#a shot of liquor and then fill the rest with the other stuff

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Learning bartending is so fun

[7s3ven]

YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN, KID. platonic! task force 141

( short one shot that I randomly came up with after seeing a tiktok )

full masterlist

IN WHICH… night after night, you seek the comfort of your teammates until they can no longer offer you any.

“You’re on your own, kid. You always have been.”

Notes: character death, a little angst, no happy ending (sorry guys 😞), reader suffers from trauma, platonic! tf 141 x reader, reader has sleeping problems, not following the canon plot

—

You never slept well. No matter how soft your mattress was or how heavily your blankets weighed down on you, you just couldn’t drift off. The temperature in your room was perfect, the silence was comforting, your body was exhausted and yet your mind refused to turn off. It replayed the bloody moments you tried so hard to tune out, haunting you until you forced the thoughts away.

With slow movements, you begrudgingly shifted out of bed, soft pillow in hand. Your footsteps were quiet as you dragged yourself towards the small living room in the apartment you shared with your team.

The tiny room was lit up by only a dim lamp as you paused in the doorway, staring at your captain. He sat on the edge of the couch, reading a page of newspaper. Gaz and Soap were at each other’s sides, squished by Ghost who took up the majority of the space.

Captain John Price beckoned you forward. “Couldn’t sleep?” He whispered, careful not to disturb the rest of his soldiers. You took your head before wedging yourself between Ghost and Soap, forcing the masked soldier to move to offer you space. The large blanket your teammates were sharing engulfed you as you clumsily threw it over your body.

Ghost grunted, half awake as he shifted to the side. His heavy body fell onto you, resting his head on your shoulder. You leaned into his embrace. You heard the quiet click of the lamp being turned off, engulfing the room is darkness.

From your position squeezed between Ghost and Soap, you felt safe. Your eyes fluttered closed as you took a deep breath, the strong smell of Gaz’s cologne overwhelming your senses. And yet, it soothed you more than the lavender perfume you sprayed in your room.

Your lips curved into a small smile as your racing heart calmed down. Stuck in Soap’s tight grip, listening to Price’s quiet snores, hearing Gaz’s soft sleep mumbling, and feeling Ghost’s slow breaths on your neck, it felt like home.

Returning to the apartment without the rest of your team felt strange. You opened the door, staring at the interior. Your gaze trailed over the obnoxiously bright table cloth Soap had chosen and the large beer glasses left on the kitchen counter by Price.

You slowly blinked before shutting the door behind you. You half-heartedly expected Ghost to appear out of nowhere and offer you a short greeting like he always did. He did not.

Your team was dead. You were the lonesome survivor of the attack.

Your bag fell to the floor with a loud thud and you weren’t bothered to pick it back up. Your arms were not strong enough to withstand the weight anymore.

As if it was second nature, you trailed over to the liquor cabinet. You didn’t drink much so the cupboard was usually filled with Price’s beers and an occasional bottle of vodka provided by Soap. You grabbed the vodka, disliking the bitter taste of beer.

You didn’t bother to pour the alcohol into a cup; you simply popped the bottle open and gulped mouthfuls of it down. “Sorry, Johnny.” You muttered to yourself as you slumped in a seat, knowing how your teammate hated it when people stole his stuff.

The thoughts of your friends didn’t bother you as much during the day, where you could overwhelm yourself with unpacking and work. But when night hit, you felt yourself drowning in emotions.

You weren’t usually an emotional person, having been through the rigorous army training. Soldiers died everyday and you moved on like it was nothing, leaving a small gap in your mind to grieve for them. But this was different. This was your team, your family.

This was about Price who always assisted you when you needed something, who fixed your broken window when Soap accidentally hit it with a rugby ball. Who acted like an overprotective dad when you brought back a boy.

Soap who brought you snacks without the need to ask while you occupied yourself with paperwork, who somehow taped every concert of your favourite artist and showed you it with a bright smile.

Ghost who knew exactly how you liked your tea and bought you new cups to drink out of when your favourite wore down. Who secretly hated horror movies yet watched each and every one with you.

And Gaz who always returned with a new product to ease you into a more peaceful slumber and who didn’t mind staying up to comfort you from your late night terrors.

They were your closest friends and you missed them terribly to the point where your chest ached. You always hated when Soap raided the snack stash in your room but you’d do anything now to yell at him again.

You collapsed in your bed, exhausted and your body painfully throbbing. You closed your eyes in hopes of drifting off but your attempts were fruitless. You needed your teammates. You needed to sit on that damn couch in the living room with a blanket pulled up to your chin.

The hallway was pitch black as you walked into the lounge, peering through the darkness. It felt odd not to see Price reading his newspaper; your heart clenched at the short reminder that you would never see him again.

You tried to pretend the colorful pillows were your friends as you lay on the couch, that the smell of Gaz’s cologne wafting from one of the pillows was Gaz himself.

It tricked your mind into thinking they were beside you and you fell into an empty slumber.

As the last remaining member of Task Force 141, Laswell originally wanted to add new recruits with you as their leader. You would have gladly taken up the position if it weren’t for your circumstances. Replacing your former teammates would have pained you beyond repair.

As a result, Laswell moved you to a new squad and as thankful as you were when they understood your hesitation, you still refused when they offered you a place in their apartment.

You needed the couch that sat in the living room, collecting dust, in order to fall asleep. You needed Gaz’s cologne, Price’s strange collection of newspaper, Ghost’s spare masks, and Soap’s stupid rugs to calm your horrible thoughts.

You needed the apartment to stay the same, like your teammates had never left, to ignore the images of their bloodied faces engraved in your head.

“L/N, have you completed the paper work?” Your captain asked as he paused by your desk. It felt odd to look up and not be greeted with a beard.

“Yes, sir. Here it is.” You handed him the file with a tight-lipped smile.

“As efficient as ever, L/N.” He complimented you.

“Thank you, sir.” You nodded your head in appreciation.

“How are you doing with your…” He trailed off, not knowing how to word his question in a way that didn’t sound rude.

He meant your trauma, your nightmares, your grieving pain.

“I’m fine.” You say a little too quickly for him to believe you. Nevertheless, he doesn’t question the crack in your voice or the way your eyes dart around. He simply tilts his head.

“Take a break, L/N. I’ll deal with your paperwork for a day.” He places a business card on your desk, tapping on it. “If you need additional support, don’t hesitate to ask.”

You glanced down at the card as your captain exited your office. Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment as you realised he had given you a therapist’s card. Was your grief you had been trying to strategically hide that obvious? Well, at least he cared enough to offer you help.

Your short run to the grocery store was lonely to say the least. You dropped the bags the moment you walked into the apartment, staring at the cold kitchen and living room.

The tea bags that you hated but Ghost loved fell to the ground, scattering over the tiled floor. You promised yourself you would unpack the groceries later but as the sun set and the sky darkened, the plastic bags still sat by the door. It was usually Gaz’s job to deal with the groceries.

You knew any attempt to sleep in your own bed would be useless so you gathered your blankets and pillows without any thought, pacing towards the living room.

You let out a loud scream when you came face to face with Ghost.

“Aye, what yer yelling ‘bout, Bonnie? It’s just us.” Soap uttered. You peeked around Ghost, spotting Gaz and Price already on the couch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Price asked.

You knew this was only your mind feeding you delusions, messing with you, but you were too tired to care. All you needed was them and if it took talking to your imagination, you’d take it.

[sweetsweetjellybean]

A quiet evening in, having drinks with your boyfriend and his roommate leads to a tempting proposal.

Part 1 of 2? WC: 1367 TW: kissing, voyeurism, alcohol

Sugar and smoke cling to your tongue as a frozen fire burns in the back of your throat. Warmth spreads inside you, sending a shiver to your skin. Lip gloss coats the rim of the tall shot glass when you place it on the scarred coffee table next to the bell-shaped bottle. Your tongue collects the remnants from your lips as you lean back, melting into the lean chest of your boyfriend behind you.

“I don’t know how you two drink that stuff,” Steve grimaces, rotating the crystal tumbler full of whiskey in his hand. His other arm is wrapped around your waist, his big hand splayed high on your thigh, toying with the edge of your skirt where you sit with one leg tucked beneath the other.

The dim light from the lamp casts a golden hue through the living room, accentuating the haze of the evening. Eddie, sprawled out on your other side, smirks as he watches you. His dark eyes glint with amusement and something else—something that has your stomach clenching.

“‘Cuz it tastes like candy,” you explain, leaning forward to run your thumb over the plump bottom lip of the chocolate-eyed boy, brushing off a gold flake only to have the wet tip of his tongue peek out and chase your finger.

Steve’s skeptical snort vibrates against your back.

“It’s not so bad,” Eddie murmurs, voice low and steady, as his unwavering gaze holds yours. Your inhale is sharper than usual, and his eyes flicker away, dropping to the floor before searching the room.

"Don't listen to him." Steve's lips are warm on your ear. "He never drank that shit before I started bringing you home." He places a kiss on your temple before trailing his lips lower, tilting your head to find the spot that has your toes curling into the carpet.

A moan so soft it’s barely above a whisper finds its way past your lips. Eddie's gaze snaps back to you. His eyes flare as he smooths his palm down his jean-covered thigh.

Heat rises from your neck to your cheeks, not entirely due to Steve or the liquor. You clear your throat with a shallow breath. “Well, I like having someone to take shots with me.” Leaning forward, you reach for the bottle, dislodging Steve’s lips as you fill the two glasses to the brim.

You nudge the other glass toward Eddie, looking up at him from under your lashes. The way his stare follows your movements has a shy smile tugging at your lips.

A huff comes from behind you. “Not that we mind you third-wheeling it, Munson, but it might be nice if you had a date every once in a while,” Steve says, downing the rest of his glass.

When you first met the roommates at a bar on campus, it was Eddie who was the shameless flirt. But after a few weeks, it hadn't amounted to anything. So when Steve asked you out, it was an easy yes. A few months later, and Eddie still hasn't brought anyone home. Steve has mentioned a time or two that he still isn't over the last girl who broke his heart.

Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes as he reaches for the glass. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll work on that,” he mutters, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he takes the shot.

“I’m serious man…”

A sour taste fills your mouth and you down your shot hoping the cinnamon will overpower its bitterness. 

“We were just talking about it the other day. It would be nice to see you with someone new. Instead of sitting around here shooting brooding looks at the plant.” Steve gestures at the potted fern you brought over a few weeks ago. 

“I don’t brood.” Eddie places his glass back on the table with a little more force than necessary. 

“Dude, you're like the poster child for 80’s rock ballads. Look, we just want to see you happy. Isn’t that right, angel?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, meeting his gaze, “I want you to be happy, Eddie.”

The look he gives you in return is heavier than you can hold. Your eyes lower to your hands twisting in your lap. “Isn’t there anyone you like?”

The air is trapped in your lungs while you wait for him to answer.

“No.” His reply is quiet but firm, making you swallow hard.

“Well, maybe it’s time to–” Steve makes a clicking sound with his tongue, “–Get back on the horse. Stop waiting on Miss Right and find Miss Right Now.”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s shoulders slump as his gaze drifts, “Maybe you’re right.”

“I know I am. We’ve all been there before. All you need is a little confidence boost,” Steve’s hand squeezes your thigh, “Maybe you can help him out, angel?”

Eddie’s mouth drops open as he sucks in a breath. Your head whips around, eyes impossibly wide as you stare at Steve.

“What?” Steve asks his face the picture of innocence. “Oh,” he says after a moment, the light in his eyes turning on. “I meant maybe you could introduce him to one of your friends.”

Your shoulders relax, but tension still simmers in your stomach. Eddie clears his head with a shake, a quiet chuckle escaping his throat as he reaches for the bottle.

“I mean unless you two were up for it,” Steve throws out, leaning closer.

Eddie freezes his knuckles turning white as he grips the bottle. 

“Steve!!” You react the way a nice girl should but shock doesn't explain the heat pooling low in your belly or the dampness in your underwear. 

“You told me you think he's‐” 

You muffle Steve's next words by slapping your hand over his mouth, but he pries your fingers off and turns to Eddie, “She thinks you're hot.”

“I said cute,” you correct, but the clarification doesn’t stop Eddie’s lashes from lowering bashfully or the rose blooming on his cheeks.

“Same thing,” Steve grips your chin, turning your face towards him. “And anyone with eyes can see how beautiful you are. I’ll never forget how damn lucky I am to have you.”

His mouth is an irreverent caress of lips and tongue that has your heart swelling. Your thumb traces the twin freckles on his cheek, his hazel eyes lit up with warmth for you that he's never attempted to hide.

“So let me get this straight,” Eddie's gravelly voice cuts through the moment. “You, Steve Harrington, are offering for me to make out with your girlfriend?”

“You're my best friend, dude. I trust you. Besides,” His index and middle finger run along the bare skin of your arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. “I've always liked to watch.”

“You've never told me that,” you can't hide the surprise in your voice.

“You never asked,” he replies with a wink. He searches your face as his fingers continue their journey, lightly tracing your collarbone, down the swell of your breast, and over the hard outline of your nipple. “There are so many things I want to do with you. We haven't even scratched the surface.”

In the span of a breath, you’re clutching at the front of his shirt, your lips crashing together in a way that’s only happened behind closed doors. One hand tangles in your hair, heavy breaths and the wet sounds of your mouths fill your ears. His other hand seems to be everywhere, leaving little fires under your skin.

Eyelids heavy, you follow his hands as he turns your jaw toward Eddie. “Look at him, angel. He wants you. Don’t you, Eddie?”

Eddie’s dark eyes are almost black, his pupils blown wide, a flush heating his skin. “Yes,” he admits, loosening his grip on the couch to run a hand through his hair. “Fuck.” He looks away, then his gaze locks with yours. “I do. I want you.”

The flames in you rise, chasing the butterflies into taking flight. Your breath catches, lips parting.

“It’s your decision,” Steve’s lips are at your ear. “You say no and it all stops. It’s over. Forgotten. Just say the word and we’ll give you anything you want.”

Eddie sits with tension pulling his shoulders tight, the muscles in his neck cording. His lip is caught between his teeth, his expression unguarded, eyes a silent plea, hoping not to regret his confession.

The solitary word crystallizes on your tongue, the sweetness of your drink turning it sticky, making it impossible to pass your lips.

The static charge freezes the air. Steve's fingers tease under the edge of your shirt, drawing circles on your hip. His question is soft but insistent. “So, angel, what’s it going to be?”

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want a second part. Torn's chapters are just so big, I wanted a break with something short and sweet.

[strlingsav]

hear me out: team 141& female reader go to the bar post successful mission, everyone's a lil too drunk, she makes a move on ghost but he's like "ok uve had too much" (I dnt think he's rly drunk tho) and he brings her back to his room to take care of her, but hes like wait "I've always wanted you" THEN THE HOT AND STEAMY STUFF *ofc it's all consensual*

Ohhhhhhh yes, right up my alley 👀

Always

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Your Lieutenant confesses his feelings.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

It wasn't your idea to go out; it was never anyone but Soap that always suggested a pint at the bar around the corner. A run-down dive bar across the street from the base, where every soldier knew it was the best place for cheap drinks and entertainment.

It was the kind of place that belonged to the coarse, gruff men that chain-smoked and didn't want to go home sober. The kind that kept their eyes on you as you wandered in, before turning their interest back to the beer in front of them.

You shared a table with the squad. You were a bit hesitant to join them after hearing the stories Soap told about the place. The time he nearly had a dart thrown in his chest during a drunken game, or when he'd lost a lot of money during a pool match. Nonetheless, you'd been convinced, citing something like, "one time can't hurt".

It was filled with cigarette smoke, classic-rock, and the heavy smell of beer. Price lit up a cigar, puffing on it from the far end of the table. He seemed to enjoy the music and beer, not paying much attention to the ongoing conversation between you. Gaz and Soap had been ragging on each other, Ghost joining in when he felt it necessary.

Soap was already a few drinks in, pressuring you to keep up with him. You could, and did, though you knew you'd have to walk back afterward and thoroughly regretted the three you'd already had.

Ghost sat beside you, a hand around his glass of bourbon, quietly surveying the conversation, chiming in with a scoff or witty comment about Soap's intelligence every so often.

"You are not a Scotsman," You shook your head, watching the drunken man nod his head along to the guitar and drums from the speakers.

"Piss off," He sneered. "What are you on about?"

"You can't hold your liquor," You said back, leaning forward with a smug grin.

"And you can? I'm drinkin' you under the table."

"We're even," You rolled your eyes, sitting back. "'Sides, I'm savouring it."

"Shite's gettin' warm in your hand!" He exclaimed.

You narrowed your eyes, shooting the last of your beer back.

"Let's do a few shots, then. And grab me another beer."

His eyes lit up, a smirk on his face. "Now you're talkin' kid." He shuffled out of his seat, stumbling every so slightly as he headed toward the bar.

"He won't stop 'til he's ahead of ya," Ghost said, leaning into your ear.

You shivered. The timbre of his voice in your ear brought goosebumps to the surface of your skin. Looking over at him, you furrowed your brows, inspecting his eyes. Dark and void, no flecks of any other colour to be seen. They were deep and mesmerizing, a black hole ready to suck you in. You noticed you'd been staring longer than normal, pursing your lips before shifting your gaze.

"I know," You were distracted now with the image of Soap, carrying four shot glasses filled with a mysterious liquid. "It's fun to see him try though."

"More entertainin' watchin' him act like a git."

You grinned.

Price then announced he was heading out, mumbling, "I ain't in the mood for watchin' you drunks all night."

You'd bid him good night, but not before trying to convince him to stay. He'd resigned himself to a night in, drinking his expensive liquor, puffing his cigar in the privacy of his own office. He left with a short goodbye, warning the rest of you not to get out of control.

Soap set the shots down, handing you yours with a polite smile.

"Think we should cheers," He said, sitting down. His speech was now obviously slurring. "To another fuckin' mission finished, and to gettin' back home, away from you fuckers."

You shrugged, colliding your glass with his, before tipping it back and letting it slide down your throat. You shut your eyes, swallowing harshly, nearly choking on the burn in your chest.

"Jesus," You were hoarse, a strangled sound leaving your lips. You recognized the flavour of the drink- vodka. "Nasty."

You sat back, your eyes scanning the bar. It was getting harder to see straight- ghost trails and lazy blinks disrupting your vision. A deep breath in did nothing to clear your head, but damn did it feel good.

"Here," He handed you the second.

You hadn't quite recovered from the first, still feeling it sitting in your throat. Your ribs shifted with a heavy inhale, desperately trying to swallow the liquid fire. Your eyes landed on Soap, an amused grin across his face, though you'd already gulped down the shot before he could say anything.

He chased his shot with the beer in front of him, a grimace across his face- the same as yours. It hit you within a few minutes, only exacerbating the way everything seemed to blur together.

It felt great. Fucking great, to drink, relax, unwind. Have fun, for the first time in months. Dress in something other than fatigues and twenty pounds of equipment. To shower and brush your teeth with running water. You'd finally de-tangled your hair, appreciated the sweet smell of deodorant, worn makeup. You were reminded of it by Gaz, when he commented that your face looked "different" from the usual.

Your head turned, catching Ghost's eyes on the way by, and you smiled softly. It was unintentional, nearly uncontrollable at this point in the evening. He averted his gaze.

You'd always thought highly of him, respected him. You had to. But the causal dress brought out a different side of him, a side that had a sense of humour and didn't mind listening to the back and forth between yourself and Soap. A side you wouldn't mind seeing more often. He wasn't just your Lieutenant now, and your drunken self had taken note of that.

You squinted, trying to imagine the face beneath the mask. His eyes were alluring on their own, and your cheeks flushed at the thought of just how handsome he probably was.

You'd let your guard down, after so long of denying the fact that you were attracted to him, you'd admitted it to yourself. You knew you were digging yourself into a hole, unsure how you'd function while working with him, how you'd ever leave the attraction behind and behave in a strictly professional manner.

It was more difficult to think about drunk than it was while sober. While sober, you could pretend his voice didn't awaken a thrumming in your chest, or that you definitely didn't like the way his fatigues fit his body. But drunk- it was a different story. You'd had your eyes all over him, uncaring and indifferent to whether he noticed or not.

It came with urgency, a giggle bubbling up before you could stop it. It was just another urge you couldn't quite hold in. You'd been studying him, and only when he turned to you, did you realize it. You'd been caught.

"What's funny?" He asked, raising a brow.

You waved your hand, trying to dismiss his question, nearly knocking your empty beer bottle off the table. You caught it with a clumsy hand, pushing it out of reach and clutching your full drink to your chest.

"Lightweight," Soap announced, the usual shit-eating grin on his face.

"Fuck off, Johnny."

"You're a mean drunk, kid."

"I'm not drunk." You noticed that your own speech was slurring now. Your mouth particularly difficult to control, short bursts of giggles exploding without warning. "Okay," You nodded slowly. "Just a bit."

Soap laughed, a loud, boisterous laugh that made you wince. He'd also indulged a bit too much, his cockiness making an unexpected appearance.

"Let's win us a game of pool," Soap said, turning to Gaz.

"I'm not giving you any money," Gaz answered, following close behind as the two made their way to the tables.

You sighed heavily, relishing in the feeling of not being in control. Letting go, falling into the drunken stupor you'd gotten yourself into. It was cathartic. Especially after a gruelling mission.

You turned your attention to Ghost, your head tilting up to look at him.

"Just you and me, Loot," You pursed your lips. "Tell me your war stories."

"Don't have any interesting enough." He took another sip, his lips wet with liquor. You could hardly tear your eyes away.

"Bullshit," You grinned.

He shrugged it off, licking the leftover liquid from his mouth. You'd see his lips before, seen the stubble that lined his chin. You knew he was handsome.

"You should take off the mask," You said, still very intrigued.

"Why's that?" He asked, his gaze flickering between your lips and eyes.

"You're handsome. Not sure why you hide it," You popped a cashew in your mouth from the communal bowl on the table.

"I know. That ain't why I wear it," He said. His eyes fell to the cashews in your hand. "Shouldn't eat those."

You stopped your chewing, furrowing your brows as you set the remaining cashews back in the bowl. He was right; by the looks of it they were old- you hadn't noticed with the blurry haze of liquor distorting your vision.

"Always looking out," You grinned sheepishly. "It's alright to take a night off."

"Not when you're pissed," He commented.

You scowled, "I'm not pissed- I'm tipsy. At the most, a bit drunk." Your tone was harsher than intended.

"You're pissed," He nodded.

"You're deflecting. We were talking about how handsome you are."

"No we weren't," He said, swallowing another gulp.

"Okay," You sighed. Admittedly, it was taking a lot of brain power to follow the conversation. "I was talking about it."

He nodded. "You usually so irritatin' when you're in the bag?"

"Are you usually such a prude?" You snapped.

He shook his head, hiding the grin on his lips with a sip from his glass. You were far too drunk to notice. You wondered if maybe you were a mean drunk, suddenly feeling irrationally guilty for talking to your lieutenant that way.

"I'm sorry," You sighed, desperately wanting to lay your head down on the table, bury your face in your arms and hide your embarrassment.

"It's nothin'." He looked amused.

"I'm sure you're not a prude," You said, eyes wide with concern.

"Far from it."

You raised your brows, suddenly intrigued. Sitting up straight, you shifted to face him entirely.

"I've never seen that side of you."

"No reason to."

"I mean," You swallowed the cold beer, setting it down before staring up at him with narrowed eyes. "I could give you a reason."

Your focus was unrelenting as you scanned his face, searching for any hint of an interested expression. He was unreadable- likely due to the liquor in your bloodstream- and it frustrated you. Now, deeply under the influence, you were irritated and aroused.

"Don't think you know what you're sayin'," His eyebrows dipped in, an unimpressed expression in his eyes.

He'd never seen you in your civilian clothes, or with lipstick on. His mouth had gone dry when he first saw you walk into the bar, not surprising given the tightness in his chest anytime you'd brush past him, compliment him, even say his name. It was unavoidable, especially now, watching you lean in, your inhibitions lowered.

He felt his blood run cold, warmth settling in his groin when your eyes lazily flipped over to look at him, your hand under your chin. You had a coy smile on your face, like you didn't know exactly what you did to him, and he'd be a damn liar if he didn't admit it turned him on even more.

"I know exactly what I'm saying." Your eyes narrowed at him, a short huff of amusement leaving your nose.

He wanted to believe it was true; he'd been around enough drunken soldiers to know that whatever was said usually had some truth to it. He just couldn't imagine a woman like yourself wanting to be attached to a person like him. You were too good; too righteous. Too loyal, trusting. Sometimes it drove him crazy, other times he cherished how much faith you put in him.

"Think you've had enough for the night."

He finished his drink, setting it down. He licked his lips.

"Maybe," You nodded.

Your head was fuzzy, and it was hard to see straight. Reasonably, you knew it was time to call it. You'd pay for it in the morning if you didn't.

"C'mon," He said, nodding his head, urging you to step out of the booth. "We'll head back to base."

You didn't fight him. Your hand reached the table for support as you stood up, missing the empty beer bottle by an inch. Ghost grabbed your arm, an innocent touch that your drunken state turned into something more; a premonition.

You turned back to look at him, a coy smile- even drunk, you were a bit embarrassed to be so clumsy in front of your Lieutenant.

Your arm wrapped around Ghost's as you headed out of the bar, discretely feeling the hard bicep that was hidden beneath the black jacket he was wearing. You squeezed gently, hoping he wouldn't feel your groping. He knew, he could feel your fingers moving, the heat of your palm over his arm. He couldn't help but look over at you, an expression of bliss on your face, eyes half shut.

You made small talk, the night air sobering you up a bit as you wandered across the street. The flickering streetlights made him look even more intimidating than usual, casting a shadow over his eyes, his tall form towering over you. You were aware now of just how close you were to him; you were surprised he'd let you hold his arm, but glad he did. You were somewhat afraid you'd wander off and end up sleeping in a ditch, but mostly you liked how warm he was, how good he felt under your hand.

You knew when he walked you inside that it wasn't the direction of your bunk.

"I'm over there," You pointed.

"You're stayin' with me," He said resolutely. "Can't have you chokin' on your own vomit."

You frowned, "Fair point."

As he let you into his quarters, you were overwhelmed with just how much it smelled like him. A bit of vanilla, cedar, cigarettes. It was almost suffocating, seeping into your senses until you were filled only by him. It was intimate, breathing the same air he lived in. He'd allowed you inside, allowed you to see his most personal space. You took a deep breath at the overwhelming revelation.

Your eyes scanned the room, cataloguing the belongings inside. There weren't many personal items; no photographs or books. Hardly any evidence that he lived there. It was barren, aside from the furniture. You knew him, knew he didn't live like you did. He didn't have family back home that waited for him with loving arms and smiles. He had no reason to frame photos of the people he had loved before.

You stood in the centre of the room, still taking in the environment, sobering up even more when he appeared with a T-shirt and water bottle in hand.

"Here," He said, holding them out to you.

"Is that yours?" You asked, looking over the T-shirt.

He nodded.

You were flustered now, the drunkenness having mostly worn off, your demeanour did a one-eighty once you realized where you'd ended up. Your Lieutenant's room, alone. It was the perfect opportunity to take advantage of, to confess to every single thing you'd ever thought about him. But you couldn't blame it on being drunk anymore, not when you could feel the embarrassment of what you'd said earlier, and mostly regretted it.

"Thank you."

"Y'can change in there," He nodded his head in the direction of the bathroom.

You did, discarding your jacket, shirt and pants. You slid the shirt over your head. It reached the middle of your thighs, a comical look that made you smile at yourself in the mirror. You chugged the water bottle and pulled your hair from your face before leaving the bathroom.

His eyes landed on you, his heart picking in his chest up when he saw you wearing nothing but his shirt. Relaxed, like you were home. It was undeniably arousing. Like you were branded, marked by him. He tried to ignore it, ignore the way your bare feet across his floor sounded so comforting, the way you so willingly wore his clothes, thought nothing of wearing your damn panties around him. He felt something primal clawing at his chest, scratching its way up his throat.

"How you feelin'?" He asked, settling for a nonchalant question, something innocent so you wouldn't suspect he was practically trembling with desire, to touch you- taste you. He took a seat in the chair across the room.

You stepped over to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

"Mostly sober," You breathed out, a small smile on your face. "Sorry, if I said anything out of line."

He nodded; no answer, a nerve-racking response on its own, but his eyes avoided yours. You pushed past the topic, not wanting to dwell on the actions of your drunken self.

"I can sleep on the floor, if you have an extra blanket?" You offered.

He shook his head, "Take the bed. Don't sleep much anyways."

"Why not?" You asked.

"Never have. Too much goin' on in my head."

"Stop thinking for once," You teased.

He inhaled, still slightly distracted by the sight of you, your bare thighs, the shirt inching up as you moved up the bed.

"If only," He replied.

"What keeps you up at night, L.T.?" You asked, a grin of amusement on your face.

You, he wanted to say. You, and your fucking smile. The cadence of your voice, the feeling in his gut he got whenever he felt you next to him, watched you when you weren't looking.

"Paperwork," He teased- though his face showed no evidence of a joke.

You were quiet for a minute, shifting your gaze around the room before returning to his eyes. You smiled, changing the topic again when you concluded he really didn't want to talk about it.

"Thanks for taking care of me tonight."

"You're my responsibility."

Your heart sunk to the pit of your stomach; had he felt responsible for you? Had he only let you cling to him out of obligation? Given you his shirt because it was his duty?

"Oh," You nodded. Your voice was weak, but you tried to hide your disappointment behind a small smile. "Always watching out."

"For you, yeah."

Your gaze narrowed. You wondered if you were still drunk, reading too much into his words, putting meaning where there was none. He sat forward in his seat, attentive, unwavering.

You tilted your head, hoping it would give you an alternative angle to follow, a new lead into the words he'd said. With no success, you leaned back on your hands, ready to interrogate him.

"You don't have to do that," You said, prodding for more. Something substantial, something tangible to sink your teeth into. Some ground to stand on so you could tell how he really felt. "Watch out for me all the time. Especially off duty."

"Can't help it," He said. It was quiet, almost unnoticeable except you'd seen his shoulders tense.

"Why?"

He stood to his feet, and your stomach lurched. He was slow, calculating in his steps, moving closer by the second.

"Think you know."

He stopped before you, his gaze so impenetrable you almost couldn't meet his eyes. His fingers reached up, his knuckles skimming the soft surface of your cheek. You shut your eyes, an inadvertent reaction to the rough feel of his fingers. Your skin was flushed, reddened with the rush of blood your heart was pushing to every nerve.

"Because I'm a liability?" You teased, desperately wanting to ease the tension, to appear unaffected by his words, even though your arms had weakened, every bone turning to liquid inside you. You struggled to keep his gaze, to hold yourself up when he was so domineering, standing tall above you.

His eyes honed in on your lips, giving a small shake of his head. "'Cause I've always wanted you."

You inhaled deeply. It stunned you, to say the least. You'd never seen any hint of attraction from him. He was stoic and unreadable, always. But now, he bore his soul to you. Extending an offer that you were too weak to decline. The room stood still, soft exhales and invisible strain sitting in the air.

You finally met his gaze, cheeks tinged red, an exhale of relief. It was a weight off your shoulders, not having to hide anymore. Knowing he felt exactly the same.

"You've always had me, Lieutenant." You stood to your feet, your head barely meeting his shoulder, but you felt powerful, invigorated with a rush of desire.

He hummed, short, acknowledging, satisfied.

His hand moved from the apple of your cheek to the curve of your waist. His hold was strong and warm, comforting, in a way that made you shiver. A twitch in your body made him chuckle, a deep and inviting sound, that offered no relief of the chill running through your spine.

You couldn't count how many times you'd wished he'd touch you. Intentionally or not, you didn't care, you craved it. You craved the sensation, the heavy pour of molten heat that settled in every bone. The ache between your thighs, never satiated by your own hands, leaving your body to the mercy of your mind, begging and pleading for relief by some measure.

"You still drunk?" He asked, quiet and low.

You shook your head, eyes piercing his gaze with ferocity, a never ending commitment. You couldn't be drunk; not with how obvious it was that his hand was on your waist, clinging to you tightly like he'd lose you if he didn't. Your senses were sharper than they'd ever been, especially with him standing before you.

He pulled the fabric of his mask over his head, freeing his face before you. It was a sight to behold, a moment you wanted to seal in your mind and look back on for years to come. You couldn't help your teeth chewing at your lip, biting back the urge to stand on your toes and kiss him, kiss the lips you'd seen a handful of times but never complemented by his other features. He was handsome. Even more than you'd imagined; a composite of Adonis, embodiment of Ares.

He did your bidding for you, leaning over your shorter frame to bring his lips closer to yours. He waited a moment, wanting to be sure you knew exactly what he intended, what he wanted. You grew tired of the torment, and met him halfway.

He groaned; low and harsh. He absolved you of any responsibility, taking over as he tugged you into his chest. He was a towering figure above you, your neck aching as you reached up to meet his mouth. Your hands lifted to his waist, a gentle hold, still apprehensive. You'd never touched him before, never been able to glide your hands across his sides and envelop him in your arms. It felt right.

In response, his palm reached your cheek, fingers splaying out over your jaw. It was a bit rougher, more motivated. He slipped his tongue in your mouth at the same time, his heavy exhales fanning across your face. He was warm, feverish against you, his body entirely consumed with greed.

He tasted sweet, like caramel and the bitter aftertaste of alcohol still on his tongue. You hummed softly against his mouth, relishing in the moment; your bodies pressed together, lips connected fervidly, hands exploring the expanse of his torso. Your fingers slid down his abdomen, and he pulled back, still holding onto you.

"Y'look good in my shirt."

A slow, smug smile spread over your lips. "Shame you'll have to take it off me," You whispered.

You stood on your toes, pressing your lips to his again. It was an addictive rush, every time you felt the way he pulled you in, the softness in his lips.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, slowly crawling over you to pin you beneath him on the bed, pure desire between your thighs, flames flickering inside you when his gaze lowered.

You pulled the jacket off his shoulders, hands lifting his T-shirt over his head. Your eyes dropped to his stomach, breathing in the muscles lining his navel, the trail of coarse hair disappearing under his jeans, the marks and scars across his entire torso. Your hands inadvertently reached out, tracing every line and contour, his head falling down at your gentle touch.

You pulled his belt open, before he took his time lifting his T-shirt up off your body, watching with uninterrupted focus, taking in every bare inch he could see until you were left nude before him.

"Fuckin' beautiful," He whispered, his lips beside your ear, moving to leave soft kisses against your neck.

Your jugular pounded in your throat, his silken tongue finding your pulse and biting down softly. You whimpered, pulling yourself closer to him as he scattered kisses over your neck and chest. His hands engulfed your breasts, warmth erupting over your body when he left wet kisses over your nipples, a flat tongue following.

"Yes, please," You exhaled, your back arching into him.

He laid down beside you, a smooth transition when your hand on his chest pushed him back against the pillows. You climbed over his lap while he gripped your hips, staring up at you as you rocked over the bulge in his jeans.

He grunted, quickly yanking his waistband and briefs down. His cock lifted from the restraints, painfully erect, the size a bit intimidating but you'd never given up from a challenge. You leaned forward, sliding your panties aside, helping him to press the tip of his cock against your entrance, before you sat back down.

His cock slowly inched inside, an uncomfortable stretch, but you were already so aroused it quickly dissipated when your hips moved forward. He stretched his neck back, pressing into the pillows; your pussy was drenched, with soft, velvet walls that squeezed around him. He gritted his teeth.

"So big, Lieutenant," You exhaled, a guttural sound as you appreciated just how much he filled you.

"No Lieutenant shite," He groaned. "Simon-" He gulped. "Say my name, love."

You leaned over him, resting your hands against the pillows while his hands slid up to your waist. You craned your neck down to press your lips against his, your pussy gliding up and down his cock while his hands guided you.

It was a haze-inducing sight; your lips wide with pleasure, panting softly every time his cock would massage your walls, graze your clit.

"You feel good, sweetheart," He grumbled against your neck. "Fuckin' hell- that's good."

"Yes- fuck," You watched his eyes, the way he'd furrow his brows in an attempt to digest just how good you felt wrapped around him.

His free hand massaged your breasts, grabbing and palming the soft tissue as you thrust your hips against his.

"God, Simon."

"Been waitin' to hear you say my name like that," He said.

You shivered on his cock, your pussy clenching down with appreciation for his words.

You moved forward, your hips working to grind against him, to push his cock inside you, falling back with heavy exhales.

He couldn't handle the slow pace, couldn't handle the restriction- how he couldn't bury himself inside you. He flipped your bodies over, realigning himself with your pussy before diving back inside.

You groaned, clinging to his shoulders, your thighs immediately wrapping around his waist, trembling.

"Lie back," He grunted, his hips rolling against yours. "Lie back and let me take care of you, love."

Your lips parted, a satisfied moan escaping. Your hands reached his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as he thrust his cock inside you, the sounds of your well-lubricated pussy echoing around the room.

He muffled your moans with his lips, panting heavily after pulling away.

"So deep," You mumbled, "Fuck you're so deep, just like that, please."

"Like hearin' you beg, sweetheart," Another grunt.

His fingers reached down to your clit, rubbing side to side in a way that made your abdomen tense. He felt the clench of your pussy around him, letting out a low gasp against your skin.

"Christ, I dreamt about fuckin' you. Havin' you just like this."

"Simon," You whispered.

His hand gripped your thigh, angling it to penetrate deeper inside you.

"Who's this cunt belong to?" Sweat lined his brow, his fingers still moving in circles on your clit.

"Fuck," You squeezed your eyes shut, savouring just how fucking good it felt, the stimulation was enough to have you writhing beneath him, your body begging for an orgasm. "You, shit- 's all yours."

"That's my girl," He grumbled, plunging his cock inside you with even more speed now, triggering waves of pleasure that engulfed your entire body, had you moaning so loudly he covered your mouth with his hand.

"Fuck," He swore, listening to the muffled sounds of pleasure escaping your mouth. "Fuckin' hell. Let it out. I've got you."

You whimpered and whined, his cock driving into you, extending your orgasm. Your eyes rolled back, nostrils flaring as you tried to catch your breath, your thighs and fingers squeezing relentlessly against him.

He had a difficult time holding back; he so badly wanted to hear every single moan and cry that left your lips, but knew the walls were thin. He wouldn't live with himself if anyone found out, if you'd take the brunt of the relentless torment that would surely follow.

He removed his hand when he was sure you'd recovered, so close to his own release he almost didn't have time to tell you. You could read his face, see the expression of pain and pleasure.

"Wherever," You breathed. "Wherever you want."

Your words pushed him past the edge, and his hips stuttered, pressing flush against yours as he released inside you, his cock twitching with every burst.

He sucked in a harsh breath, head tilting up to stare at the ceiling. He thrusted lazily a few more times, before gently falling next to you. A few moments passed, deep breaths and contentment in the air.

"What's in your head now?" You asked, turning on your side.

He nearly smiled, "All clear, sweetheart."

[suitsusboth]

I need a lovelight pumpkin patch story!! Pumpkin patch, corn maze or maybe just hay bales, piping hot cider. Sophie's apple cider donuts, along with other fall offerings! Romantic apple picking, maybe bobbing for apples? Although that's unsanitary. Whatever strikes your fancy!

You know what? Me too! All the fall feels! While I have a plan for a lovelights au fic that spans all seasons and will touch on the chaotic festivals that happen in Aubrey, here’s a small snippet of the annual corn maze race a year after that planned fic 😉

October 2024

Autumn in Aubrey was perhaps her favorite time of year.

“You say that about every season,” Sophie replied, smiling knowingly as she packed up some freshly made apple cider donuts into a box.

Kate sighed happily. Yeah, that was true.

It didn’t matter what time of year— she loved it here.

The back door of the bakehouse swung open then, revealing Anthony and Benedict holding two large coffee/tea dispensers.

“Ms. Agatha wants these back first thing,” Anthony told them as he and his brother placed the containers on the countertop, ready to be filled with Sophie homemade apple cider (a kid’s version and an adult version.) “And cleaned ‘properly.’”

From the way Anthony’s face was pinched, Kate knew the old woman hadn’t released her containers easily, even though she was joining them tonight.

Sophie must have known it too, by how she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

It had been two years since Ms. Agatha insulted Sophie for over-mixing her batter, and she had not let it go. A slow, low burning rivalry simmered between the two women and as much as Kate would love for them to reconcile, she could not help but enjoy the by-product of their feud—exceptionally delicious baked goods. Which she was enjoying more than ever, recently.

“Nearly ready?” Ben asked after they ladled the drinks into their containers (Ben probably pouring more liquor than he should in the adult container), and Sophie finished packing the last remaining tray of treats.

“Yep!” Sophie said brightly, gesturing to the eight boxes before her.

“God, Soph. How much did you make?”

Sophie swatted him in the stomach. “Do not judge! Do you know how big your family is? Plus Simon, Mary, Edwina, Ms. Agatha, Michael, John—”

“John isn’t here, he has a game.” Kate informed her, “But I think Eloise brought Penelope with her. And I will happily pick up the slack so there aren't too many leftovers.” She opened a box and pulled out a donut and bit into the sugary goodness and let out a little involuntarily moan. Sophie really was some sort of baking fairy.

“Should we leave you two alone?” Anthony quipped, then dodged Kate’s half-hearted swat in his direction.

“You’re just jealous,” she remarked back, and Anthony merely winked at her as he and Ben filled the drink containers.

“Enough, you two,” Ben interrupted, knowing how far they could take this if left unchecked. “Let’s get going. Everyone’s waiting for us.”

Sophie started to hand her boxes. “Kate, can you carry—?”

“Simon’s coming to help,” Anthony said abruptly, “He can carry them.”

Kate shot her husband a look, but luckily Ben and Sophie did not question him and went on to carry the stuff out of the bakehouse where Simon was approaching, ready to help. They all headed to the field where the rest of their family and friends were waiting. It was late October, and Halloween was approaching. That left only one Bridgerton Family tradition left to do for the fall season— the corn maze. Anthony had finished making it yesterday and everyone had gathered to try it out before they opened it to the public.

While for their guests on the farm, it was supposed to be a nice, leisurely activity, it was anything but this late afternoon. As most things with the Bridgertons, this was a competition. There were two objectives of the game— fastest time, and avoid getting shot by Anthony and his BB gun who acted as the “minotaur”. As the creator of the maze, it was unanimously decided he could not compete. It didn't b matter though. Anthony loved a chance to torment his siblings.

Last year, Colin got so lost in the maze it took him nearly three hours to compete. And by how pale Colin looked right now, maybe he was recalling that fact.

“Colin,” Kate sucked in a breath. “You look awful. Are you okay?”

Colin seemed to blanch, then smiled at her uneasily. “Peachy.”

Kate was about to ask him if he was sure, when Eloise said, “He’s sick.” Anthony discreetly pulled Kate away a few steps, putting some distance between her and his brother. “That’s what you get for doing the apple bobbing at the Fall Festival last week,” Eloise huffed, “In what world did you think that was a good idea? Think of all the germs.”

“The Collins kids went before you I think, and I think he had the flu,” Penelope hummed sympathetically.

Violet piped up then, grimacing. “He most certainly did. He was sick all over me on Tuesday.”

Colin made a little noise then, which Kate was nearly certain was a gag, as he slumped down on a picnic table bench, looking as if he really wanted to be in the fetal position.

“Maybe sit this one out, bud,” Ben said, patting him on the back, and Colin let out a noise in which Kate could only assume he agreed, seeing as standing posed difficulty at this moment.

“Here,” Anthony said, putting a piping cup of cider and a bottle of water in front of him. “Hydrate.”

“Thanks,” Colin half slurred, waving them off, “Go on without me.” He looked at Penelope. “Make sure you win, Pen. I got money on you.”

Penelope pinkened slightly, but nodded.

Kate left Penelope blushing, as Eloise— who was oblivious to her best friend's crush on her brother —started on a tangent about how she was going to win the maze and went to help set up the spread. In a slightly new part of the tradition of the corn maze day, Kate had added a little picnic/buffet situation to the day. Sophie brought the desserts, Violet brought some sort of crockpot/slow roast for sandwiches, Anthony made soup, and Mary brought her butternut squash raviolis and sage sauce.

Kate smiled to herself as she watched her step-mom happily chatting with Violet and Ms Agatha as they laughed over something or other. Mary had moved to Aubrey over the summer and it made her heart happy to have her so close now. Anthony wrapped an arm around her, giving her look as if to say he knew exactly what she was thinking. And he probably did.

“So,” Michael said, slinking up next to them with Edwina and Francesca in tow. “I’m being told that I might be shot at?”

“Yep!” Kate replied brightly, and Michael looked at her like she had gone insane. To be fair, he often gave her this look nowadays. He’s told her multiple times how she’s drank the cool aid on this town.

“Shoot at me Bridgerton and I will kick you in the balls,” Edwina told Anthony, and Anthony's expression tightened a fraction. He knew Edwina well enough that she was dead serious.

“You should probably start warming up,” Kate told him— who in turn looked baffled— then looked at Francesca. “Did you tell him about the hide and seek rules?” His eyes flicked to Michael and Edwina. “There’s no pushing allowed by the way. Instant disqualification.”

Michael shook his head. “The more I hear, the more troubling this becomes.”

“You should see them at Easter,” Kate shook her head. “That’s the real bloodbath. Pushing is allowed then.”

“But no gouging,” Fran helpfully added, obviously enjoying Michael’s despair over these weird family traditions and rules.

“What about shanking?” Michael joked.

Anthony hummed thoughtfully as his brows pulled together. “Not officially, but we should probably write that down. I wouldn’t put it past Eloise.”

“That reminds me,” Kate said, looking at Michael again, “Watch out for Hyacinth, she will go for your kneecaps.”

They all turned to look over at the teenage girl who was a few feet away. Hyacinth saw them and looked Michael dead in the eye, completely deadpan, and proceeded to give him the universal you’re dead gesture. Kate was pretty sure she heard Michael swear under his breath before Hyacinth broke out into giggles and skipped away.

Michael actually started to look nervous then, which was very unlike him. “I need a drink,” he stated, and stalked over to the cider stand.

“I’m gonna get set up,” Anthony said with a kiss to her temple. Kate waved him off, and Edwina and Frannie decided to help themselves to seconds. They asked Kate to come along with them but she waved them off.

She just wanted to stand there for a moment.

Kate took a long, deep breath, enjoying the crispness of the air as she looked around at the beauty around her. They had come to the golden hour, and on this perfect day the vibrant reds, yellows and oranges felt other worldly against the backdrop of the clear blue sky only topped by the breathtaking mouton peaks. The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air as her family and friends mingled and ate. Kate tried to savor the moments like these. It was so easy to walk through life blindly, not even seeing or enjoying moments like these. And she had done it for so many years. She wanted to relish every happy moment that came her way. She wanted to appreciate everything she had.

Kate watched as Daphne split from the group and started to walk her way, two cups in hand. She stopped when she reached Kate and extended a cup to her.

She looked at the cup. “Oh, um,” Kate hesitated, “Which—?”

Daphne laughed, and pushed the cup into her hand. “The normal one, of course. I wouldn’t give the spiked one to you in your condition.”

Kate’s head whipped up. “How did you—?”

Daphne gave her a bemused look. “Anthony isn’t exactly subtle. He hasn’t let you pick up a thing and constantly wants to sit down. Not to mention he walks around like he’s on cloud nine and you smile like you have a special secret. Plus you come to the store once a week to look at baby onesies. And, well…” Daphne laid a hand on her own stomach. “One knows the signs.”

Kate was sure she let out a little squeak when she caught her meaning. “Oh my God, Daphne!”

Daphne hushed her, looking around to see if anyone heard them, but was grinning from ear to ear when she looked back at Kate. “Yeah, we’re really happy. We’ll tell everyone at Thanksgiving.” Daphne looked over to where Simon and Amelia were. Amelia was currently trying to steal the donut Simon had in hand, and she had the cutest pout when Simon moved it away.

She couldn’t wait to watch Anthony be with their own little one.

“When are you telling everyone?” Daphne asked.

“Today,” she replied, “we wanted to wait to get everyone together and tell them in person.” It was hard to get everyone together, especially with Edwina, Michael and Frannie being in the city.

Daphne reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m really happy for you both.”

“What are you happy about?” Anthony asked as he walked over to them.

Daphne didn’t say anything, instead smiled knowingly and gave her brother's arm a squeeze before heading back to join her own family.

“What was that about?” Anthony asked quietly, one brow raised as his arm circled her waist.

Kate smiled. “Daphne knows. Apparently we are not inconspicuous.”

Anthony chuckled softly. It was one of her favorite sounds. “Oops. Good thing the cat will be out of the bag by the end of the night.”

Kate leaned her head on his shoulder, smiling to herself. She couldn’t wait. She was fit to burst with this secret.

“I think it’s time,” Anthony murmured, giving her one last gentle squeeze before he stepped away and yelled out to ask if everyone was ready. Kate watched as he walked away, and the excited looks of everyone as they started to ready themselves.

Kate took another look as the sun started to set, the pumpkins they had carved and lit glowing steadily as Simon started to light the couple of fireplaces they had dragged over.

Kate smiled to herself and let out a happy sigh as she pulled her coat more closely around her.

Soon the brilliant colors would fade, leaving the muted browns and grays in their wake as the Earth died and the cold set in.

The nights would become long and the cold would bite, but Kate would barely feel. Not when she was surrounded by all this love.

[sloppysequinz]

Baby’s first house party, part I

Imagine going to a party—your very first one since you can legally drink! You’re giddy and ecstatic, you’ve been so good and not drunk more than a glass of wine with family until now, but now there’s no reason not to. You want to cut loose.

You don’t really know anyone besides the host who invited you, but the house is packed and the music is bumping. There’s a table full of bottles of booze and random soda for mixing or chasing. You grab a red cup and scribble your name and then you hesitate. You don’t know what anything is or how to mix it or what to drink.

From behind you, you hear a laugh. You turn to see a tall woman watching you. Her own red cup is full. Her low cut tank top shows off a body that makes you blush. You don’t recognize her, she’s definitely older than you but you couldn’t say by how much. She smiles warmly. “First time?”

You nod, face still warm, but she doesn’t mock you. “That’s so fun! Everyone only gets one first time. Want me to show you the ropes?” You want to nod but you hesitate. Sending your trepidation, she reaches out and pats your head reassuringly. “Dont worry, I can tell you’re pretty new to this. I’ll keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t overdo it. Ok?”

Reassured, you nod again. She giggles and claps gleefully, bustling up to the table next to you. “Ok, let’s start with mixed drinks, nothing fancy, it’s just a house party. Vodka with sprite or lemonade is great for beginners.” She grabs a plastic handle of vodka and pours into the cup you’re holding. “The line at the bottom of the cup is one shot so you can kinda use that to visualize how strong your drink is. Do you wanna start slow or dive right in?”

“Uhm…I wanna cut loose.” You confess. She cocks her head and grins.

“Feisty! I like it! We’ll start with a double then~” she pours a generous amount of vodka into your cup, then grabs a liter of sprite to fill up the rest of the cup. “Mine’s vanilla vodka and grapefruit soda,” she says, winking conspiratorially as she tops off her own cup. “Sweet and easy to drink, but you should learn how the liquors taste before trying flavored stuff so you know what you like.”

Now that you’re armed with full cups, she holds hers up to you. “Cheers!” You clink plastic cups and she tips hers back, drinking deeply. You take a careful sip of yours…and oh my gosh! It just tastes like soda! You were worried it would taste gross but it doesn’t at all. You drink greedily. The strange woman is watching you over her cup, eyes sparkling.

“Wow honey, I can tell you’re gonna be good at this. Want another?” You nod and she pours more into your cup. As she does, you feel the first drink start to hit. The blood rushes to your head and groin, you feel happy and loose and giggly. You can’t help but stare at your new friends chest as she hands your cup back. Booze really does lower your inhibitions, you think, only mildly embarrassed.

As you start your next double, you hear a commotion on the other side of the room. “Oh my god!” Cries your new friend. “Here’s something newbies have to learn!” She grabs your arm and pulls you towards the far side of the party. Your feet get a little mixed up and you both giggle at the stumble. You’re flushed and glowing under the attention of this woman as she pulls you deeper into the party.

[clownwrites]

Home drinkin.

Johnny/Kenshi blurb

alcohol mention/Fluff/No warning

Kenshi didn't drink often, even before his blindness, he couldn't spare the luxury of that kind of vulnerability.

 The sounds of Cage's living room light up his memory, a cacophony of morphing faces he'd come to familiarize his hearing to. 

Barakka spoke carefully to the cat that made his acquaintance in one end of the room, a conversation had in the kitchen on the far side between farmers and the like casual company. Lui Kang sat beside Kenshi with a drink for himself "you've taken in quite a home" he smiled toward the star, who sat opposite of them both in a recliner, carelessly flipping through tv channels.

"Not my favorite by far, but yeah" Johnny agreed "easier to keep up with. Ken likes it." he noted, pointing towards the swordsman with his remote

Kenshi smiled at this "yeah, I don't end up tripping into your arcade room trying to take a piss now"

Lui snickered before sipping at the crude plastic red cup he was given, as many other fighters that had filled the room. Johnny described the clothing between all of them "like attending a Galactic Renaissance ball" So the image of Lui sitting beside him, sipping on a solo cup in luxury silk caused Kenshi to share in the humor. 

The chatter through the night had become sort of a blur for Kenshi, not that he went unacknowledged, just that he had little to offer as everyone's speech began to slur into comfortable giggles and tripped up dances to the "weird earth music" Johnny had put on. 

The cacophony of chatter and music began to slowly trickle out the door, "thank yous" and laughs sparkling behind Kenshi's eye wrap as he joined in their goodbyes. Few of them stayed behind to clean the mess, but even those few followed suit.

There was this dense emptiness as the night ended, not of sadness. Just suddenness of silence, except for Johnny, who's hands clattered amongst the dishes. 

"Don't you have a dishwasher?" Kenshi asked, leaned against the island

"Yeah" Johnny shrugged and admitted "but the house got too quiet." 

 Kenshi hears Johnny stop, turning off the faucet to wipe his hands dry on his jeans. 

"Noticed you didn't drink or nothin during the party-" he started, sliding a heavy bottle of presumably liquor across the countertop.

 "I wanted to offer you some but I didn't wanna make you feel singled out for not drinkin." 

Kenshi smiled appreciatively "I never drank much before and I'm not sure how well I'd fair when I can't see." He wiped his face and sighed "I also didn't wanna find out and look like a Jackass in front of everyone" he admitted  "I can't imagine I've got a strong liver."

Johnny snorted "Oh come on" he stepped away to grab two shot glasses, Kenshi heard a distinct crystal clink against the marble underneath him. "Okay this, my friend-" Johnny boasted, popping open the same bottle of liquor that slid in front of them, as he poured two shots, "-this is where I peer pressure you." 

Kenshi laughed as he heard the smile in Johnny's voice "this stuff will give you a smooth buzz, I won't make you down anymore than this if you at least let me see you buzzed" 

The swordsman sighed, resting his head to 'stare' in Johnny's direction "okay" he agreed "and if I get anymore of this, make sure I don't slam into a wall"  Johnny carefully puts the shot glass into Kenshi's hand, and holds his own glass, clinking them ceremoniously as he winked "I'll even aim for you at the urinal bud" 

-

Kenshi found himself stumbling beside Johnny, 4 shots of whatever it was, sloshed his senses and painted a warm smile across his face. He never bothered to ask at the first glass, Kenshi trusted Johnny implicitly, even when the sour taste sizzled behind his ear drum. 

Kenshi needed to keep his arm around the star, to pull him in as much as he could to support his way through the house, both having wrapped an arm around each other's waist and walking as if sharing a hip. They'd spent hours walking around the house, the blind man only listening to Johnny's almost poetic way in describing the home around them, from the painting in the halls, to the details of his new curtains.

 "did I tell you about my new curtains?" Johnny giggles "here man, touch these fuckin curtains they’er so cool" 

By the window, they both stood as Johnny pulled and shoved the length of fabric In Front of Kenshi and waited for his free hand to find it. And Kenshi did, expelling terrible disgust at the texture, silk and embroidery which snagged against the calluses on his hands "oh gross it's sticking to me" And regardless of how terrible they may have felt, the star never lost his enthusiasm in detailing the floral designs into Kenshi's ear like a frat boy reiterating Oscar wilde. At some point he'd leaned forward from Johnny's rambling to touch the window just beyond it. 

Cold glass under his fingertips when he asked "is it night time?" 

"Yeah" Johnny smiled 

"Describe the stars to me"

Johnny looked past the curtains and scrunched his nose, there were no stars above New York, the skyline was in a constant state of dusk, polluted by the lights of the city, tho they stood so far above it. "Uhm okay." Johnny clicked, sighing, he thought to lie to Kenshi this one time. The sincerity in the swordsman's voice placed a warmth in his chest. 

"They're like holes poked through iridescent tulle layered onto silk…" he started, looking towards Kenshi, "they sparkle as if daylight is shining through them, like each layer of blue and purple is shifting between itself. It bleeds into a gold skyline of city lights."

Kenshi snorts "You make it sound like a romance novel" 

Though his jab doesn't prevent him from indulging the experience; by laying his head against the celebrity's shoulder "I was half expecting you to describe yourself, actually, when I asked."

Johnny smiled "I could've " he admitted "but that would've been too easy. You deserve to hear about something really worth looking at again."

The swordsman shook his head, slipping his arm upwards and resting it on Johnny's back he digressed "I think I'd be okay looking at you forever if it meant I could see without my sword again." Johnny lays his head against Kenshi's, whos voice laments loss of his sight and curses the stillness of his memory.  "Don't wanna have a pity party" Kenshi seethes "sometimes it just dawns on me."

"Could be the alcohol talking too." Johnny assured "stuffs good at weighing you down." There's a promise on his mind, something he's always intended but could never quite put to words

"Best I can do is make sure my words make the memory of sight disappointing enough that you'll never care to see again." 

And followed the moment Johnny could feel an assuaged smile against his shoulder. 

"Thank you, Johnny."

[kidstemplatte]

lavender haze

pairing: terzo x fem! reader

summary: reader decides to show up to one of terzo’s parties for the first time.

warnings: alcohol and weed. party stuff.

more notes at the end ❦ please enjoy

Party. You hated that word, no matter what the context was. Didn’t matter what kind of party it was, how big or small, it was a party. And you didn’t like parties. All you could think of when you heard that word was being an awkward middle school girl, standing in the corner of the hormone-ridden gym, tugging at your clothes and wondering why you were so afraid to dance with the other kids.

Terzo, your boss and longtime crush, threw parties what seemed like every other day. You typically avoided them, though your heart filled with jealousy when you imagined the other siblings of sin fawning for his attention, dancing up on him, dragging him to a nearby closet as they whispered unholy things to one another. But today, as you passed by fellow sisters of sin flocked together in the hallway, yapping about what outfits they were going to wear to Papa’s party, you had a sudden surge of courage.

Fake it ‘til you make it.

There you stood, touching up your mascara in the mirror, then adding a touch of highlighter on your inner corner to compliment the sheer glitter on your eyelids. Were you allowed to think you looked hot? You decided that you were, and that you were going to get exactly what you wanted tonight. It wasn’t just Terzo. It was to let loose, to dance freely, to stop giving a fuck for once in your life. And you would do it looking hot as hell.

You were wearing a lavender slip dress, showing just enough skin to feel sexy, but let you remain comfortable at the same time. You for sure would contrast with the rest of the crowd, wearing deep red or black with dark smokey eyes and lipstick. The sisters typically went for a sexy, sort of goth look at events like these, and you wanted to do something different. Don’t get it wrong, they looked incredible, sometimes you even wished they would make a move on you. But it wasn’t anything new. And it wasn’t you.

Plus, purple was Terzo’s favorite color, or so you assumed, which was definitely not an important factor in your choice.

Reminding yourself to keep your head up, you entered the bustling room, lights down low and flashing various colors, painting everyone in a sort of dewy glow. Smells of liquor, weed, and perfume lingered through the air. Scoping out the room, you laid eyes on one of your favorite sisters. Sister Bianca. She was without a doubt one of your favorite people in the clergy, so fun, so caring, always down for a good time, uplifting the other siblings. You longed to be like her.

“Y/N! What are you doing here?” she excitably said as she caught sight of you, holding her arms open and giving you a hug. “You look amazing!”

“Thank you!” you replied, rubbing your neck. You weren’t quite accustomed to this kind of attention.

“Want a hit?” she said, holding out some kind of weed pen.

Fuck it. One hit wouldn’t hurt, and it would be just enough to calm you down.

You continued your conversation with your friend, feeling a little lighter, but not fully focused on your discussion.

Where the hell was he? Your eyes were dashing around the room, looking for your boss. He was probably in some closet, making out or more with a sibling. Everyone clambered for his attention like blood hungry vultures. Who were you to think he suddenly would be up for grabs?

This wasn’t just about Terzo, it was about you, you decided. So you hammered down a few shots, just a couple more hits, and danced the night away. Arms swaying in the air without a care in the world to some predictable yet magnetic song, displaying a new sense of confidence you had buried deep down. As you were enjoying yourself, feeling the bass of the music vibrate through your feet and into your chest, several people approached you and complimented you.

“You look so fucking hot!”

“Go off, Y/N!”

“You’re stunning!”

Initially, you wanted to shy away and deflect their praises, but you reminded yourself that you were hot, and owed it to yourself and others to accept their compliments. But you were still a little hurt. You wanted his attention more than anyone else’s. Bianca, who had gotten lost in the crowd, creeped up behind you and tapped you on the shoulder.

“Go talk to him!” she yelled, fighting against the loudness of the music.

“What?” you said, struggling to make out what she was saying.

“I said, go talk to him!”

“Who?”

“He’s been staring at you for like, forever!”

“What?”

“I said, HE’S BEEN STARING AT YOU FOR-“

“Who?”

“Papa!”

Bianca pointed to the corner of the room, where you caught sight of Terzo, taking a drink out of his glass of whiskey, leaning against the wall, not breaking eye contact with you.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, go get him, girl! Oh shit, I love this song!” Bianca chirped, floating off to another group of friends to dance.

Had he really been staring at you this whole time?

You swallowed, took a deep breath in, and made your way towards him. In this lighting, he looked like some sort of enigmatic angel. His white paint glowed in the darkness of the room, the black circles around his eyes drawing you in like two magnetic tunnels. Terzo looked you up and down, not so successfully stifling a satisfied smirk. The way he eyed you was so enticing, and created a fluttery feeling in your stomach. Your face was flushed in a way not even the dim lighting could conceal, and you anxiously fidgeted with the hem of your dress.

“Hi.” You said, staring at the wall just behind him as a nervous smile spread across your face. All the confidence you had previously gained had melted away in a matter of moments. He had that effect on you, never failing to make you weak at the knees, stuttering like a teenage girl.

“Ciao, bella.” he greeted you. “You look incredible.”

You didn’t quite know how to respond, letting out a weak “thank you” while avoiding eye contact. Terzo placed his gloved hand under your chin and guided your face up to meet his gaze.

He said nothing, eyeing your features. The way your cheekbones glittered in the dull haze of the night. The twinkle in your eyes, like starlight. The lush tint of your lips. The arch of your brows, the perfectly crafted shape of your nose. And at the same time, you eyed his. The things you could make out from behind his face paint. The faint lines under his eyes and on his forehead. His strong jawline. His thick eyebrows. And of course, his mismatched eyes you loved so much.

The volume of the room was astronomical, music blasting, people yelling, glasses clinking. But all you could hear in that moment was your rapid heartbeat. You swore you could hear his. Maybe it was just the alcohol. And maybe it was just the alcohol that made you mindlessly grab his hand as it rested on your chin, Terzo’s breath coming to a brief halt as he dropped the glass in his other hand. And as it shattered in a million glimmering pieces, you carelessly left it behind and dragged him by the hand to the middle of the room. It wasn’t long until his hands were on your waist as you two moved to the rhythm of the music. You didn’t even know if it was the music in the room, or music of your own; your chests so close to each other you felt your hearts beating in unison, creating a strange song you couldn’t quite get a grip on but couldn’t get enough of. You felt the beads of sweat on each other’s foreheads begin to cling to one another as the room heated up. Or was it body heat? Or the feeling of him being so close to you, closer than he had ever been before, your hands exploring each other’s bodies to the soft sound of your breathing? Or maybe it was the warmth elicited in the pit of your stomach whenever Terzo pulled you in, his hot breath in your ear sending shivers down your spine as he whispered,

“Let’s go outside.”

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

i was walking around campus listening to music when lavender haze by taylor swift started playing and i immediately had this image in my mind and i knew i had to write it down. i hadn’t been that inspired and instantly motivated in a while so i knew i had to get on it.

this literally flowed out of me. writing this was like an out of body experience. it came so naturally. i wrote this in one go, which NEVER happens haha, occasionally getting up and switching spots around campus just to get a new environment. sitting at a coffee shop, then some sandwich place, and now outside at a table. pretty sure some people think i’m crazy because i’ve been hunched over my phone for like two hours now haha.

thank you for reading and for all your support! 🥹your comments and messages keep me going! i take requests as well if you’re interested!

more stuff coming soon!

♡, alice

[ramshacklefey]

If this is you, here's some very general notes on alcohol and being drunk:

Alcohol and Flavor

Alcohol itself doesn't taste quite like anything else. It's impossible to describe, kinda like salt.

That said, every single kind of alcohol has a unique flavor and texture.

Alcohol, much like spicy food, is an acquired taste. If you're used to drinking it, you don't notice the alcohol flavor itself much, but if you're new to drinking it, that's probably all you can taste.

You don't usually need to say much about the specifics of the flavor though. If you give a specific kind of alcohol, readers who do drink will get the gist, and readers who don't probably wouldn't pick it up anyhow.

Similarly, you can just say a drink is "good" or "bad." People will fill in the rest. If you want to get more detailed, you can go do some research about what makes a particular kind of alcohol good or bad.

In a modern or pseudo-contemporary setting, hard liquor is often served in mixed drinks. These range in flavor from, "Grown-up Koolaid" to "That's just a chocolate milkshake" to "Five shots of liquor with a splash of coke on top." Despite their innocent flavor profiles, these drinks will often knock you on your ass.

Different Kinds of Alcohol

The biggest distinction is between undistilled and distilled (or hard).

Undistilled alcohols are: beer, wine, champagne, cider, mead, and sake. They are all made via some variant of "put beverage in cask with yeast and wait."

These also have a much milder "alcohol" flavor. If someone is new to drinking, they may taste bitter, pungent, or yeasty. Otherwise, they run the whole gamut of flavors.

Distilled alcohols are exactly what they sound like: You use some method or other to remove a lot of the water from an alcoholic liquid, creating a drink with a much higher abv/proof. This is basically every kind of alcohol not on the other list: gin, brandy, whiskey, rum, tequila, vodka, absinthe, and everclear. (Fun note: of these, only brandy is made by distilling one of the undistilled alcohols. Brandy is distilled wine. The rest start out as stuff that you would not want to drink).

Distilled alcohols are the ones where you get the "burning" taste. Still, each of them has their own flavor, and different people have different preferences on which they like.

Being Drunk If you've never been drunk, this is very difficult to describe, and different people do experience it differently. However, there are definitely things that do and do not register as realistic to anyone who's actually been drunk before...

Alcohol is a "depressant." This doesn't mean it makes you sad, but that it depresses (think, hobbles) your central nervous system. It makes you sleepy, forgetful, uncoordinated, and cuts down on your self-control. Which is great, but what does this look like on the inside?

It depends on how drunk you are. I know, not helpful, but really. I'll get more into this in a minute, but it's important to think about how drunk you want a character to be.

Emotionally: Alcohol doesn't affect everyone the same way, and it doesn't affect the same person the same way all the time. That's why you hear about "happy drunks" and "sad drunks" and "angry drunks." It depends on your personality, disposition, and the mood you were in when you started drinking. My experience has been that alcohol amplifies whatever mood I was in to begin with. If I'm happy, I get happier. If I'm sad, I get sadder. Never been angry-drunk before, but I imagine it's the same principle.

If drinking makes a sad person sadder, why do people drink when they're depressed? Excellent question! Going out and getting drunk because, say, you just got dumped seems counterintuitive if it's just going to make you sadder. BUT! Even though you're sadder, you don't hurt as much. You might be a blubbering mess on the bar, but somehow you don't mind as much.

The one emotion alcohol doesn't seem to amplify is fear. It can cut right through anxiety by making it really hard for you to use that great prefrontal cortex of yours to plot out causes and effects. Which leads us to:

Bad Decisions. When you're drunk, you kinda feel like you're untouchable. Tomorrow you is definitely gonna have to deal with whatever you're about to do, and you don't much care about tomorrow you. You barely care about ten-minutes-from-now you. Your concept of time gets narrowed down to Right Now. So, whether you just really wanna kiss that guy, pick a fight with someone three times your size, or get up on stage at karaoke and spend seven minutes caterwauling Bohemian Rhapsody, you're probably going to do it. The part of you that would normally be holding the reins and screaming in anxiety is tied up in the back room, even if you can still hear them wailing.

Physical Sensations and Coordination: Yeah, drunk people are clumsy. But what does that clumsiness feel like? You know that feeling you get when you stand up too fast? Being really really drunk is kinda like that. Your body feels like a clunky character in a video game. Your depth perception feels fucky. Like, you reach out to pick something up and it turns out it was a few inches further away than you thought. Things you can do in your sleep, like writing your name, suddenly require a lot of concentration (and your handwriting still looks like you're in elementary school again).

Talking: Look, it's not that drunk people can't talk. But words and ideas get real slippery. The actual slurring is because of bad motor control over your mouth, but you forget words, and a lot of the time you forget what the beginning of your sentence was by the time you get to the end of it. If someone interrupts you, your entire thought process is liable to vanish like a dream you got woken up from.

Different Levels of Drunk: All of the above are describing pretty intense levels of drunkenness. Each of those things is basically a sliding scale from whatever your normal state is to "incapacitated." Different people have different tolerances for alcohol, which sometimes correlate with how often/much you drink, but not always. Someone with a slight buzz may just be a bit more boisterous and talkative than normal. They might be more likely to pull a "hold my beer bro" stunt, but probably have enough frontal lobe capacity to not do anything spectacularly dangerous.

And a lot of this is going to hit differently for someone who is an alcoholic, but this post has already gotten way too long, and so, as the academics say, that topic is beyond the scope of this post.

i love when fic writers who have clearly never tried any kind of alcohol in their lives try to write someone drinking bc they're always like

"he ordered a tall glass of hard liquor. after three large glasses he was feeling tipsy" like babygirl i can't be sure but i think u just sent this man to the hospital

[xutokawa]

s/o finding scratch marks on their back

pairings: atsumu x reader, oikawa x reader

genre(s): angst, fluff in beginning, cheating s/o

warnings: langauge, cheating, allusions to smut, mentions of alcohol

wc: 1.6k

» masterlist

a/n: i feel like writing some angst and nothing says angst like an s/o finding out their partner is cheating :’) send requests for other haikyuu characters if you want some more! i already have a couple drafted up hehe

osamu and iwazumi ver.

kuroo and sakusa ver.

suna and bokuto ver.

akaashi and hinata ver.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡��

Atsumu

Curling yourself into a ball, you tightly clenched at the blanket, trying to imagine Atsumu’s warmth surrounding you. You dearly missed your husband, touch-starved from not seeing him for two days. A smile spread across your face knowing that he would be in your arms again in a couple hours.

You knew dating a pro-volleyball player would mean nights alone in your shared apartment. It was hard at first, but you slowly got used to it, knowing he would walk through the front door and come back home to you.

Later that day, you were quietly humming to yourself while cooking dinner for Atsumu and yourself when you heard the doorknob jiggling followed by the sound of keys. Excitement and anticipation coursed through your body as you quickly went to greet your husband at the door. As soon as the door opened to reveal the blond setter, you rushed into his arms.

“Y/n,” Atsumu breathed into your hair, holding you tight, “I missed you so much.”

Snuggling into his chest, you replied, “I missed you too.”

Pulling away, you looked up at him, “Dinner’s almost ready. Go wash up first.” 

Atsumu placed a quick kiss on your forehead, muttering a quick I love you before picking up his bags and heading towards your bedroom.

Hearing the shower turn on, you returned to cooking. Hands dry from washing the dishes, you decided to go grab some lotion, heading into the bathroom. You stopped dead in your tracks, however, when you glanced at Atsumu. 

Back turned towards you, the setter was unaware of your presence in the bathroom. Red, angry marks lined his broad shoulders as hickeys were dotted across his neck. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until your vision started blurring. Quickly slipping out of the bathroom, you went into your shared bedroom, packing a small bag with your belongings. Silent sobs racked your body as you imagined Atsumu’s breath on another’s neck, whispering sweet nothings into their ears as he gave himself away to them. 

You couldn’t believe it. Your husband, your Atsumu. More than anything, you wanted to know why? What did you not give? Was your marriage worth nothing to him? Texting your best friend, you told them you’d be staying at their house for the night, not offering further explanation. 

Did he mean it when he proclaimed his love earlier? You couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this. How many times has he betrayed your trust, indulged in another person as you patiently waited for his return. Scoffing in anger, you hastily pulled your ring off your left hand, placing it on his bedside table along with a note. Anger surged through your body as you stared at the diamond gleaming at you, memories of the day Atsumu got down on one knee as he asked to spend the rest of his life with you flooding back. That day, you left, never turning back, putting the past five years with Atsumu behind you.

The apartment was noticeably colder when Atsumu finally stepped out of the shower. Quickly changing, he walked out to the kitchen, craving your embrace. He couldn’t wait to sit down and just talk, maybe cuddle and watch a movie until the both of you fell asleep in each other’s arms. The setter missed you dearly during his time away, and he wanted to make up for lost time. However, you were nowhere to be found. He searched through the entire apartment only to be met with silence. 

Maybe she went out to buy something, Atsumu thought to himself. His thoughts were interrupted, however, when he noticed a note on his nightstand. 

‘I’ll be gone for a couple of days. I’ll eventually come back for the rest of my stuff, but I just can’t bear to see you right now. I hope it was worth it. Glad to know our marriage was worth dog shit to you. Don’t come looking for me, the last thing I want to see is you right now.’

The note in the setter’s hands began to shake as he glanced at your wedding ring on the table. He thought he heard the door open in the shower earlier, but didn’t think much of it. It was only when his shampoo ran down his back that he realized he had marks on his back. Atsumu knew he messed up as soon as the deed was over. Your comforting smile continuously flashed through his mind as he pulled his shirt back over his head. He felt sick to his stomach opening his phone to find a text from you telling him to take care of himself when another person’s scent lingered on him. 

He couldn’t lose you. He needed to find you, tell you it was all a drunken mistake. It was the alcohol, not him. The thought of you despising him made the setter choke out a sob, rushing out the door in hopes to catch up to you. It didn’t mean anything to him. It was getting too lonely without you, and he indulged in alcohol in hopes to fill the void. His eyes searched frantically, legs and lungs burning from running down countless flights of steps, hoping to catch a glance of you and bring you back him.

But it was too late. It was over. Atsumu already ruined everything.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Oikawa

Frustration boiled through Oikawa as he rubbed his hands over his face. He didn’t mean to lash out at you, after all, you were just being a caring partner. Concerns for the setter’s health turned into a full-blown argument resulting with you in tears and Oikawa at a local bar, drowning his misery in liquor. His state of mind grew foggier with each shot he downed. So when the scent of perfume engulfed his senses as seductive whispers filled his ears, he gave in.

You were waken up by the sound of a clatter coming from the kitchen followed by a loud ‘fuck!’ 

Groggily, you glanced at the alarm clock on your nightstand.

12:47am

Heading towards the source of noise, you found your boyfriend curled in a ball on the ground. The stench of alcohol overwhelmed your nostrils as you attempted to get your boyfriend to stand. 

You couldn’t help but smile at the ‘I’m so sorry, y/n’s and the ‘Please forgive me’s coming out of your boyfriend’s mouth, assuming he was referring to your earlier argument. Sighing, you laid him down on your mattress, walking towards his closet to grab his pajamas. With great struggle, you successfully peeled the shirt from Oikawa’s back before he flopped back down on the mattress. Preparing to shove his night shirt over his head, your movements froze as you took in the claw marks running down his back. Blood running cold, you glanced at the setter’s face, seemingly peaceful as he slept. 

Anger coursed through your veins at the thought of him running into another person’s arms when your relationship got a little tough.

Pathetic.

You scoffed as you threw his shirt on the ground. Blinded by rage, your mind didn’t register your hand coming in contact with his cheek.

A loud smack sounded through the empty night as Oikawa’s eyes shot open.

“You piece of shit,” you venomously spit out.

Confusion visible clouded Oikawa’s eyes as he began adjusting to his surroundings, obviously sobering up.

“Y-y/n, what was that for?” Oikawa began sitting up, eyebrows furrowed together.

“So what, we have one argument and you decide to go fuck some random person?” You raised your voice at the man sitting in front of you.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t-”

“Cut the crap, Oikawa,” ignoring the pain flashing through Oikawa’s eyes at the use of his last name, “The hickey on your neck and scratch marks are more than enough proof that you cheated on me.” 

Panic flashed in Oikawa’s eyes as he realized what was happening, the gravity of the situation registering in his mind. He cheated on you.

“I-” Oikawa stuttered, words getting stuck in his throat at the thought of losing you. He couldn’t even make excuses, knowing he had been caught red-handed in his infidelity. 

“I’m staying in a hotel for the rest of the night. I’m coming back tomorrow afternoon, and your shit better be out of here by then,” your eyes hardened as you turned around, beginning to pack a small bag with essential belongings. Panic rose in Oikawa as he scrambled to stop you.

“Wait, y/n, let’s talk this out,” Oikawa pleaded, tears welling in his eyes, “We can fix this, right? You can’t leave me, I love you!”

The setter’s heart shattered as you flinched away from his touch, as if it physically hurt you to be near him.

“If you truly loved me, you wouldn’t have cheated on me,” you managed to choke out, zipping up your bag. 

“I do love you, y/n! Please, believe me,” Oikawa desperately pleaded, sobs racking his body, “I didn’t mean to! It didn’t mean anything, y/n, I can fix this, I promise!”

“You seem to have a habit of breaking your promises, Oikawa,” your voice audibly weaker. You needed to get away from him, away from the source of your heartbreak. 

“Y/n, wait! Please-” Oikawa’s voice was cut off by the slam of the front door. 

It wasn’t until 47 missed calls, 118 messages, and 32 voicemails later, that Oikawa realized you were never coming back to him. You had walked out of his life forever, and it was all his fault.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

comment or send me a message to be added to my general taglist!

[ericspinkhair]

wedding fun

pairing: dom!eric, dom!sunwoo x sub! reader (no gender specified but has a vagina)

word count: 2.7k

synopsis: it’s Changmin’s sister’s wedding and his younger sibling gets super drunk and loses their virginity to Eric and Sunwoo

a/n: please send in requests!

y/s/n = your sister’s name

pt. 2

masterlist + requests

Tears were welling up as you saw your beautiful sister walk down the aisle, holding onto your dad’s arm. She looked absolutely stunning with her dark hair in a fancy updo and the silver makeup shimmering on her face. Her eyelids were painted a lovely purple and the exact same color could also be found on all the bridesmaids’ dresses. After all, it was her favorite color.

Y/s/n took the hands of her very-soon-to-be-husband and looked him deep in the eyes. Everyone in the room could see the love these two had for each other. You were wondering whether you would ever be able to find this kind of love in your life. This far you had been unsuccessful and being alone scared you. But being an idol also made having a significant other very difficult so you love would not be an option for a long time.

Immersed in your own thoughts, you were taken by surprise when you heard “I do’’ already coming out of your sisters mouth.

“And do you, Kim Hanseob, take y/s/n as your beloved wife and promise to stay by her side until death do you part?’’ The room was filled with anticipation as everyone waited for him to answer. You swore to god if he didn’t say yes you’d haunt him down and make sure to kick him there where it really - “I do,” he said and before the priest could continue he had already cupped your sister’s face and planted a passionate kiss on her lips.

You could feel tears running down your cheeks and tried to wipe them away. Your eyes met your brother's, Changmin, who also appeared to be crying and he flashed you a big smile. You grinned back.

Then your gaze fell onto your fellow members who were applauding loudly and cheering. Both your and Changmin's group were invited to sing later. That's why Changmin was sitting with his ten friends/co-workers/members in the audience and, on top of that, six girls were waiting for you there as well. You stood up there in your purple dress near your sister as you had the honor of being the bridesmaid (ever since you were little you had made it very clear that that position would be yours and threatened your sister with various horrifying scenarios in case she chose someone else).

After everyone gave heartbreaking speeches, it was time to dance and get wasted. At least that was what seemed to be planned for you. During your sister’s speech, she told everyone to get you drunk. Apparently that was her biggest wish for the night and only after that could she truly be happily married. You had turned twenty not even two months ago (Korean age) and are now a legal adult who could do adult things like drinking. The first glass was handed to you by Changmin who would not answer what kind of liquor it was and maybe half an hour later you felt quite tipsy.

Y/s/n had requested you to sing ‘Always By Your Side’ (her favorite b-side of your group) so that’s what your group performed. After that The Boyz sang ‘Break Your Rules’ and, surprisingly, Changmin’s friend Sunwoo seemed to be the most into it. Maybe it was the alcohol but you couldn’t stop staring at his luscious lips and pretty smile. His positive energy spread like a virus and the corners of your mouth wouldn’t go down.

Just as you had finished your seventh glass, another one was held right in your face.

“Having fun?” Eric teased you as you took a couple of big sips and smiled contentedly. You had never realized how beautiful this man was. His sharp jawline and divinely carved nose seemed to catch your attention. Gosh, has he always been this attractive? Noticing the slight blush on your cheeks, Eric smirked at you.

You danced a little bit together and just jammed out to the music. You tried not to look at him in fear you might not be able to take your eyes off of him. You had always sworn that Changmin’s friends were off limits. Especially his members. But it wasn’t your fault that he had decided to look so damn fine in his suit today.

Suddenly someone tapped you on your shoulder and when you turned around you saw a fine as hell looking Sunwoo smiling brightly at you two. He was holding a tray with shots and handed them to you. Y’all linked arms and downed the liquor. Since you've had multiple glasses already, you didn’t even really feel the burn in your throat anymore.

You did silly dances like the floss or copied the point dance of ‘Shine’ by Pentagon. Then the music took a different direction and suddenly ‘Whiplash’ by NCT127 was blasting through the speakers. Now you had to adjust your dancing accordingly. Eric and Sunwoo came a lot closer and you could feel their breaths on your face and neck. Not really caring anymore you gave in and moved your body to the rhythm. One of the boys was grinding from the front and one from the back and you could feel something hard poking you from both sides. You ground your body on the two boys and were enjoying how their breathing became heavier and heavier.

Only as Sunwoo started placing wet kisses on your neck did you become aware of your surroundings again. You quickly looked around to see if anyone was staring but the rest seemed to be equally as drunk and immersed in their own stuff. Changmin was having a dance contest with one of your members and Kevin was twerking on the side.

You let out a moan as Eric sucked a hickey on your collar bone. Not wanting them to stop but also being kind of embarrassed at being in a public space, it took you all of your restraint to groan out a “we shouldn’t be doing this here.”

“Wanna go somewhere more private?” wasn’t necessarily the response you had expected. The suggestion had come from Eric who was now caressing your sides while coming dangerously close to your chest. At this point Sunwoo was humping your butt from behind. Your panties were soaked and you were rubbing your legs. Your whole body was screaming to say yes and leave with these two sexy men.

“I know a perfect place here where we can take good care of you. Do you want us to spoil you, baby? We can make you feel so good. You’ll be screaming our names all night. Do you want that?” Sunwoo whispered into your ear. At this proposition you nodded eagerly and the alcohol in your system made your head spin. The triumph was visible in Eric’s face and he took you by your hand and led you away.

As soon as the door to the hall closed, Sunwoo spun you around and crashed his lips onto yours. Your inexperience was overpowered by your intoxicated state of mind. The alcohol seemed to take over and your mouth and tongue moved on their own.

“As much as I would like to join you, we need to go quickly before someone sees us,” Eric urged you and you parted in dismay. The venue your sister had rented for the wedding was huge and you found yourself locked in a room on the fourth floor, far far away from the rest (most importantly from Changmin).

The beautiful purple dress was now lying somewhere in a corner (but you made sure they took it off carefully) and your bra was nowhere in sight. Pressed against the wall both of your nipples were being taken care of by the two boys. Someone was biting, someone was licking and it all felt like heaven. Sunwoo’s thigh in between your legs prevented you from rubbing your legs together but you still got a good amount of friction and rubbed yourself on his muscle.

“Who knew that y/n could be so horny? My leg is completely wet from your pussy.”

“Then take your pants off,” you contered, not knowing what exactly came over you. Sunwoo, as well as Eric, wasted no time in discarding their pants and underwear and left you staring at the two most beautiful dicks you had ever seen. And also the first ones. You didn’t move, not really knowing what to do. They must have noticed too as they each took your hand and led it to their cocks. They slowly guided your hands up and down their shafts. After a while they let go and you rubbed a bit quicker, enjoying the effect you had on them.

The logical next step was to suck so you knelt down. First, you let your tongue taste Sunwoo’s tip and he let out a heavy sigh. Feeling more confident, you started by licking up his shaft before wrapping your mouth around the head. It was big and tasted a bit salty but it felt so good knowing that you were bringing pleasure to this pretty boy.

“Baby, do you want to taste me too?” asked Eric and you switched. Now you were sucking Eric’s length and stroking Sunwoo. Eric let out small moans and grabbed your hair tightly. You looked up at him and admired his physique (you hadn’t noticed that they had taken off their shirts).

They took turns using your mouth and even started gently thrusting and you were a bit overwhelmed with how thick they were. Eric’s pumps were getting quicker but suddenly pulled out. Did you do something wrong?

“Fuck, y/n! You’re going to make me come already. We haven’t even shown you the real thing.” Sunwoo helped you stand up and then pulled your panties down. He picked you up and lay you down on the bed. Before you could register anything happening, you suddenly felt something very wet connecting with your heat. Sunwoo had licked a strip up your pussy. Your body arched as he sucked on your clit, the sensation feeling overwhelming.

“Look how sensitive y/n is. I wonder how our baby will react when we put our dicks inside.”

“I’m a virgin!” you suddenly blurt out. You weren’t sure why you told them but it probably wasn’t wrong to let them know.

“That’s okay, baby,” Eric responded while Sunwoo began fucking you with his tongue, “We’ll take good care of you.”

Sunwoo moved to the side and Eric took his place in between your thighs. He then planted a big kiss on your lips as he pushed one finger inside. The sensation felt a bit foreign. Of course you had fingered yourself before but having someone else do it was very different. Instead of going super fast like you had expected, he took his time. It was easy to adjust and soon you felt another finger at your entrance.

Your pussy took the second digit in as well but this time the discomfort was more noticeable. Apparently it was also visible on your face because Sunwoo began exchanging wet kisses with you and massaged your nipples as a distraction. He mumbled soft praises against your mouth, telling you how good you were being.

“I think y/n is ready,” Eric said after a while. You had been approaching your climax and felt a bit disappointed.

“You do have condoms, right?” you asked a bit panicked, remembering that you were not on the pill. Sunwoo stood up and picked out condoms from their pants. He held them up while smirking at you. Seems like they came prepared.

Once you felt more comfortable, you gave him a nod and he started moving. Sunwoo began very slowly but as you started showing signs of pleasure he increased his speed. He was placing hickeys all over your collarbone and neck and you were tugging at his hair. Out of the corner of your eyes you could see Eric watching you while stroking himself, patiently waiting for his turn. Slowly Sunwoo’s breaths and thrusts started becoming sloppier and then, while moaning out your name, he came hard in his condom.

Sunwoo rolled the condom over his hard penis and aligned himself at your entrance. He stroked your face.

“You have nothing to worry about. Try to relax.” You tried to give him a reassuring smile as if to tell him that you were going to be just fine. He kissed you deeply as he pushed in. The sensation felt overwhelming so you grabbed onto Sunwoo’s arms. He held still while trying to distract you with kisses.

He was trying to catch his breath but Eric left him no time and pushed him aside. Without any hesitation, he shoved his dick right into you and began pumping. He started with an already high speed so you felt quite a strong sensation from the start. He held you by your hips and kept a fast pace. Your eyes were rolling back in pleasure as he was fucking you hard. It didn’t hurt, it was like waves of pleasure were running over you. Since he had already jerked off when Sunwoo had had his turn, he didn’t last as long as the other boy did.

“Can I come on you?” he asked you as he picked up the speed even more. Barely being able to respond you slightly nodded and he suddenly pulled out. He took off the condom, stroked his throbbing length a few times and then shot his load all over your body. Some landed on your belly, some on your tits and some even on your face. Eric let out stuttering groans as he unloaded his cum onto you. Thinking you were done, you tried to get up but was quickly pushed back down onto the mattress.

“You didn’t come yet,” Eric stated matter-of-factly. He lowered his face to your heat and started lapping. You felt very sensitive and gasped in surprise when you felt Sunwoo playing with your clit. Damn, these boys definitely knew what they were doing. Like this, you came closer and closer to your high. At this point you were sure that you were screaming a lot but didn’t know whether anyone could comprehend your words. Feeling that you were almost there, Sunwoo and Eric picked up their pace and, not long after, your eyes rolled back into your head and darkness took over.

Your orgasm was very intense and wet. After your body had finished, you felt very weak and exhausted but satisfied. Not really being able to open your eyes again you just lay there. You barely noticed the boys cleaning you up before sleep overtook you.

You woke up feeling extremely sore in between your legs. Opening your eyes was tough but when you did you wished you hadn’t. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. First of all, you were completely naked and so were the two boys next to you. Even worse was that these were your brother’s members, the only people you had sworn to avoid any romantic (let alone sexual) contact with. Your head was also hurting and you felt like throwing up. So this is what alcohol did to you.

Sunwoo and Eric seemed to be still sleeping so you just quickly dressed yourself and ran out of the room. How do you even deal with this kind of situation? Now you had to avoid Sunwoo and Eric for the rest of your life and also had to keep a big secret from Changmin. If he ever found out you’d be dead but what would happen to the two guys who had fucked you seemed to be an even worse fate. You felt kind of dirty having been used by two men but at the same time it had felt so good. You even came and that amount of pleasure was something you had never felt before. Sadly, this kind of scenario could only ever happen again in your dreams.

[ladykissingfish]

drunk Akatsuki hc? 🥺

Ask and ye shall receive! ((Sorry it took so long to get to/finish this. Also get the nagging feeling I did a post very similar to this before but 🤷🏽‍♀️ piss poor memory so))

Drinking with the Akatsuki

Kakuzu

Takes a lot to get him drunk; his alcohol tolerance is pretty damn high. And when he does reach that point, he becomes … very unlike himself. Friendly, smiling, and extremely loose with his precious money. Kakuzu being drunk is the best time to ask him for an advance on your pay, or a personal loan. Another bonus: drunk Kakuzu is storytime Kakuzu. When he’s sober, the others don’t really like listening to his stories because they’re all boring as hell, and are usually centered around some point that he’s trying to nag everyone on. But drunk Kakuzu, well, he’ll tell you about brawls, dangerous stunts he pulled when he was a kid, sometimes even old lovers. He can keep the rest of the Akatsuki enraptured for hours with his intoxicated tales. The morning after a night of drinking is a different tale, though. He’ll remember loaning money to people and hunt them down to make sure that know they have to pay him back, and he’ll deny like crazy any story tidbits that the others bring up to him. Will also go through several pots of pure black coffee in an effort to de-hangover himself more quickly.

Pein

The Pein bodies don’t drink, but Nagato will, very rarely. Beer is his drink of choice, and he’ll opt for foreign rather than domestic. He’s not really the type to get full-on drunk (no matter what he’s the Leader and he carries himself as such), rather he’ll just get slightly tipsy. If he gets tipsy enough he’ll rant a bit to whoever’s closest about pain, and the unfairness of life, and anything else that would put a downer on happy drinkers’ moods. He always hopes that the alcohol will help him to sleep (he’s a horrible insomniac) but most times it just gives him a slight headache while leaving him wide-wake and dry-mouthed.

Hidan

Nobody wants to be around this guy when he’s had too much to drink, because the normally violent Hidan becomes even more so after hitting the booze. He’ll be willing to take on any and everyone, from teenagers to old men. And being immortal doesn’t help matters any; he could literally get torn limb from limb and his mouth would still be taunting his opponents with “Is that the best ya got, bastard??” Drinking also brings out his creative side when it comes to his human sacrifices and Jashin rituals; he’ll think up new (and horrible) ways to torment and kill his victims. Is the type to finally, FINALLY just completely pass out after reaching his final tolerance point, and the others will (reluctantly) drag him to his room and put him in his bed. Not many are willing to do this, however, as most times before he passes out he’ll have stripped himself completely naked.

Tobi

An emotional drunk. Gets sad and cries over practically anything. And it doesn’t take much to get him tanked, either; his tolerance level is embarrassingly low and he’ll be ready to sob after just a couple of glasses of wine. Tobi tries to avoid drinking when he can because he knows there’s a good chance of him dropping his persona and letting the others see Obito Uchiha. In fact this HAS happened a few times, where he’a taken off his mask and everything; fortunately for him the others were so gone that the next day they either didn’t remember, or believed that had just imagined the whole thing. Likes to soothe himself by slurring sad love songs at the top of lungs, joined most frequently by Deidara and Hidan. Will also drunkenly stuff his face with meats, which is a complete opposite from his sweet-loving sober self. He can throw down a dozen burgers when boozed up, the results of which will likely be in puddles all over the floor the next day. Will go to his bed and turn around in circles a bunch of times, like a dog, before finally going to sleep. “Tobi” will be the quietest he’s ever been the next day, as he fights a massive headachy hangover.

Konan

For being such a thin, delicate girl, Konan can hold her liquor right up there with the likes of Kakuzu and Kisame. One might never even know that she’s drunk to begin with; she walks perfectly straight, doesn’t slur her words, has almost perfect reflexes and normal mannerisms. One thing always gives her away, however; drunk Konan is hungry Konan. Under normal circumstances the little lady sticks to a healthy diet and isn’t one for over-indulging in anything. One shot or beer too many, and suddenly the gloves are off. Konan will make pizza, hotdogs, gigantic sundaes, cakes and pies … and devour almost all of it. She’ll share with the others if asked … but most times she’s eaten so much that there’s not much left to share. When she’s finally had her fill, she’ll go to bed … and wake up feeling sick as a dog the next morning. After the nausea passes, she’ll force herself to go for a long run or walk, no matter how much her head may be aching, in order to work off her excessive calorie intake.

Zetsu

Zetsu doesn’t drink, because alcohol interferes with his plant genetics, acting as literal poison to his system. But he enjoys being around the others when they’re drunk, to see the different types of personalities that emerge. Likes to hang around Hidan in particular, as the man’s sacrifices pick up significantly when he’s drunk, meaning Zetsu has more of a smorgasbord of leftovers to pick from

Sasori

As a puppet, Sasori doesn’t drink. But when he was a human, it was a different story. He turned himself into a non-human at a very young age, much younger, of course, than would have been the legal drinking age. But his grandmother kept a variety of wines in their home, and when she was away, he liked to pour himself a glass. Always only a single glass; he was intelligent enough both to know that his grandmother would notice if any larger of a quantity was missing, and, already dabbling in making poisons at this point, he understood the concept of “tolerance” better than most. But the single glass was enough; it seemed to comfort him during those nights when he was missing his mother and father. The wine also served as a brain-opener for him, of sorts: it was over wine that he first got the idea of turning himself into a puppet.

Deidara

Being young and so slender, and not having much experience with alcohol before joining the Akatsuki, the blonde is a bit of a light-weight when it comes to the hooch. He doesn’t really care for beers or ales (he compares the taste to “cat-piss”) and instead goes for the fruity mixed drinks that don’t SEEM that strong … until you’ve had about three or four, and they put you on your ass. Deidara becomes very lovey-dovey when drunk, and not just in a romantic sense. Alcohol makes everyone in the world his friend, and he’s suddenly interested in what others have to say about life and art. He’s even nice to Itachi, going so far as to hug him and tell him that he smells good, something that he will vehemently deny the next day. He’ll go to Sasori and cling to him and gush about how he appreciates his friendship and his guidance, until Sasori gets tired of him and tells him to go to sleep. Deidara can get to his room on his own, but once the door closes, he’s more likely to pass out on the floor than in his own bed. Also, if he didn’t think to tie up his long hair beforehand, he’ll be in for a nasty, messy surprise when he inevitably wakes up to vomit at some point.

Itachi

Itachi isn’t one to ever let himself lose control of his senses, no matter the situation. Therefore, if he’s drinking with the others, he’ll stick to one or two beers or a single shot before cutting himself off for the evening. He plays much of a “mom” role in the group, making sure the others are okay, lending a shoulder to cry on for the emotional drunks, and, if they’re out somewhere, making sure everyone gets home safe and sound. On the rare, RARE occasions he drinks by himself, and lets go of his hesitation, he’s just as emotional a drinker as Tobi (which is quite possibly an Uchiha trait). He’ll cry into his pillow, he’ll sit and lament over the choices he’s made in life. Sometimes he’ll find and put on the saddest song or movie he can think of, just so he has something to get emotional over. Although this sounds bad, this is actually a helpful bit of therapy for him, as it allows him to release emotions that he normally keeps bottled up. He’ll end a night of solo drinking with a cup of tea, then go quietly to bed, sleeping like a rock until the sun comes up and things go back to normal.

Kisame

Right up there with Kakuzu as being a guy that can hold his liquor like a champ. In fact his ability to do so has won him many drinking challenges at bars, as well as a formidable reputation as “one bad ass son of a bitch”. It also helps him confidence-wise; normally the half-shark is very reserved and keeps to himself, as he feels that his appearance is off-putting and scary to “normal” people. But alcohol loosens him up and gets him talking, and being bold, and many people find this switch in personality to be highly attractive. Ladies especially take notice of his smile, his eyes … and his muscles. He even scores several phone numbers from interested parties … but by the time he’s sober again, he never follows through with calling anyone. Also helps Itachi in that he keeps an eye on the others when they drink, to make sure that they’re safe.

[prodigum]

𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃. sometimes can't find where his mind ends and his body begins. anchored to the earth by nothing more than his own first name. but right now , theon feels like he really does exist. right here. right now. on robb's small dorm bed. in front of her.

her words collect in his chest. heavy and with edges. he wishes she would stop talking. he doesn't want to hear any of this. ( theon never thought he had the right to mourn ned even half as much as the others. he felt guilty for it. guilty for how much his death had hurt. guilty because he has a father. guilty because it isn't ned and so why should he cry? ) and the guilt makes it easy for theon. easy to repress it all. easy to pretend like it didn't happen , just because it didn't happen to him. and she's unraveling all of that with her words. dredging the heavy stuff up. making it crawl up his throat , edges and all. he doesn't want to see it come out. and he does not feel as though tonight is a night for mourning.

❝ a third it is, ❞ he says with a smirk. fills up both their glasses and wastes no time throwing back the shot of liquor after giving sansa hers. this time , there's a bite to it that he struggles to ignore. face wrinkles up for a few seconds while he waits for it to pass. only as soon as it passes , he begins to feel the buzz developing into something more. and maybe it isn't a night of mourning , but his lips are loosened and so he finds the first of the hurt dripping from his lips.

❝ he always treated me better than my own father. actually made me feel wanted, ❞ he starts , staring off at the wall. not wanting to look at her. for a brief second wondering why he is telling her these things. drunk or not , it's not like they're friends. not strangers and not family. it's all very confusing to theon in his present state. he shakes off the question of formality anyway. he looks over at the hand that she pulled away , knee still warm where it had rested. or maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's his imagination. he's not sure of a great many things these days. this night , in particular. for the first time all evening he begins to worry how that is going to work out for him.

theon looks up into her eyes. doesn't see robb in them now. or ned. only her. really sees her , in all the red of her hair. the red of her cheeks [ no doubt thanks to the rum ]. thinks about how this is sort of nice. thinks about how he doesn't want to drag her down with him , not tonight. thinks about how he's absolute shit at comforting others.

❝ i think this is the most civil conversation we've ever had, st— , ❞ stark he almost says , a slight contradiction to the statement. ❝ sansa. ❞ a smirk. ❝ want another shot , sansa? ❞ he says her name again , a real emphasis on it. ❝ or are you going to make me be a good host and get you something to eat? my specialty is cup ramen. or takeout. ❞

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐘, she's desperate to say aloud. there is no more joy to be found. there's an everlasting, icy bitterness in her veins, the golden girl with flaming curls, voice of honey and blood of the sweetest wines has died. 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊 : buried beside her father. a cold body only remains in its place, and tonight it is on full display for theon. how pathetic she feels, grappling with this all in front of him. sansa is a proud girl, she's stubborn - falling apart in front of her brother's best friend is the last thing she wants. yet, all the same, eager hands grab at the shot glass he provides her.

silently, she returns theon's wordless toast, mouth taking the glass. eager, as if it's a cure. she knows better, but for tonight, there's no other remedy. there's a wince as sharp liquid coats her throat, though the woman downs it quickly. light blue eyes flash to theon - fighting the urge to cringe upon his attempt at comfort. sansa knows who her father is - WAS. he was a good man, a great man, even. honest, noble, loyal.. she had heard it all tenfold at his funeral. she had lived it, SHE HAD LOST IT. gratitude is evident on her face when theon backtracks. ❝ pour it. ❞ is all she can muster in response, handing over the glass.

watching theon, sansa can't help but let her mind wander. it goes to all the places it shouldn't - or maybe, should. is reliving memories a step in the grieving process? she read all the stupid books, she should remember. either way, each memory plunges into her like a knife, every bit of laughter is like a sharp twist into her abdomen. sansa is desperate for the blade to be removed, so she speaks quickly.

❝ i didn't mean to interrupt your night of ──── ❞ by the stench in the air, she can tell what he had been doing, though she doesn't outrightly comment on it. ❝ ..relaxation ❞ she settles on. taking the second shot glass from theon, sansa determines she will not sit here stupidly any longer. downing it quickly, she springs into action.

❝ i think he'd be happy, seeing us toast his legacy together, or whatever. ❞ if she had learned one thing from all of the circumstance around her father's death, talking about him makes people THINK you're okay. perhaps this is something she could pull now. yet, she can't find herself genuinely wanting to brush past it, either. sitting here with theon, sansa realizes he too is mourning, and it isn't fair for her to push ned stark's passing to and from the forefront of his mind at her will - in moments like these, she remembers, she isn't the only one who lost a father that day. taking a gentle hand and resting it on his knee, sansa leans in closer across from him, blue eyes looking into his.

❝ he saw you as another son, y'know. ❞ a genuine smile darts across swollen features. perhaps, this is more cathartic than her and robb sitting and sulking, feeling sorry for themselves. ❝ he loved you, i know that for a fact. ❞ and in that moment, the eye contact and the hand on his knee - it all felt too much. like a jolt to the body, reminding her of how it was supposed to be for them (sansa and theon weren't friends like that, they didn't see eye to eye majority of the time. he was robb's friend.) she felt off instantly. sansa pulls away quickly, breaking eye contact as well. like a hand to a flame - painful.. yet almost enticing. still, she clears her throat.

❝ i wouldn't argue with you over a third shot. ❞

[ikemenlibrary]

Keeping Warm (Ikemen Revolution)

Pairing: Kyle Ash x Alice (MC)

Day 4 of @voltage-vixen​‘s ‘Tis the Season for Smut Prompt: Snowed in during a holiday getaway

Summary: When heavy snow comes down and leaves Kyle and Alice stuck in his childhood house, they find ways to keep warm

Warnings: nsfw content below the cut; minors dni - nipple play, thigh humping, creampies, dirty talk, unprotected sex

“Looks like we’re going to have to stay the night,” Kyle announced, walking in through the front door and making his way towards the fireplace. “All this snow has stopped carriage rides and it’s too heavy to walk back to the barracks in this weather.”

Alice came behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling her face into his clothed back. “Is that okay with your parents?”

Alice and Kyle had taken a day off from work to visit his parents and help administer treatment to the citizens of Cradle who have been feeling poorly due to the weather change. They were just having dinner when Mr. Ash had looked out the window and saw the snow coming down in blankets of white.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Just as long as I help him shovel the walkway tomorrow.” Kyle turned in Alice’s grip so her head was against his chest. “Guess that'll help me build up some muscle.”

A shiver ran through Alice’s body and she burrowed further into Kyle’s embrace. “Can I borrow a sweater or something from your room? I’m just so cold.”

Kyle was quiet for a moment before he released Alice from his embrace and crossed the area to his father’s liquor cabinet. He pulled out two shot glasses and filled them to the brim before handing one to his girlfriend. “Drink up, it’ll make you warmer.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully at Kyle before they clinked glasses and quickly downed the amber liquid that matched his eye color. “Are you sure this isn’t just an excuse to get drunk?”

Kyle slung his arm around Alice’s shoulders, his mood already brightening with a little bit of alcohol in his system and he rubbed his nose affectionately against her own. “I’m always looking for an excuse to get drunk. But seriously, alcohol raises your body temperature. You should,” a hiccup interrupted his sentence. “You should believe me, I’m a doctor.”

Alice laughed, patting him on the chest before taking the bottle from his hand and setting it back in the cabinet. “Alright Doctor Ash, let’s head up to bed.”

Kyle led Alice up the stairs to his old bedroom and as she flitted around ooh-ing and aww-ing over pictures of Kyle growing up and some of the more sentimental stuff his mother hadn’t boxed up after he moved into the army.

As she set down the last picture frame of a toothless Kyle showing the camera a big smile, she turned to find him lounging on his small double bed, gazing at her with half-lidded eyes and an affectionate smile. “What is it?” Alice asked, going to sit on the side of the bed next to him.

“Still cold?” Kyle’s warm hand settled on her back and she shivered at the seemingly innocent touch.

“Maybe a little,” she said, biting her lip as her eyes met his own. Despite him only taking a shot, his cheeks were slightly rosy and his eyes had a glassy look to them.

“Well, as your doctor I have to say I’d hate to have to amputate any of your appendages because you got frostbite.” His hand started rubbing circles on her back and she relaxed into his touch. “Lucky for you, I have a solution.”

“And what’s that, doctor?” Alice’s heartbeat picked up at his more sultry tone of voice and she struggled to maintain her normal speaking voice.

“Well, I have read that your body heat transfers to someone faster if they’re both fully undressed.” The dopey smile crossing over Kyle’s face was enough to make Alice giggle.

“Oh really? Maybe we’ll have to test that theory.” Kyle’s hand slipped under the back of her blouse and the area he touched warmed instantly.

His other hand lazily snaked around her body and he struggled to undo the buttons with one hand making Alice laugh out loud. She teasingly batted his hand away and undid the rest of the buttons, her shirt falling open and dropping to the floor as Kyle’s hands deftly unhooked her bra.

She stood up then, sliding her skirt and stockings down her legs as Kyle quickly made work of undressing himself. Once they were naked, they both cuddled in quickly under the thick blanket laying atop Kyle’s bed.

Alice’s nipples were hard from the cold and when they rubbed against Kyle’s forearm she moaned out. Kyle’s mouth dropped open and he quickly covered her mouth with his large hand. “Quiet, baby. Or I’ll find a way to keep you quiet.”

His husky voice went straight to her core and she clenched around nothing, her heartbeat quickening as Kyle started pinching one of her peaked nipples. His previously glossy eyes seemed more clear and he had a small smile on his face as Alice shook beneath him.

Without saying anything, Kyle nudged open her legs with his thigh and he rested his bare leg against her wet entrance, urging her to grind on it and help relieve her of some pleasure. His hand that had been covering her mouth was replaced with his own mouth and his hand went down to pinch and pull at her other nipple.

The whimpers escaping her mouth into his own was like its own winter symphony and if they didn’t have to stay quiet, he would have released her lips and let her sing out as loud as she wanted.

“Kyle, I need…” she panted out quietly against his lips, her whole body heaving against his normally clumsy hands. “More. Please.”

Kyle’s lips trailed down to her neck and he suckled a spot there for a second before teasingly biting the sensitive area. “Since you asked so nicely.”

He removed his leg from her wet core and threw the heavy blanket to the ground. In the dim moonlight, he could see his thigh glistening from her juices and he stopped to admire it for a moment before her eager hands traced up his chest.

Lining his shaft up at her entrance, Kyle pressed his body against Alice’s, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. “Normally I love hearing you, but tonight, I’m gonna have to keep you quiet.” His lips covered hers then as he pushed himself into her wet warmth and Kyle bit her bottom lip to keep himself from groaning out.

He started in at an even pace, but between the alcohol and the cold and the feeling of every single one of her curves pressing against his body, his pace picked up quickly as he pounded Alice in his childhood bedroom, the bed creaking obscenely under their bodies.

“Kyle,” she breathed out, her eyes closing as his lips trailed kisses down to her neck once again, sucking another spot into her unblemished skin. “So good,” she whispered, one of her hands leaving his back to reach down and rub her protruding clit. “So close,”

Kyle nudged her hand away, his thumb flicking at her clit as his thrusts became deeper while he started to chase his release. “Pretty girl,” he said lowly. “Come on my cock,” One more touch to her clit and she clenched tightly around his dick, her chest heaving as his thumb rubbed slow circles on her clit and he continued thrusting into her. “You look so good like this, coming undone on my dick.”

Her eyes opened and met his own and he gave her one of his signature smiles. She reached up, grabbing his jaw and pulling Kyle down to kiss her once more. “Please Kyle, I want you to cum in me,”

That one little plead was all it took for him to come with one final thrust, his semen coating her warm walls and he held her to him tightly, whispering her name over and over again as his body convulsed and throbbed against her.

Once his body relaxed, Kyle leaned over and grabbed the blanket he had tossed to the floor and covered their naked bodies. He was still inside her, but she was so tight and warm and felt so good that before he could even think of moving, his eyes were drooping closed and his head dropped to the pillow and she pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“Well, I’d say your theory is correct. I’m not cold anymore.” Alice said before her eyes closed, following her boyfriend to dreamland.

[bastillia]

Loyalties Lie

AO3 Mirror

Summary: You're a bartender in a Lothal cantina, living a quiet life in the Outer Rim after the fall of the Empire. You can't help but wonder what more might be out there for you. One dangerous guest in particular keeps catching your eye. Unfortunately, you've also caught his.

Rating: E

Words: 6.1k

Warnings: possibly mild dubcon, threats with a weapon, rough sex, verbal degradation, mentions of alcohol, cumplay, Boba Fett has a 24oz monster can dick and he knows how to use it.

A/N: Remember when I said I had a Boba Fett WIP laying around like, months ago? Well guess who showed up in Mando S2 with a sexy dad bod and the fattest dick in the galaxy to overhaul my dreams and make them a reality. Fuck me. Yes this is the first thing I’ve written in months hi I’m still here. No I don’t know how many chapters this will be. I live in hell. Welcome. Thank you to @kylorengarbagedump​ for graciously beta reading and listening to me literally scream about this man all the time. Love y’all so much PLEASE ENJOY.

**

It’s the kind of night that hums. 

Like a moonlit Lothal prairie, quiet and alive somewhere beyond the outskirts of town. Except that in here, the crickets swoop past your bar to buy shots, and the stars fall steadily to become the lovely tink of credits in your tip jar. The twin moons are shifting hues of neon light, and time seems to stroll by, like it has nowhere better to be.

Tonight has been steady. 

It’s not busy enough tonight to challenge you, but not slow enough to let you rest. Your guard is up, as it always is when you’re behind the bar. But your hold on it can afford to be loose. 

Tonight has been…

Boring. 

No brawls, no assassinations, not even a drunken paw fumbling across the bar towards your tits, attached to some overly rowdy patron who you then get to watch with quiet glee as they’re dragged out by the ears. No, in fact, it’s hard to remember the last time something remotely interesting happened around here. So much for the Outer Rim’s rugged reputation. You hate to say you miss the Empire’s occupation from time to time. But at least it brought nightly intrigue.

Tonight, your guests are especially calm and happy, lulled by liquor and the easy flow of conversation, murmurs blending like a stream through the grassland. And you suppose you shouldn’t complain. You’ve more than earned your keep for the night, and then some. Best of all, your boss has no reason to be breathing down your neck. 

In fact, he’s happy, too, you note when the Lasat’s bellowing business-laugh resounds overtop a few flutes of spotchka, glowing inside a booth across the room. You pass a cloth around the rim of a clean glass, feeling a tickle of interest as to who he might be schmoozing this time. When you glance up, you can just make out a pair of well-dressed Rodians seated across from him through the leisure-thick air of the cantina, nudging each other and laughing at whatever witty, schmoozy thing he just said. 

A soft snort puffs through your nose. At least Dakk is a predictable man, if nothing else. Must be rich folk, probably well connected. Good. You’ll get no help tonight, but at least he will be occupied for a while.

In fact...

Flicking a quick glance around the room, you take your chance and shrug your outer tunic off your shoulders, quickly smoothing down your much more revealing undershirt until it clings to the shape of you. You know Dakk hates when you do this, always goes on about keeping the place “classy.” But he’s not looking, and if it puts a few extra credits in your jar by the end of the night, it’s worth it. Anyway, you’re in a good mood tonight. Bored nonetheless, and the combination always forges a mischievous kind of boldness in you; a tiny spark that glows just bright enough to cast the idea of consequence in shadow.

You scan the bar for an empty drink, a flirtatious urge rolling off of your freshly bared skin and filling your ribs with air. It’s not long before you hone on your target-- an unsuspecting guest sitting alone, head turned away. Probably eavesdropping. A smirk curves your lips and you sidle over, plink a glass down between you, leaning your elbows on the bartop. 

“Something else for you, sugar?”

His head whips around with a guilty swiftness, but you just offer an easy smile, shifting your weight through your hips to coax his eyes down your body. It works like a charm.

“I, uh...“ The young Mirialan stammers directly at your tits. “Yeah, c-can I, ah…” 

As you wait out his struggle, an idea sparks in your freshly emboldened mind. Maker’s sake, might as well help the poor thing out. 

“Got a ruge liqueur in stock, last shipment off Alderaan. Rare these days.” Your lashes flutter, tongue just barely playing your along your lower lip as if teasing some unspoken promise. “I just couldn’t help but notice, you seem like a person of exceptional taste.”

The words are warm summer air on your tongue, practiced and enticing. You can see them go to the kid’s head like spice smoke, his cheeks immediately flushing deep emerald beneath diamond-shaped tattoos. 

“Y-yeah?” He straightens, runs a hand through his hair, grinning sheepishly. “I mean...yeah! I, uh, I am. That s-sounds great, yeah. Um. Please.”

You smile. Too easy. 

Now, it’s not technically a lie. You do have the ruge in stock, it’s just that--well, it’s definitely nothing this kid can afford. But you’d bet a week’s worth of tips that you can slip him a cheap offworld varietal instead. Charge him triple its price, pocket the excess. Poor thing wouldn’t know the real stuff if it bit him.

You swell with the thought. That amount might even let you buy something nice for yourself for once. It might be a little slimy, but... fuck it. Kid seems well off enough. Decently nice clothes, cologne, that misplaced air of belonging that comes with sheltered entitlement. Surely he won’t miss a few extra credits. Anyway, you deserve this, right?

Moving to speak again, you prepare to lay the flirting on thick, really sell the gambit. But before you get the chance, a loud bang snaps your attention upward just in time to see the cantina door slam open. 

You straighten where you stand, irritation and curiosity pricking your ears in equal measure. But then a slight hush cuts the ease of your buzzing meadow, and your chest squeezes with it.

Boba Fett.

The hunter takes up almost the whole doorway, a broad tower of matte green beskar catching the soft neons of the cantina. The distinctly cold gaze of the Mandalorian helmet scans the room, stirring murmurs and averting eyes until it comes to rest, finally, upon you.

It feels like two cold weights set down on your shoulders, being the focus of that stare. 

Even as the energy picks back up around you, as conversations cautiously resume, it’s like you’re trapped in it, breathless under its weight and unable to look away. You vaguely register the Mirialan turn back to your tits and ask them something about when your shift ends. But you’re still transfixed, watching the armored man take a few deliberate steps towards the bar and straddle a stool, the visor trained like a crosshair upon you as his forearms settle on the bartop.

You’ve seen him here before. Heard his name whispered in weighted ripples ever since news spread through the Outer Rim that Bib Fortuna was dead. Since then, he’s come through maybe once every few dozen cycles, each time with a couple new chips in the paint of his armor. He comes here on business--or at least you assume that’s what it must be, since he always meets someone, speaks in hushed tones enshrouded by the dim corner booth in the back. He’ll toss a few credits on the bar when he leaves, but has never uttered a word to you, never ordered a drink.

Never even glanced your way, for all you know. Until right now. 

You swallow. Fucking hell, if there’s anything you’re used to, it’s being looked at. So why is this gaze kicking your pulse up into the base of your throat, making you feel exposed? A prickle of heat is already settling in your cheeks.

And then the visor cocks, and just barely tilts down the length of your figure. 

A tight breath snaps into your lungs, and your eyes dart to the bartop, across the room, back to the Mirialan still babbling dumbly at you, your face now hot. Kriff, what is wrong with you? Since when are you outright flustered by some stranger copping an eyeful? You try to breathe, ignoring how the hairs stand on your neck.

But you can still feel his attention like the heat of a sun warming your bare shoulder, and it makes something start to coil in your belly and glow there.

“I’ll have that ruge right up, sweetheart.” 

You’re pretty sure you interrupt the kid, but he doesn’t seem to mind, just calls out a stammered thank-you as you pivot away towards your new guest, your heart kicking against your sternum. Your feet almost feel weighted to the floor, and by the time you reach him, your pulse has an edge like a blade. 

“Something I can interest you in?” 

There’s a breathlessness to the warm air of your voice now, and you pray to the Maker that it doesn’t betray you. You lean against the bar, hoping that the solidity of the wood will somehow teach your nerves to follow its example. It doesn’t. 

He seems to study you for a moment, motionless. And then his shoulders shift, his elbows widen, and he leans in towards you.

“Information.” His voice is low and direct, barely above a graveled whisper, the single accent-laden word dragging through your belly and sparking like metal on stone.

Fuck.

Of course he’s after the one thing you’re not willing to sell.

Your heart stalls while your mind starts to race, eyes searching the dark visor. Of course you’d be a fool to deny him, and he knows it. That’s why he’s asking you. Why would you risk rousing a scene in your own bar, especially when the night is so mercifully calm? Easier to give him what he wants. Tap into your collection of liquor-loosened secrets, and knowledge of the local crowd.

The thing is, you’ve built a good rapport for your discretion. You think. Not to mention the number of cutting warnings Dakk has laid on you about the consequences for selling secrets in his bar. Is it really worth risking? Fett intimidates you, no doubt. But he’s also banking on the assumption that you won’t make this difficult for him. He has to be. And now unease and excitement are starting to play a game of catch between your ribs with that tiny, dangerous spark of boldness.

“Fresh out.” Your fingers drum the wood beneath them, trying to ground your reflexes through the rush of adrenaline that accompanies your words. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you stare into the blackness of the visor as you let the tiniest, playful smirk flit over your face.  “Perhaps something to drink?”

Slowly, achingly slowly, Boba Fett settles back on the bar stool. Unease lances you, splintering with the immediate question of whether you just made the right choice. You don’t want to think about how many he’d manage to kill before you could even blink, if he decided to do something extreme. His hand starts to shift back along his thigh, drawing a path towards the blaster at his hip. You swallow, panic pricking your neck.

Just as your muscles are primed to dive behind the bar, convinced you’re going to have to evade his quickdraw, his palm just takes a lazy rest on the hilt. The helmet levels, and then leans slowly to the side. 

“No.” 

Dizzied, you blink. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking through that helmet, and he’s offered you all of two words. But was that… amusement, you heard? No. Anger? Fuck, now you’re really imagining things.

Still a little breathless, you straighten, sensing that you’re dismissed. The thought of flirting with a killer was a much-needed rush, but you need to take his indifference as a mercy after that little stunt and get on with your job while he’s giving you the chance. What little you apparently have left of a survival instinct is at least telling you that much.

You shrug. 

“Suit yourself.”

It feels dangerous to take your eyes off of him. But you force yourself to do so anyways, turning your back on the hunter and making your way to the dim doorway at the end of the bar, his attention still heating your spine. 

It’s a fucking relief to slip through the door to the storage room, ease the door shut behind you, and for the first time in what feels like moons, you let a long breath fill your lungs. The familiar scent of dust and wine-aged wood floods you, and something like disappointment tugs at your heart.

Maybe that stupid, adventure-craving side of your imagination took things too far, fueled by your boredom and the prospect of something exciting finally happening. You suppose you projected that naive hope onto Boba Fett, if nothing else just because he’s the first person to come through here in a long time that actually intrigues you. That confounds your prized, finely-calibrated radar for reading people without having to speak a word to them.

Fuck, he really wouldn’t give you much more than a word, would he? Guess he’s determined to keep scrambling your sensors. It shouldn’t deject you as much as it does. But...  come on, the least the son of a mudscuffer could do is flirt back if he was gonna fucking undress you with his eyes like that. 

Or maybe that was just your imagination, too. 

You sigh, scanning a shelf on the back wall for a ruge that will make a convincing enough dupe. A synthetic varietal, perhaps. No--too cheap. You’ve got something from a Naboo vineyard in here somewhere. Anyways, whatever, since when are you desperate for any man’s attention?

No, okay, it’s... you know that isn’t what this is really about. 

It would just be nice to feel important, is all. Like the secrets you’ve gathered might be worth something. Could someday give you a place in something bigger. Or at least like anything about you might be worth more than equivalent to a shot of shitty spotchka. 

Forget it. As if that will ever happen.

Your finger absently traces the dusty label of a bottle, and then a soft clink of metal behind you freezes your blood. 

You whip around to meet a wall of beskar, inches from your face.

You start to scream, but the sound catches in your throat when a big hand seizes you by the back of the neck and wrenches you around, bending you at the hips and slamming you chest-down against the stale wood of a storage crate. Cold metal presses your thighs and your heart smacks your ribs, your body completely trapped under Boba Fett’s mass in one motion. 

“I said I need information, little one, and you’re going to give it to me.” His voice scrapes over your body, sliding through the dim room like the shadow from a candle flame. You quail beneath him, brain racing with shock.

“I d-don’t—ugh!” The weight of his forearm comes down between your shoulder blades, pressing breathy little grunts from your lungs as you squirm. “I don’t sell out my customers.”

You freeze when the distinct click of a blaster registers right at your temple. 

“Never said I was buying.”

Panic zips down your spine, your chest heaving against the wooden crate as heat slams your core. Somewhere, your rational brain is scrambling to parse the threat, but something about the sheer filth and danger of it is setting your whole body on fire, making far more primal nerves come alive. Trying to shake the feeling, you squirm.

“At lea--ngh, least nothing’s changed there.”

Fucking hell, what are you doing? Besides sassing the known murderer with a blaster currently trained at your head, alone in a dark room. Yet somehow that very fact is making arousal bloom so wicked and fast that you can already start to feel your cunt throb against the fabric of his pants. 

“Willing to die to protect a few spineless slime crawlers who don’t even know your name?” Boba rocks his weight against you, powerful and lazy in the way he simply leans into his hips, grinds them up hard against your ass to keep you flattened over the edge of the crate. “Boss man lines his pockets while his good little pet works for scraps.” Air feels more scarce to your lungs by the second. “Interesting, how your loyalties lie.”

Indignance flares up your spine.

“I w-ouldn’t expect you to understand.” You try to put venom in the words, but it’s difficult between your breathlessness and the sheer eroticism of this position you’re in. “Small price to pay, f-for a good life.”

Through your annoyance, you can’t help feeling a twinge of enjoyment at his solidity, at how you can just discern the outline of him through his pants. An excited thrum of your pulse snaps to your core like a fuse.

Above you, Boba Fett chuckles.

“Is that what he gives you?” There’s a mockery to his tone that heats your blood, and you start to squirm in defiance before remembering the blaster at your temple. Fett simply crushes you harder, drawing your attention back to his crotch. “Seems to me like you’re the mouse in his attic.”

“I suppose you’re better than him? Than any of them?” you immediately bite, not wanting to acknowledge the truth behind his words. Instead, you grab that spark of bravery and crank the voltage until it drowns your doubt, throwing your caution to the stars faster than punching an airlock in hyperspace. “Do you even know m-my name, Mando?” A tiny giggle ripples your chest. “I know yours.”

“Might be the last one you know,” Boba growls, but you’re becoming fixated on his cock now, the way you could swear that it’s growing more distinct by the second.

Fear and pleasure wrack your brain, the combination intensifying so deliciously with the pressure of his groin against your ass that you can hardly think straight any more. In a moment of sick indulgence, you arch your back and shift just slightly, wanting to feel that pressure against something now pulsing and sensitive. 

The grip on your neck locks tight, and your breath stops. 

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, princess.” 

He kicks your legs apart and crushes his hardening bulge against your pussy. And, fuck, you moan. You don’t even mean to, but the thrill of helplessness has you so mindlessly turned on that you can’t stop the noise from squeezing out of your throat.

“Filthy little thing you are.” 

There’s a shift in his tone now. The vice hold disappears from your nape just before your pants are wrenched unceremoniously over your ass and down to mid thigh. You gasp at the feeling of air brushing your bare lips. He takes a moment, and you think he must be looking at you. Heat blossoms from your face all the way down to your chest, and then he’s against you again, a palm coming down between your shoulders as coarse fabric presses flush with your cunt. 

You can really feel the outline of his cock now, hard enough to rival his armor but warm and thick against you, and you whimper. It’s only a click that snaps your awareness back to the weapon pointed at your head. 

“Let’s try this again, little mouse.” Boba’s voice comes lower and airier through the vocoder now in a way that blazes right through you. “You give me what I want, and perhaps you’ll inspire my generosity.”

In emphasis of his intent, he rocks his erection against the cleft of your pussy. Your eyes snap wide, an almost painful stab of arousal making you immediately whine louder than you intend to. “Fuck--oh, please!”

“Careful.” His hand slides up your neck, angling your face so that he can see it twist in shame and pleasure. “Wouldn’t want anyone finding you like this.”

Your cheeks blaze. Shallow breaths stutter in your lungs as his thumb tugs the pillow of your lower lip. And then he releases you, his hand moving back somewhere you can’t sense. The pressure against your ass shifts for a moment, just before the wide, hot shaft of his bare cock caresses your cunt.

“Last night there was a man here, Mon Cala, middle aged.” Your body is on fire as he speaks, the skin to skin contact dousing your brain in blind want. You grit your teeth, screw your eyes shut, trying hard to focus on what he’s saying while your pussy twinges around nothing. “He talked to the owner here, then he met with someone. Tell me who.”

A reluctant whimper leaves your lips, and the noise might just be one of the most pathetic you’ve ever made as your tongue still stubbornly refuses to slip. But Fett’s words ring again through your head with a resentful pang: the mouse in his attic. Is that what you’ll die as?

At your temple, the blaster’s safety disengages.

“Fuck! Okay, okay.” Your breath comes heavily, brain uncertain and lust-addled, fumbling for the details. “He um. Met a--mmh, a woman, I d-didn’t catch her name. Please--” Your voice trails off in a soft whine, your hips shifting back, trying to find the means to swallow his cock where it teases your tender core, entice him with the diversion now that you’ve given him a crumb.

“You must be dumber than I took you for, sweetling.” His hips retreat slightly, evading you. The sheer display of restraint is infuriating, electrifying. It shallows your breath with need. He stills again, a rough, gloved hand running firmly up your spine, pushing your shirt up to bare more of your skin to his view. “Tell me the rest.”

Your teeth set with a final, feeble whine of hesitation. More instinct than anything. But then a cold ring of metal presses your temple, and fresh fear unbinds your tongue in a deluge.

“S-she had, ah--civilian clothes, but, um… an Imperial s-standard issue blaster.” Your eyes screw in concentration, details flickering like a glitchy holocom through your brain. “I heard them talk about, uh. A shipment. For… Fuck, uh. Th-three cycles from now.”

Boba hums, a sound that makes your eyes roll back as you feel yourself nearly dripping against him, your slick coating his cock where it just barely parts you.

“Smart girl.” His hand drags indulgently down your back, coming to rest on your hip and squeezing. “Where’s the shipment going, princess?”

Torture. This is some kind of galactic war crime, you’re sure of it. Pleasure surges from your teased cunt and his grip on your flesh, and his voice is almost soothing now, coaxing you further towards complacency. It’s all too much. Your head rests against the crate, defeat washing in a gentle tide over you. 

“Going... to Hosnian Prime.”

A soft, satisfied puff of noise comes from the modulator. The barrel retreats from your temple. 

“Now, there’s a good girl.”

Warmth crashes through your lower belly, a strange and exhilarating sensation that suddenly makes you want to... purr? No one has ever spoken to you like this, and it’s tickling a part of your brain that feels far, far too good. But then his cock glides thick and heavy along your folds, obliterating your thoughts, and all you can think about is having that inside of you. 

“Fuck,” you whine as he slowly aligns himself, teasing up and down the drenched, tender flesh of your pussy. He takes his time, massaging the blunt head over your clit and sending little shocks through your muscles, making you shiver and clench. “Please, please…” 

“Tame little creature when you want to be,” he grits, pressing against your entrance with an exhaled groan. “Keep being good for me.” 

Slowly, he starts to push. And, oh, fuck.

You’re not ready. 

You’re wetter and needier than you’ve ever been in your life, and you’re still not fucking ready to take a cock like this one when it crushes in and stretches you, setting an ache through your hips that tells you whatever happens, you’re bound to feel him for days. 

A cry sticks in your throat and you will yourself to breathe, to relax as he sinks in further, forcing your walls to flutter and part around him. It truly feels like being broken open, and your fingers have to dig into the wood beneath you when he pulls out an inch and then pushes again, sinking deeper this time as a choked noise pulls through the vocoder.

By the time he finally bottoms out, you swear you can feel him shifting your guts. Every muscle in your pelvis is straining to take him, the intensity mind-numbing already. You’re nearly choking on your own attempts to breathe while he pauses, sheathed like this for a few moments, seeming to concentrate on his own breathing at the same time. 

And then his voice comes again, a growl, pitched even lower and more ferocious than before through a clutched breath. 

“Fuck, you’re a tight little thing.” 

Stars.

This is different.

It’s so hard to think, you’ve never felt more full, but something in the back of your mind is unfurling, turning hot and primal with a roiling kind of need that burgeons and begs at the feeling of his cock rooted so fucking deep inside of you. You’ve had sex before, sure, but this…

You’re about to get fucked. 

“Please…” you mewl. Desperation pierces you when you feel his fingers flex strong and firm around your hip in response. You turn your head, trying to glimpse him--only to realize that the blaster is still right next to your face, its angle nonchalant, close enough to brush your lips. 

Your mind is so drenched in lust, the first urge that strikes you is to stick out your tongue and wet the metal, its sharp alloy piercing your senses and making your pussy seize with the shudder of danger.

In your periphery, you see the visor snap to attention, like he wasn’t fully looking at you before, lost in his own pleasure. But now he is. And he gives the weapon an experimental twist, allowing for your lips to wrap, delicate and wet, just around the tip of the barrel.

“Fearless little mouse.” There’s something dark and charged in his voice. “You look good like that.”

A slight wiggle to open your jaw, and the blaster shoves past your lips, resting thick and cold on your tongue, lighting your spine with a new thrill. Your voice swells on a muffled moan around it, such a soft and lovely sound to accompany a thing that’s orchestrated countless deaths. 

“There we are. Nice and quiet now.” 

Finally, finally, he starts to thrust, slow and measured, forcing your body to yield around the width of him. Something burns hot in your belly with each steady stroke, wiping your brain of everything but his presence.

The rough material of a glove smothers one of your asscheeks, grips and pulls at the pillowy flesh, spreading you open as his thrusts take up a steady, powerful rhythm. Boba Fett lets out a long groan, and you can only imagine the view he has right now. It sears you alive, the knowledge that he likes looking at you like this, pitching and whimpering with his rhythm, the sight of your pussy stretched, helpless around his cock and your mouth wetting his blaster. 

Your spit slicks the barrel more with every thrust, and you can feel the mechanics shifting dangerously between your lips. But his trigger finger is steadier than death, and his control gives you the nerve to let your tongue lick out along the barrel, bathe in the electric wash of fear that sets all of your nerves into overdrive.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he snarls as his pace starts to kick up wilder. 

Intense pleasure cracks through you now, visceral in a way you’ve never felt, and it’s all you can do to keep relatively quiet. The barrel on your tongue is a sharp enough reminder, yet it fuels your arousal to burn hotter and wetter all the same. The more you concentrate on the powerful bliss coiling in your core and rippling outwards, the more you can feel yourself starting to tighten around him, your body yearning vaguely towards a release it can’t seem to center on.

You hear him groan as you squeeze him, his grip on your flesh flexing and shifting. A few more strong thrusts, and then his cock pulls all the way out of you with a woeful pang, the blaster vacating your mouth in the same motion to leave you empty, dizzied and clenching. But before you can unscramble your brain, the blaster slots back into its holster and he’s moving you. With an effortless kind of control, he flips you over, shifting you until the solid wood of the crate supports your ass.

He hikes both of your legs onto one shoulder and in one swift, easy motion, whisks your pants over your shoes and off of your ankles, tossing them carelessly into the darkness of the room before hooking your legs around his armored waist.

“Going to watch you cum, princess. Nice and pretty.”

Your mouth opens on a gasp at his words, and a gloved thumb immediately presses your tongue, the taste of leather and plasma residue grounding your senses enough to register that he’s lining his cock back up at the heat of your entrance. You whine around his thick digit, and he growls somewhere low in his chest as he pushes the thick head back in, this new angle making you see stars all over again. 

He doesn’t bother letting you adjust this time, just uses your wetness to his advantage to start railing through your tightness, burning and stretching you as that warm swell starts to crest again. It’s such a deep, full feeling, spreading a delicious ache from the spot where he hits you deep in your tummy. 

Your brows draw together, your whines pitching higher as you search the visor. It’s a wordless plea, your vision swallowed by the power of him fucking you deep, your body now screaming to cum but needing something you can’t quite pinpoint.

The hunter’s thumb slips out of your mouth, his hand forging an eager path down your body. He palms your tit over your shirt, before grabbing the low collar and yanking it down, baring your nipples to his view one after the other. His whole hand spans your torso as he hooks the lower hem with his thumb, bunching the material until both your belly and tits are bare, your shirt like a handle at your diaphragm that he uses to pound you even harder, watching your body jolt, overpowered by his thrusts.

Airy little wails brush through your lips, the pleasure all too intense and not enough at the same time. You can’t take it anymore, you need something on your clit, and your fingers twitch to seek out that precious target. But he’s already moving, his hips slowing to a lazier pace while his free hand finds some destination at his belt, and what he produces freezes you in your tracks.

“Steady now,” he breathes as he slips a long blade out of his belt and spins it by the hilt, his fingers almost too quick, too tactful for such a brute. 

Instinctual panic grips you at the sight of the weapon, making your legs try to close. But he’s pushed too deep in you, his frame has you pinned open, and there’s nothing you can do against the sheer breadth of his body. Powerless, you simply whimper.

“Wh… what are y--”

“Hush, princess.” 

A flick of his thumb and the vibroblade springs to life, its hum filling the quiet air. He starts to bring the blunt hilt of it down where your body yields to his. Alarm pierces you one final time, but then he touches the pommel, just barely, against the tender swell of your clit.

You want to fucking scream. As if in anticipation of this, he claps his hand over your mouth just in time for you to bite down on his glove while your eyes roll back in a powerful wave of ecstasy. The vibrations surge through the sensitive nerves, lighting your whole body up in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure bliss, and then a low, long growl slips through the helmet’s modulator at the feeling of your walls pulsing tight, strangling his cock. 

His thrusts deepen again, powerful and steady, stroking some devastating spot deep inside you. Your muffled wails get lost in the breath-dampened fabric of his glove while the intense pleasure crests from your clit, higher, higher, lasering in on that intangible cusp and barreling you straight towards it.

You suspend at the peak, all senses failing, and then your orgasm takes you in a riptide, surging through your nerves like liquid fire. The magnitude of it rends you, stronger than you’ve ever felt, dragging you under and forcing you to ride it out while it just pulls and pulls. By the time you regain your sight you’re shaking, waves of bliss still pulsing and crashing through your body in time to the strong rhythm of his hips, the glowing epicenter that unwavering vibration at your clit. 

Sobs wrack your chest, pour out high and lose themselves somewhere in the meat of his hand, and you think you try to catch a few breaths, but you can’t even come down. Boba’s voice cuts through the rush in your ears.

“Good. Good girl.” 

He holds the buzzing hilt of the blade impossibly steady against your clit and that glow is still so bright, twitching, starting to spill through your nerves again and holy shit you think you just might--

“Again.”

Your second orgasm shreds you like a plasma cannon.

You’re blind, numb to everything but the intense pleasure, nerves now as raw and sharp as the edge of the blade itself. His hand is tight over your face and you feel your cunt convulsing and gushing around his cock, slick cum spilling to wet your asscheeks, and it must be your own because his pace hasn’t let up. 

A clatter resounds on the edge of your consciousness and when your eyes come into focus, Boba’s hand is locking into your waist, the blade discarded somewhere in the room. His hips piston hard with a few vulgar slaps of flesh, the head of his cock crushing against your deepest parts before he wrenches out of you and spills over your bare stomach with a strangled roar, gripping himself at the base and thrusting against you as warm, thick ropes paint your skin.

His release is long. Grunts distort into rough static through the vocoder as he rides out the last pulses, until finally he braces himself on the crate beside your head, hunched over you like a beast, his chest plate rolling with heavy breaths. You can only blink at him through hazed, damp eyes, your body feeling weak and utterly fucked dumb. The hand over your mouth slowly unlocks its grip, dragging downwards and leaving you to take shallow gulps of air while he gives your tit a deliberate squeeze. 

And then he drags himself off of you, straightening with an almost-concealed groan as he adjusts himself and leaves you to blink at the dark ceiling, still letting oxygen find your brain. 

When you shakily manage to sit up, you just glimpse him slipping the discarded vibroblade back into his belt and turning towards the door. Even through your dizziness, you scoff. Figures. Bastard is just going to fuck your brains out and then leave you like this.

“You know,” you sigh, watching him and lazily trailing your fingers in a circle on your tummy, enjoying the lingering buzz of your skin and gathering a bit of his spend where it coats you, still warm. “I’d say that tip-off was at least worth a handful of credits in my jar on your way out.”

He turns and looks at you then, the helmet cocking in consideration for a moment. As soon as his attention is on you, your fingers move from his mess on your belly to your mouth, where you slowly suckle him off of your fingers, never once taking your eyes off the visor, a tiny ripple of playfulness wiggling your shoulders and curling your lips.

His shoulders square to you, and that hunter’s stance still makes your chest seize, sends a pulse to your exhausted pussy.

Metal clinks softly as he walks towards you, stepping between your knees until you’re forced to drop your hand from your mouth and look up at him, heart fluttering again. He brushes the knuckle of his forefinger under your chin.

“Fresh out.”

His back turns as you stare, speechless. And then the door swings on its hinges, and Boba Fett is gone.

[nightingaelic]

could you do Fallout New Vegas companion’s reactions to a Courier Six who is also the Lone Wanderer telling their stories from their time in DC? (bonus points for Arcade’s reaction to them hating the enclave, and if that would make him decide to keep his past hidden even longer, or if he would still tell them?)

The logistics and implications of this make my head spin. This is also super long, honestly I should just quit writing reacts and start writing fics OH WAIT

Getting the courier talking was a tough thing to do, but on nights where the moon was full and the coyotes' howls were miles away or at least behind some stout walls, on nights where they were a few beers in and they hadn't seen another living soul in a few days, that Mojave Express deliverer started to reminisce. That wasn't really the surprising part, though. No, the surprising part was what they would remember, fondly or not-so-fondly: A world apart from the desert, a continent away on another coast, and stories of life in a vault, a missing father, pure water and a Brotherhood divided.

Arcade Gannon: Arcade didn't mind these moods, at least when they first cropped up. He nodded along as the courier talked about living in their father's shadow, about feeling cornered by their own family's legacy. He hung on their words about living in the cradle of America's history, about Project Purity, all of the gritty details of modifying a GECK to bring water to a devastated wasteland.

Eventually though, the courier's memories soured, with the arrival of Enclave remnants in their life. Arcade folded into himself with every harsh word, every jolt of plasma that had disrupted his friend's world relived in horrific detail. They gestured angrily as they described their newfound purpose, their battle for power with the fractured Brotherhood of Steel at their back, and their smug satisfaction at the moments they were able to crack open Raven Rock and the Enclave's mobile base crawler and lay waste to their tormentors.

It took a few rounds of these stories before the courier noticed he shrank and grew quiet whenever they neared the end of their story about breaking into another vault to find the GECK. They stopped abruptly one night. "What's up with you?"

"Um..." Arcade scratched the back of his neck and looked away. "Nothing. Nothing, I just... have some personal experience with the Enclave, myself."

The courier sighed. "Yeah, there's a few people walking around the West Coast that have similar stories to mine. Arroyo's full of them, for one. Is it something like that?"

Arcade took a deep breath. "I feel... well, it's a lot closer to home, for me. Close enough to raise questions, so I don't talk about it much."

"Close enough to..." The courier twisted their face up in confusion for a moment, before realization set in and their eyes grew large. "You were... your... oh."

"Mmm-hm."

"Well, fuck me." The courier smiled and popped a cap off of another beer. "I've been doing all the talking, haven't I? Let's hear your story about working with the guys in power armor who ruined my life, right after dad did."

Craig Boone: Whenever the courier started up like this, Boone couldn't help but notice a familiar twinge of regret and self-doubt in their voice. It shone through most clearly when they spoke about their time with the Brotherhood of Steel, the men and women they'd fought alongside and lost during their struggle against the remnants of the Enclave. It was there, too, in their story about returning to the vault they grew up in, setting the chaos that had arisen in their wake to rest, but not being able to go back to the way things were.

Boone didn't pry. He knew that feeling well. Instead, he cracked open bottles of beer, liquor, soda, whatever they had on hand during their nights in the desert, and just listened. He'd done the same for Carla, when they were younger and new to each other and he couldn't get enough of her voice and how it flowed endlessly, easily, the way his never could. He absorbed it all now as he did then: The joy, the pain, the loss, the fear, the triumphs and falls and abandoned dreams that filled the courier up and drove them to travel west, beyond anything they had ever known.

That last part stumped Boone a bit, though. "Why didn't you stay?" he finally asked one night.

They looked surprised. "Stay? Stay where? I didn't have a home anymore."

Boone shook his head. "With the Brotherhood. Or some other settlement."

"Like Megaton?" The courier sighed. "I thought about it. Close to the vault, friendly people, easy work... I guess I just didn't want to wind up... stuck."

They flushed red and looked away from him. Boone knew why they were embarrassed, but he also knew the truth in their words.

Sometimes the courier cried after they had finished, though they did their best to hide it. Boone pretended not to notice. He was pretty sure they knew he was pretending, but he was also pretty sure that pointing it out would be worse than just letting it be an open secret between them. The silence between them endured, but something grew inside it and flourished. Some kind of deeper understanding.

Lily Bowen: The more the courier spoke, the more Lily made connections in her muddled mind. Of course they knew the basic layout of most vaults, they had grown up in one. Of course they were extra-sensitive to the Mojave heat, they had come to the desert from the cooler of the two coasts. Of course they'd been extra-wary around the super mutants or nightkin of Jacobstown, they had only known angry super mutants looking to grow their own numbers through any means necessary.

Their shared experience of growing up inside a vault reminded Lily of happier days, and she often asked questions about Vault 101 during the courier's stories. "Were you sweet on anyone inside your old home?" she asked, with a big smile befitting a proud grandma.

The courier blushed. "That's not very polite, Lily."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearie."

"No, no it's okay." The courier smiled. "There was a boy who picked on me a lot, but I never figured out whether he did it because he hated me or liked me. His name was Butch. And there was Amata, my childhood friend. She was the daughter of the Overseer."

"Daughter of the Overseer?" Lily grinned. "I'm sure she was a lovely young woman."

The courier looked a little misty. "Yeah. She was. Probably still is."

Lily pulled a handkerchief that used to be a small tablecloth from inside her overalls and handed it over. "Maybe we can go back there together, pumpkin," she offered. "I always wanted to travel to the capital. We can visit your friends, see the sights."

"Yeah, maybe someday." The courier accepted the gift and blew their nose. "I've got some things I need to finish up here before I even think about wandering back east, though."

"Then let's make a list and do our chores," Lily said happily. "Number one?"

"Ohhhh, man." The courier smiled up at her. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul got a faint smile on his face whenever the courier started up like this, as if their memories reminded him of another place he had come from, another time. While they couldn't have more different backgrounds, pasts- hell, he had several hundred years on the courier, even if they shared the same road today- there was something in the description of the other roads they had walked that made him feel warm on a cold night.

"What's on your mind?" The courier asked him one night, when Raul's smile grew larger than usual.

"Nada, boss," he reassured them. "You're just a good reminder that I can change my mind about the future anytime I'd like. Tell me the one about that radio DJ again."

"Again?" The courier rolled their eyes. "Why? I could tell you a million stories about Underworld and all the ghouls that lived there, but all you want to hear about is Three Dog. You'd probably have more in common with the Underworld folks, honestly."

Raul nodded noncommittally. "Sí, but my favorite stories are about people who had to rise above bad situations and become someone uncommon. Anyone who's able to do that is either fighting for something great or running from something terrible. Sometimes both."

The courier shot him a skeptical look. "Three Dog's holed up in his radio station 24/7, he's not running from anything or out fighting for anything. All that stuff about 'the good fight' is a load of bull."

"Now, now, Six," Raul chastised. "Just because he looks like your average pendejo doesn't mean he isn't doing his part. You even told me his radio show is inspirational for the Capital Wasteland folks."

The courier held their hands up in the air and bobbled them, as if balancing an invisible scale. "The duality of man. Being an average pendejo, or convincing everyone around you that you aren't actually an average pendejo and can pull off miracles."

Raul laughed. "And which one are you, boss?"

"Eh, I'm still figuring it out."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass was never one for fixating on her own past, but she couldn't help but sympathize with the courier whenever they deigned to add onto their unbelievable story. It was hard enough for her to navigate her own damn life: She couldn't imagine being called upon to steer an entire area's destiny.

After another night of recalling their life inside a vault with their dad, then their unexpected loss of him right after being reunited on the surface, the courier stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry," they said.

Cass paused her swig of precious whiskey. "What?"

"I keep going on and on about my dad, and here you are not knowing what happened to yours."

"Eh." Cass took her drink and waved her hand around until the burning swallow made its way down. "S'loads of people in the wasteland without a clue what happened to their pops. I'm not special. In fact, I'd say it probably hurts a bit more, what happened with yours."

"Well, all the same." The courier sank deeper into their seat and examined their own bottle of spirits. "I feel like an open book, tonight. Anything you want to know about where I came from that I haven't already spilled?"

Cass thought for a moment. "Tribals."

"What about them?"

"Does the East Coast have them? You're not the first traveler I've met from there, but none of you have so much as mentioned any tribals out east."

"Mmm." The courier looked thoughtful. "I guess we do have them, though maybe not in the traditional sense. There's a mess of them in Point Lookout for sure, and at least one tribal group in the Capital Wasteland outright, but beyond that things are more... loose. Fewer intact families, fewer intact homes."

"Huh." Cass took another drink. "Maybe that's where my dad went."

She let the courier stew in the awkward silence for a bit before she grinned and reached out to smack them. "Just kidding. Keep going. I want to hear about that giant robot again."

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica usually sat and listened, spellbound, picturing a chapter of her order that had realized the very thing she kept trying to tell the Elders and made the ultimate sacrifice to follow their hearts anyway.

Well, maybe Elder Owyn Lyons hadn't come to the same realization as her, but he had had a change of heart that split his company and cut them off from almost everyone they had ever known. It had been five years since the High Elders had instituted radio silence toward their East Coast chapter, and so far there had been no attempts to re-establish contact.

Veronica prodded the courier for any info she could get about the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel. The courier let slip pretty early in their friendship that Elder Owyn Lyons had passed away, which wasn't unexpected. The man was 76 years old, after all. She learned on one particularly emotional night that his daughter, Elder Sarah Lyons, was also dead, something she wasn't sure even the Western Elders were aware of. That memory was clearly painful for the courier though, so Veronica didn't press for details.

"And the Enclave?" the Scribe asked one night, arms wrapped around her knees. "Are they completely gone?"

The courier grew cold. "Yes. I made sure of it."

"Right." Veronica nodded. "So the Brotherhood took over the air force base they were at. It must have been chock-full of tech and resources, if it was the Enclave's last stand."

"It was." The courier sighed and shifted in their seat. "And it woke up some of our brothers and sisters to their original mission in the Capital Wasteland. I thought maybe that selfishness had died with Liberty Prime, but... well, I didn't like it, so I left."

"Mmm, yeah." Veronica nodded again, sympathetically this time. "I know how you feel. Felt."

"Feel," the courier agreed. "I just wish there was more I could've done. Maybe there wasn't anything else, short of seizing power."

"You'd definitely get pushback for that in the Brotherhood," Veronica agreed. "But you might get that chance out here in the broader Mojave."

ED-E: At first, ED-E enjoyed the stories, trumpeting and cooing various beeps at the appropriate moments for emphasis. The one time the courier began badmouthing the Enclave, however, the eyebot waited until they had finished before playing back the first tape that Dr. Whitley had recorded before its trip.

The courier listened to the scientist's words from years ago, deflating slightly as it played out. When the tape had finished, they stood up and checked the eyebot over. "He sent you toward Navarro, huh?"

ED-E beeped affirmation, and the courier sighed. "But Navarro was already gone. I'm sorry. I guess I'm... well, me and the Brotherhood of Steel back east are responsible for your previous master's decision to send you away. Might be responsible for more, too."

ED-E beeped sadly. The courier pressed their forehead against the eyebot's metal dome in apology.

Rex: Well, surprising for most. Rex was not most. As soon as the courier got really into their recollections, Rex usually yawned and went to sleep. He stirred when he felt their hand reach down to scratch the ruff of his neck, or pat the glass dome that held his brain.

"Good dog," the courier said, through the veil of sleep. "You remind me of another pup that used to follow me around."