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lifblogs · 1 month

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Lula/A Good Name

Week 8 Alt. Prompt: Lula @summer-of-bad-batch Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2586 Summary: Crosshair watched the bomb go off by Wrecker's head on their last mission, and now he sits by his bedside, riddled with guilt. He's dying to do something good for his brother, so Crosshair goes on a little shopping trip, Hunter and Tech following along. A/N: I have been in a weeks-long mental health episode, but I am glad I wrote this. Maybe I'm back to writing. Guess we'll see! READ ON AO3

Wrecker writhed in his bed, moaning, and Crosshair squeezed his hands more tightly together, mouth drawing into a firmer line. If anyone looked in they would think by the tensing of Crosshair’s muscles, the hard set to his face, his eyes, that he was in physical pain as well.

He supposed watching Wrecker felt like that. There was an ache in his chest, and already he could feel the sore, brooding tension in his shoulders and neck from endlessly watching over him.

Crosshair knew Wrecker’s injuries were due to some mistake, some statistic that could happen to anyone in Wrecker’s position on the battlefield, that mistakes did happen.

Still, the sinking pit in his stomach, the monster gnawing at his chest, shredding him, its venom infecting his veins, told him that this was his fault. His.

After all, wasn’t Crosshair supposed to watch every single member of his team, battlefield terrain permitting?

He had had an eye on Wrecker, had watched the bomb go off near his head, had watched his helmet be ripped off from the heat and pressure a mere moment—less than the blink of an eye—before the fire and shrapnel hit. Crosshair hadn’t been able to see then, his view overshadowed by the raging flurry of orange-white flames where he knew his brother’s head was. He knew he had reacted quickly, that he’d called for a medic, that he had shot down any enemies trying to take advantage of the break in their line, had informed the rest of the squad…

Crosshair had been told by Hunter, by everyone that he had done the right thing, that he was a hero.

Crosshair didn’t feel like a hero. He felt utterly helpless.

That’s what he had been up on his perch. Helpless. Was he a hero to not be able to reach Wrecker himself? Did heroes hide and watch while their squad was out facing the real fight?

Over half the time plans did end up calling for him to be down in the dirt with them, for his armor to get as scuffed and marked up as theirs. And he knew his job was important, and he was kriffing good at it. Still…

Why did he feel so terrible about this?

They had often done training for field medicine, Hunter was a little too good with his acting sometimes, making everyone’s pulse kick up for a bit as their bond and instincts kicked in, and other times there was getting injured from training. He knew these kinds of things happened, had seen plenty of regs with scars. But Wrecker? He wasn’t meant for this, was he?

Apparently he was, because he lay there, tossing and turning in his bed in the medbay on Kamino.

Training didn’t prepare you for the gore, the sounds of pain, the screaming. At the time they had all thought their training had been tough, but now he realized it was mere child’s play. This wasn’t Hunter making his eyes go blank and his breaths slow to almost nothing, body going limp, as they pretended to patch him up. This was something real, something they hadn’t been trained for.

Wrecker mumbled something, and turned his head, giving Crosshair an excellent view of all the heavy bandages that covered up a horror story of pain.

Crosshair’s throat ached. The now-unending helplessness that hadn’t ceased since the bomb went off near Wrecker’s head tugged at Crosshair’s tear ducts.

Wrecker winced.

Crosshair wished he could get someone to give him more pain medicine, but he’d already checked so many times he was bound to get himself kicked out of the medbay soon. Besides, Wrecker was pumped full of pain meds. His injuries were just that painful, that ruinous, that not all of it could be mellowed.

The others of the Bad Batch checked on Wrecker, of course, but Crosshair stayed with him the longest, even when Hunter insisted he get rest, or at least have some water, something to eat.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair!

The anger sizzling across that anguish in his gut had him growling quietly as he rose to his feet, hands clenched into fists.

What could he possibly do?!

Crosshair paced, thinking about Wrecker, trying to think of the good, what he liked, what he loved. And so often his eyes drew back to his bed, to his suffering.

He remembered what the whole squad had been told by one Kaminoan, that it was possible Wrecker would not be the same, might even be childish after due to the damage to his head. Crosshair wanted to respect that, and—

He paused, an idea flaring bright in him, his fists relaxing slightly all on their own.

Could I…?

No. What if…?

Do it. Just in case, just do it.

Crosshair wasn’t much of a talker, yet he said to Wrecker, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” He tried to add you’ll be okay, but even the first word tripped him up.

He sighed, and gave Wrecker one last look for now.

He will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.

Crosshair left, guilt haunting his footsteps.

“Why are we here again?” Hunter asked as the Marauder set down on a landing pad at a busy port next to a flourishing tourist shopping center. The streets were full of color, full of so many lifeforms that Hunter wasn’t even sure he knew the names of all of them. The suns were shining, lighting up a lavender sky.

“I told you,” Crosshair said, “I have an informant here.”

Tech glanced at him, then Hunter. Hunter shrugged.

“And we can’t come along?” Hunter pressed again.

“No.”

Behind Crosshair’s back, Hunter gave a few hand signals to Tech, and Tech nodded. Crosshair almost turned in time to notice, but when he looked back Tech was looking at his datapad again, and Hunter was lounging in his seat, legs out in front of him, arms crossed.

“I’ll be back,” Crosshair said before heading off the ship.

They waited a total of thirty seconds before following after him.

To Hunter’s surprise Crosshair wandered, he talked to intimidated citizens at stalls selling all kinds of colorful toys.

Hunter motioned for Tech to keep following Crosshair. All three of them stood out in their armor, but if they hid in the crowds right, Crosshair would have no idea they were there. Hopefully.

Hunter now looked the way Crosshair had gone before crossing the busy street, towards a stall Crosshair had stopped at. He looked at the plastoid purple toy Crosshair had inspected, but it was taken from his hand by the stall-owner, an almost-pinkish colored Ithorian.

“Can I help you?” she asked via translator collar, not seeming too open to Hunter being at her stall, though she had seemed friendly enough with Crosshair, or perhaps cowed, was a better way to describe it.

“The other man in armor, what did he want?” Hunter asked.

She put a hand on her small hip. “Look, I’m here to sell toys, not talk to weird-looking clones.”

Hunter put his hands on the stall, leaning forward. “Please, what did he say?”

She shrugged, and Hunter was certainly impressed that she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him.

“I sell toys. What do you think he wanted?”

“All right, my apologies,” Hunter said, stepping back, almost bumping into a family of grans. “So sorry,” he murmured to them, feeling out of his element amongst all these civvies.

He turned on his comm, speaking just with Tech as he looked ahead, “Where is he now?”

“Farther down the street. At another stall.”

“What is he doing?” Hunter asked.

“Clearly he has taken an interest in children’s toys, or his informant sells them. Though if the first were true I’d be rather confused. Perhaps he needs more excitement with his target practice.”

“Let’s let him be,” Hunter said, stepping aside to let a small Selkath girl with a stuffy bigger than herself pass. “We’ll meet up, and head back to the ship.”

“Oh, I think he has found something,” Tech exclaimed, just as Hunter turned to go back.

“What is it?” Hunter asked.

“He is handing over credits now. Wow, that is far too steep a price,” Tech said.

“I don’t need the personal commentary.”

“Right. Crosshair is now being handed a… Oh my. How strange.”

“What is it, Tech?”

“A tooka stuffy.”

Hunter stood with his limbs limp from the utter confusion. This was so out of character for Crosshair, so unthinkable, so strange that Hunter wanted to race down the street and interrogate him.

“We should get back before he knows we were following him.”

“Ah, about that. Too late.”

“Tell Hunter I said hi,” Crosshair said through Tech’s comm.

Now Hunter sent a signal to Crosshair. “How long did you know?”

“The whole time. What, you think I’m a sniper who wouldn’t know when he’s being watched? Your little sneaking around was cute, but you could do better. Armor stands out in a crowd.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“At least I wasn’t stalking—“

“Excuse me?”

“You were stalking me.”

“Not my fault you’re being weird.”

“It’s for a good reason.”

“This is quite nonsensical,” Tech chimed in. “We can all talk once we’re back on the ship.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Crosshair hissed.

Hunter started heading back, telling himself he’d be fine if he didn’t know why Crosshair was acting like this, but the truth was, he was dying to know what would make Crosshair of all people buy a stuffy. Maybe he did need to liven up target practice.

Once they were back in hyperspace, Tech and Hunter turned in their seats to face the stone-faced sniper.

“Well?” Hunter asked.

“Didn’t you hear when I said I wouldn’t tell you anything?”

Tech sighed. “We’re on your side,” he pointed out. “You don’t need to have your shields up.”

Crosshair’s toothpick flicked up, like he had just bit down on it hard.

Hunter’s brows drew low.

The quiet on the ship that followed was uncomfortable, yet Hunter kept it up, knowing Crosshair probably felt uncomfortable too.

“Why a tooka?” Tech asked. “There were so many to choose from.”

Crosshair shrugged, almost angling himself towards them, the tooka stuffy out of sight as it rested in his rack. “I thought it looked nice. Seemed… huggable enough, I guess.”

Hunter gave Tech a grateful look, knowing getting the small details out of someone was often easier when starting questioning, and sometimes those tactics were needed with Crosshair. Hunter tended to forget and just went head to head with him.

“I like the colors,” Tech commented.

“Yeah. The, uh… the red’s nice, I guess,” Crosshair admitted, leaning back in his seat, maybe getting more comfortable. “How much more time till we’re back on Kamino?” he asked.

His foot started tapping, his face was all hard lines.

Hunter thought just maybe he was starting to put the picture together, but since he wasn’t sure yet, he kept the soft smile off his face. Though the warmth of it bloomed in his chest, nonetheless.

Crosshair fiddled with his firepuncher in his bunk on Kamino, the stuffed tooka resting by his hip. He’d chewed through five toothpicks already, and thrown two of at Hunter.

Wrecker had been put under for yet another surgery, so he couldn’t give him his surprise just yet.

Again the helplessness crawled in, it tugged at him, dragging him down, making it almost difficult to move. His chest ached, digging a deeper and deeper hole in him.

“I’m sure Wrecker will be out of surgery soon,” Hunter said. “He was already under when we got back.”

“What could they be doing this time?” Crosshair hissed.

“According to the medbay records—” Tech began.

“Are you even supposed to have those?” Hunter asked.

“Strictly speaking, no. As I was saying, this is slated to be quite a long procedure as they are trying to save his eye.”

Crosshair hung his head, barrel of his rifle cool against his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, wondering how Wrecker would even handle all this once he did wake up.

Even in his own pain, Crosshair kept to his silence, and he waited.

Crosshair squeezed his hands tightly together, mouth drawing into a thin line. The white of the medbay surrounded him as he sat by Wrecker’s bed, willing his body to utter stillness, to draw from his great wealth of patience.

Wrecker’s color looked better than last he’d seen him, and he wasn’t writhing in pain, face pulled into a grimace from it. Wrecker hadn’t been allowed visitors after his surgery, but Tech and Hunter had snuck him in with few questions asked, and Crosshair had placed the tooka stuffy under one of his arms. He had given up on stealth then and ushered the others in.

Now the three of them waited for Wrecker to wake up. Crosshair had wanted to do this privately, at first, but he realized having Hunter and Tech silently supporting him meant a lot. It meant a lot to him that they seemed to understand his need to help Wrecker in some way—any way he possibly could. Besides, Wrecker was their brother too.

Hunter almost put a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder, but a quick glance had him pulling it back.

Tech was busy looking at the machines Wrecker was hooked up to. Crosshair occasionally did the same. He understood most of what he saw on them, not through training, but by having grown up an experimental clone, having been hooked up to many machines himself.

Wrecker grumbled, and he turned his head.

His eyes seemed to almost open, but he groaned now.

Kriff, was he in pain? Crosshair stood, ready to get a Kaminoan in here and demand he be given an opioid or local anesthetic, something! Then Wrecker said, voice a bit muddled, “Ow.”

“Hey, Wrecker,” Hunter said, tone gentle.

Wrecker turned to the sound of his voice. “Sarge?”

“Yeah, I’m here. We all are.”

“What’s…” Wrecker shifted his right arm, hand drifting close to the tooka stuffy. “What’s this?”

He opened his eyes, body moving slowly as he grabbed the stuffy. He blinked against all the bright light as he held it up.

“A tooka?” he asked, sounding as high as Crosshair hoped he was (from pain meds, of course).

“Yes,” Tech said. “It’s…” He turned to Crosshair, clearly not sure if he was allowed to say this part. Crosshair gave him a gentle nod. “It’s for you,” he finished.

“For… me?”

“Who else?” Hunter asked.

“Stop, I can’t think. Ow.”

“Are you in pain?” Crosshair asked, feeling like an idiot for even asking.

“Only a little,” Wrecker assuaged.

He squeezed the stuffy, then left it against his chest. “Hmm.”

There were quite a few minutes of Wrecker coming back to himself, and Crosshair didn’t say much, now almost blushing at the silly thing he’d done for his brother.

“Lula,” Wrecker eventually murmured in between drinking water and eating a ration bar (all in slow sips and bites, respectively).

“What?” Crosshair asked.

He lifted up his tooka stuffy, a gentle joy in his eye, a small smile on his face. “I’m gonna name her Lula.”

Crosshair’s guilt faded away, like it was washed clean by the breaking of a storm, a cooling rain, and his muscles relaxed. He almost smiled, but would always deny it thereafter. He placed a toothpick in his mouth, and leaned back, eyeing Wrecker and his stuffy.

“Lula’s a good name.”

#summerofbadbatch2024 #week 8 #lula #star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb tech #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #writing #my writing

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monstersdownthepath · 4 months

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Herald of Abadar: Lawgiver

CR 15

Lawful Neutral Gargantuan Construct

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 276

Well, I suppose we have to get this guy out of the way at some point, so why not put him at the start of Monitors and Misfits Month? It's especially fitting considering Abadar is the first core god that most people will see in just about every list of deities thanks to his name! The God of Civilization has done a lot for the mortal world and for the Perfect City of Axis alike, with the implacable Lawgiver being one of his simpler creations, made to enforce the peace of Axis and to act as Abadar's strongarm in the mortal world. Much like its fellow "boringly-named Construct in service to a Lawful god crafted for the express purpose of combat" the Grand Defender, the Lawgiver was not born, but made, crafted directly from the metals of Axis to serve as its defender and to hit Chaotic creatures with a huge hammer. It's got a lot in common with the GD!

Including being very boring. If you put the Hand of the Inheritor on one side of a Venn diagram and the Grand Defender on the other, the Lawgiver would be dead in the center right under the topic of 'statistically boring.' This isn't to say it's weak, far from it! But the Lawgiver is as every bit as stuffy, practical, and to-the-point as its creator, eschewing having any unique abilities or equipment or any bombastic spells in favor of a handful of generically useful spells and the aforementioned hammer. It doesn't even have an interesting personality, the book outright noting the thing almost never speaks, and when it does it's almost entirely passages from Abadar's holy books and manuals which are relevant to the current situation.

You can, perhaps, sense my frustration with and boredom towards Lawgiver here, a feeling that appears to be shared with the staff of Archives of Nethys, who haven't updated its statblock since its original release in Curse of the Crimson Throne: Seven Days to the Grave back in 2008, forcing me to keep Inner Sea Gods open in my other hand to make sure my data is accurate. As you may expect from such a forgettable entity, this won't be a particularly interesting article, but it is one that must be written to set the stage for the rest of the Heralds this month. So, let's take a look at the Big Man With A Hammer which, as we'll find out, is all it needs to smash most proteans and demons to paste.

Let's get the big hammer out of the way, first. The guy is stanced up in his picture for a reason! He's winding up for a big, two-handed slam with a +1 Axiomatic Warhammer sized for a Gargantuan creature, the heavy weapon dealing 4d6+10 (+2d6 vs Chaotic) damage upwards to four times a round and triple damage on a critical hit. Should it prize power over accuracy, the Lawgiver can use Power Attack to take a -4 penalty to its attack rolls for +8 to the damage, a trade it will typically make without hesitation against Chaotic Outsiders.

With a 20ft space and 20ft reach, Lawgiver shrouds entire battlefields in its threat radius, being one of the largest Heralds yet one of the few who can take its foes by surprise; it's not only capable of freezing completely stock-still and pretending to be a statue, but it can freely Change Shape into a large eagle to scout or hide from prying eyes, typically doing so when patrolling Axis to keep an eye out for trouble. It can also be considerably less subtle by turning into a two-headed golden eagle, which most sane beings would recognize as an omen that something very bad was about to happen to them if they don't turn and leave.

Even in its natural statue state the Lawgiver can fly 60ft a round, letting it get really goofy with its Full-Attacks if it wants, slamming its hammer down on its enemies from above while they're stuck on the ground, Medium-sized foes unable to fly made completely worthless by its superior reach... though this is used more often to catch up to flying enemies than it is to let it safely attack ground-bound foes, because every protean flies and they're by far Axis' most common enemy. And if someone's got magical flight to keep up with it, it really has nothing to say to that.

It's got a huge pile of spell-likes, more than almost any other Herald, but they're all for the good of the people of Axis and the mortals fighting alongside the Lawgiver than for the Herald itself. Just take a look at the healthcare you get on Axis' battlefield: Cure Serious Wounds, Neutralize Poison, Remove Blindness/Deafness, Remove Curse, Remove Disease, and finally Remove Paralysis, ALL of these spells usable 3/day! Paizo should have saved time and just given it Heal and Greater Restoration; mostly the same effect, less text.

You'll notice that every single one of those spells is useless to the Lawgiver, who--as a Construct--is immune to basically anything but HP damage. That spell list is exclusively for the mortals fighting alongside it and citizens harmed in the crossfires of the war on chaos! And speaking of Construct defenses, the Lawgiver is a fairly sturdy robot, all things considered: 34 AC, immunity to Acid and Electricity, 10 Cold and Fire Resistance, and 26 Spell Resistance overall. It's also got All-Around Vision to deny flanking bonuses and is immune to critical hits, and uniquely is also impervious to rust, something I assume many proteans hoping to erode the city of Axis found out all too late.

It's a pretty sturdy robot! Even if it is undecorated. Function over form, and all that; Abadar knew what he wanted when he built it, and it's no more than that. And that's more or less it!

You can sort of read more about it here; you'll need to use the d20pfsrd version to actually see its updated stats.

#monster spotlight #CR 11 to 15 #Misfits and Monitors Month #pathfinder #dungeons and dragons

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drdtfuitgumies · 1 month

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season 3 summary: july 2024

this summary is mainly for my personal documentation (i like documenting stuff), but i thought i'd post this in the blog too just in case anyone else was interested!

STATISTICS

as you can perhaps tell by the "header", ace is first place for this month with seven appearances! ...though considering the situations he was involved in (most notably an undignified jumpscare, being put in air jail, and being put in a repurposed jail by the name of Arei's Haul), it may be more of a curse. arei, j, and whit all tie for second place with six appearances, which is a very normal occurrence at this point.

PERSONAL FAVORITES (in chronological order)

1) Teruko falls down the stairs (ft. her three* best** friends***) (CHAPTER 2 SPOILERS)

i really like eden and charles' sideeyes here. and drawing teruko falling down the stairs was always one of my main goals with this blog, so i'm glad i could accomplish that!

2) Class is NOT going well (CHAPTER 1 SPOILERS)

the people really liked this one too, it seems! i finished in time for their birthday, too... i'm bound by law to apologize because they happen to be a friend's favorite character. orz

3) Whit shows Xander how to wear a blazer

i've drawn this sprite twice now. he just looks endearing in what i like to call The Stupid Idiot Dog way. I promise I mean this with as much affection (and cuteness aggression) possible. maybe i'll draw more sprites in the future... especially the ones that barely get used

4) Do you see this shit, Min?

another meme redraw! not much thought here. i just want them to be friends, even if it starts from a shared exasperation with practically the rest of the class.

THE POWER OF HINDSIGHT

sometimes i think of adding punchlines in the situations, or fix errors after i've put them in the queue, but forget to actually. do that

veronika jumpscaring ace was supposed to have a dark background but i thought veronika jumpscaring him with a flashlight in broad daylight was way funnier. the end result would still be the same anyhow

as mentioned in both "class is NOT going well" and "min and mai eat taiyaki", the latter was supposed to be min's birthday post. but i saw the meme around a week before her birthday and i couldn't NOT draw it. and i actually finished it in time!!

levi's dialogue in this situation was supposed to allude to him putting ace in air jail, but i didn't know how to make j's dialogue MASSIVE while also leaving just enough words for the viewer to ponder about what exactly levi was doing beforehand

also about the above situation; j's second piece of dialogue was supposed to be lowercase. i try to modify everyone's dialogue according to how they'd probably type (from the top of my head arei, eden, and whit speak in lowercase and sprinkling in emoticons/kaomojis; ace and j also speak in lowercase but they often switch into Titlecase and UPPERCASE for emphasis). that time i forgot to proofread the capitalization though. i guess this is incredibly minor and doesn't even matter that much

arei was supposed to steal hu's butterfly pin off-screen and the situation would be hu recalling the incident to someone like. levi, eden, or david idk. and going "I am unfortunately disappointed but not surprised" with a serene expression. i thought the punchline of hu just giving her pin and arei considering it a defeat was funnier, so i ended up going with that

I really, really wanted to find proper motivational words that Arturo would say,,,,,, ach.....

OTHER REMARKS

i tried to mimic arei's canon handwriting for that header image! also that is indeed the jail cardboard box being repurposed as arei's inventory of stolen items. i guess ace lives there for now

i want to do vocaloid mv redraws... i think i've mentioned it here once before, but i'd like to try. although i probably can't do more "serious" songs

that one comment asking if arei brought ace in her suitcase (since she's wearing some stolen accessories) still makes me laugh because how does one even begin to approach that conclusion. you can freely interpret arei's bigger suitcase as a sign that a whole ass Ace Markey is stuck inside there, i suppose! thank you for the mental image!

unfortunately, my schedule this year is taxing enough that i literally can't draw fuit gumies everyday anymore (unless if it was just one single character standing). i'll still post something for everyone's birthdays, and i plan to draw something to start off september at least, but i'll wait until that post for a more concrete schedule

thank you for your support!

as promised, whether you've seen it or not; here is the miro canvas for the first three months/seasons! i've since moved into another one since it started lagging enough to annoy me.

#seasonal summary

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punks-never-die205 · 1 year

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Unseen

afab!reader x Killer

CW: canon-typical violence, smooches, sexy times, second go at life try again style story, 18+ only

Chapter 2: All in a Daze Work

Consistent meals, consistent sleep, and consistent work were things you hadn't had before now, and it was a little awkward to adjust to it. The first few nights you barely slept 4 hours because you weren't used to getting much rest in the first place. Swabbing the decks was a relaxing job and you did it with enough gusto that Wire asked you what Killer put in your breakfast to make you that happy.

Honestly, you were just happy to not have to look over your shoulder every few minutes. CP9 could just drop out of the sky if they wanted to, but it was statistically unlikely for them to do so. Especially since there was no indication that you'd gotten aboard a pirate ship. The ship itself was full of new and distraction worthy levels of things for you to learn. You pestered the crew for anything they'd willingly show you, and usually it was a bit of a trade.

You'd learn a rope knot and you'd teach them the shoulder throw you did to Killer. They'd teach you how to whittle, and you'd tell them the basics of armament haki. House taught you how to assist her with doctor stuff, since you had nimble fingers and good focus, and it was a good way to keep you out from underfoot of the rest of the crew when you'd done all you'd been asked to for the day.

It took a couple days to convince Killer to let you help in the kitchen. It was a treat to be able to use a kitchen to cook meals, and if you were being completely honest, you could listen to Killer talk for hours. His presence was relaxing, and his voice was calming. He spoke evenly, and with minimal prompting would show you how to do all sorts of things when it came to cooking. He had a real passion for it, and you were more than happy to do prep work in exchange for good food.

Killer having help meant that the quality of food rose for the whole crew. Time constraints meant Killer could only really focus on food for the Big Four as you called them: Killer, Kid, Wire and Heat. Everyone else got what Killer would call scraps, but it was still delicious. With you doing most of the slicing and dicing, leaving Killer to focus on the finer points, it meant everyone had really good food.

This made you besties with almost the entire crew overnight. They were all closeknit, and had accepted you, but there was a big difference between "On the crew" and "welcome by the crew". Suddenly you had a lot more names to keep straight: Gig, Rock, Hop and Hip who weren't related, they assured you - Dive, Papas, Emma, Boogie, Bubblegum, Reck, and Pomp, and a dozen more.

You let everyone call you Brat, or Short stack, or whatever else moniker they wanted to give you. You were shy about giving out your name because it felt like there was an alarm attached to it. If you said it out loud then the wind carried it to the ears of CP9. It felt safer for you to stand on the shores of Mary Geoise and declare your hatred of the five elders than to speak your name into the wind.

Once you hit a routine it felt good. You slept closer to six hours, and your schedule was nice. Wake, swab, breakfast, haki lecture – being able to teach the crew in exchange for being accepted made you feel better, snacks, help House, help Killer, dinner, sparring/stretching/being a nuisance, and then sleep. Which only got shuffled if you were rotated in for being on lookout duty, which happened a little more often than you think it was supposed to after you proved you could leap into the crow's nest in almost a single bound, and when you spotted trouble before anyone else could see it.

"MARINES!" You bellowed down from the crow's nest, catching the sails on the horizon. You jumped down from the crow's nest and landed beside Wire who had come over to the mast. "Off the starboard quarter, they're a long way out, I don't know if they've seen us."

Wire looked, squinted, looked longer, "I don'- Oh. There it is. Sharp eyes, Short stack."

You grinned, "You can call me Brat, Wire, it's fine."

Wire gave a weak smile and a grunt. "Then go tell the Captain, Brat. He should be in the mess with Killer."

You gave a lazy salute and took off, Wire started organizing people on the deck. It had been a couple weeks, so you knew the ship well, and slipped through the halls easily to the get to the galley. You still ran silently because you'd moved silently for years, so you didn't think much of it. You caught part of a conversation before loudly bursting into the galley to interrupt it.

"It's asking too much, Kid-."

"Marines!" You hollered, stepping into view. "Off the starboard quarter. Might not have seen us yet, Captain."

Kid's aggravated gaze that had been directed at Killer turned into an interested smile. "You sound excited, Brat."

You shrug, "Marines are little birdies who talk to Cipher Pol. Pirates are good bird hunters." You take a step back to stop blocking the door as Kid and Killer start toward you. "And admittedly, it's been a long time since I let all out in a fight. Well, as all out as I can risk at least."

Kid quirked an eyebrow walking by you, and you explained. "If I copy your power I might as well clap myself in irons and go lay in Rob Lucci's lap. I like being a nameless bounty-less pirate."

"Only one way to keep that record if we face these marines." Killer stated, ruffling your hair and sending an unexpected shock down your back. You'd been finding yourself enjoying sparring with him specifically and the kitchen was snug for two people. Skinship was something House had to explain to you, but she laughed when she did, and said what you were dealing with weren't as familial.

"If it's them or me," you mumbled. You weren't keen on killing, but it weren't like you weren't able to. Still, it was pretty obvious it wasn't your first choice.

"You've got nakama now, Brat." Kid stated, stepping into the sunlight of the deck. "You can line 'em up and leave them for the crew."

"House doesn't even fight at all," Killer added.

"House's the doctor." You looked away and rubbed your arm before following after them.

"And you're the reason half the crew can use armament haki now," Killer rebuked. "If you want to stay out of sight, it's fair to say that's okay."

You grunted. "If I wanted to stay out of sight I wouldn't have passed out on the roof of the cabins."

The crew went into a routine that was well-practiced from long before you'd joined. You stayed out of the way, the first time wasn't the time to try and help, but you took in as much as you could so you'd know what to do next time. Kid had the boat turn to meet the Marine ship, and you kept your eyes on the horizon to make sure the singular ship was indeed on its own.

Seconds later you heard the shrill whistle as the Marine ship finally realized they weren't alone on this open patch of water. You could feel tension rising in the air around you, but there a sort of joy coming off Kid and Killer.

When you liked to fight, you liked to fight.

Cannons fired around you, memories of your time with CP9 slipped through your mind, and you ran haki through your quarterstaff. Rushing toward one another it didn't take long for the ships to close the space between them. Kid kept most of the cannonballs aimed at his ship at bay, his devil fruit was efficient for such a thing. You knew what you could do with your haki and wanted to knock back a cannon ball, when the perfect shot lined up, you shouted for it and leapt.

You hadn't explained spreading haki into a weapon, it was hard to describe and teach until someone had a solid understanding. You connected and pushed it back, but the force of a cannonball shot was more than you had expected. Your quarterstaff was fine, and so were you, but the return force from the shot acted on your airborne body. This was your first time doing something like this, so you hadn't adjusted for the impact when you leapt.

You would've been shoved back into the deck awkwardly, but fortunately Killer caught you. "Was that haki in your stick?"

"Quarterstaff," you corrected for the 100th time, "and yes."

"If you want to knock cannonballs out of the air you need haki in your body too." He suggested, setting you down on the deck. You could feel him giving you a bemused look from under the mask.

"You are not wrong." You admitted.

Your conversation was cut short as the two ships were side by side and all hell broke loose. You had decided to stay on the Victoria Punk this time, instead of rushing onto a Marine Ship that might have your picture onboard. You put your own face covering on, pulling up a hood, and leapt into the fray on the deck, as half the crew – led by Kid and Killer – went onto the Marine vessel.

The fight went laughably fast. It took longer to rid the Victoria Punk of dead marines and pull supplies from the defeated marine vessel. It was unsettling moving corpses, you had to admit, and your stomach churned a few times. In all the work you'd done for CP9, corpse disposal wasn't a part of that. When all was said and done you distracted yourself by swabbing the last of the signs of the fight off the deck.

As the sun was dipping below the horizon, you were sitting on some crates by the stern of the ship, watching the sun vanish. Killer came and sat with you, and you realized that you'd missed your window to help him cook.

"How you holding up, brat?"

"Well enough. I'd killed before for CP9 before I bailed, but," you fiddled with your hair absently, "I never had to deal with corpses. It's weird, isn't it? Being okay with creating corpses but not with sorting 'em out after."

"Back up, you worked for CP9?"

Oh.

"Yeah." You answered quietly. "I was recruited when I was 6, I ditched at 16. I've been dodging them for seven years now."

"Why run after ten years?"

You shrugged. "They realized I had this... gift? To copy devil fruit powers, and suddenly I was being thrown at every problem." You stretched, realizing Killer was relaxed and wasn't getting ready to toss you off the ship. "After a while it felt less like I was doing some kind of grand good for the world, and more like I was just a little slaughter bot for them to unleash on fools too weak to stop me."

You hugged your knees up to your chin, resting your head against your them and smiling. "I decided I wanted to live by my own values and left. I was almost unsuccessful, but Lucci underestimated me and I managed to give him the slip after he thought I was beat."

"Well, I'm glad you ended up here, brat." Killer admitted as the last few rays of like shimmered over his mask.

Ba-thump.

"Me too," you admitted, feeling the heat rising into your face and being grateful there wasn't any light to see it by. "Ah, I missed helping with dinner, is there still food?"

"If there isn't, I'll cook something." He assured you, "It's been a day for you, so I don't mind."

You laughed, stepping down from your box. "Despite your insistence otherwise, I'm well aware you enjoy cooking for your crew, but I still appreciate it. It's nice to be pampered sometimes."

Killer extended an elbow toward you and bowed ever so slightly. "Lady." He prompted; you could hear the smile in his voice.

"Oh, what a gentleman," you replied in an overly dramatic fashion. Your heart was beating itself to death in your chest as you slipped a hand through the crook of his arm, trying your absolute best to remain outwardly calm.

You saw House on our way back. "Oh, hey love birds," she said, not even looking up from her paperwork to look at us. You couldn't stop the small jolt that ran through you, but you tried to slip your arm out of Killer's as naturally as possible. "Captain says he wants to talk to you both after the brat's got some food in her gob."

You went red to your ears for a moment, glad to be standing behind Killer and still mostly in the dark. Killer's voice was steady when he spoke, but it seemed to take him a second longer than usual to reply.

"Sure thing."

#Unseen #massacre soldier killer #killer one piece #x reader #reader insert #one piece fanfiction #canon au

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serafiel-jacobs · 9 months

Text

Business as usual (Fanfic)

New chapter from my main series 🩷

Geppetto and Venigni were in a work meeting together. This is a very important one, all members with the highest positions in the Workshop Union are here.

Maybe it is because he is getting old but Geppetto wants this meeting to be over already, he just doesn't have the patience to deal with things like this anymore. Not the work meeting itself, but rather other coworkers he has to deal with.

Specially Conrad.

“I understand some of you might have reservations…” Conrad says while looking at him and Venigni, “ But the people of Krat still worry about another incident happening with the puppets, I believe it best that we make some counter-measurements in case someone tries to mess with them again”

Geppetto looks away for a moment but composes himself.

“I suggest we limit some of the puppets' abilities, if we make a command to instantly shut them down in case something when wrong then…”

The puppet frenzy, Geppetto knows it was all his fault, he has never confessed to it but he took public responsibility for the matter, he is the leader of the union after all.

Statistically, the harm caused specifically by puppets was low, most of them had to do with the petrification disease and the problems caused by the alchemists. It was all because of Romeo, he was the one who prevented the other puppets from doing more harm. Geppetto is thankful that Romeo was able to stop him from harming others that way.

Still, Geppetto has to live with it, the only thing he can do is make amends and do what he can to make Krat a better place. That's why he still works, as much as he would enjoy retiring a few years early and spending as much time as he can with his son he has to fix all of his mistakes.

And this is definitively not the solution, Conrad has only ever seen puppets as machines not companions to help others and he refuses to acknowledge that puppets who have awakened an Ego are sentient. Pulcinella has to be at the receiving end of his passive-aggressive remarks all the time, and Geppetto knows that the man talks badly about his son when he isn't around in the workplace.

Although puppets are supposed to obey human commands they have the choice of how to make them and they can deny requests, the only things puppets can't do are already engraved on the laws that bind them to the grand covenant and aside from Polendina and Pulcinella, as they were build before the grand covenant was established, there are no other puppets that aren't bound to it. But both of them are kind-hearted they would never do anything to harm others.

Well, there also is his son but Pinocchio is special since he isn't 100% a puppet and he is a very good boy, he loves to help others, and he would never cause any harm.

“So you don't want them to have free will?” That's what Geppetto wants to say but he has to stay professional, “I understand your concerns but-”

Geppetto is interrupted.

“Well, Geppetto let's be honest maybe you are a little biased when it comes to this subject because of your…son” Conrad has a smile on his face, “Perhaps it is best that we don't hear an emotionally filled argument”

Venigni is the one to speak up this time “If you want a logical argument, then let me give you one”

Geppetto breathes a sigh of relief, Venigni always knows what to say, and when he talks about logistics he doesn't know when to shut up, he can keep talking and talking and not tire himself out, Geppetto wonders how his friend can retain so much information, analyze it and even realize things that he would have never imagined were connected.

It takes half an hour for Venigni to stop talking, no one ever interrupts him, because if you do, you accidentally will point out something he missed and he will talk even more. Yet no one can deny his solid arguments.

“Thank you for your insights Venigni” Conrad said while gritting his teeth, “But let us decide this democratically, how about we put a vote on the matter?”

There are twelve people in this meeting counting Geppetto and Venigni, five raise their hands on the argument Corand made, while seven in the one Venigni made.

It's obvious that the man is annoyed but he lets it slide; Geppetto and Venigni know that this won't be the last time they will have to deal with this.

Technically Geppetto could fire him, but that would only stir the pot more, he and his followers could say that Geppetto is abusing his power as the Workshop Union Leader and workwise Conrad has always been an excellent worker, he goes above and beyond for it, it makes sense, everyone in that room takes their job extremely seriously, so Geppetto cannot fire him just due to his behavior, unless he does something completely uncalled for, firing him is not a good idea.

After the meeting is done, Geppetto and Venigni go to the breakroom, both making themselves a cup of coffee.

“I swear I don't understand how you drink that, it's more sugar than coffee at that point” Geppetto has never understood Venigni's obsession with adding so many things to his coffee, but it has always been this way.

“It tastes good, maybe you should try it for once, try to have fun” Venigni doesn't understand how Geppetto only drinks black coffee. “Besides who adds 12 shots of espresso to their drink?” That's a ridiculous amount, Venigni always does 4 or 5, and Geppetto goes too far in his eyes.

“Who adds cinnamon and chocolate syrup to their coffee?”

“Your son”

“Venigni that's not the win you think it is” Geppetto has banned his son from drinking coffee with his friend because the last time Pinocchio drank coffee like that it was a complete disaster.

“You asked who does it as well, I just answered your question” As Venigni says that, he sees Geppetto add yet another shot of expresso to his coffee and he stares at him.

“Don't look at me like that, that meeting was hard”

“Geppetto this is the equivalent of using drugs”

“Oh please don't exaggerate and I have never used any drugs in my life” Geppetto lied.

“I know that you used to smoke weed,” Venigni says with a smile.

“Who told you that?!” Geppetto is mortified.

“Pinocchio asked me the other day what getting high means, so I now know your little secret” Vebigni had an even wider grin on his face.

That brat! He made his son promise he wouldn't ask anyone what that means, he is getting grounded.

“But did you tell him what that means?!” Geppetto was now grabbing Venigni's shoulders.

Venigni let out a laugh, “Don't worry I didn't” When Pinocchio asked him he gracefully but swiftly changed the subject.

Gepptto let go of Venigni, “Oh thank God, don't scare me like that”

They both laughed but the playful atmosphere was cut short when Conrad entered the breakroom.

“Geppetto, Venigni” As if it couldn't be more obvious that Corand dislikes them, he doesn't even bother to give a casual hello.

“So Geppetto, that project you did all the way in London is truly something special, considering how everyone is speaking about it, hopefully, it's not too much to ask for some of the details” Conrad has a smug tone, he always thinks he is so smart.

“I'm sorry it's confidential” That's another lie, not every detail of it is confidential but Geppetto won't disclose the hard work that he, Alexander, and other members of that team did.

“Mmm, what a shame” Conrad gets closer, it looks like he is going to start forcing conversation, “Who did you leave your son with while you were gone? Was it you Venigni?”

“Pinocchio came with me” Geppetto has a bad feeling about this.

“Really? Do you take him to such things? I don't recall you ever taking Carlo anywhere” Conrad stabbed Geppetto with those words.

Geppetto takes a deep breath, he has to stop himself from punching him.

“Conrad, what do you want?” Venigni isn't going to let this man play his games.

“How rude, I thought the great Lorenzini Venigni was supposed to be charismatic”

“Again, what do you want?” Venigni doesn't have the patience for this and he won't tolerate what he said to Geppetto about Carlo, it's cruel to say something like that, to bring up someone's dead child, who does that?

“I want the two of you gone from this union” Conrad was in front of them, feeling like he had the advantage.

He actually admitted it, which was surprising, “The two of you are not fit to be members”

“After everything me and Geppetto have done for this union, what makes you say that?” That is simply a ridiculous claim, Venigni doesn't want to give himself and Geppetto all the credit because the plans they made helped the city, they set their plans in motion and worked as a team with others to achieve them, without the help of every worker in Krat human or puppet they managed to make the city prosper again in the face of such disaster, still, it took them long hours of planning to find the best ways to reconstruct the city and fix that mess, many sleepless nights and it didn't help men like Conrad only wanted to help those who have wealth and status.

“What makes me say that? The two of you should take a good look at yourselves” Conrad is feeling confident saying all of this because no one else is around, he wouldn't dare talk this way to them in public, “It's not normal for a grown man to pretend that a puppet is his son and I know that you don't see any issue with that Venigni because you had the misfortune to be raised by a puppet but to the rest of us, its clear as day that the two of you are mentally unwell”

Before either of them could say another word, other workers entered the room, and Geppetto and Venigni had to resign themselves, not being able to call him out. When their break is over, the two of them are the last ones to leave the room.

“So, how does he plan to kick you out? Did he forget that you own this building?” Geppetto couldn’t believe how ridiculous that man was being.

Venigni laughed, it really was ridiculous to try and kick both of them out. But unfortunately, they will have to deal with him at work.

But at least they made plans to see each other after work at Venigni's home.

—-

They talked over a few drinks, maybe it was still a little too early to be drinking as it was only 6 pm but it had been a hard day, and no one likes office drama.

Geppetto eventually relented and told Venigni a few of his stories while studying for his degree, Venigni couldn't believe what he was hearing, to him who Geppetto was describing was a completely different person than the one he knew; Geppetto also spoke a bit more of the time he and his son spent in London.

“I'm glad that Pinocchio enjoyed his vacation… despite what happened” Geppetto had told Venigni about what transpired, everyone else knew as well.

Things became quiet and Geppetto took another sip of his drink.

“Venigni I… almost lost him” Geppetto has tears in his eyes, “I should have never trusted Dorian Gray, I let my guard down because I used to know him, turns out I didn’t even know what kind of person he was and my son almost died”

“Geppetto it’s not your fault” It’s hard for Venigni to see Geppetto like this, he already lost one son, he can’t imagine what it would be like to almost lose another.

“I know it isn’t but, I almost lost my life as well” Geppetto knows that Sophia did something so that he wouldn’t die, but it was hard to understand, at the moment he was filled with adrenaline and after it was all done, he couldn’t explain it but, it felt as if things played out differently.

All he can truly remember is Dorian almost killing him while saving Pinocchio.

“It made me start to think, what will happen to him when I’m gone?”

“Geppetto don’t say that” Venigni doesn’t want to think about Geppetto being gone, they have been friends for so long, Geppetto was his mentor when he first started but over time their friendship evolved.

“I don’t want to think about it, I want to believe that we can spend the years I have left together” Geppetto knows that he isn’t getting any younger, he is 60 and while Pinocchio is strong and reliable he has so much to learn about the world.

“But in case that won’t happen…”

Venigni is a man of many words yet at this moment, he feels like he can’t say anything. Because he already knows where this is going.

“Venigni I know it’s too much to ask but, when I die, could you please take care of him?”

When, not if, eventually we all die, and Geppetto wants his son to be in good hands, with a true friend, someone he knows in his heart that he will always trust, after everything they have been through together, how could he not trust Venigni?

Venigni is that friend, they have been together in the best and in the worst of times. Venigni is still young, despite all the times his friend says that he feels like an old man when he is just 39.

Venigni wants to give Geppetto reassuring words to not think about such things, and that things will be fine. But he knows that this is a conversation that they would have had at some point or another.

“I will Geppetto, I promise you I will” There is no hesitation in his voice, Venigni loves the boy, he is family. Pinocchio is his beloved nephew, and as his uncle he will do what he must to be there for him.

—-

It was 9 pm it's not that late but Geppetto usually doesn't stay out for long, when he entered the house, he could see that his son and Gemini were playing a board game.

“Gemini that's not a real word, it doesn't count” Pinocchio is pouting, it's not fair, Gemini keeps winning.

Gemini sighs “Pinocchio, skepticism IS a real word”

“If it's real then why is it spelled so weirdly?”

Geppetto lets out a laugh, it amuses him how his son can be stubborn like that. It looks like he is going to need to teach him a little more about language.

“Father, welcome back!” Pinocchio always greets him like that, he is so polite; he is a good boy.

Geppetto gives his son a big hug before letting go.

“Son, you are grounded”

“What?!”

#lies of p #lop #liesofp #lies of p game #lies of p fanfic #lies of p pinocchio #lies of p geppetto #this is in ao3 too #ao3 link #lies of p venigni #lies of p gemini

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lorz-ix · 2 years

Text

Since I got called an asshole for no other reason than not choosing to trust people, let me double down outside of someone's replies. Posting here since it's easier to write in a long form, will be re-posting to the hellsite.

[Text in image] Original tweet: vtubing is trending, so I'll re-iterate this vital lesson.

Vtubing is about entertainment first and foremost!

I see too many v-tweeters lately spouting political trash tampering what it means to be a vtuber.

We're performers and comedians, not political activists...!

Reply: ignoring "politics" is a privilege. I can't trust people who avoid talking about politics like it's a taboo. What are you so afraid of?

So, why would I be "the asshole in this situation", when the original post had a few red flags to begin with? Allow me to outline my thoughts very clearly, I don't want there to be any confusion.

1: surely we can at least all agree that there are "political opinions" that lead people to "dislike" others for their immutable characteristics, like their race, right? There are people out there who have an ideology leading to, or even based on, hate, rejection...

2: if you actively choose to avoid talking about politics, especially your own opinions, I have a decently reasonable motive to think that you have something to hide. That doesn't mean you're hiding anything necessarily, but someone with "controversial" or even hateful opinions would have a good reason to hide them, therefore distrust is somewhat reasonable. At the very least it's very likely that you're afraid of other people rejecting you if they heard your takes, but that makes you sound suspicious.

3: as an entertainer, you're supposed to gather an audience. It's very likely that said audience will have a diversity of political opinions, and it's understandable that not all of them will match yours. By sheer statistics, some of them are bound to be hateful. But if you don't talk about it, if you avoid it out of fear, you're giving them a space where they feel safe, and if things get bad (normally in larger audiences where it's harder to moderate things), hateful people might get too confident and weird people out, if they don't actively try to push out people they don't agree with/hate. If that ends up happening, shitty people stay, alright people leave, maybe more shitty people come since they know they won't be judged. Your audience will grow, because you value numbers more than people not feeling "alienated" by your own opinions. So how can I trust you if you're too scared to do basic housekeeping? If you don't want to take responsibility for the influence you have? Sounds like an untrustworthy person to me.

4: just to tackle the less extreme side, in most cases the entertainer is an alright person. But someone who avoids politics is someone who most likely can afford to, because their ethnicity isn't being persecuted, or their sexuality isn't being actively discriminated, or their loved ones aren't going through a similar thing. You might even say you care about people of all walks of life, but you won't talk about it because the people who discriminate them might hate you for it. Or hell, maybe you're just unaware, but that makes you ignorant or immature, and again, that's not a very trustworthy thing to be.

Let me be even clearer: I don't actively run some sort of checklist on every single person I meet to see if they meet these criteria. I have friends of differing opinions, obviously. However, trust is something you earn, and I draw a very clear line at hating my loved ones.

In short, there are people in marginalized groups who can't avoid politics because their own life is considered political. Not every space is safe for them because the world is full of awful people. If you're aware of this but you still adamantly declare you're above commenting on these topics, then honestly, you're a bit of a piece of shit, and you're contributing to making the world a more unsafe place for everyone.

But Lorz, they could lie about their opinions! What if they just pretend to do what you want them to do? At least it takes some guts to be a liar. "What if they did this other bad thing instead of the one bad thing you don't like" isn't the gotcha you think it is. It's all dishonesty in the end. Besides, a racist person saying "racism is bad" probably does more good than the one who can't even bring themselves to say it.

And now for my favorite part, just out of a little bit of spite after making my own argument, let's briefly comment on ✨the other tweeter's red flags✨:

"Vtubing is about what I say it is! If you prioritize something else you're doing it wrong! You're manipulating what it means!" My friend we're people hiding behind an anime muppet online. If you know some god of vtubing who bestowed us with some sort of vtubing commandments saying what we can or cannot do please let me know. Don't fucking tell me what to do.

"Spouting political trash" is quite the loaded statement when it's very likely referring to the aggressive condemnation of racism, homophobia or transphobia. Very telling that you'd call those takes "trash". Definitely not a reason to be suspicious.

"We're performers and comedians, not activists!" All I can say about this one is I think it's very ignorant to pretend art, performance, comedy and political commentary haven't been tightly linked throughout all of history. That's a whole other can of worms honestly.

Speaking of other cans of worms, many people in the replies of the original post responded with the typical "this you?" since this wonderful person actually does talk about politics pretty often... but it's shit like:

How curious that you would only deem it grave enough to break your own "don't talk politics" mantra when "people who complain about discrimination go too far". And with a fiery passion too.

Anyway, I am very tired. I appreciate anyone who had the patience to read my ramblings, seriously. I had to get that one out.

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sithwitch13 · 2 months

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top 5 places and times to live and why

Ooh. 5. Laredo, TX in the late 1990s/early 2000s. I hated it at the time but I've been looking at it with nostalgia lately. My friends were all right there, I could still sneak into the dollar movies at the mall, and the food was great.

4. Denver, CO, now. I may not feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be all that often, but it's pretty close. Also, leaps and bounds better than Texas now.

The next three are more purely theoretical since honestly even with all the everything this is statistically the least shitty time to live as a woman and is (even with current conflicts) by the numbers the most peaceful time in known human history, so I'm treating it more as "times it would be interesting to dip in and out of to see what's going on in daily life."

3. Merovingian-era France, as research for a thing I've been working on for ages

2. Tenochtitlan pre-Spaniard contact, to take in the architecture and clothing and such

1. The beginnings of Indus Valley civilization. I want to see how it all happened.

#ask blog

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discyours · 7 months

Note

What if in some theoretical future we take out All the stereotypes and biases of gender-what do you think of raising boys and girls exactly the same way to assure true equality? Is it realistic?

I don't believe true equality is achievable, no. I think society does a lot to create differences where there don't need to be any, as well as exaggerating and even "enforcing" minor biological differences. I've talked quite a lot about how I think it's virtually impossible to truly seperate nature from nurture due to how prone to social influence humans are from a young age.

But I am pretty certain that things like differences in aggression (and proneness to commit violent and sexual crimes) have a biological root that you can't eliminate through socialisation. The massive gap in violent crime committed by men vs women that persists across cultures and has been observed throughout history just seems too consistent to explain by just "men are taught to be violent". And I do say this as someone who's been physically abused by women. Anecdotes don't take away from statistics.

There's also physical differences that are bound to lead to some inequality in how society runs. A woman with fortunate genetics would still need to work 10x as hard as a man to be equally suited for physical labour that involves a lot of upper body strength, and most of us can't reach that level period no matter how much work we put in. I regularly see "men's rights activists" quoting statistics on workplace deaths being something like 90% male to prove that men are discriminated against, but realistically I don't think there's any good ways of replacing half the workforce in (most of) those jobs with women. The focus should be on improving labour conditions overall rather than ensuring that half of the people dying are female, and obviously hostile work environments that push women out should still be addressed regardless. But 50/50 equality? Just not gonna happen no matter how kind everyone is to each other.

The struggle isn't in identifying whether there's any way to become completely equal, but in how to deal with the differences that we do have. Like, how do you warn your daughters that men are often unsafe to be around without sending the message to your sons that their future violence is simply something to be expected. How do you acknowledge that most primary parents are female without inadvertently reinforcing that it's supposed to be a women's job. I don't have answers. I don't think the approach of "pretend there are no real differences and shame anyone who observes otherwise as being to blame for sexism" has ever worked but openly acknowledging the differences in the way the average person does it almost always leads to them being strengthened, so yeah idk.

#anon

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platform-soul · 1 year

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It’s fascinating how we adorn our bodies, or more accurately, what we do and don’t consider adornment. I have a scar across my right leg from when I fell climbing a wire fence in middle school. That’s just a scar. Nothing special. Nothing worth noting. Below my left knee is a fainter scar from a sword blow during a fencing bout. That? That feels special. That feels like something which enhances my body, and I think I’ll be sad when it eventually fades.

Now, the obvious difference is that I got one scar by being a little foolish (as is the prerogative of middle schoolers), and the other by doing something I love. But still, I didn’t choose either. I didn’t show up to fencing practice that night planning to get myself stabbed across the leg.

I think that’s what makes it feel more special though. I didn’t chose this marking; it just happened. It’s like your favorite song coming on the radio. That always feels more special than if you had just picked it yourself. The event feels random, and thus we feel the hand of serendipity behind it, even if, statistically, the event was bound to happen at some point. If you drive often, your favorite song is bound to play eventually (unless your favorite song is, like, “1/1” from Music for Airports by Brian Eno, but I digress). Likewise, if you participate in a sport where you literally swing metal swords around, you’re bound to get a scar eventually.

But then, every year the first snow is bound to fall, but that doesn’t make it feel any less magical when it does. And so here I have a mark of my own ‘first snow;’ I carry it just below my left knee, and I suppose this all makes it as good an adornment as any.

#journaling #stream of consciousness #fencing

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dmitrimolotov · 2 years

Text

Bound to a Rock and an Eagle - 20

Chapter 20

No. 20: It’s been a long day

Going into shock | Fetal position | Prisoner trade

1 | prev | Read on AO3

“But you made him to be human, didn’t you?” Agatha asked, raising an eyebrow, the judgement becoming clear in her voice. “That was your intention?”

Victor closed his eyes and thought back to the first day he’d committed to the project. He’d been so full of hope, but he wasn’t thinking about what would happen if it worked, only how he’d make it work. He realised he’d accidentally become so close to the embodiment of the quote he so loathed from Jurassic Park. “I was so preoccupied with whether or not I could, that I didn't stop to think if I should…”

Max at least picked up the reference. “Alright there, Dr. Malcom.”

Felix snorted. Agatha rolled her eyes and Victor got the sense she held her own sort of loathing for him, or perhaps she had developed a sense of sympathy for the creature.

Now that he thought about it, he may have also been developing some compassion for it. In all likelihood, it wanted him dead; but he could start to understand why. He always hated the trope of humanity aspiring to more, of reaching to be like gods and then falling victim to their own hubris. He never expected to be a statistic supporting it.

“Alright, let’s go back to what you said before - he knows we were tracking him. I can see where you got that impression from this.” She held up the folded note. “But I think you know why he took your notes, and you’re not telling us. Which makes me think there’s other things you’re not telling us, Victor.”

Victor held his breath subconsciously. She was entirely correct and he hated how easy he had been to read. He shook his head anyway, but by this stage, he was convinced they had him on lock.

A sudden blow to the stomach confirmed it for him. Agatha had swung a punch, clearly not a full-force hit, but enough to knock the wind out of him and make him try to double over as much as he could while cuffed to a chair. He coughed to try to calm his breathing and resettle his diaphragm.

“What do you suppose he wants with your notes, Victor? You’re not oblivious, I know that much. Tell me the truth or I’ll be forced to bring your friends in.”

Victor cringed. “I think it wants to make a mate, a partner of sorts. I think it’s lonely.”

“Can he do that with your notes?”

Victor chewed his lip for a moment, thinking about the state of his lab books and notes. He thought about the formulas and equations scrawled less than neatly in margins and boxes, without much rhyme or reason. He shook his head again. “I don’t think so. Even as intelligent as it seems to be, I don’t think it could make sense of my shorthand or notes. I don’t think we have to worry about another one being on the loose.”

Agatha nodded, pensively.

She turned to Felix and said something Victor couldn’t quite hear, then she turned to Max and said, “Uncuff him from the chair, but leave his hands cuffed together in front of him. He can stay locked in here for the meantime. We shouldn’t be too long.”

Max nodded and Felix and Agatha left the room.

It was just Victor and Max now. Max went to uncuff his hands behind him. “Now, no funny business this time, your friends aren’t here to help you, but they are here for us to hurt if you decide to be a prick again.”

He’d really managed to get under his skin it seemed. And Victor had assumed he was the nice one to start with. Funny how quickly first impressions fade. Victor again only briefly considered trying to make a run for it, but chose not to. Max twisted his arms in front of him and re-fastened the cuffs, too tight again, he felt the metal dig into the bones of his wrists and pinch his skin.

Victor hissed in pain, anger burning in him again. “Right, I wonder how many places Henry broke your buddy’s leg. He might have some cool X-rays to show you later, that’ll be fun.”

Max shoved him violently off the chair sideways. Victor’s head very nearly hit the linoleum floor with full force, but the fall was broken somewhat by his shoulder. Max hopped over the chair and laid a boot into Victor’s ribs with three swift kicks. Unlike Agatha, he didn’t hold back nearly as much; he wanted it to hurt, he wanted to break ribs.

“Let’s see how many breaks you have after this,” he spat.

Victor writhed in pain, curling into himself defensively, in a fetal position on the floor where he remained until Max left the room, turning off the lights on his way out, and he heard the lock turn, sealing him in, alone and in the dark.

It’d already been one hell of a day, and it was barely lunchtime.

#whumptober2022 #no.20 #fetal position #Frankenstein #fic #violence #abuse of power #molotov cocktales

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levi-supreme · 2 years

Note

Blessed by Professor Ackerman, eh? All those "private lessons" seem to have helped. ;) I'm combining your two Thursday events for this one!!

Picture this:

The reader’s on their way to Professor Ackerman's place for one of them """"private lessons""""", but decides to drop in a little early to have a little celebration for having passed their much dreaded stats exam. When they get there, Shawty is nowhere in sight. Then,

26. "i was supposed to take a shower, alone, but go ahead jump right in" happens :P

Maybe with a little bit of

65. "shushing your lover as they try to kiss you, telling them tonight is all about them, not you"

~ totally up to you to decide who tonight’s going to be about – the professor who taught the reader so well, or the reader who is such a good student 😊

ILY and I'm so proud of you :* okbye

Yes indeed, Professor Ackerman had blessed me with his knowledge and something else 🥰 also thank you!!! And since I'm the one in a good mood, of course Levi's going to reward reader (me) for being good... right...??

Also... I projected myself onto reader too much lol please don't mind me I am in a very good mood >//<

Characters: Levi x fem!reader

Warnings: SFW with suggestive content. Power imbalance/power play (Levi is reader’s professor, student/teacher dynamics). Age gap (Levi in his forties, reader in her late twenties). Reader insert (y/n). Making out in the shower. Characters are based off my statistics professor Levi writings.

26: "I was supposed to take a shower, alone, but go ahead jump right in" // 65: Shushing your lover as they try to kiss you, telling them tonight is all about them, not you.

Thirsty Thursday: Statistics Professor Ackerman Special

You were elated, over the moon even, when you received your exam results for the semester. To your upmost surprise, you actually passed your statistics paper. You were sure you were bound to fail; half your exam paper was left blank and you had no confidence you were getting the rest of the answers correct too.

The moment you saw a 'C' on your transcript, your mouth fell in shock. You couldn't believe your eyes. You actually managed to pass even though the chances were extremely slim. The first person that came to your mind was your statistics professor. You couldn't wait to share the good news with him. Yet, as you thought of him, your smile faltered. You passed your statistics module, those extra remedial lessons every Saturday weren't necessary anymore. What's going to happen from now on?

However, on Friday night, the familiar number of your statistics professor appeared on your phone screen, reminding you to be punctual for tomorrow. Does he want to say goodbye?

The next day, you decided to drop by a little earlier instead of the usual 2pm. For some reason, even if today was the last time you'll be going over, you wished to engrave everything about him into your memory. You knew how particular he was with punctuality and time. He hated late comers and people who don't follow the schedule. But what about people who arrive ahead of time? Knocking on the wooden door, you waited for a while, yet there was no response. You felt a little daring, and fished out a bunch of keys he gave you a while ago.

Inserting the key into the key hole, you unlocked the door and stepped inside, inhaling the subtle scent of eucalyptus. It felt a little weird, unlocking the door of another man's house, as though you belonged there. Yet, as you entered and saw half your belongings still in their original place, your heart did a leap of happiness. You did behave like you were the woman of the house.

Slipping on your pair of slippers, you took your time and walked around the house. Why, oh why, are you behaving as though today really was your last time in his house? While you went into your professor's study room to say hi to his pet goldfish, you heard the sound of water coming from his bedroom. Suddenly, the image of your professor naked and wet under the shower appeared in your mind. Him with his wet fringe sticking to his face, fingers in his hair lathering shampoo all over, droplets of water trickling down his body disappearing into somewhere lower and—

You nearly toppled his goldfish bowl.

Slapping your cheeks to snap out of your wild imagination, you went into his bedroom and knocked on the toilet door.

"L-Levi?" You heard the shower being switched off, and seconds later, the folding door of the toilet opened, and your dashing professor stood naked before you, shampoo still in his hair.

"You're early." He simply said, looking hard at you. You nodded and gulped, unsure of where to land your eyes. They alternated between staring at the hanging succulent by the toilet window to your toothbrush next to his, and finally landing on his nose.

"I—uh, I c-couldn't wait to see you, so..." you toyed with your fingers, eyes darting away again. Why am I acting like a high school teenager in love? You chidded yourself, unsure of why you're behaving like this. You wanted to run your hands through his hair and soap his back, you wanted to shave his stubble for him. The man of the house merely scoffed at your seemingly embarrassed state.

"Tch. It's not like you haven't seen anything of mine before," he tried to hide his grin and he turned away from you, "I was supposed to take a shower, alone, but go ahead and jump right in."

It took you a few seconds before you registered what he said. You hastily removed your clothes and joined him in the shower, feeling the warm water cascade down your back.

"Were you pleased with your grades, y/n?"

"O-oh. Oh yeah, I was, love, I really didn't expect to pass the paper." You sheepishly admitted as Levi washed his shampoo while you soaped your body with the lavender-scented body wash Levi got you.

"I have to say though, I was disappointed that half your paper was blank. But at least your scores on your class quizzes and your assignment helped pull your grades up." Levi grabbed your shoulders and turned you around to face him.

"You did well, sweetheart. I'm proud of you." Levi gave you a smile as you beamed, lacing your arms around his neck to give him a tight hug.

"I have you to thank, Professor," you giggled when you heard Levi snort, "the extra classes really helped, although half the time we end up doing something else instead." You released yourself from the hug and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

"Thank you Levi, for being so patient with me and for all the guidance—" you pecked his eyelids. "For taking your precious time to tutor a hopeless case like me—" you dragged your lips to his nose and left a small kiss. "And for loving me, inside and outside of class." You whispered next to his ear and you kissed him below his earlobe. You heard Levi hold his breath, and you slowly pecked kisses from his ear to his jaw. Before your lips could land on his again, Levi grabbed your wrist and placed a finger on your lips.

"Shhh. Don't need to thank me. You put in the effort and you worked hard all on your own. You did good, baby." Levi gave you another smile as he cupped your cheek, bringing you closer to him. "You're in for a long night, sweetheart, tonight's all about you." Before you could reply, Levi pressed his lips on yours, pulling your body snug against his. His hands roamed across your body, spreading your body wash all over before squeezing your ass. You hummed in happiness as your tongues intertwined, locking your arms around Levi tight.

"Mmm— L-Levi, ahhh!" You gasped as Levi bit your lower lip, holding your waist as he turned on the shower again.

"C'mon, baby, let's finish up here and we can continue outside." You looked at him confused.

"You may no longer need statistics lessons from me, but that doesn't mean that we won't be seeing each other again," once the both of you were clean, Levi took your towel and dried you up. Levi led you to the bed and made you sit down. Taking his seat next to you, Levi placed a hand on your thigh.

"Before I continue on, I hope you're ready for whatever is to come tonight. You deserve your reward, and I'm going to give it all to you."

Haha well yes here's the first celebratory post of my Thirsty Thursday: Statistics Professor Ackerman special!!!! Dayum son I still can't believe I actually passed my stats lol manifesting stats prof Levi really did help me hehe 🤪

Tagging: @levi-lover @ack3rlady @hashaneeee @imkumichan @kristinecharmm @notgoodforlife @jean-prettyboy-kirschtein @sweet-assh0le @hannie2kay @ack3rlevi @levislovingwife @galactict3a @hauntedhousecat @sckerman @thesimpsstuff @ackermandick @greenfurret @evas-leslas @levisbrat25

Levi Master List | Main Master List | Join the taglist

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write-orflight · 4 years

Text

The Fraction of Innocence.

**Gif Not Mine**

Anon Requested: 10, 16, and 25 for the smutty prompts thing!!!

10: “were you just touching yourself?” ‘yeah, what are you donna do about it?’

16: “the only way you are gonna get off is on my thigh.”

25: “she may be all lollipops and candy bars, but I bet behind closed doors she’s hand cuffs and gags.”

Pairings: SpencerXReader

Rating: M, (This is very explicit.)

Words: 4K

Warnings: NSFW!!! 18+ (Dom!Spencer, BDSM overtones, sexual conduct, fingering, bondage, etc.)

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Spencer thinks Y/N is an innocent, naive girl until a case reveals her extracurricular activities.

Spencer had been back from jail for 2 months when he first met her.

At first he didn’t think anything of her, other than the faint smell of vanilla and daisy as she walked past him in the bullpen and the bright smile that seemed to take up half her face. She was carrying files close to her chest like a schoolgirl late to class and the skirt of her white dress bellowed softly behind her as she made her way to Emily’s office.

“Who is that?” He had asked.

Luke looked up to where Spencer’s gaze was. “Oh, that’s Y/N, she's a tech analyst helping Penelope out right now. She’s sweet, you’ll like her.”

It doesn’t take Spencer long after that to decide he, in fact, does not like you. There was nothing wrong with you. Luke was right, you were sweet, almost sickeningly so. It was like you had no concept of reality. You lived in this world of all sunshine and good things despite the horror that crossed your screen daily. And while Penelope was the same, she at the very least knew how bad the world could be and chose to see the good in it. You didn’t, it was like you’d never had a single bad thing happen to you. And Spencer, who had been dealt the bad hand so many times in life hated that.

It also didn’t help that you were gorgeous too. You looked like an artist sculpted you himself to make the perfect woman. Real People weren’t supposed to look like that. Real people were supposed to have flaws and blisters. Real people were supposed to look tired so early in the morning not fully awake and smiling while handing everyone in the office a coffee. He didn’t understand how you could be real.

“Here you go, Spencer. Americano lots of sugar.” You said, placing the coffee on his desk.

“Thank you.” He mumbles.

“We have a case, by the way.” You giggle, going off to hand Luke his coffee before walking away to the conference room. Spencer was barely able to keep his eye roll at bay.

Luke sees that and laughs, clapping Spencer on the back. “Come on, kid. Play nice.”

“She’s giggling about a murder case.” Spencer grumbles before following him into the conference room.

“3 women have been murdered in Queens. Judging by the scars, they were all bound and strangled before finally being dumped in an alley.” Garcia says, as she goes through the slides, showing the crime scenes. “Police need our help finding the connection between these three women because right now, it looks like there is none.”

“I’d say.” Tara speaks up. “We have a waitress/student, a doctor, and a paralegal. All living in different areas of the city with virtually no reason to interact.”

Spencer looks down at his file, examining the picture when he notices something. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, you clear your throat.

“Umm, Emily?” You say from your seat right across from Spencer. Emily looks up inquisitively at you. “I think I know what connects them.”

“What’s that, Y/N?” Emily asks, raising a brow at her.

You clear your throat again. “Victim #2, Rebecca Belfront, has a Padlock collar necklace on in her second picture. That’s typically used to indicate she’s a submissive with a committed dominant partner. But she wasn’t wearing it when her body was found which makes me think that that relationship recently ended. That made me look at the marks on their arms. While there are some new ones from the murders, they all have faded marks around the wrist and body as well. Leads me to believe the bounding was er-... consensual. We should probably look into New York’s BDSM scene.” You close, smiling awkwardly.

Spencer looks at you in shock. He, of course, had come to the same conclusion you did and had been about to say that but he, at least, knew why he knew that. Why did you know that?

Emily hummed thoughtfully. “It’s worth looking into. Do you mind coming to NY with us? Your insight might be needed.”

You look kind of shocked at that but nod. “Of course, whatever I can do to help.” You say, softly.

“Great, Wheels up in 30.” She says, getting up, effectively ending the meet. Spencer watches you speed after her, files in hand to ask some more questions. Spencer’s walking back to his desk when Luke catches up with him.

“Y/N has a dark side. Who knew?” He says, smirking.

“Probably not.” Spencer muses. “She could’ve just known that. I mean, I just know stuff sometimes too.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Her body language gave her away. She was flushing and stuttering sure, but she was confident in what she was saying. Almost as if, she was speaking from experience.” Luke laughs. “She may be all lollipops and candy bars here, but I bet behind closed doors, she’s handcuffs and gags.”

Spencer hums. “Maybe.” He says looking up to watch you walk back across the catwalk from Prentiss’ office. Luke was right though, your body language did give you completely away that you were talking from experience. Spencer couldn’t help but wonder just how much.

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

When you arrive in New York, You head straight from the jet to the Police Station in Queens. You fiddle with your thumbs a bit, you are nervous.

“You ok?” Spencer says, from his spot in front of the bulletin board he was setting up. You were supposed to be helping him but you knew Spencer was particular about some things so you let him do it. In fact, there were a lot of things you’d let Spencer do. With you, to you, you weren’t picky. The man was gorgeous enough to make you nervous. With his lean muscles, long, fluffy hair, and large hands, he looked like something that walked right out of a wet dream of yours. Which sometimes, he was just that. You weren’t stupid though, you knew Spencer didn’t think of you that way. In fact, you didn’t think Spencer thought of you in any way. He seemed to ignore you anyway he could.

You look up from your laptop. “Oh yea, I’m fine. I’m just...nervous. I’ve never been in the field.”

“Chances are you won’t be, Emily will probably keep you in the Station if she can help it.” Spencer provides.

“I know, it’s just-- you know what I mean.” You say, Spencer nods before returning to the bulletin board. You stand to look at the map with him. “So, from what I was able to find there’s only 3 BDSM clubs in Queens but there’s only one in the middle of where the three women were found. Place called Cat’s Cradle.”

Spencer hums. “How complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is.” You look up at the man, recognizing the quote.

“There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look.” You say back, shrugging.

“You read Vonnegut?” He asks.

“You said that like you’re more surprised that I can read than what I read being Vonnegut.” You say, Spencer shrugs not even denying it. God, he was such a dick sometimes. A hot dick, but a dick nonetheless.

The two of you turn when you hear a knock at the door to see the lead detective coming in to check on you guys. “Just wanted to see how things were coming along. Also see if you guys needed anything?” Though he only directed the question at you with a sly smirk on his face. Men were so obvious sometimes.

“Nope, we’re fine.” You smile although you didn’t want to. “We’ve narrowed down to a couple BDSM clubs so hopefully we’ll catch our guy soon.”

“Wait, you think these girls were…” He trails off. You nod, knowing what he was thinking. “Well, it probably serves them right.”

“Excuse me?” You say.

“Listen, I know what kind of girls go into those kinds of clubs. If they want to be sexual deviants, they can’t be surprised when shit like this happens to them.” He gestures to the board.

“Actually more women are into Dominant/Submissive as well as BDSM relationships than you would think, statistically 85%.” Spencer cuts him off. “These clubs are just commonplace for them to meet like minded people just like you would do in any other club and they should be put on trial after their deaths for trusting the wrong person. If you don’t mind, we’d like to get back to work, Detective.” He says, turning back towards the board. The man nods and leaves shortly after that.

“Thank you.” You say, softly.

“What for?” Spencer asks.

“Come on, I work with profilers and I’m not stupid. I know you guys know about me so thank you for defending me just now.”

“I wasn’t defending you.” Spencer says. “He was making inappropriate comments about victims and we don’t need that outdated way of thinking working on this case. Besides…” He says, eyes flickering down to your lips and back to your eyes. “You’re not the only one with… unconventional extracurriculars.” He turns and walks out after that leaving you watching after him.

What?

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

After delivering the profile, you find the Unsub, a man named Ivan Parke. The only thing left to do was find the best way to snuff him out. When the team is discussing the next best course of action. It’s then Luke comes up with the idea.

“We should send Y/N undercover.” He says. “She knows the profile and knows the most about the scene.”

Emily nods. “Is that something you’re comfortable with, Y/N.”

You look up. “Oh, um yea. I’d have to find a different outfit but you have to send someone with me.” You say, everyone looks at you confused so you sigh and explain yourself. “If you send me into a club like this, in a foreign place with no Dom, the Unsub isn’t going to be my only worry. Someone’s going to have to play my dominant.”

“I’ll do it.” Spencer speaks up. Your eyes widened, you were not expecting Spencer to agree to it, you assumed you’d be stuck with Luke. Now you’re going to have to spend the night with the man you’d been crushing on since you started working with the BAU as his submissive. Like that wasn’t a dream come true.

“Great.” Emily says, dismissing everyone and handing you an expense credit card for an outfit. You take it and leave immediately, ignoring the sly look Spencer gives you.

You ended with a short, low-cut black leather dress with tank-like sleeves that showed off your curves and left very little to the imagination. As well as a clear pair of platform heels. You pulled your hair back into a sleek ponytail and you topped the look with your own personal leather choker with a large circle knob in the center. It was one of your favorite pieces to wear though you never really got a chance to wear it unless you were going to clubs, which you didn’t do as often these days. It was an expensive piece sure, but so worth it when you got to wear it. You were doing your makeup a little darker then you usually do in the bathroom when Spencer comes in.

“Is this how you typically look on the weekends?” He asks, standing behind you in the mirror. You look up to look him in the eyes through it.

“If I have the time.” You shrug.

“It’s very different. You’re very different from how I thought you were.”

“And how did you think I was, Spencer?”

“Naive...innocent.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have assumed anything about me.” You say, turning towards the man.

“Maybe you’re right… That’s an expensive piece.” He points out pointing to your choker. “Emily’s going to have fun explaining that at the next budgetary hearing.”

“I didn’t buy it today.” You explain. “It’s mine.”

Spencer hums for a moment before lifting his hand to turn your jaw, examining the piece. You can’t help the way your breath hitches at the contact. Spencer was already so close to you and now he was touching you, it was already starting to be too much. Soon, Spencer is hooking two fingers into the circle knob of your choker and he yanks it. Involuntarily, a whimper falls from your lips, prompting a smirk from the man across from you.

“Tonight’s going to be fun.” He says before leaving you in the bathroom in a state of shock.

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

After getting your comms set up by Luke, who tried to avert his eyes from your frame as much as possible, you and Spencer walk into the Cat’s Cradle. Typically you didn’t like the club scene, but you sometimes liked to venture out when looking for a new partner. Cat’s Cradle was definitely different than the other places you had been. Sure it still had the private rooms and the main stage where a scene was happening in front of you but it was a lot more laid back than the ones you went to in DC. Spencer was really enjoying his role too. Probably hamming it up too much because he knew there was a part of you that actually wanted him to. In the end, finding Ivan Parke was easy. He took the bait almost instantly and you were arresting him just as fast.

“Great work tonight guys.” Emily says, when you reach the hotel lobby. “Jet’s leaving at 7AM so make sure to get some rest.” She says, dismissing you.

Now begged a tricky situation because you had almost forgotten you and Spencer were rooming together. As you walked back to the room together the air was thick but both of you were silent. The tension had been building between the two of you since he yanked your choker in the station bathroom. You knew it was a matter of time. The dam had to break.

“You can shower first.” Spencer says. You nod, taking off your choker and grabbing clothes before taking solace in the bathroom. You wanted Spencer and you knew you needed to expedite this. After a much needed shower, you change into your pajama shorts and tank combo. Spencer steps into the shower almost as soon as you leave it. It’s then that you think of the perfect plan. You lay on the bed and spread your legs before slipping a hand down your shorts. You tease yourself at first, rubbing your clit through your underwear while you thought about the events of the night. How Spencer had been so authoritative. How his hand slid to the small of your back and sometimes ghosted your ass as the two of you walked around the club. How he had been so close in the bathroom. The way he yanked you closer. A small moan escaped you as you slid your hand in your underwear. Soon you hear the bathroom door open. Spencer stops short, watching you before leaning on the frame.

“Were you just touching yourself?”

“Yes.” You answer. “Are you gonna to do something about it?”

“Should I? Instead of telling me what you want you decide to act like a brat and do this.”

Spencer moves closer to the bed but doesn’t do anything, just continues to watch you so you decide to give him a show. Moaning loudly as you slide a digit inside of you. Spencer looks at you with hooded eyes. You can’t help the small laugh that leaves you.

“I think you’re going to give me what I want.” You say, smirking.

“And why’s that?” He says.

“You’re already weak.” You say.

“I’m weak, pretty girl?” He asks, incredulously. Before you know it, he’s ripping your hand out of your pants and crowding in the space between your legs forcing you to sit up and look at him. “You’re in here touching yourself to the thought of me like a horny teenager and I’m the one who’s weak? Ok.” He sits back and pulls you by your hips to sit on top of his lap, your legs straddling one of his thighs. “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh, ok?” He tells you, starting to move your hips. You moan, nodding your head as the friction makes its way through your core. Spencer lifts your shirt off you and smirks when his eyes land on your bare breast. He leans forward to catch your left nipple in his mouth. Your back arches as you grind harder against his thigh. Your hands fly up to start unbuttoning his shirt when he stops you.

“Did I say you could touch yet, princess?” He asks.

“N-No, sir.” You stutter.

“Then keep your hands to yourself.” He says, putting your hands back to your side. He does indulge you by taking his shirt off himself. But that doesn’t help you keep your hands to yourself. You saw the lean muscle and craved to mark it up with your nails. Your hands go up to touch him again but he stops you.

“If I have to ask you again, I’m going to tie you up, Princess. Just be good, baby.”

You were already close before but now with Spencer’s hands and mouth everywhere and constant friction on your sex it was damn near pushing you off the edge.

“I’m gonna come.” You tell him, he grips your hips tighter, lifting his leg slightly so he was only rubbing against your clit. That makes you moan out loudly.

“Go ahead, Princess. Cum for me.” He says, and that was all you needed to fall right over the edge. Your legs shake and convulse as Spencer grips your hips help you ride it out. Soon you come down panting and he’s kissing into your neck. He pulls back and grips your jaw.

“Still think I’m weak, Princess?” He asks.

You knew it was unwise. In fact, you tried to stop yourself before you did it but it was too late. You reared your hand back and slapped Spencer across the cheek. Not hard enough to be seen as anything malicious but sharp enough to throw him off, like he couldn’t believe you had done it.

“Yes I do.” You say looking him in the eyes after. Something like a switch went off because there was no other way to describe the look he gave you other than feral and fully primitive. He pushes you off him.

“Get on your hands and knees, now.” He says, menacingly. You scramble and run to get into the position. Once in, Spencer forces your knees further apart. He angrily takes his belt off his pants before fashioning them into a makeshift cuff and pulling your wrist so they’re tied behind your back, leaving you face down into the mattress. He slides your shorts and underwear off in one go. You yelp loudly when the first slap comes to your behind. When the second and third slap comes, you try to squeeze your legs together to get some form of friction but Spencer forces your knees further apart. You moan out when you feel a digit slide against your folds. You try to push back on it but Spencer holds your hips in place.

“P-Please.” you stutter.

“What do you want, Princess?” He says, sliding a second digit inside you making you cry out more.

“Please, fuck me, Spencer.” You say, and you really didn’t have to ask twice because almost as soon as you ask Spencer’s hands leave you to finish unbuckling his pants. There’s a brief moment of calm, so calm that you almost think Spencer wasn’t going to give you what you want but that calm is interrupted by Spencer slamming into, no warning. You scream out but that’s only rewarded with your head being shoved more into the mattress to muffle your cries. Spencer’s hands are pulling on your cuffs so he is almost impossibly deep inside you. You moans start to get louder and louder. Suddenly, Spencer is pulling you up so you’re both sitting up, your back against his chest. One of his hands slides to grip around your neck while the other is moving to circle your clit. The hand around your neck tilts your jaw back so you’re looking up at the man behind you.

“Fuck, you feel so good. Open your mouth, Princess.” He orders, which you do instantly sticking your tongue out. Spencer leans forward and spits into your waiting mouth before locking his mouth with yours. His hand squeezes your neck tighter as you moan into his mouth as he starts fucking you faster, his dick hitting your g-spot almost every thrust. It’s not long before you’re just babbling, not even able to string a coherent sentence together.

“You gonna come for me, Princess?” He asks. You nod, moaning loudly. At this point, you knew there was no way the person in the room next to you guys didn’t hear you. You could only hope that it wasn’t one of the team. “Go ahead for me, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock.” After that, it doesn’t take long before you’re falling over the edge, shaking all the while. Spencer fucks you through it before tightening his grip on your hips to bend you back forwards so your face is back on the mattress. He fucks you hard and fast before falling over the edge himself, moaning your name.

The two of you say nothing as he unties you. When he does, you instantly flop down on your back, breathing heavily. Spencer wordlessly gets up and goes to the bathroom. For a moment you think he’s just leaving you like this, that you were foolish to think Spencer cared anything about you but in that moment he comes back with a wet cloth and ointment. He says nothing as he wipes between your legs before tossing the towel aside. You watch him with a smirk on your face as he rubs the ointment on the red marks the red cuffs made on you.

He looks you in the eye. “What, Y/N?”

“What happened to Princess?” You say, Spencer just looks at you with a bored expression which only makes you smile more. “Now’s probably a good time for you to ask me to dinner.”

Spencer chuckles lightly at that. “You don’t want to go to dinner with me.”

“I’m almost positive I do. Why would you say that?” You ask.

Spencer looks you in the eyes at that moment. “I’m not-Y/N, I’m not like you.”

“Like me?”

“I’m not able to be cheery and smiley. I can’t float into rooms. I can’t be happy like you are, too much has happened to me. You deserve someone happy.”

“Spencer.” You say, looking him in the eyes. “You are not broken. You can be happy, it’s going to take time sure but I’m willing to be with you through that. If you want that.” You say.

Spencer nods. “Ok, Y/N.” he smiles.

“So….?”

He rolls his eyes at that. “What’re you doing next sunday?”

You smile, brightly. “Absolutely nothing.”

Perm. Taglist: @moonshinerbynight @crimeshowtrash

#spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #bau x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years

Text

The Passport

Requested by anon - a picture of your request will be at the bottom of the post! Enjoy! Thanks for requesting!

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Premise: You embark on a memorable journey in an attempt to return Kim Namjoon’s passport. What lengths will you go to in order to return his passport on time?

Warnings: none, this is literal crackhead fluff lol. emphasis on the crackhead.

Word Count: 3.2k

It all started in the morning. You knew, leaving the house that morning with a skip in your step and the sun shining down on you, that something was off. Something was bound to go wrong.

It wasn’t until 11:30, sitting at brunch with some of your friends, that you caught your first whiff of trouble.

Literally.

Rebecca, one of your oldest friends, had insisted on pretending to be rich and fancy for a day. She’d dragged you and the rest of your friends to a penthouse-like restaurant, commanding you to wear your finest ‘casual wear’, whatever that was supposed to mean.

Long story short, you felt like some sort of avid golf fan in your skirt and blouse. Or maybe a polo fan, cheering on the magnificent horses and their riders.

You were so consumed in your menu and trying to find the cheapest thing they had to offer without looking like a fraud, that you hadn’t noticed the room falling into a quiet buzz of excitement. Hadn’t noticed any sort of change in the air.

Except your nose had.

You unconsciously scooted in closer to the table when out of your peripheral you saw a group of people making their way over to the empty tables nearest you. They shimmied behind you and the table opposite your own, making sure to not interrupt your dining experience. Then you smelled it.

The most wonderful, fresh cologne you’d ever smelled. The smell was light enough that it had you wondering for a moment if you had just imagined the hint of pine, but another sniff confirmed what your nostrils already knew.

Whoever had just entered the fancy, no-good for college budgets restaurant knew exactly what worked for them. And it was that cologne. Naturally, you glanced over to see just who it was that graced your nose with such a beautiful smell.

And that, it the precise moment that you learned that Kim Namjoon, leader of BTS and dimple extraordinaire, smells like roses and pine.

Oh, and the slightest hint of jasmine.

Now, the only problem with that knowledge is the fact that you will never be able to get it out of your head. No longer will Namjoon in blue jeans and a tucked in t-shirt be your greatest weakness, as it had been before. No, that’s ancient history as far as that tantalizing fragrance is concerned.

“Enjoying the view?” Rebecca croons from across the table, ripping your attention away from the man that just took his seat. From this angle, you have the perfect view of those dimples.

The rest of the brunch passes by with little to no incident. The only thing that keeps you from staring at the group that’s CD has a permanent residency in your car’s stereo is the fact that you know your friends will take matters into their own hands if they catch you. Rebecca will surely embarrass you, if only because you’ve done the same thing to her countless times.

Leticia to your right elbows you lightly, grinning. “You know, RM keeps looking over at you.”

Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. “It’s not nice to tease!”

“It’s true!” Bianca pipes up a bit too loudly. She covers her mouth, looking embarrassed. “I mean, it’s true!” She whisper shouts. “He can only go about thirty seconds without looking at you. Maybe he’s worried you’re going to choke or something.”

You roll your eyes. “Wow, how considerate of him.”

Munching on a lettuce wrap that costs about the same as your statistics textbook, you nearly choke on it as the group finishes their meal and begins to make their way out of the restaurant. You scoot your chair back in, cursing your reddened cheeks even as you prepare yourself for the onslaught of Namjoon’s cologne again.

“Excuse us,” Namjoon says, the sound of his voice enough to have you staring at Rebecca as though she’s a lifeline. If you can make it through this experience without passing out, you can surely accomplish anything.

“Have a good day!” Bianca chirps, smiling widely. Jung Hoseok - yeah, the sunshine of the world - smiles back.

“Thank you,” he replies. He glances over at you and then, to your eternal horror, he looks at Namjoon with a pointed stare.

“Er...” Namjoon stumbles over his words, looking like he would rather eat the tablecloth than have to say two words to you. You try to hide your disappointment, closing your mouth and opting for a pleasant smile.

It’s the wrong move, honestly. Now you’re stuck smelling in his cologne and wondering how it’s humanly possible for someone to smell so beautiful.

Namjoon fiddles with his sleeves before looking over to you, a lightning bolt jolting your senses at the sudden eye contact.

“You...you’re very pretty.”

In your own defense, your mouth is not the only one that drops open in shock. No, Bianca, Leticia, and Rebecca mirror your state of shock.

Bianca recovers all too quickly, playfully pushing your shoulder as she exclaims, “See! I told you he was staring!”

Fighting the urge to flee the scene, you plaster on your most nonchalant expression and turn back to Namjoon with pink cheeks. You’re relieved to see his own cheeks tinted pink.

“I- thank you!”

At this point all of the boys have paused in their exit, turning to look back at Namjoon with silly grins. Namjoon notices their attention, nodding his head to you and his eyes dropping to stare at the carpet.

“You’re welcome, haveaniceday,” Namjoon spits out, thrusting a napkin into your hands before before turning on his heel and making a beeline for the exit. He shoulders past the members who give him pats on the back and laugh a little at their leader’s shyness.

With one final look over his shoulder and an annoyed sigh at Jin who mumbles a teasing remark to him, Namjoon leaves.

You stare and stare at the exit, your brain short-circuiting as you replay your short exchange over and over again. In your hands sits the napkin - an actual, cloth napkin that is silky soft - marred (or perfected) by Namjoon’s scrawl.

It doesn’t say a single word. Just boasts his phone number.

“What,” you breathe out, still staring at the exit, “just happened?”

Your question seems to break the spell that had your friends mute, and suddenly all four of your burst out into giddy laughter.

“I have no idea,” Rebecca says through her giggles, “But I wish I had that on camera!”

Leticia is the one to notice it first. As the four of you get up to leave, she sees something laying on the seat where Namjoon sat. You know it’s where he sat, because you’ve burned the image into your mind.

You’ve also memorized his phone number. As has Bianca, who read it over your shoulder about seven times before sitting back down in her seat.

“It looks like they left something behind,” Leticia muses, wandering over to their abandoned table. “Oh, no way!” She bursts out into laughter, pointing down at the chair.

The rest of us scramble over just in time to see Leticia hoist the item up into the air.

It’s a passport.

Rebecca grabs your arm, looking at me with wide eyes. “This is a sign! I swear, it’s a sign!”

You frown at her, rubbing at the sore spot from where she’s grabbed a hold of you. “What do you mean? How is this a sign? Have you lost it?”

“No, I get what she’s saying!” Bianca shouts, drawing the attention of anyone that hasn't noticed the commotion yet. “He gave you his number, and now you have the perfect reason to text him! And see him again!”

You snort in disbelief even though your heart is nearly pounding out of your chest. “...right. Because people just leave their passports lying around as calling cards these days.”

Leticia flips through the passport, eyes widening at all of the stamps. “I mean...this is Kim Namjoon we’re talking about. Doesn’t he lose his passport all the time?”

“Exactly, so I-”

“So you need to return it to him,” Rebecca interrupts, smiling devilishly. “C’mon. Text him and tell him. He’s probably freaking out right now.”

You groan, but know that you should. Pulling your phone out, you ignore your friends’ cheers. “If I embarrass myself, so help me...”

You text him.

Or rather, you begin to type out some form of message before groaning and throwing your phone at Rebecca. Naturally, she grabs your phone and types out a message, sending it off before you can even get a look at it.

In your despair and agony (yes, you’re aware that you often overreact), you don’t realize what’s transpired until the girls are squealing over Namjoon’s response.

“Look, look!” Rebecca yells, thrusting your phone toward your face. “Isn't he so cute?!”

Kim Namjoon 😱😍: I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I left that there. Are you available tonight? We could meet up somewhere? Sorry again for the inconvenience.

You groan, snatching your phone back. “Ugh, you people. Can’t even function over a simple text.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Leticia chides. “Weren’t you the one going on about how good he smells for the past thirty minutes?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You do.

Me: Sure, that’s fine!

Me: Where do you need me to go?

You’ve all piled into the back of Leticia’s car by the time Namjoon responds. What he says makes your jaw drop for the second time that day.

Kim Namjoon 😱😍: About that...do you know where the Grammy’s are being held tonight?

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Leticia asks, looking back at in through the rear view mirror. “What did he say?”

You furiously type out a response, heart rate picking up. “Umm...I forgot that the Grammy’s were happening tonight.”

Me: I think so...why?

“It sounds like he wants to meet there...?”

Kim Namjoon 😱😍: I’ll get you a backstage pass, if you’re alright with it. Some of the staff will be there to help you out, you can leave the passport with them.

Your heart sinks a little. “But it sounds like I’ll just be meeting with his staff. Makes sense, I guess. He’ll be busy and - what?”

Bianca and Rebecca are staring me down, and you can practically see the gears shifting in their minds.

“Why don’t we get you ready for this little rendezvous?” Bianca asks, rubbing her hands together like some evil villain.

“But I’m not even going to see him,” You protest. “And I’m just going backstage! Nobody is going to see me.”

“Doubt it,” Rebecca states. “He just doesn’t want to freak you out. He’ll be there. I’m sure of it. And when he sees you...”

“He’ll think I look ridiculous!” You shout, staring at your reflection in the mirror with disgust. “This is horrible.”

Indeed, the gaudy red dress was a bit too much. Even the consultant of the shop appeared inclined to agree with you.

“You’re right,” Leticia sighed. “Try on the next one.”

It hadn’t taken too much convincing to get you to go to the nearest dress store, you friends absolutely positive that you would see Namjoon tonight. When you did, he was sure to be dressed to the nine’s. You just didn’t want to look too out of place.

Casually formal.

If that’s a thing.

So far, it’s been a nightmare trying to find a suitable dress. Most have been bordering on junior prom vibes, however you try to cling to hope as you try on the next dress.

It’s a beautiful black dress with flowers stitched onto the lace overlay. The black slip falls to your knees, the overlay brushing against your calves.

When you exit the room, it’s easy to tell that this one is going to be the favorite. Especially once Rebecca chuckles under her breath.

“Oh, he’s gonna freak.”

One purchase and makeover later, you smile at your reflection in the mirror. You went for a more natural look, your hair falling in gentle curls and light makeup bringing out your eyes. You’re just slipping on your shoes when you get a text from Namjoon.

Kim Namjoon 😱😍: Ok, I hope you’re still ok to meet up! I’m so sorry again. I’ll send over the link for your pass. They’ll just scan it at the main entrance and then again at entrance 3. Sound good?

You take a deep breath, looking to your friends for support. They nod encouragingly, Leticia clutching her keys. All four of you will drive over. Hopefully they’ll manage to keep you sane on the ride over.

Me: Sounds perfect. And really, don’t worry about it. It happens to the best of us.

You’ve barely gotten into the car when Namjoon sends you the link as well as another message.

Kim Namjoon 😱😍: You know, if you leave right now there should be a few refreshments leftover from our staff. ;) Let me know when you get here!

“Oh, this man is going to be the death of me.”

The entire area where the Grammy’s are being held are packed with cars and fans clambering to get a look at their favorite celebrities on the red carpet. The red carpet interviews have only just begun, and you can’t help but wonder if Namjoon and the rest of the boys are out there already.

Smoothing out your dress, you can’t decide if you want them to be or not. Your heart is pounding from the overload of excitement and nerves.

With shaking hands your extend the barcode Namjoon sent you to the security at the main entrance and again at the 3rd. Once the car has been parked, you send a message off to Namjoon letting him know that you’ve arrived. Chances are he’s on the red carpet and isn’t going to see it, but at least you did what he asked.

“We’ll be right here when you’re finished!” Rebecca calls out as you clamber out of the car. You can’t help but laugh, feeling like a little kid being dropped off for school.

“You look freaking hot!” Bianca shouts, making you rush away and into the hallway crowded with people.

You follow the signs plastered up on the walls, pointing you toward BTS. Hopefully there are some people that will know you’re coming-

“Joon, we’ve really got to get out there now,” a voice you recognize as J-hope drifts over to you as you make your way toward an open door.

“I know,” Namjoon’s voice replies, and just like that your stomach is filled with butterflies tying impressive knots in your stomach. “But she just texted saying she’s here. I feel like it’s rude to just leave her to see the staff and not thank her in person.”

Jin’s voice is loud and clear. “Don’t lie to us. We all know that you just want to see her again. I’m starting to think you left your passport on purpose.”

You hold your breath, willing your cheeks to go back to a normal color. It does’t work.

“Ok boys, 5 more minutes. Tops. You’ve really got to get going, people are waiting.” Someone says over their shoulder as they step out of the room. They’re eyes almost immediately land on you, going a little wide. “Oh, are you here with the passport?”

Everyone seems to quiet down inside of the room, but a few harsh whispers and some footsteps later Namjoon is popping his head out of the door. As soon as he sees you his eyes light up even as he turns a little red.

“You made it!” He grins. “And wow. You look...”

You look down at your dress, fidgeting under the sudden attention. “A little out of place, I know. I didn’t know if it was ok to show up just in casual wear, so this is kinda what happened.”

Namjoon steps out into the hallway, and you swear you can hear Jungkook whining about how he wanted to see what’s happening. He’s quickly shushed by the others.

You’re engulfed by that same smell as this morning, and it takes everything in your willpower not to close your eyes and breathe it in. Namjoon must have barely reapplied his cologne.

“I was going to say you look stunning.” Now arriving just a step away from you, Namjoon smiles softly down at you. “Absolutely stunning.”

Your hands shake as you are at a loss for words, rummaging around your purse until you produce Namjoon’s passport. Staring at his tie and nowhere else, you extend it to him.

“H-here you go.”

As if trying to kill you right then and there, Namjoon’s fingers linger over your own as he takes the passport, quietly thanking you. “Um, this may sound a little strange but...”

You look up at him, a bit distracted by the way his hair is styled away from his face. Only a couple of thick strands kiss his forehead, making him look like he just stepped out of a novel.

Namjoon’s eyes dance over your face, clearly displaying his nerves. At least you’re not the only one.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Well, if you’re not busy tonight...would you maybe want to stay?” You barely stop yourself from passing out, digging your nails into your palm to ground yourself. Namjoon chews on the inside of his cheek. “Our staff have reserved seats by us, and we’re planning on ordering some food after-”

“Yes.” You blurt out the word before Namjoon can finish speaking, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he looks positively relieved at your interruption.

“Really?” He swallows, playing with his cufflinks even as he stares into your eyes. “I don’t want to pressure you or anything...”

You shake your head, but stop. “I would love to, but...I actually have my friends that dropped me off waiting for me in the parking lot. I can’t make them wait for me like that-”

Now Namjoon cuts you off. “They can come too! And invite them to eat with us after! Really, the more the merrier!”

You blink up at this man, completely floored. “But, they don’t have dresses.”

Checking a watch that you’re sure costs more than your entire year’s rent, Namjoon thinks for a moment before looking back at you. You can’t help but grin at the way his eyes sweep over your figure and face again.

Bianca was right. You do look freaking hot.

“Do you think they could go change and be back within two hours?”

You mull it over, pulling your phone out and shooting off a text to Rebecca. “I bet they could, with the right motivation. But are you sure that’s alright?”

Namjoon smiles broadly at you. “Oh yeah. It’s more than alright.” He hesitates, rocking back on his heels. “So...you’ll stay?”

You return his smile. “I’ll stay.”

“Great!” Jin’s voice rings out into the hallway, making you jump. “Now will you bring her in here so we can warn her about how weird you are, Namjoon? We’ve only got so much time.”

Laughing at the expression of long-suffering on Namjoon’s face, you take the arm he extends to you. Before you walk through the door to meet the rest of the members, you lean up on your tippy-toes to whisper something to Namjoon. He cranes his neck, listening to your every word.

"Thanks for losing your passport.”

Namjoon smiles sheepishly, and every thought eddies out of your brain as his adorable dimples make an appearance. “My pleasure.”

masterlist

#namjoon x reader #bts x reader #bts request #namjoon request #rm x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon x y/n #namjoon imagine #namjoon oneshot #bts oneshot #bts grammys #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #bts writer #bts author #namjoon is so cute in this

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no-droids · 5 years

Text

The Floor is Better

Part Eight of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.4K i am. appalled.

Warnings: SMUT, very vague attempts at sprinkling in hints of an overarching plot, language, the slightest bit of angst, TONS OF FUCKING FLUFF WOWWWW

A/N: This is by far the softest smut I’ve ever written. I will say that there is a hint at butt stuff tho (just a HINT—THERE IS NO ACTUAL BUTT STUFF IN THIS GUYS) so brace yourselves

***

Alright so this bed is, like. Atrociously uncomfortable.

It’s not even a bed. It’s a cot. Just a bare minimum place to sleep, shoved into the wall and taking up less space than the ship’s armory. Like a… like a really shitty gurney almost, except no padding. So not even a gurney then, just a fucking. Piece of metal. Just a piece of fucking metal to sleep on.

There’s surprisingly a bit of space to maneuver yourself when you’re pulled into the cubby completely like this, and yeah, it’s quiet and dark in here but man does your back hurt. Is his spine made of metal, too? Is that why he prefers this? The floor isn’t a feather mattress by any stretch of the imagination, but at least there aren’t any uneven support bars digging into your side.

You’re on Coruscant, and Mando’s been gone for over three weeks.

It. Fucking. Blows.

You’ve literally run out of ideas to occupy your time. You’re far enough above Coruscant’s dangerous underworld to not worry about any potential… mishaps, like what happened on Corellia, but the only issue with the ground being so far below you is that it’s not like you can just stroll down the road and buy yourself a deck of cards at the nearest merchant. The only shop within walking distance of this hub contains the bare essentials; things like food, medical equipment and bacta, spare electronics and parts—all of which you purchased without hesitation. Other than that, you need a ship to travel anywhere in this massive galactic capital, and while you just so happen to have a ship, what you don’t have, at least right now, is a Mando.

Fuck, but you did. Before he left, you had Mando all to yourself for at least a full hour. After he landed the Crest in a long-term terminal and turned his attention back to you, for some reason, he was insatiable. It didn’t really make much sense back then, but in hindsight, it’s like he knew good and well how long he was going to be gone this time, attempting to search for a quarry on a planet with a population that broke a trillion last year. It makes sense. With this many people, a biometric tracking fob would be almost useless, and sure, you realize he set the ship down in the long-term terminal for a reason, but long-term with Mando typically means a week or two. You suddenly realize that in a handful of days, he’ll have been gone a full month.

You suppose you probably could fly the ship somewhere else and send him a coded coordinate set of your new location, but for some strange reason, you can’t seem to reconcile going to all that trouble just because you’re bored out of your fucking mind. You don’t want him to have to travel another however many miles out of his way to get back to you just so you won’t have to twiddle your thumbs for weeks on end. You don’t want to run the risk of trying to make a quick trip there and back without alerting him of any change in location, either, especially on a planet this size. He could return to the hub at any time, and if he comes back to a different ship parked in this lot, you’ll probably never see him again.

Okay, no, that’s not true—he hunts people for a living, and you have his kid. You probably just wouldn’t see him for at least another month or so, and by then he’d be fucking livid.

So. You stay here. The baby offers a distraction, but only to a certain point. The ship is pristine right now, inside and out. Fucking pristine. Almost… almost compulsively so, you reluctantly admit. The console’s entire motherboard has brand new soldering and connections. You used ear swabs to clean and polish each individual button, key, and knob in the entire flight deck. You… may or may not have even labeled and color-coded the heat shrink wrap on every single cable in the Crest’s patchbay, all five-hundred and something of them. When you pried open the metal paneling that covered all the ship’s interior routing jacks, you remember gasping at the sight of a mechanic’s worst nightmare and wondering if the last person who touched it took even more than a few hours on its installation. What used to be a horrifying tangle of haphazard wiring is now a lovely set of rainbow snakes meticulously gathered and bound together with zipties, and you’re incredibly proud of it, though you still haven’t decided whether or not you should be.

There’s also a very particular reason you’re in this poor excuse for a bed. You still very clearly remember Mando’s unfiltered voice in the pitch darkness, telling you he wants to come back to find you in his bed. To find you in it, so he can fuck you though it.

Well. Three weeks ago, sleeping in here sounded like a good idea. You even have a pillow now, and a blanket you can lay out beneath you while you curl up under the one you brought from home. It’s thick and warm—probably a shock blanket, to be honest, since you did happen to find in the medical section—but it still doesn’t offer near enough padding to feel like you’re laying on an even surface right now. Mando could theoretically get on top of you in here and fuck you—there is enough room vertically. He might break one of your ribs on accident though, just judging from the way this one Maker-forsaken support bar seems to dig into your ribcage no matter which way you position yourself in here.

Stars, your back hurts. You should just lay on the fucking floor. If he hasn’t come back by now, what are the chances of it happening tonight? But then your mathematical hindbrain immediately reminds you that statistically, the chances are the highest they’ve ever been. The longer Mando’s gone, the more likely he is to come back every single day that passes.

It’s just as well, you figure, grabbing the tracks beneath the bed and slowly beginning to squeak yourself out of the wall. You try not to let your fingers get pinched between the railing and the slider, but that just means the quickest you’re able to inch out is in intervals the approximate length of your index finger. It’s dark in the hull—the baby is fast asleep in his crib in the cockpit, and the long-term terminal you’re parked in is quiet. It would be a perfect time to sleep, if you could. But here’s the thing—

It sucks that Mando’s gone for this long, absolutely. It sucks that you slept on this awful fucking bed for three whole weeks when you could’ve done this ages ago. But most of all, it sucks that you don’t have anything else to do. Because that means you can’t occupy yourself, and when you can’t occupy yourself, your mind starts to wander. And then you start to fixate on things you probably shouldn’t fixate on, for your own good.

Things like blood on your hands. The baby limp in your arms. A voice spitting, “pretty little bitch like you would sell for at least—”

Your eyes snap to the corner of the hull for the millionth time, the sight of where it happened, before you shake yourself out of it and hop down off the suspended cot.

“This’ll be good,” you whisper quietly in the darkness to yourself, pulling the blankets off and grabbing the pillow. It’s… it’s something you’ve started to do when you need to instantly snap yourself out of a dreaded line of thinking but you don’t have anything stimulating around you to help. Talk to yourself, talk about anything, just talk out loud and focus on the sound of your own voice. If you listen hard enough, it’ll drown out your thoughts. “The floor will be great. The floor kicks ass. I like the floor.”

You spread the fluffiest blanket down on the ground as far away from the offending corner as possible, and then close the much shittier metal bed into the hull wall before collapsing on your clearly superior one, never once ceasing your rambling nonsense about the floor.

Oh, this is nice. This is fantastic. Your back is still tight and achy from three awful weeks of sleeping on a “mattress” clearly made for someone with no concept of comfort, but being able to stretch out on a flat surface with a large shock blanket that feels like a fucking cloud under your body? Your eyes are already starting to droop.

“The floor is better,” you whisper, yawning and snuggling deeper into the pillow. The terminal is quiet. The kid will be asleep for a while. Mando won’t come back tonight. Mando won’t come back tonight. “The floor is better. The floor… the floor…”

***

You jerk awake to something kicking your leg, hard.

Gasping, you’re instantly pulling the blanket over your chest on reflex and bracing yourself for another impact, except then whatever kicked you is immediately toppling over your shins and stumbling to the floor with an unfamiliar grunt.

You and a man you don’t recognize blink at each other for a few seconds; him taking in the way you’re curled up on your makeshift bed, and you taking in the way he’s got his face squished against the metal ground, apparently not quick enough to use his arms to try and soften the abrupt tumble.

It’s like all your blood suddenly thickens and the adrenaline digs claws into your chest. Your first instinct is to fucking bolt, but then your eyes instantly flick to the cockpit, where you know the kid is still sleeping.

Only—you can’t move. You’re frozen in terror, quickly blinking your wide-eyed gaze back at the man on the ground. You know you could’ve only been staring at each other for a few seconds at most, but with the way your mind is hurtling right now, it’s long enough for you to have just the briefest flicker of confusion as to why he hasn’t appeared to have moved either.

Except then another set of footsteps slowly begin clanking up the ramp.

Your heart is fucking slamming up against your ribcage at about the rate of four beats per footstep, but as soon as you catch a flash of beskar stepping onto the ship, you‘re reaching up to clutch your chest with your palm like you just finished a long-distance sprint and trying to take deep, calming breaths.

It’s just a quarry. It’s just a quarry. His hands are cuffed behind his back. It’s a quarry.

The Mandalorian slowly comes to a stop right in front of your outstretched legs and the sharp angles of his chrome profile silently stare down at them, unmoving. You swallow thickly and try not to blush as his helmet tilts towards you and follows your knees up to your hips, along your heaving abdomen and chest, before eventually coming to a rest on your face.

He holds there for a second, taking you in. You bite down your lip and feel your heart thundering under your ribcage, blinking up at him as your cheeks flush in a boiling hot mixture of panic, embarrassment, and relief.

His metallic visor carefully follows the length of your body back down again, pausing once more at your feet.

And then he sighs heavily through the modulator, loud enough to echo through the silent hull, before slowly stepping over them.

“Well, well,” the quarry says, stealing your attention with a sick smile creeping across half his face as it’s smushed against the floor. “Who’s this, Mando? She’s just darling, isn’t she? Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addit—?”

The bounty abruptly cuts off with a strangled yelp when Mando bends down and grabs him by the collar, yanking him to his feet and then shoving him forward towards the carbonite chamber.

You collapse back down onto the floor with a relieved breath and try not to tremble with the adrenaline comedown. Maker, you woke up barely a minute ago but almost all of it was spent in fight or flight—or in your case, freeze—mode, and you’re already fucking exhausted again.

“I’ll tell him—” you can hear the quarry snarl just before Mando slams him into the metal frame. As much as you try to just tune the confrontation out for the moment and focus on slowing your heart rate, you still manage to catch bits and pieces. “See him again… be interested to know…”

You close your eyes and breathe deeply, counting to three during each inhale and exhale. Fuck, that scared you. You almost had a fucking heart attack, and it takes you a few seconds to get your body under control again. But then you realize you haven’t heard anything from Mando’s side of the hub for an extended moment, and the carbonizing gas hasn’t yet filled the room.

Your head turns and if you squint from this distance, you can make out a leather glove clamped tight around the quarry’s throat, the man’s face a red-purple by this point as he sags weakly against the chamber.

“Mando!” You bark quite suddenly, and beskar shoulders jerk straight at the sound as the bounty immediately takes in a giant, ragged breath from under a marginally loosened grip. Mando quickly releases his neck altogether and punches in a few buttons on the control panel to the right, and then freezing gas soon solidifies the gasping quarry into solid carbonite.

He stays with his back to you for a moment, letting the cloud disappear completely before he moves a single muscle. When he does eventually turn to look at you, he still doesn’t say anything.

He just stares. The lights in the hull glint off his helmet, and you tug the blankets up your chest a little further on instinct. Fuck, three weeks is a long time. You’re defaulting in a way, finding it impossible to not reevaluate him after a long absence. Before he left, you’d gotten a bit better at gauging his mood and countenance, been more relaxed and friendly around him, but now, after some time away from him, he’s still so… jarring. Unpredictable, even when standing still. Especially when standing still.

You’re just trying to play it by ear, trying to respond to him the way he responds to you. Only—it feels like he’s either not responding to you at all, or you’re just too rousing of a stimulus to show a response.

“You…” you breathe, and for some reason your heart rate is beginning to kick up again instead of decelerate. You should be calmer now that he’s here, but he still hasn’t said a word. “Y-You scared me.”

Mando stays rooted to the spot, just a motionless suit of armor, with the exception of his chest moving with breaths and his fists repeatedly clenching at his sides, and fuck.

Fuck, you’re wet.

You feel like prey right now. You’re starting to gradually build into another fight or flight mode every second he’s staring you down, refusing to speak, but you also feel a stirring deep down in your floor muscles. He’s so fucking tall from this angle, so broad and—

He steps a single foot forward. You flinch at the abrupt movement, practically soaking your underwear now. Mando takes another step forward, and you wet your lips and start to crawl back on the bed just a bit, staring at him with wide eyes.

Maker, the tension is making it hard to breathe. You’re silently begging him to come take care of you after such an agonizing three weeks apart, and Mando’s body language looks like he’s more wound up than you’ve ever seen him. He starts pacing directly to you, crossing the hull rapidly, and your heart thumps furiously with every step he takes.

But then he gets right to the edge of the blankets and suddenly stops short. He looks down at the neatly made bed at his feet, and then down at his body.

You try not to make an audible huff of disappointment when he abruptly collapses down onto his back with a clatter right there on the floor, just a few inches shy of the blanket, immediately bringing the backs of both hands up to press against the face of his helmet. It should look weird considering his knuckles are pushing hard against the visor, almost like he’s covering his eyes or has a headache but is rubbing the beskar instead of his forehead, but it doesn’t. It just makes you want to rip that armor off his body even more and remind him again of what his skin feels like.

“What are you doing?” You try not to make it sound like a breathless pout as you squirm impatiently under the blankets. “Come over here.”

“I’m dirty,” is the first thing that comes through the modulator, gravelly and distorted but his voice burning a fucking hole through you after not hearing it for almost a month. “I need to shower before I touch you.”

You don’t know why, but something about the way he says it makes you throb hard between your legs.

“Will you please just…” you bite your lip, stopping yourself short of saying take your clothes off and go with, “please, just—hurry. I’m…”

Maker, you don’t know how to say it, and Mando soon rolls his helmet to the side to look at you when you don’t finish your sentence. Desperate for it? Hurting? Feeling your clit pulse right now even though he hasn’t laid a finger on you yet?

“I missed you,” you eventually finish lamely, breathless as you fidget and bite your lip.

“Yeah?” He breathes, suddenly turning the rest of his body on his side to face you. “Tell me.”

“I… I want to show you,” you return quietly, scooting closer towards him. “But you’re being withholding.”

Mando doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but the front of his visor burns into you, steadily increasing your need for him the longer he silently stares at you.

“Show me, then,” he says after a moment, and the sentence rolls through you with a shudder.

You swallow thickly, and slowly start to pull the blanket down. It’s unnerving that his helmet doesn’t move, even though you can literally feel his gaze lowering and searing hot along your newly revealed body. You’re not even naked, not in the slightest, but with the way his shoulders tighten and his spine tenses just slightly, you would think you were completely exposing yourself to him right now.

“Do you want…” Your fingers waver near your belly button, caught somewhere between wanting to pull the hem of your shirt up for him and wanting to pull the waistband of your pants down. “What do you want to see?”

A breath comes through the helmet; slow, but shaky.

“I have to shower,” he grunts sharply, suddenly, his fist clenching at his side. You don’t take offense to the stern tone. He’s clearly repeating the sentence as a reminder to himself, not to you.

“You can get me dirty,” you breathe regardless. “I don’t care.”

“I just spent three weeks on Coruscant’s surface,” Mando grits. “I can’t touch you, I’ll infect you with someth—What are you doing?”

You bite your lip at him as an answer, bypassing your prior conflict altogether by slithering your hand down the front of your pants.

“What are you doing?” He repeats through the modulator, just as your fingertips wedge underneath the hem of your panties.

You shiver at the sensation, your eyes losing focus just slightly as you trail down the front of your pussy. “I… I missed you.”

“Fuck,” Mando barks, and then he scrambles to stand up. “Stop. I’m taking a shower, just—just stop.”

You ignore him, turning on your back and widening your knees so he can still see the way your hand is still moving down between your legs, your finger just barely brushing the top of your slit. “But it feels good.” “Take your hand out of your fucking pants,” he orders tightly. “Right now.”

Your eyes flutter up at him as you do what he says, slowly bringing your hand out of your trousers. “Hurry,” you murmur, biting your lip and blinking innocently up at him. “Please.”

He doesn’t say a word, but his cape does make an audible sound with how quickly he whips around and shuts himself away in the tiny fresher.

***

You forget how long it takes to undo the beskar armor sometimes. In fact, throughout the entire duration of Mando’s shower, you’re able to quietly sneak up to the cockpit and navigate the ship out of the terminal, pull up the coordinates for the next quarry on the navcomp while rising to a high enough altitude above the galactic capital, make a jump into hyperspace, return to the hull, shut off the lights, and slither back under the covers before the fresher actually turns off.

Soon, Mando raps his knuckles against the door separating the two of you, and you’ve completely wiggled out of your clothes by that point, the blanket resting just below your naked waist. “Hey,” his unmodulated voice calls from behind the thick slab of metal. “Eyes closed for a second.”

“I’m not looking,” you agree, draping your elbow across the bridge of your nose and waiting patiently. He gives you a few seconds regardless before the door is sliding open. You expect it to quickly shift shut again, plunge the room back into pitch blackness like before, but he hesitates. It takes another moment for you to realize that he’s probably just staring at your naked chest while he stands there in the doorway, light spilling into the hull and illuminating you waiting for him with your eyes obediently shut.

“I thought I told you not to sleep on the floor anymore,” he murmurs after a quiet second, and you bite your lip and shuffle your shoulders impatiently against the floor, arching your chest out just slightly to entice him to come closer.

“Fuck that bed,” you breathe with your arm still pressed over your eyes, and your nipples feel tight in the cool air. “Your armory is bigger than that bed, Mando. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Yeah,” he returns, finally shutting the fresher light off and shifting the door shut behind him, beginning to make his way over to you. “Tells me that there are more guns than people on this ship, as well it should be.”

“Maker, you’re impos—”

You’re cut off by Mando dropping to his knees and slowly crawling over your body, and fuck he’s as naked as you are, he’s naked and his skin is warm and damp from the shower and his hair is still dripping as you slither your arms up his chest and comb your fingers through it.

You can’t see a damn thing but you’re instantly thanking your lucky stars for that fact when his head drops down and a hot tongue drags up the curve of your neck. Okay, this is better. This is always better. Even when you can’t see a damn thing, feeling the hollow of your jaw be caressed by a blazing wet furnace and tugging your fingers through his hair will always be better than when he keeps the helmet on. Maker, you almost forgot how fucking good his mouth is, how soft and warm it is, and you can’t bite down a whimper when his lips finally trail up your chin and seal against yours.

You moan when his tongue gently slides into your mouth, unable to stop yourself as your cunt fucking throbs between your legs with arousal, and Mando even lets out a short huff of air through his nose and a low noise quietly slips through his vocal cords as he tastes you. The barely audible sound is enough gasoline to your fire that you wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his lower back before tugging, wanting his cock pressed against your cunt so you can rub yourself against it while he kisses you.

Only, something in the way Mando’s elbows immediately buckle and the hiss of air through his teeth before he unceremoniously collapses on top of you makes you instantly let him go.

“Hey,” you say, letting him bury his head into the crook of your neck and puff a short few breaths of hot air against your skin. “What’s wrong?”

“Fuck,” he grunts, sounding somewhere between discomfort and legitimate pain, moving to prop his arms up next to your head again but taking a moment before trying to push himself up. “Back. Back hurts. Too—” he winces when his shoulder moves a certain way, “—too old for this.”

“Here.” There’s just enough space between you and Mando to wiggle out from underneath him, quickly turning around and swinging a leg over his back as he abruptly drops to the floor with the extra weight. “Let me rub your back.”

“Shit—come on,” he groans against the blankets. “I haven’t touched you in three fucking—”

Your hands trail up his spine, slow and gentle, and Mando cuts himself off. He shudders under your palms as they carefully push and roll into the small of his back, and the muscles curving down under your touch gradually rise as he breathes in a lungful of air. “Let me rub your back,” you repeat softly, letting your voice lull just a bit in a lower register, and all the air immediately releases from under your hands.

“Okay,” he relents, but his spine still holds straight and tight with tension.

“Okay?” You repeat, dragging your palms back up until they’re roughly in the middle of his spine. “Tell me if I go too hard.”

Mando barely huffs with a chuckle beneath you. “Yeah, okay, I’ll tell you if—nghh—”

You dig your knuckles into the dip right beneath his shoulder blades and start kneading, and Mando makes a strangled noise and sags into the floor. Your smile is almost impossible to hide, but the pitch black hull does the job just fine as you press and roll your knuckles into the hills and valleys of his back. The noises he makes are a mixture of soft gasps and chokes, but it gives you the perfect opportunity to explore his body in ways you haven’t been able to before.

Your thumbs you dig in and follow the curve of his spine down, squeezing through the tightness in his lower back. The skin under your hands is soft and giving, even though you can feel massive knots hidden underneath. You take all the time in the galaxy with it, isolating each ache and pain and then grinding your knuckles into them steady and hard enough to make Mando groan brokenly under the pressure. You work at it for a while, trailing your fingers up to his neck and massaging the base of his skull, not being able to imagine how much those muscles have to hurt after holding up a heavy beskar helmet every single day. Your hands explore everything you can from this angle—you squeeze the tops of his shoulders, slide your palms down and squeeze his biceps, the muscles under his elbows, the ones wrapped around his forearms.

“This alright?” You ask after a while, and you barely get a hoarse grunt from him in response. His body is perfectly relaxed under yours, almost dead if he wasn’t still breathing, and you slowly walk your hands down the length of his back until you’re braced upright on him once more. “You gonna make it?”

Eventually, he drags his forearms up so he can prop them against the blankets and slowly roll over underneath you. You allow the lazy movement, lifting your hips up as he rotates, feeling his smooth skin shift under your palms until he finally comes to a rest on his back.

“My turn?” He asks through the darkness.

“Your turn for wh—?” You gasp as his grip instantly tightens, and then he’s abruptly switching your positions until he’s on top of you. Almost all of your breath is knocked out of you when Mando grabs you and flips you over until you’re on your tummy, and then whatever remains suddenly whooshes out when he straddles you and plops down on your lower back.

“My turn to give you a massage,” he says, and you let out a quiet, “fuck—” when his palms land on your shoulders.

“Wait—” You pant, “—Wait, hang on, I don’t need a—”

Thank the fucking Maker you turn your head quick enough to muffle a loud moan when his fingers begin rubbing hard circles into your deltoids. Stars, sleeping on hard metal for three weeks was truly a nightmare for your posture. The knots in your upper back burn under the steady push and press of his touch, and it’s like your muscles can’t decide if they want to relax under the manipulation or tense up against it.

“Maker,” he murmurs, his thumbs frame either side of your spine and slowly drag downwards, and your voice almost cracks as you hide another groan in the pillow. “Why does your back hurt? What did you do to yourself?” “I slept—” you gasp when his knuckles roll up the length of your sides. “Slept—on that piece of fucking scr-scrap metal—you call a—” his fingers press firmly against the valley below your shoulder blades, and then widen apart to start squeezing your arms, “—a bed for three weeks,” you manage to gasp, sparks of sensation shooting down to your fingertips as he rubs the muscles along the length of your biceps.

Soon, Mando’s hands come back down to rest on the small of your back, and he begins digging his thumbs into the base of your spine. “Why did you do it for so long if it hurt?”

“You said—” You cut off with a moan into the pillow as he slowly scoots back until he’s sitting on your thighs, his hands moving downwards and kneading the soft flesh of your ass, pressing deep into the sore muscles while you struggle to remember what you were going to say. “Said you wanted me to sleep in y—”

His thumbs start slowly moving inwards, his large hands butterflying out along both cheeks and squeezing. He spends a second just grabbing and pulling your pillowy flesh, shamelessly spreading you and manipulating it until you’re throbbing between your legs again. He’s being so brazen about it, too, gradually moving his thumbs closer and closer together until they’re digging into the crevice.

“Hey, uh,” you pant, starting to tense up a bit as his thumbs begin moving downwards. “Ma—h-hey, you’re getting really… close to m-my…”

His hands keep steadily moving down, and you’re starting to squirm just a bit at the unfamiliar sensation of someone’s fingers pressing and kneading the unexplored skin between your cheeks.

“Getting real close to your what?” He drawls out from above you, low in his throat, and your cunt pulses with need.

Fuck, you’re gasping raggedly into the pillow, wondering if the absence would truly make him this bold. You’re halfway caught between nervousness and being incredibly fucking turned on, and the way he pauses right above your asshole and just holds there makes your the muscles deep in your lower abdomen twist in anticipation and heat. Fuck, you’re soaking the blankets beneath you, you can tell. A thin sheen of sweat breaks out across your body and it’s all you can do to just lay there and wait for it with bated breath.

But then his weight is suddenly lifting from you and sliding down the length of your legs, settling at your feet. You barely have enough time to let out a deep sigh—half of it relief and the other half… disappointment, maybe?—before he grabs hold of one of them, the size of it only slightly bigger than his hand, and firmly presses both thumbs into your arch.

A groan of approval slips through your vocal cords and you go practically boneless underneath him, not realizing how tense you just were a second ago.

“Fuck, that’s s-so good,” you murmur into the pillow, grabbing the blankets at your sides and fisting them subconsciously as he clamps his large hand around your heel and squeezes.

After spending just as much time and attention on the other foot, you feel him grip both your ankles and start working circles up the length of your calves with his thumbs. His hands flex against the backs of your knees when they get there, and then your breathing kicks back up again when they gradually drag up your subtly clenching thighs.

But then they come to an immediate halt about halfway up, and you have to bite back a huff of distress when he just holds there. Fuck, why did he stop? Why did he stop?

“Sweet girl,” he eventually breathes out, sounding somewhere between chastising and shocked. Your eyes flutter in the darkness at the tone, the endearment after nearly a month without it, and you wiggle slightly on the bed with arousal. “Is this…?” Mando brushes his fingers along the inside of your thighs, and you can feel the way his cock pulses as he presses it tight against your leg. It’s not until he drags his hand down to your calves that you feel the slick heat coating the tips of his fingers, wiping it off on your relatively dry skin.

The pitch blackness makes it impossible to truly tell, but you’re sure your eyes roll back. Stars, you are so wet for him, you’re leaking it halfway down your thighs. It’s been too long since he’s touched you. You can feel your lower muscles bearing down and coiling tight, your entire pelvic area now cramped up with need.

When his hand carefully moves up and a finger just barely ghosts over the soft flesh of your lips, you can’t stop yourself.

“Touch me,” you hear yourself suddenly beg, goosebumps breaking out along your skin while he begins to slowly trace the outside of your slit, up and down, up and down. “Oh, fuck—please, Din, touch me, I—”

“Hush,” he tells you softly, and fuck, he’s on top of you and you physically can’t do anything to encourage him to hurry up. The only thing you can do is kick one leg out as wide as possible and just shudder helplessly against the floor, trying to give his hands more room to work.

You feel desperate, your blood pounding through your ears as he takes all the time in the universe exploring you. “Stars, don’t do this—I need you to—”

“Hush,” he murmurs once more, before moving both fingers to spread your lips apart ever so slightly, your slick heat seeping out to coat his fingers and the blanket below. “Relax for me.”

Maker, your lower muscles are tightening down and throbbing in equal parts, and you just can’t relax, you can’t relax when you’re this close to cumming all over his hand even though he’s barely touched you. You’ve been aching for it this whole time, but now there’s a bite to it, a slow burn that begins to engulf the lower half of you in simmering heat. “Din, please, I missed you so m—”

You choke when you feel the slightest brush of a fingertip next to your clit, before he’s firmly pushing down and tracing a torturously strong semi-circle around the top of it.

Your toes curl and your body locks up and you gasp his name into the pillow, flexing every single muscle in your body in response to his touch until you’re impossibly rock hard with tension under him.

“Poor thing,” Din whispers, slowly tracing an arch back around the other way, and your entire body trembles with it. Maker, you’re soaking his hand, slippery and hot and every nerve from the waist-down feels sharp and exquisite at the same time. He leans down to press his lips to your shoulder blade while starting to rub strong circles around your clit. “All alone for three weeks, nobody around to look after you. Make sure you’re seen to.”

You’re not sure which way is up right now, and not being able to see anything isn’t fucking helping either. You feel dizzy with sensation, shaky as his tongue slowly drags up your skin, and you actually feel water rush to your eyes in torment when he pulls his hand away.

You open your mouth to beg him not to stop, but then he’s already moving. Grabbing your hips and slowly lifting them until your knees have to shuffle up to compensate. He still keeps your head buried in the pillow, though, still keeps the upper half of your body firmly pressed against the floor. You pant into the fabric half covering your face and fist the blanket underneath you, biting your lip and clenching your thighs as two hands carefully settle along the backs of them.

Fuck, he keeps you there for so long. He drags out the anticipation until you’re downright hurting for it, waiting with your ass up in the air for him to do something—anything to help relieve your stress instead of continuing to build upon it.

“Fuck—” he whispers, “—missed you, too.”

When his hot, velvety tongue finally glides through your slit, something about it makes you moan brokenly into the pillow, spread your knees and arch your back even more in presentation. Fuck, there’s just something about the mindblowing eroticism of your positioning right now, how you’re bent in half and letting him lick through your folds however is easiest for him, something about it hits just right and makes your orgasm suddenly pull up tight and fast.

“Din—” you breathe frantically, your knees shuffling apart and your hips pushing back against his mouth. “Din, I’m gonna cum—”

His hands come up to clamp around your thighs and hold them steady. And then he lowers his chin to seal his mouth over your clit, slowly dragging his slick tongue over it, again and again and again, and fuck, you can’t do anything to stop it. Everything surges up, searing hot and wet as you go rigid and gasp his name, shuddering your way through the debilitating bliss as it arcs brilliantly up and down your spine.

By the time you’re finished, you’re slumped against the floor in exhaustion. He pulls away and sits up, and you try to push yourself up too, but a large palm firmly flattening along your spine stops you. The sound of him spitting and the subsequent slick glide of his hand around his cock makes you groan hoarsely against the pillow and relax back down again.

Din eases his way inside you and the thickness of him as he slowly breaks you open is fucking electrifying. Your sensitive channel hugs tight to every fucking inch of him, lighting your nerves up from the inside and sending skittering shocks down your thighs. You melt into the floor and take what he gives you until his hips touch your ass, sagging against the ground as he stands so tall and upright on his knees behind you.

When he slowly pulls back out, you can hear the wet sound it makes echo throughout the pitch black hull. Maker, he just starts up a slow, steady rhythm, his steel grip on your ass holding you steady as he pushes in and out of you. It’s blinding, making you writhe against the floor while he gives you his cock at a languid pace, dragging the pleasure out but snapping his hips against yours whenever he does reach the apex of his strong thrusts.

It’s as agonizing as it is blissful, and you moan softly into the pillow the entire way through it. Except—you’re too full of mindless pleasure, too stimulated to want to remain stationary for this long. You need to move, you need to show him how much you thought about him while he was gone.

“Din—” you whimper, breathless and needy, turning your head back slightly to unmuffle your words. “Turn over.”

“In a second,” he huffs, his cock continuing to steadily rock into you. You’re bent in half, taking it the only way he’ll give it to you and not even being able to push back into him. “No—l-later. After.”

You whine, frustrated, clawing and pulling at the blankets under your arms. “Please—”

“Fuck,” Din pants, “fuck, what do you need? You need it faster?” His speed kicks up the slightest bit, and stars, you have to bite the back of your hand to muffle the ragged noise you make in response. “This what you need? Tell me.”

There’s not a good way to phrase it. Mostly, you just… feel the need to participate in this more directly. You know from experience that he likes to finish when he’s on top, but after weeks apart, you… you need to be what makes him cum, not what he holds steady and uses to get himself there.

Your voice comes out frantically, pleading gasps for him to grant you this one thing. “Just turn over, please—pleasepleasepleaseplease—”

His thrusts falter, until they stop completely. He sounds like he’s having as much trouble breathing as you are, but his hard grip on you gradually loosens. “You—do you not—?”

You don’t let him finish. As soon as he lets you go, you’re pushing yourself up and turning around, grabbing his shoulders and all but wrestling him down to the cushioned blanket. Din grunts and lets you do it, dropping down onto his back and snaking his hands up your naked chest as you climb over him with weak, trembling limbs. Once you get his cock into position and sink down though—fuck, you grab his wrists and yank them up until his palms are cupping your tits, and Din hisses below you. Your hands are barely large enough to wrap around the backs of his, but you force him to squeeze them nonetheless, and then you begin to ride him in earnest.

He curses, bracing his feet against the floor and shifting his knees behind you, and then he starts pushing his hips up into yours in time with your downward rolls. Maker, he hits something deep inside you at the angle, something that makes you gasp every time your hips meet. Your palms drag down his wrists and forearms as he keeps groping your breasts, throwing your head back in ecstasy as another orgasm starts to stir somewhere low in your core.

“Stars, I—I think I m-might—” You barely have enough time to gasp it out before he’s releasing your breasts and anchoring his grip tight to your hips, beginning to angle and isolate in on that one spot that drives you fucking crazy. The strong thrusts pull you forward until your palms are braced on the floor next to his head, and you just moan and push back against it as he fucks deep into you.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Din says again, his disembodied voice sounding tighter and more desperate in the darkness, like it’s coming out against his will. “I—I missed you, t-too, sweet girl, I f-fucking—missed—”

You choke out a cry as another wave of euphoria all but fucking evicerates you. Your elbows buckle and you fall into his chest, but Din wraps both arms around your back and keeps fucking you through it, gritting breathless curses at the ceiling as your cunt spasms around his cock.

“Tho—ught about you—” he groans, husky and low next to your ear, “every… fuck, every fucking day—thought about y—”

His body tenses and his thrusts stutter to a halt, and then he grinds up into you, gasping your name into the pitch black hull. Your body is crushed into his chest when his hips jerk against yours, and you bite his shoulder in satisfaction, squeezing hard around his throbbing cock.

When Din finally settles back down to the floor again, both of you are spent. Neither one of you fucking move. You don’t say anything while you catch your breath against his chest, slumping down into him as his knees suddenly drop flat.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck. I’m. I’m never taking a bounty on Coruscant again.”

You laugh lightly, swallowing and turning your head to settle in the crook of his neck. Your knees shuffle up slightly until you’re resting all your weight on top of him, his cock still engulfed in your hot center. As soon as you lift off him, you know you’re just going to dribble a mess all over these nice blankets, so you decide to put it off for as long as he allows it.

Din doesn’t seem to have a problem with it at all. In fact, his chest shifts just slightly beneath you when he reaches down to catch one of the blankets and pull the fabric over the both of you, collapsing back into the pillow with an exhausted sigh and doing absolutely nothing to encourage you to move whatsoever.

“Corellia was worse,” you tell him instinctually, and he grunts and brings his hands up to trail his fingers along your lower back.

“Corellia was over within a day,” he points out, and. Shit. You know he’s just being diplomatic about it, but something in the way he casually brushes it off suddenly makes you go quiet. He’s right, you probably weren’t on Corellia for more than a few hours total. Not that you necessarily expected him to, but he clearly doesn’t realize the events that took place there have haunted you for weeks.

When you don’t immediately say something in response, Din stops dragging his fingers up your spine. You can feel his chin lower slightly, his jaw brush against your forehead. “You oka—?”

“I killed someone on Corellia,” you whisper, and your words hang heavy in the still air immediately afterwards. “A man is dead because of me.”

He doesn’t speak. For a long time, Din doesn’t speak.

By the time his voice eventually does come through the darkness, you’d almost convinced yourself he wasn’t going to say anything at all.

“You’re right,” he tells you bluntly, brushing your hair back from your shoulder. And, for some reason, you’re not expecting it. If you were able to get a verbal reply out of him at all, you… you hoped he’d argue with you even just a little bit, if only to make you feel even the slightest bit better. “A man is dead, and you killed him.”

Though his voice is soft and you know he’s not being intentionally cruel, it’s like he reached through your ribcage and crushed your heart himself. Your shoulders tense at the feeling, wanting to instinctively curl yourself inwards and make yourself smaller in response to it. Only, Din’s broad chest prevents it. All you can do is hide your face as best you can in his neck and let the unfiltered truth weigh heavy on you in the silent hull.

“But you’re wrong about one thing,” he eventually says. “He’s not dead because of you. That implies you had a choice. You didn’t. He’s dead because of him. He gave you an ultimatum, and you did what you had to do. Don’t feel bad that you won.”

“I didn’t win anything,” you whisper against his throat, uncomfortable with the implication.

“He initiated a confrontation, and you finished it,” he asserts. “You did what you had to do, and you did great, so don’t—”

“Great?” You close your eyes and try not to sound as upset as you currently feel, because you know this is just him being polite. He does this for a living. He’s probably lost count of how many people he’s killed in his lifetime, so what’s one body to him? You shouldn’t have let the conversation lead here, especially after such a lovely moment. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it—”

“Listen to me,” Din suddenly says, curling the tips of his fingers against your shoulder blade. “There’s something you need to understand, and I’m not trying to hurt your feelings by telling you this. But the galaxy will never be as kind to you as you are to it. You’re tenderhearted, and that’s not a bad thing. Hang onto it, but recognize that it’s rare. It’s not something that you’ll come by often. You’ll never see as much of it in anyone else as I see in you.”

Maybe it’s because you know he’s not used to comforting people that the words actually manage to make you feel somewhat comforted. They’re blunt and honest, but they also allow an unobstructed glimpse into his feelings for you, specifically because of that.

“I just…” You bite your lip and snuggle your head deeper into the crook of his neck. “I just wish I could… somehow…”

His chest expands fully with air underneath you, and then you can literally feel yourself slowly sink down a few inches with how deeply he sighs. But… this isn’t the normal Mando sigh. He doesn’t sound frustrated with you, exasperated, or impatient. He sounds… empathetic. Understanding.

His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head and comb his fingers through your hair, tugging at some of the tangles at your nape. “What would you have done differently?”

You don’t answer him, because you immediately see what he’s getting at. You’ve told yourself these things a million times over in the weeks he’s been gone. Regardless, he goes on for you.

“Would you have chosen to land the ship in a different spot? Risked a different person following you onto it?” He asks, and though the overarching point to this line of questioning is already blatantly obvious, his voice is still kind. “Would you have taken that vibroblade to a different part of his body? Given him a slower death? What else would you have done, sweet girl?”

You stay silent, fluttering your eyes shut. His fingers lazily trail up and down the length of your spine, goosebumps breaking out on your skin once again.

“Even if there was something you could’ve done—even if his death had been your fault,” Din murmurs, “—listen, do you remember what you said to me? When I told you my name—before that, do you remember what you said? You said that some things just belong to people. That there are certain things that people just own, right? Fundamentally. And you can do whatever you want with them. You can choose whether or not to share them with others, you can hide them, or you can. Change them. Burn them away. Remember?”

You nod as much as you can with your head buried into his neck like this.

“Well, you’re right,” he continues, his voice softening. “Some things do belong to people. But some things… some things you can’t change. Some things you can’t hide, and you can’t just burn away forever. But that doesn’t make them any less yours, understand? You killed someone. It doesn’t matter what I tell you, or what you tell yourself. The end result won’t ever change. It can't change. You own that now, and you’ll carry his death with you. Just like I carry every single one of mine.”

He’s… he’s right. You don’t have to like it, but he’s right.

“I don’t like it when you quote me to me,” you eventually whisper, your lips brushing his throat.

“Too bad. I got another one for you,” Din rumbles, and you can feel his gentle smile against your hairline as he tilts his head and presses his lips to your temple. “The Way says no take-backs.”

You narrow your eyebrows into this perfect little corner of him, not liking how curt and unapologetic it sounds rolling off his tongue. “Did I say that?”

“Yep,” he huffs at the ceiling. “Half-asleep, yet observant enough to be annoying.”

Your mouth twists, trying to appear visibly offended in the pitch blackness for some reason but fighting back a smile. “Would you rather I be oblivious and adorable?”

“No,” he says immediately, and then you blink a few times in the darkness at the sincerity in his tone. “You’re smart. Well—you’re an idiot sometimes, but you’re smart. That’s good. That’s your best weapon. Use it.”

“Use it?” You ask, your voice quiet but curious. “For what?”

He takes a second before responding, his fingers continuing to trace gentle, subconscious shapes along the curve of your spine. “What planet are we going to next?”

The abrupt change in subject is stark and immediately noticeable, but you wrack your memory for the coordinates you brought up earlier when he was in the fresher nonetheless. “Naboo.”

“I was thinking,” Din says, shifting just the slightest bit under you. You groan when you realize his cock is still inside you, soft but still gorgeously thick enough to not slip out. “Might… might be a good idea to show you some things. Give you a few self-defense tips before I head out again. Naboo is one of the safest planets in the galaxy. We can… take a few days.”

“Yeah?” You breathe, a spark of excitement bringing an immediate smile to your face.

“Yeah,” he repeats softly, the scruff on his jaw rubbing against your temple as he nods. “Been awhile.”

“Okay,” you bite your lip on a grin and try not to let him hear the happiness in your voice. Fuck, a few days. A few days he’s delaying his job to spend with you. Maybe you’ll be able to sleep on an actual mattress at some point. You truly can’t fucking wait.

You two stay like that for quite a long time, just resting and breathing with each other in the pitch black hull.

“We just wouldn’t have gone to Corellia, how about that?” You find yourself saying after a moment of comfortable silence. When Din doesn’t speak, you elaborate. “You asked me what I would’ve done differently. We just wouldn’t have gone to Corellia. Avoided the whole fucking sector altogether, like I plan on doing for the rest of my life.”

And then your whole body abruptly jerks up and down exactly once with his genuinely amused huff of laughter from underneath you.

Your expression immediately narrows. This is the third time you’ve ever made him laugh in all the months you’ve known him, and somehow all three of them have been at your own expense. “What’s funny?”

“Absolutely. You could’ve—” he clears his throat, “—convinced me. Not to hunt down a bounty.”

He doesn’t make a sound beyond that, and had you not been laying on top of his chest as it subtly vibrated with stifled chuckles, you wouldn’t have known at all that he found that to be so funny.

“I could’ve… wooed you,” you try after a second, and nope. You feel like you’re on top of a silent, quaking faultline now, and you do your best to keep a frown on your face as you rock back and forth on top of him. His cock almost slips out of you in the commotion. Almost.

“Get some sleep, you sweet talker,” he eventually sighs when he calms his breathing, kissing your forehead and settling back down into the blankets. “The kid will be up in a few hours, probably less.”

“He’s your son,” you grumble, still sulking somewhat at his blatant disregard of your seduction talents. “Takes after you. For all I know he looks just like you, too.”

“Sleep,” Din tells you, bringing a hand up to cup the back of your head and push it deeper into the crook of his neck. “That’s enough talking.”

You stomp down the playful urge to bite him and settle into him instead, closing your eyes and breathing him in. Fuck. A few days on Naboo. You’ve only heard nice things about the beautiful planet. You wonder if it has an ocean. Could a planet be called beautiful if it doesn’t have at least one? You’ve seen rivers and lakes on planets Din has taken you to, but there was always land on the other side. You’ve never seen an actual ocean before, you’ve only heard about them. Water, as far as the eye can see. There has to be an ocean on Naboo, right?

“Hey Din, are there any—”

“Stop.”

It’s alright, you’ll ask later.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #fanfic #reader insert #no-droids #rough day #smut

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cherry-lipbalm · 4 years

Text

survival of the fittest. spencer reid.

5.3k words.

masterlist

“ If they were to somehow get out of here alive, she was certain it would only be one of them. ”

three hours earlier

Y/N was ready to go home - more than ready. They'd gotten back from a hard hitting case in Boston, touching down by early afternoon meant they were expected back at the HQ, which henceforth meant piles of paperwork were in their future. Y/N knew her complaining would only go reprimanded by Hotch, so she kept to herself in her cubicle, shoved into the corner of the bullpen, and desperate to get the documents out of the way.

Over the scribbling of her pen, she heard the mutterings of Morgan and Reid's conversation beside the latter's desk not too far away from her own. She sighed in defeat, because she knew she wouldn't be able to resist joining them, especially when the opportunity arose to take the mickey at Spencer.

When it did inevitably arise, she pushed herself away from her desk and allowed the wheels on her chair to escort her over to the men. At the sound of jagged rolling, Morgan stepped aside to make space for her to insert herself, a snide smug painted on his face.

"Did I just hear the word 'Spencer' and 'girl' in the same sentence?" She asked, leaning on the armrest to shove her shit-eating grin into Spencer's face; he only rolled his eyes and gave an insincere 'ha ha'.

"Your ears did not deceive you, baby girl," Morgan said, receiving a smack on the arm from Spencer. The warning stare he gave him almost made Y/N stop pestering him. Only almost.

"Oh my! Spill the beans, who is she?" Y/N gushed, steering her chair even closer to the Doctor while Morgan watched on amusedly.

"There isn't a she," he grumbled, head bowed to his paperwork in the hopes that if he ignored the Agents they'd just go away.

"...a he?"

"No!" Spencer exclaimed, snapping his head upwards.

"Hey! It's no skin off my nose, Spence."

He groaned, then turned back to his work and allowed for Morgan and Y/N to exchange a glance as they both tried to hold back snickers at their friend's flustered existence.

She stayed huddled around with them for a few more minutes, but as soon as she saw the clock hit 5, she jumped from her chair and kicked it back to her desk. Announcing that she was off, she began to gather and pack her things. While she did so, she heard Spencer make the same announcement.

"You're off earlier than usual," she called back, "let me guess... Doctor Who marathon?"

Spencer's smile gave him away; Y/N chuckled and draped her coat over her shoulders, standing by his desk while he adjusted his satchel.

"Busy man," she commented, then proceeded to listen to whatever sci-fi related ramble Spencer was emitting, interjecting with exclamations of intrigue or surprise whenever she deemed suitable (they were all timed guesses, but she didn't waver once).

"...Christopher Eccleston is actually the second favourite, despite the fact that a lot of people skip his season, but he has a 52% popularity–"

"Wait, why do people skip his season?"

"Oh, because he preceded David Tennant. He's the favourite, with a 69% popularity."

"Ha, 69," Y/N muttered under her breath with a crude smirk. Spencer only gave a restrained smile and raised his eyebrows. The two fell into a silence, except from a 'thank you' Y/N said softly when Spencer opened the door for her.

The elevator button illuminated under her touch, and they stood in front of the steel doors, awaiting their opening. Y/N tapped her foot senselessly, and Spencer rolled on the balls of his heels.

In amidst the silence, Y/N looked up to Spencer and they exchanged a warm smile. The beep of the elevator distracted them, and after stepping aside to let people out, they ambled in and finally relaxed when the doors closed on them again.

"Today was relentless," Y/N sighed, checking her watch.

"Have any plans?" Spencer asked, out of courtesy.

"Well, I have to head to the repair store to pick up my phone, but after that there's leftover Chinese food in the fridge with my name written all over it," she chuckled.

"What happened? To your phone?"

"Morgan happened," was all she said. Spencer joined in on her judgement even though he didn't know the story, he did know that 'Derek Morgan' was simply a reason in itself that didn't warrant an explanation. Then, they lulled in the return of silence.

It wasn't until the elevator jerked and came to a sudden stop that the two spoke again.

"That's not right," Spencer muttered, and he immediately began to jab at the ground floor button before Y/N smacked his hands away, because she was already deep in a panic, so it was even worse when the next astounding jerk hit. She screamed when they were thrown off balance, and hoped she hadn't got a concussion from where she collided with the back wall upon the motion.

"What the hell?" She panted. They came to a still, but it made her even more nervous because she knew they hadn't been in there long enough to reach their floor. That, and the fact that they had just ripped through the air at about a hundred miles per hour.

Spencer's eyes furrowed, and he licked his lips in the way he did when he was focused on something. Judging by the way he assessed the doors, Y/N thought he was about to pull some thwarted stunt, or more likely reel off some facts about steel.

"I think something's wrong," he mumbled.

"No shit, Sherlock,"

"Ah, elementary my dear Watson," Spencer replied so quickly that Y/N was almost inclined to believe it made any sense.

"Did you know that Sherlock Holmes never actually said that? Sir Arthur Conan Doyle never wrote those words, they were only adapted into the movies years later-"

"Oh my god, Spencer, are we stuck in this elevator?" Y/N shrieked, her knuckles whitening under her tight clutch of the hand rails on the wall: half from fear and the other from frustration.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I think so."

Upon Spencer's bluntness, she stepped forward, desperate for any attempt of an escape plan, she began pressing the ground floor button repeatedly; when that didn't work, she resorted to aimlessly smashing all the buttons on offer.

"That's– that's really not gonna do anything," Spencer said in the background.

"Do you have a better idea?" She snapped, turning to him with a glare before resuming her actions.

"Try the - try that one!" He pointed to the red button with an alarm bell engraved on it, and Y/N felt stupid under his stare for not noticing it before. She pressed it, and the ringing noise that emitted from it seemed to do nothing but that: ring. She was certain someone was supposed to come to their aid through a speaker, so she pushed it continuously, but derived nothing further. At least she gained some comfort in the panic of Spencer's voice that told her he was shitting himself as much as she was.

"It's not doing anything!" She cried, and when he leaned over her and pressed it too, she bit her tongue and raised her eyebrows to tell him 'see?', infuriated at the fact that he thought she could be somehow pushing a button wrong. But, then again, she'd have been even more angry if he'd done it and it had worked.

When it didn't, she alternated to the next best thing.

"Help!" She yelled, slamming her palms against the doors. She didn't know what floor they'd been wedged at (or even if they were just floating in some space between levels), but someone had to hear them; they were bound to...right?

Spencer seemed to think so at least, because he was joining her in pounding his fists on the steel. Sooner rather than later, the harsh echo made Y/N's ears ring, so she stopped and took a step back.

"Well, this is great," she sighed, slumping in a lean on the wall as she rubbed her temples.

"I'm gonna miss Doctor Who," Spencer whined, pouting.

Y/N just rolled her eyes at him and told him to call somebody. She was sure she'd seen JJ just before they left, still huddled in her office; hopefully she'd be able to call maintenance and they could be released from this death trap of a machine.

"I can't, my phone died. Use yours."

"What?"

"My phone's flat, can you use yours?"

Y/N just stared at him. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt because the adrenaline rush of panic can make memories a bit hazy, but her skin was flustering under the rage she was feeling, her forehead was already beginning to perspire and the walls were so small and entrapping and - is it hot in here or just her?

"My phones at the store," she reminded him through gritted teeth, and watched his composure fall in both comprehension and defeat.

"Great," he remarked.

"Oh, like it's my fault?"

"Well, it's not mine."

"And it's not mine either so don't talk to me like that!"

It was only a short exchange, but it made Y/N's blood boil; if they were to somehow get out of here alive, she was certain it would only be one of them.

Spencer gulped, and Y/N was sure that had he the opportunity to he would be storming away right about now, but unfortunately for the both of them that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. The wonderful reality of this hitting Y/N, she kicked off her shoes and planted her bum down on the floor.

Spencer looked at her curiously while she did this, then quirked his lip and proceeded to do the same. He used his satchel as a pillow to support his head, and sighed loudly (it seemed deliberate just how exaggerative it was).

"No one is ever gonna find us here," Y/N said.

"We're not dying–"

"You don't know that. We could be suffocating as we speak-"

"Suffocation is impossible in elevators: the cars are designed not to be airtight and there's vents that allow air to move in and out," he pointed up at the grated opening above Y/N's head. At being proved wrong by Spencer and his big, unfathomable brain, she crossed her arms much like a stroppy toddler and even pouted her lip.

"We could still die," she mumbled.

"The statistics of that are still very unlikely; in fact, the people that die the most in elevators are elevator technicians themselves. An average of 26 people die in elevators every year in America–"

"And you're ready to be one of those 26?"

"We're not going to be. We won't suffocate, and it hasn't fallen."

"Yet," she said. "Plus, theres other ways to die. Like, I don't know, murder perhaps?" She said with a potent glare in his direction. He gave her a blank stare partnered with a sarcastic smile, one that only made Y/N more devoted to her other-ways-to-die initiative.

"We just have to wait a while... Did you know the longest duration of time someone was stuck in an elevator was 41 hours? Nicholas White. And all he had to eat was a packet of Rolaids."

More than accustomed to tuning out Spencer's rambles, Y/N barely heard what he was talking about, in a dazed trance where she was focused intently on where the paint didn't match the wall, she was so invested she almost missed what he said.

"Wait... oh my god. Do you have food?" She asked, sitting up from her subsided posture.

Spencer's face softened in dread, which didn't bring any aid nor optimism to their situation.

She watched him sit forward, shoving hands into the pockets of his blazer, coat, trousers and pulling out nothing but a few crumpled pieces of paper. Y/N matched him with an empty gum wrapper and a Walmart receipt displaying a concerning amount of pregnancy tests she had purchased last month.

"Do I even wanna know?" Spencer asked, chucking it back to the ground with a grimace as if it was riddled with germs (it probably was but, still).

"All you need to know is that I'm not pregnant," Y/N scoffed, almost amicably, but her eyebrows creased and she was back to a fuck everything this sucks expression in less than a second.

"Well we can't survive on this."

"You really haven't brought any food?" Spencer pestered.

"No, I had Chinese leftovers on the cards for tonight. And I don't see you offering anything up; what's your excuse?"

Spencer only groaned, again. He kicked his feet out and let his head fall onto the wall back in the same place. He ran a hand through his hair, and the scarce gel he had used to keep it in place disassembled around his face in random strays of curls. The sight of him relaxing like he was settling in for the night didn't appease Y/N one bit.

While Spencer closed his eyes, Y/N got to her feet and decided slamming on the door again was a better pastime. Spencer, however, did not agree.

At the banging, Spencer's eyes shot open and his body shook in alarm. His eyes darted around the space frantically until they landed on Y/N's figure aligned with the doors on which she was unleashing hell. If yelling could open an elevator, they'd have been out in a jiffy.

"I think we've established that doesn't help," Spencer said.

"Then you help!" She shouted, continuing the thrashing of metal.

"How?"

"I don't know!" Her shriek echoed, and she yet again gave up on the violence. "Use that big brain of yours and find us a way out of here."

"The 7 steps to surviving being stuck on an elevator are fundamental; we've already done them. They include pressing the open button, the alarm and call button. We still have our light source, otherwise finding one would have been number two. We've tried yelled for help. The only one we haven't done is stayed calm," he said with a heavy emphasis in her direction. Currently, she was the epitome of panic.

Y/N furrowed a brow at him, "That's six. What's number seven?"

She watched Spencer inhale deeply before he told her, "wait it out."

Y/N felt her heart sink. The possibility of her going insane while being confined within this space was only increasing as the minutes passed by. And with that, she felt like oxygen was depleting alongside it. She took a big breath to remind her that there was still air to breathe, and Spencer caught sight of it.

"Are... are you claustrophobic?"

"No!"

His eyes widened at her outburst, and he even raised his hands in defence should the situation present itself, which was looking pretty inevitable.

"I'm not, I just... get a little... panicked, that's all."

"You don't say," he murmured, and —with a grunt— got to his feet again. He treaded towards the damned doors. Y/N thought he was going to bang on them again, and she took front-row seat on the floor to watch the imprudent, futile attempt. Instead, Spencer's long arachnid-like fingers dug into the crevice of the doors and he tried to pry them open. This was an even vainer approach; his strained groans showed such.

"It's no use. We're gonna be here for a while. I can offer you a juice carton," Y/N spoke, making Spencer turn attentively at the word 'juice'. He looked down to where she was rummaging through her bag and depositing a few random objects while she did so. In a very Mary Poppins like fashion, the entities incessantly kept coming and coming, gathering in remarkable piles on the floor. There seemed to be more things than space available, but then they were trapped in an elevator and space was one of the many luxuries the agents realised they had taken for granted. Despite his astonishment at the growing belongings, there seemed to be a concerning lack of food present.

She was, however, holding out an apple juice carton, and Spencer figured that you get what you're given. So while her attention focused to the remnants of whatever was in her bag, Spencer punctured the carton with the straw, and began sucking. He made a squeal of surprise and relief when he saw her pull out a feebly wrapped, half eaten bag of crackers.

"Oh, I forgot about these," she announced, with the first smile Spencer had seen from her since the elevator had broken down.

He leaned down to grab the bag, dusting off the sprayed crumbs and then took a seat to Y/N's left. He left space between them for chivalrous purposes and also to allow space for the bag of crackers to sit.

They made attempts to ration the snack, but it soon developed into an every man for himself situation when Y/N noticed Spencer had started to take two at once.

She wasn't even hungry anymore, but the hunger for beating Spencer at something prevailed and disregarded any logical thought that they ought to save food, so she dove in again for another cracker. Unluckily, she did so at the same time as Spencer, so it made for an awkward encounter when their hands collided but neither was willing to give up their slot in the bag.

Eventually (because they didn't want the other to notice their blush), they gave up when time ran too long and reached a compromise with halving the cracker. Y/N gave Spencer the bigger half of her failed equal snap, but neither of them addressed it.

Neither of them addressed anything actually, for the next... god knows how long they were cooped up in there. They sat in a pleasant silence, free from any awkward glances or trepidations: it was both from the fact that they were in their own heads, and a serendipitous comfort in one another.

"I'm sorry you're going to miss your Doctor Who... thing," was what broke the silence.

"Oh, it's okay. I can just watch it on repeat tomorrow."

"Okay," Y/N laughed softly, and they floated into another quiet.

"I'm sorry you're stuck in an elevator."

"Ha! Me too."

"When we get out of here maybe we can go for Chinese food," Spencer suggested, craning his neck to look at her with a discreet smile.

"Sure," she agreed. "By the time we get out my food at home might have rotten anyway."

And then time after that just... passed. In Spencer's satchel he had an uncanny assortment of reading material to thrive on, and amid her odd collection of pretty much everything she had ever owned, Y/N found an old MP3 player and some earphones (only the left ear worked, but it was as good entertainment as she was going to get).

There comes a point, though, when one person can only listen to so much music from their teen years; Y/N's taste back then was... questionable, to say the least. And her earphone seemed to agree with her, because it gave out just when the unmistakable sound of an NSYNC song began.

"Ugh, just when it was getting good!" She complained, tugging the bud from her ear and throwing it onto the miscellaneous pile.

Spencer's head quirked to Y/N, but his eyes only followed after he had finished a sentence on his page. When he did, he saw her curiously leaning over his shoulder and squinting at the words.

"You can borrow it if you want," he said. "This is my third time reading it and I have others."

He gestured to his pile, which had evolved into a makeshift bookcase in the corner of the elevator. A few pages were torn, and the spines were so worn down that she could barely make out what the titles were. Not from a lack of TLC, but rather copious amounts of it; having been read over and over again.

"No, it's okay. You continue, I'll just... meditate, or something."

"It's a good book," Spencer said, and he sounded like he was trying to persuade her, so she gave in and nodded. Readjusting her posture, she focused again on where the paint didn't meet the wall as she listened to the one thing she thought she wouldn't ever be able to stand: Spencer Reid's voice.

———

Which, to her and Reid's surprise, she found quite calming. Her hidden envy and not so hidden annoyance with his ability to reel off facts and wisdom like he was only recalling what he had for dinner hindered any fondness Y/N could associate with his voice. Until now, that is.

He was reading Strangers on a Train, supposedly his third favourite book, and they were reaching "the best bit" according to Spencer, but then every bit within the past forty five minutes since he'd started reading had been "the best bit", so Y/N wasn't sure.

But she's pretty calm, as calm as she can be stuck in an elevator, so she's actually thankful she has Spencer of all people beside her. She knew that if Morgan was in his place they'd have attempted murder at least a couple times by now; not to say that Y/N hadn't considered stabbing Spencer at all, but there's only so much damage a blunt pencil at the bottom of her bag could do.

So, she's calm. She's barely following the story because she only joined in halfway through, but she's grasped the basis of it because Spencer reads so eloquently and so well that he's practically painted the vividness of the narrative for her, even though he vouches it's down to Patricia Highsmith's words, which is true, but Spencer has a role in it too.

One thing Spencer recites makes Y/N wonder why she's never had him read to her before.

"People, feelings, everything! Double! Two people in each person. There's also a person exactly the opposite of you, like the unseen part of you, somewhere in the world, and he waits in ambush."

The story portrays an uncanny resemblance to the plots of the abundant crime scenes they analyse daily (Y/N wonders how Spencer comes home from work only to read about the same gory instances): the same mannerisms, behaviours and intricate understanding of criminal attitudes. It's accuracy is so astounding that Y/N asks if the author was ever a profiler of sorts.

Although it's selfish, because Y/N is not the real victim, she wished there was some way Highsmith's words could spring into real life and provide tainted rose coloured spectacles to which she could observe reality through. In some sick way, Y/N needed to see beauty in things like murder. She sometimes forgot that what they were doing had a purpose, and they tended to be the good guys. But there was no writing beautiful enough for Spencer to read and glorify the crimes with.

But even Y/N thinks Spencer's reading could help her see life through more of the silver lining rather than shrouded by the dark cloud that accompanied it.

The moment of rare serenity within Spencer's words is suspended, however, when he suddenly stops with no obvious justification. Y/N wonders if she's missed something profound within the story again so she goes to read over them on the page this time (because she's been rather entranced in Spencer's voice rather than the actual words), except when she looks up she sees a look of horror depicted on Spencer's face: one that doesn't register with her primarily because what's happening in the story is rather quite mundane compared to the dismay on his face. It's so poignant that she thinks something must be fatally wrong.

"What is it?" She asks, sitting up (and away because she thinks he may be about to vomit. But no, the real reason is even more horrific).

"I need to pee."

Y/N gasps; she hadn't even conjectured this predicament. It was a basic human necessity, how had she not anticipated this would happen? At first she thought, hey it's not that bad, better him than me— he can stand. Until she realises that there isn't really anywhere to stand.

"Oh no," she whispers, and he looks at her dauntingly. "You shouldn't have drank that apple juice."

"What was I supposed to do, bathe in it?" He scorns, and the two connect in an unwavering exchange eye contact with one another. Y/N dreads looking away in fear of what he'll do when she has her back turned.

So, like I said, Y/N was pretty calm, and I'd say Spencer was too; reading was a delight, and he found Y/N almost as endearing (almost). Life was bearable until Spencer needed to pee.

And it is here that they throw all peace out the window (if there was one) and give up on step number seven, and instead say hello to their old friend step number five: frantic yelling.

The energy pent up from lazing around reading and being read to is released fairly effectively. Y/N thinks she's never screamed so loud in her life, and Spencer knows he hasn't: entrapment and a full bladder can take one hell of a toll on a man.

And when the profusion of footsteps and the clanging of doors sounds, it is glorious. It is what they imagine heaven to sound like and more. Y/N collapses to the ground in relief, and Spencer throws his hands up in a prayer of thanks (even though he doesn't necessarily believe, but he is just so high on adrenaline and the discomfort of needing a wee that he'd just about believe anything now if it meant he could get to a bathroom).

"You guys okay in there?" A voice calls in from above them (Spencer genuinely thinks it's God) and Y/N has never been more happy to hear Derek Morgan.

"We're good! We're good! Oh my god, get us out of here please!"

"Right on it, baby. Bet y'all thought you were gonna die in there, huh?"

"Worse," Y/N called, "I thought I was gonna have to see Spencer's dick!"

Morgan laughed (music to their ears: any voice that wasn't each other's fit that criteria in that moment), and then told her he didn't want to know. Spencer and Y/N heard him holler behind him, and even more footsteps approached. Y/N couldn't see much from the slither between the doors that had just been pried open, since they had fallen a considerable distance from their floor. What she could see was only half of Morgan's face while he knelt on the ground.

"What happened?" Spencer asked, trying to gain some understanding for the reason behind missing his Doctor Who marathon.

"Power cut. The whole city's in blackout."

"You're kidding," Y/N replied, then turned. "A whole lotta people just risked that 1 in 26."

"Us included," Spencer said.

They recognised the voices of the maintenance team, and even a few uniforms of firefighters that worked on opening the doors with as much force as they could muster. Y/N looked again to the wall and paint mismatch, finding it too unsettling to look at their rescue attempt (that had way too much potential to go wrong) and even more unsettling to look at Spencer who was practically cradling his crotch.

"Ladies first!" A fireman called, and his hand reached into the space they had managed to (barely) increase, hoping that it wouldn't prove to be too difficult. From what Morgan told them, Spencer wouldn't have any trouble getting through it if they had halved the space ("the kid's a sherbet stick, I'm telling you").

"No, we've got a man here who's about to explode," Y/N joked, forgetting that the word 'explode' is a term one should use lightly within the headquarters of the FBI. She was blissfully reminded of this when the few surrounding agents brandished their guns. They almost didn't let them out until Spencer yelled that if he didn't get to a bathroom that instant he would give them a real reason to get their guns out.

So he was lifted out first, falling into Morgan's arms the chance he got to. He, somehow, managed to wait until he saw Y/N definitely leave the elevator before racing off down the hallway. Maintenance didn't even bother telling him that the doors have been locked because officially work finished three hours ago; they figured he had enough vigour in him to knock a wall down, never mind a door.

"Are you alright?" Morgan asked Y/N, lifting her up onto her own to feet. She's given a shock blanket, which is a pretty cool souvenir.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Miraculously. I don't know how you survived in there with him; I'd go insane."

"Eh," she chuckled, "he's not too bad."

———

After gathering their belongings, Y/N and Spencer make their way to leave work, again.

Morgan's nonchalant explanation of the blackout is in no way accurate to the genuine portrayal of, what Y/N can only describe as, a thriller movie come to life. She's looking out the wide scale windows in the bullpen room and can only see her reflection. It's creepy. Skittishly, she jumps when Spencer's image shows up behind her own.

"Jesus, haven't I had enough near death experiences tonight?" She asks, holding a hand over her heart that she's sure just kickstarted (for various reasons).

"Sorry," he laughs. Placing his hands in his pockets, Y/N can sense he's more relaxed now that he's peed and no longer trapped within the restrictions of one metre.

They smile, then look out again to the darkened abyss before them. Y/N has never seen the city so quiet, yet she knows it's anything but. Once she steps outside it's bound to be hectic central.

"You normally get the subway, what are you gonna do?"

"Oh, I guess I'll just walk," Spencer shrugs.

"Absolutely not. I'll drive you home."

"Oh, no, you don't have to do that—"

"Spence, I just spent the last three hours in a confined space with you, I'm sure I can do twenty minutes more," she said. "Get your stuff ready, we can head off now."

She swung her bag over her shoulder and turned to walk out the bullpen, her heels reverberating throughout the room. Spencer watched her stride out by her reflection in the window, as to not be caught staring.

"If my car breaks down I'm gonna commit murder!"

Spencer laughed loudly, which made Y/N smile as she passed the kitchenette. When he continued to chuckle to himself he realised he wouldn't mind another three more hours stuck with her— at least he'd have an excuse if the car broke down. Maybe if he set off now he could get there in time to beat Y/N to her car and slash the tyres. He kindly reminded himself that that's illegal while he retrieved his satchel off the back of his chair and strutted out the office.

He wasn't too far behind Y/N when he suggested getting a Chinese on the way back.

"Is that a date?"

"If eating a Chinese takeaway in your car is your idea of a date," he sang.

"It very much is," Y/N grinned irrefutably.

He held the door open for her, she said thank you, and their giddy (dare I say lovesick) smiles dropped when they faced the elevator.

They've taken the stairs every day since.

fin.

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