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nereidprinc3ss · 26 days ago

Text

mojave ghost

in which spencer reid spends the night with fem!reader—a total stranger—because she just feels so familiar. based on the song "my life in art" by Mojave 3.

18+ (implied intimacy) warnings/tags: based on a song about a stripper who runs away from her abusive boyfriend. tws for mentions of physical abuse. r has bruises from pole dancing. a little ooc bc Spencer hooks up with someone he just met but that's the point and if u know him like I do u know its not completely impossible. mentions of typical cm violence/murder. one brief mention of spencer's addiction. spencer's childhood trauma and abandonment. it's kind of just a heavy one, lmk if i'm missing anything a/n: I doooo suggest you listen to the song first just to feel the vibe of the piece and also how it is literally about Spencer Reid. and also bc its gorjus. anyways its been a while and this is not my most standard content but pls lmk what u think and if u liked it <3

He shouldn’t have done it.

But when he saw you, sitting in a metal folding chair next to some peeling veneered-desk, his breath caught. Something primal deep in his stomach tugged the way it does when he finds little external fragments of himself, calling out to him—usually nonhuman objects. He’s seen himself in books, still warm from the hands that held them but ultimately forgotten on a bench or in the airport, needles in alleys or in between tiles on his bathroom counter, in shards of glass, in a hundred open wounds and dead animals, abstractly gutted on the side of the street.

When he does see himself in a person, it’s in alarming glimpses. The man in the sleeping bag on the corner who talks to people that aren’t there. The lost child crying on the subway platform, rooted to the spot and still gripping the straps of their little backpack with responsible fists. It’s never anything he wants to know about himself, but this identification, this taxonomy and recognition of sameness—it’s so strong it stops him in his tracks, every time. He never really relates to the people he’s supposed to. Not Hotch. Not Gideon. Not even Maeve, in the way he’d so naively hoped for. Three people, all incredibly intelligent, at times standoffish. Used to being on the outside. All still possessing things and redemptive qualities he doesn’t. And what Spencer has secretly believed about himself for what has recently become a very long time, is that he is defined by his lack. The shape of him is made of negative space. He feels like whatever is in your lungs when you’ve pushed all the air out.

And then, you.

Physically, you look nothing alike. And he stops and lurches and does a double take like he’s seen his doppelgänger or been startled by his own reflection in a passing window anyway. Maybe it’s the way you hold yourself—hunched, foot tapping, head hung but still scanning the room, ever vigilant as you pick at your nails. You want to be small. You want to fold in yourself so many times you become a black hole. Spencer knows this.

Something calls out from deep inside him, from all around him, that is not quite in his voice, but feels like grasping and reaching.

I know you, I know you.

He doesn’t catch himself in time before he’s walking toward you like he’s been waiting for you.

Of course your head snaps up at the same time as he stops, and your eyes are shiny but not teary—frozen over with a layer of thick, dark ice like you’d carried the cold inside with you. You look caught. He searches for some sort of recognition in your eyes, anything to betray the fact that you have met before, because he never forgets a face but he knows what familiarity feels like and he can’t remember meeting you.

His throat forms around something but the wrong word comes out. Halting, like he’s trying to lasso it and pull it back in.

“Hi.”

You pull your scarf down—a deep Roman purple—to reveal a pretty mouth, lips chapped by the unforgiving freeze outside.

“Hello,” you say, politely, considering his probably strange behavior. He gives you a proprietary scan. Utility coat over a thick grey sweater. Jeans, cuffed at the bottom but still nearly too long, probably belted, although he can’t tell from the posture and the sweater. Brown boots. Your bag is a frayed tapestry of neutrals and patches. Fingerless knit gloves. You’ve given yourself false density, let the clothes swallow you up. Shapeless. Nearly faceless, magnet eyes framed between the scarf and the hat. But you’ve got a name. Everyone has a name. There’s yet to be anything humanity has discovered and not bothered to name.

He forgets to ask. You clear your throat.

“Um, I spoke to someone on the phone—Aaron, I think? We’re supposed to talk.”

Spencer tries to pick his jaw up off the floor.

“Yeah, um, I can—I’ll… go get him.”

He turns away and breathes for the first time since he saw you, but he feels you behind him. He’s aware of exactly where you are in relation to the back of his head, he can feel you, like a hot spot, all the way to Hotch’s door. He lets himself in, slipping between as small a gap as he can manage and shutting the door gently behind him. Hotch looks up, not noticeably displeased at having been interrupted in his endless paperwork.

What Spencer learns from his boss is this: you live in DC. You heard about a murder in Kansas—a girl, her hair still a fine, pale cornsilk. Barely not a child. You heard the details, and you called the cops, because you swear to god you know who did it, and they told you there was nothing they could do and gave you the number of someone who might be able to help, and so you followed a bureaucratic trail of phone numbers designed to discourage until you got to the BAU. Hotch says he’s going to interview you, but it’s probably nothing.

“Actually, I’d like to do it if that’s okay.”

Hotch frowns deeper than usual.

“Why?”

Spencer swallows. Hesitates.

“I finished my incident report early.”

Though he clearly has his reservations about Spencer’s sudden interest, Hotch is knee-deep in paperwork. So that’s how Spencer ends up in the round table room with you.

You look too young, too raw to have been married, but you’re rubbing at your ring finger with the adjacent thumb like something is bothering you there. An absence that has become a presence. Negative space. You see things that aren’t there. Spencer knows that, too. Maybe you’re the kind of person who could look at him and see something.

That is his most intimate fantasy. He imagines it with you and feels the same kind of illicit shame and bloodied, starving hunger other people feel when they imagine sex or drugs or ravaging power; the way anyone imagines anything they want and can’t have.

But he can’t put that kind of pressure on you. He can’t hold expectations like that. You’re a stranger.

“Do you always do that?”

He points to your fiddling and gets that sour feeling in his throat he always does when he says something and wishes he hadn’t said it. That probably doesn’t show on his face. Most things don’t show on his face. Or maybe they do and nobody has bothered to tell him.

You flex your pretty hand and then make a fist like you’ve been burned, probably to stop the compulsion. When you give a self-deprecating laugh, Spencer feels incredibly guilty for having pointed it out. But he doesn’t know how to talk to you. And at the same time, he almost expects it’ll be like talking to himself. Only nobody will give him odd looks.

“Uh… old habit. I used to spin my wedding ring around when I was nervous.”

Used to. You’re especially too young to have been divorced.

“You’re nervous?”

Your eyes flash as you look up to him. With what, he doesn’t know. Lightning, maybe. Electrical impulses that are a little less well insulated in you than in everyone else.

But maybe he’s projecting.

“Yeah. I feel crazy. But I was with a guy for a while who—and he was from Kansas—who would always, like, talk about… about hurting people. And I thought it was a joke at first, but… he laughed, at other people’s pain. He liked to hurt people. And animals. His dad had a farm, so I thought it was maybe he was just cavalier about life and death, but it was more than that. And he lived… he lived in that town. Where that girl died. He probably knew her. I… I probably knew her.”

Spencer’s heart sinks and he clears his throat like the force could bring it back up the right level again.

You’re not his soulmate. You’re just paranoid. Looking for answers and resolution, like everybody else.

The piece of himself he saw in you was just free radical damage. Instability.

“Did he ever kill anyone before?”

“Wh—not that I know of. But I don’t really think he would’ve told me.”

But you would’ve known. You’re here because you’re lost.

“Did he ever seriously injure anyone?”

You swallow and sit up a little straighter. Heat lightning in your eyes, again. It makes him feel something. He sits up too, despite your indignance, because it’s entrancing.

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“He… he…” you melt as quickly as you inflated and go back to spinning a ring that’s not there. It’s like watching technicolor go to black and white. “He’d beat people up. He cut them with broken beer bottles and… yeah. A lot of other shit. He was just… he was crazy. He wasn’t… okay.”

The way your gaze flickers back and forth like you’re reading pages of a book or perhaps in REM as you recount in vague detail what your ex had done clues Spencer into the fact that you’re extremely traumatized. The way you make sure to emphasize that your clearly abusive ex wasn’t okay clues him into the fact that you care too much. That you’re too quick to excuse people’s bad behavior, or dismiss it, because you know how it feels to be dismissed entirely and you don’t want to make anyone else feel the way you’ve felt.

Or maybe he’s still projecting. Maybe he’s idealized you in these few short minutes since you met and he’s too far gone. Maybe he should’ve let Hotch do this interview after all. In fact, he absolutely should’ve.

But the worst thing by far he did was ask to walk you to your car after all was said and done.

The interview went on for over two hours, and he’d learned things about you he suspects you’ve never told anyone before, and thus has learned about himself, and the building is mostly empty when you finally leave. The work day is over. So he selfishly asks you to wait while he gathers his things—buttons his coat, wraps his scarf, packs his bag—and then he soaks in the silence on the elevator because it’s that terrible, beautiful space between where you first cross the line and when you do something unforgivable. Asking to walk you to your car was crossing the line.

Sleeping with you was unforgivable.

And he didn’t care. Maybe he knew he was going to do this from the moment he saw you. Spencer never does this. The knowing that it was going to happen is quite a distinct flavor of intuitive knowledge and it was always on the back of his tongue.

You’re silver and purple, a streak, a blur, you move too fast to keep up with and even when you’re perfectly still the atoms around you scramble like they’re jonesing. You inspire movement. You are movement. But he gets to see you slow, and despite having known you only a few hours, he knows this is nothing short of a natural phenomenon. A once in a lifetime sort of shooting star. That’s where the silver comes in.

The purple, though—it’s in strange places. Around your upper arm. Between your thighs. On your knees and shins and hips. The first time he noticed it he couldn’t ignore it, but he couldn’t very well ask what’s hurting you while he was touching you in a way that was decidedly not painful, if he wanted to keep it that way. And he did. He wanted to keep you looking at him through half-lidded eyes like he was something to see.

Still, he can’t notice it and then fuck you without saying something—or maybe he could, and you desperately want him to and you ask for it and maybe most people would, but he won’t—so he brings it up.

“I lead a very active life,” is your whispered excuse, shaped by a smile that is something like mischievous. And then you’re kissing his flushed neck and making your descent and so he can’t ask very many questions.

It’s only in the precarious after that he can fit his questions in, which is dumb and he knows that, because you’re a dizzying contradiction of cagey and flighty and really the slightest thing will send you running. It’s funny how he knows that after a few hours and sex. Sex can tell you so much about a person. Spencer has compiled all the data from his experiences and decided sex is radically more effective a profiling tool than interview.

You’re on his pillow, lying on your stomach, and his hand is in your hair. Falling in love is quite a distinctive taste as well. Or at least, the recognition that if you spend enough time around a person you will, beyond a shadow of a doubt, fall in love with them. It is almost the same thing. It aches because it’s there and the proper thing to do is pretend it’s not.

And his hand is in your hair. And your eyes are closed, and you look like you might fall asleep, and he should be beyond grateful for all of these things. He is.

But that pesky desire to ameliorate, to improve and make better, and fix and heal, is too strong. Probably it’s the only way he thinks anyone will love him, is if he makes himself useful. That’s no revelation to him. The thought is not shocking whatsoever. It’s just true.

So he asks again. You blink your eyes a quarter of the way open.

“Hazard of the job.”

“What job?”

You make a noncommittal noise of reluctance—a discontented puppy’s whine, half-asleep.

“I’m a circus freak.”

He laughs and remembers to keep scratching your scalp. The way you smile, eyes closed, is infectious.

“Yeah? What’s your act?”

“Guess,” you challenge through the remnants of a smile, oozing satisfaction and glowing like a star.

When he pauses to regard you, to seriously consider, studying the curve of your cheek and the color of your lips, you open your eyes again.

“Tightrope walker,” he finally says, earnestly, so soft it could tear down the middle like gauze.

Your answer is a smile into the dark. “How’d you know?”

The corner of his mouth vies higher.

“I sensed a kindred spirit.”

Silence floods the room again, slowly, thickly, like molasses. It’s pleasant. You’re still here, in his bed, and he’s still measuring time with the pendulum of his hand in your hair.

“What do you really do?”

He expects you to be asleep.

“Dancer.” Your lips hardly move as you say it, inflectionless, immediate. If his hand falters, it’s only momentarily. That explains the bruising, and so is a relief, as far as he’s concerned. But perhaps his silence is misconstrued. “Do you want me to go?”

It certainly doesn’t seem like you want to go. Your eyes aren’t even open.

He keeps his voice low and gentle like maybe you really are asleep.

“Why would I want you to go?”

“Don’t… do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you’re not judging me.”

“I’m not judging you. I’m from Vegas. Your job is not a novelty to me.”

This time when your eyes slide open, there is a new, curious light behind them.

“Really?”

He nods, distracted by a freckle just beneath your eye.

“When I was ten I ran into my bus driver wearing two quarters as a shirt. And we weren’t even on the strip. We were in a Texas Roadhouse parking lot.”

You snort with laughter and it’s melodic, like twinkling crystals, like running water. Even as you hide your face behind your hand, he’s transfixed. God, he’s never cared about being funny before. Now he wants to make you laugh over and over again. He wants to keep you softer than you’ve ever been. The laughter fades slowly and he grieves it—but your hand sliding away from your face like the sun coming up from behind a mountain eases the ache.

You reach out as if in a trance and run your thumb gently beneath his eye. He holds his breath as you make contact, butterfly light. Nobody has ever touched him like this before.

“You’re gorgeous,” you murmur. A thoughtless observation. A truth cast to the breeze. Knuckles carefully follow the dip of his cheekbone—a cartographer, learning her way by touch. Marking her territory. He’d let you do it. His eye stings, ready to spring forth a river just so you can have the pleasure of discovering it. “Breathe,” you laugh, softly, and he does.

“Sorry.”

You don’t say a thing. You let your fingers trace borders into his skin and follow them with soft eyes and he wonders what he’s ever done to deserve this kind of magic. He wonders if he’ll ever feel as good as he does right now, when it’s all over. Nobody has ever paid this much attention to him—but you’re intent, focused, like he’s art.

“Tell me about Vegas.”

It takes him a moment to reply.

“Hm?”

He feels bewitched. Warm. Foggy. A thumb brushes over his lips, but it’s only a pass, thank god, because he can hardly stand how you’re touching him already, at the high point of his cheek, beneath his brow. Finally getting enough sometimes feels awfully close to too much. He’s already almost cried once.

“I wanna hear about Vegas. I’ve always wanted to go. Is it hot?”

Spencer will say whatever you want him to say, but he has to focus a little—like he’s speaking through honey.

“In the summer, during the day. In the winter at night it drops to below freezing.”

“Desert-y,” you hum.

“Very.”

“Tell me more.”

There’s a rousing hunger in your voice and it reminds Spencer to want you again. He finds your waist and tugs you closer. Who is he with you?

Is he better?

“There are 175 casinos in the city, but only thirty on the strip. There are 15,000 miles of neon tubing on the strip alone. It’s the brightest place on earth. You can see it from space.”

“Not that.”

Petulant. He loves it.

His lips find the softness of your shoulder. “Then what?”

The only clue that you can feel what he’s doing to you is the twitch of your fingers on his cheek.

“Tell me something… tell me exactly how it feels to stand in the middle of the desert. With nobody else around. Tell me things and details I couldn’t know about unless I’ve been there.”

At the junction of your neck, he pauses. This beautiful girl, and her beautiful brain—you are so disarming. So perfect.

You shiver into him as his fingers brush up the back of your neck, gently pushing away hair so he can learn you everywhere. So he can remember your landscape, just like he’s doing as he closes his eyes and falls into memory.

A gas station, off the side of the road—seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Desert all around. His dad’s ’79 Ford Fiesta—the one he didn’t take with him when he left. The driver’s door is open. Spencer’s dad has been inside for minutes. Spencer is watching from the middle of the road, because he looked out from the backseat of the Fiesta, and saw that dark, unassuming spot, and thought—how would it feel to be the darkness? What would I see if I were nothing at all?

When he gets there, and he stands on the sun bleached pavement, veined with spiderwebs of tar, and he sees this all from a distance—he realizes he feels exactly the same as he always does. So he pivots his head to the left. The road goes on until it disappears into the smudgy horizon. To the right, it does the same. The earth swells, far away, so many miles, so coal black, so impossible. Hardly even real. But there is something out there, he thinks. There is something, even if nobody else has ever been there, and I want to stand in the middle of it and I will learn how it feels to be nothing. I will not observe—I will become apart of the landscape, with the Joshua trees that have been there for a thousand years, and the rocks that haven’t moved in millennia.

So he begins to walk.

The rocks crunch under his feet, and that is the only noise.

He walks for minutes. He walks until he knows the gas station will be small. He walks until he can feel the emptiness on the back of his neck, until it feels like an embrace.

“It’s silent,” he hears himself say to you, in some other universe, decades in the future. “At night, it’s completely silent. You can hear yourself breathe. If you throw a pebble ten feet away, you’ll hear it hit the ground.”

Little Spencer takes a deep breath of inky air.

“It smells like… geosmin.”

“What?”

Perfect. Your voice is perfect.

“Dirt. But it’s not the same as dirt anywhere else. It’s… drier, like it’s smelled the same way for a really long time.”

Spencer’s cheeks burn. He’s doing a terrible job explaining.

But he feels your breath on his cheek—eager. Your hand at his shoulder as you lean closer, enraptured. Reverent, almost.

“What else?”

What else?

Dry brush snags on the hem of the corduroys his mother had picked out for him. They’re a little too short. She’s going to try to take him shopping again tomorrow. It’ll work this time—they’ll get to the store. Mom’s just been having some trouble leaving the house lately.

Rustling leaves skim the tips of his fingers as he reaches out for them, and keeps walking. When was the last time someone touched that shrub?

“There’s vegetation. Creosote, mostly, if you’re in the scrubland. Larrea tridentada. It’s dry—kind of twiggy, with green leaves and yellow flowers in the spring. The smell is bad, like asphalt, but you only notice if you get close.”

He hears his dad calling his name. It fades in and out.

It’s dizzying, hearing his father’s voice. His father saying his name.

It’s been a long time.

“It’s so flat that things don’t echo. But because of the extreme variations in temperature the air pressure sometimes forces the sound waves to the ground and makes it impossible for them to propagate. They’re called the Santa Ana winds. Someone could be standing right next to you and if the wind blows at just the right angle, you won’t be able to hear them. But when it’s still, sound carries far.”

His father is angry. Or is he worried?

Spencer can make out his dad, pacing frantically back and forth across the gas station pad, white button-up a glowing beacon even from this far away beneath the lone yellow street light. He looks so small. So very far away. Ant-like.

Santa Ana comes slow—warmer than the night air around him, to ruffle his hair and rustle the dry leaves and blow soft clouds of fragrant sienna dirt around at his knees. It blows through him. For a moment, it wakes the desert up.

Then it’s passed. It moves further down the desert and leaves Spencer behind. Things settle into silence again. He’s alone again.

Spencer’s stomach flips as he realizes his father can’t see him this far away, this deep into the dark nothing.

As he finally feels the enormity of the distance on all sides.

Suddenly the void behind him is massive. Suddenly it is everything, and it is sucking him deeper. Nobody can see him. He could just disappear into 25,000 square miles of desert. He’s already, what—a thousand feet gone? More? The weight of all the infinite space behind him presses, and he thought it’d feel interesting but it feels like dying and there has never been so much regret or dread curdling in his stomach before. His face crumples, eyes stinging in the dry air, and he takes one step forward, and then another, and then he runs like he’s running for his life. But he doesn’t feel chased—no, that’s the worst part. He is running from an infinite, vacuous, nothing. Dad! He screams, but even this young he knows how sound waves work in the desert and he can tell his dad can’t hear him and he’s running and screaming until his lungs burn, and the scrub lashes at his ankles, and it has been the same for a thousand years and it will stay the same for a thousand more with or without him. Dad, I’m right here! He sobs, the words ripping up his throat with desperation as they go.

Finally, finally, he’s heard, and he’s close enough to see his dad seeing him, he stops pacing and stares dumbfounded at the little boy appearing from the desert, sneakers slapping cracked asphalt. He gets closer and closer until he can see the lines on his father’s face and the color of his eyes and he sobs as he crashes into him. His dad’s hands are vice-tight around his arms, as Spencer cries and can’t breathe and thrashes like a fish out of water.

What? Is all his father can manage, tight and baffled and afraid and the first word of a question he doesn’t even know how to ask. He says it again and again, like a skipping record; what—what? What?

On the drive home, Spencer sits in the backseat, a bottle of Bug Juice in his lap. His ankles sting, whipped and bloodied and punished for wearing too-short pants.

The silence is cloistering and at the same time, completely par for the course. He does not expect his father to speak to him, but he sort of thinks maybe another father would.

Outside, the black spine of distant mountains rolls on forever and stays impossibly far away. He peers out into the nothing, past what the moonlight can illuminate—and now, he doesn’t have to wonder. He knows how it feels. Imagines another little boy made of shadows, as far away from the road as he’d been, and feels sick from all that fruit juice. He won’t ask his dad to pull over—all he wants is to get rid of that feeling on the back of his neck, like he’s dissolving into space. Like he’s the only thing for miles and miles.

But the problem is—the feeling doesn’t go away.

Not in the driveway. Not in the bath. Not in bed, later that night.

Spencer did a bad thing and he wishes he could go back to normal. He wishes he didn’t get that desert feeling when he was surrounded by other people. But it comes back, again and again. At school. When he tentatively asks for new pants and his mom throws a vase at the wall and then sobs on the floor for forty minutes. When a few weeks later, his dad leaves, and doesn’t take the Ford with him—so it sits under the carport, greets him on his way to school every morning, and over the course of years the windshield turns opaque with dust.

He hasn’t stopped feeling that way since.

“You okay?”

A long, soft breath draws him back into his body. Into his bed.

Not creosote. Not geosmin. Not the Santa Ana winds, coming from the deepest parts of the desert and carrying their desolation to him. Shampoo. Warmth. A girl who smells sort of like him, now—a girl whose perfume is all over his neck and chest and pillow.

You’re there. You, a stranger. You, a girl he’s going to fall in love with. You—the only person he ever brought into the desert with him. The only person who ever brought him back.

Point Nemo is not in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Asphodel is not in the underworld. It’s a little less than half a mile out across from an old gas station on the I-15 in the middle of the Mojave desert.

Spencer nods because he can’t bring himself to speak just yet.

You smile and take the time to find his hand in the dark.

“Felt like I was out there with you. Thanks.”

And he squeezes your hand—because for the first time, it feels like someone is going to come looking for him.

lyrics from my life in art <3

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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lcriedlastnight · 6 months ago

Note

Can you do a fluffy and angsty fic for Lando after Austria, his girl comforting him. I'm surprised there aren't more after what happened under the tags but the only ones that were there are smut, which I don't really want to read I want fluff and angst.

sorry it took me so long to respond anon! i've been swamped.

tw: fem! reader, swears, AUSTRIA!!!!, lmk if you want me to add anything.

w/c: 1k

you watch as lando trailed after max and you knew one of two things was inevitable. either lando was going to overtake max and finally take the lead after what seemed like forever, or the two boys were going to crash into each other.

you watch with one eye open every time lando tries to overtake max. you makes your body tense up as you fear that this will be the time their tires touch. you try to stay hopeful but you know that this will not end well, neither drivers willing to give up their positions and both trying to fight for that first place position.

it happens so quickly, it was a blink and you'll miss it incident. all you see is lando's mclaren try another move on max then something flying in the air. you can hear shouts from the mclaren team around you but you were still confused, you were not sure what exactly was happening. you watch as max slows down and lando finally overtakes him. you hear that he has received a five second penalty. you see a flash of a red bull fly past in the pit lane and then suddenly, lando's own car is stopped, practically half of its back wheel missing. it is then that it finally registers. they had contact and it had caused lando to retire from the race (you later found out it was his own decision).

you had not been with lando long enough to know what to do in this kind of situation. you just stay where you are for ten minutes until maybe the last few laps of the race when you feel lando's presence looming around you.

he does not even have to ask you to follow him as he heads towards his drivers room, head bowed down, not even looking where he was going. the boy was lucky he did not walk into any walls. if it had been any other situation you would have laughed at his carelessness but right now you had no clue how to act.

once you were both in the privacy of his room, lando slumps down on the little couch headfirst. you linger at the door, your hands longing to soothe him and your mind crying out to tell him it will all be alright.

"are you alright?" you question. it comes off timid as much as you tried to seem confident. you knew it was a silly question. you knew he was not fine but you just felt like you had to ask. lando sighs into one of the throw pillows at the question. for some reason this is what spurs you to spring into action. you take the few steps over to join him on the couch and sit as the space next to his feet.

"lando, look at me." you tell him, you voice much more firm and stable than before. lando does as you ask and turns himself so he is facing you and looks at you so sadly he might as well have just ripped out your heart out and jumped on it right there and then.

"that was all max's fault. you did nothing wrong. you tried an overtake, you wouldn't be a racer if you just sat back and let max lead the whole race. you're the only person on the grid who is consistently challenging max every weekend, that's something to be proud of.” you grab his hand gently and let your thumb rub it's own path along the skin of wrist.

"i'm shit. i've had one win and now i can't seem to do it again and when i finally get the chance to, like today, max just fucks me up because he would rather dnf than finish second! and he didn't even retire the fucking car he actually kept on racing which makes me look even worse!" by the end of his rant his voice was louder and you could see the tears of frustration in his eyes.

you swiftly pull him up by his hand to be face to face with you. you hold eye contact with him, letting him know how much you meant what you were going to say.

"you are not shit, lando. you've had one win and now you're hungry for more, of course it's gonna hurt a little when you come second again but listen to me. every single race you are getting closer and closer to max. i know you want it to be now but just because it isn't doesn't mean you're shit. it just means that max knows you are more of a threat than before miami and he can't just saunter along like he did at the start of the season. you're doing so well, please don't doubt yourself."

lando listens through your entire rant without trying to interrupt once and once you are finished talking he drops his head into your lap. "i really, really thought i was gonna get it this time. i really wanted it." he mumbles into your thigh. you know it is killing him and you cannot stand it. you know the only thing you can do to help him though, is to listen to him and give him the most comfort you can manage.

you sigh, hand coming to run through his sweaty, messy curls. "i know, baby. it's coming and it will be so fucking great when it does. i'll be here waiting for you and then we can celebrate like it's first, huh? that sound good?"

you can feel the small smile lando manages on your leg as he nods against it.

you stay like that for what seems like ages but you know it cannot be that long because before lando can even ask the time there is a knock on his door, alerting him that he had press to do in two minutes. he sighs and hauls himself from his comfortable position.

"you're so strong lan, be strong." you tell him with a quick kiss to his lips. lando knows it is a good luck kiss. lando also knows that you know how much he hates doing any kind of press or media when he was feeling like this.

"wish you could come with me." lando's frown is so deep it sort of looks like a half pout half frown. you smile at his cuteness.

"when you come back we can go back to the hotel, order in and watch that adam sandler film you like."

this seems to perk the boy up significantly as he give you a peck on the forehead before rushing out to get his media done and dusted. a night in with you sounded like heaven to him right now. he did not want to me reminded of the events of the day's race but he would put up with it for the end result. you and him cuddled up, together. it is all he ever wants.

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fluffysucker · 2 years ago

Text

4. In my defense, I have none

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU)

TW: Talk about miscarriage. illusion to smut.

A/N: Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female.

If you can't tell already, this chapter is heavily influenced by Folklore by Taylor Swift. I used so many song lyrics throughout the chapter. Lmk if you found them all.

PS: it's folklore. Get ready. Also, I'm NOT defending Bucky

Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

You should have never let it reach here. It should have been just a one-time thing. A mistake. A slip.

However, you found yourself stuck in this dilemma more times than you wanted.

After that day in the house, it happened more frequently. Whenever the kids were asleep. If the kids were having a sleepover at either of their aunts or uncles. Even as far as when the kids were at school.

Both of you were missing each other too much. It was making up for lost time. All the time, you should have been holding each other, but you weren't even talking.

The fire between you was burning flames. Not caring, it might burn you instead.

You were happy to have a part of him back. Every time, you would tell yourself, This is the last. Yet you would fall in bed with him.

And he wasn't helping at all. Saying all the things you want to hear. Fulfilling all your needs Knowing exactly how to get you so pouty in his hands.

"You're doing so good for me, doll."

"Look at you. So beautiful and pretty."

"The best mama, my woman."

"Mine. All mine."

All the stuff you so desperately missed from him

And it wasn't just this. Every time you were done, he wouldn't leave right away. From the first time, he would stay for a bit longer. Holding you. Cuddling you to his chest Drawing circles on your skin Praising you.

He satisfied every need you had. The need to be touched. The need to be loved. The need. to be taken care of. The need to be with him.

Despite not having any real conversation about your current situation, you fooled yourself into thinking that it was Bucky's way of telling you to start over. That he always belonged to you.

It was just so pretty to think that all along there were some invisible strings tying you to him.

However, whenever your mind took control again, you would see how messed up the situation was. You were divorced for a reason. He didn't want you anymore. So why were you keeping his bed warm?

That is why every time you said you would stop, you would reserve some of your dignity. You would end it, but he would show up and look at you like you had hung the moon and the stars. You would fall again.

Bucky didn't know any better either. Letting his feelings take over. His primal need to have you be his

He was aware of how selfish he was. But the reason he left was never you. He never stopped loving you. He could never stop loving you. He would die for you in secret.

Would it be enough if he could never give you peace?

This predicament was what led you right where you are. lying on his chest after he tore your body apart at his new apartment. Rebecca, Bucky's sister, planned a trip for her kids and yours. You suggested tagging along, but she refused, telling you that you needed the break. She didn't think you would spend your break with her brother.

If you closed your eyes right now, you could imagine what would happen if nothing had changed. Bucky was still your husband. Your man. The intimacy was so familiar. The feeling of his arms around you and his breath over your face, the soft kisses on your hair Your own little heaven

The buzzing of the phone scattered your peaceful bubble. Bucky reached for his phone, and a little laugh erupted from him. You shouldn't have asked him about it. Nothing could have prepared him for his next words.

"Clint is making sure I won't stand this girl he has been so bent over setting up together."

The blood ran cold in your vessels. Dreed filled your body. You could hear the sound of your heart breaking into a million pieces.

Have you really meant so little to him?

Bucky was the love of your life, and he was planning dates while you laid with him. How did it get here?

Bucky had the audacity to pull you closer to him after putting his phone down. With what little is left of your dignity. You pushed him and got up to dress up and leave. Every fiber in your being was begging you to crawl on the bed and cry, but now wasn't the time.

"Where are you going?" Bucky asked, confused about the change in mood. He wanted to hold you a bit more.

"I'm leaving. So you could get ready for your date." You were proud of yourself for disguising the bitterness in your voice. You had shown him enough.

"It's not until 7 in the evening." The audacity was infuriating. Is he acting stupid, or is he really clueless?

You couldn't be in the same room with him anymore. You took your bag and rushed to the front door.

"Doll, what's wrong?" He followed you and reached for your arm, but you moved away quickly.

"Nothing. Have fun on your date." This time you couldn’t help it.

"C'mon, doll. I'm just going for Clint. I already plan to tell her it won't work." This was your last straw.

"And why won't it work?" You turned to him, hurt in your eyes and venom lacing your voice.

"Because you're sleeping with your ex-wife and your kids' mother." The pain was too much for you to stay quiet for longer.

"Well, in that case, you should try to make it work because it's not happening again." You finally said it.

"Wait. Why?." Bucky never wanted this to stop. He didn't want to lose you. Again.

"Can't you really see what's wrong here? Do you really think what we are doing is normal?" You couldn't believe him. Is he that delusional?

"But I want you." It was the truth. But it was a harmful one.

"You want me, or do you want to keep sleeping with me?" The question, which you tried so hard to keep at the back of your brain, rushed into your words.

"Of course not. I only ever wanted you." Bucky never meant for you to doubt yourself. His actions weren't helping, but his intentions were to never hurt you.

"You left me."

"Not because I stopped loving you."

"And that's way worse."

You were finally having this conversation. The one you delayed for so long

"You left because you got bored. The role of the husband got too much for you."

"And how do you expect me to believe you loved me when everything tells me you were going to leave anyway?."

"I wasn't. I just couldn't do it anymore. I thought I was able to get over my old issues and keep going, but I couldn't."

"You couldn't talk to me. Couldn't reach out. Couldn't try to figure out a way to solve it. No, you chose to walk out on me because you couldn't commit anymore. Yet here we are. Look at us."

"Because I can't let go."

"But you can divorce me."

Bucky had no answer to this. His commitment issues got the better of him. He shouldn't have married you in the first place if he was going to leave anyway. He shouldn't have promised to stay forever and then walked away. And he was aware of it all. He could hear it all. But nothing could have prepared him for your next words.

"I was pregnant."

It fell from your tongue. It's so hard to say. So hard to listen. But he had to know. He had to know the sacrifices you made for him.

"I was so happy. I thought this was our chance to mend what was broken. And I didn't even know what was broken. When I went to tell you, you said you were busy and left. When you came back. You didn't even bother to ask me what I wanted."

"I thought you learned to read my mind. You noticed nothing. Not the morning sickness. Not the fatigue. Not the mood swings. Not my first trimester meal. Nothing. I gave so many signs. You didn't even see the signs."

"So when you brought out the divorce, I agreed. I was so hurt."

Bucky didn't want to believe you. He knew he was distant in the last months of your marriage. But was he really that bad? To the point he couldn't hear his wife's distress calls? He was so focused on his own problems that he almost neglected your presence. The only person who truly loved him

"If you had told me, I..."

"You would have stayed. Because you got tired of being a husband and not a father. You would have stayed for the kids, but you would have hated me. We would have been miserable. I had to make the choice. I had to choose for my kids to have a good father over anything."

It was no surprise how selfless you were. Choosing him and the kids over yourself was second nature to you.

"I was going to tell you after the divorce. I was going to tell you that I just found out. So even if you asked, I would turn down getting back together."

"But the pain was too much. The stress of losing my husband The self-doubt. There were too many questions I didn't have answers to. Along with the act that I was fine with the divorce. It was so hard. I lost it."

Maybe if you had told him, it wouldn't have happened. You will never know. And it will always haunt you.

All you knew was that either way, you weren't going to win.

"I had to go drop the kids off at Nat's first before going to the hospital all by myself. I couldn't call anyone because no one knew, and the last thing I wanted was fake sympathy."

"You know what I needed, my husband. I got back to an empty house. I had to get through this all by myself. Alone. "

"I wanted you to hold me. Let me cry. Let me grieve. I needed you. And you weren't there. I had to pick up the pieces because the kids needed their mother. And I did."

Bucky's heart was shattered by how much you suffered because of him. Because he let his fears control him. Hurting the person he cherished the most. Damaging the only real thing he ever had. Your marriage.

"I tried so hard to hate you. Only remember the agonizing pain. You left me broken and bitten. You, the love of my life. The man I have ever loved. You, who drew stars around my scars, and now, I'm bleeding. "

"But the moment you touched me, it was all down the drain. You are all I ever wanted. I forgot about it all."

"Every time I say this is the last time, then I still come back to you. I love you too much to have common sense."

"I convinced myself we were changing for the better. Wanting was enough. For me, it was enough. To live for the hope of it all. Maybe there is a chance for us."

"I was wrong."

"You had me wishing you were a bad father, so you would've abandoned all of us. You had me wishing you stopped caring for the kids so I could hate you. So I can stop seeing you. You had me wishing pain on my own kids. Because I can never understand how you can be such a good dad but so afraid of being a husband."

"Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me. Look at this idotic fool that you made me."

At this point, you were in a hysterical state. Tears running down your face. Sobs shake your body. Your fists collide with his bare chest. letting your anger out with the crushing pain. The last four months are finally showing. The hurt you have kept inside is out in the open.

You couldn't fight anymore. You rested your head on his chest as you sobbed. Mourning your broken heart

He hesitated to wrap his hands around you. Letting both of your tears mix together. The fact that he was the reason for your breakdown killed him.

His hold felt like a cage. Keeping you trapped because you can't let go either. You would never be free.

You stood there for a while until your sobs became sniffles. You broke from his grasp, looking at him with your puffy red eyes.

"The kids deserve better than this. They deserve the best parents. And that's where we are now. Parents. Nothing more."

You walked to the front door. You turned to look at him. Silently begging him to say something. Do something. But you got nothing. And that was it.

If your feelings for each other were too strong to handle, too complicated to solve, too damaging to save, then you never stood a chance to exist again.

Now, both of you dream of some epiphany. Just one single glimpse of relief. To make some sense of what you've seen

"See you next weekend." You said this as you closed the door behind you.

You left Bucky to face the consequences of his actions. He wanted to leave. So you left. Here, he pushed the only person who ever mattered to him. The person who loved him to the moon and to Saturn

How could he let his stupid mind get him here? He let his insecurities take over. How self-centered did he have to be for this to happen? Ruining his family and his world just for the sake of himself And he wasn't even miserable. He got into his own head. Dark thoughts that pushed him here. Thinking he couldn’t commit anymore, when all he ever needed was always going to be you.

With tears streaming down his face, all he could think about was how he got here. Why did he become the villain? His mind was running thousands of miles a second.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

You turned into your worst fears

And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain

Crossing out the good years

And you're cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Look at how my tears ricochet

Taglist: @lethallyprotected @almosttoopizza @ragingrainbowshipl @dexter99 @xdarkcreaturex @nash-dara @paarthurnax59 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @unaxv @missmielyhoran @wintermischief @kandis-mom

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yuyu1024 · 1 year ago

Text

Birthday Sex

Pairings: San x Y/N x Wooyoung x Mingi

Genre/tags: FWB, MxM & MxF

Warning: 🔞🔞🔞🔞 smut/angst, cursing, sensual touching, making out, semi public, pet name, kink, unprotected sex, mxm /mxf relationship

~~~~[lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 1.6k

Disclaimer:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

Note: no plot. Just pure smut hehe sorry this is short and random 😅

*******

Everyone have gathered to celebrate your birthday. The table is filled with food and drinks. And the whole room, probably the whole house is occupied by the loud yelling, cheering and the singing as you are all enjoying the karaoke that came with the vacation house you guys rented out for the weekend.

"My throat hurts." Wooyoung says as he coughs after singing the highest note of the song San selected for him to sing. "Can we just play a game... I'm tired now from singing..." he flops down at the sofa and sit beside you.

"What game do you suggest?" San asks as he chugs down a glass of beer

"Card game?" Mingi suggests

"What kind of card game?" Wooyoung asks

"Wait... I did see something here..." San crawls towards the drawer where the games/toys are at. "This place is so cool providing games for kids and adults..." he then shows you guys one by one the stuff toys, board games and even the toy cars.

"But I'm too tired to play games..." you whine as you lean to Wooyoung's shoulder. "A little tipsy too... to even use my brain." You giggle

"Then, tell us what you want to do baby?" San asks

You smirk. "Don't call me baby... you know how I feel when you call me that."

"Why... what do you feel? Huh?" Wooyoung then cups your chin and kisses you on the cheek.

"Secret." You whisper, winking at him.

"Hey..." Mingi goes to sit on your other side and pouts, "why kiss her?"

"It was just on the cheek, Mangi." Woo explains. "Don't get jealous." He teases

"Are you... jealous?" You ask Mingi as you move to his side and lean on him this time.

"I am! Coz last time I didn't get to kiss you." He is serious. Yet adorable.

"You know you can kiss me anytime..." you says as you pinch his cheeks.

"Really?" He smiles

"Yes."

"Can I kiss you now?" He asks

"If you want to... yes."

Mingi smiles and leans in, lower, so he could reach and kiss you. The kiss is not just a smooch. It is a definite KISS.

His hand placement on your nape, positioning you for the perfect angle and then his tongue exploring your mouth as if his rent is due tonight.

Mingi is such a good kisser. His kiss could just make you go nuts especially with those lips.

"You two sound so sexy..." Wooyoung mumbles before he goes in to touch you. He begins cupping your breast while he leans in to lick your exposed collarbone with that off-shoulder top of yours.

"Yah... how about me?" San is sitting on the floor watching.

His whine made you pause and smile, stopping your make out session with Mingi. "What do you want, Sannie?"

"I don't know... but I want you." He's so red from all the drinking you guys did. He is tipsy too but he's still in control of himself and knows what he wants.

"It's your birthday, Y/N..." Wooyoung says before he goes in and kiss you on your neck. "Choose...who you want... to fuck first..." he says in between kisses

"Only one?" You asks

"Baby, you know we get jealous easily thats why four-some is not ideal for us... we only did it once and it got a bit heated..." San explains while his eyes is on Mingi

"What?" Mingi reacts cutely

"I think... It's better for us to have you one at a time...plus while we wait... we can..." Woo pauses to reach out to your other side and give Mingi a smooch on the lips. "We can keep each other busy."

"But I want to spent time with you all... it's my birthday..." you whine as you flop and lay your back on the sofa.

You are being too greedy. You're not demanding like this. It's the alcohol talking for you. Coz you know it can be chaotic if its four of you.

"Baby," San finally gets up and crawls on top of you pushing the two men on the side. "Woo and Mingi can stay in the room if you want... but no touching for them of course... while... I fuck you 'till break of dawn." He snarls right at your ear before he nibbles your skin, leaving marks on your neck.

"Hmmm..." you hum as you enjoy his kisses. "Are you sure we can do that?" you ask San

"Anything for you." He answers before he plants a soft kiss on your forehead

"Why is it always have to be you... the main guy...?" Wooyoung asks, rolling his eyes

San whips his head to him, grinning. "Coz I am the main guy..." then he kisses you on the lips before gazing at you. "Y/N is mine."

"Yah..." Mingi protests, "She never said she's yours..."

"But she is..." San explains, "I am dating her..."

"Not officially..." Mingi says

"Yaah... Mangi..." Woo suddenly stands up and kisses Mingi on the lips once again to get his attention. "Are you horny?"

Mingi with puppy eyes and cherry cheeks, "I am."

"Fuck me then..." Woo takes Mingi's hand and place it on his cheek. "I can be your buttom tonight... if you want." He says, smiling ear to ear. "Coz... I am horny as hell now too... just seeing you get jelly over them."

"Are you sure?" Mingi asks, "you want it?"

Woo looks down at Mingi's bulge, smirking. "I can take you... don't worry." Wooyoung then pulls Mingi up from the sofa and leading him to walk with him, so they could go to the room upstairs.

"Have fun you two!" San shouts as the two disappears from their sight. "Also there is lube up there!" He giggles

"Don't you think.. Wooyoung likes Mingi a little bit more than us?" You say, pointing the obvious.

"Maybe... how can he not... Mingi is his type. The cute type." Then San frowns. "why are you jealous? I'm right here."

You giggle. "I know... I can see you..."

"Don't be literal... I meant--"

You hush him by putting your index finger on his lips. "I know."

Then whilst biting your lower lip, you start to strip your clothes off while San is watching you. He's kneeling on the floor in front of you.

"Damn..." he hisses under his breathe the second he sees you just wearing your bra and panty. "Fuck... baby..." he can't take it anymore. He pushes his face forward and smudge his face on your chest. "You're so damn sexy..."

"Looks like you are more excited for my birthday sex than me..." you tease

"Baby, c'mon... you know I'm always excited when it comes to you."

"Aah!" You gasp when you suddenly feel his hand go to your clothed core.

"You're already excited..." he mumbles, smiling as he felt you wet and ready.

"Of course..." you exhale as you wrap your arms around him. "How can I not be?" Then you tilt your head and crash your lips to his.

Both of you are moaning into the kiss. You are not rushing this. You are just enjoying every little pleasure you two could give to each other. You have the whole not so why bother going to heaven so soon?

"F-fuck! S-San...! Nngggguuuh..." you are shaking. His finger in you is already a beautiful toture whilst you to are making out on the sofa. "Yes... there..." you move your hips along his rythm

"Ughh... My dick is twitching.. just hearing you cry..."

San's eyes is on you. Always on you whenever you two pause on kissing. He likes to see you react when he hits your spot or your body jerk whenever he makes you feel good with just his hands. He enjoys it. It turns him on even.

"Sannie... just... fuck me... I can't wait anymore... I want you in me..." you breathe, holding onto him for dear life. Your breathing is heavy and you are about to explode with all the sex drive.

"Let's do this then..." he grins. And then he switches your position, putting you on the sofa whilst he is on top of you.

"You looks so handsome..." you say to him as he rips his button up shirt up.

"Am I?" His dimple is showing. He likes that you called him handsome. "Or you're just saying that because..." he got lower, his face is inches from yours. "my dick is about to rip you apart?"

"Oh, Sannie..." you sensually glide your hands over his face and then his broad shoulders. "You are handsome... always... fucking me or not..."

He scoffs, trying not to smile. "I fucking love you... you really know how to make me fold and melt."

"I fucking love you too... my sannie." You whisper

"Fuck!" He grunts as he eases his length in your core. "Baby!" He nuzzles his face on your neck, breathing in and out slowly. "You're....taking me... so well...ughhhh..."

He is lengthy and thick. He fits you perfectly. More than perfect actually that it makes you clench even more.

"B-baby..." he is shaking. "I'm not even moving yet... but... but... fuck, fuck, fuck! Your so warm and holding me so well."

You start to kiss him from the back of his ear, his cheek and then pull his face up so you could kiss him on the lips. He is sweating bullets.

"We can go slow... we have all night." You say

"Fuck... just thinking about how we can be stuck like this... all night..." he positions his hands to find support from the sofa and start to move his hips. "I'm so fucking happy!"

You chuckle as you see him get excited. but then you stop smiling the second it hit you. Meaning, the second his dick hit your spot.

"Holy fuck!" You grab onto the sofa as well, above your head, to support yourself. He is thrusting in like you could feel him hit your stomach. It's so powerful and so intoxicating. "Fuck! Aaah!! San!!" You moan loudly

"Happy birthday, Baby." He says

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tartigglez · 2 years ago

Text

"i'm here now, aren't i?

diluc x gn!reader

genre: fluff/hurt-comfort??

word count: 1.6k (i got carried away)

tags: diluc is our mr darknight hero, soft hours, diluc gets wounded :( but its fine u can take care of him, many kiss, such cuddle, shy diluc at the end bc i have brainrot gonna be honest

tw/cw: descripton of blades (swords), brief description of cuts/wounds + treating them, scars, reader is alone at night (idk if this is worth mentioning but better safe than sorry), diluc carries reader in some positions that would be considered sorta feminine????, insomnia (?), lmk if i missed any

a/n: FINALLY DILUC! gotta say, i love the graphics for this sm, i feel like i did a rlly good job (giving myself credit bc they're pretty). i love soft boi diluc and intend to write for him more ngl, anyways, enjoy!

a wet, stormy night at dawn winery proved to be the reason for your lack of sleep. the sounds of the thunder and lightning clattering outside, accompanied by the drumming of the rain on the window were so loud that they tried to take priority in your mind. however, the only thing you could bring yourself to think about was your lover, all alone, in the cold.

the empty space in the bed next to you, the lack of his presence, the ominously daunting weather outside. these things all worried you.

what if he got hurt?

what if something was wrong?

what if…?

don't think about it. don’t.

you knew that you wouldn’t be getting sleep anytime soon, so you got out of bed, putting on the bathrobe which was hanging on the wardrobe door, and brought yourself to the sitting room, perhaps to distract yourself with a book? but in reality you were just going down there to wait for him.

so you waited

first 10 minutes

then 30 minutes

then an hour

then decided that enough was enough

you could defend yourself in combat, you could wield a weapon, and you would do anything to know that diluc was okay.

and so you found yourself back in your bedroom, in the wardrobe, looking for the longsword he told you he had left in there for emergencies.

the blade was sharp, and glinted silver in the light. the handle was encrusted with what you could only assume were rubies, and so you concluded that this sword must have costed diluc a significant amount of money.

you lifted the sword from its case, sheathed it, and then you realised the weight of the weapon, which wasn’t exactly the lightest, to say the least.

you left the winery, still in pyjamas, your bathrobe having been replaced with a jacket, quietly closing the front door to your home as to not awaken any of the staff who also lived there.

if you were going to be quite honest with yourself you weren't sure where exactly you were going, but you just began walking down the path…

the night was eerie. the cold, windy air hit your cheeks as you moved slowly away from the winery. it wasn't shortly after you began your walk that you heard a sound. an immediate response of adrenaline came to you, and so you drew your sword, ready to face whatever was coming near you.

after about ten seconds of standing still and hearing the sound get closer to you, you saw a red light glowing about ten metres away. with your sword still drawn you moved closer to the light, preparing for combat, and the light moved closer to you as well.

within a split second, you realised that the light was that of a pyro vision, the light of his pyro vision. you dropped your weapon on the ground, and he did the same as you ran to him. as if by natural instinct, you jumped into his arms as he wrapped once of them around your waist, and used the other to hold you up. neither of you said anything for a bit, simply holding each other and allowing yourselves, and your heart rates, seemingly, to calm down. after all, you must have startled the man, appearing out of nowhere like that.

he placed you gently down, back onto your feet as he held your waist with one hand, and placed the other on your cheek.

the man had a face of pure concern as he looked into your eyes, why would you possibly be out here at this time of night?

his hair was tousled, and his lip had been cut, presumably in some sort of rough battle. not only that, but his shirt had been slightly ripped as well, presumably by some sort of sword, or in this case, a mitachurl axe.

“have you been injured? are you well? why are you out here?”

these were all things you ought to be saying to him, so why was he so concerned about you?

“i was worried about you, you were supposed to be home and i-”

“do not worry, all is well, i am here, love”

“you’re hurt”

“surface level injuries dear, please, settle. I’m here now, arent i?”

“yeah, yeah”

he pulls you into his arms, placing a kiss upon your head.

“let’s go home, you’re cold.”

and so, without dwelling upon it, you walk hand in hand back in the direction of the winery, coming across the sword you had previously dropped on the ground. you sheathed it once again, and picked it up. diluc let out a light chuckle.

“you were really that worried about me?”

“what do you mean, of course i was!”

“my dear, a weapon of this size is far too heavy for you to carry, allow me”

“you can’t, you’ve already got your own sword, its too much and you’re injured an-”

he cut you off…

with his lips…

“i'm fine. trust me. i'm more than capable of carrying this sword, its only half the weight of mine”

“hmph, fine. but don't come crying to me later when your back hurts, mister high-and-mighty!”

“very well, sweetheart”

you grabbed his large, calloused hand to lead him back to the winery, and although you wouldn’t see it in the moonlight, a rosy blush dusted itself over his cheeks. archons, he loves you.

as the pair of you entered the winery once again, diluc placed both his weapon and yours down beside the front door, smiling to himself at the fact that you cared about him this much. it also seems to him that you didn’t notice, the longsword you had gotten out of the closet matched his greatsword, it was simply a smaller version.

you both enter the sitting room, which is still dimly lit. diluc gestures towards the fire, which immediately relights, due to the skilled use of his pyro vision.

“you are cold, dearest. i shall move the sofa closer to the fire, and we will sit for a while, yes?”

“luc’, at least let me tend to your wounds first, you're hurt”

the look of concern on your face caused a veil of guilt to loom over him. but he brushed it off, as to not make you feel bad about caring for him so much.

“fine, but be gentle”

“i will”

and so, you both sat on the soft plush of the sofa, diluc with his shirt off, and you gently caring for the shallow wound slightly above his left pectoral, dabbing it with a damp towel. his skin was covered in battle scars, but it was beautiful, in some way. these were the lengths your lover would go to for the sake of other people, an admirable trait to say the least.

diluc admired your concentration whilst caring for his wounds, and was slightly surprised when you manoeuvred your body to straddle his lap, only so you could get a better angle to analyse his injuries, of course (definitely not to look at his muscular arms or anything like that). he placed one of his large hands on your thigh, and the other on your waist, as you gently cared for any other wounds on his body. your skin made contact with his as you put your hand on the warm skin of his shoulder to balance yourself.

“you’re freezing, dear, your hand is so cold”

“hm, i guess i just didn’t warm much since being outside”

“that won’t do”

a gentle heat began to spread through you, from your heart around the rest of you, warming every inch of your body. he had used his vision on you.

“tsk, pyro users”

“i know, right?”

the man was surprisingly chipper, considering the injuries he had sustained. you both laughed, for some unknown reason, at a joke which wasn’t really all that funny, but that’s love for you. and as the light of the fire began to dim, and the pair of you began to tire, he placed a gentle kiss upon your lips.

“shall we go to bed, dear?”

“yes, please! archons- i’m tired”

“i'm sorry, i feel that this is my fault”

“oh it is entirely your fault, mister darknight hero”

“i told you not to call me that”

“and i told you not to stay out too late, no?”

he let out a chuckle, lifting you from your position on the sofa, and carrying you to your shared bedroom, whilst holding you close to his chest. he removed you from his grasp momentarily, placing you on the bed and telling you to get under the covers, just so he could remove the necessary garments to be comfortable for bed.

yawning, he pulled back the duvet and placed his weary body next to yours, quickly moving to bury his head in your chest and wrap his arms and legs around you. your hands moved to his hair out of natural response, gently massaging his scalp as you fiddled with his vermillion locks.

"i love you, y/n”

“i love you more, luc’”

you placed a sly kiss to the crown of his head, and he only hid his face from you further out of shyness, whining into the fabric of your pyjamas.

“you’re so cute”

“don't call me that”

“night, cutie”

and so, you both drifted off into slumber, held in each others arms, held in love.

#FUCK ITS SO CUTE #diluc #dilucatdeeznuts #diluc x reader #diluc fluff #diluc imagines #diluc x you #diluc ragnvindr

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chaos-chloe · 1 year ago

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A helping Southern Hand

Summary: Kris Statlander isn't available? Don't worry AEW's Southern Belle is always available to help.

OC: Dixie Fae/ Scarlette Price

TW: Descriptions of wrestling, country drawl, possible cursing (I don't remember) hook x oc {if I'm missing anything lmk}

I’m rushing, running my way to the curtain after Kris texted me that she got stuck in traffic, and needs a cover in the match. She definitely owes me a good dinner for working my night off. I catch my breath as I signal the sound guy to play my music to cut off Anna.

“Aw, did Orange and Hook not find a pretty enough partner?” Anna Jay teases while Angelo and Matt laughed.

“I guess it a handi-” Anna jay gets caught off by music

“I’m a Buckle Bunny

Drive my own truck, got my own money

Bangin' with the chaw, so I talk funny

Rhinestone hat says, "Kentucky"

I'm a buckle bunny.”

"AND THEIR TAG TEAM PARTNER, WEIGHING IN AT 126 LBS FROM FORT KNOX KENTUCKY, THE SOUTHERN BELLE DIXIE FAE!" Justin announces my name.

I come out around the corner with my hands holding my big buckle that is a floral background with a ribbon in pink text saying “COWGIRL UP”. I stopped at the top of the ramp, to tip my hat to the crowd while they were cheering. I sauntered my way down the ramp, slapping some fans' hands, to the ring. I started to climb the steel stairs, but Hook stuck out his hand to help me up the stairs gracefully, I grabbed his hand winking at him.

“Thank ya, Darlin’.” I greeted him and Orange with a small nod, Orange nodded back

“Well, Well, looky there Taz, your boy has some manners with our Southern Belle Beauty here.” Excalibur claims

“He knows how to treat the women roster.” Taz agrees.

I got behind the ropes, taking off my show buckle as Hook wanted to start the match with Matt. As they are circling around the ring Matt decides to scream in Hook's face.

“LOOK AT THIS IDIOT, HUH!? WHAT YOU GOT HUH?! WHAT YOU GOT? YOU WANT A SHOT? I DON'T THINK SO!” Matt has his arms raised taunting Hook, but he looks confused about where this little speech is coming from. Matt backs up to let Angelo tag himself in the match. Angelo hops in to start circling around Hook, like a hunter scaring its prey.

“He’s got this, doesn't he?” I inquired about Orange, he just nodded with a little smile.

“Alrighty darlin’, let's get this match started then.” I commented a little cockily.

Then, Angelo steps back to his corner and reaches his arm back towards Matt to tag in. Anna just stands there clapping to the crowd as Angelo tries to mess with Hook, but he turns things around with a hip toss to get Angelo off of him. Hook looks up to see Matt in the corner waiting to charge at him. Matt rushes him but Hook turns it to a drop sayanagi. Matt ends up with his back turned to Hook, redrum is in place but it's too weak to hold Matt up. Matt scrambles to his corner to tag in Anna, Hook backs off of Matt as Anna enters the ring. Hook starts walking backwards as Anna starts walking towards me. I sat on the second rope with my hand held out to Hook with a smile, he slapped my hand and now it’s time for some Cowgirl Chaos.

“Oh here comes our Southern Belle, entering the ring with Anna Jay.” Tony describes.

“Look at the wicked smile on her face, she is ready for something.” Excalibur wearily says.

As I got into the ring, Anna and I started circling each other waiting for something to happen.

“So you’re the pretty belle in the back, who's gonna get her ass kicked by me.” Anna taunted with a sneer.

“Oh, really now hun?” I questioned her.

Anna then kicks me in the stomach with her left leg, I bent down to play as that kick hurt. She grabs my right arm to try to launch me to the corner, I countered it by slamming my feet to the ground in a squatting position. I shake my head with a smile and then toss her in the corner behind me away from her corner accompanied by a yell of “NO!”.

I show off my non-show buckle with my hip popped out to the side taunting Anna, I try to go for an elbow strike to her face but she moves out of the way. The funny bone part of my elbow ends up hitting the top turnbuckle, with that static fuzzy feeling going up and down my arm. Anna rushes at me hitting me with a spinning high heel kick to the chest over my breast. I winced and tried to leave that corner, from further damage happening. Anna grabs my right arm again looking for her Jay kick, but I grab her leg to reverse the move. I slightly panicked, reversed into a suplex, but without a struggle I held Anna for 6 seconds then let us drop hitting the mat in the middle of the ring. I got back up to my feet, looking out to the crowd waving my invisible lasso; I darted my eyes over to our corner seeing Hook and Orange clapping for me. The referee runs in front of me to the other corner, realizing that Angelo was getting in the ring, causing a distraction letting Jack Hager come out of nowhere and hit Orange in the face.

I rush over to see if Orange is okay, grabbing the top rope and observing Orange on the floor holding his head. I turned around to Anna superkicking me to the face, I rolled over to our side trying to gain back awareness. I see that Orange is still down and Hook is walking threateningly over to Jack, who is walking backwards around the ring and Anna ends up getting a tag to Angelo.

Matt jumps off the apron running towards Hook hitting him with a mean clothesline. I slump down off and out of the ring by steel steps. I watch in pain as Matt picks up Hook and throws him into the barricade. Hooks falls down to the ground only to get picked back up and thrown into the ring to Angelo. Angelo grabs his hair forcing Hook to get up, Angelo pulls Hook into a suplex. He tries to cover Hook, thankfully Hook kicks out at 2.

I finally collected myself and had my arms on the apron watching Hook getting beat by Angelo with some forearms to the head. Parker then hits another suplex on a dazed Hook, holding his back in pain moving away from danger. Parker follows Hook and grabs his hair again with his right hand, dragging him over to their corner, slapping his left hand with Matt. Matt jumps in and hits a back breaker to Hook, letting Angelo rebound off the ropes running drive by to Hooks head with a god awful sound.

Orange and I jump up on the apron watching this all go down wincing in sympathy for Hook. Matt goes for the cover, Orange preemptively getting in the ring, but Hook kicks out at 2 again. I cheer and whoop that Hook is still alive with us in this match. I see that Hook looked over to us, I reached my hand out to give him a little bit of encouragement to tag one of us in to save him from this onslaught. Matt slaps the back of Hooks head/ neck, he stumbles over to the ropes to gather himself. Matt then grabs Hook, but Hook is fired up now, he delivers a big knife chop to Matt's chest three times. Matt is tumbling backwards but he kicks Hook in the abdomen to throw him to the turnbuckles. Hook’s back smacks the middle turnbuckle so hard that he falls to the ground.

“Come on Hook darlin! Let's go!” I yelled over Matt's “Yeah!”

Hook hears me and starts crawling over to Orange and I with help of the bottom rope, yet Matt kicks him down. Hook keeps crawling, but Matt decides to hit Orange with an elbow.

“YOU ARE DEFINITELY GETTING THE PIG FARM NOW, HUN!” I threatened Matt

Matt continues his annoying onslaught to Hook, keeping him away from me. I turned half of my attention to Orange to get a good look at him. I turned my full attention to Anna Jay, and the ring.

“You ain't nothin’ darlin’, bless your heart!” I yelled over the ring to her with my full southern drawl.

“STOP!” Anna banshees a response to me as Hook gets whiplashed into their corner.

“We are getting a whole new view of our Southern Belle tonight guys.” Tony Comments on my scream.

“I think we are just seeing her natural response to her new friends getting beat down.” Excalibur responds

Hook falls back down to the mat, as Menard slaps his left hand to Parker's right hand. Matt places his foot on Hook's neck and grabs his left wrist to keep him still , as Angelo gets in the ring. Angelo enters and kicks his left hip hard, I walk over to the left side of the ring trying to rally Hook to give him energy to get to our corner. I walk back to our corner and see that Orange is back, I give him a nod to greet him back. We watch as Hook holds on the bottom rope trying to gather some energy. Angelo then copies Orange’s kicks with his hands in his pockets.

Orange and I try to start rallying the crowd with slaps to the turnbuckle and claps, most definitely out of beat. I tune back into the match as Hook gets thrown into the ropes, rebounding into a dropkick. We wince and cover our face in slight shock. Parker goes for the cover, I stand on the bottom rope looking over the referees shoulder as Hook kicks out for a count of 2.

“GET DOWN!” I look up to Anna Jay giving me a look.

“Honey, I think you need to fix your face!” I clapped back and Anna made a noise of frustration.

I step down off the ropes seeing Hook is in some type of trouble, he ends up doing a back body drop on Angelo Parker. It sends Hook to the ground holding his back in pain. Parker grabs his ankle dragging his whole body to their corner and tagging Matt back in, again. Matt starts delivering kicks to Hooks head, Hook is covering his head trying not to get injured from their vicious attack. Matt again throws into a corner and falls to the ground in pain after trying to get away.

“COME ON DARLIN’! BRING IT ON HOME!” I try to scream encouragement to Hook.

I start slapping my right hand to the top turnbuckle, rallying energy from the crowd for Hook to make his escape. Matt has a different idea and keeps his nasty attack going on Hook with Jack Hagers watching proudly from the floor. Hook delivers a surprise left hook to Matt's jaw, giving him some breathing room. Hook starts hitting Matt with out-of-nowhere forearms. Matt found a brief pause in Hook's attack to strike back with his own forearm, sending Hook back to the corner.

Hook ends up finding energy as Matt and Angelo are tag-teaming him in the ring, he takes both of them down with a lariat after rebounding off the ropes. Hook uses his last bit of energy tagging Orange in the match, while falling to the mat away from the match. I crouch down with a hand on his back, checking up on his well being after that awful onslaught. I caress his back till he is out of the ring, either on the apron or on the floor.

“You gonna be okay, darlin’?” I check on his health

“Yeah, I'll be okay in a few” Hook groans in pain.

I am slightly shocked that he spoke to me, knowing he has a reputation of being silent, not caring, and eating chips. I smile down at him letting him recover in peace while Orange is in the match.

Orange takes control real easily of Angelo grabbing his arm then moving his hand to his neck and slamming his head to the top turnbuckle causing him to become slightly dazed. Matt tries to attack Orange as Angelo stumbles away but ends up with the same fate. Just like clockwork, they kept coming back for more and more like they were stuck in a loop. Orange climbs to the top rope ready to deliver a dropkick, but Angelo and Matt cowered away. Orange jumped down and the boys turned around to watch him put his hands up and stuff them in his pockets. Matt and Angelo rush him with a double clothesline but Orange dodges them with a ninja roll.

Orange turns around to meet them both with a dropkick, to the upper body. I stand back up in our corner just as a caution or escape route for Orange. I see that Hook is struggling to get back up, using the ropes for leverage, I came over and grabbed his free arm to walk him over to post to lean on.

“Thanks Belle.” I heard Hook whisper, I nodded back to him with a smile and an innocent wink.

As Orange gets back up to his feet, Angelo rolls out of the ring, Matt is struggling to get back up to his feet; Orange makes a decision to rebound off the ropes and run to hit Suicide dive on Jack Hager. Orange, rushed back into the ring meets with Matt, tries for a tornado ddt but gets blocked by Matt as Angelo rushes back in and attacks Orange's left shoulder. Angelo and Matt go for a double suplex but Hook rushes in and pushes Orange's feet back down to the mat. Hook attacks both Matt and Angelos shoulders, to weaken them for a double suplex of their own. Anna tried to be smart and block Hook’s and Orange’s suplex. I rushed in with a hand on both Orange and Hook to find Anna, I wrapped my arm around her and counted to 3, delivering a suplex to all three of them.

Hook and I hurried out of the ring with each other, I noticed that his hand was on his abc again. My mom-like instincts came over me and I wrapped my arm around his back, letting him lean on me until we got back to our corner. As I helped Hook back to our corner, I watched Orange take off his sleeve going for an Orange Punch. Angelo sidestepped and snaked his arm around Orange's abdomen letting Matt come over and take him down with a leg sweep. Angelo ran from the corner, stepped up on Matt's back delivering an elbow to Orange's back.

Orange rolls out of the ring, as Hook runs in and carries through a T-bone suplex to Angelo, catching him off guard. Hook turns and launches Matt through a T-bone suplex as well. He then sees Angelo holding on the top rope in our corner, he inflicts another t-bone suplex, but he throws Angelo onto Matt. They both roll out of the way, out of the ring, just as Anna gets in the ring yelling nonsense towards Hook.

This causes the referee to get distracted again, so Jack Hager hits Hook with a running clothesline over the top rope. Orange pops back up to hit Jack with his famous Orange punch, knocking him down to the ground with a nasty fall. I clap and holler “yee-haw” to my boys for taking control of the ring again.

“Now you know, think of your actions, hun.” I said menacingly to Jack.

Anna then jumps on Orange Cassidys back trying to lock in the queen slayer, but I come in behind Orange to get her legs behind my head and I hold onto her arms to keep her from hitting me. Matt tries to rush at orange but he side steps sending him to Hook, locking him in redrum. I planted Anna down with a new move called “Muck em”, Matt started fading in Hooks redrum. I pushed Anna and myself out of the ring as Angelo rushed in but was hit with the Orange Punch. Orange rushes to cover Parker and counts 3 as the bell rung.

“THE WINNERS OF THIS MATCH; FTW CHAMPION HOOK, FRESHLY SQUEEZED ORANGE CASSIDY, AND THE SOUTHERN BELLE DIXIE FAE!” Justin announced over the speaker system

Orange, Hook, and I all gathered ourselves in the middle of the ring, Hook getting his title. Orange reaches for my hand, I let him grab my hand, bring it to his mouth, kissing the back of my hand and pulling me into a hug.

“Thank you Southern Belle, for coming to our aid.” Orange thanked me as if I was a princess. I laughed and shrugged my shoulders stating that it was no problem. Hook walked over and grabbed my other hand doing the same gesture as Orange but kissing my hand twice. The crowd is going absolutely wild for both vacant emotion wrestlers thanking me in a very emotion based way. Hook pulls me in a hug that lasts way longer than Orange’s hug did.

“Thank you so much for covering Kris and coming to help us. Meet me in the back, in 30 minutes?” Hook asked as we were pulling apart looking into each other's eyes while I was smiling brightly at him.

“Of course Darlin’, just come by my locker room then.” i invited hook with a wink

Hook and I pull apart so we can raise our hands together with Orange Cassidy, to celebrate our win.

“Look at what a celebration from a very surprising team that came together very easily.” Tony stating the obvious.

“The boys are just showing our Southern Belle the proper amount of gratitude and respect for her to come out and help them.” Taz explains to the world

“Will we see more romance in the future from them? Is the question, look at how Hook looks at her.” Excalibur points out too

“We don't know, but we will see how this builds in front of us.” Taz commented back.

Would y'all like a Part 2? Y'all have idea? Let me know!! <3

I don't own AEW, the wrestlers, the music nor the pictures.

I own Dixie/Scarlette and my work of writing.

Re-blog, like. comment and etc.! No Hate please!

Do Not copy my work and repost it as your own.

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evilfrogcereal29 · 4 months ago

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Introduction + Rules + Taglist

Finally getting around to this since I'm starting to post more and more content under certain tags.

Hi! My name Is Lex/FrogCereal, I'm an 18 year old neurodivergent COD fan from California, USA, and this is my writing + art account, there WILL be nsfw themes on here so minors please be gone. My shitposting/main account is @frogcereal29. Be warned there is a mix of sfw and nsfw content reblogged on there!! TWs are added before every fic, if there's something i missed on a piece that you think should be tw-ed lmk right away. Some of my fics are completely sfw, and some are very VERY nsfw, so I always want u to know what ur getting into :)!!

I will write for/draw Nikto, Krueger, Nikodim, Yegor, Gromsko, König, as well as Pyramid head who isn't in cod but is my bbg nonetheless. My drawing skills are also very low-intermediate! I'm still learning so my anatomy/art may not be top notch quality, hope you can still enjoy!

First and foremost my rules are: MDNI. Do not request anything with incest, ageplay, feeding kink, raceplay, piss/scat, politics, or underage. I only write for GN and Fem! Reader. Do not ask me to write for characters outside of my list above, I love TF 141 and others but they just aren't my absolute favorites, so I just don't feel confident writing for them! Apologies💔 i may sometimes lightly write for characters outside my list, but thats at my discretion. Please also be respectful and kind, to both me and others who interact with my content. I'm always open to critique, especially if It comes to writing in other languages or about cultures I'm outside of (ie: russia, austria, litteraly most places outside the US..) but please be kind!! Thank you <3

!!Also I work a full-time job so this gets in the way of regularly posting, I try to get out at least 1 thing per week!!

Requests are: CLOSED (Dealing with immense writers block and feelings of being a fraud or unskilled enough in my craft, until I finish the 3 big things in my drafts, including pizza guy nikto au part 2, I'm not taking anything else sorry..)

Full taglist below the cut, as to make it easier for people to navigate my content, will be updated as I post!:

All my writing can be found under lexwrites

All of my art can be found under lexdraws

All my cosplay can be found under lexcosplays

For character specific tags, Here's a list that I'll add as I write for more characters and write more sub-catagories for them as well:

König

- for König x reader go here

Nikto

- for Nikto x reader go here

- for werewolf!Nikto AU go here

- For NiktoKrueger go here

Krueger:

- I also use the tag Sebastian Krueger but it means the same thing

- for NiktoKrueger go here

Gromsko:

- for Gromsko x reader go here

Nikodim

- for nikodim x reader go here

Yegor

Non cod characters:

Pyramid Head

Thats all, please leave a reblog and a like if you enjoy the content! it means the world!!

#taglist #masterlist #nikto #könig #Pyramid head #krueger #yegor #nikodim rodion egorov #sebastian krueger #gromsko #call of duty #hai :3!!

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oh-saints · 2 years ago

Text

sweetest devotion (p.3)

serena thought she was doing her husband a favour but mason had never felt so frustrated and angry towards his wife than right now.

playboy!mason mount x princess!OC

tw: as mentioned in the masterlist only, but extramarital affair to a marriage of convenience for this particular chapter

wc: 1.9k

note: sorry i fell asleep last night bcs jetlag truly sucks! i'm sorry i can't give you guys (yes you guys that left some notes on my asks 👀) a happy chapter now but i swear it'll get better next one! but as usual, i happen to write at dawn so this is not beta-read yet.

tags: @pingyu-in-wonderland @ironmaiden1313 <3 (lmk if you wanna be added!)

<<part 2 - part 4>> sweetest devotion masterlist here

“turn it off, mase.”

elena had been holding back since before both mason and her walked out of her flat but she couldn’t take it anymore. mason’s phone had been vibrating every 30 minutes since then, and it was supposed to be their date night. out of all their weekly quality time, she looked especially forward to tonight because mason had pulled out a reservation at the most sought-after place in london, despite their usual full-booked slot.

but mason’s distracted state-of-mind wasn’t what she had the problem the most. it was the fact that he couldn’t seem to shake off the what-ifs he’d probably be having—what if he just took the call—whenever he peered over the screen of his phone and found the other woman’s name.

serena.

good god, had she never despised a name. one sentence, and it reminded her of everything she could’ve had with mason. yes, she admitted she should take some blame for being the reason why mason and serena happened in the first place—had she not broken up with mason the night he sought refuge in alcohol and night life, her boyfriend now wouldn’t have trapped himself in a loveless marriage with the princess.

fucking hell, elena hated her more because of what she was. a royal princess, no less. elana had never dreamt the day she had to compete with a princess for a man.

“what?”

mason looked up from his phone this time, done from replying to stacy because it was rare for his eldest sister to continuously ping him. but he so wished he’d kept replying to stacy because he’d never seen his girlfriend seething with anger when his attention was diverted back to the alluring lady in red.

“i was replying—”

“serena, i know,” elena folded her arms against her chest, and mason knew better than to debate an angry woman with the correct answer. “now turn it off.”

so he did, with the mind of turning it on shortly after they’d reached back to her flat.

but he never remembered.

now he had to face the reality of waking up to hundreds of texts and missed-calls from his family, mostly asking where he was. others were divided between angry texts for not picking up calls, disappointed ones too for neglecting them. but none was as striking as the last text from serena.

please pick up my call. your mother’s in critical condition.

mason didn’t even think twice as he jolted out from the bed, deserting elena behind in her drowsiness. her usual come back here, baby didn’t work much wonder this time around, his mind was too busy searching for his phone and car keys.

he was far too blinded by the worst possible scenario that could’ve happened to his beloved mother, that he didn’t even think about anything else. not even the countless violations to the traffic laws he committed just to get to the hospital—just as long as he got to his mother’s side in time, just as long as he got to see his mother doing okay.

but that also meant that he forgot about fetching serena from the house. he forgot about the existence of his wife, at least to the rest of the world, and his own marriage. he forgot about the mask he had to put on in public.

he would’ve gone straight to apologising for not getting to the hospital earlier but the sight of serena sitting amongst his sisters, even to the extent of having her arms around a sobbing stacy, clamped his mouth shut. moreover, lewis stood up, arms already folded in front of his chest, and mason had never seen lewis this angry during his short span of life so far.

lowkey, mason could feel his insides cowering because he knew he fucked up so bad—like seven shades of Sunday level of fucked up—for not picking up any calls from his family members but before he could admit his guilt and mistakes, lewis mustered his lowest baritone.

“where have you been?”

his unwavering tone basically confirmed mason’s ultimate sin. “I’m sorry I was—”

“that busy that you let your wife, a foreigner in this country, to take a midnight train to Portsmouth, a city she’s never visited?”

to say mason was surprised, was an understatement. the footballer thought his oldest brother would reprimand him about not picking up his calls when there was a dire emergency at hand.

“what were you thinking, mason mount?”

uh oh, full name was reinstated. mason badly wanted to defend himself but he couldn’t find the ground because in all honesty; what the fuck? the mounts had a worse reality to talk about—the matron of this household was still fighting for her life, for god’s sake!—and lewis wanted to cover other bases instead of the most important thing right now? instead of filling him in about the conditions of their mother?

mason badly, very badly wanted to disclose that he wasn’t responsible for serena’s well-being. like, if she wanted to come it was because she can. not because he asked her, and he would never ask her because he’d very much keep his family away from the impending doom that’d befallen them as soon as the contract expired.

but he kept his mouth shut. partially because he didn’t want to dishonour the agreement between serena and him—because mason would very much prefer to find faults in serena’s stance to this agreement, instead of his own fault—but mostly because he was so mad. how could lewis defend someone he barely knew and accuse mason of something that was out of his control?

“lewis,” serena spoke up gently, as usual. if mason wasn’t blinded with rage towards the said princess, he would’ve admired how regal she was behaving, despite the unspoken chaos blanketing the waiting room. “I think beranting Mason is not necessary,”

the older brother turned his head towards her, asking confirmation if he was hearing her right.

“he must’ve fallen asleep at the coach’s house,” serena continued, giving lewis some sort of reassurance probably that mason wasn’t deserting her behind and that she wasn’t lying about his alibi. “mason overtrains himself lately with both physical and visual training.”

mason would’ve expressed his gratitude behind the scene—why she lied for him, he’d never known—if the woman wasn’t enticing more anger inside of him. always trying to save a fucking face, mason groaned inwardly.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

the midfielder stayed put in the long hallway of the pristine white hospital, deciding not to join the rest of the family on his mother’s side. the wife to his dad for decades had been rolled to her room since hours ago but mason didn’t think he had the capacity not to snap in front of everyone.

especially when serena was the midst of his family, acting as if she belonged there when mason kept the information himself. that she was only doing that to save her face, like she’d been doing since the beginning. since the first time she trapped mason into her loveless marriage arrangement.

mason was only too blind to recognise it.

but now that he noticed all the red flags, mason didn’t want his family to fall into the same blackhole.

“you should break up with her.”

mason’s body jumped slightly at jasmine’s voice, certainly shocked his older sister joining him to oversee the boring central garden of the hospital. “but I’m married to serena.”

“you’re smarter than to miss my point, mase,” jasmine chortled sarcastically. “break up with your mistress.”

jasmine’s gaze might be staring the distance, as if the night scenery was fun and pretty, but her words succeeded pouring mason ice cold water over his head. “what do you mean, jaz?”

“don’t play dumb with me,” the ice was now stabbing mason’s heart because jasmine was always the warmer one between them. she was being ruthlessly cold and distant and her tone was so level it scared him. “dad raised you better than to keep a mistress. it never ends well and we all know she’s always up to no good.”

how could jaz be the judge of one’s personality, when she’d never met elena before? what did she know about elena?

mason gritted his teeth out of annoyance. “I can’t do that.”

“you can’t do that to serena, either. it’s not fair.”

serena again? did the princess pull off some black magic over his family or something? why did everybody suddenly care for her instead of him, their flesh and blood? how come no one in his side went to care for him now?

fucking hell, mason had never desired to scream out loud. at anyone, but preferably at his own kin. “lately, I think life’s never fair to me, too.”

“life’s never fair to anyone, mason mount,” mason had never been called by full name twice in a night from different older siblings of his. if stacy decided to do the same in the next hour, mother nature should give mason a prize or something for hitting a homerun. “when are you going to learn that?”

“why are you siding with serena?”

“I am not,” jasmine’s eyebrows distorted in disbelief. “I swear I’m not siding with anyone here, but you really should start thinking like a father. your baby’s coming in less than 6 months, do you think what you’re doing right now is fair to your baby?”

the older took the following silence as a sign she’d nailed the coffin. which could only mean her job here was done and over with.

“jaz,” but mason’s call halted her straying steps from him. “how do you know?”

“you reek of cheap perfume, mase.”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

while jasmine’s words rang true in his ears, it still didn’t soothe his anger and annoyance towards the woman sitting shotgun beside him, as he cruised his Lamborghini in the direction back to London.

“why did you come here?”

serena immediately decided she’d choose a cocky mason over this version of him. “I thought—”

“see, that’s your problem. you think,” mason raise a decibel to his voice and serena flinched visibly because she wasn’t used to anyone raising their voice at her. it was rather off-limit to the royal’s etiquette. “but every time you think, you only think for your own good. you never think about what I think or what’s best for us.”

serena was rather taken aback at mason’s outburst that she couldn’t produce any response to him.

“have you ever thought you can jeopardise our false pretence by coming here alone?”

“no, I—”

“exactly!” serena flinched away from mason as the footballer hit the steering wheel out of frustration and anger. “so don’t ever fucking think again, you got me?”

suddenly her fingers looked so much interesting than ever before. “I’m sorry, mason.”

“you better fucking be,” mason sighed deeply. “if you still want to live.”

how could serena possibly have a decent reply when he reminded her that she was on the losing end?

next chapter contains:

“mason…” his lover whimpered, trying to reach for mason but the man only shook her hands away and stood up, towering her over. “surely you’re mistaken, we can talk about this–” “leave.”

#oh-saints writes #mason mount #mason mount x oc #mason mount angst #mason mount series #mason mount fics #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fanfiction #mason mount imagines #mason mount blurbs #mason mount drabbles #footballer x oc #footie fics #footie fanfic

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a-lost-archivist · 7 months ago

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Introduction.

Jonathan Sims, former surveyor for the Galaxy Expedition team and former archivist for the Magnus Institute, London. Please refer to me using he/him. 32 years old as of writing this.

I found myself here approximately 5 months ago as of writing this (December of 2024) and I am.. traveling at the moment.

I own seven pokemon as of today: Captain - Female dawn-coat shiny Espeon Queen - Large female Luxray Prince - Snooty male Glameow Lieutenant - Air-headed male Sneasel Colonel - Male Hisuian Incineroar Ensign - Shiny male Zorua kit. Incredibly small. Cassette - Rotom. Non-battler

Note: If anyone appears on this site under the name of Martin Blackwood, please let me know immediately. I'm looking for him and I'd like to know that he's alright.

//Magic anons, Pelipper Mail/Malice and Musharna Mail/Malice are on and highly encouraged

//OOC notes below cut

//Heya, Stereo here! Mod of @averagedualies among others.

//My Magnus Archives brainrot has been awful and this man has been living in my brain rent free, so I figured I'd make a blog for it!

//Everyone is encouraged to interact with this blog (this includes eebies, fallers (duh), sapient pokemon, blogs that might not match my canon, etc)

//Feel free to bring up parts of Jon's past, send him things for shits and giggles, do whatever really. If you're worried about something crossing a line don't be afraid to dm me ahead of time to double check, or shoot me an ask ooc.

//The only rule is nothing overly sexual or romantic, as the mod isn't comfortable with that (jokes about him being hot are fine, but nothing further than that please!)

//A quick note about triggers and TMA. //If you've listened to TMA, you know that it's a horror podcast and some of the things it brings up can be triggering. Everything on this blog will be properly tagged (including TMA spoilers), and if I miss something, please reach out and lmk. //I want this blog to be safe for everyone to enjoy, and I'll never get mad at someone for requesting that I tag something. Overall this blog will (mostly) be more lighthearted than the actual podcast, but I figured it was worth mentioning.

//Format for trigger warnings will be "TW (topic)"

//Having said all that, enjoy!

//Current Arc: foggy recollection

//Previous arcs: Bitter terror, Unwound time

#pkmn irl #rotomblr #pokeblogging #intro post

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next-autopsy · 1 year ago

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A/N: Well, hi there!

I'm back! Hope y'all enjoy this chapter, lmk what you think, I love hearing from you guys x

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: swearing, casual 1940s racism, yelling/fighting, not much else tbh....

Tags: @malarkgirlypop, @panzershrike-pretz hmu if you want to be added

Made of Glass

Chapter twenty one: Chock-a-Block

The next month was uneventful compared to previous ones. June was slow and felt heavy, dragging on and seeming longer than it was. Birdie spent a lot of the month by George’s side The two became increasingly close, sharing all sorts of pleasantries and childhood stories. Birdie loved hearing about his nine siblings and the practical jokes he pulled on them. It reminded her of her own mischievous family who she was missing more than ever.

July came and went by comparison. Birdie received a letter from her brother-in-law, stating his wife, her oldest sister, Helen had safely given birth to the couple's second child. They already had a little boy, Daniel and now were blessed with a girl. They named her Gracie, a variation of Bernadette's middle name and asked her to be the newborns' Godmother. Of course she was ecstatic and accepted gleefully. Sadly, she would miss the babies christening but the sentiment was there.

By the end of August, rumours were spreading that they would soon be on the move. Their next destination was a curious speculation. A bet ran through the regiment: Europe or the Pacific?

September started and the 506th was preparing to move once again, leaving Camp Mackall behind. Easy presented themselves prim and proper in their class A uniforms and packed everything they had in the basic olive green sacks provided for their belongings.

A train awaited them, the soldiers climbed aboard without question. It was packed but no one minded too much, they just bunched up and invaded their neighbours personal space like it was a game.

Bernadette shuffled through the teeny walkway of the moving train, legs and bags stuck out making her journey that much more difficult.

“Birdie! Saved you a seat!” Her attention was captured by the brown haired man calling out to her. She smiled when she saw him, guarding the space next to him like it was his job. Bernadette tried to make her way closer to Luz but the train wobbled and threw her off balance. She toppled over ungracefully and landed atop someone's lap.

She began spitting out apologies and her face turned red, rightfully embarrassed by the situation. When she looked up and saw Liebgott's face smirking at her, she wanted to die; right then and there.

“Good trip?” That shit eating grin made Birdie want to slap him, she settled for rolling her eyes and scoffing instead. Birdie got up and balanced herself, making sure to use his shoulders to aid her ascent. She shoved him hard enough for him to understand she was less than pleased about the whole ordeal, but in a playful manner so that he knew she wasn’t really mad. Joe smiled at her, a genuine smile that reached his eyes and caused her to reciprocate.

“Birdie!” George called out again, sensing she was distracted and needed some prompting. She whipped her head round to him and nodded to show she had heard the impatient man.

“You better go before he screams so loud the whole train hears.” Lieb joked, he didn’t really want to send her away but there was no real reason for her to stay. The southern woman spoke softly, telling him she would see him around before joining her friend at the other end of the train car.

Liebgott had been accepted into her posse with little resistance, he was already friends with most of the guys she hung around anyway. It was mainly Joe Toye and Bill Guarnere who didn’t love the fact that he and Bernadette were on friendlier terms, the two still held grudges against him for his previous treatment of the woman. He didn't really blame them, he had been particularly difficult when it came to Coldwell.

Over the past months, Joe had come to terms with the fact he actually wanted to be Birdie’s friend. Tipper kept trying to get a love confession out of him but he was adamant it wasn't like that. Sure he liked the woman, but in a totally platonic way of course. Besides, they were both soldiers being sent to the front lines, when would they have time to date and fall in love? Not that he wanted that. He didn’t.

Joseph Liebgott was perfectly happy being friends with Bernadette Coldwell and that was that.

The train had taken hundreds, if not thousands of soldiers aboard to a shipyard in Brooklyn, New York. It was Birdie’s first time in the city, though she didn't get to see much of it as they were ushered onto the SS Samaria in an orderly fashion.

The sun began settling, turning the sky a beautiful mix of pink and pastel orange, Birdie's favourite shade of the fiery colour. Luz had snagged a life vest for the woman and shoved it on her so he could pull her out onto the deck and watch as the ship passed the statue of liberty.

It was a surreal moment, one Bernadette would always remember. The green lady loomed over them, as if bidding the soldiers goodbye and good luck. It felt real now, they were finally leaving their beloved home country and joining the war effort.

As the ship left the mainland of America behind, the sombre mood grew. George and Birdie shared a cigarette on the deck before returning to the bunks below. It was crowded, more than the train had been and now, the lack of space was starting to get on everyone's nerves.

Everyone tried to keep themselves busy, playing cards, writing letters home or reading whatever books they could find. Most of the men smoked freely which caused the already state air locked in with them to be tainted with tobacco.

After five full days stuck in the overcrowded, sweaty mass of men, Birdie had had enough. She was ready to get off this ship, unsure if she could take another day. She had seen men get sick from the constant swaying and vomit where they stood and now she was noticing the raise in tempers as cabin fever descended.

It was unbelievably hot and all Birdie wanted was some fresh air and silence but conversation continued on around her, disregarding her wants.

She could hear Muck and Malarkey chatting to each other while they approached the area she was stewing in. The men in question climbed up the sides of the hammock like cots as you would a ladder and settled into the spaces next to and above her.

“Hey guys, I’m glad I'm going to Europe.” Toye spoke up, inserting himself into the conversation. He pulled out his switchblade knife and flicked it open for dramatic effect, “Hilter gets one of these right across the windpipe. Roosevelt changes Thanksgiving to Joe Toye day, and pays me ten grand a year for the rest of my fuckin’ life.”

“What if we don’t get to Europe? What if they send us to North Africa?” A voice from above Birdie called down. The woman tried to shuffle closer to Bill, her bunk mate, to see who it was but his body got in the way and unless Birdie wanted to mount the man, it would remain a mystery. Bill ruffled her hair and plucked the cigarette out of her hand.

“My brothers in North Africa.” Guarnere took a long drag of the stolen smoke, “He says it's hot.”

“Really? It’s hot in Africa?” You could actually see the sarcasm coming off of Malakey and he paused his reading of the comic he held in front of him to make fun of the man's obvious comment.

“Shuddup!” The Philadelphian shot at the redhead before continuing, “The point is, it don’t matter where we go.” Birdie reclaimed her cigarette while Bill was distracted, mid sentence, “Once we get into combat, the only person you can trust is yourself, and the fella next to you.”

Bernadette cleared her throat, raising her eyebrow at her talkative friend as if to tell him to rethink his words. Bill rolled his eyes and added, “Or lady next to ya. Happy?” She nodded, that would suffice.

“Hey, as long as he’s- uh… they’re a paratrooper.” Toye added from his place by their boots, trying to avoid a glare from the Mississippi woman.

“Oh yeah?” Luz exclaimed from the opposite side of the aisle, “And what if that paratrooper turns out to be Sobel?” He was climbing up to his bunk on the top most rack, George hoisted himself up and past Christenson, who added his two cents to the discussion,

“If I'm next to Sobel in combat, I'm moving on down the line. Hook up with some other officer, like Heyliger or Winters.” Pat had a special hatred for the CO after he was made to march twenty-four miles, full pack and in the dark, half of it completely alone; all on Sobel’s orders.

“I like Winters. He’s a good man.” Bill began speaking once more. It was then that Birdie noticed Skip leaning over his hammock above her and poking his head down so she and Malarkey could see him. Malarkey eyed up the cigarette he had in his hand and silently asked Muck for a puff, she shook her head and giggled at the two.

“But when the bullets start flying, I don't know if I want a Quaker doing my fighting for me.” Guarnere thieved Birdie’s nearly finished smoke yet again, she responded with an outraged, “Hey!” but he ignored her, pushing himself up and jumping down to the ground. Bernadette shuffled over into the empty space Guarnere had left.

“How do you know he’s a Quaker?” Skip asked, flipping down into Birdie’s, now vacant, cot and giving her an unlit cigarette to make up for the blatant robbery he had witnessed.

“He ain’t Catholic.” Bill shrugged, snubbing out the butt of his pilfered tobacco stick on the floor with his boot.

“Neither is Sobel.” Don called, passing his comic to Skip who immediately started flicking through the pages with interest.

“That pricks a Son of Abraham.”

“He’s what?” Liebgott, who sat across from where Bill now stood, had perked up at the term he used. He was happy to listen in to the conversation, it kept his mind occupied but when the expression was used like a slur he had to say something.

“He’s a Jew.” Bill clarified, assuming Lieb just hadn't heard the phrase before.

“Oh fuck…” Liebgott muttered under his breath, he laughed but not because anything humorous had been said. He threw the cigarette butt he was fiddling with down before shuffling off his bunk and jumping. He landed with a thud and stepped over to Guarnere so they were face to face. Joe looked down at the man, chest puffed, “I’m a Jew.”

Several men (and Birdie) sat up or shuffled closer to the two hot heads, anticipating a fight to break out.

“Congratulations.” Pronounced bitingly, not actually intended to congratulate, “Get your nose outta my face.” Bill pushed Lieb’s chest, forcing him backwards.

Birdie stared, she knew Lieb was going to swing, she could see him planning it out in his mind. She noticed his curled fist and knew an attack was imminent, before she could do anything, Lieb took a jab. His target blocked him and they grabbed onto each other attempting to… Birdie didn’t know what. Strangle each other? Hug? Who knew?

Multiple men also grabbed into the pair but no one could break them apart. Birdie scoffed and jumped down, she shoved people out of her way and when she got close enough to see her friends through the growing crowd, she yelled. It was the loudest her voice had ever gone; a screech, if you will.

“That’s enough!” Her words froze the horde of angry sweaty men. Bill and Joe still held onto each other, fists grabbed onto handfuls of shirt but now their focus was on the girl. She huffed and pushed surrounding men away from the idiots who began the kerfuffle until she reached them. Everyone else watched on, curious to see angry Birdie in action.

Bernadette yanked them apart, fuming. She turned to Guarnere first, her eyebrows were furrowed and her teeth clenched.

“You!” She pointed to him, glaring, “Keep that prejudice bullshit to yourself! No one wants to hear your stupid ass opinions! What the fuck is your problem?” Bill shrunk back, he had never seen Birdie this angry before and he didn't care to see it again. The woman whipped around to face Joe, he was smiling at her rude comments aimed at the man he wanted to punch. His joy in the situation only pissed her off more, if that were even possible.

“You think this is funny, huh?” She hissed at him, Joe’s smile dropped.

“Not everything is a personal attack so calm the fuck down. Why do you think punching him is the solution to everything?” The question was rhetorical so Joe only looked down to the floor, avoiding eye contact with the scary southerner. She was absolutely at her wits end and just had to get out of there.

“It’s like a fuckin’ pissin’ contest in here, Jesus!” Birdie growled as she turned and stomped off to get some fresh air on the deck of the overcrowded ship.

A/N: ooooo she's mad...

~ next-autopsy ~

Chapter twenty two

#band of brothers #easy company #hbo war #made of glass #band of brothers fanfic #fem oc #oc #made of glass chapter twenty one #next autopsy #george luz #joe liebgott #joe toye #bill guarnere #pat christenson #skip muck #donald malarkey

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