#i didn’t have to worry about flies or smells

[sensitivegoblin]

Gunna be a high slut in my bed all day today, I deserve it :3✨🦋💖🔥💦

[moondirti]

MDNI. dubcon. objectification. degradation. humiliation. guys being gross. female reader. fingering. cunnilingus. pussy slapping. brief aftercare. an absurd amount of filth for something so short.

price helping you get over your fear of humiliation by inviting the guys over and prying your pussy open for them, half-slouched on his lap with your legs held up in the air :( they’re so mean about it, too. cooing condescending compliments, curling their nasty hands around your jaw to keep your head in place as they pet your most vulnerable places, like you’re the winning pup at a dog show and not a whole human—entitled to any boundary you set, regardless of how your husband feels.

they pay no heed to your protests, though. actually, the men avoid addressing you at all. rather, all their personal, invasive questions are directed to price, who answers them with his own self-satisfied grin.

‘keeps clenchin’ around nothing, desperate thing. hole this willing deserves to be gaped. how often d'you stuff her?’ depends on if she's been good.

‘fookin’ drooched, cap. does she taste as guid as she looks?’ mm, better. smells like nectar too. take a whiff, son. don’ wash my beard afterward on the occasion, jus to keep her under my nose.

‘think i can thaw a winter’s worth of ice with this cunt alone. heat’s practically radiating off ‘er. pathetic slut.’ y’should see how much worse it gets after a good beating, lieutenant. swells up, and damn well sears my palm.

and of course they take it upon themselves to test the validity of his answers. kyle works four fingers into you, then his thumb, stretching you open for his probing, angling your hips up to the light so that your insides are illuminated for his curious eye. if price didn’t have his rough hands anchored to the underside of your knees, you would have kicked his prized sergeant off.

embarrassment washes your neck in warmth, lashes droopy with fat tears. all your husband does to comfort you is place a scratchy kiss to your shoulder, soft hushes tickling your skin.

then, soap intercedes to shove his nose to your mons. he doesn’t just take a whiff — rather, he sucks in the sweet-sour tang your slick provides, testing it in both scent and taste. his hot tongue laves over where kyle’s fingers had been, incisors nibbling at the ripe bud of your clit. mortifying pleasure sinks low, sloshing in your belly’s bed. though you did not expect him to be, he isn’t modest about it. soap presses completely into your pussy, muzzle lacquered with wetness that rivals yours.

your whimpers devolve into moans. loud, a little unhinged. you’ve always played at dressing them up around price, worried that he’d turn away if your face screwed too tight, or your pleasure made itself known beyond what directly serves him. it’s exactly the habit that got you into this mess; and as you lose yourself to the scene, you can feel his delight blossoming against your back.

ghost scares you the most. he lets you have your orgasm, towering behind the man between your legs, but does not let him revel in it, yanking him back by his mohawk at the first twitch of your toes. in the fervour, you have hard time remembering what you should expect. especially when he doesn’t get to it immediately, wiping the gloss off your plush cunt. his callouses rash you, gritty, abrading the soft surface of your skin. it is only when you wince do his eyes crinkle in a manner cruel enough to evoke what’s to come.

but it’s too late to prime yourself. his hand flies back, coming back twice as fast to strike dead centre between your legs. it hurts. hurts so much more than it ever has before, your body unused to unrestrained strength. you scream, throat mangling around the rough cut of it, fighting wildly against price until you manage to escape his hold. immediately, instead of running away, you twist backwards, burying your face into his neck, calming yourself by taking deep breaths of his cologne. something heady — leather, tobacco, sandalwood — bridges the synapses in your brain, numbs the pain, if only a little.

“shhh, little one. you’re alright. it’s okay. doing so good for us.” he soothes, rubbing your sweaty back. the world narrows to just you and him, his men reduced to mere afterthoughts. to be dealt with later — though you doubt the conversation will be anywhere near reprimanding, more likely to end with a bottle of scotch split between four, approving slaps to the captain’s back, than it ever will in your defence.

“n-ne- never a-ga…”

“come, now. let’s not be brash, mm. i promised them a pump each. ‘n’ what kind of host would i be if i didn’t make good on that?”

[reidrum]

hit me baby one more time | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

a/n: i have no explanation for this i just really want spencer to fuck me in a mini skirt. this was also fueled by me listening to baby one more time on repeat for the last week so enjoy my horny thoughts hehe

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, p in v sex, munch!spencer, blowjobs, soft!dom!spence the loml, praise kink, spanking, suggestive dancing, kissing, afab reader, reader wears the outfit from the baby one more time mv (skirt and bra), i picture s11 spence so don’t mind the inconsistencies, idk if kirk actually wears a tie i am a star wars girlie not star trek, lowkey perv spence at the end but i would do the same tbh

summary: halloween brings spencer joy in many ways, this year he finds a new, and super fucking hot, reason to love the holiday more

wc: 3.3k

___________

spencer loved halloween. this was a known fact by many, he loved the lore behind the holiday, loved dressing up as his favorite characters, and loved playing tricks on morgan and jj around the office.

spencer also loved halloween because he gets to see you. not that he didn’t see you on a daily basis in the office or on the field catching killers, but in a state where you were carefree and didn’t have to worry about the behavior patterns of a psychopath.

in past years spencer has dressed up as different versions of the doctor (still claiming his tenth doctor costume was the best, because it was your favorite), the hobbit from lord of the rings, and nosferatu (to the dismay of morgan’s very scared reaction). you would go a more pop culture route, dressing up as characters from recent movies and shows including barbie, the scarlet witch, and wednesday adams.

he loved being able to tell you the lore of the different characters he was and he loved listening to you explaining the cultural significance and impact that barbie had on society. he could listen to you talk about literal garbage, actually, and still be hanging onto your every word.

what he loved the most, however, was your choice of costume tonight at the karaoke bar the team was out at.

for halloween this year you decided to go with a more nostalgic costume. clad in a black mini skirt, tied up white button up showing your tummy and just the right amount of cleavage to have your hot pink bra pop out, gray cardigan, knee high socks and mary janes, you were the spitting image of britney spears in the baby one more time music video. complete with the ribbon entwined pigtails.

the moment you walked in the bar, spencer knew he was utterly and absolutely fucked.

morgan knew about spencer’s infatuation with you, because, he’s morgan and spencer’s not subtle. so when he watched spencer’s mouth hang open like a beckoning for flies to land in, all he could do was pat him firmly on the back and say, “good luck, kid.”

he watched you walk over to the table the team had claimed, making your rounds at saying hi and hugging everyone. he was last, and when you reached up on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck he had no choice (lie) but to rest his hands at your hips while his thumbs brushed the bare skin of your stomach. he also had no choice (still, a lie) but to be deathly intoxicated by the smell of your shampoo and perfume as you placed your head in the crook of his neck.

“hi spence! your costume looks so cool, i love how it turned out. were you able to find what you needed at that store i told you about?” you bubbled happily.

it took spencer about ten whole seconds of staring at you (and definitely not at your chest) to realize that you were asking him something and tried to quickly (embarrassingly) recover, “um, yeah no i was! she knew so much about star trek and was super helpful, she told me how much she loves seeing you in the store.” 

you giggle, “i’m glad admiral kirk, she’s a sweet old thing.”

he should be ashamed at how you calling him that went straight to his crotch.

“y- you also look great, who are you supposed to be?”

“i’m britney spears! in the baby one more time music video?”, you’re met with a blank stare, “spence, we have to educate you better on the true icons of our time.” you playfully grab his forearm.

he laughs nervously at your joke and the contact and proceeds to down half his beer in one gulp. thank god garcia comes out of nowhere to gush over your outfit, “oh my god girl, you look so hot. you have to get up there and sing it, it’s only right!”

“let me get a few shots in first and then i’ll see, penny” you chuckle back.

after about two shots you were already feeling loose, whatever anxiety you had about tonight dissipated as the alcohol overtook your bloodstream. truth be told, you had a super secret mission up your sleeve. 

you would be a terrible profiler if you didn’t notice the way spencer changed whenever he was in your company, and it never made you feel uncomfortable. you only craved his attention even more, and it made your crush on him run even deeper. he was kind and smart and caring. and undeniably sexy. you knew for a fact he wanted you too, and you were determined to make him do something about it tonight.

knowing spencer hasn’t seen the music video therefore not knowing why the schoolgirl outfit, it turned you on even more knowing he was going to lose his goddamn mind after you were done. the plan was already rolling in your brain as you sauntered up to the karaoke stage and got ready to put on a show.

the beginning beats of the song play and you get a couple of cheers and “let’s go, baby!” from the crowd and your team— sans spencer, who was hanging on your every move as you started swaying your hips.

“my loneliness, is killing me. and i-i-i. i must confess, i still believe, still believe.” you sing and dance the choreography to the song you know so well.

“when i’m not with you, i lose my mind.” you make direct eye contact with spencer, and are more than excited to see him locked in on you too.

you decide to kick your plan up a notch, and walk off the stage mic in hand towards the bau’s table, earning many cheers and phones capturing the moment. you play up the theatrics a little by getting emily and jj to sing along with you, morgan and rossi leaning into you as you wrapped your arms around their shoulders.

“give me a si-i-i-ign,” you’ve reached spencer, and the last step in your plan.

your finger leaves featherlight touches around his shoulders and across his collarbone as you stand behind his chair. a flat hand trails down his chest closer to the bulge in his pants, spencer’s eyes widening at the gesture. your hand reaches the final destination at the base of tie, and you pull it so he’s looking up at you directly.

“hit me baby one more time.” you finish with the biggest smirk, never breaking eye contact with spencer. the cheers and claps became louder but all you could focus on were the deep breaths he was taking to compose himself. you give him a wink as you hand the mic back to the stage guy and walk back to him to sit on his lap.

“you don’t mind, do you? all the seats are taken,” you smirk as you feel his hard on through your lace panties, “plus i really want to hear what you thought about my performance.” you finish whispering in his ear. he shudders in your hold, but the feeling of your ass weighing on the place he needs you the most, his primal instincts take over and suddenly he has a boost of confidence.

he lifts your head so his mouth is right on the crest of your ear, “how about i show you what your performance did to me?” he shifts a little and lightly thrusts up into your clothed core and you let out a small gasp. luckily the team had all but dispersed throughout the bar, getting drinks or dancing, so no one has to be privy to your conversation.

the glint in your eyes was all the confirmation he needed. you stood up slowly with his tie still wrapped around your fingers, and you pull it over your shoulder so he would trail behind you as you walked. spencer followed you like a dog getting tugged by a leash, literally, and stumbles at first when you pull him but he quickly regains his composure as you navigate through the crowds, placing his hands on your waist protectively.

you end up in front of the women’s bathroom and spencer doesn’t hesitate to push the doors open and lead you inside. it was one of those single person bathroom with no other stalls, but it was definitely one of the more nicer bathrooms you’d been in. the maroon pattern of the wall adding to the sultry vibe you’re setting, not to mention a spacious countertop for the sink and amenities.

the possibilities of what was going to happen run wild in your brain, only being pulled out of it by the sharp lock of the door and the feeling of strong hands snaking around your waist again.

you look up to meet his eyes in the mirror and watch spencer fiddle with the edge of your button up, “i don’t think i told you how much i really like your costume.”

“yeah?” you lean back in his touch, “what do you like about it?”

he moves his hands to the middle of your chest, “well, i like how soft the blouse is,” he deftly undoes the knot, “and i really like the color you got on underneath.” he lets the ends of the shirt fall to your side and slides his hands up to cup your breasts through your lace bra, massaging them gently.

you let out a half gasp-moan, “what else?”

“this skirt is really cute, fits you well.” he hums while he smooths over the front close to your core, leaning down to press love bites into your neck.

you turn around in his embrace to face him, lay your hands flat on his chest, and look up at him with the biggest doe eyes you could muster, “want to see what’s underneath it?”

the ghost of a smirk lies on his face and he leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. his hand cups your cheek closer to him while his other one grips your ass and lower back.

his tongue slots between yours as he deepens the kiss, and he reaches down to the backs of your thighs to lift you up onto the counter. your legs open up instinctively and he steps in between them letting his hand run up the plush of your thigh to the band of your panties. he toys with the lace pattern of it before he detaches his lips and pulls the skirt all the way up.

he slowly sinks to his knees, never breaking eye contact with you as he whispers, “this is definitely my favorite costume on you.” he’s face to face with your pink panty covered pussy and he lets out a groan when he notices the wet spot in the center. he tentatively traces a finger up and down your slit, gauging your reactions.

soft whimpers fall from your mouth as you let out a whiny, “spencer…”

“don’t worry baby, i’m gonna take care of you.” he coos, “lift your hips.” you oblige as he gently pulls your panties down and stuffs them in his back pocket. his large hands push your legs apart, giving him better access as he tugs you closer to the edge and leans in to draw a long stripe up your core with his tongue.

you let out a high pitched moan at the contact, bracing yourself on the counter with your palms flat down. his tongue draws shapes on you and you feel his finger prodding around your hole before plunging in, driving you straight to delirium.

the sensations begin to overwhelm you and you feel the peak rising in your gut. you tangle your hands in his curls, “pl- please don’t stop.” you whimper.

he groans into your pussy and you feel the vibration sent throughout your entire body, enough to push you over the edge and let the white hot overtake you. he doesn’t stop pumping his fingers or his tongue as he drags out your orgasm for as long as you’ll take it, before you’re yanking him by his hair off of your core and up to your face to kiss him dumb.

the salty taste of you lingers on his lips as you grab his face with both hands and keep him close to you. he lets out a whimper when you tug his hair again, and you smirk as you break the kiss to slide off the counter and drop to your knees. you quickly undo the clasp of his belt, the sound of his zipper going down making spencer’s heartbeat go faster.

the size of his bulge through his boxers was intimidating but it only spurred your desire to please him more. you look up at him and offer an innocent smile as you lean forward to pull back the fabric of his boxers with your teeth and let it fall back into place with a snap.

the impact caused spencer to moan out loud, and he watched with bated breath while you slowly tugged his boxers down to let his cock spring free. you let out a tiny gasp, “spencer…i never knew you were so pretty.” 

his preening turns into a sharp moan as you take in the head of his length into your mouth. swirling your tongue around like a lollipop. you lay your tongue flat on the underside of his cock and slowly let it enter your throat until your nose is flush with his tummy and you’re gagging to keep him inside.

“ho-o-ly shit, fuck.” spencer groans when he looks down to see his whole length down your throat and your eyes bulging with tears at the fullness in your mouth. he wishes he had a photographic memory so he could engrave the vision of you on your knees for him in his brain forever.

you retract back and start bobbing your head on his cock, using your hand to pump whatever you couldn’t easily fit in your mouth. expletives and moans fall from him every millisecond, the feeling being so irrepressible that after a minute spencer had to pry you off him so he didn’t finish in your mouth.

“what, too much?” you grin mischievously, dragging your thumb across your bottom lip to wipe the spit.

his heavy breathing is the only answer you got as he turns your body around to face the mirror, and bends you down at the waist to lean your upper body on the counter. he flips your skirt up so your ass is on display for him and draws his hand back to give your right ass cheek a big smack.

you moan out languishly and he lets out a small chuckle, “kinky, are we?”

“you’re the one who spanked me.”

he bends down to whisper in your ear, “yeah, but you liked it. i can feel you getting wetter.” his fingers return to your core to spread the new wetness onto his cock before aligning it at your entrance. he slowly pushes in, stretching you out bewitchingly. he breaks his gaze from where you connect to look back into the mirror, and god, is he so fucking glad he did.

your face is beautifully fucked out, eyes glistening with tears about to fall over, cheeks flushed, eyebrows furrowed, your arms pressed so perfectly against the sides of your chest your breasts are threatening to spill out of your bra.

“god, you look like a dream,” spencer whispers from behind as he begins thrusting into you. you moan back in response and push back on his cock to meet his thrusts. the noise of your hips meeting and him sliding in and out of you filled the bathroom. 

“i’m so close, fuck, oh my god.” you whine pathetically. spencer can’t help but smugly grin in response, “already? it can’t be over that fast, hold it.”

you gasp out, “i can’t, please, i need to come.”

he wraps one arm around the front of stomach to hoist you up and uses the other hand to tug on your pigtails to lean your head back towards him, “you’ll come when i say you can. you’re my good girl, right? gonna show me how good you can be for me?” he whispers hotly in your ear.

a loud moan escapes your throat as you try to keep your composure and hold your orgasm at bay. his precise and timed thrusts doing nothing to help you, you feel yourself starting to float away, becoming so cockdrunk off of spencer you can barely keep yourself conscious.

“almost there, pretty girl. you’re doing so well, ‘m so proud of you.”

you make the mistake of looking back up at the mirror, becoming grossly entrapped by the image of spencer pounding into you from behind and his equally fucked out face tucked into your neck, “spence…baby, please.”

he whines at the pet name and finally gives in, “okay princess, you can come now.” your second orgasm of the night ravages through you, leaving nothing behind but thoughts of spencer. he continues fucking you through your peak, chasing his own release to come shortly after.

“fuck, i’m close. where d- do you want me to..?” he stutters.

“in my mouth.” you breath out.

he groans out loud, “on your knees.”

he pulls out of you and you immediately drop to your knees, not hesitating to take his length into your mouth and using both hands to pump the remaining. spencer puts a hand on the back of your head and guides you to thrust onto his cock until he lets out another stuttered groan, spurts of his release coating the inside of your mouth.

you make sure to get every last drop of him down your throat, seductively sliding your mouth off his cock with a resounding pop. you’re breathing heavily and you remain on your knees as you try to remember what fucking world you’re even in. spencer grabs you by the forearms to pull you back up to him, and gently perches you back on the counter noting you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own anyway.

spencer breathes hotly into your face, his hand coming up to caress your cheek and brush a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. his other hand remains on your waist, drawing soothing circles. you grin widely, and spencer notices and matches your smile without hesitation.

“what?” he laughs lightly.

“nothing, it’s just it looks like my plan worked.” you replied.

“and what was this plan of yours?” he grins.

“well, i just wanted you hot and bothered. i did not expect you to fuck me in a bar bathroom,” he blushes at your admission, “plus, you don’t even shake people’s hands. i definitely thought having sex in a public place, let alone the bathroom of a bar, would be so not your style.”

“i think if you keep wearing outfits like this around me,” he gestures to your disarrayed button up and bra, “you’ll be surprised at what i’d be willing to do.”

“so, is this a good time to tell you that britney has other music video outfits that are just as iconic as this one?” you gleam up at him.

his eyebrows raise in curiosity, “it certainly would be. on a totally unrelated note, i’m parked right out front.” he half jokes as he pulls you off the counter towards the door. you giggle and follow blindly behind him, when your eyes draw to the back pocket of his trousers and you notice a flash of hot pink.

“spencer! my panties, oh my god. give them back.”

he looks over his shoulder at you, “i have no idea what you’re talking about.” he feigns. you roll your eyes and let him have it, totally ignoring the way he shoves the panties further down his pocket out of sight.

[neiptune]

it’s valentine’s day, you clown

cw: 1.2k wc, blank blogs don't interact, something something your volleyball superstar boyfriend tooru flies home to surprise you only to pass out on your bed, this is my first ever hq fic and it's a complete coincidence that it's about him please be nice and don't make any assumptions

thank you @moondust-lore for reading this 🤍

His breathing stays regular and quiet as you crawl onto the mattress. Your bed is still somehow comically small and far from ideal to accomodate that unique ensemble of long limbs, sturdy muscles and swooping brown hair. Yet his sleep is serene, features relaxed that fill your chest with warmth that almost prompts your fingers to run through smooth locks. How have they not been rendered thicker or dry by the sea salt yet?

You’re careful as you snuggle closer to his broad back, not really wanting to wake him up. A small smile creeps onto your lips at the thought of how tired he must’ve been, couldn’t even bother to properly slip underneath the covers, knocked out in seconds. Flying all the way to Japan, travelling for almost 24 full hours to surprise someone must do that to a person.

The shock has worn out, the sensation of your heart being one second from bursting and exploding into a million golden confetti has dimmed. Now your head feels clear enough for your mind to be focusing on the important stuff, the mundane thoughts you didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on for months are a messy but colorful vortex. Would he like the usual for dinner? Does the uniform or any shirts need some ironing? Yes, yes, Tooru favors dry cleaners because they’re practical and he’s rich but you desperately want to contribute. You want proof that he’s home, actually home. With his big designer suitcases and wrinkled shirts and ridiculously expensive glasses and a smile that still shifts your world’s axis.

You allow yourself to scoot closer, until your nose brushes against his shoulder. He radiates a comforting  warmth and smells nice as always. Of sunscreen, beaches, the cologne you have bought for his birthday. As you shut your eyes, memories from the previous night start slowly blurring the edges of your consciousness and lull you to sleep.

“Shit! Fuck!” you jolt awake at the unexpected profanities, the last thing you remember dreaming about including tanned skin and a much more peaceful scenery made of rolling waves and golden, powdery sand.

“What… what’s wrong?!”

Oikawa Tooru is looking at your with what could be only defined as a glare. Eyes squinted, accusatory worry lines and all.

“You let me sleep? Why were you sleeping too instead of waking me up? It’s late!” his pitch gets higher with each word and by the end of the fully formed sentence you’re grimacing. The awfully old digital alarm clock on your nighstand flashes a red 11:05 PM.

“I’m sorry!” you panic “I didn’t mean to fall asleep! I know it’s late but I can probably put something together for dinner anyway? Are you that hungry? Wait, actually, let me get something delivered and…”

Now he’s staring with an openly outraged look on his pretty face, which makes you think finishing the thought probably isn’t the smartest idea.

“You… don’t want me to order in? I mean, fine, you can pick any local restaurant or takeaway, I don’t really ca-”

“Are you stupid?”

Ok, well. That feels unfair.

“I already apologized for falling asleep, no need to be a jerk” now you’re squinting your eyes at him. One eye. The other is being relentlessly rubbed.

“You’re right” he sighs and his massive shoulders slump, head hanging low like a wounded animal “it’s not your fault. I’m the dumb one. Couldn’t even set an alarm”

“I think you’re blowing this out of proportion, we can still eat something. If you’re worrying about your sleep schedule, I’m sure I can find some sleeping pills or…”

Oikawa looks at you, exasperated.

“That’s definitely not what I’m worried about”

“What the hell are you worried about, then?”

“It’s valentine’s day, you clown”

You blink back your surprise, his fond eye roll not easing the heat that takes over your face as realization finally dawns on you. “That’s… that’s why you flew here?”

Tooru leans forward to lightly flick your forehead. A car passes down the street, the light bleeding through your shades brightens the room for a moment and you catch the sincere amusement in his eyes.

“Yes, darling dearest. That’s exactly why I flew here. I was also supposed to make plans, take you out on a proper date, rob a flower shop from the inside out instead of passing out and drooling on your favorite duvet”

You stare back at his comical frown for a few seconds more before falling back into your pillows with a chuckle.

“Glad you think this is funny and not irredeemably gross. Stop giggling, let me think. I’m gonna go buy the most expensive champagne bottle and pick dandelions along the fucking sidewalk if I have to, and then-”

“Tooru”

“What?” he’s already swinging one leg over the edge of the bed “I’ll be quick”

“You’re here”

Oikawa snorts.

“Yes, I’m still here. Now, if you could kindly let go of my shirt…”

“I don’t want any of those things. You know I don’t want them”

He huffs and air comes out of his nose. “Yeah, I know. But I wanted it to be special” his tone is petulant but you recognize the real thing vibrating underneath, the genuine disappointment.

“It’s already special because you’re here. The only thing that could make it extra special is you filling this cold, empty spot next to me” you pat the covers with a lenient smile and Oikawa allows himself three seconds, three entire seconds to sulk and flash you those big, wet, sopping eyes with a pout that makes him less of a volleyball superstar and more of a kicked labrador puppy.

You welcome his painfully heavy body on top of yours, sharp angles and hard muscles that somehow melt perfectly in your embrace. He’s holding you so tight, head buried in the crook of your neck, soft hair tickling your cheek.

“I’m sorry” Tooru murmurs the apology quietly and seals it into your skin. You know he truly is, devastated as he always gets when something doesn’t go according to the plan. Always one for grandiose gestures and loud displays of affection, chasing whatever it takes to validate how he feels just in case the other person needs proof, always additional proof heaven forbid they feel neglected or get bored. His confidence wavering, his mind always running 100 miles an hour. Am I doing enough? Am I still enough?

“I love you” you reply for good measure and his arms tighten around your body.

But do I deserve it?

“Thank you for flying across the planet to get to me” you smile into his hair before kissing the side of his head “I missed you”

“I’d fly across the solar system to get to you” he’s smiling too, it’s in his voice.

“Corny” with a grin, you pinch his cheek until he looks up with an exaggerated, pained groan. But before he has the chance to protest, you take his disgustingly pretty face in your hands. 

“Wherever you fly from, I’ll be there to welcome you home”

Tooru smiles into the kiss, chases your lips when you relax back into the pillows.

And I’ll spend my life trying to deserve it.

Good thing he has at least five different Havanna Alfajores variety boxes somewhere in one of those suitcases. And two tickets to fly back to Argentina.

[stories-and-chaos]

Shrike: The Deal with Niffty; 1 Year Anniversary

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” Ace x ace relationship, both parties are moderately sex favorable.]

[Part 2 with Niffty, word count 1446, Cw: bug genocide none]

———————

You counted the days, double checking on the Scenic Hell calendar pinned up in the kitchen. You didn’t mention anything until that evening; Niffty was literally underfoot all day. “Tomorrow will be one year from when you made the deal with Niffty, cher.”

Alastor paused in his nightly routine, counting in his head. “I suppose it is. Ah, how the time flies.”

“We should do something, celebrate a little.”

Your husband gave you a questioning smile in the reflection of your vanity mirror. “We’ve never done that for any other Sinner.”

“We haven’t had any other Sinner chase you for weeks to make a deal,” you pointed out logically. “But she is yours, Alastor, it’s up to you.” He hummed noncommittally as two of you settled in for the night.

In the morning, you woke to a warm buttery smell and the hiss of a hot pan. Alastor, wearing a black apron, was making hotcakes and sausages. Niffty, still dressed in her nightgown and rubbing sleep from her eye, wandered into the kitchen. She spotted Alastor at the stove and immediately skittered up to him.

“Sir! I’m supposed to make breakfast!” She shot up to his shoulder and tugged on one antler.

Alastor, usually despising that much physical contact, merely shrugged and twirled his spatula as dramatically as his cane. “Well my dear, Y/N reminded me it’s been one year since we struck our deal. So I decided we’ll have some fun today.” He plucked the little cyclops of his shoulder and deposited her on the stool next to the table.

She scampered down and climbed back up his side to perch on his head. “Ooo, what kind of fun?” Her grin turned feral as she watched him flip hotcakes.

He finished cooking and delivered both food and the little maid to the table. “We’ll figure that out together.” The three of you started eating before he continued. “So my dear, what would you like to do today?” Alastor asked Niffty as he cut into his sausage.

Niffty, her cheeks full of hotcakes and syrup, froze. Her giant eye pinned as she stared at Alastor. A minute passed, then she gulped down her mouthful of food before automatically shoveling another forkful of hotcakes into her mouth. You realized she probably never really thought about it, enthusiastic as she was about her work.

You savored a bite. “How about…” you mused aloud, “we find more bugs than the bayou has?” Niffty’s attention snapped to you as she smiled around her bite of breakfast.

Fed and caffeinated, the three of you walked to your proposed destination. Niffty traveled three times the distance as she dashed around you and Alastor, occasionally climbing up one of you for a better view.

Your destination was a moderate two story building with two large glass enclosures connected. The sign above the entrance read Infernal Insectorium. Niffty’s eye widened as she started giggling on Alastor’s shoulder.

“Y/N, are you certain of this? Our dear Niffty is sure to decimate the population,” Alastor asked with amusement. “If you want to put this establishment out of business, this is an original way of doing so.”

“Not to worry, cher.” You pulled him inside, paying the entrance fee for the three of you. Niffty climbed down and started to run off, but you snagged her blouse before she could. “This place breeds quite a few critters for various purposes. So much so that they have a special wing for removing the substandard ones.” The foyer led to the two wings; one was labeled Observation Room, the other Culling Room. Through the glass walls to both you could see lush indoor gardens.

You led the way to the Culling Room. There was a small room between the foyer and the garden with a door leading to each. Only one could be open at a time, preventing any insect escapes. There was a member of the staff stationed in the room to operate the doors and ensure the bugs stayed where they were meant to be.

Once inside, you let Niffty go. “Eeeeheheheheheeeee!” she laughed, skittering off the path to chase down her first victim. Alastor walked arm in arm with you, admiring the garden.

“However did this place come about? And how did you find out about it my dear?”

Your talons brushed a flowering vine aside. “Evidently this was originally an insect house, supplying silkworms, beetles and snails for dyes, in addition to the indoor garden. But so many visitors kept eating the insects on display, they decided to add this room and charge for the privilege.”

Niffty’s giggles and mutters of “stab, stab, stab” were joined by other chuckles and squeals as demons hunted down their tiny prey. As you rounded a corner you saw a pair of frog-like demons at a wrought iron table catching flying insects with their tongues while making eyes at each other.

“Quite resourceful,” Alastor commented. He spotted an open bench for you both to relax on as Niffty had her fun. He hummed contentedly, soft jazz music filling the area around him. The tiny cyclops dashed into view on occasion, wielding either her favorite chef’s knife or a needle as she scurried after various bugs. She brought ones she was particularly proud of to pile up on the bench “for her collection.”

Whenever a creepy crawly got too close to you or your husband, it found itself impaled by one of your talons. Depending on the bug, you’d either eat it or add it it a separate pile for someone else to indulge in. Even Niffty had a limit to her energy and after a few hours she plopped herself between the two of you. She sifted through her spoils, selecting her favorite specimens. The rest were added to the pile you made.

After her selection was carefully wrapped in a handkerchief and stowed in your handbag, Alastor decided it was time for a late lunch. Food refilled her well of energy and afterwards Niffty was skipping around him again. “Now then, anything else we should do today Niffty, Y/N?”

“Oh oh, I need supplies to display my collection!” Niffty said eagerly, bouncing rapidly. “This way guys!” She ran back and forth between Alastor and the nearest crossroads. She repeated this after every turn until she brought you all to a craft store. The purple spider demon behind the counter recognized the cyclops. “Long time no see Niffty! Where you been sweets?”

“Hi Cici! I’m working for Alastor now. We’re celebrating my one year anniversary!”

“Greetings! The name’s Alastor and this is my darling Y/N. Pleasure to meet you my dear, quite a pleasure,” he said, holding out his hand to shake.

Cici either recognized your husband’s name or voice. She shook his hand carefully and asked Niffty in a shaky voice, “You…you’re working for the Radio Demon?” Niffty responded with a quick and cheerful “yup!” before dashing down an aisle.

“Yes indeedy! She was quite insistent about working for me. Even after my darling whisked her away multiple times! We found her to be extremely persistent.”

“She wore us down,” you added. “It’s been an excellent decision in the end.”

Cici looked a bit less nervous. “Well, she has always liked bad boys.”

Niffty returned with a stack of items; frames, cloth, pins, and boards. “More shadow boxes sweets?” Cici started tallying things up.

“Uh huh! They took me bug hunting today! I’ve got lots of new friends for my collection,” she replied, her voice turning into a cackle at the end.

Alastor paid for the items and stored the lot in his shadow. “I believe we’ve had quite an enjoyable outing today. What say we head back?”

“‘Kay! Bye Cici, see ya later!” Niffty waved rapidly at her friend while bouncing out the door Alastor was holding for you both. You waved at the spider, saying “au revoir!” as you accepted Alastor’s arm.

Niffty continued to zip around the streets on the way home. But her energy started to flag again. A little over halfway, she started dozing off on Alastor’s shoulder. You scooped her up and placed her in your purse; you’d brought your largest in anticipation of this. Her bright red hair peeked out from the top of the bag.

“It has been a lovely diversion today, I must admit,” Alastor said as the sky began to darken.”

“Agreed. I have to say I’m glad Niffty was so persistent. She’s been an excellent addition to the household. And not just because she’s so willing to do housework.” Alastor didn’t reply, but the cheerful music that swelled as he hummed said enough.

——————

@whitewolfsoldat @edgyboi10000 @ch3sire-blu3 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @bengewatch @chewbrry

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 4

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 1940

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: military setting, violence, use of guns, explicit language.

I hear panicked shouts from the halls outside the room. The men only just got back from their mission a couple of minutes ago. Soap said he’d be back to get me in ten after they unpacked, but it’s been at least twice as long and their voices have me worried something is wrong. Then everything quiets down for about two minutes before an array of gunfire opens up across the tiny building.

This building only has basic provisions, it’s not meant to house soldiers for an extended time and it certainly doesn’t have the weapons arsenal the other base does. What the team needs, they bring with them. A long cycle of bangs and pops erupts just outside the door. I press my body flat into the cement floor and cover my head with my trembling arms. A man screams outside the room before a gurgling sound cuts him short. However, the silence doesn’t return. More gunshots can be heard somewhere else in the building and suddenly the lock to the room clicks. The door flies open and a wide-eyed Soap stands in the frame holding an assault rifle. He quickly clears the room, eyes expertly scanning over me before he starts in my direction while keeping a watch on the only exit.

“Get up we have to go!” Soap shouts. I don’t even finish processing his words before I’m sprinting toward him. As soon as we leave the room, I nearly step on a man’s bloody body riddled with bullet holes. The air gets caught in my throat as the distinct metallic smell reaches my nose. I freeze at the sight, but Soap roughly grabs my arm and pulls me behind him. “Move, y/n!” he urges.

Gunfire rings around us as men shout at each other from different directions. I don’t know where he’s taking me. The route looks like it leads to a back exit, but I don’t know the layout and the last time I walked these halls I was blindfolded. My heart races and I hear it thunder in my ears alongside the gunshots.

There’s a shuffling noise behind us and Soap whips around, immediately firing upon the men. My ears ring from the noise and suddenly everything else feels quieter. Two soldiers drop dead without the chance to return fire. Soap’s reflexes are incredibly quick and as soon as they’re down, he turns back around to continue running. My chest grows tighter as we sprint down the hall and my vision begins to blur. I feel the panic attack bubble under the surface of my skin.

We finally reach another door and Soap turns to scan behind us one last time before poking the end of his rifle out the door to search for any enemies.

“We’re gonna run like hell to that truck west of the exit,” his voice is low and rushed and his thick accent makes it hard to decipher exactly what he’s saying, but in the heat of the moment, I understand completely.

The truck is closer to the building than I thought it’d be. The coast is clear right up until we reach the doors. I slide in the back passenger door, but just as Soap’s about to climb in, someone starts firing at us. One of the men returns fire from the passenger window and expertly takes the attacker out. Soap leaps inside, slamming the door shut and the driver takes off immediately.

The truck is full of men, but it’s not big enough to fit the whole crew. I start to wonder who didn’t make it on their mission or if anyone was picked off during the ambush. Inside the truck, Soap, Gaz, Ghost, myself, and one other man I don’t recognize fill the available seats. Gaz hastily shifts gears as Ghost sits with his rifle aimed out of the passenger window, waiting for the opportunity to take down any additional attackers. The rest of us are piled in the back. Soap catches his breath before I do. Part of me thinks it's because I’m still recovering from the shock of it all rather than the physical exertion.

“How the fuck did they know our location?” asks the man beside me. His wide eyes are panicked as he looks to Ghost for an answer. At first, I didn’t notice how large he is, but his knees are crammed up against the back of the driver's seat and he has to hunch over so his head doesn’t hit the ceiling.

“Must’ve tracked the extraction vehicles,” growls Ghost.

“Think we’re tagged?” Soap asks Ghost.

“Could be,” he says. “Might’ve been radar. I don’t know. We lost touch with intel at the start of the ambush.”

“Did the other trucks make it out?” Soap looks to Ghost for an answer.

“They’re clear. We’re the last,” I dwell on his words for a moment. He doesn’t say anything about casualties and they all seemed to have escaped. However, the fact that we’re the last comes as a surprise. Because that means the only reason they were last is because they stayed to retrieve me from the base. Soap and I were the last ones on the final truck out of there. They were - specifically Soap was - willing to risk their personal well-being to ensure my safety. I don’t know what to make of their actions yet, but they feel significant.

“They won’t be bold enough to attack the main base, not tonight at least,” Soap says although he doesn’t sound that confident.

“Don’t underestimate the enemy,” Ghost retorts. “We’re not going back until intel has reached out.

Gaz speeds down the old road made of broken pavement. Trees whip by on either side of the vehicle and I realize we are in a forest in the middle of nowhere. Snow blows across the road making it hard to see what lane we’re in and it's starting to get dark despite the radio reading only three p.m. The men don’t seem too concerned with blindfolding me. Maybe they forgot or maybe they’ve decided I don’t need it. I don’t comment just in case it’s the former.

I stare out the back window in fear of seeing a hundred more cars appear out of nowhere in hot pursuit of our vehicle. I spare a glance to look for aircraft or drones but don’t see any. We’re driving for quite some time and it seems as though no one is coming.

“Who was that?” I ask no one in particular. I don’t expect a response, but Gaz clears his throat before speaking.

“Ultranationalists. They’re pissed after we destroyed a weapons artillery not far from here. Didn’t think they’d be so quick to retaliate,” Gaz puts it plainly.

“Ultranationalists,” I murmur to myself. I’ve heard that term before. On TV. I scrape my mind for anything I can remember about that name. They were behind several terrorist attacks, but not just random attacks, targeted ones. Large ones. I’m talking about airports and government buildings all over Europe. Because their goal was to weaken other European governments so that one particular country could gain control over all of Europe.

“Are we in Russia?” I look to Ghost to find his eyes already on mine. He watched my entire thought process play out and now as I hold his gaze, it becomes obvious.

No one verbally answers, but they don’t need to. A chill runs down my spine. I’m more involved in whatever the hell is going on than I’ll ever imagine.

Gaz hits a particularly large pothole while driving on the broken pavement causing the front end of the vehicle to dip and then violently jump up. Only seconds later the truck starts to shake and it becomes apparent we have a flat.

“Fuck,” Gaz mutters. He pulls off to the side of the road and all four men exit the vehicle to check out the damage. I watch through the side mirror as König, who stands much taller than all of the others, crawls under the truck to get the spare. Ghost rounds the truck to the back doors and pulls the driver’s side open. Our eyes briefly meet, before he reaches under the seat to retrieve the jack from its hiding spot.

For fifteen minutes I watch as they change the truck’s tire. It’s the first time I have a window into how they operate as a team. Ghost delegates jobs, assigning Soap the brunt of the work. Not as punishment, but because he trusts Soap. Ghost knows he’s thorough and detail-oriented. There’s a reason Soap is the youngest on the team: it’s because he has an incredible work ethic. Gaz and König jack the truck up and support the jack so it can’t fall over. They wheel the tire over so Soap can focus on tightening the lug nuts. Together, they’re efficient.

Ghost throws the old tire in the box of the truck and we’re on the road again. This time, he drives. Ghost adjusts the seat all the way back to fit his large frame. Soap sits in the passenger seat. I take the spot behind the driver’s seat while the other two fill the space beside me.  

The sun has long set and we’re still driving. I wonder how much gas is left in the tank and what they plan to do once we run out. They haven’t mentioned the rest of their team or their intel since the start of the ride. No one has definitively said where we’re going, yet they seem to have a common understanding about their plans.

I watch Ghost in the rear-view mirror. His face is illuminated by the red glow from the radio. The colour could almost be considered symbolic. No. It is symbolic. His eyes are narrow as he scans our surroundings.

To be able to act as a voyeur is rare. Since joining them, I’ve been constantly watched and examined. Now, our positions have switched. I have the opportunity to examine Ghost for an extended period of time and I can’t help but wonder what led him to 141.

What kind of events happen in a man’s life that shape him into the type of ruthless killer that Ghost is? He’s cold. Colder than the rest, but not without purpose. Behind those stoic eyes is a type of hidden pain that’s almost impossible to detect. It’s the kind of pain that never truly goes away. It simply forces you to become stronger. What amount of pain has chipped away at the person he used to be until there was nothing left but the man who sits in front of me now?

But that’s to assume pain affects him like a normal person. Yet, he doesn’t look like someone who’s had pieces of them taken again and again. Looking closer, I don’t think it has at all. I think the pain made him smarter, sharper. It inspired him to rise to a new level. It created an entirely new creature born from betrayal. Born from heartbreak.

As I watch Ghost, I try to imagine the person he was before all of the pain and heartbreak.

My mind draws a blank.

Ghost feels my eyes on him. When he looks up, we make eye contact almost instantly. The dash lights turn the white skull mask a menacing red. Unlike before, I don’t look away immediately. My heart rate spikes and my cheeks flare, but I force myself to hold his gaze. At least for a little while. I feel the hot blood sweltering in my veins. Ghost’s eyes know more than they let on.

[eastwindmlk]

We are starting off @jilytoberfest with a little continuation of a Jilyweek drabble. Don't worry you don't need to go looking, it is right there with it.

Prompt: 🎶 “Before the dawn I hear you whisper in your sleep, ‘Don’t let the morning take him.’” 🎶 - Judas Priest - Before the Dawn.

Word count: 467

TW: Blood

“Move!” She yells, her hip slamming into his painfully as the green bolt of light flies right past him. Just a fraction to the right. If he had not staggered, if she had not pushed him, it would have connected easily. The smell of signed leather filled his nostrils and nearly made him gag.

Fuck. He thought, an arm grabbing onto Lily’s waist when she would not stop pushing. Leaning into him. There it held firm until he felt it. Slick and warm, slipping down her exposed skin. And for a moment he recalled their conversation from earlier that night.

About crop tops and distractions. Joking about wandering eyes and roaming hands on an uneventful stakeout. A night of whispered conversations and stifled laughter.

But she was slipping. From his grip and from consciousness. The weight she’d used so deliberately to save him from harm now sent him stumbling. Clutching onto her as best he could. If only he could find a moment of balance, a heel coming down hard and the sharp pain of a pinched nerve turned everything white for just long enough to find his focus.

James gripped Lily tight, find a clear picture, twist and… Pop!

Before this moment James never considered how far the apparition point was from the emergency entrance. Now, with Lily in his arms, the blood still hot and tacky on his hands he realized it. His feet were loud against the flagstone pavement, echoing through the night and ringing in his ears.

“Lily, stay with me okay? Just stay awake. Please, please, please stay,” he pleaded with her through strained vocal cords. His voice cracked and stumbled with every other word.

The lights lining the streets looked like starbursts through his tear-filled gaze, his steps staggering for a moment before he turned into the alleyway. “You’re going to be alright. We’re almost there,” he promised, no louder than a whisper.

James could almost see the light in the loading dock and he cried out for help his voice hoarse and grating. He doubted it was loud enough to reach more than a few steps in front of him. The entire earth quaked beneath his feet when a rush of green hurried his way.

Lily is pried from his arms and he catches a glimpse of her arm dangling limply off the side of the stretcher, her skin a sickly pale even under the yellow street lamps.

He didn’t know how to pray, but he’d seen Lily do it many a time. His trembling hands clumsily mimic those motions now before curling over his heart. James did not know if he should say something, or ask for someone in particular.

All he could do was beg, whoever was listening, not to let the morning take her away from him.

[cookie-crumblr]

The Smell of Smoke

Innocent F! Reader x M!Yandere Bully OC

Part 6~

His Info: 🖕✨

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

MINORS DNI

CW: Fem! Reader, reader has a vagina, reader referred to as she/her, loud “noises”, bullying against reader, explicit language, asphyxiation, fight, blood, extreme violence against reader, hospital setting, coma-d reader,, medication use, non con kissing and touching,

Yesterday feels like a dream, but your throbbing head at least proves the alcohol part…

But what about him being … Nice-ish… to you.

Nice for him definitely.

Nice for you, eh, not so much. no more like not at all.

It’s still weird though.

You don’t understand him in the slightest.

Gods, your leg and head are in agony, like you’re in a crocodile’s mouth and she’s giving you the famously terrible roll of death.

You clamber over to your meds, but they aren’t in your bag. At first you’re confused but when you turn around, your bleary eyes land on an open bottle of beer and your med bottle… Did he try to do something “nice” for you, again?

“What the fuck…” Your lip’s upturned as you groan.

Uhg just get them in you already.

An Hour Later~

You make it to class without a hitch! you feel like for the first time in a week you can breathe, at least a little, though labored, it still feels amazing!

Ezra isn’t in class today, another sigh of relief escapes you.

You’re taking notes diligently today, it’s actually so relaxing, you had no idea something so boring and mundane could be so therapeutic.

It’s a good day without him.

Outside the sun feels so wonderful on your face you forget about your broken and branded leg. It feels like the sun’s giving you a nice warm embrace, keeping you safe from all the horrors you’ve experienced now.

You find a stall vending your favorite foods and go to buy some, and a stranger pays for your food!

It’s such a good day without him.

The Next Day~

*SLAM, BANG!*

“SURPRISE! ‘M Y’R NEW ROOMIE~”

You jump as your door flies off its hinges, and Ezra announces his presence loudly and ridiculously.

Come on, of course you cant have more than a gods damn day to yourself.

He starts throwing your roommates shit all over the room, “the fuck are you doing!?” You yell at him without thinking.

“What’d you say, bitch!?” He immediately faces you, and throws down whatever was in his hands in front of you, causing you to yelp and flinch.

“I-I didn’t—”

“Y-You what? didn’t mean it? It’s too fuckin’ late for you, slut.” He’s already on you, hand wrapped around your throat.

You cough without any air, it’s painful to even try.

Your crutches are next to you on your bed…

You reach and stretch over—

You manage to grab one, it’s a little awkward to wield and swing, but you fucking hit him!

He’s surprised and let’s go of you, a wild smile pulls at his lips.

Oh gods!!

You Bolt.

By the time you’re out of the door, your bad legs make you stumble, then in a second he’s tackling you to the ground.

He punches the back of you then grabs you by the back of your head and smashes your face into the ground.

There’s a ringing in your ears, and blood starts pouring from your nose like a geyser.

“Ezra! Stop!!” Ace’s muffled, worry filled voice rings out from down the hall.

“Stay outta it Ace!” Ezra’s voice is equally as hard to hear, even though he’s yards closer.

“No! Quit it!!! Y/N didn’t do anything to you!”

He throws you forward. You have absolutely no fight. You lie shaking and in complete shock, frozen as of time is ice around you.

“Y/N, You oka— no of course not,,” he rushes over to you.

“Ezra… why…” Ace didn’t ask it, he just sounds so disappointed in his brother.

“Yeah, yeah” Ezra doesn’t look at Ace as he walks past him.

“Easy up there, Y/N,” Ace helps you up and slips your arm around his neck. He’s shorter than Ezra so it’s a little easier to walk with him helping you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry… I’m so… Sorry,” he whispers seemingly to himself.

Your ears are still ringing and your head is in more agony than you’ve ever felt up there, you aren’t sure you can stay upright even with Ace’s help.

“woah there! here,” He lifts you into his solid arms and makes sure your tight against his chest.

You try to stay awake but find that a feeling deeper than even the promise of the deepest sleep is pulling you under fast.

“Hey, w-wait, i think you’re s’posed to stay awake with head injuries!” He panics, and speeds up to his car, but stops and calls for an ambulance.

Shit, you’re gonna have a massive bill. Your head is… in unthinkable agony. Is it gonna explode!?

You black out, and come to a few times, one second your in Ace’s arms, the next you’re in a fire truck? next your in a gurney, and then a hospital.

“Y/N!?” Its Ace that’s there next to you when you wake up, but you see a familiar strawberry blonde standing almost outside of your line of sight. He’s wearing a deep scowl. “Y/N! Y/N! You’re awake!”

“You… Were in a coma… For a week.” Ezra doesn’t look at you as he gets the words out.

“A WEEK!? This time you put me in a coma for a week, and you can’t even look at me, you’re despicable. Why are you even here!?” You grab your head as it pounds.

His fiery gaze meets yours head on and you aren’t backing down. What’s he gonna do? put you in another coma??

For fucks sake.

His expression changes, something akin to lust maybe? It’s always confusing you and giving you whiplash, nothing is ever how you expect with this guy.

“Ace, can you give us a minute?” he asks.

“No can do.” He crosses his arms and shakes his head, steadfast, and not going to leave your side.

“It’s alright, i think he’s made whatever point he wanted to make for now.” You resist rolling your eyes at Ezra, thinking back to just … Well you guess a week ago now. It feels like it just happened a second ago to you. Uhg, your head.

He takes a minutes long pause before deciding and finally standing. “okay… But… yell if you need help.” He’s torn, but you want to hear what Ezra has to say, if anything, or if he’s just gonna jump you again, at least you’re already in a hospital bed…

Oh fuck! it’s just hit you… A Weeks worth of medical bills!? FUCK.

“Y/N—” He starts, but…

“Nope, wait, let me go first. What the hell do you want from me!? Just take it and get it over with already! just look at me! are you done yet? happy?? satisfied??���

“I’m not happy.” He looks out the window at a tree. “‘sides, to be honest, thought youd ‘ave a thicker skull than that,” he snickers.

“Oh fuck off.” You’ve never been so angry before in your life. You’ve also never felt so powerless. Maybe because you have nothing left to loose you feel more unhinged and ready to fight.

“I’m sorry.” he says flatly.

“Did you just..?” NOTHING can redeem him, and he just thinks— or maybe he’s not even thinking! does he have a brain to think?

He crosses the room.

Leaning over you in your bed, he grabs your face to pull it up right in front of his own.

You meet his challenge and stare deeply back into his dark red-brown eyes.

He looks down at your puffed lips and back up.

Soon he’s grabbing you all over your upper half, chest waist, belly, throat, he messes up your gown and when it’s loose around your shoulder he bites you there.

His teeth sink into your flesh, you’re biting your lip and trying to shove him off but you have no strength.

Your head lolls back wards, and as youre about to start counting the dots in the ceiling, he backs off.

“Fuck this, ‘m goin’ out f’r a smoke,” he tosses your head back down to your body and back onto the hospital bed.

Ace steps in right after him, before the door closes, “You alright?”

“Yeah, thank you, Ace… I think i need more meds tho hah” you try and laugh but your head pounds.

“Here!” He pushes the button for you and tells the nurse what’s wrong. he listens to Ace for a second then comes to you to confirm and once you do he gives you more morphine.

Then, your whole body just melts.

Woo goodness does that feel nice. You drift back into sleep happily, forgetting everything, along with the pain just for a second.

Yet…

Both dreams end the same…

[soleilceirinen]

Be careful, darling | modern!Levi Ackerman x wife!Reader

Summary: you want to surprise Levi on your anniversary but it does not turn out the way you expect. Modern AU. Warning: nothing, mentions of blood (you get hurt and he worries). A/N: English isn't my first language, sorry if there are mistakes. Words: 1.6k

Five years.

Time flies by in the blink of an eye, it feels like it was yesterday when you got on that train and ended up sitting next to Levi, but it’s been five years since then. 

He seemed a little distant and spent most of the time frowning. During that train journey you discovered that both of you shared a certain aversion towards small children. You didn’t like them because they were little noisy humans and he didn’t like them because they were walking bags of germs. 

Three hours later he was no longer frowning. Instead, one of the most incredible smiles you had ever seen dazzled in the middle of his face.

And now you are about to celebrate your second anniversary together since you got married.

Levi is still at work but he would be arriving home soon. You want to surprise him with a homemade dinner. He likes simple things and being calm, enjoying everyday experiences as well as spending time with you. As long as you are by his side, he’ll be happy.

Everything is almost ready, all that’s left is to take the food out of the oven and serve the dishes. You’ve lit a few candles whose scent fills the living room and the golden glow of the sunset comes through the kitchen window, creating a beautiful atmosphere. By the time Levi arrives it would be dark so he won’t see the golden light but at least you have the candles.

You take out some ingredients to make a salad and put them on the counter, where you already have a big glass bowl. 

As you wash the tomatoes you hear the sound of keys turning in the lock and the sounds of Levi’s footsteps. He approaches, following the delicious smell of dinner and enters the kitchen, stopping next to you, in front of the sink. 

"How was your day?" you ask as you cut the tomatoes into small pieces.

Levi shrugs while rubbing his hands with soap over and over again under the faucet. You see him doing it from the corner of your eye but decide to say nothing, although it worries you a little bit. Once he washed his hands so many times that the skin around his fingers and wrists started to crack and peel off. 

“It was alright, Erwin wanted to go out and have a few beers but I said no”, he explains, drying his hands with a kitchen towel and moving to stand behind you. Then, he wraps his arms around your waist, leaning with his chin between your neck and your shoulder. “He kept insisting until I told him that my girl was waiting for me,” he whispers in your ear, leaving a trail of small kisses down your neck.

It makes you giggle and wriggle in his arms, and he takes the opportunity to start tickling you. “You could tell him and Hanji to have lunch together someday too. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

Levi presses his body against you, growling softly. “I see them every day at work,” he complains. 

“Exactly, you see them. But I haven’t seen them in ages. Don’t be selfish, they are your friends, and mine too!” you joke as you grab another tomato. 

“Selfish? Me?” he asks, pretending to be offended. You smile at him over your shoulder and his grey eyes shine with amusement, small wrinkles form at the corner of his eyes.

“Yes, you are.”

Before you can react, Levi starts another tickling attack. You let out a surprised shriek as his skillful fingers slid over your ribs, making you squirm with laughter. 

“Levi! No, no, stop. No!”

His melodious laugh accompanies your frantic one until you tense and a curse escapes from your lips. Levi stops, because you never curse. He seems to be frozen in time, expectant, not knowing what has caused you to react that way. He’s aware that something had happened nonetheless. 

You drop the knife you were holding and the half cut tomato on the counter, prior to stare down at your hand. In the middle of your palm is beginning to form a red line, where you’ve cut yourself. You scrutinize it in silence, all the previous laughter gone. Levi peeks over your shoulder to see what has made you gone quiet all of a sudden and when he notices the blood, he starts cursing like a sailor.

“It’s okay,” you say softly.

It’s just a cut after all, not like you’re going to die or something. It’s starting to sting though, due to the juice of the tomatoes. 

Gently, Levi grabs you by the wrist and leads you to the sink, where he places your hand under the stream of water. Immediately, the bottom of the sink turns a light tone of red. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were cutting stuff. How did you cut your hand like that?” He is worried, which is evident in his voice. He grabs one of the clean dish towels and wraps it around your hand, pressing the wound to stop the bleeding.

You bite your lip and shake your head. Your voice comes out weak. “I don’t know, Lee.”

Levi stares at you with wide eyes. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “It’s the blood, you know that I don't like it. I think I should sit for a moment. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

He keeps staring at your face, which is getting paler and paler each second. Carefully so you don’t fall in case you faint, he helps you sitting in one of the chairs next to the kitchen table and sits in front of you. He’s still pressing his hand against your palm. 

“The counter looks like a mess,” you mutter under your breath and Levi frowns. He looks at the counter and then at you before shaking his head. His soft hair bounces with the movement, falling into his eyes. He brushes it out of his face with the hand that’s not holding yours.

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll clean it up later,” he says. “Honestly, the counter is the least of my worries right now.”

He opens the cloth, now soaked in red, and examines the wound in silence. You look away and sigh, feeling better. 

“You know, it was my fault. I was cutting into my hand,” you admit. 

Levi raises an eyebrow and gives you a questioning look. “What do you mean? If I hadn’t been tickling you, you wouldn’t…”

You kick his shin under the table. “Stop blaming yourself, Levi! I was using my hand as a cutting board,” you explain, feeling quite embarrassed about it. 

Then, Levi understands what you mean and his expression changes. He’s still worried but in a different way. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just remains quiet with his lips pressed in a thin line. When you meet his eyes, his face reflects an unspoken question: why are you like this?

“Darling, we have cutting boards. Plenty of them, actually. How many times have I told you not to use your hand?” he wonders, not really expecting an answer from you. “Sometimes I don’t understand you, it’s as if you had no self preservation instinct.”

“I know… but it’s an old habit that I have. Most times I do it and I don’t even realize it.”

Since you were young, you had been using your hand to cut things and not even once had you cut yourself. So you kept doing it that way over the years. Every time someone witnessed you doing it they always lectured you about how dangerous it was and that one day you were going to cut a finger off. 

Levi sighs and leans with his elbows on the table. He takes another look at your wound. “It’s not bleeding anymore,” he informs you. 

“I’m sorry, Levi,” you say and without any warning you start sobbing. You can’t help it and somehow it makes you feel like a child, so you look away to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Why?” he asks softly, as he leans further across the table to hold your face in his hands. He caresses your cheeks with his thumbs and his touch is gentle. He’s not mad at you, he’s just concerned. “Hey, don’t cry.”

But this only makes you cry harder. 

“I’ve ruined our anniversary. I wanted to surprise you with a nice dinner and now look at this mess. You must think I’m a fucking idiot.”

Levi shakes his head and stands up, he doesn’t like to see you like this. He kneels next to you and wipes away your tears. You bend over him, until your foreheads are pressed together.

“I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you think,” he tells you, trying to lift your spirits. “I’m mad at myself for not paying attention. You just need to be more careful when knives are involved, after all the salad doesn’t need any piece of you in it, am I right?”

His joke makes you smile a little. He pushes away and holds your face once again between his hands. The two of you stare into each other's eyes for a while before he presses his lips against yours. Levi takes his time, not rushing it and you close your eyes, leaning into him. 

“You haven’t ruined anything,” he whispers against your lips. “Happy anniversary, here’s to many more.”

You kiss him one more time. "Happy anniversary, Levi," you whisper tenderly, noticing a strange smell in the air.

It no longer smells like the scented candles that you lit a while ago, instead, a burnt scent has taken their place. "Turn off the oven!" you suddenly scream and Levi jumps to do so. He stares at the inside of the oven for a few seconds before turning to you, biting his lip.

"I think we should order something", he says nonchalantly and you can't help but laugh.

The surprise dinner is undeniably ruined, but at least you have Levi by your side and he has you. What else could you ask for?

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: It's been back and forth the last few months between you and Hawks and finally you're both out for a date!...or not. You couldn't have ghosted him, right? A/N: About a couple years ago I was obsessed with Why Don't We so yes I'm using one of their songs LMAO sue me WARNINGS: GN reader and angst (it gets resolved I'm not evil!)

Oh, she talks so sweet, like sugar, like candy

It’s a first date and firsts are important, so he’s gotta be sure to make a good impression. A shower and a lot more to his normal concession to fanciness: the comb’s brushed through his hair more times than he count, tugged at the collar of his shirt wondering if it was too much, too casual, god it was getting kind of hot wearing it would it smell like sweat-

“I don’t mind. Smells like you.” Ah, that smirk that caused him to blush so badly and throw his hoodie at you. Okay, don’t worry so much. Just be your usual self.

Makes me wanna be the best man that I can be

He’s got the flowers, your favorite of course, and they were in full bloom when he walked past that florist. He’s prepared to pay the bill, ready to be the gentleman by rehearsing in his head what he’d do. Pull out your chair, compliment, a dinner place of your choice.

For you, nothing but the best, he swears in his head as he flies out into the night.

I like that she keeps things oh-so simple

The flirty game of cat and mouse the both of you had had going on before in his office was beyond fun and always left him wanting more of you - interactions, voice, touch. He made it obvious from the start that he was into you, what with his more than friendly suggestions, insistence on meals together and overprotectiveness should any of his sidekicks even think of looking at you.

It was startling to him that you had returned it though in the same gestures. He liked that about you; you didn’t beat around the bush and worked to get what you wanted.

In this case it was him and he wasn’t complaining.

Less stress, more uh, yeah, she got the dimples

It had taken exactly three months, one week and a half and five days for it to come to a head. One of you was going to crack and it was him, inevitably, when he dropped by with his daily pickup line and coffee for you. You’d flash that coy, sweet smile. “I might actually think you’re interested in me if you keep doing that.”

“What gave it away?” He made his standard, joking reply.

“I dunno. I said might. When you actually ask me out I’ll be convinced.”

I get scared when I think about the future

As a pro hero he had to think about the risks of having a significant partner who would become the target of much villain attacks, paparazzi and obsessed fans. As himself even he would admit the playboy image they painted and he supplied was not exactly flattering. As a normal person, was anyone really ready for commitment, potential heartbreak…?

But all this could be dealt with. It all faded to background noise, yadda yadda yadda…

Because, actually, now that he thought about it, had he OPENLY asked you out?

I'm a junk man, she's a promise abuser

“Well, when you do, I’ll say yes and I’ll be really, really interested as well.”

“Okay, will you go out with me for dinner tonight then?”

You blinked, opening and closing your mouth like a goldfish while he stared at you expectantly. “…um, what? I wasn’t…expecting…”

“You said you’d say yes!”

“Huh, I did say that.” You flashed another million watt smile. “Okay then. How about eight?”

Hell, I know that we're bad for each other

It’s been almost ten minutes - you must have run into traffic. Not unusual on a bustling night like this, with everyone in a terrible hurry to get, get, get somewhere. The tapping of his foot aligned with the ticking of the clock he was watching anxiously. He’s glad he had requested a more private table at the back to prevent fans from noticing their favorite Pro Hero, but now even more so he wouldn’t see the glances of pitying diners wondering who had stood him up so badly to see his hopeful face crack away bit by bit.

No, you wouldn’t ditch him like this. That was just cruel; you were a tease. You wouldn’t do this.

It’s the third refill of his cup when he finally accepts that you’re not coming.

I made my own bed but she tucked me under

A pathetic KFC dinner was not how he had envisioned the evening but that’s what he’s sitting with, hunched on his couch, wondering what went wrong.

Were you playing with him? Did you think he wasn’t serious? Were you offended he hadn’t come pick you up? Had you both somehow miscommunicated the date? Did you realize you didn’t actually want all the crap that came with being a Pro Hero’s significant other?

He chucked his trash into the bin and wished he could do the same with his emotional turmoil.

We did it for the hell of it

You didn’t even show up the next day at work - you must really be going that far to avoid him, huh?

Not like he’d bring it up, to be honest. It was embarrassing that he had managed to be duped so well, that he was rejected indirectly in public. It hurt that you didn’t even bother to answer ANY of his messages. It stung that he had no apology and he couldn’t say one himself because you. Weren’t. There.

But your jacket was, hanging forlornly by your chair, so internally he apologized and took it home to toss onto his bed-nest and fall asleep to the fading scent of you.

We did it for the good times and the bad ones

So this was what it was like to be hung up. 10/10 would not recommend, he decided. Usually he was distracted during hero work occasionally thinking about you, but now he still was and doing a sloppy job according to the Commission with his listless attitude and moping. Probably why they just about forced him to take a day off.

Nothing much to do. You hadn’t gone to work for a third day already. Who was he to text? Usually he’d be blowing up your phone with stupid pickup lines he found online, the silly stuff he’s seen people doing while flying, bad singing of whatever song he was listening to at that time. Sometimes it ended in not-so-coincidental meetups. You’d respond to every message with one just as ridiculous as his. Rumi only responded ”your crush not around?” when he spammed her instead.

Could’ve been more, he grumbled aloud. Could’ve been until you went AWOL after doing the equivalent of dumping him.

We didn't think about what shit might happen

He’s driving himself crazy. Over what? Over some crush? There were billions of other people who’d kill for the chance to go out with him.

But it was not some crush - it was you. He didn’t want the billions - he wanted you. It was the fourth day and your desk was still empty - where were you?

He asked around casually. Only Rumi gave him a knowing look. Nobody knew where you were. Your friend at the agency had mentioned you had been pretty excited about some date with a friend- hope? he wanted to think so - that day but since then there wasn’t any updates.

“What if a kidnapping happened?! Like those scammers who pretend to be a date and then end up drugging you instead?!”

He coughed. “Yeah…I don’t think that happened, don’t worry.”

But once you light a fire, it's gonna burn

On the fifth day he sent his fifteenth message.

No wonder you vanished, he grimaced. Nobody wanted a clingy texter who couldn’t take the hint. But here he was, finger hovering above the send button and scrolling past the plaintive texts of before: asks on when you were coming and were you going to be late and where were you, the occasional “guess what I saw today” that he’d usually send you when he was feeling braver, apologies for pestering you and making you uncomfortable with the date and the…never ending texts even though you were probably ghosting him by now.

Today he’d get over it, he repeated with finality and misery. One last “sorry” and on he’d move.

>>I'll be okay to keep it simple

The phone’s abandoned on the table for the rest of the night while he slams his head into his pillow, allowing himself a few moments to sulk one last time before heading into the shower after the long day of work (without you there).

He hopes you’ll at least see it. Maybe text back.

Then again that would probably rip open the wound wide once more so perhaps it was better if you ignored him. He could block you for good measure.

The shower pounded down on his head. No, he sighed, he couldn’t block you if he tried.

>>I'll stay outta your way and won't let you know

The ping on his phone indicating a text message alerts him but he figures it must be the paperwork that he’s been running away from (without your help there was no way he’d be able to do it) from catching up to him, so he takes his sweet time to leisurely change and blow dry his hair before he actually picks the phone up.

He falls back onto the bed. Stunned, shocked. Maybe a bit hopeful. Confused, crushed. Funny how just one message can do that.

Hawks, can you come to my house tonight? I need to talk to you<<

Of course, when has he ever refused you? He was out of the window before he even realized what he was doing and how damn stupid this all was, that he was setting himself up for another heartbreak, you were finally going to break it to him that you didn’t show up because you didn’t know how else to reject his pushy advances and oh shit he’s forgotten to wear his shoes properly and now they were falling off midair-

“I…wasn’t expecting you that fast.”

“I’m the Wing Hero?”

You allowed your face to curl into a broken smile. “Yeah, we all know that, birdbrain.”

Humans always want what they couldn’t have. You were dolled up so pretty for some reason, even in the horrible lighting coming from your living room behind you. He was glad the shadow fell on his face, standing at your door, so you wouldn’t see the heartbreak twisting his expression. Don’t call me birdbrain if you’re going to leave, he prayed.

“So,” he said to cut the awkward pause. “Why am I here?”

“I…it’s probably easier to explain inside. Come on in.”

It's not the first time he's been in but he's pretty surprised to see your dining table pushed out, covered in a tablecloth and decorated with the whole nine yards: dinner for two, candles and flowers. Is this how you're really gonna toy with him before breaking it off?

You take him by the arm and lead him there, half pulling out a chair for yourself before he interrupts plainly. “You didn't have to do all this.”

“Yeah, well, I really wanted to-”

“You could've just told me you didn't want to go out with me. Not stand me up and just, what, vanish without telling anyone?!”

“Hawks-”

“You didn't have to do this.” Why couldn't you spare him pain instead? He was a fool, yes, but no reason for you to let him be this foolish.

He shuts his eyes to trap the water and when he opens them his face is suddenly smooshed between your cradling palms while you force him to look at you and your serious, pleading expression.

“Hawks, will you listen to me? Please?”

“Listening,” he tried to say, but since his mouth was partially squished he nodded instead. Also his throat was blocking, probably from the almost-crying.

“I’m not playing with you when I say I can explain everything - I was actually on my way to the date when I got a call from my mom. My dad's health isn't the greatest right now so I had to rush back to my hometown after he had a bad fall. My phone's battery died that night and where my parents live don't exactly have the greatest of Internet connections so I was literally cut off from everyone. I came back once he was okay and so…” You take a deep breath and remove a hand to gesture around. “I really do like you, Hawks, so if you want we can redo the date?”

Perhaps his eyes were watering thanks to the candles or flower allergies. He buried his face into your neck, arms wrapped tight around you. Your hand stroked through his hair. “Don't scare me like that again.”

“I'd never ditch you like that, birdbrain.”

“Can we skip straight to the part where we kiss now?”

I need your love tonight

I need your love

[latibvles]

YOU LEFT ME IN THE DARK.

or the “vivbucky make impulsive questionable decisions in the hours before Münster” fic that’s been rotating in my head for a couple months. adults doing consensual things under the cut even if the reasons for said consensual things aren’t the best. check it out here on AO3!

The smell of fuel and blood burns her nose, engines roaring loud in her ears. Heart pounding, blood pumping like it just might burst from her pulse points and drench everything. Her palms are sweaty and the only thing keeping her breathing evenly is necessity. Willie’s whiter than a ghost next to her, bleeding all over everything until Lena gets to her. It’s all loud and fiery and a chunk of burning metal thunks against the wing of the Mouse Hole. If there is a God, then he’s probably the one thing keeping their feathered engines from going up in smoke, blowing them all to smithereens.

If there is a God, she’s got a bone to pick with him.

Her head hurts almost as much as her hand does.

The pub is quieter and devoid of the faces she knows — or rather, cares to know. Which is fine, because she has no will left to be composed and quite frankly doesn’t owe anyone as much. Harding can chastise her about fighting later, if he even would. Which he won’t, so it wasn’t like any of it matters. She couldn’t be worried anymore, now she’s just angry.

Her ears have been ringing for the past twenty-four hours and her knee’s bouncing with all the energy she’s unable to expend.

Viv wants to break something. Or scream, maybe. Theoretically she could get away with it; that’d been the point of heading into town anyway — less eyes, less correspondents waiting for her to fuck up. Sharks waiting to catch that first scent of blood, waiting to finally see her break. It’d be a helluva story.

Shit, they got Buck!

Fucking— Lena get down here. Willie’s hit!

She’s still breathing! Buck— er, Our Baby, how many ‘chutes?!

I don’t see any!

Her hands never shake when she flies and yet they were trembling then. Still trembling now, like she’s some kind of insufferable whistling tea kettle. She thinks her ability to land the plane like that is one of the many wonders of the human condition. She felt nothing when it happened. She doesn’t feel much now, either.

Well, besides being angry, which at this point is a constant thrumming in her system — synonymous with the blood in her veins and oxygen in her lungs. But it’s not especially useful, like blood or air. It’s just enough to ensure they’re still flying the next mission, rain or shine. Harding wanted them to sit the next one out but Viv wouldn’t be able to stand that either. She flies a bus that could do damage and by God does she want to do some serious fucking damage. Her hand tightens on the crystal glass as she raises it to her lips and lets whiskey coat her throat.

She wants to hit something.

She’s already done that, but the itch is still there. An incessant scratch. Not because she should do it, but because she can and because what else is there to do. She didn’t consider herself an instigator but here she is, entire body itching for a fight. Or, more aptly, itching for another one — her knuckles throb with a painful reminder of the nose she’d broken a few blocks down and she doesn’t really remember what was the spark of that. Not that it matters. Her hands are a little bloody and it isn’t enough.

The door opens and shuts. The bar is so quiet that she can hear it loud in her ears, over the roar of engines and the shouting.

Bucky doesn’t greet her like he would’ve before. He just sits beside her — startlingly sharp, similarly miserable, and a whole day early. She can feel his presence like an unshakeable poltergeist latching itself to her person to torment her further. Viv wasn’t the one to tell him Buck went down when he called and she doesn’t think she would’ve had the stomach to anyway. Cowardly. They all ducked out of doing it to avoid whatever state he’d be in upon finding out. Evidently, Viv still draws the shortest straw. 

She doesn’t have to look at him to know that sorrow’s already taken its hold of him when she’s been there since yesterday afternoon.

He gets himself a drink and the bartender takes her empty glass. Viv’s knuckles rap against the bartop, lacking a proper rhythm  and he takes note of that. Because of course he does. Because in knowing her, Bucky’s made a point to notice everything she does and Viv hates him for it.

His eyes settle then, on her hands. Her fists still sting. Her throat still burns. And she’s still angry enough for her hands to ball further where they rest against the bar top. A little bead of red pearls where she’d split one of her knuckles. Bucky kisses his teeth.

“Looks bad.” He states. There’s no tease there, no chuckle. It’s falling flat and she’s falling with it.

“Should see the other guy.”

“I don’t give a damn about the other guy.” There is no curl of a grin to his lips, no glint to his eye, no flash of teeth accompanying the words. Just his eyes, fixated on her fists with an unreadable expression before he gets his drink.

He doesn’t even sit with it. He shoots it and orders another. There’s an itemized list of all the right things to say but they all sound stupid coming from her mouth, so she opts for silence. It’s not like that’s something they haven’t dealt in before. Very few people would think he could be fluent in silence — but sometimes, Bucky could take the hint that his jokes wouldn’t land. Sometimes he can’t be bothered to make them, so he doesn’t.

If she wasn’t so angry, she’d express some kind of gratitude for that.

The bartender slides her another whiskey too, and she watches condensation slide down the side of the glass — a fat droplet pooling against polished wood.

“You flying tomorrow?” she asks finally, already knowing the answer.

“Does that bother you?” His tone is halfway between sharp and indifferent. Her jaw clenches, she slams back the drink in her hand to keep from saying something crueler than it needs to be.

“If it did, would it matter?” She counters, because it’s slightly kinder than Don’t be an idiot, Bucky. Of course it does. She turns her head to look at him, squinting slightly. Bucky kisses his teeth, says nothing to that, which is as much of an admittance as any that no, it wouldn’t. It’d make her a hypocrite, anyway. Harding’s pulling strings he doesn’t have just to get her in the air tomorrow because she half-begged for it. She’s the last person who needs to be telling anyone else to stand down.

It’d been a mission in and of itself to get Jo to listen, which was a surprise. She would’ve figured spilling hot coffee all over her own uniform would’ve been more of a deterrent. 

One hand falls behind her chair, landing on top of the back rest — his thumb pressing into the center of her spine. She can’t tell if it’s deliberate or just Bucky being Bucky; craving contact and burning her in the process. He gets his second drink — or more aptly, a shot — downs it and licks whatever remains from his lips.

“How’s Willie?”

“Dunno. You should ask Brady.” The bitterness there isn’t directed at Brady. It’s not directed at anything, really. Maybe if she nips enough times, he’ll be deterred into leaving her the hell alone before she actually bites at him. Before she says something cruel for the sake of it. Once again, not because she should, but because she could, and she’s angry and has nowhere to put it. It’s not like she’s especially hard-pressed to punch him, not even if he asked that of her.

Bucky’s not deterred though. His thumb drags up her back and she shivers, jaw clenching. Deliberate, then. Goddammit Bucky. She shuts her eyes for a moment, huffing as the tip of his thumb drags back down almost lazily — a direct contrast to the piercing stare he’s fixed on her, unmoving as he tries to peel back the layers. She wants to tell him to fuck off and just worry about himself for once, but even in his current state it’s like self preservation isn’t in his DNA.

She laughs humorlessly at the assessment. Pot, meet Kettle.

The gesture alone makes her feel warm, suffocated, an itch manifesting beneath her skin that she can’t scratch. Or, more aptly, one that she shouldn’t scratch and she isn’t going to indulge. It just ends in knuckles and teeth. They’re a sad sight, the pair of them, scowls on their faces and empty glasses.

His brow raises at her bout of laughter. She tells him as much. We’re a real sad sight.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“And what makes you say that?” There’s something about the tone of it that sparks something in her — jaw clenching, an ache behind her temples.

“Why’re you here, Bucky?” Viv snaps, unsure if she means it or not. Even with the bite his hand doesn’t recoil, like it’ll anchor her to the spot. All it does is stoke at the fire in her veins and maybe that’s half the point of it. Make her mad enough to hit him or something like that, give him a bruise for tomorrow, like Curt would. Well she’s not fucking Curt either.

“Same reason you are.” Each word is drawn out in that way that almost sounds sarcastic. She exhales sharply through her nose, nostrils slightly flaring. There’s no tease to the words, no smile tugging at his lips. “Less eyes.”

She can hear the snap of her patience in her ears, like a dingy old rubber band. An irrational one at that — which is why she’s hopping off the barstool before she can do something really stupid in this bar; she doesn’t even know what it is. Her thoughts are a mere streamline of curses, hardly registering how she pushes the door open after leaving some nonsensical amount of money on the table. Fuck you for sitting next to me, John Egan. And fuck you for reading me, too. And fuck Buck Cleven for going down, and Benny Demarco too, for that, and fuck Eisenhower for—

“Viv.” His call of her name is the siren’s song and she’s the idiot sailor who forgot to put wax in his ears — feet stalling once she’s made her way about halfway down the alleyway between the pub and another building.

He’s following her and it serves as an acute reminder that they’re all they’ve got right now. 

Bucky’s silhouette is at the end of the alleyway, tall and imposing in the dark as he takes a few steps toward her. She can’t really register what he’s saying to her — feet moving on their own back towards him until they’re toe-to-toe, squinting at him, hands balled into fists. If she asks a question, she knows he’ll answer, but it’ll just piss her off further. No fault of his, just the way Viv’s always been wired and if she could change that, she would, but she can’t.

There’s a lot of things she can’t change. A lot of things she wants to change, too.

“Told you I’d be your bailout when you’re walkin’ home,” Bucky murmurs gruffly, whiskey-breath fanning over her face, warm and strong. The reminder hangs in the air, heavy like the space between them.

If it were possible to have a second snap, she thinks this would be it.

Viv doesn’t know why she leans forward, tilting her chin up to kiss him — it’s hardly even a kiss, just a hard press of her lips against his. She doesn’t know why she does anything about John Egan; he just chips and chips away at her senses until she’s nothing more than some reactive feral creature that can barely keep up with him. She hates him for it. She loves him for it.

She wants to be cut on his jagged edges and let the sting distract her from the anger and how it threatens to swallow her whole, how it threatens to burn him, too.

He stares at her a moment after she does it, blue eyes wide, that loud sorrow giving way to his shock.

“I’m done talking,” Viv breathes out. His jaw clenches, holding her stare.

Finalities weren’t a thing they did.

Bucky’s grabbing at her face with a gruff “c’mere”, rough hands on her cheeks, pulling her to him and slotting their mouths together hungrily. A band snaps between them, she grabs at his arms, squeezing as their lips meld together messily. She’s stumbling, him with her, until her back meets unforgiving bricks and she’s nipping at his bottom lip. His hands fall from her face, to her hips, squeezing as he opens up his mouth for her.

The anger pools in her belly, blurring the line between frustration and desire. He works a muscular thigh between her legs — she rolls her hips against it, taking a trembling breath between kisses. She can feel the hard press of him against her own leg and he grunts, rutting against her thigh. One hand digs into his shoulder, the other moving down to brush against his covered cock — dragging upward until she’s met with the metal of his belt buckle.

Viv breaks their kiss and his breath fans out over her face, thoroughly flushed, twitching beneath her index finger.

“John,” Viv huffs out, with a tight squeeze of his shoulder, the hand then crawling up the back of his neck to work selfishly into his inky dark hair.

She doesn’t know why she says that — John, not Bucky — maybe it’s to grasp at some type of intimacy they won’t get to have. A crumb of what she can’t give him because she’s always been sharp edges and bloodied fists and even now all she knows how to do is bite.

He knows that now, too, and she refuses to let him pierce his stupid bleeding heart on her reckless canines.

“You’re killin’ me here,” he declares with a slight huff — his voice dragging her back to reality. The thigh rubbing against her center, the thrum of desire in her veins.

Her blunt nails scrape against his scalp as he presses his forehead against her own, breaths exchanged as the hand not squeezing her hip finds the button of her pants. He looks down, then back up through dark lashes, lips parted and question posed on his tongue that she answers by pulling his mouth towards hers again, biting at his lower lip and pouring a senseless please into his mouth. He grunts against her lips, biting back, tongue running across her bottom lip and chest pressed against her own. They only leave enough space for their hands — grabbing at each other recklessly, hands finding purchase where they can.

Their bodies shift against the bricks as she tugs at his belt buckle with newfound fervor, hearing the soft clink of it as she undoes it entirely. He mimics the action, going as far as to dip his hand inside, pressing against her underwear and the whine she lets out is swallowed up by his mouth. She pulls away to kiss at his cheek, leaning towards his ear.

“Don’t tease,” she huffs out, can feel him grinning against her neck as his fingers graze everywhere between her legs but where they need to be.

She slips her hand into his pants, feeling the hard heat of him against her palm — she presses down, just to make him grunt and tremble against her frame. “I said don’t tease.”

“Eager girl,” he mutters, a tease to the words, and she tries not to give away how much it affects her. The mess between her legs is indicative enough as he pushes the fabric to the side, runs his finger up and down her seam a couple times and she’s gasping.

Her lips press against his neck reflexively — open-mouthed kisses against his smooth skin. She catches a whiff of a fading perfume she doesn’t recognize; nothing like the Red Cross girls’ familiar scent. It makes her stomach twist in a weird way she doesn’t want to acknowledge, so she doesn’t.

She feels the first of his fingers press into her — long and defined, her muscles relaxing around the digit as he murmurs encouragement into her ear: let me in, there you go, that all for me? 

She noses at his pulse point, further tormenting herself with that weird mix of flowery perfume and his typical scent as her hand works past his underwear to wrap around his length properly. He swears as she squeezes and takes her time, dragging her hand up and down the silky smoothness of his cock.

“Viv,” he sounds wrecked already from a few twists of her hand, and that fact alone has her grinning and preening between heavy sighs as he works a second finger inside her, clenching around his digits as they move in and out her at an almost-languid face.

Her teeth graze against his neck and Bucky makes a throaty noise — a desperate Vivian. Pleading, fingers curling inside her. Like he needs her mark more than he needs oxygen, or whiskey, or all the pretty girls in London. So she bites hard, until she’s certain it’ll bruise, lathes over the spot with her tongue. His thumb presses against her clit firm, and she whines into his neck as he zeroes in on the spot.

“Like that?” he grunts. She nods her head furiously. “Words, baby.”

The endearment makes her heart hurt. She pushes it to the back of her mind.

“Like that,” she parrots in his ear. “Fuck. Keep going. I need—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs in a way that sounds properly sober. She greedily pulls him back in with every flex of his fingers, his cock pulsing in her hand with each twist of her wrist. Viv squeezes, watching his hips start to rock as he thrusts into the channel her wrist has made.

With each thrust, he presses against her clit and a spot inside her that has her whining raggedly into his neck. Her head’s swimming, hardly able to make any sense of his ramblings about how tight and warm she is, unable to answer when he asks if she knows how long he’s been thinking about this but grateful that he doesn’t stop when all she can answer with is a moan. He works quickly, and for once Viv is willing to let him do this: take her apart, put her back together, brand her body with his kisses against whatever skin he can find and squeezes of her breast, her hip.

If they can’t give each other anything else, they can have this.

“Bucky,” she gasps out. “I’m—”

“Not Bucky,” he grunts, a harsh thrust of his fingers accompanying the cutoff. “Don’t call me Bucky.” She huffs, lifting her head to look at him. Her eyes are so dark she could hardly tell if they were still blue.

“John,” she corrects, leaning forward to press her forehead back to his. “M’close, John. M’so close.”

His lips part and his eyes flutter shut as she lets her thumb brush across the weepy head of his cock, making a soft little moan.

“I’ll get you there,” he murmurs, “how d’you want it?”

“Faster. Please.”

“I’ll get you there, sweetheart,” she feels his fingers spread a little inside her — she’s crushing their lips together again to swallow the noises that would otherwise tumble freely from her lips as his fingers make a scissoring motion, pressing hard against her bundle of nerves. She’s only upright because of his body pressed against her, keeping her sandwiched between the wall and his frame, keeping her obscured from any onlooker if they tried to pause and discern who Major Egan was with.

Did the others call him John? Did he ask them to? Did he hide them just like this — let them keep a crumb of their modesty even as he took them apart? Did the girl in London take him apart like she is now, with teeth and rough hands, or were her palms just as soft as her flowery perfume?

The questions have her eyes stinging, so she shuts them and kisses him harder as her body starts to tremble, arm wrapping around his broad shoulders to press him impossibly closer. Selfishly so, to pretend for just a moment that he is hers and hers alone. That she’s one of those broken-in shelter dogs and not a stray tied up with a chain around her neck.

She makes a broken, throaty sound against his lips as she comes, and he squeezes her tight as he thrusts once, twice, three times before freezing up. His cock, slowly softening in her hand as they kiss each other. There’s a wet noise when they part again and she opens her eyes to look at him.

His cheeks are ruddy and flushed, black curls falling in front of his forehead as he looks down between them. His arm is still wrapped around her waist, solid and strong like he’s waiting for her trembling to subside. How does she tell him that it never will? That tomorrow her hands will shake during pre-flight check, and they will shake on the mission, and when they come back — if they come back.

His fingers slowly withdraw from the deepest parts of her, she pulls her hand from his pants and wipes whatever remnant of him is on it on the bricks behind her unceremoniously. Still, he presses a kiss between her brows and goes to tuck her shirt back in, to zip the fly and put her back together, saying nothing. She almost wishes he wouldn’t do it at all. There’re… things you’re supposed to do after this: questions to ask. How was that? and Are you okay? but they can’t bring themselves to say that. This, she figures, is meant to make up for that.

There’s a lot of things they don’t say. Maybe it’s better if they just keep it that way.

We’re a mess is all she can think about as his hands go to squeeze once at her hips, uncharacteristically silent. He’s looking at her and for the first time in a long time she can’t discern what the expression on his face is meant to convey. The furrowed brows, the softness there coupled with the grief inching its way back in. Maybe the girls in London don’t get this look from him — something so scarily synonymous with a raw wound that it has her wanting to stumble back.

Mending a wound is not something she knows how to do. She can only poke at its edges until it’s aggravated. Run her dirty hands along it until it’s infected and gone septic. That, she knows how to do — and he’s deserving of so much more than that. She doesn’t know if she regrets this yet, and maybe she’ll have that part sorted tomorrow.

She just knows that this is probably the last time it’ll ever happen and he’ll be better for it. Go through the rest of this knowing that the two of them have hit their ceiling — not because they wanted to, but because she’s just not equipped with the tools to help him break through it. Viv lets her arm fall from his shoulders, summoning the strength to stand on her own. She even goes through the effort of pushing one of those curls of his back into place and straightening out his tie so they’re both halfway decent.

“See you tomorrow,” is all Viv can manage now, as his grip loosens on her, too.

“Yeah,” he rasps, something tight in the way he agrees. He takes a step back.

She scurries off, further into the dark, nauseous over what could happen if he follows her this time.

[whxre-bxby]

i luv your writes so much! I haven't been able to read many fics these past weeks bc of work life ugh but im catching up AND LET ME TELL U YOUR FICS DON'T DISAPPOINT!!! (LIKE UR SMUTTY ONES HOLY COW🐄)

ANYWAY HAV A GOOD NIGHT HOHOHOHUHUHUHUUHEHEHE *FLIES AWAY*

i may or may not hav sent this while high ssshhhg

PLZ- glad you're feeling happy lmao

"Comfort of your Body"

Recom Mansk x Human f. Y/N

(Saw someone post these ducks and it's amazing)

A/N: it's getting way too warm and summery for my liking

Masterlist

Summary: Injured and tired Mansk returns to Bridgehead after the final battle. He finds his girlfriend Y/N in his room, waiting for him and needs her to distract him from the horrible mission. (1K special request from @emzerdoo)

WARNINGS: SMUT, fluff, angst, death, injuries, sub Mansk, dom Y/N, edging, blowjob, penetration, breeding kink, size difference

Word Count: 4415 (a bit shorter, I have so much to write)

Today’s mission had been exceptionally brutal for the recoms. Not that the mission had changed. They still had to hunt down and kill Jake Sully. But today, most of them didn’t make it back home. 

Mansk was one of the three who had survived today. Quaritch and Lyle had made it out of the battle alive too, but everyone was in a bad condition. 

Flying back on the Ikran was almost impossible because the Marines were so terribly exhausted. They had to wait a few hours for an aircraft to come and get them. 

Returning to base, they were all ordered to go to the medical centre immediately. Lyle needed it the most because he had a concussion after his rough fall on deck. Quaritch needed rest and quite frankly so did Mansk. That’s why Mansk refused to stay in the emergency room. He was too tired and still too shocked by the near-death experience that he couldn’t be around people now. He just needed his quiet, his bed and you. 

Before going to your room which was all he really wanted to do, he forced himself to go to the showers first. Every step of the way pained him and while under the water he was getting flashbacks of almost drowning in the wreckage. The memories made it difficult for him to stand still. The wounds as well. He hissed and flinched when the water came in contact with his open and fresh injuries until he couldn’t bare it anymore. He wanted to collapse into his bed and have you by his side because in what he thought were his last moments, he had to face the likelihood of never seeing you again. 

He had found some fresh clothes for himself which he put on while holding the blood-stained gear of today in his right hand. Mansk limped through the now eerily quiet hallways of the recom dorms. They were quiet now. Usually, the team would be constantly walking through them but now he was alone. There was no team. The remaining bits of it were suffering in the medical rooms. 

Finally, he reached his door. He stopped in front of it, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to gather himself. 

Whenever he would leave for a mission he would have to leave you behind. To comfort yourself, you found it helpful waiting in his room rather than yours. Not only was it bigger to fit him, but it smelled like him and he would often find you asleep in his bed when he would return. 

Today, I couldn’t sleep. Something felt off as I waited for my boyfriend Mansk to return. I was in his bed, sitting upright while I hugged his pillow and stared at the door. My eyes find the electronic clock which showed me that it was past midnight. The time worried me more. Mansk was never this late. They always returned before 9 or 10 pm so that everyone would be fit for the next day. 

The uncertain and uneasy concern was eating me alive as I waited for hours. Dreadful thoughts filled me, making me worry about whether something had happened to him. Maybe he was hurt or maybe he wasn’t even alive. Perhaps they were looking for him and that’s why it took the recom’s so long or perhaps none of them had made it back… 

I too had noticed, how quiet the hallway outside his room was. No one in his squad had returned. It made me sick to my stomach to think about what could have happened. 

My eyes occasionally teared up and I would bury my face into the pillow from time to time and inhale his scent. If I tried hard enough, it would seem like he was here with me. 

Suddenly I heard faint shuffling in the hall and it stopped right outside my door. For a few moments, there was just silence. 

Then I saw the door handle move and my heart stopped beating in anticipation. 

To my relief, Mansk stepped into the room and I noticed how his eyes searched for me. His body visibly relaxed when he saw me sitting on his bed. But he looked clearly exhausted and weakened.

“Mansk-” I say, immediately getting up and hurriedly walking over to him. His stressed gaze softened when he saw me and his ears drooped in relaxation as he gently nudged the door closed before kneeling down in front of me. 

We were roughly the same height now that he was on the ground and once he opened his large arms to me, I threw myself at him and buried my face in his shoulder while we hugged.

Mansk tightly wrapped his arms around me, holding me as close as possible to him. One of his hands rose and he cradled the back of my head. He pressed his face into the crook of my neck and kept it there for a few moments, inhaling my scent which would comfort him while I refused to unwrap my arms from around his neck. 

He was alive and okay. And mainly, we were together. 

After a few minutes, we slowly pull away from the hug but we don’t let each other go. I look up at him and he’s looking at me with watery eyes filled with sorrow, while his hands hold my body and caress my cheek.  

“I was worried…” I whisper, placing my smaller hand on top of his one which was resting on my cheek. We gaze at each other, never seeming to want to look away. 

“Me too…” he softly answered and I noticed how gruff his voice was even through the whisper. He must have been shouting a lot. 

“Are you okay?” I ask, scanning over him with worry in my eyes. 

He hesitates to answer for a second before he tenses and nods. “Yeah.” he breathily says. I can tell he only means physically okay even though I can see lots of scratches and bruises. 

“Oh, Mansk…” I sigh, cupping his cheeks into my palms. Seeing him so distraught made my heart break. His tired and sad eyes meet mine again and feel how his fingers tremble. 

“I’m so happy you’re here.” he whispers, pulling my head to his so that our foreheads are pressing against each other. I small smile forms on my lips and I hold onto him again while he calms down in my presence. 

“I’m happy to see you too.” I reply, softly. My hands gently hold him and I kiss him on the cheek before we look at each other again. 

“Let me take care of you.” 

His tired eyes open slightly wider than before and his ears perk forwards, granting me his attention. That offer sounds so good to him, Mansk can’t help but nod.

I take his large hand into both of mine and he slowly gets up and off the ground, following me to his bed. My plan is to relax him so that he could fall asleep easier. 

Mansk was a strong man, no doubting that. That applied to him both physically and emotionally. But this lifestyle takes a toll on everyone and it has its side effects. He would often become disassociated from reality and would be completely submerged in his thoughts. The thoughts and memories often haunted him, not letting him forget the gruesome images he has seen. That is also why Mansk would struggle to fall and stay asleep. Sometimes he would lay in bed for hours without being able to close his eyes properly. And even if he would manage to fall asleep due to exhaustion, he would dream of those burdening things and therefore never wakes up well rested. 

It really isn’t fair on him, so you try your best to help ease his problems. He once told you that your presence at night helps him sleep and stay calm. So sleeping in his room has become a pleasant and regular experience. 

Mansk sat down on the side, his soft gaze not leaving me as he watched me guide him. I could see through the faint smile on his lips that he was thankful. 

“Take them off, please.” I say with a smile, pointing at his sweatpants and top. Mansk listened without hesitation, removing his clothes so that he is only left in his underwear. This wasn’t the first time I would help him relax so he roughly knew how I liked to do it. Usually, I massage and worship his body in a way that has him drifting off to sleep. Small, gentle touches ease his pain and let him forget everything except for him and me. 

In the end, I lay on him and we fall asleep together.

Mansk enjoys being close to you and feeling your warm skin pressed against his. Ever since he met you, he’s been feeling better all around. His nights aren’t as long and torturous and his days are brighter. He’s told you before, even if you wave it off, he knows he wouldn’t have been able to hold on and stay strong for as long as he is if he were alone. 

Mansk lay down on the bed, letting his heavy head fall back into the soft pillow. The rest of his body weakly slumped into the mattress. 

He was looking forward to seeing you all day, he would have been all fidgety and antsy if he weren’t so tired. 

I climb onto the bed with him and straddle his waist with a smile on my face. I hovered above his upper waist because otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to reach his face. He was already melting against me. I loved how easily I could maneuvre him. 

My hands trailed up and down his torso, making small shivers erupt from him. The size difference between us made things more interesting and apparently my small hands felt nice. He just needed small and gentle touches so I traced his stripes and drew circles around the small specks of luminescent light in his pretty blue skin. 

Occasionally, my eyes would return to scan over his face and when I notice that his eyes are fluttering closed and his breathing is faint, I feel better about what I’m doing. His body was still and not a single muscle was strained or tense. 

I felt such love for him I couldn’t hold back on worshipping him more, so I leaned forward and started placing gentle kisses along his torso. I don’t usually do this so it took Mansk by surprise and his eyes opened to watch me before he lay his head back and hummed in approval. His eyes close once more so he can focus on the feeling but the darkness brings back the distressing images of his mission. Quickly, they open once more and I notice the small jump and the fast action. 

I stop and sit up, looking at him in worry. Was he in pain or did I do something to make him flinch?

“Are you alright?” I ask, placing a palm on his chest to comfort him. Mansk inhales deeply before sighing and rubbing his eye. 

“Yeah- sorry.” his quiet and tired voice replies. 

“Don’t apologise.” I say, scooting closer and rubbing a soothing circle over his tattoo. He nods a little, running the hand over his face and taking a deep breath. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, leaning onto him. 

I notice his sad eyes staring at the ceiling before they meet mine. 

“No…” he whispers. Mansk wasn’t the person to talk about things. I told him it was unhealthy and he really was getting better, but I knew that there were certain things he has to go through that he prefers not to tell me. Mainly so that I don’t have to be burdened by the violent images like he is. 

I stay quiet for a while, thinking about what to do but then Mansk breaks the silence. 

“I just- I need to think about somethin’ else.” he says, tilting his head to lock eyes with me. I tilt mine to the side, wondering what he means. 

“I want to think about you.” Mansk adds and his words surprise me. I catch on to what he’s saying. He wants to be distracted by me, from his mission. 

“If it will make you feel better…” I say, leaning forward so that my face is above his. 

“It will.” he reassures me, raising a hand and soothingly cupping my face. “Please.” 

I can’t say no when he begs and asks so nicely. A smile forms on my lips, informing him that I’m agreeing to his plea. His hand suddenly grows firm on my cheek and his long fingers reach the back of my head. He then pulls my face down to his and presses our lips together. 

It had been a few days since I saw him last, so I missed the warm feeling of his kiss. 

Mansk was eager to continue it, not wanting it to end. I understood that this helped him forget his worries so I wanted it to last longer too. 

My hands once again roamed his chest and I started tracing my fingers over his muscles, slowly reaching his abs. I broke the kiss to move lower down his body so that I could kiss his flexed and toned stomach. He wasn’t happy about the loss of contact but he let me do what I wanted. 

My lips softly pressed against his skin, making his breathing hitch as he watched me work my way down his huge torso. I smiled up at him before sticking the tip of my tongue out and trailing it over his ab muscles which tensed even more at the touch. 

I took my time, wanting him to know I appreciated him. While focusing on his slim waist, I sit back on him and my movements faltered for a second when I hear Mansk whimper. My eyes shoot up to his face and I notice the faint blush on his cheeks and the way his ears wilt to the sides. Then I look back at me, noticing I sat on his crotch. A grin paints my face and I grind down against him, watching him suck in a swift breath through clenched teeth. I can also feel him slowly hardening under me. 

“Aw, you feeling good?” I ask him in a teasing manner. He nods, staring at my lower half that’s sitting on him. 

“Please, Y/N.” he breathes out and his hands slide up my thighs but I gently push them away. 

“No touching. Just lay back.” I whisper, slowly pushing his chest back down into the mattress. Mansk doesn’t fight it and listens, letting his body fall back. 

If he needs a long distraction I’ll give him one. 

My fingertips graze his skin again, softly tickling his blue body. I could tell that his senses had heightened through his building arousal. Mansk’s heartbeat increased and his breath became heavier and deeper. He lost his rhythm of breathing due to occasionally gasping when I could nibble and kiss his now sensitive skin. 

Slowly, I dip my fingers beneath the waistband of his underwear, slowly tugging it down inch for inch. Mansk shudders beneath me and slightly lifts his waist up, eagerly wanting me to hurry. But I won’t. 

However, I do comply with stripping down his last bit of clothing, pulling it down his legs and throwing it on the floor next to the bed. 

He exhales in a form of relief. Apparently, clothes get uncomfortable and feel restricting on Na’vi when they are aroused. So Mansk preferred to always take everything off which I thought was funny because he would spend his days completely covered in long sleeves and pants. 

“God you look so good-” I breathe out, running my flattened palms up his thighs. He sighs in enjoyment and I notice his blush return. I feel over his v-line, before resting my hands right next to where he’s desiring my touch most. 

My eyes once again meet his and he’s lovingly staring at me. His eyes are soft and half-lidded and his lips are lightly parted. 

“Do you want me to touch you?” I ask, making his ears twitch. 

“Yeah-” he breathes out, locking his eyes on my hand which was daringly close to his crotch. 

“How bad?” I ask, wanting to push all the begging out of him. 

“Please, don’t tease.” he asks, looking at me with pleading eyes. I can see how tired and desperate he is, so I was going to spare him. 

“Okay, okay.” I say with a smile, gently wrapping my hand around him. At least I attempt to wrap it around him. My fingertips don’t reach, there is a small space separating them. 

Mansk shakily exhales as I slowly stroke him. I move my body in between his legs, kneeling in the space between his knees while my hands work and warm him up. 

His head drops back down into the pillows and he lets me take complete control. 

I lower my face down to his level. At this point in our relationship I know the things he loves, so I do my best to pleasure him. 

I nuzzle my face against the side of his shaft, kissing along his warm skin. 

Mansk’s mouth drops open and his eyes flutter closed. 

I stick my tongue out, licking a sloppy stripe from his base to the tip of his dick. His skin is speckled with goosebumps as I do so. 

I swirl my tongue around his tip, hearing a small groan escape him. 

Continuing my work, I move back down and lick over his balls, cupping them with my free hand while stroking him with the other. 

“Shit-” he sighs. Mansk’s tail is excitedly thudding against the mattress. 

I switch it up again, kissing my way to the top of his now almost fully erect dick. My lips wrap around his tip and I lightly suck on it while Mansk balls up his fists and groans in pleasure. Even just the tip has my mouth filled. 

“Feels so good.” he whines, clenching his eyes closed.

I can taste the precum on my tongue as it mixes with my saliva. Then I feel Mansk lightly buck his hips up and I get the message.

I open my mouth wider and start to slowly take more of him into my mouth, each time I bob my head. 

Small grunts escape his lips as he raises his head and fights the urge to thrust up into me again. 

Every time Mansk gets close to cumming I stop my movements, just kissing the skin of his abdomen until he’s calmed down before riling him up again. He wanted to forget about his problems so I would make sure of that. 

It’s becoming messy and sloppy. Mansk has a death grip on the pillow, refusing to let go because he doesn’t want to force you further down him. He is amazing at holding back and letting you take control of him. 

Sweat is rolling down his forehead and his skin is glistening and moist from it. His veins were bulging out of his skin and all his muscles are flexed as he tries his best to stay still and lay down while you edge him for probably the fourth time. 

He was whimpering, begging me to let him cum but I wasn’t going to let him cum like this. I knew he enjoyed this and I was simply trying to prolong his pleasure. 

“Y/N, please-” he chokes out. His eyes have become glossy and his dick is pulsing because it’s so painfully hard. 

“Not yet, baby. Hold on.” I smile at him, cleaning off the sticky pre cum that dripped down his shaft and all over my hand. 

He hisses through his clenched jaw, trying his absolute best not to spill and I decide that I’ve pushed him enough. 

My hands leave him and I lick my fingers clean while he watches me with wide eyes. 

“Take it off.” I say, motioning to my silky nightgown. Mansk never needs to be told twice. His large hands are on me in seconds. Even despite the skin on them being rough, he manages to gently push the thin straps off my shoulder, letting the thin material fall to my knees. 

I smile at him, pleased with how well he is cooperating. Mansk doesn’t even see the smile because he’s staring at my naked body in adoration. 

“I’ll give you what you want now.” I say, letting my smile turn into a grin. 

His big ears come to life again, perking forwards and his lust-blown eyes meet mine. Mansk literally cannot wait. 

I move back to his waist, straddling his trembling body once again. This time I’m not kneeling but squatting above him. He’s so bewildered and desperate that he stares and watches with a flushed face and perked ears. 

One of my hands rests on his abdomen to steady myself. The other reaches for his throbbing and saliva-covered dick, angling it to meet my now wet pussy. Playing with him turns me on, I count it as my foreplay. 

I press his tip against my slick heat and he groans words and curses I don’t understand. He’s too pussy drunk already to talk. 

I rub him through my folds, humming in approval to myself before focusing on touching my clit with him. 

Mansk’s hands are once again digging into the pillow and his head is thrown back. He can’t take the torture much longer. 

Without further warning, I decide to give him what he needs and what I now want. I line him up with my entrance and let myself sink down comfortably until his tip is engulfed by me completely. 

“Fuckin’ hell- Y/N…” he moans, needing to prop himself up on his forearms to watch me.

He was much larger than me and if I placed his huge cock on top of my body, the tip reached the beginning of my ribcage. I was never able to take all of him and never will be but I was able to bare the pain of having most of him inside me. 

I move up on him before sinking down a little more. My eyes clench closed as I flinch at the slight stretch but I know it is only temporary. 

I look back at him, watching how he’s fighting himself again to not buck up into me. Mansk knows it hurts me and he feels bad about it. It took me a lot of persuading to tell him that I enjoy sex with him. Now, he lets me do what I need to do and won’t dare touch, push or move me without my consent. 

“You’re so good to me.” I whisper, drowsily smiling again. He loved and needed praise. I knew he took it to heart, so I helped him feel better about himself. 

“You can touch now.” 

His eyes light up and I nod to reassure him. He was so big I would get tired quickly while riding him. 

Mansk’s large hands release the pillow and he closes them around my waist after running them over my bare chest. I put my hand on top of one of his and nod again, allowing him to move me. He needed his pleasure much more than me so he could get it now. It was well earned. 

I also happened to enjoy seeing Mansk lift me so effortlessly up and down him. 

He supported my movements, making it easier for me to ride him. Mansk was sitting up now and I held onto his shoulders while he thrust me down on him. 

“So tight-” he groaned, his hot breath fanning against the top of my head. 

His ears were pinned back in pleasure and he had his fangs bared as he concentrated on chasing his high. 

He was so sensitive from all the edging I had put him through, I could tell he is close. 

I want us to cum together so I reach down between our wildly different bodies and rub my clit. His eyes open and he watches with his jaw lightly hanging open. 

Mansk always grew weak when you touched yourself. It was a sight that would instantly turn him on. Whether you were naked or were doing it over your clothes didn’t matter, Mansk adored seeing you please yourself. 

That’s also why he moaned and his hips stuttered. 

“Y/N- I’m gonna cum-” he hissed, needing to let go now otherwise he would become an even bigger desperate mess. 

“Let go, baby, I want to feel it inside me.” I manage to say through heavy breaths. He groans at my requests and I feel his dick twitch inside me. 

Suddenly, I’m being pulled down against him faster than before and Mansk starts desperately fucking up into me. I can feel his cum explode and shoot deep inside me and the feeling of it makes me moan and throw my head back. Within seconds I’m cumming too and Mansk rides out both our orgasms until our quivering and trembling bodies fall against each other. 

His arms are around my waist, holding me close to his chest and his head rests on top of mine as we both calm our heavy pants. 

“Thank you…” he whispers, tipping his head down and kissing my forehead. 

“You don’t need to thank me, Mansk. I love you.” I say, looking up at him. 

“Love you too, baby.” Mansk whispers, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. 

He gives me a tired smile before helping me gently get off him. His cum flows down the insides of my thighs but I don’t mind it. Mansk loves the sight of it but he cleans it with a tissue for my comfort.

We’re both so tired now that Mansk just falls back into the bed and I fall with him. 

He was happy to be back with you in a safe space where he could forget everything except for the things that made him happy. Your presence had calmed him and he was able to fall asleep quickly, but only after making sure you were already asleep. His dreams won’t haunt him tonight. And that’s thanks to you.

Tag List: @numarusworld @ikranwings @jatwow @number1gal @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

[dearsnow]

CHERRY SMILE (1)

- it’s your after-school tradition to get slushies with your best friend, patrick verona, on fridays, and the friday of the summer before senior year is no different. (patrick verona x fem!reader, part of the summer before senior year series)

word count: 2,206

TSBSY: School is finally out for the summer, leading you to discover all that the sunny months have in store for you and your best friend, Patrick Verona.

a/n - i know, i know, it’s practically fall now ��� i started this early in summer and just now finished it. I hope you enjoy anyways!

The school bell rings, loud and deafening and freeing as you turn to look at your best friend. Patrick shoots you a grin as everyone in class rises from their seats. You can hear hoots and hollers from the hallways, almost overtaking the sound of the bell. It’s finally time, and every single person knows it- even the teachers, secretaries, everyone in the building. You get up as quickly as physically possible and grab his sleeve, leading him out into the crowded halls. Feeling your gentle pull, he smiles. The bright hall lights are glinting off of the ring you stole from him. School is out for the year, and this summer, the summer before your senior year, is bound to be a great one.

“Excited to get out of here, huh?” Patrick asks, speaking directly into your ear to be heard above the roaring crowd. His breath fans over your neck, sending a shiver careening down your spine. 

“Everyone is.” You reply, grinning. “I assume you’re no different, despite skipping like half of the school year.” He shakes his head in disbelief, a smile gracing his face.

“No, I love school! I love all the assignments and the work and the amazing, wonderful teachers. Why would you ever assume I dislike my favorite thing in the world?” He bats his eyelashes, tone so sweetly sarcastic you could drown flies in it. You scoff, letting go of his jacket to push him playfully. He is the least likely person to ever enjoy anything about school. He pretends to stumble as a giggle bubbles out of your mouth. God, you love this idiot.

The front doors of Padua High are wide open as everyone pushes and shoves to get out. “Oh, of course. My sincere apologies, I forgot how academically inclined you are.” He laughs, the sound so very warm and familiar above the buzzing students next to you. You don’t know what it is about his laugh, but it draws you in. It’s intoxicating and rough, like the smell lingering on his hoodies. You can firmly say that it’s your favorite laugh in the world. 

You step out into the open air, breathing a sigh of relief. It’s over now. Patrick puts his hands on your shoulders, leading you to a path you know all too well. “C’mon, let’s get going before everyone else has the same idea as us.”

It was almost halfway through freshman year when you were called into the front office. That day was an unassuming Friday, and certainly one you expected to go smoothly. You wiped your palms on the bottom of your shirt as you made your way up there, desperately hoping you weren’t in trouble. As you opened the office doors nervously, the lady at the front desk smiled at you.

“Hi, sweetie. Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Her words took a massive load off of your shoulders. If not that, you thought, then what else? You look up as she walks to stand by a boy around your age. He was tall, with curly hair and a face that told you to stay far away from him. He didn’t look the least bit thrilled to be there. “This is Patrick. He’s a new student at Padua, and I would like you to show him around as you walk to your classes.”

You stared at him, and he stared back. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at the lady.

“I don’t need a tour.” He stated, eyes flickering over to yours for a moment. You looked away- his every move seems to burn a hole into your soul. You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to lead him around either.

She smiled kindly and put a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off. “Nonsense. It’ll be good for both of you. Go,” She ushered him towards you, “and make sure to be on your best behavior.” She winked, opening the door. “I better not see either of you in this office again today.”

“Thank God.” He muttered under his breath. You laughed, nerves at a high now that you were practically alone with him. As alone as you could be in a hallway full of people. There was a beat of silence as you both stood there.

“So, uh, is there anything you want to see first?” You asked.

“Nope.” He said. “I just want to get through the day.” You get it far more than he could ever imagine. You’re a good student, and you always have been, but that doesn’t mean you love school and schoolwork and everything that comes with it.

You smiled lightly. “I know the feeling.” His eyes widened just a little, enough to give you enough confidence to carry on. “What’s your class schedule?”

He shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. “They’re giving it to me on Monday. This is just my free trial.” There was a spark of humor in his eyes, one that you picked up on quickly. “Is there anything good in this shithole?” His question made you think for a moment. What about school actually made you want to keep going? The threat of college or the campus itself? No, not the campus. Padua kind of was a shithole. Some classes could be fun, but not in a way that made anything worth it. You opened your mouth as you settled on one final answer.

“Friends, if you have them.” They can make everything more bearable. He looked at you, almost rolling his eyes. 

“Well, lead on.” He said, gesturing to the hallway. “Might as well see the classes I have a chance of failing.” You laughed, and for the first time, you saw him smile. The first thing you noticed is how his smile reached his eyes, giving you a glimpse into the whirlwind that is Patrick Verona. You haven’t looked back since.

You sip your slushie slowly, the red ice melting in your mouth and running down your throat; it tastes just a little bit like cough medicine, but not enough to get you to stop drinking it.

It’s the last summer you’re going to be spending in your hometown, the last summer before you graduate, and the last summer you’re going to have with your best friend. You need to make the most of it, if anything. You turn to Patrick with a cherry smile.

“Summer, huh?” He looks at you as you speak, setting his slushie down on the curb where you’re sitting. You’ve gone to the 7-11 near school with him every Friday since the day he moved here, and you’re not going to stop now. School got out maybe two hours ago, and there is no better place to spend it than with him. He squints, as your face is outlined by the slowly setting sun. It shines through your hair, casting the strands in a heavenly glow.

He shifts his gaze to the street ahead of you, weirdly flustered. “Yeah. Summer.”

“What are we even going to do with all this free time?” You ask, shifting back onto your palms. The sky is the brightest blue you have ever seen, though you don’t know if it just seems like it because you’re finally free. “This is the last step between us and senior year. Then before you know it, I'll be off on my internship next June and then college after that. You’ll be doing your mechanics thing, and we probably won’t see each other again. This is it...” A pang of sadness runs through your heart as you trail off. You never thought of it in that way before. You’re leaving Patrick Verona behind, and everything you have ever known as well. Your hometown, your family, even the stupid little 7-11. It’s like a leap of faith. In one year, everything will change. You’re not entirely sure it will be for the better.

“Wow, look at you acting so smart. You don’t think I can get into college?” He scoffs with a teasing gleam in his eye. He knows he can’t, but any humor is better than seeing your wistful little frown on a day like this.

You roll your eyes. “If you applied yourself for once, I’m sure you could. But you don’t need a degree to do what you want to do.”

Even though he’s not going to have a formal education past high school, he knows what he’s going to do for a living. He’s sure of it, as sure as he has been since he first started tinkering with cars. You, of course, can’t decide. There are so many paths to pursue, so many options that you can’t seem to choose the best one- if there even is a “best one”.

“Applying yourself in school is like killing your happiness every sentence at a time.” Patrick groans. “It’s summer now, girlie. Focus on something more enjoyable for the time being.” As always, he’s right. Everything is changing, but for now, you can push it to the back of your mind. Today, you’re just two kids enjoying what could very well be the best summer of their lives.

You sit up fully. The birds to the trees on your left are chirping, and the teens in the 7-11 to your right are laughing. It is a perfect day. There are no clouds in the sky, and the air actually smells fresh, like newly-cut grass and warm pavement. It reminds you of the afterglow of the day you met Patrick.

As he followed you from class to class, you learned that he was funny. Cynical and nihilistic, yes, but funny. He was quickly identified as a loner, a joker, and an all-around dirty-minded dickhead, but you couldn’t help but notice that he opened up to you. In a couple hours, he had transformed from the classic teenage rebel to someone you truly felt like you could get along with. Looking back on it, you realized that he changed a lot during his time with you. He went from blowing you off to purposely doing dumb things to make you laugh. His interactions with other people, however, left something to be desired. He straight up ignored the students that tried to talk to him, amusing you to no end. If they didn’t stop pestering him, he would tell them to “fuck off” with a grin. He never did that to you, you noticed. He had probably decided that having one person on his side was better than nothing.

By your last period, there were already rumors circulating him and his gruff attitude. You would catch glimpses of whispers in the halls, and he would shoot you a knowing wink. You decided right then and there that you would be his friend.

“Do you want to go to the 7-11 around the corner after school?” You asked, looking up at the clock. There were two minutes between you and leaving school for the weekend.

He shrugged. “I have nothing better to do.” He had a tiny smile on his face, and you suddenly noticed how handsome he was. You shook off the thought as your face started to warm.

The trip took barely any time at all, with Patrick making comments the whole way. Some of them were beginning to sound flirty, you realized, though you tried to not pay attention to it. You had only known the guy for a day.

When you stepped inside, the cold air made you shiver. The clerk looked at you suspiciously, as he was more than likely instructed to do. You supposed that he couldn’t simply let teenagers walk freely in the store. You messed around in that store, joking about weird-sounding product names and the shelves and shelves of “diabetes in a package”. You honestly don’t remember much of what you talked about. The only thing that is clear in your mind is grabbing slushies with him. Yours was cherry.

“Do you remember your first day here?” You ask. He gazes at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“Yeah. Dumb school, dumb people.”

“Hey!” You interject, pretending to be offended.

“You know I could never mean you.” He scowls. “Now, let me finish. “Dumb classes. Not-so-dumb 7-11 trip.” He gestures towards the 7-11. “It wasn’t the worst day I’ve ever had.” You poke his shoulder, and he reaches out to mess up your hair. You laugh, and feeling his hand on the top of your head, you close your eyes for a brief moment. In that moment, you are safe. Feeling this way, this comfort, is commonplace with him. His touch shoots a feeling of warmth shooting through your veins.

“It was pretty great in my opinion.” You offer softly. “I’m forever grateful for Ms. Sarah the office secretary.” He snickers at that, touching the space over his heart.

“She will forever be my favorite adult in that hellscape.” He takes a pause, slinging an arm around your shoulder. For a reason unknown to you, your heart picks up its pace. “Let’s stop talking about school. There’s too much to do now, anyways.”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “This summer needs to be the best one we’ve ever had.”

Taglist: @skeletonfromthecloset

[cheeriecherrymain]

I was thinking of a request involving lipstick kiss stains? I find that shit adorable

I made it slightly less adorable by making it a wee bit angsty whoops (if anyone wants it I might write more)

---

Viktor x fem!Reader (18+)

-When Viktor wakes that morning, it’s not to the sound of his alarm, like he had expected.

-No, instead of an incessant bell ringing in his ears, startling him out of sleep so badly that he nearly flies off the bed, he…wakes slowly. The world is muffled around him, warm and hazy, a little patch of sun creeping through the drawn blinds to slowly toast him.

-And the more he rouses, the more he hears. A distant chirping of birds, the din of the city dulled by a closed window. And, of course, the slow, shallow breathing of another person beside him.

-The weight of an arm thrown across his waist.

-It takes him a couple seconds to remember last nights’ events, worrying for a brief moment that he might have brought a stranger home in some kind of drunken haze. But…he hadn’t.

-He’d brought you home.

-His dazzling assistant, so hardworking and kind - efficient in all the work you do and always coming up with the simplest solutions to the most complicated problems. You’ve been an absolute gift to have around the lab, from doing menial tasks like copying notes or fetching lunch, all the way to outright helping design and build HexTech experiments.

-And he’d brought you home with him.

-He’d been entirely lost the prior evening, out of place among the groups of rich patrons and sponsors. Jayce had wanted him there, to help him feel out which families they might be able to get funding from, but…it had been somewhat of a disaster.

-Despite him being one half of HexTech’s creators, no one paid him any mind: he usually preferred it that way. He could work easier if he wasn’t always worrying about what other people thought of him. But he was entirely useless to his partner in such a form, and he had promised that he’d stay for the duration of the event.

-He figured if he couldn’t leave, he might as well indulge himself.

-You’d found him about an hour into the party, after you’d shown up fashionably late. You were a bit like him, in the sense that you weren’t drawn to a crowd - you weren’t a natural at public speaking, even though you were good at it. You didn’t know every social rule and faux pas that would allow you to easily navigate and manipulate the general population.

-He’d been three sheets to the wind when you’d located him and promptly sat down beside him. Happily whispering that you were happy he’d come, because now you had someone to spend the time with.

-He doesn’t remember much after that. You’d tried to convince him to switch to water instead of alcohol, but in the end he’d turned the tables on you. It hadn’t taken much pressing, if any at all - he’d only so much as mentioned a lime shot and you’d requested one, wanting to try it for yourself.

-And then you’d…you’d…

-He frowns a bit, staring up at the ceiling. He can’t quite remember - not entirely.

-He recalls being on a balcony at one point, laughing harder than he had in years. Leaning against you while the two of you whispered to each other and made a general ruckus.

-He remembers leaving the party…or perhaps getting kicked out? He’s not sure. But he remembers stumbling waywardly forwards, leaning heavily on both you and his cane, while you attempted to steer the two of you towards your apartment.

-It was some kind of miracle that the two of you hadn’t fallen headfirst into something.

-And then he remembers the smell of your home, when he first stumbled in through the door. The distant scent of spices commonly used in cooking, rich and hearty and pleasant.

-And after that….

-There are only flashes of memory - still images ingrained in his mind.

-The feeling of his lips on yours. The squish of your hips beneath his fingertips. 

-And you, dropping to your knees in front of him. The delicious picture of your soft, blood-red lips wrapped around his cock. He remembers swaying into your bedroom, pulling you down onto the mattress with him, the both of you giggling madly while your mouths found each others’ again and again.

-And oh, the sounds you’d made. The way you’d squeezed around him, hot and wet and begging him to fuck you deeper. And him, whispering sweet words to you, in a tongue you didn’t understand.

-Telling you how beautiful you were, how good you were for him, how all he’s ever wanted was you. “Miluji tě,” he’d groaned, as you’d both found your release.

-Miluji tě.

-I love you.

-You hadn’t known the significance of those words, when he’d uttered them. And even more than that, you didn’t understand how wholly and truly he’d meant them. 

-He extracts himself from your grip very slowly, making sure to stay carefully quiet as to not wake you. He was probably the last person you wanted to see so early in the morning - your boss, whom you’d gotten drunk with the night before and then enthusiastically slept with.

-He pulls on his clothing from last night, buttoning everything as hastily as he can without alerting you to his presence. You stir a couple of times, sighing in your sleep or rolling over, but never once do your eyes open. Never once does he have to shamefully explain to you why he was still there.

-He casts one more longing glance at you, willing the image to stay in his mind forever - of you, sleeping peacefully, with your mussed hair and perfect, relaxed face, your lips smooshed into the barest of pouts.

-And then, silent as ever, he sneaks out of your home and begins the journey back to his own. He garners a couple of stares on the trek, but he pays them no mind - he must be a sight, after all. Unkempt and messy, so very obviously returning from an evening of something regretful.

-He doesn’t regret it.

-Even when he gets home, and realizes why he’d gotten so many stares and little smiles, he doesn’t regret it.

-He could never regret the way your lipstick stains his throat and the collar of his shirt.

[jesussavemenow11]

Winter's the Only Season // Smosh

Pairing- Amanda Lehan-Canto // Fem!Reader

Warnings- I don’t think any but if there is let me know and I will add them!

SO MUCH FLUFFY STUFF

NO USE OF Y/N

Word count- 1716

Summery- You love your close friends and family, especially when it comes time for the excitement of winter parties and feasts. But ever since your childhood best friend moved away, it’s never quite felt the same. 

 Winter’s in Boston are brutal, always have been brutal, will most likely always be brutal. From the wind to the constant snowfall. And don’t get me started on the irritable individuals that live in this city. I have a big family, they all come together during the big holidays like Christmas. It’s nice to have them all together. Friends and neighbors will get together and enjoy one another's company in the many parties my parents throw. The nights get rowdy and drinks get shared along with secrets about anyone and everyone. The moms gravitate to one side of the room, while the dads crowd to the other. 

It’s been this way since I was a kid. But ever since Amanda moved away, things haven’t been the same. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy she got out of this god forsaken city, but I can’t help but be devastated with the truth of her not being around anymore. Amanda and I grew up as neighbors, our moms being highschool friends and our dads being forced to enjoy one another's company, and the constant playdates since we were babies, we couldn’t help falling into some sort of friendship. Amanda really only comes back into town for the winter excitement, due to her moms constant nagging and begging for her to at least visit during Christmas. Though I see her yearly, I still crave the day she flies back in and everything would feel normal and at peace again. Today was that day.

I drove home yesterday, returning back to the house I grew up in. I went through the typical emotional greetings. Now I sit by the window, picking at the loose fabric on the cuff of my jeans, waiting oh so impatiently for Amanda to show up once more. It had been a full year since I last saw her, hugged her, felt her arms wrap around me and smelled her signature honey and tea tree perfume. 

My mom walked into the living room, a wooden spoon in hand, she sighed contently at me perched by the window. “Oh, honey.” She giggled slightly. “Hm?” I hummed back, not daring to move my eyes away from the view of the end of the street. “She’ll get here soon, I promise!” My mother tried reassuring me. 

“While you wait, why don’t you help Cindy and I in the kitchen?” She said as she returned to the kitchen. 

I rolled my eyes, my impatients eating away at me. The anticipation for Amanda to get here was killing me. I didn’t want to miss her arrival, but I also would feel awful If I didn’t go help my mom. So reluctantly I left my spot in front of the window, making my way to the kitchen. Immediately I was hit with the smell of warm rolls, turkey keeping warm in the oven and many other yearly feasts. My dad stood beside the fridge complaining to Cindy about how my mom won’t let him cook the turkey anymore because last year he cooked it for too long and my mom sent him out to get something else. 

“She’s never Cooked the Turkey Cindy!” My dad complained, throwing his arms up, to an annoyed Cindy who stood chopping veggies while my nephew sorted them on a platter beside her. “I know Scott, but you have to have more faith in your own wife.” Cindy reassured the man. 

I tried squeezing past the two, not sneaky enough though, my dad stopped me saying, “Candy! Help your dad out, tell your mom she has nothing to worry about.” I rolled my eyes at my frazzled father. “No thanks daddio, I don’t want to get caught up in between you and moms arguments.” I responded. My dad shook his head and mumbled under his breath. I reached over my nephew grabbing some celery. “We aren’t arguing, just bickering!” My mom giggled and patted my dads back. 

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to be a part of it. Dad please stop calling me Candy, I turned 34 this year, It’s not the same.” I said through a mouth full of celery. “Not the same as what?” He said as I squeezed past him. “As when you were 33?” I went to glare at him until I heard the front door open and a screech from my mom. “Amanda’s home!!” She shouted. 

I practically threw my celery on the counter, sprinting to the front of the house. I looked out the window to see Amanda and her dad getting out of their car. My heart picked up, my excitement bubbling in my stomach and to my chest. Suddenly I felt sweaty and out of breath. I ran to the front door pushing it open. There she was, her hair up in a low pony-tail to be out of her face. She wore a ‘Smosh’ hoodie and blue jeans. She stretched as she got out of the car. Her long limbs reaching for the sky. I took in her beauty, even from here she was flawless. I have liked every part of her for so long, she was back home. She had let her hair grow out since I last saw her, her bangs longer and her skin seemed so tan compared to the falling snow. 

I ran off the porch and straight into her, wrapping my arms around her neck. She stumbled back slightly, the impact startling her. Once she regained her balance, she wrapped her arms around me. I immediately melted into her embrace, she lifted me off the ground just barely to emphasize the love poured into the hug. This hug was shared yearly, typically on the same day, and nearly always at the same spot. Yet every time it feels so fresh and new. Amanda means the world to me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing her again. This moment right here, her hugging me, the faint feeling of her lips secretly pushed to my neck, the scent of her floating around us, my chest pounding with content, this moment was an unwritten law. We were to share this moment last year, this year, and the many years to come. 

~~~~

  Hours passed since Amanda returned home, the sun had set by now and we had all enjoyed dinner around the table. Per usual Amanda and I sat side by side. Her hand squeezed my knee from time to time under the table. I sat back and let the others reunite with her as I admired her from afar. My favorite is watching her play card games with some of the family and friends. The pure passion she has for winning, I love when she gets so into it she will start screaming and slamming her cards down in anger. Her and my dad will get into full blown arguments about what play was wrong and how the other is cheating. She’ll point at him and say: “How is that cheating?!” As he accuses her of a perfectly out of hand play. At the end of it all I will remind them both they forget rules way to easily. 

Now, the both of us sit in the living room, wine glasses in our hands, and the bottle that I stole from the kitchen, stands on the floor just close enough to reach when either of us needs a quick refill. Everyone else either already went home or still sat chatting in the dining room out of sight, we could still hear them though, their loud banter and the faint christmas records creating a gentle ambience. 

I shared a gentle moment of peace with Amanda, just the two of us in the living room on Christmas eve night. She took a sip from her wine, I watched her lips as she did so, so delicate, so soft. Her eyes shimmered in the light of the Christmas tree. 

“How has work been?” I asked, really just using it as an excuse to hear her talk again. She shrugged. “Pretty good.” She started, her voice raspy from all of her shouting. “The fans seem to be taking a liking to our long story series stuff so we’re doing a lot of that lately.” 

I nodded along listening to her every word. “I think they have been taking a good liking to you!” I pointed at her, wine glass still in hand. She quickly shook her head, but I could see a small blush cover her face. “I mean I can’t blame them!” I giggled. 

“Oh please!” Amanda rolled her eyes. “Yeah I’m a real hot commodity!” She laughed with me. Our fit of giggles fading slowly into the background noise. “I really missed you.” I said suddenly, my heart skipping a beat when she looked over to me, her smile lingering on her face. “I always miss you.” She replied. 

A silence fell over us once more, I couldn’t help but admire her. “You stare a lot.” She said, “You have a very stare-worthy face.” I replied quickly. Her smile dropped, and I inched forward, I had been waiting to feel this again, was the the moment? 

“You too.” She replied before leaning the rest of the way.

I kissed her, slow and tender. She returned the gentle kiss, treating me as if I were made of the finest marble and she didn’t dare make a scratch. I pushed deeper into the kiss, wanting to live in the moment all the time. Wanting to have her during all seasons, I want to have her near me everyday. I don’t want to wait for that one time of year that she comes home and I only get her for two weeks. I loved these two weeks, but I also despised them because I knew at the end I would have to say goodbye again. 

I knew that at the end she would go back to California and I would go back to my 9-5, as I counted down the days of her return. Winter was the only season we could be together.

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I hope you enjoy this, this is my first EVER smosh fic. I hope you like it, leave critics and requests I am open to anything. I used to be a huge fanfic writer but haven't done it in a while so I'm a little rusty. Love you all!! - DOT

[milimeters-morales]

gonna start posting completed chapters from my transfem miles fic (Becoming Myself In Truth) on here for fun :3 this is the first chapter

Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter 5 / Chap 6 / Chap 7 / Chap 8 / Chap 9

Wordcount: 4k+

Pairings: Milesganke, not the focus. Every other relationship in this entire fic is platonic and/or familial.

Warnings: References to Underaged Smoking (Not Miles)

When Scorpion shows up, freshly broken out of prison and with a newer, more hateful outlook on life, Miles isn’t in the mood. He just got out of school, yet he can’t even get five minutes before someone attacks him.

So, when the stinger manages to pierce his arm when he gets too close, Miles goes from “not in the mood” to “really not in the mood” and “ow that hurts” and “about to throw up” in a matter of seconds. Scorpion is his one of least favorite villains for a reason. Anyway, he needed to stop him like, yesterday.

It’s easy when Miles is rushing and using a bit more force than usual, because he really needs to get somewhere safe soon, and in no time at all Miles has Scorpion webbed to an alley wall with a bit too much webbing and is dry heaving on a roof of some random building. Exactly how he wanted his afternoon to go.

The good thing is that he doesn't actually throw up, but he’s still shaking too much, and his vision is too blurry to safely swing around and serve the city at the moment. Miles lays on his side to catch his breath, and lets himself rest a bit. He might not need an antidote this time if he’s lucky…

A pigeon lands in front of him. “Don’t poke my eye,” he tells it. It cocks its head and coos, and he takes that as an “okay”.

His stomach hurts from the dry heaving, and his head and legs hurt from the poison, but if he closes his eyes, he might fall asleep. That’s not something someone like Spider-Man wants to do, especially in the beginning of his patrol, even more so out in the open like this. He’s pretty sure he isn’t supposed to fall asleep after getting a ton of venom pumped into his body anyway, that just seems like a bad idea. Curling up into a ball and covering his ears to lessen the noise of the world until he’s feeling better enough to resume patrol, Miles zones out on the pigeon.

He’s vaguely aware that it starts moving a few minutes later, inspecting him and getting closer. It pecks at his shoulder, and he sighs. It pecks him again, probably curious about the material of his suit, and Miles swiftly grabs it and gently holds it in the air so it stops bothering him.

“You good, Spidey? I heard a bunch of police sirens,” a voice calls from above, most likely a tenant for the much taller building next to the one he’s currently resting on.

“Yeah, peachy,” Miles replies, not turning to face them. He zones back in again, just in case they need something, and to let the pigeon go. It flies off immediately, and he lets his arm drop back down (ow). There’s no doubt his mom will find out about the fight with Scorpion, and then she’ll talk to his dad about the risks and get him more worked up than he already would be— it’ll be a whole thing. He should text her before she does, but… maybe after the venom has run its course (and when he could actually see straight).

“You sure?” that same voice asks about… how much time had passed? It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds or minutes, right? It forcibly zoned him back in-- he didn’t even realize he zoned out again. It was closer this time, about twenty feet away (yikes, he didn’t realize that either), but it didn’t set off his spider-sense, so he didn’t tense up and prepare to run.

“Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout me,” he replies, not moving. He hears them sit down where they are, and is silently grateful that they didn’t get closer. Their heartbeat is calm, and they smell like they’re fresh out the shower with soap and lavender, with a hint of cocoa butter. It’s probably not too strong, but in the state Miles is in right now, it’s like someone is shoving his face in the display section of a beauty store. He doesn’t want to be rude and ask them to leave, though. Hobie would probably tell him something like, “Oi oi, you don’t own the entire place, I can’t believe you became a leech, shame on you!” and ruffle his hair. Wait, no, that’s Peter who does that sometimes, Hobie would just grab his head and shake it a little.

Miles can feel his train of thought starting to derail.

Hobie probably wouldn’t have even been in this situation to begin with, and he’d find a way to beat the hell out of the landlord of this building anyway. Miles can feel his breathing slowing down, the uncomfortable weight of his hearts and lungs in his chest… shit, he might need the antidote.

“What are you laughing about?” The person asks, once again startling Miles enough to make him flinch. His eyes fly open (when did he even close them?) and it feels like something cold was pressed on the back of his neck, traveling down his spine into his legs. “Woah, didn’t mean to scare you. Can you… turn the sparks off?”

God, he didn’t even realize he was doing that. “Sorry, you’re fine,” Miles assures, “just one of those days, you know?”

“Yeah,” they laugh, “it’s all about the he says, she says bullshit.”

“…What?”

“Nothing,” they sigh.

They sit together in silence for a few more minutes until Miles feels like the venom’s effects have lessened enough for him to function like a normal human being and can finally stand up. He’s a bit shaky at first, and can feel the person staring at him, but he gets up! And that’s the important part.

“Stay safe out there,” the person tells him before he swings away.

“Thanks, you too—” Miles says, turning around to give his signature two-finger salute, albeit more lazy, but his brain stalls when he can’t tell if he should use mister or miss. They don’t look or sound obviously masculine or feminine, and they seem to find his blunder amusing from the way they smile, so he hurries and blurts out, “uh, boss.”

He swings away to avoid any further embarrassment.

——

When he returns to the dorms that night, he glances at the growing pile of schoolwork on his desk before running to the bathroom to take a shower. He’s pretty sure he needs to turn a few of those things in tomorrow, and he isn’t bone tired, so he’ll get some of that done. Hopefully it’s easy and will leave him with enough time to sleep.

After his shower he gets to work. The soft glow the lamp casts is just enough for him to see and right at the edge of “useful” before it becomes “annoying”, so he’ll use that instead of straining his eyes.

As he’s factoring a few equations, his thoughts drift back to the rooftop. That person was nice, he supposes, to stay by him until he felt better even when he said he was fine. Especially since they didn’t call an ambulance! No hate to them, he just feels bad wasting their time when he’d most likely be fine without their help. He’s getting a second wave of embarrassment from earlier when he couldn’t decide on what to call them, but he wants to see them again.

That’d be nice, he thinks.

Wait- he doesn’t want to see them again. Where’d that thought come from? And “that’d be nice”? What’s that supposed to mean? He probably just wanted to apologize for being so awkward back there. Yeah, that’s it. He wanted to apologize for potentially making them uncomfortable. They were probably polite about it out of nervousness, it’s what he would have done.

His work is very interesting all of a sudden.

——

He’s a bit sloppy one night during patrol.

His shoulder throbs as a reminder of a crowbar-wielding thief he didn’t dodge in time.

Otherwise, it’s a very successful night. Several crimes stopped before they could happen or get worse, multiple people walked home or accompanied as they waited for their ride home, and none of the bigger headaches-- sorry, villains-- none of them decided to show their faces. He did slam into a wall once, but nobody saw, so he actually didn’t slam into it, meaning his pride was intact.

A shout from directly below has him dropping down onto the ground. “Everything okay?” He asks the two women, one of whom he recognizes as one of his teachers, as they jump back from the storm drain.

“Yeah, dropped my fucking keys,” his teacher, Ms. Green, says. It feels a bit weird to hear a teacher curse so easily, but she’s not his teacher right now, he can’t focus on that.

The other woman groans and holds her head in her hands. “Don’t suppose you can get down there somehow?” she asks.

Hm. Maybe?

“Uh, I can try,” Miles says, wondering if he should really attempt it and get all smelly, “Can you see it from here? I might be able to just-”

Ms. Green rolls her eyes at the other woman’s question, “She was joking.”

Oh. Okay? Didn’t really sound like that, but it’s whatever.

“I’ll just… use the bus.” She sighs, frustrated.

“Would you like me to wait with you?” Miles asks, realizing he can see the keys from here from their shine. He could probably get it with a well-placed shot.

“No thanks,” Ms Green replies, before walking to the bus stop with the other lady.

Miles can definitely grab those keys. He just needs to…

With a small smile, he shoots a web at the keys through the grate, and carefully pulls them up into his hand. They’re a bit dirty, but nothing a thorough wash won’t fix. Probably. Hopefully. “Hey, I got them,” he begins to try and catch up with the women, but a large boom shocks him, and he crushes the keys in his hand like it’s clay out of shock.

“Sorry,” he hurries and says before swinging off towards the noise.

Unsurprisingly, it’s a robbery. Also unsurprisingly, he handles it quickly. Even more unsurprisingly, he managed to get grazed by a bullet on his thigh, because apparently it’s a cosmic rule that Spider-Man can’t have too many good things happen in a row. One is lucky, but two? Now you’re pushing it, buddy. Three is seriously his unlucky number. Grazes hurt enough, he doesn’t want to deal with the pain for longer than he has to.

There was a small fire he put out after getting the criminals a safe distance away from the site, and the smoke got all in his lenses and mouth even though he tried to work as quick as possible. Normally, he wouldn’t stick around, he’d probably be making his way back to the dorms to deal with the graze and to wash the suit, but the pain is making it incredibly difficult to even keep his eyes open to focus. He knows he’s teetering on the lamp, but he doesn’t want to be on the ground in case another threat appears.

“That hurt y’know,” he tells them to make them feel bad. He’s looking at the man that shot at him with narrowed lenses, but it probably isn’t really working to intimidate with his unsteady positioning. He might as well mess with them until he’s focused enough to keep swinging. “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before…” He leans in a bit (bad idea, he almost falls completely off), pointing to the man. They’re all wearing baggy clothes, ski masks, and don’t have any visible markings on them-

That’d be nice.

The thought comes out of nowhere and makes Miles unstick, and he falls onto the ground below, much to the amusement of the thieves and the embarrassment of himself. He accidentally growls at them before swinging off. Pain be damned, he’s not sticking around after that.

——

Miles sits on the edge of the tub, watching as Ganke kneels on the ground next to him to clean the graze on his thigh. He feels a bit bad for waking him up with his clumsy return through the window, but Ganke assured him he wasn’t sleeping well anyway.

“Thanks again,” he tells him, “I know it’s gross.”

Ganke smiles tiredly. “A little grossness wouldn’t scare me away, or else I’d have transferred by now.” Pushing his glasses down onto his face, Ganke pats the area around the graze dry from the antiseptic. “Do you think you’ll need— oh, nevermind,” he’s interrupted by the sight of the dermis layer stitching itself back together. “Does that make a noise too?”

Miles nods, “Kind of like… cleaning your ear. That squishing sound, or how movies make ice sound when it’s spreading somewhere. But you can go back to bed, I can put the bandages on myself.” He leans over and grabs the package from near Ganke’s knee, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead as he opens it.

“Alright, wake me up if you need anything,” Ganke tells him with a yawn as he gets up and leaves the bathroom, “just not your homework. I’m not doing math before I have to.”

——

The graze isn’t healing.

Well, it is, but not as quick as usual, which means he has to deal with the itchiness that comes from a more natural healing speed. His mom, after not-so-subtly implying that it’s because he’s too stressed and should take a break, suggested wearing more loose clothes than usual when he can so his wounds aren’t irritated as they heal, and he’s starting to really appreciate the advice. But probably not for the reason anybody would expect.

He’s in the drinks section of a bodega, trying to remember what he was doing here in the first place. He’s distracted by his reflection in the door, and he feels… content. He feels good, really great, in Uncle Aaron’s old puffer on top of his hoodie and in his mom’s (don’t tell anybody) old baggy jeans. She said he could borrow them since she hasn’t worn them since highschool, and they fit surprisingly well and comfortably. Paired with the fogginess of the reflection, he looks just… vague. And he really, really likes it. This is definitely a new style he can get behind.

Someone clears their throat behind him, startling him into moving. He hurries to the candy aisle, finally remembering that he was doing a snack run for himself, Ganke, and his parents. Why Ganke hung back at home, he has no idea.

“Okay,” the cashier says with a tired drawl, “will that be all m… sir?”

Miles feels his eyes widen and a small, vaguely light feeling in his chest. He quickly pays for his things and leaves, ready to get back to his friends.

On the walk back, he wonders briefly if the feeling meant anything deeper than him finding it really amusing.

…

Probably not. They might have thought he was too young-looking to be called “Mister” or whatever.

——

“No, I just knew they’d be cheaper here and wanted to see if you want anything,” Miles says into the phone as he picks out a pair of baggy jeans. They don’t look anything like the ones his mom lent him, but they’ll do. They actually look like the ones those thieves from a week back wore, now that he thinks about it.

“Prolly don’t have my size,” Hobie replies. There’s the sound of metal clanging and a girl shouting angrily. “Any skirts you think I’d like?”

“All of them are old lady skirts,” Miles says, and catches a pair of elderly women sending him a disapproving glare. “but anyone of any age can wear them,” he adds quickly.

Hobie laughs, and there’s a loud screech of metal being pulled. What was he even doing? “M’the last person you needa tell that to. Grab three you like so someone else’ll be able to take them.”

Miles switches his phone to press between his shoulder and ear as he grabs a few sweaters and torn jeans. “I don’t wear skirts, though.”

“Wanna try?”

Miles feels his mouth go a bit dry. “Nah, my legs are like, suuuper hairy anyway. Wouldn’t that be…” he trails off.

“You sure? Hairy legs don’t hurt nobody. I don’t shave.”

Well that’s because Hobie doesn’t even grow enough hair to where it’s noticeable.

But Miles wasn’t really sure. Well, maybe he was? He didn’t really want to wear these skirts. People would make fun of him. Or be mean. He didn’t really want to deal with that right now, he just wanted some comfortable baggy clothes. But it’s not like he hates skirts, they can be super pretty sometimes! And his mom says they’re great for hot days. But, like… he won’t say that he’s never thought about it- and who hasn’t from time to time? Every guy thought about wearing skirts from time to time, and there are guys who do! Hobie! Well, Hobie’s not always guy, but-

“Miles?”

“Nah man, I’m good,” Miles finally answers, “You can just donate them if you don’t end up liking ‘em. These look like the Skirts of Theseus anyway.”

“Aight, be safe,” Hobie tells him, audibly breaking something. “Uh, don’t bring ‘em immediately, oil spilled everywhere. Damn, it’s getting in the seats.”

Oh, he’s working on that hunk of junk that he calls a car again.

“You too. Don’t get yourself killed working on that shitty Impala.”

“Piss off,” Hobie laughs before hanging up.

When he waits in line to check out, with probably three of the most disappointing looking skirts he’s ever seen, the people behind him give him a strange look. He clutches the clothes closer to his chest.

——

He doesn’t even make it fully through the door before his dad is telling him to go take a shower.

“You smell like gasoline and smoke, were you at a fire or with Hobart again?”

“Dad, he’s trying to quit,” Miles tried to argue, but his dad simply pointed to the bathroom.

With a quiet sigh, he trudged to the bathroom, which led him here, with his mother’s razor in his hand and staring down at his now hairless legs. He runs a hand down one, marveling at how smooth it is. Hobie’s words about hairy legs made him think of shaving his own, just to see what the hype is all about with all the other girls, and he was in the shower, so why not? It’s not like anybody would notice anyway since he wears pants most of the time, and he could always just grow it back if he didn’t like it. He’s honestly surprised he didn’t cut himself.

“Not bad for a first try,” he mutters, placing the razor back.

When he gets out and goes to his room, he can’t stop rubbing his legs together. They’re just so smooth and seem to glide against each other and on the sheets. Is this the real reason people shave? He can totally get behind this.

Hmm… has his dad ever shaved his legs? Miles has seen him shave his face a bunch of times, and hears his mom complain a few about hair being left in the sink. Other boys his age are already growing out their facial hair and talking about how they have to shave it sometimes, so do they shave their legs too? Do guys shave their legs just as much as women do, but just don’t talk about it? It’s probably another social rule Miles just didn’t pick up on, really.

Not something he really feels like dwelling on, either. It’ll just grow back anyway, and it’s like Hobie said, “hairy legs don’t hurt nobody.”

——

“Whoa there, little guy,” Miles chickles as he scoops up a puppy from the road before it can get run over. It growls at him, the rude little animal, but he knows it’s just scared. After he swings up to the roof of a nearby deli, he sees a small splinter in its paw as he’s checking it over. “Aww, poor thing,” he coos, swiftly pulling out the woodchip. Checking the collar, Miles discovers the pup’s name is Matrimony, which… is definitely a name!

Its fur isn’t dirty, it’s a bit round, and the eyes don’t have any crust like Miles has seen countless other tiny white dogs have, so maybe it escaped through a window or door while the owner was unaware.

“Hey Spidey, that yours?” A random woman wearing a dirty apron comes up to him and points at the dog. “That bichon frise?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he answers, holding the puppy closer.

“Relax, I’m not taking it. Just wanted to check in, since the whole… other… rooftop thing. Strange how this happened twice at the same place, huh?”

What? He stands up to look at her better. “Sorry, we’ve met? It’s just been such a busy week, I don’t really remember!”

“No, it was— uh sorry, I don’t know why I expected you to remember that— you were on the roof holding a bird? And I stayed with you until you got up again?”

Oh. Oh! Shoot!

“Oh dang, I’m sorry! Thank you again for that, but yeah ma—” he stops himself from saying man, “my boss—” oh, that’s just weird, “this isn’t my dog. But you recognize it?”

The person smiles at his blunder (again) and shakes their head. “Just the breed. Cute little things aren’t they?” They slowly go to pet the puppy, but quickly back off when it growls. “I was never great with dogs anyway.”

“Okay, I’m going see if anybody lost this little guy,” Miles tells them. “Be safe out there, uh, what’s your name?”

“Kody,” they respond, waving goodbye.

“Be safe out there Kody!” He says with a smile he hopes they can hear, and climbs down the shop and begins asking around, not letting anyone actually touch it. If it were up to him, which it kind of is because he hasn’t found the owner but not really because he’s a good person, he’d take the dog to his dorms and raise it as his own with Ganke, and they’d alternate on who sneaks it home for the weekends. He’s heard from the upperclassmen that they’d have to do that with flour sacks as pretend-babies one day, so this would be good practice!

No, no. He’s getting ahead of himself. Last time he snuck a cat into his home, he had to kneel in the corner for an hour and all the chores everyday for a week. He hasn’t had to do that in YEARS, and he’s going to do everything to avoid that happening again.

There’s a dog park nearby, so he decides to check there in case the puppy somehow got loose of his leash or whatever was restraining him.

After nearly an hour of confused looks, adoring coos (not towards him, of course), and brief annoyed glances from several people, he comes upon a woman crying on a bench. She was dressed pretty fancy, wearing a tight pink dress, tights, a leather jacket, and crazy-looking heels, and her hair was in an elaborate updo. Probably not something to really wear to a place filled with energetic dogs kicking up dust and dirt, but who’s Miles to judge? He’s the one in a black spandex costume in the middle of the day, after all.

“Ma’am? Are you okay?” He asks her in a soft voice.

Does she look okay? What a genius, Miles thinks to himself.

“Do I look okay?!” She sobs. “My baby is gone! I can’t find him anywhere!”

“A human baby? Or a dog baby? Maybe I can help you, or find people who can.” Miles sits down next to her, placing the dog on his lap and holding it there. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” he adds.

“My- My dog, we were doing some socializing,” the woman begins to look over at him, but gasps at the puppy. “Matty!” She swipes the puppy away, startling him with her speed, and spins around while hugging it. She places kisses all over its head, smearing pink lipstick and her running mascara on its fluffy white fur. It licks her face happily, which might not be healthy. Can dogs ingest mascara?

“You found my baby! Matrimony!”

Oh! Cool! Well, not the name, obviously, but—

“Nice! Well, uh, I’m glad to have helped! You should probably get a tighter harness, ma’am.” Miles gets up, ready to leave, but the woman stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“No, wait! Here, I don’t have my cash on me right now, but you can have these.” She removes her hand and reaches under the bench to reveal a purse that matches her dress, and pulls out a tiny black box wrapped in a tiny bow. “They’re earrings. I was going to wear ‘em, but I already have too many,” she flashes a bright smile at him and kisses her puppy again, “so take it as a thanks! From the both of us, because who knows what would have happened to my little baby if you hadn’t found him!”

It’s not registering as a threat, so they’re probably actually earrings in here and not something like a small bomb or tear gas. Or silly string. Ugh. “Thank you,” he says, not mentioning he doesn’t wear earrings, “hope you and Matty enjoy your day!” He walks away, rubbing his thumb over the ribbon.

What’s he going to do with these?

A/N: i’m not yet sure if i’ll keep posting all the completed chapters even when the entire fic itself is complete, bc i plan for it to be kind of long but. i’ll cross that bridge when i get to it