#captain or pilot are some of those | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ridingtorohan · 1 month ago

Note

hey!! i saw ur recent post about the tulpar crew walking in on reader touching themselves, could u do the same but vice versa?

Ask and ye shall receive!

𓇻 ft. tulpar crew x gn reader

𓇻 content. 18+ content, minors dni. possible second hand embarrassment. masturbation, sexual propositions, the whole shebang. this is a sequel to this post. this one can definitely be read on its own though. lightly implied that reader didn't accept swansea or daisuke's offers in the prequel but that can be left up to interpretation. jimmy's definitely happened though.

𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks!

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Curly is just so damn tired. Tired of the reports, faxes, checking the straps in the cargo bay. One of the few downtimes he gets is when he can sit and watch the constellations pass on the common room monitor. The Augira, Constantine and Mitena were all ones that he recognized from this sect of the system, all penned from the eyes of Saturn and further.

Movies are a scarce commodity on the screen, given Jimmy's track record of not wanting to hook the systems up, but it helps him nod off most times.

Working out, though? Working out he can do. Pony Express has given him permission to bring his weights on board, alongside a slew of magazines and audiobooks to listen to.

While Curly doesn't think of himself as a gym rat, those moments to himself are some of the best. Nothing but the burn of iron, the strain of his muscles with each rep. It's methodical work, one that sets his mind at ease and off of reports for once.

Some days, he can get Jimmy in on the action, but most of the time his co-pilot bemoans it. Each time they worked out, the stretches between the next session grew longer.

He's pleased when you agree to attend a few sessions with him. By then, it's almost amicable between you two, as if him walking in you didn't even happen. He's very much acted the part of a dutiful captain, though, he can't help his own eyes from wandering when he sees you stretch. Can't help himself from putting his hands firmly on you when he goes to correct your stance. It doesn't linger, doesn't wander, but goddamn, does he wish he could throw propriety out the window.

It's after one of his solo workout sessions when he chooses another way to unwind. Really, that's the only explanation for it. One that he tells himself anyway, because the strain of propriety is heavy. If he still thinks of you from time to time, if your face crops up in his thoughts while he touches himself, that's his business.

The only places you'd catch him in the act is either in the bathroom or his room.

Curly has always been imaginative, thoughts trailing to roads not travelled, paths that burn out of sight. Of you, sprawled out on the bed, and how he wished he had stayed. How he'd have given anything to hike your legs over his waist and kiss you senseless when he slid against you.

As it always is, every fantasy comes to an abrupt end. Every night that he had dreamed of walking in to find you waiting, you found him. Wifebeater drenched in sweat, towel draped over his shoulders, every line of his well built body on display, hand fisted around his cock.

There's a difference between wishing you'd walk in on him and actually receiving it.

A painful, terse moment lingers between you two, tension so thick he swears he can cut it. His hand completes the motion, wiping from his base to the tip, each breath deep. Despite how uncomfortable he felt (for more than one reason), he also felt more prepared. "Hold on a minute." He'll cover himself, boxers and uniform hiding himself from view.

If you believe you could flee from the room without Curly following you, you're dead wrong. He'll track you down, put this to bed once and for all. He'll catch you, half-dressed in his uniform, blue workwear draped around his waist, hand against the wall. "We have to talk about this."

Regardless if you stay or leave, not talking about it is no longer an option. You've both seen more of each other than was warranted, then what you both signed up for, but dammit he wants this. And he's so tired of shying away from things that he wants. From the person that he wants. All because of some higher-ups sitting cozy back home saying that it's wrong to do. He can't do it anymore, not when he feels like he's on the cusp of something great for once in his life.

"I know that what happened isn't what either of us expected," he'll start, voice low and perhaps far too sensual to be appropriate considered his half-dressed state. "And frankly, we can keep it to ourselves, pretend we never saw it." Biting the bullet is one of the fewest things he's done in life, but this is something that he wants to do. By fractions, Curly leans in closer, his voice entering a low murmur. "But... it doesn't have to be. We could give each other a.. hand, so to speak."

Routine. That's one thing that the Tulpar is good at. Routine. Each meal time, the rigid necessity of clocking in and out on time, even bathing. Pony Express may be a shit machine but it's well oiled, worked raw by the people under it. Delivering the payload is a smooth easy task because they all work on it together.

Part of that routine is shift work. Jimmy, ever the night-owl, works evening and night shift. This makes it so incredibly easy to avoid him if you wanted, especially since he walked in on you tending to yourself.

But he doesn't let you forget it. Since that moment, there's a smoldering heat in his gaze, eyes hooded as he watches you go about the room. Watched as you did your tasks, always standing too close - enough that you can get a whiff of his woodsy cologne, or feel his arm against yours.

He's almost helpful, even when your tasks really don't necessitate the need for another. His hands linger, hot against your uniform, his hips against the back of yours whenever he steadied you, or reached above you. Each word a rumble in his throat.

Except there's never really any change to talk to him about what happened. Not when every moment is tense, fraught with unresolved desires and need. Not when Daisuke or Curly walk into the room, silencing the burning questions and words that haunt your lips. Jimmy seems especially disgruntled about the interruptions, getting almost snappy towards the other crewmembers.

All in all, you rarely have a moment to speak with him. It's the furthest thing from your mind when you step out of the shower, more than eager to collapse face first into bed and sleep the weariness away.

If you're the sort to bring clothes into the washroom to change into, the absence of them is noted fast. No amount of scrounging around turns them up either. At a loss, it's to your sleeping quarters to wrangle up something else to wear.

Except you're very much not alone the second you step into your door. The door swishes behind you but you're effectively grounded, eyes drawn to the man lounging on your bed.

His head is tilted, messy hair falling across his hooded eyes, a dark and smoldering look to them. A slow stretch of a smirk crawls across his face, a pleased look darting into his eyes.

Jimmy is just as bare as the day he was born, an arm languidly thrown over your pillow. A leg bent up, not at all coy about having himself on display. His other arm is resting against his thigh, one hand smoothing along his flushed cock in a slow, slick motion. His fingerstips are all but slathered in precum - or actual cum, as you might suspiciously think when you look at your clothes haphazardly thrown onto the floor, looking sticky.

"There you are. Took you long enough." He breathes out your name, chin tilted upward, something primal lurking deep in his eyes. Jimmy clicks his tongue, ever the disapproving copilot. "You should know better than to keep someone waiting." Despite the curt, wanting tone to his words, he doesn't move towards you. Letting you go to him. Like he knows you will.

"I've been thinking," each word is low and deep, husky in his mouth. Jimmy's hand very much doesn't stop moving, stroking himself as you're rooted to the spot. Whenever you glance down between his thighs, his smirk deepens. "That you owe me for what I did for you."

It's not like you could dance around the topic forever; each touch, every interrupted conversation, it all would have culminated to this. Jimmy waiting for you, eager to put his hands back on you, to feel you tremble and shudder beneath him as he pulls you apart.

The thing was, you realize, it'd be terribly easy to leave him here. To not respond to his advances. The door was to your back and even Jimmy had enough sense not to walk out nude in pursuit of you. It'd be easy to walk to another crewmate's quarters and pilfer clothes. It'd be laughed off, brushed under the rug just as another incident, excused as you being unable to enter your room because of 'technical difficulties'.

The thing is, though, you can clearly remember how his hands felt, the way he moved. How Jimmy watched you with the same intensity now, his eyes a dark promise of a repeat experience, if not more.

You don't really want to refuse such an offer, do you?

Try as Anya might, she can't get the image of you out of her head. The sounds you made, how your hands moved. She'd tried to be civil, though how quickly she averts her gaze and fidgety hands betray how much it affected her. Nerves, she'd try to excuse it. Nothing ever related to you, of course, because that sounds too much like blame. She blames herself for walking in on you masturbating, and blames herself for wishing that she hadn't left.

But by god, did it make her needy and so sexually frustrated. She's found every excuse under the sun to touch you then jerk back, at war with herself. She has to act professional. Doesn't she?

Something about you, seeing you like that, had coiled something burning inside of her. Something hot, that festered low in her gut.

For the most part, she can act professional. Mostly. But she can only get so far from letting her eyes trace your silhouette, from sitting on her leg whenever you talk to her. It's risky business, even riskier when she decides to keeps a few tokens of yours. Things that smell like you, even distantly - papers, a bracelet. Things that you've lent to her before.

It's been a while since she got laid, since she's even been attracted to anyone. But something about you just sets her on fire, burning with want and need. She needs you like she's never needed anyone before.

Realistically, Anya knows it's because of the forbidden nature; because of the close proximity day in and day out, but there's something so tantalizingly beautiful about it too. She's a sucker for it.

One of her favourite places to get off is in the medbay; she can lock herself in it - but she doesn't. Because it's so much more tantalizing when she thinks about you walking in. When she thinks about pressing you against the desk and using her medical expertise on you. She wants to hear you - taste you - feel you. Is that too much to ask for?

That's exactly where you catch her. Her breath coming out in hot breaths, eyes shut tightly, uniform pulled open. It'd be so easy to mistake it for something else, such as the room being hot - if it weren't for where her hands were.

One has all but ridden up her shirt, rolling the peak of her breast between her fingers. The zipper has gone all the way down to her waist, one hand curled tightly in her underwear, motions jerky as she fingers herself.

Every inch of her wishes that it was you, your fingers working her over, touching her clit and prodding at her walls. She feels so close, having edged herself for a bit until you came in.

It was just to ask her her input on supper, or for a nonsensical question that very well could have waited for another moment.

The door swishes shut behind you and her eyes flutter, dark as she looks up at you, flush all but crawling up her neck.

Seeing how you look at her - how you came to look for her- needing her for something, a question halfway on your lips - and it's her undoing. She moans your name, guttural and hoarse, hips jerking, dripping over her knuckles. "Wait-" Singlehandedly one of the better orgasms she's had, better than when she pined endlessly.

When her senses come back, Anya is breathless and shaken - and you're long gone.

She's not letting you go this time. Not when a new, burning question lodges inside her. Did you like what you see? Did you wish you weren't there?

Anya approaches your door at night, knocking crisply and when you grant entrance, she stands there, the atmosphere almost palpably awkward. She takes a few steps closer, feeling flighty and desperate, eyes searching your face, whispering your name.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she whispers, voice low in the room, nerves biting at her throat. She can't not know anymore. "But I'm... glad that you did."

"Is this.. tension between us all in my head, or, do you want me too?"

It's one thing after the next. Couplings came loose, Daisuke's homework is not up to par, the lightbulbs need to be changed but no one seems capable of doing it. It all amounts to a sort of frustration winding up in him. Swansea has enough grace not to lash out at anyone, but it's there, palpable in his tone.

By some saving grace, you're willing to help him out with his work. Passing over screwdrivers and wrenches, new copper wire as he needs it. Swansea has noticed that you're attentive and eager like that; willing to help. Sometimes, he really wished you were his intern instead of Daisuke, not that he blames the kid.

He really needs a damn beer.

Wanking out his frustrations as a teenager and young adult had really suited him just fine, and with each passing day, it becomes a far more likely possibility.

It surely does not help when every little moment with you feels charged. Knuckles brushing when you supply him with mechanic tools, or when his arm brushed against your thigh as he steadied the ladder for you.

Swansea finds his gaze lingering.. on how your uniform bunches, the sway of your walk, the excited chatter to your tone when you've launched into some spiel or other. Each look he gives you is in quiet contemplation, though perhaps not as obvious as to why.

He's long since brushed off your curious questions.

It's when Anya outright slipped and fell over an oil spill that Swansea called it quits. There's only so many small annoyances that he could take before it became a hazardous snowstorm.

After it's suitably cleaned, he tried to find a place to tuck himself away. Keyword: tried. Something else always needed to be fixed, and he had enough years under his belt to know the ins and out of everything. Leaky faucet? Hold his glass. Vaccuum given up? He's got it. Curly, goddammit, he has it.

It's so grueling to find a moment of peace, so he takes what he can. That just so happened to be in the utility room, frustrations to a boiling point.

He knows his body, knows just the right way to stroke himself, the perfect amount of pressure. Learned it long since his youthful days, since his amicable divorce from his wife. Sure, it might feel mechanic at a certain point, but to him, it was a small reprieve. A getaway that only booze came close to.

Foreskin pulled back, his head is tucked low, eyes heavily lidded, fingertips pressing under the tip of the head just like he likes.

Swansea has himself sticky with precum when the utility door rattles and open. "Swansea, I found your keys-"

His eyes track up, eyebrows raised. Whatever hasty attempt you may have made, it's blocked by the aging mechanics of the utility door. It's from an older rig, one that still uses keys instead of the security bars that the medbay and cockpit use. Which means it's faulty as shit.

He sighs, head tipped back, eyes still on you. "That's on me for not leaving a sock out there," he grumbles, voice gruff and husky. A reference to how he told you to ward off people when he caught you masturbating earlier.

Moving his hand from his cock, his gaze is surprisingly steady, arm draped against the back of the chair. "Listen, kid, I won't say shit about this if you don't. Keep it jammed tight better than a olive jar when making margaritas. But." He rolls his neck, feeling a satisfying crack run through him. "I can show ya a few things that the ole cap' or other men won't, if yer interested."

Daisuke has been, for lack of a better word, edgy around you. Hovering, then trying to create distance. He can't seem to decide how to act around you. Not when he's seen you that way, pleasuring yourself. When he wishes you'd involve him.

He's seen plenty of naked people before, got hard over them, but wow, did you take it to the next level. Even how you tilt your head or roll up your sleeves has him in an outright tizzy, straining hard in his pants.

Daisuke often has to excuse himself from your presence. Ignoring Swansea's rolling eyes and knowing scoffs is easy; ignoring you is harder.

It's during one of those mundane tasks, where you're prattling about your work to the others, his eyes glued to your form, absorbing every word that he can't take it anymore. Excusing himself, he pops right out of the room, awkwardly striking towards his bunk.

But of course that is the exact moment you decide you need to return his gameboy - or comic, or whatever he had lent you a few weeks prior.

Daisuke is completely in the groove, pants folded down, back propped to the wall, knees folded and lips parted with each heavy breath. He's always been loud, noisy and boisterous. But his saving (and falling) grace is that he's also often playing movies in his room, and what muffled sounds you may hear from the other side of the door is easily chalked up to that. (Or perhaps, you knew.)

You catch him like that, hand fisted around his lean cock, shirt ridden up over his stomach, his movements sharp and jerky. It's bad enough that you walk in on him like this - but another to hear Daisuke rattle out your name, the sound breathy and full of want coming from his lips.

He's a poor, flushed mess, eyes wide when he looks up at you - and it's so plainly obvious to the both of you that he didn't call out because he heard you come in.

"I- I can totally explain." Except he really can't, can he, when he has his dick in his hand, just moaning your name literally seconds ago.

Any attempt to backtrack out of the room will be greeted with a hasty, "Oh my god, no, pleasewait!" As he all but tries to leap from his bed, tripping over his pants in his haste to get to you. Daisuke is nothing but determined and will try to talk to you about this, even if you manage to successfully flee.

Choosing to stay has him utterly red-faced, almost ashamed as he rambles through a tirade of, "Okay, so," punctuated by repeated, stumbled phrases before he manages to get out, "So, me calling out your name just now - total accident. Unlessyoudon'twantittobe? But, like, I definitely understand if you want to leave but I'dreallyratheryoustaybecause I really can't stop thinking about you and, - oh hey, is that my gameboy? You can just set it-- that's not important! I just. Really don't want you to leave. Please."

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jenosbliss · 10 days ago

Text

✈️⌇ Beneath the Skies

pairing. flight attendant!reader x captain!jeno | genre. fluff, smut, slight angst | wc. 4k | requested. here | mdni!

warnings. fingering, nipple play, penetrative sex, protected sex (not mentioned but always play safe), lots and lots of kissing and jeno is the greenest flag ever

summary. you and jeno were walking on eggshells around the airline staff, limiting to subtle touches and lingering glances until you sneaked away from the prying eyes. Everything was fine until it wasn't as rumors spread faster than fire.

a/n. guys i love jeno! (ugly crying) anyways if you're uncomfortable with the smut portion you can skip it

The overhead announcement crackled through the cabin speakers, smooth and steady, delivered in a deep voice that always seemed to command attention without even trying.

“This is your captain speaking. We’re beginning our final descent into Osaka. Local time is 7:42 PM, and the weather is clear with a light breeze. We’ll have you on the ground shortly. Thank you for flying with us.”

Jeno’s voice.

You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile as you walked down the aisle of the aircraft, your polished heels clicking softly against the floor. As always, his words sparked a ripple of excitement across the cabin. You could practically see the passengers—and some of the other flight attendants—swooning as they tilted their heads toward the speakers.

“Captain Lee Jeno sounds like he should be in a movie,” whispered one of your colleagues, Sara, as she leaned in close to you near the galley.

You gave her a polite smile, hoping it wasn’t too forced. “Yeah, I guess he has one of those voices.”

One of those voices, and one of those faces. And one of those personalities that made your heart ache with an almost unbearable tenderness every time you thought about him. Which was too often.

Sara sighed dreamily. “Seriously, isn’t it unfair? He’s so good-looking and he’s a pilot. He’s the whole package.”

You glanced down at the tray of drinks you were holding, focusing on steadying your hands. “Yeah,” you said softly, unable to resist the flicker of warmth spreading in your chest. “The whole package.”

Sara didn’t notice the way your lips curved slightly or the way your voice softened. No one did. That was the point.

At work, you and Jeno were just coworkers. You had to be.

The first time you met him, you’d been a bundle of nerves, fumbling with your flight manual on your first day as a flight attendant. He had stopped you in the hallway leading to the crew briefing room, his white captain’s uniform crisp and impossibly neat. His voice had been calm and reassuring as he asked if you needed help, and his smile had been so genuine that your tension had melted away in an instant.

Since then, you and Jeno had become… close. Closer than you ever thought possible.

Somehow, between the endless flights, layovers in strange cities, and the long hours spent together in cramped crew lounges, he had become more than just your captain. He had become your anchor.

When turbulence hit—both in the air and in your life—Jeno was always steady. Always there.

But no one could know.

Not when you worked for an airline that prided itself on professionalism and strict boundaries between coworkers. Not when the rumor mill among the crew could destroy someone’s reputation in a heartbeat.

And so, you kept it quiet. Stolen glances in the cockpit. Soft, lingering touches when no one was looking. Conversations that stretched late into the night during layovers, when the rest of the crew was asleep and it felt like the world was just the two of you.

It was enough. Most of the time.

You stood near the exit as the passengers began filing off the plane, bowing and thanking them with a practiced smile. Jeno stood just a few feet away, his tall frame commanding and composed in his uniform.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, even as he greeted the passengers with the same professional smile you wore.

When the last passenger exited, Sara let out a dramatic sigh, leaning against the cabin wall. “Okay, I’m officially done for today. That flight was too long. Who’s up for drinks tonight?”

“I think I’ll pass,” you said quickly, unbuckling the thin scarf around your neck and folding it neatly. You glanced at Jeno out of the corner of your eye. His lips twitched in amusement, but he said nothing.

“Boring,” Sara teased. “You’re always skipping out on crew hangouts. It’s like you have a secret life or something.”

You laughed lightly, brushing off her comment. “Just tired, that’s all.”

It wasn’t a lie. You were tired—tired of pretending you didn’t notice the way your heart raced every time Jeno’s hand accidentally brushed yours, tired of hiding what you really wanted.

Jeno caught your eye as you both stepped off the aircraft, and for a moment, it felt like the world paused. His gaze was soft, full of something unspoken, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

The night in Osaka had started innocently enough.

The hotel room was larger than usual, the soft hum of the air conditioning filling the space as Jeno leaned against the dresser, his arms crossed over his chest. His tie was already loosened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and you couldn’t help but notice how unfairly good he looked. Relaxed. Comfortable.

The kind of comfort he only ever showed you.

“You didn’t have to come in here, you know,” he said, though the teasing lilt in his voice gave him away.

You rolled your eyes, sinking onto the edge of the bed as you kicked off your heels. “I wanted to.” That much was true. You weren’t ready to say goodnight to him yet—not after a flight full of stolen glances and moments that had left your chest tight with longing.

Jeno’s smile softened as he walked over to you, kneeling so he was eye level with where you sat on the edge of the bed. “Long day?”

You nodded, letting out a soft sigh as you leaned back on your hands. “Yeah. But this is the best part of it.” He tilted his head, his eyes searching yours. “What is?”

“Being here,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “With you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than they should have been. Jeno’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching slightly as if he was holding himself back from saying—or doing—something.

“Sometimes I think this is all we’ll ever get,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “These moments when no one’s watching.” Jeno reached out, his fingers brushing against yours in a gesture so light it sent shivers up your spine. “Maybe that’s all we need.”

You shook your head, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said, his voice firm. “If it means I get to be with you, even if it’s just like this… I’ll take it.” Your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling deep in your heart. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek, and he leaned into your touch without hesitation.

“Jeno…”

Whatever you were going to say next was forgotten as he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm against your skin, his proximity dizzying.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “Every single time I see you, all I want to do is—”

He cut himself off, his hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut as his forehead pressed more firmly against yours.

“Jeno,” you whispered, your voice trembling. That was all it took.

He closed the distance between you, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was as much a question as it was an answer. It was soft at first, hesitant, like he was afraid to push too far. But when you tilted your head, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer, the tension between you snapped like a rubber band.

The kiss deepened, growing hungrier, more desperate, as the weight of every unspoken feeling between you spilled over. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, and you lost yourself in the way he felt—warm, solid, grounding in a way nothing else ever was.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead dropped against yours once again, his breath warm against your skin.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered, his voice unsteady. “I don’t care where we are or who’s watching. All I want is you.”

Your heart felt like it might burst as you reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss.

The kiss was passionate as if Jeno tried to convey everything he felt for you through it. His thumb ran over your cheekbone in a soothing manner while his other hand slid under your dress shirt feeling the warmth of your skin under his.

When he broke the kiss, his lips trailed a wet path from the corner of your lips to the base of your neck. His grip on your waist became rough as he pulled you even closer while he kissed over your collarbone slowly as his lips found their way back to yours where he whispered “I need you.”

Your breath hitched slightly when he gently tugged at your shirt and all you could manage was a gentle nod. “You are going to be the death of me.” he whispered against your lips before pulling you into another soft kiss, his fingers undoing the buttons of your shirt with practiced ease.

Everything Jeno did always made your heart flutter. It wasn’t the first time you were being intimate with him, you have lost count on how many times both of you had shared a kiss and it led to this… both of you craving each other but that never stopped him from asking for your permission, even if he knew the answer. He didn’t have to ask but he did and this made you fall for him deeper and deeper.

Soon your clothes were on the carpeted floor, he had guided you to lay down on the mattress as he moved above you, his hands gently moving up and down your sides while his teeth lightly bit down on your neck making you moan. He licked over the same spot and moved to the other side of your neck repeating his actions.

“You’re beautiful.” he said, trailing his lips down to your chest and between your breasts, sucking and gently biting down on the skin there. He loved marking you up not because he wanted to assert his possession over you but he did so that whenever you look at them you can remember how much he wants you, needs you, loves you. He wants you to remember the words he whispers while he is making love to you, remember the nights of passion and just remember him.

His hands moved to where you needed him the most as he licked your nipples before taking them in his mouth making you arch your back. “Jeno” you whimpered, holding onto his bicep. “Fuck you’re so wet” he said running his fingers along your folds as he peppered wet kisses around your breasts.

He pushed one of his fingers between your folds and rubbed over your clit with his thumb all the while sucking on one of your boobs and fondling the other with his free hand. The simultaneous pleasure sent you moaning loudly and as if he sensed your need he added another finger increasing the pace. “Jeno please…” you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed him further down on your chest.

He let go of your nipple with one final kiss as he whispered “Use your words baby.” looking at you while he continued to move his fingers inside you at an almost relentless pace all the while rubbing at your clit. He knew what you wanted and also how far he could push you. “Tell me what you want.”

“You! I want you please.” you begged, reaching out for his hand. Every constraint he had was slipping by, he intertwined his fingers with yours and brought your hand to place gentle kisses on your knuckles. “Come on my fingers first? I don’t want to hurt you baby.”

With this said he curled his fingers inside you and rubbed at that spot making you throw your head back as your eyes rolled up. He cradled your face with his other hand and kissed down on your neck once again. “Does it feel good?” he asked and you could only manage to moan at the way his fingers were stretching you out. “I am close Jeno” you whimpered.

“Let it go. Come for me baby.” and as if you were waiting for his permission you came on his fingers moaning his name. He continued to move his fingers through your oragasm prolonging it. Fuck you loved sex with him.

“Do you want more? Or we can do it later.” He wiped the sweat on your forehead gently as he placed a lingering kiss over there. “You need a release too” you whispered looking at how hard he was under his boxers. He followed your gaze and chuckled, cupping your face in his hands as he leaned down to softly kiss your lips “Don’t worry about me, tell me what you want.”

Could he make you love him even more? You smiled back and rested your hand over his “I want you Jeno in every way possible. I want everything you’re willing to give me and everything we can be behind these closed doors.” you promised.

The promise held a thousand unsaid words and Jeno took a moment to just gaze in your eyes with the same desperation and helplessness before he kissed you again but this time it was gentler and slow. It was passionate but not quick and rough.

When he carefully and slowly slid inside you his eyes not once left yours, when he brought your intertwined hands to his lips again he closed his eyes to savour the feeling of your skin against his lips. He looked at you with an intensity that made your cheeks burn but you knew he was just memorizing you for all the time he would spend pretending he isn’t in love with you.

“You’re my heaven.” He groaned at the feeling of your warm walls taking him in as he moved, quickening his pace. “Fuck you feel so good.” he pressed his hand over your stomach slowly pushing you over the edge as you arched your back crying out his name.

His thrusts became faster and he wrapped his arms around your thighs pulling you closer, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. “Jeno… I-” you almost screamed at a particular hard thrust. “Does it hurt?” he asked, slowing his pace as he looked down at you concerned. You whined “No no, it feels so good… Please don't stop”

“I just want to make you feel good.” he leaned down to kiss you, drinking up your moans and soft whimpers as he once again increased his speed. His thumb reached down to rub on your clit adding to the pleasure and once again you found yourself close. And Jeno felt it too with the way you clenched around his length or how your grip on his back tightened and he pushed into you with more force and pressure.

You also felt him getting closer with his thrusts becoming erratic and sloppier. He bit down on your lip as he moaned, his fingers digging in your skin. “You are close?” he asked, pulling you closer. “Yes, yes- fuck Jeno” you moaned as he brushed against that spot making you see white. It might have been an involuntary response but the way you squeezed on him in response made him reach his high too and he came undone with a loud groan “Fuck baby… fuck”

He didn’t stop and fucked you both through the orgasms making you writhle under him due to oversensitivity. He smiled seeing you like that under him and slowed down his movements before pulling himself out and lying down next to you. “It was amazing.” He commented, breathing heavily.

You smiled wrapping your arm around his torso as he pulled you closer “It is always amazing with you.” He chuckled his chest rumbling with the sound as he placed a kiss on top of your head. “I am glad.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence comfortable. Jeno reached out instinctively, tucking a strand behind your ear. His eyes studied your face for a moment and he noticed your distant expression.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly. You swallowed hard, looking down at your hand which was playing with his fingers. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I know you,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “And I can tell when something’s bothering you.” You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. Jeno waited patiently, his dark eyes watching you with a tenderness that made you want to fall apart.

“It’s my family,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “They don’t… They’ve never really treated me the same as my siblings. No matter what I do, it’s never enough. I’m never enough.”

Jeno’s jaw tightened, and you saw the flash of anger in his eyes—not at you, but for you. “That’s not true,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re more than enough. You’re…” He paused, his brows furrowing as he searched for the right words. “You’re kind and hardworking and amazing at what you do. And anyone who doesn’t see that doesn’t deserve you.”

Your throat tightened, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Jeno…”

He reached out, his hand moving under your chin to make you look at him. His touch was warm, grounding, and you clung to it like a lifeline.

“You don’t have to be perfect for anyone,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Not your family, not anyone. Just… be you. That’s all I need.”

And when you ended up tangled together on the bed, his arms wrapped tightly around you, it felt like everything you’d been missing had finally fallen into place.

The next morning had been quiet between you, the comfort of his presence lingering as you shared a knowing smile before slipping out of his room. You’d thought you’d gone unnoticed.

You were wrong.

That morning, you’d heard the first murmurs: how you’d gone into Captain Lee’s room at the end of the night, how you’d been in there for hours.

They didn’t know what had happened. They didn’t need to. The damage was already done.

The rumors… they are subtle at first. Whispers in the break room, sideways glances from coworkers. But it doesn’t take long before you realize the truth: the two of you are the talk of the airline. Someone saw you leave the cockpit together. Someone noticed the way you look at each other during every briefing. And before you know it, the whispers turn into gossip, and the gossip turns into questions. The not-so-subtle questions about how you got your position and whether you’d been “using” Jeno to get ahead.

It hurt more than you expected.

Some of your colleagues, mostly the women, start acting strange around you. The sidelong glances, the not-so-innocent comments—it all builds, the pressure growing heavier by the hour.

“You and Captain Lee,” Sara says with a smirk as she hands you a coffee during a layover. “He’s such a charmer, isn’t he?”

You force a smile, but inside, you’re screaming. You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, and the constant barrage of questions is slowly starting to crack your resolve.

Another colleague, this time a more direct one, doesn’t hold back. “Is it true? Are you two dating? I mean, it’s not like you can keep a secret around here.”

You feel your face flush, the weight of the question sinking in. “No,” you say quickly, but even you can hear the uncertainty in your voice. “We’re just... friends. Coworkers.”

But as the days pass, the questions don’t stop. And neither does the growing realization that your coworkers have already decided the truth that you slept your way up, and it’s nothing like what you’ve claimed.

The hardest part isn’t the gossip itself—it’s the way you feel when you realize that none of them see you as anything more than an object of their curiosity. The whispers of your coworkers, the rumors spreading like wildfire—it’s too much. It feels like everyone is watching, waiting for you to break.

But Jeno...

Jeno is there.

He’s always there.

You know he’s been feeling the tension too, the way he’s been watching you during flights, how his hand brushes against yours a little longer than necessary when handing you paperwork. You see the glint in his eyes, the quiet understanding of how hard it’s becoming for both of you.

And then, one evening after a particularly grueling flight, when the weight of it all is almost too much to bear, Jeno finds you crying in the staff lounge one day, you couldn’t hide it anymore. “I know what they’re saying,” he says quietly, as if reading your mind.

“Talk to me please, don’t shut me out.” he said, kneeling in front of you and gently tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes.

You broke.

“It’s the others,” you admitted, tears streaming down your face. “They think… they think I’m only here because of you. That I’m not good enough to do this on my own and I earned this position by sleeping with you.”

Jeno’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he processed your words. “That’s not true,” he said fiercely. “You’re one of the best flight attendants I’ve ever worked with, and you earned your place here. Don’t let them take that away from you.”

His words made something inside you crack wide open. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” you whispered. Jeno’s hands tightened around yours. “Yes, you can. And you’re not alone. I’m here, okay? I’m with you.”

“I hate… hiding,” you said, your voice trembling. “I hate feeling like I have to apologize for being with you. Like I’m doing something wrong.”

Jeno reached out, his hands settling on your shoulders as he pulled you closer. “You’re not doing anything wrong,” he said firmly. “And you don’t have to apologize for anything. Not to me, not to anyone.”

Your throat tightened, and tears pricked at your eyes again as you looked up at him. “But it’s not just me. They’re saying things about you, too. About how you—”

“Stop,” he said gently, his hands sliding down to take yours. “Let them say whatever they want. None of it matters. What matters is us.”

His words wrapped around you like a shield, and for the first time in days, you felt like you could breathe again.

Despite the whispers and the tension, you held your head high. And Jeno was with you every step of the way, his quiet support and unwavering belief in you giving you the strength to keep going.

And when he held your hand during a layover in Paris, walking with you along the Seine as the city lights reflected in the water, it felt like all the pieces of your world were finally falling into place.

“You’re my favorite co-worker,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You laughed, your cheeks flushing as you leaned into him. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Only for you,” he said, his voice dropping to a soft, serious tone. He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. The city seemed to fade away as he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks.

“I love you,” he said, the words spilling out like a promise. “And I don’t care who knows it or what they think of it.” Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. But then you smiled, your heart swelling with so much emotion you thought it might burst.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

And when he kissed you, it felt like the beginning of something new—something that was entirely yours. No matter what anyone else thought, no matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew one thing for certain:

With Jeno by your side, the skies were always clear

navigation.

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

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wandering-pirate · 2 months ago

Text

Mouthwashing Characters Headcanon

How the Crew Takes Care of You on Your Period

Captain Curly

Knows your cycle so well that he starts prepping his monthly Captain Curly Period Kit a week before it starts

The kit includes all hygiene products that you need including painkillers, five of your favorite chocolate bars and the best part: candid photos he had secretly taken of you, each with a note underneath

The notes ranged from awful period puns to sweet compliments. This man knows how to keep you happy, physically and emotionally

Whispers comforting words as you sob over a character’s death during movie night

Though once, it was about a cockroach getting pancaked on screen

"Babe, that roach? It’s in a better place now—cockroach heaven. Endless trash buffets, living its best afterlife”

Spoiler: it worked

Checks in on you throughout the day, either with a sweet “How’s my baby feeling?” text or by dropping into the room for a quick chat, always making sure you feel loved and cared for

He understands how hormones can mess up with your mood and always reassures you that he isn't going anywhere

Co-pilot Jimmy

The man has somehow mastered the art of finding all the right spots to massage when you're doubled over with cramps or just feeling downright miserable

What you don’t know is that he once secretly googled “how to massage girlfriend in pain” (in incognito mode cause his ego won't just let him ask outright)

Big mistake. Huge. He was immediately bombarded with nsfw content, all roleplay, mostly rough

Let’s just say it took half a day, several deep breaths, and a burning face before he stumbled onto an actual helpful website

Ever since then, he’s been sneaking off to “practice.” But it got a little weird one day

Every time you passed by, he’d be glued to his phone, staring at it with this weirdly intense look, and his free hand squeezing the air at different angles

“Uh… babe? Are you… hallucinating? Maybe some floating breast action?”

“Huh? Wha—no! Unless you’re jealous of the air now, darling. Should I be worried?”

It all paid off when you let out those godly noises he loved, his hands were massaging with just the right pressure and on the right places

To top it off, he even got an essential oil in your favorite scent

Not without drama, though—apparently, walking into Bath & Body Works fully hooded and masked with shades doesn't scream 'thoughtful boyfriend'. It screams robber

Mechanic Swansea

The man and his craftsman hands will do anything to make you comfortable

Need a hot compress? Heats up grains, puts it in a sackcloth bag and places it in your lower belly

On days when you feel ugly looking in the mirror? Secretly blurs them slightly with shampoo or soap

Cold hands? Wraps yours in his larger ones

The kids being too loud while you're in a damp mood? He'd play tea parties with them (he was crowned the princess of all dragons)

Before sleeping, he always lay the towel down at your side of the bed whenever you're at the bathroom

Even built you a custom wooden cabinet that dispenses pads and tampons efficiently. Always stocked because he secretly checks it regularly

You have to force him to sit or lay down with you when he would be silently stressing out on what more to do

"Swansea, love, you're all I need right now, just stay here with me"

Nurse Anya

The nurse uses her medical and psychological expertise like a pro, making your period feel a lot less miserable

Meds are always your bestfriend whenever your killer cramps hit and she made sure to always carry all kinds of painkillers and have every dosage for each pain scale you're in

Wincing and doubling down? she's quick to ask

"Scale of 1 to 10?"

Even when she’s busy, she finds little ways to remind you you’re not alone like leaving sticky notes with doodles of you or your favorite characters in places where you’ll find them

After noticing how you loved wrapping your feet in blankets, she got you matching fuzzy socks that you now have to wear whenever she’s around (because she’s wearing hers too)

Lovingly strokes your back and hair while you scream at reality show contestants for choosing the dumbest of choices

Very much amused and nods along every time you asked her if you're both witnessing the same stupidity

Intern Daisuke

The boy is sometimes dense but when it comes to you, he sure isn't incompetent

One day, when the bed was way too soft to escape from, you did the only logical thing: text him

"Hey Dai, can you buy me some tampons? forgot to buy some yesterday"

"Be there in 5 babe! (⁠づ⁠￣⁠ ⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠づ"

And he meant it

He gave the pharmacist a heart attack by storming in and loudly asking for a box of tampons

Proceeded to grill them on what brands were most likely to leak so he'd avoid them (no shame whatsoever)

Never arrived empty-handed. Along with the tampons, he’ll pick up a plushie, a cute keychain, a little hair accessory or literally anything he knows that will let him see your pretty smile

He’ll wrap you both up in comforters, flashdrive loaded with all your comfort movies, from romcoms to horror

The mission? Movie marathon until you're both knocked out

Despite shrieking at every jumpscare, he still kisses your forehead between scenes, like you’re the one who needs reassurance (Spoiler: he needed those forehead kisses more)

a/n: thanks so much for reading! headcanon requests are very much appreciated ʕ•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ

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bblairxe · 2 months ago

Note

i need college roommate!abby who def plays some sort of sport n always has girls stumbling out her room in the morning. she has no shame ab it too. she acts all jocky n stuff but she’s actually js a sweetheart who has emotional issues 💔

yours truly, -𐦖

hell yea !! this is an anon req but honestly i kinda wanna turn it into a series, so this could be like a “pilot” chapter jus’ giving the gist of things that’ll happen throughout the series. unless you guys think this is absolute shit, i dunno i write for you guys so let me know what you want! anyway, enough yap more reading !!

heartbreaker | a.a

before you even enter the dorm room, a brunette haired girl shoves through the door giggling. her hair is all messed up and her shirt is on backwards, then hearing abby call out, “text me later gorgeous! miss ya already!” you roll your eyes at the sight. it’s pathetic really, can she do anything else besides having a new girl to smash in the dorm every 2 days?

once you actually make your way inside, you call out to abby, “abs that was the 3rd one this week and it’s only thursday you cannot be serious.” you scoff, dropping your bag on the floor. “you’re right, i’m not serious. they’re just quick fucks it helps to build up the stamina ya’know?” she quips, flexing her muscles in the mirror. honestly, you’re way to busy to be worrying about who your roommate is fucking every day. you lost count after that one girl came over. what was her name? nina? nora?

as you began preparing your shower, making sure you have everything you need. your mind begins to wonder. why does abby switch out girls like they’re trading cards. is it really just to build her stamina? you wouldn’t be surprised if it was, she is all about building muscle and shit. or maybe it’s something deeper? like she uses it as a distraction to cover up her feelings.

before you spiral too deep into your thoughts, abby’s voice breaks through the silence, “you’ve been silent for quite some time now. you jealous?” she teases, turning away from the mirror with that stupid smug grin plastered across her face. you scoff, continuing to pack everything you need before you head down to the showers. “jealous of what? the revolving door of girls you got coming in and out like it’s a damn sport?”

abby shrugs, completely unbothered by the statement — after all, she is the basketball varsity team captain. “mm—nah, they know the deal. no promises, no feelings. though i do think that last girl was feelin’ some type of way. i dunno the bitch tried to kiss me.” she brushes it off like it’s nothing, tossing a stress ball up into the air and catching it repeatedly. “you’re a real interesting kind of person, anderson.” you turn to leave, ready to drop the conversation entirely, but the thought from earlier lingers in your mind. is she doing it for fun or to cope?

“hey um,” you hesitate on asking the question but you know if you don’t now, it’ll keep wracking your brain until you do. “does doing any of that actually make you happy or is it just a way of ya’know avoiding stuff.” for a brief moment, abby doesn’t respond. her expression falters slightly but she covers it up with a casual laugh, tossing a pillow at you. “gosh those psychology classes must be really payin’ off. i’m good, nothing — nothing to worry about.” she assures, returning to her usual jock, assholeish self.

but you don’t miss that flicker in her eyes, like there was something wanting to be said but just couldn’t. you know abby has to struggle with some stuff, i mean always wanting to be the overachiever has to come from something, right? you don’t push her though. instead, you grab your shower caddy and head toward to door, pausing to say, “whatever you say abby. just take care of yourself.”

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby smut #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x reader #tlou smut #lesbian #arcane

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moonxknightx · 5 months ago

Text

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : LITTLE MUTANT: :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff :))

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You are spending a peaceful afternoon with your four-year-old son, Tommy. While playing, you notice his toy plane suddenly floating in the air, revealing the first signs of his mutant abilities. Startled, you call Logan, who rushes back home. Together, you both watch as Tommy uses telekinesis to stack his building blocks, completely unaware of the gravity of what he's doing. Logan reassures you that, just like him, Tommy will learn to control his powers, and you both find comfort in knowing you'll handle it as a family.

Based on this request.

IT WAS A QUIET SUNDAY AFTERNOON AT THE HOWLETT HOUSEHOLD, the kind of peaceful day that felt like a rare gem. Birds chirped outside the open window, sunlight streamed into the living room, and the air smelled of fresh laundry. The idyllic scene was only made more perfect by the sight of you and your four-year-old son, Tommy, curled up on the sofa together.

Tommy sat in your lap, giggling as you tickled his belly, his small fingers clutching a toy airplane. He looked up at you with those big brown eyes, the ones he’d inherited from his father, Logan. That same scruffy intensity, but softened by the innocence of a child.

"Mommy, fly!" Tommy exclaimed, holding the plane above his head and wiggling it through the air. "Look! I'm a pilot!"

"You sure are, sweetie," you said, grinning. "You're the best pilot I've ever seen. Where are you flying today, Captain Tommy?"

He squinted, thinking seriously about it for a moment. "To the moon! And then... and then to the jungle to find the lions!" His arms wobbled as he made dramatic sound effects, roaring for the lions.

"The moon and the jungle? Busy day!" You played along, tousling his messy hair. He was so full of energy and imagination that it felt like every day with him was an adventure.

Just as you leaned down to kiss his forehead, you noticed something odd. The plane in his hand seemed to... well, it seemed to be shaking.

No, not shaking. Floating. It was barely perceptible, but it was definitely hovering, just a few inches above his hand.

You blinked, rubbing your eyes, thinking maybe you were just tired. Four years of motherhood didn’t exactly do wonders for your sleep schedule. But when you looked again, the plane was still floating, a soft blue glow surrounding it like it was suspended by some invisible force.

"Uh, Tommy?" you said, trying to keep your voice calm. "How are you doing that, honey?"

Tommy, completely oblivious to the phenomenon, just giggled and shook the plane in the air again. "Doing what, Mommy?"

You felt your heart skip a beat. Oh boy. Logan was going to want to see this.

You carefully placed Tommy on the sofa and reached for your phone. Logan had gone out for one of his "I need some space to clear my head" walks in the woods behind the house, but it looked like he was about to get pulled back into dad duty.

You quickly dialed his number. It only took one ring before his gravelly voice answered, laced with that familiar grumpiness.

“Yeah honey?”

“Logan, you need to get back here. Now.”

There was a brief pause. “Why? What’s wrong? Is Tommy okay?”

“He’s... fine. Sort of. Just... hurry. I think something’s happening.”

“Be there in five.” You heard the rustle of leaves and the faint sound of him running before he hung up. Classic Logan. Always ready to bolt into action the second his family needed him.

You turned back to Tommy, who had abandoned his floating toy plane in favor of drawing on the wall with a crayon. Normally, that would’ve driven you crazy, but given the circumstances, a little crayon art felt like the least of your worries.

True to his word, Logan burst through the front door exactly five minutes later, his rugged frame filling the entryway. His flannel shirt was half unbuttoned, exposing his muscular chest, and his hair was as wild as ever. He looked like he’d sprinted the entire way back.

“Okay,” he grumbled, striding into the living room. “What’s going on?”

You pointed toward Tommy, who was now sitting on the floor, happily stacking his building blocks... without touching them. The blocks were arranging themselves in mid-air, each one glowing faintly, as if magnetically drawn into place.

“Logan...” you whispered, your eyes wide. “Our son is a mutant.”

Logan’s brow furrowed as he knelt down to Tommy’s level, watching intently. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just observing the floating blocks. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath. “He’s got it.”

You knelt beside Logan, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you think... do you think he knows what he’s doing?”

Tommy, blissfully unaware of the significance of his new abilities, just grinned up at the both of you. "Daddy, look! I'm a magician!"

Logan’s gruff expression softened, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, buddy. Looks like you are.”

You leaned in closer, feeling the warmth of Logan’s body next to yours as you whispered, “What do we do?”

Logan huffed a small laugh and shrugged, his usual stoicism breaking just a little. “Hell if I know. You think there’s a manual for this? He’s a kid. He’s got a mutation. We’ll figure it out.”

“But... what if he can’t control it? What if it gets worse?”

Logan glanced at you, his expression serious now, but not without comfort. “He’s our kid. We’re not gonna let him go through this alone. We’ll teach him, just like I was taught.”

You nodded, feeling the tension in your chest ease slightly. If anyone could handle this, it was Logan. He’d been through enough in his own life to know what it was like to have powers he couldn’t control. And now, with Tommy showing signs of being a mutant, it felt like you were entering uncharted territory as parents.

Tommy, meanwhile, was completely absorbed in his floating blocks, giggling as they danced in the air. “Look, Mommy! I’m making a tower!”

“That’s... a very nice tower, sweetie,” you said, forcing a smile as you watched the blocks stack themselves higher and higher.

Logan chuckled softly and ruffled Tommy’s hair, his gruff exterior melting just a little more. “Hey, kiddo, maybe we should keep the floating stuff between us for now, huh? Don’t want to freak out the other kids at daycare.”

Tommy looked up at Logan with wide eyes, as if he was processing the most important secret of his life. He nodded seriously. “Okay, Daddy. I won’t tell. It’s our secret.”

Logan shot you a look, raising his eyebrow as if to say, *See? Easy.* You rolled your eyes and nudged him playfully.

“So, what now, oh wise and experienced mutant dad?” you teased, leaning your head against Logan’s shoulder.

He smirked, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “Now? We teach him how to use those powers right. And maybe... we start bolting down the furniture.”

You laughed, feeling the tension finally break as Logan kissed the top of your head. It wasn’t exactly the parenting journey you’d imagined, but with Logan by your side, you knew you could handle anything. Even a four-year-old with telekinesis.

Tommy, now bored of his floating tower, climbed into Logan’s lap, resting his head on his father’s chest. “Daddy, can we play with the lions tomorrow?”

Logan smiled softly, stroking Tommy’s hair. “Yeah, buddy. We’ll play with the lions. But remember... no floating lions.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Tommy murmured, his eyes fluttering shut as he dozed off.

As you watched your little boy fall asleep in Logan’s arms, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of love for both of them. Your life might not have been normal by any stretch, but it was yours. And honestly, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Guess we’ve got our hands full,” you whispered, resting your hand on Tommy’s small back.

Logan glanced down at you, that familiar glint of affection in his eyes. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, darlin’.”

And as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over your family, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe parenting a little mutant wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @shybluebirdninja @boomveronika @wolviesgirl @slowlikehoneyyyy @lanabobana @corvusmorte @seamlessepiphany

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know!!

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fluff #wolverine fluff #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett imagine

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ihfmseatsoch · 22 days ago

Note

okay so here it goes, imagine this. reader is a hard-working member at pony express and one of the most well liked, looked upon employees there. here it goes, self glazing time, reader is also unfathomably attractive and charismatic and everyone was starting to suspect why they of all people would join freaking Pong express when they could easily get scouted as a high end supermodel.

Now here's the thing, during one of their hauls with the crew, the crew members are just casually going on and about and somehow stumble on to the reader's room, ( think maybe to call them for something ) but the reader isn't there, and the crewmates get a lil nosy and decide to snoop around. and what they find rocks them hard ( quite literally if all goes well )

they find one of those Playboy magazines with the reader literally on the front page and whole sections dedicated to them, and as it turns out the reader used to be a Playboy Bunny/ Gravure Idol. And decided to quit their modelling career to aim for bigger and better things over at space.

What would the crew members reactions be? Would they confront the reader? Would they use the magazine as jork material? Would they use the information to their advantage? ( Iykyk ;)

Tyy! <3

Apologies for the long wait on this !! 💖

warnings/content: nsfw, blackmail, coercion, everyone is a PERVERT!!!!

(gn!reader)

—

Curly –

• I don't think he would confront you because, for one, he's ashamed that he snooped around in the first place. He wouldn't want you to know he was in your personal space.

• And two, it's obvious you've turned over a new leaf, so why would he reprimand you for something you did in the past? He doesn't feel the need to bring up your old job, when that's not who you are anymore.

• Nonetheless, he's a bit more awkward around you now, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words because he just can't get that image of you out of his mind. Curly thought you were beautiful before, but god, now he physically can't restrain his thoughts from running wild.

• Tries so hard to maintain his professionalism. He's your Captain, for christs sake! He can't be fantasizing about his subordinate like this, it's plain wrong. It's perverted, and he's not a pervert.

• Okay, maybe he is. But he's in denial about it.

• He only jerked off to the thought of you ONE time and that was because he was stressed and not in a proper headspace. Nothing more. Mhm. Nothing at all.

• Jk he wants that cookie so fucking bad it's pathetic

Jimmy –

• Literally the worst guy ever about it -_-

• Slutshames you when he first discovers it, but he still pocketed the magazine and beat his dick to it harder than he ever has.

• Confronts you in like. A very creepy and invasive way.

• "So... what was it like in the modeling industry? They really make you eat tissue paper for dinner, or what?"

• "What, you thought we'd never find out? Everyone knows. Why d'ya think Daisuke can't even look at you anymore?"

• "Don't be embarrassed. The crew's fine with it. But... I wonder what the big guys at Pony Express would think. Y'know, that kinda background ain't what you'd call... professional."

• Literally holds it over your head constantly to get you to do what he wants, or else he threatens to report you. It goes from making you do simple tasks he can't be bothered to do himself, to asking you for sexual favors.

• Makes you suck him off and films the whole thing, just so he can have even more against you.

• "Wouldn't want anyone to see you chokin' on your co-pilots dick, would you? Didn't think so."

• Forces you to let him take nude photos of you, even recreating some of your old photoshoots, except you look much more unhappy in these ones.

• He makes your life a living hell, basically. Unless you're into this. Then it's fantastic for the both of you! Yay!

Daisuke –

• Oh lord, his hormones have gone haywire. His downstairs longnose is having a field day.

• Definitely uses the magazine as masturbation material. In fact, it's all he has to get off, given there's no wifi on the Tulpar. He's eternally indebted to you for blessing him with this.

• His rambling is even more nonsensical in conversations with you now. Lots of run-on sentences that just sound like word salad.

• "What would you do if like, um... y'know, like, if you were like, um–" BOY SPIT IT OUT !!!!!!

• His eyes drift down to your chest a lot. It's a subconscious reaction. You can't blame him for being unable to get the thought of your half-naked body out of his head, since it's practically all he thinks about anymore.

• Doesn't know if he should bring it up, even if he reeeaaalllyyy wants to. Not so much in a horny way, he just has a lot of questions he's itching to ask you. Maybe it's best if he doesn't say anything at all, because he'll talk your ear off for hours.

Anya –

• SOMEONE HELP HER

• She gets sooo flustered every time she looks at you now. Actively avoids you for this reason. Tried so hard to push down the memory of the way you looked on the cover of that magazine, which ended up being a futile effort.

• It's not like she wants to push you away!! She wants to remain close with you, but she doesn't know how to bring it up without feeling terribly awkward. She already feels guilty enough for snooping, now she feels even worse for acting weird :(

• It's not that she dislikes you now, it's just that she can't stop thinking about you in ways that are. Y'know. Inappropriate. She can't be thinking about her coworker that way! Mentally smacks herself and goes BAD ANYA BAD!! if she finds herself falling too deep into her fantasies.

• Eventually, she'll get over it. The embarrassment and awkwardness fades over time, and she'll go to her grave without telling you that she knows about your previous occupation.

Swansea –

• Sighs. Shakes his head. Puts his hands on his hips. He's got a less favourable opinion of you now.

• He's not gonna confront you, but he does silently glare at you with more judgement than before.

• He's judging you because he believes you have a lack of self respect, to have done something like that willingly, and allowed yourself to be pornography for random men.

• He's just got an old fashioned mindset. Don't take it to heart.

• Secretly finds you incredibly hot. But he'd rather keel over and die than admit it outright.

—

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villainessbian · 2 years ago

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Concept: most aliens can get anxious, can get scared, can get fight-or-flight. What most aliens do not get, however, is stress. Stress is a weird thing even by human standards. It can build up over time or be something tied to a very limited situation. It can be caused by a lot of things, and it comes in a lot of different ways. But it's a core human reaction, when a situation is wrong, it causes stress until it is righted. And it even affects different people differently!

Cue Human Cassandra, on a ship with her friend and co-worker Human Pauline. The ship is crewed with a mix of species. It's a cargo ship - load up in a space port, unload in another, get news and supplies during their stops, and live as an ever-shifting family as some of the two dozen crew members, give or take, get replaced. Some leave come payday, and new ones come looking for the thrill of low-level adventure, experiencing warp drives across the safer roads of the known universe.

But getting the supplies you need, or want, in stops is never so easy. Humans are new to the galactic community, and their needs misunderstood. Most broad-edibility food is bland for them, but that's okay. A big enough bag of their condiments can last them years. But ADHD meds... now that's less easy to get, the further from Earth you are. And a contract too big for their captain to pass on came up, much farther than the two humans expected.

Cassandra's mood deteriorated, her work priorities out of order, her sleep schedule in disarray. Little by little, she grew restless, shifting moods and gears unpredictably. A few weeks in and she was a mess, barely able to keep up with the minimum her job doing maintenance and running safety diagnostics for the route charting team required of her. While Pauline could help with the mechanical aspects of keeping the ship running, picking up the "slack", the safety had to be double-checked by the charting and pilot teams. When the curves of asteroid probability reached beyond a certain level, several hundred simulations had to be run, time-consuming processes had to be used, to avoid any collision at speeds beyond speed c. Some truly exotic things happened to ships that experienced those, but none of them contained the words "surviving crew." A safe route avoided any probability of collision over .1% and when going faster than light, any choice of course required thinking in 3 dimensions plus relative time to navigate dangerous probability fields in one piece, finding time-specific corridors and accounting for a dozen variables at once.

After she had a breakdown over a path she would normally have been able to find in under a minute, Pauline spoke to a concerned pilot team member:

"You have to understand her, this is a stressful situation and she's doing her best..."

"What do you mean by 'stressful'?" Gabalt asked. The furry little creature stood on two arched legs, and barely reached up to Pauline's shoulder, opening three wide eyes with curiosity and concern in equal parts.

"Things are... getting difficult for her, and keep getting more difficult because she does not have medication to help her brain be efficient. It makes her tired, and inefficient, and as it goes on, she's less and less able to cope with the situation. The longer this goes on, the worse it gets, and that is stress. Getting more tired because it takes more energy to deal with the situation, and less efficient because she's more tired, and things get harder because she's less efficient, on and on until something can solve the problem and the stress goes away."

"That sounds... hard. Do all humans have to deal with this?"

"Well, everyone has sources of stress, but she's got a disability. Without her meds, she gets stressed all the time. Not a lot all at once, but it always adds up."

"Oh no! So she'll be stuck like that until we get closer to Earth?"

"Most likely, yes."

But the most momentous thing to happen this day was not her breakdown. Not an hour later, alarms blared up. The simulation holograms all displayed blinking red masses - the less-travelled "safe route" was not as well protected! An asteroid range had been detected cutting through the border field, and it was in their way!

Pauline froze up, not knowing what to do. Gabalt was too surprised to act fast. All the courses from the ship's library of regular manoeuvres suggested a crash chance of over 60%, and mere seconds to act before entering the field!

Before anyone could react, Cassandra came in running from her corner to the front of the bridge, slamming the warp drive shutdown button. Most holograms stuttered and collapsed, the exit from FTL essentially dividing one or several of their dimensions by zero.

Looking quickly at the few remaining ones and gazing at the screens showing the current outside situation like a large window would have - plus a few critical extra points of data - she adjusted the angles manually while everyone still shuddered from the gravitational and temporal whiplash of suddenly coming back into normal time. Unblinkingly, she spotted the asteroids on the route while the ship was still going, if not at relativistic speeds, still fast enough for a single pebble they met to vaporise the Whipple shields, the outer hull, the inner hull, the crew members, and the hull again coming out if they but grazed it. Confirming the angles visually, she played with the reaction wheels, the thrusters, the gravity drives, to divert the ship's course just enough to miss a collision while not risking any grave injury on board. There was no time to react - if anything showed up straight ahead on the "unaugmented" outside view screens, it was too late to not get splatted. After half the crew had had the time to get thrown to the side or on the ground due to the rough handling, she'd managed to avoid any crash.

Gabalt was reeling. While it was surely not impossible, these was the kind of moves experienced veterans would never wish to attempt, and the margins for error were ridiculously low! She'd saved the ship and everyone on it, whereas she'd been unable to do a simple safety run so soon before?

Pauline was white as a sheet, but this was nothing compared to Cassandra, shaking violently and breathing unevenly.

"Pauline? What is she doing?"

"That's... probably the adrenaline."

"What's it for?"

"It's from stress. When it comes it overcharges the body. It's like the traditional, 'fight or flight' instinct from survival in prey-predator paradigms, it lets you move fast but paralyses thought... it feels pretty bad after a lot of it is released though. Now she's crashing down, must be harrowing."

"How did she do that? And you said her thoughts were paralysed for precision manoeuvres?"

Cassandra's voice came, nearly a mutter: "I just... had to. do it."

Gabalt needed to understand what happened.

"What do you mean you had to? Someone had to do it, but why you?"

"It- it was very stressful, I saw you freeze, and so."

"But... but HOW did you do all that? That was extremely complicated, few pilots -whose main craft is directly piloting- would want to even try doing that when given a choice!?"

"I had to. do it, so I did. I couldn't. couldn't make a mistake."

"This makes absolutely no sense."

Pauline interrupted. "She just works like that. Lots of stress and when people freeze up, humans with her condition... sometimes, surprisingly, function better in the moment than others can."

"Ah. So it's a human thing. of course, it's a human thing. NOTHING MAKES ANY SENSE WITH YOUR ACCURSED SPECIES" the diminutive pilot pouted.

And so one more story of the humans doing the impossible spread around. Humans of a subtype, more easily harmed, sometimes unstable and needing help for the simplest things... accomplishing odd, unthinkable, borderline heroic feats under duress none could be expected to withstand - but only then. Cursed, blessed? No story-teller seemed too certain. But the "magical" species never stopped surprising all others. And a new proverb developed: "it's not over until the human says it is".

#humans are space fae #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are deathworlders #earth is space australia #stress response #ADHD #attention deficit hyperactivity disorder

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mind-intheclouds342 · 3 months ago

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A new ladder - Reader x Curly

Previous - Part 2 - Next

"Those were the words of the former captain of the Tulpar ship, owned by Pony Express, Grant Curly, who miraculously was the only survivor even in his condition after going through a series of murders on the ship, completely vulnerable, by the same person who caused the crash, his co-pilot Jimmy-"

You turned off the television while they were broadcasting Curly's testimony on all channels.

"I'll go buy a few things" you mentioned, getting up from your seat and putting on a jacket to go out. "Wanna come with me?"

Curly turned to look at you curiously, thinking you were going to leave him there on his own until you returned, or that you would take him without asking to keep him close.

Curly: "Please"

He sighed and you took his chair to start pushing him to the store.

They could notice the looks of the people passing by, all recognizing the man, but none able to approach him to ask a question.

"Do you like peas? Lin told me that you could eat without any problem as long as your pieces are small."

Curly: "I have no problem with the food... I just don't like sweets."

"Okay"

You nodded, adding things to the cart, checking the prices, and thinking about what you could cook.

He stood gazing into the distance at the chocolate aisle, remembering the boxes of chocolates he used to buy for Linda, sighing at the thought that those days were in the past.

He found it strange to think that she was already over 50, while he remained at the age of 34, now being cared for by the younger sister of the woman who had once been his fiancée, who must now be around 32.

Curly: "Your birthday... It was a few months ago, right? I remember Linda used to say that she liked spring because it was when you were born."

"...No, my birthday hasn't happened yet, there's still some time left. But I don't really celebrate it, I just treat myself and that's it."

You shrugged even while looking at the products on the shelves.

Having everything you needed, you went to the cash registers to pay. The woman had seen Curly on television and gave him a discount as if he were some kind of veteran or senior.

That didn't please the man very much.

You stopped halfway back to his home, the streets were no longer so busy, after all, you had left a bit late after all.

"Would you like to feel something different?"

You asked him while firmly holding the wheelchair, there was a slight slope on that street, the man immediately turned to look at you, you looked excited to do something, like a child about to pull a prank.

Curly: "Sure?..." he said without being very convinced

And he let out a scream when you climbed onto the chair's wheel tubes and let the slope of the street make you go down, he could only hear a mix of his screams and your laughter as you went down.

He feared crashing into something or flying off, he didn't want to experience more pain, but the chair kept moving even after the descent was over. Curly was grateful for the good quality of the chair, and that it didn't fall apart when you got on it too. He was able to breathe easy when they stopped after a few seconds.

"And we arrived! Much faster, right?"

You patted his shoulder, ready to get off and push him inside the house, the man could feel the rapid beating of his heart at that moment.

Curly: "Do you do things like this often?" he asked, trying to have a conversation to calm down.

"Didn't you feel more alive?"

He fell silent as he thought about your question, while they descended, the only thing he could feel was his heart racing, the wind on his face, and he heard your laughter close to him, but at no moment was there sadness, remorse, or any of those emotions he constantly felt.

Just adrenaline.

Curly: "You could say that... yes..."

You put the groceries in their place and left out only what you were going to use, you ended up making some fried rice with chicken, egg, onion, and peas.

You could see how the man struggled to use his prosthesis to hold his utensils and eat, everything falling onto the table several times.

You moved your chair closer to him, making him look at you.

"Do you want to keep trying or would you prefer that I help you?"

Curly: "I give up for today..." was his only response, sighing.

You took food on your fork and brought it to his face, he opened his mouth and finally managed to take a bite, enjoying the taste of that simple food, he had missed homemade meals after so much time eating the provisions on the ship and then the bland hospital food.

"And? How is it?"

Curly: "Delicious," he replied, opening his mouth, hoping you would give him more.

You couldn't help but compare it to a baby bird begging for food, but you held back your laughter to keep feeding it.

Curly: "Mm.. So, when is your birthday?"

It was a very bad idea to talk to his implant while eating, causing him to start coughing as he choked on the food.

"Well... It's exactly in 5 weeks," you smiled, making him raise his arms and you patted his back.

He was surprised at how quickly he was able to stop coughing when you did that, you immediately handed him a glass of water.

"I'll be right back, I'm going to get a cloth to clean the food scraps off the table."

You mentioned standing up to go to the kitchen.

While you were away, he kept trying to eat on his own, managing to get a small amount of rice on his fork and being able to eat that.

While he chewed, he kept watching out the window; that orange and reddish color appearing in the trees was tinting the whole place.

Her birthday... It's in autumn...

#A new ladder mouthwash #mouthwash #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing x reader #curly mouthwashing #captain curly #captain curly x reader #curly x reader #mouthwashing curly

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star-trek-dumb-comics · 7 months ago

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I guess I forgot to post this but - last year I made a bunch of star trek OCs ! They're a group of friends who all serve abord the USS T'Sera during the late TNG era. I just really wanted to design a friend group made up of the four original federation founding members lol

They're on my ArtFight if anyone here participates

Here's some info about them :

Khov is a xenobiologist. Quite the Andorian history nerd, he won't shut up about the Ch'eraotherh Dynasty (his Roman Empire).

His naturally emotional disposition as an Andorian especially expresses itself when he's nervous or under some pressure, making him seem jumpy or easily panicked. But he's as capable of doing his job and performing under pressure as any other Starfleet officer - externalizing his emotions is just the way he regulates and keeps a cool head.

He's usually well spoken and witty (you need to when you're friends with Rog and Ketis) but when it comes to romantic encounters he easily gets flustered. He has a (not-so) secret crush on the chief of security of the T'Sera, which he is very embarrassed about

Nadia is a relief helmsman. She's very eager and optimistic, and motivated to move up in the ranks. She loves piloting and daydreams about saving the whole ship with her prowess at the helm (and maybe even have a maneuver named after her, why not !)

She's a space native, her parents worked on a deep-space cargo freighter.

She often appears chill and the "reasonable middle ground" in her friend's heated debates (which they call "human mediator syndrome").

She also loves discussing couple gossip and gives a lot of romantic advice despite never having been in a romantic relationship herself (she's probably aroace but hasn't really thought about it)

Rog is a security officer. He first met Ketis on his arrival day during his medical checkup - during which he got into one of the most fun arguments in his life, and they've been best friends since then.

He values honesty and despises bootlickers and people pleasers. In that he counts those who try to start an argument with him as a pleasing tactic - he wants his debates to be genuine, thank you very much !

He's also a bit of an order and cleanliness freak.

His job at security made him very observant and perceptive . He's also capable of functioning on very little sleep.

Ketis a medical technician. He genuinely enjoys his friend group of varied emotional species, he finds it stimulating and an intellectual challenge (as well as a test of his emotional repression). He also finds their reasoning and points of view interesting and is always taking them into consideration. All this makes him pretty critical of some vulcans' arrogance and sense of superiority over other species, which he considers an to be an emotional response.

He particularly likes debating and can hold a friendly argument tirelessly, which is always good when being friends with a Tellarite.

He suffers from motion/space sickness, which is rare for a vulcan - and especially for a vulcan in starfleet. He sort of became infamous for it on the ship after an incident where he threw up on the Captain (who he was taking care of in sickbay during a red alert). Good thing he's purely logical because that'd be really embarrassing !

#star trek #non comic art #ocs #original characters #tng #andorian #vulcan #tellarite #starfleet #oc #original character #star trek fanart

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faggotbeloved · 3 months ago

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Cold Metal Biting Soft Flesh | Yandere Curly x Captain!M!Reader

Prologue: Decay (~2k words)

CW: Canon typical gore and violence, yandere themes, named original characters. Vomiting, blood and decay, no beta we die like Anya

This work can be skipped, since it's just a prologue.

This work does not contain smut but is 18+. Minors and fem-aligned people, please do not interact. AN at the end.

└───────────────────────┘

As the captain of the Astraeus, a colonization ship in which you take crew back and forth to barren rocks with no life save some algae that's a few million years from walking, you'd seen some shit. The only constants in your life were your ship, your base crew of just six, your nephew, and your title as captain.

Your life was good enough; you picked up around sixty colonists with various skills, dropped them off on a moon or a planet with the things they needed to flourish, then flew back to do it again. You had your late sibling's kid dropped in your lap recently, but he was a good kid and a promising pilot. You hardly spoke to the passengers below deck, but your little gaggle of crewmates were good friends, usually.

You thought you'd seen all that the vast, empty space had to offer until an unidentified object entered your flight path. The red flashing lights warned you that this clearly wasn't an asteroid, but in a meeting your resident doctor claimed that, regardless of its identity, it was in your best interest to ignore it and simply hop over it. When he suggested this to your crew, they were much less than happy to hear it.

"Are you kidding? Whoever it is, their SOS light is on, it's objectively immoral to ignore them. They'll die, if they haven't already!" Sascha protested. Sascha, with her spiky and colorful hair, was always the loudest and most abrasive, so it was no surprise she was vocal in her opinion against it.

"I understand that, but it'll add days to the trip. The passengers will be outraged, we could miss a supply drop—" he defended earnestly, but shut off once you raised a hand to silence him.

"Rhodes. She's right, and it's in our scientific interest," you emphasized, "that we dock at an undocumented craft. If there's living people, it is our responsibility to save them. If there's samples, we should get those, too, since there's no telling what the craft has."

Rhodes sighed and sat back, relinquishing the argument to your wise opinion.

"I motion to investigate the craft," you announced.

"I second the damn motion," Sascha growled.

"All opposed, raise your hand," you instructed. Nobody raised a hand, so you adjourned the meeting and prepared a team to investigate. The passengers didn't really care, not after you explained the cruciality of it all, so you and gathered your selected team.

You were a given; your nephew was in charge in the event that something happened on the Astraeus. Rhodes, with his medical expertise, was forced to come along. Harbor, the resident cook and communications leader, wanted to volunteer, but was overrode by Sascha. Finally, Lucille, who was just about the only person who specialized in combat, came with.

──────────────────────

With that, you donned your suits and ventured into the ship. Once you got inside and depressurized, you were immediately greeted with the thick air of rot. Fuck.

There was no oxygen in the ship and the lights flickered dully as the automatic doors showered with sparks once you left the airlock. You and Lucille forced the door open whilst Sascha and Rhodes bickered over whether or not anyone could still be alive. Sascha was optimistic, and Rhodes was less than.

"Hey, this is a Pony Express freighter," Sascha suddenly realized. "That... uh, fuck, what was her name? The pony mascot, Polle! Yeah, her face is all over the place. What were they hauling?"

Once the broken door opened with a uncomfortable screech, Lucille spoke slowly. "...Mouthwash."

You were stunned. That must have been a million empty bottles in here, all strewn about or in piles. "They ran out of food," Rhodes said softly. "No shit, dumbass. You think they drank it for fun?" Sascha huffed.

"You two, quit," you spoke up. "Pair up and focus. If anyone's alive after this long, it's not going to be pretty. Lou, get your gun."

"Will do, Captain," replied Lucille, waiting for your go-ahead to continue on. You ventured left and met with a wall of insulation foam. Ugh. Of course Pony Express would use insulation instead of spray metal; why wouldn't they cut corners with the cheapest material possible? Makes you glad that they went under a couple decades ago.

"We need to find a new route. These old kinds of ships have a central kitchen, a few other rooms, and a downstairs cargo bay," Sascha informed.

"Get with your pair. Lucille, go with Rhodes. Sascha, you get Lucille's extra gun, come with me. You two, take the right fork and we'll take middle. Keep your mics on."

──────────────────────

As you and Sascha went forward, you found long abandoned bedrooms belonging to a couple crew members. One door, the one without a lock and the only one open, held a woman's ID card, which prompted you to collect the IDs of all members.

"Huh, she's cute. This generation ship had cryopods, maybe she's a popsicle," Sascha joked.

"Be on the lookout for... four crew members and a captain. Young Anglo female named Anya, teenage East Asian male named Daisuke, middle aged Anglo male named Swansea, and a young Anglo male named Jimmy," you announced. "Looks like cabin's cut off from the rest of the ship. They probably had to sleep in the kitchen or medbay."

"Hm. Found the utility, but the door's jammed. I'll circle back," Rhodes said over the mic, passing by the room. "I'm in the medbay. It has traces of blood and vomit on the floor and—fuck, that bed is soaked in dried blood. Empty pill bottles; Captain, I think someone overdosed. It'd be easy, these painkillers are only a little less strong than what we have."

Rhodes observed the room while you and Sascha ventured back and followed their path to meet up.

"There's a gun case. Gun and bullets are missing. Be prepared to see either a crazy, gun wielding bastard or a whole lot of brains on the wall," Lucille said bitterly as you entered.

Sascha had been abnormally quiet since the Medbay news was delivered. "I'm a little nervous to check further now. But I guess we have to, huh?" she muttered.

Emeto and Gore warning.

You pressed on, and in the cockpit was a mess of foam and some dried blood. Nothing too damning just yet, though. You and Sascha lingered back to check out the control panels and determined that the ship steered directly into an asteroid, something virtually impossible with how simple the instructions were. "This was a purposeful crash, gu—" you began, but was cut off by a gag and the sound of vomit hitting a helmet.

"Lucille? Lucille!" You shouted, springing up to rush into the central room.

Ho-ly Fuck.

──────────────────────

Three people of the four you'd seen earlier were slumped across a table, party hats either hanging from their neck or somehow still on their head. You'd never wished to throw up more than in this moment. Lucille, since she'd already thrown up once, had to deal with the vomit coating her helmet, which only prompted her to go again.

The girl, Anya, had bloody saliva and puke dried onto her lips and decay around the her face, while her eyes were bloodshot and her body exhibited every symptom of opioid overdose. She slumped backwards, her position hardly mattering to whoever set this disgusting sight up. Fuck.

The boy, Daisuke, was unrecognizable with his face caved in. He was gruesomely propped up with his head on his hands, which had blood dripping down the forearms. His lips were twisted into a mockery of a smile, and the party hat had stayed on throughout the years of stationary movement. His bowels were nearly spilling out, clearly having been cut by a large sharp object before having been killed by the blow to his face.

The man, Swansea, had a clean bullet hole through the head and had both arms on the table like he was waiting to eat. His head fell backwards and the crust of regurgitated blood caked his lips and chin. Furthermore, his eyeball hung loosely around his chin and he'd been clearly beaten up before hand.

Five steaks lined the plates, and the barely-started decay made the sight worse. Five steaks... in a ship that had no real meat.

Not only were the crew in space with no decomposing lifeforms to feed off of them, they were in a room cold enough to freeze their bodies now that the heater power failed, so decomposition ceased entirely. They were stuck like they had just been killed days ago, their skin bloating and their organs slush inside them. With every poke and prod you made, Lucille gagged and only worsened her condition as she attempted to lift her helmet, since she suddenly had no oxygen but was hit with the smell of rot.

"Look away," you said firmly, motioning for Rhodes to bring Lucille to the side.

"Sealegs, this is your Captain speaking. Do you copy?" You spoke into your microphone, radioing back to the ship.

"Captain, this is Sealegs! I copy!" A young boy's voice chirped out eagerly.

"Sealegs, I want you to talk over the intercom—the big, red button I tell you not to touch—and tell the passengers to send up anyone with 'for-en-sic' or medical expertise. They need suits and tell them that it's a 'Rated R' sight. Three 'ca-da-vers' so far, and to bring barf bags," you said carefully, using words he was unfamiliar with to try not to traumatize your nephew.

You spring into Captain mode, reassigning roles to fit the crew's comfortability and capability. "Sascha, lead the passengers up and make sure they bring actual supplies. A gurney or something in case one of us passes out. Lucille, hand Rhodes your gun. You're dismissed; go shower and clean the vomit from your helmet. You don't need to see this."

──────────────────────

A full inspection of the ship, including the storage, determined that two crew members were missing—Jimmy, and the captain, whose name you hadn't yet found. Unfortunately, both of the captain's ID cards were destroyed beyond repair in a manner that seemed on purpose. The only room not observed yet was the utility room, which was seemingly blocked by a fire axe and multiple furniture items. In the spirit of a full check, you and about a half-dozen passengers broke through and gasped as you finally saw the inside.

The Util room itself was fine, but the final crew member, Jimmy had shot himself in the chest.

It didn't kill him immediately.

He crawled to beside a cryo pod and used his hand to make a handprint on the handle, as if begging someone else to open it.

"Check all of the other pods. I want someone to get that gun, too," you organized, then followed the handprint and lifted open the hatch. Oh. Oh, fuck.

"Shit! I need medical, now! Gurney, respirator, and morphine!" you shouted as a man—the former Captain, you were sure, fell out of the pod in the fetal position, shivering, choking, and staring at you with a wide, terrified eye.

You picked him up, wincing as you felt his raw skin squish under his weight, and removed your helmet to set it over his head for a gasp of real air. God knows how long he'd been without fresh air. You may have been suffocating, but you had good lungs. In less than a minute, the team brought a respirator and oxygen tank with a gurney.

You set him down and placed the mask over yourself, gasping and gagging at the rotting stench in the air, then rasped out to the man, "It'll be okay. We've got you."

You took back your helmet and put the mask over his lipless mouth, then sprinted back to the ship. Once you looked back down at him, you saw a tear escaping his eye and piercing blue irises set upon you.

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Yay... first post on this blog! This is obviously not the only part, I have plans, but this is essentially a skippable cutscene, since you could probably just ignore this part and head to the next once I make it. I just wanted to set the tone and setting, try my hand at gore, and voice my post-judgement headcannons. Anyways, I really hope my writing wasn't bad and it made sense! No Curly just yet, but just wait lol.

#✑ my works.#✑ captain curly.#tw yandere #tw emeto #captain curly x reader #captain curly x male reader #curly mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing x reader #curly x male reader #curly x reader #curly mouthwashing x male reader #yandere curly #yandere mouthwashing #yandere curly mouthwashing #yandere captain curly #x reader #x male reader #yandere x reader #yandere x male reader

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 9 months ago

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Okay, so, there's one thing that I'm kind of tired of beating around the bush with white fans about, and it's this: if you pretend to "ignore" race in OFMD, you will miss a lot of what the story is trying to tell you.

Now, I do not truly believe that race is something you can ignore in a story. I just don't think it's possible, and when you try, what you wind up with is something like the conservative worldview of "not seeing color." Trying to ignore race will make you sound racist and ignore important racialized themes.

You can't understand Stede's need for character growth at the beginning of the show if you just focus on how he's "cringe" instead. When Stede makes his crew members of color serve them at dinner when the English board, this is gross, and their faces tell us exactly how they feel about it. Stede unlearning his biases here isn't subtle (guy who called him and Pete "fucking racists" I love you forever), and learning to take all of his crew members seriously as fully actualized people, moving away from the sort of Kindergarten-teacher behavior at the start to truly valuing them as people and taking their input and suggestions, it's an important aspect. Stede asking Abshir for intel at the party isn't just funny, it's also proof he's learned to see value in people in positions like Abshir's.

You can't understand the motivations behind Ed's actions, especially the violent ones, if you ignore the racist overtones. Ed is not a randomly violent person - he gets angry at a captain for calling him a "rich donkey," and if you think it's unreasonable for a brown man to want to get revenge on a white man for calling him that? Then fuck I'm glad you can't see the conversations I have with my other black friends, man. Ed's anger and frustration at the party aren't just because he fucked up with some spoons, lol, you can't get it unless you realize he's the only brown guest in that room. Yeah, he's ignoring Stede's advice, but he's immediately under a pressure Stede never has been. Ed's wanted posters in s2, too, rely on heavily caricaturizing Jewish features to make him look grotesque and monstruous. We're supposed to be horrified by that aspect.

And, yeah, when we ignore the racist tones to Izzy's behavior, I think that's undermining an important aspect of who he is as an antagonistic character. Him buying Ed from the English should feel like a gross violation, because it is. When he sits in front of the crew eating and making Fang and Ivan serve him, I think it's a pretty obvious parallel to how the crew members of color were similarly insulted in the pilot. It's impossible to ignore race in the way he dehumanizes Ed and tries to force him back into a caricature of behavior he hates and is horrified by - when he calls Ed a "wild dog" in s2, if that doesn't cause a visceral reaction of disgust in you, I dunno what to tell you. This doesn't mean that Izzy is irredeemable - just as Stede wasn't - but it does mean that racist biases are things Izzy had to unlearn.

OFMD so often takes so much care with how its characters of color are depicted. We get thoughtful, relatable moments (those French boat people getting humiliated and setting their boat on fire after they'd tried to touch Ed's beard is so satisfying, guys) and excellent, supportive friendships between men of color. The characters of color on OFMD are clean, smart, respected, and it's wonderful. And just because these things aren't always relatable to you specifically doesn't mean they're not important parts of the story.

#ofmd #our flag means death

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hauntedhokage · 12 days ago

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A Helping Hand

Caleb/F!Reader

rating: explicit

word count: 4.1k (my bad)

warnings: spoilers for Homecoming Wings story and Caleb’s Painful Signal memory, grief, sexual content

part two to Handsy

ao3 | masterlist | ko-fi

You hadn’t paid attention to any of the specifics that were provided to you, you simply didn’t care about any of the details besides the fact that your friend was dead. He was supposed to show up on his first day back at Skyhaven from his trip to Linkon for a follow up appointment, you needed to make sure his concussion had actually healed so he could be cleared to fly, only to be told by one of the Captains that you weren’t going to see him again.

You’d wanted it to be a joke, his horrible attempt at gauging how much you missed him while he was gone, but you know better than to challenge a superior over it.

That explained why he hadn’t texted back, aside from your other explanation being that he was spending time with his family and not checking his phone. But for him to be dead? It didn’t feel real.

Not him. Not Caleb.

He was always confident in his strength and ability to perform (in every scenario), for him to have been killed was just…wrong.

But a week goes by without someone saying “sike”, nobody jumps out to tease you for being gullible, and you’re dressed for the funeral held in Linkon City for the fallen pilot. You stand in your only appropriate funeral attire - one of hundreds on base who showed up but the only one who received eye contact from two of his close friends.

After the funeral one of those two friends approaches you, letting you know that there were a couple things with your name on them in Caleb’s room of the apartment they shared, and that you were welcome at any time to come collect them. Stuff he’d want you to have, they’d said, and that wasn’t something that was easy to comprehend.

The idea of Caleb having things for you in his apartment felt off, given your lack of a real relationship between you. Sure you were friends who had sex and he teased you relentlessly, but there hadn’t been anything more concrete established for him to have things for you in the apartment you’d never seen. There were feelings on your side of the relationship, sexual attraction blooming into so much more with every moment you spent with the pilot fertilizing that seed, but you kept that to yourself out of risk of him laughing you out the door. Without knowing his intentions, you wanted to keep your feelings safe from potential garden shears ready to cut the stem from the root, only now that flower would be left to wilt without his care and attention to keep it alive.

You leave the gift bag sitting on your coffee table for longer than you’d like to admit. Two weeks of staring at it after long shifts in the med bay, your eyes constantly sore and puffy from how much you rubbed at them to keep the tears from staining your cheeks. It felt wrong to open a gift when the person who gave it to you wasn’t there to see your reaction to it. But you know you need to do it, because he would’ve wanted you to be strong for him.

Inside the bag is a bear, one of the souvenir bears dressed like a pilot that was sold in the gift shop of the aviation museum. You told him once that there wasn’t a replacement for him unless those silly bears were an option, and he’d told you that it could count even if he was cuter.

The card is opened next, your eyes taking in the only thing of him that you had left in his handwriting. The script was neat compared to other pilots, legible and carefully printed to ensure you could read it instead of the squiggles and shapes others had put in front of you to attempt at reading.

Happy birthday, doc!

Cheers to another year of keeping each other healthy. Little Caleb is your new friend for when I’m gone - he’ll keep you company until I get back to bug you some more.

Confession time:

I can say a lot to your face, but not this for some reason. Maybe we can get dinner for real as a date and it’ll be my turn to be flustered as I talk about feelings while you tease me?

Have a wonderful birthday, and let me know if anyone gives you crap so I can straighten them out.

-your favorite pilot, Caleb

“Yeah,” you whisper, reading over his handwriting once more in hopes that it relaxes the vice around your heart. “We should’ve talked feelings before you left, idiot.”

But that opportunity had long passed; and now you’re curled up on your couch with the bear in your arms, crying over your deceased lover.

If he was alive, you’d kill him again for making you so upset - but he’d kick himself for it enough which would unfortunately deter you from wanting to hurt him. He was great at looking like a kicked puppy, you didn’t want to deal with that.

The next day you resign from your position at the DAA. You felt sick to your stomach every time you saw a pilot walk by after Caleb’s funeral, and after the bear you just couldn’t take it anymore. A month later you’ve moved into a new apartment across Skyhaven in a month after accepting a position at Willow Medical Center. It doesn’t fix everything, but it certainly helped to live somewhere that you didn’t have a memory of Caleb - no meals cooked in that kitchen or singing in the shower to haunt your memory. In the hospital you don’t see him in every patient you come across, you don’t have to do any double takes when you see a uniform pass on a man with dark hair. You don’t sit and wait for him to slide into whatever room you’re in to ask you to hang out or get him out of some cleaning duty he’s been tasked with because he was a smartass.

It was easier to breathe when you weren’t being suffocated by the memories of him and what could’ve been between you.

But if you were to say you were handling your grief well, you’d be lying if you said you had it under control. You pay bills for a house you rarely live in, only there to sleep in a bed rather than half awake in your office at the hospital. It was more likely to see you reading a research paper in the hospital cafeteria than out getting lunch with colleagues, and you hadn’t had a home cooked meal since you left the DAA. You’d never bothered with truly going grocery shopping since moving in, so there was nothing to cook and you could keep your body alive by ordering takeout.

It wasn’t healthy, but it kept you alive - or, at least, whatever this version of “alive” could be called. You weren’t even present in your own life anymore, holding an absence in your own life to keep yourself from truly processing those feelings.

This was supposed to be any other Tuesday. You’d been in the hospital since Monday morning, moving about with maybe one or two naps in your office to keep you moving between appointments and the random request for a second opinion on a diagnosis. There had been a bustling on the floor when you were leaving your last patient for the day, which had you mentally planning to delay your return home about an hour or so to ensure you could avoid whatever commotion had arisen.

But then the door to your office opens as you’re packing up your bag, and you bite your lip in irritation when the door is softly shut behind whoever had come to see you.

“Can I help you?”

“I missed my follow up appointment.”

That voice… it was impossible. Caleb was- he’d been killed by an explosion. This visitor was just a victim of a similar voice, that was all. That, or you’d been at the hospital for far too long.

“I’m sorry, but I haven't had any follow-ups scheduled that have been missed, so…” You trail off as you turn around, realizing immediately that you were standing face-to-face with the new Colonel of the Farspace Fleet that everyone was talking about. Tall and imposing in the long black coat over the uniform, but he’s not looking at you so you can’t see his face clearly. But why was he here? They had their own doctors in the Fleet.

“I’m a couple months late, doc.” He states, keeping his service cap tucked in his arm as he turns to face you properly.

Those eyes, that stupid little smile - there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that this was the mad you’d been grieving for months.

The crack! that rings through the room freezes everything that might’ve been happening around you. Caleb holds his jaw with a gloved hand, staring at you open mouthed in shock as you stare back at him. You’d slapped him hard enough that you felt a crack in your own hand in addition to the sting from the impact, and yet you were the one who was now crying over it.

“Okay, ow!” He finally speaks, and you stand your ground with hands on your hips despite the tears that trail down your cheeks. Any eye makeup you might’ve worn is now ruined if your long hours at the hospital already hadn’t, but you can’t care about that when you’re standing in front of a ghost. “I’m sorry, doc.”

“You’d want to be more than that.”

He doesn’t stop you when you hit him again, your left fist colliding with his chest and followed by your right. It’s like he didn’t feel the blows at all, his hand coming to rest on your hip as you continue to pound on his chest and gradually pulling you in closer until you’re sobbing into his uniform. A gentle hand rubs your back as the other cradles the back of your head, keeping you close as you cry.

“I’m back, doc, I’m okay.”

“Y-you’re such a dick.” Your voice wobbles more than you’d wanted it to, as if your tears didn’t already alert him to how deeply upset you’d been. “Why’d you come here?”

“You weren’t at home.” It’s like he’d never died, as if never left you, his tone light and easy as he steps back to look at you. He always could find you anywhere, it was an annoying talent of his. “Can I take you home? Your colleagues say you’ve been here for over a day, you need to rest-“

“To be able to take care of others,” you finish for him, stepping away from his gentle hold and turning towards your desk. “Yeah, I know.”

You didn’t have any appointments, the ward and emergency room were staffed, so there was no reason for you to stay. But did you want to go anywhere with a man you believed to be dead? Could you?

You supposed that you didn’t really have a choice; he already knew where you lived and worked, so he could show up whenever he wanted. This was a Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, noncompliance could land you in their military jail for whatever reason he deemed fit. It didn’t feel like something Caleb would do, but you weren’t sure that this was even the man you’d had such strong feelings for - how could this possibly be your friend?

When you wake up the following morning, you believe that you’d dreamt it all. You’d gone home, probably had a drink, then fell into bed to sleep off the long days at the hospital. It was a believable story, considering your history, and you’d almost convinced yourself of that truth - until you looked at your hand.

Bandaged neatly, the dull throb telling you that you had actually injured yourself slapping Ca-

It couldn’t have been Caleb. Just some Farspace Fleet suit that riled you up, it couldn’t have been him. He was still very much dead in a box in a cemetery in Linkon City.

Maybe this was the universe telling you that you needed to take some flowers to his grave - telling you to come to terms and get the fuck over it. He wouldn’t have wanted you to be miserable like this - that much you knew. If you didn’t get arrested for assaulting a Farspace official then maybe you’d take some days off to go to Linkon, or maybe go to the DAA and see the little shrine Patrick and Gideon had set up in his old locker.

“Caleb,” you whisper, your head dropping into your hands as the too-familiar burn of tears in your eyes builds up. “You bastard.”

“Rude.”

The new voice in your bedroom has you screaming, throwing the first thing you could get your hands on at the figure in the doorway. He catches the bear easily, looking at it with a smile before looking back to where you sit on the bed. He’d never seen you so upset, and for it to be over him was a twist of the knife that had planted itself in his heart every time he went to check on you.

“Hey, you’re okay, doc. It’s me.”

“That's the problem.” Your counter makes him scoff, and you scoot away from him as he steps closer to your bed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.” His sigh is heavy, and he sits on the edge of the bed with Little Caleb in his hands. “You’re not hallucinating, and you can hit me some more if you want.”

Fuck, did you want to. But if you hurt him you’d then have to patch him up and that wasn’t something you were particularly interested in. Not when your hands couldn’t stop shaking and your vision was blurred courtesy of the tears you'd been trying to blink away. You didn’t sign off on sloppy work, nor would you perform sloppy work - not even on him.

You watch as he scoots closer to you, slow and with his hands in your sight as if trying to calm a scared animal. He’d always been so dramatic, and you hate that his antics have your cheek twitching as he dances Little Caleb towards you as he moves. He was now a Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, and he was using a teddy bear to try and calm you down.

“You shouldn’t cry over me anymore,” he says when you’re finally within reach, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. It’s warm, skin softer than you remember it being, and you can’t help but put your bandaged hand over his. “I’m back, and I’m okay.”

Was he? The Caleb you knew would rather die than have to wear a suit and tie - uniform or not. He’d shed the tie and coats, sitting beside you in a button down and slacks with the top two buttons of his shirt undone, more like the man you had come to love but still foreign to you

“So you just stalked me for two months?”

“Only two weeks. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Your diagnosis?”

“You’re not okay,” he whispers, his arms hesitant to pull you into him but still succeeding in their task. “I can’t apologize enough for what’s happened, but I can take care of you moving forward. Whatever you want or need, I’ll make sure you have it and that’s a promise.”

“I don’t want you to leave me again.” Your murmured request has him moving you so you straddle him, forcing the eye contact he needed to try and get through to you.

“I’m not.”

The kiss happens before you’ve registered that he’d moved, but your fingers move to undo more of his buttons so you could get so your hands could feel his skin and trust that he was real. Your bandaged hand rests over his heart, and you’re not sure if it was his heartbeat or the throbbing in your hand that you’re feeling but you were choosing to believe that it was his.

“No zero gravity acrobatics,” you request when you feel yourself get lighter, earning a laugh from him against your lips as he moves below you.

“Trying to get these pants off.”

That was a good idea, and you swing your legs back as you’d learned how to do so you can get your own pants off while he did. There were some things you supposed you’d never forget how to do, you just hadn’t expected moving in the evol created gravity fluctuations to be one of those things but it clearly came in handy.

“So talented,” he praises, bringing your legs back around him as the gravity returns and his hands pull your shirt over your head. “Missed you so much, baby. Your teasin’ and your smile, this pretty body, and the way you tell me ‘m stupid.”

“Caleb.” It’s all you can say, eyes closing when you feel his fingers slide through your folds. You couldn’t help that his gravity manipulation turned you on, or the way your body would always react to his touch.

“Already so wet, that’s my girl.”

His. You’d been his since the second time you’d slept with him, nobody could ever come close to what Caleb made you feel. Both literally and figuratively weightless, with an infectious warmth that radiated from his heart and easily made your own that much warmer. His hands are still so familiar with your body, touching you with an uncertain gentleness but still knowing exactly how you needed to be touched to pull that first orgasm from you.

“Come home with me, doc.” He whispers into your mouth, hands holding you hips tight as you hover over his length. His tip just barely poking into your prepped hole drives you crazy, but you know he won’t let you move until you answer him. Those dual-toned eyes have that pleading look to them, like a puppy begging for a treat but the looming darkness in them makes you wonder if this puppy would bite.

“We can talk about it later,” you suggest, your arm moving to wrap around his neck as you get the clearance to lower yourself onto him.

It’d been too long since you’d had any kind of penetration, the fire of your desire snuffed out by your grief, and Caleb had always been difficult for you to take. It had been long enough that this felt like a new experience again, your eyes staying open as his forehead presses to yours while he talks you through the slow descent with soft praise until you’re fully seated. You missed the feeling of his length, the position that made you feel like he was deepen enough that he was pushed against your cervix - and in this moment you think he actually might be.

“Always take me so well,” he praises, his hands guiding you to move. “You could have me every day if you wanted. All the time, take you with me on tours just so you can be close.”

The drag of his length against your still adjusting walls prompts an ache that was familiar and comforting despite the pain it brought, and you find yourself clinging to him in hopes that it would keep him there with you forever. You couldn’t bear to let him leave you again, you’d keep him inside you like this if it meant he wouldn’t leave you alone, leave you to feel that emptiness he’d left when he’d “died”. The offer to go with him actually sounded enticing, being taken care of rather than taking care of others - taking care of yourself again.

“No more crying, baby.” It’s a soft spoken order, but an order nonetheless, his hands coming to cup your cheeks so he could wipe the offending tears away. You still have the assistance of his evol to ride him, the fluctuations in gravity keeping you moving despite both of you being otherwise occupied with each other.

“I don’t want you to leave again.” If you hadn’t been so close, he likely wouldn’t have heard your whisper. Being exposed like this, even in front of Caleb, wasn’t something you were good at. You were already calm and collected, the black cat to his golden retriever in terms of energy which carried into your work. You couldn’t hold it together after he’d died, but you put up a good front in the hospital for your patients and colleagues. Even the most artisan of masks had their cracks and you were seeing yours crumble to dust in his hands, likely never to be repaired.

“I’m not leaving you, baby,” he murmurs, placing the gentles of kisses to your lips as he holds your head in place. “Never again. I can’t be without you again. But let me make you feel good, alright? Let me take care of you.”

And he does, pulling multiple orgasms from you before he finally releases into your spent body. You’re held tightly in his arms, chest to heaving chest as you both fight to catch your breath.

His stamina was insane now, making you wonder just what they’d done to him in his recovery as your brain finally caught up to the activities of the last hour. How had he been alerted, was it the Fleet’s doing or someone else’s? Did it hurt? Was he-

“Thinking way too hard after all of that.”

“Is it okay if I’m thinking about you?”

“Only if it’s about my offer to come home with me. But I’ll also accept compliments about how handsome and good in bed I am.”

In all your grieving you’d forgotten how fucking cocky he was, an annoyed huff leaving you as you try to pull away. The reaction in his right hand is delayed compared to the left, which was odd considering he was right handed. His reaction time should’ve been better, and it was suspicious how perfect his skin was despite him being in an explosion. There were some imperfections created by your grip on him, but nothing related to the explosion. You’d expected maybe some grafts, scarring from burns at the very least - but he was perfect.

“Let’s go shower, honey. Maybe that’ll help you relax some more.”

It doesn’t, but you do your best to put up a front as your hands carefully examine his body. He spends the shower reassuring you that he was real and standing in front of you, trying to wash your body down as you used washing his as an excuse to really look at him. Medical at the Fleet must really be something, and you’re tempted to take him up on his offer just so you could investigate closer. Something truly wasn’t right here, and for his sake you needed to know what it was.

His hands are careful as they dry you off, paying special attention to your hair and leaning in to kiss you as you look up at him. His lips are dry, and you remind him to stay hydrated which earns a nervous laugh at him being caught.

“You really notice everything, doc.” It’s unfortunate that he’s right, because you wanted to just enjoy that he was here but couldn’t.

You’re barely dressed when he gets a call, and you excuse yourself to get your own glass of water so he could have that privacy. It’s when you start to head back to the bedroom that you frown at seeing him fully dressed and heading your way while draping his tie around his neck.

“I gotta handle some business. But I’ll be back tonight.” His fingers nimbly tie the black fabric around his neck, and it feels like he’s slipping away from you as he transforms into The Colonel.

He leans in to kiss you, indulging himself in your taste with a satisfied hum that reverberates through your mouth and causing your heart to flutter.

“Promise?”

“Yeah, doc, I promise.” The promise is sealed with another kiss, only he’s pulling you along with him to the door to maintain that physical contact to anchor him to the moment despite the tides working to pull him away. “I ordered some groceries for you that should be here soon, make sure you eat.”

“Yes, Colonel.” The use of his title pulls a wink from him, a request for you to call him that in bed at least once met with your door closing in his face. You could hear him laugh on the other side, the sound more comforting than you think he’d ever realize. He was back, alive, and with you once again. You couldn’t look past the mystery that was lingering under his surface and return, but you were going to enjoy your time with him nonetheless.

#caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb love and deepspace smut #lads smut #lads fic #lads x reader #lads x you #lnds smut #lnds fic #lnds angst #l&ds caleb #lnds x reader #lnds fanfic #l&ds x reader #l&ds fanfiction

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