#do people even care enough about him to have a tag

[angelltheninth]

Can you write what kinds of things JJK men would do to make readers heart race?

Exist. That's enough for me.

Pairing: Yuuji, Sukuna, Megumi, Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Toji, Yuta x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, teasing, kissing, phone calls, cuddles, playful slap, princess carry

A/N: Well ok, they thry exist in 2D, that's good eniugh.

Yuuji eats lunch with you every day even if he's in a hospital. It's important for him that you get that time together and he gets to talk your ear off about the things that happened that day. Will casually steal a bite of your food and comment how it tastes so much better from something that your lips have touched.

Sukuna doesn't really know what constitutes as sweet anymore with the times constantly changing. He does what he likes and hopes you'll pick up on what he's trying to do. Unfortunately that something is giving your butt a smack when you walk by and then pretending he didn't do it until you get real close and he offers a kiss or a few as apology.

Megumi puts his arm around your shoulders when you walk down the street together. He never meets your eyes when he does it but even with his head turned the other way you can see the faint traces of a blush blooming across his face. You try to do the same to him but it really doesn't have the same effect.

Gojo is a little bit silly when he wants to get your attention. He is really loud when he calls your name and practically jumps you before spinning you around, not caring who sees or thinks the sight is embarrassing. You're his girlfriend and he wants to make you laugh and smile for him, always.

Nanami calls you just to tell you that he loves you very much. Seriously that is all he does, just three simple words and then he hangs up on you, not even giving you enough time to say it back, just a brief sound of delight. This happens several times a day but always at the same time to the point when you know exactly when he'll call but his words always have an effect on you.

Geto opens his arms and waits for you to melt in them every night. Better do it fast cause he will pout and complain otherwise and make the lack of feeling your body against his everyone's problem. God, he makes it sound so much more lewd then it actually is and you bet that he knows it too, it's why he does it, all for that cute flustered face.

Toji never gets tired of kissing you but his kisses are never just the sweet and calming kind, they always carry passion and heat with them. His thumb pulls on your chin, brushing your lip for a moment before you feel his tongue lick into your mouth. Always aims to take your breath away and leave you a heaving mess of a woman in his lap.

Yuta really loves to princess carry you for seemingly no reason at all. Most people would save those kinds of things for special occasions but not him, for him every day is special if he gets to spend it with you. So he will make sure you feel special every time he takes you in his arms and kisses you.

[adventuringblind]

Entitled To You (3.6K words)

Norstaptri x Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: An incident with Lance sends the boys into a frenzy. She just wants to do what she loves.

Warnings: Explicit depictions of r@pe, injury descriptions, panic attacks, Oscar plots a murder, Lando throws hands, Car crashes, Author doesn't know legal stuff, Head trauma and blood.

Notes: This one is a request from @Lily234566 I know this wasn't the original pairing but I was struggling to fit the Ferrari boys in there so I had to scale it back... I'm sorry and I hope you still like it! T_T

Side Note: Sorry to the Lance girlies reading this. AND obligatory message of I don't know these people and this is purely FICTION! HEAD THE TAGS! DONT LIKE THEN DONT READ!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

“Max!” She peeks her head into his driver's room. The bright beaming smile she receives in return after their 1-2 nearly kills her. “They want me for a media thing, apparently.” HIs smile drops into a pout. The sad puppy eyes might convince her to stay. 

“Again? Don’t they know we have plans!

“No, and why would they care anyway?” She looks him up and down and whines because he’s standing in front of her with no shirt on. “Just - I’ll meet you guys back at the room. It’s something to do with being a female in F1… again.”

“I’m starting to think they have nothing else to talk about.” 

She shrugs as she walks out of the hospitality, waving to Christian on her way by. The goal is to get past the Mclaren garage without seeing Lando because otherwise she is not going to the interview. His pout is worse (better?) than Max’s. 

To her pleasant surprise, Laura is the one conducting the interview. “I’m sorry about this being last minute! They said they wanted you to do it with someone else next week and I offered to do it now.” 

The interview passes with ease and thankfully doesn’t take long at all. The banter in-between is also entertaining. 

She’s exhausted when they finish. Ready to go back to the hotel and fall into bed with her boys. Hopefully They’ve ordered food - and dessert. 

The paddock is nearly empty as she makes her way through. Maybe, had she been paying more attention and not focussed on her aching body, she would’ve caught on to the footsteps behind her. 

They are heavy, she assumes possibly a mechanic still packing up to continue on their way to the next circuit. That’s what she still thinks when the hand on her bicep yanks her around the corner. 

If she weren’t as exhausted, then fighting would’ve been a possibility. However, that seems out of the cards as he pins her against the nearest wall. Her forehead hitting the surface hard enough to make her dizzy. 

“Not so confident now, huh?” 

The fuck- “Lance? What are you?-” He slams her head again and cages her body against his own. She flails, only to be slammed again. “Would you stop doing that please?” 

“Not after that stupid stunt you pulled today on track.”

“You mean the one where you showed you don’t know what brakes are?-” Again, her head is sent into the hard surface. She can feel her nose starting to bleed. “Must you?!” She decided to shut up when he does it again and everything starts to go fuzzy. 

His fingers dip beneath the waistband of her fireproofs. The cold evening air hits her bare skin and she panics more than before. Her head is too cloudy to fully comprehend what’s happening. 

“I feel like I'm entitled to a bit of compensation after that stunt.” 

“You’re entitled to nothing. You took yourself out!” She hisses through gritted teeth. Still, Lance continues to get her clothes lower. And slams her head again harder - you know - because she wasn’t disoriented enough already.

“Would you shut up?” She doesn’t say anything this time. Her mouth feels numb and her ears are ringing. Her exposed lower half is met with the bare hands of someone she doesn't want touching her. 

It's - well - it hurts. He's groping at her thighs, ass, even her tits which she isn't sure how he's managing. His hands are everywhere they shouldn't be. 

And then nothing. 

A vague awareness of what's happening seeps through her veins and invades her senses. She tries to scream. Attempts despite the sheer pain of the snap of hips she didn't ask for. 

His finger beat her to it. A hand encloses around her throat and cuts off her oxygen. The black spots dance around her vision. She wants them to stop moving; they are making her dizzy. Or was she already dizzy? 

“See, it's not so bad. Don't you feel less guilty for ruining my race now?” No, she doesn't. She wasn't guilty before. 

She blacks out. 

~~~♡~~~

Waking up with sore limbs and a killer headache is not how she pictured this night going. She tries to yell for help, but a mere creaky rasp escapes. 

When did she lose her voice? The thought makes her panic more. The sob she lets out hurts more than there is sound. 

Her face and hair is sticky. At least Lance had done her the courtesy of not finishing inside of her. 

Still - what the fuck even happened? The fragmented memory is trying to come back to her slowly. Each small piece remembered is another broken cry. 

She can't move. 

It's dark again. 

~~~♡~~~

The anxiety between the three boys is certainly not something they are used to. Oscar can pinpoint the exact moment Lando started overthinking and Max had to bear hug him so he didn't pace a hole into the cement of the parking lot. 

The fourth seat in their car remains empty and their messages have gone unanswered. It's getting more concerning with each passing minute. 

“Max, she always responds.” 

“I know Lando.” 

“She always calls if she's going to be longer.” 

“Lando?”

“Yes?”

“Would you feel better if we went and looked around for her?” 

The Brit nods his head in a fashion that might give him whiplash. It's better seeing him feel helpful then sit helplessly. Though Oscar can't help but agree with Max's original point. that they should wait there at the car just in case since that's where they were supposed to meet. 

Granted, it's only been twenty minutes. It's still long enough to be murdered. 

They Methodically peer around corners and wave at the mechanics who give them skeptical looks. They were supposed to be out for post race celebrations by now. 

Oscar freezes when he sees it. The human shaped lump lying on the ground. He rushes over with long strides. The closer he gets, the more familiar the person on the ground becomes. 

“Max! Lando! I found her!” The other two boys come sprinting in his direction. He's on the ground trying to clear her hair from her face only for it to get stuck in the sticky substance coating her features. 

“What the fuck?” 

Her fireproofs are still on, but it's obvious what happened. The handprints on her neck, the blood trickling down the sides of her face. “We need to bring her to a hospital.” 

Max hoists her up in his arms. Mainly because Lando is on the brink of tears and struggling to breathe through his panic. He loves deeply and with his heart on his sleeve. Oscar just hopes he can keep the Brit calm until they find more help. 

“Can we at least clean her up?” Lando pleads with him. Big Hazel eyes brimming with tears. 

It's always a struggle to tell him no. “We can't, not if it can help us figure out who did it.” The tears start right after that. 

“So that’s what happened then? Someone really-” Oscar has to maneuver the puddle of tears that is his boyfriend into the passenger seat of their rental car. Max tosses him the keys, opting to be with her in the back and keep her comfortable. 

The tricky drive to emergency is more because Oscar is too far in his own thoughts to pay attention to the traffic lights. He can hear Max moving her around, attempting to put pressure where blood still flows freely. 

Oscar doesn’t bother with parking. He pulls off into some empty area and helps Max shoulder her weight inside the doors while Lando runs ahead to find help. 

It’s fast after that. They take her away and start patching her up while the three of them are forced to sit in the waiting room. Oscar and Lando are left to their own devices while Max paces about on the phone with Christian. 

He feels like a knife is being driven through his chest each time his mind tries to come up with what could’ve happened. Who would do something like this? Unfortunately, a lot of people. The question is more of who could’ve done it and gotten away. Someone with access to the paddock this late. Security, perhaps? Maybe even a sleazy mechanic? A driver wouldn’t make any sense… right?

“When will they let us see her?”

“When she wakes up, most likely.”

He’s not sure when he falls asleep. The exhaustion finally hit him like a truck despite his persistence. He’s awoken by Max’s constant shaking and aggressive whispering of his name. 

“-She’s asking for us.” 

He’s up faster than Lando when Jon threatens an ice bath. They follow the nurse down the halls with an uneasy anticipation. They creep inside the sterile room and find her staring at the wall. 

Lando doesn’t hesitate to move further into the room. Always having been more in touch with his emotions then the other two boys. “Hey love, can I come closer?” 

She looks at him. The bandages plastered over the sides of her head and around her face now visible to them. She returns Lando’s gaze with glassy eyes. It’s damn near shocking when she tries to pull things off her body in a desperate attempt to reach for Lando. 

Lando gets to her before she can get everything off, specifically the IV, and catch her arms. Oscar and Max finally pull themselves together and manage to get her to lay back down with some coaxing. 

She’s shaking violently. Her grip on Lando’s arm is sure to leave bruises. “Who - who f-found me?”  

“We did, schat. We got worried when you didn’t respond.” Max drags the two chairs in the room closer and pulls Oscar down into one.  Lando, against all odds, manages to wriggle his way into bed with her. 

“I know who it was. I - well - does anyone else know?” 

“Just Christian and us.” Oscar can feel the fight Max is putting up to not ask her more questions. The way he’s grounding himself with a hand on Oscars knee instead. 

“You don’t have to tell us.” He attempts to reassure. Maybe calm her mind by giving her an option. “Just know we’re here, alright?” 

“I don’t want it to be a big story. It’s already going to be since I can’t be in the car for the next four weeks. Oh fuck - everyone is gonna know-” Lando hushes her; gets her to somehow hold him tighter.

“Christian said it’s up to you, whatever happens.” Max nods at her encouragingly. “We go at your pace.” 

“They did a rape kit. They’ll know who it is. It was all over so it couldn’t have been hard to get DNA - oh fuck” 

Her heart rate picks up. The nurses rush in. They send her back to sleep. 

~~~♡~~~

Max wants to know who it was who touched her. The rage simmering underneath her skin is almost too much to keep contained. 

On the more fortunate side, they were allowed to stay since she wouldn’t let go of Lando. Then when he did have to get up, they rotated. 

The doctors and nurses learned to approach her like she’s a scared animal. The heavy footsteps seem to set her off and there is now a sticky note on the door saying to tiptoe when entering. It’s endearing to see her doctors and nurses trying so hard not to startle her. But seeing as they’ve now had several incidents where she’s panicked, they are taking more caution. 

Oscar and Lando have meandered away in search of food. Max opted to stay put and made the promise to bring him back cheat foods. He’s too stressed to not eat something of comfort. 

Her physio is supposed to come by today with the stuff she left at the track and get an update from the doctors themselves instead of Max’s botched attempts at repeating back. It will also be nice to see her comfortable, as the one blanket that travels with her everywhere will also be dropped off. 

“Max?” He tightens his hold to show he’s listening. “It’s not fair… You, Lando, and Oscar make a mistake on track and nobody does that to you. I - It wasn’t my fault.” 

The thing is, Max is smarter than people give him credit for. The only incident on track was with Lance. An incident that was his own fault. “He’s at fault, not you. None of this is your fault.”

“They are going to say I was asking for it or something.” 

“In those fireproofs? The only ones asking for it are me and Oscar… for obvious reasons.” He chuckles proudly at his little self compliment. 

It also manages to get her to crack something of a half smile. “Are you complimenting your own ass?” 

“And what if I am?” 

She doesn’t eat anything despite it being sat in front of her. Soft foods are the only thing she’ll be eating. Her throat, albeit not as bad as it could've been (thank you F1), is still damaged and needs to rest as much as possible. 

They had to keep her for observation due to where the head wounds had been. It’s been a rough thirty-six hours, but they are managing.

Despite the hectic situation, Max has come to learn that the female lying in the hospital bed is a better person then the rest of them. Oscar was detailing a full proof murder plan while she was telling him not to make it a bigger deal then it is. To which Oscar politely put his ten step plan with four contingencies down and told her that it’s ‘what he had coming to him’. 

Max has not had to stop someone from assassinating a rival before, but Oscar seems like a reasonable guy. “Death is too good for him.” 

“Mm, you’re right, I’ll just make sure he doesn’t die then and can’t see my face.” 

“Or, we make his life a series of inconveniences! I feel like daddy’s money could get him good therapy. It can’t solve every minor problem.” Lando has a gleam in his eyes. 

Him and Oscar start pouring over ideas once more. The girl simply shakes her head and goes back to eyeing her pudding like it’s assaulted her. “I don’t want to leave here, Max.”

“Why not? I’d assume you want to go home? Sleep in a comfortable bed?”

“Out there, they can get to us. Here is safe.” 

He considers how to reassure her. Only, there is nothing he can think of. The truth is that outside of this hospital room, there is no guarantee they won’t run into trouble. 

“I can’t promise that we'll never have something bad happen again. But-” He looks to the McLaren duo brainstorming ways to make the Aston Martin garage regret existing. “We’ll be there for each other. We’re here for you. When you want us and when you need us, yes?” 

“Pinky swear?” She extends her pink to him. 

Max accepts and curls his pinks around hers. “Pinky swear.” 

~~~♡~~~

It’s not fair really, that they had to leave to go do things. Lando would prefer he at least stayed with her so she isn’t alone. Alas, they are preparing for her discharge and he had to run around getting things together for their trip back to Monaco.

He comes back to a partially opened door and smiles at the other two boys being able to get back before him. Then again, as he gets closer he can hear the angry tone. One that Max uses when he’s pissed off about something. 

Lando panics and rushes inside. Only to be met with the sight of the last person he wants around right now. 

Now - he wouldn’t say he’s prone to violence. Lando prefers to keep the peace when it comes to conflict unless he’s trying to piss someone off on purpose to get a reaction. This is not one of those times. 

Lando’s knuckles collide with the Canadian’s jaw faster than he can fully become aware of what he’s doing. Lance stumbles backward and holds his jaw, glaring at Lando like he’s the one in the wrong here. 

“Get out!” 

“We were just talking-” 

“I said. Get. Out.” He’s seething. The thudding in his chest becoming louder with each second Lance remains in this room. 

He’s not prone to violence. 

Really, he’s not. 

Yet the second crack of knuckles into Lance's chin gives him some sick satisfaction. Isn’t there something about equilibrium? Can he pin this on restoring the balance or something? Regardless, he isn’t going to dent the fact that it feels good. 

The nurses come running and start asking questions. Max and Oscar have to drag Lando away kicking and screaming. 

Worse is when they try to tell him that there are pictures out on social media. Christian has been calling Max non-stop. Oscar has been dealing with Zak. Their relationship isn’t a secret and neither is their current location.  

“They're sending us a different car to see if we can’t get out discreetly.” 

“What happened with Lance, Lan? Are you alright?”

Everyone is panting. Their eyes trained on the door. “I punched him. I restored the equal-brey-um… thing.” 

“Equilibrium.” 

“Yeah that!” 

He’s not sure how they get on the plane. He’s still amped up about the whole punching thing and running purely off adrenaline. 

They’ve been sitting in silence, mulling over their options. Creating statements they can put out. It’s hectic and they keep trashing them because nothing fits. 

The female has been apathetic. The last thing she wanted was for this to get out and now it has. Seemingly everything is flashing before her eyes. Her career will be gone soon enough, so what’s even the point? 

“Don’t post anything. We don’t have an obligation to confirm or deny the rumors. If anything, we can say that you were just driving me to the hospital and being good friends or whatever.” She won’t look at them. Still - Lando can hear how upset she is, the waiver in her voice. “I’m going to be kicked out anyway.” 

“Christian said-”

“Damn what Christian said! He knows this isn’t going to get any better and if I say who it was then Daddy’s Money is just going to pay his way through.” She's hyperventilating now. Her body collapses against her seat and Oscar makes an effort to get her to lean against him. “It’s not fair!”

lando Can’t help but share her feelings.

~~~♡~~~

She stays holed up in the Redbull garage the next weekend. The appearance is hard, people want to ask her questions. Her boys had been caught in the middle of the riptide and haven’t come back to shore yet. 

At least she’s here. She’s trying her hardest to look stronger than she is. On the inside things are falling apart. 

The team knows to give her space and not ask about the ordeal. She takes refuge in Max’s room when things are too much and the other drivers keep their distance. 

They know it was one of them. She’d been adamant on not saying who it was, but it’s obvious there are sixteen who it could have been, given her partners insistence that none of them go near her garage for the time being.  

She just wants this whole thing to blow over. She wants to lay in bed with her lovers and not flinch when they go to touch her. 

She knows, however, that until she deals with things that healing can’t happen like it should. Or at least, that’s what her therapist says. The one she is now required to see. 

Things get worse when she’s back in the car. Her media duties are limited so she can focus on driving and ‘listening to her body’ as her physio likes to say. 

She can’t hear her body over the sound of her mind going staticy as Lance closes in on her. The catalyst for everything. She panics and ends up in the wall. Not the worst crash ever, but certainly hurts her pride more than it has already.

The thing is, it keeps happening. Even as she’s able to let her boys back in. As her podium finishes start to come back. Her fireproofs (which they’d gotten her all new ones) start to feel comfortable again and she doesn’t feel the need to be out of them the second the race is done. Still, Lance is using this to his advantage. 

Finally, after he almost killed her on track (again), she’s had enough.

The trial goes better than she thought it would. Despite the money differences, Lance won’t be able to race anymore. It’s not some grand spectacle either, just an announcement like usual. It’s more the closure she needed versus the publicized drama it could have been. 

She wins the next race. 

“If I ever see him again, it will be too soon.” 

“It’s been over a year now, Lan. I’m getting better.” There is a genuine smile on her face. The car awaits to take them back to the hotel. It was here that it happened. She almost considered not racing because of it.

“Lando got a taste of blood and now he’s feinding for it.” Max has a comforting hand around her waist. A grounding presence. 

“I mean, I never threw away my murder plot…” 

“You’re a genius Oscar!”

She shakes her head. It’s not like any of this has been easy. It never is. Still - her boys are here and they’ve been so patient. 

“There’s her smile.” They all beam at her. 

She smiles back.

[grimm-writings]

can i request chil eavesdropping on reader telling marcille about their crush, and getting jealous because he doesn’t realise that it’s him?

distant

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, miscommunication, marcille being a gossip and izutsumi being petty

…wc! 613

…notes! making this short and sweet. hope you enjoy!! 

Even with Chilchuck’s enhanced hearing, it’s difficult to miss Marcille’s loud gasps of shock whenever she hears anything that strikes her very core.  You and the elf like to take the chance to gossip with one another when the day comes to a close.  Chilchuck personally doesn’t get it, but that doesn’t mean he won’t tune in occasionally to something that catches his attention.

With a lowered voice, “actually,” you say, “I have something to admit…”

“Yes?” Marcille matches your volume.  Anyone else probably wouldn’t be able to listen in easily, all except Chilchuck.  What could even be so interesting that you can only discuss it this way Marcille?

“I think…  No, I know for certain I caught feelings for him,” you whisper with a dejected sigh.

Chilchuck freezes in place as he was helping clean plates from the past meal.  Izutsumi, who was joining him, spared him a glance.  Noticing this, Chilchuck quietly apologises and continues the routine.

…Izutsumi’s foul stare doesn’t stop him from listening in on the conversation more.

“Really?”  Marcille whispers, though with her excitement in tow it makes her voice sound shrill, which makes Chilchuck flinch slightly.  “You figured it out?”

“Yeah,” you respond with a sigh.  “Don’t think he likes me back– it’s like he’s giving me the cold shoulder.”

What?  Someone would be stupid enough to be cruel to you?  But you’re so sweet!  Even observing from a distance, Chilchuck has formed a bit of a soft spot for you.  He doesn’t get too close, out of his own rule of not forming interpersonal relationships.

He’d have to give that guy a piece of his mind…

“Ah, but he’s actually really sweet once you peel back the layers, you know?”  You continue, confusing Chilchuck further.  “He can be so soft, so gentle… But once he realises what he’s doing, he withdraws.  He’s so distant.”

“So he’s sending mixed signals?”  Marcille confirms.

“Mhm…”

A nasty twinge of jealousy twists in Chilchuck’s chest.  Not like he isn’t used to it when it comes to you before.  You really care for this guy?  And he’s not even being clear with what he wants?  Ugh, if only he could see him face to face!

Wait… Could it be someone like Laios?  Or Senshi?  Laios can be a little out of the loop when it comes to communication… and he wouldn’t doubt anyone would be somewhat enamoured with Senshi’s ability to care for someone.

Fixating on relationships is not what Chilchuck tends to do, but if it’s you, he wants the best for you.  He really does, but…

“Oh my God, are you stupid?”

Izutsumi’s voice breaks Chilchuck out of his thoughts, looking up at the younger girl.  Her own ear twitches, indicating she also heard the conversation.  “They’re obviously talking about you.”

Chilchuck flushes.  “What–”

“And you mock me for not being self-aware.”

“I’m not even that–!”

“Gentle?”  Izutsumi scoffs.  “Says the guy who tenderly carved a woodwork ornament for them.  Get real.”

Embarrassment fills Chilchuck up and out of his ears, opening his mouth and closing it cluelessly.  “...I’m not doing anything about it.”

“And let them believe you don’t like them at all?  Sure, go for it.”

Chilchuck purses his lips hesitantly, putting the plate away.  “If they want to confess, they will…  I won’t leave them distant.”

Izutsumi only stares with little amusement.  Relationships are her bane, but not in the way Chilchuck holds disdain for them.  They make people stupid, like how Chilchuck and you are.  She sighs wearily, finishing up the chore and returning to where she was relaxing.

You two better get over yourselves fast, if not for your own sakes, then for hers.

[hypnoneghoul]

Sundown: Chapter 2

WC: 1,3k

Relationship: Pre-relationship SwissAlps

Tags: Transfeminine Mountain, AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, Fluff, Dancing, First Kiss

Swiss is smitten. He realized it around ten minutes after Mounty left him in his room that first day.

Read chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 2 under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss is smitten.

He realized it around ten minutes after Mounty left him in his room that first day.

He is fucked.

That first day was over a month ago and he doubts he’s ever willingly stayed at one place for so long. His…arrangement with Mounty was working, though, he was helping whenever, wherever and however he could and in turn his horse was getting food and water and he got to sleep in a nice bed. But most importantly he got to spend time with her.

He wasn’t complaining; far from it.

In the last weeks he’s met a few more people somewhat similar to the barmaid. His brain is a little slow, taking in how people can be so different, so unique, but he’s doing his best and his…friends—he thinks he can call them that—are understanding and happy to spend time with him, too. That’s not something Swiss is used to.

They have a little team now—he, Mounty, and a cute throuple that the barmaid introduced him to a few days into his stay; Dewdrop, Rain, and Phantom. They are more or less around Swiss’ and Mounty’s ages, and they live together in one of the brighter, more lively houses in the little town.

Phantom’s somewhat of a local doctor—having taken over his older brother when he left to get better education out in the world. Mounty sometimes helps them by making special herbal teas for their patients. As Swiss learned, Phantom is non-binary, which…confused the man at first, but he thinks he gets it now. They are neither a boy, nor a girl, and that’s easy enough to grasp now.

Dewdrop is a resident horse-carer. He’s a stable boy, veterinarian, farrier, and a cowboy all at once. Anything related to horses—it’s Dewdrop’s job. He’s also like Mounty, but the other way around (as Swiss is explaining to himself).

Rain, on the other hand, is like Swiss. He’s just…the default, in terms of gender. His job in the town is a cook in a pub next to Mounty’s saloon. That’s why it was Rain who Swiss met first—he just came over for a drink after work one evening.

They all liked each other and Swiss was truly happy spending his time with the four of them. He never had friends, not anyone he could just…be with.

He still didn’t tell any of them who he really is, though, or rather who he’s known as. Not because he doesn’t trust them—he’s surprised to find that he actually does trust them already—but because he’s worried that they’d stop looking at him like they do now. That it would be them losing trust in him.

Swiss hopes it will come to sharing his story, but not yet.

He doesn’t want to or need to worry about that now. He rests against the bar—in the very same place that he ended up the first day—and sips on his whiskey. Neat, of course.

There’s a small party in the saloon—the occasion is unknown to Swiss, but he enjoys the atmosphere. It’s a small crowd in there, but it’s not crowded enough for Mounty to be working her ass off. Swiss is eternally grateful for that, for being allowed the sight of her smiling brightly and loudly laughing and dancing alone without a care in the world.

Part of that would change if only the man wasn't such a cunt.

There’s nothing he wants more in the moment than to get off of the squeaky stool, walk over to the empty-ish space where Mounty’s swaying to the music, grab her and twist her in his arms and lean down and–

He takes a sip of his whiskey.

Swiss stares at her for a while, barely blinking. He’s only snapped out of his trance by Phantom padding over to him and draping themself over his back, their chin hooked over his shoulder. “Whatcha sulking over?”

“What? Oh, no, nothing. I’m just tired.” he shrugs and smiles. He is a bit tired, he was cleaning the stables earlier, so it’s a valid excuse.

Phantom isn’t having any of it, though. They’re more than a little bit tipsy and they scoff at his lie, “Nuh-uh! You’re yearning.”

“I–” Swiss hesitates at being so bluntly called out. He sighs, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

The other sits on a free stool next to him, effectively blocking the view of the dancing barmaid as they hover their face mere inches from his and stare into his eyes. It’s just a little bit unsettling.

“What…?”

“Why are you just sittin’ here and being a little bitch?” Phantom asks and Swiss nearly chokes on his drink. “You ain’t a little bitch, do something!”

“Tommy, I don’t–I don’t know if I can,” he chuckles sadly at himself. Pathetic. “She’s just…fuck, she’s perfect and I’m…I don’t know, but I’m nowhere there, ya know?”

“Bullshit,” Phantom sing-songs. They spit on him a little as they do. “I’ve known Mounty for a few years now and I’ve never seen her like that, she’s the happiest she’s ever been, man! Ask Dew, he’s known her for a decade, he’ll tell you the same. Just go for it, what do you have to lose?”

Swiss thinks about it. Phantom is somewhat right, Mounty seems to be happy, but he doesn’t have much comparison. And what does he have to lose? Well…not much, truth be told.

The man shakes his head, takes a big sip of whiskey and pushes Phantom back to stand up.

“Go get her, cowboy!” they call out after him.

The saloon isn’t big enough for the crossing from the bar to the dancefloor to be long, but Swiss still starts to sweat on his way. What is going on with him!? His eyes are fixed on how Mounty’s hair reflects the light and how her eyes glint and how her skirt spins as she twists.

Swiss has to shake himself out of it to not make even a bigger fool out of himself. He saunters up to her—plastering his signature grin onto his face—and reaches out to brush his fingertips against the flowy fabric of her dress. She stops her spinning and the sudden halt makes her stumble over her feet and fall right into Swiss’ arms.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he chuckles, looking deep into her fresh-grass-green eyes. Both of them blush as Mounty straightens up, but Swiss doesn’t let go of her waist. There’s a question in his eyes and as he puts his other hand in front of the barmaid in an invitation, she takes it without hesitation.

Swiss smiles so hard it hurts as they start to dance.

They don’t talk, but they don’t need to—their shared movement is enough. They laugh and spin and laugh and twist and they’re both the happiest they’ve been in a while, even if the other isn’t quite aware of that.

Swiss is worried about the song coming to an end, not knowing what Mounty will do—not knowing what he will do—but all that is forgotten when the barmaid presses her chest against his and smiles even wider than she already was. The man’s chest hurts and his heart pounds as he makes a very impulsive decision that can very well get him kicked out of there.

He tightens his hold on her and bends her whole body backwards as he kisses her with all the emotions that have been bottling inside of him for weeks. Mounty doesn’t flinch and doesn’t pull back—just clings to his arms and kisses him back.

Somewhere behind them Swiss hears clapping and a whistle that sounds suspiciously like Phantom’s.

.

.

.

edit: nono gave us art again!!!

[lynzishell]

OC Deep Dive Questionnaire 💛Atlas & Asher🩵

✨TYSM for the tag @raiiny-bay, @zosa95, @dandylion240, @sirianasims, and @hannahssimblr 🤗💖

Of course, I went overboard with this, so grab your favorite beverage and let's dive right in, shall we? ☕💕

-what common/uncommon fear do they have?

💛Atlas: [Pointing to Asher] Water. 🩵Asher: You can’t just leave it at that. It’s not like if you set a glass of water on the table, I’ll run screaming. I have a fear of drowning, so I don’t like to be submerged in water. You’re never going to catch me out swimming. Probably not on a boat either, while we’re at it. Not taking any chances. 💛Atlas: Fair enough. But you won’t even put your face under the water in the shower. 🩵Asher: That’s because it reminds me of being submerged in water. Anyway, this conversation is making me sweaty, and there just happens to be water on the other side of this fence, so let's change the subject. Next question.

-do they have any pet peeves?

🩵Asher: Oh, Atlas fuckin’ hates mindless small talk, like the kind you use just to fill the silence, or because you awkwardly feel like you need to talk to the person next to you. Seriously, he’ll like you a lot more if you just sit next to him in silence for an hour. 💛Atlas:  Very true. And yet, your record for silence is, what, twenty minutes?  🩵Asher: Maybe. But I don’t make mindless small talk. 💛Atlas: Yeah, I do like listening to you ramble on about your latest obsessions. You get all animated and excited, it’s really cute. 🩵Asher: You’re really cute.

-what are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

💛Atlas: Uh, I don’t know, what’s in our room besides the obvious? Probably too many electronics. 🩵Asher: Right, between the computer and the switch and my drawing tablet and our phones... 💛Atlas: And your sketchbooks and pencils. How many pencils does someone need? 🩵Asher: I don’t have enough; I’ll tell you that much. Count yourself lucky that most of my art supplies are scattered between Lex’s place and my parents’ house. One day I’ll get it all organized in one place, but that day is not today.

-what do they notice first in a person?

🩵Asher: Hm. That's a good question. What did you notice about me first? 💛Atlas: Your hair, obviously. 🩵Asher: [laughs] 💛Atlas: But no, I would say your eyes. I’d never met anyone with such pure gray eyes before, they’re striking. Your eyes are very expressive too. And you make eye contact with people more than anyone else I know. Like, whenever I talk to you, I always feel like you’re really listening. 🩵Asher: [smiles] I am.

-on a scale of 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

🩵Asher: Oh god, mine is probably like a 5, and Atlas’s is probably a fuckin’ 8 or 9. 💛Atlas: I would’ve said 7, but we can go with 8.

-do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

💛Atlas: I think my first instinct is freeze, but then probably flight. Depending on the situation, I’ll walk away or hide away. 🩵Asher: Mostly. But with James, you definitely went to fight. 💛Atlas: That was different. I don’t care if people hurt me, but I’m not going to let them hurt the people I love. Ash is definitely more of a fighter than I am.  

-do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

🩵Asher: I don’t come from a big family, it’s just my parents, me, my sister, and my niece, but we are very close. But honestly, family isn’t just about relatives. Chosen family is just as important. When I say my family is the most important thing to me, I don’t just mean them, I also mean Atlas and Lex and Dawn and Phoenix and Aspen too. And Jasper, obviously. 💛Atlas: Exactly. If we’re talking about relatives, I come from a very large family, but I will never see or speak to any of them again, except for Dawn, of course. A few years ago, I never would’ve considered myself a family person, but Ash’s family taking me in changed all that. I’d definitely say I am now. 🩵Asher: I love that.

-what animal represents them best?

💛Atlas: Oh, that’s easy. Ash is just like Jasper, his border collie. Playful and energetic, friendly, intelligent, hardworking, and he loves to snuggle. 🩵Asher: Hm. I think for Atlas, I’d say a deer. 💛Atlas: A deer? 🩵Asher: Yeah, like, you’re quiet and cautious, a bit anxious with a tendency to hide, but you’re also beautiful and sweet. 💛Atlas: You make me sound more like a bunny. 🩵Asher: No, definitely not a bunny. Have you ever come upon a big buck deer? They’re majestic and intimidating, and they’ll kick your ass if they have to. They’re… survivors.

-what is a smell that they dislike?

💛Atlas: Ammonia. 🩵Asher: No one likes the smell of ammonia. 💛Atlas: I know, but when I was a kid, at the end of every school year, we’d have to clean our desks with this ammonia spray. Twenty kids spraying ammonia in an enclosed room. It was awful. I’m sure they had the windows open, but even still, that smell is seared into my brain, makes me want to gag just thinking of it.

-have they broken any bones? if so, how?

🩵Asher: Okay, story time! So, when I was ten? Eleven? Something like that. Anyway, I was dancing around in my room, as one does, and I tripped on a book, one of many scattered around my disaster of a room, and tried to catch myself as I went down. Bad decision. I’ll spare you the details, but the pain I felt in my wrist was horrible. I literally saw stars. And then I almost puked when I looked at it. So, of course, I started screaming for my mom. She came running in, and I told her that I’d broken my wrist. And what did she do? She yanked on it and snapped it back into place! Because apparently, I’d just dislocated it. But, fuck, it hurt. If a broken bone is worse than that, then I hope I never break one. 💛Atlas: I broke a toe once. Stubbed it on the corner of my bed when I was in college. I wasn’t good about taping it up or anything either, so it healed a little crooked.

-how would a stranger likely describe them?

🩵Asher: For Atlas? One word: quiet. How they interpret that quietness varies though. Some people think he’s really shy, others think he’s just aloof. But he’s actually neither. He’s introverted and pensive, sure, but he’s also very warm and enjoys chatting with people if it’s a more meaningful conversation, y’know. Like, when we first met, we would talk for hours and hours. 💛Atlas: That’s true, but you’re such an easy person to talk to. I think that’s what people would say about Ash. He’s just very relaxed and friendly and has a way of putting people at ease. He’s good at connecting with people and getting them talking and making them laugh.  

-are they a night owl or a morning bird?

🩵Asher: Probably night owls, I’d say. Atlas prefers starting his day later and working late, if he has the option. 💛Atlas: Yeah, but these days, it feels like I’m working all the time. But even still, Ash starts his day earlier. I don’t know. I think he’s somehow both. He has no issues with mornings, but he also gets a burst of energy in the evening and sometimes it’s hard to get him to come to bed. 🩵Asher: To sleep, anyway. 💛Atlas: [laughs] Right.

-what is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

💛Atlas: Ah, Ash hates vinegar and anything pickled. And he loves warm spices like cinnamon and cardamom. 🩵Asher: Oh my god, and Atlas is fuckin’ backwards when it comes to this. He likes bitter flavors to a strange degree, like super bitter beer and strong coffee and he’ll only eat chocolate if it’s the super dark stuff, otherwise he hates it. He doesn’t like sweets. No sugary drinks or candy or even pastries.

-do they have any hobbies?

🩵Asher: We both love gaming and dancing. Otherwise, I like to draw and spend time with my dog. My favorite is taking him down to the beach to play fetch, he loves it there. 💛Atlas: Yeah, and I don’t know, I like to stay active because I feel like I’m constantly at a desk otherwise. I used to rock climb a lot, but since we climbed Mt. Komorebi, we took a break and never really got back to it, so I pretty much just run and work out at the gym occasionally. And I like to sing. 🩵Asher: Seriously, I wish you could hear him. He has the most incredible voice. 💛Atlas: Aw, thank you.

-boom, surprise birthday party! how do they react to surprises?

💛Atlas: Ash would love it! He’d be so stoked that everyone showed up for him like that. 🩵Asher: And Atlas would probably dump me on the spot if I ever did that to him. 💛Atlas: I don’t know if I’d dump you, but… okay, yeah, I probably would.

-do they like to wear jewelry? if so, what is their favorite piece?

🩵Asher: I don’t think I’ve ever seen Atlas wear any jewelry. 💛Atlas: No, I’ve tried, but I could never get used to it. I’d always end up taking it off by midday. 🩵Asher: I can see that. I wear earrings, but that’s it. I used to wear a necklace that an ex gave me, but I threw it out when we broke up. I wanted to throw it into the ocean, but I didn’t dare to walk out on the dock [laughs] so I tossed it in a dumpster instead. 💛Atlas: I didn’t know that. Which ex? 🩵Asher: Elias. 💛Atlas: Ahh. Yikes. 🩵Asher: Yeah. Anyway. Next question.

-do they have neat or messy handwriting?

💛Atlas: I think we both write fairly neat. 🩵Asher: I think so too. Yours is all sharp angles, but it’s not sloppy. 💛Atlas: Yeah, and you have a strong preference for uppercase letters. Sometimes it’s rushed, but it’s never messy. Actually, I’ve never thought about it before, but I really like your handwriting. 🩵Asher: I like yours too.

-what are two emotions they feel the most?

🩵Asher: [points to Atlas] Anxious. 💛Atlas: All of the time. 🩵Asher: And, hm, we can only pick two? I’d probably go with either introspective or focused. 💛Atlas: That’s probably right. For you, I’d say, passionate or inspired and then maybe playful or energetic or something like that. Okay yeah, passionate and playful.

-do they have a favorite fabric?

💛Atlas: Probably cotton, I guess. 🩵Asher: Yeah, same. I don't know. Never really thought about it, to be honest.

-what kind of accent do they have?

🩵Asher: I don’t know. Do we have accents? I mean, I guess Atlas gets a hint of a drawl when he drinks, it’s pretty cute. 💛Atlas: I do not. 🩵Asher: You do! I never told you because I didn’t want you to get self-conscious and try to stop. 💛Atlas: It’s a good thing I don’t drink often, I guess. 🩵Asher: Whatever. I love it. 💛Atlas: And I love you. 🩵Asher: I love you too.

And I love them too!! 🥹

Okay, whew! What are the chances anyone actually read all that? I really can't just be normal about these things, can I? Oh well... Now it's your turn!! I'm gonna tag @madebysimblr, @crownsofesha, @xldkx, @honeyjars-sims, aaaaaaaaaaand @igotsnothing 🤸🏻‍♀️💖 Answer them normally, or have a little fun with it, or ignore me completely, that's fine too (no it's not) 🫶🏻

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: The killer has the police fooled. Meanwhile, you and Eren enjoy more of each other’s company.

— Content warnings: slightly nsfw, dry humping, make out, mention of stalking, murder, mention of torture, mention of rape.

— Notes: Welcome to chapter 7 <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

lost signs

“Detective.”

A meek voice pulls Levi's attention from the paperwork scattered across his desk, as a fresh manila folder is promptly set down before him.

“The notes on the autopsy.” 

Every other task is instantly abandoned as the raven-haired man grabs the folder and goes through the pages of the autopsy report, along with the notes provided by his subordinate. 

Less than an hour later, Levi's knocking on the door of his captain's office, staying true to his habit of walking in before being invited.

“What do you have there?” 

Erwin Smith barely spares a proper look at Levi as he continues scrolling through a file on his computer. 

“Carly Stratmann's autopsy notes.”

Erwin simply nods, not showing much interest in the topic but not yet doing anything to shoo the stoic detective from his office. 

“You're the lead detective on this case. Don't tell me you need me to hold your hand for this.” 

Levi clicks his tongue at the remark, but straightens his posture to keep up his stern appearance. 

“I think we need to raise a few alarms.”

Erwin shoots a menacing look in his direction, but purses his lips before he can spout another sharp remark.

Levi Ackerman hasn't been working the homicide department for long — just barely a couple of years after transferring from property crime, and just as many major cases under his belt. 

His sudden need to raise alarms doesn't come as a surprise to Erwin. The man's got good instincts, albeit he's a bit too quick to act on them for Erwin's liking at times. And that's when he intervenes to rein him in.

On a day when he's so burnt out from work, the task is even more annoying to take on than usual.

“Is it the same M.O. as the Langnar case?”

“Not exactly, but—”

“I'll stop you right there, then,” Erwin firmly says, holding a hand up to make his point, hoping he can cut today's coolly disguised frenzy short. 

Though calm and collected — practically icy — on the outside, detective Ackerman has been letting his personal convictions sway his thinking since the Langnar murder. 

Erwin doesn't care to know much about his subordinates — it's just a job — but he knows Ackerman has a beloved niece of similar age to the recent murder victims living in the city, and it doesn't take much to deduce that's where his hidden worries stem from. 

“There aren't many coincidences, it's true,” Levi states, resisting the urge to harshly spit the words at his superior. After all, a man who wants to be heard, has no need to raise his voice. “But even if these are isolated cases, it wouldn't hurt to… I don't know, set up a curfew… send out more units to patrol at night. Erwin, two women were murdered without a trace of DNA from the culprit.”

He sighs, then mutters the next few words under his breath.

“That's not a fucking coincidence.”

Erwin leans forward into his desk.

“Alright, Ackerman, I'll humor you for a minute.”

His hands clasp together, his chin resting on top as he formulates a question.

“Aside from the lack of DNA and the fact that they're women, is there anything in the autopsy reports that's enough to suspect we've got a serial killer in our hands?” 

Levi tenses his jaw, tongue rolling against his cheek before sourly replying.

“No.”

Erwin's eyebrows rise as a sign of finality. But Levi stands his ground, taking his gesture as defiance.

“I get your point. Stratmann could have nothing to do with Langnar. Maybe it was someone they knew or maybe it's not. If that's the case, are two criminals better than one? Is that what we're hoping for?”

Erwin's stern gaze falters for a split second, but he recovers just as quickly.

“How do we discard a serial killer in the making? What if this person hasn't fixed themselves on their M.O.? We can get them early in their career if we make a move right n–”

“We can't make moves based on gut feelings.”

Erwin's statement makes Levi shrink back for the first time since walking into the office.

“Langnar was tortured. Her injuries were consistent with weeks of trauma. Choked, handcuffed, cut, beaten, sliced at the mouth post-mortem, and dismembered. A very tedious and meticulous process, wouldn't you say? She had to have spent weeks in captivity and that points to either a person who was close enough to lure her into their trap or a stalker who observed her before kidnapping her.” He gestures for Levi to hand him the file in his hands, snatching the folder and ripping it open once he's close enough. “Stratmann was sliced at the neck, choked beforehand, raped post-mortem. It's sloppy and clear to have been done on a whim.” 

“She was left in a dumpster, too,” Levi reminds him. “Just like Langnar.”

Erwin presses his lips into a thin line, his thick eyebrows weighed down with severity.

“That's not enough to go off of. We can't cry ‘serial killer’ over one measly coincidence.” 

Levi can feel himself wavering at Erwin's arguments. 

“Can we at least impose a curfew?” he asks.

Erwin heavily sighs, enough for the movement to be caught on his now slumping shoulders.

“As I said, bring me solid proof of a connection and we'll talk.”

“Okay. Spill,” Mikasa orders as soon as she scurries out of the bathroom and plops down criss-crossed on the sofa.

It's Saturday night and you and Sasha are staying over at Mikasa's place for a girl's night.

The living room floor is littered with blankets, cushions and pillows, and the television is playing a random horror movie that has gone ignored since Sasha wondered out loud how Eren was doing a few minutes ago. She seemingly asked nobody in particular, but it was clear you were meant to respond with both girl's eyes set on you the moment the green-eyed man's name came up.

You figured the sleepover was a cover for an ambush. The girls formed a separate group chat for just the three of you, coincidentally the day after your first date with Eren and have been asking to get together for the past week. 

You tug nervously at the sleeve of your pajama top, shying away from the expectant gaze that seeps through Mikasa's face mask.

You shrug.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Who made the first move?” Sasha asks, scooting closer to you as if that means she'll get more details.

You ponder for a moment. It's hard to tell. Eren was first to ask you out two months ago, but you were the first to kiss him last Saturday. In a way, you both had a chance to steer the wheel.

When you explain this to the girls, they swoon, falling into a fit of excited giggles.

“I never pegged you for the bold type,” Mikasa grins, lightly smacking your shoulder. “I bet Eren loved that.”

Sasha nods in agreement, giddy.

“I can't believe you didn't tell us right away,” Mikasa pouts. 

“I don't think you would've remembered, Mika,” you say. “You had three Long Islands that night.”

“Still, it would've been nice to know,” she sighs dramatically. 

“Okay, so you got together the night of the Halloween party,” Sasha reviews. “But what about the day we went to Sunrise? I totally thought you guys had a thing going on back then. I mean, Eren never left your side, even before you got hurt.”

The apple-picking trip seems like so long ago, but the memory remains fresh in your mind. You smile at the mental image of Eren's serious expression as he claimed to never have been so curious to know anyone before you.

“Oh my gosh,” Mikasa squeals, aggressively smacking Sasha’s back as she's reminded of something. “She was feeding him peanuts on the way there. They were so shy, it was adorable.”

Instinctively, your hands come up to cover your face in embarrassment. It didn't even register until now that the people in the backseat witnessed the awkward exchange. 

Now that you've tasted the lips that brushed against your fingertips that day, the reminder seems even more embarrassing. 

You smack your cheeks lightly in an attempt to ground yourself. The girls watch you amusedly, exchanging knowing glances in between.

“Have you guys… you know.” Mikasa raises her eyebrows suggestively.

Warmth floods your cheeks again.

“Not yet,” you murmur. “We're taking things slow.”

She looks surprised, but nods in support.

“Of course,” she says. “Slow is good.” 

“Says the girl who pounced on Jean after one of his gigs because she was jealous.” 

“Hey!” Mikasa whines, growing shy at the accusation. “I had to get a message across. He was being petty.”

Sasha throws her head back in laughter.

“No, he was just stupid. He had no idea you liked him back until that night.”

Your gaze flickers between the two girls as you piece their conversation together. 

A blushing Mikasa picks up a cushion and chucks it at Sasha’s face who easily avoids the blow and laughs at the raven-haired girl's pout.

“Whatever,” Mikasa groans. She turns to look at you, features instantly shifting into a more cheerful expression.

“So how do you feel?”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“About Eren.”

“It's only been a week,” you explain.

“So?” she shrugs. “You guys have been spending a lot of time together, haven't you? Armin told me Eren's been driving you to work everyday. That means you've had a lot of one-on-one time.”

Shyly, you lower your head, focusing your gaze on the black and white pattern of the comforter laid beneath you. Your fingers mindlessly trace over the texture of the fabric.

“I guess so.”

Both girls smile.

“So what's the verdict?” Sasha asks.

“I… I really like him,” you sigh, lips tugged into a smile. “Like… really really like him.”

Another round of excited squeals and giggles echoes through the room. 

Their thrill only encourages you further, pushing you into a tangent of how thoughtful Eren is and how he always manages to hold you with so much care, bringing you peace each time he's close. 

“He makes me feel safe. Is that weird to say?” 

Mikasa shakes her head as she peels off the mask from her face, wrinkling the sheet into a ball and chucking it across the room to the trash can in one corner. She misses by an inch.

“Not at all. I don't mean to sound old-fashioned but you have to be with someone who makes you feel cared for.”

Sasha hums in agreement as she shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth. She holds a finger up, asking you to wait for her to gulp down the snack.

“And someone who makes you laugh, also very important.” 

You nod along with Mikasa.

“Oh, and… well, when you get to it… someone you're sexually compatible with,” she adds. “People like to pretend it's not a big deal but it really is. Sex is okay but great sex with someone who knows how to touch you is where you find out if you're in sync. There needs to be communication and understanding and care. It's so fucking important.”

Mikasa looks down at her friend as she pats her head affectionately.

“You're so wise for someone who doesn't have a boyfriend.”

Sasha quirks an eyebrow.

“Hey, just because I'm not blurting it out to everybody doesn't mean I don't have anything going on.”

Mikasa hums contemplatively. 

“Do tell.”

The conversation takes a turn to Sasha’s latest sexcapades, and you take turns with Mikasa to look surprised at the stories she shares.

By the end of the night, when you're all teetering the edge of sleep with a third movie serving as background noise, your mind drifts back to the emerald-eyed boy who makes you laugh so easily, draws every emotion from you, and cares for you like it's what he was put on this earth for. 

Water pools at your feet out of thin air. You’re stuck in a dark void with no end, yet the water you’re eyes frantically search the source of keeps rising at a startling speed, soaking little by little into your clothes until it weighs you down.

Running seems futile. The void has no end and the water keeps steadily climbing up your body, so who knows how long you’ll have until you’re fully submerged — with no exit in view. Even if you could run, the weight of your drenched clothes would only pull you back. But you can’t even move anyway, you realize. You’re stuck in place, feet unable — or unwilling — to even take a couple of waddling steps. 

The water is up to your hips now. With trembling hands, you reach down and scoop at the liquid. It’s thick and with a smell so rancid it stretches through the infinite length of the emptiness you stand in. The water’s filthy. 

Your hands drop at your sides in an unsettling daze. The next second, your breath grows shallow and you start pulling at your feet as the water reaches your neck. Tears prick at your eyes as you cry at your feet, begging for them to move, to lift from the ground so you could at least make some weak attempt at reaching the surface for air. 

Suddenly, a light. Pure white shines brightly from far ahead, where a golden silhouette stands at the threshold between darkness and light — the void’s borders. The other person bangs their fists at the invisible wall keeping you apart, yelling something you can’t make out. Are they yelling at you? No, they don’t even seem to notice your presence. So who are they yelling at? Up at the sky… They’re yelling something up at the sky. But what are they saying? Who does the golden silhouette even belong to?

Your left foot unsticks from the ground unprompted. A sharp breath is all you take before you make your first step toward the light, hand midair to call for the figure’s attention. Just then, an unknown body pulls you into them from behind, crashing your body down into the murky water, where your lungs fill with filth and your eyes flutter shut.

You wake with a small gasp coming through your lips. Still stiffened by the strange dream, your eyes are all that wander the unfamiliar room. The television is set to a screensaver, likely triggered by an extended lack of attention to whatever on-demand production was playing before you fell asleep. There’s a clutter of takeout containers on the coffee table and used glasses with remnants of soda that can safely be assumed to be flat by now. 

Slowly, you stir on the velvet green sofa you’re lying on, when you take note of the firm hold around your waist, followed by the soft exhales released onto the crown of your head. You look down at the familiar watch wrapped around the wrist of the hand that holds you in place.

Oh, you think. That’s right. I’m at Eren’s place.

He’s been having trouble catching up on work, meaning he’s had to stay up late for the past couple of nights. He’s a stickler about getting a good night’s rest, so the temporary change in work shifts has thrown him off quite a bit. You told him to stay home and rest — that you could go to the movies another time; next Sunday was fine with you — but he insisted on seeing you, even if it meant a more casual hangout in his living room with Chinese food and a comedy-drama film from the 2000s playing on the TV. 

At some point in the evening, the late hours caught up to him all at once and he even managed to get you to stay with him, wrapped in his arms as his sleepiness found its way to your body as well. 

Craning your neck, you peer at Eren’s sleepy face from the corner of your eye. You smile. He’s got an innocent look about him even in his sleep. His lips are parted just enough to take and release soft breaths. You sink back into the couch, wiggling around to find the comfortable position you were previously in. 

Eren feels you moving and his arm instantly pulls you closer to his body. His warmth transfers through every layer of clothing, enveloping you in a warm embrace. In his sleep, he mumbles a string of words you can’t quite comprehend under his breath, but the vibrations against your back coax you back into a peaceful slumber. 

The next time you wake up, it's already getting dark out. The coffee table has been cleared of its mess, and the body lying behind you is no more. Forced by the absence of his arms around you, you trudge out of the living room to look for him as you rub the sleep from your eyes. 

He's in the kitchen, back to you, filling a glass with cold water from the fridge. 

Leaning against the threshold, you watch him adoringly, marveling at his toned figure from behind. He chugs his first glass of water down, refilling it as soon as he finishes. As he brings the glass to his lips once more, he turns around, eyebrows rising slightly when he takes in your presence.

“Boo,” you smile, standing straight and making your way over to him.

He abandons the glass of water as soon as you meet him, opting to use his hands to push you closer to him by the small of your back as yours rest on his shoulders.

“Did I wake you?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Just felt lonely, all of a sudden.”

An amused air blows through his nose. 

Your hands find a way to his hair, fingers carding through the strands as he keeps his gaze fixed on your face.

His hair has gotten longer, and the strands around his face now cover his forehead, tickling the skin. It’s not messy, by any means, but it gives him an edgier look. The duality of Eren Jaeger’s appearance is a wonder to you. He’s got a way of tipping the scales between cute and sexy with every little thing he does. 

You smile at the few rebellious locks that poke out, still fixed in the angle provided by his nap.   

“What?” he asks, mirroring your smile.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you murmur.

“I’ll get a haircut soon, don’t worry,” he replies, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth, amused by the way you follow after him once he starts retreating from the contact. He kisses you once more to keep you from pouting.

“I didn’t say anything,” you chuckle. “If you want to grow out your hair, that’s fine. You don’t have to keep it short. I was just pointing it out.”

He shakes his head, humming in denial. 

“Nah. This part’s starting to bug me. I just haven’t had time to get it cut,” he explains, brushing back the hair covering his forehead. He proceeds to squeeze your waist on either side. “But what do you prefer?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter with a shrug.

“Gun to your head, which looks better?” he smiles.

His extremist question earns him an eye roll but you answer him nonetheless after a beat.

“I like your short hair,” you finalize earnestly. 

He grins, cupping your face with one hand as he places a kiss on your cheek — then on your jaw, and one in the crook of your neck.

“Yeah?” he murmurs against the sensitive skin.

You nod, a small smile dancing across your lips at his tender affections.

“You look very handsome with a clean undercut. The day I met you I actually thought you were really good-looking.”

He pulls away from his task on your neck to stare at you in disbelief. 

“And yet you refused to go out with me. I can’t believe you.”

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.

You laugh. The sound swells him with pride — it lights up the room.

“Looks aren't everything, dummy. You're so shallow.”

It's your turn to feign disappointment while he stands there, amused.

“Right, right,” he nods. “I forgot you fell for me because I'm a strong and dependable man.” 

He flexes his muscles, making a whole show out of his pointed remark.

You roll your eyes, but the warmth creeping up your face is hard to deny. 

“Isn't that right?” he teases.

You don't humor him with an answer — there's no real need for it.

With his hands settled comfortably on your hips, he guides you backward, until your back is pressed against the counter, before he hoists you up and sets you onto it with ease. You welcome him between your thighs with a smile, breath hitching when he caresses your knee over your jeans and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“My baby,” he coos, pressing an open-mouthed kiss onto your skin. 

You giggle at the teasing meaning behind the affectionate name, heart fluttering at the feeling of him smiling against your skin.

The both of you keep your positions for a while — him breathing in your perfume while you stroke his soft hair tenderly.

Being with Eren feels so easy. It's a wonder how comfortable you feel with barely a week tallied for your relationship. Each morning and evening when he drives you to and from work have definitely helped. 

After your sobbing confession outside of your apartment, you apologized for making Eren feel as though he was troubling you by being so attentive. 

All the accumulated trauma in your heart had ironically made you the perpetrator of making him believe there was no real place for him in your life even after you accepted his liking for you. He didn't ask any followup questions that night, but he understood and vowed to be patient.

You're still trying to be okay with that — his unmoving loyalty. But it's easier to accept when you remind yourself he wouldn't stick around if he didn't want to.

Looking down at the boy in your arms, you smile. He can be so childish at times — teasing you, insisting you hold him, easily shaken by a few late nights. And yet there was something so comforting in his behavior. He's always so happy to see you, making sure to clock in quality time hours — not that he didn't enjoy the daily drives, but it wasn't exactly a date. Not to mention his unwavering need to make sure you're safe. At least his rare stubbornness has good reason.

Reluctantly abandoning the comfort of your neck, he lifts his face to meet your eyes. His gaze bores into yours, engulfing you in warm pools of emerald. 

A lazy grin takes over his features. 

“I like that,” he murmurs.

Your eyebrows twitch in confusion.

“This,” he explains, bringing a hand to your head and mimicking the strokes you've weaved into his hair. “It feels nice.”

An airy chuckle escapes your lips and you make a point to stroke his hair more.

His face hovers over yours. His hands rest on either side of you as he leans into your affections. His eyes flutter closed as he sighs at your touch. 

You look up at him mesmerized by his angelic features. It's true you've always thought he's handsome, but this closeness makes you appreciate every detail of his face even more. His long lashes, the faint freckles on his nose, the thick eyebrows that are softening with each feel of your fingers combing through his hair, the perfect plump lips that whisper your name. 

It makes your heart pound against your ribs loudly, the sound echoing in your ears as your hands grow sweaty.

That's when you decide to pull him in for a kiss. His eyes flutter open for a split second of surprise before they close again, at peace and happy. Your hands lose themselves in his hair as his wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter by the small of your back.

The contact is painfully slow, with measured pecks in between deeper kisses. He melts into you, lips softly grazing yours, breath fanning across your mouth as he nips at your bottom lip with his teeth to later soothe the area with his tongue. His lips slot warmly between yours, dragging out at a snail's pace before coming back. 

The tip of his tongue pokes between your lips, shy but determined to be granted the access you so easily provide. A soft moan bubbles up your throat as his tongue caresses yours with vehemence. It's unusually hot, but the foreign feeling of his tongue in your mouth is greatly appreciated, marked by the way you desperately try to pull him even closer, in hopes that he can swallow you whole.

The pit of your stomach flutters and stirs with the most pleasant tingle when one of his hands travels to the back of your neck and he pushes his hips against yours. Despite the layers keeping you apart, it's easy to tell he's grown hard from the sweet exchange. He's rock solid under his pants, the delicate moans that bounce off your tongue and onto his making him bigger with every passing second. 

He knows you can feel it, but you don't seem to mind, your head too dizzy with the collective sensations being fed to your body — his warm tongue, his bulge brushing your most sensitive spot over your jeans, his left hand holding you in place by the back of your neck while the other firmly squeezes your waist as he's consumed by the passionate kiss. 

You cling onto him, thighs drawing closer to keep him flush against you. His hips roll against yours, brushing so deliciously against the spot that's growing wet beneath your clothing that it sends a tickle up your insides.

He sucks on your tongue, the act drawing more lustful mewls from the back of your throat. 

You're feverish, your face burning when your shirt happens to rise, exposing your midriff to his calloused fingers which were so careful not to touch any new skin before the incident. 

There's a string of saliva that connects your mouths when you finally break your fervent makeout. His lips are swollen and glossy with your saliva, as you're sure yours are with his. 

“Eren,” you weakly whine in between breaths. 

“Hm?” he hums, as he parts from your mouth to leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck.

You shudder when he swirls his tongue against your sweet spot before gently kissing it.

You whine his name again, though your voice has a stronger shape to it this time.

He turns to face you, pecking your lips just once before easing his grip on your body.

“I know,” he murmurs. “Slow, I remember.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

His nose brushes against yours as he tilts his head to press a calmer, cooler kiss onto your lips. 

“I want to, by the way,” you admit bashfully, avoiding his blown pupils and opting to look at a blank point on his shirt. “Just… not yet.”

When your gaze flickers to his, he's looking down at you warmly.

“I understand,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes flit toward the window, reminding you of how late it's getting.

“I should go, it's already dark out.”

Eren nods, pulling back from the counter until you both notice the tent in his pants. You tear your gaze from the area, searching for something of interest elsewhere. 

He blushes, ready to express an apology for his body's reaction to your wanton moans and feverish kisses, but you hop off the counter and trail off to the living room to search for your jacket before he can, leaving him to softly laugh at your meek behavior as he makes his way to the bathroom. 

When he comes looking for you in the living room a couple of minutes later, you're seated on the couch, waiting patiently for him. 

You smile upon his return, no trace of embarrassment left on your features.

“Do you really have to go?” he asks.

Your expression softens but you nod.

“We have work tomorrow. And I know how you get if you don't get your beauty sleep,” you tease. 

He rolls his eyes, but wears a playful smile nonetheless. 

“No. I mean,” he takes a deep breath. “You could stay the night… if you want to.”

His voice grows timid with every word as he gauges your reaction to his offer. He doesn't want to be pushy, by any means, but he hopes you'll accept.

He watches you chew on your bottom lip, unsure of what to say.

“Unless, of course, that goes against the whole taking-things-slow agreement,” he awkwardly laughs. “But I just… figured you should know… I wouldn’t object to you spending the night. No funny business. Just… to sleep.”

A breath of relief pushes past his lips when a small smile finally grows over your previously troubled features.

“Maybe not tonight,” you say. “But I’ll think about it.”

His lips curl inwards to hide his smile before he holds his hand out to you so you can head out the door together.

Eren swings your linked hands as you travel down the hall from the elevator. It's a habit he's developed over the past few days after seeing you cry for the first time.

The image lingered with bitterness in his head the entire night. It still pops up every now and then, reminding him he has to do everything in his capability to keep it from happening again. 

As you walk to your door, hands comically swinging more aggressively each time with Eren's playful attitude, he marvels at your laughing face, feeling at ease with everything concerning you. 

He finally eases up on his swing when you reach your door, but your fingers remain laced with his until you absolutely have to part ways.

“Sorry I was so tired today,” he says, holding your hands up to compare the difference in size. He presses his palm against yours, eyes shimmering at the sight before he grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. “I'll make it up to you next time.”

“I don't mind just hanging out,” you say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “It's fun.”

He smiles as he watches you fish your keys out of your jacket pocket with your free hand. The click of the lock always comes before letting go, but it's fine because he still gets to see you tomorrow morning for the drive to your office. 

You turn to him, leaving the keys dangling on the lock as you drape your arms around his neck.

“By the way,” you murmur, pressing yourself further into his chest when his arms wrap around your waist. “You can spend the night at my place, too, if you want.” 

His features twitch and his eyes light up with interest at the offer.

“No funny business,” you add, before pressing a kiss on his cheek. “Just to sleep.”

He laughs.

“Of course. What kind of guy do you take me for?”

You smile, affectionately brushing your nose against his with your eyes closed.

“Just thought I'd let you know.”

“I’ll think about it,” he murmurs mockingly, echoing your response from earlier.

You look up at him quizzically.

“Do I sense some competition over whose apartment we stay at first?” you accuse. 

“I’ll get on my knees if you want,” he quips without missing a beat, not bothering to be cool about the topic.

You giggle.

“Perfect. I love pathetic men.”

He stifles a laugh, eyes twinkling in amusement as a reflection of yours. Then he turns on a comically serious expression.

“Baby, I’m as pathetic as they come,” he firmly states, which makes you laugh even more.

“You're such a dork,” you giggle.

He hugs you tightly, playfully rocking your connected bodies in the middle of the hallway as he peppers your face with kisses, relishing in your amused squeals.

The giddiness in your expression remains even after you're both standing still and he's no longer attacking you with kisses.

“Thank you for making time for me,” you smile. “I mean, you already do so much with driving me to work and everything. If you’re ever not in the mood, you can—”

He cuts you off with a chaste kiss to your lips.

“It’s my pleasure.” 

You bite back a grin and nod.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs before letting go and beginning his journey out with backwards steps.

“Bye, Eren,” you smile.

Before he can turn on his heel, you catch up to him, instantly making him drop his confused expression for a much softer one when you press your lips against his in one last kiss goodbye. When you pull back, he's got a goofy grin on his face as he waits for you to explain yourself. 

You smile shyly.

“For the road.”

November 4, 2024

I found out where my angel lives. It's not too bad a place, but I'm sure she'll like the room I'm fixing for her better. I'm working on a way to get some of her favorite things over to my place. Hopefully she won't miss them too much before I can reunite her with them. 

I'm so relieved. It was worth keeping an eye on her for the last few days. The only downside to come out of this is that I have to see that jerk's stupid face everywhere. He just can't leave her alone for a damn second. 

It pisses me off to see him touch her like it's nothing. That should be ME kissing her and making her laugh. Not him. He shouldn't be allowed to touch her. Still, she looks so happy each time. But I can't be mad at her. I could never be mad at my angel. She'll realize soon enough that I'm the one meant for her. I just have to suck it up in the meantime. It's bad enough that I have to keep my distance for now but do I have to see her smiling at the wrong guy, too? I can't take it. 

She's gotten prettier. It seems impossible but it's true. I could look at her for days on end — and I have the past week as proof. Her smile is brighter and she's practically glowing. It only makes the wait even harder but I still have so much to get done for her arrival. I can't wait to see the look on her face when I finally bring her home with me so we can be happy together.

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taglist: @erenjaegerwifee @youatemylollipop @okaystopwhore @bakuhoethotski

[thefangirlfever]

MIGUEL O'HARA x reader (18+, smut) MDNI

firefighter AU🧑‍🚒🔥🚒

Art credit: @kit-and-wolfe on Tumblr

Summary: You and Miguel are dating and he had hidden from you that he took part to a fireman’s calendar.

Notes: Just a silly idea I got from seeing multiple great firefighter Aus and a conversation with I had with @lazyjellyfish300 about Miguel! firefighter getting flustered. This story is a direct continuation of this post.

Tags: smut, F/M, AU, Firefighter AU, cunnilingus, PIV penetration, established relationship, fingering, no plot just smut, horny FMC, dirty talk (may be cringe), mention of masturbation (F/M), aftercare, breast and nipple play, hint at size kink, discussion around contraception

Word count: 3858 words

April was now your favorite month of the year. Most people would think that it was because you were excited about the upcoming Spring, the Sun in the sky and all those things, or maybe it was your birthday’s month. But you were unfortunately more pragmatic.

No, it was simply that the picture on your calendar for this month was to die for. Lying on glazed paper, in A4 format, a hand on his hip and his helmet on the other a tall, stupidly handsome man was looking at the camera with a bedroom look in his eyes. Firefighters have never been your thing, and you even considered it weird that a whole profession could be fetishized in a way or another but...that was different. You had to admit that you kind of see the appeal of it now. Honestly, this man could be anything else than a firefighter and you would probably still get the hots while looking at his picture.

Abs for days, rock hard chest with the right amount of thick, curly black hair that lazily trailed down toward a mouth-watering happy trail (that could only let you presume of a thick, happy bush), the infamous V-line that made his hips dip sensually under oily skin… Well, they really went all out with this picture. It was probably a bit edited but still...They even left his five o’clock shadow and the scar on his left arm. Good. Very good. That’s some professional job, you could tell.

You could have spend hours looking at this picture and still find new details about it. In fact the idea was very tempting, hence why your calendar was still stuck on the month of April despite being already mid-August. The calendar was pinned on your fridge and you could look at it every time you would cook or eat, which was exactly what you were doing right now. Well, at least you were trying because as soon as you would try to bring your fork to your mouth, your eyes would land again on the perfect picture.

The fact that you knew the model didn’t help at all your trouble.

You had met Miguel a few months ago through joined acquaintances and you didn’t even know he was a firefighter at the time. He would rarely speak about his job, not even to complain about it. And certainly not to brag. You quickly realized that he was quite secretive and shy when it came to his private life. It was very rare, almost impossible to hear him brag and he didn’t really take compliments very well. No idea where this insecurity could come from. He was quite a catch honestly, not even speaking physically. Miguel was overall someone nice and caring, as if his job didn’t already convey this trait of his personality enough. Maybe that’s why the two of you got along very well. When he was devoted to the well-being of most people and selfless, you were selfish, pragmatic and even a bit bitter. He was the type of person who would wake up at 4 in the morning to help the others and you were the type of person who after waking up at 10 am would shamelessly ogle the picture of a half-naked man, wondering about the size of his…

Your phone softly buzzed, taking you out your daydream. As soon as Miguel’s name appeared on the screen, you came back to your senses and picked up the phone.

“Hi…”

“Were you still sleeping?”, he asked with an amused voice. While most people would find you lazy, Miguel had simply accepted that your lifestyle was not his and that you were more of a night owl. This doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t tease you from time to time about it.

You rubbed your hand over your tired eyes and groaned into the phone:

“No...I was...eating...is there a problem?”

“You left your sweater in my car yesterday. I thought I could come give it back to you after training.”

Your brain took a few seconds to understand his words but when it did, your eyes opened wide and you jumped to your feet, scurrying toward the front door.

“You’re already here?”

“Well, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I could stop by. I also brought breakfast since I thought you would have just waken up…”

He sounded almost apologetic as if he had dragged you of bed. Your heart stammered into your chest and a stupid grin curled up your lips. Sweet, selfless Miguel. How did he manage to always make your cold demeanor crumble? That was a mystery to you.

You opened the door and there, stood Miguel, a large bag of edibles in his arm, your sweater perfectly folded in a small bag while he was still holding his phone. And as if the sight of him wasn’t sweet enough already, he was still wearing his athleisure clothes, ie a tank top and loose grey shorts. His skin was covered in a thin sheet of sweat and his brown locks were stuck to his temples and the back of his neck. A treat for the eyes.

The moment he saw you in your sleepwear, he turned off his phone and a small blush crept up his face. You were only wearing a short and a tank top but he didn’t mind. That was...quite a nice view.

“Well, you are definitely awake.”, he joked quietly as you made sign for him to enter the apartment. “I was afraid that I would wake you up.”

You could definitely wake me up anytime you want.

“No, don’t worry, it’s fine.” You grabbed the bag he was handing you with your sweater inside. It was neatly folded, even better than what you would usually do to your clothes. You might as well invite him over to share breakfast with you. Miguel gladly accepted and followed you to the kitchen and as much as he tried to be a gentleman his eyes would always end up following the sway of your hips and the very appealing bounce of your butt. He started to feel a bit tight in his shorts and this feeling only increased when he noticed that you weren’t wearing a bra under your top. He cleared his throat, trying to chase those thoughts away; it was too early in the morning for this.

“I found this small french bakery down the block and I thought you would like to try these…”, he said while putting down the bag on the central island of the kitchen. The buzzing sound of the coffee machine filled the air just when you replied to him:

“Oh yeah, I actually wanted to try this one. Thanks.”

And now your nipples were pointing under the shirt.

Great.

This definitely didn’t help the situation down his pants and he wisely chose to advert his gaze...only to fall on the dreaded picture he hoped you would never hear about. A rush of color filled up his cheeks and he was practically sure he wasn’t half-hard or hard at all anymore. What was this thing doing here?

You turned around to put his mug of coffee down the counter and that’s when you noticed where his eyes were. Not on you, unfortunately, but on the calendar.

Shit!

You didn’t even bother to put it on the right month. Hopefully Miguel would take it as it is, a compliment. But the moment you saw his brows furrow and his jaw tighten, you had a serious doubt.

“Hum...Miguel?”

He didn’t respond at first and when he looked back in your direction, he still seemed very ashamed, almost mortified. A pink hue was covering his cheeks and the back of his ears. Seems like you were going to have a lot of fun...

“Yes?”

You let the silence last a bit more before replying: “Is there a problem?”

“No. No...why would there be any problem?”

“Because you’re all red in the face suddenly. I was wondering if something was making you feel uncomfortable…”, you asked innocently. At this point of your relationship, he should know better. He should know what this coy tone meant but he still fell in the trap: “It’s just… Where did you even get this calendar?”

“Does it bother you?”

“No...it’s just...a bit tacky. I didn’t think you would like something like this…”, he replied in a sheepish voice. If you knew any better than this, that man was flustered.

“It’s practical.”, you simply reply with a shrug of your shoulders, dismissing the embarrassment in his voice. Miguel awkwardly chuckled: “Then why is it stuck on April?”

“Touché.”, you replied with a sly grin. You then took a sip of your coffee and his eyes wouldn’t leave the shape of your lips molding against the edge of the cup or the way your eyes still looked at him under your lashes, as if you were a cat playing with a mouse. All this little game was making him feel hot under the collar and he nervously ran his hand through his hair.

“Maybe...I just like the picture.”, his eyes were trying to avoid your gaze but they would eventually flutter back to the alluring shape of your silhouette. “Maybe...this is just making me feel curious.”

He didn’t need to ask about what it made you feel curious. Your tone was already giving him enough hints and he could only sheepishly chuckle, almost giggling while the red in his cheeks intensified. “You can’t be serious…”

“What if I am?”

Your blunt answer took him by surprise and you took this short moment to move a bit closer to him but still keeping your hands to yourself, even if the urge to rest them against his body was becoming stronger by the minute.

You had just been thinking about this these last weeks. Ever since you brought that calendar back home, all you could think about was the moment you would get to lay on top of him, run your hands down his abdomen, unto some more exciting territory, crossing every single line. The image of his body would haunt you during your alone time, making you wish it was his hands bending you, making you scream and turning you into some drained but satisfied mush.

His breath faltered when your fingers hovered above the soft cotton of his sweater. The fabric clung to his body, drawing out the shape and relief of his build silhouette, all in sharp angles and dips like some statue.

“Maybe I want to see a bit more..."

Your fingers trailed down his torso, from his chest to his abdomen and you could feel the way his heartbeat quickened as well as the way his body tensed and arched into your touch, yielding against your fingers. The hard contour of his silhouette was being traced, made more noticeable for your eyes and your eyes only. Your hungry gaze made him feel wanted in a way he didn’t know was possible; a special talent of yours. Standing there, still covered in sweat and fresh out of his training, he couldn’t believe you still wanted him. And yet…

“You want to see more?”, he asked under his breath and with a quick nod from you, he took your hands guided them over his body.

Your fingers soon slipped under the fabric of his tank top and you rose on your tip toes in an attempt to kiss him. Given the height difference between you, he quickly opted for the easiest solution. His arms scooped you up and placed your body on top of the counter, shortening the distance between you. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you didn’t waste a single second to pull him closer to you but you still managed to surprise him. He was not expecting for your lips to aim for his shoulder rather than his mouth and with a low groan, he welcomed the caress of your lips onto his skin as you traced your way up his neck.

The pressure of his fingers grew tighter on your sides as this make-out session turned steamier. Your nipping on his neck made him react almost immediately. His fingers slid down lower on your body and soon gave your ass a firm squeeze. He needed to get you out of these shorts and quickly. Your soft whimper onto his neck told him he was doing everything right and his hands kept kneading your soft rear while your own diligent hands removed his top, leaving your eyes free to feast on the sight of his after-work body. Every word you uttered seemed to get straight to his cock as he felt it practically twitch every time you would breathe a bit harder on his skin or tell him how nice he felt, how gorgeous he was.

“Lay down...just...get on your back…”, his breath was a bit more labored as he helped you lying down the counter. You were pinned under him when his hands finally lifted up your top, exposing your perky breasts. He had spent so much time fantasizing about them, this morning only they had been on his mind almost all-workout. Last night during your date, he couldn’t get his eyes out of them as soon as you would look away and they had been tempting too much since he entered your apartment. The perky mounds stuck out, resting on your chest like a crown, the tanned lines from your bikini making them stand out even more proudly. After a few seconds spent admiring them, he dipped his head onto the soft cleavage presented to him, not doing anything else than resting his face there at first.

Your hands stroked his hair, pulling him closer into your embrace and you began grinding your hips onto his aching cock. The shape of his erection was visible under the grey fabric as it strained against it, begging for release. He would wait. He always waited. There was no need to rush with someone like you. Even when he was alone, he would always take his time fantasizing about the endless possibilities of your body rather than bringing himself to climax quickly. There was no such thing as a quickie with him and today was no exception. He will focus on every single part of your body, take his time to taste it, to enjoy it to the fullest...no matter if it made his dick throb and swell with more and more arousal. No matter if he would end up practically whimpering while getting his face stuck in your pussy later.

Miguel nuzzled his face further onto your breasts. His face was smothered between your breasts, his lips occasionally licking and sucking on their plump flesh. Low growls would escape his lips every time his lips circled around one of your perky nipples, sucking in deeply, swirling his tongue around the rigid nub and the puffy areola. His hands were holding your waist where the hem of your pants slopped down, exposing your waist.

“Eres tan deliciosa...can’t wait to get more of you...”

His nose trails down the line of your abdomen, running over smooth skin while his thumbs rub in circle the skin over your sides. He tugged at the hem of your shorts with his teeth, silently pleading to get more of you.

“May I?” You groaned a small “yes” and he finally pulled down your shorts. When he nuzzled his nose onto your panties, pressing it right where your slit would be, your hips bucked. He giggled at your eager response.

“Sorry about that.”, you quickly apologized but he dismissed the said apology with a caress of his hand on your thigh, soothing your worry.

“There’s no need to worry.” He then pressed a soft kiss under your belly button and hummed, his breath warm on your skin: “You’re such a needy little thing sometimes.”

“I’m not needy.”, you replied with a growing blush.

“Mhh...who’s been keeping a calendar of half-naked men in her kitchen again?” His brow cocked in a teasing manner as he trailed a line of warm kisses all the day down to your entrance. Your breath hitched and you arched your back in response to his teasing:

“Are you going to remind me of this for a long time?”

“Yes.”

His hooked finger pushed your panties aside and he basked in the musky scent of your arousal, watching how your pubes glistened with arousal.

“Someone feeling jealous over there?”, you teased him which only earned you a chuckle.

“I have no reason to be jealous…”, his hands slipped under your butt and he lifted up a bit your body until your legs were wrapped around his neck, “...and I’m going to show you why.”

His lips dived into your parted legs, his mouth molding to the shape of your vulva as he suckled in deeply. Your essence spurted into his mouth, making you writhe slightly. His nose rubbed onto your clit while he swirled his tongue deeper between your slick folds. His cock was aching down his sweatpants, burning to be free and soon replacing his tongue.

As he kept lapping and sucking on your cunt, he slowly edged you until you couldn’t hold it anymore. The sound of you moaning and cooing his name was the sweetest reward he could get for his hard work; until you came undone. He could feel how close he was too to just climax, here and there on the spot. The sight of you, spread on the counter with your clothes ruffled and your puffy clit, throbbing and begging for more.

“Feeling good, mama?”, he softly asked while placing a soft peck on your thigh.

“Bedroom now.” Your enthusiasm made him giggle again and he kept placing soft pecks all over your face and shoulders while carrying you to the bedroom. Your eager hands slipped under the hem of his sweatpants and tried to grab a hold of his butt. As much as you liked this calendar, it was a shame it didn’t pay proper homage to the glorious work of art this man’s buttocks were.

Miguel finally let you go down the bed and slipped out of his sweatpants. He was rummaging through the nightstand, looking for the pack of condoms you always kept there.

You watched in awe as he tore open a condom and swiftly lowered his boxers. His cock sprung free, the tip almost slapping his lower belly as some precum already dripped from the swollen tip. His fingers quickly put on the condom and when he caught your gaze on him, he stopped, a sheepish smile on his lips: “Everything alright?”

“That was just the sexiest thing I’ve ever see you doing.” A sympathetic look took over his features as he crawled on top of you, peppering your face with soft kisses. It was probably the first time you’ve had a boyfriend who didn’t reluctantly put on a condom and who accepted that you just couldn’t put an IUD or take the pill. This was as refreshing as it was sexy and the delicate attention always made you feel grateful, no matter how much Miguel would tell you that it was nothing.

“How do you want to do this?”, he asked with his lips still pressed on your temple.

“I want to see you.” Your response seemed to please him a lot because he quickly obliged and soon you found yourself attached to one another, with his arms pinning you onto the bed while he kept moving back and forth between your warm walls. Every move he made was followed by a deep, throaty grunt on his side.

“Feeling good, sweetheart?”

You could only moan back at his question, wrapping yourself tightly around him as he was thrusting deeper into you. The heat between your two bodies was becoming unbearable as time went on and it only became stronger when he slipped his hand down your stomach and began toying with your clit.

“Gonna cum for me, okay sweetie? I want to make you feel so good…” The slight desperation in his tone didn’t go unnoticed on your side. He wanted nothing more but for you to remember this moment every time you would look at his picture. He wanted you to be as whipped for him as he was for you, completely and utterly transfixed.

“Miguel…” He knew what it meant when you cried out his name like that. It meant you were close and he made his mission to guide you through it with his fingers rubbing circles faster on your already sensitive and swollen clit.

“That’s it baby...just like that…”

Your body tensed and your grip on him tightened as he felt you reaching your climax. His praise didn’t stop soon and he kept placing soft pecks all over your face, especially around your furrowed brows, one thing he found adorable in these moments.

It took the two of your some time to calm down after this moment. Miguel had brought you back a towel from the bathroom to clean yourself and two glasses of water. It was a bit hot since it was the middle of the summer and he knew too well the risks of dehydration. However this didn’t stop him from cuddling with you, his arms tightly wrapped around your body, one hand tracing the curve of your hips, following the slope of it like a traveler climbing up a mountain. His eyes marveled at your body in silence, looking at the way the sweat had coated your skin. When he kissed the sensitive spot of skin behind your ear and playfully nuzzled his face into it, you squirmed a bit. But it was not enough to escape his grip and you just managed to rub yourself even more against him:

“Miguel...it’s already too hot. And I’m gross like that.”

Your words could have as well be heard by a deaf because he didn’t stop his kissing. In fact he even nuzzles his face lower on your body, his nose following the curve of your clavicle while he mumbled:

“You’re not gross. You’re perfect like that…”

You were glad he didn’t catch the blush that was blooming on your cheeks: “It’s still too hot for that…” But your protest wasn’t very convincing and none of you moved a single inch. It would soon be too hot to go out or even do anything at this point and your body succumbed to the promise of a lazy, indolent afternoon, resting in the arms of your lover.

================================================

Notes: Thanks for reading this story! I hope you liked it. it's been a while since I've written smutty one-shot so I needed some time to get back on track. Hope it doesn't feel too awkward.

🌻🌻🌻

My masterlist

[wordsofhoneydew]

fic pride

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

thank you for the tags @anincompletelist and @firenati0n

(no pressure) pressure tags to : @cha-melodius @whimsymanaged @cricketnationrise @alasse9 @sherryvalli @nocoastposts

reading back at my work has only reminded me how proud and happy i am with the fics i have written, and i hope y’all enjoy them just as much as i do!!

+

stolen glances with a string attached

Henry isn’t completely conscious of the fact that he is borderline stalking now, having been captivated by this man’s beauty. Even with the fair amount of distance between their office windows, Henry could still distinguish the prominent shadows cast on his cheeks from his eyelashes, and the sharp line of his jaw clenching every now and then. His skin seemed to glow exquisitely under the morning sun; looking practically magical against the gray of the city landscape.  That’s when the other man notices Henry, catching him in his trance for a split second before Henry turns his head to look down at the keyboard in front of him. That was close , he thinks to himself before slowly turning his head to look back at the window. And to his misfortune, the man is looking right back at him; his eyes squint, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrow, and his face is wearing an expression as if to say caught you. And he’s not wrong. Henry’s eyes widen, his body tensing up in sheer humiliation. That’s when he sees a sly smirk make its way to the man’s lips, and it only makes the embarrassment course through his body more rapidly, feeling all the blood rush to his cheeks. The man then spins around in his office chair, reaching for what looks to be a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles on it for a swift moment before pressing the paper up against his office window. The paper reads, “TAKE A PIC,” written in sloppy, bubble-like handwriting just barely legible enough for Henry to read.  The man grabs another paper and writes for a moment longer, this time reading, “JK” with a winky face. Henry cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction, the embarrassment slowly morphing into curiosity as the man turns the paper over for Henry to read the other side. “ALEX.”

+

your body comes back to me in dreams [nsfw]

He comes back to himself in increments, the places where they’re touching becoming lighter and colder, and his vision softening around the edges. Henry grabs the other man’s shoulder with a vice grip, wanting to laze in the gratification of their love. He surges forward to kiss him again, desperate to feel the warmth of his body, but he feels almost nothing. Henry pulls away resentfully, in search of brown eyes that bear unwavering devotion—but they’re gone, replaced by nothing, and he is faced with the iciness of the man’s absence. 

+

i became your device to name and soothe

June blushes violently and whispers, “It’s not the same when I do it to myself.” The air is eerily silent for a beat, and June hates everything that is coming out of her mouth right now.  Nora’s face goes almost stoic, serious, but the sparkle of interest in her eyes never falters. “Tell me why.” “What?” “Tell me why it isn’t the same.” June stares back at her staggered, at a complete loss of what to say, or how to say it. June has never had to explain the reasoning behind why she likes spanking. Hell, she’s never really thought about it in depth herself. Knowing that it brings her euphoric pleasure is enough acknowledgement for her.  “Well… I guess it has to do with the attention and— uh, being taken care of is part of it, too.” She chews on her lips subconsciously, looking down at her lap. “I see,” Nora trails off, thinking deliberately before saying: “I can help you. Only if you’re comfortable with that of course.” Nora places her hand on June’s knee, it’s a comforting sentiment more than anything, and June realizes that she really does mean to help. Not in the exact way June wishes she would, but she’ll take what she can get at this point. “Okay.” “Really? “I trust you, Nora.” “Yeah, of course. I trust you too.” June tries to swallow down the knot in her throat before speaking again, “It’ll be like, nonsexual, platonic—“ “Like a massage.” Nora’s expression is unreadable, the same face she makes when she’s in the middle of coding a script or calculating how many red bulls her body can tolerate without a wink of sleep in three days. Like a project she’s undoubtedly going to excel at. It makes June squirm in her seat. “I’m not an expert, so you’ll have to give me some… guidance.” God. What has June gotten herself into?

+

What are the chances? [nsfw]

“This what you wanted?” Nora whispers on her navel, kissing and licking up to the sweat that has begun to form between her breasts. The position of Nora’s fingers remain hooked inside of her, massaging repeatedly at her sweet spot, and June is seeing fucking stars. Her chest pushes into Nora’s face, giving her full permission to abuse them with her mouth. Instead Nora pulls back, laying her hand flat on June’s chest to settle her back onto the bed again. She gives a light slap to one of her breasts. “How does it feel? You were so desperate for it earlier, huh, baby? So, tell me how it feels.” June is unable to speak for a moment, her jaw slacked with no sound escaping. Her head is buzzing and her legs are trembling from how much stimulation her body is receiving. “Feels— oh fuck, ” she huffs, “feels so good, Nora. Please, don’t stop.” Nora unties one of her wrists, still maintaining the consistent rhythm of her hand. Once free, June immediately reaches out to touch her face; running her thumb over Nora’s eyebrow, cheekbones and then her lips, feeling how soft and plump they are. Nora takes that as an invitation to kiss June again, this time with a more deliberate, loving touch—she can taste a bit of herself on Nora’s tongue. 

[jjkamochoso]

In Sickness and Sadism

Not fluff, not angst, but a secret third thing... (it's Feitan from HxH, what can I say)

Feitan Portor x gn!reader with chronic illness

You can't afford your medicine. Feitan won't accept that!

Warnings: cussing, breaking of human bones, mentions of other violence (not toward reader)

"What do you mean the price went up that much?"

You were incredulous. You had been frequenting the same pharmacy in your home town since you could remember and the price for medicine had always been consistent. That's what you liked about shopping there--the owner didn't price gouge like they did in every other store. Now, you didn't know what to do. You needed to buy the damn medicine or else you would be miserable, or probably even dead. It already wasn't easy having to deal with a chronic illness and now you had to face the fact that you definitely didn't have enough money to buy something you needed to live.

"That's just how much it is now, don't cry to me about it," sneered the cashier and you felt your anger bubble up at his lack of empathy. Your life was terribly unfair and you wanted to scream, cry, and punch the smirk off the cashier in that order.

"Please, can I talk to Mr. Greck, the owner, about this? I've been coming here for years, maybe he can get me a discount," you pleaded, but the cashier just laughed at you.

"The owner has a job from which he needs to make money. Not that you would know what it's like to have money in the first place. So no, you can't waste his time begging like the poor person you are. Now get out or I'll throw you out."

You glared at him, hoping he was bluffing, but he seemed the type to follow through with hurting someone like you and you knew your body couldn't take the exhaustion, especially if you were going to be off your medicine for a while. You needed to make sure you were in good condition to work every day of the week, plus overtime, to make enough to buy your month's supply. Feeling defeated and upset, you left the building, tears falling freely.

Feitan prided himself on his distinct lack of empathy. He relished in the fact that the pain of others makes him feel warm inside. There was no better symphony of sounds than people crying and screaming for their pain to stop.

So why the fuck was he finding himself so outraged at some random person's medical predicament?

The raven haired man had stopped in to a local pharmacy to pick up (ahem... steal) some supplies for the Troupe in case anyone managed to get hurt on the latest mission. He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings for the first few minutes of his shopping spree, completely uncaring to someone else's woes of the fragility of the human body. All of a sudden, after stuffing the last roll of gauze in his sleeve, his ears perked up to listen in to the conversation happening at the front register.

"What do you mean the price went up that much?"

His eyebrows furrowed. Not that he cared, because he wasn't paying for any of his things anyway, but he did notice that the price tags here for items displayed significantly lower numbers than previous pharmacies he had visited in other areas around. You had affirmed his findings in your conversation with the cashier and Feitan felt his blood boiling at the brash rudeness coming from the cashier's mouth. Who did that scum think he was, speaking like that to someone for no reason? Feitan certainly wasn't the nicest guy around but even he had the decency to not be a total jerk to random strangers, let alone people in distress about their medical and financial woes. He didn't know why he was giving this ordeal the time of day. Maybe it was because of his upbringing? He saw this type of thing daily in Meteor City. Hell, he lived it himself. There was nothing scarier than seeing a totally healthy person decay rapidly and shrivel into nothingness, all because they were born in unfortunate circumstances. He scoffed when he saw you leaving in tears. Why didn't you just use your brain and brawn and steal it? Were you too weak? He saw your fists clenching earlier and figured you were strong enough to take down that slime ball. If you did end up getting your ass kicked, at least you didn't lie down like a dog and take it, like you were doing now. His eyes followed your frame until you left the building and he watched until your silhouette was no longer visible outside. He didn't know why he was doing this. He wasn't supposed to make a big scene whenever he was out and about, but the events were already set into motion before he could stop himself.

"5 month supply of whatever that person needed." Feitan ordered, pointing to the boxes behind the cashier's head.

The cashier just laughed at him. "You too, huh? What are you, their boyfriend or somethin'? Maybe their kid? Scrawny little thing."

Oh, he'll wish he never had a tongue to speak those words.

Feitan kept his cool, procuring a velvet bag from his person and set it on the counter with a clank emitting from the contents of inside. "I have money."

The cashier's mouth opened in a greedy smile. He quickly retrieved the 5 month supply Feitan requested and put it in a bag.

"That'll be 100,000 Jenny."

Feitan smirked under his cowl. He reached into the bag, seemingly to pull out money, but instead of coins, the cashier's outstretched hand was met with a mini hammer. The sickening crunch of bones could be heard as the man howled in pain.

"Oh? Big man can't handle small hammer?" Feitan taunted, his eyes crinkled in delight at the man's suffering. The cashier tried to reach for a gun he had stashed behind the counter but Feitan was much too fast, grabbing his wrist and turning his arm the wrong way so that, too, was broken. The cashier couldn't get a word out, instead crying out with tears running down his face.

"Don't cry to me about it." Feitan mocked the worker by using his own words against him. The shorter man hummed a bit, thinking of what to do next. He needed to finish up quickly or else he'd lose track of you and end up having done this all for nothing.

Well, this wasn't all for nothing either way. He needs to make sure he practices his methods often so he doesn't lose his edge.

Feitan grabbed the bag containing the medicine and cleaned up his own bag of tools while the cashier was lying on the floor, writhing in pain and ready to pass out. He gave him a strong kick before turning toward the door.

"Good luck getting all that fixed at a hospital. If you can afford it."

You were walking down the street, dejected and unsure of what to do when you felt a nauseating presence appear behind you. You turned around to face a short man with a skull face covering offering you a bag. Naturally, you were hesitant to take it, but he nudged it to you again.

"Medicine. For you."

Your eyes widened in surprise. Did you hear the soft spoken man correctly? You tore open the bag and saw multitudes of your medicine within.

"5 months. Go get better job or learn to steal."

You went to thank him but he was already gone, disappearing like a ghost. You were thoroughly confused but at the same time, extremely grateful. You stood on the street corner in a daze until the sound of screaming could be heard somewhere close to you.

"Someone please help! This cashier's been seriously injured!"

You whipped around to see a woman running out from... the pharmacy? What exactly had that man done to get you what you needed? You were ready to run away from the scene so you weren't questioned as a suspect when you caught a glimpse of your savior once more, watching you like a hawk from the rooftop of the building next to you. He put his finger to where his lips resided under his mask, a signal to stay quiet about what happened, as he let out a short maniacal laugh and disappeared from your sight.

Feitan finally realized why he decided to help you that one day. There were many people in this world he'd gladly see rot to death and then rot even further after that.

But not you.

No, you were much too attractive to be a corpse so soon.

[mishapen-dear]

i know too fucking much about qsmp badboyhalo.

[the-lark-ascending69]

> be a robin buckley fan

> be lesbian

> project on robin

> look up "internalized homophobia robin buckley" on tumblr because it's cathartic

> 3/4 of the posts are about st3ddie or just about steve

[something-about-sunflowers]

Ooooooohhhhhhh now I’m thinking of an Izzy with an Ella Enchanted style curse on him hhhhhhhhhh

Read-more cause this got away from me lmfao

He keeps it fairly under wraps for most of his life, sets out to sea at twelve, gets picked up by a press gang at seventeen. He manages, its  expected, for a sailor to follow orders on a navy ship, after all (of course ‘no’ isn't an option available to him anyway).

They get boarded by pirates when he's about twenty one and he’s taken on as part of their crew, the captain is after crew more than loot, tells him he should join (saying ‘no’ would have just had him killed, and he's doing his very best to live).

Some time after, he's nearing twenty five, they’re raided by another ship, the Ranger. Benjamin Hornigold likes a ruthless sailor (a ruthless pirate) and Israel Hands has never allowed himself to be anything but. He decides he wants to keep this one. He offers, Izzy accepts. Ben tells him to kill his former captain (wouldn’t have said ‘no’ even if he could have, the man was a bastard).

He earns a reputation of being kind of a kiss-ass, he doesn’t really mind, it keeps most people from asking questions. But Ben’s got his pet projects Edward Teach and John ‘Jack’ Rackham and they’re both too sharp for their own good (though, Jack is better at playing dumb). They notice its not just Captain’s orders he follows to the letter, but everyone’s. They test him, subtly at first, but eventually they show their hand. Tell him that they know there’s more to Izzy’s obedience than he lets on.

He’s terrified for how they might use this against him (the usual ways, which most men abused without even knowing about his curse, easier, safer to let them think he wanted it) but they tell him they don’t want to take his agency from him like that. They offer to help him. He’s not sure whether to trust it (he knows, by rights, he shouldn’t) but he can’t say ‘no’ to ‘trust us, let us help’ (whether Edward is aware of the command, Izzy will never know, decades later Edward doesn’t even remember what he said to convince him).

So they stick by him, as best they can, if someone gives an order he doesn’t want to follow they’ll tell him, quietly as they can, not to. It works, for the most part. Though eventually, Ben notices Izzy’s not quite as obedient anymore (though he still never says ‘no’ to his captain’s orders). He doesn’t like that. He notices Izzy’s been spending more time around Teach and Rackham, decides they’re bad influences (he intends them to captain other ships in his fleet, they’re allowed to push back on orders, Izzy will never have a command of his own, he is not). He separates them. Puts Teach and Rackham on the Marianne with the flimsy excuse of ‘getting practice in’. (he sees them off with Izzy at his side, a claiming hand on his shoulder, Ed and Jack aren't sure how they manage it, but they don't try to kill him right then and there) They now only ever see each other when they all make port. Its a trying few months (for Ed and Jack, for Izzy. . .).

They meet at port one last time (apart, at least). Edward has a plan. They’re going to mutiny. They’ve been stirring the pot on the Marianne (whispers had already started before they got there, not too many of the crew were happy to miss out on loot just because Ol’ Ben had an apparent soft spot for the Crown). He presses his knife into Izzy's hands. Tells him, back on the ship, when everyone else is asleep, he’s to slip into the captain’s cabin and kill Ben, in his sleep, so he can’t order him to stop (Izzy is never sure if he would have said ‘no’ to that unintentional order, had he been able).

The mutiny goes off without a hitch (Ben wakes when the knife plunges into his throat, but he can’t give orders around the steel and the blood that choke him). Edward makes Izzy his first mate, gives Jack the Marianne. He and Izzy go on to create a legend.

Things are good, for a long while they're good. Edward is an inventive and charismatic captain, the crew love him and the loot he leads them to, and Izzy's position (and Edward's possessive protectiveness over him) means that anyone who dares order Israel Hands around, that doesn't have the title of 'his captain', meets a quick end.

Unfortunately, for Izzy, 'good' never tends to last. He'd hoped (and damn him for daring to hope) that he was free, as free as he could be, from his curse, sailing under Edward (Blackbeard), and he was. For a while. Its about a decade later when Edward starts to get bored. He never orders Izzy to do anything degrading or dangerous (more dangerous than he can handle at least) but it still hurts somewhere deep in his chest the first time Edward gives a casual order and doesn't look to see if Izzy wants to follow it.

They come across Jack every now and again. It always takes him a bit to readjust to Izzy, to remember he needs to phrase things as suggestions rather than orders, he always manages eventually. (that little pain in his chest digs a little deeper when he notices Edward avoids giving him orders when Jack is around, though he can't say why) Their crossing paths wind up fewer and farther between as the years go on. One notable visit involved Jack asking Edward to marry him and Anne Bonny ('why not just have your first mate do it?' 'Annie is my first mate, man, 'sides, I want my two best buds to be there for it!'). Izzy isn't sure what to make of Edward's renewed willingness to run into Jack afterwards (only knows that the pain in his chest grows all the sharper for it, and at seeing Jack, happy with Anne, he feels a bit monstrous about that). It doesn't matter much in the end, things go back to normal once Mary/Mark (depending on the day) Read enters the picture and (mostly) steals Annie away from Jack.

And suddenly Izzy finds himself at fifty five, on a beach, wondering ‘what kind of fucking idiot runs his ship aground‘. Edward is intrigued, Izzy can't tell him 'no'.

He hates the Revenge with every fiber of his being. None of the crew listen to him, Edward doesn't back him up (and neither do Fang or Ivan, following their captain's lead). The first time one of the crew gets it into their head to give him a mocking order he nearly passes out with the force it takes him to not jump to the task immediately. He retreats to his cabin later and vomits at the feeling of violation he hasn't felt in decades (he tells himself he hasn't felt it, Edward is his captain, above all else is loyalty to his captain, his own feelings don't matter).

He hates stupid fucking Stede Bonnet most of all. Hates him for putting a light back in Edward's eyes that hasn't been there for a long while. Hates his pompous attitude, his flippant disregard for the institution of piracy, how little he seems to actually care for the safety and well-being of his own men (leave alone the danger he poses to Edward). Most of all he hates that he calls him 'Iggy'.

So when he challenges him to a duel, and he accepts, its only for Edward's sake that he sets the terms at 'banishment' and not 'death'. When he loses he finds he rather wished it had been to the death. (he doesn't understand, Edward wanted this, he hadn't even told him to stop, hadn't ordered him to stop)

He retreats to Spanish Jackie'z to lick his wounds and to work out a plan to pull Edward out of the steady march towards his own demise that he faces aboard the Revenge. Jackie, Izzy is fairly certain, knows about his curse to some extent (he suspects she doesn't abuse the knowledge for the sake of having a bargaining chip, should she need it), she talks him out of any corners the navy bloke with a grudge against Stede Bonnet inadvertently walks him into. She also runs him into Jack Rackham (and Izzy realizes, at the sight of the silver starting to peek its way through his dirty blond, that its been nearly ten years since they've last seen each other, that pain in his chest not any duller for it) and the last piece of the plan falls into place. Jack tries to talk him out of it, says its not a good idea, even offers him a position on his own ship (not that its his ship to offer anymore, since Annie took over captaincy and made Mary/Mark her first mate, but they've both always had a soft spot for Izzy on account of Jack's soft spot for Izzy, they'd be more than willing), not once does he order though and Izzy can't let Edward keep doing this to himself. Jack will understand when he sees him, Izzy says. Jack goes.

(Izzy hears, when the navy gunners crow triumphantly about hitting the dinghy, the one that Jack and Edward were in, the one that Edward jumped out of, he tells himself not to let it show when that pain in his chest comes back twenty-fold at the thought)

Edward claims the Act of Grace. He and Stede Bonnet leave to lick the king’s boots. Izzy doesn't make it a single day as captain. Edward comes back just before he goes overboard with the anchor to follow. He comes back wrong. Izzy can't take it. Edward can't take it.

The Kraken wakes and Izzy is introduced to the concept of a living hell. (even the captive crew stop trying to give him orders, at the haunted look in his eye, when they see how the Kraken orders him around, when he discovers Spriggs alive, if a lot worse for the wear, he doesn't even need the order to keep it under wraps, he doesn't want to know what the Kraken would order him to do if the boy is found out, he shudders at the thought)

When stupid fucking Stede Bonnet (and his marooned crew) finds his way back to the Revenge Izzy allows himself a single moment to feel relieved. Until, at least, the Kraken orders him to kill the man. He can't. He fights. The crew are all shouting at him not to, it eases the strain. The Kraken levels his pistol at his head, the crew goes silent.

'Israel, I order you to kill Stede Bonnet'.

His sword is in his hand. Stede's gotten better with his own sword, is managing to hold his own against Izzy (in truth, its mostly due to Izzy straining to not follow the order, but there is a marked improvement). The Kraken growls 'Kill him Izzy, fucking- kill him!' Izzy loses his sword to the mast again (he's grateful this time), his knife is in his hand a second later. He's got less reach than Stede does but Stede is trying not to hurt him. Why is he trying not to hurt him?

'Bonnet. Bonnet, you have to stop me. I can't. I can't kill you. I can't let him do that to himself. You have to. Run me through. Right here-' he taps his chest with his free hand, the one that isn't swinging the knife around, the left side, right over his heart '-only way to stop this. He might even listen to you afterwards.'

'Izzy. Izzy no.' In his shock, Stede lowers his sword. Izzy swears as he knocks it out of his hand. Presses close, crowds him against the doors to the captain's cabin, knife against his throat.

'Just fucking kill him already!'

A bead of blood wells under the tip of the blade. Izzy meets his own eyes in the polished reflection of his knife.

'Izzy stop fucking around and do what I told you to!'

His hands shake with the weight of the order. There are tears in his eyes, he can see them in his reflection.

A memory comes, unbidden: He, Edward, and Jack hiking through dense jungle to find a witch that Jack thinks might be able to break his curse, or at least tell them how to break it themselves. Her words 'I cannot break this curse Israel, this is something you must do for yourself. I can tell you this, however, to do this you'll need to face yourself. Face yourself and free yourself. That is all I can say, I'm sorry, I'd tell you more if I could.' They'd left disappointed, Jack cursing about scams and 'you can't even trust witches these days, man', Edward contemplatively silent.

Face yourself and free yourself. Izzy's eyes flick upwards to Stede's concerned face, back down to the blade. He meets his own eyes again.

'Izzy-' The rest of the Kraken's words go unheard.

Izzy tells himself, voice scarcely more than a breath: 'You will not be obedient.'

He feels, more than sees, Stede's gasp. He ignores it. His hand still wants to press the knife upwards. He tries again.

'You will not be obedient.' A little louder this time.

'The fuck did you just say-' Again.

'You will not be obedient!'

The knife flies across the deck, lands with a clatter. Silence (but for the sound of Izzy's labored breaths).

He turns, ignores the shocked crew, meets Edward's wide eyes with his own watery ones (when had the tears started falling so freely?).

'. . . Iz. . . ?'

Everything goes black.

[yappacadaver]

and it's like despite all the awful shit he's done and continues to do, like, i get it. he's employed like 24/7/365. he never got to live a life, despite spending a childhood clinging to the hope of having one someday. He knew companionship and love but lost it and can't ever get it back. His circumstances are so anomalous and gruesome that it completely isolates him from pretty much every other human being on the planet. he knows hell is real and he is basically guaranteed to go there if he can't break this demon curse thing.

like it doesn't make the kidnapping and spreading the curse around any better, but i do get it.

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Gaslighting? In MY household? It’s more likely than you think

[hauntingblue]

Inept 8 year old boy dragon tries to save floating island is such a concept

[alexjcrowley]

New dad lore unlocked, what the fuck do you mean your friend knew Luca di Montezemolo so you did a test drive with a Ferrari once