#it’s also still fucking cold and I’m dying

[khorazir]

WIP Meme

I was tagged by @nuttersinc to share something from my current WIP. It’s from chapter 3 of the Payneland fic The Case of the Stolen Barrow:

“Wait for us, or better, come back down,” calls Crystal, before muttering, “What a fucking mess,” under her breath. She makes to walk on, but Charles grabs the sleeve of her jacket.

“Wait,” he hisses. “Something’s off.”

“Everything’s off here,” she returns, before drawing her jacket more tightly around herself. “For one, it’s getting colder by the minute. Do you guys feel that, too?”

“Yes, we do,” nods Edwin, intrigued by the chill creeping into his garments and making the hairs on the back on his hand stand up. He has not felt this kind of cold in more than a century, bone-chilling fear aside. The Doll House in Hell was a humid mess, always slightly too cold or too warm for comfort but never this chilly. He looks at Charles, who is frowning deeply as he zips up his Harrington jacket.

“Edwin, I can’t think up my black coat,” he says while a visible shiver runs through him.

Concentrating on materialsing his own tweed overcoat to hand it to Charles to keep him warm, Edwin realises that he can’t, either. Normally, making their clothes requires only very little energy, but now it feels like an impossibly difficult task. On his wrist, the glowing cord flickers, a sure sign that Edwin’s magic is increasingly compromised.

“Something seems to be actively blocking my powers now,” says Crystal, her teeth clattering.

“My magic, too,” says Edwin. He steps closer to Charles who even more than Crystal is shaking with cold now, his face pale and his lips tinged blue, deep dark shadows under his eyes. He looks shockingly like the frightened boy dying of internal bleeding and hypothermia whom Edwin encountered in the attic of St. Hilarion’s thirty-five years ago.

“Charles?” he enquires softly, hesitantly reaching out to rub his shaking shoulder encouraginly.

“I’m okay, mate,” rasps Charles. “Just fucking freezing. Haven’t been this cold since ... well. You know. Since I died.”

“Have you got a blanket or something in your backpack?” asks Crystal, also huddling closer for warmth, despite the two ghosts being unable to produce any she could actually feel.

“Yeah, think so,” replies Charles, visibly lightening up. He begins to rummage in his pack while Edwin calls out to the pictsies again.

This time, the only reply he gets is a hissing murmur, like wind sighing over the turf. “Yes, we are up here. We are waiting for you. Come now, come to us.”

“Those aren’t the pictsies speaking,” mutters Charles, his uncorded arm buried in the depths of his bag. “For one, they don’t say ‘yes’. They say ‘aye’.”

“Brilliantly observed, Charles,” nods Edwin. “This begs the question, however, of who is speaking.”

“Someone capable of doing some really fucked up magic,” says Crystal. Then she sighs when Charles wraps a patterned blanket round her shoulders – one Edwin knitted over the course of several years, in fact, while wearing his disguise. Snuggling into it, she huffs a thanks. “Guys, I think we should turn round and head back down. We can’t just blindly – literally – walk further into this fog. We don’t even know what we’re up against.”

“I agree,” says Charles. “This feels like that chapter of Lord of the Rings you read to me two days ago, Edwin. You know, when the hobbits travel through the Barrow-Downs and get lost in the fog, and end up in that old barrow and—” He stares at Edwin wide-eyed when apparently, he has an epiphany.

“You think that’s what we’re dealing with here? A barrow-wight or something?”

Edwin nods thoughtfully. “I have never come across any account that hints at those creatures being real, but given these strange circumstances, I would not rule it out. Good thinking, Charles. The question is, how do we proceed? We could head down, but that would not solve the actual problem.”

“Getting lost in a fucking magical mist wouldn’t, either,” growls Crystal.

“We can still nagivate by the lie of the land,” says Edwin. He takes a few cautious steps up the slope towards a darker shadow that can only be the tree-gate Fergus spoke about. It was right across their path. They cannot have missed it.

Crack!

I tag @discordantwords @raina-at and @jrow

[allofuswantgwinam]

1. I went to the gas station again tn but he was not there 😭 i was gonna be brave since im no longer confushion after last night 🤣 hopefully he’s there tomorrow cause im lowkey nervous he could get transferred soon bc that place be like that. I get attached to my friends that work there and then they just disappear😭😭😭 or im happy bc someone who annoyed me is gone 🤣🤣 guess it just depends 💀

2. Im done house sitting so I’m home now and literally when i got here i was so excited bc the cat from my neighborhood that i lowkey saved/stole *it’s a whole story, maybe I’ll make a post rambling about it later 🤣 it’s also not even lowkey, the whole street I live on supports me 😭😭🫶🏼 one of the lil kids called me her leader bc the cat doesn’t fw anyone but me 😭😭😭 and now my mom bc my mom started caring about the cat bc of me which is why she’s ours now 🤌����* is so excited that I’m back and it’s just hit me a minute ago that this is technically the first time I’ve been gone this long since she’s been more of an inside cat. it is so precious. I was like “girl, can I please just roll a blunt i love u why are I like this” and then it hit me 🤣🤣 she might have felt abandoned and confused BUT I literally made a whole trip to my house during this time period to bring her stupid ass back inside bc my mom had to go to bed and she told me the cat was out bc she knows I can’t live with that so of course I drove over here and luckily she was waiting under my moms car ready to come inside so she should know better, she stuck with me but anyways my other cat that we’ve had since I was like 4 is so old and he has the will of a mfer. he didn’t even get up when I got home and I’ve been a mix of emotions 😭😭 I was talkin to him and cryin bc I know he’s not happy and we don’t wanna really make the decision, we just want him to go to sleep and it’s sad asf. that has been my bestest friend for 20+ years. And it stresses me out bc these two cats have a dominance thing over me it’s soooo funny but also stressful, but liiike this old cat has not moved a muscle besides staring at me with his tired eyes😭😭… but this other cat has been in my face even as I am typing this rn she need to calm down 🤣🤣🤣 hopefully in like next 10 minutes max im smoking a blunt 🤞🏼💀

[minakoainosupremacy]

I’m sad, I’ve had a bunch of fun cool ideas sitting in the back of my head since like new years which I wanted to use for rare pair week, but like life has been kicking my ass so I didn’t have time to even start anything and now it’s over :( guess they will just keep living in my head until next year

[bpdamn]

don’t we all love parents who let their mood swings out on us

[stylishanachronism]

Anyway one of the things I did while having the cold from hell (which I still have but I am no longer like, delirious. Or contagious, probably) was buy Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous, apparently, so if somebody could remind me to boot that up in say, six months, that’d be great thanks.

[bootyful-seventeen]

God this weather can go and suck my dick

[wheneverfeasible]

It had just been a joke.

He’d been bleeding out, dying, the pain from the demobat bites fading as that unending cold started to seep into his limbs. He was dying and Dustin was crying over him and he didn’t want to say goodbye but what else was there to do?

Pounding footfalls and then Steve and Nancy and Robin were skidding to his side amongst the fallen demobats and Steve was telling him to hang on, to not die, that they were there. Nancy and Robin were tearing garments to wrap around his bites but he didn’t care overly much, figuring it was for nothing. Instead, he was focused on Steve’s hand in his, pleading with him to hold on, and it was clearly just him babbling, but he’d said he’d do anything Eddie wanted if he just hung on.

And really, what better time to come out as gay to your crush than on your deathbed? Or, death-patch-of-dirt anyways.

“Go on a date with me then, Harrington,” he coughed out, choking on blood that splattered on his chin. Sexy.

Steve was noticeably shocked, and confused, but he gamely agreed if Eddie just promised not to die. Eddie blacked out with a grin on his face. He’d thought that was it, thought it was all over, except then he started feeling pain again. Which fucking sucked. Kind of rude to feel pain in death, unless Hawkins had been right and he was in Hell now. Bummer.

But then he heard the beeping, felt the cold air being forced into his nostrils, and he blinked open eyes that felt glued shut. Things were all woozy and fuzzy, but he saw big brown eyes staring at him and a smile he’d never thought he’d see directed at him of all people, and Steve was holding his hand again and that was nice.

Apparently he’d been in a coma for a month. Hilarious.

Steve had told him he’d been begging him to wake back up, they all were, and Eddie was high enough on pain killers to tease, “Didn’t think I’d let you out of our date that easily did you, big boy?”

He’d fallen back asleep almost immediately afterwards, so he didn’t get to see Steve’s reaction to that one, which was probably for the best, all things considered. Except Steve kept coming back, and he kept up the joke about taking Eddie on a date once he was better, even using it as encouragement when Eddie wanted to just give up and die from the pain he was in due to the multiple surgeries he was recovering from and undergoing.

Despite all that, he slowly but surely healed, able to finally move into the small house the government’s hush money had bought for them with Wayne after they also got him cleared of all charges yadda yadda yadda. Pretty sick deal, all things considered. All it took was being framed for multiple murders done by a psychotic supervillain and nearly mauled to death by demon bats. Easy peasy.

When Steve had given him a time and date for their supposed date, Eddie was just happy that the guy was able to joke about it with him instead of freaking out in typical Straight Jock. Steve apparently acknowledged his crush and still wanted to be friends, which was better than he could hope for. Or so he thought.

Because there was Steve, on his front porch, flowers in hand and looking far spiffier than Eddie ever recalled him looking like before. It looked like he’d even gotten a haircut. Good lord.

And it was amusing really, truly it was funny how far Steve was willing to take the joke, but something broke inside Eddie too because he was For Real Super Gay For Steve Harrington, but for Steve it was Just A Joke. And Eddie couldn’t take it anymore.

He snapped, hurt by his feelings not being taken seriously, and ranted about ex-jocks and pretty straight boys who treated being queer like a joke. Though Steve looked shocked at first, he ended up just looking amused by the end, which annoyed Eddie further. He was just about to enter another diatribe when Steve cut him off with a simple sentence that took all the wind out of his sails and left him gaping like a fish.

“Thanks for calling me pretty, but I’m actually bisexual.”

Eddie blinked. Steve smiled. Flowers were pressed into his hand.

“Now, the only joke around here is thinking my date can wear sweatpants to our dinner reservations, so go change into something appropriate, Munson. Honestly.”

As Eddie was ushered to his bedroom to change into something more fitting than stained and holey sweatpants, he tried to figure out where he had, in fact, lost the narrative. Because it had just been a joke.

But somehow he had ended up with a first kiss, a real life boyfriend, and a happily ever after he never would have expected. Go figure.

[vatelixx]

On the concept of ‘want’, (part 1):

Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader (written with early-ish seasons Spencer in mind)

part two here.

SMUT!! (and fluff, and aftercare because im not a total hedonist), allusions to both Spencer and Reader being switches (but he’s mostly just down bad), autistic Spencer (the way it should be), mean reader (to everyone but him), reader has a very very high IQ when it comes to everything but a pretty genius— Spencer just wants that cookie so fucking bad.

Warnings: sub spencer (but also not entirely; he talks about human anatomy as he destroys her), maaaaaybe slight corruption kink (what? who wrote that there???), mentions of prior bullying and insecurity, first time (for Spencer, yess devirgin that hot nerd!!— do you think the BAU will get him a cake after?), brief mentions of past hypersexuality for reader, kinda rlly domestic. Some undertones of degradation but predominantly praise. Begging, crying (pussy so good he cried), etc etc

w.c: 5k (I feed)

a/n: Spencer’s first time getting fucked, my first time writing smut (we’re both going through it here). I’ve been watching too much Criminal Minds recently, so i’ve reverted back to my tumblr roots (im home i’m home). This is a new acc so like…. hi!!!

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Right person, right time. It’s a concept that Spencer Reid is more than aware of. Define luck, at surface level, it’s a made-up hypothesis, idealistic, fantastical. Conjured up to aid the desperate (or the delusional). It’s something he refused to humour, obstinate to the notion, well, that was until you came spitballing into his life, sharp features, sharper tongue. You could cut with your words alone, a weapon to the BAU, jagged and fast-thinking, and so entirely unattainable. Rorschach tests, and an endless sea of profilers, it doesn’t matter— he’s not sure anyone is ever capable of truly pinpointing you.

Rocky start— after you became a permanent member to the team, it took months to coerce you into dropping your guard. A year and 14 days, to be exact.

But, it was possible. Hardened words and blunt comments shifted into something more with time. A gravitational pull, perhaps, that led to evolution— you, softer with him, more tender than you’ve ever showcased before.

Maybe it was that night when he told you about highschool, about what they did to him, boys like him, who were too intellectual for their own good. Different, in every sense of the word. Bullying at such a young, impressionable age can have prominent effects, chronic stress inflicted on an underdeveloped brain, they tied him to goal posts, stripped him naked, endless torment that he still carries with him now. Maybe that’s why you lowered your defenses. Put down the sword.

And sure, he never expected anything, nor asked for anything. He was definite that he wouldn’t get to experience cliche-dating. Longing glances and anticipated moments. It’s not like he was ever the most appealing candidate, too nervous, too neurodivergent. It’s hard to grow out of the mentality that no, everyone isn’t making fun of you, not when it consumed the entirety of his adolescence. That you can walk into a room, and not be seen, targeted, as an outcast. He’s just different. But he’s also human, and the chemicals in his brain do make him want.

You apparently. Because, you looked at him softly once, and he was done. Ruined. Gone for good. Or, in Morgan’s personal opinion, whipped.

And illogically, you wanted him too. That wasn’t ever part of the equation.

But theres a pattern now— dates every weekend. Movies, cafes, museums, an endless onslaught of you. Because somehow, thanks to luck, you reciprocated. He’ll never understand why, you’re too beautiful (it’s a hazard), but he tries. He tries.

──────────────────

December. A haze of christmas markets and blanketing coldness. You kiss him outside and he thinks he might be dying. You make him burn cold. He’s a logical person, so obviously he’s aware that he’s only freezing because your hands are shoved in his pockets, a desperate bid to seek warmth, but regardless, it’s more than he ever expected.

He laughs against your lips, fingers gripping the front of your coat as he draws you backwards so that you’re resting against a wall. “Mm..” he hums, “You should kiss me more often.”

Everyone knows. The entire team is aware of this, an unspoken agreement that your lingering moments and aimless touching are not platonic in the slightest. You work with profilers, secrets are never quite effective. Everyone knows, but it’s taboo, something that needs to be left undisturbed. Do they expect you to break him? Does he? Maybe, maybe it would be worth it— to hurt for you, because it’s always been you. He’ll take anything, he’s not greedy. He’ll live off scraps if he has to, anything to satiate this want that burns solely for you.

“Actually.. you should just always be kissing me,” he suggests, tone soft, “Every day of the week. All the time. And—“ he laughs, “You should also stop stealing body warmth. It’s rude. Hypothermia usually occurs when body temperature dips to around 95F, oh oh but there are so many factors to consider—“

“Is this you trying to imply you’re cold?” you ask.

“Perhaps. Or maybe i’m implying you should be working harder to warm me up.”

You’ve grown soft, he thinks. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this level of affection. But its okay, you justify, mostly because it’s him. Spencer, and his pretty smile, and strange habits (sitting cross legged on tables, drinking coffee with excessive sugar, endless facts and a plethora of soft yearning glances at you when you’re interrogating— as if you’re not tearing an unsub to pieces). It’s terrifying, constant eggshells, because you can’t hurt him. Not like the others, distant fragments of your past.

You laugh in response to his comment, admiring the sight of him: flushed, with swollen lips and dilated eyes. He deserves to be like this, so thoroughly assured that despite all odds, you’re invested. All cards on the table. “You have a lot of requests, boy genius.”

He smiles boyishly. You’re hard lines, sure, a blade that can draw blood, but somehow, somehow, he’s always left unscathed. “Alright,” he answers, “You want requests? Here’s one, stay the night. Come over, stay over, i’ll cook breakfast and try not to burn it— and, and you can have the good side of the bed.”

“Spence,” you mutter, because of course there’s an underlying intention to ‘staying over’ and you're trying to be good here. To not let this fall into your past mistakes of sex and inevitable self-inflicted disgust. A cyclical cycle that clings to your skin. Everything is so new to him, the intimacy, the affection, and it’s nice being able to witness it— to see his reactions to innocuous touches, always disbelieving that he’s capable of this.

Fresh-eyes, so untainted to the sharpness of modern ‘love’.

You cup his face, god, under the dim shadows of the streetlight he’s beautiful. It’s a little alarming to be honest. More so disheartening really, because despite how much you remind him, he never believes you— obstinately refusing your compliments, as if you’d ever mock him. No, he’s different. He’s tender and disarming, and sometimes it feels unholy to touch him with calloused hands.

But, to Spencer, there is nothing unholy to this; the second you touch him, the entire universe crashes down into a singular moment.

“Just stay the night,” he reaffirms. It’s taken him over a month to get to this point, to be able to voice his wants, to comprehend his wants. Now, his thumb traces its way down the side of your face, tangible, real. “And tomorrow morning, there’ll be coffee and pancakes and—“ he laughs, “And there won’t be any regrets. I promise.”

You’re looking at him, wide-eyed and slightly disbelieving (because he’s somehow stumbled through the minefield of you without any consequences). He leans forward, his forehead resting against yours. “Don’t make me beg. I will beg.”

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To confirm, he makes you incautious, irrational, willing to blatantly disregard any sort of control. Of course you end up at his apartment; the moment he mentioned begging, you were already half-way down the street.

Spencer’s place is… well, it’s everything you’d expect of him. Scattered novels adorning the floor, a mess of untidy thoughts, neglected papers on science, endless open textbooks left half-abandoned for other pursuits. It’s so him, clean but discombobulated.

He wants to apologize, make excuses for the lack of order, he probably should. He doesn’t do that though. He only crosses the room, stopping when he’s standing right in front of you, just gazing down. He has no idea what’s to come— for once, there are no patterns, no statistics he can reference.

So, he reaches for you, fingers tugging at the edges of your jacket. “Arms. Up,” he instructs and god, it’s a stupid order, but you follow it without any protest. He folds it over the couch, abandoned. Putting it back on alludes to leaving, and he’s hopeless enough to never want you to leave.

His hands then gravitate back to you and he starts to tug aimlessly at the material of your shirt. It’s been raining, and the fabric is soaked. “Hm,” he hums, “Off. Take it off.”

You laugh at that. Straight to the point. You don’t follow his orders, because one was certainly enough, and you’ve never been the type to obey blindly. Instead, you grip his waist, drive him back towards the nearest surface. An end table, some books go clattering, light damage, they’ll survive. His response is a gasp, a hitch of the breath.

“I was promised the good side of the bed, breakfast, pancakes. But sex? Hm, did you invite me over just to get in my pants? I’m wounded, Reid.” you mutter, pressing a series of soft kisses along the curvature of his jaw.

“No! No,” he retorts, breathless, “I was going to get you some comfortable clothes to change into. Damp clothes breed bacteria. You made this dirty,” Adding, “And not in the way I was concerned about.” under his breath.

You roll your eyes, “Oh, here we go—“ sure, you have the experience he lacks, but you’ve been on your best behavior. Dirty? That’s an insult to the exhausting self-restraint you’ve upheld recently.

“Yes— i’m the dirty one here, clearly.” you scoff, “Just casually corrupting you,” You tug him away from the end-table because you don’t want him bruised in any way, shape or form (it’s actually distressing; when you’re working, you seem hellbent on making sure no one even thinks about laying a hand on him. Unsubs be damned.)

Ego-centric, completely independent, individualistic until he came along.

You push him back against the couch, watching as he stumbles, as he falls. For a minute he just lies there, looking up at you with hazy eyes— pupils dilated and lips parted on a half-pained gasp.

And it’s a sight to see, the brilliant prodigy, the young genius, his normally-composed features now twisted into something stricken. His hands tighten around the material of the couch and he lets out a sound that’s a cross between a whine and a groan.

“Oh—“ that’s just a clear-cut moan, “You can definitely definitely keep corrupting me, in fact I endorse it. Completely.”

“3 PHDS, 2 B.A’s and you’re currently asking me to corrupt you? I don’t know, Doctor Reid, that’s certainly very forward,” you say, moving to sit on his lap, aware that you really should entertain this spot more often, even if you’re at severe risk of deflating.

Deflating. God. When did it come to this?

He laughs, “You’re the only person in this entire world that makes me act without a single coherent thought,” IQ abolished. “So yeah,” he murmurs, fingers tracing mindless patterns across the exposed strip of skin above your waistline. “Defini-definitively corrupt me.”

It’s taken so much to get to this point. So much to unpack, to understand, from Spencer’s perspective. There’s a lifetime of bullying that he has to dismantle, and sometimes he still anticipates the punchline when you kiss him— the biting laughs, not entirely dissimilar to school, when someone would belittle him, fake being his friend just for entertainment value.

So, when you stumble into the bedroom, when you remove his shirt, he knows this is improvement. He’s fighting this internal battle, unsure on how he should act: coy or defiant. Both, really. He wants to cover himself up, to pretend like you don’t disarm him, to fight and fight until you make him bleed. Anything, he’ll take anything from you.

“You are so so pretty,” you mutter when he’s sprawled out across the bed. You’ve never been someone to resort to praise; sex had always been cold and clinical, something to relieve stress, to undermine the burden of work, and the endless weight of sanguinary. But now? If he is the eye of the storm, then you’ll happily commit to the chaos of this.

“Careful, you’ll make me inherit a disorder here.” he mutters. Narcism— he’s the least likely to ever develop such symptoms. “Or cry. I could cry, it’s a potential. Maybe break-down?”

“Or,” he adds, his hands tracing up towards your shoulder blades. “All of the above. The trifecta of issues. It’s very likely.”

He rolls over on top, you’re down to just your lingerie now, pretty lace contrasting against your skin. Removing your clothes had been a whole ordeal, he’s fairly certain he almost died; you’re the epitome of beautiful, and he’s not sure how he ended up with everything when he was so resolute, silently accepting, he would always obtain nothing.

“I want to kiss you, but I don’t know, I feel like my body has lost the ability to function at the moment.” he breathes out.

“You should definitely kiss me,” you confirm, posing it as a choice, one that he has any say over— when in reality, youre already tugging him closer. Lips meeting lips. It’s not sane how the world fades into a nebulous haze the moment your mouths connect; time remains constant, logistically, nothing has changed. But it’s just so much that for a moment you doubt the concept of existence, doubt everything but him.

Genius falling for genius. Only you could laugh when he traces molecules into your skin. Spelling out words with elements: Livermorium, Uranium. LV U, it might not be an exact replica of the three worded phrase, but it certainly gets the point across.

“Spence—“ you bite into his lip, tugging the soft tissue between your teeth.

He groans, whimpers, pulls you closer, eliminating every infinitesimal distance between, slotting his hips against yours. He draws away from your mouth, lips leaving a trail of kisses down your neck as he reaches for your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours and pinning it against the bed. His free one is now wandering, slipping beneath your panties to touch.

“Do you know how much I studied about human anatomy after you first kissed me?”

“Weeks.” he answers when you respond with a muffled groan. Your hands are on his back now, tracing the journey of his spine. He’s in over his head, but there’s so much want, so much he wants to do but never thought he would be capable of. And oh, when he begins to draw circles against your clit, slow experimental halos, those soft touches of yours evolve into grasping, gripping. By the time he’s got a finger slotted inside, he’s fairly certain he’s being scratched. Nail indents and faint white lines, souvenirs.

“I know about every erogenous zone the human body possesses, every single one.” He says, because whilst he might lack in physical experience, he has enough intellect to memorize placement, biology. Plus, he’s a fast learner. His finger bends, and both of you moan.

“Spence— fuck, feels good.” you gasp, tangled hands clutching tighter, tighter again until your knuckles are white and you’re trembling.

The human body is something of a fascination to him; the way it reacts, how each nerve and ligament can respond to even the most tentative of touches. But you aren’t every human, you are you, and he has an insatiable desire to discover and catalog every single response your body gives.

He adds another finger, slowly, eyes fixed on your face, gauging the reaction. When he curls both digits, a sharp exhale is your response. “I’m convinced I’ve discovered new anatomy facts in the last few months, just because of you.”

Maybe it’s not fair that he’s so good. First times are supposed to be fumbling and awkward, a mess of hormones and inexperience. To say you haven’t been touched like this before is a severe understatement. The meaningless sex, the onslaught of bodies doesn’t measure up to him, the way he’s so focused on how you respond, on what your body enjoys— it would be endearing (and it is!), but you're currently too preoccupied to voice such a notion.

“Doing so good, holy shit—“ you mutter, blissed out beyond comprehension. You're making art on his back, only vaguely aware of the pain. Though when you realize you’ve scarred his skin, you're drawing away, moving to tangle your hand in his hair instead. But Spencer doesn’t even care, doesn’t even register the inflictions; he likes the physical marks you leave behind, a tangible remnant of all you do to him.

And sure, he’d laugh, usually, at your responses. But it’s hard to laugh, when his own ability to form any coherent sound has been completely destroyed. He’s a mess, his breathing shaky, and his brain is a constant buzz of fragmented musings consisting of you, you, you.

He draws his fingers out, earning a discernible groan, maybe a fuck you (which he does intend to do). But right now, he’s already slotting his face between your thighs, removing those soaked, ruined, panties of yours. He doesn’t have a single thing to compare it to. But he already knows this is his favorite place to be, and he’s fairly certain he’ll be spending most nights between your thighs, learning and memorizing every reaction and noise, each movement, and the ways to repeat them.

He runs his tongue along your clit, savoring just how wet you are, a mess that he can bury his face into. You’re looking down at him with something akin to shock now, and he can only laugh, blow air against your clit, then drag his tongue back over the sensitive bud, drawing it into his mouth to suck.

His movements are tentative at first, unpractised, but soon gaining confidence. He doesnt need to do this, you're aware— you could take him now. And yet, hes here, between your thighs for no reason other than want. Your reaction is visceral, because it’s always been about efficiency in the past, quick touches to get you there before the other person can derive their own pleasure from the act.

He’s not like that. God, hes not like that at all.

“Oh,” is all you can say, gripping his hair down to the root, instructing each movement until he gains incentive, finding repeat patterns that your body reacts to. Then, you can only arch and moan, noises filtered out into the air. He’s back to opening you up now, two deft fingers pressed inside, working diligently to tear you apart.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say to me? Oh?” he retorts.

“Shut up,” you huff, “Put that mouth of yours to work.”

“Mhm— I plan to. God, you’re so perfect.” he mutters, voice distorted, muffled. “That’s it—“ he fights the urge to explain exactly what’s occurring in your body every time his fingers abuse that spot. Instead, he keeps his mouth busy.

He’s certain he’s memorized most areas of your body from years of pining, and that’s what brings him an unrepentant sense of satisfaction. Because he was memorizing your body, you, long before he even got the chance to touch or taste you.

“Wanna stay here,” he says, and he’s being petulant now, because there’s something so good about being reduced to movements. To follow the pattern, to take care of your body, mindless to anything else but you. Pussy-drunk, to put it less eloquently.

“Shit,” you buck up against his mouth, watching as he buries his face entirely into you, as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, nose bumping bumping your clit, consuming his senses entirely.

“Use my face, yeah. ‘M all yours anyway.”

“Fuck, fuck fuck— Spence. Gonna cum—“

When you fall apart, inevitable, he doesn’t stop— not until you’re boneless and spent beneath him. Back arching, stars burning through closed eyes. Pretty constellations that have you blissed out beyond belief. The pleasure is white-hot, feverish in intensity.

And then he’s moving, shifting his body back over you. He’s all soft touches and languid kisses against your mouth, not bothering to break contact as he settles himself fully over you, the weight of his hips pressing into yours. He’s hard, dick pushing up against his boxers, his sexual libido had always been low until you came into his life. Now, his wants seem to fight for release constantly.

“My turn, I believe.” he grins, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Not that you have to, of course. It’s not an obligation, uh— more so a beg?”

“Of course it’s an obligation,” he goes to protest, to say you don’t owe him anything, so you sigh. “A thankyou, maybe?”

Fumbling hands, still shaky from pleasure, undo buttons. Unclasping his belt, removing loose fabric until he's bare before you. There’s something nervous to his gaze, something unspoken, lingering in the air. “Hey, hey. I’ve got you, yeah? You’re okay,” you promise, before your eyes shamelessly look down. He’s straining, pre-cum lingering at his tip, dick pressed up against his stomach now. “Fuck, okay— yeah. Good. Great even.” first time you've ever stumbled over a sentence in your life.

There’s so much to be concerned about. The fact he’s naked, that you could destroy everything with a few serrated words, years and years of rebuilding, reconstructing. But you don’t— and he can’t help but laugh nervously. “Glad to be up to your standards. I’d uh, hate to disappoint.”

“Always the over-achiever,” you respond, shifting away from him— there’s amusement to your expression when he groans, pitifully, when he rolls onto his back, draping an arm over his face.

Predictable. Condoms in his bedside table. At least he's prepared. You open the wrapper with your teeth, discarding it somewhere amongst the tangle of limbs and sheets, too hellbent on finding him again.

Oh, in this position, you have full, unrestricted view of his body. Endless planes of skin, begging to be marked, sentenced indefinitely to your touch. By the time you straddle his hips, hes a flushed mess beneath you. “I— um, you look really really pretty right now.” he stumbles, idiot.

His dilated eyes take you in. Every contour and curve, the way your hair hangs over your face, eyes up eyes up eyes up. He fails when you run your hand across his dick, thumb brushing against the tip. By the time you’ve slipped the condom over him, hes gone. Bucking and moaning, and so so much better than his hand could ever be.

He wants to be inside of you, but it’s hard to think right now, let alone vocalize the words. I want, he thinks, I want everything, with you.

Your name is on his tongue, muttered and repeated, a reverent prayer of sorts. He needs to gain back his control here, to return to equal footing.

“Yeah—“ he breathes out, “So much of an overachiever, considering I had you making all of those noises—“ his words falter, die out, when you sink down. When you take him. Wrapped around, tight. Warm heat that sets alight every nerve in his overstimulated body. He has half the mind to apologize for his comment because you’re about to ruin him, he knows.

“I thought you wanted me to corrupt you, hm?” you retort. The pace is slow, mostly for his own sanity. Though, the feel of him, the way he slots into you, warm skin pressed against warm skin is intoxicating, and it’s a battle to keep your composure. To not just fall apart under the weight of him.

“What’s that, pretty boy? Struggling? Because you were so egotistical a few seconds ago? Where’s all that ego gone? Straight between your legs, I think.”

A whimper. It’s a whimper, a pained thing ripped straight from his throat. He’s making indiscernible noises now, messy sounds pooling from his swollen lips. The praise, the strained undertones of degradation? It’s too much. But god does he love you for it, because that’s you through and through. Sharp, and brittle to everyone but him, he wants to look, he does, albeit he has to turn his head to the side, bury half of his face in a pillow because he’s gone. At this point, he can only take it.

“I— um, mhm. Yeah,” he slurs. He’s almost incoherent at this point; he’s been reduced to nothing, just a mass of skin, bone, and flesh at your disposal, to own and use and he can’t find it in himself to feel humiliated about it, not when it’s you.

“Can’t— um, I was wrong, you’re— oh god,” the sounds of your body hitting his, back arching as your pace picks up. “Oh, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry —baby, can’t, can’t take it. That’s…”

It’s a lot for his first time, that’s for certain.

“Yes, you you can. I know you can, Spence.” you mutter, interlocking your fingers, letting them hang near your hips. “You feel so good— so so fucking good. Look at you, so brain dead for me. Taking it all so well, love.”

Love?— oh he wants to be buried with that one. He’s a mindless disaster, impenetrably devoted to you alone.

He doesn’t even know how he’s saying words at this point, it’s as if his brain-to-mouth connection has been severed by your very presence itself. It’s not possible to form a coherent thought when you’re riding him like this, taking him so deep that he’s seeing stars. There’s tears pooling in his eyes, he looks pretty when he cries. Especially when it’s derived from pleasure, when he can let go of the burdens, everything he’s endured, when it’s just sensation. Nothing more, no more thoughts.

There’s safety here, an element of home, home home bliss, that has him keening. He wants to stay buried here forever, where nothing can ever hurt him again. When it’s just you, and your pretty words, and your exploitative power to destroy him. You never do, anyway. Even when you could, you restrain.

“Can’t, ’m gonna…, Please, please, don’t stop.” he whines, “Pleasepleaseplease— oh, can’t— I can’t.”

He grips you tight, rolls you over, mostly so he can feel you closer. The sight of you riding him was excruciating, but this is worse because now there’s no gap separating you. Now, he can bury his face into the crook of your neck, burn himself in the warmth of your touch.

“Spence..” you mutter.

“I know. I know—“ hes ruined, sloppy thrusts, whimpers catching against the stifling air. “Feels s’good.”

He doesn’t know what to do, how to breathe, so he just runs his thumb over your clit, watching your prominent reaction, watching as you gasp, moan— oh, and then you’re clenching around him, tightening the pleasure, and yesyesyes.

You’re too gone, moving still, and he can only cant his hips forwards, buck and squirm until he’s sobbing under the weight of your ministrations, releasing so hard that he can barely remember his name, no cognitive function, in the haze of his orgasm.

“There’s my boy— so pretty for me.” he can vaguely hear you saying, and if you’re talking him through it, he can only hear snippets of praise now anyway.

“Mhm— mhm. Yours, yeah.” he mumbles, body sinking against the sheets, a few little whimpers escaping his lips as you milk the rest of his pleasure from him.

Tangled limbs and sweat-stained skin. “You okay?” you ask in the aftermath.

“So okay,” he agrees, shifting closer, back pressed against your torso— sue him for being little spoon.

──────────────────

The next morning, you wake to an absence of Spencer. It’s unsettling, to say the least. So, you're quick to fumble over the buttons of one of his shirts, fabric creased, matching the tousled nature of your hair, disheveled, remnants of the ruination of last night.

For a moment, you consider that he might’ve left — but there he is, in the kitchen, attempting to make breakfast.

“Hey,” you mutter, leaning against the counter to watch.

Scratches adorn his back, indent marks from your nails, crescent reminders, stain his waist, and he’s content to wear them. If anything, he can’t wait to add to the budding collection.

Pancakes. The good side of the bed. Coffee. All of his promises from last night are being thoroughly met, even if he’s burning the food, and shit, he didn’t realize the coffee would be finished so soon. For all his calculations, he’s fairly off-center today.

And then, you come padding across his kitchen, embellished in only his shirt, unbuttoned near the top to expose your collarbone, and he’s fairly certain the last remainders of his IQ disappear.

“Hi! Hi,” he says, wide-eyed, “Um, making.. breakfast. You look, wow yeah.”

Breakfast lays forgotten.

[goxjo]

Do you think Sukuna would have Vessel!Reader look at themselves in the mirror as he touches them? Just make them watch him touch themselves as a sort of payback when they make him do nothing but watch them? btw I still fucking love your fics!

he absolutely would, this is golden <3 and thank you, I’m glad you love them!!!! ;; I also wrote a little sukuna x vessel! reader + mirror kink drab here if you would like to read <333 it’s one where reader and kuna are on more agreeable terms lol

++ this is late, I know. please accept this filth as an apology!

RYOMEN SUKUNA X VESSEL! READER

+ warnings. no pronouns, f anatomy! reader, hard dubcon, demon possession (it’s kuna), body horror, dom / sub themes if you squint, fearplay if you squint, ‘enchain’ binding vow has different terms, mirrors, cunnilingus uwu, v! fingering, squirting on his ‘mouth’, ~600 words, 18+ only, MDNI

♥︎ based off of no secrets,

You had to tease him. Had to parade your little pussy like meat to a dog, watch yourself through the floor length mirror whilst lying down on your bed with a leg propped up as you spread out your folds. You did this knowing all he could do was watch. And watch. And watch as you played with yourself silly.

One moment was all he needed. He waited for you to slip — waited for when you’re at your absolute weakest to the point of exhaustion for when he decides to give you a taste of your own medicine.

“Enchain.”

To others, his voice is enough to send shivers down their spine; but to a vessel, his voice is akin to the bellow of a beast that stops you dead in your tracks, that moment when you know you’re done for. His words reverberate throughout your body, freezing cold the first few seconds, knocking the breath out of your lungs, panic spreading like wildfire through your veins, pumping sulfur to your heart instead of blood. And then, everything goes black.

”Wake up, you. I need you to bear witness to what I’ll do to your body.”

You know those black lines decorating your body all too well. You want to inspect them but all you can do is watch and feel. Through the mirror, you see you but not quite you. It’s the never-ending cycle of taking charge and then losing your hold of the reins. One minute you’re in control, the next you’re not. And once again, you’re a bystander in your own body.

“My god that voice still churns my stomach to this day,” you answer back, somewhat grateful for the ability to at least speak while he has hold of you.

Sukuna lets out a huff, black fingernails tracing every curve and swell of your chest like it’s something he hasn’t done before. He looks at your reflection as if he hasn’t eaten in a long time, and in front of him is the world’s finest delicacy served on a silver platter, all for him to devour.

“My, such bile for someone who’s dying for these fingernails to scratch their walls.” He pinches a nipple, feeling you wince at the touch. “So sensitive.” He chuckles, amusement in his laughter over finding you on the receiving end of this torture. “I can feel your need gnawing at the bars, desperately looking for relief.”

“Sukuna, don’t you dare — don’t — mm — ohh!” Your moan finishes your sentence for you. He scratches stripes along your wet slit, preventing you from threatening him any further. And you want to tell him to fuck off, to stop, “stop, s-stop…” Stop making you feel so good, stop playing with your clit like that, stop making you wet, stop making you moan, don’t, don’t stop making you hot, don’t stop, hurry up and make you cum, “don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop — Ohhh~!”

He hits the best spots, creaming you better than your own self-operated fingers ever could.

“‘Don’t’ what?”

“Don’t stop!” And he doesn’t. You feel his devious smile prickle the hairs on your nape as if he’s standing behind you.

“Pray for it.”

“Pleaaaase, Sukuna,” you whine.

He kneads your clenching hole with his open palm until a wet muscle comes out of it.

“Ffuuuck!” you cry out, his tongue flicks at your throbbing clit, teeth grazing your puffy lips before nipping your sensitive bud. Two digits enter your hole, pumping you crazy with his tongue still latched on your clit, using his hand (your hand) as your own makeshift sex toy. You want to throw your head back, roll your eyes, arch your body but he makes you stare at your own reflection, stare at your intense need to come undone.

“Haaaa, don’t stop Sukuna, don’t stop, Su — Suku—” Your pussy clamps twice shooting out warm fluid soaking your hand — cumming in his mouth.

“Next time you tease me, something else is coming out of this hand.”

[helluvapoison]

heyy i was wondering if you could do like Lucifer x reader getting married if ,you want to ofc🫶

btw i love your work so muchh, thank you!!🫶(also english is not my first language so i hope i didn't write anything wrong)

Absolutely I Do

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

a little insight to your wedding with the king

[part ii (18+ only)]

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• What would be a tamer version of a bridezilla? Not quite lashing out at everyone and their mother over the tiniest details but blowing a fuse when white roses arrive and he specifically asked for white gardenias?

• That would be Lucifer

• Asmodeus is his best man and the other Sins are his groomsmen, they’ll handle the flower debacle and any other matter that needs saving

• Good natured Charlie was given, arguably, the easiest task of holding onto the rings! She’s more than capable of planning the entire event on her own (and she asked to… twice) but Lucifer wanted her to enjoy this wedding as he wouldn’t be having another

• It’s part of why he wants this to go perfectly!

• He never thought he’d find another love after Lilith. He didn’t even realize that while you were delicately filling in the crater she’d left, he was falling more and more in love with you

• The other part, his pride and perfectionism aside, is that while it may be his second wedding, it’s your first. In his eyes you deserve only the best and he’ll be damned all over again if he doesn’t deliver

• You told your fiancé (FUCK he loved that word coming out of your mouth, almost as much as he was going to like husband!) to at least try to not go overboard. To which you received a “Me? Overboard? Darling, I would never! Simple and elegant, that’s what the headlines will say!”

• The many, many, many vision boards said otherwise. However you already knew damn well “simple and elegant” translated to grandeur and extravagant– and that’s exactly what it was. To Lucifer’s credit, it wasn’t gaudy or blinding. It really was a gorgeous spectacle

• Per his request it’s an all white event, a stark contrast to the overall location. The guest list is massive. After all, Lucifer’s still a king and certain people would be offended if they missed an occasion like this. Everyone goes all out. Bodies pour into chairs, everyone dripping head to toe in white garments and glamorous jewels

• Lucifer preened and primped, checking the mirror a couple hundred times and asking whoever was in the room if he looked ok. Anything less than “outstanding” had him groaning as he turned back to the mirror

• The wedding suddenly seems like a terrible idea. Not because he has cold feet (he’s rather sweaty, actually) but because the moment he sees you he just wants to steal you away

• You are positively and wholly breathtaking. The stars are jealous over how you outshine them! He can’t do anything but stare in amazement as you walk down the aisle

• Does he, Lucifer Morningstar, vow to protect, love, cherish and serve you for all eternity? Undoubtedly. He adds a few his own too like spoil you rotten, compliment you hourly, never ever never let you feel like you’re alone— all things he’s already done but wanted to make it “official”

• “It’s been an honor to be your confidant and friend… but I’m dying to do that and more as your husband.”

• Then do you take him to have and to hold, for better or worse, richer or poorer?

• “I do.” You answer proudly, squeezing his hands ever so slightly

• Forgetting present company, forgetting he’s a king and supposed to act dignified, Lucifer doesn’t wait to get permission to kiss you. He jumps slightly, knowing you’ll catch him instantly. Hugging your neck he crashes his lips onto yours

• You giggle against him, returning the kiss briefly before setting him down. (Hell knows he’d get carried away and forget much more if you didn’t)

• “I do believe you’re my husband now, Luci.”

• The entire wedding may as well have been a surprise party the way his eyes widened, as if it only just set in what the ordeal was for

• “Oh my golly, I’m your husband. I’m your husband! Hey everybody, I'm their husband!”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ don’t apologize, you did great friend! thank you so mochi and i hope you enjoy

[hades--baby]

To Die Like This

Summary: Stuck in the Tundra with a bullet in your side, blood in your eye, and the agonizing feeling that your captain was going to throw an absolute fit when your bleeding body walked through the threshold of the safe house.

Note: There's just something about Price being so tender with the girl he loves that makes me go absolutely crazy. Anyway, it's been a long time since I've written anything and an even longer time since I've actually put something out. Hope y'all enjoy :)

(This work was also cross-posted on my ao3 account under hades_baby)

Word Count: 7109

You had always loved the serenity of a snowy forest. 

They were typically peaceful and quiet, a drastic contrast to your usual life of gunfire and warfare. 

The only things that ever really made a sound was the light crunch of snow beneath the thick soles of boots, the little animals scurrying from shrubs to burrows that led to their dens, and the winter birds chirping their little songs as they hopped from branch to branch. 

The air was always so crisp with a light scent of fresh pine and bark. It lacked the smell of gunpowder and the musk that filled the tight barracks. 

Honestly, if you could have it your way, you’d die in a forest like this. 

Have your trauma-ridden life end in a place so ethereal. 

The whole military life never really gave you what you wanted though. 

You typically had to take what you could get.  

The orders you were given weren’t to your liking? 

Too bad, you’d have to follow them anyway. 

The mission you were assigned to was in the middle of the fucking Tundra where you knew your fingers would freeze and you’d never be able to keep warm? 

You’re getting on the damn plane and going anyway because you were told to. 

A lead slugger was shot into your side and you were currently bleeding through your gear and you wanted to do nothing more than lay down in the snow and let the cold take you while the little blood you had left in your system melted the snow beneath your limp body? 

Well, too fucking bad. Get the fuck up because your Captain doesn’t take too kindly to any of his soldiers dying on the job. 

Yeah. 

You didn’t really get your way when it came to being a soldier, but today might have been your lucky day. 

That little snowy death wish that had been playing out in the back of your head for the past thirty minutes was starting to look like it might come true. 

There was a small burning bullet set in your side, a nice little slash on your arm from a bowie knife that had once been stuck in another man’s chest, and there was a cheeky little gash somewhere on your head that was pouring enough blood into your left eye to make you shut it and trek around half blind. 

It felt like you were getting too old for this kind of work. 

Then again, if Price could still keep up with this shit and be chipper doing it, then so could you. 

“What’s your ETA, Frost?”

His voice over your comms had startled you. 

“I don’t fucking know,” you snapped in a breathy tone as you slammed against the side of a pine tree to brace yourself before you could fall flat on your face. The fresh powder beneath you was starting to look really enticing. 

You closed your good eye—the one that hadn’t been flooded with blood—and let out a defeated sigh, dipping your head as you tried to catch your breath and not focus on the stinging sensation of all the wounds that riddled your body. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, apologizing to your Captain for your tone. You glanced at the watch on your wrist to check your current coordinates. “I’m a klick out from the safehouse. I should be there in a bit.”

“Copy.”

Price left it at that. 

He sounded tired. 

It was the same tone he spoke in when he was stuck in his office, getting dragged down into the depths with paperwork and mission reports he didn’t even want to think about. The tone that would come out when someone tried to talk to him too soon after a mission when all he wanted to do was relax and work the knots out of his shoulders. The tone that you heard oh so often when you’d pop into his office to keep him company while he dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s and when you’d work your fingers into the knots and sore spots on his back until he nearly fell asleep in his office chair. 

Fuck. 

You needed to get a move on.

After taking a deep breath, you trekked on, using every other tree to keep yourself upright as you staggered on your tired feet. 

Blood was seeping through all of your gear, some of it dripping into the pristine white powder beneath your feet. It was tragic how the deep crimson liquid stained the gorgeous snow. In your line of work, you had seen blood stain an array of surfaces, but snow seemed to be the worst of them. It was something that was meant to be clean and pure, yet here you were, ruining it. 

A grimace fell over your face at the sight. 

After a few minutes passed by, your legs met the threshold of movement and you slammed into another tree trunk. Your temple met the bark, wood scratching against the skin of your face. You closed your eyes as you tried to catch your breath and focus on not passing out while your limbs buzzed in pain. 

You could make it. 

Probably.

All you could really think about was the fact that you were definitely going to be telling Price that you didn’t want to do any more jobs in the Tundra. You enjoyed the cold climate when you weren’t working, which was almost never, but you still had a few days of leave a year where you got to fully relax (if your brain allowed). 

You liked the cold when you could cuddle up next to someone to stay warm, drink some hot cider, and watch stupid Christmas movies that had too many questionable moments that made you really sit and stare, trying to figure out whether or not you should laugh. 

You enjoyed the cold even more when you could hide away in the barracks, keeping warm with Price wrapped around you, hands tracing over your skin, heating you up quicker than a blanket ever could. 

“Frost.”

“Captain.”

He didn’t respond right away, making you wonder if he just wanted to say your callsign for the hell of it. 

“ETA?”

“Couple of minutes,” you answered. 

The eye with blood in it was starting to sting, the foreign liquid now slipping all the way to your jaw and dripping from your chin. 

“Cut it down to a minute.”

Price was starting to catch on that something was wrong. You were taking far too long to get to the safe house from where you had been coming from and your words were becoming too short and strained every time he asked you a question. Something was wrong and it was taking everything in him to not run out of the safehouse in search of you. You’d always been the type to be vocal when something went awry out in the field, so he silently prayed that your absence of issue meant that everything was fine and that you truly were just taking your sweet ass time to get to him. 

“You’re starting to sound like Gaz with all the worrying you’re doing, Pricey,” you teased, adding on the little nickname that you knew peeved him. 

“Shut it and get a damn move on.”

“Yessir.”

You started moving again just as he ordered you to do, finding some sense of motivation after hearing his gruff voice. It was the voice that had welcomed you to the 141 after Laswell had shipped you off to join the task force. The voice that had let you know that you were okay and safe when the boys had finally found you after you had been taken hostage on a mission in your earlier days. The voice that had talked you through every touch that made your body burn as he sunk his fingers into you. 

It was the kind of voice that you’d betray death for. 

A little while later, the safehouse finally came into view. 

You glanced at your watch, checking how much time had passed. 

A minute and twenty-seven seconds.

Price wasn’t going to let you hear the end of it. 

You winced in pain, feeling the skin of your arm pull apart. The soldier that had cut you had grabbed the knife he used from the middle of another man’s chest and you were starting to feel queasy from the thought of your blood mixing with his. You needed to get your gash disinfected soon or you were going to have a problem. Well, technically you already had multiple problems, but you were trying to take on one issue at a time. 

Alright, maybe it was about time you mentioned something to your captain. 

“Hey, Cap’?” you probed as you quietly trudged toward the short porch steps of the cute little cottage. “Is this a bad time to mention that I got hit earlier?”

You failed to mention how badly you were hit.

“What the hell—what do you mean you got hit?”

You stopped a good ten feet from the steps, furrowing your brows. 

There was no sign of Price having entered through the front door. The powder in front of the stairs had been untouched and there weren’t any wet footprints  on the old wood of the porch. The windows were dark and nothing could be seen from the outside. The only thing that gave any sign of someone being inside was the dark smoke slowly wisping from the brick chimney peeking out of the top of the cabin.

“I mean, I got a nice little slugger in my side and some blood pouring out of me in other places,” you said, keeping your voice low and quiet. You wondered if you were in the right place. You looked down at your watch, checking your coordinates. According to the device, you were. “Are you inside?” 

He ignored your question. 

“Where the hell’s your kit?”

“Somewhere in the forest four klicks back.”

You looked around again, hoping to find some sign of this being the right place. 

“Christ, Frost,” Price muttered. You didn’t need to see him to know that he was shaking his head at you. “How far out are you?”

“Right out front,” you answered. 

You gave in. 

The wood creaked under the thick soles of your boots as you trekked up the stairs. You shoved the door open, stumbled inside, and slammed the door shut as you slumped against the wall. You slowly slid down to the floor. The cold began to set into your bones as the distinctive heat from the fireplace on your left radiated around you. 

Price rushed into the room. 

“Well, aren’t you a right-all mess,” he said as he moved toward you.

“Shut up,” you muttered, shaking your head before tilting it back to rest against the wall. You opened your good eye as he knelt down in front of you.

“Where are you broken, love?” he asked as his eyes scanned over you, clocking every little rip and tear in your gear before you could even say anything. 

He hated seeing you like this. 

It had become one of the toughest parts of his job ever since Laswell had sent you his way to recruit to the taskforce. There was just something about you that made his heart ache whenever he saw you in pain in any way.  

He knew that it was all a part of the job. 

That there were always going to be times where he saw you like this; busted and broken.

And he always fucking hated it.

He knew he’d hate it ever since the first time he had seen you like this. It was way back when you had first joined the team. You’d only been with them for a good six months, but you had already gone on about four missions with them. It had been a busy year for the task force, but you didn’t seem to mind. If anything, you were eager to keep getting back out on the field every time you got back to base. 

On their fifth mission all together, when they believed that they had the upper hand, you and Soap had been ambushed. The Scot had been knocked unconscious while you were taken captive, too many soldiers for the two of you to take out on your own without any supporting fire. 

Learning that you had been taken was worrisome on its own, but Price’s heart ached when they finally found you. 

He had sunken to his knees in front of you, using his knife to work away the zip ties that had you bound to an uncomfortable looking metal chair. Your face was bruised and bloody. Gashes from knife wounds worked their way down your arms and legs. Burn marks from what looked like cigarettes were ingrained into your plush skin. 

You looked beyond rough. 

Price had felt furious that he had let any of this happen to you, but the fury was quickly overcome with worry when you had perched your eyes open and groaned in pain. He let out a sigh of relief, finally knowing that you were, at the very least, well enough to be conscious. He had tried to soothe you as best he could and when you were finally free of your bounds, you practically fell into his embrace, your entire body slumping against his.

It was that very moment—when he wrapped his arms around you and held the entirety of you—that was when he knew that seeing you like this would always pull deadly wear on his heart. His old heart wouldn’t be able to take seeing you like this and hoped that it would be a rarity for his tiring eyes. 

Much to his surprise, it had been a rare sight. 

But that didn’t mean it was a non-existent sight. 

“Got shot in my right side, bullet’s still somewhere in there from what I can tell. Slash on my right arm from a gross ass knife that was already stuck in someone else before it got to me. And I got hit in the head and I can’t see out of my fucking right eye because of all the goddamn blood,” you explained, lifting one of your hands to try and wipe the blood away from your eye, but to no avail, the metallic liquid kept flowing. There was no use in trying to see right now anyway.

“Let’s get you fixed up then,” he said, a sense of urgency finally filling his voice. 

He had been attempting to keep his cool this entire time; to not panic so you wouldn’t panic either. But he knew that you were much too tired to even start panicking, so perhaps he was just trying to stay calm for his own sake. He found it funny that out of everyone on the task force, he had been the one to deal with more field injuries, yet here he was with his damned nerves buzzing out of his skull. 

Something like this shouldn’t have worried him as much as it did. 

But it was you. 

He couldn’t help himself when it came to you. 

Whatever was going on between the two of you had always left him in the realm of something being completely unspoken. The relationship that had sprouted was in some sort of limbo, but neither of you seemed to mind since it was easier that way. 

It was easier than having to tell the boys that something was going on between you two. It was easier than telling Laswell that there may be some sort of infringement on the team—not that she’d care unless it really started to affect how the two of you went about your work lives. And it was easier than admitting to each other that there might be something more than a quick casual stress-relief fuck. 

The two of you had shared too many moments together for that to be true. 

There were too many night’s of your bodies being pressed together and entwined, skin to skin to keep each other warm. Too many words of comfort as you soothe the nightmares of war away, finding comfort in each other’s arms. Too many gentle kisses for it to not be real. 

Your eyes were closed. 

He didn’t care much for that. 

“Frost,” he said, bumping your arm without a slash in it to jostle you awake. You opened your good eye and looked up at him, sending him a quick look of aggravation. It would’ve been amusing if you weren’t bleeding out before his very eyes. “Need your good eye open so I know you aren’t dying on me, sweetheart.”

You grunted in response, looking away from him but still keeping your eye open. 

The feeling of disquietude was starting to set in. 

It wasn’t normal for you to get hit during missions—it was actually quite rare. Soap was usually the one to take the podium for taking quite a bit of damage out in the field. Regardless of all that, you still knew what to do in such situations. You wouldn’t have been at this level of infantry if you didn’t know what to do. 

The hard part was the fact that you were in the presence of your captain. 

Moments ago, when you were trekking to the safehouse, you knew that you wouldn’t have to do any of this alone because your captain was waiting less than a klick away from you. 

The thought alone made everything feel easier. 

It was always harder doing it all alone. 

You thought back to the first and only time you had applied a tourniquet on yourself. Damn near gave up and bled out from how painful it was to cinch the band as tight as you could to keep yourself from bleeding out. You had spent years in the service of infantry. Years of wear and tear on the body, but that kind of pain was something you never wanted to feel again in your lifetime or in any lifetime. So when you felt your arm begin to fall numb from the lack of blood circulating through your veins, you knew that you had to get to Price before you would be forced to deal with it on your own. 

When he was around, you knew that you’d never have to face anything alone. 

You had learned to find such comfort in that. 

Price felt sick to his stomach as he started to get some of your heavier gear off. Your weapons were first to go, then your holsters, and then your vest. He was almost afraid to remove your thermal to see the damage the thick white jacket was hiding poorly. 

He couldn’t keep his damn head straight. 

Simon had griped with him about it a while back, saying that he needed to do better about keeping a clear head around you, but Price still managed to get work done on missions, so the younger man could never really get on him about it all that much. Simon didn’t know exactly what was going on between you two behind closed doors, but he had enough of an idea seeing how much Price doted on you even when you told him to fuck off and focus on something else for a while. 

It was the playfulness of your jabs that usually gave it away. 

That and the lingering looks you two sent each other as if you were some love sick teenagers. 

Price knew that you were more than capable of handling yourself in the field, but there was always something whispering in the back of his head that had him wearing a deep sense of worry on his sleeve every time he had to send you out on a mission. He had read your file when Laswell had recruited you. You were beyond skilled in almost everything you did and you rarely ever came back to base having to see a medic, so hearing that you had actually been hit—

“I can’t feel my arm.”

“Shite,” Price cursed, snapping out of his thoughts as he snatched his medkit and opened it up to finally help you. 

The cold had finally set in and all the blood that had seeped from your arm was causing your skin to turn pale. The gash on your arm was still wide open, but blood had stopped spilling from it, which meant he could disinfect it and get it closed without anything (hopefully) going wrong. Your side wasn’t doing all that bad, still bleeding, but not bad. He’d probably have to cauterize the wound just to feel like he could leave it be, but that could wait for after he got the bullet out of you. 

“Arm first, then your side,” he decided, nodding his head before he turned back to his kit. He turned back with a bottle in hand and you grimaced at the sight. “Gonna have to feel more broken before you feel fixed.”

“No shit,” you muttered, eyeing the small bottle of alcohol in his hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be snappy.”

Price set the bottle down, reached for his belt, and took it off. Something deep in you fluttered, but it stopped when he presented it to your face in a folded mess. 

“Bite down,” he said. You eyed him a little more, making him huff. “Bite down on it, Frost.”

You huffed back at him and bit down on the folded belt. You held it between clenched teeth, watching as he picked the bottle of alcohol back up. He sighed and nodded, almost as if he was telling himself that he was ready to do this. He tipped the bottle and poured the liquid over the wound. You squirmed and held back a writhing scream. He quickly clamped your legs between his knees, keeping you from squirming away. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart,” he said, trying to sooth you as he set the bottle down and wiped around the edge of the wound. He grabbed a needle and thread from his kit.

You groaned through the thickness of the belt as he stabbed the needle into your skin, creating even sutures along the wound. Your eyes closed as you tried to not focus on anything specific, but the feeling of Price keeping you in place while he dug a needle kept you from thinking of anything else. 

Price hated this. 

He hated every fucking part of this. 

Digging a needle and thread into your arm while you bit onto a belt. 

He thought back to the last time he had touched you. 

It was the night before the mission that you two were currently on. Price hadn’t expected to see you until the two of you were meant to take off on the tarmac, but he found himself aimlessly wandering the halls of the barracks until he wound up at the door of your private quarters. 

He almost hadn’t knocked. 

It was late, you two had to be up early, and he still didn’t know where the two of you stood when it came to something like this. 

He knew that there was some sort of love there, but he wasn’t too sure about the type. He knew that if he was stressed about all the ridiculous mission reports and papers he had to sign off on late into the night when he should be sleeping instead, you’d be sitting there with him to keep him company. He knew that if he mentioned that something was hurting, you’d use your nimble and calloused fingers to work away the knots and sore spots that came with all the training and missions. He knew that in a moment of weakness, he could count on you to hold the broken pieces of his soul together. 

Everything in his mind told him to leave you alone and let you be for the night, but the Captain was feeling selfish and he rarely ever got to indulge in such things.

His entire life and career, he was meant to be selfless. 

To put everyone else’s needs before his own. 

And ultimately, he had been okay with that… until he met you. 

He found himself tempted to be selfish when it came to you. 

He had knocked and you had answered. 

It was all he needed for the night. 

Maybe for life. 

“Done,” he said, tying off the last stitch and cutting the thread. 

“Thank fuck,” you breathed out, letting the belt drop from your mouth. 

“Still have a few more things to do,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of your side before glancing at your head. “I’m gonna have to lay you down flat to get the bullet out, alright?”

“M’kay,” you muttered, still feeling hazy. Your nerves were buzzing in all the wrong ways and you just wanted it to stop. 

Price carried you over to the fireplace and laid you out on the floor next to the fire in hopes of warming you up. The flame felt nice against your freezing skin. He worked quickly to strip you of your thermal undershirt. The wound on your side looked small, but the skin around it was stained red with thick blood. 

“Want the belt again?” he asked. You sighed and nodded. He grabbed his belt and folded it up again before placing it back in your mouth. Your teeth dug into the material as you anticipated whatever pain was about to come. “Ready?”

You grunted in response. 

He used a set of dull tweezers to dig into your side, fishing for the little bullet deep in your flesh. You reeled in pain, damn near shooting up on your own, but Price used his free hand to push your chest back down to keep you steady.

“I know, pretty girl, I know,” he tried to soothe, continuing to search for the hunk of lead. You writhed in pain, pressing yourself against the floor as hard as you could as if that would help you escape the pain that was stabbing into it. The ends of the tweezers grazed something hard and he knew that he almost had it. “Almost got it. Almost done.”

After a few moments, he pulled the metal fragment from your body and pulled the tweezers from your aching flesh. You gasped, shaking as you laid limp. Your shoulders slumped against the wood floor as your chest heaved. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you tried to catch your breath. 

“You’re alright,” he said, squeezing your good arm as if that would make everything better. He massaged your bicep for a moment, using it as an excuse to keep his hands on you. He was also trying to calm you down a bit more before he had to move onto the actual hard part. He grimaced and glanced over to the fireplace. “Do you trust me?” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, lazily nodding your head as you felt consciousness slipping through your fingers. 

“I need you to close your eyes, sweetheart.”

“Mm-mm,” you said, shaking your head this time around. 

“I need you to trust me on this one, Frost.”

You stared at him for a long while before finally giving in and closing your eyes. You slammed the back of your head against the wood flooring as hard as you could, wishing that the impact had knocked you out because you knew that whatever he was about to do was going to hurt like hell. 

Price had always been the type to make sure that his own were safe and taken care of, but he was also the type to tell his own to buck up and take it. Whenever the boys got injured out in the field, he would always make sure that they were okay, and if they were, he’d tell the lot of them to get back to work then. 

Even with you. 

Every time you had been bruised and battered, if you told him that you were okay, he’d believe you and expect you to be okay and not broken. 

So the fact that he was telling you to close your eyes and to trust him meant that it had to be bad and that scared you.

Price waited for a few moments, making sure that you kept your eyes closed before he proceeded with what he was about to do. He grabbed the hot poker from the fireplace, the one that he had been stoking the fire with before you had made it to the confines of the safehouse and trudged in with all of your broken parts. He took a deep breath, knowing that there was a good chance that he was going to hate this just as much as you. 

“Bite down hard and keep your eyes closed, you hear?” he ordered, heaving one last warning before he pressed the burning poker to your skin. 

You did exactly as he ordered even though you were itching to scream and open your eyes to see what the fuck he was doing, but the smell of your burning flesh was enough to urge you to just squeeze your eyes shut even tighter. 

You were going to pass out. 

Or vomit. 

Or maybe scream at Price for cauterizing your wound without a proper fucking warning. 

Maybe all three. 

You eventually fell limp, no longer having the energy to resist the fiery pain that flooded over your skin. The only part of you that could move was your heaving chest as your lungs begged for some semblance of air. 

Price pulled the poker away, tossing the burning end back into the fire.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” he said, disinfecting the area around the cauterized wound to ensure that everything was thoroughly taken care of. He placed a bandage over it and then gently grasped your shoulders, his thumb massaging circles into your skin. “Gonna get you up now, nice and easy.” 

He slowly pulled you into an upright position, but you haphazardly slumped forward into his arms, forehead hitting his chest. He let your full weight fall against him. You still hadn’t said anything, nor had you opened your eyes. All you could really manage were hard, labored breaths that made your entire body quake. 

His heart hurt. 

Probably not as much as you were hurting, but still, it hurt. 

He couldn’t stand to see you like this. 

Body shaking in his arms, lungs gasping for air, kind eyes hidden behind low lids. 

He wanted to take you from this world. 

To take you from the world of hurt.

The world where you were constantly shot at and put at risk every time a new mission was assigned to the taskforce. 

But he knew that he’d never be able to take you from this world of chaos and pain. You’d surely raise hell the day you truly had to leave the force. You had always said that you’d probably die in the military. He really prayed that you wouldn’t. 

He pulled you into his lap, settling you down comfortably as he grabbed a clean wrap. He propped you up a little more so your head was resting against his shoulder, face tucked you into the crook of his neck. He wrapped your midsection, making sure to keep the bandages snug and clean. 

“Almost done,” he promised in a sweet coo. 

You opened your mouth, finally letting the belt drop to the floor. You hadn’t realized that it was still in your mouth. 

“Fuck,” you breathed out as he tied the bandages off, running his fingers over the material to make sure it all laid flat and clean. 

“Gonna lay you back down,” he said. 

You shook your head, pressing your forehead against his shoulder in hopes that he’d understand that you wanted to stay like that in his arms, face tucked away so he couldn’t see you cry. You just needed a moment to collect yourself. Tears pooled in your eyes, the pain setting in even more as the adrenaline started to wear off. He placed one of his hands on your back, gently rubbing circles over your shoulder blades in an attempt to calm you down.

“I’ve got you, Frost,” he muttered, pulling you in closer. Hot tears rushed faster from your eyes, slipping down, and staining his shirt as they dropped from your face. The diluted mix of salt water and blood didn’t bother him much. “Gotta check that head of yours. Clearly you’ve got a screw loose since you thought hiding all of this from me was okay.” 

“Didn’t want to bother,” you muttered hazily in broken fits.

“Helping you ain’t a bother, love,” he said, shaking his head. He slowly pulled you away from him and cupped your face in his rough hands. “How’s the head feeling?” 

“Amazing. Thanks for asking,” you said, letting the weight of your head sink into the salvation of his hands. He kept you up, calloused fingers running over your cheekbones to wipe away the stray tears still slipping from your eyes. The salty water had started to clear the blood from one of your eyes, but it wasn’t enough to fully see. You squeezed your eyes shut even more, leaning into him, and slumping in his hold. 

“Need you awake, soldier,” he said, jostling you around a bit. You opened your good eye, staring into his focused ones. 

There was so much comfort in his gaze. 

Solace. 

Made you feel warm. 

Too warm. 

Your eyes closed as you fell fully limp in his embrace. 

He scrambled to keep you in an upright position. 

“None of that now. Come on, Frost—”

God, you could die listening to that voice. 

You woke with the scent of musk and cigar smoke lingering around you. 

It was a scent that you had grown accustomed to waking up to.

There was a sense of easement that fell over you whenever the scent lingered on your sheets whenever he found an excuse to stay the night in your private quarters back in the barracks. A scent that you found comfort in whenever you woke from a long flight after a rough mission. And a scent you had learned to completely love when you invited him to stay with you for Christmas when the entire task force inevitably left for their week long holiday leave. 

You attempted to take a deep breath to take the comforting scent in, but it was cut short when you felt your skin pull against the stitches in your side.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

You jolted from the sudden presence of the familiar gruff voice, but Price’s arms cinched around you tighter to keep you from falling from his lap and onto the floor. You were comfortably curled up in his lap, his arms around your body. His brows were furrowed, eyes riddled with stress and worry as he stared at you. 

It was the same look that he always gave when he felt like he failed someone. 

Disappointed them. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

He stared at you for a little longer before pulling you in to hug you tight. You winced slightly, but were happy nonetheless to be close to the worried captain. You sighed and closed your eyes, letting your face rest in the nape of his neck. The smell of musk and thick cigars filled your system again. 

“You can’t scare me like that again, Frost. I don’t think my old heart could take another fright like that,” he said, shaking his head to nuzzle his face into yours. He took a deep breath, taking in the smell of your hair. Even with everything you’d been through, the light scent of your usual shampoo still lingered. “Plus the boys would kill me if I ever came back with you in pieces.”

“They’d live,” you muttered, even though you knew he was right. 

The boys of the 141 would probably wreak havoc if you ever came back from a mission on the brink of death. Though, they’d never blame Price. You knew that much for sure. They’d know that your captain would do anything and everything in his power to get you back in the best shape he could manage. 

You slowly pulled away from him, staying in his lap as you tried to reorientate yourself. You had been stripped down to your base layers, your other gear laid out near the fire to dry the blood and snow that had soaked into the material. He was also down to his base layers, his gear and his silly little hat in a pile on the other side of the room. 

The two of you were comfortably resting on the rundown couch closest to the fireplace, but the sight of the fire brought a memory back to you. 

“I can’t believe you fucking cauterized my wound you bastard—”

“Had to get it shut, sweetheart—”

“And a fire poker was your first and only thought?” 

He grimaced and sat back so he was pressed against the couch cushion. His hands stayed on you, one on your hip and the other on your thigh, fingers tracing gentle circles into your skin. 

“Stitches weren’t gonna cut it,” he said, shaking his head. 

You sighed, knowing he was right. 

“I want a cigarette,” you said, going to slide off his lap in hopes of finding a pack stashed somewhere in the pockets of your gear. He tightened his grip on you, pulling you back into him. 

“Wouldn’t do you any good to have one right now,” he said.

“I want one anyway.”

He sighed and shook his head before grabbing a cigar from the ashtray on the coffee table beside the couch. It wasn’t a cigarette, but it would do. You found it humorous that a safehouse had an ashtray, but knowing the people you worked with, it almost made sense. 

The end of the cigar was already burnt, meaning he had been smoking while you were out in his arms. He placed it in his mouth and grabbed the lighter, burning the end until he was able to take a decent drag. The breath of smoke was held deep in his chest before he slowly blew it out. He made sure to blow the smoke away from your face before holding the cigar out to you. You went to grab it, but he moved his hand just out of your reach. Furrowing your brows, your eyes flicked between him and the cigar. He slowly brought it back to you, but held it right up to your lips. It wasn’t until you wrapped your lips around it did he let it go and the weight of the cigar rested against your lip. 

You took a deep drag, holding it until you felt light headed. You leaned back, only stopping when his hand braced against your lower back to keep you from tipping over. You slowly blew out, letting the smoke wisp above your head. You passed the cigar back to him and he placed it back in his mouth, the tips of his teeth chewing the end a bit. 

It was a nervous habit of his. 

Typically had to swat his thigh to get him to quit. 

He took another drag. 

He tilted his head to the side to blow the smoke away from your face, but before he could, you gently grabbed his face and turned it back to face you. He furrowed his brows in a confused manner, but you slowly leaned forward and he got the idea.

God. 

He could die like this. 

You sitting in his lap, a cigar in hand, and you begging for something that he could only think to do with someone he loved. 

All he was missing was a glass of whiskey to top it all off. 

He cupped your face and urged you closer, but stopped before your lips could touch. You were tempted to lean forward and close the distance, but you stopped yourself. Your mouth was slightly ajar, wondering if he’d actually go through with it.

He did. 

He kissed you hard and blew the smoke right into your mouth. Heat filled your system as you slowly leaned back and exhaled, letting smoke wisp away between the two of you. 

“Fuckin’ minx,” he muttered before taking another drag with a smirk on his face. “Even on the brink of fucking death.”

“You love it,” you teased. He huffed out a gruff laugh. “I’m sorry for almost dying.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” he said. “Boys would kill me in a jealous rage if they found out you died in my lap like this.”

“As if,” you said, rolling your eyes. 

“You don’t see the way those boys look at you, love,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Yeah? And how about the way you look at me?” you wondered. 

His gaze met yours and you didn’t dare pull away. 

“Just like this,” he said, his lids low as his eyes flicked down to your lips and then back to your eyes. 

The fingers that had once been drawing circles into your skin had stopped, the pads of them pressing into your plush thighs instead. He had a good grip on you. You weren’t going anywhere. Not that you wanted to go anywhere. 

You could stay like this forever. 

“You gonna keep looking at me like that or are you gonna do something about it?” you asked, wondering how far he’d actually go while the two of you were on a mission. 

Then again, you two were technically done with the mission and you were just waiting for evac so… no harm, no foul. 

He let out a light laugh before bringing a hand up to your face and pulling you in until his lips pressed against yours. You leaned into him, your front pressed against his own. You moved your legs until you straddled him, wincing once from the pain in your side. He pulled back, pressing a hand down to where your wound was, looking over the bandaged area. 

“I’m alright,” you assured him. You cupped his face in your hands and slowly tilted it back up until he was looking at you again. “I’m alright, John.”

He kissed you again, resting his hands on your hips with a light squeeze.

“Evac won’t be here for another six hours,” you said, having caught a glance at the watch on his wrist. “Care to kill some time?” 

“Oh, I’d love to.”

[bobbin-buckley]

Partners

Astrid Deetz x Masc!Fem!Reader

Summary: Astrid finds a partner to survive college and her classmates

Warnings: Some bullying, fluff, some mentions of almost dying, some spoilers from the movie, homophobia, horrible flirting, fluff at the end!

e/c: eye color

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She found herself wandering the darkened aisles of the college’s library, fingertips brushing against the spines of of each book that have been sitting there for so long some dust falls. She received an assignment regarding Shakespeare, it was basically a detention assignment due to her arguing with her teacher about some disagreements.

When reaching for the book she needed, her warm hand collided with a cold one. Turning her head to look up at the taller figure, she saw you. Now you weren’t popular or anything, but for it being a small college and town she could easily recognize you.

Astrid furred her eyebrows, politely asking you to let go. “I’ve found this book first,” she said in a stern tone.

You glanced down at her. She could notice your attractive state, you were very pretty. Astrid’s brown eyes stared into your e/c, and damn she felt like love at first sight really hit her.

Your voice cut off her trance, “It’s okay, I’m sure you need it more than me.” Your hand moved from the book and her hand, she pouted a bit at the absence of your hand against hers.

Grabbing the book still, she tilted her head slightly…examining you and your features. “Yeah, I do need it more than you. Thanks…” she paused, realizing how shitty that sounded. “Anyways, what’s your name?”

“Y/n,” you answered, “and you?” The more you looked at her the more familiar she became, I mean..yes of course she goes to the same college as you. But you don’t exactly observe the people around you, especially the quiet ones.

She bit her lip, your voice was sexy. Her grip tightened on the book, trying to stay focused. “Astrid,” she answered before asking. “Hm, you just look familiar, have we met?”

“Now that you mention your name, aren’t you the kid that keeps getting picked on by those goons right?” Well that was definitely out there, not that she took any offense to it. She was getting bullied by some of the other schoolgirls, they’d put a Halloween prop in her dorm to scare her, which never works.

“Yeah, I am. I also wish those idiots would stop it.” She sighed, not really wanting to think about them.

“I get that, well I can deal with them if you want,” you offered. She was shocked, never ever did she think anyone would be willing to protect her. Besides maybe her mom, if she was even here.

“It’s fine, really.” Astrid shook her head, she didn’t want to see your pretty face get hurt.

All you did was nod, putting your hands in the pockets of your school pants. “Well uh…just let me know. And if you need help school wise I’m happy to, Shakespeare isn’t easy.” You walked off through the aisle with a smile, disappearing when turning the corner.

Sigh

How was she going to get over you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was never going to get over you.

You were just too damn sweet and perfect! She couldn’t handle the way you smile, the way your eyes beamed into hers and your voice was incredibly attractive!

Astrid wasn’t sure what she was going to do about it, she said she wasn’t going to fall in love like her mom. She didn’t want to be anything like her mom. Even if she did, she might end up getting a divorce if she does ever get married..would that happen with you?

“Ugh, this is so frustrating.” Astrid said under her breath, she’s spent at least two hours now doing all this research and shit.

Normally she does okay when doing school work, but why couldn’t she think? It was because she was thinking of you, fuck.

She took a deep breath, and began to gather her stuff. Maybe if studying with you would help make her less distracted?

Wrong. Absolutely Wrong

Astrid left her dorm, locking it and making sure those pricks won’t get in like last time and prank her. Though when she turned around and headed for the stairs, a book came skimming across the wooden floor, ironically ending up right under her foot causing her to slip and trip down the stairs.

She gasped, her book bag flew down with her. She expected to hit the ground and be dead, but she felt warm arms around her, preventing her from dying.

“Hey you okay?” Astrid looked up, seeing how it was some guy who caught her. She wasn’t sure why, and she was disappointed for some reason.

“Uh..yeah I’m fine,” she backed up from the guy and brushed off her skirt. Then the uproarious sounds of laughter were heard from behind her up the stairs where she slipped. It was the girls that harassed her, they were laughing with tears in their eyes.

Astrid rolled her eyes, a flash of red flashing over her cheeks in embarrassment. She looked back up at the guy.

“How’s your leg? You slipped pretty hard,” he held her hips..for some reason trying to get closer to her.

Astrid backed up again, bending down to pick up all her stuff as he tried to help. “I said I’m fine, thanks.” She said a bit more aggressive, she wasn’t mad at him..just at those girls.

“Well uh..” he started again.

God can’t he shut the fuck up?

“Uhm…I’m Nick. I’m in your literature class.” He said, thinking she’d just know who he was. When really she didn’t. “I was your partner for the Shakespeare project.”

“Shit.” She said out loud, making the oblivious boy furrow his eyebrows. She forgot she had a partner, she just left class early to cool off from being stressed, she never heard who her partner was.

“Right…yeah sorry. Uhm..” “No it’s alright you forgot, I actually came to ask you if you wanted to go study in the library?”

Why did he have to ask that?!

“Oh sure, yeah I guess,” dumbass. Astrid thought, fuck she was screwed..she wanted to study with you!

“Great!” He exclaimed, “let’s get going cause I’ve got a club to meet with later.” He smiled, leading her to the library and she followed him anxiously. She totally forgot about the girls and their prank.

Astrid sat across from Nick, though after every few minutes he’d scoot his chair closer. It made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want to be rude and leave, she already said yes to studying with him. But you…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking through the library, your books in your arms. Now the head over heels girl you are, you studied Shakespeare for Astrid. Even if she didn’t agree to study with you yet…you still wanted to be nice.

When passing through the library, you could hear a familiar voice faint from across the library. You peaked around the corner of an aisle of books, seeing Astrid with a guy!?

“The fuck..?” You muttered to yourself, why was she studying with a guy? I mean sure..cool I guess, but you offered..and why did she decide to go with him instead? You’re definitely smarter than him. (Since you are in your favorite class with him and he has no idea what’s going on)

Jealously floods through your body, hands clenched in fists and clenching the books. You wanted to beat the guy with your books and take Astrid to your dorm.

But she didn’t say yes. So that’s her decision, not yours to make.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While deep in thought of studying, Astrid caught a glimpse of you staring at her and and Nick. You left quickly and she sat up.

“Whoa, you good pretty girl?” Nick asked in a flirty way, bothered the hell out of her.

“No..I’m not.” She huffed, unsure if she should chase after you or not.

Nick bit his lip, “well..maybe uh, taking this studying date behind closed doors might cheer you up?”

Astrid’s eyes went wide at his words, the forceful feeling of gagging escaped her. She turned to looks at him from the library doors.

“Excuse me what? No thank you, and this ain’t a fucking date weirdo.” Astrid stood up quickly, gathering her things. Nick shot up from his chair, damn he was desperate.

“W-wait no, hey I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. How about uh..flowers? Would that suffice?” His dumbass tried to convince, but none of his ‘charm’ was getting to Astrid.

“No. End of story, I’ve got a different study date to catch.” Literally

Astrid took off, speeding walking out of the library and left him behind dumbfounded in the library. She had no idea where you could have gone, she wandered the halls aimlessly.

“Oh is the dyke looking for her girlfriend? She ran off to her dorm with tears in her eyes, you know it’s hard to break Y/n.” Astrid heard the snitch say, she turned to face her and sighed.

“Just shut up Kayla. I don’t need you on my ass right now,” Astrid scoffed and walked off to find you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She spent about an hour looking for you, she eventually found you outside in the rain by the garden. A common place for those who are stressed or sad to hangout at.

“Y/n?” You turned your head when you heard her voice. She looked pretty as ever under the rain, and so did you. You turned away again, not sure what to say but still be upset. “Hey, what’s wrong?” She stepped closer to you, sitting down next to you.

“Sorry, I was just shocked when I saw you with…that guy,” you tried not to sound jealous. But regardless of what you say it sounded like it. “It’s..it’s not that I’m jealous. I just really wanted to be the person to study with you.”

Astrid blushed at your words, her heart feeling touched by your words. “Sounds like your jealous to me..but I won’t tease you.” She chuckled, smiling up at you. “Besides, it was cute of you to come find me and ask again.”

Your own cheeks flared up, it was the first time someone’s ever made you flustered. “Thanks Astrid, if you want to we can still study?” She smiled, meaning yes. “Oh! And uh..might be a little too much but I already did some studying for you..to see maybe what you could be struggling with.”

She watched you pull out some notes, which were kinda ruined from the rain. “Well…” “it’s okay..we can start over if you want.” Astrid stopped you, placing a hand on yours.

Your eyes shifted to hers, then her lips. “I’d love to start over.”

HAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAH CLIFFHANGER

actually nvm I won’t do that to y’all

Astrid pressed her lips against yours, not hesitating to do it. You were glad she did, you were too damn nervous to get any closer. Her hands grasped around your neck, while yours let go of the already damp papers onto her waist. The notes began to dampen even more from falling into a puddle.

From now on your promise to always study with her and keep her from dumbasses like Nick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: Rushed bc I felt bad for not posting anything in awhile

My first time writing Astrid too

And idk who the jerks in the movies names were so Kayla was something that popped into my head

Also not all the way spelled checked bc my brain hurts from homework

[chrollogy]

SIGNED: LOVESICK FOOL #02

iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

next | masterlist

synopsis: The sudden popularity over your first confession gives you the confidence to share more about your feelings for a certain someone. Meanwhile, Iwaizumi seems to be in deep thought, especially after reading the second confession—thanks to Oikawa.

chapter content warning: college au, fluff, mutual pining, iwaizumi is more lovesick than he lets on, oikawa is a lil shit, iwa has dimples!, not beta read.

word count: 2k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. ch 3 may be a bit late since i’m still in the process of writing it :> but enjoy !!!

The confessions page never piqued Iwaizumi’s interest, not that it wasn’t interesting per se but he just didn’t have the time to read about other people’s lives unlike you, and Oikawa. Sure, he’d spare a minute or two whenever it’d appear on his timeline but he never sought them out.

If Iwaizumi were to think back on the last confession he had read, it’d be about a student TMI-ing, and confessing how they did the deed with a random stranger in a park near the campus. As expected, the post blew up, and was the talk of the campus for a few weeks straight due to its bizarreness.

Of course, just like every other student, you, and Oikawa gossiped about it during study sessions—safe to say it absolutely drove Iwaizumi nuts because of how much he’s heard that same story over, and over again.

Whenever he came across a confession on his timeline, he’d scroll right past it but oddly enough, the recent post Oikawa read aloud earlier might or might not have piqued his interest.

For starters, Iwaizumi knew he was in the same predicament as the anonymous sender. As he mentioned earlier, it was not easy to have feelings for your best friend, especially if one’s day to day life included said person. He could only act nonchalant for so long before he’d finally break—though, with the long period of time he’s harboured feelings for you, it might be sooner than expected.

Iwaizumi has always wondered how he’s even holding up in the first place every time he remembers how long he had kept his feelings for you. 

It’s just that every single time you’re around him, it does nothing but test his sanity. Everything about you was just so loveable that it wasn’t a surprise when Iwaizumi found himself loving you more than a friend—the lingering glances, his crimson-painted cheeks, the softness of his voice, the warmth of his palms, all those were reserved for you.

And Iwaizumi wished that at least somewhere down the line, you reciprocated his feelings too, even if his love for you outweighed your love for him. At least then, he would experience the feeling of your beating heart against his palms. Oh, Iwaizumi would do nothing but treat it with the utmost care, as though it was a fragile flower—not too much water to drown it but also not too little to starve it.

“Iwaizumi?”

Pulled out of his trance, Iwaizumi blinked up at you, confusion growing on his face with each passing second. Fuck, he was deep in thought, wasn’t he? One minute the two of you were exchanging a conversation, and the next his mind wandered over to uncharted waters—a place he’s been dying to dip a finger into for the longest time.

“Now, you’re the one who seems stressed. Still thinking about your big assignment?”

“Yeah.” He lied.

In all honesty, Iwaizumi wanted nothing but to wrap his arms around you—be as close to you as possible, as though any moment away from your warmth would instantly end him. But Iwaizumi’s arms remained by his side, fingers drumming on the wooden bench beneath, a way to distract the annoying itch of wanting to be near your skin.

The late afternoon breeze blew past, a gentle caress of cold wind against his crimson-painted cheeks, as if mother nature herself cupped his face, and reminded him that everything was going to be alright. The trees danced as the wind intertwined with its leaves, forming a melodic sound to calm the mind.

Both of you were currently passing time before retiring to your rooms, as usual, Iwaizumi had waited after your late afternoon lecture but this time, it felt different. You found him leaning on the side of a vending machine, phone in hand while the other shoved in his pocket, an indifferent expression was plastered on his face—it’s a sight you’ve seen a thousand times, a sight you’re more than familiar with but why did it make your heart flutter so much now

It didn’t help how the subtle smile Iwaizumi sent your way had your knees buckling, and fingers curling tighter around the strap of your bag.

“Can I—” Iwaizumi started.

You noticed the way his fingers drew random shapes on the fabric of his pants, a nervous habit he’s picked up, one that you’ve learned from observing him. Though, you remained silent despite the slight worry in your chest, urging him on to finish his sentence; somehow, what was to come next may or may not have had your heart pounding. The hint of softness in his voice was enough to send your heart into overdrive.

“Is it okay if I lean on you a bit?”

Oh.

Iwaizumi had shifted closer, you knew because you were shielded from the cool late afternoon breeze, instead, the warmth of his body greeted you like a calm embrace. From the corners of your eyes, Iwaizumi looked at you, his dark emerald gaze was intense enough to burn holes through the side of your face—a searing gaze you didn’t know how to return. Yet.

So, you simply nodded. A subtle dip of your chin, eyes fixated on the distant tree line of the park as though it piqued your interest, funny how it's dark green hues reminded you of his eyes.

That was all Iwaizumi needed before closing the distance between your bodies, and leaning his head on your shoulder. You sucked in a breath, closeness was never foreign in the friendship but the feeling of his body flush against your own was enough to torture your poor, poor heart.

Speaking of your heart, you at least hoped that Iwaizumi couldn’t hear it violently pounding against the walls of your chest—how it aggressively wanted to jump out of its confines, and onto his palm.

Unfortunately for you, Iwaizumi heard just fine—he swore your heart stuttered.

Were you nervous? He wanted to be delusional, and think that he was the one making your heart race like this, even though he clearly saw the empty can of energy drink you threw in the bin earlier. Though, on the back of Iwaizumi’s mind, despite the low possibility of his reciprocated feelings, he was oddly confident that it’d never be zero. 

Maybe he was just purely delusional.

“Sorry for inconveniencing you like this, I’m just a bit stressed.” Another lie.

Oh, Iwaizumi wasn’t stressed at all. In fact, he was actually kicking the assignment’s ass that he’s almost a whole week early in submitting it before the scheduled deadline. If anything, it was all child’s play to him. The real reason he was doing this was to simply have you closer to him, nothing else.

He felt kind of bad for lying to you like this since it was a purely selfish reason but could you really blame his heart?

The two of you stayed in complete silence for a moment, basking in the afternoon glow of the sun. The park was now deserted, students, and other park goers opting to head home before the sun fully retired behind the horizon; it was peaceful, as though you, and Iwaizumi were in your own world—something you could both get used to.

Back in his dorm, Iwaizumi unceremoniously plopped onto his swivel chair, he hooked an arm over his eyes, recounting memories of earlier, he could still feel the warmth of your shoulder on his cheek, and the calming tune of your heartbeat.

“What’s got you all in a mess like that?” Oikawa spoke from his bed which caused Iwaizumi to jump from his friend’s sudden voice. “What the fuck, Oikawa?! Don’t do that.” The latter turned his chair to face the brunette, an all-too-familiar scowl written all over his handsome face. Oikawa could only shrug in response, amusement painted on his face at the state of his friend.

“You’re probably not gonna tell me about it so I’ll take it upon myself to talk about something else,”

Before Iwaizumi could even mentally pray that it’s not some stupid gossip, Oikawa was already sitting up on his bed, and clearing his throat to speak.

“Do you remember that confession I read out loud a few days ago? They posted another one, look.” The brunette hastily peeled himself from under the ivory covers, and within a second, he was in front of Iwaizumi, phone shoved abnormally close to the latter’s face, causing him to jerk back a bit.

Clearly, he had all the time in the world with how updated he was with this goddamn confessions page. Iwaizumi wasn’t going to lie, he remembered details about that particular confession from a few days ago far more than the contents of his lectures. Not on purpose, though, moreso out of his own will.

Every hallway he walked, every lecture room he entered, every café he studied at, and every bathroom he used, at least two students were talking about it. Iwaizumi couldn’t care to listen in on their conversations nor did he want to, it wasn’t like talking about it more would somewhat reveal the person behind these confessions.

Iwaizumi couldn’t even escape it even in his own room. Though, this was normal, as if the whole campus ran solely on juicy gossip.

Of course it was about that damn confessions page, Oikawa was practically it’s number one fan at this point, Iwaizumi bets the former probably has a ‘Top Fan’ badge with how much he interacts with each, and every confession they post. He wouldn’t be surprised if the brunette openly admitted to sending in submissions to the page.

He grabbed the phone off Oikawa’s hand, and read it. Iwaizumi figured entertaining his friend’s antics would be much better than resisting it since he could get extremely annoying at times—all the time, even.

‘Today, I asked him if he was stressed and he agreed without hesitation. It pains my heart to see him beneath grey clouds; I just wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold him until all the stress drains from his body, until he’s smiling again and a subtle dimple forms on his cheeks, until he lets out a hearty, melodic laugh that I’ve grown to love but don’t be mistaken, I’ll love him whatever version of himself he presents. Wholeheartedly. Maybe—if only—he’ll let me be his safe space, not just a best friend but something more.’

Huh, how weird. Why did his heart flutter? This wasn’t even for him.

Iwaizumi’s eyes shifted back, and forth, back, and forth over each sentence until they reached the end. He did this for a total of four times, and each time—without fail—his mind wandered back to fifteen minutes ago where he was sitting on a wooden park bench with you, his head on your shoulder. It was like the confession described exactly what happened earlier.

He recounted your words, and how you were talking about how stressed he was. From this perspective, everything fit in perfectly like a puzzle piece but was Iwaizumi reaching too hard? Was his mind playing tricks on him just to convince himself that these two confessions came from you? As far as he knows, you’ve never even sent in a submission yourself but that didn’t mean you couldn’t.

Okay, maybe Iwaizumi was being delusional. All those years pining after you had finally gotten to his brain, and turned him into nothing but a yearning, pathetic man.

Though, the confession easily could have been from anyone. Not to mention how it's been such a tough semester so far, it made sense for the anonymous submitter to write about their best friend being stressed about something. Right? Right. Iwaizumi was getting way ahead of himself for assuming such things, he blamed it on his mind stubbornly shaping reality into things that benefited his situation.

He was looking too deeply into this.

See, this was the consequence of letting one Oikawa Tooru get inside one’s head, clearly, it’s the brunette’s fault for even showing something that didn’t concern Iwaizumi at all. And it could only get worse from here.

Oikawa impatiently pulled his phone away from Iwaizumi’s hold, reeling the latter back into reality. The brunette read the paragraph once more before letting out an amused hum, catching his friend’s attention.

He puckered his lips, brown eyes narrowed, and brows subtly knitted together as he stared at his phone. Oh. Iwaizumi didn’t like that expression at all, and he sure wasn’t going to like the words coming out of Oikawa’s mouth next. He knew that face all too well, it screamed nothing but mischief, and a thirst for chaos.

“Say, Iwa-chan, you have dimples when you smile just like the post mentioned. Haha—won’t it be interesting if these confessions were for you?”

What the fuck?

—

tags: @stunie @akumakitsune21 @boosyboo9206 @khfviq @avis-writeshq @elliesndg @1929sleepdeprived @wakashudou @lillycore @viscoolreal @lialia3945 @softpia @anqelkoz @tar0sw0rld @nwhaerin @kiyuwumi @seroh @eggyrocks @jellysupremacy @songofgratitude @gsyche @haikyuusunsalad @smellysluna @amoosarte (lmk if you wanna be tagged and don’t forget to turn your mentions on :3)

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @the-all-stars-network !

© chrollogy 2024 | don't plagiarise, repost or steal my header.

[lagomoz]

Proseka headcanons

-as rui’s childhood friend, nene has extensive fire safety knowledge

-shizuku is adopted, hence why she looks so different from shiho. she was adopted shortly before the moon rabbit event and it contributed to her clinginess

-shiho forgets this fact sometimes. she’ll casually mention something like shizuku got all mom’s good genes so unfair and ichika has to be. um. shiho

-kanade is mildly nearsighted/myopic but spends so much time at her computer she hasn’t noticed

-emu is buff. she climbs multiple stories without breaking a sweat and is canonically part of the swimming, handball and rhythmic gymnastic clubs, you can’t tell me she doesn’t have some muscle

-saki helps out as a human notepad for tsukasa, reminding of him things he would otherwise forget within 5 minutes

-the vocaloids also help. at first it was unnerving to have hatsune miku be an extension of his psyche that knows his darkest secret (stole saki’s candy when he was 6) but now his phone has a more reliable catgirl themed reminder system

-you know that classic nightmare of leaving the house without pants? tsukasa has legitimately done that as a kid. he forgor. (saki will never let him live it down)

-in the kamiyama student council/hall monitor room, an has put up at sign saying “_ days since last kamishiro incident”

-the shinonome siblings both figured out the other one was gay before they figured it out about themselves

-airi’s great at trivia from her time as a variety show star. she still can’t beat minori at idol trivia, though

-ena keeps a diary with fort knox level security. try to read it and you’ll lose a finger

-saki learned to crochet from the old ladies in the hospital

-shiho’s most treasured phenny is a somewhat lumpy crocheted phenny holding a very lumpy crocheted bass guitar

-tsukasa snores. he falls asleep in 10 seconds and sounds like a dying lawnmower

-mizuki has learned a small bit of french from their sister and uses it exclusively to teach rui and an how to swear in french

-emu still celebrates her grandfather’s birthday, even if he’s not there to celebrate with her

-ena is allergic to dogs, the middle point to airi’s cat allergy and akito’s dog phobia

-rui has various small scars from his experiments over the years, but nobody ever believes the real causes (rocket launcher, robot bite, exploding balloon animal, etc.) so he just makes up a new cause every time someone asks

-mmj! has had repeated incidents of minori and airi’s little siblings walking into frame when streaming at their houses. shiho understands the concept of a livestream but has still been caught failing at creeping past like that one new broadcast of the guy crawling along the floor

-kanade has pots & eds, this one I have a reason for look at her symptoms. chronic exhaustion, heat and cold intolerance, comorbid sleep issues and depression, dizziness when standing up, fainting after standing up, very pale skin, family history of medical issues, pain at normal physical activities, exercise intolerance, vertigo at mild exertion, she just fucking dies during the entire baseball event, I could go on. she canonically gets pain in her hands from opening a jar girl that is not just being out of shape that is physical disability. this one I will go conspiracy board on listen to me I’m right

-kohane ate bugs as a kid. an is horrified, toya is confused, akito is impressed

-ena and airi got in trouble in middle school because they’d keep starting fist fights in defense of the others honor. if they saw the other in a fight they’d jump in guns blazing no hesitation no questions ask ready to throw the fuck down

-vbs!rin and len were given a skateboard by an and then promptly had the skateboard confiscated by meiko for property destruction

-haruka is horrible with slang. she asks the stream chat what poggers means and immediately uses it completely wrong, killing all viewers on impact

-minori is torn between thinking it’s cute and wanting to die

-toya has been banned from arcades before because he made them lose too much money/they suspected he was cheating

-ena brought kanade over for girls night and nearly scared akito half to death because he went down to get a late night snack and there was some Ghastly Creature looming in his kitchen

-kohane's parents stick out like a sore thumb when going to her live shows. it mortifies her that everyone on vivid street can recognize them as the only milquetoast middle aged couple dressed in normal clothes loudly going YOU'RE DOING GREAT SWEETIE that don't know the first thing about music

-minori knows basic programming. she mostly uses it for forums, blogs, html, other web design things usually related to idols as a hobby, but she's become the groups designated anti-shizuku tech support

-mafuyu has always been able to see ghosts but after adults figured she was just playing pretend as a kid so she shrugged and figured it was normal and not worth bringing up again

-honami has one of those massive extended families and somehow keeps track of them all. at any given time cousin #57 can crawl out of the woodwork and she remembers their new job, favorite food, past three romantic relationships and list of allergic reactions

-mizuki does doll customizing as a hobby. they prefer making human sized clothes, but it's fun to make them miniature too. they've introduced shizuku to it and she loves it, but doesn't have the heart to do anything that would hurt the doll (sawing limbs off, dunking them in boiling water, shoving wires in them, etc.)

[merowkittie]

hiii! I was thinking about fem reader asking hobie to pierce her nipples bc she thinks it’ll look cute to which he agrees. but when he gets them done he’s literally so horny bc of how hot they make fem reader look..

hope you have a great day/night <3

Thanks :), you too, sweets!

Piercing Problems — Hobie Brown

Summary: Hobie gets a little horny while piercing your tits.

Warnings: lots of talk about your boobs / very suggestive / not proof read I’m sorry but it’s 2AM / talks of needles, piercings / a short smut scene (a flashback) / umm I think that’s it..

Sorry is he’s ooc, still trying to figure out his character also this was rushed because this was requested a good week or two ago..

Hobie was back at it again with piercing your body.

He had you sitting on the counter in your shared bathroom. Your locs were put up in a bun behind your head with some pieces hanging out and framing your soft face.

You were dangling your legs from your sitting position, swinging them back and forth, waiting for your boyfriend to finish getting his stuff together to pierce your nipples.

To say you were scared was an understatement. You were sure this would feel like you were dying and you were 100% sure you’d pass out in the process. Hobie had told you that you didn’t have to do it but you thought about all the perks about getting them.. and they were really cute!

“Ya ready, love?” He turned to you with a sharpie in hand. He walked move in front of you to be standing between your legs.

You nodded your head and lifted your shirt up to reveal your hardened nipples. They were cold from the chilly air of the bathroom. Hobie cupped your breasts, fondling them childishly.

You kicked him in the thigh and sighed. “Stop! Mark the area already and pierce it.. I’m going to piss on myself, I’m so fucking scared Hobie.”

He looked at you and rolled his eyes. He pressed a kiss to each of your nipples and then to your lips as a way to reassure you. You knew he knew what he was doing but he liked to play a lot.. too much.

Here’s how the conversation went with him to even agreeing to pierce your nipples in the first place:

“Mm.. fuck! Hobie, please..!” You placed your hand on his head somewhere in his wicks and tugged his further into your body.

His lips were attached to your nipples and his fingers inside of your cunt. His fingers were pumping in and out of you at a fast pace. Your hips were meeting his motions but stopped after you felt your cunt start to squeeze him hard and your stomach felt so full.

“Please what, babe?” He stopped his fingers for a moment, waiting to here the words he was looking for from your pouty lips.

You whined and whimpered at the loss of his thrusting fingers. You tried to move on your own but he held down your hips with his free hand.

“Please.. Please B, I need to cum so bad! I need you..” you looked at him with your lust blown eyes and he nodded, biting at your nipple which made you yelp.

“There you go, baby punk. I’ve gotcha ya. Lemme hear those pretty noises, yea?” He smirked up at you when he saw your eyes roll back in your head as his fingers started their movements again.

When you two finished, you kind of just laid around watching movies and talking mindlessly about stuff. Your nipples ached because of all the biting and sucking Hobie was doing to them. They were so sensitive. Though, how would it feel if you had piercings? I mean besides the feeling you thought they’d look cute on your breasts.

“B. What do you think about nipple piercings?” You peered up at him.

He didn’t say nothing at first, seemingly in thought and then nodded.

“Yea, they’re hot. What about ‘em?” He questioned, his eyes now on you. He knew where this was going but he just wanted to hear it from you.

You hummed. You didn’t know if you were very sure about your decision so you sat in silence for a minute, thinking it over. The pros and cons. The pain, pleasure, what about it be like? Then you were like fuck it.

“I want ‘em. I think they’re cute. What do you think, querido?” You bit your lips in anticipation of his response.

“I think you’d look quite lush.” He smirked at you. Instantly agreeing with this decision and he wouldn’t mind piercing it for you.

Now here you two were in your bathroom, at probably four in the morning, piercing your nipples.

You prayed a good six times during the prep process. You really weren’t one to handle pain well. A bit dramatic people would say.

After Hobie marked little dot indications on your nipples he placed the clamp on one and you gasped.

“What the fuck. B! That shit hurts. Is it supposed to feel this tight?” You winced as he adjusted it a bit and grabbed the needle.

He shrugged, “I wouldn’t know, lovie. How did it feel when I pierced your stomach?” He raised a brow waiting for you to respond.

You thought for a second and it felt pretty similar.

“The same way.”

“Then you’re good, shut your gob.”

You huffed and playfully kicked him again. He was getting annoying.

“Alright Alright. Don’t move, I’m gonna pierce ya now.” He grabbed the needle from the napkin he placed down besides you and steadily aligned it with the mark on your nipple. “Count with me, one?”

You felt the needle start to poke you and sucked in a breath, Hobie gave you a look and you let out a shaky breath. “Tw- FUCK!”

Before you got done saying two Hobie already put the needle through and slid the bar through your bud and quickly screwed the ball onto it.

“Oh my god, Hobie. Are you mental?” You stared at him wide eyed. Your face scrunched up in disbelief and confusion. You had tears coming down your face and you didn’t know what to do with your emotions at the moment.

He snickered at your reaction and clamped your other nipple, preparing for the next piercing. He cleaned the needle he used and the bar. He already cleaned the area he was gonna pierce and marked it. He thought you were doing alright, could tone it down with the screams cause it was, super early in the morning. You guys didn’t need another noise complaint.

As he started to line the needle up with your nipple he asked you a question, “Did you know Gwen and Miles kissed? Finally, right?”

“What!” You exclaimed and then that turned into a muffled yelp as he did what he did last time, slipping the barbell in and quickly screwing on the ball.

“Yup. Lad took forever!” He chuckled.

Once he finished cleaning any blood from the piercings you took a look at them in the mirror. Your tits looked beautiful with the shiny silver of the piercing sticking out of it. Hobie was behind you admiring his handy work.. and how your nips looked. His hands came crawling up your aides and he cupped the bottom of your breasts, holding them up as they sat perky in his hands.

He kissed your temple and rubbed his hands up and down your stomach and back to your breasts. You knew what he was doing and you felt butterflies in your chest at his movements.

“You like them?” He asked you. It wasn’t really a question more of a statement.

“Hell yea. They’re awesome, B.” You smiled, tilting your head up at him and kissing his jaw.

He hummed and pinched your sensitive nipples, earning a whine and a playful swat from you. You could feel him press against you and you knew he was hard from just staring at your tits with the newly added piercing.

“You know.. I should repay you right?” You turned around and placed your hands on his chest. Looking him in the eyes you bit your lip. He nodded, as if to tell you to go on, “Do you want me to help you out with that?” One of you hands traveled down to the bulge in his boxers. Rubbing it slightly causing him to groan.

“Mhm.. I want a view of those tits when you ride me.”

[gremlingottoosilly]

I REMEMBER WHAT I WANTED TO SAY

I’m imagining a tropical fish hyrid for the mermaid monster hybrid. Imagine König feeling mean and making your pond/tank water a little colder than you’re comfortable with (not enough to hurt you) just so you beg him sweetly to turn the temperature up

- 🍙

He would do this!! Also adding the fresh water into your pound, diluting the salt percentages - it fucks up with your brain and your body, you might not die immediately like a normal fish, but you would be extremely uncomfortable and would do anything to just make him stop...the only good thing is that he doesn't like fresh water either - so if he decided to put you into a pool with some icy cold water straight out of the nearest ice container, he wouldn't be able to touch you. You are truly miserable, however -- and this is a great punishment for someone like you. Dumb little fishy wanted to escape her master, so it's only natural he will show her how real life works, right? In the real world, if humans were still around as a dominant species, she would be put on display in the wrong water, forced to suffer while slowly dying in this glass prison - it's a good thing he is nice and lets you shift into a human form so he could drag you on the warm sheets, right? You will need some time to recharge after than punishment, your throat is sore from all the screaming you've done - he wanted to be soft, really, but dumb little mermaids can only learn through their precious scales being damaged and their pussies pounded, so he would fill you with his offsprings immediately, not caring that you're still weak and soft( you won't be returning to your underwater cave for a while, but you spend so much time in your mermaid form that you forgot how to walk properly...what a dumb thing, he thinks - but don't worry, pretty fishy, he will hold you close to his chest and wrap his tentacles around your body, warming you up to ease another portion of his eggs inside of your growing belly.