#but at the same time there's a kind of comfort in knowing the full scope of the story

[copiawife]

i really hesitate to make much concrete in my lore with copia at this point just because you know his story is still ongoing. there's going to be new revelations within probably the year and i don't want to have to scrap stuff because it doesn't quite fit

[velvetures]

Honorifics

A/N: Yeah... I don't know about this. I'll probably take it down since I'm unsure if it's got enough of a consistent vibe. Let me know if it's actually something you enjoy since I don't write angst or hurt/comfort often. I ALWAYS WRITE HAPPY ENDINGS THO. That's a damn promise. Summary: You've given Ghost a title he hates, and takes it out on you. The situation goes too far, and you're both left trying to figure it out. Reader is nicknamed "Brass" since she's a long-distance shooter/sniper. T/W: angst, cursing, Ghost being an emotionally unstable human, yelling, the reader having a breakdown, smidge of not eating, smidge of not drinking anything, comfort, feelings, female reader, not proofread.

When you joined the task force, things didn’t exactly go as smoothly as you had hoped it would. Training sessions usually ended up with you either getting your ass beat or nearly surviving a full-on embarrassment by the skin of your teeth just to be told that you still weren’t in good enough shape to keep up with them in the field. Surely being a woman didn’t excuse you from being in shape for the kind of work Laswell and Price had brought you in for, but damn if it wasn’t difficult to try and have a one-on-one fight with someone like Soap or Ghost without the benefit you would typically have in a real-world battle situation. The reality that all of the men in the squad were literally the best of the best aside, there could be just barely enough room for you to compete on the same level when it came to sheer physical strength. While that wasn’t your specialty anyway, the Captain made it clear you needed to prove you could handle your own against serious physical fights without assistance. After nearly five weeks of having one of your squad mates slam you on your ass one too many times in the training hall, you finally were able to prove to Price that you could go out in the field and he didn’t have to extend any extra worries for your ability to survive.

Logistically as a sniper, it meant you frequently held a much more distant role in missions. By watching from a scope you could ensure that infiltrations, covert ops, and other hush-hush kinds of operations that typically the 141 wouldn’t have the luxury of. Being the skilled marksman you were, it made sense to take advantage of your talents and also extend you a job that progressed past what you’d experienced in your “standard” military career and multiple tours overseas. However, that meant communications were essentially the backbone of your usefulness aside from your rifle. Next to nothing else, your daily and mission-based work almost exclusively went through Lieutenant Ghost. Which… often proved to be the largest obstacle that you faced aside from making sure that your scope didn’t get bumped off sight the -often- rough flights and drives to insertion points.

The Lieutenant was particularly mean… he certainly didn’t give a single thought to if anyone thought that he was a little too harsh of a personality to swallow. That went for everything you came to learn about Ghost. From his lack of willingness to speak unless required of him, to his unique ability of appearing and disappearing from anywhere without the slightest sound or hint of where he’d come from or gone to. Trained as a distance marksman, even you were impressed that such a massive man could move around like smoke on water. That and his physical appearance; good god above. Surely a man like Ghost had never graced the face of the Earth before, else he’d have been just as mythical in his legendary life and would’ve been known by thousands of people. He stood towering over just about everyone, in whatever room he was in, and compared to your own height it was downright laughable the difference between the two of you as operators.

The one thing that made the biggest impression on you after meeting the Lieutenant was his voice and how he spoke. That thick accent always sounded rough and a little gritty. His deep timbre gave such a commanding authority that if given the choice between getting yelled at by Captain Price or Ghost… there was no choice you’d sit for hours listening to Price threaten you over Ghost. He just sounded so scary and attractive all at the same time. Unsurprisingly, it developed into a subconscious dynamic where you saw Ghost as such a superior officer -and human- that no matter how much you liked to daydream about Ghost in less-than-professional situations… You gave him the utmost respect at all times. Easiest of all to recognize was that from day one, you had never addressed Ghost to his face as anything other than ‘sir’. Not even his rank gave enough nuance to his character and presence, so for you, Ghost was inextricably attached to the name.

Ghost however… didn’t like it.

Such a simple address actually made Ghost grit his teeth beneath the shield of his mask. When he heard you call him that, he automatically related it to how he had called General Shepherd ‘sir’ as a subtle sign of mockery and defiance. Thinking about that made him more than necessarily angry and confused, but he couldn’t really accuse you of having ever been given much of a reason to detest him. Therefore, he had to come to the conclusion that you were doing it out of some kind of respect that a drill sergeant or boot camp instructor had bashed into your brain so hard that it stuck permanently. Not surprising since you were much different from the rest of the task force. Yet he had to revise that after the first six months of you being with them permanently. You had gotten settled in. Enough so that you called the Captain, ‘Cap’… Soap, ‘Johnny’… and Garrick, ‘Gaz’ like everyone else did. Exceptionalities only appeared when it came time for you to be around him or have any sort of interaction that wasn’t the occasional silent nod of acknowledgment when walking past each other in the hallways.

He honestly tried to ignore it and you altogether for that matter in an attempt to keep his bitter anger at a minimum. Seeing such a small and fucking happy woman always lingering around somewhere in the corners of his sight couldn’t be anything but a distraction waiting to happen. A bad habit that he didn’t have the mental capacity or emotional willingness to take on. Fuck… he already had to worry about the 141 as a whole, to begin with. Now you on top of that? It was more responsibility than he’d signed up for initially. Hearing you call him ‘sir’ day in and day out began to take its toll on his self-control. Ghost needed to either find out why you were hellbent on calling him that, or at least be enough of a bastard to you to be reassured that you did it because you wanted a polite way to tell him to shove it up his ass sideways.

The Lieutenant had been being nothing short of a prick in the last few months.

He was making paperwork back at HQ a nightmare that couldn’t be solved alternatively through someone like Gaz or Soap who often didn’t mind playing the part of the unbiased third party. Refusing to sign things when you stopped by his office, outright ignoring your necessary questions, and stonewalling you at every single stop along the way just to yield at the last moment and do everything you’d been asking for so the both of you wouldn’t face heat from any higher-ups. That alone was enough for you to consider talking to Soap privately since he knew Ghost the best… but you’d kept putting it off hoping that it was just a passing phase of shitty attitude.

Your patience and emotional strength fell through the floor after attempting for the third time in a week after something so fucking simple as trying to get his approval and official signature on a post-mission report Price had delegated to you after being called to Washington D.C. for a meeting. It wasn’t a major task, but knowing that the Captain had given you the responsibility first over anyone else made you want to impress him and take care of business without incident. God forbid you do something as simple as ask Ghost to pick up a pen and scribble his name at the bottom of a page so that you could send it on through the higher-up channels. It resulted in the Lieutenant straight-up yelling at you in the middle of the hallway outside his office when he’d found you standing there patiently waiting for him to show up. He wasn’t threatening physically, but it cut much deeper into your pride and feelings than it should have.

With every word that dripped venomously out of his masked mouth, you lost a little extra peace of mind on having such an untouchable and unshakably good opinion of Ghost for so long. This moment of undeserved verbal punishment was enough to make the corners of your eyes burn with inner disgrace, self-doubt, and plain old sadness which motivated you to get the hell out of there before the Lieutenant saw you cry. When you turned your back and walked away right in the middle of his berating for you being “too fucking annoying to tolerate”, your only destination was your personal quarters on the other end of the building where a lock on the door could shut out the entire base for as long as you saw fit. Upon the first estimation, it would be after Captain Price returned so that you could have at least one single chance at not getting a second punishment or dismissal from the squad. The sound of your door slamming shut and your back sliding down against it on your way down to the floor silenced the entire room around you, leaving just enough room for the papers clenched to your chest to flutter onto the ground and your weak cries to sounds amplified.

It was hours before you could drag yourself off the floor and into bed, too tired and wanting to fall back on the trained and instinctual desire to hide away somewhere isolated and not move for hours on end. Being a long-distance marksman gave you the talent of patience insurmountable to the average person, allowing days to pass by without you needing to do more than go to the bathroom before coming right back to a motionless position. That’s what you wanted tonight. You needed to focus all of your energy into your brain alone and use it to sort through the hurt burning through your eyes and throat, and the questioning that gave such a sickening feeling a chance root in your stomach. Questions of if it had been foolish to trust Ghost as much as you did the others, knowing how you’d been warned that he would be difficult to work with. Hoping you hadn’t been truly so ignorant of judging behavior to think that the Lieutenant was something much greater than his behavior had been not only today but for the past months.

The next two days were spent laying near motionless… not hungry or thirsty.

Just thinking, sleeping, and staring at the wall across from your bed.

A solid knock on your door was the first human sound that hadn’t been made by you in over forty-eight hours. You’d not looked at your phone or any communications since locking yourself inside, and there was a good chance someone from the squad had come searching for you after such a long period without seeing or hearing from you. When you refused to answer right away, another harder knock banged on the door twice and rattled the steel in its doorframe. Impatient. Testy. Quite familiar with everything you’ve been through lately. Recognizing the Lieutenant was the one outside made your gut churn all over again. Questioning whether to get up or not wasn’t hard. Laying perfectly still in bed, you waited. If you were being honest though, it’d been a long time since you’d spent so long restricting yourself from basic needs for the purpose of acting like a living phantom. Close to three years since any sniper position had left you utterly abandoned without resources. Only this time it was self-induced and nothing short of a trauma response you wanted to hide away from. Truthfully you couldn’t tell if walking to the door was an easy feat or not. After not drinking anything, using the bathroom wasn’t necessary and the last time you’d stood up didn’t cross your memory clearly.

Ghost slammed his fist against the door again one last time. But he didn’t wait long enough for you to answer before rattling the handle to the door with a heavy sigh that was audible through the cracks separating you. Metal on metal gritted softly and moved the door handle a bit further. Recognizing that as nothing short of Ghost picking the lock to your quarters without the slightest care of how he’d be breaking multiple stipulations laid out for them living in HQ. Either your physical or mental state kept you from giving a damn when the handle gave way fully, leaving a bright fluorescence light flooding in from the hallway into your pitch-black room. It made your eyes water and the urge to turn your head away was strong enough to budge your head into the blankets and pillow surrounding. Heavy boots made the paperwork scattered on the floor crunch softly and the sound of his deep breaths gave away his current state of frustration. Clearly not appreciating being locked out of a room that he had no fucking business being in. A long pause led to shuffling around, and the sound of your desk chair creaking under his weight.

“Gonna say somethin’?” He sounded no less irritated than the last time you’d spoken.

It made your throat burn to even think you’d allowed his to get in your head so deeply just to utterly rip every last bit of security and respect away from you for no damn reason. Your silence made quite the statement, even if the actual task of speaking hadn’t been a totally voluntary one. You’d not moved your jaw in days at this point.

“You’ve missed five drill sessions, two mandatory meetings, and one phone from General Shepherd.”

Listing off your offenses hardly bothered you. The consequences of this had been fully accepted days ago, and Ghost would have to do a lot more to get you up from this bed. You’d trained for hell, and no matter how badly Ghost had ruined your almost loving and patient view of him there weren’t enough men on the planet to make you get up voluntarily. Drastic… yes. Satisfying to your own pride… undoubtedly. When you didn’t even let out a single breath loud enough for Ghost to hear instead of that instant apology or willingness to appease him… please him even, with that little quip of ‘sir’ ready on your tongue, the Lieutenant was up out of that chair so quickly you heard it roll into the wall behind him hard enough to thud against the drywall.

“Goddamn it Brass, I demand a fuckin’ answer!” His loud bark caught your attention, but the feeling of your blankets being ripped off your body was a far more startling sensation.

Baring you to the cold air of the room, all your body managed was to raise chills on your skin in a feeble attempt to keep you warm or alert you to seek out that heat again. Tension exploded into shocked silence when Ghost didn’t utter more than a sharp inhale after getting one, shadowed glimpse of your body totally frozen on your stomach. You knew it couldn’t look great. Snipers could come back looking like skeletons sometimes after a long mission if they were given the orders to stay put. You’d not been laying nearly long enough for that to be the case, but dehydration was certainly a symptom you were ignoring quite easily, as well as the possibility of some minor pressure ulcers that would linger for a few weeks if you didn’t move soon. Ghost wasn’t as familiar with the sight of how you felt internally. Snipers weren’t commonly used or in collaboration with Task Force 141. You’d been their first real look at how the inner workings moved or didn’t, and much of your personal way of doing things had dispelled or blown away any misguided assumptions they’d made about your skills early on. Viewing a sniper after days of doing literally nothing, of her own free will…? That wasn’t healthy or accepted in general military companies. Lucky Ghost got the front-row seat though.

When you heard his movement next to you, weight pressed down the mattress at your side in the shape of his hands, and a low sigh registered.

“Brass…” Failing to even say something, you wondered if your own assessment of yourself wasn’t accurate. “It’s been five days.” His faltered tone was truthful, and it destroyed your semblance of time that had been misled by the absence of sunlight coming in through your room.

You thought about trying to say something, resolve falling flat when swallowing felt difficult. A gloved hand rested against your thigh and Ghost almost growled again, sounding a lot more like he was resisting the urge to squeeze you hard. Only his fingers traced along your hip and over the curve in your waist with a tense and heavy swallow. He was being gentle beyond your concept of his depth of emotion and understanding. Nearly loving as he paused over your ribcage with another pinched sort of sound. Staying like that for what felt like hours, you struggled to keep yourself awake. It had been a struggle to move your tongue in your mouth, testing what mobility you’d lost in the short term. Only Ghost wasn’t leaving like you expected, and suddenly his voice returned it its normal stature.

“This’s Ghost. Get a bay ready now, I’m bringin’ someone in.” The reverb of his voice crackled in a radio you knew hooked to his vest. A backup short-range alternative in the case that SAT couldn’t be established or wasn’t clear enough to rely on in the field. Apparently, he used it to keep in contact with someone on base. Or multiple people for all you knew.

“Copy Ghost.” A static voice could be heard and quickly the room was pitched back into a silence you wanted to remain in, but Ghost was adamant to keep infracting alone with a whole list of other rules that, for whatever reason, just didn’t fucking matter or apply to him.

His other hand searched around the dark until he found your face resting amongst the fabric of your bed, curling his hand around your head and meticulously lifting you so very slowly away from the bed with his other arm steadying your legs that had also been taken up off the mattress. You’d never touched Ghost once in all the time you’d known him. Understanding that with his sour attitude, there couldn’t be a single chance in Hell that touching him was an acceptable action. Whereas with Soap, Gaz, and even on occasion Price: hugs, handshakes, shoves, and other physical touches were common, Ghost totally ignored all human contact. Maybe Hell had frozen over outside of your quarters for your weak and still motionless body to be lifted up against the Lieutenant��s chest and carried preciously outside of your room into the burning light of HQ. His chest heaved deep and quickly against you. Both hands curled around you and flexed tighter each time you were able to hear another set of shoes approaching closer to you. Possessive like a soldier. Silent like a Ghost. Determined.

He takes you straight to the medical hall where three nurses and two of the on-shift doctors are fast to respond to your condition. Only Ghost refuses to let them take you away from him for any reason. Stoically stonewalling them just like he habitually did to you as they begged him to lay you down on a transport bed so they could take you back to a room for assessment. The Lieutenant took you there himself, with the group of nurses and doctors hot on his heels and surrounding your bed once Ghost had you settled down inside a private room.

The whole place smells sterile and like alcohol. It’s not the first time you’ve been here, but these are far different circumstances. You’re still too sensitive to open your eyes, but hands are all over your body, gloves fingers touching around the sore places on weight-bearing points on your body, pricks in your fingertips, and a needle poke to the back of your hand. It’s overstimulating, to say the least, and you’re worried they’re going to think you’ve tried to starve yourself to death or decided that living altogether wasn’t worth it and simply wasting away into your bed was the solution. Right away, one of the voices of the medical professionals breaks that worry in your mind by calling for some of the tests to be staggered, needing time between them for nothing other than your own benefit.

“Treat this no differently than prolonged active reconnaissance,” The female voice states softly. “Being on-the-gun for this long is detrimental to all senses, and she’s going to need a while to wake up in a meaningful way.” She added, voice coming clearer the closer she got to your head.

“You’ve been working very hard, I suspect. Maybe not in the field… but you’re one tough lady.” She commented to you quite personally, her hand falling to your shoulders. “We’re going to get you plenty of fluids and start you on a vitamin drip to get everything running as it should again. You’ve also got some slight bedsores, but as long as we take care of them now, you’ll be right as rain soon, sniper.”

Tests were run, treatments began, and nurse after nurse was brought in with both doctors running rotations in and out of your room for the rest of the night. All of them were under the hard watch of Ghost who’d not moved from his position sitting in the corner of your room where he could see not only you but anyone approaching the door. He’d been very quiet throughout the process, watching and waiting for someone to give him some news about your condition with actual certainty. Stewing over the guilt he felt knowing damn well he was the reason you’d shut down so far and were still unable -or unwilling- to come out of it yet. You’d been nothing but the perfect little woman, doing her job with skill and grace, making everyone around you happier just with one glance in your direction. But fuck, he couldn’t stand seeing someone do the callous profession of killing people with one single squeeze of her finger and still have so much innocent and emotional humanity inside such a small body. Ghost couldn’t wrap his mind around it. So instead of trying to do the right thing and figure it out, he did what a man so out of touch with empathy did: Try to snuff it out.

You threatened him whether you or he realized it in the beginning.

But now he could see it with that crystal fucking clear hindsight. How monstrous he was for punishing you with no foundation other than his own selfish fear of seeing a dynamic he didn’t know was possibly wrapped up inside of you. Sweet and little you, never saying anything to him other than a ‘yes sir’ or ‘no sir’. Goddamnit Ghost knew he’d nearly killed you in a way. Seeing days of neglect in your sallow expression, darkened under eyes, and weakened body was more than even his cold heart could take all at one time. Wasting away for someone as useless as himself, all because he’d never given you enough credit for finding something worth liking in him where no one else had. Screaming at you. Cursing your existence. Right in your face, while he’d been too big of a pussy to even take off his own mask he hid behind every day as he utterly destroyed your meaningful position and life working alongside of his and his squad. Owing you his life wouldn’t nearly cover his offenses. Laughably, Ghost admitted his own life or death couldn’t measure up to yours. So instead of saying any kind of bullshit apology, he sat in the corner of your room and denied himself sleep, food, and water because there wasn’t anything else he could do until you’d been considered healthy and strong again.

Almost one week to the day you had been signed off for return to duty with zero restrictions. Your physical and mental evaluations came back clean, and with both Price and Ghost signing off on the doctor’s orders, you returned to your quarters where you expected to see your room exactly as you’d left it before Ghost brought you into the medical wing. Only nothing was as you’d left it. All the paperwork left on the floor was gone, as well as the other documents that had been left on your desk that still needed finishing. All of it was gone. Your bed and all of the bedclothes you’d been taken from were also missing. Replaced with totally brand new bedding in dark hues of dark green and navy blue with a decidedly feminine pattern on the quilt. Items you didn’t own. Or have any idea where they came from. Even the smell of stale air was traded for a woody, and familiar smell that wasn’t of a candle, or room spray; It was from a person. The person who sat in the corner of your room in your desk chair with his massive arms crossed over his chest and dark eyes staring at you through the painted visage of a skull gracing a black compression mask.

“Sir,” You greet hoarsely, still working through some of the non-significant parts of your recovery that lingered. Ghost stood from his seat and met you halfway across your room with a silent nod, his hand reaching out and motioning for you to step closer to him. Warily but complicit, you make the few steps forward and watch his hand turn to slide against your jaw and stay there firmly. “I expected you to be at drill.” You say with a tinge of surprise at the touch of his bare hand resting against your cheek.

“Should be,” He replied flatly. “But I’m not.” You nod a little, biting your tongue when his fingertip rubs over the curve of your ear. His eyes were soft and his unarmored physique was highlighted by the shadows made by the lamp on your side table. He’s inspecting you, you know as much. Clear by his thumb pressing over your pulse point and the minute exactly that he waits before speaking again.

“Do you like the color green?” His question knocks you off guard and his eyes slide over the quilt laying neatly over your bed. You were quick to answer honestly out of mere habit.

“Yes, sir.”

His hand stiffens against your cheek, and Ghost takes another step closer. His boots graze the tips of yours and his chin is nearly tucked against his chest to look down at you properly. You’re breathing a little harder, anticipating another break of his patience and an onslaught of screaming all directed at your apparent mistakes made right in front of his face. Judgments you’d still be unable to solve no matter how much you thought about it or what you did to try and find a solution of healthy -or not- motives. Ghost doesn’t yell though. He actually lowers his face down to yours, eyes locked right on you and an intensity burning there.

“Why do you call me that?” His low growl made you shiver, especially when his hand dropped lower to your throat. Now squeezing, but holding your gaze steady on him, reminding you of his strength. The power over you he’d always held, and given you the instant to call him ‘sir’ in the first place. Everything about Ghost was overwhelming, and you’d always been one wave away from drowning under him.

“You deserve the honor…” You answer, certain. Even if he’d broken your spirit and came back in the aftermath with questions you still believed to be much too complex for a single-sentence answer. Hopefully, he understood a little bit better but the way you leaned against his hand, letting him actually feel the pressure of your throat pressing into his palm. Literally offering your trust in him over again, testing the Lieutenant and watching as his eyes widened. His other hand came up to your face, counteracting the pressure you’d applied to keep your breath and blood flow uninterrupted. His face is still only inches away from yours but unflinching at the close contact.

“Brass,” He murmured, masked face teasing closer with his own lack of control. “I’m not what you think I am.” Your chest tightens with his words, soaked in desperation that heats your lips and cheeks.

“What’s that, sir?” You question, earning another flinch of his fingers against your skin.

“Safe… Trustworthy… Honorable.” He replies, getting even closer. The smooth material ghosted over your lips, and his breathing fanning over you wetly through the damp material. You sigh, feeling lightheaded. Weak in his hands, confused yet happy to have your life held in the palms of his hands. Confused about where his mistrust comes from, but gaining perspective every time he flinches when you address him in the way you always believed he’d feel the most revered and… loved.

“You’re wrong,” You challenge, hands moving from your sides to run up the thin shirt covering his chest. “You’re a man of fear. One that death shakes at the mention of. Even looking at you through my scope a mile away is enough to remind me you’re capable of inhuman things…” Your voice lowers, hearing thoughts straight from your soul escaping without filter from your brain. “Yet you’re human. So much more than anyone sees. Because it’s not evil that keeps you going. It’s the fear and hatred of losing anything that means something to you.” Your hand rests over his chest, hearing his heart thundering against his ribs.

“You’re not a monster, you are terrified of losing everything. That is why I call you ‘sir’, is because you’re a man unlike any other, Ghost.”

Hearing your own voice say his name like that feels so foreign. Coming off your tongue with the letters not fitting together in a way that you’d experienced. But Ghost… he reacts differently. His hands tightened around you and he hugged you against his chest tightly. His chest heaves up and down and the thunder of his heartbeat impossibly quickens until your left ear can’t hear anything but the repetitive thrum of blood coursing through his body. Heavy arms snake around you, one around your head to secure it to him and the other clinging to your waist with his hand fisting into your shirt until it’s skin-tight on your stomach. The Lieutenant practically shakes against you, using your much smaller frame to steady himself.

Yet he’s dropping to one knee on the ground, bringing you down with him until he’s nearly cradling you and softly rocking your weight back and forth. Soothing himself in much the same way a child would after scraping their knee on the sidewalk and the tears have begun to dry up. God, it made the massive man feel so weak; much like you did after he’d yelled at you a week ago. Both of you kneeled on the floor now with all of your wounds opened up to each other and had silently found a calm within the eye of a destructive storm that had been raging against the pair of you while everyone on the outside had been simply looking on with bated breath to see how the ending would play out.

“Brass - I…” Ghost’s voice choked up again, his arms tightening around you. “God, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t ignore you anymore… I’m losing my mind.”

You lean into his chest harder, arms struggling to reach all the way around his wide back in an attempt to support him a little bit. You understood through the way he was grabbing at anything on you he could desperately. So you did all you could and rubbed your hand up and down his back quietly allowing him the time to work through his thoughts. Both of you had been hurt by this, and while the Lieutenant’s form of apology came in the way he’d ushered you for help when you needed it most and unquestionably been the reason behind the way your quarters looked. Now it was you, cradling a man who’d never shown a single crack in his armor, feeling the weight of so many emotional wounds that he was practically bleeding out with pain and palpable regret.

“You don’t have to…” You whisper, resting your forehead against his.

Ghost just nods his head, panting heavily and giving a low sort of whine. “I’m so sorry…”

You smile sadly. “I’m sorry too.”

His eyes soften more, blinking away at wetness brimming at his waterline. “Say it again… please. I need to hear it. God, please.”

“It’s okay…” Your hands cradle his cheeks, feeling the sharp lines and hard muscles. “I’m right here, Ghost. We’re going to do this over again… Together, Ghost.”

Nodding weakly, he meets your gaze as you say his name again. Reveling in it. “Together… together, with you.”

[danikamariewrites]

First wanted to say I love your stories they are amazing! If possible, I have a request for a xaden x reader that’s preferably fluff. The reader is in the same quadrant as xaden but they aren’t super close. The reader gets hurt and Xaden takes them to the infirmary but the reader starts to freak out because of fears of needles/blood (maybe an anxiety attack?) reader tries to hide it because they are embarrassed but Xaden notices anyway and tries to comfort them. :)

Squeeze My Hand

Xaden x reader

Notes: thank you for requesting this anon bc I’ve been struggling for weeks to write and this gave me my spark back. this was the first thing I’ve finished (happily) in weeks💕

Warnings: blood, stitches, injury, and needles

You couldn’t look down. You’d pass out which would make everything worse. It’s bad enough you can feel the blood seeping down your thigh. The last thing you needed was to see the liquid along with the gash.

Taking deep breaths you laid at the bottom of the Gauntlet, thinking about where you misstepped.

A pair of strong arms scooped you up, helping you to stand. Looking up you see Xaden Riorson’s dark eyes roaming your face. Worry set in on his features, wondering how you’re staying so calm in a situation that would have anyone else writhing on the ground.

“I’ll take her!” Xaden calls out to the Leader. You hadn’t heard a word anyone said in the last five minutes with the adrenaline and blood rushing in your ears.

“Can you walk?” He asked softly, taking you by surprise. “Kind of,” you mutter as you study the color of his eyes. The darkness of them holds the littlest flecks of hazel and gold, making them look kinder up close.

Getting to the stone stairs leading up to school you let out a huff. Without hesitation Xaden picked you up bridal style, careful of the still bleeding gash on your thigh. You suck in a harsh breath at the stinging sensation running up your limb.

“Sorry,” Xaden murmured.

He slowed his pace to not jostle you around as much. Even when you got to the top of the stairs Xaden kept you in his arms. He was warm and gentle with you. The initial shock of your injury had you too occupied to wonder why Xaden was helping you.

Even though you’re in the same Quadrant you rarely talk with Xaden. Like every other girl with eyes at Basgiath, you found Xaden attractive.

As he gets closer to the infirmary you subconsciously grip Xaden’s shirt. Your fist begins to shake, knuckles turning white.

Xaden looks down at you, noticing how bad you’re trembling. The color drained from your face as he pushed through the infirmary doors. Your eyes watch the move of every healer as Xaden places you on an empty bed.

You keep your gaze from the wound, knowing the sight of blood makes you nauseous.

One of the senior Healers comes to inspect your cut, gently moving your leathers to get the full scope of your injury. “You are going to need stitches. I’m going to cut your pants and then clean you up.”

You nod wordlessly at her, your eyes screwed shut. You had hoped that you would not need stitches. Needles are a big fear of yours. You never wanted one near you whether it was to help or harm you. A wild fear to have as a dragon rider, honestly.

Xaden’s hand covers yours, now fisting the sheets. You jump as he softly squeezes your fingers. “What’s wrong?” You open your eyes for the first time since the healer looked at you.

Taking a deep breath you give Xaden a reluctant look. Your cheeks flush bright red in embarrassment. Good Gods, how do you confess your stupid fear of needles to one of the toughest people you know. “Y/n, it’s ok. You can tell me.” Xaden reassures.

“Promise you won’t make fun of me.” You say sternly. Xaden holds out his pinky, “I swear I won’t.”

You give him a small nod. “I don’t like needles. I’ve never had stitches before and I’m terrified.” You hold Xaden’s stare for a long moment. Xaden gives your hand another reassuring squeeze, folding between both of his hands. The roughness of his palms rubbing against the smoothness of the back of your hand felt comforting.

“The Healer will put some numbing salve on your skin. It takes a few minutes for it to work, then you’ll barely feel it. And if you can, squeeze my hand if it hurts.” You blink at Xaden, surprised he is being supportive.

“Thank you,” you murmur, looking down at your lap. The Healer comes back with the supplies and starts applying the salve, just like Xaden said. When you saw the needle you tensed up, your eyes as wide as saucers.

“Relax,” Xaden whispers. Your eyes water as you look at him again. Xaden sits next to you, wrapping his arm around you, letting your head rest on his shoulder. The needle pricks your skin, the Healer working quickly.

You feel the needle every few passes. You squeeze Xaden’s hand, praying this ends soon.

“All done.” The Healer says, covering the stitches with a bandage.

Xaden gently kisses the top of your head. “Good job, y/n/n.” He whispers sweetly. A furious blush rising to your cheeks.

[skylarsblue]

✦Incorrect C.o.D Quotes Nine✦

(Sexual Implication) Ghost, trying to be sexy by whispering: Gaggin’ for it, aren’t ya, love? Soap: Nope. Ghost: No? Soap: I don’t gag on anything. Ghost: *404 Error* Soap: …Ghost? Si? Simon, are you alright?

-- Y/N: Let’s play a word association game! Ghost: Why? Y/N: Because I saved your ass last mission and I’m bored, so you owe me. Ghost: *sigh* Fine. Y/N: P e r f e c t . Gaz: ?? Y/N: Cold. Ghost: Winter. Y/N: Spring. Ghost: Mattress. Y/N: Soft. Ghost: Comfortable. Y/N: Pleasant. Ghost: Sunset. Y/N, With a shit eating grin: Beautiful. Ghost, unconsciously: Johnny- Y/N: YES Gaz: OHHHHHH Ghost: Soap: *gasp* Simon!~ Ghost: I’m going to go crash in a heli. Y/N: I KNEW IT I KNEW IT-

-- Alex: Bitch do you want me to jump across this table? Because I don’t have all day for this. Norris: You feeling froggy? Leap. Alex: Okay, well here I come- Farah: Alex no, no- hOLD OFF

-- (NSFW Joke) Y/N: Oh sorry. I almost drank out of your cup. Soap: Wh-Just go ahead, it won’t matter! Y/N: Well I- Yeah no, you’re right. I’ve drank out of your cups dozens of times. Soap: We’ve sucked the same dick- Y/N: That’s a good point! Ghost: ….*sigh*

-- Gaz: What kind of girl do you like? Soap: My wife. Gaz: And you? Ghost: Johnny’s wife. Gaz: OH- Price, knowing they recently started a poly situation: Pfft-

-- (Use of the word pussy because haha) Gaz, filming: Pffft- Soap: Shhshh- Y/N in the hallway: FORTY THREE FUCKING CENTS! AHHHHH Soap: *wheeze* Y/N: I NEED A SUGAR DADDY!! Gaz: PFFFT- Soap: I can’t breathe- Y/N: At this rate I’m ready to plaster my fuckin’ pussy on the sidewalk for some sPARE CHANGE! Gaz & Soap: *doing that silent cackle thing and smack each other in the arm* Ghost, leaning into the room: What the f- Y/N: SPAARE CHANGE, SPARE CHANGE! ANYONE GOT ANY SPARE CHAAANGE?! Gaz: *coughing* Soap: Steamin’ Jesus I’m fucking crying- Y/N, passing by the room: 🎵Walkin’ in a winter wonderlaaaand🎶

-- Y/N: Would you love me? Gaz: Y/N: Gaz: Y/N: Gaz: Would I love you if…? Y/N: nO ThAt wAs tHE QuesTiOn-

-- Y/N: Pretty boy! With me I said! Rudy: Rudy: Rudy: Oh I’m pretty boy! Y/N: Yes! Oo that came out a bit quick- (Also works with Soap & Gaz, honestly)

-- (THIS IS A CONCEPT IM TOO WHIMPY TO WRITE, SO HAVE IT HERE! THIS COULD WORK WITH SO MANY CHARACTERS Also, NSFW warning) Ghost: I don’t miss. Y/N, on his ear piece: Never? Even with distractions? Ghost: *turns his scope* Not ever. *just about to take a shot* Y/N: Hmm…what if I went… Mm Simon~ Ghost: *misses* Y/N: Ya missed. Ghost: Cheeky bitch…

-- Gaz: Alright, so, since we’re now in America and we have some time to kill, I went and I got you something. Y/N: Aww Gaz, you really didn’t have to- Gaz: *puts down their Whataburger order* Y/N: OH MY GOD Price: Really? Gaz: *shrug* Soap: *snickering as Y/N Fucking demolishes some fries* Y/N, having the time of their life: Garrick you ever need your dick sucked, a dead body buried, a beer or whatever, you call me. I got’chu Gaz: BAHA- Soap: *wheeze* Ghost: Are you fucking crying? Y/N with their mouth full: I missed it so much.

-- (Team bonding exercises) Soap: You’re a football player, it’s in ya blood! Gaz: That’s racist. Soap: Your soul? Gaz: That’s racist! Soap: …your eyes? Gaz: That’s gay- Soap: That’s homophobic. Gaz: That’s black. Soap: That’s racist!! Gaz: Damn- (this one is extra funny since Gaz is now confirmed LGBT)

-- Gaz: You overrated little twink! Soap: Hey I am a TWUNK, alright?! That is a combination, twink, and HUNK, get it?? Hunk-

-- Soap: Hey~ Fem!Y/N: You’re Gay. Soap: …oh yeah. Soap: *looks at Ghost* Soap: Hey.~ Ghost: *sigh*

-- Soap: I’m gonna have to meet men lying down. Y/N: …I thought’cha did?? Soap: OI!

-- Soap: Everyone says what a giving person I am! Y/N: He’s talking about when you’re in an upright position.

-- Graves: What if there’s a connection? Y/N: I think there’s a connection between your brain and wallpaper paste.

-- Shepard: Now you’re always ornery, rude, unpleasant, and sometimes downright mean. That’s part of your charm. Y/N: Thank you, you colluding-county-hopping-idiotic-relic. Price: *pride*

-- Alex: Oh my god, how are you such a good driver? Soap: Because there’s illegal shit in here. Alex: Soap: Because if I don’t use my turn signal, we’re both gonna do fifteen. Because I am going to lie and say yours. Alex: ….. Soap: Put your seatbelt on, sweetheart. Alex: *clicks it in places* Soap: You are not safe!

-- (Sucking dick joke) Kidnapper: You’re gonna do as I say or I will make you regret ever being born. Y/N: Oh please, I’ve sucked dicks more intimidating than you. Soap: Oh this is why Simon was the way he was after we rescued you both last time.

-- Soap, shoving marshmallows in his mouth: This isn’t very ha-*chokes* MILF!Y/N, across the fucking base: ….*mom instinct* Price: ??? Ghost: Uh- Y/N: Something just happened. Kyle: PFFT-

-- MILF!Y/N: *letting Soap & Gaz lean on her while Price and Ghost stand close behind* Untrue. I’m a mother now. It’s really changed my perspective. Graves: And do you find it hard juggling life and a career? Y/N: You can juggle these nuts.

-- Soap: *rambling* Soap: Agh, sorry, I’m just goin’ on and on- Ghost: Oi, keep talking before I kick your ass. Soap: ….. Gaz: See? This is exactly what I m-where the fuck are these flower petals coming from?? ARE THOSE SPARKLES??

[latenightdaydreams]

ei, então.. pensei em algo como Trucker König! leitor x que está viajando há dias, talvez tentando fugir ou apenas conseguir algum lugar para recomeçar sua vida, ela está tão desesperada e desorientada que não percebe os avanços do caminhoneiro rude e carente por uma empresa que ele possa foder sem se preocupar, talvez ele seja um pouco carinhoso com ela, só para não assustá-la no início. é isso :3

Okay, so google translate wasn't helpful and I only know Spanish so i hope this is CLOSE to what you wanted? I kept it fluffy because of the heavy topics. Again, I'm sorry if I didn't translate it right!🩷

.

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Fluff so all welcome!

>cw: fem/afab, fluff, talk of traumas but no details

1.4k word count

For more click here!

Trucker!König x Runaway!Reader

König had recently retired from the military and taken a job as a trucker. It gave him a chance to see a slower pace and side of the country he always found relaxing during his military travels. Struggling with PTSD he had one final break down that lead to his early retirement. This being his first out of country assignment, to travel from Austria into Germany, he was excited to just relax on the road and be able to clear his mind. That’s how he thought it would go at least.

He saw you. Scared and clearly disoriented. König slows to a stop and pulls off the side of the road before getting out. He is aware of his size and the fact his face is covered in scars, so he tries to approach you like he would a stray dog. Hunching his shoulders he calls out, “hallo Fräulein, geht es dir gut?”

You turn with a face full of fear and tears streaming down your checks. You see a giant man speaking to you in German, a language you don’t know, and begin to cry harder.

This breaks Königs heart, he didn’t mean to cause you even more distress. He stops walking and watches you as he stands still sobbing.

“Are you okay?” He asked in English this time.

You look up registering it and you shake your head no.

He gets a better look at you and can see that your clothes are dirty and that you look like you’ve been traveling on foot for a while now. He looks around to see if you’re alone, you are.

“Miss, are you hurt? Can I help you?” His voice soft as he takes two small steps to you.

You don’t move back but just look at him. Your breathing is shaky as you nod your head again, finally you speak with a foreign accent, “I- I need help.” You begin to cry again and drop to the floor feeling your exhaustion fully take over.

König walks to you and crouches down, “Is it okay if I touch you miss? Only to carry you to the cab of the semi.”

Seeing you this way gives him flashbacks to all the disoriented women and children that would get caught in a bombing or were kept as prisoners. You have the same broke look in your eyes and he feels the overwhelming want to save you.

“It’s okay…” Your voice so meek as you just lay there.

König reaches out and scopes you up gently, as if you were made out of paper and walks you back to the cab. He buckles you in and makes sure that you’re comfortable before walking around to the drivers’ side and getting in.

He goes to the back of the cab to the cooler he keeps there and grabs a water and a sandwich he had made for himself.

“Here, please drink and eat. There is more if you need it.” He hands them to you as you look up at him.

Slowly you extend you hands to grab the food items from him. You look at them for a while them over to him as he sits down in the driver seat.

“Why are you being so nice?” You question him, not trusting it’s out of the kindness of his heart.

“Because you need help and its just the right thing to do.” His gaze is genuine as he smiles at you.

You take time to notice the scars on his face and arms, implying that maybe he has also had a hard life. You open the water and begin to chug it, it had been almost a full day in the sun without a drink. König watches you without saying a word as you chug the water bottle, he gets up and grabs you a second one quickly. You begin to open the sandwich as he changes out your empty bottle for the new in the lap. Slowly taking your first bit you watch him again.

His pale blue eyes met yours again, “Is it okay if I ask you why you were out here alone like this?”

You chew the bite of food that you had in your mouth as you decide if you want to open up to the stranger you just met.

“I only ask because I can tell you’re not from here, and you’re in pretty bad shape. I just… want to make sure nothing happened or…” He leaves the question open ended not wanting to push too much and make you uncomfortable.

You stay quiet and continue to eat, he takes the hint and nods. He isn’t mad, he just hopes he didn’t push too much. Starting the truck again, he pulls back off on to the road and begins to drive.

“So, where is your destination?” König looks over hoping the change in topic will help you begin to talk.

“I don’t have one,” you say with a mouth full of food.

“You don’t?” König is shocked to hear this, then where were you going?

“No, I don’t.” You repeat taking a drink of water.

“Well, my job is taking me to Germany.” König looks over at you. You simply nod your head again. “You can stay with me as long as you need. It’s just me anyway. My name is König, by the way.”

“I’m y/n.”

“It’s nice to meet you, y/n.” König gives you a smile with teeth this time that show off his sharp K9s.

You finish eating your sandwich and then go take a nap in the back of the cab. There was a small bed with a blue blanket that you cover yourself with. Sleep came to you easily. It had been months since you were able to get a good night of rest and feel safe enough to do so.

Once you wake up you notice that the sun had completely set and it was dark out. You slowly walk back to the passenger seat and sit down. König looks over at you with kind eyes.

“Did you sleep well?”

You nod and stay quiet for a moment longer. “Thank you… for helping me, König.”

“Of course, it’s no problem.”

“Can I ask how you got all of your scars?”

König doesn’t like the talk about the past, especially not now. For you though, he is willing to tell you anything. The fact you’re opening up enough to ask his questions makes him smile and feel warm inside.

“I was in the military. I went in at 17 and I just retired last year.” He looks over at you to see your reaction to this information. You had a neutral look on your face but a softer look.

“Now you do this?”

“Ja, it is relaxing. Therapy in a way. I can just drive and forget.”

You look forward out the window as the clear night sky. Stars covering it as there were not many lights here.

“It is beautiful…” You say in a soft voice that makes Königs heart flutter. “So, you’re running away from something too.”

So, she’s a run away?

“I guess so,” König chuckles. “It’s natural to want to run from painful parts of our life.”

You stay quiet and look out at the night sky for a while and König sits with you in the silence.

“I met someone online that said they would help me escape from my abusive home life,” your voice cracks slightly. “I moved all the way here and…they…they…” you begin to cry.

König begins to stop the truck and again to pull off the side of the road. He unbuckles himself and embraces you in his arms. His massive muscular frame embracing you tightly as if he could take all the pain away. He kisses the top of your head as you continue to cry in his arms.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I’m sorry the people that you were suppose to be able to trust betrayed you. You’re safe now. You can be at home with me.” He rubs your back.

His words cause your walls to come crashing down as you hug him back, clinging to him and melting into his arms. This was the first time in a very long time you felt safe and that someone’s words were genuine. With no where to call your own, you decide to stay with König and see how to trip to and from Germany goes.

Both of you broken people who so happen to cross each other’s paths when you needed someone the most.

[bumblesimagines]

Lessons in 'Chemistry'

Request: Yes or No

Summary: After getting stranded on the side of the road, (Y/N) is helped by Sarah Cameron and given a ride home. Weeks later, she asks if he can return the favor in an unexpected way.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical OBX warnings, mentions of drugs and dealing, mentioned/implied classism, sexual content

Idk what possessed me but goodnight

~~~

The moment he crossed the threshold from the hallway into the bedroom, he immediately felt out of place, like a worn-out pair of dirty old boots being set amongst a shiny new pair of Mary Jane's.

He scoped out the room, noting it was much bigger than his bedroom back on the Cut, and felt a hint of uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach. Everything looked as if it'd come right out of a magazine or a sitcom based around high school, including its inhabitant who slotted into the space like the last piece of a puzzle. 

Sarah leaned against her vanity, the table trembling under her weight and almost knocking over some upright lipstick tubes. She hooked her fingers into the back of one of her sneakers and pushed downward until her heel popped out, then casually tossed the shoe aside to be forgotten until she needed it again. She did similarly with the other sneaker, and then her socks, which she threw into the laundry basket a few feet away. She seemed comfortable yet nervous, her fingers fidgeting with her golden bracelet as she turned around to face him.

They weren't friends, hell, they were hardly acquaintances. Though he assumed that was precisely why she'd even approached him in the first place asking him to repay a 'favor'. It hadn't been entirely his fault that his dirt bike had chosen to suddenly stop working and she'd just happened to be driving down the same road, but that act of kindness was typically repaid with a similar favor.

He still wondered if it was all some sort of prank, a test set up by Rafe to test his loyalty or something. But Sarah clashed with her brother enough for him to take Rafe out of the equation. 

"So," She exhaled, scooping her hair over one shoulder and toying with the ends of it. "What.. what should we do first?"

(Y/N) needed a drink, or two, or maybe three to process what Sarah was asking of him fully. She'd gone up to him the day prior just as he'd been preparing to drive home from another kook party with his pockets full of cash.

For a moment, when she asked if he was willing to return the favor, he thought she meant hitching a ride back to Tannyhill or scaring the shit out of some jock who wouldn't leave her alone but then she'd given him an almost sheepish smile. 

"I... I want you to teach me some things." She'd said, tugging her jacket further over her body to escape the nipping chill of the night. He'd grimaced, expecting her to mean shooting a gun or doing some sort of drug that'd send her spiraling down the same path as Rafe. Instead, she nearly made him and his bike tip over into the grass. "Like... in the bedroom? How to, you know... please? Ugh, that sounds so weird."

"Why?" He'd asked slowly, the word drawled out 'cause it sounded batshit for her to be asking him and not her boyfriend.

"I don't want to embarrass myself with Top. I always hear the guys talking shit or- or complaining." Her cheeks had gone red by then, a combination of the chill and what she was asking of him. He almost felt guilty but then Topper's irritating little face flashed in his mind and he considered telling her to straight up dump the guy.

"Yeah, sure."

He'd been mostly itching to get out of the cold, his tired brain telling him it was just some dumb dare and she'd be texting him some apologies by the time he got home. His phone had vibrated with a message telling him what time he could come over without Rafe around to ask questions that night.

There he stood, half-certain the regret would begin settling in for her in a few minutes and he'd be compensated with some snacks from their walk-in pantry. She tilted her head, though, and he quickly realized that maybe the Camerons were all really fucking weird. 

"You do realize this is cheating.. right?" (Y/N) asked with an arch of his brow, maneuvering his leg around the door to push it shut behind him. Maybe they'd sit on the bed and he'd offer her a free therapy session on why kook guys weren't worth stressing over, because no guys who unironically wore polo shirts and khakis together were worth stressing over. She gave a flimsy shrug.

"Yeah," She answered casually, because she was Sarah Cameron and she was known for that sort of thing, before she took a few cautious steps toward him. She looked at him like middle-aged women with nothing better to do looked at banned breeds in shelters, with intrigue and a desire to reach out. "But it's whatever. I'll have other boyfriends."

He was beginning to believe she was using him to get out of the relationship, as a reason why they weren't working out. The most that'd happen to her would be a few nasty looks from Topper, and the least that would happen to him would be a fight. A kook with a bruised ego was a dangerous kook, and he was certain Rafe believed there was a bro code between them. No macking on siblings was always a given, no matter the relationship. 

"What do you want to do?" (Y/N) asked, because he wasn't fully sure what she'd meant by 'teaching' her 'things'.

The fancy private school she and the other kooks attended definitely had to have classes where they were taught anatomy, and at the very least had some basic Sex Ed classes. All Kildare County High had was a teen pregnancy epidemic that was treated like cooties because they were all at a higher risk of OD'ing on something and not making it into their twenties. Not that DARE ever swayed anyone.

Sarah smiled, almost bashful, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I want to kiss you." She answered, stepping closer to him, still slow as if she were dealing with a shelter mutt.

Something coiled around his gut, hot and electric and uncomfortable. He was no prude, he'd lost his virginity as a sophomore two years prior, but to be wanted aloud felt wrong.

His life had been spent learning how to hide, how to blend into the background and be forgotten within the hour. You only had two choices in the Cut: become a ghost floating on by or become a feral dog with bloodied teeth. He'd chosen the former, his brother the latter. To be noticed raised an alarm in his head and sent his senses into overdrive.

"Mm." He made a noise in the back of his throat, his hands furling in the pockets of his worn jacket. The room suddenly felt hot despite the AC blasting cold air into the back of his head and his fingers twitched for something to fiddle with while thought about his next words.

He was starting to wonder if maybe he was a new passion project of hers, though he'd never seen Sarah Cameron care for that sort of thing.

"Why not one of your friends?" He was stalling. He knew he could easily back out, mutter some excuse and offer to do her another favor, but some part of him wanted to stick around. Maybe for the chance at a good time, maybe from dumb curiosity. He just despised the idea of something more forming from it.

(Y/N) could hardly count as a playboy. He'd been with three girls in his long nineteen years of life and he only ever had to look one in the eyes when he attended school. The other two were tourons, the daughters of eager tourists who visited during summer break to bask on their beaches and get a taste of their day-to-day lives. He preferred them over girls he'd grown up with, over girls who lingered and could potentially continue prodding at him.

Sarah's lip jutted out in disgust. "Like Kelce or Benson? They're basically my brothers, it'd be too weird." (Y/N) did not comment on the fact either of those two would jump at the opportunity to do anything with her. He simply nodded as if he understood, as if he had girl friends who were like sisters to him. It'd always been just him and his brother.. and Rafe, he supposed, but Rafe was more like a stray who refused to leave. "Plus, they're friends with Top. I don't trust them not to snitch."

"But you trust me?" (Y/N)'s brows furrowed. 

"Yeah," Sarah laughed lightly. "You're not like those other guys Rafe hangs out with." Sleazeballs, she meant.

The one singular time they'd ever had a proper conversation aside from polite small talk had been when she'd given him that ride in her shiny BMW. The car still had that brand-new smell, fresh and light and almost cool but mixed with subtle hints of vanilla and coconut that he often associated with Sarah.

She (unsurprisingly) proved to be a better driver than her brother who believed going the speed limit was optional, and she spent most of the ride chatting with him as if she were catching up with an old friend who'd left for college. It was odd, somewhat endearing but odd.

"Right." He exhaled and rolled his shoulders, his jacket sliding off his shoulders and exposing his upper arms to the cold air. He tugged each arm free from the sleeves and rolled the jacket up before jumping it on a chair pressed up against the wall beside the shelf built into the wall, the faded brown fabric clashing with the floral pattern. 

If she was comparing him to Barry and his clients, the bar for trust was in hell. He could count on one hand the number of guys from that group he trusted, and it only included Barry 'cause the same blood ran through their veins.

Most of them were older men; ones with wives who despised them, divorcees with enough bitterness to create generational feuds, deadbeats who rarely remembered their kids ages or birthdays, or hopeless folks who'd long given up on their dreams of the future. (Y/N) pitied them sometimes, before he'd be reminded violence and greed came just as easy as breathing to the hopeless.

Sarah's room was incredibly nice, he noted, though an odd shape from being on the side of the manor. It looked like a hexagon cut in half with its slanted walls, leaving the lower half of it to be decorated with pictures and frames and the upper half to loom over the bed. Sarah must've really liked blue because nearly everything was blue or white. Her lamp, the floral loveseats, the large circular rug, the decorative pillows on her bed that had S and C threaded into them, the curtain. He felt tempted to ask if half the things in her bathroom were blue too.

When he tore his eyes away from a framed picture of different butterflies and their names, he found Sarah standing much closer than before. His first instinct was to flinch, to create distance between them, but his feet kept him rooted in place and rendered him to blink at her in surprise. Sarah's eyes crinkled, amused she'd caught him off guard, and then her hands moved to rest over his cheeks. Her hands were soft and smooth, free from callouses and chaffing because unlike most of the kids in the Cut, her father had ensured she'd never have to work a day in her life if she so desired.

"Can I kiss you?" Sarah asked, voice soft and almost breathless, dripping with anticipation. She cradled his face in a way that was unnatural to him, too gently, too sweet; it made him uncomfortable, it made him want to press pause and savor the moment. Affection was a fleeting thing on the Cut, and most often involved a trade of sorts. 

Another threshold, another line he contemplated crossing. Technically, he'd done nothing to warrant the wrath of the kooks yet but kissing their princess would be breaking an unspoken rule between pogues and kooks. The 'war' between them was dumb, he very well acknowledged that, but he still followed the laws of their divided land to avoid conflict. Most kooks knew to leave him alone, his status as the local dealer's baby brother giving him an advantage over others, but kooks weren't particularly known for their intelligence. 

"Yeah, sure," He exhaled, his go-to words with Sarah at this point, and she laughed again like windchimes in a summer breeze. 

Just as expected, Sarah's lips were soft and plush, suddenly making him self-conscious about how his own lips felt. He applied chapstick a fair amount of times, would that change anything? He wasn't sure but he tried pushing the insecurity away to close his eyes and focus on not making a fool of himself in front of the nicest kook in all of Figure Eight. 

His hands clumsy grasped at her waist, exposed by the crop top she wore riding up when she circled her arms around his shoulders. His hands retreated briefly when they touched her skin, worried for a moment that it was going a step too far as if their mouths weren't on each other. He placed them over her waist again more confidently, massaged the skin warm from constant time in the sun, and tried not to focus too heavily on how well he was kissing.

Sarah tilted her head and her button nose rubbed against his, her lips parting slightly and teeth gently digging into his lip. He tentatively opened his mouth, just a bit, and swallowed the muffled giggle the bottle-blonde released. He'd kissed girls before (just the three but enough to keep his brother's teasing to a minimum) but they'd always been rushed kisses, frantic and fast-paced to get to the part they actually wanted to do. Sarah took it slow, exploring his mouth and then pressing against him to encourage him to do the same. 

She began moving, her chest bumping into his and forcing him to blindly move along with her until his legs bumped against her bed. They parted when he plopped down on the bed, the comforter rustling and the bed creaking softly with the added weight. He took a moment to catch his breath, to allow his mind to catch up and he peeled his hands off her waist. His lips felt different, likely smeared with the barely noticeable pink lipstick she wore, and his heart had kicked up its pace. 

"What exactly-" He swallowed and pressed his palms into the smooth white comforter. "What exactly do you want help with?" 

Her arms hugged his shoulders again and the moment their lips met again, she took advantage of their position and proximity by grinding her hips. His hands flew to her waist and a quiet grunt escaped him, his body naturally beginning to fully react to the situation. Her lips curved up into a victorious grin and he began to wonder just how inexperienced she actually was. 

It definitely wasn't kissing. If anything, Sarah was an expert at that already with her years of dating boy after boy after boy.

He assumed the 'lessons' would be about heavy-petting or featherlight touches underneath clothes but instead of answering, Sarah smiled at him and dug her knees into the bed as she straddled his thighs. The lingering smell of her scented body lotion invaded his senses while she got comfortable on his lap, light and sweet-smelling enough to nearly make him hungry. 

Sarah suddenly pulled away and brushed her fingertips over her bottom lip to wipe away the slick that'd gathered there. Her legs moved, sliding effortlessly along the comforter until her toes met the floorboards and then her knees followed with a soft thump. (Y/N) stared at her long and hard before the switch flicked and realization dawned on him like a wave of cold water. 

"Is this okay?" She asked softly, her palms already moving along his thighs and hazelnut eyes peering at him through her dark lashes. She almost reminded him of a siren trying to entice him to make a costly decision, and his body seemed fairly keen on doing just that. Sarah palmed the growing bulge and smiled when he shuddered, her eyes darting back and forth between his crotch and his face.

"Are you sure about this?" He managed to ask without his voice miraculously cracking. His fingers dug into the comforter and crinkled the material but he desperately needed something to grasp onto while his brain struggled to comprehend what he'd gotten himself into. Heat invaded his face, covering his neck and ears before creeping down his spine and torso.

Sarah pressed the pad of her index finger into the button of his jeans and then nodded, her fingers popping the button and slowly dragging down the zipper until it reached its end. He felt clammy and nervous, like a fourteen-year-old seeing an old Playboy magazine for the first time or watching a scene from a film get steamy. It was the type of jittering nerves you got when you were doing something you shouldn't and the risk factor was beginning to set in. It made him a little light-headed. 

Sarah's fingers dipping beneath the waistline of his jeans and the band of his briefs snapped him out of his momentary daze, his gaze darting downward in a flicker of confusion before he lifted himself enough for her to begin shimmying the articles of clothing down his legs. He lowered himself down closer to the edge of the bed, inhaling heavily through his nose when the cold air hit his thighs and reminded him he was now exposed in front of Sarah fucking Cameron.

He almost flinched when fingers curled around him and his eyes darted down, his cheeks flushing with heat at the sight of her long fingers slowly dragging over his length. He twitched in her hand, slowly hardening further, and he wished for nothing more than to shove his face into a pillow to avoid being seen by her curious eyes. 

All the times he'd been touched by a girl had been quick, swift pumps before he sunk into her through a drunken haze. He wished he had a drink in hand, something that'd fog his brain and halt his instinct to overthink every single little thing. It was difficult to try not to when he had the Princess of Figure Eight with his dick in her hand. And she had the gall to look intrigued, if not delighted. 

"Should I take my top off?" Sarah asked breathily, and (Y/N) almost hadn't heard her through the light ringing in his ears when she gave him an experimental squeeze. 

His eyes immediately jumped down to the shirt she wore, one he actually thought looked nice. It was a light rose-pink shirt with a darker pink floral pattern that he thought looked rather fancy for a casual everyday party until he stopped to wonder if she'd dressed up a little nicer than usual just for him.

He had no sisters to run questions by, to watch and take notes of what girls purposefully did or didn't do, just an older brother who'd rob anyone if given the chance and whistled at pretty girls on the street occasionally.

He shrugged. "If you want."

Sarah smiled, a little cheekily, and released him to lift her top up and over her head, tossing it aside without a care. He swallowed thickly and her smile turned into a grin, one that blatantly spelled trouble for him. She leaned forward onto her knees, ones that'd likely be red and numb by the time she had her fill of fun, and arched her back slightly.

He tried focusing on her layered necklace, the gold one she frequently wore that had an S charm, but his eyes flickered lower regardless. His grip on the comforter tightened and he twitched again, his misery coming this time in the form of a small watery glob that trickled down from his tip. 

Jesus.

A chill shot up his spine when Sarah abruptly leaned forward and dragged her tongue over his tip to collect the pre, his hips involuntarily bucking at the action. She gave a light hum and took him in her hand again, giving him a few experimental pumps that had more pre trickling down his shaft. Her eyes watched him, observing every reaction his body gave her as if it were an actual lesson and she was taking mental notes. 

"I-" He made a low noise in the back of his throat and she stopped, blinking up at him with doe eyes like it was all some casual thing and wouldn't have her dad whipping out a shotgun if he walked in on them. He gave a shaky exhale regardless and raised his hand, suppressing the trembles by pressing his fingers together before he spat into his palm. 

"Oh." Sarah peeled her fingers from him and brought them to her mouth, licking the mess off them while she watched him with a concreated furrow of her brow. Dangerous, was what she was.

He tried ignoring the sight and gave himself a few pumps, pre mixing with saliva and making him glisten under the sunlight pouring in from the window. Her hand replaced his and he rubbed his palms against his thigh, not daring to dirty the comforter that likely costed more than his mattress back home.

She continued moving her hand, squeezing lightly at times and slowly picked up her pace. Her eyes flickered upward to his face once his pants and quiet noises became noticeable, another spark of victory glowing in her eyes. 

A strangled curse fell from his mouth when she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around him, her hands falling to grip his calves and dig half-moons into his skin. (Y/N) had half a mind to gather her bronze hair up with his cleaner hand, loosely holding it in a ponytail as she began attempting to fit him further into her mouth.

Her eyes squeezed shut, driplets of drool escaping from the corners of her mouth. He could tell she made an effort to breathe through her nose through the newfound haze in his head and gave her hair a light tug to coax her into taking a breather. 

She leaned back and inhaled, her lips already swollen and slick. Her forehead creased with some frustration, reminding him that stubbornness ran in the family, before she leaned in again, wet warmth enveloping him and forcing another buck from his hips despite his best attempts at remaining still.

She made a small noise, unintentionally sending vibrations right to his gut where a knot slowly began to form and forcing a guttural groan out of him. He practically watched a lightbulb flicker in her head.

Sarah Cameron, as he came to learn, was a quick learner. She scraped him lightly with her teeth every now and again, her watery eyes jumping up to look at him apologetically to which he gave a reassuring nod despite his gaze only focusing on where they were connecting, but she managed to keep it to a minimum. She had little idea what she was attempting to do, likely going off what she'd seen or heard, but she gave it her all and was rewarded with noises he'd never heard from himself before.

It was messy, with an occasional gag or choke or gasp for air when she pulled back, but she kept going with determination he'd certainly never have. 

Kook girls were certainly something.

With another curse, another half-stutter of his hips, and another surprised noise from the kneeling blonde, the tightened knot in his gut burst and he spilled in her mouth. Her hand grasped the base again and she pulled back enough to only have the tip ensnared in her mouth, suckling as if she were drinking soda that'd spilled over onto the lid of a cup.

His legs trembled and his back slumped, the AC keeping the sweat from collecting across his temple. He hoped he could shower or at least curl up for a nap somewhere in the manor like a cat who'd strolled in through an open window.

Sarah leaned back and wiped at her mouth, looking like the cat who'd caught the canary with her prideful and even smug smile. She was full of surprises.

He released her hair and took the liberty of slumping back onto the bed, letting out a heavy exhale that left his body deflating into the comforter. His view of the white ceiling was obstructed by her pretty face, lips still glistening and pulled into a small smile.

"Maybe we could.. go all the way sometime?" Sarah asked, strands of her hair tickling the side of his face when she leaned down to kiss the corner of his lips. He blinked.

"Thought this was all for Topper?"

Her nose crinkled with a laugh and her shoulders moved with a shrug. "I used him as an excuse." She revealed, lowering down to lay on top of him and prop her chin on his chest.

"Oh." He should've guessed as much; no girl with any actual interest in her partner gave head to other people. His brother always lamented about his gullibility.

"So?" She tilted her head and batted her lashes. "What do you say?"

"Yeah," He murmured, lips pulling upward. "Sure."

[justkending]

It's just a hobby. (Drabble)

Summary: You took up a new hobby, and Dean likes to poke and tease you for it, but you feel the need to seek a little revenge for the constant joking. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3300+

A/N: I started this during the summer when I started five different crocheting projects (ADHD carried my summer hobbies) and decided to finish it before school started back up. I am currently still writing Found Memories, but I have to put a pause on it as the first month of school tends to take a lot of my time away from hobbies like writing… I’m moving to teach 8th-grade English this year and could use all the energy you’re all willing to send my way! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short story, and I’m happy to have the inspiration to write for Dean again :)

(Also, this is the closest to smut I think I've ever written...)

_______

“Seriously?” Dean grumbled as he looked in the rearview mirror seeing me pulling yarn to untangle a knot I had created. 

Knowing where he was going with his normal banter, I just laughed and continued to focus on the craft in front of me. 

“I pulled this out like 20 minutes ago. How are you just now noticing?”

“I’m watching the road,” he argued, and I rolled my eyes. As always, he had been sneaking glances to the back of the cab at me every other minute. “The hunt wasn’t even 40 minutes away from the bunker. Why did you bring that?” 

“Why do you listen to the same three Led Zeppelin songs when you're upset about a hunt?” I countered, and he opened his mouth to disagree, but I answered for him to skip the sarcastic conversation brewing. “Comfort Dean. It’s all about comfort.”

“Why are you so weirded out by a normal hobby?” Sam jumped in, smirking, and sporting one of the many beanies I had made him with said hobby, which he had come to love. He looked down at a newspaper in his lap, no doubt already scoping out a new hunt. 

“It’s not-” Dean stumbled on his answer. “I’m not weirded out by it. It’s just not a hobby I imagine someone like Y/N taking up.” 

“You just described why you’re weirded out by it,” Sam looked at him with a blank stare. 

He ignored him and rolled his eyes. 

“What kind of people do you imagine the crocheting community to be full of?” I smiled, still looking down at my hands and knowing his answer already. 

“Grandmas,” he replied almost immediately. 

“Hmm,” I hummed as if surprised by his confession, even if it was wrong. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll stop wasting my talents on things for you.” 

I could see his eyes shoot up in the mirror and a look of regret ghost over his green orbs. 

Dean liked to make a big deal about this particular hobby I had started up a little over six months ago. I think a part of him just liked to tease me about it, but deep down, I knew he was proud of my growth. He was just bad at voicing it.

The first things I ever crocheted were just simple squares in different stitch work to learn a variety of them better. Those squares became washcloths and, surprisingly, were still used daily in the kitchen. 

I learned to make bags, socks, hats, sweaters, stuffed animals, and even a few blankets. 

“Just 30 minutes ago, you took down five security guards, wrestled three teenage vampires, and booby-trapped half of his nest. Now you’re crocheting a sweater for Charlie that says, ‘What’s up bitches?’ in the backseat. Mind you, with blood still smeared on your face,” he raised an eyebrow at me in the mirror. 

I looked up and leaned toward the front to get a better look at myself. 

“Oh, shit, I thought I got it all,” I groaned, seeing a smear on the side of my face I must have missed. 

“It doesn’t add up,” he shook his head, but I could see a joking smile on his lips. 

“Much to your surprise Dean, girls can have more than one personality trait. I know you boys are all, ‘Ugh, monsters! Kill, kill, kill! I need a scotch in my hand and The God Father playing on loop in the background to show how manly I-’

“Hey,” Sam cut me off and looked at me with his sad puppy dog eyes. “I’m on your side.”

“You’re right… You also like to read and share fun facts,” I winked, touseling his hair and getting a scoff of a laugh as he swatted my hand away. “See how hurtful it can be when you forget our brains have the capacity to do more than one thing?” I turned back to Dean with my arms crossed on the bench seat in front of me. 

“I don’t think you're incapable of having more than one interest in life; I just think it’s interesting that you chose a 90-year-old women's side gig as your hobby,” Dean countered, pulling into the garage. 

“Well, if you can’t appreciate it, then you can’t have the gifts my hard work creates,” I huffed, gathering my things and sliding back to the door as Dean parked the car.

Once the car was in park, I was the first out. I wasn’t actually mad at him, I was a hundred percent messing with him, but he deserved it for teasing me this long about it when I knew he loved everything I had made him this far. 

He had a favorite blanket that he preferred to sleep with now. He had a nice sweater he wore around the bunker when he was cold. He had a few pairs of socks he preferred over store-bought ones. He even had a miniature plush Batman figurine that sat on his desk that I had learned to crochet just for him.

“Y/N, you don’t mean that!” he called after me, standing in the door on the driver's side of the Impala and shouting over the roof of it where I was walking inside. 

“We'll find out soon,” I yelled back, never turning around. 

The next three days, I teased him like he had me about this whole ordeal, but in my own way. 

When we were cooking in the kitchen or doing dishes, if he grabbed one of the squares that now acted as our kitchen hand towels, I would steal it from his hands and say, “Sorry, merchandise can only be used by those who value it.” 

With which he would respond, “Wait! I need that!” with his hands drenched in water after washing his hands. 

Just for extra measure, I took all the towels and moved them to a new place only Sam and I knew. He was happy to join in on my little prank, and every time he had one, he made sure Dean saw him with it. 

“Where did you get that?” Dean would jump up from wherever he was and march over to him to try and steal it. 

“Only the VIP customers have access to these,” Sam would wave it above his head out of reach of Dean. 

Another time, after a hunt, it was freezing in our motel room, where the heater barely worked, and the hotel didn't have enough blankets. Luckily I had one packed in the trunk of Baby, and I used it for extra coverage.

Even though Dean and I shared a bed, I wrapped it around me as I slept and said, “Sucks that you hate this so much, or else I’d share with you…”

He stared at me with complete annoyance when I gave him an exaggerated “Oh well” face before stealing it all for myself. 

I did, however, wake up to sharing it, but only because he had stolen it, and I was too tired to fight him about it.

I think one of my favorite times I rebuked him of his privileges was when he was wearing a pair of socks I had made him for Christmas around the house. I may have gotten a little more intense than I needed to, but the look on his face made it worth it.

He had come into the movie room to binge a few episodes of a new series I got him hooked on, and after he called me in to watch with him, I noticed the specific socks he had on. 

I grinned once my brain had formulated a plan to make him regret ever giving me hell for a hobby he obviously loved himself.

“Claire said there was a show called Love Island we should watch. I have no clue what it’s about, but she said it was popular and what the kids are watching now,” Dean conversed as he grabbed the remote from the table and stood with a blanket (not one of mine, as I had relocated all of them so he couldn’t find them) around his shoulders. 

He was in the perfect position for my plan. 

I walked over and, instead of facing the TV, stood right in front of him and looked up at him. 

“You know what we could do?” I whispered in a low and sultry voice, bringing my hand up to his chest and inching my fingers up to the collar of his t-shirt before pulling at it gently. His eyes instantly darkened, and he was frozen in his place. 

“Wh-What, uh, what can we do?” he stammered out. Even after three years of dating, he still got nervous. I loved it. 

“I think you know what,” I said, tiptoeing upward to quietly say in his ear, bringing my hand from his chest to the back of his neck, softly pulling him closer to me. 

“I think I have an idea,” he replied more confidently, immediately bringing his free hand to my waist and squeezing it. 

I could have faltered there, but I held strong. I was going to make him pay for all his little ‘grandma’ jokes he had sent my way the last few months. 

I pulled back, sending him a smirk that I knew revved him up. He returned it with his own and started leaning down, forgetting his grip on the blanket and remote. Now both of his hands sat on my hips with a stronghold. 

Before he could lean down any further, I pushed him backward harshly on the couch, and at first, he was shocked, then he was excited. 

Slouched into the cushion, looking up at me, his tongue came out to lick his lips and ended with a bite to his lower lip as he eyed me up and down as I stood over him. 

“Dear God, Y/N,” he hummed under his breath. 

I guess it helped that I was wearing some of my shorter PJ shorts, ones he had told me were his favorites, and a shirt that was cropped and slightly falling off my shoulder.

He had a thing for me being in a disheveled manner like this. Reminded him of how I looked after we fucked around, and he held pride knowing he played a part in the kind of glow I gave off. 

I wasn’t sure how long I could do this without failing myself on the original mission. I came here to fuck with him, and now he was the fucker. Or at least he was going to be if I didn’t follow through with my plan in the next minute. 

“You know, you should be happy you were by the couch,” I smiled, stepping to him and strategically bringing my legs to straddle his hips teasingly. 

His breath hitched at that, and I knew I had regained the upper hand. 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” he hummed as he admired my hands pressing into his chest as I leaned in, bringing myself closer to him. 

“I was about to take you wherever I found you,” I whispered, looking him dead in the eyes with a soft smile. I looked him up and down and bit the inside of my cheek. That seemed to trigger his hands back to my hips instantly. This time a much more possessive lock on them. 

“I don’t know where this is coming from, but I can’t complain,” he said lowly, and I knew he was hooked. Now it was time for revenge. 

“Can I ask you a question?” I hummed, running my finger lightly over his hair down to his jaw, using the tip of it to push his chin up so I could see his eyes better. 

“Please,” he buzzed, drunk with lust. 

“Hmm,” I hummed, smiling more, dropping my gaze to his lips, then back at his eyes where he was drowning in dopamine by our current position. “Those socks you have on?” He didn’t catch on immediately and just furrowed his eyes as he processed what I asked. “They look familiar.” 

I leaned back from my seat, still straddling his hips, but not with nearly as much pressure as before. 

“What-” Dean started, but it dawned on him mid-thought. His eyes went from ready to tear my clothes off to annoyed realization. “Seriously.” 

“What?” I feigned ignorance and stood up, repositioning myself between his legs, both hands on his knees as I looked at him and leaned over. 

He couldn’t tell which way this was going for him, and that was the point. I was still winning this little game. 

I eased myself lower, squatting with my knees going into the couch and in between his thighs. My hands went flat on his knees and slowly started working up his thighs. 

“I can’t tell what you’re doing here, Y/N,” he said in a breathy voice. I watched as he tried to control himself, looking up away from me but not being able to help react to my hands on him. 

“I’m not doing anything,” I said in a voice that made him lower his nervous wandering eyes back to me. The amount of green in his eyes disappeared slowly. 

“You’re teasing me,” he said shortly as if he was worried his voice would tremble if he didn’t get it out quickly. 

“Maybe, maybe not,” I shrugged with a pursed lip before bringing my hands slowly back down his legs. 

“You’re mad at me,” he stuttered the last word when my hands worked their way back up, but further up than before.

“Now, why would you think that?” I tutted, shaking my head with an exaggerated look of hurt. 

All he could do was take a slow, deep breath in as I tilted my head and smiled devilishly at him.

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t play innocent.” 

I grinned.

“You and I both know I’m far from that…” My tone was darker than before but in a seductive and tempting manner. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He shot up from his slouched position and leaned forward, grabbing my forearms in his hands and pulling me up in his lap with his nose mere inches from my own. 

“If your goal was to make me suffer, you won,” he whispered so quietly; if I wasn't this close, I wouldn't have heard it. He tilted his head up just enough for our noses to brush before pulling back. 

“Keep it together, girl… Keep it fucking together,” I repeated in my head. 

“Did I? Or am I just getting started?” I snarked, and that caused the new grip on my thigh to tighten, and I almost groaned at the pressure. 

“Don’t start a war you can’t win,” he smirked, feeling as though he possessed the power. 

Two can play that game. 

I smiled, bringing my free hand up and tracing it behind his ear before wrapping it slowly around the back of his neck. I brought his face closer to mine but stopped right when I could feel the brush of his lips. 

Our chests were pressed into each other, and I could feel his heart rate pick up. Perfect. 

I nudged our noses again and smiled as his eyes closed, and he naturally and lazily chased my lips. 

I rocked my hips in a measured manner, placed perfectly in the middle of his lap, and he sucked in a breath at the friction.

“Women don’t start wars. They finish them,” I whispered before promptly standing up and, in a swift motion, yanking the socks he had on off and walking to the exit. 

“Y/N!” I could hear his shout from the couch from where I knew he was with a full hard-on, unable to move just yet. 

“This granny is going to bed!” I shouted, speed-walking to my room in case he decided to run after me. 

“You little-!” the shout still seemed far behind me, and I quickly shut my bedroom door and locked it. 

Thankfully, I think I left him incapacitated for a second, and he didn’t follow me immediately. 

I actually didn’t hear from him for the rest of the night. I hoped I didn’t upset him, but also, the whole reason I had done what I had was because he had become a little ass about my favorite hobby. I don’t mind the jokes, but after a while, you want a pat on the back for learning something new. Especially from someone you care about. 

I went ahead and did my normal nighttime routine and got into bed before I started to read a book. I must have dozed off while reading because I woke up to the lights out, my book on the end table, and Dean crawling into the other side of the bed. 

Before I could say anything, his arms came around my waist, and he pulled me to his core. He was in his boxers and one of his soft t-shirts I made him wear to bed. 

For the record, I was perfectly fine with him in no shirt (or pants, for that matter), but when he did wear a shirt, I made him put on a certain kind cause his band and certain graphic tee ones were itchy on me when we cuddled. 

He took a deep sigh and nuzzled his face into the crevice between my neck and shoulder, one of his favorite places. 

“Why’d you lock your door?” he asked, already knowing I had woken up. 

He had definitely picked the lock.

“I thought you were going to hunt me down, and I forgot to unlock it,” I replied sleepily. 

There was silence for a minute, and eventually, he spoke up, whispering in my ear his apology. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” I sighed with a winning grin he couldn't see, knowing why but playing coy anyway. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you how much I appreciate your brain,” he answered. 

That was not what I expected, but I was intrigued. 

“Hmmm,” I smiled, moving my hands to his that were wrapped around my ribs and nuzzling my backside closer to him. “Don’t stop now; you’re on a roll.” 

He laughed and invited my attempt to fit into him like a puzzle piece.

“You’re ambitious with everything you want to learn to do, and I don’t tell you enough how much of a turn-on that is,” he hummed, rubbing his head into mine and peppering a kiss on my neck here and there. “And I know you know how much I love the skills you gain, but sometimes I’m bad about just saying how impressive you are to me.” 

“You like my crocheting skills, Winchester,” I chuckled, turning my body to face him now and throwing one of my legs over his hips, pulling back in some. “Just say it.” 

“I love your crocheting skills,” he replied with a wide grin and brought a hand up to move the stray hairs that fell on my face. “I love your baking and cooking. I love your impressive TV show-binging skills. I love the random facts you have stored in that beautiful brain of yours. I love your surprisingly nerdy side of Marvel and superheroes. I love your attempt at being a gardener.”

“Hey, I have three plants that are thriving right now!” I argued, poking a finger in his chest, which he grabbed and kissed the tip of. 

“I love everything you’re passionate about,” he finished off. “I don’t tell you enough, and sometimes I like to see that face you give me when I tease you.” I gave him a look. “Maybe more than sometimes… But! I do love all those things and more about you, Y/N.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” I replied, scooting in closer. “But it is nice to hear it from those captivating lips of yours.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

We started smiling at each other, and I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about earlier. 

“I’m sorry I teased you,” I sighed, moving to where I was embedded in his chest, and he wrapped himself back around me. 

“Don’t be. I deserved it,” he replied, chin on my head before he bent down and kissed the top of it. “I will say, though, I’ve never been mad about seeing that side of you.” 

“What side?” I looked up at him. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing,” he chuckled, pulling my head back to him. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed after a minute. “Hey.”

“Hm?” 

“You’re my favorite person. You know that, right?” 

“Feelings are very much mutual,” he answered, caressing a hand up and down my back. 

“Good. I’d have to kill you with one of my knitting needles if you said otherwise. Who said needleworking wasn’t dangerous, right?”

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente​ @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose  @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @marvelfansworld @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan  @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk @drakelover78 @caruhleener

Supernatural Tags:

@flamencodiva @hobby27 @sucker-for-dean @deans-baby-momma @squirrelgirl67 @death-unbecomes-you @snffbeebee @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @spnbaby-67 @akshi8278 @musiclovinchic93 @vicmc624 @carryon-doctor-lock @perpetualabsurdity @herscrunchiehairtie @spnwoman @shamelesslydean @monkeymcpoopoo @winchestergirl82 @luciathewinchestergirl @deansyahtzee @thatgirl1456 @sucker-for-dean @atomicloverdonkeyperson @screechingartisancashbailiff @akshi8278 @supernatural3002

[el-warverine]

Wolverine: Weapon X (1991)

Wolverine: Weapon X is a MUST read if you want to get the full scope of Wolverine. This story details more than any other comic, exactly what kind of bullshit Logan was subjected to while being used for the Weapon X program.

The dehumanization of Logan during this comic is gut-wrenching for me, so i need to jabber about it. My favorite bit and some ramblin below.

Logan can hear and smell the wolves in the cage. The fuckers in lab coats know that he is receiving this stimuli, but have no idea why Logan isnt reacting, there isnt a single impulse to run or fight the wolves.

To Logan, the sounds and smell of wolves isnt a threat. Even when they knock him down, even when they bite.

He doesn't react until they are actually tearing him apart. Once the pain is too much, he fights back, and he roars.

"I dont think that's bloodlust, professor... I think it's pain."

"I'm enjoying this far too much."

The doctor claims Logan's roar is "relish" of the carnage, but really, he's just projecting. He is very fascinated by controlling this kind of power, and this is what he chose to do with it. He wants to portay this cruelty as some animalistic trait of Logan's, when really none of this horror would ever happen if he wasn't the one pulling the strings.

In Logan's mind, those animals were not disposable. These people rationalize their cruelty toward Logan by claiming he is not human he is an animal, when to him, humanity is not a prerequisite for respect or kindness. What caused this barbaric display was the very men sitting there watching it. When Wolverine was free, there was a time wolves were his family, his comfort.

So no, it's not "odd" that he wasn't afraid of those wolves. And no, it isn't pleasure in that roar. It's not just pain, either. It's grief.

This is how a fool can posess someone, violate their mind and body, control them, and still know less than he would if he just had a fucking chat with them. But the doctor doesn't want to learn anything from these experiments. He just wants to control Wolverine. Like a toddler wanting to drive a car, he doesn't even want to go anywhere he just wants to use the steering wheel.

Throughout Wolverine's life after this, the same thing will happen to him over and over again. Governments, lovers, friends, all of them will use him, and in most instances with the last two, he will allow it. He will give them the opportunity to use him, and in exchange, he gets a place by their side for as long as they'll allow him to have it. Even when they dont necessarily make him happy, because happiness isn't really what he's after. Maybe he wants to be needed, part of a unit, indispensable. That isn't enough in the long term, either, though. If his constant introspective inner monologues paired with his sudden outbursts of asserting who he is are anything to go by, being understood is also something very important to him.

It's a tough ask to understand someone who has been alive for nearly 200 years and been to hell and back, even tougher when at least half that life has been dedicated to suffocating the parts of himself that humanity would look down upon. For some time Logan strives for ideals like honor to keep himself on the track of being a man first and foremost, he tries to fight for what's right and control the wilder parts of his personality to prove to himself he isnt an animal. With time, he starts to accept those things as well, though. Being called an "animal" happens to him regularly regardless of what he does, and he is very capable of taking it on the chin without holding a grudge despite what he's been subjected to due to that perspective. Maybe it's because deep down he knows that being the animal isn't the problem. It's being in the wrong cage.

Anyway, ouch, movin on. Read Weapon X it's good.

[savvy4618]

Look at Me (Part 1?)

Dwayne x Reader (Female)

So excited to write again, the lost boys def has a choke hold on me right now and so does Billy Wirth. I am open for requests though it may take me some time to write them and if someone wants a second part or has any suggestion let me know!!

As usual the boys were out on the boardwalk. They stood at a random corner on the boardwalk, looking at the passing people and trying to scope out some good victims. Paul and Marko were sitting on top of an old fence by one of the shops, watching the crowd while David lean against the same fence. Dwayne was turned, watching people look through the vendor's stands and walk into little window shops.

That's when he saw you. You walked along the pathways, looking at jewelry and little books people sold, picking things up and inspecting them.

He thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He watched you shop and look around, not able to tear his eyes away. He was hit with an urge to know about you, he wanted to know your name, age, favorite color, what things made you smile. The thoughts that went through his head scared him, why was he so worked up?

"You alright Dwayne?" David asks following his line of sight and spotting you.

Dwayne nodded his head and looked slowly at David, hesitant to look away scared you'd disapear. "Yeah," he says.

"She sure is pretty," David says nodding his head towards you.

"mh," Dwayne hums in agreement.

"Who is?" Paul asks turning around to look through the crowd, Marko soon doing the same.

"Girl with the y/hc hair, by that stand," David tells them.

Dwayne just watches them. He watches you buy a little trinket from the stand you were at. You start to walk and continue to look around.

As soon as you start to walk, the other three boys loose their focus and start to talk about random stuff. Dwayne sneaks away and walks up beside you.

"That's very pretty," he says motioning to the braclets you were fiddling with on your arm.

"Thank you," you respond with a warm smile.

"I'm Dwayne, sorry if I frightened you, just wanted to say hi," he says, still walking by your side.

"That's alright, I'm y/n," you respond, looking at the lights and rides as you pass by.

"That's a gorgeus name," Dwayne says with a grin.

"Thanks," you say, "I don't mean to sound rude, but why are you walking with me?"

Dwayne wasn't off put by this question, "Saw you looking though stands and you caught my attention, that's all," he responds.

"Well did you want something?" You ask curiously.

"Just to talk to you, I couldn't imagine living with myself if I hadn't," he says flashing a grin.

You shake your head and chuckle.

"Look at him go," Paul says, watching the interaction from the same fence where he was perched.

"What were you up to anyway?" You ask.

"You're full of questions aren't you honey?" he jokes, "just watching people."

You look at the shops as you walk, looking for anything that might catch your eye.

"You aren't from here are you?" Dwayne asks.

"No, just moved here."

"By yourself?" Dwayne asks looking at you.

"Yeah," you answer.

"no family around here or anything, no friends?" Dwayne asks looking back and realizing that the rest of the boys are no longer in sight.

"Nope, I've always liked being kind of on my own, having space," you reply looking at him. "What about you?" You ask.

"I live with my brothers and my sister," he replies.

"The ones you were with?"

"You saw us?"

"Hard to miss," you answer with a grin and a soft hit to his arm.

The comfort he gave off should have seemed odd but he was so nice and playful, unlike many people you had met. He thought you were beautiful and smart, someone he could envision spending the rest of his life with, but then there was the though of you knowing what he was, a monster. Even if you were somehow okay with that, you were still a human and he would never want to put you through the pain of having to become a vampire like him.

"Are you alright?" you ask laying a hand on his arm, the two of you had stopped walking but the two of you were now in a slightly less crowded space.

"Hm? Yeah I'm okay," he says giving you a small smile and a playful wink. He tosses an arm over your shoulder and you start to walk again. You weren't really walking to get somewhere, just looking around.

"This isn't to much is it?" he says softly, leaning down closer to your ear.

"hm?"

"my arm," he replies, nodding his head towards yours.

"No, it's okay," You chuckle.

[cosmic-kinglet]

Moon...I know the problem before was that you were keeping information from Lunar...

But that was NOT the time to give the "we could just send him off somewhere" response. Like, even though that's how Moon is feeling right now, that's a truth that needed to be said after some more time had passed.

I'm also so glad that Lunar has more openly established, not only that he isn't a kid, but that he acts like a kid because he, "doesn't know how to be big." Acting like a kid is comfortable for him, but he also sort of wishes that he knew how to behave any differently than that.

I really never expected there to be any explicit mention of the full scope of the manipulation that Lunar suffered. Like with a lot of abuse victims, he has this small part of him that wants to forgive Eclipse and crawl back to him. That part of him was made to believe that he NEEDS Eclipse, and that is a very real aspect of toxic and/or abusive relationships of any kind.

I was honestly waiting for Lunar to burst at some point while Earth was mediating. I love Earth, and I know she's been really effective in helping before, but she has a tendency to speak for other people. I'm guilty of the same thing, and it's something I'm trying to not do as much, so it kind of upset me to see that being presented as helpful. Plus, so much of this felt like Earth was treating Lunar's reaction as unreasonable. I know that isn't the intention, but it really felt like both sides of the issue were not being treated equally. I don't know, I'm just not very happy with how this whole thing was handled.

[canidkid]

urmm i dont know if rqs are open or not, but do you think you could do reagan age regressor headcanons too...? i know its less obvious a headcanon than brett, but if youre willing to id be grateful 🙏

They're open!!

Tbh regressor Reagan makes so much sense I can't believe there isn't more for her >:[[ /lh

...

REGRESSOR REAGAN RIDLEY HEADCANONS!! 🖍️🧪🧃

with some CG Brett!

Pretty easily identifiable age range of 3-7

She never loses that desire to keep making and creating - so she has a lot of toys pertaining to that! Depending on where she's landed in her headspace, she'll tinker with Jr. Robotics kits, Legos, blocks or just simple science experiments.

Seriously can't be left unsupervised for long around anything that could be taken apart. Ballpoint pens, CD players, cardboard boxes. She wants to know how things work and she doesn't care if she'll be upset later because she's covered in lava lamp fluid and glitter!!!

Sensory avoidant. Reagan becomes more sensitive to outside stimuli in headspace, so failsafe plans need to be installed. Noise canceling headphones, sunglasses, change of clothes, etc. Especially certain kinds of physical touch are big no-nos. Unexpected hugs, for example.

Super specific about clothing. Tags out, seams non-offensive, the same thing in several colors, etc.

Regression is a way to get her childhood back! She tries to plan when, how, what she'll be doing and with who. All in an effort to keep the experience as positive as possible. 

Usually this does include Brett! He's a really fun CG - and easily adapts to Reagan's needs. She's able to put a lot of trust in him and knows he'd never abuse this. He's just a big safety blanket, which is exactly what this little kid needs sometimes. 

Museum trips!! So many museum trips!! They take a lot of planning in advance. Snack bag, the correct outfit, and headphones are a must! Public places can easily become too much for her when small - be it through sensory overload or anxiety over being a kid in public. 

When they do get everything just right..Reagan loves interactive exhibits. Pressing buttons, standing on platforms or picking things up to inspect are always a great time! 

Heavily relies on structure. It's not that she'll forget, it's that she wants to know what's next at all times. If there's no daily planner up somewhere, she'll get antsy until there is.

When by herself, Reagan tends to steer away from anything that might delve too much into her actual childhood. She prefers watching newer shows, playing with newer toys - or plain and simple  just turning the whole thing into nap time.

Comfort items!! She has them, she loves them. One of her favorites is a pocket-sized black cat plushie! It goes everywhere with her. Big or small, doesn't matter. The cat is safely tucked away somewhere nearby. 

I see both her and Brett as flips. So,, bunch of fun stuff ensues. They're either small together and engage in absolute chaos, or are able to take care of one another in kiddo mode!!

She's more of a timid type, especially around people she doesn't entirely trust. Largely nonverbal in public - as well as quite often in her circle. Brett is about the only person who knows the full scope of her regression.

I also potentially have more to say here so I'm absolutely open to taking more specific follow-up headcanons or moodboard requests!!!

[melis-writes]

To all my lovely followers, readers and mutuals, 💓 I just wanted to put out there the following because I've begun to notice a bit of a pattern in my ask box and I need to set some boundaries here. 😅

I'm just a humble writing wizard with an insatiable Godfather hyperfixation so when it comes to asks, I will not be answering the following kinds:

Asks about anything political/government related. I have zero care for politics as a topic and it's a very messy to get into. I can't help/provide advice on why/how others perceive your political views and I have zero interest in talking about politicians. That includes thirsting over politicians (Canadian PM is fine lol).

Deeply personal asks and rants. I'm sorry, but I can't help anyone or their friends with their life issues, marriages, faith-related issues and family problems even if you think I may have some knowledge or can relate to it.

Hateful asks. Some asks I have answered because there's a lot more than a snippet of hate to unpack and give my opinion on, but solely hateful asks (you know the drill; slurs, death threats, violence, etc) towards anyone/anything isn't tolerated whatsoever.

Submissions/requests on things outside my scope of comfort. My pinned post has a lot of information about my fics, writing style, etc. Highlighted at the top is a link to my "Fic and Prompt Requests Info" page. Here you'll find a post of things I do and don't write for. It would be impossible or me to list every single thing ever in the world that I would not be comfortable with writing so even if it's not on that list, please don't take it personally if I don't answer/post your submission/request ask. It may have a kink or context that I am uncomfortable writing and posting. I will not share/post it regardless to "inspire" others because it's an ask I'm uncomfortable with in the first place.

Requests when requests are closed. I have had fics/oneshot requests closed for 2 years now because I'm in my multi-chapter fic era. There's just no way with my personal life, other hobbies and full time work that I can balance writing every oneshot requested and my own fics at the same time. Please respect this. It is written on my pinned page and mentioned several times throughout various pages and posts on my blog. While I do take prompt requests actively (these are snippets of writing answered in an ask, not a full out oneshot which is completely different), I'm not actively writing them at the moment because I want to focus on my multi-chapter fics for the forseeable future. Any requests I do receive will either be answered with that I don't take requests and thanking you for it, I will not answer most. It's starting to become very tiring to repeat this: I am not accepting requests at this time.

Thank you for understanding. ❤️

[alphascorpiixx]

River of Stars

Miphlink Week Day 1: Stargazing

Link and Mipha apart from each other but under the same stars.

Rating: G

Words: 1224

Tags: Canonical Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending

Read on AO3

@miphlinkweek​

---

The sky was beginning to darken. Link set up a bundle of wood into a campfire. He struck the flint with the edge of a rusted sword he’d found in the ruins. He had no blanket or bedroll, but the fire chased away the night’s cold. 

He’d climbed up to the Temple of Time’s steeple to get a view of the plateau. A hulking shape circling the distant volcano distracted his attention. Link used the slate’s scope for a better look. The shape was almost lizard-like—long legs and crested spine. Death Mountain towered over the kingdom, yet this beast crawled over the lava like the caldera was a small hill. No natural creature was that large. The bokoblins in the ruins had nearly split his skull open. If he had to face such a monstrous thing, barely a day after his awakening . . .

Link shuddered and put the slate away. 

He pierced a fish on an arrow and set the skewer over the fire. The scent of roasting fish made his stomach rumble and sparked an echo of familiarity in his mind. Had he cooked fish like this before? He’d seen cooking pots around the plateau. His mind had already been thinking of meals to make before he’d even realized it. This fish could use salt or herbs for flavor. There was a particular plant that grew in Zora’s Domain that paired quite well with Hyrule bass. Some kind of tuber, or maybe the leaves? Link frowned. He could remember neither the plant’s name nor where he’d first learned to cook with it. 

Ever since awakening in the shrine, the gaps in his memory became more and more prevalent. He knew combat and survival skills, as fighting the bokoblins had proved. He could shoot a bow, wield a sword, climb a sheer cliff face without plummeting to his death. He knew the names of general locations around Hyrule—Death Mountain, Zora’s Domain, East Necluda. But there was no context to any of it. What was so important about traveling to the sacred spring in Faron? Why did thinking of Zora’s Domain fill his heart with such longing?

Link ate the fish and pushed thoughts of his missing memories away. Fixating on what he couldn’t remember was an exercise in futility. Best to take everything one step at a time, one day at a time. He couldn’t force his memories to return, no matter how hard he wished for it.

(Though—by the old scars under his shirt and dread in his heart whenever he looked at the castle—he wondered if losing his memories had been a kinder fate.)

The campfire’s smoke drifted through of the steeple’s broken windows. The first stars of dusk twinkled through the haze. Link watched them appear one by one as the sky darkened into full night. He absently stoked the fire enough to keep it alive but didn’t go to sleep. His body ached for rest but his mind raced with a thousand thoughts. So he focused on the stars.

He moved closer to the broken window for a clear view of the constellations. The Wolf appeared in the west, still partially obscured by the lingering twilight sun. In the east, sands made of stars filled the Hourglass’s upper bulb. As the night progressed and the stars traveled in the sky, the Hourglass would rotate so the sands filled the lower. 

His eyes caught on the band of stars that spanned the full width of the sky. The Hyrulean name escaped him, but he recalled the Zora called this band of stars the River of Souls. In their legends, souls of the dead traveled this starry river to their final rest. His eyes followed the trail of stars. The band arced northeast, passing over a mountain peak jutting out from low-lying clouds. 

Sorrow pierced his heart. Link blinked the sudden tears from his eyes. He did not know their source, and that distressed more than the sorrow. Was this pain merely sadness for his missing memories? Or grief for something long lost?

He glanced down at the shattered wall of the Temple of Time. Despite its name, the temple was not immune to the cruelties of time. Like his memories, this plateau was filled with old ruins and half-forgotten lives. Did phantoms walk among the Forest of Spirits or float on the River of the Dead? The sky was not the only place that held a river for souls to travel. What ghosts had his own awakening unknowingly stirred to life?

(Or perhaps he was the true ghost haunting the plateau. He had stumbled from the Shrine of Resurrection that morning. What unfinished business did he have tying him to the mortal world?)

Sleep demanded its due. Link finally laid down for the night. He wondered, briefly, if his spirit would rise to join the River of Souls. Maybe that would ease the unknown sorrow in his heart. His gaze remained on the stars until his eyelids closed, and they danced in the sky as he dreamed.

-

The stars glittered over Zora’s Domain.

Mipha saw her home bathed in starlight. She’d awoken not long ago, forced into consciousness by the malice energizing with renewed power. Something had triggered the resurgence of malice within Vah Ruta, awakening her spirit along with it. Had Calamity Ganon risen to burn Hyrule for a second time? Not that there was anything Mipha could do to stop it. Her Divine Beast was her tomb, and now her spirit was denied the dreamless stupor of the last century.

Hyrule had changed so much in those years but still not yet recovered enough to survive a second Calamity. A part of Mipha longed for to return to that numb oblivion and forget the horror of her memories.

But the twinkle of the stars pulled her heart from her despair. She traced the path of the River of Souls. She wished she could learn if the legends were true and discover what awaited her at the river's end. But with Ganon’s malice imprisoning her within Vah Ruta, her spirit was unable to find peace.

A constellation caught her eye. Ruto’s Scale shimmered to the south. The sight reminded her of the story of the Zora princess and the Hylian swordsman, a story that had once given her hope for her own love. Now it mocked her for daring to hope. Her heart yearned to see Link again, but her mind knew that he had either died in battle or from old age.

She almost sank back into her grief. Another light shone beneath the stars—tall and faintly blue against the night sky. Some sort of glowing tower? Her curiosity distracted her from grief.

Other lights dotted the landscape, though these were orange instead of blue. Orange like the strange Sheikah structures around the kingdom. 

Blue like the comforting glow of Vah Ruta untainted by malice.

New Sheikah creations appeared the same time as Ganon’s resurgence. These events had to be connected. A faint memory resurfaced in the back of her mind. Hadn’t the Sheikah  researchers theorized about technology that could alter aging or even bring someone back from the brink of death? She was still dead, but maybe, just maybe, fate was kind just this once . . .

For the first time in a century, Mipha hoped.

[tsuki-chibi]

Ladynoir July 2023 Day 27: Names

Read all the entries on AO3

--

Chat Noir was so deep in thought that he didn’t even seem to notice when Ladybug landed on the rooftop and walked over to him. He was curled in on himself, his legs pulled up against his chest, staring out at the city. But she could tell from the far away look in his eyes that he wasn’t actually seeing the city.

“What’s up, Chaton?” Ladybug asked, taking a seat beside him. Chat startled a little, blinking at her in surprise even as he smiled in welcome.

“I was just thinking. My class recently started a project where we have to think about our future,” he said. “Apparently most kids our age have to do it, because I talked to a friend who doesn’t even go to my school, and her school is doing it too.”

“Yeah, my class is doing it too,” Ladybug said with a nod. Madame Bustier had introduced the project to them three days ago. It had seemed interesting and fun at first, but then Marinette had realized the full scope of what was going into it. Every little thing they wrote down about their future needed to be backed by research.

“I figured,” Chat said. “How are you making out?”

“Well…” Ladybug let out a sigh. “Okay, I guess. It’s a lot. Like I know what I want to do for a job. But now I’m having to do a whole bunch of research into it. Like what kind of education I’ll need, and what my chances really are, and how much it’ll cost, and how much it’ll pay, and how long it’ll take to be successful… It’s really kind of stressful, actually.”

“Right?” Chat exclaimed. “How am I supposed to know what I want to do for a living? The only thing I’ve ever done is work for my dad. I’ve never had the time to think of what I might want to do.” He sounded legitimately stressed out about it, and Ladybug felt bad for him. She scooted closer and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey, I think this is project is meant to be informative and fun,” she said gently. “You don’t have to know for sure what you want to do, Chat. Not everybody does. A lot of my friends don’t.”

“That’s true. Some of my friends don’t either. But some do, and I envy them.” Chat’s shoulders slumped and he leaned into her, seeking comfort. Ladybug lightly stroked his hair.

“Maybe you could write about jobs you think you’d like to have. Like you know, don’t limit yourself to just one or two. Pick four or five and go into detail about all of them to show you’ve done your research and really considered everything,” Ladybug suggested.

Chat contemplated that for a moment. “I guess that could work. But I still wish I knew for sure what I wanted to do. Sometimes I think I’ll be stuck working for my dad forever.”

Ladybug’s heart went out to him. Chat sounded like he was in the same boat as Adrien. She wondered if Adrien was having a similar struggle with the project. He sure hadn’t said much when he, Marinette, Alya, and Nino had been talking about it in class earlier.

“Well, what about the other parts of it? Like kids and getting married. Do you know if you want either of those things?” Ladybug asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Chat said immediately.

“Then that’s something your dad can’t control right there,” Ladybug said brightly. “You could maybe put in details about your wedding if you’ve thought about it, or… I don’t know. Oh, you could put in the names of your kids!” She giggled. “My friend was teasing me earlier about putting in my future kid’s names. Hugo, Louis, and Emma.”

It was funny now, but in the moment it had been mortifying to hear Alya say those names out loud where Nino and Adrien could hear. Thankfully Adrien hadn’t known that Marinette planned to have those kids with him. He and Nino just thought that Marinette was keeping those as names in general. Still, Marinette had given Alya a kick under the desk for that one.

Chat stiffened against her, but Ladybug didn’t notice. She kept talking, saying, “Or if you had an idea about where you wanted to live, you could research house prices and stuff like that. Or vacations! I’ve always wanted to go to –”

“Wait. Did you say Hugo, Louis, and Emma?” Chat said, interrupting Ladybug.

She paused, frowning. “Yeah? I like those names.”

Chat turned to her. His eyes were very, very wide as he said breathlessly, “Marinette?!”

[eruverse]

Wfsn headcanon (kinks, preferred sexual dynamics) for Mongolia, developed with @justknocking in our discord chat (can’t do this without you homeboy o 🌞). This isn’t actually explicit (or even mature tbh), but be cautious just in case.

*reposted and edited because the last post got eaten

*sorry no readmore, it’s what ate my post

Mongolia is a 70% top and an all-time dom, and the kinks he’s personally into will take into account this preference of his. However, for the most part he doesn’t look like he would be an exclusive dom since these days he acts so casual and chill, to the point that people might think he would be okay with absolutely everything. In fact though, like everyone else he has things he wouldn’t ever touch; he is Very Big on exerting control upon himself and it’s by far the most important thing to him, so he doesn’t like any kind of kink that would put constrains on himself like sensory deprivation, choking, or tying on vital places/full immobilization. I liken him to the Mongolian horse and they’re semi-wild wild on the steppe even though they are loyal to their owners; these horses you don’t even put on stables, and they’re only caught when you have a specific use for them right at the moment like milking or riding. Choking, sensory deprivation and tying also look subby so he wouldn’t exactly be into them on that ground alone ahah. Anyway, with Mongolia exceptions may apply but it would need to be with someone he can fully trust and is comfortable around. Though again, in general he doesn’t. He exerts his boundaries firmly and would also put his partners’ into priority.

Regardless, it’s true that Mongolia is chill and he’s indeed okay with a lot of things! He’s experienced, experimented on and explored about everything so most things known and unknown are game as long as they’re fun for him and his partners. On top of being chill, he’s also really generous; would do everything his partners requested from him as long as it’s respectful of his boundaries, from vanilla to super kinky. He’s also not easily squicked out, because for him bedroom activities are messy and if they’re not messy then you’re not actually having fun, haha. All in all, he would endeavor to give his partners the best possible kind of experiences. This is also a challenge for him, and he never backs down from any of it!!

However, what Mongolia loves most is to exert an even greater control and influence over his partners, and that they would WANT and EXPECT that from him. Those are the times when he could unleash his ultimate (real) dom self compared to the casual and almost detached way he usually operates under (in a way, his discounted dom self). How would this translate into action? Basically, he would still just be his chill and generous dom self, but with more active directing and controlling from his part. Of course, it’s not only that he could be more controlling but that this attitude is actively desired by his partners. He loves being wanted the way he actually is!!

He also loves taking multiple partners at once. Not exactly a remnant of his Empire days, but he simply has enough energy and scope of attention to handle more than one at the same time. He also loves it when they would put on a show for him; the way it is, he would lounge around to watch them get busy while directing them, telling them what he wants them to do that they would find fun in as well. Fun for everyone is a priority for him because high on his list of boner killer is when one party is simply there tolerating things and isn’t actually in the mood. He can sense real desire and lust from his partners, so he knows well when it’s not there. When any partner of his really isn’t feeling it, he would call it off. Would he not try to bring them to mood or warm them up? He would, but he knows the difference between someone who’s taking a bit of time versus someone who’s totally NOT feeling it.

Anyway, certainly it’s not just watching and directing his partners getting busy like a conductor of an orchestra; he’s a proactive person, and he has the most fun when he can go right into the heart of things to share the fun. It’s like this:

He lets them know he enjoys the show ❤️

and the moment they call for him he DIVES into action.

daddy is here, brats.

Insert some daddy play played jokingly except sometimes his partners do slip and call him daddy. Mongolia isn’t inherently into it on his own, but he would be lying if he says it doesn’t do Anything to him at all. Hell yeah, he loves beng acknowledged as someone who takes charge in all generous, guiding, and caring ways like a daddy. He also likes the almost reverent and admiring tone of the word, yes.

Speaking about it, he’s not actually into bratty subs even though he might (jokingly) call his partners brats, ahah, but this isn’t his actual squick so he’s okay with roleplays involving bratty roles. If you want some good spanking he’s the man for you.

He also Loves it when his partners beg from him. Once, he was getting on with Turkey and somehow it just slipped from him. Turkey!! Mongolia nearly went off on that alone:

MonTur with Turkey dropping an accidental “please” and Mongolia is like BEG ME MORE

Turkey: HELL NO

(So Turkey is also a dominant person but I hc that he’s sub curious even though he doesn’t want to admit it ❤️ I WILL EXPAND ON THIS SOMEDAY)

Anyway, one might think Mongolia is all this because he used to be one of the largest Empires on earth, like he has some kind of post power syndrome from it? But actually nope, he just has always been like this. Mongolia has always been this kind of dom ever since he was just a lesser power on Mongolian steppe who was constantly bullied by the Türks and other barbarians, because your bedroom tastes and life are typically separate from your out-of-bedroom life obviously. Similarly, just because he fell from grace doesn’t mean he would became more of a sub today as what some nations might think. If anything, he just became a calmer and more mature dom as he got older. He has newfound appreciations for lots of things today, but his principal tastes have never deviated much from their basic core. For all the changes in Mongolia’s external life, he’s always been internally stable for the most part. He’s just this kind of person.

So he’s a 70% top. On what occasions he might bottom? Firstly, it has to be with someone he really trusts and is comfortable with. Someone who doesn’t equate being a bottom with being a sub because ew. Someone who won’t make a big annoying deal out of it, for example someone who would make a joke about ‘subjugating the Empire’ (these people will get the spanking of their life from Mongolia). Someone he has a soft spot for and is on neutral grounds with him. Once he bottomed for this exact type of person, who was drunk out of his mind compared to him who was still quite sober. He figured the dude would hate being sore and hungover at the same time come morning. It was a nice experience. He’s a considerate man alright.

Anyway, he’s a 70% top. On what occasions he might bottom? Firstly, it has to be for someone he really trusts and likes. He wouldn’t do it for someone who equates being a bottom with a sub, because ew. Someone who wouldn’t make a big annoying deal out of it (insert some ‘subjugating Empire’ joke maybe; these people would get the spanking of their life from Mongolia). Someone he has a soft spot for, who’s on neutral grounds with him. Once he bottomed for this exact kind of person, who was drunk out of his mind compared to him who was still quite sober, because he figured the dude would hate being sore and hungover at the same time come morning. It was a nice experience. He’s a considerate man alright.

[messrmoonyy]

can we have a snippet of the new one shot 👀

You can. And it’s a nice big chunk because I love you guys 😌

This one shot will be posted at some point this week. It’s about 90% finished and then I have to proof read. Looking at about 10k words of prawn with plot unless I cut some stuff out

You trailed a little behind her as she walked, simply so you could get a better look at her. Even there when there was no one else around, no one she needed to look tough for. She still oozed confidence. The way she walked. The way she kept her head held high. No attempts to shrink away. To hide. To walk in the way Ellie had done when you first met her, like she was too afraid to take up space.

Tess wanted to take up space. She wanted people to know who she was and what she was about. She wasn’t afraid… of anything it seemed.

In fact. You knew she wasn’t.

You’d heard the stories. The rumours. The things that Ellie had told you. That Tess and Joel weren’t… good. They didn’t do good things. They hadn’t. But a twisted part of you liked that. Wanted to know more. Details. Wanted to hear about what she had done and all she was willing to do to stay and alive and to protect the people she loved.

You wanted to be one of those people. Wanted her to do sick things to protect you, to prove all she was willing to do to keep you safe.

You craved a love like that. A desperate and all consuming kind. A kind you knew she could give you.

If she would just stop holding herself back.

“ got some runners “ she said looking over the ridge to one of the towns in the distance. They were pretty far out, looking almost like little ants dashing around the place from so far away.

You watched as her hands moved into a comfortable and familiar position with her gun, pulling the trigger and taking down the strays with ease. You were fixated. On her face, the way her eyes narrowed as she aligned her shot through the scope, the way her lips parted slightly as she steadied her breath. Ammo was precious and she made every shot worth it. You watched her fingers, how long and slender they were. You wanted to melt between them. Wanted to feel what it was like to turn to mush beneath her finger tips.

You had spent many nights dreaming of how they felt. How they’d feel in your hair, trailing across your back, wrapped around your throat, curled up inside of you.

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

“ alright. Let’s keep moving “ she snapped you out of your daydreaming as she lowered the gun, one look over now showing the little ant like runners were motionless on the ground.

“ that was impressive “ you said, clearing your throat lightly in some attempt to distract your thoughts.

“ it’s practice “ is all she said, carrying on along the track. You wondered if this was some old hiking trail or something. If people had come through there years ago, walking that same path for fun. Not to shoot infected. Though you weren’t entirely sure how anyone could find trekking through the woods fun. But maybe that was because your idea of it was so tainted.

It was pretty. You couldn’t deny that. The morning sun in the mountains and the flowers in full bloom. But you had a much better view.

As you watched her you wondered if she ever thought things like that about you. You had caught her watching you before. Many times. And she wasn’t sheepish about it either. She didn’t immediately look away if she saw you had caught her, would hold it another second or two and then look away.

It did make you think.

She came to a stop again looking out at a town slightly futher out than the last. She pulled some binoculars from her pack and looked though them for a moment.

“ wanna take ‘em? “ she asked, lowering her binoculars and looking over at you. The sun was catching her just right, enveloping her in golden light like the goddess you so often heralded her as. You were very obviously staring but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Maybe it was because she could clearly see that you were. And were certain you saw her lips quirk into a smile. Just a subtle one. But a smile “ hello? Are you suddenly mute? “

She waved a hand in front of your face and you shrugged, not even a sliver of embarrassment in your face. You wanted her to see you. Wanted her to know you were looking.

“ my gun doesn’t have a scope “ she held out her own gun to you, swapping it with your own

“ have at em “

“ alright “ you moved to stand closer to her, looking through the scope at the small group of runners aimlessly wandering around across the way.

You were a pretty decent shot. Better than others in town for sure. But you were no one if not an opportunist. So you missed your first two shots. And then your third. Repressing your smile when you heard her slightly frustrated sigh.

“ I’m getting there im getting there “ you said, missing a fourth shot.

“ you’re wasting all my fuckin ammo that’s what you’re doing. Come here “ she moved to stand behind you, her hands falling over yours to readjust your hold, her chest pressed firmly against your back. You didn’t hold back your smile that time, unable to hold onto the giant grin that spread across your face at her closeness “ now try “ she said, stepping back but holding her hands to your shoulders.

You made the shot. Of course you did. Even if it did take a second longer than normal to steady your aim, Tess’ hands on you throwing you off.

“ that’s it “ she praised “ good girl keep that up “ that threw you again, freezing a little at the term of endearment. The praise. From her. God you were fucked.

You cleared the ridge of infected and turned your head to look at her with a beaming smile.

“ pretty good huh? “ she was much closer than you’d thought, so close you could see the individual lashes on her eyelids, the freckles that sprinkled across her nose.

“ pretty good “ she confirmed, she had a slightly quizzical look on her face as she looked at you. Her eyebrows slightly furrowed.