#gn!drifter

[monarisse]

— The Hex paradox [arthur nightingale x gn!drifter]

Arthur asks, why are you still here.

You can't believe that he thinks you see them as pets.

SFW, second pov, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding, angst with a happy ending | 3.6k

ao3

There is a flex of a hand — meat under the skin is terribly tense, just like their owner. Long unclipped nails, map of the old scars with pigment just a little bit lighter than everything else. Further: burn, raw marks from laser. Further: a contaminated virus from the elder beast of Deimos. Further-

This is just a body that holds your consciousness when there are no more metallic constructs of dead people that should be controlled. It was... actually, not so horrible to unfold the truth behind the creations of Ballas. Or others. There was always something more than you in these turned-to-be-bones metallic wires and engines. Always lurking in shadow; just not enough to be found, but enough to feel the sudden twitch of a cobalt fingers or unknown step of feet. Sometimes, even more: dance with a weapon, full of joy; murmur in an unknown language; search for something behind the back. Unnecessary. Unasked. Unprovoked. But... familiar, almost to the pain in your drifting mind.

It's ironic — that they all called you The Drifter. Not The Operator — not anymore, at least. Even if there was someone, in this time of the universe, who would gladly use this title on you, it would not be the truth. And you will not allow it. Hundreds of years after all of this, there would be a child with angry eyes and a thirst for power, who changed too much and too little to be completely you again. So you give them the future and keep yourself in the past — it seems right. Especially because (it's ill-fitting, it's wrong, and it's foolish, but deep down it's what makes them and you one person), The Operator can't travel here. They ask in rare times together how it was.

And for you, it's never "was." It's still here.

———

After winter, spring and summer together, they became steadier, softer. Smoother. Happier. Amir sleeps better. Angered only by some unnecessary presence before, now Quincy finds serenity, covering your back on missions. Aoi plays on the borrowed piano from the music store, and Eleanor whispers in your mind stories that she read in the past about Great Britain. Sharpened on the edges Lettie, today holds her hand to yours, so her beasts could crawl on the skin of this body with hushed squeaks, smelling with their little noses acid and kerosene, that scaldra pours on you every day. Lettie clicks her tongue in disappointment when she sees a new wound on the meat of shoulder — because in this body you can't heal as fast as they, and it's hypocritical to come out of frame when they're — the Mighty Hex, batch of soldiers of the future, your Friends, in the end — still here. And-

It's so. Fucking. Funny. A snicker falls from your lips before you can stop it.

Lettie furrows her eyebrows. In her eyes — something eats the previous light joke and fills it with thick tension.

"What did he do?" Anita squeaks, runs to her siblings, and you just blink.

"Who?"

Oh, it's not a secret. You... can guess who she talks about. And Lettie knows it.

"¡Pendejo! You know who. Don't play an owl with me."

Sharp teeth of the future crash into each other. Smile on these lips — sugary sweet from lies. This is not something new. How many people "The Great Hero" of the New War has deceived around the years of the Narmer regime?

"Nothing. Why you-"

She smacks your arm.

"Shut up. Don't want to hear your explanations. His brooding takes its toll on you," she painstakingly cleans her fingers from void-touched blood. From all of them, Eleanor is one who can feel lies, but Leticia is... another deal. She doesn't have the need to hear your thoughts. Magic of doctors, you guess.

It's strange that she cares about you. After all, these six are a team. And the seventh angle doesn't belong in the hexagon, even if it forces itself inside.

But, for Lettie, you let it slide. Hold her palm in yours and blink a little bit slower.

"I take care of that. Promise"

———

You know it — even too much of something good can be poisonous. Like trivia: this body was not ready for the delicious food that they have here, so on one night with beer and Hex you threw up in the bathroom on the second floor. But... Compare this and... your genuine worry for Nightingale seems like a wrong play of komi, where no one could win.

Worse: you remember Umbra. His blind eye and this wordless trust between him and The Operator. This wordless care that travels with them everywhere. How could you not feel envy when this child not only found the way from Zariman 10-0, but even saved the frame that could think without Tenno? Well, now you have protoframes. They joke with you in their bones, and they help you when it becomes unbearable — this world, this time, this loop. So why, when you stretch out your hand only how you can, it turns out... It is too much. Or too little.

And... what even happens in this thick skull of his, when he abruptly leaves a conversation on KIM, then agrees on Amir's play and, after... drowns you in questions?

Broadsword

So what is it? Pity? Or are you stupid as well as crazy?

Broadsword

Stop dodging! Why. Are. You. Still. Here?!

There is a reminiscence of a dull ache from Duviri. Another swing of an axe above the head. Endless swirl of colors. And buzzing in the skull. This body trembles, unable to comprehend all emotions from a feverish mind, and you pull your hand to clean your face from... something. Anything.

How could he even ask this shit? Like you some bystander that already left them after a week of knowing, just to start a new adventure far far away. Like you didn't search abandoned markets for his favorite beer, didn't bring special ammunition to Quincy, didn't practice with Aoi and Amir on the transmission of intel. Just some guest, not important to add in their ranks.

Nidus quietly shrieks when you transfer back to him. It is something of a habit. You can't even feel the exact moment when his broad frame already exits the backroom, too busy with boiling emotions inside your mind (the biggest question there: what if Kid would be able to help them without this mess of emotions. What if Hex liked the Operator more?).

Höllvania Central Mall never sleeps. Especially now, when there are not seven, but many more breathing shadows waiting for the other day to live, so... It is a little bit of awakening — see disbelief and caution in the eyes of bystanders when the form of Nidus makes his way from the second floor to the first in one jump. But still not enough to stop the heavy steps of the infested frame.

He's in his usual spot, crouched between some ammo for his rifle and computer, and Arthur... seems a little bit surprised. Like it wasn't you who he wrote just seconds ago.

Pity. He called your carefully crafted relationships with the Hex "pity." And you, yourself: crazy and stupid.

"You could just-" There is something more behind his dazed expression, some dark undertone, but it is not about him. Not anymore.

"How could you," Nidus freezes like a mannequin in the doorframe. This body constructs itself right against Nightingale; scarred fingers cling to his shoulder to feel something else beside the usual eerie words of KIM-messages and hushed phrases under the sick sky. His brows rise up even more now, "How could you even think of something like that!"

Arthur's lips twitch.

Prince of fire Lodun, in all his ugly glory, paints your mind with blood and red.

"It's bothering me already enough time to just let it slide," his words twist something in the pit of your stomach, and Lodun's voice screeches somewhere around the frontal lobe. He shouldn't say such words to you. It is blasphemy. Lie. His hand rips your own from himself almost like you hurt him, and the scar around the palm that he left you with starts to pulsate, "You walk around the Mall like everything is okay and we're not just some dead meat to your future."

He is poisonous. Some sort of divine punishment for you, as if you didn't suffer enough for years and years of survival. There are no more light jokes, no more strange, vigorous words with the undertone of something bigger. Only a stern glance on this body.

Prince Lodun fist his finger and crack another hole in your mind walls.

Body of the Drifter winces.

"Are you fucking kidding?" teeth clacks. The jaw's strained to its limit. All of this time together, just drained in the sink, "What do you think? That I stayed here just to forget about you all in the next minute?"

He doesn't need to say it aloud. The answer is written on his face already, and it's making Lodun more loud in your mind.

"How many times have you already done that?"

Lodun roars. This head is pounding.

"What?!"

It's unbelievable. He looks at you with such a sardonic expression, as if he knows that you did something so bad that you even can't stand with him in one room, and... you want to go right in his head to fucking show Arthur how terribly wrong he is.

The worst of all: he keeps going.

"It's convenient, isn't it? To play "friends" with people you can just leave behind," his grip tightens, and Arthur steps forward. A little more and it would become a fight.

You hold back. Just a little bit, but the patience in this body already wears itself.

"So that's what's stuck in your head?" You snarl, "Not bad enough, don't you think?" One step to him, and you feel — one more, and you can crash in his metallic chest. Eyes squint, "Make me a villain more, why not? Maybe I should take control of one of you and dispose of everyone else, huh?" Luscinia weeps in the corner of your mind with these harsh words, but you are unable to hear her — spiral of Loduns anger in its all-power captured you. There is something of a hurt in Arthur's face. But you only use his own method on him. It's almost like he didn't think of this — that you could use his friends against him or even make him a bystander in the nonexistent massacre.

"You can," his voice drops lower. Grip tightens even more — soon bones in this body would be broken by his fingers. "So I advise you to stop pretending like we're important to you," Nightingale bends his head, and you can see the hues of his blind eye for the first time, "and put us all out of this misery."

You're tugging this hand away — alas, it's not working, and a wave of dull pain passes through the body. He never thought that it was as hard for you as for them.

Luscinia crying. The Sorrowful Soprano of Duviri weeping like a mother who lost something too precious for her, and with Loduns anger, it's too much to feel in one moment. Your mind makes itself the battleground of the old Tales.

You want to say: maybe you're right.

You want to say: maybe I should just leave things like they are.

But... the Hex already made themselves important for you. So much that you gladly would stay here forever, with this ancient technology and people of the past. The Operator has their people. Why shouldn't you have yours?

You take a deep breath. Close tired eyes.

"If you think that I should go, I'll do it." There is something too heavy in these words, so you can't raise this head anymore, with your gaze a little bit blurry. Not from tears, "You all became too important for me, so if it would be better for Hex, I'll be gone to my time."

You know: without you, they will all be dead in the New Year of 1999. The reactor will blow up, and Arthur will bleed on the floor of the radiated room, near the bodies of Aoi and Amir.

And you can just feel the power of Spiral, to send it all back in January, to start again.

"Don't make yourself a martyr. You can leave when you want."

That's it.

You snap.

"My fucking Sol," you twitch this head, "you are as dense as Razorback," Nightingale becomes a little bit puzzled by the unknown comparison, but you continue, "What should I say? "Sorry, Arthur, I stayed here because I know that without me you all will die." Your voice becomes louder and louder; it breaks in some words, and you feel: the dam was broken, "And I developed feelings for you, and all of this embarrassing flirting was so bad because I had never done it before? You know, because I was trapped all of my youth in an endless loop of my own death, and I didn't even think that I could feel something like that"," his grip finally becomes loose, and you break the palm from him, only to point the finger at Arthur, "Everyone knows about it. I thought that you-"

Wait. You thought that he already knew about your feelings for him — it was so obvious that Eleanor even asked you not to think about her brother on united missions. But... You shut this mouth and looked at Arthur. He's... flagger-basted. No more anger in his eyes, only genuine surprise, and — worst of all — he continues to keep silent.

"Great," you roll this eyes. Fuck it. Maybe he knew, just feelings weren't mutual, and Nightingale didn't acknowledge it, to leave things as they were. But now you spelled it all aloud, and there is only one way to turn it back. Maybe... no. You don't want it.

Sol, you should just go to the backroom and decay in some corner.

You take a deep breath.

"I'll be going to throw up somewhere on the second floor from embarrassment," you transfer back to Nidus, "don't message me," and head towards the escalator.

Worst: he didn't even stop you.

———

Quincy screams in your comm and it's almost unbearable how he just throws a stash of Scaldra supply on the garage floor, just to head back to civilians in the old supermarket without another word to you.

Blew up the tank without care of flying too far away to not be hurt; melted one of the other stashes; almost got Kalymos dead. You've gone more hectic. But it's still better than lying on a couch with nausea and a sorrowful expression (it's still better than nothing — you remind yourself — you still feel something, and it's better than apathy).

Funny: if the Kid could see you, they would be furious. Throwing some tantrum about how such a mindless thing would wreck you, The Drifter, to some pathetic ordinary human. They were always like this: more hard than you, more prideful. They could chew Arthur's words and twist them so much that the man would not be sure what he even wants anymore. But the Operator is too far away. And you are too arrogant to travel back to them. Lotus would calm you down, embrace you in a motherly hold; however... you don't want it right now. One thing that surely helps: killing. Scaldra or Techrot — doesn't matter.

"I'm worried about you," tells Aoi when the sharp talons of Garuda give her a package full of CDs, "I heard your argument with Arthur." She seems a little bit sheepish, but... you know, that you actually can trust her. Of all Hex, Aoi is the most understandable. You can tell her all your worries, and she wouldn't laugh or write off your feelings. "It's hard with him sometimes, but Arthur cares about us all," of course he is, "you included."

You hum. The sound comes a little bit muffled.

"I'm sure." No, you're not, but there is no need to talk about it right now. Aoi squints her eyes in disbelief. "Sorry, Aoi. It's between me and him and i-"

"Drifter," his voice is too loud in Aoi's lair, but you don't turn to Nightingale. Maybe he will disappear if you don't acknowledge his presence. "We need to talk," Morohoshi shows some kind of gesture that you don't recognize, with her big finger pointed out, and she shakes her head, smiling.

If there were only two of you, you'd find a reason to just vanish in the air.

Damn. Why is it harder than killing an archon with a bow?

"Alright," you sign. Garuda turns around to Excalibur and he is already heading somewhere in an unknown destination.

What does he want to say? That he made a decision to stay with you on friendly terms so that you could save Hex's lives? That he'll save them by himself? Good luck with that. You'll still be here, even if he wants to banish you from others, just not in his line of sight. And when clocks turn 23:56 without catastrophe, you'll let them go and transfer yourself back to Loid, to solve problems of Deimos.

It's some sort of warehouse — you've never been here before, and it's strange how music from the hall becomes only disoriented muffles when Arthur closes the door. You stand a little bit farther from him than usual — not to make yourself comfortable here.

Arthur leans on some kind of cabinet.

Heavy silence falls on you two.

And when you think that this was a bad idea — to come here with him — Arthur starts talking.

"You know that all my life I was a military man," he spins that damn sword — Arthur's voice... not so loud. He speaks almost carefully, like his words already were chosen before this talk, and... you don't know what to think about. Emotion without name, without personification in Tales of Duviri, born in a pit of stomach, "and... I think I was ready to leave some things behind," he's not looking at you; his gaze stops on scratches on the floor, "because there was not enough time, or... I didn't try to understand others more."

You gulp. Garuda's scales tremble.

"And I tend to search for enemies where there aren't any." Finally, Arthur looks at you. There is more than tiredness from endless nights; quiet longing, a hint of uncertainty, something... tender.

He sighs.

"And," Arthur chuckles, and you grit your own teeth, thrashing about to step from Garuda or stay in her bones, "I'm not even entirely human. I mean, look at me," he gestures at the metal skin of his body, "not a usual choice of the mass."

Still, it's better to talk face to face. Especially on topics like that, you make a decision in one moment, to reappear beside him in another.

"Arthur," your own voice strained with hoarse hesitation, "you're a good person. You shouldn't talk about yourself like that." There is a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips, and Arthur blinks a little bit slower.

"You're always saying such things that give me hope." Spinning of his blade comes to an end, and the warehouse becomes more... steady. Peaceful.

Nightingale clears his throat.

"Did you mean it?" comes almost in a whisper, "that you have... feelings. For me."

You tear your gaze from him and put it down, not able to look in his eyes. Yes. It is definitely harder than killing an archon.

Fingers dip in the elbows.

"Yes."

Nothing more. Just a short, clear answer to put any misunderstanding behind.

Remarkably, the stomach stops swirling. All of this body became... calm, like all the worries just disappeared with this one word. Even if Arthur doesn't feel the same, you are glad that you two talked about it. Finally, you can open a new page in-

"It's mutual."

What?

You snap this head to him, and, for the first time in an eternity, you see Arthur smiling. Without some undertone in it, without pressure. Just a clear, happy smile on his scarred face, and you even see some little dimples on his cheeks.

And, maybe it's too early and you should wait some time to do such things, but these hands — your hands — reach out to him, to bury your fingers in his hair and press an uncertain but full-of-burning-emotions kiss to his lips.

It's raw — skin to skin, first too gentle to feel something more than the texture of others, but with every passing moment, all of this bottling adoration for him seeps through the motion. And Arthur answers you, laying his metallic palm in the crook of your neck, to deepen the kiss — he opens his mouth, presses you to himself more, to finally give you something that you wanted too long to confess.

In reality, it's still better than in imagination.

When there is not enough air in your lungs, when your shuddered inhale mixes with his own and both of you break away for a moment, you press your forehead to Arthur's, holding onto his shoulder.

"You know," he starts after a moment of silence, with a voice a little bit rough on the edges. You open your eyes and move your head a little bit to look at him once more. Cold fingers start to play with the strands of your hair. "If someone had told me that I would want to kiss someone from the future who trespassed my mind, I think I would kill them," Arthur breathlessly laughing and-

"Sol, you're unbelievable." You smack his shoulder and move to get out from his grip, but Nightingale presses you even more into himself, and you feel how his laughter starts to seep through your bones.

"You're stuck with me now. No refunds, sweets." Arthur pressed a chaste kiss on the crown of your head, and... you hug him, closing your eyes back.

The Harbinger of Joy, Mathilda, smiles for the first time in what feels like eternity.

[what-did-you-just-say]

Hello, can I get Shaxx, Cayde, Drifter, and maybe Crow with a reader who is really shy, and timid but if there tired or angry they just couldn't care less, they'll just pop people's heads off practically.

HELLOOOO! Hi, sorry I didn't react sooner but I saw your request and kinda forgot about writing it! I'm so sorry!

So here it is!! Well, I tried to be as close to the characters as possible without them being OOC. I hope you like it!

(I know they're a little short, I tried my best)

Lord Shaxx

- he'd be...surprised, honestly. Shaxx is the kind of man who encourages your might in the Crucible but he came to terms with your shy and timid nature.

- he finds it cute if we're being honest here, it just goes to show how well your characters go together.

‐ Shaxx is loud and not at all embarrassed by his words while you're a little off to the side and rather not interact with many people you don't know that well.

- So to see you in the Arena, feeling a little off with that tinge of tiredness, not wanting to actually do much except get the match over with, worried him a little.

- Well, that was until you got angry at some hunter taunting you across the map. He's been an irritating thorn in your side this whole time with his arrogant cockiness and that stupid shit eating grin you swore you saw through his helmet.

- Now, Shaxx being the man he is and encouraging your might in his matches, practically thrives off your newfound determination to bring the enemy team down.

‐ He gushes about it aswell, flexing that his S/O was crushing the enemy team and brought the win for their own.

- but he comforts you afterwards, truly. He'll be all over you with affection that same night and tell you how well you did and coo in your ear about your achievements and your victory over that damn hunter.

Cayde-6

- oh jeez...well, okay, Cayde isn't that bad but he'd also be a big encourager on his part.

- he loves the fact he can coddle you and tease you for your shyness and timid nature, finding it incredibly endearing when you blush and try to hide from him.

- he's your voice in moments it really counts in, speaking for you when something bothers you or whatnot.

- but when he (surprisingly enough) managed to get out of the tower and "aid" you on patrol on Mars, he really didn't expect you to start popping Cabal heads with little to no care!

- all because they scratched your armour too! You've been feeling tired already, not wanting to go on patrol in the first place but being tasked by Commander Zavala himself to simply take a look around the perimeter.

- now your new armour has been scratched, you were already tired and these Cabal weren't letting up either!

- Cayde just simply stood off to the side and gawked at you like you were a completely different person!

- his sweet and cute S/O, as shy and timid as they are most of the time, is casually killing Cabal with headshots left and right like they were nothing!

- (he was a little turned on, let's be fair)

- to say everybody in the Tower knew of your little outburst would be an understatement, that loveable Exo of yours could not keep his damn mouth shut.

Drifter

- he might be the damn reason you're so nagged in the first place, honestly.

- so we all know Drifter and how he is, always that bravado he puts on for a rogue lightbearer. He's got an image to uphold.

- so this man would also be an absolute tease, cracking jokes and cooing right in your ear on a private comms channel just to see you get flustered and all.

- but he knows when to stop aswell, don't get me wrong.

- that instance would be when you both were on a mission on Europa. He had perched himself onto a vantage point where he could observe and cover your back if needed.

- you two were just casually chatting around, talking about the most mundane things while you were walking the perimeter.

‐ until...you suddenly got ambushed. You were already tired and these Fallen constantly crawling out of their hiding spots and caves and whatnot just irritated you further. It was supposed to be a simple Intel mission.

- so Drifter, being the good boyfriend he is, covered your back and shot Eliksni after Eliksni while making sure you weren't too overwhelmed.

- yet he did feel baffled when you just popped their head like nothing, like they were flies.

- for him it felt like you and that person sporting your armour were two different people.

- don't get him wrong, he liked you this way. Unbothered and uncaring but it was a stark contrast to your usually sweet personality.

- he did tease you after everything had calmed down and you two managed to meet up but he did make sure to at least try and get you to calm down.

Crow

- oh my god– are you trying to give this man a heart attack?

- not only was he worried because you were already feeling tired, which made you so easily agitated, but you also had to go on a patrol WITHOUT him nearby.

- he knows of your act of....not being bothered with anything at all but he was still worried, he knows you can take care of yourself

- Crow loves your shy behaviour, it complimented his own well. Your timidness making his heart soften.

- he was...shocked? To say the least the first time he caught you in that state of "You breathe at all? Bullet to the head." and it did worry him a little.

- (even a little turned on, dare I say? He's a sucker okay for badass partners imo)

- he tries his best to calm you down if you reach that state of anger or try and convince Zavala to send someone else when you're feeling tired but got handed another mission.

- Crow just wants to care for you</3

(Hope you enjoyed reading it and send in requests if you want something specific! Have a great day/night!)

(Love, creator hihi)

[skullzy20]

Can you imagine how Lotus, Ordis and the Operator would react to the Drifter after the events of 1999.

Like, you come back to your orbiter or something and suddenly it's. "Hey guys, yeah I went back to the year 1999 and got stuck in another time loop but it's okay because I also picked up a boyfriend who I now don't want to be without, and also did I mention I'm not going to be staying in the orbiter anymore, so yeah I'm moving out too." and they don't know what to do with the information they were just given

[the-smut-mongerer]

I just read your O14 fic and thought it was adorable!

Could I please request some good old drifter X reader fluff? Especially if the reader is a hunter and taller then drifter? which isn't hard man's is tiny

Headcanons or fanfic I don't mind!

love this stinky sewer rat man🫶

characters: drifter

tags: fluff, tall! reader, hunter! reader, gn! reader

ヾthis is a multi fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem alligened, please do not follow or interact with my mlm related post!! you will be blocked if you do not heed this warning ゛

You're legally required to stock the shelves and grab anything too high for him to reach.

He doesn't like the fact that he has to crane his neck to look up at you, though he's used to it with all the titans he's been around, but used to it from a hunter.

If you try to use his head as an arm rest, he will bite you.

Though he's not opposed to being carried. Whether it is a bridal carry, piggy back ride, or being held like a sack of potatoes, he's chillin

You're totally the designated big spoon. He likes the feeling of your larger body curled around his.

He steals borrows your clothes, esspically any shirts or hoodies

It's a common occurrence to see him lounging around the Derelict in your clothes.

He's a light bringer, meaning he's pretty strong. If he really needed to, he just yank you down by whatever he can grab to get his kisses in.

He also really likes forehead kisses.

[technocyte-09]

the update is my body and fatigue said no to writing rn but here's the premise:

drifter/quincy fic based off of his backroom line talking about how cuddly the drifter is when theyre sleeping.

about to sit down and overanalyze quincys voicelines and way of speech

im gonna try so hard to get a fic done 😭

i crave that drifter/quincy content

[studiogrimm810]

Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts

pairings/characters: sam winchester x gn!you, dean is also there

summary: after a long day of driving with the brothers, you and dean drink too much and when dean goes off with a random woman, sam takes care of you

warnings: fluff, alcohol, intoxication

word count: 2,970

A/N: fluff is so not usually my thing just fyi, i'm a whore for angst and hurt/comfort haha (also might make a part 2 for the hangover lol)

(edit: i made a part 2!! Sober After-Thought)

———————

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t kill us to call the drive early and settle in for the night,” Dean suggested, filling up Baby with fresh gas, leaning against the trunk. Sam had gotten out to stretch his legs and you just came back out from the bathroom.

“Really, Dean, you’re calling it?” You scoff lightly as you come into earshot, your hands in your jacket pockets. “Ya gettin’ old on me?” You joke, bumping his shoulder.

Dean rolls his eyes, pushing off of the trunk as the nozzle clanks closed, signaling the tank is full, “shut up,” he mumbles. “I saw a bar a few blocks back with a motel in the same parking lot and I could use a drink,” he explains, holstering the nozzle back into the gas pump and finishing up.

“I could use a drink,” you nod curtly as you walk around to the back seat. Sam seems reluctant but not completely against it.

“Yeah- okay,” Sam shrugs, climbing into the car. Dean has a tiny moment of celebration with the pump of his fist as he drives off and back to the direction of the motel to check in.

The motel is a classic semi-run down spot that’s in desperate need of a power wash but seems like its paint-chipped siding would dissolve away at the pressure. It’s not perfect but it’s cheap.

Dean goes into the lobby to grab a room while you and Sam get your bags and meet Dean at the chosen room.

You set your bags on the couch, hoping it’s a pull out.

“Hey, you don’t have to take the couch, have one of the beds,” Sam insists, walking up next to you and setting his own bags on the couch.

“It’s okay, really,” you assure, knowing he would be far too uncomfortable cramped on the couch. You plop down onto a free spot and stretch out with a yawn “see-?” you say through your yawn “already comfy enough to sleep,” you smile simply up at him, hoping he’ll settle and just take the bed. He was obviously struggling with just going with it and also wanting to let you be more comfortable but he also knew how stubborn you were so he just dropped it.

“If you change your mind you better tell me,” he points a loose finger at you and grabs his bags back up again to lug them over to the motel bed. Dean had claimed the other bed with his own bags.

“Either of ya comin’ with me?” Dean asked, straightening his jacket and fixing his necklace. He looked between you and Sam waiting for a response.

“Hells yeah,” you nod and stand back up, “just let me freshen up a bit,” you grab your smaller bag and head to the bathroom to fix yourself up a bit, brushing your hair and adjusting your accessories. From inside the bathroom you hear Sam also agree to go out and a flutter of nerves ripple through your stomach in excitement.

Heading back out, Dean's head lifts to greet you and check to see if you’re ready. You nod softly and the three of you head out.

It’s pretty chilly out, but you thankfully had a jacket to shield yourself from the cold. Sam looked over to your direction, checking to make sure you looked warm enough for the short walk to the bar.

The bar is just like any dive bar, not as beat up as the motel you three were staying in but definitely hosting the same general demographic of drifters and truckers. A few people looked your way when you entered the bar, but it was simple side glances and such.

A few beers in and the brothers are telling you a story about some case they worked a few weeks back involving Sam's horrid fear of clowns and how he ended up bloody and covered in glitter. Sam seemed embarrassed and a little annoyed but you saw the smile that he hid behind his beer bottle as he took a swig.

“I swear- he looked like he was attacked by some PCP crazed strippers,” Dean cackled, doubling over enough to hold his stomach. You laughed as well, the image alone enough to make you chuckle.

“Oh- Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Sam,” you laughed a little harder trying to get out your words, “I can’t even- I can’t  even imagine how scary that was for you, but-” your words are chopped up by the seizing laughter rumbling your chest. As you both start to cool down, Sam looks at both you and Dean with a small smile and his eyebrows raised, silently asking ‘ya done?’.

“Sammy and his clowns, poor kid,” Dean clamps his hand on Sam’s shoulder and takes another swig of his beer. Sam rolls his eyes and finishes off his drink.

The three of you occupied a high table in the middle of the bar dining room, sharing a plate of chips and dip.

“Whatever,” Sam stands and shakes his head, “I would offer another round but neither of you deserve it,” he jokes and walks back up to the bar leaving you and Dean trying to recover from your fits of laughter.

“And you didn’t get a picture?” You ask, leaning back into your regular sitting position but still letting the afterwaves of humor shake your shoulders.

“No, but it’s engraved in my brain,” Dean shakes his head, a wide smile still blessing his lips and lighting up his face.

“I really wanted another round too,” you lift your bottle and shake the little liquid still left in it. Dean polishes his beer off and shrugs as he stands.

“I gotchya, sweetheart,” Dean heads to the bar with Sam, holding up two fingers to signal for two more beers. Dean bumps Sam's shoulder as he leans on the bar but you can’t hear what they’re saying.

When the brothers return, Dean sets your beer down in front of you and takes his own seat back. 

You all continue to talk and laugh and share stories as you get a few more rounds deep. The words seem to flow out easier as you’re telling a story of some hunt where you worked with this base-level hunter who had no clue what he was doing. You didn’t necessarily hate the guy but he did almost get you killed over a rookie mistake. You find it somewhat humorous due to the little respect you may have for your own life but Sam doesn't find it as funny. Dean entertains the story as you’re telling it- lighthearted and passive- but on the inside he feels his own pit of rage for the stranger who basically used you as bait.

“What’s his name again? I could use a punching bag for some practice,” Dean says as a joke but both you and Sam know he meant his words.

“He was a newbie, he learned, but he’s not hunting anymore- thank god,” you chuckle softly and take a swig of your drink.

Sam has stopped drinking but you and Dean continue to work off of each other, getting round after round and when Dean suggests shots, you’re completely game.

“Maybe you guys should slow down,” Sam suggested, acutely aware of both of your intoxicated states.

“Maybe you should speed up, Sammy, let loose!” Dean shoves Sam’s hand from his shoulder and goes to get a round of shots.

“‘Scuse me,” you slur, standing with a slight sway but desperately needing to use the restroom.

“Woah, you okay there?” Sam stands with you and holds out his arms.

“I’m fine, pretty boy, just wait here for me,” you smile and rub a hand up his bicep, squeezing slightly and pushing off of him to walk towards the bathrooms.

You didn’t see the blush that powders his cheeks.

The bathroom was pretty unclean but you didn’t feel squeamish due to your state. As you pass the mirror you catch a glimpse of yourself and you lock eyes with your own and- holy shit are you drunk.

Your head feels like it’s spinning and your limbs are buzzing with what you would say felt like your blood rushing but honestly you’re just shitfaced. Your eyes, however, are level and a little lidded as they look back at you and help ground yourself. You lean into the sink to get a closer look in the mirror and examine your face a bit but soon get bored and do what you came in here to do in the first place.

When you finish up, you head back to your table only to find two of the three shots empty and a wad of cash on the center of the table. Your head tilts in confusion as you finish your stride to the table.

“Hey- there you are!” Sam chuckled nervously, relieved to see you. You spin to face him, your head still cocked to the side, “Dean went off with someone he met so I think it’s safe to say we won’t see him until the morning. He paid the bill,” Sam ticked his head to the pile of cash on the table and you turned to look back at it- your head stopped at a respectable spot to view the table again but you felt like your brain just kept spinning.

“You took your time in there, you okay?” Sam asks, placing his hand on your lower back to steady you. Your stomach ripples again with nerves and your cheeks flush with heat but you blame it on the alcohol.

“Mhmm, just peachy,” you smile up at him, your brain whipping the opposite direction as you do so. You groan softly at the disorientation and feel another hand on your hip.

“Okay, I’m taking you back to the motel,” Sam said, keeping his hold on you and leaning over to grab his jacket.

“‘M fine, Sammy,” you shrug, climbing back up in your chair and reaching for the last shot. Sam's hand shoots out to grab the glass before you can.

“Nope, nuh-uh, I’m cutting you off,” he chuckles softly, setting the glass on the other side of the table with a light clank. You pout and rest your chin in your hand.

“Boring…” You draw out, letting your eyes flutter closed, relishing the feeling of floating over ocean waves like a piece of kelp.

“I know I am, c’mon,” he wraps his arm around your shoulders and gently guides you to stand with him and you stumble out of the chair but his sturdy arms keep you straight.

Your mind is still swaying so you lean into Sam and focus on how your skin tingles with his passive warmth. That warmth, however, is quickly washed away as you two exit the bar into the cold night air. The chill bites at your nose and the apples of your cheeks.

As you’re walking, your stomach aches so you wrap an arm around your torso with a subtle whine. Sam’s eyebrows pinch and he looks down at you.

“You okay?” He asks stopping for a moment to look down at you. You nod softly but make no move to continue walking. “You shouldn’t have tried to keep up with Dean,” he jokes lightly, rubbing his thumb on our shoulder where his hold is sturdy and reliable.

“God, too much alcohol,” you mumble, leaning your head completely into Sam and snaking your arm around his torso. Yet again- you miss the blush that paints his skin like a rose. He smiles softly and pulls you in a little closer, his embrace around your protective and careful.

“You’ll be okay, I’ve gotchya,” Sam continues walking slowly, giving you time to put your feet into motion. His eyes dart from your feet up to the path in front of them and then instinctively around the area for anything unseemly.

You both finally make it to the motel room and you quickly crumble into your previous spot on the couch with a loud ‘hmph’. You can hear Sam moving around the room for a few minutes and then he crouches next to you.

“You sure you still don’t want my bed?” Sam nudges you softly and you just nod- in your mind you're nodding because you want the bed and thankfully Sam knows what you mean so he just chuckles softly. “Okay, let me help you up, you look so uncomfortable,” he says sweetly- he’s so sweet.

He pulls you up and the room spins, it just keeps spinning and you’re really starting to regret that last drink- or two. Sam can tell by the look on your face that you’re struggling.

“You’re okay,” he steadies you, “just take a moment, I won’t let you fall,” he waits patiently for you to be okay enough to take another step and doesn’t push. A small nod rocks your vision, but it signals that you're good enough to walk. Sam guides you to his bed and lifts up the blankets for you and you slump down onto the spot and Sam keeps his arms out as a guard rail for you.

The feeling of your shoes still hugging your feet is unreasonably uncomfortable so you try to kick them off but only manage to scrape your ankles in the process.

“Here, let me help you,” Sam doesn’t hesitate to gently grab your calf and lift your foot to help unlace your shoes. His hands are quick as he unties the laces and slips off your shoes, sticking them neatly by the bedside table. “You feelin’ okay?” He looks up at you, taking in your appearance and trying to gauge your mental presence in the moment. You just shake your head with a small pout of pain and disorientation. “You need water,” he says, quietly enough for you to think he was just talking to himself, standing and walking to the sink provided in the motel's kitchenette.

It’s really a coin-toss if you’re swaying or not while you’re sitting on the bed.

The humorous expression of a half-laugh and half-cringe on Sam's face makes you think you’re swaying.

He sits on Dean’s bed, across from you, holding out the glass to you, “Here.”

You take the glass and down most of it in a few deep gulps, the scratch of the ice cold water against your alcoholic tongue and throat feel painfully refreshing- like chugging a sprite.

“Careful,” Sam coos softly, reaching up to try and get your hand to tilt the glass back and away from your mouth so you can take a breath. He successfully gets the glass back in his grasp and sets it on the side table. “You should get some sleep,” he speaks again, his voice low and smooth- velvety like chocolate.

“Tummy hurts,” you groan, placing your hand back on your stomach. Sam chuckles softly.

“I bet,” he nods and clasps his hands together, leaning on his knees. You push back some of your hair from your face and let your eyes laze shut, “C’mon, you need to sleep,” he stands with a soft grunt and lifts the blankets so you can slide your legs under the covers. Your body feels weighed as you melt into the mattress, letting the pillow puff up and around to frame your face as you drop your head into it suddenly.

Sam pulls up the covers, laying them flat along your body to make sure you're evenly warm and comfortable.

“Do you need anything?” Sam asks, gazing down at you lovingly- you blame your intoxication for romanticizing his pretty eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur, staring up at him lovingly, and no amount of alcohol could erase or demote that emotion from your eyes.

Sam stops for a moment, looking down at you with a fallen expression, not of disappointment or uncertainty, but of confusion- and maybe a spark of hope?

“You’re drunk,” he sighs softly, smiling down at you sadly as he tries to keep his own feelings in check.

“Doesn’t make me a liar,” you slur, snuggling further into the bed and still looking up at him. You almost would say there was a look of awful sadness shimmering in his eyes- something deep rooted and dreadful.

His eyes dip down and away from your face, thinking about something you can’t quite interpret.

“You’re sweet,” you continue, closing your own eyes which make Sam comfortable enough to look back up at you- sweet puppy-dog eyes that could almost pierce through your closed eyelids. “And strong- really strong,” you giggle drunkenly, nestling your head into the pillow to settle in and sleep.

You don’t say anything else for a moment and Sam just lets his eyes drift over your face, taking in your unique features. His hand reaches out to hold your own before he can stop himself, squeezing it softly.

“Th-thank you f’ not leaving me,” you grumble, half-asleep. Sam’s head tilt is in confusion and his hold on your hand tightens slightly.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“The bar- at the bar,” you yawn with a small hum of contentment, “Like I said, sweet.”

Sam doesn’t really know how to respond- why would you think you owed him a ‘thanks’? What are you even thanking him for?

“You don’t have to thank me,” he settled on his response as he shook his head, running his thumb along your knuckles.

Your prolonged silence signaled to him that you were passed out and he chuckled quietly, knowing you desperately needed the rest.

He lifted your hand slowly and placed a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

“Get some rest, beautiful,” he whispered, setting your hand back down and taking one last look at your restful face before standing to get ready for bed himself.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

[lowergoldfish96]

ehehehe

GN pookie

AND other sketches of my Drifter and my Operator, his Kubrows name is Salchipapa

He considers her part of the family, like a big sister :b

[dredgen-dumbass]

I am learning

I am subjecting him to the trials

[deadhands69]

⁵¹⁾ “argh- you’re freezing!” and ⁷⁶⁾ “you started it!” for the three word prompts!!

Don't Fall in Love With Me

Tomura Shigaraki x reader

Thanks for the prompt request Kisa! Here's 51: “argh- you’re freezing!” [prompt from this list of three word prompts, feel free to send requests and I'll be working on them in the evenings over the next few weeks!] fluffy fluff no real tws other than cussing. gn reader. occurs at some point in the LOV drifter phase.

The long trudge back to the league of villains hideout cave is always difficult when you're tired, but with the torrential downpour this evening, it's an absolute nightmare. You and your boss/mission partner for the evening, Tomura Shigaraki, have already had to stray from the road multiple times to find higher ground in an effort to make your way around the flooded portions of road. It’s slowed you down considerably. You haven’t even made it to the turnoff into the forest yet. If you were to guess, it’s another 5 kilometers at least and most of that is slightly uphill, through the thick brush and slippery rocks. On top of that, your waterlogged clothing is weighing you down.

“I don't know if we'll make it all the way back tonight,” you shout over the thunder and rain. “Maybe we should stop somewhere!”

“Yeah,” Tomura yells back. 

Finding a place to sleep in this forest wouldn’t be hard. The area is filled with cabins. They're typically vacant most times of the year, waiting for someone on vacation to rent them. Given the storm, you doubt many are filled tonight. This isn’t exactly a tourist destination right now.

Coming to a massive puddle in the gravel road, you tiptoe around the edge but it doesn’t make a difference. Your already drenched shoe slides through thick mud into the water with a splash. You shake your foot off the best you can but it remains heavy, toes squishing around your soggy socks. Tomura appears to be having the same luck, his clothes are so wet they’re sticking to his skin. He doesn’t even bother to avoid the puddle.

Your teeth chatter as you shiver uncontrollably. Every step you take is shaky. You clench your jaw but it only makes your cheek sore. The cold hurts through your bones.

A driveway cuts to the right of you. Down the dark bit of road, you make out a cabin. A small one. No cars parked in front, no lights on either. It looks promising.

Without saying a word, the two of you turn in unison and make your way to the shelter. Once you’re close enough to see that it’s vacant, you pick up the pace. Practically running up a set of stairs, yet you remain quiet out of habit.

It’s locked; of course it’s locked. You glance at Tomura’s face and you know that expression. It’s one you’ve seen him wear many times and you can read him pretty well at this point.

“Don’t,” you whisper, knowing it wouldn’t make much of a difference if he did destroy one doorknob but it’s probably best to avoid leaving a trail of crumbs leading to the hideout if you’re planning on staying there for very long. “We can find another way in,” you jump down the stairs and walk around the corner to a window just barely out of reach. Climbing up the side of an adjacent tree, you reach out to the window and give it a push.

It moves.

Since they’re rentals, no one ever bothers to check if every window is locked when they leave. Nor do the maid services get paid enough to care. This works out well for you though.

You straddle a tree branch, feet slipping slightly against the wet bark below you. It doesn’t help that your toes are numb. Your hands both move to grip the window frame and you press the sash up. You manage to open a you-sized gap. Holding the sill tightly, you swing a foot back against the tree trunk and push yourself in. Once your first half goes, you basically summersault through with your legs flinging awkwardly onto the floor. It’s not pretty, but it gets you inside. You’re about to run to the door to let Tomura in when he stumbles through another window, much the same way you did. The two of you make eye contact from across the room, breaking it quickly - like you always do.

The cabin is one big open room with a ladder leading to a loft. For the sake of the plumbing, the heating is almost always left on in these but never as high as you’d prefer. You twist the thermostat knob and wait for the warm air to circulate through the space. Nothing happens. When you flick a light switch on and are met with the same lack of response, you realize why: the storm must have taken the power out.

At least you aren’t outside in the rain anymore.

Taking off your shoes, socks, and jacket, you leave them to dry on the back of a chair. They’re dripping and leaving puddles all over the floor so you don’t expect them to dry much, but hope they’re at least a little less heavy by the morning. 

Tomura is bolder than you, stripping down to his underwear immediately. Still frozen, a heat rises in your face and neck. He’s not someone who likes to show off, he’s just practical. You’ve only seen him with his shirt off once. Both times now, you’ve struggled to keep your eyes from locking onto him. You find yourself wanting to memorize ever line of his body. His abs. His chest. His back. The way the muscles above his hips slide in a v into the little fabric left covering him. You peel your eyes away, trying to focus on anything else. He's your boss and your best friend. These aren't thoughts you can allow yourself to have.

“You’re not sleeping in that,” he says gesturing to the wet clothes still hanging off you. “If we’re going to huddle for warmth, you can’t be drenched. It doesn't work that way,” he states plainly.

Up to this moment, you hadn’t considered that. The cold overtook your senses earlier, making it hard to think of anything else. Now that it’s mentioned, the prospect of him keeping you warm all night sets butterflies free in your stomach. Swallowing hard, you do your best to contain your excitement. It’s not about that. This is just the most logical way to handle coming in from a storm into a power outage. He's being normal about it, you should too.

You take off the top layers of your clothes, leaving on your undergarments. Heading to the bathroom, you grab a towel to dry off as much as you can before wrapping it around you and bringing one out to him. He dries himself while you work out how to climb the ladder to the loft without losing your towel. It’s not easy, but you manage.

Leaving the damp towel on the floor, you climb into the bed quickly. Your underwear leave wet splotches on the blanket but you’re already warming up a bit. Toes painfully regaining feeling. 

With a few creaks, Tomura makes his way up the loft to the bed by your side. Your heart leaps as he slides in beside you. Initially. Then, the human equivalent of an icicle jostles into you. Every muscle in your body tenses as you recoil. “argh- you’re freezing!” you exclaim as Tomura’s ice cold body presses into yours, following you across the bed. You didn’t know it was possible for a living human to be so cold. 

“Are you a black hole or something? You’re seriously sucking all the heat out of the bed.”

“I am not.”

“You are too! Seriously,” you continue, “you’re colder than they’re keeping Walt Disney’s corpse.”

“Then stop being an asshole and warm me up,” he grumbles, scooting in closer to you. Begrudgingly, you do. 

This isn’t what you expected when you thought about keeping each other warm all night. You assumed the plan involved you being warmed as well and maybe things heating up in other ways too, but it’s what you can do to survive the night. You reluctantly pull your arms from your chest, inviting him into your small bubble of body heat. He rests his face against your neck, wrapping his arms around you. It feels almost too natural, too easy. Both of you sense it. You try to think of something to say to relieve the tension in the situation before you let your mind take things too far. 

“Don’t fall in love with me,” he whispers in your ear, in the grey area way you always tease each other without knowing if you’re flirting or just making a joke. You don’t miss the way his lips graze the shell of your ear, holding back a shudder.

“You don't have to worry about that. You’re obnoxious,” you quip back, but there’s no bite in your voice. “Besides, what would I do about it anyways? If I kissed you tonight, my lips would get stuck to yours like licking a frozen pole.”

“Ughhh, you’re the worst,” he grumbles into you, burying his nose further into the crook of your neck. 

The two of you can’t have been asleep for more than a few hours when the rain slows and the wind stops whistling through the roof. You wake up to the lights flickering back on and find yourself half jumping out of bed in shock before remembering that you forgot to switch them off when you realized the power was out. Tomura grumbles against your chest, pulling you back down to him. 

“You’re making it cold,” he moans, “stop it.”

His head had been fully under the blanket so he wouldn’t have realized the lights came on at all. He still doesn’t care, pulling you closer with closed fists. 

You notice how he wraps his thumbs over the top of his middle fingers to keep them in while sleeping. It’s something you probably should have asked about before spending the evening curled up in the arms of someone with a decay quirk, had you been more concerned with your safety. But the cold and your crush on him clouded your senses and made it too hard to think straight. It’s probably fine anyways, you think. He’s moved the same blankets between hideouts since you met him and he hasn’t decayed them yet. 

“Just a second,” you will yourself to get out of bed. The cold air stings your still damp skin as you rush to the nearest switch adjacent to the foot of the bed. You hear the heaters kick on but it only makes the chill worse, circulating unheated air around the space. 

Fortunately, the switch works and you don’t have to climb all the way down the ladder to turn off the lights.

“Come back,” he mumbles at you from under the sheets. 

“Pretty needy now that your personal heater left, huh?” you retort. He only groans at you.

You slide deeper into the bed when you return, taking in the heat you can get. He’s warmed up a lot, or maybe it just feels that way in comparison to the near freezing temperature of the room. Hands still in fists, Tomuras knuckles lightly graze your spine, making their way to the small of your back before stopping. A shiver runs through you, and not from the cold. You pull him closer, wrapping your own hands over his ribs. Feeling where the skin gently stretches over bones. He sighs, falling back asleep.

When you wake up again, it’s morning. Birds are chirping, the warmed air is tolerable, and light begins to make its way through the windows downstairs. 

“We should go,” you whisper softly, barely waking him.

“‘s fine,”he mumbles, adjusting his hold on your back. “The road’s too flooded for any cars to get through. We’re safe in here.” 

He holds you close, even with the heating system back on. At this point, it’s a choice.  You settle back into the bed. Moving a strand of his hair from his face, you find yourself staring at his sleeping face. He looks so peaceful like this. Stirring slightly, he looks up at you grogilly before moving in closer. His eyes fall closed again.

The tip of his nose is cold as it slides along yours. He pauses. His lips hover, as if he’s waiting for any indication you’re on board with this. 

You are. 

Sliding your hand up his neck into his still damp hair, you gently lean into him. Your lips dance over his, softly. Neither of you rush for more, happy to stay in this moment for as long as you can have it. It’s dizzying and exciting and somehow still feels completely normal. Like this is just what was supposed to happen. 

When you break apart for air, his cheek comes to rest on your forehead. Everything about him is softer up close and you wish you could stay here forever.

The world resumes outside. Trees rustle in the wind. You’re absolutely certain at least one league member is worried sick about the two of you having not returned yet. But none of that matters right now. Not the muddy trails you’ll stumble your way up later in the day or the jokes you’ll make trying to pretend you haven’t been in love with each other for months. 

Right now, all you can bring yourself to care about is between these sheets and wrapped around you. You can worry about the rest of it later.

masterlist

[axolotlwrites]

Transference (And It's Unique Applications) [NSFW]

GN!Drifter!Reader x Amir Beckett (NSFW, again.)

"His body slumps against the couch. His head moves, eyes narrowing in worry. “Drifter? Are you in there?” His hand moves without input, a cheeky thumbs up. “Mhm. Just getting used to it, puppy.” At that, he whines. He's weak to pet names like that."

Good to be back, even better to be writing more Warframe.

CW: Possession (sorta), handjob, reader's genitals nor pronouns are mentioned, cumplay, slight orgasm denial, formatted for mobile, so might be weird, and not beta read lol

“Are you sure about this, Amir?” Your voice was soft against his neck, a hand gently stroking his chest as you were cradled up in his lap. “I know you want to get some tension out, but we could always do it the old-fashioned way.”

His fingers rapped against your sides, as his leg rapidly shook, up and down, up and down. “I know, b-but I need that comfort. I need to feel you. Like you, you, you know?”

You nodded, hand settling against his cheek. “I get you. But once we start, I’ll have almost full control of your body. Every aching muscle, every anxious joint.” You guided his face, focusing his gaze on your eyes. “That's a lot of power over you. And I'm glad you trust me with it, but are you sure that is really what you want right now?”

He nodded again, hastily. A flash of irritation crosses his face, eyes clenched. “I know what I want. Just… please.”

Sol, he looked like he was hurting. The anxiety that filled him, sat in his chest like an anvil, weighing his heart and lungs down, barely letting him breathe. You leaned in, lips just barely apart from his. “Safeword?” You whisper, breath running along his lips. “On-lyne!” He smiles, just a little bubbly.

You nod, gently pressing your lips to his… before disappearing into thin air. In the millisecond between the dissipation of your body, and the twitch that runs along his brain, there's an intangible silence… and a whisper.

His body slumps against the couch. His head moves, eyes narrowing in worry. “Drifter? Are you in there?” His hand moves without input, a cheeky thumbs up. “Mhm. Just getting used to it, puppy.” At that, he whines. He's weak to pet names like that.

You gently take stock if his body, back arching as you stretch and stand, before gently leaning back on the couch. “Would you like a specific position for this, Amir? Laying, sitting, legs in the air and violently shaking?” You giggled, in the back of his mind. He smiles, nerves starting to abade, as though your voice surrounds him in warmth. “Up to you, future. Just… do this quick, okay? That's how… how I always do it.”

At that, he feels an involuntary frown come up on his face. You didn't like that, didn't like that at all. Then, like a voice in the back of his head, you spoke. “I'm gonna take my time with you, Amir. I know I joked about wanting to make love at nine thousand miles per hour, but… not right now. You gotta take it slow for me.”

Slowly, you reach out with one hand, taking the zipper of the glove into it, and peeling the glove off in full. You do the same with the other, as you gently rub Amir's hands on his thighs, getting the feel for the dual sensation.

You can feel the muscles ache in his body, the involuntary twitching lighting his body on fire. You could feel his impatience, his little despair at the thought of having to take it slow, but you could just as easily feel the ache in his loins. Your loins. You stopped for a second to parse the exact phrasing you would use for this, and he whined. “Please, Drifter. I'm… I'm desperate here.”

A sigh left his mouth, a distinct sense of mischief crossing his mind. That was a very bad idea, he thought. “Very bad indeed,” you replied. “Beg for me. Beg me to touch you, Amir.” You scooted his body back up onto the couch, using his hands to slowly, painfully, pull down his… pants, for lack of a better term. As soon as you moved his pants down far enough, his cock sprung from its cage, dribbling softly.

“There you are…” you whispered, cradling his mind like you were whispering in his ear. “There's the tool I was looking for. Delicious, as usual. It's a shame though, that I won't be getting to play with it.” You forced him to stare at his own cock, twitching and drooling. His head fell back, body arching slightly, as if squirming in pain. “Not unless you beg like I know you can.”

His teeth ground against each other, as he tried to stop himself, but it all came tumbling out. “PleaseIneedyoutogetmeoffpleasepleaseplease-” Suddenly, his mouth shut closed, his voice muffled, akin to clamping your hand over his mouth. He didn't understand. He was doing what you asked. Wasn't that enough?

“Cohesive, Amir. Say it slowly. I know what you're saying. But I want you to say it.” Tears stung at his eyes, as his jaw finally relaxed, a small exhale leaving from the bottom of his throat as he spoke again. Slow. Steady. Measured. “Please. I just… I need you to touch me, make me touch myself. Whatever. I can't handle this torture…”

He was so busy regaining his composure, controlling his breathing… he was almost surprised by the feeling of his hand wrapping around his cock, and slowly beginning to stroke. It twitched in his grasp, the muscles of a phantom gently moving under his skin.

“There we go. Does that feel better, dear? That feel good?” He nodded violently, his head leaning back once more, as your combined efforts tangled under his fingers.

You set the pace, but it was his hand that moved.

He whimpered, stroking slowly from base to tip. A little nudging, and his thumb rubbed on the underside of his head, teasing at the frenulum. “Nice and steady,” you whispered, the ghost of a hand running across his chest sending a shiver down his skin, “it feels so much better, doesn't it? The teasing, the aching… the throbbing.”

Amir tries his best not to moan, but nothing stops you from making him open his mouth, letting all the sounds spill out from his soul. “So loud… you think Eleanor can hear you? Arthur, Lettie? Quincy? They might be hearing you, letting me pilot your body, jerking you to completion…”

Amir's head lolls down, glasses gently falling off from his face, and onto the cushion. A hand glides into his hair, guided by invisible muscle, as it grips the scalp. Moans slip from his mouth like honey, spilling out into the air. A phantom echo of pleasure rips across his body, as his hand is allowed to move just a bit faster.

“There we go. Just a bit more. Come on…” The pleasure is almost too much for him. This was an experience, unique, one of a kind. And it was all for him. The hand stroked faster. It was at a pace he was used to, but at an intensity he couldn't even fathom.

He felt so warm. Like your body was wrapped around his. Like you weren't next to him, or inside of him, but all around him in one big hug.

Amir's back began to arch, his hips rising into the air, as his hand was allowed to move even faster. You whispered in his mind, sweet affirmations, how good he was, how obedient… quickly bringing him to the edge of climax.

As he shivered on the edge of climax, mind racing and breaking under your guidance… he suddenly felt cold. Very cold. Before a second hand wrapped around his cock.

You sat on your knees in front of him, jerking him off, your lips against his cock as you pressed kisses to his tip. Even more so arousing was his glasses, perched on your nose, enclosing your eyes.

“Cum, Amir. Cum on my face. Don't hold back… let all that build-up finally come out.” You spoke softly, barely a word out of breath or out of line. Calm. Collected. Loving. “Cum.”

And that he did. He spilled ropes of seed onto your face, plastering not just his glasses, but your entire face in his load. It spilled from his cock like a tap, as he arched and moaned and whined so prettily for you.

Finally, as his load dribbled from his cock, barely dripping from the slit, you stood. He didn't even have the energy to look at you, exhaustion taking him. He almost didn't notice, as you leaned in, pressing his cum-covered glasses back onto his nose and leaving a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I'm gonna go get cleaned up, Amir. You know where to find me.” And at that, like it was nothing at all… you walked away. He chuckled softly, nuzzling in the towel that had materialized next to him.

Transference was fun.

[finniestoncrane]

If you're still taking requests for the nsfw kinks please can I get:💣 - corruption: “and you said you’d never be caught dead doing anything like this. sounded like you were very much alive and enjoying it though” for Hancock? Thank Youuu

Hancock x GN!Reader, word count: 700 talk about corruption lmaoooo i'd be walking up to people with a geiger counter and asking them to swipe it over my lower half like "yeah guess what i've just done" ANYWAY i didn't go so literally, i wanted john to have some fun corrupting some diamond city sweetheart, so this ended up a lot more romantic than smutty (sorry!!) ☢️ request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: penetrative sex, drugs mentioned, corruption, scent kink/marking kink, licking

It was less a way of consuming your body and more a method of marking, you realised, as Hancock's tongue dragged along the side of your neck once more. Almost every inch of you had been coated in his saliva, where he'd started at your toes and worked his way up, making brief stops along the way at the places he knew would send a tingle down your spine. It was careful, a level of expert employed in the seductive tasting that had all of your skin prickled with gooseflesh, hairs standing on end, moisture almost drained as your torso and face glistened with sweat and your cunt dripped in your slick.

The sounds he made, the appreciative moans, as though he were dining on fresh cram, something from before, something new and decadent, were enough to bring you as close to the edge as you could get. It only took a mischievous chuckle, his tongue pressed against the shell of your ear, fingers stroking slowly, deftly, over your clit, before you were trembling beside him, body contorting in ecstasy as you came.

As you came back down to Earth, bliss oozing from your skin, on your breath, scenting the air around you, you felt his arms pull you close. He was warm, his skin still dry despite the frantic rutting that had you sweating and which was now coating you in a clammy, chill susceptible layer. Sensing the drop in your temperature, he reached to the floor, producing his shirt which he wrapped you in.

"You'll smell like me now. Like Good Neighbour."

"And?"

You asked, but you knew what he was trying to say without using direct words. You were raised quietly, properly, in Diamond City. Wealthy assholes as parents. A desire to rebel had brought you to Good Neighbour, swearing that you were only there for a drink. Only there to experience life outside of the green walls. You and the friends you had travelled with giggled, excitement bounding through your bodies as you watched the people, so different to you, living their lives. One of your group made a comment about the bodies, what they'd feel like. Of course, you protested, you'd never go as far as to be with a synth or a ghoul. That was wrong. You'd been told that your whole life, and despite not believing it at your core, it was still a rule that had been hammered home often enough that you still couldn't imagine yourself breaking it.

"Not even him?"

They'd pointed towards the man, the ghoul, in the corner. His long red frock coat a symbol of his status amongst the rest of the drifters in the town. There was an energy to him, but you could hear the distaste, the disgust in your parents tone.

You had protested, and Hancock had overheard you, finding it a suitable challenge for the evening. It hadn't taken him long to woo you, and you'd found yourself quickly back in his quarters, his guards standing by the door, sneaking glances as their mayor railed the smooth skinned newcomer. A triumph over Diamond City.

Drawing you back to the present, hours after your first encounter, when you were so quickly infatuated and bedded by the charismatic mayor of the town you had snuck into, Hancock took a deep breath and pulled you in closer.

"And you said you'd never be caught dead doing anything like this, huh? Sure sounded like you were very much alive and enjoying it."

"More alive than I've ever been."

Your response was quiet, thoughtful, as you let the experience settle over you. Hancock spoke softly in return.

"They'll smell me on you. You can't go back to Diamond City now."

"Well, what do you suggest I do?"

He shifted himself in the bed beside you, sitting with his back against the wall as he reached into the bedside table for one of the red inhalers you'd seen scattered around the place. With your head against his abdomen, you looked up at him, waiting for his answer.

"Stay here. With me. You give me another ten minutes and some jet and I'll be good to go for another round. We'll make a good neighbour of you yet, princess."

[a-diners-call-gfdatingsim]

Funny how the Homey atmosphere of a Diner, and a warm slice of pie leaves people ready to confess their sins.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Born and raised in Gravity Falls, there's not a lot of career opportunities.

The best paying jobs in this town were those in the lumber or pelt industry, or people from outside of town being relocated here... they never lasted long, though.

But that's okay, working at the diner isn't bad. The people are eccentric but kind, and considering everyone is a regular, it's easy enough to put in orders the moment they come through the door and make conversation.

The monotony of it all is torture.

Who can bring light to your dull life, give you something to look forward to other than mixing random ingredients together to feel something?

The arrival of a ....peculiar researcher gives you just the opportunity for excitment you've craved.

Or, if he can't seem to interest you,

A drifter near identical shows up in the following months, claiming to be someone he's *clearly* not.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Hi I'm Mello! Working on producing a Gravity falls 80s dating sim with the synopsis above! It's going to be a HEFTY project with good and bad endings for both Stanford and Stanley and maybe a few others along the way-

There will be a Fem, Masc, and GN option for the player, and a mix of fun lighthearted content and the fuckedness that is the gravity falls universe lol.

The design concepts for the diner and stan and Fords outfits are currently in production!

I am currently looking for a artist to help me with 'cover?' Work and CGs (maybe some backgrounds idk) All payed of course!! Applications for this are currently open! See the link below for that information!

Click here if interested!

I am currently in the process of learning renpy so to help that I have 2 projects I will also be making that are much smaller and simpler though my main project is 'A diners call'

The first one is a Stanley pines Visual novel dating sim with 3 endings.

The other is a Stanford and Fiddleford dating sim taking place in college.

But both those will get their own posts eventually lol.

Thank you for reading! And if you'd like to follow the progress on these projects, please give this blog a follow!

Have a good day!

[skullzy20]

Welcome back to me putting more unnecessary effort into stuff regarding my Drifter part 2

But anyway, peep a mock convo

[mr-laveau]

A little NeXus Lore Tidbit

Here's some canonical info we know about some listeners + added lore about them that you won't get from the audios, directly from the discord:

Hot Shot - has a pair of strong arms, aether, visually defies gender norms in their appearance, secretive, asks a lot of questions, orphan, preference for earth elemental magic, smart and athletic but not very active in sports

Cher - has one arm, also secretive, does not have a green thumb, protective alpha, empathetic to a degree and is an artist who can still draw alright because they hadn't lost their dominant hand

Pet - smoker, just moved out of their home to New Orleans, best friends with a dog shifter, drifter telepath, now a vampire and was actually a very good cook

Sherlock - sneaky, mischievous, strategic, put together, a vampire who's over a century old, works as a freelance night guard and has actually family in new Orleans they don't talk to

Bud - Shape shifter, more withdrawn but can be firm, was bullied in AMP for a time, senior year student, works as a teacher's aid and has a custom coffee order that's too long for any person to actually think it's sane.

Trouble - daemon turned werewolf, rough around the edges, withdrawn, stubborn and does not like being touched without permission

Liege - talented liar, gaslight, gatekeep girl boss(gn), has committed several crimes, telepath, canonically has no issues with murder or blackmail, seems to know things about the criminal underworld and they have a bunch of playing cards they keep on hand to play solitaire

Seaweed Brains - shape shifter drifter, has not yet been fully registered, reckless, studied marine archeology in college, experimental, loves horror books and has a hard time putting names to faces if they're not close to someone

Angel - hacker, hard ass but cares, very intelligent, has a righteous streak, is pretty well known online and owns too many hoodies to make this look healthy

Best friend - dog shifter, has been a part of the garroway pacl for a while, protective, loyal, tough & intimidating and is a gym rat-or dog

Rascal - troublemaker, adventurous, solid leadership qualities, pretty down with cases of murder, married, most seen with a handkerchief over their mouth wild west bandit style and they are more fashionable than Joseph as shown by the many cowboy hats they keep on hand

Genius - stubborn, incredibly smart, does not know how to take no for an answer, loyal to a fault, not reckless all the time, daring, does not realize their own circumstances until it hits them like a brick, inventor and does know how to fire a gun because of their brother

Doll - married, loyal to a massive fault, ex-cop, very empathetic, community oriented, idealistic in some sense and they are an avid reader who prefers historical romance and non-fiction

Tanker - scientist, earth elemental, smart but also a bit of an ass, mischievous, does not hold themself in high enough regard or their achievements and is well learned in boxing

[givemeyams]

Magic on the Lost Light - Part 5

Lost Light x (gn)reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | [Here] | End

Content: mtmte human oc insert, discontinued

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7k

Drift

"Good morning Ratchet, I can feel the industriousness of your aura today."

"That's one way of putting it. I only have a few more bots to clear before I can finally write off our post-launch failure for good."

"Then it may be a good thing we are so close to Delphi, where we can recruit more medics and you can have some much needed rest."

"I'll rest when I’m dead, besides even when we get to Delphi, I have no idea what state the facility is in now that the war ended, for all we know all the medics are needed."

"Then all the more reason to give time to yourself. You have done more than enough good in the past few orns already."

The waved him off, almost to dismiss the thought. "Enough about me, you're here for the human, aren't you? You're not usually up this early."

Drift shrugged. "Brainstorm is finished with their habitation suit and Ultra Magnus had requested to meet with them today to discuss their training as our future inter-species liaison. A bold choice of Rodimus."

"I know, I was there."

"What do you think of this human?"

"They are fine. Not as jumpy as one would expect when meeting Cybertronians for the first time. Their boldness definitely impressed Rodimus and Ultra Magnus."

"Not you?"

"They are a bit too feral for my liking. It's not like they are unpleasant. In fact I would rather take their company over half the bots I had to service in the past cycle. It's just that I've been off-world for far too long to recognize when cleverness can be dangerous. See for yourself." He said, pulling the monitor of his office. 

"What are they doing?"

"They constructed a sling to whip small projectiles with greater speed and velocity. The weapon is crude but there is undeniable skill In both its construction and of its use."

"What are they using as projectiles?"

"Their fragging nutrition packets.

"Impressive, and it looks like they are consistent in their accuracy. What do they call themselves."

"Cartographer, part time archeologists, and full time drifter; their words not mine. Other than that, we have no idea who this person is."

"I don't recall 'Buddy' as a common name among humans."

"You caught that too? Humans have weird naming conventions but you can't help but wonder…"

"If that is only an alias."

"What am I doing, rambling on about fuel tank theories? Talk to the kid yourself and you decide. I’ve got work to do."

Drift looked back at the human. The fact that the human decided to craft a weapon, no matter how primitive, gave him pause. He wanted to tell Ratchet to trust his feelings, because sometimes those feelings are based on something important. Even if it might not seem obvious at the moment. He shook away the thought, and entered Ratchet’s office. Buddy immediately looked up with a small tilt of the head. A part of him was relieved that they did not look upon him with fear, in the far recesses of his processor he could still picture the organics he used to terrorize as Deadlock. He pushed that memory aside.

"Hello, my name is Drift. I am the Third in Command to the Lost Light."

He was surprised, they gestured the universal greeting. Rodimus mentioned something about that. "It's nice to finally meet you Drift. Are you here to take me to see Ultra Magnus?"

"In a bit, first we are to visit the science lab to get you better accommodated for ship life. Then we will meet with the SiC. We will be gone for a few hours so I suggest preparing for such."

Good, they were understood enough to make efforts to purge their bowels and stockpile some liquid and sustenance. It was curious how they chose to bring their sling with them as well.

"I am ready, so what now?"

He held out a servo, "Let me carry you to the floor before I transform."

They looked at his servo and back into his optics. He could hear a fluctuation of their breathing and a rapid intake of their breath. They nodded, walking to his palm. Their eyes seemed to narrow with suspicion. "Okay, I am trusting you. My life is in your hands."

In an instant it wasn't just their weight that put pressure in his palms. A myriad of emotions swept through him. Guilt, pain, awe. He was holding a life, delicate, finite, and most importantly fragile.

Then he looked back at the same intense gaze that never left his frame. Drift understood why Ratchet seemed hesitant with this human. Those were the eyes of a trained predator.

He brought the human to his optics and nodded to them, matching their intensity. "A responsibility I do not take lightly."

They let out a breath with a small smile, their posture slackened immediately. Barely audible to his audial receptors, "That is good to hear."

Once he placed the human down, he folded into vehicle mode. They gingerly climbed into his cab.

The effect was immediate. Drift could feel their EM field. It was wild, chaotic and messy. He realized the increased heartbeat was not because they were scared. They were excited. Then he felt their touch glide across his dash.

"You are amazing," they said in reverence.

The bot had to suppress his shiver as his engines stuttered. Evidently, the human still noticed.

"Shit! Sorry, I didn't just grope you, did I? Fuck, I'm going to stop talking now."

He could not help but chuckle, feeling their field shift to embarrassment before any word was said. "You are fine. I must apologize, this is the first time carrying passenger in a while, so bear with me as I adjust."

They paused as if processing what he had said before they had laughed, "For you and me both. Seriously though, I didn't make you uncomfortable did I?"

"No more than what would arise from this situation." Confusion. "Let me explain, humans have an em field that is normally undetectable. When you're this close to my spark I can feel its wild fluctuations in full force. Combined with tactile data I received from your movements and multitude of sounds that your body emits leaves me with an overwhelming amount of data to process."

"Information overload. Got it. Do you need more time to adjust?"

"No need. It is done. I am more impressed as how you noticed my discomfort."

"Your fans kicked on and your engines stalled. Rung did the same thing when he was uncomfortable too."

"I am surprised you manage to pick up our body language so quickly."

"It's a human defense mechanism to seek out patterns. Besides, it's a good survival skill when dealing with strangers."

"You seem to have a lot of experience in that regard. I heard from Ratchet that you called yourself a drifter, what do you mean by that."

"Where do I begin? I fancy myself as a explorer of the unknown but really I am just a wandering vagrant.  I was displaced from my home when I was younger and have been on the move ever since."

"I am sorry to hear that. While I never had fond memories of life before the war, the conflict had made it impossible to settle down. I know the feeling of never being able to stay in one place."

"Then we have that in common. I am glad I get to be your roommate then. Us wayward vagabonds have to stick together, after all."

If Drift could smile, he would. There was so much energy from this small being that it was infectious. "Your aura is far clearer now than when we first met."

"My aura? Are you talking about my Electromagnetic field like before?"

"Not entirely. An EM field while biological, can be manipulated. An aura is your truest self. Spectralism is a belief presenting the most honest version of yourself through our aura and through colors."

"That's a lot to unpack. First, what do you mean by EM fields can be manipulated? How is my field different from yours?"

"For Cybertronians, it is how we can convey emotions. It is one of the most basic non-verbal forms of communication we have. That said, it is subject to many of our social stigmas. Due to such stigmas, it is no longer a completely honest expression of oneself.

He continued. "Your field is chaotic and untamed, yet to me it comes off as completely honest. It fluctuates with your emotions. In a very real sense, your field is what we spectralist strive to emulate with the colors we present ourselves with."

They chuckled. "So when you say that my aura is clear, it just means that I am less of an emotional wreck than I was when I first met you. And here I thought I had a good poker face."

"Don't take it as a slight. I am naturally better at sensing these things, and I would have not noticed if you hadn't stepped into my cab. Actually, why did you make a point about me holding your life?"

"A few reasons. First, it was to express the severity of the situation. I can't avoid jumping into your servos, especially with a ship this size, but I can definitely be dramatic about it."

"You certainly were. I admit being caught off guard by the comment. You wanted to see my reaction, didn't you?"

"Guilty as charged. For what it's worth, I believe you." He felt Buddy pat his dash. "That's why I feel so comfortable now. I know I am in good hands."

"I can see why Rodimus likes you. 

“I am glad that he does.” Drift could feel the human lean against his frame, no doubt watching the other crew outside. “He really is really something, though. Giving me the position of Liaison. Not that I am complaining. I thrive in situations like this. It’s just quite a leap of faith to place so much responsibility on a stranger."

"True, no more than say, putting your life in another servos."

They  laughed softly. "Clever bastard, using the same tactics then i.”

“Indeed, more than most give him credit for.” Drift said.

Next ->

[illubean]

can you please write headcanons or one-shot abt chrollo with a s/o who’s fav hobby is drifting and is OBSESSED with cars and motorcycles (your writings are the best btw<3)

Chrollo with a Drifter!S/o

Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer Type: Headcanons, College!Au, Gn!reader

made this college au bc thats the direction my brain went i hope thats ok >.<

Warnings: none

Chrollo had always been intrigued by you

before you even started dating he's seen you around campus, often times arriving to school on your motorcycle

he thought you were seriously badass

but to him you were out of his league

why would someone as cool as you be even remotely interested in some bookworm philosophy major?

but lucky for him, you ended up formally meeting through a mutual friend

you both really hit it off at some house party Uvogin was throwing and that's how you guys ended up going on your first date

it was relatively normal, the both of you had met at a local cafe and talked about your interests and all that jazz but one detail you left out was your affinity for drifting, racing and cars

by the time the third date rolls around you insist on picking Chrollo up

he was unsure as of why but he just let it happen

another thing he was unsure of is why you scheduled this date really late at night

but when you pulled up to his apartment in this souped up sports car he was more confused about how you were even to afford all of that while being a college student

when you pulled off of the main road and into a clearing not too far out from the city he just got even more confused

"uh, were exactly are we going?" "You'll see"

after a little longer you guys saw a group of other parked sports cars and two large crowds on either side of a makeshift racetrack

before Chrollo could even fully process what was going on, you already pulled up next to this other car and there was some lady with a flag standing in front of you guys

and 3...2...1...GO! ZOOM YOU TAKE OFF AND CHROLLO IS LOSING HIS SHIT HE DIDN'T SIGN UP FOR THIS SHIT!

you are speeding and drifting and racing this random guy, just doing your thing meanwhile Chrollo is screaming the entire time and gripping on his seat for dear life

after like an hour and a half of this madness it finally ends and you won the race yayyy

Chrollo was out of breath and could barely keep up with his own thoughts while you were already getting out of the car and claiming some sort of prize

when you get back in the car and start it back up is when he finally snaps his head towards you

"You're crazy!!...I kinda like that."

anyways you begin dating yayyy

and you always insist on doing all the driving just because you like cars so much

and Chrollo lets you because it saves him gas money but like...never race with him in the car again

he will go with you to whatever meets you want just let him out the car where he can watch semi safely from the sidelines

one day when he got into your car he noticed a sticker on the front of the dash that read "passenger princess" in pink fancy lettering

he bursts out laughing at this and its not like he can even deny it

you also bought Chrollo his own helmet for days you decide you want to ride your motorcycle

he is much more afraid of the motorcycle than your car and he refuses to ride it unless he knows for sure that what you're planning is something tame

but even if you do lie to him and take him somewhere to speed and race and drift and all of that the adrenaline makes you more attractive to him so he'll forgive you every time anyways