#another year another new pinned bc I wanted to do something different
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Amina | 21 | any pronouns
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I’m an art student and like posting sillies. Idk what else to put.
Art tag | talking tag | carrd
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- don’t repost my art without credit
- if you’re a dream stan I’ll probably block sorry. If you think I blocked you undeservedly send an anon I guess
- same goes for proshippers or people who write rpf
- I don’t tag spoilers for media </3
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That’s all bye
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First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨
You’re awesome 🥰💞
Blood Was Its Avatar
PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)
WORD COUNT: 8.9k
WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.
A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.
They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.
You pretended to be dead.
Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.
You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.
“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.
Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.
As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.
“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.
“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.
Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.
You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.
Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”
“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.
A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.
Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.
“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”
You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.
“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”
“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.
“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.
A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.
“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”
You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.
“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.
“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.
On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.
But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.
Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.
You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.
“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”
The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.
Missions were rarely a failure.
Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”
He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.
“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”
“None. Just us.”
“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”
“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.
“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”
“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”
“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.
Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.
You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.
In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.
Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.
Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.
Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.
—
You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.
Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.
Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.
“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”
Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.
The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.
Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.
It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.
Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.
Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.
Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.
“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”
“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.
His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.
You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.
But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.
You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.
“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.
You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.
Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.
Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.
“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.
Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.
“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.
Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.
Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.
But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.
Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.
His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.
This couldn’t continue.
Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.
“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”
Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.
You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.
Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.
Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”
“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”
Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.
A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.
Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”
He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.
The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.
When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.
He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.
Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.
Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.
—
When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.
Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.
If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.
On the second week, it got easier.
You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.
Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.
Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.
The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…
Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.
He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.
Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.
The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.
You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…
“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.
Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.
“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.
The room returns to strained silence. You huff.
“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.
The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.
All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...
Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.
“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”
His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.
You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.
“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.
Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.
The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.
You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.
“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.
“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.
You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.
Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.
“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.
“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”
Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.
“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.
Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.
After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.
You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.
“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.
Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.
The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.
He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.
You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.
“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.
“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”
“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”
A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”
Hard lips slam into yours.
Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.
Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.
He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.
Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.
“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.
His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”
Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.
As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.
There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”
Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.
“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.
Ghost had tattoos.
When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.
“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”
You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.
The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.
Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.
“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”
“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”
Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.
You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.
Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.
“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”
He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.
“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”
Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.
Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.
He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.
“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.
Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.
Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.
“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.
Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.
Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.
“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”
Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.
“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.
Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.
“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.
Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.
Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.
Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.
There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.
The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.
Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.
Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.
“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.
Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.
“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”
Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.
“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”
Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.
“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.
Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.
“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”
Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.
Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.
His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.
“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”
He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.
Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.
You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.
“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”
The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.
“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”
Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.
“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.
“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”
His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.
Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.
Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.
“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”
Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”
Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.
His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.
As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.
“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.
Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.
“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.
Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.
Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.
He watches blankly.
“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”
“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.
“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.
“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.
“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.
Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.
You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.
“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.
“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.
The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.
“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.
“In the fucking meeting room?!”
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HI! i love your works and writing so much!! 🩷can i make a request for spencer x fem!reader, where spencer sees reader play with children (whether it be henry or a different child) and gets turned on? later, smut with a breeding kink?🩷 FEEL FREE TO IGNORE IF YOU DONT WANT TO DO IT����
OKAY BUT A DISCLAIMER FIRST: smut is so fucking hard to write ISTG!!!! It took me far too long a time to finish this and now I might have just acquired a newfound level of respect for any fic writers out there who regularly whip out smut in every fic. With that said, I hope you bear with me bcs I'm new and generally inexperienced in writing smut, so I hope this is to your liking 😭😭😭 ty for the request and waiting so patiently!! ❤️
Warning(s): fem!reader, 18+ smut content minors dni, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), breeding kink, praise kink (?), talks of impregnation, profanities, this is just porn without plot tbh
This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.
Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist
"What's going on with you?" you asked as soon as the front door was shut behind your back.
Spencer turned around at your question. "What? Nothing's going on with me."
"Don't lie, Spencer. You've been awfully quiet since we left JJ's house." Your statement drove Spencer to tear his gaze away, but before he could take another step, you had seemingly transported right in front of him. "Talk to me. What's going on? Did something happen?"
"Nothing happened, sweetheart. Just forget it, okay?"
"No, I wanna know. Tell me."
Spencer's jaw clenched at your display of persistence. You didn't miss the way his eyes turned a few shades darker as he pinned you with his relentless stare.
"You really wanna know?" Spencer murmured.
Before you could give him a verbal answer, your fiancé suddenly pushed himself forward, trapping your body with his as your back collided against the wall. You gasped at his proximity. The atmosphere quickly shifted as you felt Spencer trailing his nose against the length of your neck.
"You wanna know what's going on? The truth is, I've been going insane," Spencer admitted against your ear. "You're driving me insane."
"Spencer, what are you talking about?"
Against what you thought was possible, Spencer propelled himself further into you, to the point where the air you breathed out became the same one he inhaled. Spencer's knee shoved itself between the apex of your thighs, making you gasp from the unexpected friction that his movement caused.
"I watched you back at JJ's. The way you acted around Henry? I can't stop thinking about it, sweetheart. It's driving me crazy."
"What?" An involuntary gasp slipped past your lips when Spencer's teeth lightly grazed your pulse point. "What are you—"
"I want us to have a baby."
The shock you felt was undoubtedly written all over your face. Spencer pulled back just the tiniest bit so he could stare right into your eyes. The gentleness in his pupils contradicted the desperation found in all of the ministrastions he pulled so far.
"I know when we talked about it in the past, it always seemed like such a distant thing. But after seeing you today—how you doted on Henry? I can't help it, sweetheart." Spencer's fingers strayed towards your cheek, tracing an invisible line until his touch met your jaw. "I want to have a family with you, and I want it to happen sooner rather than later. You own my forever, angel. There's no doubt in my mind that you'll become as amazing a mother just as you are a person."
The admission rendered you speechless. Time arrived into a screeching halt where it stayed there for seemingly thousands of years. Spencer was assessing you with worry in the consequent silence, trying to solve the cipher in your countenance that could give him a clue to what you were thinking.
Just as he was about to call out your name, you lunged forward out of the blue, claiming his lips in an earth-shattering kiss.
The two of you molded into one another like a pair of fitted puzzle pieces. Fire was raging inside your chest when you pulled away, first telltale signs of arousal stirring in the pit of your stomach.
"I wanna have a baby with you, Spencer. Please, I love you so much."
Spencer groaned wholeheartedly at the confession before diving back to kiss you even more fervently than before. Amidst the roaming hands and pleasurable gasps, the two of you somehow managed to stumble into the bedroom you had shared together for the past couple of years. Shed clothes littered the entire path you trudged, and in the blink of an eye, you found yourself naked on the bed with Spencer hovering above you clad in only his boxers.
"You're so beautiful," Spencer mused before taking one of your nipples in his explorative mouth. You writhed in pleasure while his fingers toyed with your other breast, making sure that no inch of your beauty escaped his attention. "Can't wait to see these full of milk, sweetheart. You'd look so beautiful pregnant with my baby."
You could only mewl when Spencer's lips trailed further southward, peppering kisses beneath your navel, just a sliver to where you needed him the most.
"Spencer, please. Ah. Don't tease."
Your fiancé chuckled at the desperation he heard in your voice. If it were any other day, he would have taken the time to edge you even further for the next few hours. But Spencer could feel his boxers getting tighter by the minute, and not wanting to prolong it any further, he slid downward until he was met with the view of your glistening folds.
"Fuck. So wet and gorgeous. Wish you could see how pretty you look, angel."
The moment Spencer's mouth touched your most sensitive part, you were gone for. His tongue lapped your juices like he was a man lost in a dessert while you were his oasis. The moans fled your throat when his lips wrapped around your taut clit, sucking and circling it with his tongue until you thrashed around uncontrollably. He then used his left forearm to pin your torso down, while his other hand started prodding the entrance to your heat.
"Oh my god, Spencer—mmphh," you whined when two of Spencer's fingers were snugly sheathed inside of you, going in and out until the whole room was overpowered by the obscene sound of your squelching wetness.
"You're so wet, angel. Holy shit," Spencer marveled as he fixated onto the movements of his fingers inside of you, the digits shining from your arousal that coated them. "So warm and tight, too. This all for me?"
"For you, Spencer, only for—oh, only for you. Feels so, mmhh, so good."
Spencer knew you were getting close from how tightly your walls were gripping his fingers, along with the way you were grinding your hips against his hand as if trying to amplify the pleasure you were reeling from. But right before the coil in your belly snapped, Spencer promptly removed his hand from your heat, making you whimpered in protest from the loss of contact.
"Patience, angel," Spencer said, leaning down to give you a quick kiss. "I want to be inside you and feel you around me as you cum."
He made quick work in removing his boxers, revealing his erection that was already red and leaking pre-cum on the tip. Spencer hissed when he gave himself a few lazy tugs, aware of your burning stare as you watched him with a raging want.
"Ready, sweetheart?" Spencer asked, waiting for your nod before sliding his tip in. You moaned into his neck until the entire length of his cock was snugged inside, clutching Spencer for dear life as the man cursed against your cheek. "You feel so good around me. Fuck. You alright, angel?"
You could only nod meekly in response. "Need you to move, Spence. Please, move."
Spencer didn't need to be told twice. He drew his hips back until the only thing engulfed by your pulsating walls was his tip, before ramming back into you with enough force to knock the breath out of your lungs.
In no time at all, your fiancé was moving in and out of you vigorously. The lewd sound of skin against skin echoed within the four walls of your bedroom, fueling your desire until your whole being was consumed by everything Spencer. You swore you could almost feel every ridge and vein of Spencer's cock as it slid in and out of your weeping hole, but your hazy brain would argue that it was plainly your lust talking.
"Spencer." His name came out as a gasp as you felt the imminent climax rising higher and higher. "I'm so—ah, s-so close. Please, please, please, I need to—"
"I know, sweetheart. I know you are. Can feel you squeezing around me. Shit. Milking me so good, hm? Gonna milk me, angel? Gonna milk my cock dry?"
You couldn't think of any other reply to Spencer's crude words except to moan even louder.
"I'm close, too, sweetheart. Fuck. I love being inside you like this. 'M gonna cum so much, gonna have my seed so deep inside you until your womb is filled to the brim."
Your walls fluttered at the thought of being full of Spencer's cum, and this little knowledge didn't evade your fiancé's notice as he picked up the pace of his thrusts.
"You like that, huh? Like the thought of my cum in your womb? Can't wait until you're all big and round, sweetheart. You're gonna make such a beautiful mommy."
"Wanna be a mommy, Spencer, I wanna have your baby!"
"Yeah? You want that? Wanna be pregnant with my baby and make me a daddy? Have a part of me inside of you, huh? Shit. Can picture it now, sweetheart. You'll look so gorgeous pregnant. Most beautiful mommy in the world."
Spencer's hips stuttered slightly. The mental image of you pregnant and barefoot, walking around your shared home carrying his child was doing abominable things to every neuron in his brain. That thought alone, along with the way your pussy was getting tighter around him by the second, was inevitably going to push him over the edge.
Without ever abating his pace, Spencer's fingers reached down towards your clit and started rubbing as if there was no tomorrow. You let out a scream at the added sense of pleasure that Spencer's fingers sent to your belly.
"That's it, angel. Just let it go for me. Let go and I'll give you every drop of my cum."
Another powerful thrust, coupled with a delicious stimulation to your bundle of nerves, had you cumming around Spencer's cock like you had never been before. It was one of the most intense orgasms of your life, and you couldn't do anything but wail and moan as Spencer continued to move inside you through it all.
Mere seconds later, Spencer's own undoing crashed into him like a truck. You felt his cock throb before warmth flooded in, spurts of cum painting every inch of your walls until Spencer was sure there was nothing else to empty. He collapsed on top of you as soon as he was done pulling out, panting breaths and a satiated smile as he buried his face in the column of your neck.
"So—" you began once your breathing had evened out, "—we're doing this, huh?"
Spencer looked up at your face. "Are you having second thoughts?"
"No. Definitely not. There's no one I'd rather do this with more than you, Spencer." You smiled, tucking a strand of your fiancé's overgrown curly hair behind his ear. "Although, I do have to say, I didn't expect you to be that type of guy."
"What type of guy?"
"The kind who gets territorial and borderline obsessed with the thought of impregnating their woman."
Your statement caused Spencer to laugh, crinkling eyes and head thrown back in a way that made your heart fall a little deeper for the man. You closed your eyes and sighed when his hand rose to cup your cheek.
"Can't help it, sweetheart. Any guy would be driven wild to have you as the mother of their child. I'm the luckiest guy in the world."
Spencer's proclamation was sealed with a kiss to your lips. It started out innocent enough before escalating in desperation with every minute that ticked by. Spencer swallowed all of your whimpers even when his hand started to meander downward, all the way past your abdomen, and right under your navel where your arousal was beginning to awaken once again.
At the first swipe of thumb on your clit, you gasped against his lips.
"Spence, what are you—"
"Sshh, we're far from finished, sweetheart. Didn't think I'd be done with you so quickly, did you?" Spencer smirked. "I'm gonna keep fucking you through the night, however long it takes, and fill you with loads after loads of my cum to make sure you are pregnant once this is all over. Now, you just lie back, angel. 'M gonna make you feel so fucking good."
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid breeding kink#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds x fem!reader#criminal minds x y/n#criminal minds x you#criminal minds smut#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds imagine#zara's birthday bash and road to 1k
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Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me
Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader
A/n: Listen… I don’t have any excuse for ditching my other three active series except for tiktok made me do it… That, and the CLM series by @macfrog has ascended me to a new level of crazy and I just needed an outlet for it somewhere. Another shoutout to @theatrelove3000 who keeps putting up with my dbf joel shenanigans, they are indeed insane.
Warnings: girl this whole concept should be a warning but anyways… age gap, some fluff, light smut, uncomfortable situations with readers father… probably some editing mistakes bc ya girl is tired ok its 2am
Please be kind to this chapter, I actually like it, despite the horrors.
Decided on the song ‘Mary On A Cross‘ by Ghost for this one bc it fits ig.
MASTERLIST
Age gap is approximately 15 years or so, reader is over 21 and joel is about 37
"I think I'd probably only slow'ya down," you chuckled, looking to Sarah who seemed to read the displeasure off your face from your dad's offer. "I'm studyin' to be an archeologist, dad. I don't know nothin' about framin' and all that house buildin'..."
Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.
"You could work on interior stuff with me."
It had been almost three days.
You looked out the window to the front of your house repeatedly to try and remember it clearly. The drive home, the kiss, and how abruptly it ended with a promise to see each other around. You thought about it so often you almost wondered if it happened the way you perceived it, if any details had been skewed in your mind simply because you wanted to keep it there, fresh, untouched. Maybe he thought of it differently... but maybe he didn't.
"Did you bring home the stuff I asked ya?" Your dad came into the kitchen with a smile, embracing you with a side hug and turning to help you unpack the groceries.
"Course' I did, Pa," you handed him the bag with the six-pack of bud and the other one full of snacks.
It was the first Rangers game night, and as per tradition, that meant the company of the next-door neighbors. It had been a while since you'd been around to enjoy it, but now that you were back, there were quite a few more reasons why you were on edge to now participate. It would look weird if you came up with an excuse not to be there, and you knew that. You also knrw that you'd gotten into a rather complicated entanglement with your father's closest friend, and weren't sure what the outcome really was.
Had that driveway light not spooked you both apart, and had that little black stray cat not made an appearance, how far would it have gone? Things were pretty heated, but even still. Would he have said something? Maybe along the lines of 'I've known you since you were sixteen, and this isn't appropriate at all.'
You didn't have time to think about it, you were set to work on helping your dad cook dinner for the soon-arriving neighbors. Dinner and a baseball game, once a relaxing and enjoyable time to bond with your dad, now turned into an anxiety fest where you were convinced you'd have to walk on pins and needles around every topic.
"So," your dad piped up from his silence at the stove, stirring the pot of chili he'd been prepping. "Joel told me he gave you a ride 'few nights back."
You knew it was harmless, and that he wasn't asking for any reason, other than that he was probably curious. You hadn't seen Joel in a while, not since two Christmases ago. Your dad had driven up to Dallas to spend both Thanksgiving and Christmas with you last year, and you didn't come home for summer break given an internship opportunity. You must have seemed different to the man in some way. All grown up.
"Yeah, gave me a ride n' saved me at the bar," you chuckled, trying to seem playful and unsuspicious about the encounter.
He seemed to be confused, his brows furrowed and a funny look on his face.
"Whad'ya mean he saved ya?" he of course was continuing to speak all the while dumping his favorite spices into the pot of chili, looking across here and now to keep engaged.
"Just scared off some weirdo who couldn't take no for an answer," you let a sweet and genuine smile fall across your features, but didn't let it get out of hand. Your relationship with your father was airtight, and he could read you pretty damn well. You weren't going to give anything away, not with what was potentially on the line.
"Glad he was there," he replied with a chuckle, sending you a soft glance. "Never thought you'd have grown up so fast, now I gotta carry a shotgun whenever we go places. Fend off the wild beasts."
His jokes were only so funny now, because in this situation, you knew he wouldn't hesitate to shoot Joel if he found out what had happened. All in the nature of protecting you, but it made you sad to think of the situation that way. Joel wasn't just another weirdo following you around at a bar.
"It's only because I'm so pretty," you did your best to respond lightheartedly, making a quip that would soothe the silence. "And I believe that's yours and Mama's fault, givin' me the genes and what not."
You'd finished chopping a nice garden salad by the time the doorbell rang. You ran upstairs to change your shirt to the Jersey your dad bought you for your birthday, claiming it was good luck for the team. Truth be told, you didn't wanna be downstairs when Joel and Sarah got here.
Sarah was here, too. Her, you could easily handle. You were almost hoping that she would be in a rather talkative mood, that way the attention could be swayed to her inconspicuously. You doubted Joel would even try to talk to you, anyway.
"Lovebug, come on down, Millers are here!" Your dad shouted up, even though he saw you run upstairs right when the doorbell rang to change your shirt.
"I'm comin', hold on," you replied sassily while heading for the staircase.
You got to the bottom and had to take a breath before turning the corner into the entryway. Joel stood there with a sweet smile to you, and you tried your best to hold back the one you wore. It was too bright, too happy to see him. All despite your nerves.
You were quickly embraced by Sarah, whom you paid immediate attention to.
"My lordy, girl," you held up your hand by your shoulder to show the height difference, "last time I saw you, you must've been this tall."
"Dad tells me I'm growing like a weed," she tossed a finger over her shoulder to where he was standing, and you gave him a small glance and a smile.
"Us daughters do have a tendency to grow up," you laughed, slinging an arm around Sarah and pulling her along to the kitchen as your dad and Joel did the same behind you.
Why had you been so anxious? Joel is happy to see you. He makes causal conversation with your dad, but he catches your eye every chance he gets. His expression doesn't change, except for the tug of his lips in a smile that's barely there. Joel doesn't smile too often, except apparently when you and Sarah are around.
It doesn't take long for everyone to get situated with their food at the table, playful banter between Joel and your father filling the air as you made less rambunctious chatter with Sarah.
She's doing pretty well since last you saw her. She was always a bright girl, but as she grew it became more apparent that she would probably excel further than anyone in her graduating class. You were sitting across from a future valedictorian, you were sure.
You'd tried to ask her about her out of school interests before your dad interrupted with a question.
"How about you, lovebug?" He watched your eyes flick over to him with a turn of your head. He added context, given you hadn't been listening to them earlier. "Are you gonna look for a summer job?"
You really should, if you're being honest. There's not much work in your aspiring profession located here, but you weren't as lucrative as you used to be, given your educational expenses.
"I've thought about it," you tilted your head back and forth, and your dad seemed to need more from your answer. "I need to earn some cash before I get back to Dallas, but I'm not really sure where to apply."
Sarah seemed to know where this was going before you did. She'd been around the last time your dad was begging Joel to find some help for the contracting team they worked with. But surely your dad doesn't expect you to build houses, does he? Your dream job is to dig holes in the ground, not fill them in and put homes on top.
"We got some spaces to fill, you should come work with us 'few months. The pay's good and you don't have to stay on long, probably just till the end of July."
You gave him a look, and he instantly knew you weren't interested, but you figured you'd try and justify your reasoning. It was an argument either way.
"I think I'd probably only slow'ya down," you chuckled, looking to Sarah who seemed to read the displeasure off your face from your dad's offer. "I'm studyin' to be an archeologist, dad. I don't know nothin' about framin' and all that house buildin'..."
Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.
"You could work on interior stuff with me."
Did he just-?
"S'not much more fun than what your dad's been doin,' but at least it's out of the sun, and easier to learn."
You were almost dumbfounded. Your dad offering you a job that potentially could give you heat stroke with your lack of experience seemed like the worst idea in the world... but working on interior projects? With Joel of all people? Well, that didn't sound so bad.
You didn't want your dad to catch on, of course. Being so protestant of his suggestion, but then falling right into it as soon as Joel was the one to offer would be a dead giveaway to some sort of favoritism to his best buddy. It simply wouldn't look right.
"What kinda interior stuff?"
He smirked. The motherfucker was smirking. He knew you'd changed your mind, but couldn't exactly just come out with it. He understood, but it was still slightly amusing to him.
"Flooring, cabinets, countertops... 's things like that," he explained, knowing you really didn't care what all it entailed. He was still happy to play along. "S'not as fun as archeology, but it pays alright."
You nodded, acting as though you were turning the thoughts over in your head.
"Well, if you're sure I won't mess it up, I'd be happy to try it out," was your final response. You figured it left some leeway in case your father became suspicious, but gave a good enough answer to end the conversation on.
"That's my girl," your dad clapped a hand on your shoulder in excitement. Truth be told he would very much enjoy your presence on a work site. "I'll go ahead and call Eddie in the morning, let 'im know I found someone to replace Charlie for interiors."
It was said more to Joel, you figured, because you didn't really know who either of those people were. He'd nodded to your dad, taking a sip of his beer and then looking back to you. You smiled sweetly, nobody catching it but the one it was meant for.
"Game's gonna start soon," Joel spoke aloud, drawing everyone's eye to the clock over the stove.
Sarah cleared her throat before jumping in on the conversation.
"About that," she looked to her dad with the same puppy dog eyes she used to use against you. He was just as poor at saying no to her when she pulled those bad boys out. "Sammy texted me to ask if it's okay to stay over at her place tonight?"
Joel sighed. He knew that no matter the attempts he made for her to like baseball, it wasn't her thing. It was summer vacation, and he had no reason to say no, so he didn't.
"Is she coming to pick you up?" He began, fishing his keys out of his pocket to drive her if need be. The girl lived five minutes away, he'd be back only a few minutes after the game started, but he didn't really want to leave.
"I can ask her," she pulled her phone back out of her jeans, opened her screen, and checked her messages.
"No need, I can take you," your voice rang out, standing from the table and taking your bowl to the sink. It was a genuine offer, but it was also to get out of the house and process what just happened with the job situation.
Joel was the first one to stand up with you.
"You don't have to-"
"It's fine," you cut him off, leaving no room for discussion. It was lucky he liked you, otherwise, Joel Miller might have put up quite the argument for such a small dilemma. As was his way, of course. He huffed, but accepted he had been overruled.
"Thanks, then." It was mumbled, but there was gratitude in it.
"We gotta hop over to ours real quick and grab my stuff," Sarah told you, waiting for you to return from the kitchen before beginning to head out through the front door. You'd grabbed your keys off where they hung on the wall before going behind her.
"I'll be back soon," you called over your shoulder into the house, and got a chirped 'alright' reply from your dad.
You walked out passed your driveway, seeing the light flicker on as you both went passed the censor on the ground.
"Y'know, I didn't think you'd have caved so fast on that job thing." She had piped up once you were almost to her porch. You found it only slightly funny that she chose the exact topic which had been swirling in your mind since it happened.
"Not sure I really wanna do it, but your dad made it sound better than every time my dad's talked about it, guess he just convinced me," you chuckled, playing it off in a way that she absolutely was about to use against you.
"That's another thing," she turned to you as she backed into the house through the door, only turning once she was inside. "Since when are you friends with my dad?"
She said it in a joking tone, but having known a few things she didn't about interactions that occurred between you and her father, you felt constricted to answer seriously. Probably with a lie if need be.
"I've always gotten along with your dad," you gave her a confused look, accompanied after by a playful smile.
She grabbed her backpack and opened it, checking to make sure she'd taken all the school stuff out before starting to shove things in, her charger, headphones, etc.
"Yeah but... you're just all young and cool and stuff," she shrugged, turning around to walk towards the staircase. "My dad is all old and boring and only talks about baseball."
"Thirty-seven isn't old, babe. My dad is two years from fifty, and I don't even think he's old, yet. Boring? Maybe..." you reasoned, hearing her laugh before she sprinted up the stairs, giving you time to think of some answers before she asked any more questions. Had she really caught onto you that fast? You didn't think you'd acted noticeably. If Sarah was able to see it, then maybe your dad did, too. You needed to be more careful, in that case.
Sarah returned a few minutes later, her backpack now stuffed and her pillow under her arm. You nodded out the door and headed back to your driveway to open the door for her, seeing as though her hands were full.
-
The drive after Sarah had been dropped off felt so much longer. Maybe it was just your thoughts, or maybe you consciously drove slower to avoid getting home too quickly. Your dad was waiting, but above that, Joel was there, too. Probably sitting back on the leather couch, relaxing with his feet kicked out on the floor. He usually leaned onto the armrest with his elbow, and held his face against the hand it supported. You'd noticed it years ago. He only ever spoke up when your dad did, usually in reply to him.
He was content simply watching the game in the presence of a friend. It was endearing.
When you pulled into the driveway, you had come up with an excuse to not remain downstairs for the duration of the game. It was too risky, and you weren't apparently as good with self-control as you'd thought you were.
You went inside and hung up your keys on the hook, immediately passing the living room on the way to the stairs.
"Hey, lovebug, you missed the top of the first," your dad called. He knew you liked baseball, so if you were to lie and say you didn't want to watch, he'd know something was up.
"Y'know, pa, I think I'm just gonna watch it upstairs, I forgot I still got some stuff to unpack," you peaked your head into the room to respond, and saw that Joel, just as you had pictured, was sitting in his most usual position on the couch, feet out on the floor, arm up with a hand holding the side of his face.
"Can't you do it later?" Your dad pleaded, but you knew, seeing as how your father occupied the recliner, you would have no where else to sit but on the floor or next to Joel. You didn't trust yourself with that.
"I could, but I might fall asleep if I wait too long."
He sighed, throwing an arm in your direction and shooing you away. He wasn't annoyed, but he'd admit he missed watching these games with you. It had been like a tradition, but if Sarah wasn't here either, he wasn't gonna make you stick around.
"Sure you don't wanna stick around? We could use your lucky jersey down here," Joel piped up, lifting his face from his hand and giving you a pair of soft eyes. That was exactly the reason you would not be staying. He didn't even realize how much he affected you, but you'd make sure he did at some point. Maybe you could just tease him a little.
"You're right, it would be a shame to take the lucky jersey with me."
You walked behind your dad's chair, out of his sight, and tauntingly stripped the jersey over your head, revealing the tight black tank top beneath it, just like that night at the bar. Joel's jaw clenched and his eyes turned darker, even under the bright light of the flatscreen in the living room. You never took your eyes away from his as you slung him the jersey.
"Hey pa, can I get you anything from the kitchen before I go upstairs?" You leaned over the back of his recliner, looking at him upside down. He chuckled and shook his head, trying to move your hair from obstructing his vision.
"We're all good, lovebug," he spoke in addition to his physical response, his laughter dying down as you stood back up. "Come on down if you change your mind."
"I'll probably be down later," you spewed a half-lie. You weren't sure if you would be or not, especially if Joel was still lurking in the living room.
You gave those brown eyes one last look before heading straight upstairs.
You grabbed your remote and flicked on the TV. It was already on the right channel, so you tossed the remote aside onto your bed and flopped back into it. You didn’t actually have anything left to unpack, but they would never have known.
Your phone buzzed beside you, and you lifted the screen to your face to see a text from an unsaved number:
Missin you down here…
You’d never put Joel in your contacts, because in highschool, your friends thought it was weird to even text or call him regularly, but you had his number for years, always just as a backup. You’d known it by heart, now, and nearly had it memorized back then, too, for the times you needed his help.
I’d come back if there was an open seat.
A bit sassy of a response, maybe, but you were hoping he’d understand the hidden meaning behind it… Although, Joel didn’t usually pick up on those things very easily.
Open seat right next to me
Yeah, that’s why I’m up here…
You huffed, realizing it wouldn’t be that easy. The three little dots indicating his next response was on the way slightly nerved you. Maybe he took the last text you sent the wrong way. You didn’t mean it to sound badly.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Means that I can’t keep my hands to myself.
You quickly rectified the situation, although you might have gone too far. He was taking far too long to answer, now. The little dots that before nerved you would now be your saving grace if it meant he would just fucking respond, already. You dropped the phone on your chest, raising up and down in a scattered rhythm while you wiped your hands over your face. Your phone vibrated over your shirt and you immediately opened it.
I can’t either. Stay up there.
You breathed out a sigh of relief. He was thinking the same things you were, and likely was under more stress for it, given he sat right across from your dad, responding to his comments about the game here and there. Your dad had no idea what was happening right under his nose.
Wasn’t thinking about leavin.
This little back and forth went on, the majority of the game, in fact. It was more-so about the plays then on, because you didn’t have anyone to talk to up here.
Joel thought it a bit funny, your dad would say something oddly specific about one of the players, and then you’d text him right after saying the exact same thing. You’d been a product of watching baseball with your old man for just about ever.
“I’m thinking about gettin’ some tickets over the summer for a game or two. They’re always cheaper in them group packages, you n’ Sarah should come along,” your dad was barely paying any attention to the words he spoke, but they came flowing out anyway, clear and cool. “Could be fun.”
Joel knew that there was only so much group interaction he could handle with you, and you with him. It stands to why you’re upstairs, an he’s down here, fist wrapped tightly around your lucky jersey. All out of your father’s sight, of course.
“It could be. Don’t think Sarah’s much for baseball anymore, though.”
He’d hoped that your dad would drop it. Halfway through his third beer, he hoped the man was a little more than tipsy, and maybe didn’t even mean the words he was saying.
“Doesn’t mean you can’t still tag along,” your dad was definitely still sober enough to keep it up, although the way he spoke became slower. Maybe he was getting sleepy.
“I’ll think about it.”
His response was followed by a hum, then a lull of silence that endured the rest of the game. He sat all the while and thought about his predicament a bit more.
He couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was insane… like you’d leeched yourself to the inner workings of his mind and he wouldn’t be able to pull you off without hurting himself, too. You were just upstairs, and had been texting him. You were within his vicinity, and yet… so unreachable.
He’d wished for you to be down here, or for him to be up there with you. Obviously, that wouldn’t go too well with the man sitting next to him, but he’d be asleep soon. If he could just touch you again, just kiss you one more time, maybe his cravings would be satisfied and he could go about his days… but what would happen if he kept feeling the addictive urge to do more? What if he was never satiated enough to quit you?
The game was called, and you’d texted him a small ‘victory’ at seeing the Rangers had won.
It was wrong, and the presence of his friend beside him was a constant reminder that you were his kid, and he would have a final say. Even though you were an adult, he understood this was completely taboo, and you should be off with guys your own age... but he’s made up his mind about the thoughts spinning in his head.
He didn’t respond, though. Your dad stood up out of his chair, his arms stretching outwards with a loud yawn as he took a few steps forwards, clapping his hand down on Joel’s shoulder.
“I hate to kick you out…” your father joked, a low and tired chuckle under his words.
“It’s alright, I got some stuff to sort out anyway.”
They started making their way towards the door when light but fast footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs.
Joel turned quickly, a smile on his lips and in his eyes when he saw you trying to catch your breath after sprinting down here.
“Leavin’ already?”
They both laughed heartily. As if Joel hadn’t been here almost three hours, most of which you spent upstairs. Your heart was beating far too fast for your liking, but there didn’t seem to be a way to stop it. Now that you were present again, in the room with him, you didn’t know what else to do.
“Your dad’s half asleep as it is, if I stay any longer I’ll send ‘im into hibernation,” Joel’s response made you giggle softly, although you withheld most of the laughter, because in all honestly, it wasn’t that funny, and you needed to learn to control yourself.
“He’ll be over next week, we’ll talk about gettin’ you into that job.”
You nodded, turning back to Joel as your dad opened the front door. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t hug him, could you? That’s too much… maybe just wave, or maybe-
He held his hand out… for you to shake it. A hand-shake. Yeah, sure, fine.
You shook it, but he pulled you in half way, tapping your back once and then letting go.
He just bro hugged you. This man just-
He turned and did the same to your dad, giving you one last glimpse as he stepped out the door. Your dad closed it behind him and you were almost clean out of words to say. That had to have been the strangest interaction you’ve had.
“I’m beat, love-bug. I’m gonna head to bed,” he slung an arm around your neck and kissed the top of your head before turning and going down the hall to the stairs. “Don’t be up too late.”
“I won’t, just got a few things to do.”
You waited approximately ten more seconds before running to the garage door, going as quickly and as quietly as you could through to your front yard. Joel was still on his porch when you got out there, but was about to go inside.
You ran out to the sidewalk in font of his house and called out to him, all the while still barefoot.
“Hey Miller,” you crossed your arms, watching him turn around and lean in one direction. “Did you just bro-hug me? Or did I imagine that?”
He stepped closer to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams closest to him.
You slowly walked up to him, tilting your head to side as you observed his stance. he looked rather good. Hair tousled, body adorning a black t-shirt and some dark jeans. He was a sight, even in the dark light of the neighborhood.
“I reckon I oughta’ try again?”
"Seems like the fair thing to do."
“You’re takin’ your sweet time, baby,” he irked, grabbing gently under your elbow and pulling you up onto to porch once you were close enough.
You smiled to him, and wrapped your arms round his neck, over his broad shoulders. He pulled you close, tucking a head into your shoulder. The anxiousness you felt before fell apart, the rapid beating of your heart slowed, because you were comfortable. You felt immense peace in his arms like you’ve never felt before.
He backed away too soon, but still kept you relatively close to him.
“Was that better?”
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
There was a moment of silence, of contemplation, but it wasn’t stiff, and it wasn’t awkward. It was just there, a nice and pleasant quiet, and you standing still with Joel Miller on his porch.
“You wanna come inside a while?”
Sarah wasn’t home, and wouldn’t be till morning. Your dad was probably passed out in bed by now, leaving the opportunity completely open. You had nothing to lose, no risk to be had.
“Yeah, I think I will.”
He didn’t let you go, he just walked you both backwards until he was able to reach the door, reaching with one hand to open it before stepping slightly to the side to allow you entrance first.
“Ever the gentlemen,” you smiled, walking inside before he followed you in.
“Gotta make up for all that nonsense earlier,” he closed the door, taking your hand and walking to the kitchen. He pulled out a stool at his counter and let your hand fall to your side as he made his way to the fridge.
He pulled out two beers and uncapped them with the tool hanging on the side of his fridge. You think you remember your dad buying it for his birthday one year. You can remember sitting in this exact seat many times before, actually. Never alone, though. Never just you and Joel, and nobody else near.
He slid you one beer an you smiled at him in thanks, taking a sip.
“Last time you had one of these, I didn’t know if you liked it or not,” he gestured to his own bottle, drinking some and setting it down on the counter.
“I don’t know, I think it’s growing on me.”
He looked straight to you, leaning both hands on the edge of the counter. You leaned forward, mimicking his more stern face of features before he said anything else.
“I didn’t wanna say so with your dad around, but you look awful pretty tonight,” he spoke the compliment smoothly, but he had to drop his head after he said it. Seemed that giving you compliments alone in the night was something of a struggle for him, since he was blushing still even when he looked back to you.
“I seem to be feelin’ a lot prettier as of late whenever I’m around you. Think you’re just good for my self esteem,” you paused, leaning back onto the stool to take a drink of your beer. “That, or it's just nice to be complimented by a handsome guy like yourself.”
He didn’t seem to believe you. His scoff was loud and heard immediately after your compliment returned to him.
“You think I’m handsome?”
He’d always thought he was average. Maybe even slightly below. As he got older, that notion grew until he felt that maybe he was beyond trying for a woman on behalf of his looks. Perhaps there were women from time to time that would agree to a date, but there were none since Sarah’s mom who actually stuck around, not until you… but you were different as far as relationships go, because technically, you shouldn’t even be considering one with him.
“Absolutely, I do. Why wouldn’t I?” You were curious, because he was clearly attractive. Maybe you’d spent too much time around the more traditionally preferred young men in dallas, but something about Joel intrigued you that never did with anyone else. Maybe it was the forbidden aspect of what you two were doing, but before that, it was something else. He was rough and rugged, and good looking in a mature way that the boys your age couldn’t mimic if they tried. Those dark brown eyes with little crows feet at the edges every time he smiled were a dead give away to his age, but it was so appealing somehow.
“Don’t know. Guess I’m just old,” he spoke, trying to hide the insecurities that phrasing brought about. He was too old for you, he shouldn’t be sitting here with you you alone and calling you pretty, and yet…
“Maybe that’s a good thing. Too many boys my age are still very immature these days.” And it was very much true. Too young, too immature, and too stupid to see what’s in front of them and really appreciate it. Older men have a tendency to take care of the things they have, because they know that with time they can lose them.
“That so?”
“Mhm.”
“They don’t even realize what their missin’ out on, do they?”
You shook your head in reply. Nope. Not a single one of the younger guys you’ve dated has treated you with the care you know he could. He’s always treated you with care, before… why would that change now?
“They probably figure there’s a million girls linin’ up after me that they can take a shot at,” you raised your eyebrows and drank some more. Maybe it was just a thought of some past experiences, but this beer was tasting better and better to you.
“I pity them,” he said nonchalantly, without really thinking about it.
“Who, the girls? I mean, I kinda feel bad, but other times, I think we all know what we’re getting ourselves into n’ we just try to ignore the red flags.”
It was meant as a joke, but he was being genuinely serious.
“No, the guys. I pity ‘em.”
“Oh, do you?”
“I do,” he nodded, thinking of the right words to say. “They lost you, didn’t they? Biggest mistake of their lives and they didn’t even know. Pity ‘em just for that.”
You didn’t know what to say. You figured the wide smile you wore was doing a fine enough job, but he wasn’t looking like he had anything else to voice yet.
“You think I’m somethin’ special, Joel Miller?”
He set his bottle down on the counter and walked around it to stand right in front of your barstool. He took both your hands and pulled them to his chest, just holding them there and looking to you with the sweetest expression you’ve ever seen from him. He’s so different than what you remember in your earlier years. He used to be so stoic and serious. Sometimes even a little grumpy. Guess time changes things.
“I wouldn’t be gettin’ myself into sum’ this crazy if I thought anything else,” he mumbled it almost, but he definitely meant it. His words rang true in every aspect of the implications they made. This was crazy, it was very unlikely in the first place, but even still, it was happening. Neither of you backed down, neither of you said no.
“If it helps, I happen to think you’re pretty damn special, too.”
He didn’t respond, just leaned closer towards you, nudging his nose against yours, before letting your lips meet in a kiss. it washed rushed and hazy like the last time. It wasn’t forceful or fast or anything of that sort. It was gentle, and it was meaningful. All the years he’d known you, but never like this. You knew this attraction was new, but it was still real. You wondered how many women pined after him over the years, only for you to now gage his attention when clearly no one else did. The man’s been single since Sarah’s mom left, and otherwise, you didn’t know him to be much of a ‘dating around’ kinda guy. Standing here with him, now, you felt such excitement in knowing he’d pursue you, the off limits woman, over anyone else. It was a true victory, or at least you thought so, sitting on a stool in his kitchen while he kissed you softly, his thumbs going over the backs of your hands that still lingered in his.
When the kiss broke, you inhaled deeply, the scent of him so close to you, surrounding you. He was like a warm blanket you just pulled out of the dryer. He was comforting, and soft, and his skin was currently hot to the touch. You could only hope that you had something to do with that.
“Baby,” he breathed, hands letting go of yours and finding a new home at your waist. You left your hands on his chest, feeling his heart rate fluctuating. “Gotta know something before this goes any further…”
You hummed in response, still trying to even your breath intake. He backed away a few inches to be able to look you in the eyes correctly. He’d spent enough time with you in the past to know if you were telling the truth, and he was going to use it just this once to his advantage.
“What we’re doin’, you sure you’re okay with it?” He knew better than to jump into this without clarification. “Don’t want you feelin’ pressured if you’re not.”
“I want this,” you spoke softly, just loud enough that he could hear. “Promise.”
You had thought you’d been the instigator to this, if memory serves you correctly. Even still, you know now that whatever happens, he won’t take it somewhere you don’t want it to go. This show of good faith was something you could put trust in him over. He’s a good one, you always knew that.
And again his lips were on yours, differently this time. It was a bit more hasty and fervent like the first time, but there was still something different from then that you couldn’t quite decipher.
You absent-mindedly opened your legs and he instantly came between them, letting your bodies become flush with one another. His hands ran up and down your sides, every once and a while dipping to your hips and somewhere below on your thighs.
There was a heat between them that you didn’t realize was there until he came so close to touching it. He never actually did, though, and you were both endeared by and upset about it. He was the one making that heat spread, he can’t just leave it there… but he’s testing his limits, and you think it’s respectful that he is.
He doesn’t want to cross any lines… as if this entire entanglement has not already done that. This situation in every sense of the definition, has crossed the line. Him hugging you that tightly on his porch, him inviting you in after dark when it’s only you and him alone, having a beer with some very personal conversation, and now making out with you in his kitchen. They all crossed the line of what should happen between a man and his best friend’s daughter.
“Tell me to stop,” he mumbled against your mouth, almost as if reading your mind. His hand on your thigh drifted between your legs, just barely caressing the heated pool sitting there, waiting for him. It was still very reserved, and you had to buck against his hand for more friction, but at least it was something.
The taste of him somehow made it worse, the feeling growing inside you without an end in sight. The arousal was evident, but you weren’t sure he would be able to do anything about it, yet. You could tell it was weighing on his mind, what was okay for him to do, and what wasn’t. You would beg him if you had to, you just needed more.
He had an idea, one that could allow both of you to explore this dynamic easier, and one that could potentially keep him from overstepping like he was afraid to.
He removed his hands only for a minute, bringing yours up and over his shoulders before he settled his back down below your ass.
“Hold on,” he told you, lifting you from the seat and walking until he got to the living room. From there, he let the space guide him until the back of his knees hit the edge of the couch. He sat almost abruptly, and when you relaxed your weight onto him, you felt the stirring between his legs as well. You moaned into his mouth at the mere size and feeling of it, beginning to slowly grind down onto him. He encouraged your movements, and used his hands to guide your hips as you went, back and forth, getting into a rhythm.
“That’s it, baby,” he praised, tearing himself away for a moment to expel his breath from his lungs at the new feeling. Your head fell against his, and suddenly it was the movement of your lower half taking you over.
He let his hands move over your body a bit more freely, now, but still careful not to make any harsh movements, or grab in places he felt he shouldn’t linger too long. He knew you wanted this, but something inside him questioned how comfortable you really felt… that was until you started doing the same, roaming his body with your delicate touch, making him feel like the most important man in the world. You could have sworn you marked the exact moment he snapped, rolling his hips upwards into yours shamelessly. It was so deliciously addicting, the feeling of his body pleasing yours, and vice versa. His rough and sturdy hands, though still gentle, ravished any part of you available to him.
The air between you was hot and thick, and you could swear that by breathing it in, you were drawing even more arousal into your body.
The motions kept going until there was a quickening of pace brought on by you both simultaneously. You couldn’t mark a distinction of when it increased, you just knew that the speed you were going wasn’t where you started. All you could think of was that your spend was fast approaching, and you wondered if his was, too.
“Gettin’ close,” you murmured, barely able to get the words out for the moans that slipped passed your lips. “M’gonna…”
He heard you, and understood. Truth be told, he’d started getting hard since that moment on the porch, so this was just nothing but sweet relief to him. He kept on, trying to meet you at your finish.
“Let go , baby.”
You had no qualms about being told twice when it came to him. You gave it up easily, the muscles in your body contracting when you felt the wash of utter ease through every inch of you. He tensed beneath you, but relaxed with a groan of relief right after, and you could feel his length twitch in his jeans.
You just dry-humped Joel Miller on his couch. Like a horny teenager. What the fuck.
The dawn of realization was cut short by his hand softly coercing the back of your neck, bring your lips back for him to claim as he did earlier. Soft, and gentle, no rush, no heat. Just that feeling between you both that started this mess.… and it was indeed a mess.
“You wanna stay over?”
-
Tags (open):
@justanothersadperson93 @moonchild-warrior @hopplessilse @brittmd115 @michilandcof @untamedheart81 @just-someone-broken @joelalorian @xybil @yvonneeeee
If i tagged you wrong, or you want to be taken off at any time, just lmk!!
#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel x reader#joel the last of us#dbf!joel miller x reader#dbf! joel miller#joel miller age gap#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal
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Hey guys! I'm putting out a call for my commissions again for two big reasons: One, Emergencies have caused me to be low on funds when I wasn't expecting it, and that kind of sucks actually. Two, I have a project that I've been dreaming about for years but have actually been able to start working towards in the last couple of months, but to finish it I need to not be living paycheck to paycheck for like a month at the very least, which brings me back to point one :(. I will talk more about the big project under the cut, bc I think it's something you all might really enjoy!
But for now, I will link my commission sheet: Here (It's also my pinned post)
And my new Ko-fi!: Here for if you just want to donate, which would be literally incredible and I would owe you my soul actually.
Ok now for big Project Time!!!
I am in the process of editing and revising my first Youtube video! This has been an on and off dream of mine for like 7 years at this point, but I've finally taken the plunge and gotten to work on a channel. I wanna talk about all sorts of fandoms (including the riordanverse ofc) With videos ranging from plot and character analysis, to trends in fandom culture in general, to fun little ranking videos and speedpaints. All around, I just want the channel to be a fandom hive, where everyone can find something they enjoy.
I already have PNG's created of my sona to use as assets (And I have a sparkly new sona, the one in the pic above!) and I have two finished scripts, with the first one being fully recorded as well! One for my first video, which will be a retrospective on Gravity Falls, and one for a video about the Percy Jackson TV show, the inherent differences between TV and books as mediums, how I think the TV show could improve, and the things I think it got perfectly. I also have a bunch more ideas, such as:
BIG Trials of Apollo video essay, with a focus on how the books and the fandom have effected me over the years.
Ranking all of my favorite characters from all of the media I've been a fan of over the years (This would be over 70 characters)
Explaining the Iliad, but make it funny (with a side of Troy apologia)
Reading Lore Olympus and pointing out how it deviates from myth (the things I'm willing to do for you people /j)
Canon vs. Fanon, where I compare a characters canon characterization with their fanon counterpart and try to figure out how things turned out the way they did.
And more, but I don't want this post to be 5000 words long.
Now here's the big question. As I said in the part above, I'm struggling a bit now money-wise. And I really wanna make this project work, but there's also, you know. Tuition. Rent. Food. Stupid other adult stuff. So if anyone is amenable (and this is totally up to demand, I don't wanna pressure anyone into doing anything!) I was also thinking of maybe making a Patreon. Now, I'd have to do research for this, bc I wanna make sure anyone who signed up would get the right rewards and really get the bang for their buck. I'm pretty sure there's not gonna be much interest in this rn, cuz like, I'm not that big of a blog oof. But if anyone is interested! Here are some of the perks I would definitely be implementing! (sry it's another list)
Early access to videos, and behind the scenes looks at art assets and video creation
the ability to request topics for videos
Patrons names being shown in the videos. And higher tiered patrons getting custom chibis that will be shown in videos as well (and given to the patrons obv)
This ones a bit complicated, but I want to create a cover of a song that has to do with each video to play during their outros. So like, for the gravity falls video, I'm gonna record a quick cover of the Disco Girl song from the show. Only a small section of the song would be in each video, but patrons would get access to the full covers, and be able to request songs to be covered.
Discounts on commissions
A monthly speedpaint that would be exclusive to patreon. Patrons would be able to vote on what the drawing would be.
All of these ideas I'm 100% sure I want to add to a patreon if I make one, but obv there could be more that comes up later. I'm just gauging interest on this idea rn, so let me know if that's something you'd be down to sign up for! Maybe I'm jumping the gun here but I'm just really excited to create and give back to the community and aaahhhhh
Now, no matter what, I'm gonna have this first video out by mid-September at the latest. Because stupid money troubles are not gonna stop me from making this a thing dangit. So look out for that, I'll link the vid here when it releases! But I am just really stressed rn and any support would go a long way towards making this dream come true. And on that note, one more sappy real talk if I am allowed it?
If you've read this far, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. This community and fandom is truly incredible. My blog is about to reach 5 years old, and I've never seen a group of people so accepting and creative and just fun to be around. You guys have truly changed my life, and I wouldn't have the courage to try for this if I didn't have the support you've given me. I know this is super dramatic for just trying to make a youtube channel, but making a place where I could just talk about all the nerdy and overly specific things I care about and share them with the world is something I've wanted for my whole life. You guys gave me that with this blog, and if this channel works out, it'll be thanks to you, so you'll have given it to me twice. I don't have the words to express how much I love this community and all the incredible people in it. So even if you can't support, just know that being here for however long you have been, whether it's the whole five years or the last two days, has done more than you'll ever know. You guys are the best, thank you for everything <3
#sunny speaks#apollart#long post#commissions#trials of apollo#toa apollo#lester papadopoulos#sry for the tags I just want to reach everybody in the audience#writing this got me so in my feels oml#shut up sunny#also I hope you guys like the new sona I wanted to change it up a bit#I got a mask now >:)#I always feel weird about posting about commissions and stuff bc I feel like i'm begging#Like I know I'm providing a service it's just ughhhh#But! Big plans mean big things to give to you guys to enjoy! And that's what I'm excited about!
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This is the person who just did their first lift, I totally forgot to ask but, do you have any tips for new lifters ^^
of course! and congrats!!!
new l!fting tip #1: tumblr 101
no tags!!! do not tag ur posts, it makes it easier for non-l!fters to find and report l!fters
censor out brands and l!fting terms!! such as dn@, 3B, etc. (dn@ is did not arrive and 3B is empty box!!! different l!fting methods)
never ever put any defining objects in your photos if you are gonna post! make sure its the haul and ONLY the haul.
remove exif data from your photos so they can’t be traced, personally i dont do think bc im lazy but you should!
don’t put your total in your bio! i used to do this bc i liked to tell ppl i saved $20k-$30k over the year but it’s not smart to flaunt that you’re over the felony limit!
next, #2: how to lyft
so you’ve already completed your first lyft (woohoo proud of u!!) but how can you go about being safer and smarter?
my first tip is always scan the school for cameras! be sneaky tho don’t like just stare at the ceiling, but yk get a feel for how many cameras, what type, and what direction they’re facing. most places are gonna have the dome cameras, those are the worst because they see in every direction. always always try to body block if possible. either get someone else to block you or duck behind something while you’re concealing. better to not be caught on cam!!
nobody in that store is your friend, remember that. always assume that customers are plain clothes LP (disguised security) and always assume that sales associates WILL rat you out. don’t think “oh well it’s just me and one other person in the aisle it’ll be fine” because it’s gonna be the one time it’s not fine.
on that note, be kind to everyone. this isn’t just a lyfting tip it’s a rule i live by but just be kind. they’re gonna suspect you much less if you smile and answer questions and compliment them if you feel so inclined, just be a nice person. i believe this is one of the reasons i’ve never been caught, i’m just very friendly.
concealing!!! where to conceal? i personally like using my bag most often. your bag is important too!!! i use one off amazon (you can type like kawaii heart school bag and it’ll pop up, its black and has a big heart cut out for pins) but i dont have any pins because i dont want it to be too identifiable. its purse enough for people not to tell me to take it off (a lot of places don’t allow backpacks) but big enough to fit a LOT of stuff. structured bags are always a good idea too! that way people won’t be able to tell if you’ve put anything in there. i like to conceal in aisles without cameras most often, but if i have to body block sometimes i’ll put stuff up my sleeves first! another idea is to use a shopping bag from another store. this way people will think you’ve just already bought stuff! the target ones are my favorite since they’re opaque<3
onto the next section, #3: all about tags
de-tagging is definitely a more experienced lyfting practice but you can definitely start with rfids!!
rfids are gonna be the little metal wires in plastic, paper, or sticker tags. these are very common and you’ll see them at places like w4lmart or t4rget. these are easily removable by either cutting them off or disabling them with a magnet. you don’t NEED any tools while lyfting, but some of them can come in handy. if you do find yourself with a magnet, to disable rfids you just need to swipe your magnet against the tag. if you don’t have one, simply cut the metal wire in half. you can use scissors or nail clippers or cuticle nippers or whatever you might have!! if you can’t cut them, simply remove them and i personally stick the tag in the pocket of a really ugly item on clearance so that it hopefully goes unfound for a while!
hard tags! hard tags are any tag from the solid tags you find usually on clothes to spider tags you find on electronics or wire tags on jewelry at hot topic, etc. these all require tools to remove. some will require a magnet, others will require hooks, but it’s definitely worth looking into if you decide to branch out on your journey.
brief mention, #3.5: booster bags!
booster bags are small bags lined with many layers of foil to prevent signals from reaching the towers. just in case you didn’t know, towers are the tall sensors by the front door when you walk in! with a booster bag, you can put any kind of tagged item you want, zip it up, and walk out without beeping. you need many layers however!! the way to test if your bag works it by putting your cell phone in there and asking someone to call you. if the call goes through, there aren’t enough layers!! once the call doesn’t go through you’re set! this however is a more advanced trick so please be careful if you’re gonna try this!
lastly, #4 online “shopping”!
so you’ve heard of dn4ing or empty boxes, well lemme tell you what it all means! did not arrive is when you purchase an item, wait for it to arrive, and then message the carrier and tell them it never arrived. typically our goal here is to get a refund, but any times they wont be as easily persuaded and you’ll end up with a replacement instead. however it’s not impossible and many places are easier others. if you think you wanna try this, she!n or am4zon are a good place to start!! if she!n opens an investigation, it’s just a bluff, go with it!
empty box is another form of online lyfting, it’s when you tell the carrier that your item arrived with nothing in it. the process is similar to the first one, message the carrier etc. however just claim that it’s an empty box!
I HOPE ALL THESE TIPS HELPED PLS LET ME KNOW<333 LOVE YOU GUYS STAY HEALTHY AND TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES
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bug questions‼️
trevor’s colour is orange, michael’s is blue, franklin’s is green. what would her ‘colour’ be?
what’s the 2013 reunion like? at what point in the story does it happen? what does he think of micheal’s new protege?
RUBS HANDS TOGETHER (thank you for the asks!!)
bugs colour is usually a sorta burnt orange that matches her eye colour , BUT i sorta align her more with red after she picks up her act and moves to los santos in like 2010. very fiery colours regardless bc it felt like it matched his militaristic backstory the best, if that makes sense? also a red colour is in such direct contradiction w/ michaels blue which makes sense given their turbulent ass relationship
as for the 2013 reunion oh… it’s so messy. i pinned it as happening a few months after michael initially starts heisting again, so the new team have probably been together and going at it for a while before he shows up.
she is absolutely berserker pissed off at michael and i always envisioned that they got into a physical scuff upon meeting again. they’d puesdo ‘make up’ afterwards like they always do, of course, but bug holds onto that grudge HARD… especially since life was so miserable when forced into hiding after the botched heist. #everythingismichaelsfault gang
when it comes to meeting trevor again, it’s Very Loaded. honestly i ran through a lot of scenarios in my mind — due to the complex nature of their relationship, it didn’t feel right for them to have a super emotional reunion nor a standoffish one. trevor was very err impassioned in meeting michael again but his relationship with bug is just different… in that they were both extremely vulnerable with one another for years while being sort of embarrassed about it. so i imagine their reunion was pretty intimate in a freaky non-verbal way. maybe a particularly awkward yet tender hug was exchanged behind closed doors… maybe trevor cried only a little bit then denied it…
as for franklin, he really reminds bug of her brothers when they were all kids. it’s been a long time since she met anyone who wasn’t a miserable nihilist so he’s frankly a nice change of pace. i’m sure she’d show him the ropes of shooting in her downtime. he is very concerned with michael’s involvement w/ franklin though, due to the previous double crossing and perceived general terribleness. a part of bug doesn’t even want franklin to get into the business because she thinks it’s a profession for broken people who have nothing else going for them, and franklin actually has potential to do something else. buuut regardless, bug primarily sides with trevor in the weird puesdo custody case they have going on.
OK ILL CEASE MY YAPPING thank you for the questions though .. i welcome them with open arms i’ll gladly talk and talk about bug 4ever 🪲
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FINALLY SOMEONE SAID THE TRUTH.
I admit that i enjoyed act 3 but it feels like really rushed i have so much complain with that.
The build up until act 2 was so good it give us so much premise but the final blow si meh. Sorry that i want to share thing long rant with you
1. Why the final talk is with yae, no offense to her but we need ei to explain not to mention she witness khaenriah downfall so she can give us more information, i feel like they do it for the plot armor so they can just keep dragging this
2. So many things that quite inconsistant, the shogun is show no mercy to anyone that even did a little thing outside what she think its right, how come she can still have a talk with signora, when sara is falling like that, and also there is no clarification about sara right now.
The traveler was so done at first they refuse to help thoma and ayaka at the beginning. But they seem so happy and forget everything how come they are not RAGE ( okay maybe this is to bias and personal) when this nation provide nothing about our siblings information and also why they are not mention anything about their problem in ei stroy quest. Its nonsense! She is right in front of youu, ask about your siblings, ask about khaenriah, ask about ukmown god!!. How come they can just forget like that. Also mihoyo really waste the potential about twin things i thing ei will give us so much help bcs of the sympathy that we both rn lost our twin but noooo.
3. Kokomi seem lost some brain cell, she make a very succesfull grand intro but she become meh in act 3, how come a great strategist like her let the sus sponsorship slip just bcs they are desperate, not to mention her screen time is really small and her role seem so unsignificant and it feels lile she is a plain npc.
4. The awesome world quest that we have done doesnt get any mention at all! Inazuma owe us so much with cleansing sakura, thunder sakura, tatarigami, obarashi quest. It has so much potential that yae or ei or anyone else aknowledge what traveler has been done but nooo.
cracks knuckles... i suppose it's time for my promised dissertation. interestingly enough, you touched on a lot of the main issues i had with chapter III.
i think that if i had to pin the main issue, it's a lack of overall cohesiveness? we were jumping all over the place without the chance to ever flesh things out. inazuma is a smaller cast, but i feel like we didn't get to see any of them shine. since i'm most interested in the genshin characters, i'll break down my problems by going over everyone and their (lack) of impact on the story.
was ayaka not questioned or placed under suspicion for being close to thoma before his escape? i wanted to see her broken up over her duties as they relate to the yashiro commission, paired with having someone she genuinely cares about in danger. it would've been an interesting struggle if she was forced to choose one or the other. instead she just kinda took a back seat.
speaking of thoma, i don't even have anything to say, because he just... was there? for .0001 seconds. said "lol this sucks ig" and that's about it. i know we're going to get a story for him in the future since he's a 5* but i'm not getting my hopes up 😭 then in the raiden shogun's character story, man is peachy keen! be upset with the raiden shogun! have some inner conflict! even if it's just using loaded language because he's under surveillance for going against the raiden shogun, that'd be so cool. saying something like,
"Traveler, what's with that expression? Oh please, there's nothing to worry about. We're under the Statue of the Omnipresent God's protection. Nothing bad has ever happened here." *wink*
i also don't know what to say about gorou. he was... there....... i think. what is he fighting for? what are the stakes for him? what makes him place so much trust into kokomi? i'm out of things to say about him because i don't remember anything he did or said.
kokomi... oh kokomi... i was so hyped. so excited. i thought that maybe we could see a foil to the raiden shogun. that she'd have a moment where she's forced to realize, just like her opponent, sacrifices must be made that will hurt people who will never understand why she made them. or maybe something to show her military prowess. but instead she just accepts a mysterious patron's help (?), sees her people aging like the grateful dead from JJBA, and goes oh well. that sucks. what can ya do. oh bye traveler i guess, good luck with that. ????????????? HUH... similar case to thoma where she's gonna get a character story but like. she won't be the leader of the resistance anymore. that was her whole shtick. they took her shtick away. also she forced me to interact with more NPCs whose names i've already forgotten so i'm tilted about that still.
KUJOU SARA... AN INJUSTICE. A DISGRACE. a slap to my woman loving face. the build up was there. yae miko's comments about sara probably knowing the tenryou commission is involved in shady dealings, but is choosing not to think about it. sara being forced to confront reality and challenge her adopted father with the truth. being able to blaze a new path for herself in the process. when she started running to the raiden shogun i was ultra hyped up. sara, a devotee to the shogun for so long, was about to see her god interacting with the same people who led inazuma to this awful state. how would she react? would she stay ignorant, like yae miko so coyly said, choosing to look away in favor of following her god's footsteps? or would she be forced to recognize the raiden shogun isn't as divine as she once thought, and challenge her belief system?
we open the door to see the raiden shogun. the loading screen ensues. the camera pans to the ominous room, clouded in darkness, hinting at the ominous confrontation that is to come. the music takes a serious timbre. and then...
well fuck that potential character arc i guess. (we still don't know what sara made of any of this since she poofed out of existence from the story at this point)
kazuha also was handed a similar treatment. we've been with him for a while longer now. he is our introduction into inazuma, the one who first gets us emotionally involved by regaling us with the bittersweet tale of friendship that led him to becoming a wanted criminal. a kind soul who loves nature yet was dealt a cruel hand by fate, forced to watch his home nation turn into a hostile place, where his dear friend ultimately perished as a result. we get the scene with his friend's vision lighting back up. he parries a block from the raiden shogun, in the same area where his friend was killed by her. the parallels. the drama. except this time, he wasn't too late. he protected the traveler where he "failed" to protect his friend in the past. did he feel redemption at this? or was it a bittersweet reminder of what could've been?
WELL i guess we'll never know because we didn't get to talk to him again 😭 idk who got a bait and switch worse, him or sara. jesus christ mihoyo.
then we have signora. why is the raiden shogun talking to her? does she know about the gnosis being taken, and if she doesn't, what was her plan to get it from the archon? what does she think about scaramouche? and oh, okay, we're fighting here now. good fight + god tier music. pog pog. okay, now we've beaten her up, and raiden shogun wyd— wait no not signora her lore is still on CUPS not YET raiden shogun and— ah she's dead. okay. non nerds who didn't read artifact lore are going to know nothing about her. signora has such an interesting story, and yet... well. ok.
then we get raiden shogun redemption (?) arc. i was hype for this as well, though at that point, idk why i bothered being hype. i knew they were gonna do a cute power of friendship something or another, and i'm good with that, so long as it's executed well. what i was envisioning was like seven different buffs to correspond with the seven different visions, the dreams of those whose ambitions were stolen serving as the spear to penetrate the raiden shogun's heart of stone. maybe a hydro vision giving us extra healing for a time, with the voice acting over it being like,
"Even if the rest of the world forgets us, let our will carry you through this one final time. Succeed where we couldn't, Traveler."
so on and so forth.
but instead we got— you get the idea at this point. why bother spelling it out anymore.
at that point i was surprised the raiden shogun didn't go "oopsie woopsie!! we made a fucky wucky!!!" because that was the vibe i was getting. i love ei, don't get me wrong, but i wanted to see her challenged with what she had done to inazuma in the past year. maybe meeting NPC #2345259 who lost her sister to the vision decree or something, reminding ei of the love she held for her sister... being forced to come to terms with the extent of what she's done in pursuit of eternity.
anyway. please for the love of god mihoyo hire better writers for the main story. that is all i ask. thank you.
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𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾 (𝓹𝓽. 2)
character(s): katsuki bakugou x gn!reader
a/n: ok so i just started writing on tumblr and honestly in my opinion for my first time posting smth on this the first part did really well thank u for all the likes :) (told from second pov; e.g you, your) reblogs are greatly appreciated :))
summary: bakugou x gn!reader. they have feelings for one another but have no idea how to express them, however y/n has someone pining for their attention.
genre: a lil bit angsty
warnings: cursing, jealousy, mutual pining, slow burn romance, aged-up to third year, love triangle (square?), physical injuries, kirishima gets a little toxic, also shirtless bakugou (awooga), a crap ton of time skips bc i can’t write action scenes for shit, bakugou is a flirt (lowkey but yeah), mentions of blood
word count: 2112
pt 1 , pt 3
- - -
kirishima had broken the skin on his lower lip with how hard he was biting it. he stood in the bathroom, rinsing his mouth, ignoring the slight sting the water brought.
y/n was currently being blasted by bakugou, and they were fighting back.
jealousy panged in his chest.
bakugou had never let him know about how he felt about you, however kirishima was sure he felt something for them. you and bakugou were both a jumble of prideful and longing stares towards each other from across every room. the tension was thick enough to slice through. and while kirishima would never make a move in fear of ruining the friendship between him and bakugou, as well as him and y/n, gosh it didn’t stop him from wanting to.
he’d stood on the side, cheering you on to no end. the sports festival last year, the year before that, training exercises, he was always there. kirishima was always there.
whenever you needed him, whenever you wanted his company. so what did bakugou have over him? sure, the blond was strong and had bigger goals than kirishima, but why should that matter?
what did bakugou have? why would you want him more when he was never near you? never made an effort to see you to be there when you asked for help.
it was popular belief that bakugou was a noisy idiot, but he was actually quite a quiet boy. he didn’t bother to raise his hand in class, however he always knew the answer. he spoke rarely and only made conversation with those he was close with if they were the ones to make the effort to converse with him first.
jealousy, jealousy, jealousy. kirishima despised it.
whenever did he begin wanting to beat bakugou at something?
the cloud of guilt welling up in his chest was going to become unbearable, and soon everything he ever wanted to say was going to come up like word vomit at the worst possible time.
-
you swiped at your cheek, brushing off the crumbling dirt. your timing had been off, and their flip backwards had landed you in an awkward position. a vulnerable one.
honestly, though, it wasn’t like it really mattered. bakugou was a bit transparent himself. he wore a smug look like a golden medal, and held back his power just enough to keep you on your feet.
his cocky attitude was irritating and it drew you in like a moth drawn to a lamp.
sweat was beading down your temple. the day was exceptionally hot, the sun beaming down on your back like a proud child.
you and bakugou had been at it for a while. with anyone else, you would have quit by now. it’s not that you gave up easily. no, not ever. but fights could get boring, especially if you were just smashing away at them with your quirk and they were acting like they could take it.
perhaps you were being cocky.
this fight, though. this was interesting. not only because it was bakugou; also because you knew so little about him.
it was likely he never shared anything important to anyone. he was quite introverted.
it was interesting for another reason.
it was hot, bakugou sweats a lot. gosh, he looked delicious without a shirt on. he had a built figure accompanied by strong arms and a broad chest.
he’d filled out quite nicely the past few years. you hadn’t noticed until now how much he’d grown.
“don’t get distracted.”
your eyes snapped up from his chest to his eyes. bakugou became a blur, shooting himself off the ground and flipping once in the air before propelling himself back down.
before you could do anything, bakugou had you pinned, one leg pinning yours, both his hands wrapped around your wrists. he’d ditched his gauntlets, leaving the metal assistants in the sweltering heat, claiming he wanted to give you an equal fight.
he panted atop you, hands tightening.
tokage didn’t bother to leave her dorm today, thank goodness. it had just been the three of you. you, bakugou, and kirishima.
the red head had suspiciously vanished halfway through the fight, though.
bakugou’s crimson eyes bored into yours. neither of you blinked for a moment. perhaps just a small eternity each of you silently reveled in.
his erratic breaths slowed, and so did yours, although you stayed the same. unmoving, faces neutral but eyes giving away long-held secrets.
your ears flushed, and butterflies came rising up uncontrollably. you should have pushed him off. instead you gave him a wicked grin, which earned a look from him and you couldn’t tell if he was confused or annoyed.
“your big ass forehead is blocking the bright-as-hell sun. stay like this,” you mocked, wrenching your wrists from his grasp and snaking your arms around his neck.
his cheeks burned red. “w-what?”
“you heard me.”
he scoffed, tugging you off his neck and standing. “shut up, shitface. we aren’t even done yet.” he readied himself in a fighting stance once more.
“i thought you said you wanted to stop when you won?” you brushed yourself off as you stood.
“i know what i said. you probably weren’t even giving it your all.”
“’course i was.” you cocked your head. “why wouldn’t i?”
“you’re strong, damn idiot.”
you feigned surprise, pressed a hand to your fluttering chest. “the bakugou, dynamight himself, complimenting a humble soul like me? oh, i really must be good, then.”
“not as good as me.” his face dropped from a smile. bakugou never got enough training no matter how early or late he stayed up, or how many hours on the weekends were spent kicking a bag or sparring with friends. hard workers did all of the work there was a still wondered if they were doing enough. the number one spot wasn’t empty, but it was still reserved for dynamight.
-
y/n had collapsed on their bed. kirishima was itching to tell them how he felt, however he was stuck at the doorway.
they weren’t even dressed for bed, nor were they showered.
he settled with leaving his friend alone, and shut the door softly to find bakugou standing right behind him.
kirishima jumped back, closing his eyes in relief. “bakugou. what the heck man?”
“you’re creepy as shit.”
“i- what? you were the one staring at me while i-”
“while you peeped in on y/n?”
“i wasn’t peeping. i walked them back after the fight and they just collapsed. you were off doing something else and you worked them too hard.”
it wasn’t a shock that bakugou was still riled up from the duel. this boy had the energy of a mad man.
when bakugou didn’t say anything, kirishima said once again, “you overworked them.”
bakugou swat away the comment. “only because they’re not working hard enough.”
kirishima raised an eyebrow. “they work hard. they’re perfectly fine.”
“fine?”
“they’re amazing.”
“i know that, shitty hair. you think i’m blind?”
“everyone can make improvements at their own pace.” kirishima’s voice dropped.
“you train with me.”
“it’s an hour before curfew.”
bakugou jut a thumb in the direction of the door. “so? maybe you need some more practice, too,” he joked.
“you’re an ass, bakugou,” kirishima released a breathy chuckle.
the two wandered off to one of the training grounds. it was open, a wide court where they’d both kicked someone else’s ass.
the sun was just setting, a new cool breeze coming to fill the spot of the violent sun rays.
it was routine to fight each other out of nowhere. kirishima was usually quite playful, spewing jokes once in a while and taunting his friend.
this fight was different. his face was stone-cold. kirishima often took the defensive role, as his quirk didn’t allow him to project any direct attacks to bakugou.
it wasn’t like kirishima was angry at bakugou, but as soon as they started charging towards one another, he couldn’t hold back. his chest tightened, arms hardening and joints becoming strong and stiff.
with one clean sweep of his arm, bakugou was backing away from kirishima, propelling himself to the edge of the arena with a small blast. he’d always been up for a challenge. kirishima was willing to give him one.
his sudden competitive demeanor seemed to be egging on bakugou’s. the blond tongued the inside of his cheek, grunting as he shot forth, hair flying wildly.
swiftly, kirishima dodged, just barely missing a blast. his torso wasn’t hardened, so if he’d dodged any later, his stomach would have been scorched.
bakugou always took their fights seriously. he knew better than to underestimate the boy who had put together his very own rescue mission.
kirishima’s opponent stumbled from the momentum. he took his chance and brought a hardened elbow down on bakugou’s back, hearing a satisfying crack.
bakugou was crushed to the ground with the hit. his face smashed into the sandy ground. he coughed, turning over and spitting dirt to the side.
it took a moment for him to register what he did, but kirishima was at bakugou’s side within seconds. the sun was nearly gone, a pale blue sky flickering with the first sights of stars.
it was hard to make it out at first, but not impossible. kirishima saw the blood dripping and smeared just above bakugou’s lip. he groaned, cupping his face in both hands as he sat upright.
“argh” bakugou gasped. “shit, kirishima. what the hell?”
“i...i’m sorry dude, i didn’t mean to.” i wanted to, but i didn’t mean to.
bakugou raised an eyebrow and let a smile seep through his pain. “you’re improving, though.”
“are you alright?” kirishima traced the small cut on his lip from earlier with the tip of his tongue.
“i’m fine, i’m fine.” bakugou swatted his hand away. he struggled to get up, refusing kirishima’s help.
“we should head back before this gets any worse.”
bakugou kept his large hands hovering under his chin to catch the dripping and occasional chunks of blood.
although he wanted the duel to continue (it was finally interesting) bakugou wasn’t stubborn enough to keep going. so he nodded, once again denying kirishima’s efforts to help him out.
-
you were in the common area, fiddling with a rubik’s cube. it was just you, as everyone else was spending the night among each other. ashido had invited you to her dorm a while ago, but you’d denied, wanting to spend a few more giddy moments to yourself.
the door rattled, and in came your two friends, one with furrowed brows and the other with blood drenching the front of his shirt.
bakugou’s head was tilted up in an attempt to stop the blood from flowing down. his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the blood trailing down the back of his throat.
“oh my gosh,” you gasped out, racing to the bathroom. you came back with sanitary wipes in one hand and tissue in the other. “what happened?”
“we were training,” kirishima started, taking a few tissues from the box and handing them to his friend, “and i accidentally hit him too hard.”
“you didn’t hit me that hard. you barely did any damage!” bakugou objected. you approached him, and through his fingers, bakugou peered down at you.
you asked him with your eyes, and he gave you silent permission to pry his arms away from his face. “are you okay?”
“i’m just dandy,” he scoffed.
“dude, i’m really sorry—”
“shut the hell up kirishima. i don’t want your pity. i swear this is the only time i’ll surrender to you, you asswipe.”
you didn’t laugh, not even a chuckle. “bakugou, you need to see recovery girl.”
“what the hell? no way. all she’s gonna do is give me one of those shitty slobbery kisses and scold me for being careless.”
“your nose is broken,” you said gently.
“so? can’t you fix it?”
you raised a questioning brow. “you want me to help you?”
“can you or can you not?”
“i can try to set it but you’re better off going to recovery girl instead of settling with―”
“all i need is possible. i don’t want to deal with that old lady’s shit right now.” using the tissues kirishima had stuffed into his hand, he caught the remaining blood dripping down his nose. “let’s go.”
you were more than unsure. he would end up with a crooked nose if you made any small mistake, but he didn’t think twice as he grabbed your shoulder and led you in the direction of your dorm.
-
kirishima wished he hadn’t broken bakugou’s nose. not because he felt bad, though.
#bakugou#mha#xreader#yn#my hero academia#bnha#boku no hero bakugou#boku no hero academia#kirishima#eijirou kirishima#mina ashido#denki kaminari#kaminari#bakugou katsuki#anime#shounen#fanfiction#fanfic#izuku midoriya#deku#izuku#midoriya#hanta sero#bakugo#bakugou angst#bakugou fluff#you'renotmyboyfriendpt2#bakugoufluff#bakugouangst
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Okay okay so hear me out:
Jaskier has been acting odd lately, though the bard was either too shy or too stubborn to acknowledge it. At the very least, he was stubborn fool for thinking Geralt, of all people, wouldn’t take notice. Jaskier had suddenly become adamant about more generous rations for his Witcher, started to insist on larger dinners at taverns, and was always quick to suggest another round of food and drink— only to insist that Geralt finish it. The witcher pretended not to notice the way Jaskier watched intently while he ate and hid his wry amusement when the bard hurriedly looked away upon being caught. Geralt had so far played along with these antics in feigned ignorance, admittedly feeling a small thrill as his body started to bulk and strain against his armor. And now that he was paying closer attention, he found himself fond of just how delicate his bard looked by comparison. Armed with his suspicions of what Jaskier is up to, Geralt decides to satisfy his curiosity by embracing the bard’s antics and seeing just how much he can him squirm.
I was thinking some stuffing and size kink ~ with increasingly daring taunts thrown from both sides of the table bc let’s be real neither of the boys would give in easily.
THANK YOU i definitely had fun with this prompt
[ masterpost - ao3 ]
"Are you ill?" Geralt asked the question hunched over the plate of eggs and bacon he was enjoying for his breakfast.
More accurately, Jaskier's breakfast. Geralt had already finished his own serving, but then Jaskier had deftly stacked his own half-full plate on top of Geralt's empty one. To be fair, as it turned out, that particular tavern did tend to dish out surprisingly hearty portions, and Geralt had to remind himself that Jaskier was not a witcher, and therefore did not have the appetite of one. It was not the only occasion on which Jaskier had passed off a good fraction of his food to Geralt, however.
In fact, it seemed to be happening more and more frequently lately. He would demand seconds, larger portions, extra bread or more ale, only to immediately claim that he was full and offer it up to Geralt. After a tough life of fighting for survival, Geralt was a rather opportunistic eater, and so he always took advantage of Jaskier's leftovers. It was … strange, but Geralt could not say he exactly minded it. He did like going to bed warm and satiated rather than starving, tossing and turning and kept awake by his growling stomach. The only thing that really puzzled Geralt was the staring. Jaskier would look at him like Geralt was the most fascinating thing on the Continent whenever they sat down together to eat, but as Geralt had recently discovered, Jaskier would always quickly look away the moment Geralt met his eye.
Jaskier gaped and sputtered for a moment, eyes wide and hand settled over his chest as though Geralt had just viciously insulted him.
"Ill? Geralt, you wound me. I will have you know that I'm positively glowing with good health," Jaskier huffed.
Geralt grunted. Eyes narrowed, he examined Jaskier for just a brief moment longer, then bowed his head again to continue eating. Out of the edge of his vision, he could see Jaskier watching him.
Geralt had been willing to ignore the odd behavior up until his trousers started feeling tight. He still was not quite upset. It was not an overly drastic change, just a slight layer of padding over top of his muscles, making him look more like he did after he had been settled for a while over the winters he spent at Kaer Morhen, but there was a definite difference. Jaskier seemed to be noticing, too. Though he had not said anything about it, he still stared, and whenever he and Geralt fell into bed together, the bard's hands smoothed all over him, wordlessly worshiping Geralt's fuller frame.
Geralt enjoyed it, too. He had always been broader than Jaskier, but putting on a bit of weight had only highlighted that contrast. The day before, Geralt had caught a glimpse of his reflection looming behind Jaskier's in the mirror as the bard stood there checking over his own outfit for the evening's performance, and he had looked almost … delicate in comparison to Geralt. The sight had ignited something deep and primal and exciting in his core, and he wanted to chase that thrill.
No, he was far from upset. He was curious, though. While he had pieced together what was happening, there was still one more question: Was Jaskier doing it on purpose? Geralt supposed he could simply ask, but the thought of setting himself up for vulnerability like that was horrific. He had to find some other way to weasel out the truth. He had to beat Jaskier at his own game.
"Do I look different to you?" Geralt dared to ask that evening while they waited for the barmaid to come back with their dinner order. Jaskier looked anxious for just a brief second, but then he relaxed again and hummed inquisitively as he scanned Geralt's face.
"Is that a new doublet? Oh! Have you trimmed your beard?" Jaskier said.
Geralt hummed. By trade, Jaskier was a performer, but Geralt knew him well enough to be able to tell when he was lying -- or 'acting,' as Jaskier often corrected him. Two could play that game. Feigning ignorance, Geralt nodded and falsely agreed that he had gone to a barber, and he watched Jaskier decompress with relief. When the barmaid returned and set a full plate down in front of each of them, Geralt cleared his throat to get her attention.
"I want another," he said, pointing to his own plate.
"Ah … Another leg of chicken?" The barmaid looked a bit confused, like she was hesitant to believe that Geralt had been referring to the entire meal.
"No. Another plate," Geralt insisted. A brief pause, and he tacked on, "Please."
The barmaid blinked, but she chose not to argue. Rather, she nodded and scurried back to the kitchen. When Geralt looked back towards Jaskier, the bard was staring. Again.
"... Hungry, are you?" Jaskier questioned.
"Very."
Geralt held Jaskier's gaze for a moment longer and watched as just a hint of color began creeping over the bard's cheeks. Without another word, Geralt began to eat. He tore into the half chicken and the hearty portion of roast vegetables he had in front of him, and each time he glanced up, he found Jaskier trying and ultimately failing to be subtle about the fact that he was watching Geralt like a hawk. Geralt thought that he would have wanted to shy away before he managed to get his questions answered, but that was not the case. In reality, he actually liked the attention, those enraptured eyes fixed on him making him feel alight with a strange mixture of pleasure and shame. The barmaid came back with the rest of the food Geralt had requested, and she set it down quickly almost as though afraid of getting bitten if she ventured too close. Geralt grunted his thanks around a full mouth. Jaskier had been uncharacteristically silent the entire time, all the way up until Geralt finally broke for air and a drink of ale.
“Are you … sure you’re going to be able to finish all of that?” Jaskier sounded both tentative and almost laughably eager.
“Yes,” Geralt answered.
He met Jaskier’s eye again, his gaze dark and smoldering. The bard’s throat bobbed enticingly when he swallowed, and Geralt only barely held back a smirk. Whether or not Jaskier had been feeding Geralt up on purpose, it was obvious that he enjoyed the show, and it was always fun for Geralt to try and get him flustered.
“Ah, yes, well … I suppose you have had quite a healthy appetite lately,” Jaskier said. He spoke hesitantly, testing his luck. Geralt pushed right back.
“Someone has to eat all your leftovers.”
“Mm, yes. You are rather good for that.”
Geralt made it about halfway through his second plate before Jaskier was getting restless again. The bard still had some food remaining on his own plate, and judging from the way he kept glancing between it and Geralt and tapping his fingers anxiously against the table, he was hoping to see the witcher finish it off for him.
“Going to eat that?” Geralt spoke around a mouthful of chicken.
He had inched past satisfied a few bites ago, but he could keep going comfortably enough, and he so desperately wanted to see how Jaskier was going to react to his more deliberate goading. Geralt watched while Jaskier blushed and tried his best to act as though he had not been hoping to hear that exact question. It had been painfully obvious. Their many years together had given Geralt the ability to be able to read Jaskier like an open book. Sometimes, it was useful, likely saving Jaskier from some fights when Geralt was able to pick up on the body language that meant foolish determination or rising anger, but other times, like in that moment, it was simply amusing.
“Come now, love, you can’t possibly still be hungry,” Jaskier teased. Somewhat unexpectedly, it sent a jolt down Geralt’s spine. The witcher made a noise somewhat like a little growl, and his pupils widened. Jaskier did a much poorer job of veiling his own smirk. Perfect. Geralt was baiting him, and he was falling for it so easily. “I know you’ve been eating a great deal lately, but honestly … you’re getting greedy.”
Geralt’s heart fluttered nearly as quickly as a human’s as Jaskier scraped the rest of his food onto Geralt’s plate. By then, Jaskier seemed to have accepted that it was useless to hide his interest. He sat with his elbows braced against the table and his jaw cradled in his palms, alluring blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on Geralt. Near the end of his meal, Geralt was at last starting to struggle, the fact that his armor clung to him a bit more than he would have preferred only keeping it pinned in the forefront of his mind just how full he was. Jaskier’s reddened cheeks had only grown more vivid, the color even dusting the tips of his ears. Geralt rarely saw the bard so silent, so unwaveringly focused, usually only when he was in the middle of a fit of intense writing inspiration, and while Geralt felt scrutinized, he was actually enjoying it. Feeling bold, he grunted around his last mouthful and then reclined back in his chair, hoping to give Jaskier a glimpse of his distended belly where it strained against his clothes. Judging from the look on the bard’s face, it had worked.
“Are you finally satisfied, then?” Jaskier asked, and something about his tone of voice had something hot and exciting churning in the pit of Geralt’s stomach. He sounded almost condescending, but in the most deliciously arousing way possible.
“Mhm.” It was little more than a grunt.
Jaskier evidently had very little regard for how sluggish Geralt was looking. Lithe fingers curled around Geralt’s wrist and tugged insistently, and although Geralt easily could have kept himself planted in place if he had truly wanted to, he allowed Jaskier to haul him up onto his feet and lead him upstairs. Such a short trip normally would never have affected him, but with a full stomach weighing him down, Geralt found himself panting softly by the time he and Jaskier had reached their room. Distracted by the unfamiliar feeling of his trousers digging into his skin so tightly that it was almost painful, Geralt had little time to react before he was suddenly backed up against the closed door and drawn into a heated kiss.
“Jask --” Geralt breathed, cut off abruptly by yet another kiss.
Clearly, he had guessed right. Jaskier did enjoy that display, even more than Geralt had been anticipating. Soon, Geralt gave up on speaking, and he yielded to the kiss, lips parting for a teasing swipe of Jaskier’s tongue through his mouth. There was a pleasant warmth against Geralt’s middle that he soon recognized as Jaskier’s hands, kneading gently through stiff leather.
“Look at you,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt bit back a dry remark about how it was difficult to do that with the bard plastered up against him. “You’re getting so big.”
A thrill ran through Geralt at that. He curled his hands around Jaskier’s slender hips and squeezed, drawing him in closer, and Jaskier gasped against his lips. In truth, Geralt did not look too terribly different than he usually did, but there had been a little tone of hopefulness in Jaskier’s voice, a subtle but unmistakable hint that he wanted more. The next few seconds seemed to blur together, but somehow, Geralt had ended up spread out on the bed, staring up into Jaskier’s darkened eyes where he had perched himself on Geralt’s hips. Jaskier’s usually agile fingers trembled with anticipation as he worked Geralt out of his armor, putting him on blatant display. Where he had once been all sharp angles and overly defined muscles, he had accumulated a small layer of padding, and most noticeable of all at the moment was the rounded curve of his belly, warm and full and demanding Jaskier’s complete attention. His hands smoothed over it, rubbing and exploring, interspersed with little appreciative pats and scratches.
“Knew you were doing it on purpose,” Geralt said. Much to his amusement, Jaskier actually looked shocked. “Weren’t very subtle about it.”
“Yes, well --” Jaskier paused, seeming to be struggling to decide on what to say. Eventually, he just huffed, then decided to deflect and taunted, “Are you sure you aren’t just a glutton?”
Geralt smirked. Without any warning, he rolled over, pinning Jaskier beneath him. He heard Jaskier’s pulse flutter. A heated fantasy sped through Geralt’s mind, thoughts of how easily he could subdue Jaskier, how much stronger and bigger Geralt was, how much deep trust it took for Jaskier to lay himself out so vulnerable for a witcher, a predator. Jaskier’s arms snaked around him, and his hands splayed out over Geralt’s shoulder blades. Geralt laid heavier against him and growled in his ear just to feel Jaskier squirm. Jaskier would be unable to get away even if he wanted to with Geralt’s full weight holding him down. Oddly, that was a deeply pleasurable thought, and Geralt had very quickly decided that he would take no issue with it if Jaskier wanted to keep feeding him, making him broader and heavier still, only further exaggerating that contrast between the two of them. If the way Geralt could feel Jaskier’s hardening cock digging into his thigh was any indication, they were in agreement on that.
“Going to get me something good for breakfast tomorrow?” Geralt purred into Jaskier’s ear.
Jaskier groaned, hooked his legs around Geralt’s waist to grind their hips together, and moved one hand to tangle into the witcher’s hair. His opposite hand snuck downwards, and he pinched at the slight, growing plushness at Geralt’s hip.
“Certainly. You’re just wasting away.”
Geralt’s mouth was far too busy then for any proper response.
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Ink’s 2021 Fics
Another year, another fic round-up post! A tradition I started last year (it’s my blog, I can call it a tradition if I want) where I post all the fic I wrote in the past year to be my new pinned post for any newbie followers in the coming year. Welcome!
According to my AO3 stats, I posted a literally insane 217,213 words of fic this year. That’s a 131% increase from last year! It was spread over 23 individual works. This post lists out everything I wrote, with descriptions that are somewhere between synopsis, liner notes, and sometimes an excerpt. Wordcount and relationships (romantic or platonic, healthy or not) are listed, but check the AO3 tags, warnings, and notes, as I won’t be including the content warnings here.
Unlike last year, where I had a solitary non-TMA fic, all of my fic this year was for The Magnus Archives. I have plans to change that in 2022, I’ve got something already waiting in drafts to be finished! 😂 I chipped away at some ongoing projects and started a bunch more, as well as writing a bunch of prompt fics and oneshots. Fic is divided into complete fic and WIPs (though my one ongoing series is listed as a WIP, but contains 3 complete fics as of today), and each category is listed in chronological order based on most recent update. Completed fics are listed first so that the very oldest stuff gets a chance at a new audience, since many of y’all joined me in the latter half of 2021. So without further ado!
Complete
Apotheosis- 2.8k, Jon/Martin, Jon/Elias; One of many fics about Elias being much more himself in the Panopticon, and using it to be nasty to Jon, usually to the tune of nastyman romance. The Panopticon is a McMansion and Jon gets overlappy visions of himself through Elias’ eyes, Elias is Big Gay
He is sitting in the center of a prison, inmates Watched a nd writhing a ll around him as Beholding presses heavy upon them all, and it’s glorious. He Knows exactly what he is meant for as it all crests to a peak and- His younger self is stumbling through his first recordings as Head Archivist, and he feels an echo of that triumph, certain this time his plan will not be torn asunder at the last moment.
Ethical Consumption- 1.4k, Jon/Martin; Martin gets defensive of Jon Trying, and they have a lil philosophical discussion, ft. Jon as obligate carnivore
Infinite- 2k, pre-Jon/Martin, Martin & Jude; In which the Vast Avatar Jude Perry sends Jon to is Martin, not Mike. I had a lot of fun writing Martin’s monstery origin, and I do kind of want to return to this someday, to get into the two aspects of Martin crushing on Jon here, first being their relationship, and second being the relationship where Martin and Jude are snarky pals and she sends Jon there largely bc she knows he’s exactly Marto’s type
It’s A Date- 700, Jon/Peter; Peter runs into researcher!Jon, gets a crush, dresses like Popeye The Sailor Man, more at 10
Interesting- 1.4k, Jon/Martin, Jon/Elias; Panopticon Jonelias fic where Martin lives, which is huge for him. Also one where I have designs on maybe continuing it and showing what exactly Elias has in mind for Jon.
Retrospective- 300, Jon/Martin; This is underappreciated because it’s short, but I demand recognition for my galaxy brain idea “What if the Eyepocalypse was reversed in a chill way (this was written pre-finale) but no one really knew what caused it? What if the History Channel’s Ancient Aliens had to grapple with that?”
“Jonah Magnus… was an alien …” Jon gasped through laughter, burying his face in Martin’s chest.
Small Talk- 900, Jon & being disliked by his coworkers; Season 3, Jon accidentally Compels Daisy and regrets it instantly. Love a flashback to them in the woods, love Jon holding back tears, love some monster angst. Archetypal Ink fic, tbh
Burning- 1k, Jon/Martin; A different “Jon has a flashback” fic, this time in the Scottish Safehouse and about Jude! But he and Martin have breakfast for dinner by the end :)
Mine- 2k, Jon/Beholding; In which I begin my meditations on the theme “the Eye just thinks Jon’s Really Neat” and use it to make Jon monstery. With some side dunks on Jonah
Its Archivist draws interest, running about collecting Marks and more and more afraid each day. Beholding does not intend to share.
we were so tiny, happy and shiny- 1.3k, Jon & Agnes; Some of my best fic happens when I get like One line from a song stuck in my head and have to exorcise it through fic; it was the genesis for last year’s Flesh!Martin fic, and it was the genesis for this. I got “Beautiful” from the Heathers musical stuck in my head and attached it to baby Avatars Jon and Agnes. Now they’re friends :) May eventually get a followup adding Gerry for a Very chaotic trio
Beloved- 7k, Jon/Beholding, Jon/Martin, Jon/Jonah; The gilded cage Beholding-loves-Jon Panopticon fic that got away from me but I ended up quite proud of. Sweater by @suttttton is essential supplemental reading, showing Jon’s POV of Jonah’s chapter and some prime Separated Lovers Jonmartin angst 🥰
His clothes then had been plain and worn and his hair scraggly , but he looked more at home in them than he does with a gossamer scarf wrapped around his head and his hair streaming out in perfect, buoyant curls. Martin always finds Jon beautiful, but that was real, the man he loved doing his best. He could have just as easily called him handsome, or charming. Beautiful is the only word for Jon as he is now; beautiful like bone china, like a doll kept on a shelf far from the reach of children. Fragile and jealously guarded
Alive- 600, Basira/Melanie; I remain a stalwart of this shipping scenario. Unlike my previous S4 Basira/Melanie fics, this, in the immediate aftermath of the Flesh attack on the Institute, is less angsty and more the girls having a fun time bantering and goofing off together.
Quarantine- 900, Jon & Tim; Jon and Tium, unknowingly in the last gasps of their friendship. A brief moment where Jon is hurt and scared and Tim is his greatest reassurance, and they take care of each other.
Without You- 600, Jon/Martin; Actually bookends canon quite nicely, with immediately pre-canon and probably the only post-canon Somewhere Else scene that’s just somft I’ll ever write. Also a proposal!
Tied in Knots- 3k, Jon/Jonah, Agnes/Gertrude, Agnes & Jon; Is this AU the Regency? Regular arranged marriage? Game of Thrones? Fairy tale? I still haven’t decided, tbqh. It does feature Agnes finding out she’s Big Gay for Gertrude, though. Another candidate for eventual expansion.
Pretty Bird- 2.8k, Jon/Beholding, Jon/Martin; the Ink fic Deep Lore- to make sense of this you need to read Sutton’s It’s Like a Bird (Eyes in the Dark), which is a roommates/happy future AU for which you need to know my cult au, linked below. But if you can get past or ignore the barrier for entry it’s 2000-odd words of Jonah getting Jon all dolled up.
WIPs
Till Things Are Brighter- 27k, Daisy/Basira, Jon/Martin, Naomi/Evan; Thee Daisy time travel fic. Currently hoping to recover from the complicated planning and non-standard (to me) word processor it lives in for a return in early 2022. Has lots to offer in the meantime, such as: Daisy thinking Annabelle knows she’s from the future and is threatening Basira; Annabelle actually being invested in Daisy/Basira as her own personal soap opera; Gerry!!! Soon to offer: Daisy&Gerry&Evan&Naomi, the friendgroup only I stan; the new timeline finding new ways to whump Jon at every turn; Martin giving more bemused outsider POV. My biggest regret is that when I started planning TTAB, I was thinking of “Hurt” by Johnny Cash as the ultimate Jon song (it is) and a bit less JonDaisy friendship song. And I wanted to use a lyric from that for the title, but couldn’t find a satisfactory one, so the title is from “Man in Black.” I’m a dummy who found a perfectly good time travel fic title in “Hurt” eventually though! So really this and Beneath the Stains of Time should trade titles, the inverse is much more thematically apt for both.
Magnus Drabbles- 21k, various; In theory, a 100 word drabble for every episode. In practice, I skip one or two, write a couple for others, and include the Q&As and other supplemental episodes, so even though it’s over 200 chapters it’s not done quite yet. There are chapters for a lot of minor characters only I like, including Zhang Xiaoling, Major Tom the cat, miscellaneous minor Statement givers like the Oregon Trail Statement writer Mrs. Carlisle, and a couple of the people featured in the S5 Statements.
The Archivist and the Adventurer- 3 works, 7k, Jon/Martin, Jon/Elias; This is all plotted out, I’m just slow at writing it. In which Jon is captured by the Wild Hunt, only able to be freed by True Love’s Kiss. Annabelle has a larger role than I would’ve thought when I first planned it. Martin finally gets to show up in the 75% complete next installment! Also has a spin-off by @marten-blackwood in which Martin is fae instead of a human adventurer, Binding Love.
He had a little room off the Archives designated for his use, filled with basic amenities so that Elias would never have to amend his order to remain within the Archives at all times ( because Archivists belonged in Archives, not creeping about causing trouble and trying to find a way to trick their way to freedom). The wardrobe there contained clothing of all types, but every garment was made out of a gauzy material that practically floated wherever it was left loose and only preserved his modesty by virtue of being used in aggregate layers; it did nothing to keep out the chill, of Archive air or strange hands.
Beneath the Stains of Time- 34k, Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin; teen Jon AU! Not so much time travel fix-it as Daisy making an entirely new and interesting mess. But she does eventually get Jon to like her. His staying with her in the modern day portions is more voluntary than it looks thus far, and I’m very excited to get into the why
Little Archive- 33k, Jon & Beholding, Jon & Elias, Jon & Gerry; baby Jon au! Eventually I will have an AU beginning with every year of Jon’s life. Neither of us can prove it won’t happen. Less planned than the previous AUs, we’re vibing our way through. Click through for eldritch entity validation of neurodivergence.
sitting pretty on the throne, nothing more i want (except to be alone)- 63k, Jon/Beholding, Jon & Gerry, Jon & Danny; Statistically speaking, if you found me through my fic this year it was probably with sitting pretty. The Institute (and the strongholds of the Eye generally- I have glimpses of that coming up that I’m very excited about!!! Although if you have an idea for a name for an Eye stronghold beyond the canon ones, particularly one located in Santiago, Chile, Athens, Greece, or Dakar, Senegal, hit up my inbox, esp before about Jan 2, and I’ll credit you in the end notes and chapter post here) is a lot more cult-y the way that the Desolation and Dark are in canon. And the Eye falls in love at first Sight with Jon. So obviously they need to take him home like a precious treasure ^_^ why wouldn’t Jon enjoy that? And I get to give some spotlight to underappreciated characters like Danny and Lesere Saraki.
"Jon, this is childish." Jonah's voice is still sickeningly condescending, and he's still inching closer. Jon scoots back, practically sitting in Gerry's lap. Gerry is as unmoving as a statue, and Jon can picture his eyes darting back and forth between them, trying to gauge from their conversation just what Mary did. Jon shrugs. "I suppose you'd know." Jon stayed up for three days straight, in the immediate aftermath of Mr. Spider. Unless he's willing to revert to using force, Jonah cannot willingly take him from this bed.
If you made it all the way to the end, you’re incredible. If you read any of my fic in 2021, you’re incredible! Thank you so much for all your support, and I’m excited for what 2022 will bring (though hopefully more of it will be academic rather than fannish, since I do need to graduate...) Y’all have been one of the biggest brightspot in a year with a lot of difficulties with my physical and mental health, and I appreciate it more than I can say 💗
#writing#tma#the magnus archives#tma fic#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#gerry keay#daisy tonner#tma beholding#elias bouchard#agnes montague#gertrude/agnes#jmart#jonmartin#daisira#jonelias#beholding/jonathan sims#jonpeter#fae au#cult au#daisy kidnapping jon agenda#teen jon au#little archive#ttab#time travel fix it#time travel#basira/melanie#ink post#ink writing#ink fic
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don’t be shy,
post sum of those drafts
pairing: peter parker x avenger!reader
a/n: you asked and you shall receive. here are very random scraps that i pieced together and somehow it worked lol enjoy x
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
the avengers on long bus rides
long bus rides are the only times where the world is balanced and at peace (forced smile from steve)
it’s also the only times when everyone will chime in on those sea shanties that steve loves so much, so that’s a plus
the team knows that their captain is a sea shanty WHORE so they always go all out for him and do harmonies and quite impressive choreos
once they’ve run out of sea shanties, they switch to musicals and it’s kind of like football jocks meet theatre kids
everyone has their troy bolten moment at some point, but it’s loki who really shines
he gets really passionate and ends up singing all parts and no one can blame him because mans got the voice of an angel and he knows it
nat is super supportive and cheers him on while recording everything. no one questions why she has a folder on her phone that is called “blackmail material”
tony likes to show his support by throwing money at loki
the others reenact that scene from harry potter where harry tries to catch hogwarts letters falling from the ceiling although there are loads of them perfectly lying on the floor
they fight tooth and nail to catch the money with a ferocity that puts the gods in shame
peter shoots his webs to pin the dollar bills to the wall like he suddenly got a lifelong supply of them and clint acts like his arrows are made of harmless rubber
rhodey joins in, puts on his suit, and almost blasts happy ✨to death✨while trying to catch a one-dollar bill
happy swerve the bus off a cliff and someone screams
(it was loki)
wanda has to save them and proceeds to bench them all for an hour
bucky, friend to no vehicles, is grumpy the entire time but y/n has made it her temporary calling to cheer him up
“i don’t like vehicles and this is why” *y/n whips out a duffel bag and slaps it* “yea, well, but what are your thoughts on sudokus”
bucky curls up in the back like the senior citizen that he is, sandwiched between y/n and bruce with a lifelong supply of sudokus scattered around him
they quietly help each other out and it’s very wholesome
tony and peter can fall asleep anywhere on the bus with their necks and limbs turned at all kinds of unnatural angles and sam winces before tearing his eyes from them
he makes a mental note to buy them neck pillows
nat suggests playing ‘i spy’ because it seems less lethal than the yellow car game but clint, sam, and thor get way too enthusiastic about it
they have their faces pressed against the window, eyes wide and unblinking, unaware that they’re frightening half of the people sitting in the passing cars
at some point, they lose all sense and just randomly name everything
“i spy with my little eye something that is red” “that car” “no” “that car” “no” “clint’s sweater” “it’s not—” “bucky’s pen, the flowERS, MY SHOES, THE SKY”
rhodey and nat are surprisingly good at that game and their calm demeanour drives the others insane
“fine. i spy with my stupid little eye something that is amber—” “bottom left button on the inside of loki’s overcoat, try again”
wanda and vision are in charge of lunch and handing out lunch boxes to everyone is a delight to them and a very. scary experience for the rest of the team
“here you go, buck. a turkey sandwich with cut off crust and extra tomatoes” “oh you didn’t have to cut off—” “😠but you like it. don’t you😠” “...yes”
peter and y/n are sharing a seat and y/n shows him her online purchases on her phone. peter is really sweet the entire time and comments on everything with genuine interest until rhodey pipes up from behind them
“you ordered new shoes? y/n, you don’t even go outside enough to justify wearing shoes”
they shush him and proceed to share headphones to listen to peter’s current favourite songs
at some point, tony announces, “alright ladies and gentlegerms, cap is making us stop the bus so we can get out and go for a two-mile jog through the woods *unenthusiastic jazz hands* if anyone wants to fling us off a cliff again, now is the time, i repeat—”
they still end up running and it’s insufferable. it’s hot and musty and just ~unpleasant~
somehow the avengers have evolved into a chaotic Debate Team and now they’re discussing who gets to be carried by thor and bucky
at an intersection, the two of them stop to catch their breath and they’re both just staring at each other, sweaty and covered in avengers hanging off their limbs
thor, prying loki off his back: “i’m sorry but we’re gonna have to do something different here”
y/n is hopping off bucky’s back when there’s suddenly a loud, ugly sound reverberating through the forest, followed by many footsteps that seem to come closer by the second
they run
branches keep tearing at their skin as they bolt through the woods but they’re not stopping because it’s clear what is happening right now
they’re being chased by wild boars
at this point they’re just embracing death and if they survive it’s a bonus
a boar comes running towards bucky and wanda but bucky “i have been falling for 90 years and i’m sick of it” barnes stares it straight in the eye, daring it to knock them over and the boar just squirms and make a u-turn
another wild boar seems to have decided that clint is not part of the herd because it sends clint FLYING in a quite impressive and beautiful arc
steve tries to ditch clint and train the boar
clint wasn’t hurt by the fall, but he stares at steve as if he might as well have broken a rib
they’re back on the bus and happy cocks a brow when he sees that everyone is exhausted and covered in dirt. he chooses to say nothing when nat climbs in with loki half-leaning on her for support and glaring broodily at the floor
everyone just wants to sleep and forget that the avengers were almost defeated by boars but bruce and sam keep bickering in the front row
“it’s too bright in here” “it’s the sun” “the lights get too noisy” “…what” “make it stop” “what do you want me to do?? turn off the sun???”
peter and y/n are huddled in a seat again, sharing headphones to drone out the noise and the moment he hits play, y/n looks at him blankly
peter, shrugging: “what? my 7 songs still go hard”
* * *
what are your seven songs that still go hard? pls tell me bc i desperately need new music <3 stay hydrated pals
hc masterlist
#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x avenger!reader#avengers crack#avengers x reader#avengers headcanon#peter parker headcanon#peter parker fluff#avengers#peter parker#steve rogers headcanon#tony stark headcanon#bucky barnes headcanon#sam wilson headcanon#thor headcanon#loki headcanon#mcu#mcu x reader#peter parker x you#spiderman x reader#avenger!reader
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Hi again 😎💫 im here to dig at ur brain again bcs i. M. Aaa sorry i just love ur stuff but. I have this kinda rly specific storyline type hc area and I'd love to hear any hcs you might get from it if its at all jr thing. But um I keep sometimes thinking back to the idea of kinda, vaguely growing up in the same area as the Sawyers, being childhood friends (and being stupid 2gether, running arount the countryside, ditching school & playing in corn fields) -
But then having to leave in your late teens to school / whatever (I mean 😎 my sappy ass also thinks abt mutual pining w Bobby but you know...... nearly unrelated.......)
Then, later on (Bobbys now Chop Top, Nubbins is..... dead I guess but also >:( maybe not, the family is up to being a mess etc) returning to town to take a break from work or whatever. N meeting up w the family again, i mean, oblivious to the bullshit they get up to but.... yk
This is a bit rambly i should probs have waited to sleep but I can't get the thought of returning to the Sawyer door wearing Bobbys tie dye sweatshirt that hr borrowed u years ago and all the impact of being a former family member bc u were also kind of an outsider or whatever but also the drama of leaving so uwu sksjd
This got so long. All i wanted to ask is: sawyer family headcanons for a childhood friend returning to town after being away for years. Rip.
THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS god I love the image too of just standing in the doorway,, you're not home, you've changed a little bit, but you still fit into some of the old aspects you know so well they fit you and cover you.
Actually this is great because that fic that I swear exists has pretty much the same premise but!!! I can make this one less tragic than that one. 😎
(This is mostly Chop Top n you centric please don't mind)
Also this timeline is all fucky. I think that as soon as Chop came home from Vietnam the Sawyers had basically uprooted themselves and were living in North Texas because of the... Hardesty incident. But like can we pretend that that never happened they r still there in Newt? Just for this. (Hope you like it!)
Chop Top's Childhood Friend Returns
You don't think you would have turned out the way you did without the Sawyers.
They were the main element of your childhood, a mystery that you had to be a part of. A mystery, because they were closed off. Mistrustful. The sickness of small towns carried to the extreme, because they were mostly alone. The loneliness made them more miserable, the misery made them more isolated. A cycle, a legacy.
So it was a a miracle that you were even allowed to be apart of some of it, but you attribute that miracle to Bobby.
He seemed to think you were as much of mystery as what you thought the Sawyers were. Two kids looking through a small window into another world. But he liked that. He liked that you were something different, something new. From beyond that small world of loneliness that lived in the house.
You learned quickly that he had a desire for anything beyond that world. So he'd invite you out with him, when you were kids, to run free in the tall grass, when you got older, to drive with him to places unknown. He had a knack for finding these odd places, and he always brought you along with the music cranked up loud on the radio.
Bobby told you many times that he wanted to see the world. He had this lust for life that went beyond the restlessness of the young. He also said that he wanted to bring you along with him when he saw the world. You didn't ever mention how that always made your heart skip a beat when he said that.
Maybe you should have. But the past is the past and you can't change that.
You knew the other Sawyers too, but Bobby tended to avoid them sometimes. But occasionally, you got to hang out with them.
Nubbins was an enigma. You didn't think Nubbins was his real name. But that's the only one you heard from him, but the name situation was the least confusing thing. He was the most open person you knew. And yet you couldn't understand him, and decided at some point that you wouldn't ever. But he was fun. His energy was infectious, if he was filled with joy, you couldn't help but laugh with him too. That was Nubbins, so absent of any purposeful deceit that he was almost a mirror, you saw yourself around him, sometimes it was uncomfortable, but other times it was fun.
Bubba was the opposite. He seemed to be legitimately wary of you. Bobby once told you that Bubba didn't like to leave the house, ever. He stayed and did the chores. You wondered if he minded, being stuck with all the chores but Bobby said he didn't. It was comforting for him. Always having something set to do. You only saw him once. Nubbins had made him tag along when he needed him to hang some things from a tree. Bones from indeterminate animals, a clock with a nail through it. You don't think Nubbins actually needed Bubba to reach the branches (he climbed pretty well) but he just wanted his little brother to see his work. Bubba didn't make eye contact with you the entire time. He was wholly focused on his task of helping Nubbins. But he was gentle when he helped his brother, careful, and for that you liked him.
Drayton was... well. He was the one Bobby argued with the most. He was his brother, but with how much age between the two, it was almost hard to believe sometimes. Drayton was the one that everybody in Newt knew the most. People liked him well enough, but they said he was odd behind his back. He knew that. You don't think he trusted anything outside the insular world he and his family had existed in for years, and was at odds with Bobby because he didn't get why Bobby wanted anything to do with the world outside.
Oftentimes you would see Bobby after he and Drayton got into it. He'd be fuming, but he'd smile when he saw you. You'd leave with him whenever he came to you. These adventures were the most fun you had when you were there.
The other times you'd go off were when he'd convince you to skip school. Bobby never went himself. He didn't get the idea of all those kids sitting in classrooms for hours, doing nothing but writing and listening. Why do that when you can find things out for yourself? Get into some trouble? In his mind, he was saving you from a very boring thing.
You two knew the area around Newt well. The fields and the flat expanses were the best kind of playground. Your dreams were still set in them. A kind of sunshine filled melancholy.
Bobby told you things in the grass. His dreams yes, but his own thoughts. On music, on late night radio, on movies, on you. He perhaps thought of you as wonderful as voices on the radio, stars on the screen. He never told you that though. But your name was never far from his mouth when Bobby talked about the things he loved.
You and him loved each other as much as two kids who didn't know how to could. He was always on your mind now, with not much tangible objects to remember him with. A photograph taken by Nubbins, your faces blurred because you were laughing. A button, the pin on the back bent. A sweatshirt, which he tie dyed himself, and gave to you one night. The colors were faded. You never did get to return it.
The years away did nothing to lessen thoughts of him. No, they just blurred all together now, and the stream of the sunshine filled melancholy was almost endless. You needed a break. There was only one place you could think of that could help you with that.
So you came back. All things led back to this place eventually. Newt was dying, or dead. Didn't you see somewhere that when a ship went down, it took everything with it? You didn't want to stay for long. But you had to see all of them, you had to know that they were all not these strange figures you had dreamt up.
You went right to the house. You'd never actually been allowed inside, Bobby just always said something along the lines of 'Grandma and Grandpa are napping upstairs' or 'there's a mess' (never mind that he could care less usually about messes.) But you figured he had had a good reason. Maybe he was embarrassed.
When you knocked on the door, your heart was pounding. And that was all. Nothing happened, no indication that anyone was there. You waited, the sweatshirt was too hot but you didn't want to take it off.
Maybe you should come back another time. You were just about to turn around and leave when the door burst open, almost whacking you in the face. And there (you couldn't believe your eyes you couldn't this was a dream) he was.
Bobby had a hammer raised over his head, grinning, he was poised to swing it down, but then he saw you and he felt as if he was in a dream too.
It's been so long. He thought he made you up, a dream to carry him through misery, and you looked the part, even as you stood before him on the doorway. The light of the setting sun shone behind you, heat waves shimmered in the dusk, and you... you.
Facing each other, you stood, just staring. Over head the sky grew colorful, in the fields the grass whispered in the wind. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. Bobby dropped the hammer and grabbed for your face, and he held it, fingers digging in so tight it hurt.
"H-hey you." He said, and fell to his knees, releasing your face. You numbly touched the marks his fingers left. Bobby still looked like a man who had seen a ghost.
You called his name, and his eyes looked lost, like he hadn't heard it in a long time. He looked up at you, and you could really get a good look at him. His face was leaner, he looked sickly and wiry, but his eyes were just as you remembered. You sank down to the porch to sit with him.
"Fuck... FUCK I didn't... I- I thought ya'd forgotten all about me... uh.. uhm. Fuck! I mean, r-really! Turnin' up out of the blue like you're some kinda... ghost or whatever... WHOA man... like, ya here to return m-my, my sweatshirt? You're wearin' it, you can keep it! You look better in it anyway... heh, fuck." He rambled on and on, hands tensing and twitching as if they were moving to touch you again, just to reaffirm your existence. Did he know how glad you were to see him? Did he know that you hadn't felt right for the longest time being away?
You forgot all about the sweatshirt, the hammer he had raised with a sadistic grin. You reached out and held one of his twitching hands, and he stilled and stopped talking. There was a peace now.
It didn't seem possible for your heart to feel this full. But it was. And by god, if this wasn't the best decision you made in your life to visit your old hometown, if only just for this moment.
Bobby stood, with your hand still in his, pulling you up. He smiled at you, and you knew you still loved him, and in your deepest heart, you knew he loved you too.
But this time around, maybe you and him could love each other right.
#tcm#texas chainsaw#chop top#chop top sawyer#chop top sawyer x reader#tcm 2#texas chainsaw massacre#slashers#slasher x reader#my writing#chop top x reader#choptop sawyer
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O’ Captain, My Captain // s.r.
steve rogers x reader
requested: no - # 2/7 for my 2k writing challenge where I used all of the day’s prompts!
summary: A stealth mission gone wrong leads to some injuries and an accidental sharing of feelings.
word count: 2.8k
warnings: mentions of fighting & injuries, very slight angst if you squint, fluff
A/N: I debated posting this tonight bc I already posted a fic, but you know what? fuck it. I don’t want to wait forever to post this bc I like it. I’m pretty sure this si the first marvel fic I’m posting?? I know I’ve got some that I’ve started before this one, but I don’t think I’ve posted any yet?? Idk. I hope you like this!! Xx
“Would you be quiet?” You huff, shaking your head at the blonde man walking beside you.
For someone who has supposedly done stealth missions before, you’re questioning how he ever managed. You swear that since you step foot in the base, he hasn’t stopped talking. Honestly you’re not sure how you haven’t been found out or caught yet.
“At this point, if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”
“We won’t get caught, y/n. Settle down.” Steve huffs, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance.
As soon as the words leave his lips, you hear a loud clang from somewhere behind you, although it could be in front of you as the hallway you’re currently in is awful echoey.
Senses heightened, you find yourselves surveying the entirety of the hallway before even considering moving.
“Won’t get caught, huh? Say that again and I’ll try to believe you.”
“Just stay alert. I’m not going to let you get caught, but that doesn’t mean anything if you don’t make it out of here.”
“Got it. Stay alive.” You quip, not able to keep your sarcasm at bay.
~.~
“Cap!” You shout as one of the bad guys sneak up on his backside.
You had managed to get through the hall, and even all the way to the basement laboratory before the two of you encountered hydra goons.
It would have been fine, if you had paid attention when they first attacked you. Instead, you twisted your ankle and fell backwards when trying to dodge their advances because you hadn’t paid attention to the layout of the room. This meant that Steve had to help you up before helping himself, leaving him open to attack.
“Got it. Are you good?” He checks, glancing back at you as you get your footing, your ankle already screaming at you.
“Yep. I’ve got it. Let’s take care of them.” You reassure, ignoring the pain in your ankle as you ready yourself for combat.
Dodging an attack from some short, dark-haired hydra agent, you sweep your leg out to trip him, pinning him to the ground with a few simple jabs at certain pressure points.
You catch sight of Steve fighting off a handful of agents himself, but before you can even think of helping out you’re being cornered by two new agents.
It doesn’t take you too long to take them down, but as soon as they're taken care of there’s more advancing.
You honestly can’t tell how long you’ve been fighting now. It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long, but time passes differently when you’re trying to survive.
In all honesty, you’re getting worn out, but you know that the second you let it fully take over your body will be the second you fall. That means that even though your muscles are burning and you’re hardly able to take a deep breath anymore, you keep pushing and fighting.
“Y/n, look out!” Steve shouts, spotting a stray agent getting ready to attack you.
You don’t register his words in time though as you get thrown back by the agent, hitting the wall with more force than you had expected. It’s not until he’s stalking towards you do you realize that he must have been another test subject of theirs - gaining super strength at the cost of his humanity.
You attempt to get up to fight back, but the combination of being tired and hitting the wall has your head spinning. As soon as you’re attempting to push yourself up, you’re stumbling down again and dozing off.
~.~
Coming to, the first thing you make out is the small room you’re in. You’re guessing it’s a hotel of some sort by the setup - a small table with a coffee maker, a single dresser with a TV set on top of it, and one sole full-sized bed. The second thing you notice is just how tired you still feel, along with the ache in your entire body.
You groan as you try to sit up, but as soon as you do you begin feeling lightheaded.
“Oh, you’re up. How are you feeling, y/n?” Steve asks as he comes into sight, carrying a couple bags in his hand.
“Sore...those hydra agents were relentless.” You groan, still attempting to push yourself up to a sitting position which is proving to be more difficult than it should be.
He catches you wince lightly, frowning as he sets the bags down on the table to help you.
“Let me help.”
You sigh, nodding lightly as he carefully wraps an arm around your waist, giving you his other one to pull on.
“Thank you.” You murmur, resting your head against the wall as you shut your eyelids.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah...yeah. Just a little lightheaded.”
He nods, pursing his lips in a frown, watching you take a few breaths to steady yourself.
“You hit that wall hard, after you had already hurt your ankle. I’m sure you’re going to be sore for a few days at least.” He tries to console. He may be good at pep talks, but he’s never been all that great at comforting people.
“Just get me some ibuprofen and I’ll be fine. When are we heading back?” You question, opening your eyes enough to look at him.
“Not for a day or two at the very least. You need to heal some before I’ll even think about getting us back.”
Before you can even register or question his words he’s continuing.
“You might just have a twisted ankle and some soreness here and there, but I doubt it. You’ve got a broken ankle and a concussion at least, on top of various bruises from fighting.”
“And how are you so sure?”
“I’ve seen broken bones and concussions on the battlefield enough times before to have a pretty good idea that you’ve got the same.” He deadpans, but cracks a smirk nevertheless when you roll your eyes.
“Alright Rogers, whatever you say.”
“I’m really hoping those bags you were carrying contain food. I know for sure that I could eat.” You blatantly hint, drawing a chuckle from the blonde man.
~.~
You can’t stop the yawn that wants to escape your body. It’s been hours now since you woke up to Steve returning, and you are thoroughly exhausted.
Not that you’ve done anything to warrant such exhaustion - since he returned the two of you ate, he tended to your injuries, you both changed into lounge clothes he had picked up, and then watched some tv and chatted.
It’s certainly been nice, but it feels wrong all at the same time. Sure it’s been lovely having the entire evening to hang out with Steve, but you can’t help but feel like you should be doing something. If you’re not trying to get back to headquarters, then you should at least be trying to gather information on the hydra operations you’re trying to take down.
Instead, the two of you have just been laying around, talking and laughing. You’ve watched some rather boring tv before you found a movie that interested the both of you. You can't lie and say it's been torture, because in all reality, it's been more like heaven.
You never really had a chance to get to know Steve aside from missions and running the Avengers. You had obviously heard stories from some of the other members, but you didn't really know him.
You've always found him pretty attractive, but he was older than you - even ignoring the 70 year time period that he had been frozen. That, and he was your superior in a way. You knew that you would never have a chance no matter how much you hoped for one.
That's partly why you never got to know him. Sure, you've been dying to every day since you met the man, but you figured that the best way to keep from continually falling for him was to avoid any unnecessary socializing.
“Are you tired?” Steve asks softly, catching you yawning.
He can’t help but admit to himself that it’s rather adorable seeing you so sleepy, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“A little bit.” You admit, another yawn escaping your body as tears line your waterline.
“Get some rest then. It’s been a long day, y/n.”
You nod lazily, carefully adjusting yourself to a more comfortable position.
You hiss, wincing as you put just a bit too much pressure on your ankle and twisting your torso more than you should have. Immediately Steve is checking you over, trying to figure out what happened.
“What happened? Why are you wincing?” He asks, eyes bouncing all over your figure - from your pained expression to how you're holding yourself tensely.
“I moved the wrong way.” You hiss, trying to breathe through the pain as tears brim your waterline.
“Where does it hurt?” He asks, features relaxing slightly. He had tried his best to tend to your injuries, but there’s only so much he can do here without the proper education or equipment.
“My ribs and ankle.” You sigh, gently relaxing yourself as you attempt to lay down in the bed more.
He nods, pulling the blankets back to grab ahold of your leg to prevent you from applying pressure to the ankle as you wiggle down into the mattress.
Once you’re settled, he helps you get your leg situated so you’re comfortable but the ankle won’t hurt. Then he pulls the blankets back up over your body, tucking you in with a little smile.
“Good night.” He murmurs, starting to walk away from the bed.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
“Just to the chair over here.” He chuckles, pointing towards the piece of furniture as he watches you pout slightly.
“You’re not sleeping there, are you?”
“Yeah…?”
He watches your frown deepen, wondering why you’d care. He didn’t want to spend too much on a room, which is why he just got a single. He had already planned on you taking the bed, not thinking it’d matter to you.
“No. That’s going to be so uncomfortable, Steve. You need a bed too.” You pout, watching him as he watches you, confusion plastered on his face.
“….but there’s only the one bed.”
“So? I don’t mind, and I mean, I-“ you stutter, warmth blossoming in your cheeks as he watches you with furrowed brows.
“You….what?”
“I don’t want to be alone.” You mumble, watching as it finally clicks in his head that you want to share the bed with him.
He mouths a little ‘oh’ before smiling and making his way back over to the bed. You watch with bated breath as he pulls the sheets back again only to crawl in beside you.
“You okay?” He asks, smiling lightly at you, taking in how beautiful you are as he does so.
“Mhm. Are you?”
“I’m perfect. Now get some sleep, y/n.” He chuckles, pulling the blankets over himself.
You whine but nod nonetheless, situating yourself the tiniest bit before you’re closing your eyes, hyper aware of just how close Steve is next to you. If you were brave, all you needed to do was wiggle back about six inches and you’d be curled up in his side. As much as you’d like to, you figure it’s probably best to keep that little bit of space, opting instead to just try to fall asleep.
~.~
Steve groans lightly as something hits him in his sleep. Rubbing his eyes he looks around, frowning when he doesn’t find anything out of the ordinary.
He finds that he fell asleep to the tv playing, some irrelevant sitcom playing on the screen. Sighing lightly he goes to find the remote, finding that he can’t move.
Looking down, he can’t help the groggy smile that fills his face. Somehow in your sleep you had turned onto your other side from which you fell asleep on, entangling your legs with his while your arm was thrown over his stomach in a hug. He could feel his heart swell as he admired your sleeping form.
There was no denying that you were attractive. He himself had been attracted to you since you first joined the Avengers. The sole reason he never made any moves was because he could tell you were trying to keep your distance from him. It hurt, but it’s not like it was the end of the world. He figured that you had your reasons for staying away and he wasn’t going to push it.
Now that your body is practically on top of him, though, he can’t help but wonder what the exact reason is for you keeping your distance. He’s tired of it in all honesty. He thought that maybe he could get over his little crush if you were going to stay distant, but his feelings have only grown tenfold.
He can’t walk into any common area of the compound without wondering if you’d be there or if you’d walk in. He’s constantly wondering if you’re thinking the same things of him. He’s always watching you whenever you’re in sight - including during battle, which isn’t the best thing to be doing, but he can’t help it.
“I’m going to take care of you, I promise.” He murmurs, going to press a kiss into your hairline.
“We’re going to get your ankle all fixed up and then I’ll make sure your concussion is getting better. I promised you that you wouldn’t get captured, and I’m promising you now that you’ll heal up just fine.”
As he talks, he mindlessly plays with the ends of your hair, gently waking you in the process.
“I’ve never broken a promise to you before, and I’m not planning to now. I care for you too much to ever think about hurting you. God it killed me when you passed out. There were still so many hydra agents and I-I just couldn’t let them hurt you. I think I blacked out myself, honestly” he rambles, chuckling lightly, not noticing that your breaths are deeper against his chest.
“I remember watching you pass out and worrying that they’d hurt you while you were out, and then, I don’t know. It’s like I woke up and all the hydra agents were taken care of.”
“All I knew was I had to make sure you were safe. We may not be close, but god do I wish we were. I get that you have your reasons for wanting to keep your distance, but I can’t keep pretending that I don’t have feelings for you. I just wish I could say that to you awake…”
You can feel him sigh, and you can tell he’s frowning without even looking at his face. You can’t help but smile lightly, a small blush covering your cheeks as you bury your head into his chest slightly.
“You’re awake, aren’t you?” He mumbled after a moment.
You nod lightly, gently lifting your head to look at him as he chuckles and shakes his head, his hand rubbing at his temples.
“I have feelings for you too, Steve. That’s why I put distance between us. I-I didn’t think I had a chance….” You admit, looking away from him as you continue your thoughts.
“I thought that having some distance between us would help me stop falling for you.” You chuckle.
“Did it?”
“Not at all.” You laugh, blushing wildly as you look up to him to find a large smile on his face.
“Good.”
With a smile he leans down, capturing your lips with his in a near mind blowing kiss. Years of pining and hidden feelings are finally brought forth, and it’s more than you could have ever dreamed. You swear it felt like fireworks were going off throughout your body - your stomach twisting, your heart racing, and every nerve hyper aware of his touch.
Pulling away you can’t help but giggle, giddy off of his touch. He smiles, tucking some hair behind your ear before pressing kisses all over your face.
“I really like you, y/n.”
“I really like you too, Steve. I’m glad that you were there to make sure I was okay.” You giggle, pressing one last soft kiss to his lips before settling back into bed beside him.
Making sure that the tv is off, Steve wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his body so there’s not an inch of skin without yours upon it. Of course he makes sure you’re comfortable first and that you’re not hurting anywhere. As soon as he’s sure that you’re okay, he presses another kiss to your hairline, whispering sweet words and promises to you as you drift off to sleep once again.
As he feels your breaths become shallower, he can’t help the content smile on his lips. Playing with your hair as you sleep, he drifts off for the night with you.
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Guesses at Possible Future Precure Seasons (NEW)
I’ve decided to repost this, since I realized a while ago that my edits weren’t showing up, I can’t search for the post on my own damn blog (which is why I had the old post pinned for a bit), and I’ve thought of a lot of new possible themes. I hope that the next season has one of these, but if there’s something else, that’ll be interesting, too.
Side notes: The next season’s title (and possibly its themes) should be revealed at Thanksgiving time (so the week of November 21st). For reference, Tropical-Rouge’s logo was first leaked on November 25th of last year, and the official site release was the day after. As interesting tidbits, the Healin’ Good logo was revealed earlier in 2019, October 22nd, but Star Twinkle was revealed around November 17th, 2018.
11/1 Note: Although the new theme is already out, someone’s reblog reminded me that I forgot an important note: I know some of these are themes that have been done already (hence why I say “another,”) but sometimes themes do get repeated in PreCure—Fresh and DokiDoki both had a playing card theme. And quite a few seasons, like Go!Princess and Hugtto, have focused on aspirations and the future. And with this new season, it seems like “food/sweets” is gonna be a centerpiece despite KiraKira existing.
Check out my old post for comments of others’ suggestions!
* Another flower-themed season but all the Cures are named after flowers
* Another animal season but, like, without the sweets thing (the animal theme was wasted in KiraKira, let’s be honest)
* Elemental Precures, the core four and maybe light or lightning as a fifth. The Healin’ Good, Go!Princess, Smile, and Yes! 5 teams were actually kinda elemental, but I would a want a more solely-elemental theme.
* If not elemental, then maybe seasonal Precure? (1/21 note: this might be off the table since we have Cure Summer now)
* Ocean/sea life. Maybe Cures with fishy themes or some shit (I’m crossing this one out now bc, although Tropical-Rouge was advertised as a beachy season, it ended up being more ocean-themed. Though I would like a more solely ocean-themed season)
* Another career season but they don’t do shit like dress a Cure like a flight attendant and then tell us she’s an ice skater
* Color-themed?? I know the Cures are already color themed but like a whole season around colors. Maybe they have to protect a magic rainbow or something. Plot twist if one of them is colorblind
* MYTHICAL CREATURES
* Gemstones. Like Steven Universe but as a more conventional magical girl show
* [12/‘20 Edit] Holidays. They can either go with Japanese or more “universal” ones
* [12/‘20 Edit] Another fairy tale season but the cures are actually modeled after fairy tale characters
* [12/‘20 Edit] Winter wonderland/wintery, since we just had a tropical/summery theme (10/21 note: oops this ended up being the crossover movie theme. maybe they’ll still go for a whole season)
* [12/‘20 Edit] Dreams? Like I know we have a Cure Dream but more like exploring the world of people’s nighttime dreams or daydreams. Exploring either or both would be substantial, but the unconscious of the nighttime would be cool, so as to be something like Mewkledreamy but maybe more, y’know, interesting
* [1/‘21 Edit] Technology/MECHA????
* [1/‘21 Edit] The weather? It sounds kinda stupid, but like each girl represents a different weather type. The lead would probably be based on sunny weather or rainbows (again). Actually something that’d be kinda cool is if there’s a duo called Cure Thunder and Cure Lightning
* [2/‘21 Edit] Another music season but the Cures each have an instrument theme
* [2/‘21 Edit] Jungle. So tropical in a different sense
* [2/‘21 Edit] Forest. So maybe another season like Healin’ Good but they actually pay more attention to the environment/conservation/nature part
* [6/‘21 Edit] A full-on Zodiac season? They can go with a few of the Eastern or Western Zodiacs, like from Star Twinkle. Of course, they probably wouldn’t do all 12 Western or Eastern Zodiacs.
* [6/‘21 Edit] Another fruits season but there’s more to the theme than just the names
* [7/‘21 Edit] Birds
* [7/‘21 Edit] Dancing? The cures can be styled after different types of dance
* [7/‘21 Edit] Fashion. Not makeup, just like, clothes and accessories. Though I guess you could throw makeup in there as well. Maybe another solely makeup season, then?
* [10/‘21 Edit] Royalty. I know there was a princess season but looking at royalty more broadly. Like Cure Crown, Cure Sceptre, Cure Queen, Cure Rule, etc.
* [10/‘21 Edit] Sports
* [10/‘21 Edit] Expanding on a couple other suggestions, maybe cures who are all themed after specific types of one animal, like cats (domesticated, lions, tigers), dogs (domesticated, wolves, foxes), fish (goldfish, sharks, whales), etc.
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i love this scene (and movie) so much i wrote something inspired by it. here is it. i call it champagne problems bc it is also how that song makes me feel
What a luxury it must be to want with such abandonment.
His eyes - eyes that filled often with a passion that did not concern itself wholly with the subject of love, but that now did so unabashedly - beckoned her to leap into unknown grounds. She could suddenly feel the heat of his body as he stood across from her, body propped against the window just as her was. It was a mere inches that separated them but it felt like so much more than that. She had been misunderstood for an entire lifetime and now she saw in him a flicker of what erupted in her daily. It was a want that could not be satisfied nor controlled, yet was forced to be dormant, and it pained him. And yet there an understanding that in this pain there was minute pleasure. That though the desires were forced to be dulled, they had erupted hopefully inside of him for a moment; that before he sent those dreams crashing, they had reached a peak and it felt warm, nice. She had learned to call it yearning. She wondered if he too knew there was a name for it; if he had experienced it so frequently that he had been forced to find the means to express it. For the first time in her life, she felt as though someone might understand.
Yes, those mere inches were too much. They were the sea that separated countries that had once been joined. They were the thing that had disrupted her life and made her the disagreeable women she had become. They were a reminder of what could be when she knew it couldn’t. And then, all at once, they weren’t.
He took a hopeful step in her direction and she backed herself into corner, shrouded by his frame. He represented to her so much more than just desire or want. He was a lifetime of ambitions that had fallen flat, of things she could not have. He pinned himself close to her and looked at her as though he would do something about it, and she feared it. If he touched her lips with his own and happened to awaken a light that had long ago died, she could not bear to live as she once had. She hardly could now, robbed as she was of her optimism and her desires. He was all that she had in a moment and he seemed to know it.
She felt the warmth of his breath of her cheek and she held her hand cautiously to his chest, creating a gap between their two bodies. She did not push him away, though. Her palm laid flatly against his chest, almost as if she wanted only to touch him, and he let her as he leaned closer. She fluttered her eyes shut and prepared for her life to be irreversibly shifted.
But his lips did not come to hers. It was a terrible thing, she now realized, to be understood so thoroughly by another. His lips connected with her cheek for seconds, seconds that felt serenely like years. When he pulled away from her and looked at her, square in the eyes, she saw in him herself. A heap of desire that burned too much, too brightly; someone with everything and not enough, and absolutely nowhere to put any of it. He had said they made a beautiful pair when he had waltzed them around the room earlier and now she agreed, her hand still longingly pressed to his chest.
“Happy New Year,” he whispered, as if words could release a little of it, all that bubbled in him.
“Happy New Year,” she returned, lost as he was.
He looked so lovely and desolate and broken and she had wished, as she had done all of her life, that there could be a different way. But he was her sister’s fiancé and he was too good of a man to forget it, even if his body urged him to. She loved her sister, too. Even if he had pleaded, she could not give herself to him. It was such a tragic affair but it was the sort of thing that made up her existence.
Yearning was much too beautiful of a word for it. It felt like she was being torn from the inside out and it deserved a word to fit to express it. War and death, envy and wrath. It needed to be something equally appalling as those, so when she said it, no one would misunderstand the intent of her words. It needed to devastate the air as it came from her lips. It needed to feel as though she and he looked - still and unsure and fearful of all that did not happen as much as by what nearly had.
Music filtered through the door across the room. The unmistakable sounds of celebration interrupted their decidedly miserable party and they broke eye contact. They became two halves of a whole, separated again by oceans.
“I better go back now.” His uneven voice told her. It sounded tinny, like it did not belong to him. Unmistakably it seemed it did, for he stepped away from the window. She only nodded, understanding but broken too completely to express it. She was happy in a way. He was a good man, a man full of life and passion, and he would make her sister a most wonderful groom. She only hoped her sister would come to understand him; that she would not measure his shortcomings before she measured his beauty, like their father did to all of them. He had the means to offer her beautiful sister liberation from the coldness of their achieved wealth, and if she was smart, she would run with him into the land of dreamers she so detested currently.
Her heart lurched in her chest and she felt a tear slip from her eyes. It cascaded down her cheek slowly, because she was too afraid to acknowledge it. She loved that man. To wipe that tear - to touch it - would be to accept that. She could not. She had not been born a fool, but she deserved, at the very least, to live in denial.
#misc.#this isn’t any sort of fan fiction but maybe i will make it#i could probably make this suit a pedro boy if i thought hard enough
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