#i've been rotating this for a while but only just got it down...

[inexplicably-spookified]

l o r e

[velvetures]

Got Me Snoring

A/N: One of my favorite things inspired by all the Ghost/König cosplayer TikToks using that one, song audio. Summary: Ghost admits getting head is boring. Reader isn't happy with that idea and goes about changing his mind. T/W: NS/FW 18+ Only, blowjobs, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, spit?, cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and it's been a long ass time since I've written full-on smut.

“All I’m sayin’ is that if she calls again, I’m not about to answer.” Soap’s voice carried from the living space of the hotel room to the kitchenette where you stood microwaving some rice from a convenience store down the street.

After-mission talk always leads to the most strange conversations. Maybe the adrenaline or the high of getting almost killed got everyone in a talking mood. However as the Captain slid behind you to go grab more ice outside in the hallway, you couldn’t help but shoot him a questioning look. They’d been talking about their previous accomplishments and failures in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes, and thankfully they’d not roped you into the ridiculous conversation but with the Captain leaving out of the room, it drew their eyesight right to you standing patiently for your instant rice to finish cooking.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

��I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

“No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

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[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

goodnight moon

how spencer turns college!reader's bad sleeping habits into very good sleeping habits.

MDNI | smut! word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), slightest teensiest bit of overstim, fluff to the moon, spence and reader just being sweet, spence just being obsessed and concerned with every little thing about reader authors note: hiiii. soooo this is TERRIFYING. why is smut soooooo scary and vulgar. but i've been working on this one for a long while and i think i'm happyish with it??? idk. its not really adding anything new or revolutionary to the world but i think its cute!! lemme know your thoughts. i think smut is something i'll get better at writing with time but yk. okay whatever have a lovely day and i hope you enjoy!!

There’s a noticeable tension in your shoulders as you lay down on top of the covers of your bed. Your face crushes into the soft down of many pillows, nose buried into the crevices. You trace out the clean smell of Spencer's shampoo that manages to linger on your sheets even after a week of him being away on a case, the fragrance making your head become even heavier with each deep inhale you take.

You can physically feel the exhaustion clawing at your soul. Eyes shut, blocking out the harsh shine of the overhead light you definitely forgot to turn off, you reach your arm up to work on the knot in your shoulder. You roll it back, feeling an unsettling click that probably shouldn’t be there. 

Spencer would be able to work the knot out like it was nothing, if he were here.

You shift your leg up, thinking. When did he say he’d be home earlier today? You had called him before your final exam this afternoon, for some encouragement and reminders on the principles of astronomy.

The all-consuming fog in your brain prevents you from remembering any of the important details of the conversation, such as when he’d be home, so you choose instead to just replay the soft I love yous he had said into your ear. 

By this point you’re sprawled across a good portion of your bed, back to the ceiling with one leg bent, head turned to the side. Your spine sinks down into the mattress, relieving the aches just a bit, and the sweet, sweet release of sleep ensues minutes later.

Until it gets quite rudely interrupted.

You don’t hear him enter the room. You haven’t even opened your eyes to see him. The only thing you notice when you wake is the feeling that you’re being picked up from your hips and rotated, a complete 180.

“Hello?” you ask loudly even before your eyes open.

When they do open, they see your lovely boyfriend standing above you, grimacing like he’s been caught. Spencer’s hands are holding you mid air, and you look at him, wildly confused, as you blink away the sleep in your eyes.

He’s still wearing his work clothes, the thick sweater vest that you got him last year for his birthday layered over his button-up. He must have just gotten inside, his bag was still crossed over his body. 

“Hi honey. What are you, um, doing?” you ask quietly. His nose scrunches in a cute attempt to push his glasses up his nose without using his already occupied hands.

“Hi. Sorry for waking you up.” He ducks down to kiss your forehead. “You just really shouldn’t be sleeping on your stomach. Bad sleeping posture can actually worsen chronic pain more than any other factor in your daily life,” he explains, setting you down but keeping a firm grasp on your waist. Your mouth forms an awkward little smile, matching his. “I had to intervene.”

“I know. It’s just so uncomfy. But why’d you pick me up? You could’ve just nudged me, or, you know, asked…” you grumble. You make room for him, however, as you speak. He sets his bag down and clambers into bed next to you, body seemingly rivaling yours in exhaustion. He leans against the headboard, turning his head to look at you.

“I wouldn’t normally do that, but I knew you were exhausted, so I figured you’d be less likely to wake up if your body was physically touching fewer things,” he justifies, logic drawing a soft giggle from you. You settle into a comfortable silence, the room still bathed in artificial light and Spencer still in his work clothes.

He eventually breaks the stillness after a minute, turning towards you. “How did your astronomy final go today?”

“I think I did alright. Our study sessions paid off, I think. But it was never my strong suit,” you reply, tracing your fingers over his leg. “I’m so achy now though. It’s strange what four hours of math can do to your body.” 

His hand slides up your arm in response, lightly pressing on the tense spots. 

“It’s strange what four hours of math and sleeping like a contortionist does to your body,” he corrects with his little know-it-all look, fingers circling a bit more firmly into your shoulder.

“I also really, really missed you,” you add, smiling back at him. “So be nice to me.”

“I missed you,” Spencer responds, even sweeter. “And I am being nice.”

You roll your eyes and he reaches over to kiss you gently. “Would you like me to be nicer?” he whispers softly. Your brain is all but short circuiting as you look at him, his eyes flitting between yours like he was searching the stars.

Your head is nodding even before you can actually realize what he means.

Then, his body is gone from yours. You stay silent, trying to regulate your breath, eyes following him as he stands and walks over to turn off the big light. Your eyes flicker to adjust, but with the moon’s gentle shine pouring into your window, it’s absolutely perfect. 

A blush, that you're hoping the new darkness will conceal, creeps up your cheeks when you see the soft outline of Spencer’s back as he takes off his sweater vest and pulls at his tie. He turns back and looks at you, eyes all soft and full of adoration. “Yeah? Not too tired?”

“Nope,” you murmur, convincing yourself as much as him. He finishes getting into his PJ’s and walks back to you. You straighten your back, trying to appear as awake as possible. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he says back at you, voice gentle. “You can barely keep your eyes open.” A kiss, this one to your cheek, softens the blow of his words. You shake your head, but he continues. “You were sound asleep not even ten minutes ago, and you’ve yawned six times in the last five minutes.” His hand strokes the side of your waist.

“Spencer. I'm fine,” you huff. He smiles a little and sits next to you on the bed. His mouth is on yours, kissing you firmly, sweetly. 

A hand, always in motion, always calculated, slides up to your nape and presses you closer. The other slides down and thumbs under the hem of your top, grazing lightly over your skin, making it erupt in goosebumps.

His brow scrunches softly. “You’re so worked up.”

You stay silent, begging him with your eyes. He dips down and kisses right where he touched, and your hips lift a bit in response. 

“Honey. Lie back,” he says, and you do so. He readjusts his body so he’s on top of you, one leg slotted between yours. He kisses your forehead, cheeks, nose, and then moves down to your neck. He kisses that one spot beneath your ear that makes you gasp quietly. He then does it again, and again, and again, in that focused way of his. 

Wordlessly, he slides down further. His nose bumps underneath your belly button, in the thin stripe of skin showing where your top meets your panties. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yes. Please. Please, Spence,” you whimper softly, head feeling like a cloud of gas from the endorphins. He peppers even more kisses there and ghosts his fingers over your hip bone. He slides your panties down an inch and immediately kisses the skin that’s revealed.

“I thought about doing this to you all the time while I was away,” he murmurs. He presses another kiss more firmly on your hips, even closer to your soaked core, sucking gently and leaving a mark. “These should be off by now,” he muses, gently pulling your underwear down. 

His hand is immediately where you want it, two fingers pushing up against your folds, and to your clit. He touches in little circles, sending jolts of pleasure up your stomach, eyes looking up to yours to gauge your feelings. 

You almost hate Spencer for how fucking good it feels. You let out a soft moan, heart pounding. And when his middle finger sinks into your entrance with no word of warning, you toss your head back and close your legs around his hand. Spencer’s mouth twists into that little smile of his, pushing ever so deep into you, and says, “It feels better when you keep your legs open, sweet girl. If you need more, tell me.” You nod immediately, desperately. 

“Yeah. I need more,” you whisper, and he bends down and gives your clit a kitten lick. Your hand goes to his hair, softly pushing him closer. He gets the message and presses his tongue flat against it, eliciting a moan from you.

“You’re so pretty like this, under me. I missed you.”

You really do almost forget just how nice it was to have him on top of you after a week, telling you nice things and making you feel so good. He pushes his ring finger in to match his middle, stretching you slightly and adding pressure to where he knows it feels good. Your eyes screw shut and you furrow your brow in overwhelming pleasure, a soft exhale coming from deep within you.

“This good?” he asks, other hand coming to take care of your clit in his mouth’s absence. You nod frantically, looking down at Spencer. He watches where his hand comes in contact with you, pushing in and out at a steady pace. “You’re not normally this quiet. Is it a lot?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. “Feel so sensitive.” He presses a soft kiss onto your clit, and you jolt.

“Sweet girl. It’s been a little while, huh? Even right before I left, I didn’t use my mouth." You shake your head in agreement. “You’re doing so well for me though.” 

He resumes with his tongue, working you into oblivion. His free hand holds your hips steady, hindering you from writhing away from the mind-numbing pleasure.

His mouth is occupied and your brain is utterly ruined, so the only noises coming from the two of you are your soft exhales and whimpers, and the obscene sound of his hand pushing incessantly into you.

And eventually it does, in fact, become too much. He sends you into orbit. You lift your hips, practically pushing yourself into his face, pleasure coursing through you.

“Spence, I’m. I-” your voice gets caught in your throat. 

“I know,” he says, calm and collected. A stark contrast to whatever the fuck you’re feeling right now. 

He keeps going in the same way, steadily driving you through your orgasm. You let out one last moan and your body relaxes and limps around him, chest moving up and down rapidly. 

You come back to earth and grab his arm to tug him away. But he stays, pressing kisses all over you, watching you with his imploring eyes.

“You can take it. Missed you so much. Just one more,” he says in broken little sentences, parting with your core for just a second before resuming, hand picking up speed again. But this time, you don’t feel as awake. As alert. Your chest feels heavy, and your eyelids even heavier.

The post-orgasmic haze has settled even more into your bones, pressing you down deeper and deeper into the dark chasm of sleep once again.

The last thing you see before you succumb is the moon casting a perfect glow onto Spencer, still diligently pressing soft kisses onto you, holding your hips still so you won’t roll over in your sleep like before.

[eggrollforyou]

Need This

Law x F!Reader

CW: Established relationship, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart), slight angst- feelings of overwhelm, fingering, oral (M!receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, sub Law, needy Law, slight praise kink, religious themes if you squint

A/N: thanks everyone for participating in my poll! Sub Law smashed the competition! This was a fun one to indulge in. I hope you enjoy it. I definitely had to take breaks 🥵 I spent more time making the banner than I did proofreading. I'll come back later and make edits as I see them 🙈

“DAMN IT, SHACHI! I said NOT to do that. Bathroom duty, the next 4 rotations,” Law shouted in frustration. “W-what?! But Captain! Four rotations?! I just thought you might like to try something different with your rice balls this week,” Shachi exclaims as he dejectedly throws his hands down by his side. Law sucked his teeth in frustration, “And I said no, the last time you tried. Clear it with me before you waste the fucking ingredients. Four rotations,” as he stomps out of the galley.

You stared at Shachi in disbelief at Law’s outburst. Shachi returns your widened gaze as he shrugs in disbelief, “I don't know what the fuck has been going on with him. He's been so goddamn touchy the last few days. Ugh…fucking bathroom duty?!” He cries out as he swipes his hand down his face. “Fuck…,” he mumbles to himself as he walks out. You shift a glance over to Penguin who was sitting quietly, clearly trying not to invoke the wrath of Law. 

“How long has he been like this? I've only been gone for a couple weeks running that mission for him,” you ask quietly. “It's been like this the last week, almost. It's been UNBEARABLE, Y/N,” he sighs. “We've all been walking on eggshells. Even Bepo has been doing his best to stay in line. You've got to figure out what's going on with him and save us from this torture. Everyone is afraid to make him mad and end up with some fucked up duty as punishment.” He gets up and puts his dishes away for the poor soul who last pissed off Law- to clean it with a toothbrush. 

What the hell is going on? Nothing happened while I was out, I think. Even still, this really isn't like Law, you think to yourself. Sure punishments weren't out of the ordinary. Especially considering the antics the crew got up to, but something was up. Law was clearly extra touchy about everything. He usually wouldn't throw a fit over a change in his rice ball recipe. You sigh to yourself, wondering how you're going to handle this, lest you be subjected to his next punishment.

Law stormed back to his office quickly and slammed the door behind him in a huff. “What the FUCK was Shachi thinking? He knows what I like. Why would he randomly fucking change it?!” he grumbles to himself, still fuming. The three weeks have been an absolute shit show, especially the last week. Nothing has gone right. He feels absolutely out of control. Something he really doesn't like.

Sure with the Straw Hats, he's come to expect it. But on his own ship? He always had control. But it seemed there was something in the drinking water, because even his crew were doing everything they could to rip apart his every last nerve. He sighed in utter defeat and plopped down into his desk chair, covering his eyes with his hand on his brow.

It started with his last mission plan. He was working with Robin to gather info on a poneglyph. They went to some dusty ass island in the middle of nowhere based on some intel they gathered the week prior, only to learn that Shachi and Penguin got the information wrong. He gave them the leeway to do it on their own, because they groveled for the opportunity, and they fucked it up! Little did he know, they were simply given bad information, but that didn't change the fact that they were in the wrong fucking place at the wrong fucking time, so they couldn't ambush who they needed information. After that, it seemed everything was spiraling out of his control and he couldn't handle it any longer. 

He sighed again, showing his weary heart. Rubbing his temples, “Fuck…I overreacted again didn't I?” he questioned himself. He knew he was touchier than normal. He was just tired of it all. Tired of the responsibility of his crew, tired of always having to make the decisions because it seemed no one else could do it on their own, tired of being the only one with any sense to maintain charge. It was exhausting. Then he felt the pang of guilt in his chest. Shachi only changed the rice ball recipe by one ingredient, one that he liked, and he acted like an ass. He stood up, prepared to apologize. He opened the door to go to Shachi’s station and was met with you, wide eyed in surprise and your hand up, your knuckles about to knock on the door, right as he swung it open.

“Y/N, you're back!” He pulls you into a hug, one you noted was tighter than his usual, but you're quick to return it. You have been gone for two weeks to try to gather better intel on a sleazebag who supposedly had the correct information to the poneglyph Law and Robin were trying to find. Law sighed, taking in a big breath, smelling your hair- he missed it. “I missed you,” he whispers and you feel the tension in his body slowly soften. “When did you get back?” You walked him backwards into the office and closed the door behind you. “Just an hour ago. I witnessed your blow up on Shachi. Is everything okay? This stuff usually doesn't make you so upset,” you probe, as you push some of his hair out of his face, resting your hands to hold both sides of his face. 

Law sighs, “I know. I-I feel terrible. I shouldn't have blown up like that. I just….I'm so tired Y/N…nothing has gone to plan the last three weeks. I'm just….tired of it all.” You gaze back, trying to hide your surprise. Law isn't usually so forthcoming with how he's feeling. Usually he's …emotionally constipated. It's like pulling teeth to get him to talk to you, but now? You can see he's held in his stress for too long. His soul and heart are raw from the expectations he placed upon himself. Your heart twists at the sight. “Oh, Law, baby. Don't worry about Shachi. He'll be fine. I'll take care of it, ok? You don't have to do this alone.” 

You pull him to your lips in a reassuring kiss, embracing him to try to take some of his stress. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, returning your embrace, pulling you in tight and you feel his body begin to relax. “Are you ok?” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair, “You can talk to me,” you console. He sighs, his skin tingling as your fingertips lightly scratch his scalp. “I…,” he hesitates. Does he really want to burden you with this? The thought of opening up has him feeling vulnerable, but he feels so tightly wound.

Like a spool of wire pulled so taught that it’ll burst at any moment. He’s afraid of what the shrapnel could do. To you, to him, to his crew. Everything he’s worked so hard for. And suddenly, his thoughts flash to Corazon. How he put everything on the line to help him. A dying child, with little hope, ready to throw everything away. How he gave up everything, so that he could be the man he’s become. To live….to thrive.

His body shakes as he finds comfort in your presence, in your love. He takes a deep breath to steady his heart and his thoughts- racing a mile a minute. “I’m just so tired of the responsibility of everything. Being Captain, making sure everyone is safe. Making all the decisions, all the plans…all the time,” he pauses. You sense his hesitation to continue and don’t allow him to break from your hold. Running your hand in his hair, your other running pressured strokes on his back. Hoping it prompts him to continue. He senses your effort to ground him, “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy it…But…it’s just been so much for so long…I wish I could just give up all control, even if only for a day.” Getting the words out finally makes him feel like he has space to breathe.

You hold his face between your palms, leaning back to look into his tired eyes. You see the exhaustion on his face; the weariness. How it’s taken its toll since you’ve been gone. “Thank you,” you press a kiss to his forehead, “for telling me,” you press another on his cheek, “I will always be here to help you, with whatever you need,” and another kiss to the corner of his mouth. You slowly walk him backwards, he stops when he feels the edge of the couch hit the back of his legs. Forcing him to sit, you straddle his lap, determined to smother him in your love and affection. Going on missions for him wasn’t out of the ordinary. After all, he had big plans. But you didn’t realize how much you missed him while you were gone for this one, especially after hearing about what weight he keeps himself under when you’re not there. 

He buries his face into your chest, not realizing how much you ground him through everything until now. He smells you again, taking long deep breaths, and suddenly his heart is pounding. Though this time not from stress, from your closeness. He realizes how wrapped in you he truly is at the moment. He pulls back to look at you, your eyes sparkling as you gaze back at him, and he presses a kiss to your collarbone. “Thank you. For….everything.” You smile warmly in return, trying to hide your surprise at this different side of him that you’ve never seen before. “You would do the same for me, Law. I will always be here for you. But next time…,” he looks at you, clearly on the upside of this moment, “Next time, come to me before it gets to this, okay?” His lips tug up into a shy smile and he nods, “I don’t want to see you hurting like this. All of us are here for you. We love you….I love you.” 

You lean down to give him another kiss. One turns into two and they continue to multiply. You feel the flutters of desire begin to grow as your bodies heat up and react to one another. His grip on you is tight as he keeps your chest pressed against his. As you slot your lips against his again, your tongues meet in a kiss that quickly gets heated. You begin to grind your hips into him, legs still straddling him, and he whines into your mouth. It sounds like music to your ears. Law NEVER whines. He’s always been one to take charge, but this time feels different. 

“Please, Y/N,” his voice wavers. This time, you think, you won’t let him. He feels your smirk on his lips, “You’ve been so good for me, Law. I think I should show you just how much I appreciate it,” as you grind your clothed cunt on his growing erection with more force. His eyes flutter shut and he whimpers. It fuels the fire you are stoking. “Please…I n-need you. I need this.” You lean back slightly to look at his rugged face. This time, there’s no scowl; it’s soft, relaxed, and needy. “Don’t worry Law, I’ve got you,” you huff, your voice low and full of desire. “Just relax for me, ok baby?” With his eyes closed, he nods, as you lean back to remove your shirt and bra, quickly, not stopping your relentless grinding on his lap.

His hands find purchase on your hips, clutching tightly, his fingertips turning white. You’re gasping into each other’s mouths as if you’re starving for one another. You unbutton his shirt and push it off of him, dragging your nails on every part of his exposed flesh that you touch as you bring them back up his body. Relishing in the goosebumps you leave in your wake. He shivers at the contact. “Does that feel good, baby?” He moans. “Mmmmm, I love when you make that sound for me,” you say as you press open mouthed kisses along the column of his neck and across the top of his shoulder.

You reach down to unbuckle his belt, you rise from his lap letting him shuffle his pants and boxers down as you pull your own shorts and panties, letting them pool at your feet. His eyes traveling from your ankles, looking at every part of you all the way up to your face as he pants in near desperation for your touch. You lean over him, caging him beneath you and he pulls you in, taking one of your breasts into his mouth. You throw your head back in pleasure as his tongue swipes and swirls around your nipple, his cheeks hollowing as he takes more of your breast into his mouth. Your arms wrap around his head, nails scraping into his scalp as you grip his hair. His hands grab your ass as he switches his attention to your other breast, gasping as he scrapes his teeth on your other nipple. 

You reach down, wrapping your hand around his hard cock, swiping your thumb across the tip, swirling the pre-cum that’s gathered there. He whimpers at your touch as you begin slowly teasing him, grazing your fingertips in teasing, featherlight touches, along the bottom of his length, “Is this what you want, baby?” 

“Y-ahh-yes, p-please, touch me Y/N,” he begs, his eyes glazed over, cheeks dusted in pink. He moans softly as you oblige in his request, grabbing length at the base and slowly twisting your fist up his length. You ghost your lips over his ear, your breath light and teasing. His breath hitches and his body stiffens as he flexes his every muscle. “You’re SO responsive for me, Law,” you whisper devilishly, intentionally keeping your lips a hair’s breadth away from the shell of his ear. His breaths come heavier and you take his wrist, bringing his hand to your core, “Feel what you do to me, Law.” You both moan as he takes two of his fingers and rubs them where you crave him most. His fingers swiping back and forth, collecting your slick- practically dripping- and swirling it around your clit. 

He inserts one finger and presses the spot that makes you go insane. He watches you in reverence as he continues to slowly work his finger in and out of you. You bite your lip when he inserts the second finger. Your hand on his cock falters as he crooks his fingers, pressing his thumb on your clit with steady pressure. His pupils dilated, sweat collecting on his brow from being so worked up. “Mmmf, f-fuck, yes Law. Right there. You make me feel sooooo good,” you whimper trying not to collapse on him. His fingers continue pumping in and out of you. The room filled with sounds most unholy, the air thick with desire as you pant into each other's mouths.

You adjust while Law continues to scissor you open with his fingers, leaning down, you kiss and kitten-lick his leaking tip. He pauses for a moment, hand clenched while other hand stops fingering you. You smirk for a moment, enjoying Law turning into a flushed mess at your touch. “Tell me what you need, Law.” He hisses, eyes opening to see you peeking up at him, his cock throbs in your hand, “I need your mouth…please,” he groans. “Need my mouth where?” you tease. “O-on my cock, please, I need your mouth on my cock,” he pants. You chuckle, “Good boy,” and as you sink your mouth down onto his cock, his arm reaches over your back, grabbing your side, “A-aahhh- shit- your mouth feels so good, sweetheart.”

You glide your lips up and down his shaft, building a steady rhythm, occasionally taking him deeper, touching the back of your throat. You pause to relax your throat to take him further and he hisses, pushing his hips up into your mouth. You moan when his hand presses slightly on the back of your head, forcing a small gag from you, your grip on the base of his cock tightening slightly. His hand in your hair stops pressing and he holds on to it while you take back control. Bringing your lips back to his tip as you swirl your tongue, your hand working what couldn’t fit into your mouth, drool dripping down your wrist. You tease his tip continuously with each pass, making his toes curl, his abs tighten, getting lost in the gasps and moans you pull from the back of his throat. 

Coming up with a lewd pop as you pull his throbbing length from your mouth, you push his shoulders back to keep him leaning back on the couch as you throw your leg over him. Sitting on his lap, his spit soaked cock between you both, you lean up and grind your pussy on him. Leaning forward to capture his lips in yours as you spread your slick on his shaft. You reach down to line him up with your entrance, slowly pushing his fat tip in. You slowly sink down onto his length to the hilt, releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. He reaches to grab the side of your face and your neck, pulling you into a ravenous kiss. You begin grinding your hips in a circular motion, eating his wanton moans. “Hold me tight, make me feel every inch of you,” you whisper.

A guttural moan is ripped from his throat as you grind yourself up and down his length as his arms wrap tightly around you. Your forehead is pressed to his as you lock eyes, fire in them. You pick up your pace until your hips and thighs burn, fueled to continue by Law’s unwavering grip on your hips and his moans each time you pull your clenching walls up to his tip and slam down. “Baby-baby-f-fuck,” his eyes are glistening as he watches you take all of him, over and over. You slow down, putting your finger under his chin forcing his gaze up at you, “I want you to look at me, baby. Look at me to see how good you feel. How good you make me feel. Can you do that?” He gulps, “Y-yes,” his strong hands grasping and kneading your hips, ass, and thighs. “Mmm, so good for me, Law, thank you baby.”

“Fu-uuck,” he stutters as he begins thrusting up into you. He’s pulling you so tightly into him, you don’t know where one begins and the other ends, you’re just melting into each other. “Hnng, you feel so good inside me, Law, keep going.” Spurred by your praise, he picks up his pace, the sound of skin meeting skin turning you both on even more. You feel your orgasm quickly approaching as you clench around Law’s cock. Both of you panting, “Fuck, you feel so good…I-I c-can’t stop,” his voice shaky as he loses himself in you.

His thrusts are growing needier as you moan praises, fire in your veins as he brings you closer to your climax. His eyes roll back when your hands reach for his shoulders as he fucks up into you. Your nails leaving crescent marks on them. You look down at him, his fucked out expression, determined to please you. He swears you're an angel, peering down at him, perfect in every way. He groans in euphoria at the sting of your nails, your clenching walls wrapped around him, as he fucks the shape of him into you. 

“F-fuck, Law, I need to cum, can you make me cum, baby?” You pant breathlessly. “Fuuuhhck-hhng-yes baby, let me,” he growls as he snakes his hand down to your clit, messily rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You feel him throb inside you as the touch makes you bite your lip to contain your screams, your cunt clenching hard as he works you to your orgasm.

“Please, baby, please give it to me, I need this,” he groans, maintaining his hungry gaze with yours, and you begin to tumble into the waves of electric pleasure that wash over you. “Fuuuck, don't stop, fuck me just like that,” you command. “Ah-ahhh-aghhhh,” he can no longer contain himself as he feels you flutter on his cock, using him for your pleasure. He stills for a moment as his release spills into you, pressed against your cervix. Sighs and moans of pleasure as he finishes with you. 

You're both spent, sweaty messes when his thrusts finally come to a stop. He pulls your lips to his, capturing your lips in a languid kiss. Your tongues swirl in a tired dance as you both come down from your highs. Panting into each other. “Thank you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for helping me,” he grumbles, half asleep from the energy expended from his emotions and your body. 

You hum at his words of affection pressing kisses on random places of exposed skin. “You needed stress relief, baby. I'm glad I could oblige. I'm always here for you. Again you don't have to do this all alone.” He brings you into a tight embrace again, as if he's what tethers you to this world. You stand up off of him to gather your clothes, quickly shimmying on your underwear and shorts and grabbing a small towel to clean yourselves off. 

You lay Law down on the couch, running your hand on his arm. “You stay here, rest. I'll take care of things for a bit,” pressing a kiss to his forehead. He leaves a sigh of relief. “What did I do to have you? Please…tell Shachi I'm sorry.” You squeeze his hand in reassurance and quietly leave the office as you hear his breathing even out. 

Only to be surprised by Penguin and Shachi just around the corner. “Ah!” you yelp, looking behind you, hoping you didn't wake Law up. “What the fuck are you two doing here?! Creeps!” They snicker, sharing a knowing glance between themselves. “Soooo,” Shachi chimes, hoping you have good news for him. “How's the Captain feeling?” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you squeeze your eyes shut. This is the shit he deals with….daily. You think to yourself. “Shachi….fucking…four rotations!” His bright eyes dim as his cheeky grin falters, his mouth agape. “W-what?! But-but- you were supposed to help me out!” As you walk away, Penguin is grabbing his stomach trying not to burst out in laughter, “Law took it back, but I'm giving it back because you're a fucking pervert! He sends his apologies!” You call out to him as you wave your hand goodbye. 

Taglist: @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Phew! If you made it this far, thank you! I thrive on feedback so I'd love to hear your thoughts! 🫣 Comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated.

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[whump-imagines]

Just a Sprain

Tim x reader

WC: 1200 ish

For @whumpcember walking on injuries

--

You’d been sitting on the couch for two hours when you heard the front door unlock.

“Hey, babe,” you greet. “How do you feel about delivery for dinner? I'm thinking maybe pizza.”

“I thought you wanted to try that new recipe you–” he stopped as he rounded the couch and took you in. “What happened?”

You leaned forward and pulled the ice pack and towel off your very swollen ankle. “Ugh, I tripped off a curb like a total klutz and then I walked on it for four blocks.”

He sat, carefully avoiding your foot, then gently rubbed his hand up and down your calf. “Why didn't you call me? I would have come to get you.”

“Well it was after lunch with Sam when we were walking to the bar and I might have already been tipsy. So it didn't really hurt at the time,” you explained.

Tim chuckled. “Of course. Does it hurt now?”

You shook your head. “No. I took some ibuprofen when I got home and I've been icing it, too.”

He took the mostly melted ice pack and stood. “ER tonight or urgent care tomorrow?”

You looked up at him, confused. “For what? I'm sure it's a sprain.”

He pulls out his phone and starts typing before he explains. “That's a lot of swelling for a sprain. You're getting x-rays to make sure it's not broken.” His phone dings and he checks the screen. “Grace says you should get in pretty quick. We can grab fast food on the way.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Can we get Jack in the Box?”

“Whatever you want.” He stands from the couch and turns to lift you.

You swat at his hands. “I can walk. Or hobble slowly, anyway.”

He easily lifts you into his arms. “I think you walked on it too much already.”

“I bet you it's just a sprain.”

He smiles at you. “What do I get when you're wrong?”

“Um, a foot rub?” you suggested.

He set you in the passenger seat of his truck and started to pull out the seatbelt. “And what do you get?”

You took the buckle for him and latched it. “I got it, my arms still work. I get a dressed up dinner date.”

He chuckled and closed your door. He rounded the front and hopped into the drivers seat. “Dress shirt?”

You shook your head. “Three piece suit.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, deal.”

Ten minutes later, he was pulling into the drive-thru and ordering your dinner.

As soon as he pulled back into traffic, you pulled out sandwiches and fries. Arranging them carefully on the center armrest, you stuffed a few fries in your mouth. “This was a better idea than cooking.”

“Of course it was. You can't stand on that ankle.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s not what I meant. I wasn't really sold on that new recipe.”

While you sat in traffic on the way to the hospital, you both finished your food. Soon after, he pulled up to the emergency room entrance. He got out and rounded the truck, lifting you again and carrying you into the waiting room.

He walked up to the desk to check you in and returned a moment later with a clipboard. “You fill this out and I'm going to go park. I'll be right back.”

Shortly after he returned, you finished all the paperwork and he returned it to the check in desk. When he sat, you leaned your head on his shoulder. He kissed the crown of your head before resting his cheek against your head. Both of you pulled out your phones to pass the time.

As Grace had promised, you didn't have to wait long. It had only been about half an hour a nurse was calling you back.

“Can we grab a wheelchair?” Tim requested.

“Oh, of course. I'll be right back.” She disappeared around the corner and then pushed the chair over to you.

Tim helped you stand on your good leg and rotate to the wheelchair.

The nurse took you back to a room and Tim helped again with getting you situated on the bed. She quickly collected a set of vitals and left with a promise that a doctor would be in soon.

Grace came into the room a couple minutes later. “Hey, guys. How are you?”

“I'm fine,” you started. “I tripped over a curb earlier and Tim thinks it's broken. I think he's paranoid.”

“Alright, well let's take a look.” She looked at your foot and carefully examined it. Once she'd checked everything over she asked, “So you said you tripped on a curb? Going up or down?”

“Down,” you explained. “I wasn't paying attention and I was closer to it than I thought and I guess, technically, kind of rolled my ankle on the top and then my foot slid and I fell. But it really didn't hurt that much. Not even after I walked four more blocks to the bar.”

She hummed. “Well let's get an x-ray and see what we've got, okay?”

“Okay.”

“They'll come get you shortly and take you down to radiology.”

“Thanks, Grace,” Tim said. “Could we get an ice pack to put on it while we wait?”

“Already on it. The nurse will bring that in–” She was interrupted by the door swinging open to reveal the same nurse that'd brought you back. “Right now.” Grace laughed. “I'll be back as soon as I get those x-rays. Just call a nurse or text me if you need anything.”

A few minutes later, a guy came in pushing a wheelchair. “Evening, I'm Matt. I'll be your ride to x-ray.”

He and Tim helped you maneuver into the wheelchair. “I should have just stayed in the one I was in a minute ago.”

“You can wait here,” Matt told Tim. “You can't go into radiology. We'll be back in a few minutes.”

Soon you were back in the same room in the ER waiting for Grace to come tell you the results of the x-ray.

“Okay, so you do have a small hairline fracture,” Grace announced as she entered. She took the x-ray and slid it onto the light board. She traced a small dark line across the bone. “I'm pretty sure it is a stress fracture from walking on the sprain.”

“Ugh. So cast?” You ask.

“No. You'll get a boot for a few weeks and then a brace after that,” she explains. “Once the fracture heals, you'll likely need some physical therapy.”

She quickly got you set up with the boot and a referral to PT. Then she got you discharged and Tim walked you back to the truck.

Once he buckled his seat belt, he looked over at you. “So, I think you owe me a foot rub.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You win.”

“I'll hold off on cashing in until you're healed, deal?” He offers.

“Okay,” you agree.

He takes your hand in his. “How about some ice cream on the way home?”

“Yes, please!”

[transformers-spike]

"Cybertronians reacting to getting kissed", in which kissing is not something cybertronians do as an act of affection, so they're completely new to the human concept of kissing to express romantic love. Talk me one Knock Out who is so versed in wooing but doesn't know two shits about human kissing, and finding himself kissed for the first time. Or Starscream who's gonna freak out. Or Megatron who doesn't even know why you're smashing your intake against his

This is such a good question, anon, I've been rotating it in my head for a while now

Knock Out is well-versed in the drag and frag technique. He’s probably one of the youngest members on the Nemesis, still old as balls by our standards, but some rebellious youngin’ by theirs. He’s all about sliding in with a smooth pickup line and buttering you up until he reaches the “let’s get down to business” level, where he starts flashing his biolights in a “come hither and frag me” display. When it comes to human kissing, he’s… improvising to say the least. He’s seen humans make out in a wide variety of drive-through horror movies (many with questionable acting), and while he doesn’t “get” why we do it, he does his best to lean into the act and find what makes it so pleasurable by our standards. When you do kiss him for the first time, he’s already been hyping himself up for months, and whatever smoothness he tries to apply immediately disintegrates because oh fuck, your lips are so small and he has so much to give. He’s absolutely suffering despite the confident front he’s putting up. After fumbling the bag, he’ll ask you how he did. “Mid,” you’re tempted to say. But the hopefulness behind those smug optics stops you in your tracks. Starscream must have had a very confusing interface life even by Cybertronian standards. But there’s no way he didn’t get frisky back when he was Air Commander of Vos, even if the workload was immense. Although that’s probably the most action he got in his entire life, and even then the closest equivalent to “kissing” by their standards is merging EM fields and hoping for the best, a careful manipulation of wavelengths to fall into perfect sync. We humans do not possess a hyper-developed EM field, which is enraging for Starscream because what do you mean you smash intakes??? Mass-displaced or not, the only fluids he accepts in his intake are energon and transfluid, thank you very much. Kissing is a bad idea, and you’ve learned it the hard way, so good job! Now you have to deal with his drama queen ass acting like you just spit in his mouth. Worst thing is, he is interested in trying it again, but with his stipulations (aka watching him fail to figure out how to kiss you). He doesn’t even fail in a funny way, he’s so bad it’s concerning, you’re half tempted to contact Knock Out and blackmail him into sending you Starscream’s medical file.

Megatron was… surprisingly abstinent back on Cybertron. Yes, he’s been around for a long time. Yes, he used to be a gladiator at some point. And yes, it had its perks, but he was always more of a “sensitive spark” than a typical casanova. He had more important things to focus on at the time (mainly surviving the pits of Kaon and, before that, not offlining in a freak mining accident). Honestly, who knows what he did as a politician, whatever freakiness he had going on while trying to depose the government is none of our business and I am totally not typing this with a fusion cannon to my head.

He’s been through so much; fought countless beasts and fellow gladiators, avoided assassination attempts and blood-thirsty mutinies while leading a millennia-long war. Nothing can surprise him anymore. Yes, you’re a weird little freak for smashing intakes with him, but you need not fear for your safety. He’s… intrigued by your display of affection. You can mumble excuses all you want, but you’ve smashed intakes with him and it can’t be undone. Watch out for those sharp teeth and prepare a tetanus shot just in case. You have to deal with the consequences of your actions whether you like it or not, especially when he’s got a claw under your shirt and another down your pants. Your lips are bleeding and you pray it’s an accident, if he gets a taste for human blood you’re done for.

[bewitched-hours]

Okay, zo hello!! Could you maybe make a fic about [READER] being 1x1x1x1s zibling? Kinda like how he'z made out of hate, maybe they could be made out of pure love?

Zhedletsky iz like [READER]z father, and they like have a good (PLATONIC) relationzhip, teaching them how to ztun the killer, etc. But they can make things out of love (?), like maybe a sword or something, being a zurvivor n ztuff

Maybe 1x4 can meet them in the round az they ztun him, and might be confuzed on who they are

And when they're zad/having a intenze emotion maybe they can act out of line, kinda like pure love turning into pozzezzive or unhealthy love! :3

I'm not good at asking for a requezt, zo tell me if itz good or zomething, idk :D

(I've had thiz ztupid thought in my head, rotating around like a pizza in a microwave..)

This is an interesting request! I gotta admit I had a little trouble understanding at times but that's just my stupid brain taking things at face value the first time I read things /ᐠ｡‸｡ᐟ\ The z's in places of s' are kinda cute tho ngl-

The reader's pronouns shall be they/them!

You've never even thought about the possibility of having a sibling, much less your father having ever been able to hate.

You were a manifestation of Shedletsky's love, just like 1x was a manifestation of his hatred. But instead of a black and green body, yours was a mix of red and white.

He taught you to be a survivor, to not become like your unknown sibling.

You could even use your love to make a sword, wanting to make your father proud when you stunned killers. It was bliss in this nightmare of a realm and even the other survivors appreciated your help.

You even developed wings after a short time, much to everyone's surprise. Even Shedletsky hadn't seen that coming but he was proud nonetheless, even helping you figure out how to fly and float.

But since then you occasionally get the nickname 'Cupid' for your silly little wings.

But then the dreaded round came. The round that Shedletsky feared for your sake.

A round with both you and 1x1... Siblings meeting for the first time without realizing it.

Shed had hoped the round could go over quickly, that he wouldn't be confronted by the manifestation of his hatred and the manifestation of his love at the same time.

But he clearly underestimated your loyalty.

As 1x1 was about to strike him, you dropped from above and stunned her using your sword, barely touching the ground before hurrying to accompany your father towards safety.

The killer was severely confused on your existence but just as much as he was mad over being stopped.

And if you were honest, something about her felt familiar... You just decided to shrug it off for now and leave the questions for later.

But then you and Shedletsky ended up as the last two alive, leading to you acting maybe a little out of line as you began muttering to yourself.

"No one touches my papa..." You muttered under your breath as you kept an eye out while guarding Shed. He luckily didn't hear a word because you were clearly not acting like usual.

Why were you suddenly having the urge to take Shed somewhere where no one would find him? That wasn't what you'd want for your father... Right..?

You only got more aggressive when you saw your green and black counterpart approaching. You were practically already hissing as she stared you down, approaching eerily slow and not showing any sign of hostility in contrast to your own. It looked more like tolerance than indifference though.

Shedletsky tried to tell you to run but you wouldn't budge no matter how much he'd plead. Eventually, 1x1 was towering slightly over you and you found yourself unable to move aside from continuing to stare her down.

He was clearly curious and although Shed wanted to just make a run for it, he couldn't just leave you here and knew you would deserve answers.

"I see you've made another..." His voice was directed at your father, causing you to halt your stance entirely to give her a questioning look.

This only annoyed 1x1 further. "Let me guess, they were never made aware of my existence, were they?" He almost sounded like he was scoffing but you couldn't even look at Shed. You didn't want to see the possibility of him confirming that this was what you feared.

She eventually picked you up by your wings, causing you to flail around but accidentally dropping your sword.

"I suppose their size fits. Either they were made recently or you truly had nothing much to feed a being that is the opposite of hatred, right?"

"No one speaks about papa that way!" You finally spoke up, enraged over how 1x1 could talk about Shedletsky.

1x1 seemed a little unsettled by that. "I'm not even surprised it's so possessive of you... Probably self-love." She muttered, promptly killing you to have a private chat with your creator.

The other survivors were honestly a little startled to see your current state. You've never been seen with so much rage in your eyes and it felt a little intimidating even to them...

Let's hope Shed can come back soon and straighten things out...

I'm getting so many asks lately but I don't mind it at all, it just makes things better with me being able to write more! (And all at once too kek-)

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[kilojulietsierra]

Fun thought: I’m my head Sam must have told Jack about Mel and how she’s her favorite resident from the VA.

When Mel eventually works night shift with Jack he understands why his wife loves the new resident and is a little more encouraging to her.

Did you ask for this? No. DId I write something anyway? Yes.

It was too good to not come up with a little one shot!

~~~~~

It was in the middle of the night from Hell, the night of the Pittfest shooting, that Mel saw her for the first time.

"Sam!" Mel called out on her way out of BH with and arm full of supplies. "What are you doing here?"

Sam, who at that moment had been assiting Jack as he intubated a difficult patient, had to look around a couple times before she found the voice she faintly recognized. "Oh, Mel, hey! Are you good?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm... good. Just, nice to see you!" She nodded once and then hurried back to her zone.

"You too." Sam said, but the young doctor was already gone.

Beside her Jack had successfully intubated and stepped back, "Bag him." He watched as his wife attached the bag and waited for the nod that indicated they were good before he asked, "You know her?"

As Sam bagged the patient, breathed for him while they waited for transport to come take him to ICU, she nodded, "Kind of, yeah. She worked dayshit at the VA for a few months I think. They put her in as a secondary on nights when we were short. "Good kid. Wicked smart"

Jack gave her a nod, "We can take a red!" He called out as transpo took their previous patient, "She seemed awfully cheery this morning."

He handed his wife a pair of fresh medium gloves and took a pair of large for himself.

Sam smiled at the gesture as she gloved up, "Don't you remember what it was like to be young and excited for your new job?"

Her husband stared back at her as the next gurney pulled up, 'No." He shook his head and turned to Jesse, "What've we got?"

~~

A month had passed when Jack came home from his first shift with the med students in his rotation.

"Hey babe," Sam looked up from her spot on the couch and put a finger in her book to keep her place, "How was your night?"

He'd already showered and put on his sweats so he came around and laid on the couch, with his head in her lap. "Med students and interns switched to nights."

Sam bit her lip and fought back a smile. She rested the hand holding her book on his chest and with her free hand combed through his hair. "And?"

His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, "Long night."

Sam fought back the smile again, "Set that on the table?" She let him take the book and grinned as he flipped it over to keep her place as he set it down. Her other hand free she tested it on his bare chest, "How did they do?"

Jack took another deep breath, "Samira's a rockstar."

"Mhmm. So i've heard. Interesting how she requested a rotation on nights all the sudden."

Jack reached back to pinch her thigh, "Don't start. She is good, you've said it yourself."

"I know." Sam chuckled, she trusted her husband more than anyone in the world and would never doubt him in their marriage, but she also knew that the young doctor had gone a little starry eyed over Jack since the Pittfest incident. "How about Santos? You said she had it."

He stayed quiet for a minute, "She's got the balls, she just needs to get her attitude sorted out."

Sam stroked her hand back and forth over his chest, "And how did that go?" Sam knew her husband well enough to know that guts and motivation only got you so far in his ER. You had to be a team player, and follow orders too.

"She has to sit out anymore 'cool' cases," he made air quotes with his fingers, "She'll figure it out pretty damn fast." When he cracked a hint of a smirk that told her everything she needed to know.

"You made her run chairs all night didn't you?" Sam shook her head. "Jack…"

"She was trying to cherry pick, should've seen her face when she found out the farm kid got to do run lead on a bilateral pneumothorax while she was holding an emesis bag for a case of food poisoning."

Sam smiled as she combed her fingers through his hair, "How's Mel doing?"

He didn't answer right away. "She's smart."

She gave him a moment to expound, but when he didn't she prodded him, "But?

Jack looked up at her, "She gets flustered." He laced his fingers through hers over his chest, "Know you said you liked her, but we had some rough ones tonight by the end of the shift she was pretty emotional."

"People get emotional, you know, those of us that have them anyway." She teased and tweaked his nipple.

"Smart ass." Jack batted her hand away and sat up.

Sam bit her lip as she watched the muscles in his core flex as he sat upright and twisted so his feet were on the floor.

"C'mere." He motioned for her and smirked as she moved to straddle his lap, "Just mean she comes across as soft, easily overwhelmed."

"Because she cares." Sam defended the resident, "Open to some advise from a lowly nurse?"

Jack dropped his head back against the couch and smoothed his hands over his wife's thighs, "Only from one's that let me do inappropriate things to them after hours."

She rolled her eyes, "I'm serious."

"So am I." His face remained stoic, scowl in place. When she only scowled right back at him he gave her a smile, "Always from you."

Sam wrapped her arms around his neck, "You're on with them tomorrow right?" When he nodded she continued, "Just try and watch her tomorrow, get her on some of the tough ones, but don't watch her like… well, like you." She smirked when he swatted her on the ass lightly. "Just give her room to breath, work the problem on her own, lead her with a question if she gets a little flustered, but don't put the pressure on her like you normally would."

"Baby, we're a trauma,"

"I know," Sam interrupted him, "and I know she'll impress you, she's just…" Sam licked her lips and thought for a minute, "Just give her room to think."

Jack studied her face for a long moment and she let him.

"You trust me right?" She arched an eyebrow at him.

"WIth my life." There was no hesitation in his answer.

Sam nodded, "Give her room to work, you'll see."

After a beat Jack nodded, moved his hands up to her hips and tugged her close. "Okay. Give her room. Check." For a long moment he just held her gaze, took advantage of the calm she brought him and could almost feel his blood pressure regulate as they sat. "You eat yet?"

She shook her head, "Waited for you."

He took in her shorts and favorite hoodie, clear sign they wouldn't be leaving the house and nodded to himself as he slid his hands underneath to stroke over her back, "What sounds good?"

"You goin' to cook for me?"

"I am gonna order UberEATS for you." He gave her a grin.

"Order me my pizza from Nick's and we can talk about some of those 'inappropriate things'." She gave him a quick kiss and smiled into it when he didn't let her go right away.

~~~~~

Jack remembered that conversation the next night when EMS brought in two rollover victims, one of whom ejected from the vehicle.

"Ellis take Trauma 2 with Whitacre, King with me." He watched her eyes get wide for a moment before she followed.

It was hard for him at first. He had no trouble handing off a procedure to a student, they were here to learn and he whole heatedly believed in trial by fire. but he had a tone, a presence, he was aware of that. So, he took a step back, literally and figuratively, "What do you see Dr. King?"

The look she gave him made him skeptical, but he trusted Sam and so he gave the young doctor an encouraging nod. Then he saw it, the deep breath, the slow blink and the nod in return.

Sam had been wrong. Sort of.

Jack smirked from two steps away while Dr. King ran the trauma without one single leading question from him. At most he nodded, talked her through steps occasionally. Once they were done he gave her a smile, "Excellent work Dr. King."

The smile on her face was possibly the biggest he'd seen it yet, she nearly bounced on the balls of her feet. "Thanks!."

Bridget met them at the door to the trauma room, "We've got a teen, fell off a second story balcony, parents brought him in."

Abbot dipped his hand under the hand sanitizer and rubbed it in. "Dr. King," He took a half second and decided, 'on me." Jack couldn't help but chuckle quietly to himself when he saw her shocked expression followed by the big smile again as she hurried after him.

Nights changed after that. Santos slowly but surely developed a hint of humility and was eventually allowed back in the trauma bay, Whitacre was...Whitacre he still had some progress to make, but Mel. Mel had surprised him.

As she got more comfortable she just got better. He'd see her sometimes sneek off on her own for a few minutes and then return, but every time she came back she was on his hip ready for the next one. She soaked everything in and then could turn around and use it.

Jack found himself not just teaching her medicine, he was teaching her how to get creative, how to problem solve, how to navigate the beaucratic bullshit, how to take command and run a trauma, a code, the department. By the end of her night shift rotation that timidness had nearly disappeared, but not at the cost of her empathy.

On the last night she had even given him an order in the middle of a trauma. She hadn't really noticed until it was too late, based on the look of pure panic, but Jack had kept his face straight, handed her the instrument she had requested and allowed the barest slip of a smile.

He found her out in the ambulance bay that morning, catching her breath, humming to herself. When she saw him she immediatly perked up, "Something coming in?"

Jack shook his head, "Nope, just wanted to come check on you."

Mel looked surprised but gave him a nod and a smile, "I'm fine. Good, really. This month has been so great. I, I feel like I learned more in the last four weeks than I have all year. Thank you."

"Of course." He stuck his hands in his pockets, "Mel, I just want you to know that I may have had my reservations about you at first, but you have absolutely exceeded my expectations. You are a damned good doctor."

She looked like she might cry for a minute, "Thank you, for giving me the chance. Really, I'm so grateful."

Jack gave her a little grin. "Sam wanted me to tell you she's proud of you too. She speaks very highly of you."

Mel smiled wide, "Oh that's so sweet, I loved working with her. I, I guess I didn't know you two were related."

Jack turned to his side a little still with the grin, "We're married. Sam's my wife."

"Oh! Oh, that's so awesome, plus that makes sense. You're both so..." She made some hand motion to indicate something about him. "You know."

He gave her a strange look but nodded, kept his face relaxed, "Have you made any decisions yet, after this?"

"Umm yes and no, I'm definitly staying in emergency medicine. Just not sure where." The big, bright smile was back

"Good to hear." Jack nodded and reached into the pocket of his scrub pants and pulled out two envelopes. He ducked his head slightly to catch her eye, "These are for you."

Mel took them carefully, "What, what are these?"

Jack put his hands back in his pockets and continued to stare down the street. "Letter of recommendation, for when the time comes, I know you're not finished just yet." He glanced her way and the look on her face makes him grin, "Top one is generic, for wherever you might decide to go."

She stared at the envelopes, at the signature scrawled over the closed flaps, "What's the second one?"

Still with a grin Jack turned to face her and nodded back towards the ambulance bay and the ED behind, "For here. If you decide to stay," He caught her eye and smiled, really smiled, "Which I hope you do."

The young doctor stood with her mouth agape, the letters in her hand clutched delicately. She just kept shaking her head, like she didn't know what to say. J

ack chuckled, "In the meantime, I'd like you to consider switching to nights. If you can make the schedule work with you sister. I'd be happy to have you, we all would. I've already cleared it with the education director and admin, if you're interested."

Her only response was to wrap her arms around him so fast and so tight he barely knew what hit him, "Thank you." She squeezed him so tight Jack thought she might be shaking. "For everything, thank you so much."

After a second of hesitation Jack returned the hug, "No problem kid. It's what I'm here for." He gave a squeeze in return and then stepped back , "Now go home, get some sleep okay."

Mel nearly levitated back through the bay and Jack realized he was still smiling. He checked his watch and then pulled out his phone to call Sam. "Hey babe, yeah I'm almost done. Robby's going to be pissed." He paused in front of the doors as he saw the man in question walking towards the entrance. "Beause, I'm stealing his best resident."

~~~~~

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Two - The aftermath

So many of you came out of the woodwork for this story and I couldn't be more grateful for all the kind words of encouragement! I'm truly flattered by the amount of love this received for being something that randomly popped in my head on a whim ❤️

I'm glad I was able to get this part out so quickly. It might be a tick before part three, but I've already got some of it worked out. I'll still try to keep chipping away at it while I work on my other series~

Trigger warnings: swearing, angst, depression

“I saw them the other day.”

“...saw who?”

“My scent matches.”

There’s a pregnant pause as your therapist of four years takes the information in, caught off guard by the abruptness of the statement but also the further implications behind the words.

Dr. Miranda has been your life raft and confidant ever since you’d first gone to your family with the appalling reality of your newfound situation. An omega like yourself; she specializes in the treatment and rehabilitation of women who've endured abuse at the hands of their packmates and the dredges of society. Highly recommended by the United Designation Resource Center for psychological trauma.

It had taken you over a week following the incident to gather the strength to confront your fathers on the thorny subject - too ashamed of admittance and too anxious of their response. And even then it was done over the phone in the most uncomfortable video call of your life, the dour atmosphere so at odds with that blessedly clear mid-afternoon sky, its temperate climate and soft summer breeze carrying along an enchanting melody of carefree innocence.

Inside, it was raining.

The wretched bond was a gravity well, sucking you down into a chasmic abyss and siphoning your once bountiful vibrancy. Responsibilities fell by the wayside, locked away in your self-imposed prison as if the globe would simply stop moving if you only ignored its rotations. Not until both your fathers made the three hour flight up north did you muster the courage to finally remove the makeshift barricade guarding your front door, talking through the deceptively difficult act with them on the other end of the phone as the two alphas supported you during the twenty five minutes it took to overcome the all-consuming panic and usher them inside.

They stayed with you for the better part of the month, taking over where depression had failed you in your efforts to function alone. Your parents allowed you space to look after yourself, clearing away the physical filth of your living quarters and, in doing so, sweeping away the cobwebs of your teetering sanity. They scrubbed at putrid greasy plates while you scoured tainted flesh under a scalding hot stream, the dead skin cells contaminated by his poisonous touch spiraling down the drain along with your tears.

The harsh truth of the matter is that there is no escape from your own body. You come screaming into this world given one to do with as you will, to mold and shape based on lived experiences with no regard for the decisions and circumstances made outside your control. There is no space to slip between the weaved threads of time, no hands to turn counter clockwise when you make a mistake. Just a grim acceptance that the life you once aspired to was forevermore out of reach.

There was only so much to be done given your situation. As much aid as your family offered, they were as helpless of bystanders as the soul in your meat suit. Chores were completed, accumulated bills paid, a hearty meal piled high on your plate combating the recent gauntness of your face. You were cherished and fussed over like the wee babe found scattered amongst family photos in your childhood home, cradled in their arms when the horrid presence came calling, dragging a hot poker through your insides and causing mental anguish at all hours of the night. 

The more time they spent around you, the more apparent it was that you could no longer stay there. The closer the proximity to your bonded alpha the more power he held to disrupt your life. 

That's how you landed in Dr. Miranda’s lap. Before you'd even set foot on the tarmac arrangements had been made for a new life in a new city on the other side of the country - spiriting you away on a mission to regain your independence, the distance easing the damage he could do even as the strained bond churned.

Initially dreading having to confess the horrors you’d endured to some random unknown, she’d worked diligently to soothe your broken nerves in both demeanor and environment. A kind omega in her early forties, the subtle crows feet and laugh lines only accentuated her cheerful personality, disarming in her ability to draw out your insecurities and work with you through the trauma in a way that didn’t feel intruding. 

Dr. Miranda was a veritable well of understanding, always encouraging of whatever pace you set, careful of the fragile boundaries constructed to guard your heart from further damage. 

She operated as part of a larger business that provided therapeutic services and catered to all designations alike. You’d been thrilled to find there was a separate entrance away from the cacophony of the common room, bypassing the headache of having to wait amongst strangers and leading directly to her office in the back right corner of the building. 

The space itself was considerably cozy, low lit warmth all plush and homely. The spacious couch against the back wall invited you to stretch out comfortably, decorative pillows available in a colorful assortment of textures - catering to a discerning omega’s personal preferences. A small diffuser wafting light refreshing mists operated as both a handy descenting spray and an emotional pick me up. Every accommodation purposeful, given special care for your emotional easement and wellbeing.

You appreciated the effort she put into making her office feel more like a living room than a sterile setting. It was easier for you to converse when it felt like you were speaking with a friend.

Bit by bit, Dr. Miranda coaxed you from the sheltered recesses in which you’d burrowed; not just a guiding hand through the concrete dust and collapsed rubble, but a mentor recovering your confidence, reminding you of the path you once walked independently and peeling back the suffocating layers that kept you from standing on your own two feet.

In hindsight, you probably could’ve broken the news of your scent match a bit less abrasively - probably should’ve led with it too. 

The pair of you had been engrossed in a topic that was moreso a follow up from your last session rather than anything of actual import. Your brain had been functioning on autopilot the past twenty odd minutes, making sounds vaguely human enough to get by without requiring proper attention. Honestly, most of her words had been drowned out by the incessant buzzing in your ear that had been slowly growing in volume, throat clenching and knuckles flexing, more aware of the sweat dripping down the back of your nape than anything she had to proffer.

Eventually the dam just broke. The words slipped out like grease, lubricated in a film of oil too slick to be contained and begging to be addressed.

There’s a struggle on her face to try and maintain some level of professionalism after the sudden revelation. Knitted eyebrows spiked before smoothing back down, jaw almost dropping until she remembered herself and switched it from an ‘o’ to a relaxed flat line. She mirrored your own position on the couch from her velvet wingback chair, sitting cross legged with an air of casualness. Her only remaining tell was her hands fidgeting in her lap as if her fingers itched to shake you down like a coconut tree or pry your brain open like a valuable specimen. 

Knowing the scarcity of scent bonding, this may have very well been the first time she’s come across this scenario - whether in her personal life or from her spot opposite you in her seat.

“How are you feeling about the encounter?” A loaded question if ever there was one, giving you plenty of breathing room to start the conversation however you needed and giving her a chance to compartmentalize. 

You tried to focus on the initial emotions, remembering that first brush of sweet alpha pheromones on your olfactory senses. The rush of endorphins as your inner omega staked her claim with that first gulp of built up citrus infused drool.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that...” There was a breathy quality to your tone as you visibly brightened, gazing at the plush rug in the center of the room without actually viewing it, a glow to your smile that was soft in your reminiscence. “They don’t prepare you for that first whiff at the Academy. It’s almost like…”

How could you explain in the span of a few sentences what the most ardent poets struggled with over the course of a lifetime? 

“It’s like when someone grows up not being able to breathe properly and they don’t even realize it’s a problem. To them it’s normal to be in a constant state of dyspnea because that’s all they’ve ever known. No one else might be complaining about it, but no one’s asked them about it either. They just assume that's how your lungs are supposed to function and carry on none the wiser.”

Dr. Miranda nodded along, ever patient as you attempted to spew out your thoughts in an at least semi-coherent structure.

“But then, one day, they’re walking behind a guy who’s fumbling with his attempt to shove a small object back in his pocket and watches as it falls to the sidewalk. They pick it up off the ground like a good citizen; strike up a conversation. Ask him about the strange contraption the guy calls an inhaler - learns there's another way to breathe. And so they go home and tell their mom what’s been going on with them and she takes them to see the doctor who gets them one of their own. And when that first dose of medicated mist gets sucked into their lungs…”

The image of a wide eyed innocent gasping in a world full of untold possibilities as if reborn from the ashes of their previous life, no longer chained down by the invisible restrictions tethering them to the globe, eyes glistening full of wonderment at how something so small can be something so cosmically life altering.

With each new breath, they soar.

You’re pulled out of your musings and back to reality as your own lungs expand, something weightless shimmering in your gaze, glassy eyed and perfectly at ease. “Now I know why they call it living.”

The words are floated around the space with a sort of reverence akin to hearing a favored childhood fairy tale read aloud at their mother’s knee. Something wistful and longing and filled with effervescent hope.

“Sounds heavenly...” Her own voice was just as breathy, living vicariously through the moment she herself hasn't experienced. Curling her legs up under herself, Dr. Miranda encouraged, “tell me more.”

“There were two of them,” you went on, smile turning playful and newly invigorated. “The first one was just this big bulk of an alpha. I mean, seriously, he was properly huge!” Animated arms opened wide for emphasis, your grin reaching almost the same diameter. “Built like a fucking linebacker or something. I can only imagine what he must do for a living. Kinda gives off scary vibes, but like… in a non sketchy way? He dresses a bit like a drug dealer, but feels more like a gym teacher. Maybe that’s just me being biased ‘cause he smells like a cupcake, I dunno.”

The energy you gave off was infectious. Dr. Miranda couldn’t help but join in with amused laughter, endeared to the way you were lighting up the room. It wasn’t often she got to see you like this, glimpsing the lighthearted woman you were before the accident. It was a welcome sight after so much negativity. “And the other?”

“Fuuuuck me, Doc.” You groaned good naturedly, head falling back to rest against the spine of the couch as your limbs went limp. “Swear to god he was the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Gorgeous smile. Like, I’ve always been a casual fan of coconut, but after that encounter…” You shuddered. “I just wanna roll around in an entire box of fucking samoas.”

“And do these tasty specimens have names?”

Just like that, you wilted.

The temperature shifted rapidly, a violent change that dragged out of your whimsy and back into a world where life didn’t discriminate between those deserving of heaven and those who broke their way in to taint the ghosts at peace. 

She picked up on it immediately, back straightening as if you weren’t the only one in the room with a chill suddenly dripping down their spine. 

Your admission came from a voice far more fragile than she’d heard in a very long time. “...I never got to ask.”

Recounting the excruciating memory was like shoving needles underneath your nailbeds, bringing up the other person in the room keeping you from wanton bliss, describing the torture you’d endured witnessing them existing with their own omega unaware of the damage she’d inadvertently done. You relayed their moment of recognition and sympathy. The confusion on the poor omega’s face.

How you turned tail and fled like a coward from the scene.

“I panicked,” came the strained confession, stumbled out in a frantic rush that spoke volumes of your frazzled mental state. “I-I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t just waltz up to them all willy nilly and throw a wrench in whatever the hell kinda life they’d already built. I mean, she was right there! How was I supposed to fawn over the men who should’ve been mine to keep when they were never mine to begin with?!”

You flinched away from the unwanted flashback of silvery bite marks, the pale white indents plastered on her skin displayed proudly beneath the collar of her coat like an olympic medal. So at odds with the ones mirrored on your own flesh, hidden now under a thick cotton turtleneck that you fought the urge to scratch.

Dr. Miranda listened closely, keen eyes analyzing the familiar body language and monitoring your growing levels of distress. She watched as you picked apart a loose hanging thread with jittery deftness until inevitably too much unwound and fluffy white stuffing poked out between the seams of the pillow clutched like a life jacket to your chest.

“I can only imagine the hurt you must’ve felt in that moment…”

Where once your voice had been full of life, now there was only a grave emptiness. Color had been sucked from your aura the same way it had been from the room. There was no hiding from your devastation in the tiny office, the frayed threads of the cashmere pillow a reflection revealing the true turmoil roiling beneath the skin. It rotted from the inside out, exposing the vulnerable squishy interior and keeping you reliving the same brutal lacerations again and again and again.

“...I hadn’t even considered it a possibility, you know…?” 

Hadn’t allowed yourself the concept of hope. 

“And suddenly it was right there - the answer to all my problems. For a brief moment, I was shown a glimpse of a better life. A future… one where I didn't wake up with earth shattering headaches and relentless nausea and I’d actually have energy to do more than just be a useless fucking couch potato and there could be laughter and healing and–” 

You weren’t sure at which point in your stream of consciousness you’d started crying, nor when you fitfully clawed into the padded fabric, shredding the delicate material as it twisted and stretched in your trembling hands.

“I wish I never ran into them at the store... I wish I could’ve kept living in stupid fucking ignorance. At least then they could’ve just stayed made up characters in my head. Anything would’ve been better than this–” you spat angrily, chucking the mangled remains of the pillow on the ground and gritting your teeth through the onslaught of tears. “Having them ripped away from me like some sick fucking joke! Like the universe hasn’t already crushed my hopes and dreams and laughed in my face for wanting a normal fucking life!? Well guess what, gods? You win! Okay?! You fucking win! Take my heart! I don't want it anymore!”

Consoling arms encapsulated your quivering form, the comforting florals of Dr. Miranda’s airy omega scent projecting like a protective blanket and overpowering the tart bitterness of your once sweetened pear turned ashen in your mouth. 

The floodgates opened. They couldn't be stopped.

“I’m just so fucking sick of this!” Your screams of devastation become muffled against the softness of her pink knitted sweater, harsh blubbering sobs broken up by heaving gasps as you mourn the life you’ll never have. “I hate him... I hate him! I don’t wanna do this anymore! I just want my fucking life back!”

There are no words that can fix the lesions of the heart. There’s no comfort of a better tomorrow that she can wax poetic whilst drying your tears. Sometimes grief cannot be mended - only managed. And sometimes that means accepting the bad days with the learned knowledge that not all anger is made of evil. 

Holding you close, lulling you into a guarded safety with a placating purr, she grants you reprieve from the mask that you wear.

Not much more was discussed in the aftermath. The remaining time was dedicated to helping you stabilize from the emotional trauma, bringing you down carefully to avoid dropping into a catatonic state. She’d witnessed it with you before - at the start of your visits. When the grief was still too near and your triggers splayed out like a million mouse traps all primed to go off. Avoiding them was all but impossible in those early days. Three hours of your life were forever lost to time, the only proof of its occurrence the foggy aftermath filled memory of cold dampened skin and sweat soaked weighted blankets clutched tight in a dark room, uncontrollable trembles wracking your form and a bone deep exhaustion as if you’d just ran ten miles.

Dr. Miranda never once left your side.

Trudging your way back to your vehicle, the air inside the car was only mildly warmer than its outer counterpart, sinking into the rigid cloth seats and listening to the laboured clicks of the old engine grappling to turn over in the bitter cold. Snowflakes gathered on your coat began to melt as it finally gave way, puttering to life and filling the space with dense heated air.

You huffed out a loaded sigh, absentmindedly scratching at the already abused skin as you felt his presence poking experimentally across the bond. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate without him adding his delightful input, sniffing around your emotions like a trained bloodhound attuned to your melancholic brooding.

He was a spiteful thing; had been since he first opened his eyes the next morning from his drug induced stupor and found the pretty thing he’d coveted had just up and vanished. You never knew when he’d invade the sanctity of your mind. The flicker of amusement from his end was the telltale proof this was all just a sick game. 

The bonds didn’t allow any actual communication. There were no words passed back and forth, no sudden powers of telepathy. Just intense sensations - emotions conveyed as though tangible and speaking ideas down an invisible phone line. 

The whole point of a mating bite in the first place was to bring a further cohesion to the packs. As an omega, you were the fixed point in space around which all other members orbited. A mediator of sorts; it was your job to smooth the serrated edges of an alpha’s instincts, regulating their emotional needs and nurturing them to achieve a sense of balance - and vice versa. 

An omega’s naturally empathetic nature meant you were frequently prone to becoming easily overstimulated. It was an alpha’s duty to soothe your frazzled nerves. 

He liked to abuse his privileges. 

Sometimes he went days without pestering, others his tiresome machinations seemed unending. The longest reprieve had been just shy of three weeks, lured into a false sense of optimism that just maybe he’d overdosed and freed you from his haunting clutches. His return was a hot knife stabbing into your skull, grinding and drilling like a makeshift lobotomy for the clinically insane.

You were grateful for the miles between now softening the blows. Once he’d begun to feel the strain on the flight to your current city whittling away at the strength of your bond, he’d lashed out in unbridled fury. You’d spent the first leg of the trip huddled on your knees in the airplane stall, his mental punishment sawing into your ribs and expelling the simple breakfast you’d eaten an hour prior. 

Sobs of anguish turned to tears of relief as time went on and his reach stretched thin across the continent. 

The bond withdrawals came afterwards. His presence still lurked in the tether that binds you, but no more than a casual thought in the back of your mind, the quiet voice that whispers on the edge of a canyon daring you to ‘jump’.

The bond withdrawals were now the worst of your worries. It was hard to function on a day to day basis when the same distance granting you a second chance caused you to become physically - sometimes violently - ill. Instances like that, Zofran was your best friend.

Buckling your seatbelt, you waged an internal battle over whether or not to do the responsible thing of making a second attempt at grocery shopping (despite your best efforts over the past two days, you hadn’t yet figured out how to miraculously will food to materialize in your barren pantry). Statistically speaking you were most likely safe from another encounter… unless they’d pulled a you and hadn’t left with their wares either. 

But if you didn’t have the luxury before to keep putting it off then you certainly hadn’t acquired it now.

Math was on your side as you emerged with a full cart of goods and a lack of new therapy material. You’d still been the most skittish paranoid thing ever, scurrying quickly through the aisles like the CIA was out to get you, scanning your periphery and emerging quickly from the self checkout lanes to hurry towards your car. But just because you’d been successful in your venture doesn’t mean you weren’t followed along by fuzzy raised brows and curious - if not judgemental - looks. 

It was an odd notion - being terrified of the one thing that should’ve made you feel secure. It was all you could do to distract yourself from the frustrating realization that this was a game you’d be playing for the foreseeable future unless you shelled out the extra cash to bypass doing the chore yourself.

That would have to be a worry for another time. Right now, all you desired was to curl up in your tiny studio apartment with a home cooked microwaved meal and lose yourself in the diversion that was the food network channel.

But first: caffeine.

You ignored the nagging ghost of responsibility tugging at your ear as you pulled into a parking spot alongside the main road, stepping out of the warm confines of your car and hurrying inside the nestled hole in the wall you frequented a few times a week for a caffeinated boost. 

Large crowds still bothered you even with the reassurance he wasn't there, as if he could somehow physically slink out of the bond formed between you and hide amongst the chittering rabble waiting for an opportune moment of weakness to strike. Thankfully you’d arrived after the mid afternoon rush - although there were still a few stragglers with the same mindset as you eager to escape the frosty air with something warm on an otherwise picturesque snowy winter’s day.

The chiming bell above the door hailed your arrival, festive drink flavors assaulting your nose and instantly watering your mouth. Smoky chestnut praline, rich peppermint mocha, enticing caramel brulee. Cranberry laden pastries, chewy gingerbread cookies; all folded together in a Christmasy mix laced with the pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. 

Your mind zeroed in on exactly what it wanted, pinpointing the most succulent fragrance amongst the bountiful bouquet, cutting through the sea of heavy pheromones belonging to the other patrons and hitting something raw inside your weary soul. 

The veritable nectar of the gods. 

A rich shot of bold espresso. Sweetly caramelized with smooth, creamy, chocolatey undertones. It zapped your spine with a jolt of adrenaline, awakening your senses while simultaneously soothing them. The first relaxing sip of a perfectly hot beverage. The golden liquid flowed down the back of your throat and alleviated the tangled knots still keeping you on edge, settling like a sturdy hand on your shoulder and allowing you the chance to breathe easy.

Something about the blend had your inner omega preening, ears perked up and startling a small purr from your chest that had you blinking down at your torso in surprised confusion. You’d barely stepped foot inside the cafe and suddenly the craving had expanded tenfold, something ravenous and feral urging your steps towards the counter that you had to fight to withstand.

Shrugging off the intense hunger as a simple lack of shoving something slightly more substantial in your mouth before leaving this morning, you adjusted the strap of your purse more securely on your shoulder and raised your eyes level to the awaiting interior.

Right into the most alluring shade of brilliant azure - sparkling like sapphires and already fixated on you.

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[coffeegnomee]

they're both in the wrong. they're both in the right. neither is right. neither is wrong.

The entire damn season has lead to this, from that first fateful day when Mapicc failed to kill a naked princezam. The arrow that symbolized their relationship, Passed from one to the other when they finally resolved their differences with mawn and became teamed, just a team of them two, with their own teams on the side.

The arrow that sat in the prime spot of Mapicc's echest from then on, a constant reminder of Zam's presence. The devotion for each other that can go from being each other's throats shouting "BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH" as one runs away, can become a comforting reminder of their devotion to always be there for each other.

Now hidden away where it doesn't have to be seen.

How the only reason Mapicc tried to kill him that day was because he believed Zam would forgive him and because he was planning on giving the heart back after he got to 20 for his video.

But how that moment provoked Zam to tell Planet to make fun of him in chat for not being able to kill a naked Zam.

How that moment stung. And when Spoke was killed, he killed Zam 3 times, once for Spoke, once for the mocking, and once for trying to stop him from leaving.

The pain of not having Zam being resolved through blood and murder. Repercussions for mockery being given out swiftly and succinctly.

Because Mapicc will always give out repercussions to actions he finds fault in.

But then he drops it just as quickly. He deals out death until your debt is paid. But then it's over.

And this time the debt that was ensued was far greater than simple mockery in chat. It was helping the enemy. And so the retaliation must be bigger.

So he kills him with his fist, blows up the field, kills him again. But that was supposed to be it. But how could that be it when he just did something so devastatingly huge. So of course Zam keeps coming back, keeps talking, keeps trying to understand, and keeps fighting back. So Mapicc kills him again if he's going to attack him. But he says after the fight that he felt empty that it was over. that it was over. The debt had been paid. Now onto mane.

The actions of one teammate will fall upon all teammates. Mapicc is the lifestealer that says that line the most. Said it immediately before killing Woogie for siding with Zam. And told it to Derap after.

But when Zam attacks Hannah for the actions of Mapicc, of how Mapicc used him especially for the creaking trap, suddenly that reality of lifesteal shouldn't count. You should only be going after me for my own actions, not my teammate, he says that day. It makes a new debt, one that must be paid in blood again.

I think Mapicc doesn't believe his own actions should have consequences, because they're not really his own actions, they're repercussions for other's actions. He is vengeance.

So he hunts Zam down again.

But through and before it all, the day he chose to let his wrath be known and he blew up the flower field, Mapicc chose to use Zam for his video. He went in knowing that that was what it was. He said it out loud on stream. And again while telling Bacon about the day when setting up the flower field with tnt. He knew that he used Zam for his own selfish gain.

So he was in the wrong. He deserved a repercussion for that.

But it would hardly be the first time Mapicc has pulls shit like it. The prep days for the Pangi crown battle in s4 will forever rotate in my head. The height of the castle arc, and Mapicc needs pvpers on his side so that he can defeat Pangi and his 3 teammates. It's just him and Parrot who are available. They're going to be crushed in defeat. They need Zam and Subz to help.

So Mapicc strongarms Zam into dropping his beef. The castle arc beef. THAT beef. Says if you just want to kill me, here come to spawn and I'll take my armor off and you can get your kill and then we can team up and your lore will be satisfied. Zam hesitates, but ultimately does it. And I've always loved that scene because it is one of the key moments where we see Zam choosing the functionality of the server over his own personal lore. The same thing he's just gotten into again.

He chose to even out the teams, help Mapicc, so that the fight would be a fair battle. For the good of the server, he killed a naked Mapicc and joined his side. Even though Mapicc was using him for his own content and not caring about Zam's.

And after? Mapicc asked for the lent hearts back. And tried to murder him with Parrot and Ro not minutes later. A perfect case of using Zam for the video, and then throwing him to the side after. And their castle arc beef continues until the final 1v1 where Zam wins.

But Mapicc uses Zam's willingness to help out to get what he needs. So similar to using dupes to get an upper hand in fights he otherwise would loose. So similar to calling in teammates to finish off a 1v1 so he doesn't loose.

When Mapicc faces failure down the barrel of a gun he saves himself.

Call it a massive insecurity for not being good enough. If he fails, he is bad. He cannot fail.

He's in the wrong for that one. But in the right for dolling out repercussions, for fighting against those who would go behind teammate's backs to help enemies. For those who would kill his teammates, protecting those whom he promised himself he would protect. Getting hearts for his teammates so they can stand in this world that will cut you down if you don't cut it down first.

And then there's his jealousy. What was love has turned to possession. Jealousy has rotted the relationship to the core. And especially from Zam's pov, Mapicc being mad that he went to Derap IS unfair. Mapicc is controlling his actions, who he can hang out with.

But Mapicc's devotion has no outlet. His love is so strong and complete, his mind always going back to Zam and where is Zam and why won't he come back to Mawn and Zam is strong and capable and all these huge and confusing emotions that don't make sense. He's a strong and independent Mape who doesn't need anyone. He's fine. He's fine alone. He doesn't need anyone.

He can't articulate it. Doesn't even know or see what is so clearly there by his actions.

And through the seasons Zam has always been there.

Except for that one time he wasn't. The one time Zam left.

And that time? Zam left Team Awesome because he didn't like the dupes. And Mapicc took it to heart. It was his own fault that Zam left. He pushed him too far to do what he wanted the team to do, all those fights, and Zam wasn't happy and Mapicc didn't see it, couldn't fix it until it was too late. and Zam left.

He mentioned it once to Bacon in s5. How he wanted to make sure Zam was okay with all their team plans bc last time he betrayed bc he didn't like the plans. And all s5 was a soliloquy of Mapicc never pushing his own ideas too hard, being gentle with Zam's thoughts and opinions, doing his utmost to not push Zam into betraying the team.

And Zam still betrayed him. Blessing Minute. Zam still didn't prioritize the team even though Mapicc always prioritizes his teammates.

A core ideal of Mapicc's: the teammates over everyone else.

So once again he tries not to push. Right before the end of the stalking arc he realizes he likes having Zam as a friend rather than an enemy. And chooses, willfully, to be friends. The situationship is born because he knows, oh he knows, that Zam would not be happy on the Empire bc the Empire is going to be evil and Zam has proven to Mapicc that he doesn't want to be evil.

So he doesn't push the Empire on to Zam. But, like he said in his stalking video, he realized "Zam is my only real friend on this server". His closest friend. And he doesn't want to loose Zam.

So he forms the allyship. Because his devotion runs too deep to just end neutral. And his real team isn't logging on almost ever. It's not about using Zam, it's not about taking advantage of him. It's about getting to team with his best friend. It's about devotion.

And for the next months, time and time again, Mapicc puts aside his bloodlust for Zam. He puts aside dealing out the repercussions he fundamentally is driven to dole out, his core ideal on this server, for Zam.

Core ideal vs core ideal. Dealing repercussions vs keeping the server functioning.

And Mapicc is shit at expressing what he's feeling. He tried. Oh he tried over and over. Multiple confrontations with Zam about how Zam stopped him from being himself, from getting the kill he hand picked out. And they always ended with Zam apologizing, and it seemed resolved. It seemed like Zam would change.

But it's just like in s4, but the roles have been reversed. Faced with a teammate who is doing something that fundamentally goes against everything he believes should be done on the server, they talk and talk and talk, but when it becomes proven that they did something even worse behind your back, you snap, twist the knife, and murder them.

I've said before Mapicc is having a Zam s4 of a season. And this was the eclipse federation. He thought Zam was good, he thought he wasn't doing the one thing he would never do, the one thing he has betrayed over in the past; working with the enemy, but then it was proven that Zam was doing just that.

For Zam it was about vitalasy hiding the extent of the exploits, for Mapicc it was about working with the enemy. Just like killing Spoke in the dupe war.

And one of the things Mapicc has brought up time and again recently, before he killed Zam, was wanting to finally feel free from doing what Zam wanted. How he has felt like Zam just uses him for pvp, but only in the ways that benefit Zam, and never let him get the kills he wants he wants to do.

But did he not walk into this situation, with eyes open? He knew Zam wouldn't kill, that he wanted to protect the server, but he still teamed with him.

So he feels trapped.

And then there's the side team. There's Derap. A player who had outstanding debts of repercussions to receive. Whom Zam was protecting from those repercussions. Stopping him from doing his core ideal on the server.

And Mapicc tried to say, over and over and over and over, how he would not team with Derap, how he would never team with Derap.

Is it not so similar to what he just said to Minute and Hannah, what he complained about to Bacon - he is clear with his boundary on who he will team with and they still keep telling him to team with Zam. He's trying, desperately trying, to express his opinions, to stand up for himself. And it's failing.

Trapped between wanting to make a team happy and wanting to do what he knows is right.

And not only that, but he lamented to Bacon about how he wished destroying Zam could be a passion project for them all. He's forever trapped with the worry that his team won't like his idea.

Zam would leave the team to do a solo arc, but Mapicc needs a duo. He needs a team.

So when Zam joins Derap, it cuts him to the heart. His devotion of Zam is being ripped out. His need for company is ripped away. His safety and security is gone.

Oh the two sides of a story. Love that doesn't allow for free will is not love at all. But he's so blinded by love and need that he can't see what he is doing to Zam. That what once was wholesome love has turned to something toxic.

And so the emotions simmer. Bubble away on the back burner. Until all this pain and trappedness and unmet need slams into the stove and everything falls apart. Love turns to wrath.

And it's crazy how Zam is not at fault, he's doing his own plan for the season. He, like everyone, deserves the freedom of choice.

And yet he is endlessly devoted to Mapicc too. And knows everything that makes Mapicc move and breathe. He knows Mapicc's bloodlust, his unending need for revenge when he sees slights.

But he failed to see just how much of a core this is for Mapicc.

He idealized him, put him on a pedestal of perfection, projected his own moralities on Mapicc, believing that he could convince Mapicc to be different, to not be so bloodlusty. That maybe Mapicc could go down a similar path he just did, that everything could be okay and their ideals could align.

Love blinded him to the reality of what Mapicc is.

Just as love blinded Mapicc to the reality of who Zam is.

Zam didn't see Mapicc will only love spawn because Zam loves spawn. Otherwise he just sees it as a tool for power.

Zam didn't see how his devotion became one sided as he threw himself at Mapicc over and over to make him happy, without realizing how upset Mapicc was already and how deep it really went. How unresolved.

Zam knows Mapicc values loyalty, but never once did he suspect that Mapicc would think giving hearts to the enemy was betrayal. Even though blessing Minute was a betrayal and he didn't see it then either.

Their core ideals on the server will never align. Not in the long run. Zam will be who he is: someone who will balance the server to allow every player to thrive. And Mapicc will be who he is: someone who will deal out vengeance on behalf of the server and the repercussions the other players incur.

So close to being similar. Both dedicated to the server's function. But diametrically opposed. Zam will aid. Mapicc will destroy.

Can they learn to let each other go? Can they learn to not be codependent? Can they have the confidence in themselves to not loose it the second the other does what they believe is right? Can they learn to accept the fullness of who the other is?

Because there's something about the other that relentlessly makes them devoted to the other. Something that has nothing to do with the other's actions or what they bring to the relationship. It's just who the other person is. They simply love each other.

It needed to boil over. It needed to go to fists and destruction. It's all too packed down to resolve without explosion. They can't take the other seriously for the grievance until their blood is on their sword. Until all the words have been spoken. Until they feel the repercussions have been dealt out, and there are a lot of repercussions to be had.

[noneorother]

I broke down the hilarious amount of "Aziraphale tartans" so you don't have to.

I've been slowly going bonkers collecting the amount of times members of the cast/creators and fans of Good Omens over the years have referred to various things as "Aziraphale's tartan". Even on merchandise, I've seen wildly varying opinons about what pattern Aziraphale's tartan actually is. Your resident graphic designer has decided to sit down and just do the damned thing*. Exhibit A) Tartan Origin

Sarah Arnett posted this image to her instagram in 2019, having created "Heaven's dress tartan for the character Aziraphale". However, the only time I've actually seen this pattern used in good omens is in the season 2 announcement poster made by Mickey, and maybe on a pair of socks Aziraphale wears in season 1, (but I'm not convinced).

So here's what that looks like. Note I've rotated the original pattern 90 degrees clockwise in my final pattern (far right) for reasons that will become clear shortly.

Exhibit B) Aziraphale's Bowtie, Thermos, Notebook etc.

This is the tartan that Aziraphale actually wears for most of seasons 1 & 2.** It's a recoloured version of the Exhibit A), and has been rotated 90 degrees on it's bowtie application so that the darker bars run vertical, and not horizontal. The problem is, while the direction of the pattern on his accessories doesn't change, it does on the bowtie. You can see examples of the tartan going right OR left in both season 1 and 2.

Exhibit C) Aziraphale's Brown Bowtie...

This Tartan isn't just a trick of the light. For the first park bench scene in season 1, Aziraphale is wearing a version of his regular bowtie, recoloured in brown and rotated 90 degrees, so that it fits with the direction of the original Exhibit A) Tartan, but not with the direction of the tartan on his Exhibit B) regular bowties. This bowtie was made special, from cloth cut in the opposite direction.

Exhibit D) Aziraphale's Magical Cravat!

Now this is where it starts to get interesting! I haven't seen many people discuss Aziraphale's magician disguise from season 1, but his cravat actually has both Exhibit B) and Exhibit C) tartans to create a contrasting double sided tartan: the outward facing brown, and the hidden, inward facing blue (according to costumer, because of lack of enough brown).

Exhibit E) Saraqael's and Muriel's Tartan

Don't be fooled, Saraqael's and Muriel's tartan may look similar in colour to Aziraphale's, but when you pick it apart, it's got inverse colours, and mildly squished horizontal striping. If you note the orange boxes in each picture, you can see the ratio of the blue stripe to the vertical stripes in each tartan is different, while keeping the overall pattern and ratio in each direction the same. Exhibit E) has a square intersection. It's also usually woven much larger. This tartan also introduces a small sliver of hunter green into the beige/blue/purple palette that's been seen so far.

Exhibit F) Gabriel's Tartan Blanket

Like the others, Gabriel's S2E1 blanket is a variation on the original Heaven's Dress Tartan. It's got very squished horizontal striping though, and is woven even larger than the Saraqael Tartan. Most noticeably though, while it has the same grey vertical striping as Exhibit E) it's now got even more green in it, and the purple is gone almost entirely (save one line).

Exhibit F) Have a bonus Crowlee Tartan from the Season 1 body swap miracle that matches none of these.

It's silver silk though. Can I get a wahoo....?

__________________________________________ *Disclaimer: I am not Scottish, and definitely not an expert in tartan, just a tired graphic designer. If you want tartan expertise, you can go here (although I don't really agree with what they say about the main colour pattern) https://livebloggingmydescentintomadness.tumblr.com/post/189300035060/a-discourse-on-tartan

**In order to deduce colours, I've used high quality BTS footage or photography in neutral lighting whenever possible. Especially in season 2, colour grading and post processing of the final show make colour matching between scenes and/or seasons impossible.

[shockercoco]

Shambles

Feyd Rautha x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, knife kink, blood kink, fingering, oral (f! receiving, squirting, penetration

Word count - 2783

a/n - request: "Hi! Your fic Bloodlust (feyd) has me in SHAMBLES. 🥵😂 I’m so in love with it!!!!" - read the rest of the request here @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascalI . I got this request about 4 months ago, but I've just been so distracted with college that, as you can see, I've taken forever to get to it. I do want to be more active on tumblr, but I'm also writing a feature length screenplay on the side. As always, tysm for the love while I've been gone and your patience, and I hope you guys enjoy :)

“Which one do you suggest, my darling?” Feyd asks you, his bare back to you.

You look over at Feyd from your place on the bed, who stands in front of his walls of weapons. His fingers ghost over a few before glancing back at you, waiting for an answer. His injury from his fight is no longer leaking on his arm, but your red handprints are still very much visible on his body.

You know he means to use one of the weapons on you, but hearing him say those words out loud made your throat dry and heat drip from your opening. You feel your walls clench around nothing at what’s to come. “For what?” you innocently ask.

Feyd doesn’t take his eyes off of the wall when he answers, “You know exactly what I mean.”

You hate the fact that this situation is turning you on, when it should be doing the exact opposite. Turning on your side, you point towards a weapon. “How about that one right there?”

Feyd turns his head to look at you, and then follows to where your finger is pointing – the smallest knife on the wall. It honestly looks kind of pathetic next to the others. He smirks to himself already knowing you would choose something like that. “Are you sure? That one’s kind of tiny, don’t you think something more commanding would be more fitting for a woman such as yourself?”

“Big things come in small packages,” you tell him, giving him a small shrug.

You know Feyd’s extremely skilled with almost any weapon in existence, and you trust him enough to know that he wouldn’t hurt you on purpose, but that still doesn’t stop the fact that he’ll be putting an actual blade to your skin.

Feyd’s eyes linger on you for a second, before breathing out a small laugh and removing the tiny knife from its place on the wall. The knife is barely longer than the distance from his wrist to the tips of his fingers, but it’s still sharp and intimidating. He rotates it in his hand, watching in excitement the light catch it, before turning away from the wall.

You feel your heartbeat speed up as Feyd walks towards the bed, his strides slow on purpose as he continues to rotate the knife in his hand. Your gown is gone, but your body still feels hot. He stops right in front of the bed and looks down at you, his smirk never faltering.

Feyd lets out a small hum as his eyes travel up and down your bare body, your soaked panties being the only thing giving you some sort of coverage as they cling to your opening. You would be lying if everything pooling in your panties was from your previous orgasm. 

You shift a little as he stares at you, starting to feel uncomfortable. His smirk widens as he notices your movement. He knows how much you hate his intense gaze – that is when it’s on you. You enjoy watching Feyd stare down his opponent in the arena.

“Should I clean myself up for the lady before we get started?” Feyd questions, referring to the blood stains on his bare torso.

“No,” you don’t hesitate, but watching Feyd’s expression makes you regret how eager you just sounded.

Feyd’s eyebrows raise in amusement. “Well, look at you. You’re changing, my love, and I’m enjoying every second.”

“You’re a bad influence,” you tell him, to which he nods in agreement.

He only admires you for a moment longer before sinking to his knees in front of the bed. You let out a small squeal as he grabs you by the ankles and pulls you towards his face, your legs now dangling off of the edge of the bed. You push yourself up onto your elbows to keep him in view.

Feyd’s smirk seems to turn sinister as he’s now face to face with your covered cunt, his eyes mimic the shade they turn when he’s in the arena. You begin to feel like his prey. Feyd’s mouth waters at the fact that your wetness has made your panties almost transparent, allowing him to see the outline of you and your sweetness pooling at your entrance.

A gasp leaves your lips as Feyd lays the flat side of the blade on the skin of your leg, gently tracing up to your thigh and then to the edge of your panties. Goosebumps form on your skin at the feeling of the cold metal floating across you.

You watch as Feyd carefully places the blade over you through your panties, making your body slightly jump as you feel everything through the thin fabric. Your body feels as if it’s buzzing, and Feyd’s just getting started.

Feyd tears his eyes away from between your legs to look you in the eyes, giving you a questioning look as he looks for any sign of you wanting him to stop. When Feyd doesn’t see anything, he continues his movements.

Given the extreme sharpness of the tiny weapon, it only takes a small press for your panties to begin tearing. Once the fabric has been rendered useless, Feyd tosses it aside and moves his face closer to your cunt, enjoying the way your hole winks at him.

His eyes close as he breathes in your scent, a pleased sound leaving him as he smirks. Your hips jerk as he places a thumb on your clit and begins to rub tiny circles into you, before running his thumb up and down your slit. Your eyes close and your head tips back at the feeling.

“Looks like I already prepped you well,” Feyd says, mainly to himself as he watches his thumb move along your folds with satisfaction. A clicking sound forms from your wetness being spread around.

He quickly dips the tip of his thumb into your opening before pulling it back out and going back up to give attention to your clit. A small whimper leaves your lips as your back hits the bed, no longer having the strength to hold yourself up. Your limbs already feel weak.

You suddenly feel something stiffer and harder touch your clit. You glance down to see Feyd rubbing the tip of the knife’s handle into you. Your mouth falls open as your hips subconsciously begin to move. 

Feyd then slides the handle of the knife through your folds, spreading your lubricant around the handle. He clenches his jaw as he feels himself grow hard from the sight before him and the sounds of your pants growing louder in his ears.

Once the handle seems to be coated enough, he dips it further down for it to prod at your entrance. Your hands grip the bed sheets in anticipation at what’s to come, nerves flooding your stomach as your heart continues its fast pace.

“Just do it al-,” you begin to say, but cut yourself as you feel Feyd apply more pressure and push the handle into your welcoming opening. A gasp leaves your lips at the off yet enjoyable feeling of the ridges along the handle rubbing along your inner walls. Your head falls back against the bed as Feyd pushes and pulls. 

The grasp Feyd has on the actual blade is not too tight, but the blade’s edges are still digging into his palm. Feyd lips part as he watches the handle repeatedly disappear inside of you, the corners of his mouth twitching. He quickly swallows when he feels his mouth start to water in hopes to keep himself under control.

“You’re such a pleasant sight, my love,” Feyd muses. “I could look at you all day.”

But when he says this, he never takes his eyes away from you dripping opening. The grip you have on the sheets tightens as you moan at his words

“Oh my god,” you mewl, your eyes rolling towards the back of your skull.

The sound of your slick grows louder the longer Feyd continues his motions – this just turns you on more. You can feel yourself dripping onto the fabric underneath your body. Your back arches as your hips move with Feyd’s hand. Everything is so lewd and unlike anything you’ve ever done.

“Feyd-,” you breathe out, accidentally cutting yourself off with a whimper. Your body is trembling and you can already feel yourself approaching the end.

“I know, I know,” Feyd coos, finally looking up at your blissed out expression. He smirks at the way the back of your head digs into the sheets, your eyes squeezed closed with pretty noise repeatedly leaving your lips. Feyd notices your squirming becoming more evident and does everything he knows to bring you to the edge.

He suddenly pulls the handle out of your cunt and tosses it aside on the bed, your walls desperately clamping around nothing at the sudden loss. Your eyes open in confusion as you tilt your head down at him. He doesn’t give you a chance to question him before he’s shoving two long fingers inside of you.

“Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes!” you cry as Feyd curls his fingers along your sweet spot.

Feyd places his unoccupied hand on your stomach to pin your body to your bed and to give himself more leverage to roughly finger you.

“Come on,” Feyd grunts to himself.

It doesn’t take much longer for your climax to arrive, causing every inch of your body to feel tight and loose at the same time. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out as your eyes widen and roll back.

“Fuck!” you pathetically sob out. The wet squelches of your cunt grow louder as Feyd’s fingers contine.

Your arousal comes out in spurts around his fingers – some landing along his palm and forearm while the rest pools onto the soaked sheets. Feyd tries to prolong your squirting as long as possible, his smirk never faltering as he uses more force to hold your body down. The crazed look on his face doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and you hate the warm feeling beginning to form again in your stomach.

You squeal as you blindly bring a hand between your legs, your thighs closing around his hand. This has no effect on Feyd at all. You choke and pant as you use your shaky hands to try and crawl away from the tortuous pleasure. A deep chuckle leaves Feyd’s chest as he allows you to pull away and watches as you push yourself back to the headboard.

Your chest heaves as you stare at the ceiling to help you collect yourself. This, though, causes you to miss the wonderful view of Feyd removing your juices from his fingers with his mouth. He groans as his lips surround his fingers and his tongue savors your flavor. Your sweet taste doesn’t help the thick bulge growing in his underwear, but Feyd finds the pain pleasurable.

“What a mess you’ve made,” Feyd muses.

The thin layer of sweat covering your body contributes nothing to how deliciously filthy you feel. A constant buzz is running through your limbs and your head feels light. Your eyes catch the sight of the abandoned knife a couple inches from your body – the wetness coating the handle can be easily seen.

You’re brought out of your little daze with the feeling of large hands wrapping around your ankles. 

“Don’t tell me you’re tapping out already? You would think I’ve trained you better than that with the many nights we’ve shared,” Feyd’s tone is condescending as he talks, his expression smug.

Nothing comes to your mind that seems worth it to say, so you just stay silent and continue to try and catch your breath.

“Come on, my sweet, I know you have more in you,” Feyd purrs as he pulls you back down to the end of the bed.

Just as your heart rate was about to return back to normal, you feel it pick back up again at the meaning behind his words. Your legs feel limp, so it’s easy for Feyd to spread them apart and place his face between them, his eyes never leaving yours.

His warm breath tickles your sensitive opening, causing goosebumps to appear across your skin as you tremble in his hold. Feyd moves his attention to your messy folds, which take up his field of view in such a perfect way. He blows a puff of air onto your cunt and watches as your body jumps and your walls clench around nothing as your arousal continues to seep out.

You can help but let out a soft moan at the feeling.

Feyd sticks his tongue out to give you a small kitten lick before slipping his tongue back into his mouth. Your thighs go to close again, but Feyd keeps them apart with his hands. He tosses your legs over his shoulders to make sure your precious cunt is as close as possible to his face.

“Feyd, baby,” you softly whimper out as you look down at him.

“Will you let me have a taste? A powerful woman such as yourself deserves to be cleaned up,” Feyd teases as his eyes meet yours again, “Don’t you think?”

You let out a small whimper as Feyd begins to place light kisses on your trembling inner thighs. He doesn’t break eye contact as he waits for your answer.

“What do you say?” he questions, hovering his mouth over your drooling cunt.

“Yes, just do it,” you weakly breathe out.

Feyd barely lets you finish your sentence as he dives into your opening, swiping and licking up every bit of your arousal he can find. He begins to thrust his tongue in and out of your opening, making you whine. Despite your sensitivity, you buck your hips into his face, giving Feyd deeper access to you as he holds you tight against him.

Feyd groans against your folds, sending the vibrations through every nerve ending in your body. You choke on a moan as a gasp leaves your lips and your back begins to arch again. Feyd slips his tongue out to place it on your clit, wrapping his lips around your swollen bud and gently sucking before sliding back into you.

It doesn’t take long for you to be brought to the edge of your next orgasm with the way he’s messily lapping at your folds. He feels your thighs begin to shake even more and doesn’t get deterred when he feels you tighten them around his head.

Your body begins to thrash in his hold, but Feyd only tightens his hold on your body as he continues to shove his tongue in and out of you. When you feel Feyd move a hand and place his thumb on your clit, you immediately fall apart – repeatedly bucking your hips into his face as your hands scramble along the sheets to try and find something to grab ahold of.

Only when Feyd finally pulls his lips away from you is when your body relaxes in his grip. Feyd hums as he licks your juices from his lips, closing his eyes to savor the taste. You don’t get much time to calm down before Feyd is removing the rest of his clothing, situating his hips between your thighs, and letting his aching cock rest against your abdomen. 

You feel yourself throb as you look down at his length on your abdomen, watching it twitch and the precum slowly leak from the tip.

“I hope you’re ready for another, darling. After all, I still haven’t had my release,” Feyd sends a fake pout your way. You want to roll your eyes at him, but you barely have energy left. 

“Baby…I can’t,” you whine, and Feyd just shakes his head.

Feyd places a gentle hand against your cheek as places his forearms on either side of your head, trapping you with his arms. He moves his lips towards your ear to whisper, “You can, and you will. I believe in you.”

Your inner walls clench around nothing at his tone and the feeling of his warm breath tickling your neck. Feyd doesn’t give you a chance to say another word before lining himself up with your entrance, meeting no resistance from your soaked and welcoming opening.

The both of you share a moan as he pushes all the way in. Feyd leans his head onto your shoulder, needing a second to get control himself as he feels your tight, warm walls sucking him in. You can’t see the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull and his jaw clenches, before his hips begin to move against yours.

Like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

[samuelsdean]

Stay With Me

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary:  "you’ve been shot countless times, huh?” “that sounded a bit more reassuring in my head.”

genre: angst & fluff

word count: 1.1k

author's notes: almost a year of no writing, but i'm finally home (i posted a new fic)! it's been one hectic year for me. uni was crazy & i started my clinical rotations. plus, i did my thesis & it even got a distinction mark so i'll be presenting it at a research congress pretty soon (yay!). with that, i'm really sorry for ghosting ao3 & tumblr. i couldn't find the time to insert it in between uni & breaking down lol. anyway, i'll be posting a lot more while i'm on break. i hope you'll enjoy reading my first fic after a year of zzz. have fun!

YOU CAN HEAR SIRENS AND PEOPLE SHOUTING.

They say when you are knocking on death’s door, hearing is the last of your senses you will lose. If you’re dying, you don’t know it. Nothing makes sense at the moment. It’s all just blurry hues of blues and reds and shouting—Stay with me—the smell of something metallic. The only thing you’re sure of right now is that your head hurts and it seemed like a van ran right through you with how achy your body feels right now. 

Who’s  that? You mused. Why are they yelling at me?  I’m  right here. You turned your head slightly and tried to open your eyes.

It’s quite the task.

“T-That’s it,” The person, whom you think was yelling at you, said. “Stay with me, Y/N. Don’t close your eyes.”

You groaned and gripped the person's hand tightly as if to stand up, but you couldn't. Everything ached. And the person holding you, just kept on talking, their voice a low murmur at first. But even through the haze of pain, it was starting to sound familiar. You recognized that dulcet tone, the rich, smooth sound that could captivate your attention with random facts or lull you to sleep with equal ease.

The voice, you realized with a flicker of a smile, belonged to Spencer, its familiar cadence a warm current cutting through the blossoming pain.

“Reid?” You croaked.

Your throat’s dryer than any other desert in existence right now. And you sound worse than you look—you think—you don’t know for sure, except the fact that you can’t move much.

“It’s me,” Spencer chuckled while sniffling. “I’m right here.”

“What’s going on?”

Even through the haze of pain, a new wave of discomfort bloomed in your shoulder, sharp and insistent. Before you could react and get up, Spencer's hand tightened on yours, his voice laced with a tremor you'd never heard before. "Don't move, Y/N. You've been shot."

He applied pressure on your wound—which you just noticed. The pain hit you in a delayed wave, a white-hot stab that stole your breath. You hissed a weak sound that did little to mask the spike in your heart rate. 

"Stop moving or you're gonna bleed out even more!" Spencer's voice, usually so calm and collected, was laced with a raw panic you'd never heard before.

"Easy there, tiger," you tried to joke, your voice raspy. "I've been through worse. I’ve been shot countless times. W-why are you so worried?"

The question came out in a shaky whisper, the concern evident in his voice a stark contrast to the usual intellectual debates you shared.

Spencer's grip tightened, momentarily cutting off your circulation. "Because you could have died, Y/N!" he snapped, his voice cracking with a choked sob. "You… you were…"

He trailed off, unable to put into words the terrifying image that had flashed before him when he saw you collapse, after hearing the sound of a bullet whizzing by and hitting you.

The sight of your vulnerability stripped away his usual composure, leaving a raw fear he couldn't conceal. It took him a moment to regain his composure, his voice softening as he continued, "You shouldn't be so glib about this. It was a nasty shot, close to a major artery."

Despite the pain, a warmth bloomed in your chest. You'd never seen Spencer like this, so shaken and afraid.

"Okay," you murmured, forcing a weak snicker. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, at least I got you to patch me up, right, Dr.Reid?"

A ghost of a smile glinted across his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hold still," he mumbled, amused but also bothered at your dreadful timing for jokes. He applied pressure more gently this time. "You’ve been shot countless times, huh?”

“That sounded a bit more reassuring in my head” You quipped. 

A bit lightheaded from the pain, you clutched Spencer’s hand. The shriek of approaching sirens and the glare of headlights cut through the haze. You struggled to focus on the lifeline thrown in a storm of confusion.

"They're here," Spencer said, his voice tight. A sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead, a stark contrast to his usual cool composure.

"About time," you rasped, trying to lighten the mood. The effort cost you a fresh wave of dizziness, the world tilting slightly on its axis.

To which, Spencer shot you a look that was half-annoyed, half-worried. "Don't try to be a hero. You're losing a lot of blood. Any movement can dislodge the clot forming in your wound, renewing the bleeding. So, stop moving!"

"Just keeping things interesting," you mumbled, the words slurring slightly. “Wouldn’t want my last moments here on earth to be so grim…”

Spencer's jaw clenched for a moment, then he sighed, the sound heavy with relief. "You always were a pain," He muttered, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You’re  going to be okay, he thought.

The sirens reached a fever pitch, pulling up right beside you. A flurry of activity erupted as paramedics swarmed, the rest of the team trying to make sure you were tended to and that you were going to be okay, their movements a bit panicked but practiced, and efficient. Relief washed over you, a sweet wave that threatened to pull you under. 

"Hold on, Y/N," Spencer said, his voice desperate despite the composure of his words. He kept his hand pressed firmly on your wound, his touch a grounding anchor in the chaos. “Help is here. Everyone’s here. Just… stay with me, okay?"

"Going somewhere," you slurred, your eyelids drooping.

"No, you're not," he said fiercely, his voice barely a whisper above the shouts of the paramedics. "You're coming with us."

You coughed a sharp rasp that sent a jolt of pain through your shoulder. "Stats say shoulder wounds aren't usually fatal," you wheezed, trying to distract yourself from the ache.

Spencer's hand stilled for a moment, looking at you like you’ve grown a second head. "What?"

"Yeah," you continued, your voice weak but persistent. "L-look, I get it, you're scared. But statistically, shoulder wounds aren't as serious..." Your voice trailed off as a wave of nausea washed over you.

"Maybe you shouldn't be reciting medical statistics right now," Spencer said sharply, his voice laced with a hint of panic.

“S-shouldn’t that be my line, boy genius?” You continued to joke, as the world dissolved into a scramble of flashing lights and blurry faces.

The last thing you registered was the feel of Spencer's hand tightening around yours, his touch a silent promise that resonated louder than any siren.

[guilty-pleasures21]

Sitting through a driving theory lesson and I'm just thinking about mechanic Jason who's explaining to reader what's wrong with her car while he fixes it for her. But reader is just sitting with one leg over the other, admiring the sweat dripping down Jason's skin and the patches of grease on his cheek that only make his smile look even brighter.

Oh my god, I was typing this straight into Tumblr because I really didn't think it would turn out as long as it did 😅. Guess I've got to format it now 🙃.

Mechanic!Jason Todd x Reader

Ugh! Now I feel like writing this into a full fic in that 'Mechanic!Jason Todd who ...' format! 😭

Warnings: none.

_______________________________________________

"... you got that, princess?" Jason asks, wiping his hands with a spare rag. Your gaze shifts from his bulging biceps to follow a particularly enticing bead of sweat travelling down his collarbone and into his grease-stained vest. You sigh at the sight, your head still propped up on your palm as you admire your unfairly attractive mechanic.

Jason chuckled softly at the content look on your face as your eyes roamed over his body. He didn't usually pay much attention to his customers, but he'd had to admit to himself how cute you'd looked as you'd passed him your car keys, your wide eyes looking up at him from beneath your dark lashes as you'd flashed him a sheepish smile. You rotate your ankle, drawing Jason's gaze to your leg, your little denim shorts leaving your tanned skin bare before him. He swallowed hard as his mouth watered with the desire to taste you, then he cleared his throat and tossed his rag aside.

"Miss Y/N?" he tried again, leaning over to catch your attention this time. You looked up at him and the amused smile returned to his face when he saw the dazed look on yours. "Have you been listening to anything I've been saying?"

"Hmm?" you hum, focusing on the way the dark strands of his messy hair fall into his beautiful moss-green eyes. "Did you say something?"

Jason turns to the side slightly, the tips of his ears reddening as his wide lips stretch into another dazzling smile. You let out another sigh as your heart flutters happily at the sight, then you frown when he goes to pull his fitted black shirt back on.

Dammit! How was it possible that your blatant admiration of him only made him find you even more adorable?! Jason pressed his lips together, trying to hide the smirk that pulled on his lips as he grabbed a piece of paper off a nearby cabinet.

"Look," he began, scrawling his number onto it as he stepped closer to you. He handed you the paper and you furrowed your brows in confusion as you accepted it. Shit! You had to stop being so distractingly cute! "Here's my number. If you have any other problems with your car, just give me a call."

You tap the piece of paper against your mouth and take a slow step towards him. You weren't sure how he might react, but you had to shoot your shot - I mean, just look at the man 😍!

"And ... what if I had problems with something else?" you ask softly, avoiding his gaze as your heart pounds rapidly in your chest. "Could I still call you then?"

You lowered your hand to clasp the paper behind your back and goddammit, his eyes flickered to your chest before he could stop himself. Jason pulled his gaze away quickly, staring up at the ceiling instead, and rocked back and forth on his heels. "What- Ahem. What else would you have problems with, princess?"

He chanced a quick glance at you and he swore his heart skipped a beat when he saw the shy smile you wore as you shifted your focus to your feet.

You toe the ground and bite your lip as you brush your hair behind your ear. "Um ..."

'A lonely night?' Ugh! But that sounded so cheesy! Any interest your gorgeous new mechanic might have had in you would definitely evaporate if you said something as stupid as that! You take a step closer to him and trace the outlines of his chest muscles with your finger, thinking. Jason sucks in a breath and you look up in surprise, only to find his eyes darkening with lust as he gazes down at you. Your cheeks heat up at the sight and another pleased smile tugs at your lips in response. "Finding a date to the new Wonder Woman movie tomorrow night?"

Jason lowered his head to hide his flattered grin. Then he covered his mouth and lifted his gaze back to yours. "I'm sure you'd have no trouble finding a date, princess."

Your brows draw together as you look up at him in irritation. Was he purposely trying to act dumb or did he really not know that you were interested in him? But how could not know when you'd already made it so obvious! Even the other mechanics had all stopped what they were doing to watch the two of you in amused curiosity. "Look, Mr Jason, sir, can you go out with me tomorrow or not?!"

A surprised bark of laughter escaped his mouth at your forwardness. And shit, you looked even more adorable when you were frowning up at him like that, your rosy lips pushed out in a pout. He couldn't figure out which was funnier: you calling him 'Mr' and 'sir' while asking him out on a date or the confidence with which you assumed that the only reason he'd reject you was because something else might be keeping him from doing so.

"Give the girl a chance, Jaybird!" Mike called over to him from across the garage. "She's asking you so nicely."

"Yeah!" Johnny agreed, chuckling along with Mike. "The poor angel's been sitting there, quietly watching you fix up her car for the past half an hour! The least you could do is take her out on a date!"

Jason shook his head and folded his arms across his chest, his lips twitching at the corners at his friends' encouragement. He returned his gaze to you and another snicker fell from his lips when he saw the expectant smile you were fixing him with. He held his hands in the air in surrender. "All right! All right. What time should we meet up tomorrow, princess?"

You clap your hands together and dance on the spot, celebrating your victory.

"I'll text you the details, Jason!" you tell him, stretching onto your toes and wrapping your arms around his neck. You hold your breath as his heart pounds rapidly through his chest and against yours ... then he lifts his arms and wraps them around your waist.

He'd been stunned when you'd thrown yourself at him so fearlessly, unsure how to respond to your sudden affection. But then he'd relaxed into your touch and cautiously slid his arms around your waist. His fingertips brushed against the sliver of exposed skin between your shirt and your shorts and Jason sucked in a breath at the pleasant feeling. And then - Holy f*cking Christ! - and then you kissed his cheek, short-circuiting his brain so that he barely heard you yell "see you tomorrow, Jason!" before you dashed back into your car, not even giving him a chance to response.

"Looks like you've got a real firecracker there," Mike chuckled, getting back to work on the car in front of him. Jason lifted his hand to his cheek and gently brushed the spot your lips had touched. Maybe a little firecracker was what he needed?

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

thank you for reminding me that your tommy is bobby’s son au exists (looooooove it so much) (apollabarnes) (please for the love of god when can i send an ask from a sideblog it’s been 84 years)

I NEED TO GET BACK TO IT. I finally got Tommy to the 118, here's a taste of his first day:

While he's scrubbing down windows, Deluca approaches him.

“Tuscany,” is all he says.

“Campania,” Tommy replies, and Deluca grins, sticking out hand. “Tommy.”

“Sal,” he says as they shake hands. “Wasn’t too sure with a name like Kinard, but it's hard to hide that schnozz.”

Tommy’s eyes cross as he looks at his nose, and Sal cackles when Tommy smiles and shrugs. “How long you been at the 118?”

“Couple years, I transferred from Philly, thought I'd see the Kings get their asses beat up close.” He leans against the frame holding the windows, his arms crossed over his chest. He's handsome, that's for goddamn sure, and charming enough that Tommy has to fight back a blush. “You a local?”

“Sort of,” he says, spraying the window cleaner carefully so it doesn't blow back in their faces. “Grew up in Bakersfield—”

“My condolences.”

“Exactly. But I spend a lot of time in Minnesota with my dad and stepmom, and I was in the Army. Just got out. So I've actually got more Wild loyalty, which is lucky for me.” He grins when Sal laughs, and he's about to ask what other sports he's into when he hears Gerrard call Sal’s name.

“Stop flirting with the probie, Deluca, and get your ass back on that stick check!” Gerrard barks.

Tommy freezes, even though Sal just rolls his eyes.

“Fuckin’ prick,” Sal mutters, pushing off from the wall. “Nice talking to you.”

“You, too,” Tommy says, even though it feels like there's ice in his lungs.

He tries to keep his head down, and it helps that the alarm starts ringing. Tommy's eventually one of the only people in the station along with Chimney, who seems to be determined to balance an orange on his nose.

“Can you do this?” Chimney asks, wobbling past.

“Never tried,” Tommy replies, smiling and catching the orange when it's tossed his way. It turns out he has an even harder time, but his attempts make Chimney cackle. “Why do they call you that anyway?”

Chimney grins. “Oh, it's a—”

They're cut off by the return of the engine and Gerrard yelling at one of the firefighters.

“He always like that?” Tommy asks softly.

“Nah. Sometimes he's an asshole. You caught him on a good day,” Chimney replies, squeezing his shoulder. “Go make yourself scarce for a bit.”

It's like that all shift. Gerrard finds something or someone to have a problem with, but it's never Tommy because Hen, Chimney, and Sal are running interference. He doesn't get to go on any calls, but he doesn't have to face any wrath or humiliation.

In the morning, Tommy trudges out to his truck, having gotten very little sleep after Gerrard refused to take the house offline all night and the alarm kept going off.

“I know it might not feel like it, but you did good,” Hen says from somewhere off his left elbow. She looks exhausted for a good reason, having put out a house fire and delivered a baby in the last six hours. “It's not easy being new.”

“Transfer, right?” he recalls, and she nods. “Yeah, Sal was, too. High turnover rate here, it seems.”

“Yep,” she says, sighing. “God, I want to crawl in bed with my girl and just sleep until tomorrow.”

Tommy almost asks how and why she could feel okay saying something like that, but Gerrard isn't around to hear it and they're not in the military. She's saying it because she thinks Tommy's okay to say it around. So she either knows or he hasn't given her any reason to think he's like Gerrard.

“She okay with the schedule?” he asks, because he doesn't know how to get her to reveal which option it is. “My dad's on a twenty-four-forty-eight rotation, my stepmom says it's tough.”

“No kids,” she says, shrugging. “And she's got her own stuff going on. Your dad's a firefighter?”

Tommy grins. “I'm a fifth generation firefighter, if you can believe it. I didn't grow up with it, because I didn't know my dad until I was eighteen, but it just kinda felt right.”

“Assigned firefighter at birth?” she teases, and he tries to pin down the reference but can't. “Never mind. That's great, though, that you have that. I had the opposite: Dad took off when I was a kid.”

“That's tough,” he says, and she shrugs. “He didn't know about me. I thought my dad was someone else, then my mom died—it's a long story.”

“We swapping stories?” Chimney asks, having apparently silently jogged up on them. “What kind?”

“Tommy's a legacy firefighter, and he had a Maury thing with his dad,” Hen fills in.

“Ah, correction,” Tommy says, raising a finger. “Thomas Senior knew I wasn't his. Like I said: long story.”

They give him their numbers and get his in return, and Tommy gets into his truck and drives back to his shitty rental, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel with the music.

[inspired-lesson-plans]

So I do have a job lined up using my brand new Commercial Driver's License, but it doesn't have a start date yet. And since I've used up All of my unemployment money, that means I am back to substitute teaching in order to pay the bills, at least for a little while.

Today has me as a one-to-one paraprofessional in a preschool special ed class. I have subbed Pre-K before, and I have subbed middle school special ed, but this is a whole new experience. Let me just share a few notes that I wrote down on a piece of construction paper while watching a little girl play with putty:

Almost everybody in this class seems to be autistic. I can't say that as a fact, but out of the eight students here, at least half of them are showing at least a few behaviors that I associate with autism. And having just read Neurotribes (highly recommended), I have got to say that I am ecstatic and overjoyed about this. There's no way that autism rates are increasing, but if this many kids between the ages of 3 and 5 are being put in a special ed program, then that means awareness and even diagnosis are skyrocketing.

Special ed programs in 2025 are amazing. These kids are actually allowed to be fully themselves. There's no behavioral redirection away from hand flaps or walking back and forth while rotating a plastic dinosaur and mumbling to yourself. Most of these kids are almost totally non-vocal, but they are allowed to vocal stim so long as it isn't bothering anyone. And this entire morning has been nothing but free play, except for breakfast and a quick centering activity to kick things off. In fact, the only redirections that I have seen were about kids spilling sand on the floor or being at risk of hurting each other. Everything else is just them expressing themselves. But social activities are encouraged, every kind of social normalization is rewarded, and nothing has been punished. Of course, we are very far into the school year, so I'm sure there has been a lot of work prior to this point, but the fact is it's working.

This district was able to get these kids in almost one-to-one faculty to student ratio. Other districts in my county are pretty good, but I don't think they have quite this good of resources. New Jersey is split up into so many school districts it's unbelievable. There was a kid here whose lunch was totino's pizza rolls, and one of the staff cut those already-bite-size bits into quarters. That's what it's like in this state. I have worked at two separate schools where the entire school district was just that one K-8 school, and for high school they go to a different district. I am entirely positive that this is because of redlining, especially in the town where I live. There are three different school districts in my zip code. One is well-integrated and wealthy, one is poorly integrated and struggling, and one is almost exclusively black and can barely pay its teachers.

Watching tiny little kids eat lunch is very interesting because of how they choose to eat their lunch. They don't just eat, they graze. But with this many adults around them, most of them immigrant mothers, the kids aren't allowed to just graze. They are told over and over again to keep eating. I do not think it's healthy, and I do not do that. Kid does not want to eat, I do not think they should eat.

One child was eating an uncrustable but she tore it in half, ate the insides, and threw away the uncrust of the uncrustable.