#but you can walk around quite a bit before it kicks you out

[xxcallmemaryxx]

I’d love a sweet II X reader of him playing with readers hair if you don’t mind :)

He’s sweet and horny. I can’t control him it’s just how he is.

II x GN reader.

Under the cut~ <3 <3

“You have five minutes.”

You almost jump out of your skin from where you lounge on the couch. Your head snaps over to ii, already watching you. Had you not just been daydreaming about him, you might have been able to process this better, but it’s slightly alarming when he looks at you like he already knows exactly what you were thinking about.

“Huh?”

Is all you manage to get out. Your brain not able to catch up quick enough.

“You. You have five minutes.”

He repeats. He sticks his hand out and shows you five fingers, for extra effect. Then he juts his thumb out behind him, pointing down the hall.

“Get what you need and then get your ass in that bed.”

Your eyes follow where he’s pointing, your bedroom obviously being at the end of it. You pin him with a distant look, trying to piece together what the hell has gotten into him. But clearly your lack of action isn’t good enough for him.

“ii, what the fuck are you-“

“Five.”

He’s staring right through you. It’s like he can see and feel every single thought you have about him.

“Yeah I got it. Five minutes-“

“Four.”

He cuts you off again. Unmoving from where he stands.

“What are you-“

“Three.”

Oh yeah. Okay. That kicks your ass into gear. You’re up from where you were laying and you’re moving across the room before he can get the next number out. He watches you move. His lips quirked up just enough to give away his amusement. You pass by him as you move to the kitchen, even after all this time there’s still a little part of you that gets nervous around him.

He knows it. He likes it.

He lands a soft smack to your ass as you pass him. Never would he ever pass up the chance to get his hands on you whenever he can. Really, at this point, you’d be quite shocked if he didn’t.

You don’t even know what you’re preparing for. You assume he’s got something planned, and if history has taught you anything, you know a bottle of water and something easy to eat are musts when it comes to being in bed with ii. You grab what you can, getting some things for him too. You fill up your big water bottle, throw some ice cubes in it and make sure the lid is on tight. You scoop it up and walk towards your bedroom, ii having already made his way there. You walk in on him stripping his shirt off and leaving himself in boxers. The bedsheets already pulled back a little bit. The sound of you depositing the things you grabbed on your bedside table catches his attention. He eyes the things you got and a little laugh leaves him at your selection. Your eyes meet and he gives you a small smile.

“Relax. You won’t even need those.”

He says to you softly, coming around to where you stand and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“But I thought we were…”

You trail off, gesturing to the bed in an attempt to awkwardly tell him you assumed you were about to get your life ruined. His lips quirk again, this time a bit closer to a smile.

“Not quite. Maybe tonight.”

He says as he pulls away from you, choosing to stay cryptic. He leaves you standing there, less nervous than when you walked in but still extremely unsure about what the hell he wants right now. You try not to let his implication for his later plans get to you, but he reads you like a book.

“Stop it. Don’t think about that right now. Get undressed and get into bed. Don’t make me count you down again.”

His soft smile is like a drug, you want more of it every time you get it. You strip down to your underwear, matching ii, and you both get into bed together. The sheets are clean. He’s just got done remaking the bed, you can’t help the happy groan that slips from you when you realise. You sink further under the blankets and breathe them in. The sigh of pure comfort tells ii everything he needs to know.

“It’s nice, huh?”

He asks you, his voice so soft as he watches you with his own happy smile.

“So nice… I love clean sheets…”

This pulls a little laugh from him. He lets you enjoy the feeling for a few moments longer while he shuffles around to get himself comfortable.

“Alright. It’s my turn now.”

He mumbles to you, opening his arms for you to slot yourself into. His body is warm, his skin soft. He smells like him. It’s perfect. You take no shame in breathing him in. Pressing your nose into his neck and audibly enjoying every part of him.

His arms wrap around you, but instead of holding you like he normally does, this time they end up in your hair. His thick fingers digging into your scalp and dragging through the strands of hair he can get his fingers through. ii has strong fingers, after drumming for so long sometimes he forgets his own strength, but this is perfect.

So much so that it pulls a slightly surprised sound from you.

“This alright? Been thinking about doing this all day.”

He admits quietly, his hands still buried deep in your hair.

“Fuck, ii…”

Is the only response he gets. A delighted groan.

“Hmmm, I’ll take that as a yes…”

I murmurs into your hairline, leaving a soft kiss there.

“You were thinking about this? My hair?”

You ask him as best you can without slurring your words to an embarrassing level.

“Mhm, it looks so soft today. Smells different too. You use something new?”

He asks you, his nose still buried in your hairline, taking a good whiff of you just as you did to him.

“It’s your stuff… I ran out…”

You admit to him with a little smile pressed into his chest. You didn’t think he’d notice so fast. Figured you’d be able to get away with a wash or two with his shampoo and conditioner before getting new bottles of your own. Apparently you were absolutely stupid for assuming that.

“Fuck that’s what it is… you smell like me. I couldn’t figure it out.”

This time he takes a much deeper whiff of your hair, humming to himself, pleased with this revelation.

His fingers are still playing with your hair. Tangling them up in the strands and then digging his fingertips into your scalp just enough to turn your brain to mush every time he does it.

“Hope you don’t mind… didn’t think you’d clock it so soon.”

“Love, I notice the second you do something different. I noticed it the moment you stepped out of the shower this morning. You can’t hide anything from me.”

You can hear the smile in his voice again, either proud of himself for knowing you so well he’s able to pick up on the smallest of differences. Or, just amused that you thought you could hide anything from him at all. No matter the size.

“If you weren’t actively massaging my brain I might’ve been slightly terrified… or turned on… not sure yet…”

He huffs a soft laugh into your hairline, pleased that you’re enjoying this moment with him. He watches the way his hands card through your hair, loving the way it looks all wrapped up around his fingers.

“I can make you both at the same time, you know this.”

He says things like this so nonchalantly, it drives you nuts.

“You need to be neutered.”

You mumble into his chest, silently glad he’s unable to see the way your face undoubtedly turns red.

“No… I just need my love.”

He mumbles sappily, leaving little kisses along your hairline again. It sounds innocent enough but you know that not so deep down he’s having incredibly impure thoughts.

“Focus on the task at hand, hotshot.”

He smiles into your forehead. Tugging just slightly harder on a handful of hair than he has been. A warning.

He keeps a mental note to remind you to stop buying shampoo and conditioner. His one suits you much better. It suits him too. You smell like him. He’s beyond fucking delighted. This scratches an itch so deep in his brain. He can’t even try to explain just how much he loves it. Maybe just about as much as you love clean bedsheets.

.

.

.

Love you guys thank you for reading.

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 6

It's Silco's turn to give you an invitation, and you're not quite sure what answer to give him. Then something chases you through the dark corners of the Undercity—and you end up somewhere unexpected...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst || SFW | TW: Stalking | WC: 4.1k

beta reader: @silcoitus <333

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

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Even though you told Silco you’re not painting today, you still have to check on the mural. When you arrive at your worksite, you lift the plastic sheeting and rest your palm gingerly against the wall; the rough stone is cool but dry to the touch. The colors seem a bit dim in the overcast weather, but the paint is still intact. It looks like your protective measures were successful.

The desire to linger persists, though. You extend the scissor lift higher to reach the rooftop, climbing up onto the ledge. You lean forward, kicking your feet against the wall. Staring out into nothing and shivering at the cold air that blows through your clothes.

Silco’s sleepover was already a significant disruption to your usual routine, but that’s not the only reason you feel disoriented. It’s been a while since you’ve made a new friend, and the buzzing excitement is enhanced by how much you have in common with him. 

Unfortunately, it’s tainted by anxiety about the heist. According to the papers, the shipment will be arriving in two weeks. It seems unlikely that you’ll see Silco before then.

Still, you can’t help but wonder. Should you go looking for him? It would be a change of pace if you were the one to initiate contact for once. Would he find that refreshing? Or would he think you’re coming on too strong? 

Something tells you he wouldn’t want to be disturbed during the planning phase of the raid. It’s an important mission, but he doesn’t have a lot of time to prepare for it. Maybe it’s better to leave him alone for now; he knows where to find you if he can make time for a visit.

These thoughts and more circle your mind like Poros chasing each other. You probably would have sat there for even longer, but a light raindrop taps your cheek. When you look up to the sky, the clouds are blotting out the sky, heavy trails of dark blue and gray ink swirling above your head.

As you wipe your face, the back of your neck tingles, goosebumps rising as your hair stands on end. The chill at the base of your skull isn’t caused by the weather.

Someone is standing behind you.

“Silco?” you call out, turning around in surprise.

You almost don’t hear it over your own voice and the rumble of thunder: a mechanical click and whirring, low like a buzzing insect. Simultaneously, a blinding, white flash bursts in your face, burning into your retinas. 

As you squeeze your eyes shut, footsteps patter away; metal clanking echoes in the distance as something jumps onto rooftops. When your eyes readjust, you carefully jump off the ledge onto the roof.

“Who’s there?” you say in a small, quivering voice.

But you’re all alone. Whoever that person was, they’re long gone by now. You pull your jacket tighter around you. You’re just about to leave when you spot something small floating to the ground.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you walk over to the thing and pick it up. It’s thin, glossy, and square, artificially smooth and warm to the touch. There are undefined shapes on it, blurred edges slowly sharpening into focus as the dull gray smears become stained with color.

The shock of what you’re looking at almost makes you drop it.

It’s a picture of you, your face blurred as you’re turning to look over your shoulder. But it has your clothes and your hair color, framed by a cloudy sky.

On instinct, you crumple the picture and stuff it into your pocket. Your body moves on its own, climbing onto the scissor lift and running away.

Stalkers aren’t unusual in Zaun, but their presence is still unnerving. No one’s ever followed you this closely before, and the picture proves that their issue with you is personal. 

Instead of heading home, you make your way Topside. You had meant to go shopping for new art supplies, and now seems as good a time as any. Hopefully you’ll be able to lose them in the streets of Piltover, where there’ll be more scrutinizing eyes. 

This one time, you’re grateful that Pilties are so judgmental of people from the Undercity; if you’re being watched like a hawk, they’ll be able to spot whoever’s stalking you. So you take your time browsing in an art store, not bothering to step away from the shop attendants that shadow your every footstep. It's late and raining hard by the time you finally leave. When you step out and take several careful, cautious steps, the tingling sensation doesn’t come back. You start walking faster to take advantage of your pursuer’s absence. 

On the second full day without rain, you return to the mural. But just as you pry open a can of paint, the feeling strikes you again. This time, your scalp tingles and stings painfully, as the stalker seemingly observes you from the rooftops. You jam the can’s lid back in place and run away again.

For days after, they don’t come back. But those close calls are enough to make you dread going to work. You keep your sessions short just in case you need to flee. The shorter workdays aren’t a problem for now, as you’re still laying down the base coat for the mural. However, longer sessions can’t be avoided when painting the finer details, as they’ll require focus and precision.

The fear of being stalked embeds itself into the very air around you, making you hyperaware of your surroundings. It doesn’t help that your nights have become restless, disturbed by nightmares of faceless figures towering over you and footsteps growing louder and louder as they approach you. 

Still, you’re determined to not let your newfound paranoia get the best of you, especially on the day after the raid. Silco had promised that he would find you, after all, so you steel yourself and head out to the mural.

To your immense relief, Silco is already there waiting for you, a triumphant grin on his face blazing like the sun. All your worries fall away as you rush to the scissor lift, impatiently slamming the button that extends it to the roof. During the ascent, you take a deep breath to calm your hammering heartbeat, hoping to regain some semblance of dignity.

As you pull yourself up and over the ledge, Silco extends a hand out to you. You take it, savoring the feel of his calluses and scars, solid and rough as you find your footing. He lets go of you all too soon to rummage in his backpack. You shove your own hand in your pocket, squeezing reflexively.

“We were right about the shipment,” he says excitedly, pulling a bottle of wine out of his backpack. “Noxian goods were just some of the many illegal imports we found last night. The councilor’s in trouble.”

“Hello to you too, Silco,” you say, laughing with relief. “Are you okay?”

The fire in his eyes diminishes to something softer, a warm hearth as he looks at you properly now with appreciation. But his smile widens as he holds out the wine to you.

“We prevailed thanks to you,” he says proudly. “It isn’t much, but we wanted you to enjoy your share of the spoils.”

“Oh—” you say, surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

“Is this not enough? We have much more stashed away—” he asks.

“No, no,” you shake your head, hesitating. “I—I just need to hear you say that you’re okay.”

He doesn’t tell you those exact words, but instead launches into a grand retelling of last night’s events: staking out the warehouse for hours, bribing some of the less disciplined guards, knocking the rest of them out, hurrying away with as much cargo as they could carry, and dumping the rest of it in the harbor. He puts down the wine bottle and pulls a flask out from his pockets, toasting to the Children’s victory.

His tale is probably a very thrilling one, and you’ll have to ask Silco to tell it again someday. 

But right now, your attention is focused on his sleeves; despite the warm weather, he has them pulled almost all the way down to his wrist, bandaging peeking out like a dog sneaking into a dining room for table scraps.

When he holds the flask out for you to take, you instead seize his left wrist, shoving the sleeve up as high as you can. His entire forearm is bandaged past his elbow; it’s not unusual for him to accessorize with unnecessary bindings, but he hisses in pain from your manhandling.

You handle him more carefully now, fingers lightly grazing over the makeshift wrapping. The cloth is gray and dirty, smeared with dirt and coal dust. A tight, stubborn knot in the crook of his elbow refuses to untangle despite your best attempts to press your thumbs into its crevices.

“Dummy,” you say, exasperated. When you let go of him, he pulls his forearm close, rubbing it gingerly. “You broke your promise.”

“What do you mean?” he asks defiantly.

You climb over to your scissor lift and grab your bag, placing it carefully on the ledge. After pulling out a first-aid kit, you wave at him to come closer, scolding him gently, “You promised you’d stay safe.”

“There are always mishaps in battle,” he fires back, but there’s no malice in his voice. “And I’m here in one piece, aren’t I?”

“I’ll be more specific next time.” You roll your eyes and gesture again. “Besides, if you die of infection then that will count as you breaking your promise.”

“My own well-being is of no importance—” he protests.

“Silco…” You glare at him. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

His eyes widen in surprise at the anger in your voice. He’s almost meek when he finally steps forward, extending his forearm out to you. You take the flask from him and put it on the ledge next to your kit.

“What happened?” you ask, pulling out a pair of scissors to cut off the knot. You unwrap the dressing slowly, peeling it away layer by layer. On his arm is a long, jagged cut, almost spanning the entire length of his forearm. Another shorter cut closer to his wrist runs parallel to the first one. Neither are very deep, with dried flecks of blood already crusting at the edges of the wounds. His fingers are cut up as well, with tiny nicks at the joints that have already scabbed over.

“Climbed out of a broken window,” he says dismissively. When you narrow your eyes at him, he says defensively. “Time was of the essence—”

You sigh. “I know.”

Your first-aid kit is an expensive, deluxe product from a Topside pharmacy, stocked for almost every kind of emergency. First, you use a sanitizer on your own hands, making sure to meticulously scrub underneath your fingernails. Then, you carefully pour clean water onto a sterile cloth, just enough to dampen it but not soak it. 

You look up at Silco apologetically. “Sorry, this might hurt a little.”

Carefully, carefully, you dab away at the caked dirt and blood on Silco’s arm and fingers. To his credit, he’s a good patient, enduring your administrations without complaint. He winces when a particularly stubborn scab refuses to chip away, his tendons flexing involuntarily. When it finally does, a tiny droplet of blood oozes out.

“It’s a good thing you don’t need stitches,” you remark as you finish wiping up. You pull out a fresh roll of bandaging and start wrapping his forearm securely, but not too tightly. The cuts on his fingers have healed enough that they don’t need to be covered.

“That’s quite a shame; I would have welcomed the scars,” he jokes.

When you secure the wrapping at his elbow, you slide your hand down his arm, assessing your handiwork. The dressing’s grainy bumpiness gives way to Silco’s rough skin as your hand reaches his palm. 

Reluctantly, you start to pull away, but he squeezes your hand appreciatively, his thumb sweeping across the back of your hand. 

You can’t help but squeeze him back. His palm feels warm against yours, your own skin molding against his calluses.

“I missed you,” he says lightly. But when you look up, his eyes are sincere, turquoise waters as clear as a fountain. “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you before the raid. But I would like to ask: did you make any effort to find me?”

You look away, mouth suddenly dry. His intense and earnest gaze has your legs feeling unsteady. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

(Also, you weren’t sure how closely your stalker was following you. You would never forgive yourself if they followed you straight to his doorstep.) 

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” he chuckles.

You purse your lips at him, annoyed; he didn’t deny that a visit from you would be bothersome. You open your mouth to tease him, trying too late to stave off your rising embarrassment. 

But before you can speak, he reaches out with his free hand to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingertips linger on the shell, tracing the shape of it all the way down to your lobe. His touch is gentle, a soft and tender caress. 

Wild heat blooms under your skin at his touch, no doubt spreading across the rest of your face and neck.

You yank your hand out of his grasp and jerk back, hitting your first-aid kid with your elbow. It falls sideways off the ledge and you catch it just before it hits the ground. Some of the supplies within tumble out, rolling across the roof.

“You’ll—uh—you’ll probably need painkillers for those cuts—I’ll get you some—uh—some pills and stuff later,” you stammer out. You seize the opportunity to look away from him, leaning over the ground to pick up the fallen items. “What about your friends? Are they okay?”

“They’re alright, thank you for asking.” He crouches down to help you pick up a roll of gauze. When he holds it out to you, you swipe it from him, careful to avoid touching him directly. He frowns, a little notch sinking between his eyebrows, but he doesn’t remark on your sudden skittishness. “In fact, they’ve expressed interest in making your acquaintance.”

“Huh?” You were about to grab a container of sterile water when you stop, hand still outstretched in midair.

Silco picks it up for you and puts it away in your kit. “They wish to express their gratitude, as I have mine. Your aid was a monumental factor in the raid’s success.”

After craning his neck around you to look for more medical supplies, he stands up. With the kit fully reassembled, he zips it shut, putting it back inside your bag. You get to your own feet as he turns to face you, leaning casually against the ledge.

“Our preparations were more than adequate due to your intelligence,” he says solemnly, looking straight at you. “I do not mean it lightly when I say you helped save many lives that night.”

“Oh…” You fold your arms, hugging yourself against a sudden breeze. It ruffles Silco’s hair, and he pushes his bangs out of his face. “I just took some pictures, that’s all.”

“All it takes to set off an avalanche is a pebble,” he says. “We struck a single blow against Topside last night. And we’re going to do it again and again until they finally fall at our feet.”

“Don’t call me a pebble just because I’m shorter than you,” you joke.

“We’re all ‘dirty little animals’ living in Topside’s shadow,” he smiles ironically at you. “We ought to stand united because of that. If you ever find yourself at our doors, they will always be open to you.”

“Hmm… The Last Drop is in the Lanes, right?” you ask. The name of the Children’s headquarters is common knowledge, but you’ve never been there yourself.

He nods. “I could lead you there, if you like.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you say quickly. “I’ll think about it.”

Silco grins at your answer. You bite your tongue, unwilling to dampen his mood by voicing your reservations. 

So far, you have no regrets in helping Silco, but opening yourself up to an organization of strangers is a different story. If they learn about your connections to the Council, the other Children might want to exploit them.

What would Silco do in that instance? Would he stand by your choice to remain uninvolved? Or would he also pressure you to officially join their cause? He seemed respectful enough of your decision during the sleepover, but you wonder if his friends would change his mind.

Silco picks up his flask again and unscrews it open. When he offers it to you, you take it automatically, still lost in your own thoughts as you take a sip. Instead of water, the tart taste of the Noxian wine floods your mouth. Caught off-guard by the alcohol, you cough and choke. He laughs and thumps you on the back.

You don’t get any painting done at all today. Instead, you both relax, talking about everything and nothing. Silco shows you some knife tricks, his own smile as sharp and shiny as the blade dancing through the air. You make up more stories about the dark-haired woman you’re painting.

He visits you at least once a week after that. Each time he does, the fear of being stalked fades away. Maybe it’s because the harasser is scared off by his presence, or you just feel safe around Silco. Either way, his visits never fail to cheer you up. You enjoy his company, and you pay polite attention every time he launches into a monologue about the Undercity’s future. His seemingly endless well of ambition means that he always has some new insights to share. At least these conversations distract you from darker thoughts about your stalker.

One day, you tell him that you have errands to run in the Undercity. You try to ask him as casually as possible if he wants to accompany you; you’re just interested in hanging out again later, nothing more and nothing less. When he declines, you let some lighthearted disappointment show, but hide the sinking dread that sinks through your chest and into your stomach. 

But maybe you’ll get lucky. After all, the underground never sleeps, its children traversing the alleys at all hours of the night. They might provide enough cover for you to slip undetected to your destination.

________________________________________

You should have known better than to be optimistic. 

It might be easier to lose your stalker in the crowded streets, but that also means it’s harder to pinpoint what direction they’re coming from.

Every conversation you overhear seems to be about you.

When you sidestep a pair of men wearing long capes and pointy Ionian hats, their sideways glance at you seems to linger unnervingly.

A weapons vendor catches your eye and he smirks at you, licking one of his knives before he stabs his table with it.

Silhouettes in windows point at you before disappearing from view.

As much as you dodge and sneak through the lanes, you can’t outrun the sense of impending doom that chases you.

Your palms are sweaty. 

Your breath is loud and fast in your ears. 

Blood drains from your veins to be replaced by a howling anxiety. 

Your heart beats a rapid and running pace that the whole of the Lanes can hear. 

Colors and noises swirl together in a dizzying and incomprehensible spiral.

When you sidestep into an alleyway around the corner from a fruit stall to catch your breath, you review your options. You could head straight to the elevators, but that still runs the risk of the stalker following you home. If you wait it out at Babette’s, they might charge you a premium for a room, especially if you have no intention of spending time with any of her employees.

You’re forced back onto the streets when the stall’s vendor yells at you to get away from his merchandise unless you’re buying. You swiftly step around him, keeping your gaze locked forward. Even in your compromised state, you can’t afford to look weak.

An unmarked, large, multi-story building at the end of the street seems safe enough. It lies at the junction of three different avenues, and you speedwalk through the open courtyard as fast as you can. The edifice is painted over in flaking shades of orange and brown, revealing rusted gray and turquoise steel underneath. Curlicues of metal pipes encircle the front door artistically, iron vines crawling up the walls reaching up towards the sky.

The establishment seems to be a pub of some kind. Most of the chairs are filled, patrons drinking or lounging at tables and booths. You sidestep a tall woman dragging a babbling man out by the collar. From the muted smack of flesh on steel and squeals of pain, the woman used the man’s face to push open the door. You can’t help but chuckle under your breath as you make a beeline for her recently vacated booth, enticing worn red fabric welcoming you as you scoot in to observe the other customers.

Low music leaks out of a brightly lit jukebox by the entrance. The furniture looks handmade, all made of sturdy wood with metal trimmings at the joints. Tables of mismatched sizes and shapes are spread unevenly throughout the room, seemingly moved around at the patrons’ whims. Exposed lightbulbs cast warm, yellow light, illuminating assorted portraits and posters on the walls. Worn brick peeks out from underneath peeling wallpaper. Wooden barrels sit in quiet corners.

A tall, burly man stands behind a counter, wiping it down. A wide selection of various alcoholic drinks occupies a glass shelf above him.

In a more peaceful world, this place could be… cozy. Some patrons allow themselves to slouch in their chairs, even though their hands never stray too far from belted knives. One man has fallen asleep in his cups, but nobody bothers him or his pockets. A group of rowdy friends laugh and encourage each other at one of the pool tables.

“Hey.” The tall woman you walked past steps in front of you, blocking your view of the bar. She’s muscular and tough, a bright red poncho draped proudly around her shoulders. Her short dark hair is tied neatly back in a half up-do, almost girlish except for the dark scowl carved into her face. “You’re in my seat.”

You finally glance down at the table, only just now noticing an almost-empty glass of orange alcohol and a half-full ashtray in front of you, still warm from recent use.

“Sorry,” you say hastily.

You slide out of the booth as quickly as you can, scanning for an empty table. The woman’s energy tells you that she could have just as easily picked you up and thrown you to the floor, and you’re thankful that she opted to evict you more politely.

She raises an appraising eyebrow at you. You draw your hood lower over your eyes, avoiding her gaze.

 “If you grab me a drink, I’ll let you sit here.” She takes a seat in the booth, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, still staring at you. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, relieved.

“Tell him Sevika wants her usual,” the woman says, jerking her head at the barman.

You make your way to the counter, leaning against it. When you place your hands on its edge, it’s cool to the touch, polished to a brilliant shine. You crane your neck to look for the bartender; he’s at the far end of the counter, finishing up with another customer. 

Just as you raise your hand to catch his attention, he spots you. He slaps a towel over his shoulder and saunters over to you.

“Never seen you ‘round here before, miss,” he says, curious. The glass he picks up looks tiny in his massive, boulder-like hands. He holds it out to you flirtatiously, his wink as shiny as the spotless glassware.  

“It’s my first time here,” you say politely, taking the glass from him. You put it down carefully in front of you. “Can I get Sevika’s usual, please?”

He nods, a slow grin spreading across his wide cheeks. He pushes his short brown hair out of his face before he grabs a second cup. When as he grabs a bottle of orange liquor from a shelf, you belatedly realize that you have no idea how much drinks cost here.

“Does she have a tab?” You pat down your pockets, groaning internally at your carelessness.

The bartender ignores your question, instead pouring both glasses half-full with a flourish.

“Oh, nothing for me, thanks,” you protest.

“It’s on the house, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully. “Welcome to The Last Drop.” 

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If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! <3

[robo-dino-puppy]

windswept

[gojoest]

URGES — gojo satoru

MDNI, pregnancy freak!satoru, f!reader, established relationship (married), reader is pregnant, public sex (in the train, but it’s just the tip), reader is going through hormonal changes that cause a very high sex drive + wears a dress, unprotected sex, pet names (sweetness), wc: 1.3k, dividers by @/cafekitsune

a/n: i implemented the ideas suggested by @/tapiocakisses & @/cherriel0v3r into this drabble, big thank you <3

Satoru adores every bit about your pregnancy.

Certainly, his favorite thing about it is the baby bump that had slowly started forming — all because it is the most unambiguous sign that you belong to someone.

Surely, he also likes to put his hands on your belly. He places them on top when you sit together, rubs it softly, or gently shields it with his palm as you walk down the street while his other hand firmly sits at the small of your back — after all, this is the most unambiguous sign that you belonged to him, because not just any man would walk around touching a pregnant woman like that.

Not just any man, but the father himself.

But recently, there is another aspect of your pregnancy that he had grown extremely fond of — almost addicted, in fact, to the point he thinks he won’t be able to live any other way once this “side effect” subsides.

High sex drive…

…which comes as a result of increased hormonal shifts in your body, causing an abysmal spike in your libido. Thus meaning, you keep him quite busy.

These arousal outbursts occur at random times of the day, and Satoru is always ready to deliver — even if it means making regular stops at home during work hours (a few times a day) or ending a mission in an abrupt and brutal manner (unnecessary hollow purpling curses left and right that otherwise could’ve been handled with less effort).

It is all for a good cause — he needs to take care of his pregnant wife.

Sometimes you’d wake him up in the middle of the night, pawing at his cock, sweetly and innocently asking him to fuck you.

The blood has never rushed faster to his groin before. In all honesty, those are the times he struggles with his self-restraint because you drive him absolutely nuts with a single word, and the fact that you need him this bad, so bad that you’re already wet down there between your legs — and he can smell it, so bad that you wake him up rubbing your thighs together asking for his cock because your fingers aren’t good enough to reach certain spots… messes with his head oh so terribly. If you weren’t in this fragile, pregnant state, he’d pin you down nasty and fuck the living hell out of you until you pass out.

He thinks to himself, that once the child is born the first thing he’ll do is fuck your brains out in the most obscene of positions that weren’t suitable during the pregnancy and take his pent-up frustration from holding back his stroke game out on that pretty cunt of yours. Well, until he knocks you up all over again.

…because he wants to keep you pregnant and needy for him, all the time.

Until then, he’ll fuck you tenderly. Sometimes with just the tip…

…as you so happen to be in public — in the train, on your way to visit the zoo during one of his rarely free days, when your urges just so happened to kick in. Again.

Even though, he fucked you good before leaving the house. Pretty sure his cum is still staining the inner of your panties even — the panties that are now slid to the side as you’re backed against one of the corners of the train where it’s relatively secluded, with your husband standing before you holding the hem of your dress up and high enough to access what’s underneath. His pants undone but still intact around his legs, it’s just the zipper that is down for his cock to be out and the tip prodding in your cunt.

It’s a good thing that he’s a big man and that his frame can cover the entirety of you once he is in front of you, so that people entering or leaving the wagon wouldn’t witness the obscenity beyond him. Fortunately, all they see is the huge, broad back of a tall, well-built man. And, well, a pair of smaller feet that could be spotted through his spread lower limbs, that is, if you looked down.

“Shh—“, cupping your cheek with his free hand Satoru quietly hushes you, tracing his index finger over your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut, moving your hips slightly to swallow more of him inside you, and not just the tip. “I don’t want other people to hear the sweet noises you make, they’re for my ears only, okay?”

His finger moves away from your mouth, giving way for his lips to seal them instead. Because he knows that you won’t listen to him. You never do. And he really can’t make peace with the possibility of someone catching on to your voice. Not because you’d be busted fucking in broad daylight, inside of a train of all places. But because, that voice you make when his cock is inside you? It’s really just for him to hear and keep.

“Please, sweetness— just whisper your moans to me, in my ear only”, he mumbles against your lips, just barely breaking the kiss so he could beg for you to keep it down. Growing concerned on what he could possibly do if someone were to actually hear you.

“Nghh—”, you pant into him, incoherent. Easier said than done, you think but the words don’t make it out. All that is in your mind is how bad you want his cock inside you, all of it. The tip only is doing more damage than any good, teasing you further.

“Fuck me for real, ‘Toru”, you hiss at him, grabbing a chunk of his hair before dragging your nails down his undercut, then down his back, and then lower, and lower, and lower — until you reach his ass. Your hand kneading on it, sneakily luring his hips into you.

He wavers, he really does.

Beads of sweat sliding down his forehead, his bangs damp and sticking on his skin. His cheeks flushed while he breathes in heavy stutters as tremors run up and down his body, causing him to buck himself forward just a tiny bit before he stops himself. Terrified of losing his mind if he goes an inch deeper in you, because then — people would know and unfortunately see you in a state that only he is allowed to see.

His extreme possessiveness of you being the only voice of reason in him right now, no matter how contradicting the present situation is. He wants people to know that he fucks you, but he does not want them to witness it. His wish to be the only one you give yourself to is followed by the desire to be the only witness to how you do it.

“Yeah?”, he scoffs, his head falling back for a second then shifting to its previous position. Shortly after his neck cranes down and he nestles his forehead on the nook of your shoulder.

“Do you know what it costs me to stop myself from going all the way in? Do you have any idea how fucking good you feel?”, he laughs in a daze. “Pretty sure I just lost about 10 years of my life holding back, so please — please, don’t let anyone get to that sweet voice”, he pleads through a heavy breath. His voice is really desperate. Like he really is fighting for his life there, trying to keep your voice pristine to his ears only.

“There’s a café three stops away”, he continues after he peels his head away from your shoulder and looks at you through half-lidded eyes. “I can give you the rest there — can you be a good girl for me till then?”

You nod.

The zoo visit was clearly off the table now. But in a few more minutes you would be on the bathroom counter — legs spread and a cockful of your husband inside you — getting what you deserve.

[fastandcarlos]

Streamer Baby : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: when max leaves you and your daughter to stream for the night, only one of you is happy to let max go and play for a while

Max’s eyes lit up as soon as he walked into your apartment, heavy footsteps thudding through. He dropped to his knees as your daughter ran through to meet him, leaping up straight into his arms. His grip was tight as her arms wrapped around his neck, kicking her legs excitably at the sight of her dad returning home. After a couple of moments you followed through, joining the duo as Max pressed a kiss against the top of your head. Max’s free arm wrapped around you, inviting you into their hug as the three of you walked back into the apartment, all entangled in with one another.  

“I can’t stay for long,” Max told you, placing your daughter back down. “Don’t forget I’ve got that charity stream tonight.” 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget,” you smiled, heading back into the kitchen to carry on preparing dinner for the three of you. 

“Where are you going daddy?” Your daughter asked, her hand still resting on Max’s leg to make sure that he couldn’t run away from her. 

“I’ve just got a bit of work to do sweetheart,” he smiled, brushing his hand over the top of her head. “I promise that I won’t be too long.” 

“You’re stuck with mummy for a little while longer,” you joked, trying your best to keep her smiling. 

“I’d rather be stuck with mummy then do what I have to do tonight,” Max grinned, bending down and lifting your daughter up, a loud squeal escaping from her. 

“You can try and make me feel better, but I know she’s a daddy’s girl,” you assured Max, appreciating the efforts that he went to. He couldn’t help it, he felt guilty sometimes that your daughter clung to him more than you, but you didn’t mind, being a spectator of their relationship was pretty special too. 

“I’ll make sure that I’m done so I can come and say goodnight,” Max informed you both, placing your daughter down in one of the dining chairs just to the side of where you were. He walked around and grabbed himself a drink and a snack from the fridge before heading for the door. “If you need anything, you know where I am,” he smiled, pressing a kiss against the top of your daughter’s head, moving around to kiss the side of yours too before leaving the two of you to it. 

A sigh came from Max as he closed the door behind himself, hearing the groans of your daughter cry out straight away. He felt helpless as you called out her name in the hope that she would stop complaining, but it wasn’t to be. Whilst George headed upstairs, you found a couple of her toys lying around the kitchen floor, picking them up and placing them in front of her, only for her to chuck them to one side. 

“I want to play with daddy,” she cried out, folding her arms in front of her chest, a habit of Max’s she’d definitely picked up. 

“I want to spend time with daddy too, but he’s busy,” you weakly smiled, picking the toys back up off the floor. 

“Why’s he busy?” 

“Because he’s working,” you explained, opening up the kitchen door again to place the toys back in their box. “Why don’t you go and watch the television sweetheart then mummy can get on with sorting dinner?” 

“Can I watch Bluey?” She excitedly asked, offering the first hint of a smile she’d shown since Max left the room. 

“You can watch whatever you want,” you replied, keen to keep that smile on her face for as long as you possibly could. “I’m sure once daddy is done with work he’d love to come and watch Bluey with you too.” 

“Daddy’s coming now?” She quizzed, not quite understanding what you meant. 

“Soon,” you spoke, only for her smile to fade again. You quickly turned the television on, hurrying to find any episode that you could to put on and distract your daughter. Once you had one, you left her to it, heading back into the kitchen so that you could finish preparing dinner for the three of you without any distractions around. 

Above where you were, Max was all set up with his headphones on, talking to some of his fellow drivers who were taking part in the charity stream. He was lost in his own little bubble until a stream of light came through the door leaving him unable to see what was happening on the screen, the light hitting the exact spot where his character was. 

His eyes glanced to the door to see what was going on, only for a little figure to peer around the door frame, a cheeky smile etched on her face. “Love, what are you doing?” Max chuckled as he met your daughter’s eyes. 

“I missed you,” she grinned, inviting herself into the room, her chaotic feet charging through the room to where he was. 

“I’ve only been gone ten minutes,” Max laughed, bending down to pick her up anyway, sitting her down in his lap. Her arms immediately went around his chest, sticking to him tightly just in case anyone tried to take her away. He didn’t have the heart to tell her to move as she wriggled around to make herself comfortable, her hair flicking in front of the screen over and over again. The boys were baffled on the end of the line as Max’s character was killed, he’d gone from top of the leaderboard to bottom of the pack in no time at all, all thanks to the troublemaker cuddled up to him. 

Usually Max hated coming last, especially when it came to impressing on stream, but for once Max could make an allowance. His weakness was absolutely your daughter, every single person that knew Max could tell you that too, which was why it didn’t take long for the other boys to figure out why Max had suddenly plummeted to the bottom of the rankings. 

“Have you got a little guest?” Charles laughed through his headset as Max’s character was shot again. 

“I might have a team mate,” Max sniggered in response, “not that she’s exactly doing a good job of helping me right now.” 

“Don’t use your child to cover the fact you’re rubbish at this game,” Lando teased, celebrating being the one to defeat Max. 

“I’m being honest,” Max chuckled, glancing down at your daughter again. “You just wait until you have kids one day, you won’t be able to get anything done anymore without a little figure following you around constantly.” 

“Why don’t you just tell her to go away?” Lando jokingly quizzed, hearing several groans from many of the drivers through his headphones. 

“Shut up Lando,” Max grinned, “do you hear how stupid you sound sometimes?” 

As the game restarted, Max tried his best to focus again without your daughter getting in the way. That was soon interrupted again though when you peered through the door, smiling softly when you saw your daughter cuddled up to Max, relieved to see that she was safe in the hold of her father. 

“She just couldn’t stay away,” Max laughed, knowing exactly what you were looking at. 

“I had no idea where she’d gone,” you grinned with a shake of your head. “One minute she was there, the next she was gone.” 

“I knew she wasn’t going to leave me alone for long,” Max smiled, taking his headphones off for a moment. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her to go back downstairs again.” 

“It’s alright, she’s not getting in the way though, is she?” You asked him. 

“I’ve lost every round.” 

Oh,” you smirked, unable to hold back your laughter. “It’s for charity so I don’t think you’re allowed to get mad about that.” 

“I also don’t think I have the heart to get mad at this one either,” he chuckled, nodding down at your daughter. 

“No way, she’s a daddy’s girl after all.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[hoshigray]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐧' 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 | nanami kento

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: werewolf! Nanami x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - heat/rut cycles - masturbation (m! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play - mating press position - breeding kink - unprotected sex (psa: wrap the willy, you sillies!) - knotting - biting/love bites - first he's sweet, then he's a bit feral - pet names (angel, baby, honey, my love, sweetpea, sweetie) - mention of cum, and spit/drool.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9k

Nanami Kento, your stoic, judicious, respectable, and attentive husband, is a werewolf. It is a fact that might sound exciting on the outside, yet it is quite a hassle for the blonde to go through. Despite that, he ensures he cares for his partner and their needs because you, his beautiful lover, are his priority.

“—Ahhhck, ohhhfuckkk!! Harder, Ken, hardeeerr!!”

…Until his ruts kick the door, and he’s wired to fuck your brains out. 

Imagine it, right? Nanami’s been under the motions of his rut for hours, and it’s been going cataclysmically unpleasant. We’re talking very long – excruciatingly long – hours of writhing under the blanket of his horniness. Bad enough that he’s called off work for two days straight, writhing and sweating in his sheets because his head is pounding nonstop, pushing his face deep into the pillow because it hurts to think, and the tent of his sweatpants becoming more and more solid with every whiff of your scent on his bed.

You. That’s all he can think about; it’s like a necessity. Fair-colored eyebrows knitted together tightly the more he sniffs your scent off the pillow, messy bed hair sticking to sweat the more he squirms and trails a hand down to his raging boner. Choked groans slip out his lips as he fists himself, the friction becoming faster and stronger as his wish to be here beside him propels his heartbeat to leave him winded.

“Hahhhfuck…baby…” he says your name in a blurry haze, memories flaunting pictures of you to worsen his drive. The grip on his dick goes firmer, to and fro, from the crown of his glans to the base and top of his ballsack. All he wants right now is for you to be closer, to kiss, to suck, to bite, to mate — to breed.

“Kenny, baby, I’m home!” And just like that, his prayers are answered. “I brought some food on my way back!”

He can hear you by your footsteps waltzing around the apartment, your scent becoming pungent and seeping from under the bedroom door, adding more fuel to aggravate the fog in his head. His teeth are clenched, strokes are rampant, and a spot on his grey sweats is dampening. 

“Babe, you here?” You draw near the room, knocking on the door before opening it. “Ohh, Kento—Oh!!” Of course, you walked in on him in a vulnerable state, already throwing apologies his way and turning your heel back. “Sorry! I didn’t know you were—“

“No, n-no, it’s okay,” he stammers, and you halt. “Please, sweetie…I need your help here.”

Your lips flatten at the plea; the way he borderline begs for your participation pulls a chord. You silently close the door, taking soft steps to the bed before sitting on the mattress. Your spouse-in-heat pulls his sweatpants down to his ass for his length to spring out, erect and angry to be used.

There is slight diffidence in your hands until Nanami pulls yours to switch; your breath hitches at the contact of his glans on your palm. Nanami hisses as your cold fingers curl around his shaft; the contrast of the temperature as you glide up and down forces his thighs to quirk. “Ahhh, yess, yes, my love,” he melts under your touch, subtly bucking his hips to your tempo.

“Holy shit…” the sight of his precum slipping out of the urethra and trailing down and slipping under your fingertips makes you chew your lip. “It’s that bad?” Your husband nods. “What you need, baby?”

He grabs for your shirt with a vicious grip as you keep stroking his pulsing dick, and you gulp thickly. “You,” he says lowly. “I need you. Right now.”

And just like the lovely and pleasing person you are, you allow him to have his way with you.

Stripped off your pants and panties, your legs spread apart by his hands, a dominant hold on the back of your knees as he pushes them to your chest, and your cunt is bare for him to ravish. He’s fucking hungry for you, his tongue practically glued to your labia and swishing around to collect your slick. Sounds of intense slurps on your vulva can be heard, pushing his face deep for his nose to brush up on your clitoris while he drinks your come. You moan aloud, a sharp cry as he flicks his wet muscle on your bud, encircling around it. 

“Ohhh, hoohh…!” You grip the sheets beneath you as he sucks on your peal after spitting on it. “Fuck, Kentooo, wait a—Nnmm!”

“Hnnmm…Mmpah, shit, you taste so good, baby,” he mutters before lapping on your clip lazily, and you throw your head to the pillow. “Smell so good, too…” Nanami returns his mouth to your opening, wet with your liquids and his saliva, coursing his tongue again to pervade through your sensitive flesh. And he pushes the muscle into your slit, and you jerk upwards.

“—Mmm, Kento, stooop!” Trembling legs fail to muster out of his grip. “I caaan’t; I just came already…!!” He pushes his tongue to and fro, fucking you with every push and sucking in more of your nectar to coat his tastebuds. Your nerves have already spiked thanks to your orgasm prior, yet your partner continues to double you down to a whimpering mess. 

He places chaste kisses on your privates, then substitutes his mouth with a swift insert of his middle finger. He already has you wailing from the digit wiggling inside. Fuck, you looked so cute. 

You nearly choke on the spit as his middle finger grazes against your vaginal walls. “—Fuuuck, Kenn’, don’t, I’m too sensi—“ 

“I know, honey,” he coos while his finger pleases you to the knuckle, secretly teasing his ring finger before you gasp sharply at the insertion. Now, two digits push and pull your innards, venturing knuckles-deep to erupt more uncontrollable moans to fly out your mouth. “But I gotta have you ready for me.”

“…B-But I am readyyy!!” Your words slur unintentionally; damn his fingerwork! “I want iiit; I want you so bad!”

“What’s that? What do you want?” He teases with a grin on your clitoris with his thumb; he knows what you want – the exact thing he needs right now. It’s just better when you say it.

“Kento, please! Fuck me!” you beg with glossy eyes. “Fill me up, ‘kay? Make me all fat and full tonight…!”

God, did he love to hear you say it, quivers crawling up his spine as he removes his fingers to suck on. What you said was all he needed to hear; he was going to fuck you regardless, but you have no idea how much he needed to dump every bit of him into you. 

And the moment his dick slips inside your tightness, the last piece of his persistence is thrown out the window.

Animalistic — for lack of a better term — is how Nanami is during his cycle. It’s not something you’re unfamiliar with based on prior intimate moments, but during times like this, it’s nothing but. It’s evident in the way he has you right now, with your legs propped to your chest and his fat cock stuffed inside your wet chasm.

Under Nanami’s bow, you lie on the receiving end of your husband’s inexorable pace. The moment the blonde man added the tip of his cock to your warmth, he gave in to his inner desires. He snapped his hips so hard and fast that your entire frame rippled with his harsh movements, not giving you time even to breathe, nearly choking on your spit.

Sounds of skin slapping against each other go louder by the second, and he moans aloud to add to the chaos of the bedroom. Jesus, fuck, you felt so fucking good! So snug and warm, so suitable for his aching dick, which he’s been drilling into your slit already stuffed with his come, filling your womb after two previous rounds. But it wasn’t enough from how much kept coming out from every push; he needed to fuck you — he needed to knot you! 

“Shiiit, shit—Hnnngh!” The way your vaginal walls keep clamping him is enough to snatch his soul. “Damn, this is crazy…!”

“Ahhh, ahhhhh, ohh!” Your cries grow squeakier, Nanami’s fat girth grazing your sweet spots easily. “Ohhhhyesss, keep fucking meeee….Harder, hardeeerr!”

Oh, you’re such a bad influence telling him that, kindling the fair-headed man’s primal desire to fuck you loose by rutting into you with increased speed and strength and frequent pokes to your cervix cause you to howl. “Yeahhh, you like that, angel? Like when I fuck the shit out of my pussy like this?” You were twitching like crazy as he growled those words to you; fuck yeah, you liked it – no, LOVED it.

“Yessss, babyy!!” Your expression was so fucked out, drool coming down from your puffy lips slide to your cheek. This position leaves you utterly submissive to Nanami like some breeding toy. It was pathetically euphoric! “Ohhhhh, fuck, more, gimme moree…!!”

“More?” God, he can feel it, his pacing going astronomically slower as he thrusts into you, and the way you whine at the abrupt change sends shivers. “Want me to bust my load again, my love?” You nodded frantically; fuck, you were so cute. “Want me to fill you up so bad so you can give me pups, huh?”

The more he talked, the more your excitement dialed. He then comes to your neck to lick and place a bite to your glands, and you shrill. “Yesss, yesss!! Stuff m’e up, make me fat with y’r babies, Kennyyy!!”

Holy fucking shit, his head pounds harder, elicits more loving bites, and he sneaks a hand to swipe your clitoris erratically. “Nnmm, fuck…Knot, I need’ta knot…!”

“Give it ‘o meee, Kento!!” You’re sure you sounded ridiculous, yet there’s no care in sight. Everything felt too good and right. “Gimme y’ur knot, baby, I want it, I want iiit…!”

That’s all you need to say before Nanami crashes his hungry lips onto yours and returns his hip to a jackhammering motion. Your tongue swirls with his, eyes rolling up with more hits to your womb while he sucks on your tongue wantonly. Grinds up against your G-spot has you squeezing him like no tomorrow, and you cry aloud as you sense something inside your inner channel expands. 

The base of Nanami’s penis inflates, the limb swelling up within your wetness and stays locked inside your cunt as he continues to piston himself into you as deep as he can. The more you scream into his mouth, the harder he ruts into you until the fated and desired reaction comes to rattle you both. 

Nanami ejaculates into you for the third time that night, padding your insides with more of his white, sticky, and thick jizz while the waves of his orgasm trap him in a state of elation. You come with him, wailing into the passionate kiss as your lower body quivers in its soreness, the walls of your vagina fluttering around the length in a sporadic pattern until your muscles gradually transition to rest. 

The knot keeps your lover inside you for a bit longer, even after Nanami’s done filling you up to the brim. But it doesn’t matter; your unionized state allows the both of you to spend this clarity together, kissing and tittering sweetly within your shared proximity.

“Make me a mama, Kento,” you whisper with a soft kiss on his sunken cheek.

And Nanami smiles breathlessly; the thought of you and a future pup to liven his happy little family swoons his heart with gladness.

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ⊹ transparent edit made by me + dividers from @animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[writersdrug]

if you’re craving more bartender! ghost (like me), maybe reader meeting price for the first time? he’s got that rugged charm that actually makes her shy, and simon’s about to kick the owner out of his own bar?

or, regardless! how do you picture her meeting price?

Lmao I just saw this and I think I wrote a blippet of it in my Bartender!Simon headcannons but I'm in love with this particular idea:

You're in the kitchen, chatting it up with Soap as you prepare things like condiments, the dip heater, and slicing fruits. Soap drops a plate of pancakes under the warmer for everyone to share and you snag one off the top.

"Gonna go smoke a blem." Soap says, taking his apron off. "Simon's up at the bar if ye need 'im."

"Mphhm." You say, chewing on the pancake as you stir the nacho cheese with your other hand. Soap walks out the back, the door swinging shut with a clang behind him.

You vaguely hear Simon tinkering up front, taking the barstools off the countertop for the day. It's three pm, and the place officially opens at four. You're dissociating, staring at the congealed nacho cheese as it slowly warms up, stirring it while you snatch another pancake from underneath the warmer. You're thinking of asking Simon if you can paint your nails - dress code is one thing, health code is another. You could wear those plastic gloves if the nail polish is a problem - but, then again, you'd look ridiculous with those gloves. Is it alright to have clear polish on? Probably...

You hear the door creak open, assuming Soap already finished his cigarette. "That was fast-" You said, dropping the ladle into the cheese. "I'm gonna let Simon know about the pan-"

When you look up, you're not looking at Soap, as you had expected. You're staring at a different man, with a scruffy beard and a dark beanie, stepping in through the back door.

Simon nearly slices his finger open when he hears your blood-curdling scream. He curses, dropping the lemon and knife onto the counter behind the bar, sprinting off into the kitchen, soldier instincts kicking in. He bursts through the door to find Price, eyes wide and hands up in a peaceful gesture, shouting at you to calm down. You have an empty beer keg in your hands and are mid-swing, aiming for Price's head-

Ghost jumps into the scene - he grabs you around your waist and spins you away from Price, making the keg lose its acceleration. You shriek and kick your feet, dropping the keg on his toe. He curses as he slams into the wall behind him.

"The owner- he's the owner!!" He shouts over your struggling.

You freeze, staring at Price - who looks absolutely astounded with the situation that had just unfolded before him. "Oh- fuck, I'm- I'm so sorry!! Christ, I thought you were robbing the place!!"

Simon chucks you back onto your feet, wheezing out a breath in relief. Price sighs and relaxes his shoulders, rolling them out and standing straight.

"Fuckin' hell..." he says, reaching a hand out. "Price. You must be the new bird, yes?"

You nod and shake his hand. "Yea- seriously, I'm so sorry-"

"'S quite alright." He dismisses your apology with a wrinkle of his nose. "Didn't realize you hired a security guard, Simon." He looks to the bartender, still leaning against the wall.

You bit your lip. "You ok, Simon?"

"Y' broke my goddamn toe."

[griffonsgrove]

omg hello!! I saw you post those vox headcanons and wow I was literally kicking my feet and giggling LOL. I also saw you take requests right now! (at least that’s what it said in your rules) and I wanted to request something : D

could I request general alastor headcanons with a GN! Reader please ? :D

Thank you!

General Dating Headcanons | Alastor

a/n: Of course my dear!! I love how Alastor is portrayed in the series, he’s easily one of my favorite characters! I’ve been wanting to do these for quite a bit, so thank you for the request!

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Wordcount: 1991

Cw: Hazbin Spoilers, minor violence, mentions of death, murder

(PLATONIC):

Ah so you managed to capture the attention of the infamous Radio Demon? You should be honored he even considers you worth his time! Not most demons have that luxury, they never live long enough to see.

Al strikes me as the kind of guy who knows everyone, he’s very observant and has eyes everywhere (his shadow friends extend throughout the entirety of the pride ring). He’s got connections in just about anything. He’s bound to have at least seen you once.

That being said, he views other sinners as inferior to him, if you don't have any power, he doesn't really see you as much of a threat (let’s be honest even if you did, he still wouldn't feel threatened)

He’s quite intrigued when he sees a frail little thing like you walk through the hotel doors. You're here on your own free will, seeking redemption? Oh, this will be quite entertaining.

You’re well aware of who he is, having been in hell for quite some time, even before his 7 yearlong disappearance, you knew to be wary in his presence.

It often left you being timid or skittish around him at first.

The deer demon had a knack for popping up at the most inconvenient of times, out of nowhere it seems (perks of being able to shadow travel). He would scare the daylights out of you nearly every time. Whether it was intentional or not, it always got a good laugh out of him.

And that smile…He was always smiling, you can't ever recall a moment where he wasn't, not even a falter. It's definitely an intimidation tactic you think. After all, you're never fully dressed without one!~

Despite this, he’s a charmer. He has this flare about him that oozes confidence whenever he speaks with you, to anyone really. He’s able to talk his way into and out of anything. One of the many perks of being a showman. Alastor is witty, charming and entertaining to say the least. Life is never dull with him around.

And if you happen to be from the same time period?? It’ll only want him to be around you even more! Finally, someone he can relate to in this cesspool.

This man is quite the chatterbox. He looooves to reminisce about the good ol’ days, always talking about how things were in his radio days. He could talk for literal hours and not break a sweat. You’ll often have to politely interject when he rambles on for too long, not that he minds.

Did I mention he can cook too?? Really well, surprisingly. He claims he learned from his dearest mother. He had to put a name to her famous Jambalaya recipe! When you tried it for the first time your socks were nearly blown right off from how much cayenne pepper he put into it. He likes a little spice.

He's!! Always!! Humming!! The man loves to sing, he often finds himself absentmindedly humming old tunes from the 20’s as he goes about his day. Whether he’s out for a stroll, enjoying a nice cup of tea, or running around the hotel, he’s humming.

This has been stated before, but Alastor is not big on physical touch from others unless he's the one initiating it. There have been many times where he’s pulled you into a little dance or twirl while he explains something. It never fails to surprise you each time.

He’ll often use his microphone staff to push or touch something, more specifically someone. He doesn't like to touch sinners that often, God knows where they’ve been. You’ve seen him whack Angel upside the head with it before, the spider tried getting a little too close for comfort. But for you he’ll make an exception.

Very well groomed!! He puts a lot of effort into his appearance, and cares about how he projects himself to the public eye. His hair is always neatly styled to perfection, shoes shined, and is always dressed to the nines. I mean did you see how mad he got when Pentious ripped a part of his coat off?

As the two of you begin to spend some more time together, you find yourself often having little meetups, the both of you would chat, share a cup of tea and just enjoy each other’s company. He liked to sit on the patio, he had a little table, and everything set up for you two.

Alastor makes sure to keep an eye on you regularly. He may have his shadow sneak around and stalk you while you're out. He’ll use the excuse that ‘Hell is a dangerous place!’, He can't have some low-life sinner trying to harm you, that would make him a terrible friend!

Undeniably has a soft spot for you that he’ll never admit aloud, he genuinely enjoys your company and likes having someone around that will humor him and listen to his stories. Grandpa.

Overall, Al is quite a good friend to have, you feel like you can confide in him at any point, he’s surprisingly a wonderful listener. The more time you spend together only strengthens your little friendship. Even to the point where you both will grow to have a mutual respect for each other. He initially scared you at first, given his reputation, but underneath all the ruthless chaos is a true gentleman.

(ROMANTIC):

My man is sooo conflicted at first, He’ll spend hours in his den thinking about his feelings. (We’ve all seen the inside of his room, literally half of it is a swamp). The scenery can only soothe him so much as he contemplates on what to do.

This is probably where you will begin to less and less of him for a time being as he works out his inner turmoil.

But, once he finally comes to terms with these undeniable feelings, he decides to confront you privately, away from any prying eyes. Ahem Angel…

Very old-fashioned, this is where he will properly ask to court you. 

You’ll never know this but he was actually kind of nervous, he was worried you’d reject his offer, but imagine to his surprise when you said yes!! He kind of felt giddy.

Congratulations! You now have a cannibalistic deer overlord as your boyfriend

He’s such a gentleman, I literally cannot say it enough, the man was raised right and he respects you! 

You literally never have to open a door with him around. He holds your chair out for you, always walks on the outer side of the sidewalk, pays for every meal and is constantly giving you compliments left and right. And they say chivalry is dead.

Alastor loves to gift flowers to you. Every few weeks or so he’ll give you a new bouquet. They're different each time, some have a meaning while others he simply thought you’d enjoy. You have a special place in your room where you keep them.

Now that you’re in a relationship, the two of you are basically joined at the hip. Wherever you are, Alastor is not far behind. He doesn't want to admit it but the overlord is kind of clingy. He doesn't like being too far from you.

If there’s ever a reason he has to be away from you, he’ll often have a few of his little imp dolls watch after you. You always thought they were cute little fellas anyways.

The both of you aren't exactly private about your relationship, but at the same time you’re not screaming it out from the rooftops either. Alastor is well aware of the dangers you could possibly face due to his status. He’s made a lot of enemies in his time, and doesn't want to see you get hurt on his behalf.

That being said though, no demon in their right mind would try to threaten you.

God forbid they touch you either. They’d be ripped in half before they could even get another word out. 

He's fiercely protective over you. He tries to play it off as nonchalantly as possible, but you know he cares about you immensely, it’s rather sweet really.

Now about physical affection. Things will go very slowly in the beginning, as said before he's fine with things as long as he's the one initiating it. If you two are out for a stroll you’ll have your arm gently looped with his as you walk down the chipped sidewalks. You’ll have to be extremely patient with him, he’s not used to this “love” and “affection”

If you’re ever having a bad day however, he’ll slip out of his comfort zone for you, and allow you to hold onto him for as long as you please, in the privacy of your own room of course.

One of his favorite things to do with you, is to slow dance. There's something so intimate and special about it. It could be late into the evening, when everyone else had gone to their respective rooms for the night, If you listen closely though, you’ll hear the soft hum of music coming from Alastor’s den, he has you in his arms, the both of you gently sway in a slow waltz across the room to the quiet love songs emitting from his radio. It’s here that you truly savor these private moments with him.

Speaking of music, Al loves to sing to you. Oftentimes it may be a ballad or love song, and if you join in with him? He’ll fall for you even more. 

Cooking! He loves to whip up all his favorite dishes just for you, oftentimes you’ll help him in the kitchen, even if it’s the smallest thing. It's become an annual thing you two like to do together. He makes sure that you get only the best meat that this side of hell can provide.

He’ll often call you a mix of different pet names, here's a few of his favorites: Cher, Darling, Beloved, Dearest, Love, Mon Amour, Doll

Which btw on the topic of meat, Al is canonically a cannibal, he’ll often eat demon meat in his meals, and will have you try it at least once.

Admittedly has gotten slightly jealous of his own shadow. The mischievous thing was always trying to steal your attention away from him, oftentimes it would work, you would always give in and humor him, saying that ‘Even his shadow needed some loving too!’. With a strained smile, Alastor shoots a glare at the inky mass of himself, who just looks at him with a smug grin.

Will have you meet Rosie at least once. She’s one of his other closest friends, and a real sweetheart. At first she comes off as really scary and intimidating. but the more you get to know her, and she's for certain that you wont hurt her friend, she’s much more friendlier. 

You two actually bond together somewhat, having little chats about Alastor occasionally, or about her business.

It’s safe to say that this man would kill hundreds if not thousands for you. You have him wrapped around your little finger. If you ever have someone bothering you, they might as well already be dead, because this man will hunt them down like prey. And eat them too.

Honestly, Alastor as a lover is nothing short of wholesome. He’s so attentive and caring when it comes to you. Which is so refreshing to see, especially coming from one of hell’s most feared overlords. Things will most likely start of slow, but if you’re patient with him, all the hard work will be rewarded tenfold. He had initially thought the Princess of Hell’s Hotel was one of the biggest jokes of the century, but what he wasn't expecting was you to be one of the best things to come out of it. You both were cast down to suffer an eternal damnation in hell, but at least now you can endure it together <3.

[pearlzier]

────⠀ ⠀ oh to sit on dean winchester's face⠀ᥫ᭡

warnings 𓂅 ✶ face sitting, oral (f!recieving), softdom!dean, afab!reader, uhh implied oral(m!recieving) ending.

when dean saw how petulant you were getting, all pissy with him, he knew exactly what was going on. maybe you were feeling pent up, clearly, since every little thing was setting you off and he hated to see you so wound up. you'd been getting on his ass the entire hunt, even being snappy with witnesses—that wasn't like you at all. he'd tried to figure out what was up with you, a million times. it wasn't getting him fucking anywhere.

"you gonna tell me what's up now?" you'd simply frown and look away, and he knows he won't get it out of you in the usual ways of being gentle and comforting. "fine, be like that then," he'd grumble in return, looking back at the steering wheel as he drove around the backwater town you two had found yourself in.

it's getting on his nerves as much as something's definitely getting on yours. dean'll figure it out eventually. he's softer with you in moments like this, not teasing you as much as he usually does so he doesn't piss you off as much. it's like setting off a live wire and he sure as hell ain't in the business to be doing all that. there's a hunt at hand, but he's realising you need sorting out before anything in that regard can get done.

when the two of you get back to a motel you'd grabbed, the hunt still proving fruitless. sam was fuck knows where, having said he wanted to work on some leads with cas, leaving you and dean together. he didn't mind, neither did you, since you two love eachother so damn much, but when you're so temperamental like this? always biting at him? a little hard to enjoy the alone time when he's walking on damn eggshells around you.

but he knew what you needed. needed your pussy ate, that's what. neeeded to get off, somehow, huh? you always got so sharp with him when you were pent up, all horny and frustrated. it was kind of becoming a game of his, see how long he could leave you pent up only to bring you to the edge over and over again till you calmed down.

"gotta come up with other ways to let out your frustration, baby, 'cause bein' horny ain't no excuse to start snappin' at me," he mutters, locking the motel door behind the two of you. you grumble at that, "not horny, just.." knowing full well you're lying through your teeth. how can you not be? like, he looks too damn good when he's impersonating law enforcement, that tight white shirt which he on occasion rolls up to his elbows—fuck, it's like he wants you to be pent up.

"starin' at me like you're gonna eat me whole, sweetheart. can't lie to me," you really can't, dean practically knows you better than you know yourself. his green eyes meet yours and he scoffs.

"that's not fair," you're shrugging off your blazer, hooking it over the coat hook by the door of the motel room. you do notice how dean rakes his eyes over you, seemingly happy with what he's seeing. you know he is, he's told you and shown you countless times in motels rooms quite similar to this one, actually.

dean tugs his tie from around his neck, draping it over the edge of the motel bed before he wanders over to the bed. he kicks off his shoes, leaving them on the floor before laying himself down on his back. he looked up at you with an expectant upwards cock of his brows. "right, you. c'mere," he gestures to his face, hands open for you to come sit yourself down on him and go to town. he barely suppresses a laugh at your expression, but he means it.

"you're not—" you're sceptical. you'd been pissing him off all day with your attitude and instead of being angry at you he's offering his face for you to sit on? you stand there for a moment, gnawing your bottom lip. "really?" your voice is uncharacteristically quiet, and dean softens a little bit at that.

"yeah, really," he slides his hands over the first few buttons of his shirt, in case he gets too warm with you sat over top him, before he gestured you over again. "don't make me drag you over here, y'know i'll do it." he most definitely will. you groan at that, knowing what lies ahead of you. "and you know you wanna."

you really do, that's the issue. he's right. you stare at him, and sigh under your breath. as much as you wanted to resist, be petty, you physically couldn't. "yeah, okay, hold on," you mutter, corners of your lips tugging upwards at the corners. dean practically cheers, he literally lives to please you, to make you feel good.

"just a second," you hum, sliding your hands into the sides of your slacks and easing them down. dean's eyes immediately drop down to your thighs, his tongue darting out to run over his bottom lip before he gazes back up at your face. he nods for you to continue, and you do, stepping out of your trousers and kicking them away from you.

"lookin' real pretty, sweetheart," dean murmurs, smiling softly at the sight of you. he shifts his weight upwards, so he can look at you properly. holding his hands out for you once more, he hums low under his breath. that coaxes you to make your way over to him, albeit the tiniest bit reluctantly still. you're still all tense. he hates seeing you so high strung. making your way over to the bed, your knees dig into the soft mattress, dipping it a little. dean quickly places his hands on your hips, sliding up under the blouse you're wearing.

his eyes rake up and down you, "gorgeous," he mumbles under his breath, squeezing at your flesh in gentle motions. as much as he'd like to worship your whole body right now, he's focused on worshiping a specific part of you right now. "you're okay with this?" he asks, placing a gentle kiss to your navel, eyes lifting back up to yours. "yeah," you murmur, "of course i am." he just needed to make sure.

"yeah? alright, up you get," dean lifts you to the side a little bit, slowly shuffling back down on the bed and laying against the mattress. his head rests against the pillow, eyes fluttering up and down you for a minute. "okay," you're tentative for a moment, reaching for your panties. though dean reaches over and eases them down your thighs for you. he swallows hard at the clear arousal dampening the thin fabric of your underwear, his breath hitching in his throat.

"starin'," you tell him gently, a soft smile playing on your lips at the sight of him. dean's eyes dart back up to yours and she scoffs, gently slapping your thigh a little bit before he grasps at your hips again. "can't wait any longer, up," he murmurs, and you bite your lip for a minute before you grasp at the headboard of the bed. dean's practically salivating, his tongue poking at the inside of his mouth for a minute before he practically tugs you down onto him.

"hold tight for me," dean mumbled, shifting his weight against the bed. just the sight of your bare pussy hovering mere inches above his face has him reeling. without hesitation, he grasps at your hips properly and tugs you down onto him. burying his face between your thighs, he lets his tongue delve into your warm, slick folds—lapping at your clit with a hungry fervour. "fuck, baby.."

you gasp shakily, your breaths picking up almost immediately at the feel of his tongue plunging against your warmth. "oh, shit," you grasp tighter at the bedframe, head tipping back a little bit. your thighs squeeze around his head, and he groans into you at the feeling. he uses the flat of his tongue to spread your wetness around, before his tongue darts back and forth over your clit, suckling at it insistently.

"that's it," dean moans into you, eyes fluttering shut juat at the feeling of your hips rocking up against him. he licks a thick line down your pussy, hiking you up him a little bit. his nose bumping against your clit as he slowly traces his tongue over your entrance. he flutters his tongue against your wet slit, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh a little tighter.

he groans into your cunt, the vibration sending a shiver down your spin and causing your hips to twitch againsr his face again. dean tightens his grip on your hips to try encourage you to grind down against his tongue even more, coaxing louder sounds from you. "holy fucking shit," dean lets out a low laugh against you, smacking your thigh for a moment at that. it only urges you to grind down further.

dean's nothing if not focused when it comes to making you feel good, and as he suckles at your clit, flicking his tongue against it and sucking on it, he's dedicated to the job. "so wet for me, yeah, that's it, ride my face, go on," his words are muffled by his position between your thighs but you can hear them clear enough. he might be throbbing beneath the fabric of his boxers, blood rushing to his dick with every cant of your hips, but he has to make sure you're satisifed first. "that's it, baby."

he runs his hand up between your thighs, lifting his thumb to your clit and rubbing tight circles over the bundle of nerves, feeling the way your thighs squeeze around his head and tremble against him. "dean, dea—" dean squeezes at your thighs to shush you, murmuring against you, "i know, baby, gonna come all over my face." he squeezes at your hips a little tighter, rutting you down against him so he can circle his tongue around your entrance once more. a few more tight circles made by his thumb and your movements stutter, thighs shaking even more as your orgasm hits you.

dean's groaning the whole way, happily lapping up all of your juices with no complaints. the fact he's making you feel good is more than enough for him, more than enough. "shit," he mumbles, laying back for a moment just to take in what just just happened. before he gets a chance to help you off of him, you're easing yourself off him. "that was—hey, where are you goin'—" his eyes widen as you're practically crawling down his body, settling yourself between his thighs.

"can i?" repay the favour, of course. he'd made you feel so good, after all.

dean's in a little daze, his breathing heavy. he lifts his hand to wipe his face of your release, blinking for a minute. sliding up the headboard, his hand moves to the back of your head easily and he mutters, "like you even gotta ask, baby." his free hand unbuttons his trousers with ease, "all yours."

ִ ֹ ★ @blue-d, @gibson-g1rl, @stevelacylovebot, @psychicnatural, @funkycoloured, @lovesickgrlsrh0t, @soldierboycunt, @hrtsoldierboy, @beetlejenna, @venusiers, @v3nusasagrl, @imwetforyourmom, @https--roman, @pillwebb, @beridollie, @sl33pylilbunny, @sincerebabydoll, @angelicjackles, @deansbite ִ ꒱

[obsesssedblerd]

Shut me up

“No, no, please, you don’t understand—we need to have a room with two beds instead of one.” 

From the middle of the bed, Satoru scoffs at the sound of your desperate pleas to the receptionist over the phone. You pace back and forth, groaning when you’re told that it was the last room. “I know that we booked last minute, but— Oh…. this is the only room available? …I see. Goodnight.” 

When you hang up, Satoru doesn’t stop his laugh, and the sound of it immensely amplifies your frustration. “You’re so pissed off,” he says as you cross your arms and glare at him. “It’s hilarious. Well, princess, looks like we’re here for the night. Get comfortable.” 

“Hell no,” you say, reaching into your bag to grab your phone. “I’m gonna ask Yaga for another place. There has to be another inn that’s close to the curse we’re tracking, and has two beds.” 

Satoru gets up from the bed and walks over to you, gently plucking your phone out of your hands and placing it on the dresser. “Yaga is asleep right now, and he worked his ass off to get this place for us at the very last minute.”

Good point. “Fine, I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

“Quit being ridiculous.” The asshole smirks, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously. “So flustered at the idea of sharing a bed with me. We’re just sleeping. You’re not thinking about anything dirty, are you?” 

“Huh?! No,” you hiss. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

He doesn’t stop his teasing. “Hm. Sounds like you’re lying.” 

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you say, walking over to your bag and grabbing some clothes comfortable to sleep in. “And I’m not flustered. Just hate the idea of being so close to someone I can’t stand.” You head into the bathroom to shower and change before he can say anything else. “If you snore tonight, I’m kicking you.”

—

You can’t sleep. How could you? The room is quiet, and all you can think about is the man beside you. Speaking of, you hear Satoru shift, and the faint aroma of the expensive body wash he used while showering fills your nose. You hate to think it, but he does smell good. You look at the clock on the nightstand, and sigh quietly. Almost midnight. 

“Are you awake?” Satoru asks, and you pretend that you don’t hear him. 

You feel a poke in your ribs, and you shriek. “What the hell?!” 

“Pfft. Knew you were up.” He chuckles. “Ticklish?” 

“Do you need something?” 

“Nah, I just wanted to bother you.” 

You inhale sharply in an attempt to calm yourself, then turn around to face him. Though the room was mostly dark, you can still see him due to the moonlight shining through the window of the room. He’s lying on his side with his head resting against his arm, which was propped up on his pillow. 

“You’re like a child,” you say flatly as you roll your eyes. 

The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement. “Mhm.” 

“And you talk too much.”

“Tell me more.” 

“Extremely annoying, I can’t stand when you show up to missions late sometimes because you want sugar, and you joke around way too much when we’re supposed to be serious. Yaga, Suguru, and Shoko think that, too.”

He chuckles again, and you ignore the way your stomach flutters at the sound of it. “Aw, come on. You tell me that almost everyday. Give me something new.” 

“And give you that satisfaction? Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’ as you turn back around to face the wall. “I think you’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever worked with,” you conclude. 

“Well, you know what I think?” He asks, and you hum in question. You hear the bed creak as he moves, and your heart begins to pound when you sense him directly behind you. If you were to shift back even just a tiny bit, your back would be against his chest. 

“I think you’re full of shit,” he says near your ear, his voice dropping an octave lower. You feel his hand gently rest on your shoulder. 

“How so?” You whisper.

His hand begins to slowly slide down your arm, goosebumps rising on your skin. “You think I’m the most ridiculous person you’ve ever worked with, but you keep working with me,” he purrs, his breath fanning the shell of your ear. “At any moment, you can tell Yaga to quit having us do missions together, but you don’t. I always end up seeing you even though you say you hate looking at me.”

You feel his hand softly drift across your hip, then rest there, his fingers lightly playing with the hem of your shirt. Then, they slip underneath, drawing light, teasing patterns on your skin. Your breath hitches. 

You feel warm. 

“Saw how you looked at me when I got out of the shower earlier,” he says, and your stomach twists. Of course he did. Nothing ever gets past Satoru Gojo. “You were practically drooling while watching me put a shirt on.” 

“I-” You clear your throat. “I wasn’t.”

“You’re such a liar.” 

His lips press a feather-light kiss to your neck—on a spot where you’re very sensitive, and you gasp, but instinctively tilt your head to give him a bit more access. When you catch yourself, you straighten, and Satoru only scoffs. “See? It’s obvious.” 

“...What’s obvious?” 

“You want me.” 

You turn around again, ready to tell him that this was the dumbest thing you’ve heard him say all night, but he puts a finger to your lips, effectively stopping your words before you can get them out. “You want me,” he says again, “but you don’t know how to deal with that. So, you pretend that you hate me when you and I both know that it’s not true.” He then smiles again, his eyes dark with want. “But I see right through it. You’re not subtle. Anyway, you have a choice. You can either continue with your lying, or you can actually do something about it.” 

It takes a lot out of you to keep your hands out of the way so you don’t strangle him and then pull him closer. “Something like what?” You ask.

“You think I talk too much.” He leans closer to you; your faces nearly touching. You swallow once, his eyes tracking the movement of your throat as you do. Then his smile grows, inviting—no, daring you to make a move. 

“So shut me up.”

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: i caved and did an actual Ewan fic! Given that the lad is more of a public persona nowadays, I reckon it's fine (?) This is pure self-indulgence for all my Ewan loves. May have a continuation but idk for now, enjoy!!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The reader and Ewan are paired for press interviews. Despite barely having any scenes together and only knowing each other in passing on set, the chemistry they share cannot be denied...

Your first round of press takes place in a primped up hotel suite in Paris, thanks to the team at HBO.

You are an up and coming actress, much like some of your costars in the show, but the pressure is heavier on you because you were entering in season two, whereas everyone was already well-acquainted with one another.

Your few scenes were mostly with Jace and Baela, so you grew close to Harry and Bethany.

However, the media team decided to pair you up with Ewan for the day. A little fun initiative was set by the team that a character from the Blacks would be do press with a counterpart from the Greens - hence, yourself and Ewan.

You're nervous as you walk down the hallway, unable to fully pay attention to the instructions your lovely assistant gives you.

She tells you about the different interviewers for the day, bloggers and magazine writers from all over the world. She reminds you that each one will only be for a maximum of 5 minutes, so it shouldn't be too complicated. She smiles and eagerly says, "Take a deep breath, you got this!", as you reach the suite doors.

But in your mind, all you can recall is your first interaction with Ewan, almost a year ago right after the table read. You had nervously blurted out to him that Aemond is your favourite character, after he just asked, "How are you?". He laughed, said thank you, before he was pulled away in conversation by Tom.

You pray to the fictional Westerosi gods that things will fare better today. That you won't get all tongue-tied when those steel blue eyes land on you.

Upon entering the room, the team is quick to fuss over you. Sometimes you forget that you're actually an actress now. A celebrity, some might say. It all feels surreal and you have a inkling it won't ever stop being this way.

Ewan is already seated in front of the camera, and he stands to give you a hug as you finally walk over.

"Hey there, how are you?" he smiles widely, smelling like cigarettes and something muskier as he wraps his arms around you.

Unroll your tongue. Rework your brain. Calm down.

"Hey, Ewan!" you respond. "I'm doing great, happy to see you again."

"Well, I only wish we could have had more time together on set." Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to take your seat before he does the same. "But next season perhaps? Who knows?"

"Oh, sure." You settle in, pleased by the fact that your chairs are only about a foot apart. "We can both look forward to my character giving Aemond the arse kicking he deserves."

He laughs, eyes glinting with mischief. "Come on now, I was thinking our characters are actually quite compatible, no?"

"Well, I sure wouldn't want to step on Alys' shoes. She'd probably curse my character all the way to Yi Ti."

"Hmm," he hums, biting his lip. You can't help but hear Aemond when he does that. "I say you can always count on Aemond and Vhagar to come to the rescue of a beautiful maiden such as yourself."

Well, you'll be damned. Ewan, while still an introvert of his own sort, is as charming as can be. If he's turning it on to get himself hyped for the press, it's working.

It's definitely working on you, to say the least.

The media manager gives the signal for the first interview to begin, and a reporter walks in, all ready with prepared script in hand.

"Here we go," you mutter, facing forward.

"Good luck," Ewan replies.

You both shake the reporter's hand, and he introduces himself as Jared.

"So guys," Jared begins. "Why don't we start with you telling me a little bit about what we can expect from your characters this season?"

The question is easy, and it doesn't take long for you and Ewan to think it through. Jared asks a few more basic questions, before drawing the attention more to you.

"When you watched season one, did you have a favourite character?" he asks you.

You smile, "Oh, I mean, I have to say - and Ewan already knows this, by the way - that Aemond was my favourite character."

"Was?" Ewan says, feigning shock. "Unacceptable."

"Was... Is... " you shrug, rolling your eyes playfully, earning a laugh from Jared. "I think I might be more a Daemon girl now."

"Oh!" Jared exclaims happily. "Does Matt know about this?"

"I'll be sure to tell him - "

Ewan interjects, shaking his head at you, "There's no need to tell him, because I'll convert her back to Team Aemond in no time, trust me."

"Daemon is awesome, though," you say to him, smiling.

"Sure." Ewan makes a face like that fact doesn't matter. Wasn't he the one who said that Daemon would be the character he would most like to play if not Aemond?

"And Caraxes is my favourite dragon." You share a look with Jared, hoping he would agree.

"Yes!" Jared says. "Caraxes is the best dragon in the show, in my opinion."

"Ah, you're both wrong," Ewan says. "My Vhagar is the oldest and baddest dragon in all of the land."

"My Vhagar, he says," you joke. "Seems like someone still hasn't shed Aemond for this press tour."

"And I never will, darling." His gaze is intense when he turns to you, and you clear your throat to fight the warmth rushing to your cheeks.

"Alright, they're giving me the wrap-up," Jared thankfully breaks the tension. "It was a pleasure talking to you guys, congratulations on the new season!"

One interview down, and your nerves have already considerably subsided. Ewan tapping your arm to start up a conversation once more surely helps in distracting you.

In the best damn way possible.

"How do you think we did? That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"I think we did quite well," you casually offer a high five, but your heart skips a beat when Ewan interlaces your suspended hands for just a moment.

"I'm glad they paired me with you," Ewan says, after releasing your hand. You hold on to the armrests to keep your fingers from twitching.

"I am, too," you admit. "I am a fan of you, after all, but I think you already know that."

He blushes, "Well, that's not a bad thing. I think you're a fantastic actress. I must have seen your first film a good ten times."

"You mean my first and only film," you add humbly. "But thank you."

"Only film for now," he affirms. "No doubt this is only the beginning for you, darling. With your talent and your charisma, I'm sure you have potential scripts piled up already."

"I could say the same for you! Have you seen what your fans say about you online? You're the internet's new boyfriend, Ewan Mitchell."

The media manager announces the next interview, but Ewan follows up with a response for you under his breath, "I have seen some things. But when I have a girlfriend, I'll make sure she won't have to share me at all."

Oh, so apparently he is single. But wait - why is he telling you this?

You don't get to mull over that thought. For the time being, the next interview starts and you make sure you do a good job at what you're paid to do - promoting the series.

Not daydreaming about getting with a costar, for heaven's sake. Stay professional.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You feel lightheaded after finishing the seventh - or had it been the eighth? - interview.

Your assistant delivers a coffee to you during the twenty-minute break. Ewan had stepped out to the balcony to have a smoke, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

He certainly is everything you expected him to be, and so much more. Insightful, cheeky, dedicated. An artist, through and through. He was in the business for all the right reasons, passion and respect for the craft.

If he had any flaws, you weren't privy to them yet. If there are any reasons for you not to be attracted to him, you didn't know what those were yet.

And with every flirtatious remark and pointed smile, you can't deny the hope blooming in you.

"Hey," he reappears, pulling you out of your musings. "I hope you don't mind that I smell of smoke."

No, you didn't, not when it's him.

"Don't worry about it," you reassure him. You tilt your head forward to take a sip of your coffee, but a lock of your hair falls in front of your face. Annoyed, you think to reach for it, but Ewan beats you to it, tucking it back in place.

"There you go, darling," he croons, gesturing for you to proceed in drinking.

"Th-thanks." His eyes don't leave yours as you take a slow sip.

"So," you say, desperate to break the silence, "which interview did you enjoy the most so far?"

"How can I possibly choose? I mean, I really liked the one with ComicSociety, the guy that said our characters have a lot of chemistry and should get together next season. He's right, I already told you!"

"Ohhh, sure, that will go down really well with the Blacks and Greens."

He smirks, "I don't see why not?"

"For one, Aemond is ensnared by Alys, and my character will never give up fighting for Rhaenyra. I just don't see it happening, Ewan."

"Right," he mutters thoughtfully, "there is still Alys in the picture."

"Still in the picture? With the amount of steamy scenes you two have lined up for season three, I'd say she will be Aemond's entire picture in and of herself."

"Hmm," he glances at you once, then looks down. Dare you think it, does he look disappointed?

"But hey," you add lightly, "maybe we can talk to Ryan and he can flip the entire script just for our characters."

"Yeah," his cheeky smile resurfaces, "maybe you can take Alys' place."

Take the place of Alys? Of Alys. Is he insinuating...

"Next round of interviews, guys!" The media manager announces to the room.

"Here we go again, darling," Ewan squeezes your hand once, before putting on his professional face once more.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

By the end of it all, not even caffeine can perk you up. You were exhausted, you and Ewan having finished four full hours of press.

Your assistant comes to your aid, ready to direct you back to your own hotel room.

"This has been such a pleasure, Ewan, really." You stand, this time initiating the hug.

He squeezes you gently, humming in your ear. When you pull apart, he says, "I honestly wouldn't mind trudging through hours and hours of press with you."

That's sweet of him. You're too tired to mask the warmth that rises to your cheeks. "And I feel the same. Today couldn't have gone any better."

"Truly, and listen, maybe we could - "

"Ewan!" The manager approaches. "I'm so sorry to rush with this, but we need to film just a quick soundbite with you for Aemond. Just two to three questions for the Max Tiktok account?"

"Oh, okay - " Ewan is reluctant to turn away from you.

"Perfect! If you could just stand there by the windows please..." The manager already has him by the arm, directing where he has to go.

"We have to go," your assistant says. "Still have to prep for tomorrow."

"I'll see you soon, Ewan!" you call out to him. "Thanks again."

He gives a half-hearted wave, dejected as he watches you walk out of the room.

"That wasn't too bad," you share with your assistant as you enter the elevators. "Not bad at all, actually."

"Oh, you did so well," she compliments. "It definitely helps with the press that you and Mr. Mitchell have such insane natural chemistry."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

In the calm of your hotel room, you get ready for bed.

Just when you're about to finish with your nightly routine, your phone rings from your bedside table. You're quick to rush over, thinking it could be your assistant or your manager, with an urgent update about work.

But no - it's an unknown number. A UK number, as it appears.

Confused, you click answer anyway, putting it to your ear with a tentative, "Hello, who is this?"

"Hi, darling."

"Ewan?"

"Yeah, uhm, I hope I didn't disturb you - "

"Not at all," your answer comes out in a rushed breath.

"I also hope you don't mind that I got my assistant to ask your assistant to give me your number? It's what I wanted to ask you before you left today."

"Oh." You feel fully awake now, by some miracle, butterflies finding home in your stomach. "I don't mind. I... I should have given you my number, anyway. I have most of the cast's, in case I need to get a hold of you guys."

"Hmm, right," he says from the other end. You hear him calmly breathing, the sound strangely comforting, and wonder if he can hear the same from you.

He says, "I just wanted to keep hearing your voice. Didn't get enough of it today," and your heart just about stops.

"Oh. Okay," is all you are able to respond with.

"What are you doing?"

"Just... just getting ready for bed." Phone pressed to your ear, you shuffle around the room, putting some things back in place.

He says nothing for a few seconds, but you still hear his breathing, and some shuffling in the background. It occurs to you that he might just be as nervous as you are now.

Maybe.

"Listen," he finally says, "do you want to hear my pitch to Ryan about why our characters should get together next season?"

A genuine laugh escapes you. He sure is persistent. Playful, sure, but you're definitely willing to play along.

"Let's hear it."

"First," he says, "you have to renounce Daemon as your favourite character - "

"Not a chance."

" - and swear your love for Aemond."

"Keep dreaming."

He laughs, and you can only picture the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Aww darling," he teases, "don't you love me?"

💌 part two - part three

The OGs will know that the final line is a nod to my first ever Aemond fic! 🖤

Did this slightly delay my series works? Yes, yes it did. Do I regret it? For Ewan frickin Mitchell, I would never ~

[harunovella]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ love language (verse ii); s.g.

synopsis: when gojo satoru first interacted with you content: teen gojo era, fem!reader, hopeless!romantic gojo, 1k+ words of gojo and reader saving a kitten (a moment straight out of a romcom for sure), not beta read (sorry for any errors!) note: truly didn't think the first part to this anthology series would gain such attention! thank u for that! again, these can be read as a standalone (or connected to this one, but you don't have to read it); enjoy and lmk if u want more!

It was this specific cherry blossom tree Satoru always found you under. The one Kento mentioned the first time he ever asked him about you. If you weren't busy with training or missions, or enjoying life outside the jujutsu world, he found you there. Although there was an array of trees, there was one specific one you seemed to gravitate towards. 

He wasn't sure if it was the specific spot that had good lighting for when you wanted to read or sketch in your little book, or maybe it was the way the roots formed a perfect spot to sit in between... whatever it was, he knew it to be your tree. Even when you weren't around. There was something... welcoming about it. Whenever he walked by with Suguru and Shoko nearby, or whenever he was aimlessly wandering around, he always found himself peeking in its direction, hoping you were sitting underneath it. 

For a confident young man, it took Gojo some time to make his way to you. Claiming to love you when he hadn't even uttered a word in your direction was bold, even going as far as believing you were his soulmate was quite the exaggeration. So why was it hard for him to simply say hello? 

Maybe it was because he wasn't a simple person. Nothing about Gojo Satoru screamed simple. He was anything but that. Yet, a task as easy as that—which came naturally to any other girl around him—was a hassle. Each time he thought he found the courage to step up, he let his racing heart deter him. 

That was until you made the first move. 

It caught him completely off guard, the way you gently tapped his arm from behind, peeking up at him with that sweet smile of yours. His heart did somersaults, his eyes widened behind his round frames, so big that his shades couldn't even hide them. He had been on one of his little walks, new treat in hand that Shoko bribed him with in order to practice her reverse curse technique on him. He was bored, completing his missions and not having much to train on when he already excelled at everything. 

At everything except talking to the girl of his dreams. 

"Hi," you kindly greeted, smile reaching your eyes. Oh, god, you were an angel. A being descended from up above. How could you exist so easily in such a cruel world? He needed to protect you, right? Even if he could see your cursed energy oozing out so brightly. You must've been powerful, something he never considered, always looking at you like you were some little bunny to keep in his pocket... not one who could possibly kick the shit out of him (if he'd let you and he definitely would). "Can you help me out?"

"Pretty..." the words slipped his mouth before he could even process them. Quickly sealing his lips and clearing his throat as you tilted your head, Satoru straightened his back. "What is it?"

Dismissing the sudden word vomit, assuming he was in his own world, you pointed to the left of you. "I sit under those trees, but I keep hearing soft meows coming from one of them. I'm too short to reach... do you think—"

"Yes," the white haired young man instantly nodded as you blinked. Without a second word, he turned on his heel and stalked towards the tree that you claimed your own. 

You, a bit baffled, were unsure as to how exactly he knew which tree you had been pointing at when it was a general direction. Yet, there he was, approaching the tree you were referring to. "It's quite high up, but you're very tall!" You called out before following after him, lightly jogging to catch up before stopping behind him as he eyed the tree. 

In reality, Gojo didn't think any of it through. He just wanted to say yes to be around you, to hear you speak more. Not... to climb up a tree to save a stray kitten. But, whatever made him look better in his eyes, he didn't mind. 

"Be careful!" You exclaimed as you watched him make his way up the tree, no hesitations. You were a bit surprised that someone so easily wanted to help you save a cat. Maybe he liked animals, too?

Or maybe he was a fool madly in love with you—you wouldn't know this yet. 

"Oh, there! You've got 'em!" You clapped as you watched the uniformed young man gently reach for and latch onto the small, white kitten. 

"Ah, don't worry, I'm only here to help you," Gojo said, carefully pulling the kitten towards himself. "I've got you, you're safe now. I just gotta figure out—"

"Watch out!" You shrieked.

"Shit!" Satoru yelped as he lost his balance, clutching the kitten close as he slipped from the branch. Landing with a loud thud, followed by several groans of pain (and pure embarrassment... when did he ever make himself look like a complete fool?!), Gojo rolled around with his eyes closed. 

"Are you alright?!" You panicked, rushing over and kneeling at his side, gently lifting his head with one hand as your other pressed carefully against his shoulder, eyeing his body for any wounds. 

"Agh... dammit..." he grunted, eyes fluttering open and adjusting to the brightness of the sun. Blinking a few times, blurred vision focusing, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of you. Your hair that was usually held back by its ribbon, cascaded around your face as a few strands slipped out from the ponytail. With eyebrows narrowed and a look of worry on his face, Satoru's embarrassment turned into that of timidness. You were engulfed by the sunlight, glowing like the angel you were. "Gosh, you're so pretty..."

"Are you okay?" You asked in a panic, his mumbled words coming off too slurred to understand. "Did you hit your head too hard?"

Shaking his head as he forced himself to sit up, Gojo rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. "No, 'm fine..." he sighed before looking down at his hands to the kitten. "So is this little guy."

Turning your attention from the white haired young man, to the matching kitten, you gasped, "what a hero!"

Grinning and feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, Gojo shrugged, "eh, ''twas nothing..."

"You almost broke a few bones, though..." you frowned, looking back at him. 

"I'm tough," he brushed off before turning to face you. Now eye to eye, the sudden confidence instantly sizzled away as he gazed at you from up close. A sudden silence weaved between the two of you as your eyes locked, nothing but the sounds of nature and the kittens purring filled the air. "I..."

"Um..."

"You should keep it," Satoru suddenly said, handing you the kitten. "Deserves a nice home."

"Oh, me?" You asked as you took the kitten in your hands, caressing its soft, white fur. 

"Yeah, I wouldn't be a good dad," he chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck. "You... You'd be a great mom to it, I'm sure."

Eyeing the kitten, then looking back up at him, you smiled, "we can coparent."

At your offer, Gojo gulped. "Co... parent?"

"Yeah, like, help me out with..." lifting the kitten up, you squinted your eyes, "her."

"I... I don't know much about taking care of animals but I can try and help as much as I can," he offered, scratching his head nervously. 

Smiling, you brought the kitten close to your chest, "you saved her from a tree, I'm sure she will remember that."

"Yeah, maybe," Satoru blushed.

Looking down at the kitten as you pet her, listening to her gentle purring, you happily sighed, "what's your name?"

Quickly pointing at himself, the blue eyed boy asked, "mine?"

"Mhm," you nodded. 

"Gojo. Gojo Satoru. You can call me Satoru, though," he nearly blurted out as you chuckled before giving him yours. 

"Well, Satoru," you beamed as he melted at the sound of his name slipping off your tongue, "I think I'll name her after you."

"Wha— Satoru? But... she's a girl?" He tilted his head with furrowed eyebrows. 

"I was thinking of a nickname," you said before looking down at the kitten. "I'll name her Toru. It's cute, right?"

Nodding slowly, then faster, Gojo agreed. "Yeah, Toru is cute."

Lifting your gaze to meet his, you gave him a toothy smile. "Toru it is."

[gurugirl]

Daddy's Pretty Girl | dom!daddy!h

Summary: Harry just wants to make his princess happy OR The story of you and Harry, how you met, and all the rest.

A/n: Requested! This was previously posted on Patreon!

Word Count: 4,385

Warning: Smut, cock warming, exhibition kink (public), daddy kink, DDlg (consented and role play understood), dom/sub dynamic

 🌸 🌸 🌸

“Princess? What are you doing?” Harry spoke calmly as he placed his hands on your hips while you balanced yourself on the counter to reach the tallest cupboard.

“I can’t reach this high so I had to climb up here to get something.”

“And why didn’t you ask me for help? Hmm?” He gripped you in his hands and pulled you down to the floor safely.

You’d been caught red-handed. Well, sort of. You hadn’t quite found what you were looking for before Harry noticed you climbing on the counter. It was the package of butter shortbread cookies with the strawberry jam and cream in the center that you were trying to find. Harry hid them from you because every time he brought home your little treats you’d ruin your appetite for dinner and so it was just easier for him to put them somewhere you couldn’t find them.

Pouting you kicked your bare foot against your shin, “Just didn’t want to bother you.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his bottom into the counter as he smirked at you, “Oh is that so? And what were you looking for then?”

You shrugged and looked up at him with your sweetest softest eyes as you bit your lip. He knew what you were looking for. He didn’t even need to ask.

Harry sighed and walked past you to the pantry and reached to the tall shelf pulling down your treats. You smiled widely and clasped your hands together, waiting patiently for him to dole out a few of them to you.

“You don’t have to sneak around, Princess. If you want a little treat I’ll give you a little treat. Just ask. But tell Daddy why he hides these from you. Want to make sure you remember.”

Nodding you responded, “Cause I’ll eat the whole box. Then I won’t eat my dinner. And my tummy always hurts after.”

“That’s right. Because you’re like a little puppy with no off switch when it comes to your treats. You’d inhale the whole package if given the chance.”

“But I just wanted one this time. Promise.”

“You never just want one, Y/n,” he took your chin in his hand, “How many do you want?”

“Can I have three?”

Harry smiled and let go of your chin as he reached into the package and pulled out four of your cookies, handing them to you. He always gave you an extra.

“Thank you, Daddy!” You bit into the first one, the buttery crust of the cookie crumbling into the tart strawberry jam with the cream coating your tongue. “Mmmm…”

“You’re welcome, Princess,” he leaned down to kiss your forehead, “Don’t climb up on the counters like that anymore. Okay? Can’t have you getting hurt over a $5 box of biscuits.”

You sighed and nodded as you chewed your next bite and then followed Harry up to his office where he was finishing work. When he sat down in his chair you sat in his lap and popped the next cookie into your mouth. Harry was used to you interrupting his work and sitting in his lap. He didn’t mind it. In fact, he preferred having you in his lap as often as possible.

“Don’t forget we’re going out tonight. I want you to wear that yellow dress I laid out for you on the bed. Okay?”

You crunched your bite and nodded as you leaned back into Harry’s chest and watched his computer screen as he did whatever it was. You didn’t really even know exactly what he did for work. Something about trading money and buying and selling things or funds or… he tried explaining it to you a few times but it went over your head. All you knew was that he got to work from home and he made a lot of money.

Life was good with Harry. You never imagined you’d have it so good. You didn’t have it easy when you were growing up. When you graduated high school you worked full-time so you could pay rent and buy food. You moved away from your dad the moment you had the chance. He was abusive and mean and he scared you.

So you didn’t go to college because your priority was to get away from your dad which meant you’d need to pay rent for a place to live. But you struggled for a long time. You only made minimum wage and you had no friends or any other family to ask for help. Your dad saw to it that any friends you made didn’t stick around.

And back then, even as hard as it had been working menial jobs and living in a rundown apartment barely scraping by, you were free from your dad. Sure things were expensive and you couldn’t always buy groceries, but you could sleep at night knowing you were safe.

But everything changed for you when you got a job as a waitress at a swanky little downtown joint. High rollers wearing expensive watches and Italian shoes would come in with large wads of cash. And the best part was that the tips they left were very very generous.

In a way, it was your lucky break. You started making a living wage when tips were included in your check and you bought yourself a used car with cash. You were able to afford health insurance, a few nice outfits, and could finally have a refrigerator full of food.

It felt like you were living in the lap of luxury. You weren’t, but you’d never felt such freedom in your life. Waitressing was a good gig for you. You were bubbly and nice and often remembered the names of your usuals. They loved it when you remembered their names.

One night, it was an extra busy shift and you’d been struggling to keep up a bit since two people had called in and you were running around every which way trying to make sure all your tables were well taken care of.

A group of four men were seated in your section and you greeted them but one of them could tell you were flustered. Taking their drink orders you scribbled on your notepad what they wanted when one of the men reached out to pull at your apron, “Take a breath, Y/n.”

You squinted your eyes at him when he said your name. You had a nametag of course, so it wasn’t like some crazy thing that he’d know your name, but your guests didn’t normally say your name to you unless they were regulars. And this man was not a regular.

“I’m serious. Take a deep breath, with me,” he kept his dazzling green eyes pinned to yours as he inhaled and you followed his lead, inhaling and then he exhaled, his breath falling from his pink lips. “See? That wasn’t bad, was it? Now, remember to keep breathing. Inhale, exhale.”

You smiled at the handsome man, “Thank you.”

“My name’s Harry.”

You giggled pointed at your name tag, “Y/n. As you know.”

“Beautiful name.”

Somehow Harry had made your busy and hectic night one of the best nights you’d ever had at the restaurant. He was so thoughtful and gentle with you. And he was handsome as hell. Tall and well built, nice hair, big hands…

So when he showed up a week later you were out of your mind giddy because he was in your section. And his genuine warmth had you flushing hot and made you all exasperated and blubbering your words.

Only that second night, instead of just paying the tab and leaving with a wave goodbye he walked up to you and handed you his card as he softly dragged his fingers over your wrist, “When’s your next day off?”

“Tomorrow,” you inhaled as you looked up at him.

“Call me tomorrow.”

So you did, obviously. And really the rest is history. Harry swept you off your feet and took such good care of you that now here you were two years later and still just as smitten with him as the day you met him.

. . .

You loved getting dressed up and going out with Harry, your big strong man who treated you like a princess. You were spoiled and doted on by him and when he took you out he was always so protective of you. Keeping your hand in his or his arm over your shoulder to hold you close.

He normally helped you pick your outfits too. You usually went with whatever he chose to make him happy. He liked having access to your skin so he could squeeze you and touch you which meant he liked you in short dresses and skirts the most. And anything that kept your shoulders bare so he could kiss them.

And depending on what kind of outing it was, he’d let you know if you were allowed to wear your panties or not. That was one decision you were not allowed to make.

Harry pulled out a pair of cotton panties with little hearts all over. Something that covered your bum in case the flimsy material of your short dress rose up.

“Gotta keep your tush covered tonight, Princess,” he said as he pointed at the bed, gesturing for you to sit down so he could help you put your panties on.

“Okay, Daddy,” you bit your lip as Harry knelt down on the floor in front of you and lifted up one of your bare feet, sliding the opening upward and then repeating on your other leg.

He liked to make a show of how he did it. Slow and teasing. He brought the fabric up to just below your knees and ran his hands up your thighs as he kept his eyes on yours, “Doesn’t mean Daddy won’t want to play with you, though. Pussy’s so good for me s’hard to resist. Maybe we’ll have you in my lap again. Let you sit on my cock right in front of all your friends. And you’ll be a good girl just like last time and keep quiet and not shift all around. How’s that sound? Wanna warm Daddy’s cock tonight when the time is right?”

You nodded and grinned, “Oh my god… I loved it when we did that so much. Love that no one knew except you, Daddy.”

By the time Harry had helped you into your panties, you were already slick from the dirty things he was saying to you and the way he was running his thumbs so close to your pussylips but just missing where you wanted to be touched.

You were meeting friends out for trivia night at the little pub that served the best pizza in town. Harry had his hand wrapped around yours as you both greeted everyone and sat at the booth with them all.

You weren’t sure how it would be possible to cock warm Harry given how many people were smushed into the booth with you both but when he pulled you into his lap, grunting, “S’not enough room, get up in m’lap,” you understood he wasn’t going to let you worry about all that. Harry was in charge. He would figure out how it would work. All you had to do was sit there, perched on his lap looking pretty.

He didn’t make a move to undo his pants or adjust you at all, first just feeling everyone out as you sat with your plush bottom over his thighs and ordered your vodka lemonade.

When the cards were all passed out and the trivia questions began to pop up on the screen everyone had their teams ready. All your friends knew better than to ask which team you wanted to be on because they already knew your answer would be that you were on whatever team Harry was on.

Maybe it was a little pathetic but you honestly didn’t care. He was the love of your life and your best friend. He loved you so much and treated you like you were the best thing that’d ever happened to him and so of course you were going to choose to be with Harry. Even if it was just for a trivia game at a bar.

His big palm splayed across your bare thigh as he whispered into your ear, “I love you.” You wiggled into him and turned to whisper back, “Love you, Daddy.”

It was sickening to everyone around you but also kind of cute in a way. You two were that couple. PDA was part of the package deal if they wanted to hang out with you. The first six months everyone kind of laughed it off. They said you two would chill out once the honeymoon phase was over. But here you were nearly 2 years later and if anything you two were even more touchy-feely.

Trivia nights were once a month. Harry liked to make sure you were spending time with other people and not just him. He wanted you to have friends and get out as much as you could.

When the game started and the pizza was plated you felt Harry’s arm slide around the front of your waist as you wrote down the answer that was discussed between your team. You were always the one in charge of writing down the answers.

“Take it easy on that vodka lemonade, Princess. Need you to have your wits about you when we get home. Okay?”

You nodded and turned to whisper in his ear, cupping around the back of it so no one could read your lips, “When are you gonna stuff me with your big cock, Daddy? Want you inside of me.”

Harry grunted and pinched your thigh shushing at you before he gulped down the last of his water. Harry didn’t drink when you two went out if he was driving. He let you drink but he didn’t like to have any alcohol in his system if he was going to be behind the wheel.

When the game was nearly coming to an end and your team was winning the final round the final category was music, as usual. 30 seconds of a song you had to guess was played for 10 songs. You could double your points if you knew both the name of the artist and the name of the song.

This was the part of the night when the people were boozed up and laughing.

Mel, who was sitting to Harry’s left tapped his arm, “Gotta go take a leak, mind if I scooch out?”

You and Harry had to move to let Mel out but when you both got back into the booth you scooted further in and realized Harry’s cock was solid under your bum. You leaned forward, putting your elbows onto the table, and felt Harry spread your skirt over his lap before he lifted his hips and the next song to guess came over the speakers.

You were distracted by Harry’s movements so you weren’t taking note of the song at all until Gessie poked your wrist with her finger, “So I think that was Bruce Springsteen. But what’s the song?” She snapped her fingers and looked at the other person who was on your team. As the pair were discussing which song it could be you felt the warm, stiff flesh of Harry’s dick under your thigh and you lifted just a bit to blurt out the name of a song you thought of off the top of your head, “Glory Days?”

Your panties were pulled to the side before you felt Harry’s fingers slip through your puffy, wet folds and then he pulled at your hips to draw you back toward him, only this time instead of sitting on his lap, you slowly, slowly slid over his cock. Your skirt was covering him and everything happening underneath.

You sighed when you had him stuffed inside of you and he panted softly into your ear, “Don’t wiggle around too much. Just sit still like a good girl.”

See, wiggling too much might have Harry coming. It’d happened before. The first time you cock warmed him in public (yes, there were multiple occurrences) you were so turned on and flustered that you kept swaying back and forth and squeezing around him. And he tried holding you in place but the whole experience of doing something like that in public was new for both of you. You were both excited and it didn’t help that you were pulsing around him and softly moaning.

When he came he had to act like you’d elbowed him in the gut when someone asked if he was okay. His pained expression and groan were easily played off as something rather innocent.

But Harry preferred coming inside of you only when it was an appropriate time. Usually in private but sometimes in the sex club you both frequented. You did have an exhibitionism kink so fucking at the sex club while others watched was welcome. But not at a local bar during trivia night.

When Mel returned you and Harry didn’t need to move as he sat at the end. You struggled to write down the last few answers as you began to pant softly and felt the liquid from your pussy dribble down.

“I’m gonna get your pants all messy, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

Harry rocked his hips up and you gasped as he adjusted your seating and pulled you closer, “It’s fine baby. You’re doing so good for me.”

And as much as you loved the thrill of secretly cock warming Harry like you were, there was always the issue of parting. If anyone was sat too close they’d see Harry’s cock in all its glory once you removed yourself from him. So you had to be careful about how it was done. Normally you’d order one last drink just as everyone else was paying their bill and getting ready to leave, that way when you two were the last to leave no one really wondered why since you still had a full drink to get through.

And that’s what you did this time as well. Mel hung around for a bit and you just hoped he couldn’t tell you were practically trembling from the way Harry’s cock was splitting you in half right in front of the guy as he yammered on about his job with Harry.

Your skin was hot and you were nearly drooling into your vodka lemonade at the way it felt.

You could tell Harry was at his wits end as well. You’d feel him throb every now and then. The small grunts he’d let out were also a good signal that he was struggling just as much as you were.

The moment Mel slid out of the booth and waved goodbye Harry’s hand was up, motioning to the waiter to ask for the bill for you two. He held your hips and rocked upward a couple of times before he began to pull out of you, “Nice and easy. Oop, stop right there,” he tightened a hand on your hip to keep you steady as he slid his pants up and kept your skirt covering the action.

You were a wobbly, sighing mess of a girl as he got you into his car and took you home.

“Daddy’s gonna take care of you baby. Gonna take away that achiness inside, yeah?” He spoke to you as you were pulled into the house before he lifted you up and carried you to the bed.

You were in a hurry. You needed him right then as you whined and began to pull at your panties but Harry swatted at your thigh, “Let Daddy do it. You just lie there and look pretty for me. My little Princess doesn’t need to lift a finger.”

That was the norm. He preferred you to lay comfortably all spread out underneath him while he did all the work.

He loved the sight of you. Your skin was hot and your limbs were already shaking with need by the time he finally began to lick your pussy. Soft strokes with his tongue only got you even more worked up and had you whimpering and fussing about, “P… please! Daddy!!”

Harry grinned into your pussy, pushing his briefs down his muscled thighs, lips wrapped around your clit as you bucked up into him and pulled at his hair. You were a mess. You needed one thing and one thing only.

“Daddy I need your cock, now!! I’m gonna die if I don’t get it! Oh my god, you’re so mean!”

You felt puffs of air against your wet slit as he laughed and looked up at you, “You’re going to die are you? Wow. That sounds like it’s bad, baby. Tell Daddy what he did that was mean,” he leaned over you, his strong arm reaching over your body to knead at your tits.

You pouted and lifted your head to look at him. You hadn’t even realized he’d already removed his briefs so he was fully naked, cock thick and hard between his thighs, “You… you’re not giving me your dick. And I need it.”

Another breathy laugh fell from his lips, “But I was licking your pussy. Making sure you were ready for me, Princess. Can’t just fuck my pretty girl without her little pussy hole being ready first now can I?”

You sniffled and kept the sad pout on your face so he knew you meant business.

Harry moved his hand up to your chin and squeezed your cheeks, “Don’t pout. Daddy always gives his pretty girl exactly what she wants. Doesn’t he?”

You nodded with a whine.

“That’s right. So don’t be a dramatic bellyaching brat with me. I’m just loving on you, Princess. Trying to take care of you the best I can. You’re hard to please sometimes.”

“Am not!” You countered, your words smushed together as you said them.

Harry let go of your cheeks and you felt him knee up between your legs, his thick masculine thighs pushed against the insides of your thighs as he smoothed his thumb over your mound and down to your clit, “You are. But that’s okay. Because you’re my little princess, aren’t you? She needs her Daddy to take good care of her.”

You began to take shallow breaths into your lungs as you watched him wrap his big hand around his cock and look into your eyes as he reared back, “And Daddy always gives his pretty girl what she wants. Do you know why, baby?”

You sighed as you felt the tip of him press against your empty hole. You wanted it so bad you could taste it, “Because I’m a good girl. Cause you love me, Daddy.”

“Fucking right, Princess. Daddy loves you,” he pressed into you, the girth of him opening your channel in one satisfyingly agonizing plunge. He didn’t snap his hips, but he drove into you until he was finally surrounded, encased fully in your pussy. And as he pulled you close to his chest he continued rocking into you with slow, languid strokes. Full length. He’d pull out to his tip and fuck back into you without pause until he met your cervix and he’d do it again. Nothing hard or fast. Just strong, deep, and teasingly slow.

His breath was on your face as he looked down into your eyes, “God… how’d I get so lucky, huh? Someone who needs me just as much as I need her.” He rolled into you slowly, the sopping mess between your legs just proving his point.

He fucked you dumb most nights. But some nights he was tender and warm. Sometimes he liked to take it slow and gaze into your eyes as he slid himself in and out of you, calling you his princess, his pretty girl, baby…

“Mm… me too!” You breathed out, “So lucky, Daddy. I love you…”

He dropped his lips to your neck as he continued fucking into you at the same pace he had been. Dripping wet, sticky, deep thrusts as you both panted.

You began to buck your hips upward to meet each of his thrusts. You couldn’t help the motion your hips were making as you moaned when Harry took your breast into his mouth.

He sucked on your nipple and felt your cunt squeezing him tight. You were so close already, like he knew you would be. You’d gotten all worked up cock warming him earlier and now you were gagging for it.

“You’re like a little slip-and-slide, pretty girl. Pussy all slippery and soaking wet just for my cock.”

“Uhnnnghh…” you groaned as you felt your insides begin to tingle and sparkle.

“You can come, Princess. Come on Daddy’s cock. I know you want to,” he panted, his own orgasm about to burst, “Easy there…”

You began to shake, your tummy tensed and your pussy clamped down as you sputtered out your words, “Coming! C… ffffuuu… Daaaaady!”

The beautiful spiral of your orgasm wiped you out as Harry continued fucking into you, his cock spreading your walls apart as you spasmed over him, “Pretty girl… so fucking good for Daddy…”

But he could only last so long himself until he was pinning you to the bed with his hips, cock buried deep as he dumped his fertile come into your pulsing hole, “Fuck! Fuck… oh shit…” his face twisted up in bliss.

It had been a bit of a quickie. But who could blame you? After suffering through what you had to during trivia, you both needed relief.

You ran your fingers into his hair and he nuzzled into your neck with a sigh. You both needed a minute to gather your bearings.

When you felt Harry shifting and pulling back so he could look down at you he slid a hand around to your bottom, “Let’s go get your cookies, baby,” he squeezed at your bum as you sat up.

“How many can I have?” You bounced on your bottom before you began to scoot to the end of the bed to hop off.

“As many you want, Princess.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! 2nd part is a Patreon exclusive and is already on Patreon now! Consider joining if you'd like to see more!

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[xyaehir]

“hold still!” —

SYP — self care night w ur sweet bf!

GEN. — fluff, crack

WARN. — gn!reader, male characters

REQ. — “Hi! Can I mayb request a skincare or spa day for any blue lock characters? If you don’t except this req, that’s totally fine! Thanks anyway!!!”

NOTES. — omg xyae!!! you finally posted!! no need for the applause guys 🙄🙄 also, i know some characters like reo, childe, kaeya etc would already know about skincare but we’re gna ignore that kay 😛

“stop moving!”

“i can’t help it, you’re smothering my face with this — this cleanser stuff!”

you sigh in mock annoyance, reaching your clean fingers to adjust the frog headband sitting on his hairline.

“do you do this everyday?” he tilts his head, squinting his eyes when you continue rubbing the product on his cheeks.

you hum in agreement, “its a way of taking care of your skin. you know, getting it to clear up.”

“my skin’s just fine. i just wash it with soap and not this — ‘hydrating cleanser’ stuff,” he rolls his eyes, using his fingers to air quote.

“how the hell do you have such nice skin when you wash it with hand soap?” you deadpan.

“genetics? i don’t really know,” he shrugs, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning into your gentle touch.

you hum. “ok, go wash this off,” you trail off, turning your back and grabbing the masks and serums. “so we can start with these!” you beam.

his eyebrow twitches.

“what’s that for?” he cocks a brow, pointing at the small package on your lap. “you’ll see in a sec,” you smile, tearing it open.

walking over, you adjust his cute sanrio headband again before gently placing the face mask on his face. he shivers but before he could open his mouth to complain or make some sassy quip, you slap a lip mask on his face.

that was 30 minutes ago.

now you’re stuck on the floor with a sleepy man twice your size, quite literally squeezing the life out of you.

“babe, we were supposed to take the masks off like 10 minutes ago,” you sighed, patting his head. you hear him grumble, mumbling incoherently.

“i’ll do it then, stay still,” you smiled softly, reaching for your mask and then his masks. “tilt your head back a bit.” he complies and you reach for the serum bottles.

applying a small drop of serum on his forehead and cheeks, you take notice of how his eyebrows furrow slightly at the cold liquid.

“it’s a lil cold,” you chuckle, kissing his forehead before spreading the serum all over his face.

he hums sleepily, voice breaking softly as his eyes flutter close.

it’s quiet for a while, before..

SLAP!

“oww!” he yelps, eyes flying open as he sits up hastily. “why are you slapping me?” he manages to get out in between slaps. you hum, “it helps your skin to absorb the product better.”

he side eyes you.

you hear him groan. ignoring it, you continue with your skincare routine. “ugh!” he groans, way louder and more exaggerated. you feel your eyebrow twitch.

by the time you chose to stop ignoring his whining, he’d already kicked the blankets off the bed.

“what do you want? i already finished your skincare so just go to bed,” you sigh, reaching for your eye cream.

“yea but when are you gonna finish?” he asks softly. ‘i can’t sleep without you.’

you smile at him through the vanity mirror.

“baby, just one more thing alright?” the sleeping mask you reach for clatters on the table softly. “five more minutes. can you wait for me, hon?”

he hums tiredly, standing up and making his way behind you.

he kneels down, wrapping his arms gently but securely around your waist and rests his head on your back. “hurry up, w’na hold you so bad.”

your heart flutters and your movements stutter. you gulp, patting the product into your pink cheeks.

you both slept horribly that night since he fell asleep holding you and you couldn’t drag his heavy ass to bed.

— (bllk) NAGI, sae, REO, rin (genshin) KAEYA, CHILDE, xiao, venti, ITTO (star rail) sampo, JING YUAN (haikyuu) SUNA, tsuki, OIKAWA, KUROO (KNY) TANJIRO, giyu, sanemi (assclass) KARMA, ISOGAI () YOUR FAVES

@xyaehir 2024. This is my content, inspired or not. Do not translate, copy or plagiarise my works in any way. Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated. <3

[girlgenius1111]

sick day

alexia putellas x reader... mila fic illness strikes the putellas household, and alexia is determined to take care of her baby... even if she is sick too. you think about how far your wife has come. sickfic things :) soft mami alexia 🙂

Alexia’s alarm blared through the house, waking you up where you were passed out in the rocking chair in Mila’s room. Your daughter stirred, but was evidently too exhausted from keeping you up half the night to fully wake up. 

Somewhat grumpily, you stood up and stretched, before making your way to the bedroom. You were assuming Alexia had gotten up early and started to get dressed without turning off her alarm, leaving it to go off on her nightstand. When you walked into the room, though, and saw her still out cold in bed, you instantly knew something was wrong. You turned her alarm off and gently tried to rouse your wife. Her skin was hot to the touch, and you frowned, beginning to have an idea as to what was wrong with the blonde. 

Pushing a few sweaty strands of hair off her forehead, you watched as her face scrunched with discomfort. “Baby, wake up for me.” You murmured. 

Alexia just groaned in response, reaching out a hand to grab a fistful of your shirt, as if she was afraid you were going to go. 

“You’re really hot. Are you feeling okay?” 

Alexia shook her head mutely, squirming until she had kicked the covers away from one of her legs. You knew she was feeling bad, if only for the lack of jokes made about you calling her ‘really hot’. 

“Sick.” She mumbled pathetically, tugging on your shirt until you gave in and sat on the bed next to her. She snuggled into your side, radiating heat, and you tried not to flinch away when her warm cheek pressed onto your thigh. You carded your fingers through her hair, making a mental list of all the things you’d need to grab and make sure to do, the first of which being calling her out of training. Once you had texted the other captains, trusting them to pass the message along to the coaching staff, you focused back on Alexia. 

“I’m sorry you don’t feel well. Let me get you some medicine, okay?” 

You tried to slide out of her grasp, but she wouldn’t budge. Her arms remained wrapped around your leg, her cheek firmly planted against it. “No. Stay. Need you.” She murmured, not making very much sense. 

“I’m not going anywhere, I just want to grab something to help you feel better.” You told her, smiling a bit at the pout on her face, and the way she shook her head into you. 

“No. You make me feel better. Stay.” She insisted, pressing herself even further into you as if to prove a point. As you were about to respond, though, you heard a soft ‘Mama!’ come over the baby monitor, and Alexia shot upright. “Mila.” She said raspily, clearly delirious with fever as she tried to climb out of bed. You stopped her, gently pushing her to lie back down. 

“No. Stay.” You echoed her words from before. “I’ll check on Meels, you stay here.” 

“Bring her?” Alexia asked, relenting as she flopped back onto the pillows. 

You shook your head sympathetically, though. “No, I don’t want you to get her sick.” 

Alexia frowned but nodded nonetheless, gesturing for you to go to the baby, who was still making quite the racket. “Give her a kiss for me.” Alexia said sadly.

Alexia drifted off while you went to check on your daughter, picking her up and frowning at the heat coming off her skin as well. She whined, flopping into your chest without saying a word. 

Your wife startled awake when you reentered the room, looking surprised and concerned at the sight of a very grumpy baby in your arms. She was still in her pajamas, her cheek resting on your shoulder as she pouted, clearly feeling as awful as her Mami did. 

“Amor?” Alexia questioned, sitting up with a grimace as her head pounded at the movement. 

“She’s sick too, I think. She’s got a fever and she’s all stuffed up.” You commented. “So you two can be sick in here together.” You handed Mila to Alexia, heart almost bursting at the sight of Alexia carefully cradling her daughter to her chest and resting a hand on her forehead. Mila was still frowning, though she snuggled into Alexia as soon as she could. 

Alexia looked up at you in a panic. “She is really warm! We need to take her temperature and give her medicine and something to eat, and maybe some water, and we should call the doctor just in case,” 

“I’ve got it. I’ll take care of both my girls.” You assured her, pressing a lingering kiss to her hot forehead. “Just sit here with her while I get some stuff for you both.” 

You rushed around the house, gathering the thermometer, some crackers, adult and baby medicine, and snagging Mila’s plush bear that she was rather obsessed with, before heading back to your bedroom. You walked in, not really looking up at your wife before dumping everything onto the bed, and picking out the thermometer. You turned to Alexia, ready to wrangle her into letting you take her temperature, only to find her sniffling, her eyes suspiciously glossy. 

“Ale?” You said softly, stepping closer to cup her face in your hand. “Why are you crying?” 

“Did I get her sick?” Alexia asked tearfully, staring down at the slumbering baby. “Is she sick because of me?” 

You repressed a sigh, instead opting to lean forward and kiss your wife’s forehead. “Ale, you got sick today. You can’t have gotten her sick if she came down with it at the same time.” 

“Oh. Right.” Alexia sniffled. She settled back into the pillows, her arms keeping Mila held tightly against her. “I knew that. I can barely think straight, my head is all cloudy.” 

She sounded miserable, and you thought back to a time where Alexia would only admit what was wrong once she hit her absolute breaking point. 

—

You hadn’t thought about it, until that day, that in the entire year you’d been with Alexia, you’d never seen her sick. Either the woman had an insane immune system, or she didn’t let you see her sick. But with an important training session today, Alexia couldn’t avoid you like she normally would have. And for some reason, she was having a harder time than normal pretending she was okay. 

Her movements were sluggish, her eyes squinting from the sun in a way they normally never did. She’d barely had any water, and her hands shook whenever she pointed out where she wanted the ball. Everyone could see it, but no one had the guts to tell their captain that she looked like she shouldn’t be training. 

Well, no one but you. You’d watched on for long enough, hoping that she would take a break for herself, without anyone having to make her, but after she pushed away a water bottle handed in her direction, opting instead to glare off into the distance, you were tired of waiting. Her face had grown alarmingly pale, suddenly devoid of any color despite the high temperatures. Training was almost done anyway, and you quietly asked the coach for permission to try to get Alexia to step away and go home with you early. He easily agreed, able to see like everyone else that your girlfriend was barely still on her feet. It was alarming that she didn’t notice you speaking to him, even more alarming when she didn’t move even an inch when you grabbed her hand in yours. Normally, she didn’t like to be very physical with you at work, wanting to remain professional. 

“Ale?” You said gently. She just grunted in response, staring off at the sky with her jaw clenched. “Come on, baby.” 

You’d correctly clocked that she wasn’t speaking, for whatever reason, so she was unable to argue with you as you began to pull her towards the locker room. Her hand was clammy in yours, and she stumbled slightly next to you as you both walked. You wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her. Only when you arrived in the changing room did you let go, guiding her to sit down on the bench in front of her locker. 

“Alexia?” You prompted, crouching down in front of her. She looked at you for the first time, eyes filling with tears. Hastily, you placed both your hands on her knees, trying to soothe her. “Talk to me.” 

“I… I might be a little sick.” She managed, blinking hard. “I’m okay, though. Really.”  

“Alexia.” You fixed her with a look which only made her look like a defiant toddler. 

She frowned at you, not used to being called out on the bullshit she spewed when she was sick. “It’s just a little… insect?” 

“A little bug.” You corrected with a smile, rubbing your thumb across her cheekbone affectionately. “Tell me your symptoms.”  

“No-”

“Alexia, we have a match this weekend and if you want to be better in time, you need to tell me how sick you are so I can help.” 

Alexia’s frown deepened, but she relented, dropping her head as she spoke. “Throat hurts. Really bad.” She croaked, coughing weakly into the crook of her elbow. “Head. Stomach. Nose is all… stuffed.” 

She seemed genuinely distraught to be so ill, like her body had betrayed her, which you supposed it had. But this is what happened when you ran yourself into the ground, not that you’d tell Alexia that right now. That lecture could wait. 

“Okay. We’re going to go home, take a shower, take some cold medicine, and you’re going to go right to bed.” 

“Amor,” She whined, looking longingly back out at the training ground. 

You scoffed. “I’m not asking Putellas. Get your bag.” 

With a sigh and a glare sent your way, she slipped her boots off and her slides on as you did the same. She stood, bag slung over her shoulder, looking absolutely miserable as you both began to make your way to the car. You reached for her hand, a bit relieved when she intertwined her fingers with yours; she wasn’t really mad, then. It was silent for a few moments, before her raspy voice pulled you from your thoughts.  

“Amor? Can you carry my bag?” She asked quietly, her face burning with shame… or maybe that was just the fever. Either way, you smiled encouragingly at her, nodding and throwing her bag over your shoulder. It was one of the first times Alexia asked you for help in a genuine, meaningful way, and it made you ridiculously happy. 

—

Alexia didn’t seem to have the same reservations now as she did then, and for that you were grateful. She dutifully opened her mouth to let you take her temperature, her fingers fidgeting with Mila’s wisps of hair. The baby was out cold on her Mami, letting out the smallest and most adorable snores you’d ever heard in your life. 

The thermometer beeped and you pulled it away to check the little screen, frowning down at the result. 

“What?” Alexia asked, feeling irrationally worried that her fever would be high enough for her to need to go see a doctor. 

“I don’t know, Ale. This says you’re really hot.” You said, eyebrows knit together as you looked back up at her. 

“Too hot?” 

You forced yourself to remain serious. “Maybe we should see a doctor… but I’m not sure who specializes in making people less sexy?”

Alexia’s frown gave way to a small smile before she forced a glare back on her face. “Tonta. You scared me!” 

“You were frowning too much, I had to do something.” You laughed, patting her cheek affectionately. “Just a small fever, don’t worry. Move Mila a bit so I can get hers?”

Alexia shifted her arms protectively around the baby. “Amor she’s sleeping, don’t wake her.” 

You rolled your eyes, picking up the other thermometer, the one that went across the forehead. “This won’t wake her.” 

Alexia stared at you as you took Mila’s temperature, smoothing the thermometer across her forehead.  “Why didn’t you use that one on me?” She asked, borderline pouting at this point. 

“Your head is too big for it.” You said casually, reaching for the box that had Mila’s baby medicine in it. 

“Hey!” Alexia protested. “I have a regular sized head!” 

You chuckled, reading the label on the back of the box to yourself before giving Alexia your attention. “Ale, amor, that is a baby thermometer.” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh.” You mocked, dodging her hand as it came out to lightly hit your arm. “She has to take her medicine with food, but her fever isn’t too bad yet so I think we can let her sleep. You should eat something so you can take something, though.” 

Alexia grew pale at your words, and she shook her head. “No thank you.” 

“Not hungry?”Alexia shook her head again, lips pressed tightly together. “Are you nauseous?” 

This time, you got a small nod. You handed her her water bottle, instructing her to take small sips. “You’re probably dehydrated. Let me get you some electrolyte water.” 

“And cough drops, please. And a cool washcloth for my head. And one for Mila’s. And-”

“I’ll get it all, Ale, don’t worry.” You promised, amused as you always were at how easily Alexia now allowed you to take care of her. 

“Thank you, amor.” She called out sweetly, shifting under the covers so that her and Mila were nice and tucked in.

You shook your head, impressed with Alexia for her growth, and honestly with yourself for forcing it. She had, once, been the most difficult patient.

—

It was routine, at this point, for you to show up at Alexia’s the morning after a match, coffee and pastries in hand. You and Alexia both needed time to unwind by yourselves, so you each spent the night at your own apartments, before spending the entire off day together. Really, both of you wished deeply that there was no night away from each other, but the prospect of bringing that up and seeming clingy terrified you both out of saying anything. 

You knocked, as you always did, expecting your girlfriend to quickly answer the door, still cozy in her pajamas, all ready to spend the day the way she most liked; with you. This time, though, there was no audible movement from the other side of the door, no Alexia greeting you with a soft smile and a peck on the cheek. You knocked again, torn between worrying for Alexia, and worrying that, somehow, you’d completely missed some signal that she didn’t want you to come over today. 

Before you could knock for a third time, though, the door opened, just a crack. Alexia looked horrible, her face sickly pale and a sheen of sweat visible on her forehead. She had a deep frown set on her face, one that you immediately matched. 

“Ale-?”

“Go home. Please.”

The thought of feeling rejected didn’t even cross your mind, too concerned by the raspy sound of your girlfriend's voice, the squint of her eyes as she looked at you. 

“What’s wrong baby?” 

“Just a headache. I’ll be okay tomorrow.” She rasped, attempting to shut the door on you. You shoved your foot in just in time, hearing her sigh as she allowed you to push your way into her apartment. All the shades were drawn, every light off, and you quickly shut the door behind you, stopping the flood of light from the hallway. Alexia relaxed minutely after you did so, though she continued to try to get you to leave. “Amor, please. I just need quiet and sleep.” 

For a moment, you felt unsure of yourself. The last, and only, time you’d seen Alexia sick, it had been a quick 24 hour thing, and there wasn’t much you could do for her. There wasn’t much she’d let you do for her, other than dropping her off at home and allowing you to make sure she had cold medicine in her cabinet. 

You reached out, placing your hand on her arm, feeling slightly emboldened by the way she leaned into the contact. “You can have quiet and sleep even if I’m here taking care of you.” 

Alexia shook her head, grimacing at the motion. “No, it’s your day off. Go do something fun, you don’t have to be here with me.” 

You gave her an odd look, taking her hand in yours as you began to pull her back to her bedroom. “I want to be here. Besides, I won’t have any fun knowing you’re miserable here all by yourself.” 

“But amor,”

“No, Ale. I’m staying.” 

Acting more confident than you felt, you guided her towards her bed, shoving gently at her arms to get her to sit down on the edge. She slumped down, barely having the strength to hold herself up, let alone argue anymore with you. You sighed sympathetically, cradling her cheek in your hand. 

“Just a headache?” You asked doubtfully. 

Alexia let out a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a groan, opening her eyes to blearily look at you. “Maybe… maybe it is a migraine.” 

“Maybe.” You scoffed quietly, guiding her to lay down and pulling the covers up around her. “I’ll let you sleep in a minute, but have you taken anything?” 

Your girlfriend’s grimace deepened. “No. I do not need anything.” 

“Ale-”

“I said no.” Alexia snapped, guilt panging in her chest at the hurt look on your face. She knew, logically, that you were just trying to help but the prospect of taking medicine, of admitting that she really wasn’t okay was completely terrifying to her. She didn’t want to admit any weakness, especially not to you. She had to be the strong one. That was the role she’d always played in relationships, the role she played in life, and she didn’t intend for that to change now. 

Alexia had to be okay, so that she could make sure you were okay. 

Ridiculously, she felt tears cloud her eyes, a few threatening to fall as you turned around and walked out of her room without another word. She didn’t object, thinking that you were leaving, and she deserved nothing less with the way she’d treated you today. The blonde remained silent as she cried, squeezing her eyes shut as if that would lessen the pain in her head, and in her chest. Only now that you were gone did she realize how much she wanted you to just… be here with her. 

Too focused on breathing through her tears, she didn’t hear you walking back into the room until you were right next to the bed, thumb brushing a tear off her cheek. 

“You’re okay, love. You’re going to feel better soon, please just take these for me.” You requested, holding out your hand in which a few pills sat. Alexia’s eyes blinked open in surprise, her lip trembling as she looked up at you in wonder. She reached for the pills, still completely silent, taking them dry.  

“I am sorry.” She rasped after a second. You reached for her water, brows knitted together as you tried to work out what she was apologizing for. “You can go. You do not have to stay, I understand.” 

You shook your head, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and pushing her hair out of her face. It was down, probably only making her hotter, and you made a mental note to put it up for her when you had a second. 

“Ale, I told you. I’m not going anywhere.” You promised, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Can I get you to eat something?” 

Your girlfriend still looked very confused. “N-no. I tried to eat and it didn’t go well.” She blushed heavily at the statement, but you didn’t look phased at all, continuing to stroke her hair. 

“Okay. Just small sips of water then. Anything else you need, baby?” 

Again, Ale shook her head. “No, I am okay. I am fine, amor, please do not worry or feel like you have to stay, I really feel fine-”

You cut her off, covering her mouth with your hand. She looked affronted, and you fought back a smile. 

“I’m staying, Alexia. And please stop saying you’re fine, you aren’t. It’s okay, you don’t have to be fine.” 

The blonde just blinked at you before slowly nodding her head. Her eyes were beginning to droop, her grip on your shirt loosening just slightly. 

“Okay, close your eyes. I’m just going to grab one more thing and then I’ll be back.” 

It only took a few minutes for you to grab a small towel out of her linen closet and wet it with cool water before returning to her room. Alexia’s eyes weren’t shut. Instead, they were open, tracking your every movement as she fought sleep. She sighed in relief when you laid the towel across her forehead, though she still clearly refused to let herself sleep, gaze still fixed on you. 

“Thank you.” She said softly, the words feeling inadequate, yet the look in your eyes told her that you understood how grateful she was in that moment. 

“Of course, baby. Do you need anything else?” 

Alexia hesitated for a moment, stealing herself before she took a deep breath and patted the spot on the bed next to her hopefully. You smiled at her, the sunshine smile she always got lost in, the sight of it making the pain in her head dull for just a moment. 

Before getting under the covers with her, you took your shirt off and discarded it onto the floor, for your benefit as much as hers. Alexia was absolutely radiating heat, but you didn’t dare pull the covers away from her while she was awake. 

Finally, you slid into the bed with Alexia. Nudging the midfielder forward, you situated yourself behind her, allowing her to rest back against your body. Her warm cheek turn to settle against your chest, and even though the towel touching your skin gave you chills, you were happy to provide her a bit of comfort. 

“Feeling a bit better?” You asked, brushing a piece of hair away from her sweaty forehead. 

“Yeah.” She admitted. 

She really was. Her head already felt better from the medicine, her body temperature wasn’t as suffocating, and the comfort she got from the feeling of being held by you was inexplicable. 

“You are… good medicine.” She mumbled, hands resting over where yours lay across her stomach. 

You smiled, pressing a kiss into her hair. Sick Ale, when she wasn’t being ridiculously stubborn, was incredibly adorable. 

—

It was this same medicine that Alexia preferred, even now. Years had passed, and she still swore that laying in your arms made her feel better than any pill she could take. Evidently, Mila agreed, because she’d spent the day either sprawled across either Alexia’s chest or yours. 

She stubbornly turned away from the little cup of medicine you tried to get her to take, grumpily grumbling into her Mami’s shirt as she hid from you. 

“Mila,” you laughed, running your nails up and down her back. The baby just grunted, though she’d started talking in earnest recently, phrases and sentences coming along nicely though she preferred one word answers most of the time. “Come on, baby. It’ll make you feel better.” 

“No.” Mila declared, clinging tightly onto Alexia’s shirt as if her Mami wouldn’t make her take the medicine she so despised. Which, in any other case, would have been accurate. Now, though, Mila’s temperature was high and she looked completely miserable. The medicine was necessary, and you both knew it. 

“Mila, venga.” Alexia pried her baby’s hands off her shirt, turning her around so there was nowhere for her to hide. Mila promptly burst into tears at the sight of you still sitting on the edge of the bed, the red liquid in hand. Alexia shushed her, sitting up with a frown, growing paler as she did so. 

“Don’t want it,” Mila sobbed, looking pleadingly between you and your wife. 

Alexia looked at you, and you looked right back at her. Being sick wouldn’t get Alexia out of having to play the bad cop; you’d made it clear that Alexia couldn’t just rely on you to be strict with Mila after the 10th time she picked Mila up from her tummy time before she was done. 

“I’ll take it with you, cariño, sí? You take your medicine, and Mama will put on a movie for you, and you can have some ice cream. Okay?” 

You rolled your eyes at the bribery, though you really didn’t care and were moments off of doing the same thing. 

“Okay.” Mila huffed dramatically, glaring as you brought the medicine to her lips. “No! Mami first.” 

“Vale, vale” Alexia chuckled, taking the cup from your hand and tossing it back easily. Mila watched her closely, looking somewhat placated when your wife didn’t make a face. You refilled the cup, smiling proudly when Mila allowed you to tip it into her mouth. She made a face, spluttering unnecessarily at the taste. 

“Yucky!” She exclaimed, frowning at the bottle of children's medicine until you put it on the nightstand, out of sight. “Ice cream.” 

“Okay, princesa. Ice cream.” You agreed, kissing her on the forehead and heading out of the room, not thinking to glance at your wife’s face. 

Something you would regret when you entered the room again, the question of if Mila wanted sprinkles or not on the tip of your tongue, only to find the two and a half year old sitting by herself on the bed, eyes fixed on the TV. 

“Mila? Where is Mami?” You wondered, glancing towards the bathroom door but not seeing a light coming from underneath. 

Wordlessly, Mila pointed to the bathroom, entranced by the movie playing. 

With a frown you walked to the bathroom door, knocking and waiting a beat before pushing it open. Alexia was hunched over the toilet, trying in vain to keep the sound of her being sick quiet. 

“Oh, Ale,” you sighed, leaving the door open a crack behind you before crouching down at your wife’s side. 

She finished, leaning back into you with an exhausted sigh. You flushed the toilet and allowed your wife to settle back against your chest. 

“Joder.” She swore. “That medicine is horrible, mi amor. I almost threw up all over Mila.” 

You laughed, running your hand up and down her abdomen. “I’m sorry, love. You were very brave.” 

She pouted slightly, sitting up off you and attempting to climb to her feet. “I’m just glad Mila didn’t throw up.” 

You got up too, wrapping an arm around her waist when she took an unsteady step towards the door. “Ale, don’t say that yet–”

As you were about to finish your sentence, almost as if she understood comedic timing, Mila shouted out from the bedroom. 

“Mami! Don’t feel good,” she cried, a tremble to her voice that told you what was coming. Abandoning Alexia in favor of saving your sheets, you moved as fast as you could out of the bathroom and to Mila’s side, arriving just a second too late. You rubbed her back as she threw up onto the bed, cringing internally at what cleaning this up would entail. Alexia stepped out of the bathroom, face going white again at the sight in front of her, wordlessly holding out her arms for Mila. 

“Bath time, mija.” She said soothingly, picking her daughter up and looking at you. “I can change the bedding once–”

You rolled your eyes fondly, gently nudging her towards the bathroom door. “No, Ale. I’ll handle the bed. You get her cleaned up.” 

Alexia nodded wearily, knowing full well she would only be capable of getting Mila clean before she collapsed back onto the bed in exhaustion. Hopefully, onto some clean sheets. 

“Sorry, Mami.” Mila whimpered, clinging on tight to your wife as she was carried into the bathroom. 

“It’s alright, Mija. I threw up, too. It happens. We just have to rest until we feel better, vale?” 

You smiled, beginning to pull the sheets off the bed. Ale had come so far her somewhat self destructive habits fading with time, and with love from you. She liked to take care of herself, now, if for no other reason than to be a good example for her daughter. 

You ended up under the fresh sheets and covers an hour later, your wife settled between your legs, back to your chest. You ran your fingers through her hair and she did the same to Mila, her daughter laid directly on top of her, dressed in a clean, fuzzy onesie. Mila was so much like your wife, and you were grateful for that every day. 

“Cariño? Do you want to take some more medicine?” Alexia wondered, rubbing her hand over her daughter’s back. After the earlier… incident… you’d agreed not to push the medicine issue, especially since Mila’s fever had dropped. 

Mila frowned up at her Mami, shoving her face into Alexia’s shirt. 

“No. Cuddles.” She grumbled. 

Alexia chuckled, kissing the top of her daughter's head. 

“Sounds familiar.” You noted, smiling softly at the shy grin on your wife’s face. "She's just like you."

“Yeah.” She agreed. “Thank you, amor.” 

Whether she was thanking you for Mila, or also reminiscing on her old stubborn self, you didn’t know. You just kissed her temple, happy to have given it all to her. 

“I love you.” You told her. 

“I love you too.” She whispered back. 

“Me?” Mila piped up, sniffling as she sat up and looked at the two of you expectantly. You and Alexia both laughed, your wife pulling Mila back down to lay against her. 

“Of course you, too, silly.” You said. 

“We love you the most.” Alexia promised. 

—

this has been in my drafts for. at least 3 months. maybe more. hope you enjoy :)

[ceilidho]

fear of god

prompt: There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 2 masterlist

-

How am I hearing you?

That should be the first question out of your mouth, but instead what comes out is a meek trembling of words. “E-excuse me?”

His smile doesn’t waver. “Asked if you could let me in, love. I’m a bit turned around.”

You pause for a moment to take stock of the situation. A programming that has served your species since the dawn of time quietly whispers something to you, its voice unintelligible but meaningful. The instinct to help kicks in with the man’s plea, but your own confusion stays its corresponding response. 

There’s a man outside the ship knocking on the window and you’ve never seen his face before. 

“Where did you—where did you even come from?” you ask. 

He waves a hand and it drifts slowly beside his helmet, encumbered by the lack of gravity. “Around. Lost contact with my crew and I’ve been trying to get some help ever since.”

His tone is too blasé for the situation. You’d expect fear or urgency, but he speaks as though reassuring you.

“Was there another ship nearby?” You don’t remember Graves mentioning any other ships in this sector of the solar system. With many funded by private corporations or individuals, the team might not be always privy to all ongoing missions, but the commander would have known if there was a ship within a lunar distance. 

“At some point,” he says, still smiling. Too friendly. 

It’s been months since you spoke to a man your age that you hadn’t seen drink their own piss via the ship’s recycled water filtration system. Not to shame anyone—you’re part of that statistic too—but you’ve realized in the past few weeks how far that knowledge has gone towards dampening any burgeoning attraction to anyone.  

But it occurs to you again—a thought burrowing into the recesses of your mind, like a phantom of itself, a loon call over a still lake—that you are hearing someone from outside the ship. Sound traveling through nothing; the very absence of sound. 

The thought is too big for your head, but it fits itself in anyway. It stretches uncomfortably because material reality usually wins in the end. What you can see and hear, you can trust. You know the world through what appears in front of you; that's always how it's been.

This time though, there's something you can't quite fit in your head.

“Wait, let me…let me get some help,” you tell him, taking a step away from the window. Your stomach clenches when he frowns, brows pulled together in concern.

“You sure, love? I can walk you through opening the doors if you need help. Same as my ship, I bet.” He chuckles nervously. “Been out here awhile now; not sure how much oxygen I’ve got left in the tank, if I’m honest.”

That almost gets you, but you remember protocol. For all your shortcomings, you’ve never not followed protocol. Opening the airlock and letting anyone in or out is a process strictly monitored by the commander, and you have no authority to grant anyone access without express permission. You know the access codes, of course, for security and safety reasons, but despite the sudden urgency in his voice, you haven’t been authorized to let him in. 

And then there’s the matter of—

Again, though his frame fills up most of the porthole, when you look out into the depths of space around him, you see nothing out there. You wonder if perhaps Graves purposefully omitted any mention of receiving a distress call from a ship with a lost crew member. 

It feels less than likely. 

“I’ll be back.” You take another step back, heart fluttering in your chest. “Just…wait. I’ll—”

The rest of your sentence never comes, tucked beneath your tongue. Your feet are already taking you away.

The metal floor clangs under your feet as you stumble away and down the hall towards the cargo hold. You can hear the man yell after you, his voice growing more and more distant the farther you run, until its echo lingers only in your head. 

Down the stairs and through the main corridor, you pass the medbay on your way to the cargo hold, the room at the far end of the spacecraft accessible only by descending below the orlop deck. You come galloping down the stairs so fast that you nearly trip over the last one. 

The doors to the hold slide open at your approach. Though the cargo hold on the ship isn’t as gargantuan as some you’ve seen before, it’s still big enough for your footsteps to echo across the room when you make your way inside. Crates holding the ship’s sampling gear and equipment are tied down to the floor by fiber-reinforced polymer straps and covered by heavy-duty nets. The smell of fuel and ozone is pungent, thick in the air. 

The temperature in the hold is a degree or two hotter than the rest of the ship, putting you instantly on edge. Irritable; uncomfortable. Heat clings to the grooves of your skin, sinking past the epidermis. You tug your collar out with a finger. 

“Hello?” you call out into the hold, voice reverberating off the walls.

No one responds. Perhaps Farah did come for her brother, as she mentioned earlier. It wouldn’t do for you to linger in the empty hold then, the man outside the ship still a pressing concern. 

The ceiling is banded by metal beams, ferrous pipes running up the walls to the rafters, gurgling and whistling as water passes through. You can see the shoddy workmanship in the exposed scaffolding, areas that should’ve long ago been covered up or hidden away behind walls. A pipe in a far corner overhead drips onto the concrete below. 

“Looking for someone?” a voice asks from directly behind you, and your heart jumps into your throat at the sudden sound. 

When you whirl around, Hadir stands in the middle of the cargo hold, shoulders slouched and hands stuffed in his pockets. He lifts an eyebrow at the look on your face. Though he shares some features in common with his sister, his build is entirely different; stockier, slightly softer. Round jaw to her sharp. The same widow’s peak though, and the same nose. 

“Yeah, hi—morning, by the way.” You gesture with your thumb towards the door. “I, just…this is going to sound wild, but I think I just…I think someone’s outside the ship.”

The easy look falls off his face in favor of a more serious expression. 

“Outside the ship?” he repeats in disbelief. 

“Yes, I know, but I swear. Can you just—” Frustration makes you curt. Partial embarrassment too because you know how it sounds. 

There shouldn’t be anyone outside the ship because you’re in the middle of nowhere with no other spaceships around for hundreds of thousands of miles. There shouldn’t be anything other than carbonaceous and silicate asteroids drifting outside the ship. Rubble as small as grains of sand.  

He frowns. “Did someone get locked out of the ship? Why didn’t you go get Graves?”

“It’s not—” Again, you can’t seem to find the words, the right one getting lost in translation. “It’s not someone from the crew.”

Something shifts across his face, a micro-expression that makes your throat tighten involuntarily, but he nods and follows you out of the hold. 

Nerves plague you on the walk back to the porthole. Since you lead the way, you can’t look back and gauge Hadir’s expression, but you can feel his eyes heavy on your back. Skepticism still thick in the air, so rich you can almost taste it. You can hardly blame him. Were it anyone else, you’d think them delusional too. 

The walk back feels twice as long somehow. At the top of the staircase, you breathe quietly out of your mouth in order to catch your breath without letting on how winded you are. Hadir’s footsteps echo yours, a beat off the entire walk back to the corridor you left just a few minutes ago. 

When the porthole finally comes into view, you freeze, causing him to nearly walk right into you. Any apology for the sudden halt doesn't get off the back of your tongue.

A dark, empty nothingness perforated by light in the far off reaches of space. Your throat goes dry at the sight. 

“There was someone outside,” you say. It comes out whispery thin. 

You almost don’t need him to walk up to the glass and look out, knowing already what he’ll see. It’s immediately evident, the porthole free of anyone or anything obscuring the hazy band of stars off in the distance.

There’s no way to see Hadir’s expression as anything other than concerned. He peers out of the porthole again, twisting his head to the right and left in order to see as far as the view extends. 

“I, uh…I don’t see anything out there,” he finally admits, a tad awkwardly. He has a hard time meeting your eyes. 

“Oh,” you reply, nonplussed.  

You step up to the window alongside him. Stars leak out of the blackness of space; eternal night. It’s a long way from anywhere out here. 

“He might’ve gone to another window.”

For a beat, Hadir doesn’t respond. You’re both thinking the same thing. It’s unlikely that if anyone were out stranded in the middle of space that they’d float aimlessly around their only means of salvation rather than just wait for help. 

“Maybe you just saw your own reflection,” Hadir suggests. "It happens. Freaks me out too sometimes."

The tone of voice he uses irks you; it’s vaguely placating, like he’s trying to reassure you as well as himself.

There’s nothing wrong with you though. You saw what you saw and heard what you heard. There was a man outside the porthole hovering in space and he spoke to you. 

“Yeah, maybe,” you say instead. 

You stare at the faint, runny outline of your own face in the window. No matter how hard you stare, you can’t imagine her suddenly opening her mouth and talking to you. 

When the two of you finally part ways, you head for the medbay on autopilot. The mug that was in your hand is long gone—probably accidentally put down when you went looking for Hadir in the cargo hold—and you regret not stopping by the galley for a refill. 

It bothers you that Hadir went the other way, towards the cockpit instead of back to the cargo hold. You wonder whether someone called him up before you found him. 

The medical unit on this ship is smaller than what you’re used to for interplanetary travel. They’ve supplied you with the equipment necessary for simple surgeries and nothing more; anything more complex is left to chance and divine intervention. The operating table in the center of the room comes equipped with a scanner capable of medical imaging and diagnosing. 

It’s an incredibly insular room on top of that, having been designed without windows. Not atypical for a medical bay. Though bigger than your personal quarters, you often find yourself on edge when spending any prolonged amount of time in your work station. 

For all of its flaws, the ship is equipped with a rudimentary form of artificial intelligence. It mainly assists with performing diagnostics, assisting with determining the best trajectory for the spacecraft, and enabling autonomous navigation, the latter function being temporarily suspended after the impact from the day before, but it has some use. You’re especially lucky that every computer on board gives you access to the AI, meaning that you can stay cooped up in the medical unit rather than venturing back to the cockpit where your inquiry might wind up drawing more attention to you than you’d like. 

You lean forward in your chair, a leg tucked into your chest as you flip a switch on the dashboard on the wall behind the computer and then a button on the keyword, the familiar blip letting you know to speak. 

“Ship, please scan the perimeter for any nearby foreign objects.”

Chewing your nails and staring at the computer, you watch it light up, words and symbols flashing across the screen, buttons flicking on and off on the dashboard behind it. The ship rumbles around you as it scans the surrounding vacuum of space for anything with mass. The foot still touching the ground taps, a restless twitch running through your leg. 

The blip of completion makes you jolt in your chair. 

No anomalous objects detected around ship's exterior

You press the button again. “That’s—that’s not possible, Ship. I saw someone out the window.”

When you let go of the button again, the computer goes quiet, running through another round of calculations, performing the same diagnostic again. Another distended moment of anticipation. You hold your breath until the computer beeps, the perimeter inspection complete. 

Scan complete

No anomalous objects detected around ship's exterior

The secondary confirmation makes your stomach sink. 

It’s difficult to articulate the feeling in your chest. Halfway between disbelief and unease. Perhaps a simple error in judgment, but you can’t simply look past the voice you heard from the astronaut outside the porthole. In your life, you’ve made plenty of mistakes and bad calls; you’ve run the gamut of mistakes, everything from going back to old flings to nearly misdiagnosing a patient. 

You have never seen things that weren’t there. 

Still, the reading on the screen doesn’t waver. You stare at it until your watering eyes force you to blink. 

You chew the nail of your middle finger until it tears. Sweat slicks the small of your back and the soft skin under your arms. 

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Okay.”