#my warning post on them is available on my master post

[sag-dab-sar]

To my fellow pagans/polytheists, a warning: the extremely antisemitic Satanism anon is going around again asking what you think of them. Don't publish it, don't give them the publicity they tend to send the same anon to a ton of pagans/polytheists all at once so they reach a wide audience that way.

[fanaticsnail]

The Spear and the Sword

Masterlist Here.

Word Count: 3,807

This is the final fic for the year, a wonderful prompt given by an anon months ago. Thank you to @since-im-already-here for beta reading and correcting grammar. If there's any issue, know my sister is to blame, folks.

@gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @vespidphoenix happy new year!

Warning: blood, gore, flirtatious dialogue, mutual pining, playfulness in battle, enemies to lovers, warlord reader, fluff, Mihawk x female!reader.

I said I'd get it done before the new year. Happy New Years Eve to my fellow Aussies!

This was too much. This was far too much. This was far too much for lord Dracule Mihawk to fend off alone. His great sword Yoru was spattered with the blood of several foes, each impact meeting his blade creating more lethargy in the broody sword master of the seas. His title of “worlds greatest” was hanging in the balance as more enemies approached him with more fervour than ever before.

“Garp,” Mihawk growled into his den-den-mushi earpiece, “you said there would be a few hundred. This is in the upwards of a couple thousand. What is going on back there?” Static and groans of battle were met within the earpiece in return, huffs of gruff breath and thumps of fists coinciding within the ferocious melody.

“It was all I was aware of, Mihawk,” Garp growled once the battle was silenced in the background of the call, “my marines are barely holding up on this end. The other warlords are occupied, I’ve got none to spare you.” Mihawk almost met with a single shot from a bullet, weaving away with a dance-like twirl to dodge the metallic, circular object. He swiped his lengthy blade within the air and kicked back the individual who shot at him, his torso falling to impale themselves against a fence post as a result of the blow.

The town he was tasked to protect, a marine base home to several prominent family members within the world government; alongside the sick, weak, young, and elderly, were currently engaged in a war-like battle with pillagers and pirates from the four corners of the north, east, south and west blues. This army was accumulated under a foreign flag, their jolly roger unfamiliar to both marines and warlords alike. Mihawk had been fighting at the front line alone, his ship destroyed under the destruction of war: his traveling vintages of fine wines claimed by the seas.

As another made his approach, Mihawk huffed out an exhausted and frustrated breath while continuing to swipe to relinquish the foes and meet them with the sharpened edge of his blade.

“Mihawk,” Garp interrupted his flow of battle with his voice cutting through the air within his snail earpiece, “we might have someone available. You’ve worked with her before, a warlord like you. She’s on her way.”

“Boa?” Mihawk asked while placing his fingertip to the shell of the earpiece, “I thought you said she’s on the other side of the north blue right now.” Garp growled at one of his underlings, directing them in some nonsensical way that Mihawk couldn’t quite register.

“No, not Boa,” Garp replied, panting into the earpiece with exhaustion overcoming himself. More clangs, clashes and thumps were heard within the earpiece, Mihawk turning to continue forcing the pillagers back to the shore of the beach.

“No,” Mihawk uttered firmly into the earpiece, “anyone but her. Give me cadets, give me your least valuable soldiers, give me prisoners. Literally anyone else-.”

“I don’t have anyone else!” Garp roared into the earpiece, prompting Mihawk to flinch away from it while furrowing his brows in anger. Both men managed to calm themselves down, Mihawk taking a moment to silence his rage by taking a few deep breaths.

“Put your former grievances and your ego aside, warlord,” Garp ordered within the earpiece, “she’s what we have, and she’s perfect. World’s greatest weapons-master, in fact.”

“I’m aware of that,” Mihawk murmured through his clenched teeth, his teeth grinding as he bit back his lackluster words, “she’s violent, impulsive, ferocious, messy. She’s feral and she’s the bane of my existence.”

“Have you even spoken to her?” Garp questioned, a small humorless laugh falling through his widened grimace, “she’s exactly what we need, Mihawk. You do this, and I’ll let you off the tether to tend your farms, sharpen your sword – or even sheathe it for an entire year.” Mihawk narrowed his eyes, huffing out a frustrated breath and brandishing his sword out to the side in preparation for another recuperated attack from the approaching armada.

“How soon will she be here?” Mihawk asked, his beard protruding while snarling with his upper lip drawing back.

“She’s already on the other side of the war line,” Garp confirmed with him, a final slam of iron-barred doors echoing within the background of the ship, “I’ll patch her through now.”

-

You tilted your head down, looking up at the coastline full of ships approaching the marine-base through your lengthy eyelashes. You drew back your playful smirk, allowing the elevation of your heartbeat to begin to work itself to frenzy within your ribcage. You were known far and wide for your battle-ready ferocity; allowing your rage to take over your emotions within the thralls of battle to relinquish many a foe.

Combat mastery began at a young age; bare knuckle boxing in gladiator cage-matches being one of the first types of combat you overtook the championship of in your youth. After boxing and grappling, you moved on to wielding large hammers and battle axes, enjoying the weight within your fists as you crushed skulls and decapitated limbs. After heftier weapons, you opted to train under the mentorship of a superior fighter. They taught you to throw the spear and reclaim it swiftly, giving you pointers to always meet your target with the piercing tip of the bladed end.

You were nothing, coming from nothing. No family to speak of, you traveled the continents, claiming title after title of world's greatest weapon-master with ease. The only one you were yet to best was the current reigning lord of Kuraigana, his title of World’s Greatest Swordsman continuing to badge itself against his bare chest with pride. Arrogant prick was the first thought that sprung to mind regarding the nature of his aura. You had seen posters, articles and even catalogs regarding his training history and weapons mastery.

As your status was elevated to warlord, the world government approached you for protection against several foes and to take on contracts they would rather not involve themselves with, you accepted under two conditions: they allow you to handle matters in your own way, being the first. Your own way, being: “I will get this done, regardless of the mess, and you will clean it up after I’m done with it.”

The other condition is you were to be given absolutely all the information available to you regarding the contracts: no children, no women: no innocents. Those were your rules. You didn’t care how feral the children were, nor how arrogant and uptight the women were. If they were innocent, you refused to do harm to them, or unleash your wrath onto the world government themselves. There were absolutely no qualms to your requests, printed in bold atop your profile.  

Vice-Admiral Garp had no quarry with your methods, usually placing a den-den-mushi somewhere about within the battlefield to watch your barbaric tirades on the field in awe at your ferocity. 

That was how Mihawk knew of your battle prowess, your pictures almost always covered in some form of dirt, mud and blood within the heat of battle. He absolutely despised mess, but was always held captive to your almost beckoning and sultry gaze as you removed your spearhead from another foe. And you knew him in a similar likeness, his images always clean-cut with not a splash of battle worn on him. Given the call you just received from Garp, you were quivering in anticipation to remedy such a plight from him.

“I’m going to patch you through now, Weaponsmaster,” Garp’s lilted brogue uttered into the den-den-mushi within your ear. His voice almost was quivering itself in anticipation of witnessing the carnage you were about to unleash against the armada as far as the naked eye could see.

“Thank you, Vice-Admiral,” you sang in an almost sultry tone within the earpiece, “I know you’ll be watching closely.”

“Aye, I will be lass,” Garp’s voice laughed into the earpiece. You were very well aware of how fond the older gentleman was of watching you work, not minding in the slightest at the attention and preference you got from him.

“Mihawk, you there?” Garp’s voice echoed within the earpiece, prompting you to wince away from his growl slightly.

“I am, Vice-Admiral.” A moment of pause occurred before Mihawk spoke again, “Weapons-master.”

“Sword-master,” you smirked, your voice almost purring at him, “a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

“That I’m sure of,” Mihawk replied in a bored tone. You were slightly taken aback by his standoffish mannerism, your brows furrowing low. He absolutely knew who you were, holding a title as warlord and world’s greatest weapons-master. You rotated your shoulders and clicked your neck to rid yourself of annoyance and prepare yourself for battle.

“Conceited Cunt,” you spat, unaware that the contact was still drawn between the three of you – only becoming aware once Mihawk’s voice relayed back to you, “Feral Filiform.”

“Easy now,” Garp’s voice called over the linked den-den-mushi, “Complete this feat first, then get to your flirting.”

“If you think that’s what flirting looks like,” Mihawk winced into the shell, touching his index finger to the outer shell of the den-den-mushi, “I pity your wife.” You chuckled at his crude comment, almost tangibly feeling the rage pouring off Garp in waves through the den-den-mushi attached to your inner ear.

“Save your insults for the enemy, pirate,” Garp spat into the earpiece. You heard Mihawk hum, prompting you to roll your eyes at the interaction. The ships over the shore began to fall closer to your small vessel - the rise of the tide ushering you into the new thralls of battle. You noticed there were a few hundred ships, all carrying an amassment of crew of various sizes. You once again rolled your shoulders back and pursed your lips. 

Placing your fingertip to secure the shell deeper within your ear, you smirked out a final taunt to the warlord.

“This is what was bothering you? Couldn't you handle the troop all by yourself, swordsman?” You cooed into the voice responder. Silence and static was met within the drum of your ear, a stifled growl also accompanying it. You decided to get in a final jab to taunt him, “I could dispatch the armada by myself. Why don’t you take a break, old man? Sit your pretty little ass down on the beach and sit back to watch the show.”

“I’d like to see you try, barbarian,” Mihawk growled in return. Your ship brushed against the hull of the first ship to the rear of the fleet; your presence immediately making itself known as you housed yourself effortlessly over the railing. You laughed into the earpiece, feeling the rapidity of your heartbeat rising in elevation to frenzy yourself before first contact is made with your many foes.

Your spear was flung through your hands to indent itself against the top mast at the middle of the vessel, skewering several members of the mighty crew onto its pole as meat would dangle from a kebab. You grappled, kicked, flung yourself at the crew; using your hands and their own weapons against them to relinquish them from their life. Once they all fell victim to your battle mastery, you again reached your hand up to the shell-responder.

“I bet my left breastplate I will get to the middle before you, Swordsman,” you taunted him, your legs carrying themselves with haste towards the railing of the ship. You jumped high, the air lifting you and drawing your body down against the next vessel. 

“I bet my waist-belt you absolutely won’t, Wild-Woman,” the swordsman snarled into the earpiece, Yoru circling around and pushing the troops back with one fell swipe. Mihawk’s teeth drew themselves back, enraged at his taunt being met with a small melodic giggle. 

“Oh, this is how we’re playing, is it?” You whispered breathily into the earpiece, your spear clutched within the fist of your dominant hand as you stabbed at the next approaching foe. You giggled again, feeling at home on the battlefield. The life drained from the eyes of the enemy under the tip of your spear; another shipful of foes falling on their knees at your expert ministrations.

“Fine,” you smiled into the earpiece, singsong and humor dripping from your tongue, “I’ll see your belt and raise you my entire breastplate.” Mihawk growled in response. You held your ground, immediately flinging yourself at the next ship. 

Rather than to take on several members of this crew, you shrugged your shoulders and thrust your spear downwards - sinking the vessel below your feet. You sprinted against the ship’s deck as it began to be claimed by the sea water below, ushering you on to the next ship. You threw your spear to the next vessel, embedding the tip into a lit cannon and witnessed the beautiful implosion it made; launching the spear back into your awaiting palm as you jumped onto the next one. The blast sunk the ship it was fired from, the cannonball flinging itself to sink the one laying perpendicular to the vessel. 

Mihawk was not paying attention to your battle mastery, assuming you were still undertaking the first vessel you had docked your ship against and fighting like some untrained and feral marine. He snickered at the thought, himself already aboard his second vessel after pushing back the troop from their approach of the shore. 

“I’m looking forward to claiming your breastplate,” Mihawk’s voice audibly smirked into the earpiece, “to add to the winning pool, I’ll claim that spear too.” A shiver of anticipation shuddered against his spine at the audible growl he managed to pull from your parted lips. Holding your spear more firmly within your hand, you growled back at him. 

“There are several things I doubt you’d be able to do correctly, swordsman. Wielding my spear is the first that springs to mind,” you smirked, watching the bubbling of water rise as another ship sank against your skill, “pleasing a woman is the other.”

In order to remain silent while listening to your quips back and forward to each other, Vice-Admiral Garp clapped his wide palm over his lips to stifle an outrageous and unbridled laugh rising in his chest. Bogard smirked, hearing the commotion from the speaker molded into the desktop den-den-mushi, placing his hat over his eyes to hide his joy. 

“I’ll gladly show you I can on both counts, woman.”

“You can certainly try, warlord”

“I will absolutely succeed, fellow warlord.”

 Garp and Bogard were held on the edge of their seats, watching through binoculars the battle mastery balanced between you both while your quippy dialogue read as commentary to your mighty feats. 

“Fine,” you again smirked into your earpiece, clothes and armor littered with the spilt blood of your enemies while your hair stuck to your face under the salty sea-spray, “If I am to give up my weapon to the cause, I will have something of equal value offered in return.”

“Yoru is not something I would ever part with for something as childish as a-,” Mihawk began, his words halting as you offered your trade.

“-If I win this little coo, you pretentious prick, your pride is coming with me,” you called into the shell attached to your ear. Feeling all the pent up rage and frustration of the respect of your skill not being met in return for your affection, you offered the best solution you could find. 

“If I get to these exact coordinates, all foes falling before me,” you relayed the coordinates, Garp, Bogard and Mihawk hanging on your every utterance, “you will report back to Vice-Admiral Garp donning nothing but your stupid cross-blade, your stupid Yoru and your feathered hat.” The battle paused, the enemies halting their approach with their brows furrowing in almost disgust and awe. You held up a halting hand at them, awaiting a vocal response from Mihawk to your taunt. 

Mihawk’s brows themselves were lowered, his eyes narrowed as he sought you out in the field. He couldn’t find you, couldn’t see a trail of destruction in your wake. He continued to search for you within the crowd, but was still unable. 

“In that complete and utter unlikelihood,” Mihawk began, still craning his neck to seek out your form, “I accept the terms. Prepare to have your spear, your breastplate and my own satisfaction in claiming some semblance of femininity from you while I wield your body effortlessly.”

“And you prepare yourself to be absolutely humbled in response, your pride and ego removed because-,” you smirked, your eyes finally meeting with the yellow hue of the feathered warlord only a few hundred feet away from you, “-I’m nearly there.”

Mihawk’s eyes widened as he witnessed you jump to the next vessel, twirling within the air to throw a small axe into the base of the ship and sinking it by placing a wide hole within its bow. You were, indeed, very close to the coordinates. His widened gaze looked harder, noticing the absence of over half of the wide armada sinking to the bottom of the sea. How had he not noticed it before? Why, in all his stupidity, would he ever agree to this without looking properly first? Clearly, he had underestimated you. Or overestimated his ability to easily outmatch you. 

The elements had changed along with the tide. Your battle-ready ferocity was overcast by an aura of calm playfulness; you giggling into the earpiece as you continued falling foe after foe beneath your spear, fist and axes. In turn, Mihawk was the one to begin to shower himself desperately in the blood of his enemies; curling up his lip at the mess alongside his stupidity at undertaking such a bet. 

“C’mon Hawk, keep up. You’re nearly there. Flap your wings harder,” you’d giggle into the earpiece, uncaring whether blood, sinew or bone showered your body in the baptism of battle. 

“Stop your stupid teeth from gnashing, Hyena. Your taunts mean very little to me,” Mihawk panted, his feet carrying him with more haste as he continued to unblinkingly search for you. 

You giggled again in response, your feet almost carrying themselves closer to the finish line. Your enemies within the armada were fleeing from the utter horror you created, your wolfy grin and playful eyes not matching the energy of the gore befalling your form. Many simply dove overboard, ran to the next ship away from you in their cowardly retreat - only to be met with another approaching warlord with his mighty sword clutched in his dominant hand. 

As Mihawk panted for breath, his adrenaline propelling him to the finish line leaving a trail of destruction in his wake; his steps quivered in his tracks as his gaze met with yours.

You were sitting on a barrel, twirling the twine around your spearhead nonchalantly with a litter of bodies laying at your feet. Your left brow was arched upwards, the knowing smirk plastered against your plush lips as you hummed a tune of victory through your nose. 

“Looks like I’ll get to see what your other sword looks like,” you cooed in a melodic tune, not meeting his gaze and remaining aloof, “you can leave your boots at my feet. I think I might wear your coat home with me, Swordsman.”

“You are disgusting,” Mihawk spat at you, his breath finally catching up with him. He was now left breathless at witnessing your ferocity, the wild shape of your battle-worn eyes holding him hostage with tense emotion. 

“You agreed to the terms, Mihawk. Now it’s time to pay up-,” you uttered darkly, snapping your head over to his form with your eyes narrowed at him.

“-I meant your appearance. So wild, so feral, so-,” his next words caught in his throat as you drew yourself down from your sat position atop the barrel, “-unladylike.” You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes in your approach. Wiping your forehead with the back of your arm, you rid your face of the bone, blood and sinew blocking your view of him. He was a very pretty man, the most beautiful you had seen in a long time. Although slightly taken aback by his clean and uptight appearance, you stood your ground. 

“What would you have me wear then? Silks and satins while I dance amongst the chaos? I think not, lord Dracule Mihawk,” you spat at him, laughing dryly at your own comment. Mihawk sucked in a small breath through his nostrils, wincing at your comment with his lips curled into a snarl. You overemphasized a sigh, placing your spear against your back and stretched your arms to cool down your body. 

“I’ll make you another deal then, Mihawk,” you smirked again up at his towering form, “I’ll go and get cleaned up and don some pretty little dress for you,” you prodded his bare chest with your index finger and traced a pattern against his pectorals, “and you can go and relay the play by play to Vice-Admiral Garp completely starkers, okay?” 

Mihawk growled, eyes looking to your tender touch against his chest and almost again finding himself falling to his knees under your radiant ferocity. He rolled his neck, arched his soldiers back and leaned into your touch. 

“Fine,” he spat in response, gripping your bloodied wrist beneath his palm and curled fingertips, “but it better be something tight and preferably black.” You giggled at his comment, raising your other hand up to his cheek and patting it affectionately with a small utterance. 

“What a good boy you are,” you praised him with another cooing taunt, scrunching up your nose and smiling with your feral eyes, “now take off your boots, coat and pants and run along now. I’ll be all dolled up for you and ready for you at the waterfront tavern. I might even see that your clothes are cleaned, pressed and waiting once you arrive.”

Your comment finally broke him, a warm laugh cracking through his tough exterior and rumbling within his chest to pour from his mustached lips. 

“It’s a shame I lost,” he leant his cheek into your touch, prompting you to furrow your brows in curiosity. He stooped his form lower to you, tickling your face with his playful and breathy whisper, “I would’ve liked to have shown you how well I can please a woman.”

BONUS

Eyes were either focussed exclusively on the ceiling or marines would simply turn around as the darkened and well seasoned lord of Kuraigana entered the military office building. Holding true to his word, and the promise of good company after his humiliation, he sauntered confidently into Vice-Admiral Garp’s office donning nothing but Yoru strapped to his back, his cross-blade hanging loosely from his neck, and his feathered hat atop his sea-sprayed, curled, dark locks.

[sluttywoozi]

After LIKE Part One | smg x f!reader

Posted first on my Patreon

Rating: M | WC: ~4.8k

Mingi has been your plug for nearly three years now. You've always liked him well enough, but something has changed between you. What happens after like?

Notes/Warnings: plug!mingi, weed use, food mention, kissing, stress/anxiety

Grad school is hard. Really hard, you’ve discovered.

You knew it would be, of course, but it’s difficult in ways you didn’t expect. First of all, you have no money. You can afford groceries and rent, thankfully, but luxuries are scarce. You’re also stressed nearly all the time, with your thesis looming over your shoulder and begging you to work on it even when you’re in class. You have friends, but you don’t really get to see them between your work and their own, so you return to an empty apartment most of the time.

You do have a lot of bright spots in your life too, though. You get to study what you love, you have friends to miss, and you can still afford little things that make your life better.

Your phone dings, a tone that means one of those bright spots is especially vibrant today. You just got off work at the coffee shop, a double from 6 AM to 4 PM, and your hair still smells of roasted espresso beans and turmoil but you’re beaming as you throw your uniform off and pull on clean clothes.

Mingi is free for you to come pick up, and after you complained of having trouble last time, he promised to roll your joints for you. He’s an expert and they always burn perfectly, and it also makes you feel a little special. Mingi doesn’t roll for just anybody, and considering that you’re quite literally terrible at it, you really appreciate that you’re somebody to him.

You and Mingi met in junior year of college. You were majoring in Psychology and Mingi was getting his degree in Hospitality, and somehow, you managed to have a shared class nearly every semester. He was cute but your eye was already focused on grad school and you didn’t think you had time for distractions. Then he approached you at San and Yeosang’s party nearly begging for help on the next exam and you decided maybe you did.

You also happened to spot the joints in his t-shirt pocket. You’d been looking for a plug for a while but hadn’t found anyone reliable, and having Mingi in your class would make it incredibly easy to arrange pickups.

Thus, you became Mingi’s tutor and Mingi became your plug, and you kind of sort of became each other’s friends too.

Three years later, you’ve both graduated and moved on; you to a Master’s program in Applied Psychology and Mingi to cooking school. He still deals on the side, but only to a select few as his reputation in the kitchen steadily grows.

The commute to his flat is easy, just a couple stops on the bus and a short walk to his building, and he buzzes you up as soon as you press the intercom button, meaning you only have the elevator ride to the third floor to prepare yourself to interact with him. It’s not that Mingi is intimidating or annoying or hard to deal with, it’s just that he’s so fucking hot you have trouble concentrating sometimes.

He’s always been tall but he’s gotten bigger and bigger over the years, and now the way he fills out his shirts and sweatpants makes you breathless. And, ugh, his smile. It’s so sincere, and kind, and sometimes playful, and sometimes knowing.

He doesn’t know everything though.

He doesn’t know you bought from Wooyoung two weeks ago, and that he smoked you out first.

Mingi always offers; he even offers to pick you up so you can try it before you buy it, but you hardly ever take him up on it because you just can’t get close to him now like you used to. In college, he didn’t affect you this way. He was just the cute guy you bought weed from that could make you laugh, and now, he’s the incredibly hot and caring guy you buy weed from that frequently makes you dizzy.

You needed a break from that, and Wooyoung was available. You can never let Mingi know though, he’ll get too jealous and you won’t be able to handle it.

You arrive at his flat before you’re ready, and you’ve barely knocked when the door unlocks and Mingi and his crooked smile appear in the frame.

“Hey, come in,” he grabs your hand and tugs you inside, your legs working overtime to keep up with his large steps. He leads you to his living room, sitting down on the couch and patting the cushion next to him. You settle a safe distance away, far enough that your thighs don’t touch, and bite back a smile at the way he eyes the space between you.

He leans over to the table next to the couch and pulls a tin from the drawer before opening it and passing it to you. It’s filled with neatly rolled joints, at least ten, and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head when he tells you the price.

“That’s way too little, isn’t it?” You respond incredulously, looking between him and the tin.

Mingi just shrugs, plopping a small jar of ground weed on the couch cushion between you and replying, “Includes that, too.”

“Mingi,” you try to hold back the whine that wants to sneak out in your voice, only pouting further when he holds up his hands and says, “It’s competitive pricing.”

Competitive pricing. So he does know.

Wooyoung must have bragged to Mingi about it, knowing his meddlesome nature and proclivity for playing with his friends. He’s harmless at his core but likes to cause trouble sometimes, and this is one of those times.

“I can’t believe you let him smoke you out,” Mingi crosses his arms and leans back against the arm of the couch to turn the full force of his guilt trip on you.

You groan pitifully, folding over to bury your face in your knees so you don’t have to look at him any longer. You don’t really have an excuse to give him, one that doesn’t give you away at least, and you definitely can’t explain yourself.

“Ahhh, it’s okay, babe, I’m just teasing,” Mingi rubs your shoulder with a big hand, pulling you up out of your shame bend. He seems sincere, but his eyes still look a bit dim and you vow to yourself that you won’t pick up from anyone else again.

You squeeze the hand on your shoulder before grabbing your phone and sending him the money he’d requested, plus a little extra. It went straight into his account so he can’t do anything about it, and you know he won’t send you the money back because cooking school is so expensive. He glowers halfheartedly at you when he sees the notification but as you thought, does nothing beyond putting his phone away and scrunching his mouth at you again.

Grinning triumphantly, you close the tin and tuck it in your purse along with the little jar he’d prepared for you. It seems you win this round, and you can only hope you win the next too.

Keyboard clicks and taps of a slipper on hardwood fill your room, the silhouette of your hunched, exhausted form illuminated by the bright light of your computer. You have a meeting with your thesis advisor tomorrow, and there’s still so many changes to make. You procrastinated in making use of her comments, leaving your editing to the last minute as usual, and now you’re paying the price.

You’ve been working for hours now, proofreading and crying and proofreading again, and you’re starting to feel like you’re losing your mind. You need a break, desperately, and your phone pings just as you push away from your desk to go lay on your bed.

You could cry (again).

Texting him back with what you think is an appropriate amount of waterfall-eyed emojis, you hop in the shower and go through your routine quickly.

When you emerge from the bathroom, you feel like a person again, and you’ve just slipped into your clothes when Mingi texts you back.

He’s… outside? You rush to your street-facing window and look down, finding Mingi leaning against his car with a beanie covering his hair and a smile big enough to power the stars covering his face. He spots you easily, waving and cupping his hands around his mouth. You fumble with the lock of the window, pushing it up and poking your head out to hear him yell, “Come on, the food’s getting cold.”

Your stomach grumbles, reminding you that you haven’t eaten since breakfast and it’s now, you swear as you check your watch, eight pm. You’re starving and your brain is still making dial up noises and your back hurts from your terrible posture but none of that matters, because Mingi is outside, waiting for you. With food.

You fly down the stairs, bursting out of your building with tears in your eyes and your arms already open for a hug. He pulls you into the cradle of his chest immediately, smoothing a hand over your hair and rubbing your sore back. “Everything okay?” He asks, pulling away to look down at you, his eyebrows furrowing when he spots the bags under your eyes and your stress-bitten lips.

“Let’s get you over to mine, yeah?”

After opening the door with a flourish, he ushers you in with gentle hands and watches as you click in your seatbelt. He jogs around the front of the car, jumping in and checking his surroundings before pulling away from the curb and starting on the way to his place.

“Here, eat something.”

A searing hot bag gets dropped in your lap, smelling of fresh fries and salvation, and you dig in without a second thought. You catch Mingi’s cheeks curving in a smile out of the corner of your eye and fight back a grin of your own, always charmed by the way your happiness becomes his.

Mingi rolls into his parking space with ease, shutting the car off and turning to you to say, “I think you’ll love this new one, I tried it with Woo last night and it knocked us off our asses.”

That sounds like exactly what you need, and you follow closely at his heels as you traverse the hall to his flat. His body blocks your entire view but you stop at the right door anyway, so used to this walk that you could do it with your eyes closed. He unlocks the door quickly and beckons you in first, a wall of scent hitting you and making your eyes tear up.

They’re not watering out of disgust (as they have in the past in other men’s apartments), they’re watering because you can smell spam fried rice, and you know he’s made it for you.

Mingi speeds past you to the kitchen and you go straight to the living room. He said in the beginning to make yourself at home, so you do. You settle into your preferred corner of the couch, noting with something like dragonflies in your belly that he’s already prepared a coaster, blanket, and the remote for you.

You wonder if all his other clients get this kind of luxury treatment, but find yourself not wanting to think of him having other clients at all. You know he does, obviously, but prefer to think he likes you the best and never need to know otherwise.

When you turn the TV on, it’s set to soccer. You’d love to change the channel but recognize the team as Mingi’s favorite, so you leave it on and bump the volume up. Just as they score a goal, he returns from the kitchen carrying two steaming bowls, a pair of water bottles, and utensils. You bounce in your seat as he carefully sets them down on the coffee table in front of you before leaning over to retrieve his bong and lighter from the end table. He’s already packed it, the angel, and he passes it straight to you.

Mingi raises his hand to light it for you as you bring it up to your mouth, and you look up through your lashes at him while you inhale. He holds your gaze, biting his lip and watching you take the hit with darkened eyes.

The taste is sharp in your mouth, the smoke sitting heavily in your lungs for a second or two before you blow it out with pursed lips. You angle away from Mingi, too polite to blow it straight in his face though you have a sneaking suspicion he just might enjoy it. You can still feel his eyes on you, but you need a second to yourself to let the effects roll in.

When you turn back to Mingi, it’s like everything around you has slowed down. He’s grinning proudly, and you’re not sure whether he’s proud of you or his own weed, but you don’t really care either way. You’re just happy that he’s happy, and you hand him the bong with a smile of your own.

Mingi takes his hit quickly and skillfully, and you let your focus fall to the hot rice waiting for you on the coffee table.

It’s delicious, as his food always is, and the comforting flavor shrinks your stress with each bite. Just the one hit was enough to melt you into the couch and with your free hand, you reach for the blanket. It’s hard to spread it over your legs while holding the bowl, and Mingi sets the bong down to help you.

His hands brush your thighs in the process, and you thank yourself for putting yoga pants on after your shower. You already feel floaty, you don’t need the feeling of Mingi’s hands on your skin adding to that.

You hum, taking another bite and snuggling into your blanket before looking up at Mingi. His eyes are already on you and you can see the tips of his ears turn red as a sheepish smile rises to his face.

Catching him looking at you is one of your favorite things in the world, and it happens oh so often. You’re not sure why you’re so fascinating to him, but you won’t complain about it, especially when it means you often get all of his attention.

It’s something you noticed in uni when you started hanging out with him after picking up at parties instead of just leaving like you used to. He would usually be surrounded by a mix of people when you arrived, and as soon as he set eyes on you, it’s like they’d all disappear.

Mingi grabs the bong and offers it to you, exchanging it for your rice. He sets it on the table next to his and lights the bowl for you, tucking into his own rice as soon as it’s burning enough. You take in more this time, feeling the smoke sear down your throat and into your lungs and letting it stay there before pushing it out away from Mingi again.

You breathe for a while, swallowing down a cough with a mouthful of water before turning to Mingi and saying, “Thank you for this, and for the rice. It’s fucking delicious.”

“Course, babe,” he nudges you affectionately with his elbow. “I know it’s your favorite. How’s your thesis going?”

You grimace thinking of the work waiting for you at home, and Mingi rushes to assure you, “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

“No, it’s okay. I just have a meeting with my advisor tomorrow and I left accommodating her comments until the last minute, like a dummy. So I’ve been working on it all day and I’m like, three quarters of the way done but before you texted, I was seriously on my way to losing it.”

Your head falls to rest on Mingi’s bicep, the muscle surprisingly cushy and his smooth skin warm under your cheek.

“You’re not a dummy, you’re a genius. You just procrastinate because you know in your heart that you work best under pressure.”

“No, I just didn’t want to do it,” you reply with a shrug, tilting your head to look up at Mingi.

“Shhhh, my way sounds better,” he places his index finger against your lips and you take a quick breath in, freezing in place. Mingi freezes too, his half-lidded eyes locked on your mouth for one, two, three heartbeats before he pulls away with a forced laugh. He pulls off his beanie to run his fingers through his hair, his attention briefly pulled to the game as his team scores again.

He cheers and bounces in place, flashing a grin at you that turns small, secretive, when he sees the look on your face. You’re still reeling from the moment you just shared, and it’s frustrating that he seems to have completely recovered. Maybe touching you just isn’t that big of a deal to him, maybe he doesn’t feel the distance like you do, or maybe you’re much further gone than he is.

You can believe the first two, but the last one would hurt.

Mingi picks you up this time, takes you for a drive. You think he can tell that you’re not doing the best mentally, because he grins at you softly and squeezes your hand when you get in the car.

You don’t know where you’re going and you don’t care, all you care about is that you’re not staring at your thesis in the quiet dark of your room anymore. It was starting to mock you, the work left undone, and you desperately needed a break.

Mingi texted at the perfect time, just when you were about to officially call it quits. He could somehow tell that you were at the end of your rope, and told you he’d be there in fifteen with something to relax you and a new playlist for you to enjoy.

He arrived in twelve, and your heart fluttered the whole way down the stairs.

Now you’re on the way to a place you don’t know, the street names unfamiliar and the distance growing between your flat and his sedan. You don’t mind it, having needed a getaway for a while, and you settle into your seat with a sigh as the car travels down unrecognizable roads.

An undetermined amount of time passes, your mind going into a soft, relaxed state the further you go. Eventually, you pull up to a deserted park and Mingi turns off the car, looking at you with warm eyes and a charming smile.

“So, I’ve got some blunts for us, and I also went to the convenience store and grabbed your favorite snacks.”

“You sweet, sweet boy,” you breathe, dangerously close to leaning over and kissing him right on those plump lips.

He grins shyly, passing you a blunt and holding up the lighter as you bring it to your mouth. You take in a deep hit, holding the smoke in your lungs for as long as you can take before exhaling away from his face. You feel the haze set in immediately, your combined stress and exhaustion making you that much more susceptible to the high coming over you.

Mingi’s eyes stay on you, feeling like physical weights holding you down as you stifle the rising coughs. You pass him the blunt, watching as he takes in a pull of smoke and blows it out into the vacant backseat.

He holds it out for you, letting go just before you take hold and nearly dropping it in the place of no return that is the gap between the seat and the console. He gasps, fumbling to catch it before it can burn the leather or fall in between the seats.

He grins sheepishly before grabbing your hand in his and wrapping your fingers around the blunt to be sure you’ve got it. You bring it to your lips and take in a breath, feeling the smoke settle in all the crevices of your lungs before you exhale it toward the roof of the car.

Mingi’s eyes are still on you but they feel different, heavier, and when you turn to him to pass the blunt back, his gaze is on your lips.

The hazy air buzzes with electricity, the cab of his sedan suddenly feeling two sizes too small. The blunt burns away where you hold it aloft, just waiting for Mingi to take it. He doesn’t move, seemingly frozen in place as wasted smoke fills the space between you. He finally raises his hand, but instead of the blunt, he reaches for your face, his big palm spanning your whole cheek.

“Y/n, can I kiss you?” he breathes, his voice so full of longing that it takes yours away, leaving you to nod as he leans in. Your eyelids flutter down, your lips just barely puckered and your heart galloping in your chest. It flips when his mouth touches yours, skips when he lets out a wounded noise and presses harder, soars when his fingers slide to the back of your neck and tilt your head to the angle he deems best for kissing you out of your mind.

You sigh into him, melting closer and closer until you’re all but draped over the middle console with just his hand holding you up. He laughs against your mouth, his teeth digging into the plush of your bottom lip just enough to sting. You feel calmer than you ever have kissing someone but you also feel like you could vibrate out of your skin, and it can only be the potent combination of good weed and Mingi.

It’s a cocktail you’ve tried before but never like this, and it only takes a few minutes of his lips pressed to yours for you to know that you can’t go back. You can’t go back to not knowing what it’s like to kiss him, to feel his fingers in your hair, to get this close to him and then have him pull you even closer.

You can’t go back to just being a friend/client, someone who only sees him when they need something.

You want to be more than that to him, and see him all the time, and kiss him all the time, and-

And he’s pulling away. Why is he pulling away?

“Y/n?”

“Hm?” You force your eyes open and lean back far enough to take in his expression. He looks… sad? Regretful? Not exactly what you expected or what you’d like to see after he’s just kissed you for the first time, but you try not to let your feelings get hurt and wait for him to speak.

Except… he doesn’t. He swipes a thumb over your cheekbone and pulls away, reaching into the backseat before setting the bag of treats on your thigh and putting the car in reverse. You’re unsure of what just happened and what to do about it, but you are hungry and you could really use some sugar right now, so you glumly open the bag and start eating.

You chew absentmindedly, your eyes wandering over to Mingi’s face. You can tell he’s focused on driving but he looks stressed, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. You wish you could make him feel better but you don’t actually know what’s wrong, and with your mind still buzzing from weed and the kiss, you think talking may not be the best idea.

You ride in silence for a few minutes, watching the buildings whiz past and bopping along to his playlist. When Mingi’s favorite song comes on and he neglects to sing the opening line, you decide you’ve had enough.

“Mingi, what’s wrong?” You plead, your eyes tracing his side profile and your fingers itching to intertwine with his. He sighs, chewing on his lip and nervously darting his eyes from mirror to windshield to mirror.

“I just… I didn’t want it to happen that way. I know I asked, and that’s my fault, this whole thing is, but I- fuck. I’m doing this all wrong.”

Shaking his head, he clicks the blinker on and pulls carefully into a dimly lit parking lot. He turns the car off and undoes his seat belt, turning to you and fighting to tuck one knee up on the seat.

You’re sure your confusion is clear on your face, as is the small amount of hurt you can’t will away, and Mingi takes both of your hands in his, looking at them instead of you.

“I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that. I mean, we were high, you’re stressed, and you’re buying. I guess I just wanted it to be more… romantic, but I got impatient and ruined everything.”

He wanted your first kiss to be romantic. He’s thought about your first kiss before, and about how he wanted it to be.

You could scream, but you figure you should reassure him first.

“Mingi, that’s so sweet I want to cry, but don’t be so dramatic. We can always kiss again.”

“We can?” He pouts, finally looking up and meeting your eyes, his own swimming with what you fear are unshed tears.

“Yes!” you squeeze his hands emphatically, “Literally any time you want.”

“Like… right now?” His eyes dart down to your lips, lingering there as they stretch in a grin. You nod, still smiling, still freaking out inside that he’s envisioned your first kiss, and still desperately hoping for a second.

He leans in closer, his lashes brushing his cheeks and his lips parting before he presses them softly against yours. You can’t help but hold your breath, somehow more nervous about this kiss than the first. It doesn’t take long for Mingi to relax you though, his fingers sinking into your hair and his air mixing with yours.

You sink into the kiss, sighing out the rest of your worries and cupping his jaw to hold him to you. He makes a soft sound as his whole body tips closer, his fingers tightening in your hair and his teeth digging into your bottom lip again. You can’t help but wonder where else he’d bite if given the chance, and can only hope the answer is all over.

When he pulls away this time, you’re dizzy, the sun has gone down, and you’re inches from launching yourself over the center console to climb in his lap. There’s nothing you want to do more than keep kissing him, but it seems he has other plans.

“I should get you home, you need to rest,” he breathes, his voice ragged and his thumb tracing the darkness under your eye.

“No, you should kiss me some more,” you exhale back, sliding your fingers into his hair and using your hold to tug him back to you. His chuckle sounds more like a sigh but he gives in anyway, pressing his plush lips to yours and letting a big hand cover your thigh. You were feeling warm before but with his calloused fingers brushing over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, you feel hot, like you could melt or burst into flames or combust.

Any one of the three is a possibility so long as Mingi keeps his hands on you, which is why you’re part relieved and part devastated when he pulls away. You lick your lips, chasing his taste but letting him settle back into his seat. Your hand falls from his hair and he catches it, smooching the back with a loud smack and brightly grinning at you.

You giggle freely, feeling lighter than you have in days and barely even dreading returning to your flat. “Can I take you home now?” He asks, squeezing at the flesh of your thigh just because he can.

“Yeah, you can take me home now,” you whisper back with a small, fond smile, covering his hand with yours to keep it there as he turns the headlights on and exits the parking lot. You drift for most of the ride back, Mingi’s soft, low voice lulling you slowly to sleep.

You blink awake as he pulls up to your flat, rubbing at your eyes and at the numb spot on your face where you were resting against the window. You look over with a drowsy smile and lean forward to kiss him goodbye, clumsily unbuckling your seatbelt as you do.

“I would walk you up, but I got towed last time,” he pouts apologetically, making you let out a sleepy laugh and respond, “I know, baby, you called me crying after.”

“I wasn’t crying!” he swears as you climb out of the car and gently shut the door.

What you don’t see as you walk away is him slowly tipping forward to rest his head against the steering wheel, whispering gleefully to himself, “She called me baby.”

AN: written as a commission for a diff idol and reworked to fit mingi!! beta’d by @petrichor-mingi thank you!!

part two will have smut :-)))

Part Two

pls reblog if you enjoyed! i would love to hear your thoughts 💖

My Masterlist

[stesierra]

Writeblr ReIntro!

I'm posting a new intro because now that I've been on Writeblr a little while, I realize how much information I left out! Hi, I'm Stephanie, I live in the desert with my husband and baby and three cats, and I'm an ace, bipolar fantasy writer! When I was a kid, they said I had ADHD but then I got my Masters degree in biology, so they claim I can't have it. Online tests say I'm probably autistic.

I used to write sci fi twelve years ago but only low tech sci fi about weird aliens, which nobody likes. Now I write fantasy novels! Lots of fantasy novels! I am beginning to post them on my website so if you want to read them, please keep an eye on this post.

My books often but not always have some romance (either m/f or f/f because I prefer female protagonists.) Since I'm ace (and demiromantic), my interpretation of romance and attraction is not exactly what you'd expect from, say, a romance novel.

I am not going to tell you about all my books! I've written eighteen! Four of them are shelved forever! Here's some recent ones (written or revised since 2018) that I haven't given up on. Please ask me questions about them! I LOVE talking about my books! Also, if you want to be added to my taglist for writing samples let me know! Please also tell me if you're interested in alpha or beta reading and for which book! Mutuals only, please!

My books are beneath the cut! As I add WIP intros, I'll update this list with links.

Cast Out

YA fantasy! On her sixteenth birthday, Zisha is cast out of the Plenary Cities for the crime of being born deaf, like her grandmother before her. In the wastelands, she meets Thesil, a depressed and bitter young woman. Zisha wants nothing to do with her — until she sees Thesil's face in a vision. But before she can find out what the visions mean or reach her grandmother's holdings in the wastes, the plague returns to the Plenary Cities. If the disabled really caused the plague thirty years ago, and were cast out to stop the spread, how can it be back when all of them are outcast?

Status: Finished. Being serialized.

WIP intro here.

Now being serialized here. First five chapters up, one posted weekly.

The Bone Queen

This is my NA fantasy about the aftermath of freeing an undead queen and her skeleton army. They take over the kingdom, of course! The main character, Elise, is trapped in Bandrum palace by Aubrey, the ghost who tricked her into falling in love and freeing him (plus everyone else.) He's an animated skeleton now with plans to marry Elise and force her to carry his children. The bone queen has promised him she'll make it happen. Too bad no one cares what Elise wants. If only she had magic of her own...

Status: undergoing a rewrite after developmental edit. Was 109k before revisions. Not available for beta reading.

Draft number? Hahahaha. It has two complete sequels (The Spellbound King (106k) and The Matriarch's Daughter (96k)) I must also rewrite. This series is going to kill me but I love it. My mom, who loves everything I write, complained that it was weird. I'm very proud.

WIP intro here.

First chapter here.

School of Souls

This is my YA contemporary fantasy about a boarding school in the Bighorn Mountains! It's supposed to be a place parents can send "bad" teens to have their problems sorted out, but secretly the founder is using it to train the kids as sorcerers. Even more secretly, the school devours the souls of the students sent there, and the teenagers who graduate aren't the same as the ones who arrived... Warning: does include teenage addiction to sleeping pills and ghosts and and parental death. It's going to have sequels but I haven't written them yet.

Status: Complete first draft. 83k. Available for alpha reading.

WIP intro here.

First chapter here.

The Many-faced Princess

This is YA fantasy with a historical vibe but set in a made up world. Vaguely inspired by ancient Phoenicia. It's about Princess Ameryi, who was blessed by the genderless trickster god, Akihel, to be able to change her face. If her father the king ever found out, he'd have to execute her, of course. Akihel is just plain evil. All the other gods say so. A daughter who's their champion? Impossible. An abomination. So Ameryi will just have to make sure her father never finds out. That was easier to do before the Asirtinsa Empire threatened to invade and her father sent her to secure an alliance with a neighboring king. She's supposed to marry him. Not steal his face and frame him for murder. But sometimes plans just don't work out.

This book was supposed to be about two lesbian princesses who frame the king for murder so they can elope, but both princesses decided to be ace and there was nothing I could do.

Status: Complete first draft. 83k. It's going to have sequels but I haven't written them yet. Available for alpha reading.

First chapter here.

Map here.

Court Phoenix

This is my NA fantasy! Kerra is a blacksmith's apprentice. Not because she wants the job, but because her mother sold her future to him when she was still a toddler who crawled into live fires and giggled as the flames consumed her clothes. Now she's a woman, trapped by the expectations of her family and her village. Until one day, a phoenix crash-lands and dies in her arms. When it's reborn, it chooses Kerra as its keeper. Soon, her dreary future is swept away. A princess from Skyfire, the moving city, offers her a job in the royal court. How could Kerra refuse? Her family's claims that she'll die if she ever leaves the village are just manipulative lies. Aren't they?

Status: Complete third draft. 104k. Available for beta reading.

First chapter here.

The Revenant Trilogy

Adult fantasy. Solving a murder should bring good fortune, but all it brings Mindral Thideet is disaster. Her fame and peaceful life as head researcher at the city of knowledge end abruptly. In retaliation for her investigation into his crimes, Payar Cheref, the head of the powerful Cheref family, burns her beloved cousins alive and scars her face. The scar marks her as a revenant, a body possessed by a godkin, one of the gods' evil children. Her life as a researcher is over. All that's left is revenge.

No one believes her when she denies that godkins have any power over her. But godkins, real ones, are far closer than she realizes. Tearing down Payar Cheref could destroy Mindral, her family, and the nation itself.

-The Halfway Revenant (rewriting draft 4) 120k. Not available for beta reading.

-The Soul-Seer (draft 2) - 130k

-The Godkin's Gambit (draft 2) 121k

First chapter here.

As Immortality Fades

Adult fantasy. Five hundred years ago, one of the immortal and unpredictable Valteifur visited the kingdom of Kathild and granted the young queen Nelone immortality. But there was a catch. She'd live forever, youthful and strong, just so long as her subjects were happy. For centuries, she's met her part of the deal. But when the Valteifur returns to check on her progress, he grants her a new gift: the resurrection of every single person in Kathild who's died in the last two hundred years. Then he disappears.

There aren't enough houses for them all. There's not enough food. And winter is here.

Status: Complete first draft. 98k. Available for alpha reading.

Bi MC, enemies to lovers.

First chapter here.

Stitches and Memories

This one's adult fantasy. Antea's father ripped her mind apart, left her for dead, and vanished twelve years ago, and she's going to find out why. But when constables try to kill her and strange truth magic grows inside of her, hunting her father starts to look like suicide. Too bad going home isn't an option.

Status: I exchanged this with a critique partner and now it embarrasses me. Fourth draft. 122k. Available for beta reading.

Trigger warning: magic seizures

First chapter here.

WIP intro here.

Triangle Park

Contemporary Fantasy. I have no idea who it's for. An elf exiled to the middle of nowhere ends up stuck with an unexpected child. It's about reluctant parenting and protecting the needy. And elves and faeries slumming it in a mobile home.

Status: Complete first draft. 86k. Available for alpha reading.

First chapter here.

Mud-Child

Adult fantasy. Rebeka has always heard that a woman who goes through menopause loses her spark (the magic that lets her create children). If she's had children, it just makes the neighbors a little more fertile. But Rebeka never wanted a man, and she never wanted to raise a child. Not since her twin sister died and her beloved Suza left her for a man. The problem is, the spark leaves a childless woman differently, everyone says. A bitter hag? She'll curse her neighbors. A sweet dim biddie? She'll give her spark to inanimate objects and create a monster. Rebeka doesn't know which she is, but she believes it's a myth.

That was before the clay in her clay pit woke up and called her mother.

Status: Third draft. 109k. Needs a rewrite! Not available for beta reading.

First chapter here.

WIP intro here.

I GUESS I'M WRITING A NEW BOOK

The Giant's Gamble

First chapter here.

I started writing this on Friday the 13th, 2023. LET'S SEE HOW LONG IT TAKES TO WRITE WITH A BABY.

Short stories

The Unfamous Dead

VERY OLD CRAP

The Scribe and the Sphinx

Adult historical fantasy

Status: second draft. Shelved for good. 85k.

The Adrift series

The River's Drift. 100k.

The Waking Mountain. 106k.

Low-tech alien sci fi. Shelved for good.

My first book whose name I forget. About 50k. Exists only as a hard copy in my parents' house.

Taglist so far (tell me if you want to be added or removed)

Tag list for everything

@harleyacoincidence

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@the-dragon-chronicler

@teacupsandstarlight

@vorskra

@wrenofthewords

@amostdelectablescribbler

@mysticstarlightduck

@phantommill

@gracewritesbooks

@aziz-reads

@owlsandwich

@symbioticsimplicity

@squarebracket-trick

@koala2all

@rmgrey-author

@atomatowriter

@cheerfulmelancholies

@delusionisaplace

@janec23

@writing-is-a-martial-art

@authortango

Just chapters and snippets

@da-na-hae

For The Many-faced Princess

@deadlyessencewhispers

@serenanymph

The Halfway Revenant

@acertainmoshke

For Stitches and Memories

@space-writes

@acertainmoshke

The Bone Queen

@janec23

@holdmyteaplease

@digital-chance

@thecrookedwriterspath

@tea-and-mercury

@coven-archives

I love you all!

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (9/?) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: You're in peril but don't be afraid, help is near. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 2,568 (this chapter, 22,261 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Trigger warning: claustrophobia Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Halo season 2 has finally arrived! However, this fic continues to zip along in the AU Party Warthog, so, while we began with season 1 way back when (and you’ll see a few more things from s1 along the way 😉), we’ll not be venturing into s2 territory at all. Unless s2 is going to take some verrrrry interesting twists, lol! Chapter 10 is in progress by hand but I hope to have it ready soon. 🤞😣🤞 The tags have been updated for hurt/comfort starting with this chapter. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Trigger warning again: claustrophobia If you need to avoid the actual scene, skip the entire first section but there will be a lot of mentions of it again through the rest of the chapter, just so you're aware. I don't want to cause any distress to anyone so if you'd like a recap of what happens in this chapter, feel free to contact me here and I'm happy to oblige so you can stay in-the-know without reading something that could trigger a bad reaction. Stay safe, my friends! 🤗

You tried to gasp in a breath but there was a weight pinning you down. Smoke burned your lungs and your eyes. Your left arm couldn't move but you were able to bring your right hand up to wipe your face, trying to clear your vision. The only light in the rubble came from a shower of sparks a few feet away, emitting from a panel half-ripped from the wall. There was very little to orientate yourself by.

"Hello?" you tried to call but you couldn't take a deep enough breath to yell. The muffled ring in your ears told you that at least one of your eardrums had ruptured.

Evaluate, you thought in the tone you used when triaging patients, shoving down a wave of panic. You tried to squeeze out from under whatever was pressed across your back. No good, too much weight.

There wasn't a tremendous amount of pain but you worried at the numbness from your waist down, behind whatever was restraining you.

Evaluate.

You tested moving your legs, your feet, your toes. It felt strange but yes, you had movement.

Spinal cord potentially compromised but not severed, you diagnosed as clinically as possible.

Something overhead gave an alarming groan.

Alert help. Report your position.

"Hello? I'm by the crane operator booth. Can anyone hear me?"

You couldn't get the volume you wanted and you automatically tried to inhale deeper. You couldn't and had to fight another wave of panic. The animal part of your brain wanted to claw the twisted metal of the deck, trying to squirm free, but when you twitched, something above you groaned again.

You had no way to know how perilous the collapsed structure was. A wrong move could bring it all down.

A fresh wave of smoke irritated your nose and you coughed weakly. From far away, you heard the muffled sound of a woman saying your rank and last name.

"Here," you choked out. "I'm here."

A blue light shimmered a few feet away, the lower half of a blue-tinted woman, her upper body phased through the rubble. Then she shrank until she fit the space, adjusting like a camera lens. A hologram.

She repeated your rank and last name. "We have your location," she said, your damaged hearing distorting her voice. "Sit tight, a rescue crew is on their way."

You tried to respond but the smoke triggered more coughing, so you nodded.

"I'll stay with you for as long as the holo-emiter holds," she said, gesturing towards the ruined wall panel that continued to spark.

"Thank you," you managed to say. "Casualties?"

She glanced up and away as if receiving new information. "Reports coming in of injuries but no fatalities. Your alert gave enough time for almost everyone to get clear."

"Good." You made yourself slow your breathing down, taking shallow breaths since you couldn't take deeper ones. For a moment, your head swam and it felt like the floor tipped. Your fingers scratched for a hold on the crumpled metal.

The sound of your rank and name cut through the terror. "You're all right," the woman assured you. "You're not falling. Try to stay still. Silver Team will be back on site in a few more minutes. John will be here soon."

It gave you something to focus on other than bring trapped. The way she knew that the mention of John would comfort you, that she didn't call him Master Chief like most people did, even the mannerism of how she'd looked away, like someone was speaking in her ear...

"Your name wouldn't be Ms. Classified, would it?" you asked haltingly and tried to smile.

"That's... not inaccurate," she said and maybe it was your blurry vision but you could've sworn she gave you a fond smile, like she knew you. "I'm not supposed to tell my name."

You tried to say it was all right but couldn't draw enough breath.

"Ah, screw it," she said. "What are they going to do, fire me? My name is Cortana."

You must've blacked out because the next thing you knew, she was kneeling next to you, her small holographic hand resting atop your outstretched arm as she repeated your rank and name.

If you could get a breath, you needed a good, solid breath. Your chest instinctively fought to expand but couldn't beneath the pressure bearing down on your back. Something above you slid and the pressure abruptly worsened. You clawed, you fought, you struggled to breathe. To live.

"John, get here now! The support beam is failing!"

"Not his fault," you tried to say. "Tell him. Not his--"

Metal screamed and everything went dark.

You woke, grasping at nothing. You still couldn't get a deep breath but this time you were on your back and it felt like someone had laced a corset brutally tight around you.

"Easy there. You're all right," said a deep voice.

Your vision swam and then Spartan Vannak-134 appeared out from the dim lighting. You were still clawing at the air, trying to sit up, and he caught your hand a little awkwardly in his much larger ones.

"Where?" you gasped.

"You're back on Reach, in medical."

Once he said it, details emerged like a black and white picture filling in with color: the beeps of the monitors, the distinctive antiseptic smell. Your hearing was still deadened but not as much as before, meaning they had already begun healing therapies on your eardrums.

Anything you might've wanted to say dissolved like sugar on your tongue before the words could be spoken. Your head seemed too full. I'm drugged, you thought and that was the last thing you knew for a while.

Voices drew you from the murky depths and you tried to open your eyes but couldn't.

"Hold her hand," Vannak said in a quiet rumble. "She likes that."

A new hand gently folded around yours and your fingers instinctively gripped hold.

You woke, feeling the phantom press of metal bearing down on you, forcing the air from your lungs. You tried to sit up, your limbs flailed, uncoordinated and leaden. A second hand closed around yours and a feminine voice began to softly sing, a lullaby in a language you didn't recognize.

The room was blurry but you caught a glimpse of red hair -- Spartan Riz-028. You went under once more, dreaming of music that soothed your fears.

Later, there was a new voice to lure you up from the sticky darkness.

"Poor little thing. She looks so small."

"She'll heal. Hold her hand, it helps."

At some point, you jolted awake to find your hand cradled carefully within Kai's.

"Hey," she said, sitting up straighter in the chair next to the bed. "You need anything?"

Your head felt less stuffed with cotton than before but now that cotton seemed to have been transferred to your mouth. "Water?" you croaked.

She jumped up and returned shortly, carrying a cup with a straw in it. You intended to sit up but a searing pain in your ribs immediately convinced you that was a bad idea and you let her help you by holding the straw to your lips.

"Slowly," she advised.

Once you'd taken a couple of sips, you mumbled your thanks then promptly passed out.

You thought you'd closed your eyes for a brief moment but when they fluttered open, it wasn't Kai sitting in the chair, holding your hand.

As soon as John knew you were awake, he was on his feet, carefully brushing the fingertips of his free hand along the curve of your cheek.

You mouthed his name.

"Rest," he said. "I'm here. You're safe."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you truly felt as if you were. Your mind let go.

"And how's our favorite mech, the Hero of the Pit?"

"That's not a very heroic name," you confessed, smiling as Maria and then Jamie entered medical.

You were sitting on the side of the bed in generic gray scrubs, waiting for Dr. Savannah to give you final instructions before your release. It had been two days since the explosion. Your hearing had, thankfully, returned to normal. The rest of you... not so much but you were on the mend.

They both gave you careful hugs.

"You look a lot less like you were squashed by a building," Jamie said sincerely and Maria punched his arm. "Hey, that was a compliment!"

"Don't make me laugh," you begged, holding your left side. They'd fused your broken ribs back together but the tissue damage would take longer to resolve. Still, aches, pains, limited motion and all, you knew you were very lucky.

"I hope they're giving you a nice vacation, at least," Maria went on.

"I should be ready for light duty in a week."

"Technically, I said we'd evaluate you for light duty in a week," Dr. Savannah corrected as she entered. "Afraid your friends will have to catch up with you later."

They said their goodbyes and, as they left, you started to stand. The doctor quickly said, "No, you don't. I don't want you walking on that leg."

"It's not broken," you argued.

"Not anymore," she countered. "Stay put. I got you a ride."

"I don't need to be wheeled back to the barracks." You tried to keep your tone confident but the truth was even that little bit of exertion had left you feeling twinges all along your left leg. Your left shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat.

"Well, good thing you're wrong on both counts," she said, winking. "And here he is now."

John came through the door, dressed in his undersuit as if either about to head to the Brokkr stations to have his Mjolnir mounted up or returning from having it removed. You didn't even realize you'd moved to rise again until Dr. Savannah put a practiced hand on your good shoulder to keep you down.

"I'll be sending PT to you twice a day, starting tomorrow," she said. "They'll help you to get your strength and mobility back. Around that, rest. Catch up on your reading, watch some thoroughly trashy movies, and keep your feet up. Not too far up, though. Nothing too strenuous. Make him do all of the work."

That got you to look at her and she waggled her eyebrows.

John cleared his throat slightly, a faint but definite flush creeping up from his collar. "Yes, ma'am."

"All right, see you back in a few days, sooner if anything else develops. You know what to watch for."

It wasn't until she stepped back and John approached that it clicked.

"You're going to carry me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated in a murmur that shivered straight down your spine.

Since your left side had taken the brunt of the damage, he put your right to his chest and cautiously picked you up in a bridal carry. Despite the care, being moved set a thousand things to hurting and your breath hitched as he straightened.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you said, your tone tighter than you would've liked. You thought, I hope nobody sees me being toted around like this, but, as soon as you left medical, you realized that no one was actually looking at you.

I think if Master Chief offered to drop me and pick up any marine, ODST or officer in this hall, they'd be hopping into his arms before I even hit the floor!

At the first turn he made, you realized the rest of it. "This isn't the way to the barracks."

"Nope," he said and you knew him well enough now to see the hint of a smile in his eyes.

You didn't have to wait for further clues, there was only one place, then, that he could be taking you. "How many strings did you have to pull for this?"

"Not as many as you might think," he demurred. "Your actions saved lives."

And they could've blamed you for failing to make sure a bomb hadn't been sent to the Pit in the first place. The curly tailed Warthog had been your responsibility, after all. You'd been curtly informed of all that when they'd debriefed you the first day you'd had your eyes open for more than 15 minutes.

You doubted they'd told that to John, though.

When you reached his room, he maneuvered so to get his thumb on the panel without jostling you too much. The lights came on as he took you through the doorway and then he paused.

"Kai," he rumbled, shaking his head. "She said studies show people heal better with color. I should've known she'd overdo it. Say the word and I'll have her in here clearing this out."

"It's your room," you said, "but personally, I love it."

The duvet on the bed and the pillows on the couch were now a rainbow of jewel tones. A tapestry with a field of sunflowers dominated the wall at the foot of the bed and you could've sworn there was a dusting of diamond glitter shimmering on every wall, sending tiny holographic rainbows through the air in all directions. But the main thing that caught your attention was overhead.

"She put up stars," you said, brightening.

"Ah, that one was actually me," he confessed. "You seemed to really like those in her room so I thought..."

You stretched up in his arms, inhaling a little sharply at the stab of pain in your left side, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I love them, John. Thank you."

A short time later, you found yourself lying on the bed in the darkened room, looking up at those stars. John had profusely apologized for not being able to stay after getting you settled in. He'd turned down the bed so you wouldn't have to, had put your padd close at hand on the nightstand to the right along with a bottle of water and a couple of emergency ration packs in case you got hungry before someone bought you a meal. He'd even procured you a set of unthinkably soft civvies to change into, exactly your size and in your favorite color.

You couldn't imagine that a Spartan had ever taken care of a sick or wounded person before, other than in a battlefield triage situation, so he'd probably found a checklist from somewhere to guide him. His earnestness to make sure he'd done everything right sent warmth flooding through you.

Before he left, he'd paused to kiss the top of your head.

"You know," you said, lifting your chin, "my lips aren't broken."

He hesitated. "The last time I did that, an entire base fell on you."

"Only the warehouse part," you said dismissively, "and there was absolutely no correlation, I promise."

He tried to smile at that but his eyes still showed concern.

"I promise," you repeated more seriously and he exhaled as if about to make a tremendous leap. His kiss was so soft and gentle, it was barely more than a whisper against your mouth.

Once he had left, you'd considered taking Dr. Savannah's advice and watching a holo, reading something on your padd, or doing any number of things to pass the time but ultimately, you'd wanted to appreciate his handiwork.

After all, it wasn't just anybody who could say a Spartan had literally hung the stars for them.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

i don't much know tmc so i hope this makes sense, but 65 for adam and jonah and friendly alternate reader? maybe it goes the way you laid out in your original post, where the events of volume 2 make them distrust reader briefly and the fic is set in the aftermath?

Good idea! Also this is slightly different from how I wrote those hcs, but the general idea is still there!

65) "I didn't mean it...please forgive me."

.......

While waiting for your human friends to finish their investigation inside the house, you remained in the van that you all arrived in, trying your best to remain patient.

You would have much rather accompanied them, knowing of the dangers present....however the fragile trust you've formed with the two was close to shattering.

Preacher arrived without any warning on the second night, and you caught her whispering things to Adam while he was trying to get some sleep. Jonah was wide awake and had the misfortune of seeing her face-to-face before he hid somewhere, allowing you to confront her.

Although you succeeded in driving her off by pretending that they were your victims to claim, he wildly misinterpreted your actions and believed you summoned her here to kill them both. He didn't believe your ruse for a second, as he freaked out on you and demanded you to get out.

In fear of triggering a panic attack in the already frightened boy, you just quietly left, but stayed inside the van to ensure that no other Alternates could interfere with the radio signal or hijack it.

Yet as the minutes dragged on, you grew more and more worried about their well being.

Preacher easily believed your lie--considering Alternates were master manipulators--so she won't be coming back anytime soon...but you didn't like the thought of leaving those two all by themselves.

Sometime later you saw the front door open, and you teleported out of the van, finding Jonah standing there. He appeared unharmed, much to your relief.

However that's when you noticed only he emerged from the house..Adam was nowhere in sight.

"Jonah, are you alright? Where's Adam?"

"Th-The basement door opened..and he wanted to check it out. I-I told him not to, but he wouldn't listen!" He panicked, before he suddenly fell silent as his expression turned to a hateful scowl--aimed at you. "I bet you opened it, didn't you? Or was it your freaky lady friend?"

"That was neither my doing nor hers. And she's not my "lady friend"." You huffed, wishing he'd stop accusing you. "Why did you leave him all alone in there? It's too dangerous."

"He doesn't know the first thing about "danger". You don't think I've been trying to tell him these ghost hunts are gonna get us killed one day?! It's like he doesn't even hear me! We both know his mom is dead and he's looking for something that's not actually there..but god forbid I ever tell him that. I'm just sick of him getting pissed off at me for wanting to fucking live."

"I understand your frustration, but..leaving him behind is not the solution here." You tried to reason with him. "To my knowledge that's not how friends should treat each other, even if they-"

"I'm not sure if I even see him as my "friend" anymore." He scoffed, hugging himself as the air grew chillier. "He literally screamed at me to leave, [y/n]. So that's what I'm doing. I don't give a shit about him or the fame or the money anymore. I'm done. I'm going back home. Alone."

Hoping to put this conversation to rest, Jonah stormed past you and hopped into the driver's seat, trying to start the engine...but it wasn't turning on at all.

He tried hotwiring it as well--to no avail.

"Shit, [y/n]..are you doing this?" He glanced at you, annoyed. "Are you screwing with the transmission?"

"........."

"C'mon, I'm not in the mood for-"

"We cannot leave him behind, child." You insisted. As much as you hated to anger your friend, this was the only way he'll listen. "Is this truly how you wish to end things between you two?"

"I'm not a child, I'm a grown ass man. And I've made my choice, and he made his."

"It doesn't have to be that way. I can still help you both-"

"If you're so insistent on "helping" me, you'll let me start this goddamn car and stay out of my life!!" Jonah slammed his hands on the steering wheel, but unfortunately for him, you weren't about to give into his childish tantrum.

"The only way I can help you is by NOT letting you leave." You shook your head, trying to stay calm and logical. "There is no running away anymore, Jonah. If the others realize you are all by yourself...they will come for you, including him."

"...wait, how do you know he'll show up?" He blinked.

"Because...I've known him since our creation. I'm aware of his patterns. Your government calls him Intruder, children call him Stanley....we call him Six. His connection with technology knows no boundaries, including radios and GPS, so it's imperative that I'm here to stop him from- "

"Oh, so you've been bffs with that child kidnapper since the dawn of time...and you're telling me he could've been fucking eavesdropping on all our conversations regarding BPS?!!"

"I.." For a moment you tensed up, realizing you may have said too much. "No, Jonah. That's not what-"

"Damn, I wish I knew all of that before we decided to trust you." Tears welled up in his eyes again, threatening to spill over. "Adam never should've let you come along. I told him he was making a huge mistake letting you out of that TV..and guess who was right?!!"

Your nonexistent heart sunk slightly at his words.

"Jonah, please calm down. You're not thinking-"

You tried setting a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he violently smacked it away before your claws could even graze his jacket.

"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!! You're all the same....you're a bunch of heartless, lying, demonic bastards who destroyed our lives and made our loved ones kill themselves!!" He choked out. "You've taken everything from us...a-and if it weren't for you....THEN MAYBE ADAM WOULD STILL BE ALIVE RIGHT NOW!!"

You physically flinched at his screaming, having never seen a human look so enraged...yet sorrowful at the same time. The emotions emanating from him were quite powerful, and when he stopped to take several deep breaths, you needed a moment to absorb them all.

But seeing as you didn't immediately leave, Jonah felt his resolve completely crumble as he gritted his teeth together, trying to stop his sobs from escaping..only for them to come out as small hiccups and gasps.

"J-Just stop pretending to care, alright? Go and...a-and leave me be." Tears streaked down his face as he clutched the steering wheel with trembling hands, laying his head on it as he tried muffling his sobs.

He felt like he just gave himself M.A.D with how badly he felt like dying right now.

Although you were initially stunned by his emotions going from one extreme to the other so quickly, you snapped out your shock and frowned slightly at his distraught state.

'He's so young...and has gone through far too much...'

You gently reached over to set your hand on his back, feeling his entire body trembling beneath your fingertips. Surprisingly enough, he didn't shove your comfort away this time as he was too busy scrubbing away his tears.

You understood that he didn't actually mean those hurtful things. He just needed to lash out after all the stress of these past few nights, and you so happened to be the closest person--whose species is the very cause of his anxieties.

"[Y/n]..I-I..I know you're not like the others. It's just...I'm so lost and I'm so fucking scared to lose one more friend...!" His voice cracked. "I-I don't wanna lose him.."

"I know, my little fish.." You soothed. "I know your heart and mind are deeply troubled. I know you're very afraid...but rest assure, I will not let anything bad happen to either of you. Whatever you think of my kind is fine, but please understand that I would never pretend to care for your safety. It is...my purpose to protect you both from their evil ways."

"..a-according to who?"

"Me. Not my "Savior" or anybody else." Taking your hand off his back, you stepped away as he finally looked up at you. His eyes were wet and tinted red from crying so hard, but through blurred vision he could see you offering your hand. "Come, let us seek out Adam. I sense he is still alive."

With a small nod, Jonah grasped your hand so you could help him out of the van, though as soon as you let him go....he hugged you unexpectedly.

You blinked, looking down at him in confusion. "Jonah? Is everything okay?"

"Y-Yeah, I...I'm just sorry about what I said to you." He sniffled quietly, his forehead pressed to your chest. "I didn't mean it..please forgive me. You know how I tend to say stupid shit when I'm scared and-"

"You needn't justify yourself, my friend. I absolve you." You smiled as you patted his head. "I have gotten worse insults in my lifetime, so they don't affect me as much."

"Good to know. Also...why did you call me "little fish"? I don't hate it or anything, but I was wondering."

"Ah, because you remind me of some...old friends, we'll say. Were you ever told the story of Jonah and the Whale?"

"...uh-"

"What ever happened to "I won't be here to confirm that"?"

The moment was cut short as Jonah suddenly let you go, looking back to see Adam emerge from the house completely unharmed. He had the camcorder and other equipment in his arms, and an annoyed expression on his face.

As he approached the van, he stopped short upon seeing the other male, blinking in bewilderment. "Were you crying?"

"..n-no, it's the allergies. I told you it's that damn cat's fault.." After making a point to wipe his eyes, Jonah shoved his hands into his pockets. "So um...what did you find in that basement?"

"Just an old TV. And you're right about that cat..it was actually an Alternate. But I got some other good footage, so I'm ready to bail."

"What about staying-?"

"We'll tell the lady we stayed all three nights." Adam shrugged. "It's not like she'll know."

"Oh, so now you listen?"

"....look, this shit's getting heavy. So if you don't mind-"

"I'll help." You spoke up, disliking this growing tension in the air as you took the heavier equipment away from Adam and loaded up the van with it.

But still, you refused to allow it to start, and Jonah knew exactly why.

He couldn't just act like he didn't have that huge fight with his friend only a short time ago, so they both talked for a few minutes, apologizing to one another and hugging it out.

When they heard the engine crank on, they immediately rushed towards the van...only to see you sitting behind the wheel, much to their confusion.

They didn't know Alternates could drive.

"You kids had a rough few nights. I'll take us wherever you desire to go." You offered.

"Jeez, since when did we have our own chaperone?" Adam rolled his eyes, but opted to climb into the back while Jonah called shotgun. "I guess we owe you an apology too, right?"

"Well..Jonah and I talked it out already, but I forgive you both."

"Yeah...I still feel like shit, though."

"Dude," the brunette huffed. "What did you say to them?"

Jonah opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it as he didn't wanna bring up the harsh words he said out of frustration and anxiety. Instead he just shook his head. "I-It doesn't matter. Let's just get outta here and go for some pizza."

"I would very much like that." You agreed, backing out of the driveway and heading down the main road.

"And....as thanks for putting up with our bullshit, we'll let you pick the toppings this time."

"What?!" Adam's jaw dropped, but your smile only grew, and he had no choice but to relent.

It was certainly something to think about on the way to the pizza shop you all knew and loved.

[jewbeloved]

Team Stan with a s/o who can turn into a red panda like mei mei from Turning Red ♥️🐼🐼

Note: You know what, screw Tumblr! I made a long ass post of a request of a red panda s/o for the main boys, and I come back after several months to see that it's no longer available for anyone to read. Tumblr has already messed up some of the links in my master list with their dog water updates.

If any of my posts are somehow "delete" make sure you guys inform me so I can recreate it. I'm so pissed off right now. I completely forgot how the last scenario went so I have to rewrite this all differently 😭😭😭

Warnings: None

Gender: neutral

💙💚 The Main Four ❤️🧡

The first time they saw your panda form, they were shocked and confused. But amazed at the same time because this is probably the first time they have seen a red panda.

Stan and Kenny over here ruffling your fluffy ears while Kyle is staring daggers at Cartman to make sure he doesn't make any rude or "ginger" comments about you.

"You're so cute (Name)!". Stan's compliment made you blush as you pulled both him and Kenny into a hug, which resulted in Kyle and Cartman wanting a hug from you as well once they both stopped fighting.

They're probably going to be teasing you forever now ever since they saw your adorable panda form. <3

Who needs a bed when they can all just sleep on your belly? It's very comfortable to them so they wouldn't mess this opportunity to sleep on your belly when you're in your red panda form.

Except Cartman would probably rather sleep next to your head or tail.

They're quick to get you something warm to cover yourself with if you ever get cold.❄️❄️

They would be more then ecstatic if you ever scare off the 6th graders If they try to hurt the boys. You look menacing whenever you're angry in your form.

Please give them a ride on your back as you stroll around the place, It would also bring them joy to be able to see other places while riding on a red panda ❤️❤️

Overall, they love having a red panda s/o💙💚🧡❤️💖💖

School starts for me next week 😭😭😭😭

[flowerandblood]

The Cherry Orchard (Oneshot)

[ students • modern!Aemond x fem!oc]

[warnings: just pure fluff my guys, safe space]

[description: She and Aemond are graphic design students, taking part in a competition for the best poster for a big festival in their city. When Aemond wins it, she begins to pay more attention to him, wanting to get to know him and befriend him. He remains completely indifferent, until he finds out that she can help him with a very important matter. Pure fluff.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

A competition was announced at the graphics department of the Academy of Fine Art. The task was to create a poster for the symphony orchestra festival in their city. The festival itself was called Musical Architecture and received a large amount of funding, so the first three places were to receive a cash prize. The winning design was to be hung around the city and represent the entire festival. Bell decided that it was the perfect time to show off her skills.

She created a poster design in which a simple, minimalist house was composed of only musical notes. She added typography in the background and was pleased that it was a really cool, fresh idea. The whole thing looked simple and struck with a strong, legible sign, which was immediately associated with the name of the festival. She took the printout of her poster to her professor in whose design studio she was studying, and waited.

A council composed of professors of graphics and representatives of the festival gathered to choose the best works. After a few days the results were posted, which were available to everyone along with the classification. Bell, along with other classmates, ran up curiously to see who had won. She looked at the list and sighed heavily.

First Prize: Aemond Targaryen Second Prize: Emmet Colren Third Prize: Anna Bernard 1st Honorable Mention: Bell Stark Second Honorable Mention: Emma Arryn

"For fuck's sake!" She groaned, rubbing her face in fury.

She thought that fourth place was the worst place that could be because you are so close to the podium and you can only look at it. She would have taken this loss better if the overall winner, Aemond, hadn't been a year below her and the others on the list.

Aemond immediately caught her attention. Although she saw him only during woodcut classes, because the workshops were common for all years, she practically did not exchange a word with him. He only had three friends to hang out with, but otherwise he didn't talk to anyone.

She was embarrassed to pay attention to him because she thought that he was handsome. Unlike her other colleagues who favored a light, casual style of clothing, Aemond was always smartly dressed, almost as if he were a student of law rather than an arts.

Bell often looked over his shoulder, watching him laboriously cut out his stencils. All his works more or less referred to the works of the old masters. He created them with such finesse and processed them in such a way that he added his own, original, ironic commentary to them. His prints were always perfect and clean, unlike hers.

Her work was wild and chaotic, and while she also loved Renaissance and Baroque art, she didn't have the flair for capturing detail that he did. She was too expressive, her gestures were more emotional and ill-considered, which in the end added lightness to the whole work.

She liked to listen to him from the side. When he was talking to one of his friends, Isabel, he told various interesting anecdotes about religion, culture, art history. Bell felt like he knew everything, and thought that he must have read a lot.

She mentally agreed with everything that he said and could barely stop herself from approaching him and asking him about the various things that he was talking about.

She didn't dare.

Looking at him, she thought that she could make him happy. That if he wanted to, he would find in her a friend, listener and companion of his scientific quest. Embarrassed and ashamed at the thought, she gave up trying to get his attention.

The professors of the design studio decided that from this year, the semester reviews of all works from all years will be held jointly, and not, as before, in separate studios. Bell was going to see Aemond's work for the first time as his design that won the entire competition.

When he hung up his works and stood next to them, while the professor began to talk about what his student did all year and how many competitions he won, she thought that she would burn with shame. She felt that he deserved to win this and all the other competitions.

On his poster, their town hall building was partly depicted as a violin. He invented the whole form, so that it looked perfect and at first you didn't notice the difference between the building in reality, and what his poster depicted. Everything was simplified and enhanced with a strong, decisive red color, with the addition of white and black. The poster was fresh and brilliant.

His other works, performed as tasks assigned by his professor also impressed her. He referred in them to his roots, the folklore of the region he came from, using the technique of cut-outs, woodcuts and simple gesture illustrations to achieve the effect he needed. Bell thought that he was an outstanding student and was embarrassed to have her work shown.

During midterm break, Bell thought about a topic for her thesis, which she was due to start the following year. For years she has been doing genealogical research of her family, sending letters to the State Archives and parishes, looking for birth, marriage and death records of her ancestors.

She already had a whole catalog of these documents, and she also drew her great family tree. She thought that she would like to create a book, illustrated by herself, dedicated to her great-great-grandmother, Rosalia.

One day, sitting in a woodcut class, cutting out her stencil, she was talking to Isabel, whom she had liked since she met her for the first time. Aemond listened to their exchange without speaking, bent over his work.

Isabel finally asked Bell how her thesis preparation was going and why she had chosen her great-great-grandmother. Bell had told her about it eagerly.

“In the parish records of my great-grandfather, son of Rosalia, Joseph was listed as his father, but I was surprised that my great-great-grand mother's maiden name is the same as her husband's. So I started digging through the archives and found out that Rosalia had died unmarried, and her husband's name was made up. It turned out that she gave birth to six children in her lifetime as an unwed mother." She said excitedly as she made herself a cup of tea in the shared, electric kettle. Isabel looked at her in surprise.

"So who was their father?" She asked, surprised. Bell shrugged.

"I have no idea. My grandmother told me that she heard as a child that they were probably the children of some rich aristocrat, that Rosalia worked for. I have not been able to confirm this theory." She said as she poured her tea with hot water that had just boiled. She heard Aemond shift in his seat and clear his throat softly.

It wasn't until she glanced at him over her shoulder that she saw him staring at her. He stroked his chin as if debating whether to say something.

“My great-grandmother was locked up in a psychiatric hospital by her first husband and my great-grandfather during World War II, because he wanted to marry another woman. I later learned that experiments were carried out on patients in this hospital, and she disappeared after 1944. Her hospital was bombed, but I don't know if she was still there at the time." He said low, indifferent, calm. Bell stared at him in total shock at this sudden words, and Isabel was also impressed by the story.

"This is terrible!" She said, terrified. Bell thought hard.

"Have you tried writing to the National Archives in this area? You can even call them and ask if they have documents from this hospital. They will provide information to the family free of charge, some scans are also sent by e-mail for a small fee. If you want I can help you find out more." She said softly. He pursed his lips as he stared at his work, deep in thought.

"Yes, I would be very grateful." He spoke softly.

She felt a surge of great joy at his words and the fact that she might have a chance to get to know him better.

They agreed that Aemond would bring his laptop the next day and they try to work something out together. They managed to find several articles from those years and a historian who dealt with the case of this hospital. Bell called him, but put it on speakerphone, so Aemond could hear what he was saying.

“When the area was about to be liberated, the patients were forcibly transferred to a train with cattle cars and taken to the interior of the country. The train never reached its final destination – which was another hospital. When the hospital you are talking about was bombed, it was already a field hospital. Whatever happened to your friend's great-grandmother, we probably won't know, all the documents have been destroyed. Sorry, unfortunately I don't know anything else." The man said, genuinely concerned that he couldn't give them more specific information. Bell pursed her lips at his words.

“Thank you very much. Have a nice day." She said and hung up.

Aemond stared at his hands in silence, shocked. For a moment she didn't know what to say and looked away.

"I'm sorry." She said finally. He nodded and looked at her, his eye sad, tired, but also grateful.

"Thank you."

They had exchanged a few words once in a while since then, but Bell had the feeling that there was a wall between them. She decided, however, that she would not impose herself on him and would accept that he apparently had no need to become more familiar with her.

Isabel invited her to her vernissage, which was to take place in a few days at one of the famous local restaurants and pubs in one. Bell didn't want to go there, she was tired and completely immersed in her thesis. She decided to grant her a bit of rest, and finally she arrived at the agreed time.

She walked inside and immediately saw Isabel standing at the counter with Aemond, both of them holding beers. Isabel hugged her, happy that she had come.

Bell saw Aemond look at her as if he was scared of her. He turned his head quickly, taking another gulp of beer from the bottle. They greeted each other, and after a while the owner of the premises began the vernissage with a few words of introduction. Then Isabel spoke, and people dispersed to admire her works.

Bell was delighted when she noticed her classmates in the crowd of people - Emma and Peter, lovely, cheerful, talented people.

They sat together at one of the tables, ordering drinks, talking lightly on various topics. Bell saw Isabel and Aemond join several tables and sit down in a large group with their entire year.

For some reason, Bell felt sad at the thought that she probably wouldn't say a word to him for all evening. As she got up to go to the restroom and passed them, she saw Aemond glance at her from afar, but he turned quickly back to talking to his classmate. Bell thought that she would be heading home soon, heartbroken.

However, Isabel approached them and suggested, seeing that many people had already left, that the three of them join them and spend the evening with them. They gladly accepted this offer, took their chairs and sat down.

Bell decided that she wanted to get drunk to mask her sadness and desperation. She began to tell Isabel about her childhood stories, how she was a mafia boss in kindergarten and no one could take any toy from the shelf without her knowledge.

Isabel laughed loudly, and with her several people who listened with amusement. She saw that Aemond was looking at her. He stared at her with an unreadable expression on his face, and she thought with shame that he probably thought that she was a stupid idiot.

People slowly went home and said goodbye to everyone, but she didn't want to leave as long as he was there. Eventually the six of them stayed together and sat closer to each other, Aemond ordering another beer.

She could see that he was already slightly drunk, but he tried his best to show it as little as possible. After an hour, Isabel and her friend said that they were hungry and were going home to eat something. Emma and Peter also said that they had to go back.

In the end, they were alone.

"Was this city your first choice when you applied to Academy?" She asked curiously, wanting to strike up any kind of neutrally safe conversation. He looked at her in surprise, toying with his beer bottle.

“No.” He said finally. “I wanted to get to the capital, but they did not accept me. I failed my exams and ended up here, because only here was there still recruitment. It was probably my biggest failure in life.” He said casually, looking at his bottle absently. Bell rolled over in place and smiled warmly.

"I'm glad you didn't get in there." She said, before she could think what it sounded like. Aemond looked at her in shock, swallowed softly, and looked down, embarrassed. He did not answer.

She wanted to add something and deepen her thought, so that he wouldn't feel so awkward, but a waiter approached them, informing them that he was about to close the place. They had to quickly drink what they had and leave.

They settled outside the restaurant, looking at themselves uncertainly, not knowing, what to do.

"Which way are you going?" He asked, without looking at her. She pointed to the main, lit street on the right. He nodded and said that he was going there too.

They walked together, and for a moment there was a long, awkward silence between them which he broke.

"Simon is imposing on you?" He asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and she, surprised, giggled at his question.

Simon was an odd character in their year, who sought constant attention. He made himself an infinite artist, having a great opinion of himself. He also constantly tried to establish new artistic relationships, create a kind of bohemianism, be the leader of an artistic group that he would create himself.

“He offered to take pictures of me, using the 19th-century technique. I don't have any pictures of my great-great-grandmother, so I agreed to pose in period attire. I had to pose for him in his rented room and I have to admit, it was incredibly weird. He wanted me to come over later that evening to see him develop the photos, but I figured that he probably wanted me to see something else." She said amused, the alcohol buzzing in her head, making everything seem laughable to her. Aemond smirked at her words.

"You did right. He also texts me all the time, praising my works. He's attention seeking whore and he annoys me so much." He hummed low and she looked at him, happy and beaming that they were finally talking lightly.

She felt a pleasant shiver as their shoulders rubbed against each other once in a while. Even though they didn't have to, they walked very close to each other.

Bell looked at him, seeing the street that he should turn on. She knew roughly where he rented a room, because Isabel lived nearby and had told her once.

"Isn't your street over there?" She sputtered softly, pointing diagonally, her seeing blury. She saw him purse his lips at her words, repeat the mechanical movement of stroking his chin with his hand again. She thought that he did it when he was stressed.

"No. I'll feel better if I walk you home." He said after a moment. Bell felt a heat in her belly at his words, and it wasn't the alcohol.

They set off together, talking about light, non-committal topics. Aemond looked around her neighborhood, surprised as if he suddenly recognized where he was.

"Isn't there a church not far from here?" He asked low, evidently the alcohol had begun to imprint on him as strongly as it had on her. Bell nodded.

"Yes, right behind that house." She said, pointing her finger at the tower that was barely visible in the night sky. Aemond muttered under his breath, agreeing with her.

"I go there every Sunday." He said lightly, and her heart skipped a beat at the thought that he came so close to her home every week and she didn't know it.

He took her to the building itself. They stared at each other for a moment.

She couldn't help herself and just hugged him. He returned the hug stiffly and turned away, wishing her a good night. Bell returned to the apartment delighted.

Since then, she and Aemond had exchanged messages from time to time, often simply complaining about Simon and how he tormented them.

[Bell]: I feel like his mistress that he is cheating on you with.

[Aemond]: I feel the same, he fucks us as he wants. Should I be jealous?

[Bell]: About me or about him?

[Aemond]: Good question.

She pursed her lips as she read his words, her cheeks blushed. They used to say such sentences to each other from time to time, and she felt subconsciously, that even though they both pretended that they weren't, there was something going on between them.

They started going out together with his other friends to the city. Isabel always invited her, but now that she knew more of their year, she felt more at ease with all of them.

They sat down in one of the pubs, on a large, arched couch, in front of which was a big, round table. Even though there was plenty of room on the other side, Aemond sat down next to her. She took a sip of her drink, trying to hide the smile that appeared on their faces.

They sat there for several hours, talking about their professors, their classes and difficult assignments, unfinished projects and exams that were still ahead of them. The bartender finally told them that they were about to close, so they got up to leave. Aemond, Isabel, and Bell were walking in the same direction.

Bell instantly regretted her decision not to go to the restroom. She considered running into some bushes before her bladder gave out. She pursed her lips, feeling like she really wasn't going to last any longer.

"I need to go to the restroom." She mumbled softly, looking at them. Aemond looked at her in surprise and swallowed.

"You can come over, but I warn you, my roommates have turned this apartment into a pigsty." He said low and hesitant, embarrassed by his proposal.

Bell felt a heat in her lower abdomen at his proposal. The thought of being alone with him, at night, in his apartment.

"Stupidity, I live closer! Come to me Bell, I live around the corner already!” Isabel said cheerfully, not understanding that she had just ruined her entire plan.

Neither she nor Aemond could explain why Bell should go to him when she did live closer so Bell, disappointed, went to Isabel and returned home.

As she was going to bed, she saw that Aemond had shared with her via the app a link to a Facebook event about a lecture at the museum about Renaissance art, which they both found to be interested in. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw that he had written another message underneath it.

"Do you want to come with me?"

Bell wondered for a long time if this was actually a date or not. She decided not, so she dressed the way she would dress for class - dungarees, a white turtleneck, and cherry-printed socks. She let her long, dark hair down.

When she got there, she was pleased to see that Aemond was already waiting for her at the entrance. She had heard him say once that he hated being late. They both showed up ahead of time.

They greeted each other and entered without a word, taking their seats next to each other. The lecture began, and she tried to focus as much as possible on what the woman was saying, not on the fact that he was sitting next to her.

After a few minutes, she decided that she could at least glance at him once in a while. She looked at him and saw that his eye was fixed on her socks. She blinked questioningly. He looked up at her eyes, a smirk on his face.

"Nice socks, cherry." He grunted and she blushed as she turned her head away. She felt her heart pounding hard, her fingers quivering slightly in her lap.

She tried to convince herself that she hadn't been falling in love with him in recent months, but she knew that wasn't true.

After the lecture, Aemond offered to walk her back again which she greadily agreed to. As they walked, she felt him slip something into her jacket pocket and she jumped in surprise, a smile lighting up her face.

"What's that?" She asked, sticking her fingers in her pocket, feeling the little ball with the stick on it. She took it out.

It turned out to be a strawberry lollipop.

“You once told Isabel that you didn't like cut flowers. That you'd rather men bring you lollipops, because you might eat them at least." He said, feigning indifference, looking at her expectantly as if to see if her reaction would be what he expected.

She pursed her lips, looking at him happily. She thought that she could kiss him now.

"Yes, thank you, it's a wonderful gift." She said, unwrapping the lollipop and immediately popping it into her mouth.

She could see him trying hard not to watch as she slipped it in and out of her mouth once in a while with a loud click of her saliva.

When they were in front of her building, she decided that she wanted to try. That she really likes him, really values him, really wants him. She thought it might work.

Christmas break was approaching and she knew that he would be leaving in a few days. She decided that it was the perfect time to ask him for what she had wanted to do for a long time.

"I'd like to write you letters when you're gone. Will you give me the address of your family home?" She asked uncertainly, her voice trembling slightly as she popped the lollipop into her mouth again.

She saw him tense all over, his gaze rising from her lips to her bright eyes. He swallowed softly, then forced out one sentence with difficulty.

"I'll give you my address only if you give me yours."

_____

My dears, those who know my private stories from my blog may have guessed, but - beware - this story is an exact reflection of how I met my husband-Aemond. Tomorrow we celebrate our second wedding anniversary. Everything I wrote in this fanfic really happened! Of course I condensed it and left out some important events to make it make sense as a plot, but that's how we fell in love.

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96

[teresalace]

"I won't cry for you" - Yandere Tyler Galpin x Female Reader PART 3

•Part 1 •Part 2

Words: 1699

Warnings: Mentions of torture, psychology, dysfunction yet healthy family relations if you squint.

Show: Wednesday (2022)

Summary: You've graciously or stupidly, granted Tyler a phone to call his father for whatever reason he had while you went to call yours for assistance. And since you weren't fully knowledgeable about Hydes, you contacted the only person you knew, who wasn't in prison, that had that knowledge. Your father, Alvin Gates.

• •

🥺 Sorryyyy this took forever a lot of months, planned to post this at February but got sick and many stuff happened, preparing for an interview :--D but am back in my writing mojo!/kinda, HAPPY HALLOWEEN) AND I HEARD season 2 is coming omggg I'm excited

————

"Well, well, well~ If it isn't the sweet consequence of my actions with your mother." A voice unmistakably grouchy speaks, sounding jovial with every word out.

A quick glance to your locked bedroom door before you finally said a response into the cellphone.

"You sound well, father." You mildly greeted, a tinge of a smile in your voice. To think it's almost only been a month since the last call.

"Yeah yeah it's been a while but cut the chitchat, sweetie, what do you need helping with?" You could imagine an eyeroll as your father said, always cutting to the chase.

"About Hydes." You spared no other detail and maintained calm articulation. Not that you needed to be careful with him, thankfully.

For more precaution, it's better if not even your own father knows about Tyler being in the house. You didn't want things to get out of hand.

"Ah- what about them? Did something happen that isn't supposed to–" Suddenly silence overtook the line, a thoughtful humming until he spoke again. "Don't get yourself into any unfamiliar territory, kid. That's suppose to be your mother's speciality."

So he noticed, of course he did. Better leave that to his wandering imagination than spoil your plan. A very non-existent plan at the moment.

"I don't plan to. Father, I was just curious since I kept hearing about them." True, that wasn't a lie in the slightest. "I was wondering if you'd know anything about them."

Surely he must know something.

"Hmm, you heard it from someone, no doubt. . . Alright, alright. What do you want to know exactly, kid. I'll tell ya as much as I can afford to." Sounds like mother has been keeping tabs on him.

"Hydes obey only one master, their own, correct?" You continued when father hummed a helpful tune, "would it be possible to sever the ties between a Hyde and its master."

A pause in-between your father's breathing left you suspended.

"Well. . . Got bad news for you kid, I don't know any available methods for that." He sighed gruffy like he felt bad, "sorry but can't help you with the whole severing business. It's set in stone, pretty much."

"I see. . . " You massaged your temples, disappoinment rising inside you. But you couldn't just accept this answer easily, stubbornness seemed to take hold in your heart. For what reason? You couldn't figure out.

"However–" A hoarse chuckle emerged from your cellphone. "It's not entirely impossible to say there aren't other ways of solving that problem. I'm sure you can get some creative ideas from their origins, kid. Only one thing is set in stone, Hydes only serve one master."

Father's bold hint sparked a lightbulb in your head. Their origins.

In the first place, what caused Hydes to bond an undying loyalty to their masters was–

"Sorry for not being alot of help, kid, I'm out of time for the day. Take good care of yourself, will you."

"I will." A buzz of excitement slowly crept over you as an idea began running through your mind. "You were very helpful, dad, thanks. You take care too."

"Mm sounds like you found an answer eh?" He sounded genuinely happy, making you feel much more sturdy in this new plan.

"Not exactly but I should be on the right track." If Tyler would go along with it.

"Mm so you're going to try any attempts, I see. Hah– it's hilarious how similar you and your mother's thinking is!"

Again with the comparisons. You rolled your eyes, "Goodbye, father."

"Alright alright, see ya kiddo. For now." BEEP. BEEP.

The call was over already.

.  .  .

You turned off the burner phone, picking out the block of battery from the back and saving it in your other hiding space for another time. Now you should check on Tyler, you can't afford to trust him so easily especially when his father's a sheriff. 

Quietly you went out of your bedroom, closing the door slowly so as to not make a sound. You headed down the stairs in a casual, fast pace to quickly see his state of mind.

But it's likely he isn't planning to screw himself over... Your assumption was most likely made correct when you came to see Tyler sitting slumped on the couch, his face buried deep in his hands. 

Sweeping your gaze across the living room and floor, the burner phone you gave him was nowhere in sight… Mentally noting to check the trash bin by the kitchen before you stomped down the stairs and made yourself known.

Tyler's eyes peeked up first from the gaps in-between his fingers like the leafy venus flytraps back home ever so often tempting you to closer inspect. To place your finger in there, to feed. 

He waited on your next move.

Your arms folded, hiding your hands twitching on their own for a tweezer. "Did you have a good talk?" 

What else could you really say without sounding too interested in him. 

"It was something…" Tyler did a small shrug, less energy than he's shown before, voice dulled by the cover of his fingers. "Could've gone better. I wish he didn't hang up so fast."

"What did you talk about?" Might as well see how much information he was willing to give.

A small sigh, Tyler slowly revealed half of his distraught face. "Not a lot. He wasn't interested in what I had to say… Told me to be careful." Strange of the dutiful sheriff to say but then again you didn't know what kind of father-son relationship they had.

"How are you feeling?" One of mother's favourite lines growing up that you've somehow adapted into your vocabulary. It seemed the most appropriate.

You continued watching Tyler's tensed form with a safe but short distance away, the coffee table acting as a possible shield in between you and him. Incase he raged.

But there was none.

There was something in his usual silence this time that irked you. Like he didn't fully trust you. 

You approved of that, as he shouldn't. Mutually. Especially if things ever go wrong because of him, you were ready at a moment's notice to abandon everything to do with him. 

"I… Hate him." 

The pause went on for however many tensed seconds before Tyler's hands fell onto his knees.

"Sorry sorry, I know I shouldn't be saying this… I mean I can't say I don't miss him." 

"You can say what you want. I don't mind," you said flatly, genuinely meaning it. His expressions stiff, he looked mentally pent up, thoughts practically steaming out from his ears.

"No, it's fine. You've done a lot for me already, I owe you." He grinned brightly, the dark cloud looming over from before gone in an instant, "for that phone call too."

"Sure," it wouldn't be bad to have a Hyde indebted to you.

Tyler checked the ticking clock on the kitchen wall, "I guess it is getting late… See you in the morning?"

You nodded. "Night, Galpin." 

"G-Good night! Have a good sleep." He smiled dopey, waving briskly while walking backwards to the foot of the stairs before jogging up to his bedroom. So naturally at home.

Just how eager was he to get back in his room?

 That wasn't his usual way of walking, what could he be looking forward to or hiding in there… Or he could just be relieved of stress after that talk with his father, maybe that brought about his new behavior.

Your suspicions were beginning to sound far-fetched even to yourself but then again, there was always that silver of possibility that he could be planning to rebel against you. 

So you moved fast towards the kitchen sink, tiny spikes of uneasiness pulsing through you, turning the facuet on and letting the water run loudly as you went to look into the trash bin.

Expecting to look down into a void of nothingness.

The large black plastic bag sleeved over the edge of the bin looked loose and puffy. Clearly you didn't do this, your meticulousness wouldn't allow such a lazy set up. You pat down the puffy areas, flattening the edges to allow better access in seeing what trash had been collected.

Shiny peices of black metal greet you at the bottom of the pit, tiny and almost powder-like glitter in the kitchen light. What previously used to be a burner phone now looked like the result of being in someone's clenched fist. Useful monsterous strength… if he could actually get it under his full control.

Whatever anxiety crept inside your heart disappeared as you contently spun on your heel and turned off the kitchen faucet. 

A small appreciation for Tyler as thanks to him, there's less work for you now.

You wondered why you even felt 'anxious' at all, it must've been the slight stress of knowing he could've screwed things up for you. And himself. Now that makes sense, of course since it's not as if you actually knew him personally even back in town. 

Feeling much more at peace, you headed towards your own bedroom, adjacent from Tyler's. His room barely made any noise except for the few inaudible mumbles and the faint use of his shower and the light peeking through from underneath his door. 

You never noticed before but he always had the lights turned on in there. Well, it's not as if you were the one paying the electrical bill. It was nothing noteworthy.

Once settling in your own bed and underneath your blanket in the cozy dark, sleep came easily… Until your brain jostled an interesting observation your very eyes must've slipped. 

In the trash bin, there was no sight of the small black piece. The memory card. 

The sim card. 

Despite his questionable actions, you chose to sleep, thoughts racing alongside a strange excitement building up in you. 

Oh what are you up to, Tyler Galpin.

Time was ticking. Neither on his or your side. He just didn't know it yet.

In the following morning you received a misscall from an unknown number. Father. He never contacts you first. There's nothing he needs that you could provide. It must be about the Hyde. 

Finally.

[dcitrinegames]

Thieves At Midnight Book 1 Master Post

Thieves at Midnight is an interactive work focused on character and relationship development and replayability. It’s set in the heist genre, and you’ll have missions throughout the course of the game that you can choose or fail and choices to make that will eventually culminate in the final heist.

Trigger Warnings: Parent death, grief, child abuse

Word Count: 95k

Chapter Three available on my patreon!

Demo  ❂ Patreon  ❂ Forum

You were born a child prodigy-a natural genius, talented at everything and anything, and it put you on the fast track for a career in law enforcement, until it went down in flames.

You built a new life for yourself on the other side of the law, but but it all came to a stop with an encounter with an upcoming thief team. You were set up to meet each other by someone who is pulling the strings, but to what end? With no other options, you agree to sign on with them for their first real job, but only to investigate who the person targeting you is and why. It’s supposed to be only temporary, and you were supposed to only be trying to find out who is coming after you, but eventually it becomes obvious that this mystery is bigger than you could’ve imagined, and the answers seem to be where you actually came from...

Lots of different orientation/sexuality choices (nonbinary lesbian, she/her gay man, my gender is bisexual, and more)

Play on Narrative and not have to worry about stat checks and correct answers, normal to play the game as intended, or Master Thief Mode, a true challenge.

Tons of achievements to earn!

Choose your origin between driver, forger, and thief-this will choose who your contact is, which prologue you play through, which missions you’ll play, and what role you’ll have in the final heist at the end of the game.

The player character has a set backstory and core personality traits; you’ll choose how you lean into them.

You can communicate entirely in sign language and choose which sign language you communicate with.

A variety of skills to potentially build; be a jack of all trades, a blend of two or three, or a specialist.

Decisions you made, your lifepath, and your successes or failures over the course of the game will decide the final heist at the end of the game.

Book One of Thieves At Midnight has eight love interests:

“Whatever it is that you want out of this life, I want to give it to you. I want to be your hero.” Caolán / Clíodhna O’Cunningham is the team’s leader; something spurned them to choose a life of building a professional thief team and dodging law enforcement over taking the path of a professor or diplomat. But after they meet you, their professional front soon starts combating with their heart. They are a love interest for any player.

“I’ll say or do almost anything if it’ll make you stay.” Isaiah/Ivanna is the team’s explosives expert and eternal optimist; they have the utmost faith that no matter what happens, the team will pull through. But maybe the optimism and sense of humor is just a defense. They are a love interest for any player.

“I didn’t know what to think the first time I saw you again, but I do now, and I think that we’re supposed to be together.” Milana is the team’s hacker, and your fellow prodigy; you knew Milana when you were children, and fate has brought you back together again. Milana is intelligent and hardworking, but she needs someone to show her that she’s more than just how she’s useful to people. She is a love interest for female players.

“I said to you when we met that you were just a person, but you’re not just a person anymore, you’re my person.” Suzanne is the team’s damsel. Emotionally intelligent and observant, Suzanne serves a vital part on the team; you just have to get her to see that. She is a love interest for female players.

“I could feed you a line about how if you stay, you could make a difference in the world, but I’m selfish, and I want you to stay for me.” Aeneas is one of the team’s grifters; utterly self-serving, Aeneas excels at putting on a new face and they’ve never gotten attached. But perhaps their icy exterior is just protecting a wounded heart. They are a love interest for any player.

“I’ve always seen other people fall in love, and I’ve been waiting for it to happen to me, and now it feels like it finally has.” Dominic is the team’s engineer, adept at taking anything technological apart and putting it back together. He builds the team’s gadgets and disables any security that could be in the team’s way. But the sweet and shy person that he is, maybe he’s more afraid than he’s letting on. He is a love interest for female players.

“I want to be able to close my eyes, fall back, and know that you’re going to catch me.” Milo is the team’s jack of all trades-the pickpocket, safecracker, and inside man. Independent and self-reliant, Milo has put survival first all her life. She is more than adept in the field, but she’s struggling with another aspect of the team-actually being part of it. She is a love interest for male players.

“I want you to choose someone who for once is going to put you first.” The team’s protector and guardian, Jason knows trouble when he sees it, and while initially he thinks it’s you and keeps you at a distance, but perhaps it’s not the team he’s trying to protect. Jason is a love interest for male players.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Do you still take Gunpowder Milkshake prompts and do you write Anna May/Florence/Madeleine also? I like MadeleineLives! fix its, and can be smutty :))

And do you want to join Gunpowder Milfshake discord?

Heyyyy @my-gaydar-is-on-point !! I absolutely am taking requests for Gunpowder Milkshake characters!! (And sorry, but I’m not on discord) This one’s partially inspired by a post of @starfirebutterfly1 , And I couldn’t not think of the song linked because they’re all brunettes… Hope you Enjoy! 😉

What makes a bunny? ~Gunpowder Milkshake Librarians xFem bunny!Reader

The Librarians of Gunpowder Milkshake—Anna May, Florence, & Madeleine—interacting with their bunny!Reader…

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!!, smut, bunny!reader, teasing, eating out, fingering, mommy kink, mistress kink, praise kink, overstimulation, pet names, public sex, etc.

One blurb for each of them = 3 in 1…!

Enjoy (;

Anna May

Anna May had you cornered in the literary science section of the library, your back against the bookshelf and your her body flush against yours.

Your breath hitched and your cheeks flushed red, as the librarian’s fingers danced along the edge of your way to short skirt and down your plush thighs.

“What’s the matter, bunny…? Cat got your tongue…? Speak up, sweet pet…” Anna May purred in a hushed tone into your ear.

Your heart was racing and the eye contact became too much, causing you to look to the ground in embarrassment. You were dripping and aching for the woman. And she knew it. She cupped your chin, directing your eyes back up to her gaze.

“Well bunny…?” The curly haired goddess taunted.

You gulped, your face reddening even more.

“I— wanna be good for you…” you whimpered.

At this, Anna May crooked her head slightly and then called out,

“Florence, Dear, I’m going to need the Library’s private quarters for the evening…!”

Before leading her bunny to the private bedroom, and you of course followed her like the obedient pet you were…

~~~

Florence

Florence had you laid out on the couch as her head was being suffocated by your plush thighs, her tongue lapping up your juices of yet another orgasm that she had brought you. Your hand was buried tightly in the woman’s short curls. You moaned out incoherently in pleasure as you began to approach your next high.

But suddenly Florence pulled out from in between your thighs. Her face full with your cum. And a wicked grin plastered on her face.

“Turn around, hun’…” Florence lustfully instructed, “on all fours, bunny…”

You nodded, completely blissed out, and immediately rolling over and getting on all fours, presenting your ass to the goddess librarian.

“OHhhHh fuck yes mistress please don’t stop…!” You desperately whimpered, as the brunette’s tongue began pleasuring you from behind.

After hours of cumming non-stop, your mistress finally let you off the hook. You collapsed in her lap, exhausted but completely sated and your plush thighs shaking ever so slightly. But as you then went to get up from the couch, your legs immediately buckled and you collapsed to the floor.

*impressed whistle*

“Did your mistress fuck you that good, bunny…?” Florence teased, causing a rush of red to erupt across your cheeks as the woman helped you up.

~~~

Madeleine

“My my my, your absolutely soaked, Dear…” Madeleine lustfully cooed, having pinned you to the library entry desk with one of her hands snuck up your skirt and teasing your folds.

She than helped you up onto the counter, kissing all available skin, while removing your clothing piece by piece.

“You gonna be good for me, bunny…?” She cooed.

You bit your lip and eagerly nodded.

“Yes mommy…” you whimpered.

Soon, you were in nothing but your knickers, causing you to suddenly become overly shy and self conscious. Your face flushed tomato red and your body curled up on the desk as your hands went to cover your face and any other body part you could.

“Oh no no no, let me see you, Dear…” the brunette cooed, bringing your thighs back on each side of her form and taking your hand away from your body.

“There… that’s better…such a good girl…” she cooed, cupping your cheek, “you don’t have to hide from me, bunny…”

Your cheeks flushed fusia with her praise. You tightened your thighs eagerly in anticipation. And Madeleine took note.

“Ohhhh…you like that…?” she mused, “you like mommy praising you…? I had a hunch…” she chuckled, finally slipping one of her digits into your heat.

“OhHhhHhHh… yes fuck mommy…!” You moaned, bucking your hips needily against the librarians hand.

~~~

Tag list: @weemssapphic @farahtissaiamyloves @youre-where-i-wanna-go @la-muertas-lover @geek-goth-gay @thesamesweetie @lesbianlovelife @lilolilyr @my-gaydar-is-on-point @thelordvoldemort @missmacfire @esendoran

[kissesforsatoru]

TOKYO REVENGERS — 東京リベンジャーズ

⚠︎ all of the works below have dark underlying themes that may make some people uncomfortable. please be sure to read all of the tw’s/cw’s listed at the top of each post and continue at your own discretion. if anything is not tagged, please let me know and i will fix it as soon as i can. ⚠︎

characters available for request : mikey, baji, izana, sanzu, ran, rindou, kazutora, shinichirou, wakasa, kakucho, and kokonoi.

for my mini series’ please check the tag(s) linked

for thirsts, please see the ꗃ whispered secrets 💭 tag

┌ THOUGHTS, HEADCANONS, SNIPPETS AND VIGNETTS !

⊹ ⸝⸝ general yandere baji

⊹ ⸝⸝ general yandere mikey

⊹ ⸝⸝ general yandere izana

⊹ ⸝⸝ general yandere wakasa

⊹ ⸝⸝ weak for your growls | baji

⊹ ⸝⸝ when reader is a cop | izana

⊹ ⸝⸝ when you’re pregnant | hanma

⊹ ⸝⸝ poly dynamic | mikey and izana

⊹ ⸝⸝ how dare you insult them | bonten! mikey, sanzu, rindou, ran

⊹ ⸝⸝ meeting his childhood sweetheart | bonten! mikey

⊹ ⸝⸝ when you’re being mistreated by your bf | mikey, izana, koko

⊹ ⸝⸝ socially anxious darling | mikey, baji, wakasa

⊹ ⸝⸝ not actually a one night stand | mikey, izana

┌ SERIES AND FICS !

“ ♡ „ series: eternal devotion | prince!izana kurokawa x fem!reader

— ꒰ major warnings: general yandere themes, abuse of power, coercion, master/servant relationships, possessive behavior, heavy stockholm syndrome, virgin!reader.

“ ♡ „ want you so bad | bully!kazutora hanemiya x fem!reader

— ꒰ major warnings: general yandere themes, dub-con, semi-public sex, teasing/degradation, (vague) bullying.

“ ♡ „ lay me down, tie me up | ran haitain x fem!reader

— ꒰ major warnings: general yandere themes, thoughts about non-con but no actual non-con, virgin!reader, bondage.

“ ♡ „ mine forever | bonten!sanzu haruchiyo x gn!reader

— ꒰ major warnings: general yandere themes, threats, violence (thoughts, behavior), possessive behavior, unhealthy relationships.

© 2023 by kissesforsatoru━all rights reserved. plagiarism is strictly prohibited. comments, likes, and reblog are highly appreciated.

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 7: The Doubt

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: Fallout comes fast when the Mandalorian fails to keep faith in you.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, post season 3, canon-typical violence, they fight (wah), jealous Din. Uhhhh please advise if there's more to add here thank you

A/N: I'll make a master list page or something at some point (update: HERE IT BE). Halp. Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, A03. Thank you for reading!

--

‘So, it’s a ship holo.’ If sounding unimpressed could make you float, Mando would be kissing the roof.

‘It is,’ Torre punctuates his words like he’s conducting, ‘ah-no ordinary ship holo. Look.’

Stepping toward the gigantic rendition of a Class H treasury cruiser, you study the layout and details. Long corridors criss-cross either side of a central column, enclosing vault upon vault stacked from hull to rafters. It’s the kind of ship that can only travel at sublight, prioritised as it is to carry as much wealth as possible above the space necessary for a hyperdrive. Well, the wealth plus the armoury bristling with weaponry and a military-trained guard duty. 

You’re trailing your eyes along one of the corridors when you spot it. You give Torre a startled look and focus in closer on the two tiny figures making salutes and bowing.

‘That’s a guard mounting,’ you say. ‘They’re changing shift.’

‘Yyyup.’ Torre shifts around the table and stands beside you, too damn close but you’re distracted. ‘Look there, that’s your quarterdeck patrol unit. They keep to the perimeter.’

You laugh in wonder.

‘What,’ Mando steps forward.

‘It’s live!’ You reach a hand up and twirl the view to the patrol Torre pointed out, pulling in for a closer look. ‘See?’ Seven red-lined holographic figures move in a V; you can even see the rear two figures reaching out and checking whatever’s on the walls.

‘It’s a live fucking feed of what’s happening on this ship right now?’ You turn to Torre. He’s drinking it in.

‘Pretty sweet, right? You would not believe the crew I had to ride with to get a hold on this. Ha, it’s a real story, I’ll tell you all about it, maybe over d—’

Mando interrupts by grabbing your arm and pulling you backward. ‘We need to leave, now!’ He tugs you so hard you stumble a little.

‘Woah. Hey, man, no need to manhandle her,’ Torre says. ‘I know what you’re worried about but trust me, this line has a 100% bonafide, platinum-tier, guaranteed-on-my-mother’s-grave, airtight encryption. No trace. Nothin’.’ He sweeps a hand, whoosh. ‘Wouldn’t have it in here myself if I wasn’t certain.’ 

‘Hey,’ you say, ‘hey, lookit.’ When you’d tripped your eyes had landed on the lowest deck of the ship and you saw it. An energy signature. You suspect you know what it is.

You reach out and pull the spot on the map toward you and Mando, who’s released your arm but still radiates flight or fight reflexes. Maybe flight and fight. But he leans in too when he spots what you’re dragging in on.

The objects are lined with a deep, radiant grey. They sit in a room surrounded by treasures glowing more brightly, but the spot you’re looking at feels infinitely denser, a heavy presence even on the holo. They’re sitting in neat piles on a long bench, dozens of them.

‘There it is,’ Torre says behind you.

‘The beskar.’ Mando straightens and turns squarely on Torre, whose wide grin doesn’t falter. 

He holds hands out, palms up. ‘So, you in?’

Thanks to the depth of intel available on the projection, the plan really isn’t all that complicated. It’s just wildly dangerous and leaves plenty to chance. 

You fidget as Torre explains the steps, looking sidelong every few seconds at the dark and brooding figure beside you. Mando has said nothing beyond demanding more detail, which the wannabe orchestrator of this heist is all too happy to provide.

‘The great news is that this ship is way out there, way on the outer rim,’ Torre is saying. ‘So we won’t have any company to worry about.’

He trails a finger through the flickering image in front of you all. ‘We’ll have to plot a precise path onboard to avoid patrols. It’ll be convoluted and means we’ll have at least eight rounds of airlocks to hack through. Which you’ll handle ably,’ he nudges your knee with his.

‘We program them to open for just a few seconds, then seal shut and go offline, so they can’t be reopened – even remotely – giving us time.’ He drags a corridor in and zeros in on the small room you’d identified earlier. Points at it.

‘We raid the vault, then we head here,’ he shifts his finger to a room full of servers, then spins to a nearby bench and picks up a datalink. ‘Plug in this code I’ve designed.’

You remember Torre’s coding and programming… abilities. Once, when he was in your Uncle’s employ, he’d intercepted and hacked an incoming ship with a rumoured assassin onboard. The ship had jumped to hyperspace, destination an imploding star system. 

You’d heard about that only later though, when it was too late and he was gone. Otherwise you might have tried to learn a thing or two from him.

‘Once this tight little program is running,’ he’s carrying on, ‘the escape pods here will decouple from the system, unlock themselves and become untraceable. We’ll get to a pod, ride a few seconds of freefall and be out of reach. Then we just skip along to a rendezvous. Home free and soaked in riches.’

He sits back, looking smug.

You roll your eyes. ‘Torre…’

‘Hm?’

‘One thing…’

‘Which is?’

‘How do we get on the ship?’ you say, pointing at yourself and making a hopping motion toward the holo.

‘Oh! Well that’s where you come in, isn’t it,’ he says, gesturing a hand up and down Mando. ‘Imaginin’ you have all sorts of tricks up those shiny sleeves to sneak aboard a vessel. S’why I’m even letting you in on this.’

He looks at you and serves up another smirk. ‘Well, and for old time’s sake,’ he grins.

You look at your partner, a little unsettled by his posture – shoulders rigid and fists clenched, like he’s ready to pounce. You lean into his frame of view, try to get his attention, but he seems to be trying to set Torre on fire with his mind.

After a beat. ‘Mando?’ you say.

‘I have a way,’ he says, voice black. ‘It requires a droid though.’

‘Well I’m fresh out. You?’ Torre shrugs.

‘I have a source,’ the brooding figure says. He turns to you, ‘I can drop… him off at the same time.’ You just nod, happy to be keeping Grogu out of this one.

Torre slaps his palms together, showing only excitement and seemingly unaffected by the absolute waves of tension and fury being directed at him.

‘So, it’s settled. You pilot your ship – very capable, I’m certain – to create our ingress. She and I board, navigate on foot while you monitor from the security feeds, which I’ll hack by the way. We take the prize, make our escape and rendezvous. Job’s good!’ He looks between the two of you, smiling wide.

‘Absolutely not!’ Mando barks. You jump at his intensity. It takes you a second longer to register why.

‘Um, no,’ you say. ‘You’re saying you and I go in alone?’

Torre’s smile fades and he thumbs at the holo display. It flickers and disappears. He crosses his arms.

‘Afraid so, sunny,’ he says. Much as you hate having your childhood nickname recalled, him butchering it feels worse. ‘That is non-negotiable.’

You stare at him, incredulous. ‘You can’t be serious?’ 

He drops his arms and waves one over the space where the ship had been hovering moments ago.

‘Look, facts are – we need oversight, we’re already leaving enough to chance. You and I,’ a thumb between your chests, ‘will be fast and quiet.’

You’re gearing up to counter argue – a droid could monitor security, Mando’s stealth would surprise you, you’ve planned this all along haven’t you, you fu— But he stops your thoughts dead. 

‘And, to be honest with you,’ he says, ‘you’re not getting your hands on that stash without my full cooperation.’

The Mandalorian takes a deadly step toward the scheming bastard in front of you, whose hands raise in mock surrender.

‘Wouldn’t do that,’ he says. ‘That ship holo is coded to me specifically. Me alive, I add.’

That doesn’t seem to matter to the towering furnace of hatred bearing down. Time to step in again, it seems.

‘Mando…’ you say carefully. You step around him to face Torre. You don’t have the patience for this. The sooner the job is done, the sooner you can get away from this manipulative and chilling relic of your past. So you stay practical: ‘Is this really the only option?’

Torre just gives you his even, bright-eyed gaze. Its intensity is something you haven’t felt in a long old time and you have to concentrate hard to not break contact. He takes the opportunity to search your face, mouth twisting in an all too familiar hunger.

He doesn’t look away from you but addresses the one you now seem to be shielding him from.

‘What’sa matter, Mando?’ he spits. ‘Don’t you trust her?’

You give him a disgusted look that seems to delight him before pivoting 180, looking up into the sights of the impenetrable T visor.

‘We can do this,’ you say. ‘If this is what it takes?’

Lately, you’ve been able to tell if Mando is looking at you or not. Been able to detect some modicum of silent communication. But right now he’s unreadable. Maybe his eyes are closed? Clenched shut in the furious state of being forced to make a difficult choice. 

Eventually though, you hear a strained exhale and the unmistakable twitch of acquiescence.

‘Very well,’ he murmurs. A slight tilt of the helmet and that’s it. He says no more.

Your bounty partner heads off to deposit Grogu and pick up his sourced droid. He says little before departing, just offers you a clipped ‘watch your back’ and taps a vambrace to your wrist to set your encrypted comms channel, a habit at this point.

It left you with Torre, to sit by the holo to memorise your route through the gigantic treasury ship. It was difficult to concentrate though. One, because you were anxious about Mando’s increasing state of anger and annoyance, and two – Torre would not shut the fuck up.

Reminiscing, sharing stories and – frequently, irritatingly – suggesting getting dinner at a local place that does ‘killer noodles, seriously, they could kill you’. You channel the stony and assured veneer you’d seen on Mando plenty of times now. Waiting patiently as a bounty pleaded, bargained, begged. 

Just let him talk, he’ll tire eventually.

Unfortunately though, this isn’t some random job and the more Torre talks, the more all the shit in your past pushes its way into the forefront of your thoughts.

So you give in, suggest getting the noodles to go. You think food might shut him for a little while. And you argue against eating in because you still needed to be watching the map, even though you’d had the path learned by rote already. Really though, you just don’t want to be anywhere else when Mando gets back.

It does grant a brief respite of quiet, but it doesn’t stop him for long. He slurps up a strand and cocks a look at you.

‘So what was it, huh?’ he asks. ‘What made you forever leave your luscious little life behind and go trekking all over the outer rim kicking ass and taking names?’

‘Hells, Torre. I thought you might remember me in a more flattering light than that,’ you nudge your noodles around the cup. They really were incredibly good, but your appetite was now gone.

‘True, sorry. That world was always too small for you, wasn’t it? But I know you were loyal to it. I learned that the hard way.’ 

Ouch.

You draw a breath. May as well be honest.

‘I did try. But my Uncle… He- he was going to… he was going to sell me,’ you look at Torre and his eyes are hooded, dark. ‘My hand, that is, in marriage. To a fucking monster.’ Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

‘That fucker.’

‘Yeah.’ You laugh. ‘You know what’s funny? He’d paid Mando a not small sum to get me back. When I first heard that I thought… maybe he actually cared. About me.’ You shake your head and put your food down. ‘But the whole time, he’d just had an even bigger endowment on the way.’

‘That’s not really very funny at all.’

‘Yeah,’ you say again. ‘But… I doubt he’ll be making any attempts to find me again. More pressing concerns now. So, I’m done,’ you shrug pathetically. 

Torre reaches out to brush his fingers over your knuckles, bloodless and clenched as they are on your knee. You stare at them, eyes blurred.

Mando picks that moment to stalk in.

He takes in the scene as you stand quickly and wipe at your face, stepping around the table to stare hard at the ship manifest.

‘We are set,’ he all but snarls.

Torre slaps his knees and stands too.

‘Well let’s not burn any more daylight and get into it!’

The hostility cascading off Mando as the three of you board his ship has put you so far on edge you can hardly think straight. It must be the stress of knowing he has to retrieve that beskar, surely. Maybe the riskiness of the plan? Could be.

Or what if he’s just worried about you working alone with Torre? 

It may be all three. But at least you can try to help appease one of those worries right now. Maybe he just needs reassurance you’ll be okay. Remind him you can handle yourself. So, while the Crest navigates toward the warp spot, you make your way up to the cockpit and approach his tense, hackled back. 

He’s situated R5 by the input port. The old droid beeps and rotates, dialled into the instruments. It swivels a sensor to where you hover by your chair. Seems to detect the tension in the air and wheels back to the console, going quiet.

‘I know we agreed we can’t trust Torre,’ you say carefully. His helm twists aside like he’s listening, but he doesn’t turn. ‘And we can’t,’ you add quickly. ‘But I’ll be okay.’ 

A slight rise of shoulders, otherwise nothing. 

‘Trust me,’ you try again. ‘I know how to handle him.’

Mando reacts to that. He scoffs.

‘Yes, you know him very well,’ he grits.

Hang on, what does that mean? Incredulous, kind of affronted, you step back. 

‘Is that what I said?’

‘And I am sure he knows how to handle you too.’

You’re so caught off guard you forget why you even came up here. How could he even think… Like that… He’s giving you his still-as-a-grave stance, waiting for your slip.

‘Hells d’you mean?’ you ask, trying to keep anger and hurt out of your voice. You thought you’d been getting somewhere with him.

‘How did you even know about beskar?’ he snaps, like he’s been waiting to accuse you of something. 

‘What--?’

‘Back in town, at the marshal’s house. You knew it was important. How? You didn’t know a thing about Mandalorians when I met you.’

That sends you back another step. Where is this coming from? You can’t stop the affronted tone from your question.

‘Are you suspicious of me or something?’

Some kind of tide breaks and he finally pivots to glower over you.

‘Amazing coincidence isn’t it?’ he spits. ‘We happen to run into someone from your past with a bounty too good to be true, he knows you, has the perfect plan? Needs exactly what we have? And you’ll just follow him along?’

A rage bubbles up in you and you try to will it down. Swallow, deep breaths. But your best efforts fail. A sudden fury swells between the two of you and you can’t see a way to quell it. 

‘If you’ll remember,’ you say through gritted teeth. ‘I said he was a spy and a schemer. I know what you know. How the fuck can I do any different?’ You wave at his shiny chrome chest plate, furious. ‘I remind you we’re here for you?’

He spins away from you, pretends to adjust dials. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he snarls. ‘I will take the beskar, and you can take whatever riches you can, use it to go back to what you’re used to. The life you had.’

The last word hits you like a blaster to the chest. The floor of the Crest's cockpit opens up and you are in freefall. How… how--? You’d thought he understood you didn’t want that life, told him one of the worst things that had happened to you in that place. You chose to leave them. Chose this life. You’d thought he understood.

‘I didn’t choose that life. I chose this one, I chose y—’

‘But you did choose it.’ He’s so riled up he doesn’t hear you. ‘When I asked you to stay, you told me you had to go back.’

‘Had to, not wanted to!’

He whirls back on you, leans in. ‘Is there really a difference? You would have stayed if not for your family trying to sell you off. I’ve never seen a person more at home in gold and gems and--’

‘That isn’t what I want!’ Your voice rises. ‘How could you think that about me?’

‘How am I supposed to know what you want? You are like an open book sometimes, then you shut yourself up out of nowhere.’

‘Well better a book than a blank fucking wall,’ you may be screaming now. ‘I don’t get to read you at all!’

R5 interrupts the molten fire spitting between you. The Crest is on approach. You just wrench away and march to meet Torre at the hatch, not looking back once but knowing the Mandalorian is going to bring you in to retrieve his treasure anyway.

--

Prev | Next

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (7/?) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: Dr. Keyes would like to have a word with you... Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 2,317 (this chapter, 17,750 total so far) Spoilers/warnings: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Yet again, it's been a hot minute since the last update and I apologize. I have to say, though, that this was a huge disaster an adventure to get this here to you, my friends. Full note available at AO3 if you'd like to hear about it in full. I've said this chapter would have a cliffhanger but it kinda doesn't... Not the one I intended, anyway. I had to cut the chapter in half but the benefit of that is that chapter 8 should hopefully be along shortly. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

You woke from your light doze just before the alarm went off. You quickly deactivated it, not wanting to disturb John, who was still sprawled across your lap. But that slight motion brought him immediately upright anyway, doing a quick threat assessment of the room in what was clearly a deeply ingrained response.

All soldiers developed that to some degree but you couldn't help but wonder if he had ever in his entire life been allowed to feel safe.

I doubt it. I bet none of them have.

You didn't know anymore about how Dr. Halsey had run her program than the average marine did but what you did know, especially from being around John and the rest of Silver Team, was enough to make your heart clench in sorrow.

But when he looked at you, you smiled, not wanting that to show. "Feeling more rested?" you asked lightly.

"Feeling foolish," he said, relaxing out of the alert posture to sit more naturally next to you, scrubbing at his face with the heel of his hand. It was an unexpectedly adorable gesture and you considered yourself lucky to see the formidable Spartan with his guard lowered.

You reached up to smooth back his hair, though it was honestly too short to be mussed. He leaned into your touch. "Nah," you murmured. "Even the Master Chief has to sleep some time."

He gave a wordless hum as if he didn't want to out-right disagree with you.

"In fact," you went on, "I prescribe a few more hours of shut-eye, either here or back in the Spartan quarters."

"I'll head back, that way I can walk with you to the marine barracks."

"Sounds good."

While he got up to retrieve your boots and his, you tried to hurriedly massage some feeling back into your numb legs while his back was turned. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel bad. After all, you would definitely do this again, if given the chance. Would he? You didn't want to ask and sound overeager.

Once you'd reached the barracks, he kissed the back of your hand, that soft look in his eyes that you adored.

"Permission to hug the Master Chief even though there are probably several marines spying on us at the moment and it'll be juicy gossip for the next day or so?"

His mouth twitched. "There are at least three trying to hide in the shadows through the door, two around the corner at the end of the hall and I'm fairly certain a couple of ODSTs just swung by on a rope outside of the window. And yes, of course."

You practically tackled him around the middle and an indulgent chuckle echoed in the enhanced cavern of his chest as he gently embraced you in return, his hands large and warm against your back.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Maybe have lunch if our schedules work out?"

"I'd like that," you said, your voice muffled against him.

It wasn't easy to let him go. Once he'd disappeared around the end of the hallway, you went into the barracks. Everybody looked very pointedly not at you while also clearly talking about you but you didn't care. John was worth being the subject of whispered gossip and some not-so-whispered lewd jokes.

He was worth a lot more than that, indeed.

You had just clocked in when an officer wearing the patch of the Spartan Research Department appeared, calling your rank and last name.

"Sir?" you said, saluting and standing at attention.

"Follow me," he directed. "Dr. Keyes would like to speak with you."

You did your best to keep your face blank but, as you made the walk, it felt like your heart was sinking lower and lower until it was ready to drop completely through the deck. It didn't seem that there were many good reasons Dr. Keyes would have something to say to you.

The officer directed you to go through the lab doors, where you expected to meet an assistant who would tell you where to wait. Instead, you came face-to-face with Dr. Keyes herself and snapped a hasty salute.

"Good, you're here," she said. "With me, please."

She led you into what was presumably her office and tapped in something that brought your face up onto the wall monitor, along with a very in-depth readout of your career in the UNSC.

"Dr. Halsey had quite a file on you," Dr. Keyes said, scrolling down to show that the information went back to your childhood and included statements from friends and family.

You managed to keep the ridiculous question of whether she had been considering you for the Spartan program from leaving your mouth. "Why was that, ma'am?"

"She noted that Master Chief was showing a preference for you to assist him at the Brokkr stations." She studied you for a moment. "You didn't realize?"

You shook your head. "I'm aware that Chief asked for me once but I thought the other times were random."

"They were not. He's asked for you to be read in on several very classified subjects," she went on to your surprise. "Can you tell me why I should consider granting his request?"

"No, ma'am, I can't," you said honestly. "I don't need to know things that are above my pay grade."

"Apparently, Chief feels differently. Are you and he having sex?"

Fortunately, your unflappable medic side stepped up to field that question. "No, ma'am."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "You know, I didn't know Master Chief could splutter until I asked him that same question. Why not? Is there some dysfunction?"

"None that I've encountered," you said, "and, well… I can’t speak for him but for me? I’m enjoying the journey. No need to rush until things feel right."

For a moment, you felt like a bug pinned to a board under the weight of her gaze. Dr. Miranda Keyes wasn't a big woman by any means but there was a fierce intelligence to her that was more than a little intimidating when she focused it on you. Regardless, you held firm, not allowing yourself to so much as twitch.

After a few slightly interminable seconds, she released you. "If there's a problem, make sure he knows to talk to me about it. Spartan physiology is… complicated."

"Yes, ma'am," you said, giving a crisp nod.

"Thank you for coming in to speak with me," she then concluded. "Chief will have my answer shortly. Dismissed."

The rest of the morning was uneventful. When you broke for lunch, you checked your padd for any personal messages and found one earlier from John.

117: Can’t make lunch, sorry. How about dinner?

He gave the time and his room number. You quickly sent back an affirmative, then tucked your padd away to enter the mess hall.

Jaime fell in with you as you took your tray down the line. “So,” he said, conversationally, “how was Dr. Keyes?”

He wasn’t typically the sort for gossip and you looked over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow at him.

Oh, she just wanted to know if I’m boinking the Chief, you thought with absolutely no intention of ever saying that out loud.

Somebody behind you both snidely interjected, "Well, you know she wasn't trying to recruit her as a Spartan," and several people laughed.

"Get bent, Erica," Jamie fired back. "You're just salty because your boy Finch is still the biggest joke in the UNSC over trying to send Chief into battle without his butt plate."

"Oh, I'd say your girl there is doing her best to be Chief's butt plate!"

There was a moment of quiet as everybody processed that.

"Nope," someone finally muttered. "That makes no sense."

"I'd be careful who you insult. You know that Spartans continually monitor security comms, just waiting to hear something they don't like, don't you?"

You looked up at the new voice in the conversation and Kai's friend winked as he passed by, leaving several hushed voices in his wake.

"You think that's true?"

"Nah, no way. No. Maybe?"

"That's gotta be real, man. I heard Private Jenkins say he didn't think Spartan Riz was a real redhead and the very next time he was in combat, she made him trade his full DMR for a mostly dead Covvie plasma pistol!"

"So Spartan Vannak could've heard Robinson say that she wants to climb him like he's the tallest tree on Reach?"

"Well, if he hadn't before, he has now, idiot!"

"Ow!"

You shook your head slightly, meeting Jamie's gaze, and he shrugged. Then you both continued on down the line while the others bickered among themselves.

While you ate, you and Jamie talked a bit of shop. He didn't repeat his question about your visit to Dr. Keyes, probably feeling bad he'd opened you up to unwanted comments, and you didn't mention it since you really weren't certain how to answer. You still couldn't fathom why John was asking for you to be read in on something classified.

After lunch, the rest of your shift saw you in your erstwhile office, cataloging spare parts and writing up requisition orders. It was fairly repetitive work and made a long day feel even longer.

The second you were off-duty, you headed back to the barracks at a brisk pace. Then, in less than 15 minutes, you were striding out the door, freshly showered and dressed in casual civvies.

You'd hurried so that you would have time to swing by the commissary before arriving at his room with a few scant seconds to spare. As he opened the door, you presented him with the small vase of assorted flowers, all sadly having seen better days but the selection had been quite thin.

His smile brightened as he accepted, stepping aside so you could enter. "What are these for?"

"It's a house-warming gift," you said, "though I'm not sure that anything can beat Kai's."

The replica Needler was still sitting on the nightstand and someone, presumably Kai herself, had replaced the flowers with fresh ones. Regardless of its greater size and better appearance, he moved it back and put your slightly droopy offering front and center. "Thank you," he said and there was something wondrous in his tone as if he'd never gotten a gift before. Maybe he hadn't from anybody other than a fellow Spartan?

The solemn thought was bumped from your head when he crossed the room and leaned down to hug you.

"Thank you," he repeated and this time it was a shiver of breath against your ear.

"You're very welcome," you murmured back.

When you finally parted, you at last noticed the rest of the room. "Hey, is this what I think it is?"

"If you think it's a picnic, then yeah," he said, gesturing at the blanket spread on the floor with a UNSC branded ration box in the center. "Since our other date was interrupted, I thought maybe we could try it again?"

He gave a gesture and the opening scene of the movie that had been shown in Tchakova Park was projected onto the wall, paused and ready to go.

His expression was uncertainty mixed with hope and you smiled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I'd love to, John."

You ended up not starting the movie right away so you could catch up as you ate. He'd apologized that the ration box wasn't a proper basket and that all he'd been able to procure on a short notice had been some basic fare but you'd assured him that it was by far the best picnic you'd ever been on.

"I had an interesting summons from Dr. Keyes today," you said as you unwrapped your chicken sandwich.

He groaned. "Sorry I didn't get the chance to tell you about that. I just asked her this morning and I didn't think she'd move so quickly."

"Why do you want me to be read in on classified intel? You know I understand there are things you can't talk about. I'm all right with that."

He inclined his head. "I'm not," he confessed. "There are things that are important for me to be able to talk about with you because you... You're important to me."

He looked down briefly, then back to you, as if not sure of your response.

His admission made the words briefly stall on your tongue. "Well, then," you finally said, "I hope she'll clear me. You're important to me, too. Very."

He smiled shyly then straightened, clearing his throat. "Did she ask you the sex question?"

You laughed. "Yeah."

"What did you tell her?" His tone was perilously close to scandalized.

You repeated your reply and he nodded thoughtfully.

"Enjoying the journey," he echoed. "Yeah, I like that. That's a good answer."

After you'd eaten, he set the ration box out of the way. "Now," he said, "I didn't think an extra blanket was required but, if you should happen to be a bit cold, you're welcome to--"

As soon as he held out his arm, you realized what he meant and scurried over to him.

"You never know," you said, snuggling in. "A cold front might blow through at any moment. It's best to be prepared."

He kissed the top of your head, giving a wordless noise of agreement, and settled his arms around you. The movie began as if by magic.

By the time the credits ran, you were half-tempted to ask if he wanted to watch it again, just so you wouldn't have to move. You couldn't remember ever feeling so warm, happy and at peace before.

He abruptly tensed, sharply saying, "What?" as if someone had spoken something alarming in his ear.

Before you could ask, the chirp of a critical alert for emergency deploy went off.

It was yours.

[thewayofthemandalorian]

how’d you turn it right around - oneshot

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: Marcus Pike is still reeling from his abrupt breakup with Teresa Lisbon when he meets you. The last thing he’s anticipating is falling for you.

Word count: 4,760

Notes: I’ve written fics post-Teresa, but this one I went into his psyche and what would happen if he fell for someone shortly after arriving in Washington, still raw and reeling from what happened in Texas. I wanted to give him some empathy in the form of this reader and have him take care of himself. The title and inspiration for this fic comes from the song Labyrinth by Taylor Swift. This fic is unbeta’d.

This fic is cross-posted to AO3 under the same name and my taglist can be found linked in my bio as well as my masterlist which is linked below.

Comments/reblogs appreciated.

Warnings: Heartbreak, falling in love, fear of falling in love, kissing, therapy, discussion of breakups, grief, implied/referenced sex, food mention, swearing 

masterlist (main) || masterlist (marcus pike)

No matter how many times Marcus has told himself that it only hurts this much right now, he never fully believes it. He doesn’t know if he will ever get over the pain that Teresa’s choice has inflicted. 

It’s been five weeks since Marcus has transferred from Texas to Washington. His apartment, originally rented to be a home to grow with Teresa as a couple, is now a place where he eats, sleeps and catches up on casework. He goes to work, does his job, and comes back home. He’s thrown himself into his job. Almost too zealously. Anything to distract himself. 

In the time since moving to Washington, he’s made some friends. He’s tried to distract and distance himself from Texas and what went down there right before his move. The text message from Teresa still burns in his mind. I can’t marry you. I’m in love with Patrick Jane. I hope you can understand. 

Not so much as an I’m sorry. 

Marcus hadn’t believed his eyes at first when he received the text after turning airplane mode off. He thought he was dreaming. He should have seen it coming, the signs were all there. The way that she hesitated, the way she didn’t have the same enthusiasm as him for things they did together. Marcus Pike is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. At least, he hopes not. He’s made some mistakes. He shouldn’t have gotten married in his junior year of college only to get divorced one year into his masters degree when it inevitably didn’t work out. He shouldn’t have pushed Teresa or asked her to marry him so quickly.

Therapy is something that he’s considered for a long time. He did couples counseling with Ashley, to no avail. With Teresa he thought that things would be different from last time. Maybe he was the problem, the common denominator. He’s always been one to fall in love fast, usually the person to fall first in a relationship, head over heels, stupid in love. Once he got settled in Washington and saw that his new promotion came with a better health insurance package that includes therapy, he thought, “well, might as well use it.” 

Marcus likes his therapist. He’s a kind but no-nonsense kind of therapist. He allows Marcus to just expel all of his thoughts before offering insight and guidance to help Marcus get on the right track. Dr. Becker asks the right questions, even if Marcus struggles to answer them right away sometimes. 

He was stupid in love with his ex-wife and he was even stupider in love with Teresa. Love is the one occurrence where he thinks he might actually be a bit of a dumbass. He knows that he comes on too strong, he knows that he clings too tightly. He always loves his partner more than they love him. He thought, naively, that Teresa would fall for him, too. She liked him, he knew that much. But she used him. She wasn’t with him for him. The realization of that in one of his sessions with Dr. Becker, that she was using him, had burned a hole so large in his chest he was surprised that he was still alive. 

Everyone tells him that he’s going to bounce back, that this is temporary and he will be right as rain before too long. Even his therapist has said that this pain and this grief of a failed relationship is only temporary. That the jagged edges of his heart will become smooth again. He knows it’s true, but he hates how everyone expects him to bounce back just like that so soon. Dr. Becker is the only one who’s given him a realistic followup (and a followup to begin with) to that statement: “You will bounce back from this, this pain will pass, but it isn’t done overnight. These things take time.”

“How much time?” Marcus had asked.

Dr. Becker didn’t have a clear-cut answer for that. “Everyone is different.” 

Marcus is trying to make himself feel better. He tries to go out and meet new people. Tries to make friends. There are many people, who, if he wasn’t still reeling and licking his wounds from Teresa, he would have asked out. He doesn’t think he’s ready. 

- - - -

At the suggestion of Dr. Becker (in addition to always wanting one), Marcus adopts a cat three weeks later. Dr. Becker suggested a pet for companionship. He didn’t intend to, but a case he was working on puts him near the humane society. He’s just going to look, he tells himself. Just to see what his options are. And then he sees her. Her name is Chickpea. She’s about four, shy with most people, but when Marcus steps into the kitten room, she marches right over to him and demands that he give her pets. When he gets up to get going, she looks up at him plaintively, as if she’s saying, “where do you think you’re going without me?” It’s a love at first sight that he can handle. He has no choice but to ask about adoption papers. 

A few days later, Marcus brings Chickpea home. “It’s just us two,” he murmurs to her as he brings her into the apartment that he’d gotten with himself and Teresa in mind. A first home for them to grow as a couple.

He allows Chickpea to acclimatize to the apartment, giving her space as she warms up to her new environment. He’s sure there’s an irony in that statement somewhere. He leaves her food and water closeby to where she's acclimatizing before going to watch tv. 

It takes some time, some patience, but after a few days she becomes more comfortable around him, gets used to her new home. By the end of the first week, she’s claimed the spot next to Marcus’s on the couch as her own, allowing him to pet her and give her scritches. She’s affectionate, purring when she sits in his lap. It’s a nice distraction. Marcus is glad that she’s settling nicely. 

Between the cat and work and getting settled in a new city so far from home, Marcus barely has time to be sad. He’s still raw from the heartbreak. “Is it because of loyalty?” Dr. Becker asks, already knowing the answer. 

“No. I have no loyalty to her anymore. She’s made her choice, I have chosen to respect her choice.” Marcus takes a sip of water. “Plus… I think I already knew that I wasn’t her first choice. I just didn’t want to accept it because she was with me.” 

“So you’re okay that you were a rebound of sorts?” asks Dr. Becker. 

Marcus shakes his head. “No. Being a rebound sucks. What she did was really shitty and I don’t know how I can move on from that.” 

Dr. Becker writes something down. “It’s good that you are so aware of your feelings. I think you’re capable of more than you think. It’s a cliche for a reason, but time does blunt the sharpness of grief.” 

“I’m not grieving,” Marcus protests.

The doctor disagrees. “Breakups are quite literally the death of relationships. The death of all that could have been. It’s a loss. It’s okay to treat it as such. It’s okay to feel these things. Healthy even. What’s unhealthy is wallowing. Now, I don’t think you’re wallowing. You’re feeling. You’re processing. Even compared to your first appointment, you’re more open. I’m really pleased with your progress, Marcus. You should be proud of yourself, too.” 

The following day Marcus has to go to the attorney general’s office for a consultation on a case. It’s his first time at this particular office. 

“Can I help you?” you ask when Marcus strolls up to the reception desk. He’s handsome; you notice it right away. With boyish good looks and deep brown eyes. The more you look at him, the more you see it. The look. He’s lost someone. 

He flashes his FBI badge. “I’m agent Pike, here to see the attorney general for a consultation on the case I’m working on.” 

“Of course. He’s expecting you. I’ll let him know you’re here.” You’ve been the secretary for the office for three years and you’ve never seen this FBI agent before, and you’ve seen quite a lot of them. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you new to the FBI?” you ask conversationally as Marcus sits down in the empty waiting room. You can’t help but feel like you recognize him from elsewhere, though.

He shakes his head. “Not quite. New to this branch. Transferred from Texas with art crimes.”

You nod. “Fancy,” you quip. 

“We have our own private museum,” Marcus says, then pauses, remembering the last time he used that line on someone. 

You seem more interested in it than she had been. “Now you’re just being mean,” you tease. “I love art.” Your computer dings. “Thomas is ready for you.” You stand and agent Pike does the same. “If you’ll follow me, agent Pike.” 

“Marcus, please,” he says on instinct. 

“Well, in that case, I should tell you my name.” You introduce yourself and leave him with the attorney general. You’re on your lunch when Marcus is finished his meeting; he feels a minor pang of disappointment

- - - - 

That evening, the elevator door is closing just as someone shouts, “Hold the door!”

You push the open door button and see who it is that’s in such a rush. “Hey, agent Pike.” 

Marcus blinks and then recognizes you. “Oh, hey,” he says. “I didn’t know you lived in this building, too.” 

The itch you’ve had in your brain all day about where you know Marcus from is finally scratched. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere but I didn’t know where,” you admit. 

Marcus nods. “Yeah, I just moved in a little while ago. About two months ago.” The elevator door closes. “Oh, sorry. What floor are you on?” 

“The sixth.” 

He stares at you. “I’m on the sixth floor, too.” 

“Oh my god. What a coincidence.”

Marcus looks at you teasingly. “Are you stalking me?” he teases. 

You laugh. “Busted,” you tease back. He laughs, but the accompanying smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

It’s surprisingly easy to talk to you. You seem like such a nice person. Sweet and funny from the brief two encounters he’s had with you. You’re pretty. Marcus thinks he can admit that to himself. His heart is healing but he isn’t blind. 

The elevator comes to a smooth halt at the sixth floor and you both move to get off at the same time. “Oh, sorry. You go first.” 

“No, you go ahead,” Marcus insists. 

You wish him a good night. “If I ever need a cup of sugar or something, I know where to come,” you say as Marcus stops at his apartment door. 

“Anything you need,” Marcus says, meaning it. 

“Likewise. I’m unit 610A. Have a good night, agent—Marcus.” 

After that second meeting, Marcus keeps bumping into you. Okay, some of them aren’t bumping into you so much as they are him coming to the D.A's office to work on the court case that he’s a part of. Other times it’s at the communal mailbox. You always offer something kind and genuine to him, wanting to make him smile. You like him. Want to get to know him better.

Marcus knows that you like him. He likes you, too. Probably more than is appropriate at the moment. He is not going to fall fast this time. He needs time. His walls are still up and he sees them being up for the foreseeable future. Still, he thinks he can be your friend. 

And then, four months after Teresa ended things, he realizes that he isn’t as raw as he once was. The idea of jumping into another relationship is still something that makes him hesitant. But you’ve invited him for coffee and he can’t resist the urge to say yes. 

You’ve entered a friendship with him. Even his cat seems to like you. It’s a sunny day and you’ve asked him for coffee. It isn’t a date. It isn’t anything but two friends getting coffee. You’re wearing a sundress. When Marcus arrives, he’s wearing a worn green t-shirt and nicer shorts. It’s officially summer in Washington. He has a flower in his hand. A single daisy. “This is for you,” he says when you greet each other. 

“That’s so sweet, thank you so much.” 

You smile so brightly it illuminates your entire body. Marcus admires that about you. He admires how gentle and kind you are. He orders a coffee and sits down. 

The two of you chit-chat for a long time about this and that. Dr. Becker had been encouraging of this outing. Marcus has made other friends in the FBI here, but this is the first time he’s been out with a woman in a while. 

And then somehow the topic changes to that of exes. “My ex made me choose between him and my dog,” you cringe. “I was already planning on dropping him, but when he made me choose between Barley and him, I knew that I was making the right choice in breaking up with him. I’m not getting rid of my sweet old man of a dog. The fact that he made me choose?” you scoff. 

Marcus listens, aware that his countenance is changing. “Barley is the sweetest old man. You made the right choice,” he says anyway. 

You see the look in his eyes again. “Who were they?” you ask gently. 

“Who was who?” Marcus attempts to deflect.

Leveling him with a look, you say, “Marcus. I work for the attorney general. I also know how to read people. I see that look of loss in your eyes almost every time I see you. I know you’re seeing a therapist, but I’ve been told that I’m a good listener. If you ever want to, you can tell me. And no pressure, man. Not at all.” 

His therapist had told him that it might do him good to tell someone objective about what happened. And you’re sitting here so non-judgmentally, trying to understand, trying to help. 

“So I’ve already been married. That didn’t work out. We were too young when we got married. But then… I met someone a couple months before the transfer was approved. I fell, stupidly, very quickly. And I loved her more than she loved me. I don’t even know if she loved me. But I was stupid and tried to force something that wasn’t there. She wasn’t really with me for me. She was with me to make someone jealous.”

Your heart breaks for Marcus. He explains the entire thing, leaving no gruesome detail out. At one point your eyes are glittering with tears as he explains how she texted him to break up with him for the other man. “Marcus… that’s—I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say.” You are so angry, so heartbroken for him. “I have a lot of choice words to say about her, but I’ll hold my tongue for now.” Marcus actually chuckles when you say this.

Oddly enough, spilling out every detail makes him feel better. “Thanks. It’s a lot to deal with, knowing that someone you once admired greatly was only using you. I’m still kind of… You know what sucks? Everyone saying that I’ll bounce back. That implies that it’ll be no time at all to get over it. I know that eventually I won’t be like this and I’ll feel better about things.” 

You shake your head. “Uh-uh. No. I don’t believe in that. These things take time. You take as much time as you need.” 

Surprising both of you, Marcus reaches out and takes your hand. “Thank you. You’re, like, the first person I’ve told outside of my therapist who’s said that. It’s like…” He sighs. “This might sound dramatic but I feel like what she did left a hole in my chest. I’m trying to ignore it, move on from it. But every now and again it makes its presence known again.”

You nod. “I understand. I mean, not quite on that level but… I’ve been there.” 

It’s not long before you call it a day. You walk back to the apartment together. He hasn’t let go of your hand. At your door, which Marcus insisted on walking you to, you lean up on your toes and kiss his cheek, his three day scruff tickling your lips. 

- - - - 

Marcus is worried that he scared you off after spilling everything. Outside of catching criminals, it’s what he seems to be the most good at. 

One night, a few days after your coffee outing, there’s a knock on his door. Frowning, he opens the door. You’re standing there, bag of what looks like baking supplies in your hands. “You mentioned the other day that you liked brownies more than any other dessert. How do you feel about being a guinea pig?” you ask. 

Marcus is taken aback. “Um… sure?” he asks. “But why my kitchen?”

“Yours is bigger. Also desserts taste better when they’re baked together. My mom told me that when I was four and I never ignore a lesson from her. Plus, my kitchen is kind of a disaster.” 

“I can’t argue with that logic. Come on in.” 

Chickpea meows her greeting, batting her head against your leg as you stoop to greet her. “Hi, sweet girl.” 

Putting Marcus to work, you begin to work together in making the brownies, chatting about this and that. Your pinkie fingers are almost touching at one point, so close to each other. Something’s changed. You’re not expecting anything from him. 

Batter ready, you put it in the oven. Looking up at Marcus, he gestures to his face. “You have flour right here,” he says. 

You wipe your face. He shakes his head. 

“Here.” He reaches out and brushes the streak of flour away. Something shifts in your eyes and something must shift in his. He leans in and kisses you. It’s a nice kiss. You could get used to it. 

Once he’s broken away, you clear your throat. “Um, not that I’m complaining, but what was that about?” you ask. “I thought…” 

Marcus shrugs. “I like you. I wanted to do that.”

Your mind is reeling. “Do—But what about what you said about taking time?” you ask.

He considers for a minute. “I don’t want you to think of this as a rebound. I just… I need time. I can’t rush into things,” he says, more to himself than to you. “But I like you. A lot. I like spending time with you.” 

“I think I understand. I’m not going to rush things for you if this is what you want. I don’t mind. We can set the pace of… whatever this is.” 

Marcus is convinced that you are an angel with how patient you are. He’s terrified of messing this up, whatever this is. Which is something that he thinks he understands. He’s working on himself in therapy. Trying to get to the root of why he rushes into things, why he needs things to be perfect. It’s so easy for him to get lost in the labyrinth that is his mind sometimes. It’s only been two months since he first met you. He’s worried that if he falls too fast, he’ll never get over this, over you. 

“You have to trust that the person you’re falling in love with is going to be there to catch you. Not everyone is going to be there at the bottom. That’s why it’s a leap of faith,” he remembers his therapist saying.  

Marcus knows that his wariness is not going to last. That one day things will click for him. The notion of falling for you so quickly is quite frankly terrifying. He thinks, however fleetingly, that it can’t last. 

Over the next several weeks, though, you make it clear that you weren’t just saying things. Everything is at his pace. You are so patient, so kind, so comforting. He’s almost surprised at how easy it is to find comfort in you. Almost. He knew from almost the beginning that you would break your back just to see him smile. And he’s beginning to find his smile again. He’s found the bounce in his step again. He’s not pinning it all on you. He knows that a lot of it was going to come with time. But your comfort and your warmth has been a balm to the jagged edges of his heart. The heart that you’ve broken through the barricades to reach. He’s falling in love with you. He just has to trust that you’re going to be there to catch him at the bottom. 

The first time he takes you to bed, you make it be all about him. You even hold him in your arms, wrapping them around him from behind. He wants to tell you something, but you know that he’s trying to find the right words. “I’m not going anywhere, Marcus,” you murmur. Marcus doesn’t say anything for a minute. “I know,” he finally says. And he does.  

- - - - 

Marcus has to go undercover. Back to Texas. It’s been six months since Teresa broke his heart. He doesn’t feel anything for her when he does think about her. Time and distance have ensured that. The only emotion he feels for her is a vague hope that she’s doing well. He doesn’t wish her ill will. “You’re a good man for saying that,” you say when he tells you that. “Not many would say that.” 

He considers this for a minute. “I can’t say that what she did wasn’t one of the worst things I’ve had to go through,” he says. “And part of me can’t… understand why she did what she did. But it isn’t such a bad feeling anymore.” The gaping hole in his chest is almost entirely gone. 

It’s been two months and you still haven’t put any label on this situationship you have with Marcus. You’re falling in love with him, but you want him to be happy and comfortable. You know he cares for you, but your priority with this is to make him happy. You know it’s not a rebound. Marcus gave you his word and he’s a man of his word above anything. 

It’s like you’re boyfriend and girlfriend without the labels. You cook together, go to movies together, hang out with your friends together. The other night, you’d watched Casablanca with him; while you didn’t love the movie, you paid attention through the entire movie since it was important to him. He finds himself no longer comparing you to Teresa. You are your own person, incomparable to everyone else. 

“How long will you be gone?” you ask. He’s spooning you. You’re lying in his bed, Chickpea at your feet, asleep. Barley is on the floor, awake but lazing.

Marcus presses a kiss into your bare shoulder. “Hopefully not too long. I hate undercover cases.” 

His beard has grown in more than he’s used to for the purposes of being undercover. “Well, Barley, Chickpea and I will hold down the fort here.” Barley seems to register he’s being mentioned; he lifts his head from the rug where he’s lying.

The undercover case doesn’t take as long as Marcus feared it would. Still, he’s away for so long. He misses you. Not in the way that he missed Teresa in the early days. He wants to be with you, but he knows that he’ll see you again soon. You text each other most days that he’s able to when he isn’t working on the undercover case. You send him pictures of your pets. Barley and Chickpea are thick as thieves. He misses your level head and patience. And then, when he shows up at the FBI headquarters, he sees her. And feels nothing.

Well, no. Not nothing. But he doesn’t feel remorse for what happened, doesn’t feel resentment. No residual emotions for her, this woman he once hoped would be his wife. Sure, his ego is still bruised, and he’s still dealing with the aftermath of what happened, but his feelings for Teresa the person have all but evaporated. Teresa on the other hand feels awkward, embarrassed. Not because of what she did, she just doesn’t want to see him. He wonders if she ever felt any remorse for what happened. The way he felt remorse and anguish for so long. If he had known that she would do what she did, he wonders if he would do things the same. They did lead him to therapy, to work on himself. They also led him to you. 

There was a time when the question of whether or not Teresa ever loved him would have broken him into a million pieces. Now, he barely flinches when thinking about it. Though it’s early days with you, he doesn’t have that doubt, not even a little bit.

The only thing he thinks of when he sees her is you. He remembers what his therapist said to him again. “You have to trust that the person you’re falling in love with is going to be there to catch you. Not everyone is going to be there at the bottom.” 

Teresa was never there for him, never caught him when he was falling for her; she was never going to. She was too preoccupied. Yet she expected everything from him, giving nothing in return. But when he fell for you, because he realizes now that he has fallen in love with you, you were there, patiently waiting for him to arrive. Waiting to catch him and hoping that he’ll do the same for you. You, who expects nothing from him except his happiness and his comfort, and gives him everything in return. If that isn’t love, he doesn’t know what is. There was a time when he was afraid of falling in love again. Now? He’s not afraid anymore. He knows it won’t be without its ups and downs, but it won’t be like it was. He’s sure of it. 

“It’s good to see you, Teresa,” he says to his ex-fiancée without a shred of resentment. 

Marcus is done with Texas. He’s done with worrying. He’s done with Teresa Lisbon taking up space in his mind; she was with him because she felt she had to be. You’re with him because you want to be. He can see that now. It isn’t fair to keep comparing you to her. You dance in the kitchen to Taylor Swift, singing along with the words to your dog. You have a strong opinion on pineapples on pizza and scrunch your nose at mushrooms. You hold Marcus close to you when he sleeps over, love his cat like she’s your own. You always cry when watching Lord of the Rings, and are always happy to see him, even on really shitty days. You do things for him simply for the sake of doing them, to see him smile and expect nothing in return. You are so uncomplicated and lovely. He needs to hold on to that with both hands. He needs to respond to that love the best way he can.

Marcus is done with wondering what if? with you. He still has work to do, but it’s a work in progress. And with you to lean on when he needs to, it doesn’t seem so daunting. He’s done living in his mind these days. He needs to live in the real world. With you. He has a lot to talk to you about when he gets home. Washington, his home. Perhaps he can make his home with you. He is ready to put down roots with you, ready to put a label on you. 

He makes his way out of her office, out of Texas and back to Washington. Back to you. He’s ready for whatever comes next. There was a time when he thought that this would crash and burn and it wasn’t going to work, but somehow, he managed to turn things around. He has so much to say to you, so many unspoken things ready to be said. He was afraid for so long about falling in love again, especially so soon after having his heart broken, but now he’s ready to embrace it, trusting you to catch him.

The End --- taglist in reblog.

[1cecreamwillfixit]

𝕂𝕖𝕚 𝕋𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕒 + 𝕋𝕖𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕠 𝕂𝕦𝕣𝕠𝕠 - 𝔻𝕦𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪

Sub!Tsukishima x Sub!Kuroo x Femdom!Reader

content includes: blowjob, some restraining, pegging, face fucking, cumming on face, bit of hair pulling, master kink, degradation

This was a request from my Ao3

Threesomes are hard to write lol. Also, this one was posted here before but i didn��t format it nicely or anything.

Set in the future, both characters involved and the reader are over 18

Enjoy ;)

“Such a good pet"

You pulled Kuroo into a passionate kiss, winding your arms around his waist to pull him close. When you finally pulled away, he was gasping for breath, ruby lips swollen. "Youre so pretty, baby. How did I get so lucky?" Kuroo flushed bright pink at your words, eyes dropping you avoid your adoring stare. You kissed along his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe, to which he shivered.

"Being so good for your master, I think you deserve a reward, baby."

Without another word you pushed him down to lie flat on his back, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. You dropped to your knees, kissing gentle columns up his thighs before settling in between them. He whimpered at the feeling of your warm breath ghosting over his hard cock. "So sensitive today, baby. Don't hold back for me." That was the last warning he got before you wrapped your mouth around him, taking him all the way into the back of your throat.

"Aah maAaster so good~"

You bobbed your head, watching as his hips jumped. Usually you'd scold him and pin his hips down, but today that wasn't your top priority. Glancing past Kuroo, your eyes met a pair of golden brown eyes, glaring at you angrily, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched as his hips jutted about, humping the air desperately for relief, but to no avail.

Returning your attention to the boy right in front of you, you lifted your hand to fondle his balls, massaging them gently in your palm. His moaning increased and you realised he wasn't going to last much longer, so you increased the pressure, moving to focus the attention from your mouth onto his tip.

"Hhhhgg -ngh-"

He wailed, thighs trembling, as he came down your throat. You swallowed every drop, pulling off him with a pop and sitting back to watch as his twitching slowed. You ran your hands soothingly over his thighs, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before getting up. Now, to deal with the other one.

Leaving Kuroo panting at the foot of the bed, you got up and made your way towards the headboard. "Are you gonna behave yourself yet?" you asked, peering condescendingly into the golden eyes once again. "Fuck off" Tsukishima growled lowly in response, pulling at the rope that bound his hands. "Does Kei need to learn some manners?" You cupped his cheek with one hand, stroking his cheek before brushing your thumb over his lips and pushing down on his tongue.

You were expecting him to squirm a bit, maybe whine at you some more. You weren't expecting him to bite down on the thumb in his mouth. You pulled your hand away from him with a gasp, now feeling considerably angrier than before.

"You wanna behave like a brat? Fine, then I'll treat you like a brat. Just know that you brought this upon yourself."

You moved quickly, collected everything you needed from around the room, before returning to the headboard to untie Tsukki. "Hands and knees, slut." He didn't move, not willing to submit to you that easily. "Last warning before I get out the flogger. Don't test my patience, brat, you've disobeyed me one too many times today." You knew that would get him, being familiar with Tsukishimas hatred for the particular toy.

And, just as you'd expected, that particular threat seemed to work and he quickly followed your orders. "Good pet" you praised sarcastically, running your hands over his ass. "You've already prepped yourself for me?" He reluctantly nodded.

You didn't respond, stepping away from the bed to put on the strap. Finally, you returned to Kuroo, running your hand sweetly through his hair. "I haven't forgotten about you, darling. Now, why don't you go keep Tsukki company? I'm sure he could do with something to shut that bratty mouth up." Kuroo smirked, staring at you with narrowed eyes, sparkling with mischief. He crawled up the bed, sitting facing tsukki, an evil smile plastered on his face.

"Any last words?" You turned your attention back to Tsukishima, who was glaring at you impatiently again.

"Fuck yo- aaAahh" He screamed out as you thrust into him, back arching. Just as his arms gave out, Kuroo grabbed his hair, causing pain to shoot all through his sensitive scalp. Tsukishimas mouth dropped open in a silent scream, and Kuroo took that opportunity to stuff his cock into the other's mouth.

Tsukishimas eyes bulged out of his head at the sudden intrusion, loud moans garbled as he tried to take the tip of the cock into his throat. Kuroo moaned loud, hands still roughly twisted in Tsukkis hair, fucking into his face.

"What a whore. You just love being stuffed, don't you Kei?" You raked your hands down his back, leaving little pink lines across his milky skin. He howled in pain, from both your words and the scratches. Both boys were heavily panting, Kuroo from the sheer exhaustion and Tsukki from the rush of pain and pleasure running through his veins.

Just before he reached his orgasm, Kuroo pulled out of the others mouth and let go of his hair. "Are you close, Tetsuro baby?". He whimpered and nodded, hand speeding up as he jerked himself over the edge with a loud moan. You threaded one hand into Tsukkis pretty blond locks and yanked his head back, just in time for thick ropes of cum to splash across his scarlet face.

"Oh, what a good boy Tetsu" you gasped, pulling out of Tsukishima and flipping him over to get a proper look at his messy face.

"P-please fuck me, I nEed to cum so ba-ad" Tsukki croaked, voice hoarse from the brutal use of his throat. "Do you think you deserve it? You've been quite a naughty boy today." He squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation, the cum glistening on his glowing cheeks. "Please, master, please I-I'll be so g-ood, I'm soOrry" he cried, a few tears escaping down his face.

"Of course you will, you little cumslut. This is what you live for, isn't it?" You ran your finger through the mess on his face, swirling it around before pushing it into Tsukkis mouth, forcing him to taste it.

"Such a messy little bitch, always so desperate to be covered in cum. It's pathetic!"

He moaned at the taste, and then again as you resumed thrusting, fucking him hard into the mattress. Dripping saliva down his chin, his tongue rolled out of his mouth. "You're close, aren't you, you needy little whore?" You sneered, pinching his tongue just to hear him yelp.

"Hnng g'nna cum, pleathe~"

Tsukki was losing it, limbs thrashing and eyes rolling back and, before you could even respond, he cried out cumming all over himself. His body jerked and twitched, limbs screaming with exhaustion. His face was a filthy mess and he bit down on the fingers that were in his mouth for the second time, making you hiss in pain. You yanked your hand from his mouth and pulled out of him all in one motion. You stood staring angrily down at him until he'd stopped thrashing, worried eyes opening slowly to meet your blazing ones.

"My my, it seems you haven't quite learned your lesson yet, Kei"

i wish sub tsukki wasnt so hard to write

thanks so much to everyone whos liked or reblogged my stuff it means so much