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prentissluvr · 1 year

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too cold — joel (and tommy) miller

gn!reader , (future)fatherfigure!joel (and tommy tbh) , takes place a year or two after joel and ellie settle in jackson , reader is in their mid/late teens , hurt/comfort, angst , cw : brief mentions of loss of friends and family, hypothermia , wc : 3.8K , special thanks to @piggyjeans for reading this for me and motivating me to wrap up this part and get it out to you guys !! <333

at this point, you’re beginning to wonder why you even try. you wonder if there’s a point when the scraps of any family you had left, found or biological, are long gone and you’re on the brink of freezing to death yourself. you managed a fire last night, but you’re shivering beyond control even in the daylight with your sore lack of a real coat. wherever you are, it’s cold as hell and winter is setting in far faster than you could ever combat. essentially, you’re screwed. it seems like it might snow more, there’s not a building in sight, and you’re running out of bullets and food. the cold bites at your exposed nose and takes permanent root in your bones.

night falls far too quickly, bringing the thick snow that you feared almost as much as infected or people; those you could fight, but the snow? against that you have no defense but a sputtering fire, measly shelter, and a slowly thinning sleeping bag. curled into yourself as much as you can, it takes a concerningly small amount of time for you to fall asleep.

by the time you finally come back into consciousness, the struggle to open your eyes scares you even in the muddled state of your mind. the sun is far higher than ideal; already you’ve lost precious traveling time now that your only hope is to find abandoned buildings to scavenge for supplies. and yet, the last thing you want to do is get out of your sleeping bag. it’s kept you as warm as you could be, and even now in the leftover warmth sleep, you’re all too aware of the snow that blew into the small overhand of rocks you slept underneath and the way it’s freezing temperatures will soak into your feet until it reaches every nerve of your body when you continue your trek through the forest.

but, despite that heavy question of what’s the point, there’s no way you’re going to let yourself give up and waste away in the cold without trying to save someone, even if that someone is yourself. so with every struggle, you pull your hands out from their haven in the swaths of fabric, fumbling slightly to zip open the bag and pull yourself out. you’re eternally grateful that you have gloves, but within the few minutes of packing up, the cold has already started to settle in your hands, feet, and face. begrudgingly, you swing your pack onto your shoulder and shove your hands into your pockets, looking for the most direct path to higher ground to scope out any buildings.

as you start out, it seems as though travel may not be the worst. but the thick snow from last night’s flurries and the still slowly falling flakes are quick to tire your legs from the effort, and the way that your jacket lets in too much of the numbing wind hinders your pace. you find yourself exhausted, taking moments to rest against trees that stretch into minutes, maybe longer as your mind becomes foggy and consistent shivering sets in throughout your whole body.

you stumble a bit and clumsily grab hold of the nearest tree. what the hell am i doing? you wonder. you let your whole side press against the rough surface of the tree, squeezing your eyes shut, then opening them in attempts to clear your head. but that doesn’t seem to help when you start to wonder if you’re hallucinating. just meters away your eyes land on a tall brown horse, an animal you don’t think you’ve seen outside of pictures. you stare at it in wonder for a moment, but a feeling of panic sets in when you process the fact that there’s a man sitting on the horse, a large rifle strapped across his back.

with your shaky hands you fumble around to pull out your gun, but it does you no good when the rifle is pointed at you in seconds.

despite the threat, the man’s voice isn’t harsh when he calls out to you. “’s alright. ’m not here to hurt you, alright? just drop your weapon.” without much resistance, you do as he says, seeing no other choice and feeling not an ounce of energy to fight back. within moments, he’s off the horse, one hand on its reins and the other put up in the air in a careful truce as he slowly moves closer to you. when he’s near enough that the snow doesn’t obstruct his view of your face, he can see the way that you’re shivering and the unfocused look in your eyes and can immediately notice that something’s not quite right.

“i need you to tell me if you’re infected. don’t lie now, alright? i’ll shoot you if i find out you do.” at this, his voice is more stern, stirring up a bit more fear in you. but you’re able to shake your head clearly.

“no. no, ’m not infected. haven’t run into any for days,” you speak aloud for the first time since you woke up this morning, and you don’t notice the way that your speech is slurred, but he does.

“alright, then. kid, i’m gonna get you somewhere warm, okay?” in the back of your head, you’re terrified to let him closer, to let some stranger lead you somewhere, but the promise of warmth is something you desperately need. even so, you flinch away when he’s finally right next to you and reaches out. “i promise ’m not gonna hurt ya. i’ve got somewhere safe and warm for you, you’re gonna freeze to death if you don't get some help now.” he’s completely right, you realize, so you just nod. “there ya go. do’y have a coat we can get on you?” he frowns when you shake your head, but doesn’t hesitate to unzip his own padded coat. gently, he pulls your pack off your back and sets it down. you don’t even realize what he’s doing until he shrugs his own coat over your shoulders and pulls it tight over your front. the leftover warmth from his own body is heavenly, but in the action, you lose your support against the tree and unconsciously lean into his firm frame. you don’t notice, but he stiffens at this, and his frown grows deeper when he feels how cold you are to the touch.

with strong hands, he pulls you away from him slightly. wordlessly, he guides your shivering arms into the sleeves of his coat, silently grateful for the warm jacket he still has on.

“we’ve gotta get on the horse, now.”

you just nod, letting him guide you to the tall animal. but you stop short at its side, completely unsure of how you’ll get up.

“first you put your right foot in the stirrup, right here.” you don’t have to say anything for him to begin telling you what you need to. “put your hand on the saddle here to help you up. i’m gonna hold you steady, okay?” you nod, letting him place his firm hands on your waist as you put the last of your strength into lifting one foot into the stirrup. “now you’ve gotta push up with that foot to swing your other leg over the horse.” it takes all of your concentration to understand what he says, and strength that you don’t have to actually do it. it’s messy, but thanks to his help and some miracle, you find yourself on top of the horse and putting all of your effort into staying upright.

“there ya go. i’m gonna get on in front of you, don’t you fall off now.” he quickly fastens your pack onto the horse, letting out a small grunt as he pulls himself up onto the animal. his body warmth right in front of you is precious and you don’t have it in you to feel awkward in the way he does as he pulls your arms around his torso to keep you steady. “just hold on and stay awake, alright? shouldn’t be too long til we get you warm.” once again, you just nod, knowing he can feel it with the side of your face pressed against his back.

as the horse starts forward at a decent pace, his instructions of holding on prove to be harder than ideal with your weakened grip. you don’t know how much time passes until the horse’s movement stops and the man’s voice, along with another, meets your ears.

you startle when the unfamiliar voice calls out. “joel! what took you so lon– what happened?”

“sorry, tommy.” you can feel the rumble of his voice while pressed against him, and turn your head to face the source of the other voice. “found ‘em leaning against a tree just a bit off the path. think they’ve got hypothermia.”

there’s another man on a horse, probably younger, but you can’t tell much else in the snow and the state of your mind. either way, you can’t help but read him as a danger. the man in front of you, joel, you assume, must have picked up on your fear behind him

“’s alright. that’s my brother, tommy. he’s here to help too, okay?”

another nod from you, and a “damn” from tommy.

“let’s get going, then. we’ll stay in the lookout for tonight then get them back to jackson first thing in the morning. it’ll be dark soon.”

joel agrees, and with that, you set off. every so often, his voice brings you out of your daze long enough for you to nod your head against his back when he checks if you’re still awake. your sense of time is long gone; all you know when you arrive at the mentioned lookout is a vague sense of relief.

“kid?” his voice rings out and you realize the motion of the horse has finally come to a stop. you do your best to sit up, hating the biting air that immediately hits your front now that it’s not kept warm by joel’s back. your hands stay resting absentmindedly on his shoulders in order to keep you from slipping off of the horse. “tommy’s gonna help you off, okay?” you let out a small hum of acknowledgement as tommy dismounts his horse and comes to stand beside you.

“here we go,” he gives you a small, encouraging smile as he lifts his arms up for you. “put your hands on my shoulders, and i’ll get you down safe ’n sound, alright?” it’s a bit of an awkward reach, and you begin to slip down before you have a proper grasp, but his hands are quick to secure themselves under your armpits, preventing you from falling and instead pulling you into his chest. your knees buckle the moment they hit the ground; tommy’s strong grip keeps you upright. “there you are, ’s alright. god, you’re shivering like a leaf in the wind. we’ll get you nice and warm now.”

there’s a bit of a struggle getting inside, your legs practically refusing to hold your weight. an immense wave of relief washes through you when you collapse onto the couch they bring you to and you let your eyes shut in exhaustion.

“now don’t you fall asleep on us quite yet,” joel warns. “we gotta get you warm first. tommy, get some hot water going.” you force your eyes back open to see him crouching in front of you. “listen, uh. some of your clothes are a little wet from the snow, and we can’t have that.” he pauses at that, studying your face to catch any sort of reaction.

“okay,” you whisper, somehow coherent enough to still understand what he’s saying and know that he’s right.

“okay,” he repeats. “can i take these jackets off?” you nod. his grip is gentle when he pulls you up from your slouched position, allowing you to lean into him when he slips off the coat he gave you, then your own slightly damp jacket. you begin to shiver even harder, your thinning cotton shirt doing nothing to keep any cold at bay. “alright, alright,” he mumbles, half to himself as he pulls his thicker, dry coat back around you. then comes a blanket, taken from the couch and wrapped securely around your shoulders. he shifts you to rest against the back of the sofa.

that’s when he pauses, at a bit of a loss of what to do because your jeans, despite your thick boots, are soaked from the snow almost up to your knees. but there’s no way in hell he’d feel comfortable taking off your pants, much less how you’d feel.

“i’m gonna have to cut your pants,” he concludes. “promise we’ll get you new ones in town, but you’ll never get warm like this.”

“’s okay,” you mumble. so he rummages in his pack until he finds a pair of scissors, doing his best to avoid touching your bare skin with his hands or cut you with the cold metal. it’s tricky business; the jeans stick fairly close to your skin, but he manages not to even nick you with the sharp edges. the moment you’re free from any damp clothing, he wraps another blanket securely around your legs so it won’t fall off.

moments later, tommy reappears in your line of sight with exactly what joel asked for. he leans down, holding it out to you. with shaky hands, you grasp the cup, sighing in immediate relief at the warmth that spreads right into your fingers through your gloves.

“careful, now,” tommy advises. “it’s real hot, don’t burn your tongue.” you do your best to follow his instruction, weakly blowing at the hot water when you bring it close to your mouth. resisting the urge to down the whole thing, you grip it tighter and bring it to your chest, hoping to let some of the warmth permeate through other parts of your body other than your hands. it feels like a little piece of heaven when you feel the steam rising up to warm your chin, your lips, and the tip of your nose and the heat from the cup itself travel through your thin shirt and to the skin above your collarbone.

when you finally begin to sip on the warm water, it’s almost glorious; you can feel its warmth spread through your body. so once you discover it’s no longer too hot, you take long gulps and heave heavy sighs of relief. your trembling doesn’t disappear, but with the third cup, it certainly subsides.

this, and the far more relaxed expression on your face finally convinces joel that it’s safe to let you fall asleep—you’re halfway there anyways. tommy takes the empty cup from your hands before it can slip from your hold, and joel unravels your sleeping bag. at that point, you can no longer process the softly spoken words being exchanged by the brothers, but you’re vaguely aware of tommy’s arms tucking themselves under your shoulders and knees and pulling you off of the couch. then you’re being maneuvered into the sleeping bag that now lays across the surface of the couch, tommy setting you down while joel ensures that you stay properly wrapped up in the blankets. sleep claims you so quickly that you don’t hear the agreement between the two men to take turns keeping watch over you to periodically check your temperature and breathing.

joel wakes you in the morning, his gruff voice quickly recounting the events of the previous day when your jumbled state of mind after waking from such a deep sleep launches you into a panicked confusion. his explanation and comforting hands on your shoulders calm you in moments as the memories return, however vague they are due to the haze of your sickness.

“thank you,” you whisper as he helps you to sit up, his hands still gentle and supportive on your shoulders.

“course. like i said, we’ve got somewhere safe for you if you need. and at the very least, we’ve gotta get you some new pants and make sure you don’t get sick. were you travelin’ all alone?”

“not at first,” you explain, knowing he’s probably wondering about finding someone so young alone. “but now… yeah.” he sighs as if that’s the answer he expected.

“’m sorry,” he frowns. you just give a tight-lipped smile in response. “alright. we should get moving so we can get you to the town doctor. tommy’s gettin’ the horses ready.”

your eyebrows raise at his words. “town doctor?” you question. that puts a small smile on his lips that you don’t quite understand.

“yep. it’s a good place to be,” is all he offers in explanation.

“okay.” you begin untangling yourself from the blankets and sleeping bag that did the job of keeping you warm throughout the night. still covered by his coat, your upper half stays comfortable, but the feeling of your exposed calves hitting the cold air is unwelcome, not to mention the slightly embarrassing sight of the jagged edges of your jeans at such an awkward spot.

“sorry ‘bout that,” he comments, “but we’ll keep your legs wrapped up with blankets for now and get you new jeans in town.” once you nod, he grabs a hold of one of the blankets he laid on top of you after you feel asleep, a rather small piece of fabric, but the right size to help you out. he wraps it around your left leg, using ropes from his supplies to gently secure the fabric, then repeating his actions for your other leg.

as he does so, he keeps his gaze focused on his task, but his gravelly voice meets your ears. “realized we never asked your name,” he phrases it like a statement, but the obvious question is there.

to be honest, you hadn’t even realized either, first, mind clouded by the hypothermia, and up until now too caught up in the oddness of your situation. one moment you’re all on your own and on the brink of death, the next you’re saved and seemingly on the way to what sounds like some sort of miraculous safe haven even from the vague glimpses of information you hear.

you state your name, hoping with all you can muster up that this isn’t some kind of cruel trick, and that the kindness the two men have shown you is as genuine as it’s proved to be thus far.

“well then,” he repeats your name back to you as he secures the last knot, still not looking up at you, “let’s get you home.”

those words nearly knock the air from your lungs. he throws them out like they don’t mean much, but in the most confusing way, because you’re sure he did it on purpose. you’re sure he does know that they mean a whole lot more than a casual tone and avoided eye-contact, but you suppose you can’t blame him. it’s often easier to pretend they don’t mean anything, certainly much more with people you don’t really know at all, people like you. and yet, you can’t help but think he said it to reassure you. to tell you that this place he’s talking about is one where you can find that thing everyone in this world has lost. as if it’s somewhere you already belong without having set foot in it yet. and you can’t tell the difference between hope and fear in that moment, so you shove it all away.

“sure.” you stand just after he does, grabbing your sleeping bag and beginning to roll it to the best of your ability while still weak. but he stops you, quickly taking over the task of clearing and packing up the last few things in the lookout after handing you a cup of warm water, not too hot. you finish it quickly, still more than grateful for any warmth that can be provided.

joel motions towards the door once he’s finished, and on still slightly wobbly legs, you walk up to him, stopping before he can lead you out.

“thank you, joel,” your voice is quiet, but sure when you say it.

“of course,” he assures, genuine in the affirmation.

“and tommy. tommy, too, of course,” you stutter, suddenly feeling awkward.

“sure thing.” he clears his throat, one his occupied hands almost moving up to rub the back of his neck. at that he turns, and you follow him out, back into the cold.

the shivery weather is not welcome by you, but in a properly warm coat and definitively out of the worst of your condition, it’s far more bearable. you feel bad for taking over joel’s coat, but he seems just fine in his jacket that’s clearly far warmer than your old, lousy excuse of a winter garment.

tommy and the horses are waiting there, just as joel said, and he smiles upon seeing you.

“good to see you up and alive, kid,” he grins with a gentle pat to your shoulder.

you answer his playfully reassuring attitude with a bashful smile of your own. “yeah, the alive part is definitely a plus,” you say in attempts of matching his tone. the way his grin grows tells you the joke landed, putting you at even more ease than before. unfortunately, it doesn’t make the way you formally introduce yourself to him any less awkward, but he seems glad to know your name. by your side, joel tightens one last strap on the horse before placing a careful hand on your shoulder.

“i think we’re good to go now. it’ll only be a few hours of riding,” he informs.

“sure,” you nod. pausing for a moment, you cast eyes down before speaking, albeit a bit timidly. “could you.. could you help me up again?”

you completely miss the soft look on his face at your request. “course i can, kiddo. i’ll get up first and help you from there, okay?” at your affirmative, he easily mounts the horse before holding a hand out to you. “just put your foot here, grab my hand, and i’ll do all the work, alright?” he moves his leg away from the stirrup so that you can use it yourself, his grip on your hand steady the moment you place it in his palm. gratefully, you follow his instructions, doing your best to use your own strength in tandem with joel to ease the effort he has to put forth to help you up. as you swing your leg over the horse, he guides your hand to hold onto his shoulder for you to grip far easier than his hand and succeeds in getting you into the saddle behind him. with that, you’re off, traveling somewhere that you somehow dare to hope is the sort of paradise joel and tommy have described.

part two here !!

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sleepingoreo · 3 months

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Sunday with Layla reader again, please.

Since reader always busy with her study, she doesn’t acknowledge about her appearance. (hair too long and have eye bags)

And Robin aka his beloved sister, have to take care you. With a big smile, hand hold the scissors and…

Sunday: Come on dear, you look adorable than before.

Layla reader: … So embarrassed..

Your long hair now turn short, now only reach your shoulder… not long anymore, but he must say he need to thank Robin later..

You look adorable than before…

I was gonna post a Jing Yuan fic but I decided to finish that later. I was so busy with essays and make-up tests than going to a wedding.

Sunday is so handsome but he's more beautiful to me. But Sunday has a different type of handsome kind of compared to Jing Yuan or Blade handsome. He's like a beautiful handsome idk how to describe it.

It's very rushed I wrote this all in one sitting so I can sleep now and finish my other essay later ;-;

𓆪♡𓆩 - Sunday 𓆪(´◡`)𓆩

Sunday always noticed your lack of effort in appearance. Whenever he visits or sees you out you’re a tired mess. If he's extra lucky to have you pop by his Oak office, basically his mansion. But whenever he sees you your hair is a mess never cut to the point it starts to tangle. He couldn’t really bring it up scared to offend you because you had enough to worry about with countless studying and writing pages upon pages of paper for the Pencony Academia.

He does make small comments about it like, “You look more tired than usual.” You were always exhausted and under pressure.

He remembered when he first saw you. You took perfect care of yourself but ever since you entered the academy here you neglected your appearance.

He asked his dearest sister Robin to look over you for him. He was so glad she agreed. Ever since then your appearance slowly grew better.

One day Robin picked up the scissors and held strands of your hair. "I can't seem to room these tangles. You won't mind if I cut them right?"

Your mind went blank. You started to imagine yourself with short hair. You weren't sure because your hair was like your blaknet. Yet you knew these tangles were impossible to remove so you were left with no choice. Cut it.

…

Sunday's wings perked up when he heard a knock on the door to his private office. Robin appeared with a smile, "Look brother I managed to convince her to get a haircut."

Robin stepped aside presenting you to Sunday. Sunday said nothing, he started to blanket his mouth gap open slightly.

"so embarrassing..." You muttered on his breath, face flustered. Your hair ends only touch your shoulders. It was weird for you.

Sunday on the overhand was overwhelmed by your beauty. The way your hair now makes your features stand out more. Your eyes are more visible although he'll have to ask Robin to take care of those eye bags later; he adores you more now. You were so adorable he wanted to embrace you in his arms and kiss your cheeks.

Robin took the signal and left leaving you two alone. Sunday got up and walked to you letting his hands run through the strands of your hair. You assumed he didn't like it because he was silent. You stood there flustered and face red.

He pulled you into his embrace and kissed your lips. He was for sure going to thank his sister later.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr sunday #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader

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marlynnofmany · 8 months

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Junkyard Playground

A regular whacking noise is not something you want to hear while strolling through a spaceship crash site that’s been reclaimed by forest. The locals had promised that nothing dangerous would come near us while we delivered their supplies, but clients had been wrong before. Also we’d already delivered the stuff, so maybe that promise didn’t cover the walk back. And anyway, even a timid herbivore can get wild when it’s tangled in debris.

Thinking of several unfortunate animals I’d known in my veterinarian days, I glanced down at Paint to see if she’d noticed the sounds.

Paint’s eyes were wide. She moved with more lizardlike twitchiness than usual, her head skipping side-to-side, scanning the bushes and twisted metal like she’d smelled something that wanted to eat us, but wasn’t sure if it had spotted us yet.

I stopped walking. In an undertone, I asked, “Do you want to take a different route?”

Paint froze, snout still moving. “Maybe.” Another whack sounded.

I opened my mouth to suggest a detour around the tallest chunks of hull, or whatever they were, when I heard something that made it all better.

Mur complaining.

“Oh, for the sake of sudden waves, aim to the left!”

The answering voice was more subdued, but sounded testy. The whacking stopped.

Paint managed to perk up and relax at the same time. “Oh, it’s them!” She took off through the undergrowth faster than was probably wise, given that her species wasn’t fond of shoes. I hurried after.

A big section of wall loomed ahead, made of something too smooth for alien moss to grow on. The voices were coming from the other side.

Paint beat me there. “Hey!” she said brightly. “I thought your delivery was in the other direction!”

I caught up, swinging around the corner to find squidlike Mur perched on a hoversled full of small boxes — though with one conspicuous empty spot — while Coals stood nearby. He held a long cable in both scaly hands like he’d been whipping something with it.

“It is,” Mur said to Paint, waving a tentacle halfheartedly in greetings. “Local fauna stole a box.”

“Where?” I asked, looking sharply for anything that could have been on the receiving end of that cable-whip. But Coals pointed up.

Up to where the smooth wall gave way to exploded metal shapes, with a familiar white plasteel shipping box caught between them. No fauna in sight.

“It flew off right away,” Coals told me, pulling the cable back to sling it in an underhanded throw that rebounded off the wall with a familiar sound.

“Oh dear,” Paint said.

“Yeah,” Mur grumbled. “Luckily our client specified they’d be there all day, otherwise we would be very late.”

“Why not call back to the ship?” I asked, looking for something to climb, but coming up with nothing.

“That,” said Coals, throwing again, “Would be embarrassing.”

“Why?” I asked, looking at Mur.

He sighed, drooping back like a deflating balloon. “Both Trrili and Zhee volunteered for this delivery, but we’d already claimed it, and we told them it was fine.”

“Annnd,” I said, visualizing one of our insectlike crewmates stretching up the wall farther than I could ever reach. “They’d never let you live it down.”

“Oh yeah, they’d be insufferable,” Mur said. “I don’t even know if Zhee could reach it, but Trrili definitely could, and neither of them would let that go in a hurry.”

“I really thought I could get it with this,” Coals said.

“Can I try?” I asked.

He willingly handed it over, and I gave it a shot, having better luck with an overhanded angle that human shoulders were more suited to. I hit the box squarely, with a resounding whack from above and a cheer from Paint, but the box just rattled in place. I kept at it.

Finally my arms were tired and the box was still up there. “We might just have to call it in, guys,” I said.

Mur groaned theatrically while Coals wordlessly took the cable back to give it another go.

Paint looked around. “Isn’t there anything else we can do?” she asked.

Mur ticked things off on his tentacles. “Can’t reach it. Can’t dislodge it. This sled’s height only adjusts a little. Nothing to climb up. Nothing to climb down. No friendly local fauna ready to give it back. If you have other ideas, I am ready to catch them.” He splayed his tentacles in a sun-ray pattern that looked more than a little sarcastic.

But as I looked at the misshapen metal hanging above us, and the lower curve behind us that could be climbed onto, and the nice sturdy cable…I had the seed of an idea.

“What if we swing up to it?” I suggested.

“What?” Mur asked.

“How do you mean?” Coals asked, stepping away as the cable fell after a particularly awkward throw.

“We can loop the cable over that part!” I said, warming to the idea. I pointed up at what might have been an internal hull beam once. “Then swing up like it’s a vine — or wait, even better!” I scrambled over to where a rectangular grate poked out of a shrub. Hopefully the plant wasn’t poisonous. “We can tie it to this!”

Paint cocked her head at a sharp angle. “Why?”

“To make a swing!” I said, grinning as I yanked it free. The thing wasn’t even that heavy; perfect.

While my alien coworkers watched, I set about making the most epic of playground swings from broken spaceship junk. The cable flew over the beam just fine. It didn’t even hit anyone in the head on the way down. Fastening it to the sides of the grate was a little tricky, but I was able to shove it through the holes and tie a pair of bulky knots underneath that probably wouldn’t come loose mid-swing. Probably.

I checked the area for anything especially sharp just in case. Flying off to smack into a wall would be bad enough without the chance of impaling myself on the remains of some spacefaring bathroom sink.

“Are you sure about this?” Paint asked as I clambered up onto the curved thing, towing the swing along with one hand.

“All the pieces look strong enough!” I said. I’d done plenty of tugging to be sure. “And the box isn’t really that high up, all things considered.”

Mur saluted with two tentacles, not moving from the sled. “Better you than me.”

“That’s the spirit,” I laughed. Getting into position was more of a delicate affair than I’d expected, since the cable didn’t reach quite far enough. Guess I’d just have to do a bit of hop-and-butt-shuffle.

“But—” Paint said anxiously.

Coals put a hand on her shoulder. “The physics holds up,” he said. “I don’t think it’s scary for a human.”

“Not a bit!” I agreed. “Here goes!” With that, I jumped into position on the grate, swinging forward at a speed that would have made little playground-monkey Child Me clap for joy.

I almost reached the box on the first swing.

Paint sounded disappointed, but she was clearly unfamiliar with the fine art of pumping the legs. Another couple goes, and I swung high enough to catch a hand on a jutting bit of something at the peak of my swing.

I hung there for a heartbeat, both arms looped around the cable, extremely aware of the long drop below me, then I stuck a leg out and kicked the box free. It was sturdy enough to land in one piece.

Before letting go, I made certain that I was in position with my other hand clutching the cable (with the appropriate amount of nerves).

Then I let go of the bar and fell.

The swing downward was much more adrenaline-ridden than the ride up, with a moment of freefall before the cable jerked taut and bounced me back toward my original launch platform. I held that cable in a death grip, pressing my butt into the grate hard enough to leave a waffle pattern that I would tell no one about. I almost hit my foot on a spar that I hadn’t gone near the first time.

But I made it.

When the swing finally slowed enough for me to drag my feet through the rubble, Paint ran over, full of praise.

“You did it! That was amazing!”

“Nice kick,” Coals added. He put the box onto the cart; not a scratch on it.

Mur moved out of the way. “We may just have to tell the others after all, because that was impressive.”

“Glad it worked!” I said, getting back onto my feet with only a little shakiness. “This stuff made a great swing. Pity we can’t take it with us.”

Paint craned her neck up at it. “You said this is something from a recreation center? Is it spacefarer training for acceleration?”

I laughed at that. “No,” I said. “Human training for being a human. Kids love these. They even have special seats for babies who can’t hold themselves in place yet.”

Paint looked horrified.

Coals just shook his head quietly while Mur did some chuckling of his own.

“That explains so much about you,” Mur said. “Come on, let’s drop this off then go tell Trrili. Maybe next time we visit a human settlement they’ll have one of these big enough for her to ride. She’d hate it.”

Coals nodded. “She would.”

Paint grimaced but said nothing.

I smiled. “I actually do know a place like that.”

“Of course you do,” said Mur. “Onward!”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eidw #humans are space orcs #humans are space monkeys #writeblr #writblr #which of those tags is the most useful anyway?#I never remember to research it #oh well #have a story!

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soapsbaby · 8 months

Text

Sweet Dreams

Kinktober Day Seven

Summary: Simon comes home late while you are asleep already but simply can't resist you. Characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader Warnings: NSFW (mdni), Somnophilia (previously consented to) Word Count: 1000ish

He comes home later than he had promised you, it’s early in the morning when he finally quietly shuts the front door behind him, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat.

He is quietly cursing himself that it has taken him so long to get home, he would have loved to have you, finally get rid of all of that pent up frustration. Grab you and take you wherever in the house that he found you. No exchange of words, just pin you down and fuck you. You could talk afterwards.

But he is sure you are asleep by now, and he can’t blame you. It's late, you have work in the morning.

He walks into the bedroom as quietly as he can, careful not to wake you. It’s a full moon, bright enough for him to be able to see you clearly without turning on any of the lights. There you are, peacefully curled up, wearing one of his shirts. It’s way too big on your frame. Your skin is almost tinted blue in the pale moonlight.

He slides into bed silently, hoping the denting of the mattress doesn't wake you, but it doesn't seem to. For a moment he genuinely considers going to sleep, just waiting it out until the morning.

He could have you before you leave for work, fill you up before you have to go. It wouldn’t be the first time his patience had been tested, but something about tonight felt different.

Just a look… A look wouldn’t hurt, right? He gently pulled back the covers, revealing your ass to him. The shirt had ridden up over it and so you were only covered by a pair of panties. He silently swears under his breath. He is so desperate to touch you, to feel you.

It’s been so long.

He knows that he has the okay from you to do this, but it still feels wrong.

Still, he can't help his hand from reaching out, his fingers just barely grazing your skin, but it is enough to make his cock ache in his pants, eager to fill you.

God, he should have thought about this. Of course this had just made things worse.

You had allowed him to do this, you had encouraged him to have you in your sleep, yet the shame of how badly he wanted it now still almost took overhand.

Almost.

His fingers reach out again, this time he hooks them on your panties.

He knows he is on the border of no return, but trying to get himself to care is growing more difficult by the second.

The fabric slides over your ass and down your legs easily, leaving you even more exposed to him. He just leaves them halfway down your thighs.

"Shit…", he mutters under his breath, palming his cock through his underwear. He is already fully hard and cursing himself for it.

Every step he had taken had been too far, and now there was no going back. He had to have you.

Your pussy is so beautiful in front of him, so inviting, slightly glistening.

His fingers reach out, his middle finger parting your lips and feeling how wet and warm you are.

His finger slips into you so easily, he almost loses his composure thinking about how good you’ll feel around his cock.

He slowly works you open for him, adding a second finger.

There are quiet noises escaping your mouth, but you are still asleep, even as you slightly grind yourself against him, looking for some type of friction.

He uses his other hand to free his cock from his underwear, lining it up with your pussy.

You whimper quietly as he pushes himself inside of you, for a moment it seems like you are waking up, but he softly shushes you back to sleep.

“It’s okay.”, he hums. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, hand gently running through your hair.

“I’m sorry, Baby. Go back to sleep. I just need to have you right now.”

It surprises even him that this works, but you just mutter something and then your eyes fall shut again.

He swears under his breath as he pumps into you a few times, rolling his hips against your ass until he bottoms out inside of you. He is amazed at how easily you take him.

He does a few careful strokes, already feeling himself getting close. It’s been so long until he has been able to fuck you and everything about this situation, how forbidden all of it is, makes it even more difficult for him to not just burst on the spot.

You usually come around his cock so easily, he wonders if you can do it like this as well.

His fingers reach around you, gently shifting your sleeping body until he finds your clit, drawing small circles across it.

He wants to just pound into you, but he doesn’t want to disturb your sleep, so instead he goes steady, slow deep pumps.

A whimper escapes your throat, your breaths growing heavy as your body reacts to his touch.

“C’mon, Baby.”, he whispers, lip tucked between his teeth to keep himself quiet. He wants to hold back, wants to keep going for as long as he can, but he loses it when you finally clench around him, whining desperately as your orgasm makes you shake in his arms.

He comes deep inside of you, his face buried against your shoulder, taking in your scent as he struggles to keep himself silent. He keeps his cock inside of you as he can slowly feel himself getting soft again, plugging you up to not let any of his cum go to waste or make a mess.

Such a good girl, he thinks to himself, the aftershocks of his orgasm making him slightly tremble.

He gently pulls you into his arms, your back to his chest, pressing kisses to the back of your neck.

He is hoping that by morning he’ll still be inside of you.

#Simon Riley x Reader #ghost x reader #cod x reader #somno tw #Simon ghost riley x reader #ari writes

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wyattjohnston · 11 months

Text

make it weird - jack hughes

summary: kat's vacation gets gatecrashed by the one guy she cannot stand.

word count: 2,140

note: this is for @torontoflames as part of the summer fic exchange 2k23. i've tried my hand at enemies-to-lovers and i hope you enjoy! @laurenairay and @matthewtkachuk are gems and helped me with this a lot <3

There were few sounds in the world Kat found more infuriating than Jack’s laugh. Intellectually she knew that it was a perfectly fine laugh, nothing unusual or grating about it; that didn’t stop her eyes from rolling back into her skull when it filled the room.

Had he ever done anything specific to warrant such a visceral reaction? Kat honestly couldn’t remember. She was sure there was something at some point that had laid the groundwork for her ever-simmering hatred even if she could no longer recall.

More pressing than his laugh at that exact moment, though, was his presence on the once-in-a-lifetime Greek Island Vacation that Kat had been dreaming about since she was fifteen. It had all been going to plan with no setbacks and no surprises until two weeks out when she heard Jack had purchased flights on a whim.

Still, Kat tried to smile across at Sarah, who was furiously trying to butter her toast before it got too cold and was completely unaware that Kat’s grip on her spoon was leaving indentations in her hand.

“About time you two woke up,” Sarah joked, tilting her head up to meet Nico’s lips before he sat down, leaving Jack to take the empty seat beside Kat.

Sarah knew all about Kat’s dislike of Jack—in fact, she’d forced Nico to be the one to break the news—and it was an open secret at the table, so Kat continued to glare holes in Sarah’s head, getting more intense every time Jack opened his mouth.

When the vacation was organised, Kat hadn’t been bothered by Nico coming along. She liked Nico, she liked that Sarah was dating him, she liked that he’d suggested a very nice resort over their original plans and offered to pay the difference, and even though she knew it would mean she would be spending quite a lot of time on her own it was okay. Going on a day tour organised by the resort was perfect, swimming in the cove by the resort was fantastic and, truthfully, even when Jack was the only one around to play tennis against it was fine.

Because he was on the other side of the court and she could unleash any hatred she had in the form of an overhand shot that landed rapidly and directly at his feet or on the other side of the court and make him dive. Jack took it all in stride, as he so often did, and rolled through each dive like the pro-athlete he was.

His diving got more theatrical when a few young women appeared on the next court.

“Are you for fucking real?” Kat grumbled under her breath as Jack missed the easiest shot she’d sent him all afternoon because he was distracted by one of the women waving at him.

Kat couldn’t shake the annoyance she felt with the flirting because there was no way she and Jack didn’t look like a couple and it was just plain rude for them to be flirting so blatantly.

“Do you want to keep going or are we done?”

“Serve it up, let’s go,” Jack responded, unfazed and seemingly unaware that Kat was being more curt with him than normal.

Kat served it directly at his feet and delighted in the panicked jump he took to get out of the way; she was less delighted by the giggles from his new posse . Really, as much as she didn’t want Jack to be ruining her holiday, the least he could do is pay attention if he was spending time with her.

He held it together long enough to serve it back to Kat in the exact right spot for Kat to lob it back to him rather viciously. The humph that left him as it connected with his stomach was music to her ears and exactly what she needed to be able to leave feeling satisfied.

If Jack noticed that she was leaving the court, he didn’t say a thing.

Kat spent the next day wandering the resort and the island by herself—well, on a resort organised tour. She left before anyone else was awake and arrived back home in time for dinner as a group where nobody questioned her decision to be alone.

It was better than being stuck watching Jack flirt with the gaggle of young women who seemingly followed him everywhere. Including to dinner. He was aware enough, thankfully, to read the looks on her, Sarah and Nico’s faces and understand that his new friend was not welcome.

“If you go on another day trip, can I come?” Jack asked.

“I guess,” Kat said, less reluctant than at the start of dinner. As annoying as she found him and his laugh, he did have a way of wearing her down over every meal; it just never lasted long enough to dissipate completely. “Probably not tomorrow. I’m getting drunk by the pool tonight.”

Jack’s smile was so wide it must have hurt his cheeks when he said, “I could get drunk by the pool.”

They were able to cajole Sarah and Nico into joining them and Kat was grateful for the evening with her best friend and for the distraction from Jack. There wasn’t much swimming done, just some wading into the shallow end between drinks because the staff on duty were sticklers for the no glass in the pool rule.

Sarah talked about the day trips out of the resort, and they agreed that they’d check out the scooter tour through Rhodes both as something different from what they’d both been up to and because they knew that Nico and Jack would undoubtedly do something together that was worth laughing at.

“I’m yours for the rest of the vacation,” Sarah promised. “I know I’ve been the worst friend ever leaving you with Jack.”

“I knew what I was getting into.” Kat was sure that her words were just a little hollow and her smile not entirely convincing because Sarah frowned and then said she was disappearing back to her room for a few minutes but would be right back with a present.

Kat was left with nothing to do but kick her feet under the barstool.

Across the bar she noticed a man sitting by himself and she made a decision—she wasn’t going to be the only person on the trip not getting laid, so she stood up, tried to subtly make her bikini top do something for her tits and walked towards the man with her shoulders back.

She tapped on his shoulder when she reached him, put on her most flirty smile when he turned around, and said, “Hi, I’m Kat. What are you drinking?”

The man’s face went through multiple different facial expressions, none particularly clear but none at all good, and Kat’s confidence shattered into pieces when he laughed so abruptly and so harshly that he immediately started choking.

“Nothing you can afford to buy me, sweetheart, and nothing I’d buy for a girl who got into her mommy’s make up.”

Kat wasn’t entirely sure how she got away, she had no memory of leaving because all she could see in front of her was his face, yet she ended up at the open door of a cubby and hid away in it without hesitation and kicked the door shut behind her.

If she wasn’t willing away the tears in her eyes, she may have been able to appreciate it for the secluded, cozy space that it was and not the stark reminder that she was going to be the only person on her vacation who didn’t have any fun.

The scraping of the door had Kat glaring at the ceiling; none of the details of that were clear either through the tears.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“With you?” she asked, nothing but bite in her voice. “No.”

Footsteps drew closer to her and it was the final straw for a tear to escape—she tried to swiftly wipe it off her cheek before Jack saw. The movement was more than enough to give her away.

“I can go find Sarah but I don’t know if you want to explain and relive that.”

“Explain that I tried to put myself out there and he literally laughed in my face? Probably not.” She inhaled sharply. “Wow, I’m reliving it anyway.”

“I know you don’t like me very much—and don’t lie about it,” he interjected when she opened her mouth to deny. “It’s fine. You don’t have to like me. I just don’t think you should let one guy ruin your trip.”

Kat laughed, so hard that she snorted, at the irony of the one guy who had ruined her trip saying that. Jack preened, thinking he had accomplished something by making her laugh.

“I can handle being rejected,” she said firmly before admitting meekly, “He hit every insecurity I have in like two sentences.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Look, you aren’t exactly my favourite person in the world either but you’re hot and he’s an idiot, so.”

Kat’s mouth opened, and then shut when she couldn’t get any words out. She didn’t even know what words she wanted to say. All she could do was stare up at Jack and try to make sense of what he’d said.

“Don’t make it weird,” he joked as he nudged her thigh with his knee.

Knowing that if she kept looking at him she was certainly going to make it weird, Kat looked out one of the cubby’s windows and briefly caught sight of Sarah returning to poolside with Nico.

“Why did you crash my vacation?” she asked, finally getting to the question she’d been wanting to ask since she heard he’d bought flights.

“Your vacation?” Jack asked incredulously as if it was the first he was hearing about him inviting himself along at all.

“This is a vacation Sarah and I have been thinking about since freshman year,” Kat explained, exasperation growing inside her again as it so often did when Jack was involved. “I barely got over Nico being invited.”

Jack was sure and certain, far less incredulous, and told her, as if he’d had his explanation planned for quite some time, “I crashed your vacation because I knew someone was going to end up being the third wheel. I really kinda thought it’d be Neeks but I was prepared to make you like me if I had to.”

Unable to keep looking away, Kat was taken aback by the soft smile on Jack’s face. She’d never seen him look less than smug and was utterly disarmed by the change. And by the way it made her feel.

“Thank you. For being here. On my vacation and right now.”

“Don’t make it weird,” he said with the same nudge of her thigh as earlier.

He extended his hand to her, saying that they should rejoin Nico and Sarah before they started to worry or ask questions. Kat pretended she didn’t feel the fluttering in her stomach when their hands touched. She also ignored the disappointment she felt when he let go when she was standing.

Instead of walking with her to Sarah and Nico, Jack turned in the direction of the bar. If he were anybody else, Kat might be worried that he was going to find the guy who had rejected her. As little as she actually knew him, it didn’t take much leap in logic to realise he was just going to get them drinks.

Sarah and Nico were sitting at a table closer to the pool than Sarah and Kat had been, a little brown bag on the table in front of them.

“This my present?” Kat asked, reaching out to open the bag slightly. “Oh, yum, baklava.”

She took one of the empty seats and wasted no time tearing open the bag and indulging. Sarah and Nico watched her for a moment, before their eyes shifted back towards the bar, and Kat knew that they’d seen her and Jack leave the cozy cubby together.

“Something you want to share?” Sarah asked, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“Nope,” came Jack’s voice from above Kat’s head, shortly followed by his arm and the drink he was placing in front of Kat.

As the moon rose and the sun disappeared completely from the sky, Kat reluctantly admitted to herself that Jack wasn’t all that bad—even his laugh was contagious more than grating in the aftermath of his comforting moment.

Kat took the opportunity when Sarah and Nico went to get another round of drinks to ask Jack, “Did you mean it? That you think I’m hot?”

A familiar smirk formed on Jack’s face, his hand moving to her bare thigh.

“Don’t make it weird, Kat.”

Please consider leaving feedback—reblog and write in the tags or send an ask, I’m not fussed. I just want to know what you’re thinking!

#jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #homemade fic #the summer fic exchange 2k23 #fic: devils

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rosemaeridream · 11 months

Text

mercs have mommy issues. || aespa - uar

uchinaga aeri x reader (drabble)

warnings: guns, mentions of murder, reader is kinda insane but not so threatening, aeri just wants to live, reader’s got mommy issues (aeri give them a hug pls), aeri's weirdly calm?, stay away if u have a peanut allergy

A/N: i wrote this at like 2 am while i was delirious and had too many ideas for dialogue so enjoy xoxo also just realised there isn’t much romance it’s more aeri & reader — unless y’all want a second part which i would consider cause i enjoyed writing merc!reader and straightman!aeri (in the comedy sense - aeri’s not actually a straight man … ) anyway, just read and you'll understand what i mean.

Synopsis: Aeri just wants to have a happy and healthy life. So why can’t she get this stupid mercenary of her back. And why on earth do they keep calling her princess???

word count: 3.7k

(this is longer than a drabble but it’s my train of incoherent thoughts so it’s not worth putting in my actual works)

You scramble for the gun that’s placed on the table. It takes you a moment to get there, and by the time your favourite pistol is safely back in your hands, there’s a scream from the other side of the room and a vase is flying straight towards your face.

Dodging it with practised ease, you point your weapon at the new arrival who has just entered the apartment. The girl stands there with her eyes wide, long dark hair falling to rest messily over her shoulders after her overhand throw. She opens her mouth to let out a shriek.

You physically cringe at the pitchy sound. “Oh my god, stop screaming-”

Clearly your words don’t work because a chair is flung in your direction along with another yell. Sidestepping the chair with a huff, you give her an exasperated glare, returning your gun to its position aimed at her. “I’m not trying to kill you! Jesus Christ-” You twist your wrist so the gun is on its side, a show of pacifism. “Stop throwing things at me.”

The girl pauses to catch her breath, glaring at you suspiciously. Her voice is shaky when she starts to speak. “What are you doing with that gun then?”

You sigh, still pointing it at her. “Okay fine, you’re kinda sort of slightly on my hit list.” Your eyes roll as if this is the kind of thing you deal with on a daily basis.

She freezes, looking at you with her eyes wide. It’s not exactly a fearful expression, more surprised or astonished. “I’m on your what now?”

“Hit list?” She returns a blank stare.

“Uh… like a group of people to kill.” You explain, slightly confused. Who doesn’t know what a hit list is? Your empty hand goes to your combat jacket, slipping out a piece of paper. “See - hit list.” It has a couple names written underneath each other; the top few are ominously crossed out.

“And your name!” You point to the scrawl with the gun, a little ‘Aeri <3’ written. Flashing a gleaming smile at her, like the tiny paper is your pride and joy. “I added a heart here because you’re the only one close to my age, and I thought you might appreciate it more than the others.”

“Uh-huh?” She steps backwards slowly, edging towards the door and you’re too caught up in explaining how the hit list works, and who your favourite targets were to notice. “Why am I on your list?” She squeaks out, picking up speed.

You shrug, pulled from examining your list. “I don’t ask questions, it’s not really my list.”

“Who’s is it then? And why am I on it?” She takes another two shaky steps, gaining ground quickly.

You notice immediately this time, no longer looking at the piece of paper. Firing a warning shot at the door, she flinches and stumbles back in fright, putting distance between her and the door, where there is now a smoking bullet hole. Your trusty silencer makes sure that the shot isn’t too loud, but a gunshot is a gunshot and the firing pin still creates a metallic crack. Returning your gun to aim at her, your eyes light up in excitement. “Don’t move, princess.”

Aeri grimaces, clearly unimpressed with her new nickname. “princess? Don’t call me that, and don’t shoot at the door!” She scans around her apartment and you assume it's to look for other exits. Or maybe that’s just your brain working overtime and she’s just trying to figure out how much of a mess you’ve created in her home.

Feeling slightly guilty about the newly made peephole. “I’m sorry. It’s a lovely door. I’ll make sure the landlord adds in a fisheye lens for the next tennant.” Your words are said with utmost sincerity, clearly the door means a lot to her or so you assume. “Also, I think princess suits you! You’re definitely pretty enough.” You absentmindedly scratch your head with the gun.

Aeri rolls her eyes, as if being called princess was the very last thing in the large pool of nicknames she could have been given. “Whatever, I guess.” Your eyes get caught on the way she bites her lip, perhaps in thought. “Is there any way I can get off the list?”

You hum in thought. “You know, no one’s ever asked me that.” You move your gun down and think about it for a moment.

“Probably because I’m usually quicker than this.” The words hang in the air between the two of you, just a casual comment for one, almost a threat to the other.

The beat of silence is disturbed by a frustrated sigh. “If you’re gonna kill me, I guess just get it over with, no reason to drag this out any longer.” There’s a flash of thick dark hair as the girl walks past you, slumps down on one of the kitchen stools with a huff, and rests her head on the benchtop, closing her eyes.

You blink, sort of puzzled. No one’s done that before either. Furrowing your brows, you sit down next to your target. The urge to comfort her comes before your trigger happy nature. “Woah, cheer up, princess, this whole accepting death thing is a bit depressing.”

“Well, what do I have left to live for? I’ve never met or seen you before, but if you’re here to kill me then someone clearly wants me dead. There’s no point living like this.” The words come out almost lighthearted but there’s an undertone of fear and sadness. Aeri glances at you from the corner of her eye. “What’s your name anyways?”

Usually you wouldn’t tell anyone your name, but thinking about it, it doesn’t matter anyway. Squinting in decision, you ultimately come up with a compromise. “That’s classified, but you can choose a nickname if you wish.”

Instantly, she throws you a look that screams ‘Seriously, what is wrong with you??’. “Yeah, no thanks.” And yet, Aeri still sits up properly on the stool and the tiniest of smiles forms on her lips. “So… is killing me like… your job? Or a hobby?”

“My Job.” You fiddle with the safety catch on your firearm. “You rack up a pretty price. Nearly 5,000,000,000KRW.”

A couple seconds tick by before Aeri reacts, she doesn’t really seem to register the amount. “Oh wow…” Her eyes move to the benchtop and she seems to deflate a little, if there was a sad sort of squeaky noise she’d 1:1 replicate a balloon. “Why are you still talking to me then? Shouldn’t you be killing me or something?”

“I don’t know.” You respond after a beat, confused by your own actions. Although she looks like the human equivalent of a slinky toy failing to get to the bottom step, you appreciate that she still looks stunning in her last moments. Her hair shiny and clean, jeans hugging her legs nicely and her top feminine but not extensively. “No one’s ever thrown a vase at me before. Or a chair for that matter.”

Aeri tilts her head and considers you for a moment before she bursts out laughing. “Wait, so you’ve never met someone brave enough to fight back before? What about the other people on your list? Did they all just sit there and accept their fate?”

Your hand waves in the air like what she’s asked is silly. “Everyone else is dead within the first couple minutes. Or like, they beg and cry.” You look around her kitchen, eyes getting caught on the plate with a peanut butter sandwich you were making before Aeri came home. “I got a bit distracted tonight.” You push up from your stool, leaning across the bench with a small ‘sorry’ to pick up the sandwich, then you pull half your mask down to eat.

She stares at you like you're crazy. Maybe you are. “You’re not concerned about me seeing your face?”

“I mean, you’re about to die, sooo…” You bite half of the sandwich slowly. It’s been cut diagonally into triangles just how you like. “Besides, it’s only my mouth. How are you going to identify me from that?”

“I- yeah… I guess so…” Aeri trails off, seemingly lost in thought. Her body relaxes, like there's no trace of fear left, just pure confusion.

“You’re calmer than I thought. Usually people cry a bit. One guy pissed his pants.” Another bite of the sandwich. This time you make a little moan of appreciation. “God, what peanut butter do you use? This is so good.”

Surprisingly, she smiles at you. “Oh, it’s Skippy. I know, pretty basic but it kinda slaps, right?”

You mull over her words. Skippy wasn’t your usual choice, but maybe you should start buying it. Taking another bite of your peanut butter goodness, crumbs fly as you speak. “You’re sorta cool. I’m starting to feel bad about killing you.”

Aeri sends you a sceptical look, raising her eyebrows. “I don’t doubt you’re going to kill me eventually.” She shifts a bit in on the kitchen stool, her leg bouncing. Whether it be with nervousness or adrenaline, you can’t decide. “So why did you choose not to shoot me the second you saw me?”

“Well, you threw a vase at me. And a chair. It’s hard to aim while you’re dancing around flying objects.” You point out, finishing up one half of the sandwich then moving onto the other. “Do you have jam?”

Eyeing you, she slides off the stool and walks to her fridge, rooting around, then sits back on the stool with a jar of jam. “Don’t eat the whole thing. My mum gave it to me.”

A beat of silence follows as Aeri watches you slather one side of the remaining sandwich in jam. Then she speaks again. “I know I’m not dead yet, but I'm guessing if I were to convince you not to kill me then you’d just go home and find another target, right?”

“Yeah. I actually have another one tonight, but I think I may have missed my window.” You think over your schedule as you spread the jam thickly before closing up the sandwich and taking a bite. “Strawberry… Can I keep your mum?”

Her lips quirk up and she rolls her eyes, almost playfully.

Then there’s a pregnant silence.

After a moment or two of Aeri watching you eat, she tilts her head over to the tap. “So… Do you think you would let me get some water?”

“Are you going to throw the glass at me?” You move the sandwich from your mouth right before you take another bite.

She sighs, rolling her eyes again, this time less playfully. “No, no I won’t throw the glass at you. I promise.” Her arms cross and she leans on the counter. She looks depleted, like there’s no hope. You suppose there isn’t.

Studying her with a sturdy gaze, you decide that even if she does throw the glass at you, it’d be easy to dodge. “Sure then.” But just in case, you put your gun down on the counter close to the jam.

Another round of silence takes over as Aeri fills a glass of water and gradually drinks it. Well, at least until she breaks the silence again. “Are you working alone?” Her body twists so that the question could be addressed directly to you.

“Hm? Like, am I alone here killing you or what?” Your tongue runs over your teeth, poking at little bits of bread caught then you take another rather large bite of the pb and j.

“Yeah, are you alone in this whole assassination thing? Like, do you have a partner or a boss that you report the mission results to?” Aeri moves back across the kitchen and leans close to you. You can feel her watching your every move.

“Nope! All anonymous. I’m really just a goon, I suppose.” Your words are muffled by the amount of bread and peanut butter and jam in your gob. Patting your combat jacket, you pull out a little tube. You can tell she’s about to ask what it is, so you just shake the contents onto your sandwich. Rainbow sprinkles come out. “The blue ones taste the best.”

She blinks twice before muttering something along the lines of ‘Don’t they all taste the same?’ but you’re too happy munching on your sandwich to really hear.

“So… you’re literally just a mercenary getting orders on a random assassination from a client?” Her eyes light up for a moment. “I could literally just pay you more to not kill me, couldn’t I?”

You scratch your neck, slightly saddened that you’re about to burst her bubble. “You could. But where are you going to get 5 billion won? That’s like 3 mil USD. 5 mil CAD. Maybe… 500 mil Japanese yen?” Squinting you try to convert in your mind.

While you distract yourself with conversion rates, Aeri begins to freak out. “Wait, woah 5 BILLION??!” She steps back in shock. “That’s the reward?” Her hand flies out to grip the counter, trying to contain her panic. “What the fuck have I done to deserve such a high price??”

You shrug, not surprised by her reaction. This was closer to the type of thing all your other targets did. “Don’t ask me, princess. I just get the orders.” Your legs swing back and forth as the sandwich diminishes to a couple bites.

Aeri glares at you. Assuming it’s about the nickname and not the fact that you’re here to kill her in general, you give her a polite smile. “Well… the money and the orders. I get paid half when I accept.”

Her eyes widen and she takes a shaky breath. “So you’re getting 500 MILLION for walking into my apartment and having a chat with me?” She processes the information rather well, you think. “I could give you half of what you’ve already got and you can just call it a day, right?”

“Well, I mean, I get the other 500 mil after you’re dead.” You point out. “That would only be 750 mil. I’d be 250 short.” You go to bite your sandwich again and find that there’s nothing left.

“What if I give you the other half then? 500 million?” She takes a couple steps messily in a circle, her hands flailing. “My life is more than just 500 million fucking won, right?”

“I personally believe that lives cost $0 but you do you, princess.” You say nonchalantly, picking up your pistol again.

“Oh my god, why are you calling me princess all the time?” Aeri snaps at you. Then her eyes flick to the gun in your hand and she smiles nervously. “So you’re not accepting my offer? What if I make it better? Half the money, and get you a lifetime supply of Skippy peanut butter?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “You’re pretty like a princess. And you have those Disney eyes.”

Standing up to stretch, your back crackles. Then your hand moves to slide your mask back down over your lower face, covering your identifiable features up again.

Aeri watches you do so, almost glaring at you. “Ok, let’s put your attraction to me aside for a second and think about what I’m offering. You take the offer and you can have 500 million in cash, plus a lifetime supply of Skippy peanut butter. I’ll even throw in some of my mum’s Strawberry Jam.”

Your eyes light up when you hear her offer the jam, but then you remember your contract. “Mmm I don’t know. I already accepted the offer, and turning back would be a slight on the higher ups.”

“A slight? So they’d be upset if you let me go?” Aeri steps towards you again “Oh my god, I swear on my life I won't tell anyone you were here, I’d just prefer not to die.” Her voice is laced with fear, her eyes pleading. This is when you started to hate your job. Bargaining was always the worst part. “Couldn’t you just tell someone I ran away or something?”

“Not plausible. When people run I just make a mad dash after.” You pretend to run for a moment, then turn back to Aeri looking proud of yourself. “It always ends up with the target dead.”

That final sentence seems to get to her and her skin is a sickly pale sort of tint. Weary that she might throw up, you take a wide step back. “Are you actually gonna kill me?” Her face pales further and now she steps back, eyes wide open. The brown almost shimmering with tears. “Please don’t do this, I just wanna live happily and healthily.” Her voice cracks, and the tears start to fall. “I don’t want my mum to be sad.”

As she starts to make her final speech, you prepare your firearm. It’s beloved, having added your favourite silencer. LIfting it up to aim where it would hurt the least, you are a little sympathetic to your targets, your finger brushes against the trigger.

But something about her last sentence makes you pause. It echoes around your mind. Bouncing into the depths and then running you over like a bullet train. “Your… mum?” The words aren’t meant to be said out loud but they come out anyway.

Aeri watches tearily as you freeze and her voice catches in her throat. “Mum, yeah.” She looks at the floor, trying to hold back her tears. But it’s always hard to stop crying once you’ve started. “She’s my whole world. Always telling me how proud she is. When I’m down I think about how much she’d miss me if I were gone.” She looks back up at you, and you have to look away, avoiding her ‘Disney princess eyes’.

“She’s been through so much… having to deal with losing people. I promised her I’d stay safe.”

You grunt, your jaw clenched so hard you could feel the enamel scratching off your teeth. Then finally you lower your gun with a huff. “This is why I don’t talk to my targets.” You mutter to yourself before you flick the safety back on.

Your now ex-target rubs her eyes when she sees you lowering your gun. “Hey wait, you’re not gonna kill me?” She looks at you, her tear-streaked face staring earnestly into your eyes. You hold back a huff. “But what about the client? Your bosses? Will there be consequences for sparing me?”

“Yeah, probably.” You move around the room, grabbing the bugs you had placed around her apartment a couple days prior.

Aeri watches you and something switches in her. “And what exactly are you going to tell whoever ordered the hit?” She takes a step towards you, for the first time since she entered her apartment. “What if they send someone else to do the job?”

“Oh, they’ll send someone else.” You nod to yourself before strapping your things to your combat jacket. “I’d say lock your doors, but I don’t think that’ll help much.” Humming, you make an advance back to the window you came from.

“Then what the fuck was the point in sparing me if you know they’re gonna come after me again? You saved me, what, like a week at most?” She crosses her arms and glares at you, her eyebrows furrowing in disapproval. “Why go through this whole charade? I could’ve just died and it would’ve all been over with.”

You pause, thinking over her words. They circle in your mind, turning into scenarios that lead to the loss of your job. Then you grunt exasperatedly. “Oh my god, princess. You’re not my responsibility.” You twirl in a circle, frustrated, before walking back over to her and giving her a childlike squint.

She rolls her eyes, clearly still not a fan of your nickname. “Then why even let me live at all? Why not just shoot me? Why go to all of this effort just to spare my life and prolong the inevitable?” Aeri points a finger, like a gun to her head, then moves it to the floor. “This, right here. You sparring my life was so unnecessary.”

You groan, moving your head in a circle. “It’s your fault for bringing up your mum, I can’t deal with old people being sad.”

“She’s not even old!” Her voice raises a level. “And what about me feeling sad? What about YOU making my loved ones sad?” She moves her finger to your face now, clearly frustrated. It’s getting to the point that you’d be intimidated by her, except for the way her finger trembles. Now that the threat of dying seems to be over, she seems to realise how absolutely ridiculous this entire situation is. “Your clients are just going to send another assassin after me, so saving me was the most pointless, time-wasting choice you could’ve ever made.”

“Fine! Oh my god, Jesus Christ. I’ll make sure they don’t send another hitman.” You groan, then huff, then grumble to yourself as you check your pockets.

“And how the hell are you going to ensure that?” Aeri asks. “They paid you so much money to do this, do you think they’re going to just give up and be like ‘Aw okay, we’ll look for someone else.’? I honestly don’t think their next choice is going to be any nicer than you.”

You give her a glare behind your mask, annoyed that she can’t see the fullness of your frustration. “I’ll just kill the next one, jeez.”

Her jaw drops open as she stares at you, completely stunned. “You’re gonna kill them? Really? Even if it goes against the original orders?” Her eyebrows raise in shock, her head tilts and she crosses her arms. She’s clearly angry. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I don’t know.” You sound meek.

“What a stupid answer.” Aeri rolls her eyes, looking at you with utter disbelief. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to kill another assassin and probably get your loyalty card revoked and get into a bunch of trouble just because you feel bad for me because I talked about my mommy?” She shakes her head, looking completely flabbergasted at your responses. “Does the job matter that little to you? Wouldn’t you rather just ‘BANG’ and get paid?” She puts her finger back to her head and mimes the hammer striking.

“Mothers are important, okay?” You practically whine, taking a couple steps forward to remove her hand from her head.

Aeri takes another breath to continue her tirade, but your words and touch make her pause. Her entire expression dissolves into joint confusion and concern. “Huh? Are you like… mum-less?” You can tell her words are trying to be harsh but they just come out sort of flat.

“That’s classified.”

She raises an eyebrow like she knows that you’re lying, and that’s when you decide it’s time to jump ship.

Moving away to her window again, this time you make it to the frame. Lifting the lower pane with ease, you wave your hand behind you in an aloof manner. “Try not to die, princess.”

She looks at you, her mouth slightly ajar again. “Oh, ok.” She looks up at the ceiling as she tries to process what just happened. The more she thinks about it, the more ridiculous it seems. “Okay, I’ll try not to die,” Her voice is laced with sarcasm and she can’t believe she’s saying these words right now. “Thank you so much for sparing my life, Merc. The world is a much better place with you around.”

You flip her off as you vault through her window and into the night.

A/N: my search history is full of peanut butter brands now (this is the dumbest thing i’ve written in my entire life)

#!! dreamy’s pieces #aespa #giselle x reader #giselle #uchinaga aeri x reader #kpop imagines #kpop oneshots #idol x reader #aespa imagines #kpop x reader #aespa x reader

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return-to-ravenbrooks · 28 days

Text

Return to Ravenbrooks:

Biography

Entry 6

Name: Aaron Peterson

Date of Birth: 1996

Gender: M

Current Address: 910 Friendly Court

Height: 6'5

Hair color: Light Brown

Eye color: Brown

Key features: clean-shaven, fluffy hair

Role: Informant

Abilities: Lock picking, engineering, sneaking, careful

Occupation: ???

Status: Undetermined

Biography:

One two three, one two three, one two thr-.

Creeaaak

The ninth plank creaks slightly under my step. I lifted the notebook again, marking the spot on the room grid with an X.

Relatively I can't say it wasn't well-built, I only have five other Xs for this room, all rather quiet. I should be happy for that part, but it only makes keeping things right harder. If it was quiet under my step how would it sound under someone smaller? Quieter? Someone trying to sneak up on me?

A soft sigh escapes my lips. I can’t let this stuff get so intense already. If I'm right no one in town even knows I'm here. I worked so hard to fake it. A fake name, a fake architect with a fake background to feed the papers. A fake rich older man wanted a house built in Ravenbrooks and seeing the price of this property decided to invest. I had to be careful. It had to be perfect. I'd likely only have a week, two at most, before they realized I was here.

To think I spent months building up an alibi to grant me so little time.

The silver doorknob glints as I grab it, first overhand, then under. Turned left then right. It clicks softly in both directions. The noise is soothing, comfortingly audible. Next the lock, back then forth then back then forth. Three times. Always three times. It clicks as well, louder with a metallic tang. I stop and listen as the noise echoes back to my ears after every turn. Every door is equipped with a slightly different lock, custom-made.

It's not safe. It will never be safe, but it's better. It'll suit my needs until they find ou-

Tick

...

Click

No- no no no already?! Why are they here already? How?! I can feel the sweat building up on my palms. Need to act quickly. Get rid of it.

They're like scout ants, if I can get them to believe whatever loon will live here just hasn't packed or anything maybe they'll report back nothing. It'll probably cut down my time to days at most but it will be something. Please just leave me some time.

I grab a hammer off the desk, shifting my grip. A builder left it. I create the excuse in my head. I thought you were them, coming to retrieve it. Or, I thought you were a burglar. If it gets violent.

My breath stops. Footsteps. Soft for the most part, with a few heavier sets. Multiple people. Of course. I close my eyes, counting them carefully.

Seven.

God dammit.

This wasn't going to end peacefully. I knew it. I'm doomed. They'll either kill me or make some excuse to have me removed from town. Could I claim invader for seven people? Could I take seven people?

"Watch your step" a woman whispered. They're in the next room. It's now or never Aaron. Are you going to let it all be for nothing?

"Be quiet." A male voice hushed with annoyance.

Click

He's picking the lock. I shift the hammer in my grasp again, purposeful this time. Ready.

When the door finally opens I'm ready to crack the metal against his skull.

But I can't.

The six behind him notice me before he does. Someone yells, and another grabs and yanks him back. I can’t even see his eyes through the thick lenses of his goggles. No. My goggles.

The hammer has fallen to the floor now, I hadn't even realized I'd let go of it. Just the loud thud of it hitting the floor.

It frees my brain from it's distraction. Seven. I grab my gloves, and yank. The fear in their eyes makes this all easier. "What are you doing inside my home?" I say it calmly, but the malice is omnipresent. Good. I want them scared, to run screaming.

The woman who grabbed his arm spoke up first, stammering nonsense before managing, "Well- well they uh-" she turned and looked at taller women beside her. I took a step closer.

"Th-this isn't what it looks like!" A ginger behind her squeaked. Another step.

The others exchanged glances and angry whispers. I didn't care. I could barely hear them at this point over my own growing anger.

"AH! Well- about that..." the taller woman whimpered. "U-uh- Nick?"

I pause midstep. The goggled man finally pulls them off his eyes. They're not the green I'd remembered so well. Instead that dead looking brown. He looks embarrassed more than scared. "Uh- well-" he begins. I stop listening again.

"Nicky?"

He stops too and his awkward smile slowly fades. I stare wide-eyed. How can someone look so alike and yet so different to the child they were years ago?

"Aaron." He responds. Something about his voice is...wrong. I can’t place it. But it doesn't matter. Before I even realize it I'm smiling like an idiot. He looks down at the floor. I take another step.

That's the last thing I remember before hitting the ground, before everything went black.

#hello neighbor return to ravenbrooks #return to ravenbrooks #hello neighbor #hello neighbor au #rtrb #hnas #welcome to ravenbrooks #hello neighbor welcome to raven brooks #aaron peterson #aaron hello neighbor #nicky roth

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shinestarhwaa · 1 year

Text

Practice Round || JEONG YUNHO

Summary: Reader asks friend Yunho how to give a handjob so he let's her practice on him before their date

Genre: Smut, bit of fluff

Pairing: BFF!Yunho x Reader

Word Count: 619

Warnings/tags: smut, hand job, dirty language, virgin!reader

@anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @veronicasawyerschainsaw @whatudowhennooneseesyou @star1117-archives @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

Tell me if you wanna be added to my taglist❣️

ENJOY!

"So, Y/N, are you excited for your date?" Yunho asked, grinning as he took a sip of his drink. "I'm so nervous... he is so handsome and he's also... very experienced," you sighed.

Yunho knew of you being a virgin. The two of you were very open about your lives and he even told you when he lost his virginity to his ex-girlfriend.

"But it's your first date, don't worry about intimacy," he said as he rubbed your arm, "don't force yourself."

"No, I know, but Yunho... I want to. I literally... I keep thinking about him and I... want to touch him, want him to touch me but... I don't wanna be like... so inexperienced. I wish I knew what to do. Like... I don't even know how to give a hand job."

Yunho turned red, thoughts running wild. "I could help with that...," he mumbled. "What...?" Your heart was beating in your chest, thinking about Yunho's cock in your hands. Would it be a good practice moment? He offered it, why not?

"I mean... Ah, I'm sorry, forget it," Yunho said quickly, taking another sip of his drink. "No... No, teach me how to give a handjob, please," you pleaded. Yunho nodded. "Okay... this is just to help you."

Yunho shoved down his pants and boxers in one go, revealing his semi-hard cock. Your mouth watered at the sight. "Give me your hand," he said softly, reaching out for you.

He took your hand in his and wrapped them both around his thick length. Your mouth nearly watered at the sight. Yunho was hiding this package all the time under those jeans?

The two of your hands started pumping his length up and down, making Yunho stiff and harder than he ever had been. "God, yes," Yunho moaned softly when you got the gist, moving your hand up and down on your own. He let go of your hand, letting you touch him freely.

"Y-yes, Y/N, that's good, that's so good," he moaned out when you picked up the pace. You couldn't help but smirk, feeling powerful with having Yunho in such a vulnerable situation.

Curiously you reached out to his balls with his other hand and started massaging them. You were surprised at the feelings, thinking they'd be softer. You smirked and teased him by focussing on his balls, neglecting his red, leaking cock.

"Please, Y/N, m-my dick," he whined. You smirked and focussed on his length again, pumping it up and down quickly. Yunho closed his eyes and groaned. "Oh god, you're gonna make me cum!" the taller moaned out. "Then cum, Yunho-ya," you said, licking your lips, curious about what was coming (spoiler alert: its Yunho)

It took only a few more pumps before he came in thick white ropes, landing on his cock and on your hand. He guided your hand in a slow pace, riding out his orgasm. He took a breath, looking at the cum on your hand, which you were bringing dangerously close to your face.

Curiosity got the overhand of you and you licked up his cum. Yunho's eyes shot wide open. "W-what are you doing?"

You tasted the cum, licking your hand clean. "Wanted to see what it tasted like. Bit salty. You taste pretty good," you bluntly said. Yunho laughed nervously, cleaning himself up with the tissues that were on the table. "Thanks, I guess?" "No problem, big boy."

Yunho laughed and pulled his pants back up. "I'm ready for my date now," you grinned. But Yunho didn't laugh or anything. "Why? You think that dude will make you feel better than I can? You're gonna cancel on him. Go out with me instead."

#kpop #ateez #smut #yunho #jeong yunho #one shot

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sexhaver · 8 months

Text

im not far enough into it to give an actual critique of the game as a whole but i do love how Lies of P has solved the classic soulsborne issue of getting effectively stuck with using the first weapon you start upgrading for the entire playthrough. the devs correctly identified that this sucks mostly because it means you only ever get to use one weapon's moveset and took the radical but logical next step of separating damage upgrades from movesets entirely. you can mix and match any weapon blade onto any handle; the +1/+2/etc damage upgrade modifiers travel with the blade, while the moveset and any scaling modifiers stick with the handle

for example, im playing a slow but heavy hitting strength build, and an issue i noticed with the starting greatsword's moveset almost immediately is how slow it is. the charged heavy attack in particular takes forever to actually connect, and you need the second of the two hits to connect to actually break a staggered enemy's poise. this made fights extremely sluggish and frustrating... until i found a police baton, popped the head off, and slapped the greatsword blade onto the handle. i kept all the damage buffs and reach of the blade, but now instead of ponderously slow sweeps and stabs, i bonk enemies in the head with overhand strikes on both the light and heavy attacks. it makes no sense and i love it

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razboinicul-iarna · 3 months

Text

Darling Boy

Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x Winter Soldier

Summary : Natasha is the most powerful leader of the red room. As a gift from Hydra, she gets their best weapon - The Winter Soldier.

Warnings : Red Room Leader!Nat, Knife Play, Degradation Kink, Sub!Bucky, Dom!Nat, Masochism/Sadism, Orgasm Denial

Natasha Romanoff - after the downfall of the red room she took control and went on to become the most powerful leader they ever had. One that could rule with an iron fist but show the Widows a gentle side none of the men ever got to see.

Hydra was very intrigued by her success in building such a strong army that after their Winter Soldier project failed, they gifted her the one and only assassin who over the 70 years did a great job in his field - the Winter Soldier.

"Is that him?" She smiled, one hand on the papers of her desk. Men in uniform entered holding the soldier between them and tossing him to the floor. "Yes ma'am."

Natasha approached slowly to take a closer look at her present. She gazed downwards, chuckling at the sight of the Winter Soldier's nervous expression. It felt good to be in power and so influential that even Hydra wanted to bond with the Red Room. However their deed was futile. Gifting her an assassin (of which she already had many) and a man at that, wouldn't impress her.

Her foot moved to kick the Soldier, only so much that it made a thud sound. The man's stiff posture wouldn't change, he didn't even flinch at the rude act. "Mhm, such a good pet. I like this one, I think I'll keep him." Her raspy voice sighed.

The men in uniform went to cuff the Winter Soldier to the wall. It was no wonder that she had an extra fixation in her office for these occasions, this wasn't her first present afterall.

Quickly after everyone left - the woman had time to really play with her gift. Something that brought her pure satisfaction, just by picking up a knife she always had by her side, the lust of dedicating some time to her boytoy took overhand. "There there.." she kneeled down beside him and pressed the knife to his throat. The blue eyes menacingly stared into the distance, nostrils flaring in panic. Natasha enjoyed seeing him all scared, albeit he's supposed to be such a dangerous killer. "Already so frightened, Soldier?"

She gave a last push to cut him lightly, then bringing her lips to the side of his head whispering "pathetic" at him. A simple action which made him buckle his hips ever so slightly. So subtly, Natasha didn't notice the first time. Yet the second he whined, his hands balled between his legs, Natasha knew exactly how to treat her new pet. "Do you like that?" Her hand moved to his hips where she stroked over his crotch area a few times.

Fuck, he was already hard. Such a poor boy, so needy at the slightest touch. "You'll be good and listen to me?" Natasha groaned, dropping the knife and opening his pants hastily. Bucky was in such shock he couldn't help but whine when Natasha seized him on his waist : "You're going to listen to me, did I make myself clear?" Her tone had a more harsh angered way to it now. Almost snarling at him now inches away from the man's face.

The Soldier couldn't help but nod, teary eyes and red cheeks. His face ran hot the second the woman kicked him, the pure control she had over him. His blue eyes followed every single move, patiently. Waiting till the older woman, tugged on his pants, pulling them off after a while before pushing him back into a laying position.

Nat quickly levered the soldiers boxers, watching him struggle, his thighs rubbing against eachother. The woman dug her nails into his legs and shushed him : "I thought I told you to listen to me, darling?"

Her hands caught his erection, squeezing the tip lightly. Bucky's mouth stood agape, moaning at the sensation and throwing his head back like a cheap slut. It gave Natasha motivation to move her hips as soon as unclothed above Bucky's dick and slowly settle on it, her moist walls taking it all in as she moved on top of him in a rough manner. "Such a whore. You like it when I move like this?"

Her hips worked up and down in the same rhythm the soldier started thrusting into her, groaning and gripping her waist - desperately trying to pleasure himself.

"You're so pitiful, you like being deep inside of me?"

After a few harsh thrusts, Natasha chuckled, her hands resting on his pecs still covered by the leather as she moved upwards leaving his dick leaking precum standing painfully close to an orgasm which he was denied. The Winter Soldier had his hands on her body, trying to hold onto her and letting go to use his hands to get off. An idea which quickly turning out to be difficult in practice as he was still restricted to the wall. "Fuck, fuck please.." the man whined, looking up at Nat, giving her the sweetest puppy eyes.

The redhead smirked. "Tsk." Was her only response after she grabbed on his wet, hardened length once again, feeling by how he moved his hips in which desperate situation the man was in.

Scrunched up nose, Bucky's breathing speeded up - moans escaped his lips, trying to use the last of Nat's touch to push him over the edge.

But even then the red room leader left him hanging.

"Pathetic." She smiled.

#natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #bucky x natasha #winterwidow #marvel #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #red room #hydra #winter soldier

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st-danger · 11 months

Note

Saint i've been stalkin your tumblr for so long and only now gathered enough confidence to follow and come tell you i've read like everything you've posted on here and i adore your writing so much,,,, also if you ever write any sexy tickling stuff again, be it a fic or ficlet or anything, i'll die, that literally fucked me up back when i read them cause yeah i'm that brand of freak,,,, fuck i love the lack of any kinkshaming here and i'll be supporting any freaky shit you write :---) thank you for your service very much

It's irresponsible, doing this here, in the greenhouse. Sure, it's late, but time of day doesn't rule out the interruption of a curious Sibling or ghouls who won't be named (Dew and Swiss) raiding his private stash and getting blazed beyond what Mountain might consider reasonable.

He has never been much for responsibility. And he has vines here. Vines that like to listen to him and do what he says, when he says it.

Vines that currently have wound their way tight around Rain's ankles and up to his knees. Around his wrists, pulling his arms taught and above his head. Easy access to Rain who's naked and heaving for breath. Pinned on a workbench now devoid of any tools, since he'd swept them off onto the floor in a hurry to get Rain upon it.

And for good measure, a thin and small one curled around the base of Rain's cock, squeezing just enough to keep him hard in spite of the tickling.

"Fuck," Rain squirms, barely able to draw a deep breath even during the break. "Fuck, please, please-"

Mountain reaches for his feet again, trapped as they are and unable to escape. Blunt nails scrape back and forth over his soles and Rain squeals, laughing like he's having the time of his life. He is, of course, but it's a painful sort of pleasure after a while.

"Look at how much fun you're having!" Mountain grins, abusing his feet and getting himself all worked up too. Little toes flexing, soles wrinkling. He gives him another break long enough to pull his own cock out. Heavy, red. Bobbing when Rain starts whimpering.

Without the vine, there's no way he'd still be hard. Too much stimulation. He'd flag. Get a cute little chub going on and not much past that. Now when he thrashes as much as he's able, it bouncing around. It's wet at the tip.

"Too much," Rain gasps, brows knit together, eyes damp. "Please, I can't, oh fuck-"

Mountain's pressing his fingers into his sides, wiggling and pressing and Rain loses himself in another peal of unwilling laughter, the happy sound torn from him entirely involuntary.

"But you're laughing," Mountain says.

"No, no- no," Rain's laugh-crying now. Mountain knows when Rain's "no" means "yes", and he's the brand of freak that enjoys a little pain with his pleasure. His abs are tensing, his red cock is wagging around with every jerk of his hips, and his voice is getting higher, more strangled with every passing second.

Mountain backs off, and Rain goes limp against the wood of the table, breath hitching and shuddery. He has tears clumped in long lashes, and sweat beading against his hairline.

"Hurts," he mewls, making noise even though Mountain isn't touching him. "S'too much, fuck, oh fuck," he sobs out.

"But you're laughing," Mountain repeats.

"Can't help it- you're makin' me," Rain cries. Actually cries now. Mountain takes pity and gives him a few gentle strokes on his cock, which has gone as soft as the vine around it deigns to allow. It might not be possible to get it entirely stiff while Mountain's working him over, but it still leaks. Shiny and sticky and he bends over to give it a little baby kiss, right on the cute little mushroom head. Rain jolts.

"Lick it?" he pleads. "Oh unholy father, lick it, please, lick it."

"It a bit," Mountain says, soothingly. "Not now." He takes himself in hand and waits until Rain looks up, and gives him a little show. Overhand grip, stroking root to tip while Rain whimpers.

"Remind me," he says casually, smoothing his hands over Rain's chest, fingertips circling his nipples only to give the barest most unsatisfying touch directly on them, so quick it might not have happened at all, "is it your feet or your armpits that are the worst-"

"Oh, no, oh no," Rain bites out, panicked and already writhing, alight with anticipatory fear. "Mount-"

"Let's find out," he says, reasonably.

#you are so sweet goodbylondon!!#thank you for the kind words!#st-speaks #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fanfiction #ghost fic #ghost headcanons #rain ghoul #mountain ghoul #mountain/rain #mountain x rain #nameless ghouls #ghost band

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factorialsotherfandoms · 3 months

Text

TW: homeless children, sick children.

Pac is thirteen, and Mike is finally asleep. His best friend got sick a few days ago, the pair having been caught out in the rain. Pac had avoided the worst of it, only to be up all night anyway, keeping track of Mike's fevers.

It broke last night, but then they had had to run - the owner of the cafe they were sheltering behind had returned from her holiday, and released a pair of dogs to scare them off. Thankfully they did not get close to either child, but the running and the searching for another place to sleep had it return.

Maybe it would be better, to try and beg there way into the keeping of another orphanage?

... Pac takes four seconds to remember why that is a bad idea.

Mike whimpers, sweating more than their water supply allows for as he shifts under stolen blankets. Pac brushes his forehead, and gently, mentally shushes him.

Pac is thirteen, which means that Mike is eleven, which means that Pac has to be the one to look after them both.

The dogs? He would have fought them. When they steal? Pac is the distraction, the one starting a showpiece of a fight as Mike scoops up the bags. When they are sick?

When they are sick, Pac pretends he does not feel his own fever, and dedicates himself to looking after Mike.

He isn't really sure what to do, but he knows someone is supposed to watch people with fevers when they sleep. They don't have enough water to waste on wetting a rag, like people do in books, but he puts one on Mike's forehead nonetheless. Mike gets the blankets, and the cushion they found lying in a puddle, and the driest spot under the overhand. Pac, meanwhile, has scraps of fabric, and cold concrete, and a very sick best friend.

It is very hard to stay awake, sick and exhausted as he is from days of looking after Mike. He would give him the world - has given him the world - but it is very hard to keep his eyes open.

Pac needs to do something, else he will fall asleep. And he is not sure why that is bad, but he knows that it is.

... One of the bags they stole was not a bag at all, but a sewing box.

Inside are threads, and needles, and buttons, and little scissors and offcuts of larger pieces of fabric.

Really, Pac should use them to fix their clothes, or save them for when things are even worse. He remembers just enough of the right classes to know that both he and Mike have growth spurts still to hit, and that will mean needing to lengthen their clothes.

But...

Pac is thirteen, and Mike is eleven, and also in the sewing box are a couple of small glass circles, like teddy bear eyes.

Pac looks at the missing button on his coat, then looks at Mike, sleeping and distressed and reaching for something that is not there.

Pac picks up the fabric, and begins to sew.

Sewing is not one of his greatest skills, but Pac knows a little about it; when Sister Isabela has been in charge of discipline, she had tended to making him help her with repairs rather than the usual punishments. Pac had been in trouble a lot, and so he had learnt to fix many things - clothes and buttons and electrical sockets and plumbing and all sorts. He had not been allowed to help fix the gas stove, but he had been made to watch it happen.

Fixing things is not quite like making things, but... but Mike is eleven, so Pac has to look after him, and the books he learnt to read from say sick children are supposed to cuddle toys.

Pac thinks it might be wrong - even before his parents hated him, he did not get to cuddle toys, and the Nuns and the Priest certainly never gave them any. Still, he has no water to make the rags wet, and he needs to steal some energy drinks in the morning and force Mike to drink them, and it's late and if he does nothing he will fall asleep too.

So, he grabs the scraps of fabric, and the needles, and the thread, and does his best.

None of the scraps are the right shape, and he is scared to cut them. Working fabric in 3D is very different to flat, but Pac does his best. The head is two approximately round shapes stitched together, with bits poking out for ears. It has a body and two arms and two legs, even if all of the limbs are different sizes and the stitching stretches a bit too much. It is a patchwork of colours - and an actual patch where some of the fabric tore, Pac does know how to patch things - stuffed not with proper stuffing but instead the remaining fabric scraps.

It is an ugly, ugly thing.

Pac, desperate for some way to help, tucks it under the blankets with Mike anyway.

In feverish sleep Mike clings to it, and clings to Pac's sleeve too. In the morning, still sick, Mike holds it even tighter when Pac has to go.

Pac comes back to their camp with a bag of stolen energy drinks, and a few sandwiches grabbed from the same rack, to find that Mike has named her Alegria.

Alegria does not survive the winter.

But two boys do, and that is what matters in the end.

#qsmp pac #qsmp mike #qsmp tazercraft #qsmp fanfic #i wanted to mention mike still keeping the eyes from the bear in his pocket but it didn't flow nicely #so just have that #maybe pac doesn't know about it #i'll probably add this to an au on ao3 when i upload it in the morning #but for now it can be by itself #this is like the flip of that fic where mike was looking after sick pac #but without the resources for a shitty hotel room #also with the toy idea i mentioned earlier

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existentialterror · 4 months

Note

Hiii I’m Normal about Dr. Iceberg (red flag, I know) but his name being Julian is complete fanon! Idk where it originally came from, but he’s never referred to as Julian Finn in any onsite tale. The only time he’s been named on the wiki, as far as I know, is when he is called Ellis Gill in a tale called “But We Do Not Talk About That”. While last updated in 2022, was originally written in 2015. Why that name never caught on, I don’t know, but I’m kind of glad. Despite Iceberg being a misogynistic piece of shit, I’m intrigued by the fact that so much is unknown about his character.

Giving him a name detracts from the horror of his story, someone who was once a person being filed down and reshaped to fit a role perfectly, only to snap under pressure and take his own life. And then, if you go with the Resurrection canon/the calm tale, he gets brought back as a cyborg (Cyberg?) that blatantly states it doesn’t have a name. He can’t escape the foundation, even in death.

I’ll cut myself off there— If I don’t, I’m liable to write an entire novel in your inbox.

Fun fish fact (since, if I remember correctly, that is the toll for sending an ask): Lampreys have been around for 400 million years, and haven’t evolved much during that time!

(I forgot about this for a while, sorry!) (In response to this exchange with @scp-l4-clef-alto-001.)

YOOOO Nice research! Today I learned. Thank you! I don't think I'd heard "Finn" before, but I believe you that it's out there. Also thank you for the fish facts. The fish facts are not necessary to send me an ask but are MUCH appreciated. The hagfish is the relative of the lamprey and is another old jawless fish. It has two powers: producing LOTS of mucus, and tying itself in knots, both overhand and underhand. I'm gonna have to read more about ciguatoxins. ❤️🐟

Hey, in exchange for the nice ask and the research, here's a snippet I wrote a long time ago about Sophia Light and your guy. (I like him too! I think he's really interesting.) It's set in the Resurrection canon but back in the past, not long after Dr. Light was recruited to the Foundation. (Might end up on the site eventually but I hate to promise. If nothing else, you know, have this.)

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

1997

Light shows up to her appointments on time. She’s trying out this business of being a person again, really giving it her all, and that’s one of the things she decides: she shows up on time.

She’s at the entrance to Research five minutes before her assignment today. There are other two people there: a pretty woman with waves of black hair in business casual behind the receptionist deck, and a pretty man in a labcoat whose spiky hair is bleached at the tips. They’re flirting.

No, that’s not true. The man is flirting, voraciously, draped over the desk to get closer. The woman is listening, and looks bored, and tired. She catches Light’s eye, and rolls her eyes.

Light recognizes this situation from the before-world. She knows what to do. She squares her shoulders and walks right up to them. With the energy of a woman who realized yesterday that she has permanent institutional access to every academic journal ever, and has not regretted any sleep- or non-sleep-related decisions made since then, she says, “So do you know about sail jellyfish?”

She proceeds to tell the man about them, at length, for five straight minutes. The man is confused and unhappy but apparently transfixed. The woman restrains herself from laughing and drifts back to her computer screen.

“ - So that’s why the asymmetry is actually a fitness advantage,” she says, “So that they react differently to the same wind patterns and they won’t risk washing ashore. But because that’s basically random, the evolutionary pressure maintains a 50-50 balance.”

“Cool beans,” says the man, whose eyes have glazed over. “Hey, I gotta go, I’ve gotta meet up with someone - uh, Dr. Light, I think - ”

“I am Dr. Light,” Light says.

The woman doesn’t bother muffling her guffaw. The man - Dr. Iceberg, presumably - looks uncomfortable and then flustered. Light mentally congratulates herself.

“You two are in the dissection room today, right?” the woman says, checking her computer. “Should be set up. Use the cart to move samples, do not lift large samples yourself, I do not care how strong you are, please and thank you. Decon’s ready, just go through the back. One at a time. Ice, you first.”

“Isn’t it set up for multiple people? There’s all the showers and everything - ”

The secretary shrugs. “New policy. Now get out of my sight, Ice.”

“Always good to see you, Break.” Iceberg shoots finger guns at her, as he heads to the decon room entrance.

“Drop dead,” Break calls after him.

They wait for the sounds of the door opening and closing. Break grins at Light. “Thanks for the spiel,” she says. “You got one of those locked and loaded all the time?”

“Usually you have to ask nicely first,” Light says, automatically, because affected confidence was sort of her go-to before, and it seems to be working for her so far. Then she remembers that the last thing this poor woman needs is someone else ambiguously hitting on her and feels bad. But Break just laughs.

“You know that guy?” Break asks.

“I’ve seen him around, I think? I’m - I’m bad with faces.”

“Yeah. Dr. Iceberg. He’s like that. Been a thorn in my fucking side for years. You know, the Foundation is usually pretty good about this kind of thing, in my experience. But Ice, he’s like, Gears’ special little boy, so he can get away with murder.”

Light is confused. “He’s Gears’ son?”

“No, god no - like, you know, he’s… he’s Gears’. …Doesn’t matter. I thought Ice got better for a while there, but it looks like he’s back on his bullshit.”

“Ugh,” Light agrees.

The bulb over the decon chamber entrance turns green. Break tilts her head at it. “You’re doing, like, an autopsy, right?”

“A necropsy - uh, yeah.”

“Well, that’ll probably bring the mood down, you’ll be fine. He’s not the worst, honestly. But if you need, just say the word ‘Ice’ into the lab comms and I’ll fake an evac drill or something to get you out.”

“Thanks,” says Light. She tries to figure out how serious Break is. Break’s permanent wry plausibly-deniable customer service smile offers no hint.

Maybe Light’s overconfident. Maybe this whole business of being a person again has made her cocky. Perhaps she’s been away from a normal social fabric for so long that she’s lost sense of real implications and rules. But she finds she’s not too worried. “I think it’ll be fine,” she tells Break. “I have a lot more jellyfish facts.”

Break laughs, loudly. “Attagirl.” She waves Light into the decon chamber.

#light writes #sophia light #scp foundation #dr. iceberg #ask light #agent break #dr. light

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