#with the speed and ideas of hurling

[wherebeeslive]

Have I, on my sixth reread of aftg, just realised exy is hurling with lacrosse gear and slightly modified rules on possession and contact?

[ann1-wr1tes]

Save a Horse, ride a Cowboy

Synopsis: You make the mistake of placing Leon's cowboy hat on your head and you have no idea what the "Cowboy rule" is...

Warnings: Smut, Adult themes, filth

Word Count: 2,692

A/N: Cowboy. Leon. Two of my most favorite things.

-----

Your eyes dart around the entire space around you as your ears are drowned out by cheers and screams for the person who was currently riding a bull. Your friends thought it would be fun to go see a rodeo and so far it had been fun.

You got to see tons of people getting hurled off bulls which was entertaining in itself but you also couldn't help but agree with your friends when they all started to gush over how "hot" some of the cowboys were. Everywhere you looked you saw bandannas, flannels, cowboy hats, and flared jeans. You felt a little bit underdressed wearing your usual jeans and t-shirt but it was still fun getting to see all the hot cowboys and Southern charm.

As your friends ranted about this one man they saw who was about to ride a bull, you found your eyes stuck on someone else. Your eyes were glued to this one cowboy who was busy trying to calm the bull down enough to get the rider on top.

You couldn't see fully from where you were sitting but you could see the man's pretty blonde locks sticking out from underneath his cowboy hot and his crystal blue eyes that narrowed in concentration as he coaxed the bull into temporary peace. You didn't want to admit that you were drooling over him but you knew your friends would tease you if they saw how much you were staring at this guy.

Soon the rider is situated on the bull and a gunshot rings through the air. The gate that leads to the field is kicked open and within a second the bull is running out and thrashing wildly with the rider on top. You can audibly hear all the "ooohs" and "ahhs" as the rider holds on. Your friends are all squealing and cheering themselves as the man almost gets thrown off.

Then with another flail, the rider is thrown off the bull and ends up painfully tumbling onto the ground. As soon as that happens there are people going onto the field to scrape up the rider from the floor as others go to subdue the bull.

You can't help but cheer and holler as well as a smile comes to your face. What a show.

---

After the rodeo was over you wanted to conclude the evening by venturing to a nearby bar. It seemed like a lot of the people from the rodeo came as well as you noticed that once again you were surrounded by Southern accents and cowboy hats.

Your little group made their way to the bar and started to hover around it as the bartender asked everyone what they were getting. As soon as the orders are taken you are about to pay but as soon as you are about to give some cash to the bartender you are interrupted by a thick southern drawl.

"Drinks are on me, darlin'."

Your head turns and you are met with the same face you were admiring earlier. The fluffy blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and oh…you could see him much better now and god did the man look heavenly in the candlelight that emitted from the bar.

You could now make out the stunning facial features of the man and you could feel your heart speed up tenfold when your eyes grazed over his chiseled jaw and high cheekbones. The way the cowboy hat sat on his head made something buzz inside you.

You are broken out of your thoughts when you hear your friends snicker from behind you. The man even seems to notice your sudden shock as a subtle smirk comes to his face.

"You don't need to do that." you smile nervously as the man's eyes rake over you. You think you might have gotten lost in those eyes. "But thank you anyway."

"No need to thank me, sweetheart. Something as pretty as you should have all the men 'round here buyin' your drinks." He winked at you making your cheeks heat up. Your friends snickered again but you ignore them with a small roll of your eyes.

"The name is Leon by the way, Leon Kennedy." he introduces while holding out his hand. You take it and introduce yourself in return and you're immediately caught off guard when Leon goes to press a kiss against your knuckle.

You were so relieved when you finally got your drinks. You thought you were about to combust just by being around Leon. Leon on the other hand was relishing in your flustered looks and shy behavior, in fact, he thought you were the cutest thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Though soon your shy, flustered behavior was pushed back by liquid courage. It was sped up by how quickly you were drinking your beers but soon you didn't even notice how you were practically leaning into Leon, muttering things about the rodeo and how hard it seems to ride bulls.

"I mean…I thought the guy was gonna be dead…how he got flung off that thing.." you murmured to yourself with a silly grin as you looked up at Leon.

"Well ridin' is all in the hips sugar~" Leon hummed while leaning back on his elbows. Your stomach fluttered at the suggestive tone and you took another sip of your beer to try and quell your nerves. In an attempt to change the subject, your eyes dart to his hat and a smirk starts to pull at your lips.

"Y'know you look great in that hat…" you compliment as you eye it. Leon chuckles and gives you a smile that has you wondering why it makes your heartbeat pick up.

"Is that so?" he asks. You nod but there's a glint of playfulness in your eyes as you look at the cowboy hat.

"I think it'd look better on me though~" your hands reach out and pluck the hat right off of Leon's head and you place it on yours. You adjust it and tilt it just right on your head like it was on Leon's and then you look at him with a wide grin.

"Well, how does it look?" You ask. Leon seems frozen for a moment as his mind starts to comprehend what you just did. You notice the sudden hesitance for a moment and you almost think that you did something wrong but a smirk soon returns to Leon's face and there's an amused look as he flicks the brim of the hat up.

"It suits you well sugar, but do you know what happens when you put on another cowboy hat?" he asks.

Suddenly you're hit with confusion and it reads all over your face as Leon chuckles. Even the bartender seems to laugh a little and he quickly turns around and starts to clean out glasses when you look at him.

"No…?"

"Well, we have a rule called the Cowboy Rule. If you wear the cowboys hat, then you have to ride the cowboy." Leon explains calmly before taking a swig of his drink. You blink in surprise and you can feel the blush start to creep onto your face. You look down at your drink to hide it.

"Oh," is all you manage to croak out. Your throat suddenly feels incredibly dry. You feel a hand hook under your chin you meet Leon's piercing gaze. His eyes are filled with amusement and it sends shivers down your spine.

"If I do then can I keep the hat?" you cheekily ask. The corners of Leon's mouth tug up and it causes your insides to flip. Your heart begins to beat quicker.

"Wanna find out?" Leon says as he leans forward until his lips are barely inches away from yours. It takes everything in you to not close the space between you two. Instead, you nod your head frantically hoping that he understands your silent request for more.

---

Hungry hands rake across your body as your own hands run down Leons. The feeling of his skin against yours makes every single nerve in your body burn as you slowly unbutton his shirt and he reaches for yours as well. Your bodies collide together like magnets practically, there's such a strange pull that seems to be between you two as your mouths clash together.

Leon's teeth nip at your lower lip and you moan softly as he slides his tongue past your lips and deepens the kiss. In return you rake your hands through his blonde strands, tugging lightly when Leon's hand trails along your sides, going down to rest on your hips.

The cowboy hat still sits on your head as you lean back, breaking the kiss to sit back on your haunches. The sight in front of you was heavenly. Leon was laid back, his legs slightly parted, his shirt halfway unbuttoned and exposing his chest, then of course there was the glassy, lustful look in his blue eyes as his swollen lips were slightly parted.

The entire image made your cunt flutter with need.

You take off the hat for a moment and place it back on Leon's as you yank your shirt up and off your body and then your hands work to unbutton the rest of his buttons on his shirt. As soon you are done, Leon slips his shirt off and yanks you back on top of him by your hips.

In that action, your hips accidentally roll against his causing you both to have a moment of pleasure from the friction.

"Fuck darlin'…need to feel more of you.." Leon huskily utters as his hands tighten around your hips a little more.

With a hum of agreement your rest your hands on his chest and go to straddle his lap a bit better so that your heated core is pressed right up against his erection that is straining through his jeans. Teasingly, you roll your hips again and you both let out a long moan.

"Shit…stop teasin' me," Leon mumbles, his voice rasping and rough as it sends shivers down your spine. You giggle breathlessly, pressing your hips harder against the bulge in his jeans, grinding a little more.

"Why would I stop? I wanna see how many pretty noises I can get out of you cowboy." you coo.

Leon growls in response as he roughly pulls you back towards him, slamming a searing kiss to your mouth. This time he moves his free hand down and it slips down your jeans, finding your clothed clit and he rubs small circles against it. Your hips buck in response and you let out loud moans against Leon's lips.

"That's it baby…let me hear you." He grunts.

It's practically music to your ears as you rock your hips against his fingers as he continues to rub your clit and you feel the knot in your stomach tightening. Leon suddenly pulls his fingers away and you whine. You're left with nothing but the ache between your legs.

In desperation, your hands fly down to Leon's belt buckle and you start to undo his belt as quickly as you could.

"Easy there honey, I'm not goin' anywhere." Leon chuckles. He replaces your hands with his and soon he's tugging his pants down along with his black boxers to reveal his hardened cock. Its springs to life and slaps against his stomach.

You groan at the sight of it. It's big and thick and you almost want to take him in your mouth until his hands are already working on your own jeans.

He unbuttons your jeans and pushes them down your thighs. You kick them the rest of the way off and reposition yourself on top of Leon. Right as you are about to sink down onto Leon's length he interrupts you.

"I think you're forgettin' something.." Leon takes his cowboy hat off and puts it back on top of your head, tilting it just right.

"Beautiful." Leon breathes in a low tone.

"I think it looks better on you." You smile as Leon's hand grazes over your cheek and tucks a stray hair away from your face.

"That's nonsense, it looks stunnin' on you." He smirks and his thumb drags up and down your jawline, gently rubbing your cheek. The butterflies in your stomach flutter even more as he leans in closer to you, your noses brushing against one another.

You rub your slick folds back and forth on Leon's tip and slowly sink down onto his length, letting out moans at the stretch.

"L-Leon… it..so much" You pant between clenched teeth, gripping onto his broad shoulders.

"It's okay sweetheart, let me help.." he coos. The hands on your hips slowly start to help you roll into his, making sure to go slow and his grasp was decently gentle as he helps you build up a good pace.

"It's all in the hips sugar…." Leon whispers in your ear, sending tingles down your spine.

Soon on your own accord, you start to ride him faster. It catches Leon off guard as waves of hot, blinding pleasure course through his veins. He throws his head back with an audible moan as you bounce up and down on his cock.

"Good girl, keep rollin' your hips like that.." Leon praises, his voice rumbling low in his chest.

You nod and do as you are told, your body starting to twitch against Leon, your hands clenching onto his forearms tighter as he starts thrusting upwards, trying his best to push himself inside of you and meet your steady rhythm.

A whimper escapes your mouth as Leon sits up, connecting his lips to your neck. One of his hands trails up your back and plants itself on the nape of your neck as his lips suck and kiss your sensitive skin.

Your mind is spinning, your heart beats furiously. There are no words that can describe how amazing it all feels. Especially as the euphoria grows and the knot in your belly tightens. Leon, in his own desperation to chase his oncoming high, continues to buck his hips up into yours wildly from below.

His head has fallen back against the pillow as he feels your cunt tighten around him.

"Jesus…you feel so good darlin'." Leon groans in appreciation. You don't say anything, only moaning loudly and moving your hips with more vigor. The sounds from your mouth cause Leon to shudder as he watches you move against him. The sound of his name falling out of your mouth is driving him crazy and you look so damn pretty in his cowboy hat.

After a few more moments of bliss, you finally come undone releasing all of the fluids onto Leon's cock as your eyes roll back into your head and you slump down on top of Leon. Leon helps you along by moving his hand down to toy with your clit as you shudder from the waves of your orgasm.

"Look at you, you pretty little thing. So beautiful.." he grunts.

His hand comes up to the back of your neck as he holds you to his chest while burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

Your breathing is heavy and you wrap your arms tightly around his torso, feeling warm all over your body after your climax. Leon sighs as he starts to rub small circles into your back.

"Damn sweetheart, you may just be the death of me." he coos. A soft smile forms on your lips. Your head rests firmly on his chest, and you peer up at him.

"Does that mean I can keep the hat?" You ask with a sheepish smile.

Leon chuckles and rests a hand on your hat-covered head.

"Yeah, I 'spose so. It suits you."

[eat-limes-bitches]

Coming Home

PAIRING: Female Avenger! Reader x  Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY:  “Falling for you was like nothing I imagined.” Her voice started to give out as the door to the safe house burst open, “It was coming home.”

WARNINGS: ANGST, ANGST, ANGST! but it has a happy ending, mentions of death, dying, blood, stab wounds, violence, Sad! Bucky, nausea

Word Count: 1913

A/N: Hi! Here is another installment of my febuwhump series! Like I said, completely out of order but I couldn't wait it share this one with you guys!

Enjoy! <3

Divider by Rookthorne

Y/n knew when they left for this mission that something wasn’t right. It was too clean, the information was too good. Despite the many reassurances from Bucky when they landed, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Now, as she ran, she made a mental note to shout, ‘I told you so’ at her partner as soon as they reached the safe house, that was, if she could get out of the collapsing building. Skidding around a turn she pushed herself harder, desperate to reach the exit. She was almost there when there was an excruciating pain thrumming up her left leg. Whipping her head around, she saw a knife embedded in her calf and a trapped HYDRA soldier holding onto the handle. 

“If I’m going down, you’re coming with me, sweetheart.” the soldier grimaced as he twisted the knife. Y/n glanced at the fast-approaching collapse of the ceiling before looking at the trapped man.

“You fucking wish,” she growled before shooting the man. His hand, now lifeless, released the handle so she continued her rapid sprint to the exit, somehow stumbling out the doorway and collapsing in the grass just as the rest of the building fell into a pile of rubble. 

“Y/N! Are you alright?!” Bucky's worried voice shouted in her ear, causing her to wince.

“Just fucking peachy.” She grumbled, closing her eyes as a headache started to form in the back of her head. She re-opened them, however, as she heard rapid footsteps approaching, looking over just in time to see Bucky’s approaching form. He slid to a stop and took in her battered form on the ground.

“Are you hurt darlin’?” Has questioned, as he leaned down to help Y/n back to her feet. S he winced as her left leg started supporting weight again. 

“Yeah some bugger got me in the calf on the way out, but it's not bleeding too badly, we can take care of it at the safe house I think.” She groaned, putting more weight on Bucky's shoulder. He glanced over her shoulder to observe the wound in question and nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah, I think so too but let's get you to that safe house faster.” Bucky led her to the bike that was hidden in the tree line and gracefully set her down on the back seat before hopping on the bike himself and speeding off down the dirt road. 

The longer the pair drove, the worse Y/n felt. Her head started spinning and her stomach churned. By the time they reached the safe house, she all but flung herself off the bike and hurled what was left of her breakfast that morning into the bushes. 

“Shit, you ok doll?” Bucky asked, crouching down next to her, running a hand up and down her back. Y/n let out a groan.

“Been better I’m not gonna lie.” As Bucky wrapped an arm around her frame and pulled her up to move her into the house, she couldn’t decide if the butterflies in her stomach were from being this close to him or the nausea. Once inside the small safe house, Bucky placed Y/n on the kitchen table and dashed off to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. 

She tried to get an idea of what was around her in the room but the more she tried to focus on one thing, the more it spun around in her vision. Unable to prop herself up any longer, she lay flat on the table trying to stop the world from moving around her. Bucky returned moments later and placed a wet rag on her forehead, causing her eyes to flutter open. 

“I’m gonna get this knife out now, ok doll?” Bucky said as he rounded the table. All Y/n could do was make a soft ‘mhm’ and groan as he pulled the knife out. 

The first sign that something was wrong was the orange tinge to the blood that came pouring out of the wound. The next hint was the remnants of a yellow powder on the blade. The more strange orange liquid oozed out of the wound, the faster Bucky’s heart sped up.

“Y/n? You feeling ok darlin’?” He called out, looking up from the wound when he heard no response. Y/n’s head was limply lying to one side. He cursed under his breath as he tightened the tunicate and dashed around the table to place a hand on her face.

“Y/n? Open your eyes for me darlin’.” Bucky called out desperately, his thumb brushing over her cheek, taking notice of how cold it was to the touch. Her eyes fluttered open and her blown-out pupils focused on Bucky’s face. A wistful smile decorated her features.

‘Hey Buck, when did you get here?” Bucky’s heart sank, he knew the signs all too well from his time in the war. The faraway look, the disorientation, she was dying, but she couldn’t be, not yet.

“I’ve been here the whole time doll. Can you keep your eyes open for me?” He pleaded as he started to back away to try and return to her wound to keep patching it up. He was stopped by her hand coming up holding his hand to her face, keeping him in place. 

“You know I always knew that this was going to happen.” She mumbled, locking her gaze on his face. Bucky riffled through his pocket looking for his emergency transponder.

“W-what are you talking about, baby? You’re gonna be fine!” He stated, fumbling over his words as he pulled out the little remote and pressed the button. Y/n shook her head.

“No, I’m not and you know that just as much as I do.” Her voice was becoming airy the more she tried to talk. Bucky felt the hard knot in his throat starting to form as he shook his head, willing the tears to go back into his eyes.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about doll. I’m gonna get you patched up a-and we are going to go home and you are gonna take me to that noodle shop you promised me right?” Y/n shook her head softly, not having a lot of energy to move at this point.

“You know I won’t. But please know, none of this is your fault”. Her voice was light and airy as she spoke. Bucky shook his head wildly.

“No, not like this, Y/n, please not like this!” He cried, bringing his other hand up to cup her face, trying to keep her gaze locked on him. She soothed him, bringing her other hand up to place it on top of his head, burying her finger into the dirty chestnut locks. 

“It’s gonna be ok, Buck.” She whispered, a smile still decorating her face. Bucky decided that even as she lay there dying on the table, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. 

“Don’t be sad, the stars are going to shine tonight.” Bucky took a shaky breath, letting his eyes slip close to savor the feeling of her fingers in his hair one last time.

“A-and when you see them, know I am watching over you.” Y/n gasped as her body began shutting down causing Bucky’s eyes to flash open in alarm. Y/n shook her head a bit, a breathy laugh dancing off her lips.

“There is so much to say, so many wonderful things I have to tell you, but with so little time left.” Her voice was only a whisper now, but even as quiet as her words were, she couldn’t hear the jet engine roaring in the background. 

“Like what darlin’?” Bucky whimpered as he watched her eyes grow dull the closer the footsteps got to the door.

“Falling for you was like nothing I imagined.” Her voice started to give out as the door to the safe house burst open, revealing a disheveled Steve and Bruce barreling in, with the rest not far behind. With a final breath, she looked Bucky right in the eye.

“It was coming home.”

       ~~~~~~happy ending after the cut but if you want to be sad stop here~~~~~~~~

The cry that left Bucky as her hands went limp and her eyes slid closed was going to haunt the team for the rest of their lives. Bruce, who had been tending to the wound the first chance he got, looked to the rest of the team.

“She still has a pulse, all be it faint. I know what's wrong with her, we can save her.” 

To Bucky, everything after that was a blur. Steve pulled Bucky away from Y/n and Tony scooped her up, rushing her back to the jet as the rest rushed after him. Back at the compound, Y/n was placed in the med wing as Bruce began treatment. Bucky didn’t understand much other than “Radiation sickness. Uranium on the knife. Nothing he could have done.”

Nothing he could have done? He watched the love of his life basically die in his arms, in his care and there was nothing he could have done? After being forcibly made to shower and change clothes to rid himself of the Uranium on his clothes was he then allowed into her room. He resumed the position he held at the safe house, clutching her hand and waiting for any signs of life, other than the beeping from the monitor. 

Bucky moved his gaze from her face to the window. The light danced off the windows of the other building unfiltered by the cloudless sky. It was beautiful, but he couldn’t appreciate it, it looked dull in comparison to the woman on the bed.

“I thought I told you to not be sad.” Her voice was so soft that Bucky thought he imagined it but when he snapped his gaze to her face, he saw her bright eyes staring right back at him. Bucky choked on a sob and rested his head on the bed. The relief flooding through his system was too much for him to handle. Her nimble fingers took their rightful place on top of his head, brushing through the now silky hair strands.

After a moment, Bucky lifted his head and captured Y/n’s hand as it fell from his head, pressing a kiss into her palm before holding it in his hands. 

“It’s hard not to be sad when the one person who brought life into the darkest parts of my life was dying in my arms.” He returned his gaze to lock onto Y/ns. For a moment the pair sat in silence before Bucky spoke again.

“I thought I lost you.” Y/n just smiled softly, not saying a word. Bucky just stared at her, trying to bask in the warmth of her gaze as long as he could. The more he basked, the more the nightmarish pain of losing her was becoming just that, a nightmare. 

“But I’m still here.” Bucky’s grip increased slightly, fearful that he may hurt her, but needing to feel her to keep himself grounded, keep himself from falling off the edge of reality in the abyss of ‘what ifs’. Bucky had so many things he wanted to tell her, so many different things he could and should say but the only thing that managed to slip out was, “Yeah. Yeah you are.”

[biibini]

modern!mizu pt2 sfw + nsfw

a/n: brain continues to rot 😵‍💫 i thought i would focus more on ur relationship w mizu & ur dynamic with her

note: nsfw at the bottom!

ok so ab u two hehe

sfw ☆

modern!mizu gets into a playful mood w u from time to time

usually when she gets bored from hw or takes a break after coming back from the gym, she’ll come out of the zone and bother u

she loves to press ur buttons especially when it’s the two of u alone

modern!mizu is a tease. next headcannon.

“Mizu. Stop.”

“Stop? What would I be stopping?” she would say in a teasing manner.

“You know what I mean-“ you say as she continues to squish your face with her left hand. A small but undeniable smirk starts forming on her face.

however, when u are both out, she’ll keep the teasing to a minimum

at least tries to (the voices r strong but shes stronger most of the time)

her hand might just slip down by ur waist and squeeze it at times to get a little reaction or gasp out of u

(but that’s an idea for me to elaborate on later)

modern!mizu prefers u to hold her arm than her hand

she’ll take either but she feels more secure knowing ur holding onto her

she def likes it when u lightly squeeze her arms to stay close

modern!mizu likes joining in on ur care routine before going to sleep (this is kinda nsfw)

at first, she was curious as to what products u were using on ur face

she initially saw the facial ice roller as a new toy ngl

it’s not one of her proudest moments

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You were in the bedroom finding your pajamas, not even guessing what she would ask you next

“You bought a new toy?” Mizu yells from the bathroom.

“I did?”

She comes out with your facial ice roller in hand.

“Baby-“ you start speaking.

“I mean I know you said you wanted to test out temperatures in bed one time but…”

“Miz-“

“Just how… exactly do we use this? I know this part is the handle but where does the ice go?” she asks as she holds the handle sideways, staring at the product and analyzing its usage.

You start to giggle a little as you take the roller out of her hands.

“I’m being serious. How does it work?”

“Mizu, it’s for my face.”

She starts blanking out as you begin to roll the cold icy part on your cheeks.

“It’s supposed to help with puffiness.”

“Oh…”

self care along with her nightly tea became a comforting ritual in her bedroom

she was intrigued by the amount of skincare products u own

it’s not a lot (jk)

mizu totally didn’t build a whole shelf for ur products (she made sure it fit everything)

modern!mizu is ur guinea pig, and vice versa (sorta)

if u wanted to try a new product, she would try it with u

if she had a new creation/projected she needed to test out, u would be the second person she would call to check on production

u used to be the first until the “incident”

one time she called u in at the dead hour of 2 AM to come to the auto-shop and see her creation

it was a makeshift turbine for a solo project and all u had to do was turn it on to low fan speed

u ended up turning it on the highest speed somehow and broke the fragile engine

mizu froze as she watched her project get quickly chopped up by the fan

however she starts running to push u away and protect u when the fan starts hurling towards ur direction

u end up finding out she mislabeled the fan speed and made the “lowest” setting the highest setting

worried that she would put u in danger again, she asks taigen or ringo to test her new projects

she continues to be a guinea pig with ur skincare products and cooking

(ill make this vary depending on reader’s skills)

if ur not a rlly good cook, u and mizu can make two halves meet and collaborate on cooking together

u would probably ask ringo to help u out more than mizu admits to (it’s for the better and safety of the apartment)

if u are a good cook, she’ll be a bit more confident and step up as ur sous chef

she jokingly calls u “yes chef” as she gives u a kiss on ur cheek

one day, u bought a chef hat and started prepping dinner before mizu got back from the gym

You hear the front door open and the small ring of the jingle bell Ringo put on the handle.

“Y/N? Ringo?” Mizu yells as she puts down her bag.

“In here!” You yell from the kitchen. You fix your newly bought chef hat to match Mizu’s little running bit.

“Hey what are you coo-“ Mizu stops to look at what you’re wearing.

Some slippers, one of her shirts, and a chef hat. Oh my god. You turn to look at her with a smile.

“What is… that?“ She says, gawking at the hat.

“You like what I bought?”

“Yes but I wasn’t expecting a whole chef hat.” Mizu says as gives you a quick hug from behind and a little “hello” kiss on your cheek.

“You mean ‘Yes chef’?” You say teasingly.

“Haha very funny…”

You stare at her, pausing your cooking as you wait for the right words to be spoken out. She looks back and sighing in defeat.

“Yes chef.” She says as you giggle at her defeated tone, continuing to tend to dinner.

modern!mizu will chop and prep for u

give her a knife and a chopping board

ask and u will receive

random thought but she will tough out the onions

when she first starts her sous chef journey, she would always chew gum

she never realized that she could avoid onion tears with this method until she tried it

game changer !!

trust her w the onions. always.

modern!mizu enjoys dates out with u but the best dates are done at home, cuddling and watching netflix

u guys def have movie/tv show nights

maybe even experiment in cooking dinners

it’s peaceful and quiet (besides ringo joining in occasionally most of the time)

cuddling and relaxing after long school days resets both of u

mizu esp loves it when u both are under the covers and she can feel u doze off

it makes her a little sleepy too

As the second to final episode of your show comes to an end, Mizu checks up on you. She finds you, eyes closed & softly breathing.

“Y/N” she whispers while slowly unwrapping the blanket covering you two.

“Uh hm…” you say as you try and grip onto the blanket, it’s warmth escaping you. A light chuckle comes out of Mizu.

She successfully takes off the blanket, laying it to hang on the couch. She makes a mental reminder to fix it before she leaves for the gym tomorrow. You on the other hand are slowly waking up and walking to the bedroom, still holding her hand.

“C’mon now, let’s get to bed.”

You simply nod as she brings you to the bedroom to continue your sleep. She’ll catch you up on what you missed when you dozed off the following day.

modern!mizu would sleep on her back

it’s best to relieve lower back pain after learning from her adopted dad

so she’s adapted the same habit as him

when it comes to cuddling, she wraps her arm around you as she dozes off

if u wanted (or she wanted) to spoon, she would initially be the big spoon

however, the more u get into ur relationship, the more she switches over to being the little spoon

the feeling of ur hands wrapped around her as you both doze off is comforting

big spoon does stay on top though

it gives her access to… places

nsfw ♥︎

yk how i said in the first modern!mizu that she was touchy (and here too)

modern!mizu needs to hold or touch u whenever u guys are doing it

ur face, hands, shoulder, waist, hips, thighs

anywhere basically

she loves giving ur hips a squeeze while guiding u through the motions

when she’s making out with u, she lovesss to cup ur face or hold ur waist closer to u with her hands

when eating u out, u cannot escape

those gym seshes come in clutch

her arms will wrap around ur thighs and will not let u go

“Be good for me, will ya?” Mizu says, her breath only a few inches away from your heat.

You can only nod as you let your legs succumb to her arms. There’s no use fighting against them. You’ve tried and failed many times.

she would also hold onto ur hips if ur on top

she loves the control she would have on ur hips while u bounce up and down on her strap on

if not ur hips, she would give ur ass a squeeze as u continue to be riding her

modern!mizu always loves to leave a little mark

she knows how sensitive u can be around ur neck and loves to leave at least one, maybe two

if not there, then definitely around ur breasts

no one’s going to see them (most of the time)

she loves doing it especially when ur stimulated below by her fingers that are slowly yet deeply thrusting into ur wet insides

it would overstimulate u

but it would be so fun to see her lovely girl crumble little by little by her fingers and mouth

modern!mizu will do anything to hear ur voice

when she’s making out w u and hears a moan escape from ur lips, she’s so ready

ur moans escaping from ur lips while she eats u out is the best melody she’s ever heard

she gets lost indulging in ur noise that she would have to double check if anyone else is home before continuing

if ur moans gets louder when she goes faster, she will keep that pace up until ur a mumbling mess

so ab her being a tease earlier

modern!mizu likes to tease, especially when ur close

“Is my Y/N getting close?” she coos as she continues to thrust into you.

You were already overstimulated with how much she has done with you that night. From making out to practically squirting on her fingers earlier, your mind was a mess. As she thrust into you, all you could do was nod and moan as she hit a deeper spot.

“That’s the spot, isn’t it?”

You mumbled a yes and nodded. She heard you. But was it a spoken answer? Not exactly to Mizu.

She slows her pace down and looks to see your reaction: fucked out, dazed, and is practically begging for more.

“Mizu, please.”

“Please what?”

She grinds once to hear another moan come out. You continue to lose it as you start to bounce up and down on her strap, finding the spot again.

“Please fuck me more.” you answer.

She grinned as she watch you continue to move your hips up and down on her. Who knew you could still have the energy after all?

However, Mizu wasn’t done toying with you. She wants to hear your exact words.

“Fuck you how much more?” She says slyly as her hips start to slowly match your pace. You get silent as you find the right angle.

“Deeper. Much deeper.”

“Oh yeah?” she answers breathily, lining her hands with your waist as she searches for the deep spot.

A loud moan escaped your lips. Bingo.

“Good girl.” she calls as she continues her deep thrusts into you, coming once again.

hands down, making you speak while you’re fucked out is the favorite way to tease u

i cannot exaggerate how ur moans get her off

it’ll always be in the back of her mind while she continues to mess w u

it’s basically an obsession

hearing her lover practically crumble from her is her favorite part of teasing u

[motherofagony]

A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 2

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 8.7k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: you take care of joel after a patrol injury, but you suspect there's more to it than he's telling you. the atmosphere shifts as you and joel grow (begrudgingly) closer. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, brief masturbation (f!reader), praise kink for two seconds, blood, bodily injuries, needles (reader gives joel stitches), dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension intensifies, The First Kiss™, soft!joel vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: we're picking up speed, folks. world-building is my weakness, so i hope you enjoy this nonetheless. honorable mention goes to the readers in the trenches, waiting patiently for joel to [redacted] reader senseless until she [redacted] all over his [redacted]. thank you for the love on the series so far. taglist: @ghostwritesthings, @widowssbite, @p3rkerr, @eternallyvenus, @punkshort if anyone would like to be added/removed to the taglist (or if i missed anyone), please send me a DM!

You’ve always hated flying.

In the great before, the stone ages of family vacations and things to look forward to, fears were singular and planes were yours.

Your family never had a lot of money, not really, but on the special occasion of a death in the family, you’d find yourself trapped to a seat in a metal tube. Going nowhere but up. Sitting through safety instructions that came from smiling, lipsticked mouths that were only hypotheticals until they weren’t.

It’s like a rollercoaster, your dad would say, amused in the way only a dad can be and sleeping through damn near anything in the same fashion. It did nothing to calm the knocking of your knees, to quell the flip of your stomach as you climbed higher and higher until you couldn’t see anything but cotton ball clouds.

It was always unnatural to you that something so heavy could float, that you were supposed to go on doing human things and drinking your ginger ale and munching your pre-packaged snack option. As if you weren’t being hurled into the sky with no one walking you through it.

As if the plummet onto tarmac meant no harm, just completely normal erratic braking that felt a lot like the moments before a crash.

There was no control — it was in someone else’s hands that you never saw. And as you fell, you were supposed to say thank you, that’s exactly what I paid for.

This is your version of the oxygen mask. This is you putting yours on before you help Joel.

You’re on your knees digging through your med bag, thumbing through bandages, checking for a quick count of gloves, antibiotics, wash cloths. You fumble with the zipper, fighting with the tremor that starts in your forearms and liquifies into your wrists. There isn’t much in the way of supplies unless you ransack what’s kept in storage, but there’s no time, and you’re not sure of what you’re about to walk into.

Waiting any moment for a scream, or the blast of a gun when they realize Joel’s not Joel anymore.

And it isn’t really a big possibility in the grand scheme of things, if you consider that he would’ve likely turned on the route home. But it’s still there, tickling the back of your head, nudging your navel uncomfortably. Nothing’s impossible.

You of all people know that.

You linger in your living room, giving a final sweep. Worst case, you can run back for what’s forgotten, but something about the idea of abandoning a vulnerable Joel – if only for a minute – doesn’t settle right in your stomach.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving a bottle of whiskey into the bag, the only anesthetic on hand. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you need to score back some points.

The steps leading up to Joel’s house are sturdy, and you imagine it’s because of the pride he takes in what’s his. Before this, his house was just another skeleton of roof, foundation, windows, and siding.

The kind of houses you pass by every day that are rife with familiarity but you don’t know what it’s like to see the people inside eat dinner, brush their teeth. Fight. Fuck.

Fresh paint from only two seasons ago, reinforced porch posts. A swing. It’s weird to see permanence in this day and age, but his intention to anchor himself and grow roots here flutters meaningfully inside you.

It’s always been a sacred thing to you, you don’t know why. A place you’d never dreamed of entering, but dreamed about what it would smell like. A pair of boots haphazard by the front door, small piles of organized chaos, of collected tangibles. A you never know if you’ll need this in one corner, a saving that for a rainy day shelved in another.

So when you raise your hand to knock, you feel like an intruder, an unwelcome invasion of privacy. And you don’t know why you knock at all, you nearly think better of it given the circumstances, but you’re testing the atmosphere, hoping for voices inside instead of a struggle.

Ellie’s swinging the door open, relief smoothing out the lines in her forehead when she sees you. Her presence seems to answer any unspoken questions you had about Joel being infected, and you don’t voice them to her when you can see unrest in her antsy legs.

“Hey. Sorry for the wait. He alright?”

Her teeth are worrying her lip, probably more traumatized by the sight of him than anything. A few strands of hair have freed themselves from her lazy half-bun at the base of her neck, caught in the crossfire when she ran her hands through it, you think.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, committing to it. “Yeah, he’s okay. Bleeding stopped, nothing seems broken. Just needs stitches, I think.”

It sounds more to convince herself than anything else. There’s a foreign fragility to her, and you hate it.

“He tell you what happened?”

The question strikes a nerve. Ellie’s shaking her bowed head, scoffing in a half-laugh that doesn’t touch her eyes. Her hand wraps around her knuckles, cracking slowly in an effort to alleviate the tension that’s reached a fever pitch inside her.

“He won’t tell me, says it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have gone alone anyway, he was bein’ a dick. ‘I wanna think, kiddo - need t’clear my head,’” she mocks in a gruff, rolling pitch, the perfect dosage of Texas.

It levels you, potent. Are you the thing Joel needed to clear his head of?

You’re weirdly longing for it, but being flicked away like a bug, peeled away layer by layer from him isn’t something you want.

There’s hope that you’re contagious. That you’re haunting him and lurking in the darkest corners of his mind like an apparition like he has yours. And maybe there’s hope after all, something left to salvage.

But you play dumb, furrow your brow a little too expertly.

Ellie’s measuring you, and there’s a glimpse of worry but she hides it in a way that you wouldn’t know what you were looking for if you hadn’t already found it.

“Anything you wanna tell me about the other night? He was pissed when he left,” she tacks on quietly.

You go a little slack-jawed. You don’t even know how to put it into words, and you couldn’t tell her what it meant even if you tried.

What’s there to even say?

“You know what, none of my business,” she says, her hands lifting in tired surrender when you don’t answer, ignoring your near-sputter. “But you’re not off the hook, just make sure the old man doesn’t croak. And tell him he scared the shit outta me.”

You exhale and hope it doesn’t read too much as relief. You’ll have to answer to her later, but at least you might have an answer to give.

“Handful of salt in the wound, rub in circular motions – got it. Tell Tommy I’ll catch up later.”

Your shoulders scrape affectionately as you nudge past each other, and you cast a wide look at the periphery of Joel Miller’s house. The feeling of unwelcome disappears, and if anything, you’re being tugged further inside. Imagining what it’s like to be a fixture, an adornment in his weird little life.

Nooks that you assumed would be messy are neat, coiffed even. There’s that unavoidable smudge of secondhand all over the furniture – mottled ever so slightly, aged uneven in places that only an apocalypse can do. But it’s an otherwise tidy existence. Another surprise from Joel that you’d never pick up on if you only witnessed him nursing a drink at the bar.

An oak bookshelf props itself at the bottom of the stairs and it rivals your own, dust gathering in thin lines where he’s repeatedly shelved this, reread that. There are paintings hung decisively on most of the walls, breathtaking rural landscapes of wherever.

You’re lugging the bag upstairs, counting your breaths with each step. The whiskey rattles mutely against the first aid tin, and it’s a toss-up now of who you really brought it for.

The landing mirrors the ground level, a purposeful littering of tchotchkes. Doors line the second floor, some closed, some ajar but not inviting, and you realize you have no idea which one you’re looking for. You sway uninvited by the bannister until you hear the unmistakable hiss of breath between clenched teeth, then a soft moan as his weight shifts.

And you’re stepping inside a room – his bedroom – warmed in the soft beginnings of sunset. Joel’s sprawled asymmetrically on his bed, eyes pinched shut, delirious with blood loss but already looking substantially less like a corpse. A damp rag settles just above his brow, and the handiwork of Ellie.

There’s an unrecognizable hurt in him, wounded in ways that he shouldn’t be capable of.

He doesn’t give any indication that he knows you’re here until he’s rasping out something weak disguised as stern.

“I ain’t bit. Shut the door behind you.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“How did you –?”

Joel just huffs in response, as indignant as his body lets him be.

“You see anyone else here? They might as well’ve jumped out the window, as fast as they dumped me ‘n left. I ain’t stupid.”

You accept that and drop the pretense, pursing your lips with a nod. He doesn’t seem that offended, knows it’s just the nature of the beast.

You move over to his bedside, unpacking the bag quickly on a side table, looping your metaphorical stethoscope around your neck and switching gears into a mode that’s strictly doctoral.

Yet, there’s still that hum beneath your skin, the fizzle of unfinished business. It’s thick in the space between you, in the way he flicks his gaze at you lazily. You’ll let him foster the anger, giving it a home. You can be the martyr he says you are.

This new lens feels calmer, almost professional. Your nerves are still firing rapidly, and your composure is forced, but it’s better than nothing.

You drag a chair from the corner up to Joel’s bed, not letting your eyes wander too far into the depths of the space. You don’t have time to dissect the idiosyncrasies of his life. Not yet.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but you get the sense that he’s tracking your every move. His limbs are concrete, the tendons in his forearms so tense and coiled like any and every movement is forbidden.

“Joel.”

He grunts, a pained translation. Still no effort to move.

“I need to take a look at you,” you say patiently, bargaining like you would with a kid. “Wanna tell me what hurts?”

Another grunt, softer this time. He motions vaguely, weakly to his head, then the left flank of his abdomen.

You already know what you’ll find under the rag on his head, and it bodes well that the bleeding looks to have stopped. His stomach wound, on the other hand, was enough to bleed through two layers.

“Alright. Lemme see.”

A muted whimper echoes in his throat, so uncharacteristically that it tugs on your heart. Still statuesque, unmoving.

Your fingers are deft, careful as they unbutton the first, second, third buttons of his flannel. Joel’s stock-still, and his breath comes in sharp, slow waves through his nose. Your own breath kind of sits in the back of your throat, and you pretend with a hurried exhale that you weren’t just holding it.

Your fingers reach his navel on the last button, and you’re gently tucking each panel of his shirt under him on either side, focusing too hard on not touching him. It feels like something is somersaulting low in your stomach.

You can’t even dare yourself to look at his chest, his stomach. The patch of hair leading down to the band of his pants.

Get it together. That’s not what this is.

An angry gash looks up at you, thankfully clotted with dried patches of blood. It’s about two delicate fingers long, a nasty slice. It looks clean, abrupt in shape but suspiciously manmade. Not too deep, but not superficial enough to heal without some assistance.

And thank god, not nearly as bad as you thought it would be.

Joel’s looking at you now through heavy lids, wary of you, but something like fear touches the corners of his eyes. You fight to stay medical, methodical in your diagnosis. No emotion slips out, nothing allowed in.

You sit back calmly, letting loose a sigh. Not letting yourself bathe in the intimacy of the moment, in the way he’s staring.

“You need stitches,” you announce simply.

“Like hell.”

“Joel.”

He’s scowling, a hurt animal pissed at its own vulnerability. Silence passes like a ship between you, and for a moment, you think he’ll really fight you on this. He can’t hide anything when he’s like this, the weighing of his options evident in the tick of his jaw, the pathetic pinch just in the center of his brows.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Make it quick.”

This fucker.

You’re rolling your eyes, unceremoniously tugging the rag from his forehead. The cloth is red but not soaked, just twinged pink around the edges. Joel curses, just an octave above unintelligible.

His hand is shooting to the cut near his hairline and you’re smacking it away before he can pollute it.

“Lay still, fuck’s sake,” you chastise. “An infection’ll put you out longer than a few days. Unless you have a puzzle you been meaning to get around to?”

The faux-threat calms him immediately, and the shift in restraint doesn’t go unchecked. He doesn’t say another word, but you catch a glare and a twitch of his mouth.

You make quick work of cleaning him up, squeezing rubbing alcohol on a clean towel and scrubbing patient circles through the mess of dried blood. Joel releases sharp noises you can only describe as growls when you get too close to the border of his cuts.

It’s primal, a dog asserting dominance with his leg caught in a trap.

You try to lose the attitude, and it’s difficult when your patient hates you, doesn’t hate you, won’t clarify either way.

There’s a hint of purple that’s developing like fresh film on the mountains of his knuckles that doesn’t go unnoticed. Places on the most taut peaks of flesh where his skin has split, marred with scrapes that look like indents of teeth. And in the right light, there’s a discoloration of something in the same family splayed on his ribs.

And that… you know that when you see it. Even if everything else can be explained away.

“You wanna talk about it?” you say quietly.

There’s an intermission where he doesn’t respond. Too long to be the truth, too short to come up with a lie. And you know he’s been waiting for this question, might’ve already thought of a story.

“Got clumsy,” Joel recites. “Tripped on some stairs that were caving in, hit my head.”

“Bullshit.” And it’s a statement, not an insult. It doesn’t cover why he has a certified stab wound in his side.

Another stretch of silence, lack of defensiveness, makes it clear that he knows you know. But he doesn’t elaborate, and for whatever reason, you don’t push it.

And maybe it’s enough to acknowledge this sort of thing for now. You can stow it away, let it keep you up at night. Draw parallels where there possibly aren’t any. If he’d run into a human thing, he’d be much worse off, right?

Just like you were.

You take care in lining up the supplies to stitch in neat order beside you, mulling over each step in your mind. Stalling, maybe.

You pull the whiskey bottle out of your bag by the neck and nudge Joel with the cap.

“Something to take the edge off.”

He kind of hesitates, but there’s a tenderness. Recognizing it as an act of mercy, a peace offering.

There’s nothing said, but he takes the bait, spinning off the top and swallowing a messy mouthful. A drip escapes through the corner of his mouth and slips into his beard.

You can feel the taste of it blossoming on your tongue.

He grunts his thanks and keeps a steady grip on the neck of the bottle, and the network of veins in his forearm unwind.

You clamp the needle, laced through with something thicker than thread but not quite medical grade. Joel exhales a shaky whine when you pierce the skin, and his fist grips the sheets when you twist clockwise to push the needle through to the other side.

“You’re doing great,” you murmur.

The needle weaves over the cut, greeting the other side. You pull it through and up, and his lower lip trembles, sweat beading his forehead.

“First one done,” you say, praising him but also yourself.

Joel’s still clenching the linens on the bed, ignoring you and hiding out in his own mind somewhere.

You don’t tell him that you’ve only ever practiced on fruit, that your suture knowledge comes exclusively from the one medical text you have and endless hours of TV you grew up on.

Silence envelopes you again, heavier than before if possible. The pressure waxes and wanes like nighttime waves, licking the shore between you. And it’s not angry, just something… else.

“Some house you got,” you note casually as a distraction, like you’re commenting on the weather. It comes off relaxed enough, though any conversation between you feels like flossing a crowded mouth.

His eyes sharpen, and you think it’s in excruciation, but there’s a twinge of apprehension. You straighten for a moment, hands fixed mid-stitch, and roll your eyes.

“Okay, cool it, Home Alone, I’m not casing the place.”

Joel takes a turn rolling his eyes. You swear that you see his mouth twitch again, but you hang your head, dabbing a cloth where pinpricks of blood form.

You try again.

“I like your paintings.”

You dare to look up, and his mouth is in a tight line.

“You like my paintings.” he repeats dully, not a question. Joel’s as cynical as you, and he thinks it’s a jab, not sincere.

“You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

Now’s as good a time as any. You sigh at that.

“Look, the other night wasn’t my finest moment. It didn’t need to go that way,” you mutter, leaning on the concentration of sewing up Joel’s skin. Otherwise, you might feel too strongly, dissect your word choice with an uncomfortable linger. “Sorry. I know you were trying to help.”

He goes rigid as your second stitch meets a third. The bottle tips to his lips again, and you wonder if it’s an act of liquid courage. You boldly hope so.

“Nah, I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Been thinkin’ I needed to apologize anyway,” he admits, and you know he’s happy you made the first move. You can already feel him loosen, but maybe it’s the alcohol. “You ain’t a martyr, y’know.”

Oh.

The needle hooks into the final sliver of skin, your handiwork tightening into a neat line. You sit back, wiping your brow with the ungloved section of your wrist. It’s a treaty, a handshake at the very least.

“Actually, I think you hit the nail on the head with that one,” you smirk, olive branch fully hanging between your teeth now. “Keeping up the charade is so exhausting.”

Joel presses out a pained half-laugh, and you feel something crumbling between you.

You tie off the last stitch, trimming the excess thread off the knot. The clamp clatters into the tray, and you give it a final once-over before peeling a large rectangle of bandage from your kit and pressing it gently over the wound.

“All done,” you quip, peeling your gloves off. “Didn’t even have to amputate.”

“Not too bad,” he grunts.

“I’ll add it to your tab.”

While you’re riding the high of approval, you stand and move to the foot of the bed. Joel’s boots are still on, laced messily.

And for some reason, you don’t even ask permission, you just start untying, tipping them off and lining them next to one another on the hardwood.

He doesn’t say a word. Out of confusion, maybe.

You scoot your chair and makeshift flatlay along with you, positioning yourself at Joel’s head. That look is back, a side-stare that steals your breath.

That look that knows you could absolutely ruin him, and he’d either thank you or kill you.

The pads of your fingers brush back the hair from his forehead, still slightly matted with blood. It’s a surface cut, but crescent-shaped and easily hidden by a curl of brown, peppered with grey. Butterfly closure it is.

No signs of a concussion show themselves. At least there’s that.

“You might have a scar,” you murmur. Being this close to Joel makes you feel like you’re wearing two layers too many.

And he hasn’t broken the stare, not even minutely.

“Add it to the collection,” he says lowly, not an ounce of self-pity.

Your eyes flash to the scar near his temple. You’re exercising full-on restraint not to ask him about it. But it’s not the time, something you could try to pry out of him later. And knowing there’ll be a later makes you relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw.

He’s nice enough to pretend not to notice, or he’s in too much pain to mention it.

You dab the damp rag around the border of his cut again, mopping up any excess. You reach for the isopropyl.

“You might wanna take another swig,” you warn. And he obeys, down the hatch and white-knuckling through it.

“Good boy,” you’re murmuring automatically, and it just slips out.

Your mouth falls open just so, and Joel’s coughing, clearing his throat against the burn of whiskey. You’re pleading with the universe that his cough was close enough, loud enough to cover the words, but his face has turned a shade of red that’s probably rivaling the heat that reaches your ears.

Good boy? Jesus Christ.

If there was ever a heightened moment of being fucking touch-starved, it’s this.

You make haste with the disinfectant and place the closures over the cut. The bloodied towels and scraps from the DIY surgery are cleaned up, tied neatly into a plastic bag. And now, this is the part where you run and never face him again.

You’re already making plans to board up your windows, maybe have Ellie deliver your meals solely through a slot in the door.

But Joel’s pain is overriding everything, and he’s sunken even further back into the pillow, his head lolling to prop on his shoulder. He’s whispering a weak thanks that’s incoherent at best. You tug the blanket up and over him.

You grab a glass from downstairs, fill it to the brim with water and bring it to him. He groans at the sight, petulant.

“I’m not leaving until you finish this.”

His lifts his arm for it, scowling. “Gimme the damn thing.”

Satisfied, you hand it over and watch him drink it down, his throat bobbing in a hearty gulp. Your gaze can’t help but snag on it.

You have got to get the fuck out of here.

You come back with a refilled glass and sit it on his bedside table, close enough within reach. The medical bag is packed up and ready, sagging slightly in areas where you’ve emptied it. It knocks against your already-knocking knees, and you’re grateful to use its weight as an excuse for how blurred you feel.

“I need to talk to Tommy. You gonna be alright for a bit?”

His eyes are closed again, on the outskirts of rest, but his mouth pulls up in the ghost of smile.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

And you hope he means it.

—

You track down an unsettled Tommy, finding him pacing in the back of the general store. He’s restocking some shelves but not quite – there’s an gross pairing of tinned fish and fresh eggs sitting on a display that’s unappetizing at best.

“He’s okay. No bite,” you add lowly, acutely aware of how many pairs of ears are in the store. “But he needs to be monitored.”

Tommy slackens, rubbing his eyes that are full of exhaustion and bruised with worry. Index finger and thumb stroking the respective tails of his mustache one, two, three times as the gravity of that strikes him.

He loops you into an embrace, and it’s kind, full of ease. The smell of firewood and smoke tickles your nose. His worry evaporates then, and honestly, so does yours.

“He doin’ alright?”

You chew on that for a moment and nod. There are complications, but nothing to do with Joel’s health.

“He was pissed about the stitches, but I didn’t have a choice. Cut was pretty deep.”

“So… he tell you what happened, then?”

There’s that question again. You feel like you should have an answer, but if he wouldn’t clue in Ellie, you sure as hell wouldn’t be.

Like squeezing blood from a stone, your dad used to say.

“No,” you lie instinctively. You don’t know why.

But it isn’t really. Not if you don’t know the full truth yourself. There’s just something about Joel’s omission that makes you feel entitled to find out first.

“He said he fell down some stairs,” you amend, “just didn’t say where or how.”

Tommy offers you the same look that Ellie gave you – a raised brow coupled with a touch of disbelief.

“If you say so.”

You shrug, playing it as cool as’ll come natural to you. “You know Joel. Doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and rolling out his shoulders that you know have been holding tension. He believes that, at least.

“Sounds like you know him, too.”

—

A few days come and go.

Ellie takes on a lot of the recovery, but she doesn’t like messing with stitches — creeps me the fuck out that you did that without puking all over him, she claims — and she’s eager to substitute for the patrol routes while Joel’s down and out. You offer to step in, with a totally normal and selfless motive.

If she thinks anything else of it, you’d be the last to know.

Your new itinerary consists of changing Joel’s bandages, cleaning up through his hissed breaths and every goddamn it. Twice a day, morning and night and sometimes in closer intervals, but never approaching the cusp of any boundary.

Joel’s fiercely independent, swatting your hands when you try to help. Donning a clean flannel in the space between your lunchtime visit and your nightcap, despite you telling him that he shouldn’t be pushing his mobility.

That said, he’s marginally better about following doctor’s orders, drinking the water you leave on his nightstand but neglecting the pills that would stop him from coiling in on himself like a ready spring. And he doesn’t say it but you know it’s because he thinks it’d be a waste.

You trade regular formalities at first, each of you standing behind your respective walls, daring the other to toe a bit closer.

Joel doesn’t ask, but you bring him some short stories to pass the time and he devours them. You didn’t think much of it other than just straying past the point of being nice, but your heart sings a bit at how he leaves his shell at your coaxing.

You learn Bradbury is his favorite, but when he finishes The Most Dangerous Game, it’s the most he’s ever spoken to you in one sitting, astounded at the perfectly tied bow of an ending, asking you questions that only the author could answer. But it’s a marvel to witness, something you think about when you’re cleaning stables or washing dishes.

He’s unraveling for you, a loose thread tugged too hard on your favorite sweater. He talks of the places in the paintings, sometimes abruptly, like he isn’t sure what his cue is or if he has one.

Mentions of pre-Jackson when there was so much uncertainty and isolation, but it was coupled with those types of watercolor skies that you couldn’t paint if you tried.

These little pieces of him that make him whole – it’s like you’re both in on the same secret. And Joel isn’t doing it to lighten the tension, to be nice; that isn’t his brand of politeness. He just revels in the holy act of confession with you as his witness.

You come to learn that his room is modest, different from the rest of his house. Clues of hobbies sprawled on his desk – leatherworking tools and hand drawn blueprints that you can’t get a good look at with just a sidelong glance.

There’s a dusty stereo tucked at the back towards the wall, and you picture a content Joel, sketching new plans for a porch swing or some small addition while old bluesy country croons from the speakers.

You like this daydream, placing him in something lighthearted where his only worry is that he’s losing daylight on yardwork.

The two of you talk about little bits of everything and nothing. Reminiscing about sending snail mail, discussing what you think places like Italy look like now. How close you came to crossing an ocean in another life.

Tonight, you have a night terror that clings to you like wet denim. Stop-motion, nonsensical. Your head ricocheting into concrete, hitting your temple just so. Flashes of the people that used to be your parents, your friends.

And just as the life drains from you, blood seeping onto the floor and into spidering cracks, you wake up a flailing mess.

You practice your routine, twisting on knobs of lamps and plugging in the twinkling lights hanging around the perimeter of the living room. You press your cheek to the floor, checking under your bed for monsters for good measure.

Bleary-eyed, you’re climbing back under the covers, pulling them snug up to your chin.

There’s a neediness crawling its way through your organs with a one-way ticket south. The juxtaposition of fear mingles with an otherness, and it anchors itself to Joel.

You never cared for a protector, still don’t, but the eagerness that sprouts from him to defend your honor — and for nothing in return — magnetizes you on a cellular level.

Your fingers are dipping into the band of your already-damp underwear, taking inventory of what the thought of him does to you. Body on auto-pilot. A pool of dripping neediness, so slick that you’re coating your clit in excess and rubbing in tight circles.

He doesn’t even have to touch you, and it’s pathetic.

Images of Joel’s beard scratching your thighs swirls behind your eyelids, your hand gliding between the glistening of your folds. Fingers crook inside you, dipping into the last knuckle, and you’re choking on a gasp, already on the edge.

You wish they were more calloused, thicker, with length that can hit the spot that’s desperately out of reach.

You wish they were Joel’s.

It takes only a minute, some curling and pumping of your wrist to make it quick in case it’ll only ever be a fantasy. The wet noises of your arousal are nothing short of obscene, and you’re coming loudly, sharply on a string of moans.

In some ways, you think, you have already died.

And fuck. It’s so poetic it makes you sick.

—

On the fourth day, Maria sends you to Joel’s with some stew — two hearty containers that're meant for the both of you.

She’s been taking her shift at his place, carrying over containers of this and that to keep him fed. You wonder how often she takes on that role anyway, sans injury. You don’t peg Joel as the type to eat three square meals a day of his own accord.

Tell Joel I can’t make it tonight. Gotta do inventory.

She makes no room for elaboration, so you don’t ask. But you thank her with a hug, and you could swear that she’s giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

When you knock on Joel’s bedroom, he gives a new, warm invitation, coated in subtle hospitality. It’s a far stretch from the unaffected what? you might’ve received a week ago.

You place the stew down on the bedside table, along with some bowls and spoons you plucked from his kitchen. He just looks up at you from his bed, uncertainty reaching the lines of his forehead.

“It’s all Maria,” you explain and he hums, catching up.

“Explains a lot,” he mutters.

You eat quietly for a little over ten minutes. Joel’s flannel today boasts a rich navy, buttoned up to the top but not far enough to hide the sprinkling of hair that peeks through.

He catches you staring and pins you with a dark glance.

“You afraid of the dark or somethin’?”

Joel’s ask cuts through the air, and your spoon stops mid-route to your open mouth. It’s so out of the blue that it stuns you momentarily.

“Sorry?”

“You turn the lights on at night.”

What you thought to be private moments of fear were actually on display for all to see.

For Joel to see.

And the memory of your thighs trapping your hand as you came over and over again on your fingers… you’re grateful to at least have had some decorum to draw your bedroom curtains.

“Um.” You dig for a way to say nope, I’m actually just a pussy and I see things that aren’t there. Also, I was touching myself thinking about you last night. “No, just nightmares.”

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s searing. A bead of sweat makes a slow descent down your spine to your tailbone. You laugh lightly to deflect.

Joel’s mouth thins into a tight line.

“It’s nothing,” you promise.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he snaps. His brows are knitted in fury, misdirected. But you get it.

Your stomach is rumbling, but you’ve effectively lost whatever appetite you had. The bowl finds a space on the side table, and you’re pulling your knees to your chest protectively, thumbing at the fray on the cuff of your jeans.

You don’t mean to scowl, but you can’t help it. You can’t even meet his eyes.

Joel’s sighing, his own bowl discarded on the nightstand, grazing the lip of yours.

“Look, it’s not my business,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “but that kinda shit worries me.”

When you do look up, he’s rubbing his beard with rigid fingers. You should feel nice and fuzzy that he cares enough to point it out, but it’s just embarrassment instead.

That, on top of everything else, you can’t even get through the night without waking up in a cold sweat.

“I know how it looks,” you say in surrender, “but I swear I’m fine.”

You can imagine what it would feel like to really mean it; it’s just on the tip of your tongue. There is a defiance there, it’s just struggling to find a way out.

“You sure about that?”

You let your feet touch the floor, straightening out your legs and busying yourself with smoothing the creases in your pants.

“You worry about everyone else like this?” you muse, hoping to redirect.

Joel’s scratching the back of his neck, eyes fixed anywhere else.

“Always worried about you.”

If you were any farther away, you wouldn’t have heard him.

Outside, kids are yelling, playing tag. You watch in jealousy, can almost hear the crunch of their boots and their tiny, inconsequential conversations. It takes you longer than intended to give a response, and he waits, patiently. Just trickles a look from the crown of your head to your hands to your face. Searching for a reaction.

“You’re about ten months late, Miller.” And you’re smiling briefly. You mean it as playful, but it’s colored with sadness.

His eyes glaze, and the wheels are turning, wondering if that also means too late.

“Didn’t want you to think I was takin’ advantage of the situation. And I thought Max —” Joel bites down on the name.

“Fuck Max,” you spit in disgust. “That was never a thing.”

You don’t have to make eye contact to see that he’s pleased by that. He hums in the back of his throat. Resists a shit-eating grin. From the looks of Joel connecting the dots, you don’t need say much else.

“Yeah, well. We all failed you,” he insists. “I failed you.”

It sets an incredulous spark in some hidden part of you. Nails cut into your palm, your fists balling harshly. Everyone else? Sure, you’d give him that. Jackson spit you out, with the exception of a select few.

But Joel?

“You saved me.”

“Not good enough,” he says under his breath.

—

The next day, you let yourself inside, already learning the language of Joel’s house when you press a little extra weight against the door to seal it shut when it sticks.

It’s quiet, on the cusp of 8, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel’s on the brink of sleep.

The sun’s long settled over the mountain, so there’s not much in the way of guidance.

It’s dark, but you expected it to be. You draw the curtains one by one, moving blindly from room to room yet knowing exactly where your feet are. It strikes you as odd, a visitor keeping pace with an unfamiliar house.

But if Joel’s anything, it’s predictable. Unfussy in the way he keeps out of the way, even in his own space. Takes pride in it, sure, but lives in a way that demands nothing but cherishes everything, even the absence of something.

Meaning there’s nothing too unexpected, too risky in its placement. He doesn’t take up too much room in the event that it’s gone tomorrow.

When your hands fumble for the switch of the living room lamp, the bulb springs to life and bathes a wary Joel in light. Sitting on the couch, slouched with residual soreness, but waiting.

For you.

“Jesus, fuck — what the fuck, Joel —”

“You’re late.”

“— sitting in the fucking dark like a lunatic —”

He puts a hand up to stop you, as if to press your mute button.

“I didn’t fall down any stairs.”

Your hands have risen to your chest in the shock of him there, and you’re gripping your shirt in the way he had almost a week ago. You don’t miss that little detail, so much so that you struggle to piece together what he’s saying.

It punches you abnormal; you kept so busy with leaving the subject alone that it slipped your mind that he lied.

“Sit down.”

You’re obedient and you don’t know why. You find a seat across from him, pulling up a stool that’s meant for feet, not your ass. Something crackles beside you, and the embers of a dying fire glow and warm to the left of you.

Your leg crosses over your knee, creating a 45-degree angle that you rest your elbows on. “Yeah, I gathered as much, thanks. You’re a terrible liar.”

Joel’s just eyeing you. And it’s not in a way that sizes you up, more of a calculation of what to say next. What to give away. There’s a beat of this, then another, then another.

“I thought ‘bed rest’ was pretty self-explanatory.”

You’re growing impatient, filling the room just to do it. You both know what happened, and maybe that’s what’s needling at you. That you’re the one person who’d understand the most, but the one person he doesn’t want to know.

It feels wretched and seething, knowing something but not enough.

“I’m gonna need you to cut to the part where you tell me what happened, Joel.”

At that, Joel drags in a breath and leans deeper into the couch. His gaze has moved to somewhere far off, burning into the drawn curtains like he can see outside, can see directly into the window of your kitchen. And with sudden clarity, you realize that he could — it’s a clean diagonal stare.

Are you afraid of the dark?

How many times has he sat in this very spot, taking in the show, watching you make tea, watching you read, watching you stutter and shake with sobs? Witnessing the onslaught of a nightmare?

Touching yourself? Watching you undress?

You aren’t the voyeuristic type, just uncaring to the point of defenseless. But Joel keeping an eye on you in this way is the coup de grâce that does you in. There’s no question now of whether he cares.

“I took Mountain View, headed for the outpost. Not much up that way lately, maybe one or two infected every once ‘n a while,” he says, and it’s unsettling that he’s talking in a way that could be to anyone or no one at all. “Thought I’d stop at the pharmacy on the way up, check that off, too. ‘Cept I wasn’t the only one with that idea.”

He pauses only to crack his knuckles for effect. Fingertips splay on his spread knees, and what seemed so fragile earlier, watercolors of bruises stretching from ligament to tendon, seems threatening now.

“One was lootin’ in the back, didn’t hear me come in. I thought he mighta been alone ‘til his friend followed me in,” he pauses, lost in thought. “Got into it with him.”

As if on cue, the gory split-skin of his hands flexes. Offensive wounds.

You were right, but you wish you weren’t.

“His friend came up from the back, ‘n they took turns for a minute. Long enough for me to get a good look. I ended up takin’ out the shorter one, other one was gone before I could get up.”

Joel doesn’t lift his head, just his eyes. The skin around them crinkles in sinister shapes, lids disappeared, lashes nearly touching brow. You know it’s not anger directed at you, but it’s shrinking you back down into an armchair, your fingers digging and clawing at the fabric without recognizing it.

“Know what’s funny about that?”

You don’t think you can answer with the desert that runs through your mouth. And whatever it is, it’s anything but.

“Not a lot of activity along the outposts this way, unless it’s infected. Everyone else comes straight through to Jackson. The logs say we’ve only run into two groups of raiders in the last five years along the patrol route,” another pause for emphasis. “And one of them was ten months ago.”

Something catches in your chest.

And then there’s a dam that breaks, pure relief. Relief that Joel’s seen the thing you’ve been pointing and screaming at while everyone else shrugs their shoulders and squints.

Then — panic.

Ice sneaks into your veins. The tips of your fingers run numb. It strikes you that you’re standing, that the foot stool is tipped on its side.

He doesn’t move, but there’s a contained rage in his eyes and his voice. A temper bubbling now that you’ve confirmed what he suspected.

“He have any tattoos?” Joel asks roughly.

There’s a flash of stars, hand-poked, bordering on downright sloppy.

“Who?” You say dumbly, but it’s obvious what he’s referring to. He’s seen it, too, and he’s seen it this week.

“You know who.”

You do.

You could draw it from memory if he asked.

Your weight becomes too much for your legs, and you collapse back down, this time into a chair that supports your amoeba-like state as everything in you turns to jelly.

“They’re getting closer. We were in Teton, so if they made it this far —” you jumble out, not sure if it’s just meaningless vomit to his ears. By his solemn nod, it isn’t.

He’s up and out of his seat with a wince that’s not as severe as before, his eyes careful on you, on your hands that you’re gripping together tightly to keep them still.

The isolation of his side is evident in the way he closes the space between you, but he masks the grimace as best he can. There’s a reprimand in you somewhere that he should be resting, lying down at least, but you know it’s pointless.

“Hey.”

He’s kneeling as much as his flank will allow, a pain in his eyes that isn’t for himself. Those fingertips scale the cliff of your jaw, ghosting as if he’s afraid to overstep. They’re prodding you to meet his eyes, and when you do, he drops his hand like he’s been burned.

It connects fiercely to a memory that you try to hold in your hands. A snowy, reminiscent one that slips through like a ribbon of smoke.

“Ain’t gotta worry about him. I’ll take care of it.”

You laugh, a real one that’s stained with sarcasm.

“What does that mean?”

Joel softens now, and the shift startles you. He thinks for a beat before answering.

“Whatever you need it to mean.”

It feels incomprehensible that anyone would willingly put themselves in danger for you, even adjacently, but then who noticed you were missing that day? Who led the pack, found you bleeding out?

The weather was violent, incoherent — a lost cause, a needle in the proverbial haystack. He already toed the line of a dangerous, potentially fruitless rescue mission.

And you never even thanked him.

“Why?” You ask it for the second time in as much as a week. It’s disjointed in conversation, but he knows that you need this answer.

“You remember how you were before?”

And for a split-second, you try.

There are glimpses, a rickety reel of kids tugging on your pant leg as they beg you to join them during recess, a glittering spray of laughter with Ellie as empty beer cans and discarded guitars litter her living room floor.

Of your friends’ faces on too many relaxed, sunny patrols, sometimes forcing them into a detour into the abandoned record store through Alpine so you can see what’s left.

Dinner in warm houses like Tommy and Maria’s, so full to the brim of love and potatoes and mead that you stumble on down to your house with cheeks burning and tuck yourself in with all of the lights off.

Visions of Joel that are fleeting, taped in frames on a film strip, but friendly exchanges.

But it’s a faceless narration. The accident wiped clean of any room for interpretation. Any visitation with these memories. You can place yourself in them, but can’t for the life of you feel tethered to her.

Frustrated, eyes watering, you shake your head.

“That’s why.”

Now he’s holding your jaw like he would some fragile thing, slotting his thumb just under the pulse thrumming in your neck, feeling the echo of it in his hand. There’s a silence, as if he’s straining to hear, to know the sound and syllables of your livelihood. You wish he’d press harder, bring you to the precipice of pleasure and death.

If only to know what it feels to be glass in Joel Miller’s hands, to be given the taste of death after he’d given you the gift of life all those months ago.

Your heart is hammering against your ribs. You know he can feel the adrenaline in your pulse point.

“Joel,” it falls out as a whisper, and you hate how good his name feels in your mouth.

He’s looking at you with empathy, thumbing through the pages of every agony you’ve succumbed to. It’s new and buzzing, knowing that there’s nothing you’d ever have to explain to Joel. No reasoning or fine print for how you are, he just knows. And he stays anyway.

A tear tracks a salty line down your face and it meets the pad of his thumb, an easy swipe.

And there’s a surge low in your throat, seesawing with satisfaction and the tell-tale lump of more tears if you lean in hard enough. Joel never shows his hand, the last to fold, but it feels a lot like you’re the prize he was waiting to throw cards down for.

So, you lean. Concave cheek into his calloused hand, tears without sobs leaking between his fingers down into his sleeve. The weight of only the world — your world, plural and shared — pushing you into him. The cataclysmic release that you’ve been aching for.

Your head is against his chest, cheek pressed against flannel because he’s guided you there. And it’s nice, you think, nice that he’s being a gentleman about the whole thing.

A gentleman just finger-combing through your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

It’s serene, and you’d happily make a home there and fall asleep if it wasn’t for the hammering of your heartbeat. You know he can feel it, and your quickened breath is the cherry on top.

Joel levels your faces, and his fingers are deja vu on the braille of each ridged cheekbone. He’s waiting on a cue, a line to be given to him from offstage, but you see flames licking through each darkened iris.

Something keeps holding him back, keeps holding you back. He’s too careful, afraid of cutting his hands on you. And in exploring every facet of that, it’s because he doesn’t want to bleed on you, not because the sharpest parts of you could hurt him.

You keep telling yourself it’s foreign and you’re strangers to one another.

But is it? Are you?

As if he’s reading your mind, Joel closes the distance in one fell swoop, and he kisses you.

It’s clumsy at first, in the way that clumsy is when you’re learning each other’s mouths. You taste the dregs of whiskey, of something wanton, and every unspoken word that’s ever misted between you. Years of forming smile lines and the prickle of his unkempt beard against your chin, taste the stories of every scar.

You’re tangling with him, lips pressing urgently against Joel. His tongue’s expert but gentle when he dips it inside your mouth, and you’re swapping breathless sighs. You can only imagine what he’s tasting of you, what flavor he’s been dreaming of.

His hands are still at either side of your face, thumbs pressing sweetly into the bony part of your jaw. Joel’s stilling the unrest in you that’s put its bags down and refused to leave. It quiets, tips a hat and walks out, leaving a welcome calm in place.

There’s a chasteness, but you know he’s just as desperate and hungry as you are. Wanting to claim, to devour each other entirely. And it’s not lost on you that he’s on his knees, hands clasping your face in prayer like you’re some communion he’s drinking from.

He engulfs you, and you’re moving together, fitting together like you were poured from the same mold. Joel’s fingers have moved to thread through your hair, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and tugging just barely.

Enough that magma pools in between your hips.

But he slows, letting loose a low groan into the heat of your mouth. It’s helpless, like he’s accepted he can’t swim and has submerged his head underwater.

And when you finally break apart, Joel’s pupils are dilated, on the cusp of black. Your collective breaths are uneven. He looks at you in awe.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a long, long time,” he’s saying, but you can barely hear him. Not when your heart is catching up with the rest of you, roaring above everything else. His thumb skates over your bottom lip, and the instinct to unhinge your jaw for him shouldn’t be there, but it is.

Maybe this sort of suffering is worth it, if it’s Joel you’re suffering for.

If you weren’t in trouble before, you sure as fuck are now.

[carionto]

Everything dumb happens in the 3130s

This popped up on Pinterest, it's 4AM, obviously there can only be one path:

______________________________

Space walks are a necessary part of any civilizations early days in the path to becoming a space-faring one. The hazards of space demand extensive protection, which reduces the practicality of individual space suits in favor of robots and drones. Everyone still has them, of course, but everyone always prefers to avoid exposing themselves to radiation and the simple danger of drifting away.

Except Humans. Many of them like going out in their dense and sleek suits for some "hands on workmanship". Manned suits also do posses certain stealth capacity as it only needs to maintain life support while the Human inside provides all the locomotion. And there are other practical benefits that crop up from time to time.

Then there's the group of Humans known as, named by other Humans by the way, "Crazy Death Surfers".

They suit up, hook themselves up to a drone they remote control, and release themselves within an asteroid belt. They also add these high density long alloy strips to their feet. Some use one large "board" some use two thin ones.

Then they engage the drone thrusters and hurl towards the gigantic space rocks at ludicrous speeds. Not by them, at them. As in they intend to impact the asteroids.

Once close enough, they divert the drone to change their course to be at an angle, still on a collision course though. Right as they're about to hit it, they turn their board to match the angle of approach and slam into it and continue to slide along, throwing up dust and small stones. Sometimes they quickly redirect the drone towards another asteroid, other times they make it go around the whole thing, see if they can leave a clean line fully across.

The Crazy Death Surfers do this for hours, and always return with the biggest smiles on their faces, thoroughly exhausted, often bruised, it's ridiculous none of them have actually died so far.

When they first came up with this idea, the Coalition station was also a "surf track" once. After their boards did more damage to the station, and almost caused a hull breach from a particularly sharp angle hit, they were heavily fined and a new law was enacted banning all unsanctioned space walks around any Coalition stations or ships.

Unlike some other Human introduced activities, asteroid surfing will NOT catch on.

[clu-ven]

The Bad Batch accidentally walk in on you changing HCs

1.2k words ! slightly suggestive !

As the Marauder speeds towards the batch's next mission, you take a few seconds to slip into your room and change. You're too busy reciting the plan over and over to yourself to realise you forgot to lock the door, quickly discarding your clothes and ruffling through what little clothing options you have. It’s only when you hear the whooshing sound of the door opening do you realise your mistake…

HUNTER

The second Hunter enters the room, your scent fills him. And the sight of you that goes with this almost overwhelms him completely. 

When he registers what’s going on, Hunter averts his gaze from you and begins mumbling an apology as he backtracks out of the room. 

This isn’t a predicament Hunter wants to be in nor does he want to just linger there, hating the idea of making you feel uncomfortable. Just as quick as he enters, Hunter leaves again. He doesn’t even give you time to say anything, disappearing out of the room as swiftly as he can.

…Though even after exiting the room, Hunter finds it extremely difficult to get the scent of you out of his system.

Hunter keeps a subtle eye on the entrance to your room while you change, getting ready to stop anyone else from entering. He’s very protective of you and the thoughts of someone else seeing you in such a compromising position makes his skin crawl. 

When you are fully dressed and leave the room, Hunter keeps his distance for the rest of the mission, avoiding eye contact with you and stumbling over his words whenever you join a conversation. 

Hunter knows the awkwardness will pass but he’s not sure if he can ever get the beautiful sight of you in your underwear out of his head. 

TECH

“Oh,” Tech’s grip on his datapad tightens, the sound of his voice making you freeze in place “it appears I’ve picked the worst possible time to enter”. 

Tech doesn’t just stand there gawking at you or stumble over his words. Instead he turns around so his back is facing you and begins telling you why he came in, letting you know about a slight adjustment being made to the plan.

That way he can catch you up to date on the mission while also giving you the privacy to get dressed - and it’s time efficient!

Afterwards, he just leaves as if this is nothing out of the ordinary. He pretends like it never happened but not intentionally ? 

Tech simply accepts it was misfortunate timing and lets the moment pass by, not wanting to make it a big deal and possibly make you feel even more awkward. 

He has no problem moving on almost immediately and acting as if it never even happened. But if you want to talk about it, Tech can do that too, though he will be a little bit surprised that this is something you want to discuss. 

Basically, the last thing Tech wants to do is maximise any lingering awkwardness and so he won’t ever mention this again unless you bring it up first. 

WRECKER

Wrecker has the loudest reaction out of the batch, quickly pulling his eyes away from you and opting to stare at the floor, all while loudly exclaiming “Ah!”, “What in the-”, “Oh my..uh…”. 

He’s panicking, a flurry of emotions and worries flying around his head. Do you think he’s done this on purpose? Why didn’t you lock the damn door?! Is he getting too…um… excited about this sudden predicament? And do you notice that?

If there are any loose clothes near him, there’s a good chance Wrecker will impulsively pick them up and throw them in your direction. “Here!” he flings a pair of pants in your general direction, landing on top of your head and further bewildering you. 

“Take these too -oh, and this!” you manage to take the pants off your head just in time to see a blanket and pair of blacks being thrown your way. 

If there’s any laundry within a five feet radius of Wrecker, he will be throwing it towards you. He means well, doing it with the good intentions of wanting to get you dressed and hopefully ending this whole situation.

When Wrecker leaves, he hurls even more clothes at you, using the bombardment of laundry as cover while he bolts out of the room.

He might be a bit avoidant for the rest of the rotation but as soon as you start up a conversation with him, any awkwardness melts away and he’s fine again.

ECHO

Echo rarely freezes but seeing you so exposed? Yeah, he thinks he may have short-circuited. His jaw drops open at the sight in front of him and for a few seconds, he has no idea what to do, his mind going blank. 

But he’s quick to snap into action once the initial shock passes. Echo tries to cover his eyes but he uses his socket arm which admittedly doesn’t do a great job at blocking out his vision.

Cursing himself, he hurriedly switches and uses his other hand which does a much better job. At least now Echo is too embarrassed by his own actions to realise you’re also a flustered mess. 

He apologises for barging in and you notice the slight change in his tone. He reverts back into his standard ARC Trooper formal tone, a slight strain in his words as he explains why he’s here. 

Echo hopes that if he pretends he’s in a briefing and simply relays the plan to you just like any other time then hopefully his voice won’t shake and he won’t stumble over his words.

He leaves immediately after finishing his last sentence. He's in such a hurry to leave, he almost walking into the door, earning another muttered curse from him. Afterwards, Echo apologises at least 5 more times as well as giving you numerous apologetic glances throughout the mission.

CROSSHAIR

Crosshair doesn’t get flustered. Did this surprise him? Sure but he’s quick to recover, his eyes momentarily going wide before a smirk graces his lips. 

He knows you’re not one to usually get very flustered so it’s kinda funny to see you hurriedly trying to put a pair of pants on, nearly falling over in the process. 

Crosshair leans against the wall, arms crossed as you fumble with your clothes. If you’re a complete mess and flustered beyond belief, he might ask if you need some help just to see your reaction but if he’s in a merciful mood then he’ll bite his tongue. 

Crosshair doesn't turn away from you completely, instead opting to move his head to the side, giving you some privacy while still keeping you in his peripheral vision. He tells you about the change in plan, his voice completely calm.

Before leaving, Crosshair looks back over his shoulder at you, complimenting the colour of your underwear before disappearing out of the room.  

Next time you see him, Crosshair will give you a knowing look, toothpick rolling across his smug smile as he makes a vague comment about what happened. 

It’ll leave the others with confused expressions, having no idea what Crosshair is referring to and it’ll most definitely leave you blushing.

[webslingingslasher]

i woke up mad at peter today <3 he's getting the cold shoulder but trouble and ethan are getting showered in love💋 mwah my babies

you didn’t respond to peter’s good morning text. you usually do, but he assumes you over slept or had a busy morning and there’s nothing in his head to suggest otherwise. that was until he tried to greet you with a kiss and you pushed his face away with the glare of a thousand suns.

‘good morning, trouble.’ when he leaned in, your fingers made contact on his chin, forcing him away from you. peter wants to bang his head into a wall, it’s never easy.

peter looked up to the sky and spoke exuberantly, ‘why? why are you mad at me?’ you think you have a good reason. ‘i woke up mad at you today.’

‘oh, fuck this.’ peter walks away, slowly, just enough to make a few steps before he knew you’d be calling out. except you don’t, you really are mad. peter stomps back up to your side.

‘you really are mad at me.’

you sneer down at him, he’s never seen you so dismissive towards him. ‘you cheated on me. i hate you.’

peter raises his hands calmly, he’s trying not to poke the bear. he’s instantly sweaty, he’s looking at you like he’s about to diffuse a bomb.

‘woah. that’s a fair claim and we should definitely expand on it, but before we do, i swear i didn’t cheat on you.’

it doesn’t work, you look even more pissed. ‘you did. you fucking cheater. i saw it with my own eyes. i hate you.’

peter swears his heart just shattered.

‘hey, trouble. i’m sorry, i’m really sorry i did something to hurt you like that, but i swear i didn’t cheat on you.’

‘i saw it! you were all over her! and you kept making her fucking laugh and it’s all i can hear in my head!’ peter feels like he’s going insane, he can’t remember where he would’ve had not only the gall to cheat, but to do it with you in the same area.

‘who? when?’

you stare at him like he’s stupid, for a second he’s questioning if he really did cheat. ‘last night, peter.’ he has a solid alibi. he wasn’t with you.

‘i cheated on you last night?’

your arms cross over your chest, you snap at him. ‘yes.’

peter’s just trying to get the facts straight. ‘and you caught me with her?’ you try and speed him up, ‘yes, peter.’

one more time, ‘you swear this was last night?’ you roll your eyes, ‘oh my god, yes!’

‘right, right. solid argument, trouble, but, uh… i wasn’t with you last night.’

you’re just as defiant, peter’s excuse meant nothing. ‘no, you were.’

peter furrows his eyebrows, ‘no, i wasn’t.’ maybe you had gone crazy, he wonders if there was a gas leak in your dorm overnight.

‘alright then, where? where did i cheat on you?’

you look away from him, the idea makes you want to hurl. ‘in my dream. it was fucking disgusting and i hate you for it.’

peter feels like he could collapse, you held him on the edge of his seat, punishing him for something he didn’t do just to tell him it was all make believe. he wanted to pinch you and kiss you at the same time.

a smile spreads across his face, ‘oh, thank god. you really had me stressing there for a second.’ for the second time, you dodge his kiss.

‘i told you, i’m mad at you.’

‘but i didn’t cheat.’

you laugh like he thinks he got away with something, ‘sure as shit looked like you, sounded like you, felt like you.’

peter nods, ‘oh, i’m sure it did. but it wasn’t me, me. you know me, you know i wouldn’t do that.’ you sigh, ‘yeah, well, i also thought dream peter wouldn’t do that to me either.’

‘i’m sorry dream peter cheated, i can beat him up if you want.’

you smile wide, there’s no reason for such violence. you pat his arm and push up to kiss his cheek. ‘aw, thanks, petey. but, there’s no need. i already killed him.’

peter gives a faulty smile, he believes you a thousand percent and the look on your face tells him it was bloody. ‘that’s… great. so happy for you.’

[legacygirlingreen]

Drenched in Magic // Sebastian Sallow x MC One shot

A/N: this was a wonderful colab with @darch7995 ! I simply wrote the story for her idea and HERE is the audio she did! Seriously check out her page sometime bc her audios are INCREDIBLE

All screenshot is by @silverxstardust - she’s got great work as well!

Warnings: nudity, skinny dipping, kissing, flirting, etc

Word count: 4k

The burning in her thighs was almost distracting from her current plight. Almost. Not only had Sebastian sallow drug her from the warmth of the castle right before dinner for a brief treasure hunt in the highlands, but he’d gotten more than either of them bargained for when they’d stumbled upon a camp of dark wizards. Unfortunately, one of Rookwood’s men recognized her as the one who’d lead to their boss's demise, quickly alerting others in the camp to her and the slytherins presence, and thus the unforgivables being hurled around them had started.

Sebastian, wanting to make good on his promise to never cast one again, immediately took off running, pushing her ahead of him to do the same. And they had continued running at top speed, using whatever spells could come to mind to protect them as many of the wizards turned into various animagus forms, running beside them as vile creatures like dark mongrels.

She was thankful for the massive amounts of walking, stair climbing and often running required by the average hogwarts student - the castle was large and avoiding detentions meant frequently breaking out into a sprint in the corridors. Slowly but surely Sebastian was able to pause every now and again, firing confringo and various spells at the opponents, reducing the number of wizards chasing them with time.

“Glacius!” Sebastian shouted as he hurled the spell out over his shoulder before carefully pulling her body into his. She initially went to protest his move as he pulled her along, seeing no point for him wrenching her into his side, but as the lime green ball of light flew past her body, the place she’d previously been standing, she realized why he had done so.

Having no time to focus on that, she turned around, seeing the enemy frozen in place by Sebastian, and deciding that given the man had attempted to use Avada Kadavra on her, then she was justified in using extreme force…

“Diffindo!” She shouted, turning back around to the difficult to see path in front of them as they continued to run. Pushing ahead of Sebastian, who was slowly starting to waiver with his pace, yet she could still feel him on her heels as they ran.

“Have I ever told you that I really like those trousers ? Like really like them” Sebastian said as they pressed on.

“We are running for our lives, and all you can focus on is my wardrobe Sallow? I never knew you were such an observer of fabrics. Perhaps you should fill that open position at Gladrags now that Mr. Hill’s assistant eloped!” She retorted, annoyed he could find time to flirt with her despite their situation.

“Hard pass. It’s less about the trousers, and more about what’s in them that I find so appealing” he responded and she didn’t have to see his face to know he was smirking.

“Perhaps wait until we are no longer in danger to make comments on my-“ she coughed and although hilariously timed it was mostly from the exertion to her lungs. “Assets?” He asked mischievously, accentuating the former part of the word.

It was at that exact moment she felt a firm smack against the same area she could feel his eyes staring despite running in the nearly pitch Black Forest.

Quickly tossing a side eye over her shoulder as they ran she frowned, realizing that even when their lives were at stake, he was still going to behave like a pig. Figures. Before she could even open her mouth to question him further he responded cheekily.

“I believe it’s called multitasking darling, you should try it someti- Incarcerous!” He shouted, and she heard the thud of yet another body drop to the ground as she turned to see a man tied to the ground. Feeling Sebastian’s hand grabbing at hers, she didn’t question when he thrust his non-dominant hand into her own and began to yard her along.

“Multitasking?” She whispered under her breath rhetorically but Sebastian only chuckled at her stunned reaction.

“Multitasking. Like saving your ass, while also staring at or ” Sebastian trailed off, once again reaching down and this time grabbing a firm handful of her bottom as she yelped, not expecting him to have done something so untoward with their lives on the line.

“What in Merlin's name?!” She cried out, and just as she went to yell at him for his behavior, she saw movement out of the corner of her eyes shouting “Bombarda!” Watching how the witch who’d meant to attack them, flew back against a tree with a sickening smack.

“Now what did that witch do to you to deserve such excessive force darling? Could it be you’re reacting this way because you’re riled up?” He teased her, deciding they should make a stand against the few wizards closing in on them. Sebastian knew that deep down if angered enough or truly threatened, the girl would unleash unforeseen magic that would reduce enemies to shreds.

“Riled up? Riled up?! Why on earth would I be riled up Sallow?!” She asked him frustrated at his behavior while the exhaustion burned in her lungs. She was so angry at the boy for continually making passes at her then backing away. He was such a horrendous flirt in private yet when questioned by Ominis, Poppy or any of their other classmates he seemed less than interested in her. The constant confusion grew more and more frustrating to her, as with time, she’d come to really like the boy.

He was tall - much taller than he had been in 5th year - and had only grown more handsome as he’d aged. His wild brown hair had only gotten more unruly. His smile, still charming and full of light. His shoulders, more broad and his frame filled out with more muscles than she’d have expected. Gone was every trace of baby fat, however still the boyish appearance she grew to love had remained somehow. I’m his dimples, in his eyes and in his playfulness. Sebastian sallow was by far the most handsome man she’d laid eyes on.

Giving her that charming Sallow smile he lightly pulled her body behind his own as he cast protego and a red beam from the bushes beside them cast off his forcefield as she gasp. She needed to stop allowing herself to become distracted during dangerous scenarios, as he was capable of flirting and fighting apparently but she couldn’t hold her own when he was standing so close.

Trying to separate from him once more, he pulled her against his body tighter, casting her a warning gaze downward as he continued the onslaught of teasing by saying “not yet princess” just before another beam bounced off his forcefield.

It frustrated her that he continued to harass her. It frustrated her that he was so damn good at fighting while also riling her up. It frustrated her to know that he was so calm under pressure all the while she was dying within his hold. She was frustrated he held her that way and still he refused to make a move unless under life or death scenarios. It frustrated her the way his thumb stroked against the skin of her thigh gently…

As soon as he deflected the charm, he dropped the protego. And she’d had enough between him and the dark wizards after them both. Feeling the electricity so frequently in her veins charging the air, she decided that now was as good a time as any to let it go. Pointing her want to the sky, she saw the remaining three enemies closing in, pulling down a lightning bolt from the heavens as she reduced the last three of their enemies to ash.

“Wow. It still amazes me how incredible you look when you pull that magic out of thin air. A thing of dreams truly” he said as he continued to hold her against him by the hand he’d moved from her thigh to her waist, and cast down a sly grin with a small wink.

At that she huffed, pushing him away and brushing herself off. She ran a hand through her disheveled hair, realizing that her braid had mostly come undone and recognized soon she’d likely have to redo it. Finally able to catch her breath she walked forward, seeing that one of the fallen wizards had dropped a small coin purse ahead of her, and just as she reached down to grab it she heard Sebastian call out for her.

“MC look out!” She didn’t have much time to react before he hurled himself towards her, tackling her into some bushes as a loud whooshing sound and an animalistic growl filled the air.

“Falling hard for me now aren’t you MC?” He asked with a chuckle as he held her cradled against his chest , ignoring the fact that a River troll had already spotted and charged at them.

Rolling off of him and onto her back, she quickly picked herself up and moved out of the way. Unfortunately Sebastian moved the other direction, as the troll moved between them, cornering her back against its den. Continuing to swing its large staff at her, she continued to dodge and deflect while whatever spells Sebastian hurled seemed to do little damage to it.

Concentrating, she used her ancient magic, spurring herself past the beast and landing herself next to Sebastian, at least she attempted to do so, but miscalculated the distance, crashing into him and sending them both flying backwards. As they did so, she could feel his arms once again snaking around her to cushion her fall.

Immediately all she could feel was warmth. Sticky, warmth and the most foul odor she’d ever smelt. Troll boogies.

“Oh that’s downright foul… and here I was having a good hair day” Sebastian chided out before he rolled out of the barreling troll's way.

As the beast reached its staff up to swing at her, she lifted her wand, using ancient magic once more and catching its weapon mid air, flinging it back into the trolls face, disrupting it before once again calling down the lightning to finally defeat it.

Looking over she saw Sebastian staring up at her from the ground with a smirk on his face.

“Don’t.” She warned him as she examined the absolutely filthy state they found themselves in. Covered in dirt, sweat, blood and now troll boogies.

“What?” He asked feigning innocence as she rolled her eyes

“You know what.” Her tone was threatening but Sebastian hardly seemed to mind as he continued to mess with her.

“You know, I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to look sexy while covered in troll boogies but here you are, proov-“ Sebastian was interrupted by a loud howl.

“You have got to be kidding me!” She replied, annoyed at the now incoming mongrels. Deciding she was done fighting for the time being she reached a hand out to Sebastian, and with him distracted she decided to use her newly acquired skills in apparition to get as far away as she could with a location she knew well in her mind…

“Wha-“ Sebastian looked slightly green at the sudden transportation but quickly regained composure before adding “if you wanted me alone darling all you had to do was say so”

Instead of reacting, she simply swatted him away, heading out from the entrance of the cave. Hoping to leave before Sebastian asked too many questions, she knew that the small borough of bainburgh was nearby, and there they could access the floo flame to get home.

“What is this place?” Sebastian asked, seeing the large carving of the graphorn above them, and she sighed seeing he had firmly planted himself at the entrance to the last keeper trial - the one she had gone in only a few years before.

“This is the entrance to the last keeper trial. I uh, had to tame a graphorn and it opened the door” she exclaimed casually as she continued to hope that he would shuffle away and drop the conversation.

“You what? There’s, but you, how?” He asked, still in shock at what she had told him. She simply shrugged asking “can we leave” while gesturing to the mouth of the gorge as he gave in and followed her.

“Why did you never tell me?” Sebastian asked softly.

“It happened around the same time as the catacomb. You were grieving. I didn’t want to bother you with all the keeper stuff. Then Fig- we don’t need to talk about it.” She explained and he relented, knowing that she often bottled up her emotions, as he did.

“Where are we heading?” Sebastian asked, allowing a change in subject.

“Bainburgh is not a far walk from here, we can take the floo -“ she started but he interrupted.

“It’s past curfew so the floo is shut off to the castle. That and I uh… dropped my bag of powder back when I knocked you to the ground” he exclaimed sheepishly.

“Wonderful. I just want to get these troll boogies off me.” She said rolling her eyes as they came to the beginnings of the forge, seeing jobberknols flying overhead before landing above a waterfall.

Sebastian seemed to have noticed the small pool of water at the base of the cliff as well bc he looked to her, wiggling his eyebrows as he pulled her towards the water.

“Well then Princess, your wish is my command. I’ll have those boogies off you in no time” he exclaimed as he marched the pair of them over to the water's edge.

“Sebastian that water is likely freezing, besides I can assure you, the extent of the grime I want off my body goes much further than what you can see” she nearly whined out, desperately wishing she’d stayed at the castle. She would’ve been bathed and in her night dressing, long asleep if he hadn’t convinced her. But one look into those puppy dog eyes and she'd been a goner.

“Warming charms exist for a reason. And as for the rest… I won’t look if you don’t” he teased, dropping her hand to start working off his plaid school jacket and starting to unbutton his waist coast.

“You can’t be serious” she deadpanned

“Deadly. Besides I heard that once dried, troll boogies are nearly impossible to get off your skin and hair-“ she started to explain and the fear alone of being caked in the vile substance was enough to have her started to undo the latches on her corset style vest.

“Fine. But I’m serious Sallow, no peaking” she warned and he turned out. As he did so, she faced the waters edge, knowing he’d given her the privacy of going into the cool water first. Slowly she removed layer after layer until she was bare, undoing the already messy braid, before wading into the cool water until it covered her from the neck down. In the moonlight she realized how difficult it would be for him to actually see anything, a comfort that allowed her to call to him.

“Alright, I’m facing the wall if you want to come in now” she exclaimed and she had anticipated him to slowly walk into the water as she had, but at the final piece of fabric she heard hit the ground, she soon was sprayed with the large splash his body made as he dived into the water.

Coming up for air he chuckled, expertly swimming towards her, while maintaining a respectable distance as she felt the cool water against her nipples.

“Damn, forgot the warming charm” he reminded her and she sighed realizing they’d be cold until they got out.

“I can go get my wand if you promise not to look-“ she tried to reason but he only swam closer, stopping just shy of her before standing up. While she was covered almost entirely, the tops of his shoulders and chest came into view. Seeing the patch of hair covering the center of his chest her words faltered on her tongue.

“See something you like darling?” He asked at her fish out of water expression.

“I - I’ll get my wand. Excuse me” she went to move but he reached forward, grabbing a shoulder to stop her, keeping his body at a slight distance.

“You know there’s other ways to keep warm right” he teased and she’d finally had enough.

“Would you stop it sallow!” She demanded with a frustrating sigh, pulling free of his grasp as she ducked completely underneath the water to rinse the last of the grime from her hair before breaking the surface.

“Stop what?” He asked, and if he hadn't moved closer while she was under the water, she wouldn’t have been able to see his genuine confusion, not just the fake innocence he loved to tease her with.

“Stop flirting with me when you have no intention of actually following through with anything” she warned and he quirked an eyebrow at her, continuing to close in on her as she moved back.

“What do you mean ‘no intention of following through’?” He asked, quoting her and she shrugged.

“I know you only flirt with me for fun or to see me get frustrated. It’s all some game to you, I know it’s not real” she replied somewhat sadly as she stilled her movements, sinking into the water some more, leaning her head back to see the stars as she felt the cool highland air nip her nose.

“That’s quite a bold assumption to make.” He replied, somewhat defensively but also slightly upset that she would assume something so poorly of him.

“Is it? You never have made a genuine attempt at courting me. Only making obscene comments every now and again or teasing me just to see me blush, then laughing at how red my face gets. How could I not assume it’s some game to you?” She replied, not looking at him as she continued to stare at the stars while soaking in the water.

“Have you perhaps considered that I am just bad at expressing my emotions. That it’s easier to make lighthearted jokes at the things that scare me” he asked her and she pulled her head back up, water drops sliding down her face and neck as she pushed all her hair back.

“I scare you?” She asked confused.

“MC, you terrify the shit out of me” he exclaimed with a distant look in his eye and for once she decided that perhaps she should be the one to tease him instead. Moving closer to him, she stopped just shy of his body, pushing him down so he was covered more by water and level with her.

“You said that troll boogies are hard to remove once they dry” she claimed, pointing to his hair which he has still yet to properly scrub.

“I mostly said that to get you naked.” He admitted bluntly

“Well you got me naked and now I’m offering to make sure all the grime is out of your hair. Can you just shut up and let me help you” she replied and he could only bring himself to nod as she moved behind him, and he dipped his head back as she had previously.

She brought her chilled fingers up to his soaked locks, feeling how silky his hair felt when wet and separating the strands from the sticky substance they had both fallen into earlier. Eventually she worked his hair until she was certain it would be salvageable with a real bath. Noticing the serene expression he wore as he had closed his eyes she commented “you really like having people touching your hair, don’t you”

“Only if by ‘people’ you mean the most beautiful witch I know then yes, I do enjoy it” he replied, looking at her before he pulled his head back free from the water and turned his body to her.

“Do you have an off switch somewhere I’m not aware of?”

“I do, but I’m not quite sure you want to put your hand on my cock and -“

“Sebastian!” She interrupted as he chuckled.

“Sorry, you sort of walked into that one” he gave her a toothy grin before noticing her mild shaking. In the brief amount of time they’d been in the water she was already cold.

“Here I can see you are freezing” he said holding out a hand and she shook her head.

“You think I’m just going to let you feel me up because I’m cold?” She asked and he shook his head with a curious grin.

“I didn’t realize that was on the table, perhaps that’s a better idea than what I had in mind-“ he teased only to feel her smack the exposed skin of his back.

“Feisty. I was going to try wandless magic but I wanted you to be behind me in case we have another confringo style disaster. As lovely as you are, I’d hate to see you without those eyebrows that are so often furrowed at me” he explained and she realized he was simply moving his body in front of hers and she accepted his hand, trying to ignore the way her thigh brushed against his leg as she moved around him in the water. Even the briefest skin to skin contact sent shivers up her spine.

Carefully using wandless magic he was able to slightly raise the temperature of the water around them until it was no longer freezing but it was still by no means pleasant.

“There, don’t want to get too crazy and turn us into a caldron but that’s an improvement… are you feeling alright?” He asked her sudden concern and if she had to guess it was over her distant expression which has resulted from the brief touch under the water.

“Never better.” She said bluntly as she looked at the way the moonlight reflected off his dark eyes or his soaked brown hair clung to his forehead instead of the fringe’s usual place of being pushed off his face.

“Are you sure?” He continued to step towards her with concern.

“Positive” she replied, stepping back, only to find herself up against a rock in the water as he kept coming forward. eventually planting himself directly in front of her, to the point she could feel the occasional brush of his legs against hers as the water lapped around them and the most from the waterfall fell around them.

As Sebastian looked at her with her flushed cheeks, she looked down embarrassed to have been caught in this position with him, but as she did so she realized that the faintest outline of her breasts would be visible through the surface of the water. Looking up at him, she saw his vision trained on exactly what she’d noticed.

She couldn’t find it in herself to reply as his eyes snapped back to her own. Instead she let him take the lead, pushing his hand out and planting himself against the rock behind her as he scooted closer.

“Are you as scared of me, as I am of you MC, because I gotta tell you: dark wizards, mongrel and trolls don’t scare me, but this terrifies me” he admitted while looking at her through downcast eyelids. She didn’t say a word, only flickering her gaze down to his lips as he continued to press his body closer. Bringing a hand up she laid it on his chest , but didn’t push him away, simply holding it there. Underneath her palm she could feel his heart pounding. The feeling of his heartbeat and the nervous shakiness in his breath told her he wasn’t lying.

Finally finding the last bit of courage she pressed off the rock and slowly brought an arm up to loop around his neck, her body floating in the water as she gently tread. At first he seemed surprised but quickly wrapped an arm around her bare waist, feeling her soft skin with the other.

“Positively terrified Sallow… are you too frightened to kiss me or..?” She teased and he leaned in pausing only briefly as he hovered his mouth over hers to ask

“You know there’s no going back to the way things were before if we do this?” He asked and she nodded, tipping her face up and closing the gap to answer his question.

He groaned at the feeling of her lips on his and the gentle way she clung to his body for support as he could stand in the water while she was too short. Hoisting her up slightly, he moved a hand down to grope her curves under the water's surface as they kissed.

Breaking away he remarked “Merlin you’re so beautiful” he said sincerely as he rested his forehead on hers.

She giggled at his compliment, kissing his nose before responding “easy for you to say when you’ve already gotten me naked and we haven’t even been on a proper date”

“You don’t think slaying trolls isn’t a wonderful date actively?”

“Certainly not traditional”

“Have either of us ever been traditional?”

“No I suppose not” she replied once again chuckling.

“Come here, how often do we find ourselves truly alone… I’m not wasting a second of tasting those sweet lips of yours” he demanded, pulling her close as they kissed under the moonlight, entranced in the pool together

[bellysoupset]

Ahh love Max already! 😍 Would love a part 2 with Vince driving and taking him home, him just being so dazed and nauseous the whole time

Typed at the speed of light, part 2!

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

Max wasn't sure which way was up and he was fine with it. As far as he was concerned, he really didn't need to move for the rest of his days. Not when every single movement caused his stomach to surge up his throat and his belly to complain loudly.

There was a noise outside of the nurse's inner office and Max forced the eye that wasn't currently pressed to the thin pillow to open. His sight was blurry and it took him a minute to realize that the giant at the door certainly wasn't the insufferable school nurse, Mrs. Doyle.

"How are you?" Vince's voice was soft, but it still felt like his whole head was gonna explode from the tone. Max curled up, pulling his knees to his chest and shivered violently.

"Dying."

Vince chuckled at that, "yeah, okay-" he crossed the room and Max let out a groan as he felt the guy's huge hands on his arms, forcing him to sit up.

The movement made his head swim and the blonde let out a groan as his spine all but gave up on him, his face mushing on Vince's chest.

At least the guy was quite comfy, Max thought sleepily, sinking into his warmth-

"Hey," Vince patted his cheeks, "wake up, c'mon."

"Gonna hurl," Max groaned, grimacing at the patting sensation and forcing his eyes open again, "my gutssmessed up."

Vince snorted, "I really don't think you have anything left to puke. Where are your car keys?"

"You robbing me?" Max frowned, beyond confused and Vince's eyebrows took a dip at the middle, before they cleared up.

"No, you idiot, I have a motorcycle. I can't drive you home on that."

"Ah," Max nodded, then pressed his forehead to Vince's shoulder again and let out a heavy sigh as he felt the nausea come back up, "you should... move."

"Car keys?" Vince squeezed his nape and Max let out a little burp, feeling his whole body jostle with a hiccup.

"Ba-AG!" He hiccupped mid sentence and let out a groan as the act brought up another burp and with it the taste of his lunch. He knew having lunch was a mistake when his belly had already been super unsettled in the morning, but Max had simply blamed that on five beers he had had the previous night.

Alcohol always messed up his gut, he had no idea why he continued to drink it. But then again, almost everything in excess messed up his insides, he was used to it by now.

"In the bag... Teacher's lounge..." Max squeezed his eyes shut and gulped down as he felt his mouth fill up with spit and his tongue curl. He let out a little moan, feeling hot all over and then retched, his stomach squeezing painfully.

Nothing came up, but that didn't stop his body from trying again and again.

"Yeah, I got his address with Shelley," Vince's voice drifted through the open door that led to the front of Mrs. Doyle's office, "unless he moved and didn't notify the school, I know how to get there."

The nurse answered something, but Max couldn't hear her as yet another heave hit him and this time he did manage to bring up some meager amount of bile. He whined, opening his eyes and letting out a relieved sigh as he realized Monacelli had put the trash bin between his legs.

"Alright," the other teacher said, walking back in the room, "let's go."

"Can't- can't-" he gulped down twice, in order to force just the words up and not more stomach lining, "can'tmove."

"I can carry you," Vince opened a smug smile and Max' ears burned with embarrassment and humiliation. The fucking asshole was enjoying himself.

"GoUrp-" he interrupted himself with another retch and dived for the trashcan between his knees, coughing and heaving until a weak splash of chunky vomit fell inside of it. Max let out a groan, feeling utterly humiliated, "please, just kill me."

"Are you done?" Vince asked, ignoring his whining and Max gulped down, forcing up a little burp and then nodded.

"For now... Don't feel empty thought..."

"How in the hell?" Vince frowned, but stepped closer and pushed the large trashcan out from between Max's legs and then grabbed the other man by the waist, pulling him to stand up, "let's just get you in the car, okay?"

Max ducked his head and closed his eyes, vertigo be damned, as Vince pulled him into the hallway. His feverish mind kept flashing back to the classroom and the fact he had gotten ill in front of all his seniors. He was so fucked.

He hoped he could get a whole week off, because there was no way he'd be able to face the kids just tomorrow.

"Alright," Vince patted his shoulder and suddenly Max's body was put gently against cold metal, "you good to sit in the car?"

"Are you a doctor...?" Max forced his eyes to open and rubbed angrily at his forehead. Monacelli was fucking fretting over him and they didn't even know each other. For the second time even!

"What?"

"You're all over me," he cleared up, "were you a doctor in the army? What's up?"

Vince's eyebrows raised, "I'm... I'm being a decent person?" he cocked his head, "you don't have anyone to pick you up and you hurled all over and you're burning up. You'd rather I called a cab and that's it?"

Max frowned, feeling a jolt of annoyance. He knew he had no one to come get him, he really didn't need to be reminded of that.

"Yeah," he scoffed and Vince rolled his eyes.

"Get inside the fucking car."

"This is kidnap," Max groaned, but did fall into the passenger seat and closed his eyes, "you're kidnapping me as revenge for breaking your arm."

Vince chuckled at that, the sound too loud in the cramped space of Max's pick-up. He slammed his door shut, "oh yeah, all I ever wanted was to kidnap my middle school bully."

Max groaned at the word bully. He had been called this before, you didn't stay in the same town your entire life and not deal with the fact you had made some kids' life hell. He was aware he had been more than just a prick when he was 12, but that didn't make him feel any better.

At least most of the kids he had bullied had either moved out or forgiven him. Some of them were parents whose kids he taught now and that made parent-teacher nights extra awkward, but only fucking Monacelli was his coworker.

"I'm really sorry about that," Max grumbled, pressing his overheated forehead to the window and gulping down as the car movement made him even queasier, "and today."

"Today's not really your fault," he could hear Vince shrugging, "so you live here all alone? What's up with that?"

Max frowned, wiped the sweat that was collecting over his lip and lowered his window to get some cold air and hopefully push back the nausea, "it's not- It's not all alone," his stomach turned and he breathed carefully through his mouth, "my mom lives here still. Dad next town over."

"It's just you? No siblings?" Vince wasn't bothering to hide his curiosity and Max shook his head, planting his sweaty hands on the dashboard of the car and glaring at his boots. Someone had wiped them clean, probably the janitor. There was a big dark wet spot at the toes.

"No, it's just me."

Vince didn't say what he was thinking but Max really didn't need him to. He had been a teacher to Sophia and Livia for the past three years. He was well aware the Monacelli family was as tight as they came. Hell, he had heard about Vince before ever meeting him, the football star who got himself a full ride, who was now coming back to be a teacher.

Their principal, Fernanda, a woman in her early forties who had an upbeat, hip attitude, and was entirely the reason for Max getting hired in the first place, had been terrible eager about the new history teacher.

Max thought Vince's entire concept was so fucking annoying.

The car took another turn and his stomach sloshed, gurgled audibly and caused Vince to squeeze his arm, "you holding up?"

He nodded, blowing out a burp under his breath and gulping down the stomach acid trying to creep up, "how much more?"

"I think we're here..." The car slowed down, but didn't stop and Max looked up. They were in his shitty street alright, his tiny two bedroom just at the end of the street.

"Just over there," he pointed and Vince hummed, picking up some speed.

As soon as Vince parked, Max pushed the door open and heaved in the gutter. He coughed and coughed, until more bright yellow bile splattered in the dry leaves, grabbing on the door handle with all his force to keep from falling out of the car.

"Jesus," Vince thumped his back softly, "get it up, man."

"Hurtss..." Max groaned, as his throat and stomach ached something fierce. He really wanted to be knocked out.

"Let's get you inside with some water, c'mon," Vince jumped from the car and circled it quickly, in order to help him out. Max slapped his hand away the second he felt steadier on his feet.

He wasn't a total invalid, this was just a flu. A terrible, biblical-plague levels, stomach flu, but just a flu.

The blonde stumbled for the door, pressing his forehead to the wood and breathing deeply as he tried to make his hands stop shaking in order to unlock it.

"Give me that," Vince snatched his keys with a scoff, "and stop making my life harder."

"G'away," Max mumbled, thumping his forehead to the door, "you can go now."

"Get in bed and drink some water and I'll go," Vince shoved him forward unceremoniously when Max made no movement to get inside upon the door unlocking, "go."

Max groaned at the shove and stumbled in, falling against the couch. He had no strength to make it to his bed, even if that wasn't far at all given the fact his apartment was as tiny as they came.

He rolled on his back and watched Monacelli look around, wrinkling his nose in a judgmental manner and causing Max to scowl, "you're an ass."

"And this place looks like a cave," Vince shrugged, ignoring the insult and shoving the living room curtains open, forcing in some sunlight. He walked around, his giant form feeling completely out of place in such a cramped space, "where do you keep your meds?"

"Get out of my house," Max groaned, but his eyes were heavy once more. He shuddered as a wave of revulsion hit him and rushed to roll on his side, but there really wasn't anything else in his belly, not even water to bring up.

Instead he dry heaved until his ears were ringing and the couch felt like it was swimming. A huge hand grabbed his chin, then his nape- Then a cold glass pressed to his mouth and he almost choked with relief, drinking it greedily- Only for the glass to be removed.

"You'll make yourself sick," Vince sighed, crouching next to the couch, "lets see if this stays down."

"Why are you herestill...?" Max mumbled, curling up and feeling Vince pull on his shoes.

"I'm asking myself that," Vince scoffed, then Max winced as he felt the other man drape a blanket over him, "get some sleep."

"You're so weird, man," Max sighed, letting sleep pull him down, "no self preservation."

[bunny-yan]

Cyborg!Yandere x GN!Reader

Thank you @slutforconan for responding to my sleeping post!

TW: language, violence, discrimination, implies drunk intimate relations, sin menores

—

You weren’t prejudiced. 

Seriously, you weren’t. You’d had a number of experiences in life to teach you just how little differences there were between you and people who looked differently than you did. There were more cases of people who looked exactly like you and your lives were nothing alike. 

At the end of the day you understood that others had their own set of struggles to deal with and so you tried to keep an open mind. Especially when everything in you wanted to deny it. 

Sure, you hated kids but you had gained the right to look down on them after passing that insufferable age. Disliking the generation that came after you was a rite of passage that everyone would experience as far as you were concerned. And for all their wisdom was worth, older people could really grate on your nerves. You believed you should respect your elders, but when they used your inexperience of years on Earth to preach about how you were everything wrong with the world, you remained respectful by letting their “wisdom” go in one ear before traveling out of the other. 

We get it. You’ve been here a long time. 

So you were at odds with others. It was only natural considering how many varying opinions there were in the world. It didn’t mean you were prejudiced. If everyone got along, world peace would’ve long since been achieved and it hasn’t. 

Especially after the Cyborg Program had been approved. 

Imagine a world where machine and man became one.

It was as if bioengineers had reached into heaven to act as the goddess as more and more people became something akin to superhumans. 

Super strength, speed, power, intelligence, all achievable if you decided to enter the government’s special program. They’d replace your organs with technology, injecting nanobots into your bloodstream to slowly acclimate your system so it could handle the rapid upgrades it was receiving. They made it possible to leap over buildings, lift objects that weighed tons, run long distances in the blink of an eye, and calculate complex equations as fast as a computer could. 

It was the evolution of human beings. The beginning of a new era. 

A violent one. 

More people were against the new age of man than you expected. Protests outside of organizations that modified the human body or produced the technology used for it happened almost everyday. 

While some believed it to be a mockery against the goddess, others didn’t like the idea of androids “stealing” jobs meant for “humans.” An cyborg with super strength could replace twenty workers and that meant twenty workers would have to look for work elsewhere. Though one needed a permit that was difficult to acquire and special permission from the government to hire an android, it was a prominent fear nonetheless.

Things got heated to the point where you couldn’t walk outside with modifications on your body without being assaulted in some way. 

A nasty barrage of insults hurled from across the street, mixing in words like “robot” were common. It was considered a slur against androids as it implied they weren’t human, but to the unmodified they weren’t. 

Many debated what made a human being, be it a beating heart, the ability to feel and express emotion, or a soul, but an answer was never found and the flames were only fanned when cyborgs decided to retaliate after being subjected to unfair treatment. 

They were labeled violent, monsters that had an insatiable desire to kill the moment they got the chance. Despite the fact that human on human crime had a much higher rate than android on human violence could ever have, they passed the undefinable line as other. 

Tensions were high, but the dam was broken when a group of humans attacked an android that tried their best not to fight back for fear of hurting them, but the surge of malice exploded after the android’s arm was torn off and plastered to a modification center’s walls. 

Riots erupted across cities, cars and buildings became collateral in the battle of human versus android, a battle that wouldn’t have lasted long if the androids truly intended to kill the humans that persecuted them, but it didn’t last. 

The government deployed troops to stop the riots, declaring martial law and forcing citizens to stay in their homes until they could figure out a way to contain the escalating situation. 

Their solution, placing cyborgs as helpers in neighborhoods and intensifying the punishment for violence used against cyborgs. The goal was to create a delicate peace as people were consistently exposed to androids in a positive manner, really selling that “Cyborgs are human too!” mindset.

As dumb as it initially sounded, you couldn’t deny that it definitely worked. You could go outside without fear that you’d stumble upon an ongoing battle on your way to work. It was common sense to avoid the sounds of gun shots and screaming, but you’d had the misfortune of parking near conflicts once or twice. 

Now you could travel to your car in peace. It wasn’t uncomfortable being outside, but it did make you nervous when he would visit to see if you needed help with anything. 

He’d been introduced to the tenants on your floor as the cyborg that was apart of the integration program. 

You didn’t see how anyone could be at ease with that intense scowl he always wore. You saw it so often that you figured he’d greeted the doctor with that exact face at his birth. He was dark, broody, and you couldn’t help but admit handsome. It made you wonder if some of the androids had decided to get plastic surgery along with the other body modifications because it felt like a sin for someone to be as hot as he was. 

He was eye candy that you couldn’t help but stare at, but it made you nervous to do so when it was just the two of you alone together in your small apartment. 

Though you insisted that you didn’t really need anything, he went around fixing things as he pleased like a handyman. The squeaky door, the cracked tiles in the bathroom and kitchen, dusty furniture, dingy carpet, leaking roof, flickering lights. Your apartment sounded like something straight out of a horror movie, but you’d been busy with work and the landlord had been promising to see about your issues for the last couple of months so you wouldn’t be accepting any criticism. 

You’d thank him and he’d respond with a small nod. When making dinner, you’d ask if he wanted anything and he’d always respond that he was fine. 

After the first couple of weeks, you forced him to sit at the table with you. Not only did you feel extremely rude to eat while he stood like a weird loner in the corner of your apartment, it was awkward and you refused to leave things the way they were if this was going to be an ongoing relationship. 

It didn’t take much prodding. For all of his ominous brooding, he was a pretty agreeable guy. You’d begin to get excited whenever he’d come to visit you. His time would be spent watching a movie with you instead of cleaning or talking together as you taught him to cook some simple dishes. Apparently cyborgs didn’t need to eat often, but it was still an enjoyable experience if they kept their taste receptors, which he did. You found out in one of your conversations that he was a pretty avid drinker and after a night of questionable decisions and more drinks than you could remember, you woke up with him in your bed. 

Naked.

Initially you freaked out, feeling that this was going to ruin the relationship that you’d built by making it awkward whenever he came by, but if you were telling the truth, you remembered everything that happened. You’d come onto him and he allowed it to happen. 

It was truly an unforgettable experience. 

You couldn’t really think of a downside to allowing this to happen if you were both up for it. He was handsome, a great conversationalist when he wasn’t brooding, and you’d learned he was breathtaking in bed. 

Literally. 

He was your breathtakingly brooding cyborg boyfriend. Or, boyfriend rather since being an cyborg was a secondary characteristic of his identity that had no real impact on your relationship other than the whispers and side eyes the two of you would receive if you ever went out together on dates. 

Which, unfortunately, didn’t happen often. 

You asked him why he didn’t take you out more and he claimed it was because he could tell that you were uncomfortable with receiving so much negative attention. He didn’t want to be a stressor in your relationship and claimed he’d much prefer hanging out at your apartment. 

It was sweet. You couldn’t deny that he was being very thoughtful, but that excuse got old after a while. You tried to explain to him that you’d have to get used to it eventually. Unless the two of your broke up and you decided to date a regular guy, not that he wasn’t a regular guy just a modified guy and nothing was wrong with that, the attention you received wouldn’t change. 

His eyes got dark at the mention of you dating someone else, brooding as he seemed to think over your words. You thought that it was cute, but you were even happier because it seemed as if you got through to him. 

You were wrong. 

The insufferable bastard would follow you to your car, making you sit in the passenger seat as he drove you to work. Sweet, sure, until he’d only allow you to travel by car when he accompanied you. Not only did he not bother taking you out on dates, he also refused to let you accompany him to do simple things like shopping at the grocery store. He even confiscated your keys to make sure you couldn’t go anywhere on your own. If you wanted to be obstinate you could walk, but you weren’t stupid. You were aware of the possible dangers you faced in your neighborhood considering it wasn’t the safest place. 

You were beginning to get angry. To tell the truth, you were past the point of anger. You were seething with rage, but your lid only burst after he attempted to change the locks on your apartment door so you couldn’t go anywhere while he was assisting the other tenants. 

The two of you got into an argument that shook the thin walls. 

He claimed he was only trying to protect you and you yelled that he was going overboard. He’d crossed serious lines and you felt he was suffocating you in your own apartment. 

You tried to get him to see your side, but he was steadfast in his belief that he had done nothing wrong. You couldn’t remain calm. You were a ball of pure rage after he called you inconsiderate. All you saw was red as you yelled at him to get out. You told him that you didn’t want to see his face, that everything between the two of you was over. 

He’d stood there for a moment, shocked at your words, but he left nonetheless. 

You slammed the door behind him, locking it and shaking as you told yourself not to cry. It didn’t matter that you had ended your relationship. It wasn’t good for you. 

He was pig headed and controlling and you didn’t care that you would no longer be able to cuddle up to him during a bad movie that the two of you would make fun of. He wouldn’t hold you and softly proclaim his love or say sappy things that you didn’t imagine he was capable of. You’d no longer get to ask him about what it was like to be a modified human being and he would no longer tell you he was happy that he kept his touch sensors because he liked your warmth and the feel of you against his skin. 

You hated that it felt like your heart was trying to claw it’s way out of your chest. So you did what you normally did when you were faced with a pressing issue. You drowned yourself in blankets and fell asleep. 

You couldn’t tell how long it’d been, falling asleep rather quickly due to your overwhelming mixed emotions that your brain was exhausted from handling, but you’d woken up when you felt an arm wrap itself around your waist. 

You looked out into the dark in alarm, but your body eased instinctively when you heard his voice say that he missed you so much he couldn’t sleep as he pulled you into his embrace. 

You wanted to call him a liar. You knew he didn’t really need to sleep often. It was a part of his modifications. The nights you spent together, he held you as you slept, listening and waiting for your breathing to even out. He once told you that the sight of your sleeping face was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

You frowned, feeling unsure, but you closed your eyes as you leaned closer to him. You could argue with him in the morning. 

For now, you were just grateful that he was by your side. You didn’t want to admit it, but your bed felt empty without him. 

[madaqueue]

Dripping in Gold | Chapter 2

synopsis: finding a job was never easy, and why even bother trying after you meet satoru gojo, a man with mysterious and exorbitant wealth, who wants nothing more than to spoil you with it? the only caveat to your little arrangement is that it can never, ever, become personal.

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au, sugar daddy gojo. language, smut. fingering (f receiving). 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.3k

a/n: my gojo brainrot is hitting this man is all i've been able to write about the past two weeks hELP somEBODY HELP MEE

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A week after your first date with Gojo, he randomly calls you while you’re in the middle of making lunch.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he purrs through the phone.

“Hi Gojo,” you respond flatly.

“Wow, I was hoping for a bit more excitement,” he chuckles, “especially since I have good news - your car is fixed!”

“Oh my god, thank you!” your tone softens as you remember you are actually grateful; he really did come through for you on this.

“Don’t thank me just yet - remember how you offered to repay me?” he asks slyly.

Of course. You knew he was too good to be true - he fixed your car, now you have to sleep with him. For a moment you nearly forgot the transactional nature of your relationship, and even though you had already decided you want to hook up with him, it still stings a bit.

“Well,” he continues in your silence, “in exchange for my generosity, how about you let me take you out for lunch today?”

You chortle in surprise. “Seriously, that’s all you want from me?” you ask incredulously.

“C’mon now, you’ve got to stop thinking so lowly of me, I’m actually quite the gentleman once you get to know me,” he laughs. “Anyways, I’ll meet you at your place in 15 minutes. Wear something cute for me, m’kay?”

He hangs up as you pull your phone away from your face. The smell of something burning hits your nose as you realize the grilled cheese you had been making was slowly frying to a crisp on the stove.

Well, good thing I’m going out for lunch.

Riffling through your closet, you search for something that would meet Gojo’s idea of “cute,” hurling jeans and leggings across your room. The closest thing you find is a plain white dress you got a few years ago that’s slightly stained, but you hope he won’t be able to tell. Again, it’s not like you’re made of cash, especially after you had to use what he sent you from your last date to cover rent and groceries.

Exactly 15 minutes later he pulls up outside in a different car than the one he let you borrow over the past week, this one a flashy red sports car with a logo you don’t recognize. He hops out to open the door for you and you take a seat on the cool leather, the tantalizing scent of his cologne hitting you as he returns to the driver’s side.

He looks over at you through round sunglasses, taking in your outfit. “With all due respect, what the hell are you wearing?” he teases.

“You told me to dress cute, this is the best I’ve got,” you explain, hands moving over your lap to try and cover your dress as embarrassment washes over you.

“No, no, this won’t work,” he tilts his head away from you. “Okay, we’re postponing lunch to go get you some actual clothes.” Before you can protest, he puts the car into drive and speeds out from the parking lot.

While he drives his hand idly finds its way back onto your thigh, a feeling you didn’t realize you had missed so much until you notice pressure building between your legs and nervousness in your stomach. Every so often you steal glances at him, his white hair somehow perfectly ruffled and blue eyes slightly shaded by his sunglasses. The white button-up shirt covering his torso looks freshly ironed yet hastily rolled up above his elbows, his plain black pants perfectly hugging his waist. He really is gorgeous, you think to yourself.

He eventually stops the car outside of a store you’ve never seen before, likely because it’s in a part of the city you could never afford to go to, until now. The exterior is unassuming, a simple brick facade and plainly lettered sign. Gojo gets out of the car first before opening your door, taking your hand in his as he leads you up the stairs and inside. The store itself is well-lit, with a faint scent of rosemary hanging in the air.

An attendant greets you without looking up until she finally glances over at the two of you. “M-Mr. Gojo!” she exclaims, surprise evident on her face. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t know you’d be in today, your tailor isn’t here-”

“No worries,” he cuts her off with a calm smile, “I’m actually not here for me.” He pulls you up next to him, a hand going around your waist as though it was second nature, and you feel the warmth of his body against yours. “She needs something cute.”

The still-flustered attendant nods. “Of course, I’ll take you back to your dressing room and grab a few things for her to try.” She gestures you both to follow as you walk to the back of the store, past racks of clothes that look straight out of a catalogue.

Who the hell is this guy? you think as you walk next to him. You are led to a curtained-off area with a deep purple rug and matching couches that surround a central mirror, additional racks of suits lining the remaining walls.

Glancing around you notice a small nameplate hanging by the entrance. ‘Satoru Gojo’ is embossed against the gold, light reflecting off it slightly.

“Satoru?” you question, reading it aloud.

“Mhm,” he hums as he sits down onto one of the couches, legs sprawling in front of him. “That’s my first name, but nobody really uses it. I mostly just go by Gojo.”

You plop down next to him, enjoying the feel of the velvet texture beneath you. “Well, do you prefer ‘Satoru’ or ‘Gojo’?”

“It depends,” he starts, putting his arm around you and pulling you closer to him. “If it’s a pretty girl like you saying it, I don’t really have a preference.” You blush as his face slowly gets closer to yours. “Although, I think ‘Satoru’ is probably a little easier to scream when I’m-”

His words suddenly cut off as the attendant walks back in, arms full of dresses. You’re grateful for the distraction that allows you to turn away, hoping he didn’t notice how red your face was getting or how fast you started breathing. Something about him makes you so nervous, like a kid with their first crush. You’re better than this, aren’t you?

With a huff, the attendant sets the dresses down in the middle of the room before hanging them up one by one on a nearby empty clothing rack. “I think I got your size right, but do let me know if you need anything tailored and I’d be happy to help. I’ll leave you two to it, let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you!” she waves, stepping out of the room.

Now alone with Gojo, you find yourself tense, heart fluttering in your chest as he traces his fingers along your jawline, landing on your chin to turn you back to face him. His eyes stare into yours as a smirk draws at the corners of his lips.

“So, you wanna give me a little show?” he whispers, so close you can feel his breath against your face. His eyes travel over your shoulder to the clothes rack behind you as he tilts his head, releasing his hold from you and leaning back. “After all, these aren’t going to try themselves on.”

Trying to steady your breathing, you stand up and attempt to ignore how shaky your hands are as they move to feel the clothes hanging up. The textures are almost impossibly soft, with colors from yellows to blues and reds, a rainbow of beauty in front of you. Glancing down at the price tag on one dress, your eyes widen.

“Gojo, these are like $2,000 each, I can’t-” you start, slightly panicked.

“Hush, this is my treat,” he says nonchalantly with a wave of his hand, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the couch. “Besides, getting to see you in these is worth all the money in the world.”

You blush again, a soft, “Okay,” leaving your lips as you pick out a dress from the rack.

Each one you pick up is more beautiful than the last as you work your way through the clothes. Gojo insists on helping you zip every single one up and has you twirl around, a smile permanently plastered on his face. He murmurs some version of “gorgeous,” “beautiful,” or “perfect” when he sees you in each dress, and truthfully, he makes you feel it. You find yourself giggling and practically skipping around the room as you dance around the man who’s making it all possible as he just watches you with joy in his eyes.

Finally, you near the end of the rack as you put on a flowy, off-the-shoulder dress that looks like the color of the sun. It hugs your body perfectly and you can’t help but stand in front of the mirror, spinning back and forth as it flares out around your waist.

All of a sudden, you feel the warmth of Gojo behind you as his hands wrap around your waist, his head settling in on top of your shoulder. He looks at you in the mirror, slowly taking in your beauty.

“This is the one,” he whispers into your ear. “Get all the others, I don’t care, but this is the one you’re leaving here in.” All you can do is grin and nod, your cheeks flushing at his words.

The two of you stand there for a moment, Gojo’s hair softly tickling the side of your face as his hands trace along your hips, moving down to run the hem of the dress through his fingers. He tilts his head down slightly to place his lips against your neck, softly kissing the space above your collarbone.

Instinctively, you lean your head back as your eyes close, taking in the feeling of his body against yours. Your hips press against his, the hands that rest against your thighs pulling you into him further. He bites softly against your skin, eliciting a moan from you as you raise one of your hands up to the back of his head, gently rubbing an undercut you didn’t know he had before you bring your fingers higher into his hair, loosely twirling the white locks through your palm.

One of his hands trails under your dress between your legs. He pauses momentarily, lifting his head away from your neck so his mouth hovers next to your ear. “Tell me what you want, princess,” he hums.

Eyes still closed, warmth begins to build in your stomach at his touch. The only thing you know in this moment is that you want him.

“You,” you whisper, “I want you, Satoru.”

Hearing you voice his name, a soft moan leaves his throat as his lips reattach to your neck, gently sucking your skin just enough to leave a small bruise. His fingers continue their path until they reach your clothed cunt, a breathy chuckle from Satoru telling you that you’ve soaked through your panties. His fingertips ghost over your folds, the gentle sensation making your hips slide forward, desperate for more.

“P-please,” you whine, moving back against his body as you suddenly feel his cock start pressing against your ass through his pants.

He slides your panties to the side and brushes his fingers over your clit, the roughness of his fingertips making you squirm from pleasure. His hips start grinding against yours, craving the friction your body provides.

Moving down slightly, he presses against your entrance before slowly sliding two fingers inside you. Fuck, it’s even better than what you imagined. You tilt your head back further and feel a moan start to leave your throat, when suddenly his lips are on yours. His tongue slides into your open mouth as the pace of his fingers picks up, curling inside you as he finds the spot that makes you shudder against him. You both forego air as you sloppily kiss one another, releasing a need within you that you didn’t know you held.

Satoru continues kneading his fingers inside you until the familiar tension begins to build in your stomach. Pulling away from his lips for a moment, you moan his name. “I-I’m close,” the words catching in your throat, eyes shut tightly from pleasure.

You hear him chuckle behind you. “Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he purs as his lips return to your neck. You do as he says, focusing your gaze in front of you, and your eyes meet his through the mirror. “I want you to see how pretty you’re about to look when you cum for me.”

At that he thrusts his slender fingers further into you, thumb hastily drawing circles over your clit as you watch yourself get closer to the edge. With one hand in his hair and the other grasping onto his wrist, you try to stabilize yourself as your knees begin to give out. His free arm wraps around your waist to hold you up as you begin to lose yourself, eyes threatening to close as you try to maintain your gaze ahead.

“That’s my girl,” he hums. His words are barely audible over your moans as you feel waves of pleasure crashing over you, the only sound leaving your mouth a broken cry of his name.

His movements finally slow as he pulls his fingers out of your sensitive cunt, never breaking eye contact with you through the mirror as he lifts them to his lips, opening his mouth to lick your sweet essence off them. Pausing for a moment, he admires you - your taste, your delicate hands clutching onto him, your flushed cheeks. He places a kiss on the side of your mouth as you try to ground yourself, knees still shaky underneath you and only able to remain standing thanks to his hold on you.

“So,” he smirks, his eyes lighting up as he looks at your pretty face in the mirror, “where should we get lunch?”

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[zaceouiswriting]

Snowy Winter Fun

Character: Male reader x Theo Raeken, Male reader and The Pack

Universe: Teen Wolf

Warnings: None, just fluff

Laughter has taken over the empty fields before me. In the distance, I can hear Christmas carols. It is all a part of a little tradition we started just the year before. It's a fun time. The whole pack and all their friends, including myself, have gathered once again at my residence on the edge of the forest on the outskirts of the town. My house overlooks several acres of land that were once agricultural soil but are now completely empty. All belongs to me as I was my grandfather's heir when he died last year.

Everyone is having fun, even Stiles, who has gotten grumpy most of the time. We've been having a snowball fight for the last hour, at least until most have become exhausted. 

For those who are too exhausted, I offer to go in and make them hot chocolate, which they, of course, accept with joy. But just as I'm about to enter my house, tragedy strikes: a dull pain on the back of my head makes me stop. Turning around, I look at everyone standing still. Just as surprised as me. If it weren't for the grin on his stupid face, I would have never known that Liam had thrown the piece of frozen water at me. 

“You little shit!” I mutter under my breath, quite angry but with a crooked grin.

Without saying anything else, my red Alpha eyes lit up, signaling the little Beta that he was going too far this time. Even from a distance, I could see him swallowing anxiously. Since his Alpha wasn't there, as he wasn't welcome on my property, he must be shitting his pants right now.

As I start to run, so does the little shit. The snow makes it almost impossible to use my supernatural speed. Even though I almost grabbed him, he freed himself somehow from my grip.

“Theo, get your feral boyfriend under control!” Liam shouts at my loving boyfriend.

Usually, a sharp look at him would be enough to stop him from doing anything, but this time, it seems different. Theo, for some reason, is ready to intervene.

"If you prevent me from getting this little shit," I scream loudly as I still have my gaze on Liam, but I wasn't finished yet. Gradually, I shift my attention from Liam to Theo and glare at him intently before continuing, "You will be sleeping alone for the rest of your life!"

Without another word, he throws his arms up defensively, steps back, and apologizes to Liam, “I'm sorry, little wolf, but I can’t.”

Liam looks genuinely hurt for a moment but quickly regains his composure. In an angry tone, he shouted, “You whipped idiot! You sacrifice your friend to get laid?”

“You have no idea how warm he is,” Theo tells him casually.

Liam turns his head to look at Theo, his face twisted in disgust. But he didn't slow down like I had hoped. Even though the uneven and slightly slippery ground isn't great for speed, the little shit somehow can run like there was nothing there.

Suddenly, Isaac steps into my way. In a soft voice, he asks, “Don't you think it’s enough? Liam looks terrified.”

Without uttering a word, I swiftly grab his arm, hoist him up into the air, and use my power to hurl him to the ground. Then, I step beside him and push his head into the snow.

“I hope the snow tastes good, pretty boy,” I tell him with a shit-eating grin, and I immediately run after Liam again. But out of nowhere, Brett stands in my way with his arms outstretched. Just before I can crash into him, I grab his arm and throw him away. Instead of running after Liam again, I jog towards Brett and push his head into the snow. With the same shit-eating grin, I ask him, whispering in his ear, "Was it worth trying to protect your little secret friend?"

Standing back up, I could instantly see Theo glaring at me. With my hands raised defensively, like Theo had done before, I ask him, “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Pretty boys?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, visibly annoyed.

I jog to him and smile brightly. I quickly wrap my arms around him. We stare into each other's eyes. My heart jumps several times just looking at his handsome face and beautiful eyes. 

“They’re pretty, yes,” I begin to speak but got punched by Theo in the stomach before I could continue. “Fair enough,” I murmur. Before he can hit me again, I catch his hand and whisper in his right ear, "But you're the hottest guy I've ever seen."

I can see a fire igniting in his eyes. Before he can react, I steal a quick kiss from his sinful lips, which now usually would be all over my neck to mark me.

“Not now,” I tell him, pushing him back slightly so I can quickly run away. But before I get far, I'll cast another look back. “Now I have to catch the little shit and spank some sense into him.”

Suddenly, I hear a squeak in the distance. As I follow the sound, I can see Liam standing there, fear written on his face. His loud swallowing can be heard across the empty field. This time, I react faster than he does. But he starts running only a few seconds later. Still, I'll grab him even if it's the last thing I do!

[Masterlist]

[heliads]

Hii! Can I please request getting into an argument with Pietro Maximoff after fem!reader put herself in danger to protect him?

pietro maximoff the man that you are

masterlist

Keeping Pietro Maximoff in check might just be the hardest job there is. You have years of S.H.I.E.L.D. training, not to mention countless dangerous missions under your belt, yet trying to keep him out of trouble is the most difficult task so far. 

It’s like the guy has a death wish. Every time you’re in a situation that goes even remotely south, Pietro is hurling himself at the speed of light towards anything that could possibly cause harm. It’s like he’s a magnet attracted only to getting totally annihilated in a fight. 

The problem is that Pietro does all this and is good enough that he still wins, so he never learns his lesson. No matter how many times you chew him out for neglecting to take proper stock of a situation before running headlong into danger, he’s able to grin at you and say that seeing as he completed the objective of the mission, he doesn’t see anything wrong with it. 

Now, what you see wrong with it could fill several books, but apparently you’re the only one who realizes that. Every time you bring up the fact that Pietro is going to get himself killed, the speedster just laughs it off. He’ll say something about how he’s so touched that you care, but never actually change. 

It’s infuriating. Being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, you’ve heard a thousand and one lectures on the importance of sticking by the books and doing things right. Why Pietro seems to think otherwise, you’ll never understand. The problem is that he’s your mission partner, so his recklessness is your issue. If Pietro were by himself, he could chase death as many times as he wants, but he’s on your clock, and that means you need to get him under control.

You’ve tried every trick to get him to focus and follow the rules of S.H.I.E.L.D.-ordained combat, but nothing works. You train with him for hours in the Avengers facility; he gets better at martial arts, sure, but then he just knows more tricks for disarming enemy agents as he charges them. You present lecture after lecture on proper battle strategy; he ignores them all.

At one point, you got so annoyed that you requested to get another partner. Most Avengers have a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent that they work with in teams of two on missions. It’s rare that all of the Avengers called out together, after all. Most of the time, one or two of the heroes is all that’s needed. As a bit of an insurance policy, Fury decided that the Avengers would each work with a specific agent. That way, the agent could plan out countermoves and make sure the plan works before they rush in and save the day.

Before you were landed with Pietro as your assignment, you were used to working alone. All agents are, it’s what you’re taught to do from your first days in S.H.I.E.L.D. academy. Sure, you can work with a team if need be, but you can also complete a mission meant for ten all by yourself. You’re damn good at it, too; that’s why Fury chose you for this whole partners idea with the Avengers. He knew you could handle yourself and someone else. You could watch a thousand backs if need be, but right now, the only people in this world you have to protect are yourself and your partner.

It would be wonderful if you could have been placed with a reasonable Avenger, though. You were really angling for Natasha Romanoff as the two of you were already friends, but some rules were bent and now Nat and Clint Barton are partners. You’re not about to argue with that, though. Fury knows no one gets stuff done like them.

There were many other options, though. You could have been placed with Steve Rogers, now that’s someone who always has a plan. Even Tony Stark is capable of critical thought. But no, Fury thought you’d work best with Pietro Maximoff. You’d never accuse the director of lapses in judgment, certainly not to his face, but maybe in private you’d whisper it in the recesses of your own head. Fury makes no mistakes, but this isn’t working in the slightest.

You may not be able to do anything about it, but you can certainly complain to Natasha whenever you please, and so you do. The two of you are fixing up your weapons now in preparation for upcoming missions on the other sides of the world. Your hands stay busy with bullets and barrels, but your tongues aren’t exactly idle either. You and Nat are some of the best agents in the game, and that means you’ve got vaults of gossip that could ruin half the agency.

Pietro is always your favorite topic of conversation, though, and today is no exception. You and Pietro will be heading out on a mission early tomorrow. Although you made sure your briefing presentation was as easy to understand as possible, you’re certain that he’ll still find a way to blow it all off when the time comes.

You grimace as you fiddle with the trigger of your second favorite pistol. “I just don’t get it, Nat. Pietro knows the stakes of this mission. He knows the stakes of every mission we’ve gone on. So why is it that he completely disregards everything we’ve agreed upon to hurl himself into trouble the second things start getting dicey?”

Natasha chuckles. “Maybe he does it to get a rise out of you. You know Pietro, the guy can’t take anything seriously.”

“I’m well aware of that,” you groan, “and it’s working, to be sure, but come on. The missions are intense, even for me. I can’t be trying to complete the objective and drag his ass out of danger every five seconds.”

Natasha taps her fingers against an empty cartridge as she thinks. “I know you love to complain about him, but in all honesty, the two of you do work really well as partners.”

She holds up a hand when you shoot her an incredulous glance. “Yeah, yeah, he’s a pain to work with, but it’s true. I mean, have the two of you ever failed a mission? Neither of you have ever been injured more than a sprained ankle or paper cut. For the level of danger that you’re encountering, that’s really impressive. You’re human, Y/N. The fact that you have yet to get seriously hurt on any of these ventures is crazy.”

You lean back against the wall as you think about what she said. “That’s mainly because Pietro draws all the enemy fire by doing his usual shenanigans. While the enemy agents are distracted by him, I take them out. It works, yeah, but–”

Nat cuts you off. “But it works. You’re an agent, Y/N, you know things can’t always go according to your plan. If it’s good, then it’s good.”

You make a face. “I hate it when you make sense. What if I just want to complain about him and his stupid troublemaking attitude?”

Natasha cracks a grin. “That’s something entirely different. That’s completely fine.”

You laugh at that, but even after the conversation switches topics, you’re left wondering about what Natasha said. She’s not wrong, is she? Pietro does get the job done, even if he does it in the most baffling way known to man.

Still, you would appreciate it if he could give even a little bit of a heads up when he feels like doing something strange. When the next morning comes around and it’s time for the mission to begin, you find yourself wondering what on earth he’ll get up to this time.

Pietro greets you outside your assigned Quinjet with his usual grin. “Wonderful to see you, L/N.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “You’re just as charming as ever, Maximoff. Ready to go?”

“Always,” he assures you, and offers you his hand to help you inside with all the mock solemnity of a proper gentleman.

You don’t have much time to get irritated by Pietro’s antics, however. All of your missions have been dangerous, but this one is going to be even more of a challenge. You’re going to be infiltrating a HYDRA complex in the hopes of breaking out an important prisoner. HYDRA is expecting you to come, so this isn’t going to be easy in the slightest. The enemy base is going to be a stronghold, and every guard there is just waiting for someone to try making their way inside.

That’s why you and Pietro are going to have to stick strictly to the plan, as you make sure to remind him. He nods solemnly, the picture of perfect attention, but you have no doubt that he’s already forming his own plot for when the time is right.

Regardless of what Pietro decides to do, the strike has to begin. The Quinjet lands in the woods a short distance from the HYDRA facility, leaving you and Pietro to sneak through the surrounding brush and enter unnoticed by the guards.

This, of course, is easier said than done. You and Pietro have to take out a fair number of HYDRA soldiers before you can even reach the door. After that, you have to present modified ID badges and enter passcodes before you can enter. The HYDRA guards on the inside are surprised to see unfamiliar faces walking through the door, but you and Pietro take them down without too much trouble.

The real issues start happening as the two of you approach the detention block. Although you hid the bodies of the guards to the best of your ability, it was only going to be a matter of time before they were found. You’re about two halls away from the cells when alarms start blocking. You and Pietro lock eyes before you start to sprint for the detention area.

Guards are already converging on your location, but you shoot them as they come. S.H.I.E.L.D. has a spy on the inside that was able to get the two of you functional key cards, and you’re able to swipe your way into the cell block as quickly as you can. 

Pietro stands by the door. “Get our guy, I’ll keep the guards from swarming.”

You nod once and rush towards the rows of cells. So far, all is proceeding to plan, even if the guards have been alerted to your presence earlier than you’d like. Your eyes scan the names next to the cells, and you sweep from one door to the next in search of your hostage.

At last, you find her. She’s a key scientist that Fury has been wanting to recruit for forever, and he has a feeling that getting kidnapped by HYDRA will be the last straw she needs to defect to your side. You swipe your key card and let the scientist out. The two of you start to run past Pietro, and that’s when you see it.

He’s getting himself into trouble again. No surprises there, but man, you really wish he would just follow directions. Pietro was supposed to only shoot at guards from the door and wait for you to arrive before attempting to take out anyone else. Instead, he’s left his station and is currently charging down the hall towards a big pack of soldiers. It’s a stupid move, especially because Pietro has his back turned to the other end of the corridor where another group of HYDRA agents is running towards him.

You swear under your breath, then shove an extra pistol in the hands of the scientist. “Shoot at anyone that shoots at you,” you hiss, “I need to go save my partner.”

She starts to open her mouth in surprise, but you’re already sprinting down the cell block. You leap through the door and hurl yourself towards the squad of guards that Pietro doesn’t see. You fire round after round, taking out as many agents as you can, but obviously this isn’t going to end well. There are far many more of them than there are of you, and you left your six undefended in your rush to make sure Pietro made it out alive.

You’d like to say that your little diversion allowed both of you to escape unharmed, but unfortunately that isn’t the case. Pietro is fine, as he’s able to take out the guards on his side of the hallway without any injury, but you’re not so lucky. You manage to get to the corridor just in time to see one of the HYDRA agents approaching Pietro’s back fire off a shot. You shoot at the other guards and see them all fall, but when it comes to the bullet spiraling towards Pietro, the bullet he doesn’t see, there’s only one thing you can do.

You’ve been shot before. Every agent can claim some bullet wound to the legs, stomach, arms. At S.H.I.E.L.D., people like to claim that it’s a rite of passage. You’re not a true agent unless you’ve gotten hit. You passed that particular ritual a long time ago, but you forgot how much it hurts to get shot.

The bullet hits you in the side. You manage not to cry out, but you still make a sort of gasping sound. It was quiet, barely there at all, yet somehow Pietro hears you anyway. He turns around in surprise, and you have the perfect view of how his face contorts in horror as he realizes that you’re hurt.

He’s at your side in an instant, one hand reaching towards you to stop the bleeding. “You were supposed to stay at the door until I reached you,” he whispers.

You arch a brow. “Surely you’re not telling me to stick by the plan.”

You were joking, but Pietro flinches like you’ve slapped him. “I’m getting you out of here. Now.”

He moves to pick you up, but you shake your head. “Get the scientist. I can walk.”

Pietro looks like he wants to argue, but the severity of your glare is enough to convince him otherwise, even if he doesn’t like it. Through some minor miracle, the three of you are able to make it back out of the base and towards the Quinjet. You leave a trail of bodies in your wake as you fight through squad after squad of HYDRA agents, but it’s done, and that is what matters most.

The scientist is shown to a room in the Quinjet, and you make your way to the medical station as the aircraft takes off. You’ll check into the med wing at headquarters once you touch down again, but you can at least assess the damage to your side now.

You’ve cleaned the wound and are in the process of bandaging it up when Pietro shows up. Usually, he walks around every room like he owns it, but this time he hangs in the doorway as if unsure of what he’s allowed to do.

You jerk your head towards him. “You can come inside, you know.”

He walks quietly inside. “Is it bad?”

You glance towards your side as if unaware of it. “The bullet wound? It was just a graze, no worries. I’ll be fine.”

Pietro clenches his jaw, then forces himself to relax before speaking again. “Yeah, but what if you hadn’t been fine? If you had just waited for me to come back, this wouldn’t have happened.”

You laugh bitterly. “If I had waited there and done nothing, you would have gotten shot. You didn’t know those agents were behind you, so I took them out. End of story.”

Pietro shakes his head. “No, you risked yourself unnecessarily. I had it under control.”

Your brow furrows. “I’m sorry, are you trying to argue that I was wrong to try and protect you? In case you forgot, that’s my job.”

“No,” Pietro asserts, “that’s my job. I keep you safe and you complete the mission. That’s the way it’s always been.”

You can’t believe him. “I think you mean that you do your best to seek out as much danger as possible and I complete the mission in spite of it. That’s the way it’s always been.”

“You don’t understand,” Pietro begins.

You scoff. “I certainly don’t. Why are you so upset about this? I did what was necessary to keep you safe. That’s not something you get to be mad about.”

His eyes flash. “It is when you get hurt. Do you know why I do what I do, Y/N? Why I seek out as much danger as possible, as you put it? I do it because when they’re firing at me, they’re not firing at you. You’re the one who needs to stay safe. You’re the one who’s most important.”

“Why would that be?” You ask confusedly.

Pietro spreads his hands simply. “I need you to be alive. You may not realize it, but you’ve got more worth than just a weapon. I want you to be safe.”

You shake your head slowly. “That makes no sense.”

The corner of Pietro’s lips quirks up, making his smile lopsided. “Doesn’t it? Does it really come as such a surprise that someone here might care about you?”

“Only that it would be you,” you breathe.

He leans forward to blot away a smear of blood on your hand. “If you think about it more, it might not surprise you anymore.”

You feel frozen in place, unable to do anything except stand there and stare at him. 

Pietro grins, clearly enjoying the wave of emotions currently storming through your mind, then leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you around, L/N.”

He turns around to leave the medical station, and you shout at his retreating back. “You’re incredibly infuriating, you know that?”

You can sense Pietro’s grin even though you’re not facing him. “Love you too!” He calls back. You’re left standing there, grinning to yourself, filled with some emotion you don’t think you could name if you tried. Love you too. Yes, perhaps you do after all.

marvel tag list: @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @callsign-scully, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43

[nicklesbam]

Hello, could you possibly do a sam carpenter x fem reader where the reader had a nightmare about sam being the killer and then the reader like wakes up like panicked and shaking and it wakes sam up and sam comforts her? If not then it’s totally fine!!🫶🫶

of course

Y/n was walking down town when she heard her phone ring. She checked to see who it was but the number was anonymous. She debated if she should answer the call but decided to do so in case it was one of her friends

"Hello?" She spoke with a soft voice. She heard breathing on the other side of the line. She almost hung up thinking it was a prank call

"Hello y/n" a deep voice spoke. She started to get nervous

"Do I know you?" She kept her composure tight. She started walking down an alley to get to her shared apartment with her girlfriend and their friends

"Oh you have no idea. How's that girlfriend of yours?" Y/n froze on the spot, her breath caught in her throat

"If this is a prank it's seriously not funny asshole" she tried to speak confidently but her voice started to tremble

"I know its not. I want to see what your insides look like" the deep voice spoke maliciously. Y/n started frantically looking around her

"I'm serious! I'm hanging up" she went to press the button before she heard rumbling behind her. She quickly turned to be met with nothing

"You hang up and I'll gut you like a fish!" The deep voice sounded angry and out of patience. Y/n's breath started to speed up

"What the hell do you want from me?" She spoke in fear

"I told you, I want to see" she started hearing the voice behind her, "What your insides look like!" She turned quickly to be met with a Ghostface mask. Y/n tried to turn away and run but the killer caught her arm before she could

The killer revealed their knife in their hand, ready to stab. Y/n knee'd the person in their stomach and as they lurched over y/n tried to make a break for it. It wasn't too long before the killer caught up to her and knocked her to the ground. Y/n looked into the masks eyes in terror that this might be her last day on earth

The killer grabbed the bottom of their mask and lifted it. Their face was uncovered and it was Sam

"Sam!? Why are you doing this!? Please let me go!" Y/n pleaded with tears in her eyes. Sam smirked down at her girlfriend

"Sorry baby, it's time for you to go" Sam spoke with amusement in her voice. Sam pulled the knife back with both hands and the knife cam hurling forward

Y/n woke up with heavy breathing. She quickly removed the blankets from herself and huddled her feet towards her chest. Y/n started crying from fear, she couldn't think about anything else in that moment

Sam blinked her eyes quickly. She heard y/n's sobs and immediately sat up

"Y/n?" Sam asked still groggy. Y/n flinched when she heard Sam's voice, "honey are you ok?" Sam tried to move her hand to y/n's arm but y/n flinched away and looked up to Sam with fear and guilt in her eyes

"Hey, hey. Baby it's alright, it's ok. You're fine. I got you, you're ok" Sam came closer and rested her hands on each side of y/n's face. Y/n couldn't move. Sam moved to lay behind her and pulled her into her chest while wrapping her arms around her

"You're safe, I promise" Sam spoke while lightly playing with her scalp soothing y/n. Y/n clung to Sam's arm on her stomach. After a minute y/n had calmed down

"Are you ok?" Sam asked softly. Y/n didn't say a thing. Sam became increasingly worried

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sam asked. Y/n pondered on whether or not to tell her that she had a dream where the love of her life killed her. Ultimately she decided to or else she wouldn't be able to look at Sam

Y/n softly removed Sam's hands and turned to face her

"I- um had a dream where you were the... k-killer and you went after me" y/n admitted. She could see the hurt and guilt in her eyes. Sam always wanted to protect y/n against the hate Sam got for woodsboro but she couldn't stop it all. Too many people online talk about it for it not to pop up anywhere on your social media

"I would never hurt you y/n. I just want to keep you safe. I'm sorry you got involved in all of this, I never meant for this to happen" Sam apologized. Y/n had a sorrowful look on her face

"It's not your fault Sam. People are just assholes and completely oblivious. You almost died and now you're getting blamed for it. You have nothing to apologize for to me" y/n spoke softly and held Sam's hands. Sam smiled softly at the reader

"As long as you're wiry me I will keep you safe and I would rather it be me than you. I could never lose you y/n" she spoke honestly. Y/n smiled softly. She laid back down on Sam's stomach

"I'm sorry for waking you up" y/n mumbled. Sam huffed a smile

"It's ok, wake me up anytime you need" Sam bent down and placed a kiss on the top of their head

[birdiesaves]

THE MARTIAN ( novel by andy weir ) change as necessary !

mankind reaching out to send people to another planet for the very first time and expand the horizons of humanity blah, blah, blah. 

i’m pretty much fucked. 

they got the parades and fame and love of the world, i got a firm handshake and a hot cup of coffee when i got home.

i would only be “in command” of the mission if i were the only remaining person.

what do you know? i’m in command.

it wasn’t your fault. you did what you had to do. 

in your position i would have done the same thing. 

it was a ridiculous sequence of events that led to me almost dying.

everyone thinks i’m dead. 

ok, i’ve had a good night’s sleep, and things don’t seem as hopeless as they did yesterday.

i won’t be able to whip something up with tinfoil and gum.

fear my botany powers!

but hey, time is the one thing i’ve got.

i wonder if they'll ever find out what really happened.

i’ll spare you the math. the answer is _________

bleh. i’m going to bed

my life depends on you

i played a lot of dungeons and dragons.

i have an idiotically dangerous plan 

i suppose i’ll think of something. or die.

the answer is: i don’t know.

all i accomplished today was thinking up a plan that’ll kill me

also, i have duct tape. 

after a search of everyone’s personal items i found my answer.

that was sarcasm, by the way.

this all sounds like a great idea with no chance of catastrophic failure.

do you have any idea the magnitude of shitstorm this is gonna be?

how come aquaman can control whales? they’re mammals! 

i expected it to be cold, but jesus christ!

now, on to my next task: sitting around with nothing to do for 12 hours.

i ask for a picture and i get the fonz?

the whole world’s been rooting for you. 

really looking forward to not dying. 

please watch your language.

sorry we left you behind, but we don't like you.

you're sort of a smart-ass.

your request for “anything, oh god anything but disco” is denied.

no. you’ll fuck it up and die.

i took it apart, found the problem, and fixed it.

i don’t see anything... i can hear it, but... it’s down here somewhere, but i don’t know where.

the subtle and refined “hurl my body at the wall” technique had some flaws. 

named after the greek goddess who traveled the heavens with the speed of wind. she's also the goddess of rainbows.

i'm not giving up. just planning for every outcome. it's what i do.

your poster outsold the rest of ours combined.

why are you such a nerd?

you should try to be more cool. wear dark glasses and a leather jacket. carry a switchblade.

you started my training by buying me a beer.

so now i have to do boring-ass experiments with test tubes and zzzzzzzzzz....

frankly, i suspect you're a super villain.

just once i'd like something to go to plan, ya know?

no? ok... what was that!? oh, nothing? ok...

for now i just want to go home.

there's always hope

are we just watching a tragedy play out?

you’ll survive this. i don't know how, but you will. 

i've defiled enough historical sites for now.

tomorrow night, i'll sink to an all new low!

tomorrow night, i'll be at rock bottom!

be a smart-ass to a guy seven levels above you. see how that works out.

i remember when you were shy

the attitude comes with the job

and by “enjoying” i mean “hating so much i want to kill people.”

there aren't many people who can say they've vandalized a three billion dollar spacecraft. but i'm one of them.

what's our role in all this? if something goes wrong, what can we do?

how do you come up with this shit?

i admit it's fatally dangerous, but consider this: i'd get to fly around like iron man.

i need you to come back in and make a bomb.

i knew that guy was a mad scientist!

i think we should just go with my iron man idea.

well if you won't let us then- wait... wait a minute... i'm looking at my shoulder patch and it turns out i'm the commander. 

give me a minute. you're the first person i've seen in ______.

i think about the sheer number of people who pulled together just to save my sorry ass, and i can barely comprehend it.

i represent progress, science, and the interplanetary future we’ve dreamed of for centuries. 

they did it because every human being has a basic instinct to help each other out. it might not seem that way sometimes, but it’s true.

yes, there are assholes who just don’t care, but they’re massively outnumbered by the people who do.