbeat by a careless show of face. Like the Way hasn’t just crumbled at his feet like wet sand, trodden on by three strange pairs of boots, scorched by familiar jetpack fuel.

He doesn’t say anything. No tilt of the helmet, no sinking shoulders. Nothing. Just keeps looking at you, visor tilted down to your face.

There’s a reasonable distance between you. Not professional by any stretch of the imagination, but enough for him to be comfortable in semi-public. The corridor is empty, and you can’t hear any footsteps.

Except Din’s, when he steps forward.

You feel your features soften in time with the pounding of your heart. “Din, love, please—”

He pulls you into his chest, plucking the wind from your lungs in a surprised, candied puff into the worn fabric of his cowl. His arms snake around you, securing you to his sturdy frame, and by reflex, yours mirror the movement on him. The helm’s hard, flat surface presses against the side of your head tightly; an anchor tugging on the seabed.

You feel him inhale, a ragged, rattling thing that has your stomach sinking. You only hear that sound when he’s injured, stumbling back to you with a bounty and a nasty, jagged stab wound or two. Only when he’s injured but oh, isn’t he?

It’s hard to tell how long you remain like that. Wrapped around and in between each other. Feeling each other breathe in and out, like the push and pull of the tides. It’s worth it, for the fading of tension in Din’s shoulders. Not removal. But an ebb for the flow. You’ll take it.

“There is a lot,” he rasps, modulated into your hairline. “You know that. And I can’t focus on what needs to be done if I think about it.” You feel him sigh, draping into your arms even further. “I can’t afford that.”

You try to keep your voice calm, soothing. To avoid the hot press of tears threatening to clog your throat. “Okay. That’s, that’s— Okay.”

You sound like a fool, parroting your own words. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Okay,” Din agrees. There is something shaky in his voice, and you would give anything to wrench it from his chest and throw it into that Maker-forsaken ocean. Let it drown for all you care.

For now, though, this is enough.

You move to step back, just a palm’s breadth away, and his arms unlock to let you do so immediately. His gloved hands slide down to nestle in the dip of your waist.

You look at Din consideringly, wondering if you could push for later. Later, to discuss the revelations he’s been bombarded with. Later, to talk about what you’re doing to do. Later, to finally get him to rest his weary bones.

Urgent, but. You decide to let him be. For now.

There’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask about anyway.

“So.” You smile wanly, treasuring the jewelled glint of beskar through the thinnest film of tears. “As a member of your clan, huh?”

Din sighs. Bracing, grounding. Returning to the present, where you’re just here to see him off. Where you have a baby waiting inside to keep from snacking on your hosts, and he has a hijacking to initiate. His fingers press tighter into your skin.

He appreciates the subject change.

“You already know my name,” he says quietly. Shrugs. “I’d say you know more about me than anyone else.”

You take a second to mull that over. Enjoy the taste of it in your mouth, the weight of it in your heart. He is such a precious thing to know.

Without thinking, the word leaves your lips in a bright gust of affection. “Same.” The helm tilts. “You know more about me than anyone else, too.”

He nods, a small, barely-there movement. More to himself than to you, you suspect.

“Good.”

Elastically, achingly slow, Din leans his head down. You lift yours up. When your warmed forehead meets beskar, a kiss from which you feel deprived, yet glutted, you’re inclined to agree.

“Stay safe,” you whisper. Your heart fogs and clouds on the metal, right above where his lips would be.

His thumb strokes across your waist. And you know he will.

——

[bl597]

Could you write a Fred Weasley imagine where he likes the reader but she’s Ron’ best friend along with Harry’s and Hermione. And he doesn’t want that because if there were to break up, he would have to pick a side. And he doesn’t want to pick between his brother and best friend.

hello, dear! 💞💞 of course i can!! hope you enjoy it and please forgive me for taking so long to post it!!

warnings: hell yes I finally finished it!! it's agnsty but a little fluffy I guess, fem!reader but nothing that could change the story (you can replace it with male/gender neutral pronouns), reader's the same age as the golden trio, not revised bc im lazy, english is not my first language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes!! requests are closed for a while!

my masterlist ♡

Ron had noticed it all before even you knew it; the way you and Fred looked at each other longer than friends should look at each other. Or how a blush painted both your faces whenever you were in the same room. Or how you always flirted. Or how you wouldn't shut up about each other for one bloody second. Or just how in love you seemed to be.

He hated it, honestly. You were his best friend and Fred was his brother, it was weird to even think about it. Besides, he didn't want it all to begin because if there is a break up, he would be forced to pick a side, and that was definitely not something he wanted to do.

The Yule Ball was a few months away and Fred had already tried to talk to Ron about asking you to go with him, and Ron always tried to find an excuse to avoid his brother. How was he supposed to say he wouldn't help him without looking like an idiot?

“You should tell him” he heard Hermione's voice as she entered the common room with you, both of you giggling.

“I think I'll just wait a little” you quietly said, sitting down in front of Harry and Ron. “Hi, boys”

“Hello” said Harry looking up from his Charms homework and smiling at you and Mione, who smiled back at the boy.

“Hi” Ron pushed the parchment and books aside with a loud groan, cursing Snape and Potions with all his heart and then turned to you two with furrowed brows. “What are you two talking about?”

Hermione giggled, wiggling her eyebrows at you with a small smirk while placing a book on top of the table and opening it. “(Y/n) is waiting for Freddie to ask her to the Yule Ball” she replied in a playful tone, which made you slap her armp lightly.

“What?!” Ron exclaimed, ears as red as his hair.

Everyone looked at him with a censorship look and his face became even redder as he apologized to the other people on the common room. He then looked at you again, eyes wide in surprise.

Okay, he did know you and Fred had feelings for each other, but he didn't think any of you would actually act on it. Hadn't Fred give up after all those miserable attempts to ask for Ron's opinion on how he should ask you out? Of course not, Fred doesn't give up so easily, Ron thought, mentally facepalming himself with a silent groan.

“Why Fred? There are a lot of other cool boys in the castle” he said in an almost accusing tone, which mad you frown. “I bet a lot of boys had asked you out already, you should go with one of them”

“I mean,” you shyly started, an almost invisible blush painting your cheeks “Finch-Fletchley had asked me to go to the Ball with him, but I said I needed to think about it and then I'd tell him.”

“Bullshit” Hermione added chuckling “You only said that because you were waiting for a certain redheaded Gryffindor to ask you out.”

You blushed a deep shade of red at her commentary, playfully rolling your eyes and she smirked. “Oh, hush, Granger”

~

“What are we doing?” Harry confusedly asked, almost running so he could catch Ron, who was going somewhere with heavy footsteps, ears red like their robes.

“Trying to find Fred” he replied and Harry almost didn't hear him, the noise in the corridors making it almost impossible to hear him.

Harry didn't ask anything else, deciding it would be better to just silently follow his best friend and see what he was up to. They didn't stop walking until they reached the Great Hall, where the twins and Lee Jordan were excitedly talking about a new prank.

“Fred Weasley!” he shouted, getting the attention of some other students that were calmly eating, now looking at him with furrowed brows. Harry quietly apologized to them before following Ron to were his brothers and Lee were.

“Hello, brother dearest. What do I own the honour of your visit?” Fred asked with a cheeky smile, drinking his pumpkin juice while looking at Ron, waiting for him to speak.

“You come with me. Now.” he said rather coldly, which made Fred get confused. They quietly left the Great Hall, leaving Harry, George and Lee curiously following them with their eyes as they disappeared from the Hall.

The two redheads kept walking around the castle's corridors, trying to find a place that wasn't occupied by the students. Ron stopped walking when he saw an empty corridor, and he quickly dragged Fred inside it with him, turning around to the older boy with arched brows and a I-know-all-your-sins look.

“I know what you're planning, and that won't happen” Ron finally said, crossing his arms over his chest “You won't ask (Y/n) to go to the Ball with you, okay?”

Then it all clicked on Fred's mind, a smirk immediately forming itself on his lips. “Awn, is Ickle Ronniekins jealous?” he mocked his younger brother, even though there was a hint of jealousy on his own voice.

“What? No!” Ron exclaimed, a blush painting his face and neck, the tip of his ears feeling and looking like it was on fire. “She's my best friend. And that's the problem”

“So, you want to ask her out?” Fred asked quietly whilst crossing his arms over his chest, proping up on the wall next to him. “You know I fancy her for a while, mate”

“Bloody hell! I do not want to ask her out!” Ron groaned, looking at Fred like it was the most obvious thing in the world “I just don't want you to do it, because then you two would start dating and I don't want that because if you two break up, I have to pick up a side, and I don't want to lose my brother or my best friend!”

Ron finally exploded, saying what was bothering him for the past months, and it felt like all the weight on his shoulders magically disappeared. He never felt so light like right now, it was a fantastic feeling. Fred was looking at him in shock, eyes wide open at his brother's words.

“Oh” was all Fred could say, his shoes suddenly being the most interesting thing he could lay his eyes on at the moment.

“Yeah” Ron replied quietly, an awkward silence between the two Weasleys, none of them knowing what to do or say right now. Ron then cleared his throat, getting Fred's attention. “I should go back now, Harry has lots of practice to do for the next task. Hm, see you around”

~

“You did what?!” Hermione incredulously asked, homework soon forgotten. You shushed her, trying to make her remember you were in the library. “Sorry, sorry. But why did you do that?” she finished her question, talking quieter than before.

“I said I'll go to the Ball with Justin” you shrugged as if it was nothing, turning your attention back to the piece of parchment in front of you, dipping the quill on the ink and continuing your essay about the Bezoar and its properties.

“But why? Weren't you planning on asking Fred?”

“Yeah, but the Ball is in two weeks and he already has a partner. Besides, Justin is cute, I should give him a chance, maybe” you simply replied, still focused on your essay.

She looked at you with furrowed brows, but decided not to say anything else and do her homework instead.

~

The night was fantastic, the Great Hall was decorated with beautiful winter ornaments, and a baby blue was painting the walls and tables. The students were gracefully dancing with their partners and even the teachers were dancing too. It all looked magical and like it just came straight from a fairytale.

“May I have this dance, Miss (Y/l/n)?” asked Justin playfully, extending his hand for you to take it and you gladly did with a smile.

“Yes, you may, Mr Finch-Fletchley” you replied, letting him lead you to the dance floor.

This song was slower than the last one, which meant you'd have to be closer to each other. He shyly placed his hand on your hip after asking if you were comfortable with that, taking your right hand in his as you placed your left one on his shoulder. You then started slow dancing to the song on the background, the other couples doing the same on the Hall.

It was nice to spend time with him, you two surprisingly had a lot of things in common and the silence between you two wasn't awkward or weird, it was actually nice and comfortable, but something was missing.

He didn't make fun remarks about professor Snape's I-was-forced-to-be-here face, or jokes about Ron awkwardly dancing with Padma Patil, or about anything else. He was amazing, but he wasn't Fred.

You felt bad for accepting going out with Justin as a 'second option', but it was not like you were using him.. right? Fred was going with someone else, so you found other person to go with. It's fair, right? Besides, it could happen anyways; not everything in life happens the way we all want to, or else it would be really boring. Shrugging those thoughts out of your head, you focused on your partner again, moving your body with his as you two danced the night away.

It was around midnight when the students started leaving the Great Hall, and you were one of those students. You were planning on going to your dorm and sleep like a baby until tomorrow, but decided against it and went to the courtyard, where a very few people were.

The night breeze was cold and the snow was adorning the ground and shrubs around the courtyard. The sky was dark and the stars were brightly shining on it, the moonlight illuminating all the place. It was a very lovely night.

You then caught sight of a small bench away from the kissing teenagers and headed to it, brushing the snow out of it before sitting down. You were just enjoying the fresh air after being at the Ball for the last hours. It's not like you didn't like it, it was the total opposite of it, you loved the night and the Ball was perfect, you just needed some time away from the crowd.

“Shouldn't you be at your dorm?” you heard a very familiar voice from behind you, which made you jump a little, quickly looking at the voice's owner with a smile.

It was Fred. He was still wearing the clothes he wore earlier, his hair was covering half of his face, but it was still clear he was with a silly smile on his lips. That made you smile too.

“Shoudn't you be at your dorm?” you replied with his own question, raising a brow at his with a small smirk.

“Now you got me” he joked, sitting down next to you on the bench. “Didn't feel like sleeping yet. You?”

“Same” you quietly said, looking at the night sky. “So, where's Angelina?”

“At the Gryffindor common room, I guess” he replied after a little while, turning to look at you. “And where's Finch-Fletchley?” his voice carried a bit of annoyance at the mention of the Hufflepuff boy's name.

“Dancing with a Beauxbatons girl” you giggled as you remembered Justin clumsily dancing with a girl who was taller than him “He really has lots of energy and I was tired of dancing, so he kind of found another partner”

He nodded quietly, still focused on you. You flushed red when you noticed he had been watching you for a few minutes, suddenly feeling your cheeks burning under his deep stare.

“You know, we learnt how to read the stars in Astronomy” Fred spoke with a serious expression, and you turned all your attention to him, eager to hear the rest. It was no surprise you always loved Astronomy and were more than excited to learn more and more about it. “And these starts are telling me something, something really important”

You gasped, eyes widened as you attentively listened to every word that left his mouth. “What is it, Freddie?”

He inched closer to you, to the point where your noses were almost touching and your breath hitched, anxiously awaiting for his answer while trying your hardest not to blush even more because of how close his lips were to yours.

“They say you should kiss me.” he said with a cheeky smile, watching in amusement as your face became redder than his hair. “The stars never lie”

With a confident smirk, you closed the gap between you two, softly placing your lips on his in a short peck that soon became an actual kiss, your mouths moving in sync with each other, tongues gracefully dancing together inside your mouths as your hands flew to his face, cupping his cheeks in order to deepen the kiss.

You pulled apart minutes later, gasping for air. Both your faces were a shade of dark pink, both from the kiss and from the freezing breeze assaulting your bodies. You could still feel the ghost of Fred's soft lips hovering over yours, and it was a deliciously confusing feeling. The kiss made you feel warm inside and it lit things up on you that made you feel happy and light.

But at the same time, it just felt so wrong to do it. It was like a guilty pleasure, even though you didn't exactly know why you felt guilty. Maybe it was because you two already had partners and it would be a little unfair of your parts to do it? Or maybe was it because deep down you knew it just felt wrong because kissed your best friend's brother? You couldn't really point out what was it, but it left a weird feeling inside your chest.

“I'm sorry” you said in a weak voice, barely over a whisper. What exactly you were apologizing for you didn't know, but it felt like the right thing to do at the moment.

“I wanted to ask you to go to the Ball with me” he quietly admitted and you frowned at him.

“Why didn't you do it then?”

“I promised Ron I wouldn't” you opened your mouth to ask why, but he continued speaking “He said that if we start dating and then break up, he would have to choose between you and me, and he doesn't want that. I felt like it would be a little selfish of me if I asked you out after he told me that, so I came with Angelina.”

Oh. So that was why Ron was acting weird when Hermione mentioned you going out with Fred. You couldn't blame him for it, I mean, you would feel the same if one of your best friends started dating your brother or sister. It was weird to feel like this.

But, wasn't it a little bit selfish of Ron? Like, okay, he doesn't want to pick a side, but doesn't he want you to be happy? What if the relationship lasts for a long time? What if you don't break up and actually be happy with each other? You wouldn't know, because Ron was afraid of the 'what if they break up' part. It actually angered you a little bit.

“What if it goes fine, Fred?” your question finally broke the silence, voice soft and weak as it left your mouth. His eyes turned to you, his warm brown eyes examining every detail of your face. “We wouldn't know because we didn't even try.”

“We could try” he said, a genuine small smile on his lips as he took your hands in his, squeezing them softly in a reassuring way.

“Let's talk about this tomorrow, okay? It's already late” you replied quietly, giving his cheek a kiss before getting up. “Good night, Freddie.”

And then you headed to inside the castle to go to your common room, leaving Fred sitting there alone. You felt bad for leaving right now, but you just needed to think about it and sleep. You could talk about it in the morning.

~

taglist ♡

@bwitchd @fific7 @iamak20 @msmimimerton @grierpilots @idontknowwhatthisisfam @imseeinggred @kashishwrites @tsuukichan @mischiefsemimanaged @just-a-dreamer23

[americancowgirl19]

Loving them Both - Part Two

Summary: Michael finds out about God’s betrayal. Y/n vows to stay by his side no matter what.

Warnings: Fluff, angst,

*Please read!* Reader: I wrote this with the idea of the reader being a female but there’s no pronouns used so it can be read as a gender neutral reader.

Pairings: Adam Milligan/ Archangel Michael x Reader

Word Count: 2,421

A/n: So, here’s part two. As I was writing this I had a few ideas for a part three... So, if you guys like the first part and this one and would like a part three, let me know!

Part One

Masterlist

The longer Adam and Michael stayed out the more nervous I got. I vaguely knew who he was with and what I did know about them didn’t help settle my nerves. I was starting to regret convincing them to go talk to Castiel.

My eyes snap towards the door when I hear someone knocking. I instantly smile and practically dash towards it. My hand freezes just before it touches the knob. A thought crosses my mind.

Michael has a key.

Slowly, I lower my hand. My heart drops in disappointment but I remain alert wondering who exactly is behind the door. Leaning forward, I look through the peephole and see a large man. I don’t recognize him at first but then recall a photograph I had seen a while ago. A photograph of Adam’s brother’s.

I don’t know why Dean Winchester is standing on my doormat nor do I know how he figured out where I lived. I do know, however, that he isn’t someone I should trust blindly. While from what I can tell from Adam’s stories the Winchesters try their best in any given situation, I also know that people tend to get hurt around them.

Castiel shows up at the diner demanding to talk to Michael. Michael goes and has been gone for hours. Now, Dean is showing up on my doorstep. I didn’t like any of this.

I remain silent hoping that he would just go away. However, I quickly caught on that it was just wishful thinking when the doorknob began to jiggle. Looking through the peephole again, I notice Dean trying to pick the lock.

Cursing under my breath, I quickly move away from the door. While I did rely heavily on Michael and Adam to keep me safe, I lived a large portion of my life without either of them by my side. It wasn’t the best point in my life but I do know how to protect myself.

By the time Dean managed to get in, I was hiding in a nook in the wall. I could see Dean but he couldn’t see me. He stepped inside silently. It was slightly impressive how quiet he was being despite how large and tall he is.

I watched as he walked around the apartment looking for something. I had a hunch that that something was me. He walked near me. When he turned his back to me, I raised my Beretta 9mm and pulled the hammer back. The movement of the hammer is the only sound in the apartment. Dean instantly tenses. I assume this is a sound he is very familiar with.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that you’re Y/n,” Dean says slowly lifting his hands. I hum in response. Dean slowly turns around and I come out of the nook. I make sure to keep my distance while keeping my gun trained on him. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” He reassures me. I smirk.

“Does it look like I’m scared of you?” I ask lifting an eyebrow.

“Fair enough,” Dean nods. “I’m Dean,”

“I know,” I respond shortly. “What I don’t know is why you’re here,”

“I’m gonna ask that you come with me,” Dean says. I adjust my grip on the gun. Deans eyes flicker to it before looking back at me. “It’s about Michael,” My stance tenses.

“You better start making sense or I’m gonna shoot you and find him myself,” I tell him. Dean shifts in his spot and clears his throat.

“Look, I can explain everything on the way back to the bunker,” I raise an eyebrow. “That’ where Michael is. I’ll take you to him,” He promises. I eye him cautiously.

“I’m keeping the gun,” I say slowly lowering it. Dean nods as he lowers his heads. “What’s going on?” I ask as I follow him out of the apartment.

“How much time do you have?” He laughs a bit tensely.

By the time Dean had filled me in on everything I needed to know we were almost to the bunker. I sat in silence as I absorbed all the information he had told me. I didn’t like anything he had to say but the truth is rarely comforting.

“Are you the same Y/n that knew Adam before-”

“Before he was killed by ghouls?” I cut him off. Dean shifted in his seat and didn’t respond. “Yeah, I knew him then,” I told him softly. “Back when everything was much simpler.” I whisper looking out the window.

“Were you uh... together... then?” Dean asks. I turn my head back to him.

“Why do you care?” I ask frowning my eyebrows.

“Just trying to understand,”

“Understand what?” I press.

“My brother’s situation,” Dean says glancing at me.

“Oh, so now you care about Adam’s situation?” I ask tilting my head. Dean sighs gripping the steering wheel. I find enjoyment in the way he squirms uncomfortably. “Yes, we were together before he died. Yes, we’re together now,”

“Even with Michael?” Dean asks and I smirk a bit.

“Especially, with Michael,” I tell him. Dean sits in silence, his mind reeling. I slowly look away from him and out the window.

“Wait,” Dean whispers before his head snaps to me. “Are you... with them both?” 

“Well, aren’t you a smart one,” I smirk looking at him again. “Did you come to that conclusion all on your own?” I patronize. Dean ignores my tone as he tries to get over the shock of the new information.

“How does that even work?” Dean asks in utter confusion.

“Well, we a girl and a guy love each other they-”

“I get that, smartass,” Dean grumbles causing me to laugh.

“It just works, Dean,” I tell him. I glance down at my left hand where my engagement ring rest on my finger. “I love Adam, I always have. Michael is apart of Adam now. At first I just had to accept him because I wanted Adam. But before I knew it, I loved Michael as well. Love isn’t complicated. We just love each other and we just work,” Dean hums wordlessly.

I smile thinking back to when both Adam and Michael proposed. They had continuously switched taking control throughout their little speech. They promised to protect and love me forever and I promised the same. The year without Adam weren’t the brightest. However, when I got him back and fell in love with Michael, the moments we shared shined brighter than any other memory. I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, imagine my life with someone else.

“After everything Adam and Michael have been through, they deserve uncomplicated and unconditional love.” I tell him. Dean glances at me and then down at the ring.

“Yeah,” He mutters looking back at the road. “Does Adam ever... say anything about Sam and I?”

“He’s mentioned you two a few times,” I say. Dean glances to me again. “Dean, when this is over. Promise me that you and Sam will leave us alone,” I say shifting to face him a bit more. “I understand that in your line of work, you and Sam have to make hard decisions. I understand your side but that doesn’t change the fact that both Adam and Michael were left in the Cage for years.” Dean holds my gaze for a moment before looking back to the road. “They’ve been through enough. When you get what you need, let them go. Please,”

“Wow, nice setup,” I compliment as Dean leads me into the bunker. He grumbles a response while leading me to where Michael and Adam are.

“Dean,” A rough voice calls out. The both of us look. Castiel then looks towards me and Dean follows his gaze.

“Maybe Y/n can convince him,” Dean suggests before looking back at the angel. Castiel looks conflicted but nods. Dean motions for me to follow him.

“Michael,” I whisper the instant I see him. His head instantly snaps towards me.

“Y/n,” He whispers standing up. His eyes then go to Dean and they narrow. I ignore the look on Michael’s face and quickly walk up to him. Right before I can hug him he lifts his arms up giving me clear access to his abdomen seeing that his wrists are handcuffed together. I hug him tightly and he circles his arms around me trapping me in his embrace. 

“I was worried about you,” I whisper to him. “I didn’t think you would be gone for so long,”

“Neither did I,” Michael whispers back leaning his head against mine. The longer my arms are around him the more he seems to relax. “Did they hurt you?” He asks eyeing Dean who stands by the door.

“No,” I mutter hugging him tighter. I burry my head into his neck and gently kiss his skin. “They brought me to talk to you,” Michael tightens his arms as best as he can. I can instantly sense something is off. “What’s wrong, baby?” I ask pulling my head back enough to look into his eyes. I slowly massage his lower back as he presses his head against mine. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. “It’s ok,” I whisper kissing his cheek. “I’m here... I’ve got you,” i whisper.

“God lied to me,” Michael whispers to me. My hands graze along his side and come to his chest. “I gave everything for him. I loved him,” Michael opens his eyes and my heart clenches at the heartbroken look. “Why?” He asks hugging me closer. “I’m not even the only Michael,”

“You’re the only Michael I care about,” I tell him. “The only one I love,” Michael looks into my eyes before moving his head to the crook of my neck. “I don’t know why God does the things he does. He doesn’t deserve you. I can’t change what he’s done and I won’t be able to change whatever he will do but I can tell you this, Michael. I will love you to the end of my days and even then I will continue to love you in death, for all eternity.”

My hands slighter up and around his neck. My fingers thread through his hair comfortingly. My other hand gently rubs between his shoulder blades.

“I love you so much, Michael,” I whisper to him.

“What do I do?” He asks lifting his head. I look into his eyes while massaging the back of his neck. “Tell me what to do,” I force a smile.

I never hated God before but in this moment I loathed everything about him. I hated how he could knock my strong and powerful archangel down to this lost and broken boy in front of me. I hated how Michael gave his entire life trying to please God only for him to kick Michael to the side like he didn’t matter. 

“I wish I could,” I whisper. “But I can’t. What you do next is entirely up to you. If you want to fight God, I’ll support you in anyway I can. If you want to run, I’ll run with you. Whatever you do, Michael, you are not alone. You will always have Adam and you will always have me,” I promise.

“I don’t know how I can truly hate him when I have you, his most beautiful creation, in my arms,” Michael whispers kissing my forehead lightly. I smile resting my head on his shoulder. “I love you, Y/n. All I want is for you to be safe and happy,”

“I’m both of those things when I’m with you,” I whisper nuzzling my head against him.

“You’re all I truly need,” He tells me.

“And I’m right here,” I smile looking into his eyes. “Not even God himself can take me away,” He smiles kissing my cheek lightly. Reluctantly, I duck under his tethered hands but I remain close to him. He turns his attention to Dean and Castiel.

“Yes, I will help you,” Michael decides. “What was done in the darkness can be done to God, if he’s as weak as you say. And I know how,” Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a folded piece of paper. “That’s the spell,” Castiel grabs it.

“And the ingredients?”

“Myrrh, cassia, rockrose,” Michael lists.

“We’ve got that,” Dean mentions.

“And, to bind the spell together, the nectar from the Leviathan blossom,”

“A Leviathan blossom? What is that, like a flower?” Dean questions.

“A flower that only grows in one place. Purgatory.” Raising his hands, Michael snaps his fingers creating a yellow portal. “That’s the door. It’ll remain open for 12 hours. Now, it you’ll please,” He raises his hands. Dean pulls out the key and steps forward.

“You coming with us?” Dean asks taking the cuffs off. Michael’s hand instantly finds mine.

“No,” He says intertwining our fingers. In a blink of an eye, Michael grabs a fist full of his shirt causing Castiel to tense. “If you so much as approach Y/n again, I’ll smite you,” Michael promises. Dean raises his hands in surrender.

“Michael,” I whisper kissing his shoulder. The archangel releases Dean. “Let’s go home,” He looks to me before nodding. He pulls me towards the door but Dean speaks up.

“Before you go, can I talk to him?” Dean asks. Michael pauses for a moment before looking into my eyes. I watch as Michael withdraws and Adam comes through. I smile and gently caress the side of his face.

“Hi, baby,” I whispers gently rubbing his cheekbone with my thumb. Adam leans into my touch before turning his head and kissing the inside of my palm. His gives our connected hands a gentle squeeze before turning to his half brother.

“Yeah?”

“Adam, I want you to know that we are sorry,” Dean says sincerely. I hug Adam’s arm in an attempt to comfort him knowing that this confrontation isn’t easy. “What happened to you... You’re a good man. You didn’t deserve that,” Adam looks at Dean for a moment before smiling sadly, tears brimming his eyes.

“Since when do we get what we deserve?” He asks. Dean presses his lips together. Adam clings to my hand as he tries to hold himself together. “Good luck,” He tells them before pulling me out of the bunker.

“You doing ok, baby?” I ask when we finally make it back to the apartment. Adam closes the door and hugs me tightly. “I love you,” I whisper. “Both of you,”

“We love you too, baby,” Adam whisper holding me even tighter.

[jostepherjoestar]

I remember someone suggesting about the La Squadra child being Abbacchio or Mista’s nephew/niece and I was wondering if it’s ok to ask how would (I’m gonna go with Abbacchio) react to that?. Maybe before joining the kid was just a above average intelligent child but was still normal and now Abbacchio is confused as to why their stoic, cold and with a group of assassins.

La Squadra Kid backstory and relation to Abbacchio + general HC’s

Thank you so much for asking this, I’ve been meaning to summarise their backstory and how they ended up with La Squadra! This will be kind of emotional since it’s bit tragic imo. There’s also going to be some HC’s about our little bud so you can all get a feel at how I see them 😊

Long post!

CW: heavier subjects such as trauma, not fun situations for a kid to be in and usual gang related violence, mentions of abortion and mental illness

General HC’s

I’ve always imagined them to be around 7 to 8 years old, but unfortunately due to all that’s happened, their mind has been forced to mature a lot faster. Of course they should have never had to go through that but life isn’t that simple, especially for them.

Their name is Pomo, like an apple or a pommel :) thought it was a fitting and cute name! I’ll still refer to them as La Squadra Kid in titles but opt for Pomo while writing.

Pomo is not that tall for their age, just cute lil bean with puffy cheeks! I’ve decided to keep Pomo’s pronouns neutral, it just seemed to click more.

As far as their personality goes it’s been fun discovering them through your asks! Pomo is a quiet and stoic kid, they don’t smile that often but that doesn’t mean they’re not enjoying themselves.

They love drawing things as a way to express their feelings or the things they like. It’s a lot easier than verbally communicating for them. They’ll say what they need with the least amount of words necessary.

They’ve developed a weird sense of humour, very dry I’d say lol, also thinks it’s funny to scare Ghiaccio, who they know secretly likes them.

Pomo is quite independent and goes out by themselves, their stand is very powerful and kinda scary, even to their colleagues so they can handle any trouble coming their way. Pomo is slowly learning that they don’t need to do everything alone (i.e. asking for company after nightmares)

Though going out alone can result in people turning Pomo away in shops, that’s why Melone is their choice to bring along so it’s not weird a kid is just out alone spending money.

They’re also very glad to do tasks or things the others ask of them, they crave harmony and peace at home so Pomo will try to help achieve that in any way possible (unfortunately this is a result of trauma).

Pomo really likes La Squadra and sees them as their family now, knowing what member is better at offering different types of things and who to turn to for specific needs.

Their stand’s is named My Way (マイウェイ) after the Frank Sinatra song. It fits quite nicely imo, a force to be reckoned with doing it on their own terms.

And lastly, they do not like hugs or being touched that much. They’ll allow hand holding but only if they’re in a good mood, quick head pats are also ok. It really is touch and go with them, Pomo will let you know when they don’t like something.

Backstory and relation to Abbacchio

The world moved in a blur, the two lines on every single pregnancy test strewn out before her like nails getting hammered into her coffin. Suffocating while it was lowered into the ground, scratching and screaming for air, nails bloodied and raw as the reality set in that she was unmistakably pregnant. The panic followed, clenching her chest like a vice, threatening to shatter her heart and lungs in the process, gasping for air and wishing any other truth than this one. Abbacchio’s older sister wept for days, dark circles alternating with red swollen puffiness as the life she’d just started on her own already began to crumble.

The father of her child taking his exit as soon as she confessed her situation, knowing before she’d even tell him that he’d swiftly let her suffer in the mess. The thought of looking a doctor in the eyes, the cruel conversations she would have to endure before they’d let her suffer in uncertainty of the fate of her unborn child, making her choose to just endure it instead. Not that the choice would offer a softer outcome, it was her burden to bare, she thought. Whatever horrible things she’s done to receive such heartless judgement never occurred to her. The only thing the young woman was convinced of, is that she whole heartedly deserved it.

Her younger brother, growing up to be an impressionable adolescent, unsure how to care for his beloved sibling. His eyes always so full of innocent wonderment at his older sister, wanting to become as brave and independent as her. Living alone, working strenuous hours as if only this would make him worthy of the meagre salary of a rookie police officer. Slowly but surely he saw the woman he so admired creep away as her belly grew larger each month. Coming by often to check up on her wellbeing after school, spending nights or even weeks so he’d be by her side. All the while finishing up in high school. As his sister’s expression grew darker, the smiles fading and her laughter but a distant memory Leone Abbacchio could do nothing but stand by and let her lean on him.

The meagre support their parents could offer did little too ease her mind, the reality of becoming a mother and having nothing but emptiness to offer her child digging her ever deeper into the darkness that consumed her. She sobbed the day her child was born, little Pomo’s big eyes asking her if she was even worthy to hold the small babe. Every look at the child reminding her she had already failed, not even able to comfort their cries before feedings. Incapable of shushing them and finding the strength to coo at those tiny hands that ached to play and accept the warm touch of a caregiver. The young mother did what she needed, feeding the child and changing diapers. The depth of her troubles never easing as she had to go back to work, two different jobs needed to support herself and Pomo.

Abbacchio offered what he could, often babysitting and spending weekends at his sister’s cramped apartment. A child taking care of an even smaller one. The hope he held that his sister would regain her previous lust for life faltered. It only seemed to worsen as Pomo grew. The child never overtly fussed or cried, sleeping soundly and cooing gently whenever hungry. Those big eyes always seeming to bore straight through whoever leaned over the basinet to admire them. The child’s mother wished for it all to end, every night she’d pray to any god who would hear her desperate calls. But as she did only further hurting herself, her pleading like whips claiming penitence on her heavy shoulders.

She begged her younger brother to go out and make his dreams come true. “Never let your resolve falter Leone. Ever.” The voice that brought him courage, the broken woman’s words reminding him of the image he so admired once. But in pursuing his career as an officer it would mean less and less time to care for his dwindling sister and her child.

The night she told him the sisters of their local convent would relieve her of her child, the young officer held his sister for hours. The tears they cried filling an endless well of sorrow. It hadn’t brought the relief she thought she would feel, not a feather lighter as her child would be in more capable hands. Caregivers who weren’t afraid to look the toddler in the eyes as they searched your very soul for meaning. At merely four years old dear Pomo lay gently asleep in a different cot, in a stony building smelling of earth, heated by creaky copper pipes while sisters prayed in unison with beaded necklaces intertwining their palms. Praying for deliverance.

Abbacchio came by whenever he could, becoming more and more weary of his actions and the people he swore to protect as his career started to lack the fervour it had when he started out. Seeing Pomo grow into a silent and demure child, laconically learning to read and write, quietly pleading the sisters not to let their touch on their skin linger. Every stroke burning with an unknown memory that someone once held them, just once and decided to never do it again. Their very skin warding off any unwanted contact without even knowing why. A locked memory with a firm grasp on their being.

“Never let your resolve falter, Pomo. Ever.” The last words spoken to the small child before leaving. The lonely child left in the suffocating confines of the convent. Their uncle wouldn’t return for a long time, days spent hoping to see a sliver of his stark hair and bright eyes that had seemed to dull over time. But the child would never forget those words. Not even as the head sister punished them for not answering when spoken to, not when she would order them to remain on the prayer bench for hours as punishment, knees aching to settle as they were forced to remain. Their eyes boring through the other sisters as they came and joined them at their usual hours of worship.

Restraining the stand they were born with from acting out, self control being trained as they kept going, determined to let their uncle’s last words not be wasted on them. In the free time Pomo was allowed, they’d test out whatever the ghostly figure could, standing taller than them with thick black fog-like tentacles resting behind their back. Whatever those touched seemed to shrivel up like roses in wintertime. Pomo was intelligent, interested in more subjects than just his schooling that only seemed to bore them. The ease of the material offering no challenge as they completed tests with full marks, only making the head sister grow suspicious of them and unleashing more punishment.

Men in extravagant suits would visit the convent every so often, hushed whispers as they walked by the child who’d stoically stare as they passed. They’d always ignore them, scared of the glare and aura the child had started emitting. Many of the sisters had rejected the offer to tutor them when the previous one excused herself, feeling too uneasy by Pomo’s being. It didn’t hurt them, they just kept on doing what the sisters asked of them. Stay tidy, study and don’t get in their way. They had accepted their silence and aversion to touch, growing scared to try anything after the entire courtyard greenery was found shrivelled and dead mid spring. Every freshly planted flower grey and sad, the grass as crunchy as if it had just been burned to ashes. Pomo was sat comfortably on the stone bench that was placed there to admire the garden’s beauty. It wasn’t that they wanted it to happen. Someone just came too close and made them panic, not that it was clear to the sister that accidentally grabbed their shoulders while moving past them, the child remained calm, instead letting their stand take care of the burning sensation that crept over their body.

It was one of those days where a well dressed man would come by and whisper secretively with the sisters as they strode towards a private room and remained there until it was time to leave in an equal hurry. But this time a relaxed gentleman stepped out of the room with a large huff, stretching his neck and groaning loudly as he did. The taps of his heeled shiny shoes echoed through the stony arches of the hallway that led to the courtyard where Pomo had been toying a blade of grass between their fingers. Intensely staring at the green colour that stained his pads while their stand loomed over them freely. As the steps drew nearer, the child paid them no mind, instead grabbing a new blade and continuing the process all over. Soft padded steps made their way over casually until a large shadow covered Pomo. Hands rested in his pocked while his arms pushed back the sides of the loose suit jacket. The cigarette dangling from his lips bobbing after he took another intoxicating drag, puffing out the air harshly while peering at the kid.

“And who might you two be?” The man sunk down to a crouch, inspecting a small daisy that stuck out between the sea of green blades. “Pomo.” The child stopped rolling the tuft of grass as they processed his words. Two. Never had they met another who could see the figure that was their only friend. Unsure if the man posed a threat, he exuded a certain cocky confidence they weren’t sure they liked. “Nice to meet you Pomo. That other one looks a bit scary, don’t you think? But then again, you must be too. D’you mind showing me what they can do?” Offering a gentle chuckle as he gently pried, curious to see what this lonesome child could do, never having witnessed someone so young possessing a stand. It sure peaked the man’s interest as he twirled the daisy between his digits.

The amount of precision they possessed shocked him as the daisy was shot with a quick tap of a foggy black tentacle. It crumbled under his pads as he pressed it, letting it fall back onto the earth. Impressed by the ability and thoroughly interested in what it could do for him, the man proceeded. “Have you even killed someone with that?” There was no need to beat around the bush, that much was obvious when the child never seemed to have moved from their position, merely staring at the ground before them. A slow methodical dark tendril crept towards the man, stopping an inch before his polished shoe. Pomo turned their gaze upwards now, offering a look so unreadably neutral it made the man’s heart beat faster in fear, his many years in Passione not having prepared him to face another that lacked fear as much as the child in front of him. “Do you like it here, Pomo?”

A proposal started taking form in the man’s head, one he’d have to discus with his boss before acting on it. “No.” Clear as a bell their voice made a sinister hope grow, a hope that it would only take as little as just asking them to join up with Passione to get his desired answer. As an Advisor he’d have little hurdles in his way before bringing up the idea to his boss, being one of the only few allowed to even directly communicate with the mysterious man. “You seem fearless, to an unsettling degree, kid. If I asked you to kill a guy, would you?” Somehow the direct communication had been the most pleasant conversation Pomo has had in a few years, be it of a morally ambiguous subject, but refreshing to have another respect their space and not be afraid to ask what they desired of them.

“Are they bad?” The amount of troubling honesty behind the child’s harsh gaze making the man believe he’d met his fate, it had been like Pomo was asking if he deserved to live another moment, their stand still remaining at the tip of his shoe. “Not in their own opinion.” Clearing his throat to regain any sort of confidence, the kid’s eyes skipping through the pages of his soul, weighing his sins and good deeds. In reality they were doing no such thing, only weighing their options, grown tired of the convent and its inhabitants, aching to find any sort of family or support without even knowing it. “Ok.” As they gave their answer they chose to retract their stand, ending the conversation without another word. The Advisor’s sigh of relief deeper than any he had before, glad to be able to continue living.

The Boss was feeling generous, letting his Advisor know that placing the child amongst the men of La Squadra Esecuzioni could serve them well, perhaps make them regain any semblance of respect in the organisation. Opting out of putting their deadly stand in his personal Unità Speciale, fearing the effects of Cioccolata or Secco would build a threat larger than himself. Pomo agreed immediately, knowing it would be best to leave the sisters behind to pray for the child’s deliverance. Making their own money, be it a scanty salary, living with a group of other misfits and taking care of jobs here and there did not sound like the worst future for them. The sisters, terrified at the transfer, having no clue what the mafia would even want with the child, did not let the only person on the outside that cared for them know about the move. Too afraid of the consequences.

But after joining with Bucciarati, Abbacchio held great shame, afraid to face his sister’s child with those eyes that understood too much at such a young age. Fearing any visit would involve them with the tricky business he got entangled in, the little one becoming a distant and painful memory. If only he knew.

Further events take place after part 5 where everyone survives and La Squadra works under Don Giovanna. At Risotto’s request Pomo was left out of the fights regarding Trish and the Bucci gang.

While out with Melone to buy some more markers, Abbacchio felt like he’d seen a ghost. The familiar figure of his sister’s child standing next to a Passione assassin Bruno had fought not that long ago while he excitedly pointed out stuffed animals through the toyshop’s window. “Pomo?” Abbacchio had crept closer, carefully assessing if it were smart to approach. Melone had turned before Pomo could, eyeing the familiar gangster before him. “What do you need with Pomo?” Melone’s features hardened into a scowl while searching for their hand. All Pomo could do was stare up at their uncle they hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“What’s going on, is everything alright Pomo?” That deep voice reminding them of when he last visited, the voice that told them to never let their resolve falter, ever. “First of all, answer my question. What do you want with them?” Melone stepped forward, never one to initiate conflicts but needing an explanation as to why Leone Abbacchio knew their teammate that had explicitly never been in contact with his side of Passione. “That’s my sister’s kid. Step down you idiot. I’m not here to start shit. Now answer me; what are they doing with you?” Abbacchio growled back at the lithe man, searching Pomo’s eyes for an answer. “Pomo is part of our team. Been so for almost a year now.” He calmed down as he remembered all the fond memories they’d made together, even after the horrible fights with the other gangster’s team.

The amount of shock and confusion Abbacchio felt was immeasurable. After many “what”’s and “how”’s Melone calmly explained that Pomo had quite the powerful stand and still wanted to be part of their squad. “We ask every once in a while if they still want this. Never said no so far.” Melone practically beamed, the other man still trying to process the explanation. Pomo quickly understood their uncle’s position as well, clearly another member of Passione as they connected the dots. That small kid has never hurt anyone -that he knew of- and now they’re an assassin already in possession of a stand? What the actual fuck. His knees began to feel weak, looking for support as he slid down the toyshop’s windowsill. “I’m sorry.” Hands scrambling at his scalp while he stared at the ground, despair filling every inch of his being. Another person he cared about thrown into the complicated landscape of Passione.

The little one reached out their hand at the man that had meant so much to them, one of the only ones to ever offer the child any semblance of a connection. Until Pomo met their new family. A soft pat on the uncle’s platinum strands, grazing the man’s overworked hands. Melone felt his intrusion, staring off into the crowd as he kept some distance, sure to be within ample reach; should anything happen.

Abbacchio had grown so much, learned that his life was worth living. Following his sisters’s advice to strengthen his resolve and to never let it falter like he did before joining Passione. But this one memory, this one being of the past had made its way back. The child he so lovingly took care of and the pain he felt to have left them behind crashing through him as he sat there. Remembering his capo’s words, his kindness and that look of care and understanding making him reach up to the little hand. Memories of them fussing over touches reminding him a hug wasn’t possible. As his eyes met Pomo’s, the ones that always understood the ones they looked in but never let you know what was being kept behind their own. “I’m sorry for leaving you.” He uttered, the small hand getting enveloped in his bigger ones, begging them for forgiveness. “I’ve missed you.” the child spoke, their expression ever unchanging as Abbacchio felt tears flood his eyes and spill onto his cheeks. The purple haired man that had been following along from a distance couldn’t help but blink away his feelings, pitying the small one.

“Never let your resolve falter.” Pomo repeated. The words they’d clung to, any semblance of purpose all pinned on the only advice they’ve ever received. “Ever.” Abbacchio replied, squeezing the small hand between his before wiping away the tears, his actions were forgiven but not forgotten. “Are you ready, kid?” Melone stepped back into reach, offering a hand to the man he’d called an enemy not too long ago, helping him up. A quick nod from the child, a sliver of relief finally being felt, their uncle was still safe and alive. “You know where to find us. Don’t hesitate to come.” Waving goodbye as they entered the store, Melone offering as much assurance he could muster for his now-colleague. But mostly in awe of the child’s strength, they really were something else, huh.

[reluctant-mandalore]

Make-Up Cuddles (Paz Vizsla x Reader)

Prompt: Make-Up Cuddles - Cuddling which occurs after a fight between the couple!

Warnings: angst, fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort (emotional), couple fighting/arguments, keldabe kiss, cuddles, Paz is a bit mean but he softens quickly, not beta read

Word Count: 1836

Paring: Paz Vizsla x gn!Reader (readers gender is not specified/uses gender neutral pronouns)

a/n: Hey everyone! This was done for my 900 followers celebration. We’re literally double that many followers, but I can’t finish off the celebration until I’ve done a cuddle prompt at least once. So please consider sending one in! It’s the only requests I’ll be accepting while requests are closed. 

Anyway, in this one you and Paz do fight (like an argument), but its not specified what you’re arguing about. It’s not a heavy fight or anything, you only get the last bit of it before it turns to pure cuddly fluff. 

“Well maybe you should go then! Just leave!”

The two of you stared at each other with heated gazes, his angry words still lingering in the air. Every breath that had left you was heavy, your chest rising and falling more noticeably with each intake. The air in the room felt thick with anger, feeling almost suffocating the longer you both stared at one another. You didn’t even know what the two of you were still fighting about by this point. Everything had become a blur the more you both argued. Emotions and logic all merging into one cloud of frustration and fury.

The two of you hadn’t ever fought like this before, no silly argument or disagreement could even compare to the yelling match you just had with each other. It had been mean and almost cruel, like the both of you were enemies rather than two lovers having a little spat. Each of you having said things that hurt one another to the core and sending stinging pains along your emotional wounds. Things you both never imagined possible, but somehow still managed to say in the heat of the moment anyway.

Paz had kept his solid stance the entire time. His arms crossed and muscles tense, as he held his unwavering gaze with your own. The anger that continued flow from him was unrelenting and made his presence become overpowering all too quickly. If you were anyone else, you would have felt fear standing before the large man, his aura having the ability to send even the bravest of people running. Instead though, you had felt another bubble of fury ignite within you at the sight of it, another annoyance over the whole ordeal added to the list.

“You want me to leave? That’s what you said right?” The words had left you sharply, like a blade cutting through the air, and leaving both of you shocked at the weight of them. The reminder of his own words causing a twisting ache in both of your hearts. You had quickly recovered though, not willing to let him see the pain you were feeling in the moment, “Then I’ll leave, Vizsla.”

Paz’s shoulders had even shifted with unease at hearing his surname leave you in that way. He had never heard you talk to him in such an angry voice. And for the first time since the fight had started, he looked away from you, unable to meet your furious gaze. No words had left him in reply though, his stubbornness still just as strong at holding them back and keeping them to himself.

Not being able to handle the new shift in the room any longer, you had moved to shove past him. Your shoulder brushing against his roughly as you did, though the contact had barely seemed to affect him in the slightest. Tears had begun to pool at the corner of your eyes now, threatening to fall as you tried to make your escape from the situation at hand.

A bitter sigh had left the Mandalorian, his hand shooting out to grab at your wrist as you passed, “Cyar’ika wait.”

“You don’t get to call me that.” You had practically snarled, your voice still laced with anger and unmistakable pain. Your wrist ripping out of his grasp as if you had been burned, “Not after that.”

The tears you were holding back had begun to fall after your words, rolling down your cheeks in thick salted trails. Feeling them had made you quickly look away again, not wanting for him to see you break down in this way. He had caught a glimpse of them anyway though, a flush of guilt flowing through him at the sight. The knowledge of hurting the one he loved becoming an even heavier weight over his mind and heart than any of the other pains of the day.

“Cyar’ika.” He had said again, this time in a softer tone, that almost seemed strange coming from him, “Look at me.”

Paz had approached you as if he was afraid of shattering you to pieces. His hand gently turning your chin to bring your gaze to look back at his own. Allowing for his thumb to brush away some of the tears which refused to stop from falling. His heart now quivering at the sadness held in the depth of your eyes, clenching at the pain he realized he had caused with his words earlier.

“I take it back. All of it.” He had whispered, his voice barely audible through the modulator as he spoke, “Don’t leave me. I need you.”

Your eyes had widened from hearing his words, but you had turned your head away again. A drop of rage had still remained inside you, the pain you still felt from your earlier fight only amplifying it.  “Why shouldn’t I? You’re the one that told me to.”

The words that left you had made you flinch. In truth, you didn’t want to go at all. You loved Paz, and you knew he loved you too, but the fight from earlier still had a control over your thoughts. He didn’t seem to let your reply get to him though, instead focusing on your needs over his, wanting to comfort you away from hurt you were feeling.

“I’m sorry.” He had said while taking your hands in his and giving them a fond squeeze, “I didn’t mean it and I’m so sorry for even saying it at all. I love you more than anything. I… I couldn’t bare to be without you. Please stay Cyar’ika.”

Looking back at him, you had found yourself searching his visor. Seeing and feeling his remorse had relaxed again. Your own feelings of grief slipping away, and bringing a new wave of emotions to wash through. The guilt for your own actions now finding a place to thrive in where the pain had once lived.

“Me too.” You mumbled quietly, a small smile playing on your lips as your heart fluttered with affection for the remorseful man you loved. Soon looking down at your joined hands and playing with his much larger ones, “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean any of what I said during our fight and I definitely do not want to leave you.”

Paz’s hands had removed themselves from yours after hearing your reply, choosing to wrap his arms around you in a tight embrace. Now squeezing you tightly and cradling you into his chest. His forehead soon pressed against yours, the metal of his helmet sending a chill over your skin and making your eyes slip shut at the contact. A wave of calmness and comfort had flowed through you at the gesture, your earlier pain and anger drifting away completely the longer the two of you stood together like that.

Eventually, you did pull back, smiling up at Paz and feeling happier now that the fight you two had seemed to be only a mere memory. Soon pressing a kiss to where his lips rested beneath the helmet. Your little peck causing a wave of heat to spread through him, making his lips twitch from the desire he felt pooling inside of himself. Though you’d never know due to the beskar which still separated you both.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

Your smile had brightened at hearing the familiar words from him, your own flush of warmth flowing across your body as you gave your own reply, “I love you too Paz.”

The Mandalorian had relaxed more at your words again. Relief blossoming inside at the knowledge that you at least still loved him as much as he did with you. Though you found he still couldn’t shake the concern which edged at the back of his mind.

“Can we put this behind us?” He had asked, hopeful, but the fear of rejection still managing to filter into his voice. “I mean… I just don’t want us to hold this over ourselves. I want us to continue moving forward as a couple. If that makes any sense.”

“It does. And honestly I don’t even remember what we were fighting about.” You had said in a shy voice. Which was true, you really didn’t remember what the fight was about, or how it had even started. The only thing you remembered was how upset it had made the both of you by the end of it all.

A loud laugh had erupted from his throat at your confession though, his reply bringing you your own wave of relief, “Honestly me too.”

“Well, I guess now that that’s settled-” A gasp had left you at suddenly being twirled around by Paz. His sudden gesture of guiding you both to your shared bed cutting off your words in an instant and bringing some giggles from you in its wake. The two of you falling to the sheets in a heap, his arms still holding you, as both your laughs filled the small room.

Eventually your laughter had died down, and you looked to him with a grin, “Paz you know you could have just said you wanted to cuddle.”

“It’s less fun that way.” He had replied simply, “I think we both could use some fun after all that anyway.”

A hum had left you in agreement to his words and soon the two of you had settled on the bed among the warm sheets. Allowing for your body to drape over his chest, while nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. His arms were still held tightly around you, holding you as close as he possibly could. Finding that he had the desire to never let go of you again and honestly you hoped he never would. As a soft grunt soon left him at the feeling of you leaving kisses along the little bit of neck he had exposed between his undershirt and helmet.

“Can we stay here for the rest of the day?” You had asked in between your kisses, your lips ghosting over his skin and sending a shiver down his spine.

Paz had merely nodded in reply at first, his fingers trailing along your spin and drawing shapes over your skin. The feeling of his soothing caresses had made you relax farther into his embrace. Sleep now beginning to pull at your mind and causing for a small yawn to leave you while waiting for him to speak.

When he did finally reply, it was soft, a hint of drowsiness to his tone, “only if I get to hold you the entire time.”

A smile crossed your cheeks at his words, and you closed your eyes while letting out a yawn again. Another wave of tiredness consuming you and making you want to dirft closer to dreamland with each waking moment. Your own reply to him this time leaving you quietly and mumbled into his chestplate, though still loud enough for him to hear in his own sleepy daze.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[itsfunorwhateva]

Sweet Creature

Hi! I’m back with some more of an analysis type post! I hope this helps with a deeper understanding. I’ve provided sources where I got my information. I really tried to set this up and write this in a very informational/analysis way so it isn’t strictly an opinion. Also I want to say I haven’t read the entirety of Othello, but I have read some scenes and read complete analysis of the play to write this. Without further ado... Sweet Creature. 

While it seems that some people have a general understanding that Sweet Creature by Harry Styles references the tragedy, Othello written by William Shakespeare, most people don’t get why that is huge, not only in terms of Harry making this decision, but also in support of Sweet Creature being about Louis Tomlinson. 

So I’m going to break this into three parts to help make this make the most sense. 

1. The reference Harry Styles makes in his song, to the play Othello

2. Why an Othello reference is huge; more on the play

3. William Shakespeare and his sexuality/coding in other works

These will make more sense with further explanation(duh), but I’m hoping this will connect the dots. Also, a quick disclaimer before we begin, this information is coming off of google searches, and analysis that I’m reading, and some from information I researched for a research paper on William Shakespeare. I am in no way an expert on song analysis, literature analysis, or on William Shakespeare and his personal life. I really just hope to give people a base to start themselves on more research, and understanding of the topic. Happy reading!

1. The reference Harry Styles makes in his song, to the play Othello

Now there is not much to dig up or uncover here as the reference is actually pretty obvious. The term Sweet Creature, in which the song is titled, is said to have originated from the play Othello. Act 3, Scene 3, specifically is where the term of endearment (this is important to note, Sweet Creature is used as a term of loving, endearment) is first seen. 

“In sleep I heard him say ‘Sweet Desdemona, Let us be wary, let us hide our loves.’ And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, Cry ‘O sweet creature!’ and then kiss me hard“ (Othello III, iii ,428-432). 

Some context for these lines of dialogue Act 3, Scene 3 is Iago telling Othello about his wife cheating on him. The scene has multiple instances of Iago expressing love for Othello, basically saying how Iago would not be telling Othello this if he didn’t love him so much. More on that for our next section. This first appearance of the term “sweet creature” is Iago telling Othello what he heard a man speak to Othello’s wife while the two were in bed together, all in a dream. Now the idea of cheating is not something to be too hung up on, but this is the context in which sweet creature first appears. While the term, Sweet Creature, is said form man to women - it is revealed to the husband from another man. Iago in which it is said may have homosexual desires/feeling towards Othello in this play. Personally I believe that Iago almost uses the term as a way to convince Othello that his wife is being loved by someone else, and maybe Othello should leave her to be with someone, like Iago, that could love him better. 

Sources for this section!

Harry Styles References Othello in new Single, Sweet Creature

https://genius.com/a/harry-styles-references-shakespeare-s-othello-on-new-single-sweet-creature#:~:text=The%20song's%20title%2C%20%E2%80%9CSweet%20Creature,originate%20in%20William%20Shakespeare's%20Othello.

Othello play

https://www.sparknotes.com/nofear/shakespeare/othello/page_166/

2. Why an Othello reference is huge; more on the play

Deeper meanings behind the characters and the play obviously take a bit more time and effort to really understand. Depending on what angle and the kind of understanding you have about the characters and situation in Othello you’ll think one way or another. Othello is partially about homosexuality (in a way that it is not the whole plot, but it does play a major part if you understand the context/characters). Not everyone thinks this and it’s normally not brought in class discussion/normal educational settings, but the fact remains. 

There are a few things throughout the plays that hint towards the characters sexualities. When looked at in the right light and context it can help make sense of not only Harry Styles’ reference, and way choosing Othello to reference is kind of a big deal, but also a better understanding of the play. One article writes, “In William Shakespeare’s The Tragedy of Othello the Moor of Venice Shakespeare leaves the character of Iago’s sexuality to be questioned. Although Iago has a wife, he drops slight hints throughout the play that he has homosexual thoughts or feelings toward other characters, but he uses his position in the military and his fear to suppress these feelings. These “hints” are shown through his wildly questionable story about Michael Cassio, his word choice when describing Othello, and his discourse with Rodrigo” (Homosexuality in Othello). 

The character Iago is a military officer, and it shouldn’t take a genius to understand that being in the military and being homosexual only equal no good. The American policy in the military of “don’t ask, don’t tell” was/is a more modern day policy but still shows how military personal were/are expected and required to act in regards to being homosexual. Simply speaking, don’t. Now thinking even more to Shakespearean time, an even greater restriction was likely in place for homosexuality and the military. This part of the character, Iago, is likely a huge reason people overlook any thought of the character having homosexual desires/thoughts. 

Even if you remove the circumstances surrounding Iago, and him being a military officer there are some others things throughout the play that hint towards possible homosexual desire/feelings. Iago is constantly informing Othello of his love for the other man, claiming to always be Othello’s, should he want him. Some of this can be chalked up to the language of the time, in being, love was used for both friend, and lover, but the extent in which Iago professes may hint towards something deeper. Others things include, Iago claiming to have “lay with” Cassio, another male character, and while some say this is simply in the barracks as fellow soldiers, others think this could have been to hint at being lovers. 

One other thing that isn’t necessarily the play at face value, but still supports the idea of Iago being homosexual, is that actors throughout history have chosen to play him either as a straight or gay characters. While, this could simply be a creative decision based on an actor individually, it still seems a bit huge. If nothing in the text supported Iago being gay, there would not be actors playing him this way. 

Sources for this section!

Homosexuality in Othello

https://www.cram.com/essay/Homosexuality-In-Othello/P3Z2W7LCX5Q

Is Iago Gay in Othello?

https://www.arogundade.com/homosexuality-in-shakespeare-is-iago-gay-in-othello.html

3. William Shakespeare and his sexuality/coding in other works

Final section is really just me helping you understand the feasibility of William Shakespeare writing his characters this way. There’s essentially two parts to understanding this and I’m going to try and help this make the most sense without going too overboard. One part is going to be how William Shakespeare has written other works. I’m going to focus more on his sonnets because I’ve already researched them for a paper in school, but they still stand with this point. The second part is going to be William Shakespeare’s own sexuality and why this is going to affect his written work.

Ok, so the sonnets. 

“The sonnets have a contrasting set of subjects - one set chronicles the poet's lust for a married woman with a dark complexion, known as The Dark Lady, while the other describes a conflicted or confused love for a young man, known as the "fair youth."‘ (William Shakespeare, his Life, Works, and Influence). 

So the sonnets were pretty revolutionary, exploring concepts such as love, lust, and even same sex relationships. This is observed in Shakespeare’s use of gender neutral terms and male pronouns, depending on the sonnet. This is pretty huge. When I did a sonnet analysis I chose two sonnets, which I’ll provide (Sonnet 18 and 29 - both are pretty well known and brought up in regarded to hidden messages/meanings). Both used pronouns that were either male or neutral, something that has been used forever to queer code in works, so do with that information what you will. A common analysis, is that William Shakespeare often wrote from personal experience, more so in his poems and sonnets, then in his plays, but nonetheless. 

Second part, Shakespeare’s own sexuality. William Shakespeare was married to a women, but that doesn’t exactly say much. Men were known to get married because it is the thing to do, without necessarily having any feelings or desires towards said women. 

When Shakespeare’s sexuality comes into question there a few things that are addressed. I definitely recommend reading the first source for this section, “Was Shakespeare Gay?”, it gives you a really good analysis and explores so many faucets of the question. I’m going to sum up the article and you can either read more or just take what I’ll explain. 

The article explains that when looking at Shakespeare’s works he is really good at getting into the minds of his characters, without necessarily having the experience to match the character, i.e. writing from Cleopatra’s perspective, or from a gay man’s perspective. However on the flip side of that, when Shakespeare writes of same sex experiences, he seems to have a wide variety of knowledge of very specific references and experiences, maybe leaning towards him having these experiences. People point out that Shakespeare’s sonnets are his most personal works, and imagine that, they are also the ones that reference same sex attraction and love. Now of course there is way more in the source, but here’s what I think are the most important/key points. It’s important to remember that sexuality is only able to be labeled by the person, but from different works, and cultural ideals, there are certain things to be said about Shakespeare himself. 

Sources for this section!

Was Shakespeare Gay?

https://www.shakespeare.org.uk/explore-shakespeare/podcasts/lets-talk-shakespeare/was-shakespeare-gay/

William Shakespeare, his Life, Works, and Influence

https://www.williamshakespeare.net/

Sonnet 18

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45087/sonnet-18-shall-i-compare-thee-to-a-summers-day

Sonnet 29

https://www.williamshakespeare.net/sonnet-29.js

Finally

Thank you for reading and I hope this made you think a bit. I want to repeat that I am in no way an expert, nor am I claiming to be. You are more than welcome to think whichever way you want about this information and I invite you to do your own further research. I hope this helped explain the reference and the importance of said reference in Harry Styles’, “Sweet Creature”. Thank you for reading, let me know what you think, and as always TPWK. xx

[snapefiction]

Someone who appreciates me Pt. 1 - Snapefiction

A/N: Hey! Thank you to everyone who supports my writing. I just recently reached 200 Followers after not even full two Months of starting this Blog and I couldn't be happier that you enjoy my writing. In hopes that you'll like this one too! x

(I tried to use gender neutral Pronouns and Descriptions at first but sadly lost the track of it so it slipped back to a fem!Reader. I'm sorry, I am trying to learn and do better next time.)

❤️ Please remember that English isn’t my native language and that my Writings will include Mistakes and maybe weird formed sentences. ❤️

Pairing: Severus Snape x Y/N, Severus Snape x fem!Reader

Setting: 3-4 Years after the Battle of Hogwarts

Warnings: Mentions of Insults

Word count: 2871

Y/N - Your Name, Y/L/N - Your Last Name, Y/W/A - Your wished Age, Y/B/M -Your Birthday Month

Someone who appreciates me - Pt. 1

,,Dear Professor, As you may know Minerva can be very consistent of certain things. One of these Certain Things seem to be the fact that we both are (if all my given Informations are correct) not currently in a relationship. I do not want to pressure you to read my letter or even answer it but i´d be very thankful if you’d at least let Minerva know about what your intentions are. Since a long time now- to be exact 7 Months and 3 days - she started to play my personal Matchmaker and I’m very sorry that you seem to be chosen by this fate that she gave us as well. So by Merlins Sake I’m going with her wish in hope Minerva may be Satisfied by it.

My Name is Y/N Y/L/N. I´ m currently working for the Ministry but will be switching to the St. -Mungos Hospital soon to continue to work as a Healer. I am Y/W/A years old and will be turning Y/W/A on Y/B/M. I live near the Diagon Alley. I despite the idea of introducing myself to someone else like I just did. It feels like I am exposing myself.

In my free time -which has gotten very rare over the years - I enjoy reading, drinking tea and going on walks. It’s not very much, actually it’s nothing, but it makes me happy. I’m a simple Woman.

Since this is the most awkward Thing I have done in a while i will end this letter down here. In hopes that you’re well and have a great day.

Yours sincerely Y/N YL/N”

Sighing he turned the Letter to look at the sealing. It must’ve sent directly from their workplace as they even used the official seal from the ministry itself for this use. He had to admit that he was lonely. Very indeed but Minerva was taking it too far by now. She tried to set him up a few times yet but he never really went with it. But now that she persuaded another Person to send him a letter directly to his workplace he was fed up. Pity grew in his stomach as he imagined what Minerva must’ve said about him to the other Person. She was always exaggerating about him, his past life and everything from the present. She  mothered and did everything to fuss over him since he was a Student at Hogwarts himself and yes, he had to admit it, he liked it sometimes. Enjoying their annual Tea each Sunday it was alright having her as a Friend. Especially after the Dark Lord passed and he finally got rid of the pressure of hiding. But her well trained skill to brew a perfect tea won’t make up that she tried to play a constant matchmaker for him. 

A deep Sigh left his throat as he sorted his Thoughts. Whatever he’d try to say would lead to a discussion about why she wants him to meet that Person so dearly. It was always a repeating scheme. Getting up from the wooden Chair which could need a replacement he took the letter in his one hand before heading to her chambers.

The Parchment burned in his Hands. Deciding on how he’d like to drop the bomb that he’d prefer to stay alone he kept walking faster. To be honest, he would never admit that towards Minerva nor anyone else and not even himself, he loved the idea of founding a family. He always imagined it as a great Joy since his own family was rather a decent disaster. But he knew what the Newspaper wrote about him after he survived, he knew what rumours go around at the Ministry, he knew how People still degraded him and how everyone secretly was checking twice if he wasn’t secretly still a death eater. He knew, felt and saw it everyday. So it just wasn’t meant to be for him to become the man he dreamt about in private. Maybe i should go back to Cokeworth, get a dog and dedicate my life to the science.

Before he could continue his daydream of vanishing from his current world he reached the door leading to Minerva´s private rooms. Knocking he already knew she was there because the heat from inside and the smell of tea already reached his nose.

After a few seconds he heard her mumbling and finally opening the shrieking door.

,,Severus, my dear. What is it?“ A warm smile formed on her face. He just tried to keep his cold face as he hoped it’d get him further in the argument that he tried to start to prove his point. Silently holding up the Parchment he pointed the wax seal directly towards her.

,,Is it from Y/N?" Her eyes shined brightly and she was already asking him inside as her hands took the letter and she moved her tall figure aside to let him in.

,,Of course it is." He mumbled while making his way over to his usual seat. Watching her reaction as she read the Letter he wished to vanish. It was simply embarrassing.

,,Oh, she can't be serious. I told her to tell you something about herself."

,,She did!" He pleaded.

,,No she didn't! She just talked about me. Oh! The two of you match perfectly. You both are very self conscious about what you are and what you deserve or in general on how to communicate." She went to the kitchen to get kettle.

,,You're just mad that we don't want to play along with your plans." Mumbling Severus knew that she heard every whisper.

,,No you're just mad that I told her about you." Rolling his eyes he watched her setting down the kettle and filling him a cup of tea.

,,I don't need a Relationship." Stating his Fact he hoped it could bury the Topic finally.

,,I know. But it wouldn't harm you as well." Taking a sip from the still brewing water tea mixture he wondered how she wasn't burning herself.

,,Can you just stop setting those things up?" Now it was her who rolled their eyes. ,,Only if you give it one first and one last try. Y/N is very kind."

,,Kindness isn't everything. Her Letter wasn't very tempting."

,,Merlin, if you start judging people over their Kindness I'll lose my mind. You aren't very charming yourself, you twit."

,,You call me a Twit?"

,,You're clearly a Twit."

,,Stinky Witch." Shrugging her shoulder she hid her smile behind her cup of tea before downing it almost completely. ,,One date and I'll stop for good."

,,Do you promise?"

,,I solemnly swear. If this won't work out then you might be a helpless case." Ignoring her spur he gave in. Again.

,,Fine." And so it came that he drank his tea and they chatted about something else. Their Friendship had their own charm. But before Severus could leave to go back to his own Rooms Minerva put the Parchment in his Hands and told him with a warm smile to write back.

It didn't work out like he planned. Actually it was the opposite. He wanted to burn the Letter and forget that it had happened but if it was the only way to get rid of any unwanted dates, matches etc. he would actually give it a chance. Unbelievable. He'd really write Y/N back.

Since it was almost midnight he decided that it was time to continue his paperwork. He couldn't fall asleep until three A.M. anyways if he was able to fall asleep in general. After answering a lot of Letters, correcting some Works and finally writing down what he had to get from his next visit at Diagonal Alley he couldn't stop his mind from wandering to his new acquaintance living there. Wasn't she repelled by his ruined reputation?

Rereading her Letter he was wondering what a type of person she was. How did she look like? What made Minerva think that they'd be a great Match? In his Mind he was starting to puzzle a picture of someone he'd expect to write to. Of what he'd expect someone nice to be and act like. To his surprise it wasn't anything close to Lily. Not at all. It was almost the completely opposite. Bewildered he laid down his feather. He almost hasn't noticed how he started to mindlessly write all the attributes down that he was hoping to find in Y/N.

Nice but not foolish. Intelligence. A dry sense of humor. Challenging. Special. Complementary. Appreciative. Pretty Eyes. A soothing voice. Someone who appreciates work. Someone who appreciates me?

Eyeing the Clock he noticed that it was already past 4 am. Again he was completely loosing his track of time. Packed by the idea of finding something of those attributes in her he grabbed a paper and his feather.

His enthusiasm quickly faded. What was he supposed to say? What did she knew about him? His wide eyes and his raised eyebrows scaled down a bit. This grew to be more complicated than he anticipated.

,,Y/N, I'm sorry that Minerva grew this Mania about you as well. I have known her for a long time by now and can confirm to you that despite all her promises she won't stop setting things up. It seems like it became one of her dearest ways of passing time.

Not knowing of what she has told you about my person I will just start formally.

My Name is Severus Snape. Currently I am still preoccupied as the head of house of Slytherin at Hogwarts. And due to latest events I won't return to teaching soon or anytime again. Most of my time I look out to keep myself busy with science studies, working and reading.

To be completely honest, I promised Minerva to write back as she promised me in return to stop setting any acquaintance with me. Also I feel uncomfortable introducing myself as well. I prefer Meetings.

Yours faithfully Severus Snape"

After his eyes read the letter multiple times he finally got himself to seal it. Watching the wax cool down he noticed how much he hoped that she could at least fulfil on of the attributes he was looking for. Hope? Don't make a fool out of yourself. She will probably loose her interest soon.

But she didn't. He sent his Letter around 4:50 am and already at 8am after he slept 2 full hours she sent her response. Not truly believing his eyes that Y/N was answering and not someone who would want to mess with him he quickly opened it. This Time the Seal was a different one. One that contained her Initials.

,,Dear Severus, Taking it from your response I anticipate that we are on first name base now? If that's so completely fine with that.

Reading your Letter I had to laugh. Minerva is simply one of a Kind and somehow I feel very reliefed that you're as uncomfortable as I am.

Maybe that's a great opportunity to admit that I already know a lot about you. Minerva is very chatty and as you probably already are aware of your Name is very well known and greatly appreciated. And by that I don't mean that that's the Reason why I decided to write you but I mean that I'm impressed by you. I actually chose to follow Minerva's will to contact you because she introduced you as a very kind, intelligent and somewhat funny Man. And despite the fact that I am happy by being alone I can't deny that the idea of meeting someone like you was interesting me. Someone who Minerva introduced as a great Friend. This may sound cheesy but you deserved to get known to my intentions.

You mentioned that you prefer Meetings. What about a Meeting at the Three Broomsticks? I bet you know a lot funny stories about Minerva which I'm not aware of yet. Name a Time and Day and I'll be there. And if it makes you more comfortable- you can decide if it's as friends or if you want to call it a date. As I already said I'm mainly interested in getting known to you.

I hope you'll have a successful Morning and i'm expecting your Owl.

Yours sincerely Y/N YL/N"

That wasn't like anything he expected. She wasn't disgusted by everything he did? She wanted to meet him? He thought that she'd politely decline and he'd get rid of all the fuss but she actually sounded nice. Should he give in?

Some time has passed since he received her letter. To be exact four days and nights. Severus told himself that he had gotten busy in hopes this could ease his guilty Feelings. But Minervas Questions wouldn’t stop and he had to make the decision he was shoving back for too long. He just wanted to end that Matchmaking Service and now it had gotten him to the point where he was too nervous to answer a simple letter after the Person openly admitted their interest in him.

Hoping for someone to take the Decision which now laid heavy on his shoulders he wandered around the corridors. His duties for the day have been already done by now and he was just looking for a task to get his mind of the Woman’s Name. He was too nervous to answer, way to nervous. It was nice to get known to someone, yes. But it was too early for him. He hasn’t recovered yet and still felt hurt from his past. Who could blame him? No one. Right? Slowly he started to feel better. Like it was a great opportunity to back off and make this another awkward Memory he had in one of his many brain cells. He won’t answer her. That’s it.

Feeling some Weight flowing off his shoulders he reached his Chambers. He should at least answer Harry. Since he had graduated two and a half years ago he still checked up on him. It simply was his promised duty to do so. Thinking of Questions to ask Harry about his new Life as a Auror and about his Girlfriends Ginny Weaslys as a Professional Quidditch Player he grabbed some Parchment and took his Feather. Dipping it into the small ink Pot he had to notice it was empty. Annoyed he took the List he had put in his drawer in his hands. Diagon Alley, was written on it. Tea, Ink, a new Book and some Parchment.

,,Dunderhead.“ He called himself as he again rolled his eyes. He had forgot to get his supplies. That one Task had slipped off his mind. Annoyed and grumpy as always he gritted his teeth while grabbing his Coat and using his Cabin to reach named Diagon Alley. Slighty coughing he scrunched his nose. As Years have passed he grew to hate using Floo Power. 

Diagon Alley was shining. Lights from every Window invited Passengers into their Shops. But Severus wasn’t the Man to just go shopping and buying random Things. He was organised. So Organised that a simple Woman who showed slight interest in him could get him off his tracks. Ironic. He worked Years as a spy and now a simple Letter did this to him.

His Feet lead his set route to the Shop where he got the Parchment and some ink and afterwards to the Teashop. The last station was the Book Shop. It was the only stage where he was spending an unknown amount of time each time he got there. Words always had a big impact on him. Of course Actions were important too but it are words who seduce him easily.

That’s why he was carrying his now heavy bag through the huge aisles of Books trying to find a new object of Desire. He was very fond of almost every Herbalism, Potion and Healing Book so it had to be something new. His Position as Head of house was boring him. He needed something to do. So he decided to focus his energy on Books and as already mentioned Science.

Opening a smaragd green book he followed some lines about Muggles. Even though he never found himself very intertwined in this Topic he gave it a chance. The fact of how well written and even advanced it was was interesting him. Putting it in his little Basket he continued to decipher the Book Titles. Death Omens: What to Do When You Know the Worst is Coming. Taking it in his Hands he way eyeing it closely.

,,I hope you aren’t expecting anything bad, Professor Snape. That's a dangerous Book.“ Caught he quickly looked to his side. A young Woman was smiling nervously at him. Confused he tried to remember her. Was she a Student? A former Death eater? Merlin, no. She was too young to be a death eater.

,,Y/N.“ Her cheeks blushed now and she lowered her glance shortly. ,,Y/N Y/L/N. I thought it might be not very polite if I wouldn’t even say hello since we somehow know each other.“ Getting lost in her eyes he quickly forgot his Plan on to stop thinking about her and not writing her back.  

to be continued. last update 30.jan.21

Taglist: @deepperplexity  , @monstreviolet , @wow-life-love4 , @lizlil , @once-upon-an-imagine , @darkthought15 , @elizabeth-baelish , @looseheartedlady , @ithinkweallsing , @simpforsnape

Let me know if you want to be added to my Taglist. :)

[someguynamedstevewrites]

My Roommate is an Apparition: An Apparition A-Pink-ciation of Culture

Based on characters created by @reddpenn

From the diary of Lily:

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

When I was little, I used to talk to my stuffed animals all the time.  They were my soft, cuddly friends who were always there for me, and even though they never spoke a word, I always imagined I could hear what they wanted to say.  Even as an adult, I still treat inanimate objects like they’re people too.  In fact, everyone does at some point or another in their adult life.  Anyone who has ever argued with their car that refused to start knows what I mean.

But recently, I realized that sometimes people can do... well the opposite. That sometimes we don’t treat people (who are actual, real people) like they’re people.  It’s not something we consciously think about, but it’s more like we forget that, well, people are people.  I know this sounds really dumb, but I felt like I needed to write about this after a... well after an “argument” I had with my roommate.

I’ve lived with my roommate for a few months now, and I thought I had gotten to know them pretty well.   They like to watch cartoons (like, seriously LOVES them) and we had worked out a TV viewing schedule to make sure that we got along together.  But the other day, I realized that I wasn’t necessarily treating them like they were their own person.  I didn’t mean to do that, but it just kind of happened, and...

...well it gets really complicated because, technically, they aren’t a person.

I mean, they aren’t human; they’re an apparition.

It made me think about all those stories about monsters and ghosts.  Like a ghost used to be human, but then they died, and their spirit became a ghost.  Do we still treat the ghost like the person they were when they were alive?  Outside of a few exceptions, the answer’s a definite yes.

But what about an apparition? It’s kind of like a ghost, but it’s not. I mean, it’s not the soul of someone who died or anything. They just sort of exist. (Would Slimer from Ghostbusters be an apparition or a ghost?).

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

So anyway, reason I’m bringing this all up is because of what happened last weekend. I was channel surfing through the Cable Guide and as I’m flipping through, I pass by Boomerang (you know, the cable channel that spun-off Cartoon Network to hold all the older cartoons?) and all of a sudden, my roommate appears out of nowhere (literally) and practically grabs the remote out from my hands.

“Hey! What gives!?” I say to them.

They immediately change over to Boomerang and my TV screen is suddenly filled up with the color pink. At the same time, my roommate starts “doot-ing” along with the song and goes, “Doo-Doot! Doo-Doot! Do-Doot-Do-Doot-Do-Doot Do-Doot-De-Dooooooooo-Doo-Doo-Doo-Doo-Doooot”. I have no idea what they’re doing, but then the cartoon starts up and it’s the Pink Panther.

Rhetorically, I go, “What’s this?”

“Pink... Panther...” my roomie says.

And then I make my first mistake by saying, “Huh. Never seen it before.”

Now if I had been paying attention to them, I probably would have seen the face of shock they were making. “You... NEVER... saw it!?” They gasped.

“Nope. Must have been before my time,” which was totally true. I mean, I later found out my Dad used to watch it when he was a kid. It wasn’t on TV when I was growing up. (Why am I defending myself for not watching a specific cartoon?)

Anyway, roomie asks, “Watch... with me?”

And then I, being a total dumbass, say, “Nah. Think I’ll get some dishes in,” before getting up and walking away.

If I had stayed put for just a few seconds longer, I would have heard them asking, “...please?” (In case you’re wondering, they told me about that later.)

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

Yes, I hurt its feelings.  Yes, it was insensitive.  Yes, I am sorry.  But like I said, the thought didn’t even cross my mind back then.  As far as I knew, as long as my roommate had their cartoons, they were happy.  It didn’t occur to me that they cared about anything other than the cartoons themselves.

For the next week, my roommate made sure I knew, now and forever, that this was not true.

My first clue that they were mad at me was later that evening when I went to the living room to watch my usual shows.   It was my turn on the TV, and usually I have to pry my roommate away so I can watch what I want to watch. But that night, the instant I walked into the room, they changed the channel to what I wanted, put the remote down on the couch, and left the room without saying a word.  I thanked them, plopped myself down, and went straight into couch potato mode.

This should have thrown so many red flags in my head, but for some reason, it didn’t.  Maybe I was being too self-absorbed at the time? Maybe I was just tired and thinking, “Aww man, I gotta work tomorrow!”?  No matter the excuse, mistakes were made, and I started paying for them the very next morning.

My “haunting” kicked off with waking up to find most of my rock collection missing.  I have a particular affinity for pretty rocks and gems (I’m kind of a rock nerd) and have my favorites out on display.  But that morning, the only rocks that I could see were the pink ones.  Someone had pilfered almost every pebble from every pedestal to perturb me.   (I saw a chance for alliteration and took it! So sue me!)  I was still waking up and too tired to care about it at the time (me making excuses again) and had work, so I got ready to go and left.

Now I’m not sure how they did it, but my roommate did something to my car radio.   I turn it on and all I get are tunes by Henry Mancini.  Fifty percent of the time, it was the Pink Panther theme, twenty-five percent was the theme from A Shot In The Dark (I had to use Soundhound to figure out that one), and the rest was a mix of some of his other work.   It didn’t matter what station I tried changing it to!  Although I did learn that Mancini composed Baby Elephant Walk, so that’s something.

By now, I’d already figured out what was going on (roommate did it), but couldn’t really do anything about it because I still had work to go to.   As if the daily grind working at an art supply store wasn’t hard enough, I had to work while having the dang Pink Panther theme stuck in my head all day.  Not even the music that played over the store radio could get rid of it.  (Given the quote un-quote “music” they play over the speaker system, I eventually considered it a good thing.)

Then I came home, and that’s when things REALLY escalated.  First words out of my mouth after I walked in was, “Hey, I’m hoooOOOOOLY~!”  Every single wall in the apartment, from the living room, to the kitchen, to the bedroom, and even the bathroom...

PINK!

All of them were painted PINK!

Like strawberry frosted doughnut pink!

As I’m gawking at the interior design sugar rush nightmare, out walks my roommate from around the corner.  Immediately, the first thing I noticed was that they had feet. (Normally, they don’t have feet; they just kind of “hover” or “emerge from the ground” or something.) They had their eyes closed, head held up, and made a point of showing off these noodle legs they had constructed by skipping every other three steps.

They were doing the Pink Panther shuffle.

They walk out of my line of sight and I run over to have a word with them, but by then they disappeared.  I look around and all I see is more and more pink.  From behind me, I hear a mix of snickering slash wheezing.  Like you ever hear of this cartoon dog named Muttley?  They were laughing like him.  And of course, I turn around, and the only thing I see is more pink!

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

I knew that my roommate could be ornery at times, like that time I tried to get an idea of their daily routine by setting up a webcam, but this...

I mean, where did she even get the paint?  (Upon reading back here, I realized I referred to them as a ‘she’ even though I’m not sure if they are a ‘she’ or not.  Yeah, I can edit it to a more neutral pronoun, but something tells me I ought to point this out instead of editing it, for some reason.)

I was half tempted to get back at them by painting the walls back to their original color (they do sell paint by the gallon where I work, and I get the employee discount), but realized they’d just paint(?) the walls pink again.  Like I’d turn around after thinking I finished only to find the work I did completely undone.  I could just picture my roommate doing that and finding it hysterical.

Anyway, tacky as the pink walls were, I didn’t get too angry about them.  For starters, my lease agreement said that I couldn’t paint the walls without landlord approval.  But my lease agreement also acknowledges that my apartment may be haunted.  If the landlord ever brought it up, I’d just tell them the “ghost” did it.  Second, these pranks my roommate was pulling were kind of amusing and didn’t really bother me that much.  (I mean sure, I wanted my rock collection back but I doubted my roommate would have thrown them away.  They know how much they mean to me.)

The one thing I was putting my foot down on was that I wasn’t going to ask my roommate what was wrong.  I got the hint, sure, but I wanted them to know that if something is bothering them, they need to, y’know, actually say something instead of leaving spooky pink clues.  They were being a butt, and my hope was that when they saw how much the pink wasn’t bothering me, then they’d finally open up.  This went on for about a week with me going about my daily routine only to be surprised by the occasional pink interruption.

Like on Wednesday, I go to the fridge to get something to drink, and all I find in there is Pink Lemonade.  It actually wasn’t that bad, but I have no idea how my roommate actually got it given that they never leave the apartment.  Thursday, I get a notification saying a package arrived, and find my roommate used my debit card to order the entire Pink Panther cartoon series on DVD.  And earlier on Tuesday, I got a call from my landlord asking if I knew why someone had called in an order, in their name, to have Owens Corning insulation installed.  In case you weren’t aware, that’s the pink insulation who has “you can guess who” as their mascot.

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

So, Friday rolls around, and by now, the entire apartment is pink.  Like EVERYTHING.  The furniture, the electronics, the toilet, the sink, the appliances, the TV, and everything in between has been made pink somehow.  I’m not sure who out there still makes pink toilet paper, but apparently my roommate has either some special powers I don’t know about yet, or they got connections.

At this point, since my roommate had yet to approach me about “The Pink-ening”, I began playing the reverse-psychology card.  I came home and got to making dinner.  While some of this was a bit more expensive than what I usually spend on food, I figured it was worth it if it meant getting my roommate to talk to me.  My menu included delicious smoked pink salmon, some crab linguine with a nice amount of pink to it for a side dish, and some mashed red potatoes that turn out nice and pink if you got the right recipe.  To wash it down, I picked up a glass of pink lemonade from the fridge, and in the freezer, some strawberry sorbet.

I get down to eating at my pink table, with a pink wooden chair, pink napkins, pink silverware, pink glass of pink lemonade.  It took a little more effort to put this together, but I made an exaggerated point of showing off how good this pink meal was and how much I was just enjoying all this pink.

About halfway into my meal, I get a feeling that someone’s standing behind me.  It’s hard to put into words how you know someone’s there especially since my roommate doesn’t really eat or breath.  It’s like the hairs on the back of your neck become sensitive like cat whiskers and can just... feel that someone’s there.  Usually sends a chill down my spine when that happens, but this time, I was ready and waiting for it.

“Care to join me for dinner?” I say without turning around.  If I had, they probably would have vanished on me again like they had been doing all week.

“Looks... good...” they say in their ever so familiar by now raspy voice.

“Got something you want to talk about?” I ask between bites.  There’s a brief pause as my roommate thinks to themselves.

“...yes,” they finally answer.

“Okay.  Pull up a chair!  It’s been a while since we just, y’know, talked and stuff,” which was true.  

The instant I said that, I realized that even before the “week of pink” began, we hadn’t spent a whole lot of time together outside of our usual TV time.  I had long since figured out that my roommate wanted me to watch Pink Panther with them, but I just thought they wanted to show it to me to show off how (subjectively) good the cartoon was.  Only then did it hit me that they wanted me to watch it with them because they wanted to watch it together with me.  It was like they were hoping for some roommate bonding time or something like that.

Now, it wasn’t like we weren’t talking to each other before this.  I greeted them whenever I saw them, and let them know whenever I came home or was leaving. but we hadn’t actually talked, like... “talk-talk” in a few weeks.  Instead, the conversations over the last few weeks were like the kind of conversations a person would have with their pet cat or pet dog.  Like you’d talk to them, but not really expect an answer from them.

I had been treating her like a pet more than a person.  (Did it again!  I’m thinking I’ll ask them later what kind of pronouns they’d like me to use, or if they’ve even given any thought towards gender or anything).

My guess is that my roommate picked up on this themselves, and just like a disobedient pet who is bored, lonely, or other, they made a mess of the place.  Maybe they were thinking that if I was going to treat them like a pet, they would act like one too?

Of course, I didn’t mean to treat them like that.  I don’t think anyone really does mean it when they do.  It just kind of happens without thinking about it.  The whole reason I’m writing this down here in you, diary, is so that I can make a mental note slash reminder to be careful of doing that kind of thing.  It’s especially important to remember when interacting with other people, like my co-workers or the store customers.  (Unlike my roommate, they can’t get on my case by making my entire apartment pink.)

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

Now where was I?  Oh yeah, our talk.  I think I remember the most important bits of it.  It went something like:

“So, whaddya wanna talk about?” I ask between bites of food.

“Pink...” they say to me.  I wait a moment, expecting them to say “panther” after that, but it when it doesn’t arrive, I step in.

“Yeah!  Pretty amazing what you did with the place!  I didn’t know things could even get this pink!” which was one-hundred percent true.

“...Thank...you...” they say with a smile.  I can tell that was not the answer they were expecting as I could have swore they turned and blushed.  Although I couldn’t tell because of how pink everything else was.

“Although,” I add, “I don’t think the landlord is going to like the apartment being this pink.  If it stays like this, they might kick me out.  And we wouldn’t want that, right?”

Now my roommate, the apparition, actually looks shocked for a moment.  The thought hadn’t entered their head, and for a moment, they looked a little scared.  “N-n-n-no...” they stuttered.

“Well, I’m sure together, we can get this place back to the way it was before the next time they have an apartment inspection.  Whenever that is,” I reassure them.

“Yeah...” my roommate nods.

“Say I got some time off this upcoming weekend.  Want to watch some Pink Panther with me?”  (Oh my God, you should have seen the smile on my roommate’s face when I asked this.)  “I see I have the DVD collection now, apparently,” I say with a wink, “and we can even watch the movies together too.”

“...movies?” they ask.

“Yeah, the Pink Panther was a movie first before it became a cartoon.  It was a live-action movie, but... well some of it’s like a cartoon here and there.  Lots of slapstick comedy that I think you might like.”  They were practically beaming and agreed immediately.  

After Friday’s dinner, we watched some of the cartoons (which are actually pretty funny) and for the upcoming weekend, we’re doing a Pink Panther movie marathon with cartoons mixed in to spice it up.  I also found out that my roommate doesn’t just watch the cartoons, but actually knows a thing or two about them.  Like how Friz Freleng, one of the directors and creative minds behind the original Looney Tunes cartoons, was involved in the Pink Panther’s creation along with a new studio after he left Warner Brothers.  I don’t know how my roommate came to know so much, but it’s pretty cool.

Anyway, I got me some sweet, pink treats to snack on during the movie marathon.  The apartment is still pink as can be, but my roommate said they’ll take care of it once the marathon’s over.  Exactly HOW they plan to take care of it, I have no idea.  Oh well.  No use pinking too hard about it.

(HA!)

[reaperintheroses]

Minuscule

Bucky x villain reader

A/N: I tried to keep the reader pretty gender neutral but if there are any pronouns other than they/them let me know so I can fix it. This is what I’m thinking to be the first week in my writing rotation so we’ll see how long this lasts. Also I know it’s short and a little rushed- I did my best. Also if you weren’t aware a magazine is where you pre-store bullets for a gun, and is, in this case, external. The reader talks about using a finished magazine to replace what they are stealing in case there is a weight sensor like in indiana jones. This specific mag. is made out of metal so it would work for the weight sensor. I don’t specify the rifle so that much is left up to imagination. 

Warnings: swearing, gun use, violence, crappy writing

readers power description

It was peaceful in a way, to sneak around as the rest of the world was sleeping. It really made you realize how small you were compared to the rest of the world. Just a mere drop in the ocean. You thought this way often. Realizing that no one would really care much about you. It was fine. You preferred to live in the shadows verse being one of the huge villains in the spotlight. That was a dangerous way to live. Far easier to get caught. You weren’t in this life for fame and anyone who was, you considered just plain stupid. You rose from your crouch on the roof of the building. You had to move fast if you wanted to get away and unfortunately, there wasn’t time to enjoy your surroundings. As cliche as it sounded, this artifact would have you set for life. It was just your luck that it was conveniently located in your current city and the heist involved one person with your exact skill set.

You worked for a group of black market mercenaries going under the name “the red merchants”. The group consisted of about 10 people with completely different skill sets and levels of training. None of you had ever met each other, only communicating through strange online chat rooms and a shared bank account. Recently though your group had fallen under shields spotlight and were placed on a government watch list. This would be your last heist with the group before completely dropping off the grid. Oh and the artifact you were trying to steal? An Asgardian jewel, worth billions. 

You turned around and strapped the gun you had been holding onto your back. You turned on the earpiece that you received in the mail a week ago and looked around to see if there was anyone around you who could possibly be working against you. After confirming that you were safe you made your way down the fire escape on the side of the building trying to be quiet as possible. When the static in your ear broke you stopped. “How far away are you?” a voice questioned in your ear. “About two jumps,” that was the reason you were so perfect for this job, see you had a superpower that allowed you to teleport short distances. You called these jumps. They were super helpful for stealth missions. “Let me know when you’ve completed the first. I can turn off the internal security for up to fifteen minutes, once you are inside you have to work fast. I’ve already started looping the cameras but if you have company it won’t take long for them to realize.” you sighed. “Understood, about to start the first jump.” The static returned showing that your fellow merchant had switched channels. You focused your energy and shut your eyes trying to be discreet. Making the first jump you looked around checking to see if anyone was around. You lifted your head to your ear piece, “First jump complete.” You ducked behind a dumpster and waited for further instruction. “In 60 seconds I’ll turn on the software. This is the last you will hear from me. Once your mission is complete destroy your earpiece and any evidence leading you to our group. It’s been a pleasure working with you.” It was sentimental, in a way. You almost felt sad. “You as well, thank you.” You switched channels in case there was anything else they had to tell you and started another jump. Taking a deep breath you ran into the portal that had been created. 

You came face first with the side of the building you were supposed to infiltrate. You recalled your notes about the entire layout of the building and the codes for each door. 2576. Nothing happened and you started to panic that was the wrong code and you would be locked out. You started to look around for other things you could use to break the system before it locked you out. You had worked so hard to get here and you would be damned if you got stopped before even getting in the building. You unstrapped your gun and raised the butt to hit the keypad as you heard a small beep and click. Moving one hand away from the gun with a confused face you used your other to grab the door handle and pull. ‘Okay strong start’ you thought to yourself as you placed your gun on your back and walked into the building. You saw a few guards walking away from your direction. ‘They must have just switched posts,’ You started another jump, trying your best to not make any noise as to make up for the time the door lost you. The jewel was located in the middle of the building in a vault, which was surrounded by about 20 guards so when you jumped in there you would have to be careful. Going through the jump you had just created you paid no attention to where you ended up as long as it was close to the jewel.

This of course was a mistake because when you emerged from the jump you were face-to-face with five armed guards who seemed to be on their break. “Hi there,” you raised your hand in a mock wave. They all reached to their sides where you assumed they had concealed weapons. Quickly jumping behind the first guard you kicked them in the back causing them to fall towards the table in front of them. Unstrapping your own rifle you hit them over the head before you took aim at the closest guard to your left. Once you hit them you kicked them in the stomach using the impact of your kick to throw the guard into the other behind them causing them both to fall to the ground. You aimed the rifle in the direction of the 4th guard grinning when you heard the impact of the bullet. The 5th dashed out the door. You looked back down to the guards who you were restraining with your body. “I always hate it when they run.” You sighed before jumping into the hallway right behind the running guard. Raising your rifle you let out a quiet “coward,” before hitting them over the head with the rifle, catching them before they fell and jumping back into the break room. You dropped the unconscious guard onto the floor before grabbing a chair and propping it under the door before locking it as well. 

Getting ready to jump again you thought back to the layout of the building. You imagined the very center of the vault, where there were no guards as a security measure, and thought about what it would look like. You had maybe 5 minutes left before the security came back on and you would be caught. You jumped again and looked around. You were face to face with the green jewel. The security was seriously lacking, the only thing protecting the jewel from your hands was a glass case. This really was too easy. You figured that sense Thor was on Earth he would be more involved with the safety of one of the most prized possessions of his people. Oh well. Made life easier for you. You stalked over to the jewel with your finished magazine in hand just in case there was a weight sensor. You outstretched your hand and right as you were about to close on the jewel you heard a break in the static in your ear. “The security countermeasures I put in place have a minute and 30 seconds left,” You withdrew your hand confused and turned around to face the wall. Why would they tell you that? You were well aware that you wouldn’t be able to finish in the time frame you were given. They said when they turned on the countermeasures that it could be the last you would hear from them. “4 of the avengers known as captain america, the falcon, the winter soldier, and of course thor have joined you, they are 1 floor away just thought I should inform you. Best of luck.” You squint your eyes. Not good. You fully switched off the earpiece before turning back towards the jewel. “I wouldn’t if I was you,” a voice came from behind you. You froze. “Of course you wouldn’t, falcon.” you replied before dashing for the jewel. Wrapping your hand around you turned around and looked. Calculating how well your odds were you realized that no matter how spent your power was there was no way you were getting out of here by taking them all down in a fist fight. You made eye contact with the winter soldier. Oh just lovely. Not only did he know exactly how your power worked he knew almost everything about you. This was just fan-fucking-tastic. Trying not to show how scared you were, you smirked at him before turning and facing the entire group that had come to try and stop you. “I would really love to stay and hear all about everything I’m doing wrong and how the only person I’m hurting is my self and so on, but I really must be going seeing that I have prior engagements that involve pawning off this rock and setting myself up on a beach with a margarita that has one of those tiny umbrellas.” Thor looked like he wouldn’t have an issue killing you in order to get the jewel back so you decided it was time to take your leave. Hopefully, they were slow enough that you could make it to the roof and have a few minutes to regain your bearings before they reached you. 

The falcon started to make his way over to you and right as he was about to secure you by the arm you jumped and almost fell off the side of the building. You stuck your arms out to help you regain your balance. Once you were sure you weren't going to plummet to your death, you sucked in a huge breath. ‘Maybe you would get away after all.’ You turned around and began to look at the sunrise and draw energy to yourself. Right as you were about to open your last jump to get you away from this dumpster fire of a heist you heard the door to the roof slam open and 4 sets of footsteps spill out from the stairwell. With an annoyed face you turned back around and faced the heroes that were still in pursuit of you. “y/n, I know that you don’t think it but you don’t need to do this.” Shit he knew your name, that makes everything even more difficult. “Shield helped me, they can help you too.” You rolled your eyes. This was a cute attempt but in the end it was pointless. ‘Bucky I’m not going to prison, I refused to be trapped down.” He recoiled slightly at the fact that you too knew his name. You blew out an aggravated breath, there really was no point to this savior monologue.  “I know this sounds super cliche but if you just stepped down I promise I will do everything in my power to help you.” You smiled a tiny bit. “Look, I appreciate the effort but theres really no point.” He continued to talk while you summoned more energy for a final jump. You cut him off, “Sorry lover boy, I’m just beyond saving.” You raised your middle finger in the hand not holding the jewel and started to lean off of the roof. Right as your feet left the edge, he started to rush to the side of the building. you summoned energy to help you jump. “We should do this again,” you shouted as you felt the energy surround you and you were pulled out of the air. 

[longitud-de-onda]

nothing to loose

pairing; the mandalorian | din djarin x female reader (but i don’t think there’s any pronouns or explicit body references so it’s pretty gender neutral) summary; after a brutal shoot-out, you and mando are back on the razor crest, injured but all patched up, when he asks you to lie down with him as he rests.   rating; nc-17, but like a soft nc-17 warnings; soft smut, dry humping, blaster injuries word count; 2.5k requested; by anon “hello I hope my request finds u well but I was wondering if maybe u could do sum touch starved mando and the reader asks to see his face but he blind folds her and that’s how they feel each other thank u !!”

What exactly happened, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that one second all you could see was plumes of dust and the red streaks of blaster fire, and the next second the dust cleared and every one of the fifteen people in the bar was dead on the floor and Mando was struggling to get up, making some sort of pained noise. You had dropped down to his side, wrapping an arm around his chest to help him up.

Once he was standing, you had knelt back down to grab your blaster, which you let go of upon seeing your partner hurt on the ground. It was still hot from the fight, but Mando was clearly injured past the usual point, so you slipped it back into your belt, wincing as the hot metal singed your pants.

You had returned to Mando, holding his arm and helping him out of the establishment. He was silent. When he was hurt, he would normally complain and make some noises. Completely silent wasn’t anything good in your mind.

Now that you were back on the ship, you set him down on the floor, knowing there was no way he was going to make it up to his quarters like this. You spent the entire walk here rambling, hoping he wouldn’t pass out on you. Not only were you relying on the man to help you complete the job and get your share of the bounty, but you had started to care a lot for him. Your feelings were edging into a romantic territory, one you’d never admit to him. But if he died? That would break you.

“Mando, are you with me?” you had returned to where he was lying with the medpack.

“Yeah...” he said, his voice weak and floaty. “It’s my... side.”

You took a deep breath. Medical situations were never your strong suit. You could hardly stand the sight of blood.

“Okay, I’m going to take off your armor, alright?” you asked.

He nodded, and you reached around his chest to undo the straps and pull off the metal chest plate. With only his shirt covering his torso, you could now see what happened.

A blaster had hit him a centimeter beyond the edge of his armor, burning a small hole in his shirt. The skin below was bright red and burnt. It didn’t look terrible, but you couldn’t see how wide the wound was, and you knew blaster fire damage went deep under the skin.

“I need to take your shirt off,” you said, trying to keep calm.

There was no response. You said his name again a few times to no avail. Placing a hand on his chest, there was a steady breath, but that didn’t do much to calm your panicking mind.

Fuck it. He’d do the same thing for me. You struggled to remove the rest of his armor and you pulled the scissors out of the med pack to cut his shirt off.

You gasped as you peeled back the cloth, revealing an ugly wound. It was going to take a while to fix things up.

After 20 minutes of frantic first aid, you looked over your work. Mando’s skin was cleaned up and properly bandaged, and there was enough numbing cream that he probably wouldn’t feel the pain for another 12 hours. You were exhausted. Collapsing on the floor next to him, you began to feel the burn on your thigh from where you placed the hot blaster.

With Mando knocked out, and all the burn care supplies out and available, it only made sense to take care of it now. You slipped out of your boots and undid your belt. Your pants came off shortly after, leaving you in your black shirt and underwear. It wasn’t a bad wound or anything, just a long line, red and hot to the touch. And it stung. That had to be the worst part about burns; they were so much better when they were worse. The light ones weren’t bad enough to singe the nerves.

You winced at the ointment on your skin, but the cooling effect began shortly after. A few spritzes of bacta-spray and a large bacta-patch later, and you’d probably be fine.

“Thank you,” Mando’s voice startled you and you looked up. His mask was pointed in your direction, and you were very aware of your state of undress.

“Oh, you’re awake!” scrambling to his side as he attempted to push himself up to a seated position. “You took a pretty nasty blast there, but it’ll probably heal without any scarring. I hope.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said, “You’ve done more than I would have.”

You looked up at him. How did he survive before you came along? That patch covering his chest was the bare minimum. It was your best attempt at shitty first aid.

“You need to rest,” you said, reaching over. “I’ll help you up to the cot.”

“No—we should go,” he said.

“We can stay here for the night. The ship’s pretty well hidden, it’s not like one night’s going to make that much of a difference,” you said, “If things get bad, I can fly us out.”

“You’re not touching my ship,” Mando said and you laughed. He had tried to sound aggressive but the pain in his voice muted anything he said.

You let your gaze linger on his chest, taking a moment to admire. He was larger than the armor let on, muscles bulky and softly defined. If you weren’t in so much pain, the visuals might have gone straight to your core.

“Come on, up to your cot,” you held your hand to help him get up.

Climbing the ladder up into the quarters was no easy task. Whenever Mando tried to use his left arm the bandage would pull at his skin and he’d freak out that he was going to further hurt himself. You settled for climbing the ladder first and helping by pulling him up. It wasn’t the best solution, but it did the job.

You got him situated in the cot, and after helping him out of the armor covering his legs and the remaining rags of his shirt, you stood in the room, still not wearing pants, but hesitating to leave.

“I, um, sorry about your shirt,” you said. “I didn’t want to ruin it, but I couldn’t take it off with the helm—”

“It’s fine. I have others,” he said, and you weren’t sure, but he could have been eyeing your naked legs. You had both seen each other in various states of undress, the past couple weeks of traveling together in a small, bare-bones ship not lending much privacy, but this felt different.

“You should sleep,” you said, needing to pry yourself from his gaze. You couldn’t see his face, his reactions. And that scared you. You turned to leave. “I’m going to go rest up in the cockpit.”

“Don’t go.”

“What?” you glanced over. Mando tilted his head down.

“I, uh, I like it...,” he said. “When you hold me. No one has—”

He froze as if he had said too much. It was too late. You understood perfectly, and it hurt. He must have spent so much time alone. Mandalorians weren’t exactly known for much beyond fighting, and you couldn’t imagine them being much into relationships. Such a large portion of their young was adopted, it couldn’t have been a life with much sentimentality.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he continued at your silence.

“No. I can stay,” you breathed out. You weren’t thrilled at the idea, it was too innocent. You didn’t just want to climb into his bed if you weren’t going to get to give him everything, like you wanted.

You returned to the side of the cot, sitting down before hiking your legs up onto the bed, getting comfortable next to Mando. His arm wrapped around your waist, centimeters away from the edge of your shirt. It felt like your skin was on fire. If only he would just slip his hand under the fabric, you would explode.

You slipped an arm around him, hoping it was okay. He made a sound, muffled by the mask, but you thought it was good. It was so easy to feel comfortable, wrapped up with Mando, the guy you had come to care so much about. You wanted to imagine it was something more. Something better. But you would take what you could get. It wasn’t like you could enter a relationship. Both of you were bounty hunters. You worked alone.

His thumb started moving in circles across your abdomen and holy shit, that felt good. You wanted him to keep doing that for as long as you could get.

“Mando,” you breathed, and he stopped.

“Sorry, I didn’t—”

“Please, don’t stop,” you said. Nothing happened. You were convinced you had completely ruined it. The rest of the job would be painful longing glances. If he didn’t kick you out first.

Then it started again and you exhaled. You were leaning into his every touch. His hand slipped down further, coming into contact with your skin and you let out a filthy moan you really hoped wouldn’t come back to bite you in the ass later.

You pulled him closer as carefully as possible, as not to disturb his wound, and your heads crashed together, the hard beskar hitting your skull with a painful thunk.

“Fuck!” you leaned back, hand flying to your forehead, feeling an already developing bump. Mando pushed back, distancing himself from you.

“I’m sorry I—”

“It’s fine, can you take that off?” you just wanted his hands back on your body, you wanted to feel him close, and you knew he felt the same.

“I can’t.” Shit. The creed.

“Right, sorry, I didn’t—”

“Wait right there,” he said, sitting up with a groan and leaning over you. He reached down to the ground where the pile of his armor was.

When he lay back down again he was holding the remains of his shirt. Ripping a strip from it, he held it up in front of your face.

“Is this okay?” he said.

It took a moment for you to understand what he was asking, but once you knew, you nodded. He set it in front of your eyes, carefully wrapping around your head, tying it into a smooth knot. It smelled like him: the cold of the beskar and the warmth of leather and sweat.

You heard a soft hiss and then the sound of another person breathing in front of you. You were pretty sure you could sense his arm reach around you as he placed his helmet on the ground before he was back onto you, hands running across your waist, underneath your shirt.

You tried to pull him in again, this time successfully, holding his hips against yours as you rolled into him. He moaned, an unfiltered sound that you hoped to commit to memory.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this,” he said, “to feel you, to touch you, to be right next to you.”

“Mando, I—” you started before he reached a hand around your ass, squeezing gently and you gasped into his neck. His voice was so perfect. It came from his chest, husky and deep, and its sound settled deep in your core. You pushed your hips up into him, throwing your injured leg over him to obtain more friction.

He ran his hand around and underneath you, trailing down your thigh and back up, over the bandage and you flinched. He moved his hand back up to your waist and you whined. You took the hand that was on his waist and reached it lower down on his body, bringing him somehow even closer to you.

“I know we can’t,” he was breathing heavily now, long pauses punctuating every word, “I know we can’t do more, you’re, you’re injured. I’m injured, but—”

He stopped to let out a noise you knew would be etched into your brain years later as you rolled your hips into him, the friction hitting you just as hard. He began to rut his hips into yours, and you could feel his erection poking at you.

You let him set the pace, your heart rate steadily increasing as you felt an orgasm build up, and moved your hands up to his face. You had no idea what he looked like, and you knew it didn’t really matter. You had fallen for him back when you hadn’t even seen more than a small patch of skin. But now you could feel the soft curve of his jaw, his smooth lips, and the light stubble of a few days without shaving.

He must have liked your hands roaming across your face, because he moaned again, thrusting harder against you. The friction of his erection and the cotton of your underwear was setting you on fire, and you knew you were seconds away from an orgasm, you hips bucking into his involuntarily.

“Mando, I—fuck, Mando—I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum,” you could hardly keep your voice down.

“Fuck, you’re so hot under my hands,” Mando breathed out, and that was just about enough to push you over, “Cum for me baby.”

And the feeling washed over you, white-hot and uncontrollable, flooding through your body, causing your head to throb with pleasure and you pressed into him. He kept moving against you, and even though you were spent, you rolled your hips another time, and you felt his body shudder, his motions stilling as he groaned.

You wished you could see his face as he orgasmed, jealous of his ability to see you moments ago in the heat of things. You held his back, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against your stomach.

“That was—” Mando breathed, “That was good.”

You chuckled. “Good? I, oh fuck, I loved that. I’ve been wanting to...”

“Me too,” he said, dipping his head into your chest. You reached a hand up into his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft strands which were longer than you had expected.

“Wish we weren’t all bandaged up,” he mumbled.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” you asked.

“I want to take off that shirt and your underwear. Want to feel you. Want to be inside you,” he said and you felt the stir of arousal start up again.

But you were exhausted. The fight earlier today leaving you with little energy beyond the adrenaline needed to perform first aid. It was a miracle you were able to manage what you did with Mando.

“I want that too, Mando,” you said, “Please promise me when we’re better, you’ll do that.”

“Fuck, I can promise you so much more,” he said.

“Can you promise me that we can fall asleep right here in each other’s arms?”

He raised his head from beneath your chin, and his lips brushed against yours. You leaned in, his soft lips catching yours between them. It was over all too soon.

“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

taglist; @pascalisthepunkest​, @turquiosenights