#or maybe he was about to be taken away for it...

[pucksandpower]

A Royal Surprise

Max Verstappen x Princess of Wales!Reader

Summary: in which Max 1) forgot to tell his team that he has a girlfriend and 2) forgot to tell his team that the girlfriend in question is the future Queen of England … oops?

One of Red Bull Racing’s PR officers, Leslie, sits in the back of the conference room, her pen poised over her notepad as she listens to the team debrief. It’s a typical Thursday morning, with engineers and drivers discussing the upcoming race weekend. Leslie’s eyes flit between Max Verstappen and his teammate as they offer their insights on car performance and track conditions.

“The balance felt off in turn three during the sim,” Max says, leaning back in his chair. “We might need to adjust the downforce.”

Leslie jots this down, already planning how to phrase it for the press conference later that afternoon. Just another normal day at Red Bull Racing, she thinks.

But then, Max casually adds, “Oh, and by the way, you might see some extra security around this weekend. My girlfriend’s coming to watch the race.”

Leslie’s pen stills. There’s something in Max’s tone that makes her look up sharply.

“Girlfriend?” Christian Horner raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone seriously.”

Max shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, it’s been a few months now. We’ve been keeping it quiet.”

Leslie leans forward, her PR senses tingling. “Anyone we know?” She asks, trying to keep her voice casual.

Max’s grin widens. “You could say that. It’s Y/N.”

The room falls silent. Leslie blinks, sure she must have misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Y/N? As in ...”

“The Princess of Wales, yeah,” Max confirms, as if he’s just mentioned dating a local girl from down the street.

Leslie’s notepad slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor. The sound seems to break the spell of silence that’s fallen over the room.

“Max,” Christian says slowly, “are you telling us that you’re dating the future Queen of England?”

Max nods, still looking far too relaxed for someone who’s just dropped a bombshell of international proportions. “That’s right.”

Leslie’s mind is spinning. Images of tabloid headlines and diplomatic incidents flash before her eyes. She stands up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I need to make some calls,” she says weakly.

But before she can escape, Christian holds up a hand. “Wait, Leslie. We need to handle this carefully. Max, how long has this been going on?”

“About six months,” Max replies. “We met at a charity event in London. Hit it off right away.”

Leslie sinks back into her chair, her head in her hands. “Six months,” she mutters. “You’ve been dating the Princess of Wales for six months, and we’re just finding out now?”

Max has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “We wanted to keep it private for as long as possible. You know how it is with the media.”

Oh, Leslie knows. She knows all too well. “Max,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady, “do you realize what this means? The security implications alone ...”

“It’s all been taken care of,” Max assures her. “The palace has been very discreet.”

Leslie laughs, a slightly hysterical edge to it. “The palace. Of course. Because now we’re dealing with actual palaces.”

Christian clears his throat. “Right. Well, this certainly changes things. Leslie, I think we’re going to need to reschedule the rest of this meeting. Can you get started on a press strategy?”

Leslie nods numbly, her mind already racing with potential scenarios and damage control plans.

As the room begins to clear, Max approaches her. “Leslie? Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

Leslie takes a deep breath. “Max, I appreciate you telling us. But next time you decide to date royalty, maybe give us a heads up a bit sooner?”

Max chuckles. “Sorry about that. If it helps, you’re handling it better than your counterpart at the palace did when you found out.”

“Oh God,” Leslie groans. “I’m going to have to coordinate with the royal PR team, aren’t I?”

“They’re actually pretty cool,” Max says. “A bit stuffy at first, but they loosen up after a while.”

Leslie shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is my life now. Okay, Max, I need you to tell me everything. How did you meet? How have you kept this secret? What are the security arrangements?”

For the next hour, Leslie grills Max on every detail of his relationship with you. She learns about secret rendezvous in Monaco, carefully orchestrated “chance” meetings at public events, and the challenges of dating someone whose every move is scrutinized by the world.

“And you’re sure about this?” Leslie asks finally. “Dating her ... it’s not exactly going to be easy for you.”

Max’s expression softens. “I know. But she’s worth it. We’re worth it.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a twinge of sympathy. It can’t be easy, trying to nurture a relationship under such intense pressure.

“Alright,” she sighs. “I’ll do everything I can to make this as smooth as possible. But Max, promise me one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“No more bombshells, okay? My heart can’t take it.”

Max grins. “Well, actually ...”

Leslie’s eyes widen in alarm. “What? What is it now?”

“Her father ... he’s a big F1 fan. He’s been hinting that he’d like to attend a race.”

The room starts to spin. The last thing Leslie hears before everything goes black is Max’s concerned voice saying, “Leslie? Leslie, are you okay?”

When Leslie comes to, she’s lying on the conference room couch, with Max and Christian hovering over her anxiously.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Christian says, relief evident in his voice. “You gave us quite a scare there, Leslie.”

Leslie sits up slowly, her head still spinning. “Please tell me I dreamed all of that,” she mutters.

Max shakes his head, looking apologetic. “Sorry, it’s all real. Are you okay? Should we call a doctor?”

Leslie waves him off. “No, no, I’m fine. Just ... processing.” She takes a deep breath, her PR training kicking in despite her shock. “Okay. Let’s take this one step at a time. First, we need to draft a statement.”

Christian nods. “Good idea. What are you thinking?”

Leslie stands up, pacing as she thinks out loud. “We need to confirm the relationship without making too big a deal of it. Something like ... ‘Red Bull Racing confirms that driver Max Verstappen is in a relationship with Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales. We ask for privacy as they navigate this new chapter.’”

Max frowns. “Isn’t that a bit ... formal?”

Leslie sighs. “Max, you’re dating the future Queen of England. Everything’s going to be a bit formal from now on.”

“She hates that, you know,” Max says softly. “All the formality. It’s why she likes being with me. I treat her like a normal person.”

Leslie pauses in her pacing, struck by the vulnerability in Max’s voice. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

Max nods. “More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. She’s ... she’s amazing. Smart, funny, kind. When I’m with her, I forget about all the titles and protocol. She’s just ... her.”

Christian clears his throat, looking uncomfortable with the display of emotion. “That’s all well and good, but we need to think about the bigger picture here. This relationship could have major implications for the team, for Formula 1 as a whole.”

Leslie nods, her mind already racing ahead. “We’ll need to coordinate with the palace on all public appearances. Security will need to be completely overhauled. And the media ... oh God, the media is going to have a field day with this.”

“Hey,” Max says, placing a hand on Leslie’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. You’re the best in the business, Leslie. If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a rush of affection for the young driver. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Now, let’s get back to work. We have a lot to do before this news breaks.”

As they settle back into planning mode, Leslie can’t help but shake her head in disbelief. A Formula 1 driver and a princess. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale or a cheesy romance novel. But as she watches Max’s face light up when he talks about you, she realizes that sometimes, reality is stranger — and more romantic — than fiction.

“Oh, and Leslie?” Max adds as they’re wrapping up. “About the King wanting to attend a race ...”

Leslie holds up a hand. “One crisis at a time, Max. Let’s get through announcing your relationship before we start planning any more royal visits to the paddock, okay?”

Max grins. “Fair enough. But just so you know, he’s particularly interested in the British Grand Prix. Says it would be ‘jolly good fun’ to present the trophies.”

Leslie closes her eyes, already imagining the logistical nightmare. “Max, I swear, if you’re joking ...”

“Would I joke about something like this?” Max asks innocently.

Leslie looks at him for a long moment, then turns to Christian. “I’m going to need a raise. And possibly a personal team of therapists.”

Christian chuckles. “I think that can be arranged. Welcome to the new era of Red Bull Racing. It’s going to be an interesting ride.”

As Leslie gathers her notes and prepares to face the whirlwind that’s about to engulf them all, she can’t help but smile slightly. It’s going to be challenging, stressful, and probably more than a little crazy. But as she watches Max’s eyes light up at the mention of your name, she realizes that maybe, just maybe, it might all be worth it in the end.

After all, who doesn’t love a good fairy tale?

[pricegouge]

price x pregnant!f!reader meetcute drabble i whipped up on my lunch dedicated entirely to the girl at work who's too heavily pregnant to fit her scrubs rn. john price would love you, girl, keep your chin up

The worst part wasn't actually the discomfort of the papery material, nor the cheap elastic waistline which dug into your plush sides and itched like a sonofabitch. It wasn't even the embarrassment of having to track down your lead at the start of your shift and shamefacedly admit that you could no longer fit into your designated scrub pants and ask if he could maybe please find some spares somewhere? (He couldn't, because apparently no one on the team before you had ever fallen ill with a baby in the belly or even just gained a little weight.)

No, the worst part was the noise.

It hadn't been something you'd even considered until you were already barging into your first patient's room, swishing away with each step. Mr. Jeffreys had grumbled in his sleep, eye peeking open just as you'd leaned over him to start your morning check. Enough ruckus, woman. You'd thought he was just being irritable, a common enough occurrence, but then it happened again and again, each new room bringing another grumpy occupant, displeased about being woken up so far ahead of breakfast. Still, you almost preferred that to the early risers, the old biddies who would turn to greet you, already alert, take one look at you with your swollen belly overhanging the thin paper pants they'd made you wear over your reliable leggings, and start cackling loud enough to draw attention from the other orderlies. 

You weren't the first pregnant woman to outgrow her pants, but you were perhaps among the first to have done so in a professional setting. 

At least it got easier the more the day dragged on, quippy remarks coming more naturally to you the more you had them levelled at you in kind. You'd even let a little boy doodle on your shin, an attempt to keep his mind of his mother groaning in pain, attempting to work through a kidney stone. You're fairly sure you're rocking an Incredible Hulk there now, but it was a bit hard to tell with the way the magic markers had bled across the tyvek weave. 

"Missed your calling." 

You frown down at the man before you, thick brows only slightly pinched despite the way you knew his shoulder must be killing him. GSW. Didn't get many of them 'round here, but you'd seen enough hunting accidents to figure out the good stuff didn't always cut it. And this didn't seem like your average misfire, or pulled-shot graze. He'd been the talk of the nurses station when the call had come through to prep for him, bullet taken straight on, center mass. He wasn't from here, didn't seem to know anyone from here. No one believed it was a simple hunting accident, but the authorities had come and gone, sent skittering by a rather severe woman yielding a badge no one had gotten a good look at. No arrests, minimal testimonies. Rumors had sprouted roots, grew too tall too quickly to be believable. You'd heard everything from a jilted lover to some sort of military coup, but you hadn't placed much stock in anything other than the three letters which had remained unchanged on his chart since the moment he'd been admitted, and then later the surgeon's notes.

GSW. Successful operation.

That had only been two days ago. You'd been in his room once before, set about the same task. He'd been fast asleep, the handsome man who's been visiting offering charming but ultimately short conversation. It hadn't bothered you as you'd been in a rush, and you'd known full well the stress loved ones usually felt, trying to ensure the best possible rest for their injured loved ones. 

He had no guard dog today, no one to send you packing when your putzing made too much noise. And now you've woken him, poor man.

"Pardon?" 

Blue eyes blink open, cloudy with pain and the influence of strong meds but surprisingly alert. They flick down to your leg, shoulders tensing a bit as he lifts his head to see properly. "Pretty tree you've made there." 

You can't help but laugh. "Seems I'm right where I should be, then, seeing as that's supposed to be the Hulk. I think," you add once you've earned a smirk.

"Can't even remember what it is you've drawn? You the reason I can't find a comfortable position? Been stealing my morphine?"

"I wish," you sigh, pat your belly dramatically. "But they say it's bad for baby."

His brows lift into his hairline, pain momentarily forgotten as he looks you over again, as if seeing you for the first time. You realize pretty quickly that he's one of those people, the crinkling around his eyes revealing him as the type. It's one of the weirdest parts of being pregnant, the strangers who look at you with awe, as if you've hung the moon. You try not to think too much of it, don't like imagining couples who've tried for years when all you've managed to do was slip up your birth control one time, like a fool. This man isn't wearing a ring, but that doesn't mean much. Most women who carry on after you are single, too. At least he's not trying to touch your belly.

"Is that why you're half way to a paper gown? Come wandering from maternity?"

"Har, har," you deadpan, waving your stethoscope at him although you know full well he's seen it - hard to miss, resting atop your swollen tits. "No, I've simply grown too fat for my scrubs. And I think my lead's having too much fun embarrassing me about it."

He frowns, somehow vaguely patronizing even while heavily medicated. "No spares for someone in your condition?"

"Nope! Apparently I'm lucky enough to be the only fertile little heifer ever on the team," you snark, and then squint at his monitor when his pulse spikes unexpectedly. 

"Sorry," he mumbles - odd - and when you check, you notice some color to his ears. He clears his throat to distract you from fretting, though the softness is gone from his eyes again, replaced by an implacable type of tension. "Perhaps they're simply not used to expectant mothers working so late into their term?" 

Ah. At last, the well-meaning concern. It grates at you worse than usual, the ease and simplicity (albeit annoyance) of your silly morning falling apart in seconds. Perhaps it's that, the whiplash, that has you huffing irritably, mood plummeting. "Well. Someone's got a pay my bills," you gripe, snapping the claw of his clipboard just to work out some aggression. Maybe it's the hormones.

There's a huff of breath, almost as animated as yours. When you look to make sure he's not aspirating or something, your new friend's absurd mustache is twitching. "Well. That's what Mr. Pretty Nurse is for, no?" 

The phrasing makes you smile, hands gentling as you busy yourself with his monitor. This is familiar ground, at least, a path well-tread which you'd like navigating with a conversational partner who would call you Ms. Pretty Nurse. "Sure," you concede, tapping away at his station to check the trend of his vitals. Steady, even. All night. Like he was practiced at taking bullets. "You ever see him, you tell him he owes me a back log of bills, alright?" In truth, your 'mister' never was a mister, just some guy you'd been trying to blow off steam with. He'd cut and run the second you'd brought up the pregnancy, but you'd decided to keep it after some thought and had never followed up with him, deciding it ultimately was no longer his concern. You harbored no ill will, really, but the dead beat dad was a common schtick, an easy conversational piece when simply shooting the shit with talkative patients. If the worst part about pregnancy was the noisy pants (and the morning sickness, and the belly hair, and the leaky nipples and the -) then the best part was surely the built-in small talk.

"Be sure to let him know," chops murmurs, voice tight. You check his file again, correct your mental dub with his real name, John Price. Traditional, like the neat beard hiding the growing color in his cheeks. When he speaks again, his voice is slightly rougher. "Who did that, then?" 

You think he's pointing to your belly, far too forward, but when you check you see his finger aims lower, towards the art that started this conversation. "Kid over in pre-op. Was upset watching his mom writhing around. Passing a stone," you supply with an exaggerated whisper, as if telling him some scandalous secret.

John grins, soft again. "You'll be good at it, then."

"Pardon?" you ask absently, watching as his heartbeat seems to flutter weakly. 

"Said 'too round for scrubs,'" he chuckles. "Good job, mama."

You scoff, scandalized, but when you turn to him you find he's got that far off look in his eye, a sharp contrast to the lucidity of his speech. That does it. You tut, leaning over him to check his forehead with the back of your hand. And outdated practice, sure, but still useful in a pinch. He doesn't feel overly warm, but his focus has slipped back into that slight haziness, blissed out and vaguely absent, staring a good half a foot below your eyes.

"Mr. Price -," you start but he interjects.

"Just John, love."

"Sure. John. Are you feeling okay?" 

Eyes crinkling again, he gives you an unbearably soft smile, at odds with everything you've managed to glean from his chart. "Never better, doll."

banner by @/cafekitsune

[rafey-baby]

older!rafe and sensitive!reader spending the holidays together

18+ mdni! 

c/w: fluff, her ovulating and being horny, smut: p-in-v, slight breeding kink, use of dad

wc: 1.5k

ugh i’ve missed this man

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Why is he doin’ that shit?”  

“Rafe, it’s a rom-com,” she reasons, practically glued to him on their couch with the way she keeps shifting closer and closer, almost unconsciously at this point.   

“Yeah, a shitty one. Why was it necessary to do a whole fuckin’ speech at the mall? He couldn’t jus’ I dunno, tell her how he felt?” he scoffs, clearly fed up with the entire film already. 

She can’t stop the bubbly laughter from escaping her when she looks over to his scowling face. “I mean, this is actually getting kinda weird…why’s everyone watching them?” 

“Yeah, ‘n why are they still on that fuckin’ stage?” he grumbles while the couple is now fully making out on the TV screen. 

“Please don’t ever do anything like that to me.”

“Yeah, was actually gonna ask, you, uh, you wanna go shoppin’ tomorrow?” 

“No!” she giggles before taking a sip of the hot chocolate she’d made for herself (because Rafe deliberately told her he didn’t want any) but the minute she’d sat down with the mug in hand, he’d wanted to try it, which ended up with him drinking nearly half of it.  

“Oh shit, forgot to give you this earlier, look what I got you today,” he suddenly murmurs. 

“Hm?” her eyes flit over to his face; momentarily distracted by his pretty features as he searches for something from the back pocket of his pants. Then, he’s pulling a golden necklace from a velvety box.    

“That looks really expensive,” she nervously mumbles, pausing the TV in order to concentrate on the heart-shaped locket he’s holding out to her.   

“You deserve the fuckin’ world, it was nothin’ alright? Can think of it as an early Christmas present if it makes you feel better,” he rolls his eyes, almost exasperated that she still can’t seem to comprehend the fact that he enjoys spending his money on her.    

“It’s so beautiful,” she croons as she inspects the piece of jewelry with careful fingertips, heart swelling in her chest at the sentiment— recalling how she’d mentioned something about thinking pendants like these were adorable maybe once.    

“Yeah? You like it?”    

“I love it. Wait, you had your initials carved into it too? That’s so cute, Ray, what the hell?” she feels her eyes grow watery because her boyfriend really is her favorite person in the whole wide world for a reason.    

“Yeah, know you’re into sappy shit like that, ‘n you can put m’picture inside too ‘n you’ll always have me with you or whatever the fuck.”    

“Shut up, you’re so sweet! I love you,” she exclaims before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck— climbing into his lap in the process while he murmurs into her hair how he apparently ‘loves her more’, which she thinks is not possible.    

“Let me put it on you?” he says before he’s swiping away some strands in order to clasp the locket around her neck. “Look so pretty with m’name on you.”

“Wait, you should have my name on you too,” she jokingly utters out next.  

“Been thinkin’ about gettin’ it tattooed actually,” he admits, completely serious, which makes her face scrunch up.  

“You’re not getting my name tattooed on you— you’re crazy,” she softly hits his chest. However, he can barely even feel it because she really doesn’t have a single violent bone in her body.   

“Yeah, crazy ‘bout you,” he grins, eliciting an airy giggle from her.    

Knowing she’s about to complain about him being weird again, he shuts her up with a press of his mouth against hers— a surprised noise leaving her when she’s momentarily taken aback by the sudden cushion of his lips. 

And it’s sloppy, the way they slot together like puzzle pieces when she opens up for him, but both of them prefer it that way. 

His kiss was meant to be something sweet but soon enough she’s rutting against him— whimpering into his mouth as if it’s been years since the last time they did this. And all too soon for her liking, he’s pulling away.

“Somethin’ you want?”  

“…no,” she lies through her teeth.    

“No? Jus’ uh, humpin’ me like a bitch in heat for no reason then, hm?” he raises his brows; eyes fixed on her frustrated features.    

“Ray...” she huffs out; a frown already forming on her spit-slicked lips.    

“Yeah?” he asks, giving her a soft peck as encouragement.    

“Want you…” she pants against his mouth.    

“But m’right here?” the furrow of his brows displays faux confusion.  

“You know what I mean,” she whines; shifting around in his lap some more.    

“M’afraid I don’t. If there’s somethin’ you want, you gonna have to tell me,” the edge of his mouth curls annoyingly when he decides to toy with her, always finding so much entertainment from her struggle.     

However, she merely grants him another whine.   

“Wha’s up with you today, hm? So fuckin’ needy, actin’ like you haven’t been fucked in a month when you were literally cryin’ on m’cock last night?” he murmurs while thumbing at her pouty bottom lip.   

“I don’t know…jus’ need you so bad,” her eyes begin to gloss over when he’s still not giving her what she so desperately craves.    

“Baby, there’s no need to cry, yeah?” he sticks his thumb past her lips; an attempt to placate her, even if he thinks she never looks prettier than with her eyes all wet and forlorn.   

“You’re ovulatin’ right now, aren’t ya?” his brain finally fits together the very telltale signs as he plucks his phone from the coffee table— opening the app that tracks her period cycle.  

“Think so, yeah,” she mumbles, mindlessly sucking on the digit resting on her tongue as she sniffles.  

It’s no surprise to either of them when his assumption proves to be right.    

“Think you need me to fuck a baby in you, s’that it? Wanna make me a real daddy?” he croons.    

“Mhm…want you,” her words are muffled around his thumb.    

“I know, sweetheart. Don’t want anyone but you carryin’ m’kids— think about knockin’ you up so fuckin’ often, you know?”    

“You do?”    

“Yeah, know you’d be such a good mom.”    

“You think? I think you’d be the best dad, sometimes wish you were my dad,” she rambles mindlessly, the conversation suddenly teetering on the edge of something else entirely.    

“Shit, such an angel face ‘n then there’s this rotten mind inside, huh?” he tuts in disapproval, appearing disgusted as if he doesn’t get even harder in response to her words— something raw, primitive stirring in the pit of his stomach whenever she says things like that.    

“M’sorry dad,” she offers him an impish smile.  

“Someone’s in a mood today?” he chuckles, narrowing his eyes in a playful manner.    

“Can you take off your pants?” she complains while attempting to loosen his belt but with her mind buzzing like a honeybee it’s proving to be a rather demanding.   

“Can’t do anythin’ without dad’s help, can you? Go on, let’s see if you can take me out by yourself, yeah?” he rasps out, tone challenging.    

“No, need your help, daddy, I can’t—”  

“Shit, you’re fuckin’ pathetic,” he murmurs, somehow managing to turn something so patronizing into something affectionate as he swats away her helpless hands and yanks the belt open himself.    

“See? Not that fuckin’ hard, was it?” he mutters out as his thumb slips out of her mouth before he’s pulling himself out. And even if he’s not even fully hard yet, and she’s seen it more times than she can count, she’s still mesmerized by the sight— eyes rounding out while she simply stares as if she’s under some spell.    

“You’re so pretty,” she blinks at him, eyes moony.    

“Still not tired of seein’ it, huh?”   

She shakes her head.   

And since she’s not wearing any pants (as usual), he only has to tug the fabric of her underwear to the side in order to reveal her messy cunt.    

“Ray…” she whines when he merely smears the drippy head over her folds; thudding it against her clit to get her to whimper some more.  

“Hm? Want it inside? Wha’s the magic word?” he looks at her with something amused twinkling in his eyes.   

“Please. Dad, it hurts,” she sniffles, desperately trying to rub against him in an attempt to alleviate the ache.    

“Hurts? Think you bein’ a little dramatic, no?” he lets out a breathy chuckle, making her huff out in frustration.   

“M’not, Ray, please, need you so bad,” wet droplets stain her cheeks while she tries to uselessly blink them away.    

“Shh, s’okay. Dad’s bein’ mean again, isn’t he? M’sorry, baby, I’ll give you what you want, yeah?” his voice is a deep rumble before he’s finally tucking the tip into her weepy cunt, causing both of them to moan in tandem when she practically sucks him in— his fingerprints denting the skin of her thighs when he aids her movements to his liking.   

“Yeah? That what you wanted? Always such a tight fuckin’ fit, huh?” he grunts against her mouth; hips meeting hers halfway as he stuffs himself deeper.  

“Mm, I love you,” she whimpers— practically feeling him in her guts as his cock pokes at the spongy spot inside her while his big hands help situate her on top of him, and she thinks this might just be heaven on earth.

[heich0e]

"so... how's work?"

you accidentally click the edge of your wine glass against your teeth as you tip it back, jarred by the strange question from the man standing at your side. you swallow the tiny mouthful of wine you manage to sip, turning to look at suna in bewilderment.

"work?" you ask him incredulously. "why are you asking me about work?"

suna rintarou doesn't care about what you do for work. truthfully speaking, you're not sure he even knows what you do for work—you certainly don't remember ever telling him, and the memory would stand out quite starkly considering all you ever seem to do when you run into him is bicker with him uselessly.

suna is a friend of a friend. or a friend of some friend's ex. or something. all you know is that every so often the two of you end up at the same social event, and there's something about the guy's face that just... makes you want to pick a fight.

and he has yet to turn down your instigation.

your friends all think it's funny—like you're some kind of comedy duo, and this is your special bit—but you don't see the charm in the slightest. you suspect they've started inviting you both to events just to have some entertainment.

"what?" rintarou asks, fiddling with his cellphone in his hand—pinching it between his thumb and his ring finger while he twirls it with his index. "i'm not allowed to ask about work? isn't that normal small talk for a christmas party?"

you're a little taken aback by his words. first of all, because he's right (which you hate). second of all, because he seems strangely defensive about it.

"normal for other people, maybe," you mutter, more to yourself than anything, before taking another tiny sip of wine. you swallow it, but somehow it doesn't help the dry feeling in your mouth. you're not sure you like this particular wine, you think, as bitterness clings to your tongue. "work is... fine."

suna perks up beside you at that, and you feel his eyes on your profile like he's waiting for you to go on.

"things get, uh... things get slow this time of year, so I'm mostly just answering stupid emails and ordering gifts online while i sit at my desk." you swirl the glass of wine in your hand, watching the way that the light catches in the deep red surface. "my section chief has kids and loves the holidays, so she's been pretty checked-out lately, herself. makes it easy to get away with slacking off."

you risk a glance over at him, and are somewhat dismayed to find him listening intently.

"must be nice to get a little break," he offers.

"yeah, i guess," you reply. your words are in agreement with him, but still your brow furrows.

what the fuck is going on?

you look around the room, as though checking for a hidden camera, or some other sign that might give away what the hell this guy's motives are. but around you is simply a room of friends enjoying each other's company—sipping drinks; eating finger foods the hosts had been carefully set out to graze on; chatting amongst each other about their lives, their holiday sweaters, their work.

everything seems totally normal, other than what's transpiring in the quiet corner where you and suna rintarou find yourselves standing side by side.

"how is... your... work?" you manage to ask, though it sounds as though the question is pulled from you with considerable effort. stiff and strained in every way a question so innocuous doesn't have any right to be.

suna laughs a little under his breath, masks it with a clearly fake cough, and then rests his hand over his mouth. he's smirking. you know he is. he's revelling in every second of your discomfort like the twisted little freak he is.

you're about to tell him as much, but he cuts you off.

"it's good," he replies to your pained question with an unexpected sincerity. "we're coming up to the half-way point in the season, so training is still pretty intense. we do get a day off for the holiday though."

right, he's a volleyball player. you'd learned that upon your first meeting, before your opinion of him was quite so hostile. you remember thinking at the time that he looked like a volleyball player—tall, lean, with big hands that made the beer can he'd been holding look almost laughably small in comparison.

you glance down at those hands again, still idly fidgeting with his cellphone. he's not drinking a beer tonight, and you wonder if maybe it's because he's in the middle of his season.

you think about asking him.

but you don't.

suna seems to be waiting for you to say more, but when you don't, he continues on the conversation himself. "i thought about taking the train to hyogo for the day, but it wouldn't really make sense just to go visit for a few hours."

you take another sip of your wine. you decide that you do not in fact enjoy it.

you hum a bit, ditching your mostly full glass on the edge of a table that rests within reach. "tough to just make a day trip, especially since the weather's so..." you trail off, gesturing vaguely with your now empty hand in a way that's supposed to indicate the unreliability of the winter climate.

suna laughs.

you look at him in confusion.

"the weather?" he asks you, rubbing at his mouth again like he trying to hide the expression underneath his fingertips. it might work if his eyes didn't crinkle at the corner when he smiles. "we're talking about the weather now?"

your lips part indignantly at his jibe. he's the one who'd initiated this hellscape of small talk, and now he had the nerve to chide you for it?

"oh, i'm sorry," you guffaw, feigning remorse, "is there some pressing matter you'd rather discuss?"

rintarou dips closer to you from his greater height, and the fact that he's so much taller than you are only irritates you more.

"there is actually," he says with a nod.

"oh, yeah?" you roll your eyes, gearing up for a fight. you turn to face him properly, tilting your chin up to meet him eye to eye without wavering. "and what's that?"

"are you aware that we've been standing under mistletoe for the entirety of this conversation?"

you slowly look overhead.

like something out of a horror film, you find that for once in his life (or at least the few months you've known him) suna's chosen to say something factual. overhead, a little bundle of mistletoe has been affixed to the ceiling with a piece of tape that seems to barely be hanging on—the decoration at risk of falling at any moment.

you feel sick.

"so what?" you ask him, swallowing down that feeling of dread and maintaining (what you hope is) an air of indifference.

"so that means we're supposed to kiss," he tells you matter-of-factly, almost a bit pointedly, like he can't believe you didn't know.

"i'm aware of that," you hiss. "i don't, however, bend to the whims of plants, as a general rule."

"weird rule," he remarks, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

you feel a throb of irritation behind your eyes.

"you're the one who came over here to bother me," you point out. "if you knew there was mistletoe hanging up there, that means this is your fault."

suna shrugs a bit.

you keep going, your pulse thrumming beneath your tongue and fanning the flames of irritation churning in the pit of your stomach.

"if anything, that makes you the weird one for coming up with some scheme to trick me. we're not children. if you wanted to kiss me so bad you could have just aske—"

"can i kiss you?"

what?

"i asked if i can kiss you," rintarou says, and you're not sure if that means you voiced your thought aloud or it was just plainly written across your face. he inches closer to you, and though you would usually shift away to accommodate for the intrusion, the table where you'd discarded your glass of wine keeps you mostly trapped in place. pinned. cornered. "you said that if i wanted to kiss you, i should ask. so, i'm asking if i can kiss you."

why?

suna sighs after a moment of contemplating the look of abject shock on your features, slumping forward and resting his forehead on the wall beside your head, caging you against the wall with his lanky frame. you can't breathe with him this close—too startled by the proximity and the warmth radiating from him to even think about drawing air into your lungs. too confused by this entire situation to meet your basic human needs.

"you really don't get it, do you?" he asks quietly. he's so near that you feel his words more than you hear them—especially since they were spoken so quietly just next to your ear.

"get what?" your own voice sounds distant—sounds strange—to you when you finally manage to speak.

suna pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, and you're shocked to see just how pink his face is. he looks mortified—and desperate—as his eyes find yours. he tilts his face towards you, and when he speaks again you feel the warmth of his breath break against your lips.

"you're the only person in this room who i'd enjoy listening to talk about the weather."

and it's not until much later, when the lingering bitterness from the wine has been replaced by something much sweeter (though entirely unexpected) on your tongue, that you realize rintarou was the only person in the room tall enough to reach the ceiling.

a/n: for nana, who forced me to write this entirely against my will but whom i love dearly in spite of it

[cosmique-oddity]

Phew, my last weeks of work are now complete >:)

I loved Dratchet and Ratchlock since the very beginning of my attachment towards Transformers, first TFP Ratchet…..but yeah….two of my favorites character….plus Keferon’s Mech AU…..I had to make my own thing about it.

A story….no…an illustration ! I couldn’t choose. So I did both :}

—————————————————

That was not the first time Ratchet came back to his private lab angry, but this time, yelling at his superiors, and at the system, and basically at evverything that could be yelled at except the pilotd while leaving the manufacture, was certainly the last. He quit. That was enough,

you don’t win a war with feelings they said

well yes,

exactly,

but you win a war with soldier, and frying their mind before they have their first fight because you want them to be more perfectionned ? That was a little counter productive.

So he gave up. They are on their own now.

The lightly humming of his car was barely enough to keep him awake, it have been a long time since he last returned home, usually, he stayed at his work place, to have more time to sleep, but then, he was sleeping even less. An endless vicious circle, things were often like that.

But all of that was over for him.

He granted these young greenhorn with his experience, and what did they do ? Ignored his advices. Sending pilots to death. So now, he had himself out of the infernal machinery. This mindless waste of human life, even where this is what they tried to save was absurd.

In the middle of his quiet and late ride, he heard a noise. Rumbling, was it the engine ? As he stopped the car backroad to check, the noise wasnt stopping. Came from the sky, military patrol ? He raised his two tired eyes on the sky and saw a shining rail approaching his forest, falling fast. Not quintesson shaped, and with the gaze of an experimented biomechanist, Ratchet identified a mech.

At this moment, its violently crashed on the ground, behind the trees at maybe three or four miles away. No matter how hard he argued with the scientist sooner this day or how bad he wanted to say fuck to all of this death industry who killed young soldiers, he could do something for the one trapped inside the mech....maybe.... the man regained his car as fast as possible and urgently headed for the crash area.

Deafened sound of tires on the damaged road. Ratchet was already projecting, mentally stocktaking the tools he took with him, and lucky enough for the poor pilot, he quit with almost all of his material, and even if it was mainly mechs repairing material, he also bought some instruments which were used for the subtle neuromedicine between human and mech. Could adapt some of it and stabilize the pilot....then he may have the time to go home and grab proper materials. If there was life there was hope.

" bold of him to crash himself just the day i insulted all of his hierachy".

He frowned. Almost there.

The trees nearby were crushed and uprooted. A flickering pink light catched his gaze.

Almost immediately, the Ratchet analyzed the mech. It was different. He didnt know in wich country it was made but that almost looks alien. The curves and shapes, busted and burned on several places were demonstrating an incredible display of genius ingeniery he could just admiring. But time was not for being amazed on plating.

Someone was trapped there.

He stopped and parked his car in front of a fallen tree, rushing to the car's trunk, taking few indispensable objets, including some of them to help a safe disconnection between pilot/mech. In case he wasnt out already. And a crowbar, the cockpit might be stuck, seeing all the damages the mech has taken...

The sound of slightly wet grass under his feet was covered by a frenetic noise of aeration. Ratchet listened to it, while cautiously approaching the unknown mech. It almost sounded like a breath, but was certainly a depressurisation issue. The mech had fallen from so high on the sky....

The damaged plating were hot, probably from atmosphere friction. He raised his crowbar and his eyes followed the curves of the chestplates, searching for a familiar shape, that could lead him to the injured pilot inside. His gaze stopped on a deep wound, that might have cut through the cockpit.

The engineer stepped on the hot metal, his thick boots preventing him from feeling the heat, and he started searching for a hint....anything that could be a mechanism, anything that could open this damn mech !

Ratchet considered the damaged chest plate he noticed earlier. The surroundings of the wound were leaking bright pink, a very unusual color for fuel. Another of these definitively strange things about the mech. Again....not the time for that. Maybe if he could widen the gap, then he would be able to have an idea of what was going on under this armor.

He tapped the plate, -it was starting to cool down- with one of his finger. It was a very little tap, but the whole mech startled. A hiss of pain, recognisible easily by an emerite engineer-but-i-fix-people-too, it had come from the head of the mecha. Was this modele controlled from the head, like Vortex ? But Vortex was insanely huge for a mech, way taller than this one. He moved careful, noticing the shaking of his support.

"You hear me, kid ? Its going to be ok. You crashed in a safe area.".

He spoke in his medic tone, wich mean, of course brusque, serious, but also reassuring and calm.

He mumbled about the mech's features and tiny words of comfort while reaching for the head.

A red light, not regular and rather epileptic was coming from the head, and while he was almost there, on all four of his limb to keep balance, Ratchet saw it.

A spectacularly humanoid face, with sculpted nose and lips was tensed in a painful expression, frowning, but the thing who trapped his gaze was the two optics....

....staring back at him.

Mechs dont stare. Their eyes are glowing, oftenly to mimick human face, after all, human are pretty prideful creature, no point in piloting big ass metal titan if no one could tell these where their creation.

What human couldnt mimick with technologie, on the other hand, was the subtle expression between trying to evualuate a threat, his own injuries, and looking rather on the verge of death but also ready to tear any enemy's limb appart with its teeth.

With just one....very long....look at the other's eye, Ratchet was suddenly understanding what was going on.

Well....probably not but he knew what he had to save.

The pilot, the pilot he had to save.

The mech was the pilot.

He was the one he had to save.

He stopped trying to -certainly- open his chest. If it wasnt good for human it probably wasnt for living technology.

The giant technological humanoid seemed in a high distress, exhaling a lot of air from his vents, his eye still intensely staring at him and the engineer doubted his usual technique -including trying to make himself as small as possible- would work.

"Its going to be okay Kid. I can help you. There is nothing here that want to harm you".

He did his best to convey all of these emotions with his facial expression and gaze, still firmly watching back at him.

"the world better wait till im home and officially retired before killing me".

The mech's gaze -damn it was so more living than ANY human made machinery- seemed to soften a bit but still radiated with suspicion.

Deadlock had been in several bad situations. It happened quite a lot when a specie of giant aliens with tendrils tried to invade your homeland, and he was ready to it.

Trained to kill, and to do it efficiently.

And he was *good* at it.

This time was just another of these ‘i went too far in my excitation’ moments, and he has crashed on a random planet he hoped was not inhabited. He landed hard, and pieces of his ship must’ve been thrown near his location.

And now, now there was an organic like no one he ever saw, and the organic was on his *lap* and he had the kindest warmest eyes he ever saw.

And these eyes were directly looking at his own eyes, and the well named ‘Deadlock’ was starting to wonder if he finally had reunited with the Allspark. His pained and tenseful grin faded a little and he tried to move his head forward, searching a better point of view to watch the singularity in front of him.

Ow.

Moving hurt.

Some sound came out of the organic’s mouth, probably a language. He didn’t had the proper tools to decode it but the tone of the language was extremely….comforting ? Soft ?

This was scary.

He wasn’t used to be welcomed like that after a fight.

Usually it was either another fight, either the yelling of a superior, either nothing at all. But this actual living being was carefully examinating his chestplates, and he recognized the gestual of someone who was used to heal. A medic perhaps ?

He tried to move something, maybe a hand, to reach for the pale organic, to be sure he was real, but his body was rather uncooperative, from what he could say, one of his legs was missing, and a lot of wound were releasing energon on the ground he couldn’t saw.

The high probabilities of bleeding out and crash was an issue.

He let his head hang, too tired to watch for every moves of the organic, and barely aware of his environment.

There must be a big problem somewhere….

He confusely thought, while watching the stars.

Must be a bigger injury I haven’t saw……..

Ratchet saw the bright light coming from the alien’s eyes slowly fading, and cold swear ran through his back. Yet, he could still say the soldier was alive, the lights of his body were shining, not a lot, but it was enough. He looked at his first aid kit with disappointment. That wouldn’t be very efficient since the form of life he was trying to preserve wasn’t a tiny human. The nearest thing he could compare the Mech to was….well their own mechs, or eventually….Quintesson. An horrible mess of organic and technology. It was partially thanks to their weird constitution that Ratchet had been able to make sense with the ‘he is alive’ thought.

At this moment and with this material, he couldn’t help the kid, and didn’t possess enough knowledge to tell if he was even dying or not.

He had already an idea of what to do….to fix him, at least trying to, but it involved several objects he hadn’t right now. Leaving to search for these so called objects was risking to let an injured alone, he couldn’t take that risk. He was trapped with the mech, and had to hurry and find something. He stood and reached for more adapted material in his car, trying to find something…. Anything.

Surprisingly, the most useful artifact he came across was his electric screwdriver and a bunch of screw along with a long metallic cabke. A parallel between human stitch, with sewing threads and the material he had with him right now. He could manage something between human fixing and mech repairing, that was what the ‘bio’ in bioengineer stood for.

The kid would be ok. He would live and tell Ratchet why he fell from the sky, and maybe if he saw his friend Jazz….out there…….

.

.

—————————————————

:)) @keferon

(I swear I’m not insane, your AU is just kinda giving me infinite drawing stamina lmao)

[electrosuite]

okay. al. i need something put into words. idk if you've seen it but in "we live in time" andrew and florence didn't hear cut when filming a sex scene. so i was wondering. could you do something where eddie has taken up acting. it's an experimental movie, so y'all are actually fucking. it's unsimulated sex. y'all don't hear cut, but you're so into it that neither of you stop. you don't notice until he cums, then you both remember the cameras.

warnings: swearing, fingering oral sex, descriptive sex, sex on camera

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i saw we live in time opening week and absolutely loved it. put andrew garfield's bare ass in more movies!!!

masterlist

One of the best decisions you'd made was moving to Hollywood to pursue acting. You loved it, and you were a natural. You could make yourself cry on command, you often lost yourself in scenes, and you weren't afraid to get nude on camera. That was something that was pretty common for the 80s, specifically female nudity.

You'd filmed many sex scenes in your career, but they were all simulated. Prosthetics, body doubles, cushions between bodies. But when you were approached to do an experimental film, one with completely unsimulated sex, your curiosity was piqued.

You were told you wouldn't meet the other actor until the day of, which turned out to be the first day on set. You were told that some studios, this one included, preferred to get sex scenes out of the way first and film the rest after. Your first impression of this guy would be when you had sex with him.

So when you were sitting on set in your tight black dress — which would be removed in the scene — and he walked in, your eyes widened. He was very handsome, just your type. He had long curly black hair, he was covered in tattoos, and immediately started joking around with the crew. He was wearing a suit, one which fit his body nicely.

When he spotted you, he walked right over and sat next to you.

"You my co-star?" he asked in a hopeful tone.

"That would be me."

"Eddie." He stuck his hand out and you shook it.

"Y/N."

"You look familiar. I feel like I've seen you in something else before."

"Maybe. Sorry, but I don't recognize you."

"I haven't been in anything big, just a couple of low-budget movies." He noticed your nervous energy. "You okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Sorry, just... I've never done anything... real. It's always been fake sex."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Well, it's a first for both of us, then. It's a first-first for me, I've never done anything like this."

"Really?"

"Yep. Never even taken my shirt off on camera."

"And you're just jumping right in, huh?"

"Why not? If I'm gonna do it, I might as well go all in."

"Well, are you at least experienced?" you joked.

"Oh, I'm experienced. Yeah." You chuckled. "Also, I was told to tell you that they had me go ahead and put a condom on so it wouldn't disrupt the flow or anything. They said you were pretty adamant about it."

"Thank god. I really don't want to leave here today pregnant."

This made both of you laugh, but it was true. That was the most important thing to you when agreeing to do this movie.

"Alright, actors in positions," announced the director, who settled into his chair next to the camera.

Before you could get up, Eddie looked back at you. "Hey, I know we'll be recording, but don't let that stop you from telling me if I'm crossing any boundaries, alright?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Thank you."

"Of course."

The scene immediately started with the two of you standing at the edge of a bed, inches away from each other. So that's where you went, your calves touching the mattress.

You'd read over the script for this scene numerous times. There was a camera a few feet from the bed, and one strapped onto the ceiling above where you would be laying. Neither of you would speak, just moan.

You were getting more nervous by the second, the lack of space between you two making your heart pound.

"Hey," he whispered, making eye contact with you. "You still good?"

You nodded. "Yeah. I'm good." You got yourself into the acting mindset as they finalized the cameras. "Ready."

"Quiet on set," yelled the director. Everyone hushed, the silence making you realize how many eyes were on you. "Action!"

You reached up and slowly undid Eddie's tie, his eyes never leaving your face. Once it was on the floor, he pulled you in for a kiss. It was gentle yet deep, both of you taking in a deep breath. His hands gripped your sides, your palms flat against his chest.

He reached around you and unzipped your dress, letting it fall to the floor. He then effortlessly unhooked your bra and you pulled it off of yourself. So far this was exactly like some of the other scenes you'd filmed. It was always a little bit nerve-wracking to expose yourself on camera — how could it not be?

He pushed you down onto the bed, his knees on the edge between yours.

He wasn't supposed to kiss you as long as he did. It was only supposed to be a couple before he moved on, but he was going off script a bit. His hand cupped the breast visible to the camera, which was now a bit closer.

He began kissing down to your neck a bit, then trailing along your body. He wrapped his lips around your nipple, his tongue circling it. You couldn't help but tangle your fingers in his hair, knowing it would help the scene.

As he kissed down your body, he maintained eye contact with you, watching to make sure you were still comfortable with this. Once he was to your thighs, he knelt down next to the bed and pulled you by the legs closer to him.

He slowly pulled your underwear off, dropping them on top of your dress. He continued to leave kisses on your thighs, making a genuine and impatient whine escape your mouth.

The feeling of his tongue on your clit made you gasp, your hands immediately finding their way back to his hair. This was weird with cameras, and at first it made it hard for you to really get in the mood.

But he was good with his tongue. You were so used to fake moaning that the real ones that came out of you felt foreign. His hands on your thighs, keeping them spread, were also keeping your hips still.

Usually when you filmed cunnilingus scenes, they kept their mouth closed and just positioned their face between your legs. So it was a foreign feeling to actually be eaten out on camera.

He couldn't stop staring at you, you looked so beautiful. Your head thrown back, back arched, tits out and nipples hard, fingers pulling his hair.

He wasn't supposed to make you cum, the script didn't call for it. He was supposed to do this for about thirty seconds and move on to the actual sex. But he was told that if the scene lasted too long, they could just edit it down. So he decided before even meeting you that he would make sure you had at least one orgasm today.

And it didn't take you long to get there. The camera had moved now so that it was behind him and to the side, getting a shot of his back and your face simultaneously.

"Fuck," you whispered to yourself as you felt your orgasm approaching, and fast. You were worried about how you would look, actually cumming and being recorded. You were trying to remain as calm as you possibly could, but you'd never been eaten out like this.

You were much louder than you anticipated when you finally came, and Eddie had to hold you down to keep you in the shot. When he finally stopped, he was immediately back to kissing you. He was still fully clothed, so you pushed his jacket off of his shoulders.

Instead of unbuttoning his shirt, he just pulled it over his head. He had a beautiful body, and you couldn't take your eyes off of him. You reached down and helped remove his belt, but he took over a moment later.

Within a minute, he was completely nude, and you got a good view of what he was packing. You were told before the shoot that you'd be having unprotected sex, and as you were already on birth control, it wasn't that big of a deal to you. Or at least, it wasn't until you were finally here. Now it was sinking in that you were about to be creampied by a guy you just met less than five minutes ago.

He was already rock hard, the sounds that escaped your mouth having gotten him bricked up immediately. He loved giving oral. It was one of his favorite things in the world. If it was up to him, he would've kept going, gotten you completely out of your mind before fucking your brains out.

He positioned himself back at eye level with you, reaching down and lining himself up with your entrance.

"That okay?" he whispered into your neck as he pressed kisses to your skin. He wasn't supposed to say that, the script calling for no dialogue aside from the natural swears that would occur. But he'd already gone against it, and asking for consent was something he insisted on.

"Mm," you moaned simply, nodding as minimally as possible.

With zero hesitation, he pushed into you, and the gasp that filled the room was almost comical. It was such a perfect porno moan that you couldn't believe it was genuine, even though it came from you.

He stretched you out so much, so perfectly, you weren't sure you could handle much of this. It was almost too much, too good.

He engulfed your mouth into his, kissing you deeply as he immediately picked up his pace. The bed was already squeaking, and your chest was already red.

The camera was above your head now, recording from an angle that showed the top of your thighs and your head thrown back as Eddie began sucking hickeys onto the skin of your neck.

That was when the scene was supposed to end. It was the shortest one in the script, which was another reason they wanted to get it over with first. But when the director shouted "Cut!", neither of you could hear him over the animalistic moans you both were letting out.

In fact, he called it about three times. But you two were so immersed, and your moans were so loud in each other's ears that it was useless. After a moment and after all the equipment was put down, the entire crew left the room and just allowed you to finish.

Out of all the times you'd had sex before, you didn't expect the best to be a completely scripted one. Eddie wasn't lying when he said he was experienced, he knew how to hit every nook in cranny in you like it was the millionth time.

When he felt himself getting close, he reached down and began circling your clit with his thumb. In the movies he'd seen, they always came at the same time. That didn't happen much in real life, but he wanted to make it look cinematic because, to his knowledge, they were still filming.

You gasped at the sudden contact, not expecting it. Thirty seconds later, you were cumming in sync, moaning into each other's mouths. He kept it going as long as he could but eventually he had to stop. Both his and your legs were trembling, sweat beading on your upper lip.

He kissed you for a moment, thinking in his head how great that would look on camera.

But when you both looked over at where the crew was, they were gone. You were confused, wondering why they didn't film as much as possible.

"Oh my god," you said, looking back up at Eddie. "Did they yell cut?"

His eyes widened. "Did they?"

"Did you hear them at all?"

"No, I didn't. Did you?"

"No."

You couldn't help but giggle at the situation. "Holy fucking shit."

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck."

"That's kind of hilarious."

He pulled out of you, pulling the condom off before grabbing one of the robes from the crates behind the camera, tossing another one to you. He opened the door to the rest of the set and the crew's heads shot up to look at him.

"Did... you yell cut?" he asked the director.

"Yep. Three times. You guys were so into it we figured we'd just let you finish."

That was when you laughed even harder, your head fuzzy and body tired.

After everything was cleaned up and you were heading back to your trailers, you caught up with Eddie outside his.

"Sorry we didn't hear cut earlier," you apologized.

"I'm not." He smirked slyly, and you felt butterflies flutter in your stomach.

"Do you think you'd do something like this again? Real sex on a set?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. With the right person."

"Well, if I get another opportunity like this, you're the first person I'm recommending."

"God, please do." His voice was raspy now, seductive, sultry. Normally you didn't pay any mind to men who flirted with you. But something about actually fucking Eddie seemed to form some kind of bond, maybe just in your head.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out a napkin, which had your phone number written on it. You leaned in close, wanting this to stay between the two of you.

"Well, if you ever want to do something without cameras, call me." You turned around to walk to your trailer, his eyes glued to your ass the whole time.

He swore he could get rock hard again right now if he wanted to. Something was different about you. You were one of the best fucks he'd ever had, and he intended on using that phone number sometime soon.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

B

"Hold him close to your chest, or he'll jump out of your arms. Here—like this."

Blue gently cradles the rabbit, then carefully tucks him into Ari's arms, guiding his hands to scoop under Grim's fluffy rear. She can't help but find it amusing that the boy who had taken her riding on such a large animal yesterday looks so wary holding a harmless bunny. A giggle bubbles up, and she bites her lip to keep it in.

"He's so... squirmy."

Blue keeps her hand on Grim, reassuring both the rabbit and him. "He's just ready for his breakfast. Want to help me feed him?"

"Sure."

Blue leads Ari to the hutch where the other rabbits are. She explains her morning routine, showing him how to supply the rabbits with enough grass, leaves, and berries to keep them healthy and plump. Not long ago, she was explaining this to Twix—the very person she forgot to say good morning to in a rush to find Ari outside. This time around, she wonders if Ari is genuinely interested or just being polite. She finds herself stealing glances at his face, studying his expressions perhaps longer than she should. His almond-shaped eyes and dark pink lips catch her attention.

He's cute.

It's not the first time the thought has crossed her mind since these strangers appeared. Cute like the men in her magazines, though he's not quite a man. Not in the way Ghost is. But he's taller than her by a head and two years older, evident in the notch on his throat and the deeper timbre of his voice.

But it doesn't matter. They are only here for a few days.

Blue closes the hutch and rocks on the soles of her boots. "Well, that was probably boring, huh? We could, um, go hunting if you want. Or to the pond. It's fun to swim there. Or maybe—" She pauses, mentally sifting through the limited activities available, frustration creeping in as none of them seem particularly impressive.

"This wasn't boring. Now I know rabbits are just as friendly as horses." He smiles.

"They are... except when Grim gets mad. Then he can be a bit of a jerk. Like if you accidentally step on his tail."

"I'd be pretty pissed if someone stepped on my tail, too."

"You don't have a tail."

"It's just a joke."

"Oh..." she fidgets with a strand of hair. "Right."

"The pond sounds good. It is fucking hot." Ari blows out a breath and swipes at the back of his neck.

"I know. So hot. Hot as balls."

Ari raises an amused brow. "Yeah, uh, hot as balls. Are you allowed to go by yourself, or do we need to ask your dad?"

"I get to do what I want," she lies easily with a shrug. "Buuuuut, we can ask Twix to go with us."

As long as Twix is with her, she suspects she can get away with not asking Ghost, who luckily is hunting with his old captain. It's not that he seems distrusting with these people as he did those first few months with Twix. Rather—she isn't thrilled about him knowing every little thing she does. She's never had anything just to herself. 

Twix is sitting on the porch, looking rather deep in thought as she skins a squirrel. Her hair is long, curtaining her face. When Blue asks if she wants to go to the pond, she agrees easily, claiming she has been meaning to cut her hair anyway with the encroaching warmth of summer. Nereida joins, too. 

Even early, the air is sticky, and the pond is cool and inviting. Ari rips his shirt off and jumps in without even a second to waste. Blue usually swims in her underwear and shirt, but she hesitates with her thumb in the belt loops of her jeans. She didn't consider that he would see her in her underwear. 

A soft touch to her shoulder. It's Twix. "Want me to grab you shorts real quick?"

"Um... yes. Yes please."

She changes into the shorts behind a tree. There is an odd pit in her stomach when she gets in the water. She doesn't quite know what it is, but it's similar to how she feels when she's scared sometimes. Ghost always tells her fear is a useless thing. It doesn't keep you alive. So she ignores it, shoves it down deep, and swims over to Ari with a purposeful splash that even wets Twix, who sits at the edge sharpening her knife.

"Damn. That's gonna cost you."

A splash is given in return, and then they are playing. High noon bounces shimmering light off the water as she tries to keep up with him, but at one point he sneaks up on her and she ends up with a mouthful. Nereida spends her time picking at some bunches of rosemary and Twix cuts her hair. But Blue doesn't notice any of that too much. When the water stills and they pause to catch their breath, Ari climbs onto a rock and shakes out his wet hair. She is quick to find a perch beside him. Absentmindedly, she pinches the bottom of her wet shirt to keep it from sticking to her chest.

"It's nice to have some place to swim so close by. Back at our old camp, there was lake but it was a few miles away, so my mom rarely let me go."

"I'm sorry, you know. About your mom. Mine is dead, too."

He half-smiles. "Thanks. I don't think about it too much anymore. My uncle and I have always been close so it helped to have him there." He nudges her shoulder. "You're damn lucky to have such a cool dad, huh?"

"Ghost?"

"Yeah, that guy is a beast. My uncle says they called him Ghost because no one could ever see him coming before suddenly, they were dead." 

"Oh, yeah, he is super cool," she quickly agrees. "He has taught me a lot."

"Shit, really?"

Nibbling the inside of her cheek, she shrugs to feign indifference. "I know how to throw knives pretty well."

"I gotta see that." His smirk etches a light dimple into his cheek. Then, his eyes flash behind her. "So what's up with his girlfriend?"

"Huh?" A divot forms between her brows before she follows his gaze, landing on Twix, whose hair is now just past her shoulders. She is wetting it, running her fingers through the newly cut strands. "Oh—Twix. That is not his girlfriend. She is my friend."

"You mean they don't sleep together?"

"Like in the same bed?"

"That's usually where people fuck, yeah."

He seems ready to laugh. She frowns, head tilting as confusion hums in her chest. "You mean like sex?"

He nods. "You know what that is, right?"

"Yeah, of course. I know all about it."

"You know they're probably doing it, right?"

"Ghost and Twix? No—no," she forces a laugh. "I mean, sometimes I catch him staring at her all weird. But I don't think—I mean, they hardly like each other and she is my friend, really, not his. He used to make me stay away from her, even. But I mean, they do spend a lot of time together now. It's usually to practice fighting and defense. Not to have...sex."

"Don't they share a room?"

"Just right now, because you guys are here."

Ari chuckles. "You really think they aren't fucking in there? She's really pretty. There's no way they aren't."

Blue looks back at Twix. Blue's fingers curl into the soaked fabric of her top. Her eyes flick back to him. "She would've told me if they were."

"If you say so."

---

T

Your thumb throbs in rhythm with the steady pump of Kyle's arms. Despite pressing it into your palm to dull the pain, the ache persists. You had nicked it while sawing off your hair, and now the taste of blood lingers in your mouth. You were still lapping at the painful pulse when the three men arrived to the pond, carrying a neon orange inflatable raft. They want to test it out on the water before embarking on the 35-kilometer journey across the channel. 

It is the third day of their presence and you can honestly say you've grown more comfortable, given that Kyle has gone hunting with you a few times now. He is easy to talk to, along with Nereida. Price—however—doesn't seem intrigued by you, or maybe you are insignificant in comparison to the rest that is on his mind. That's fair. You don't all need to be friends.

They've been spending most of their time gathering food. Ghost has been helping Price hunt deer to skin and dry into jerky they can take with them. Nereida showed you a patch of wild strawberries she found yesterday, boiling them down into jams before canning them. By having food with them, they will save time from having to hunt along the way. In perfect conditions, it would be a straight path, and they could make it to the Swiss mountains within a month or two. But it won't be a straight path, and obstacles are bound to hinder them.

Kyle audibly growls and straightens, wiping at his percolated brow. "This chamber just isn't inflating."

"It must have a hole somewhere. Check the seams," Price says.

Ghost flips the half-filled raft over with ease, running his fingers along the PVC. "Here." He taps what must be a minuscule puncture because you can't see it from where you sit. 

They patch it up with the little adhesive they have. The unease is noticeable as Kyle keeps pumping in air; they only have enough to cover a few holes, if they come across more. Finally, the six-person raft is full and they toss it onto the pond. Just the sight gets you thinking of all the variables they have to think of on the open water: the weather, currents, temperature. You had a friend in high school who swam across it once. She didn't get even halfway but having to pulled out, vomiting, and near-hypothermia. Open seawater is different than a pool. Unpredictable and quick to change.

"It seems sturdy." Nereida winds an arm around her husband's waist, pressing a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Don't worry about it."

"As long as it stays sturdy."

"It will," she assures him.

The cut has crusted over by the time evening settles and you have to will yourself not to pick at it. You find yourself alone with the horse, watching the sun set behind the trees, as everyone else eats. 

"You probably don't like being tied up here, huh? You'd rather be running around." The coarse mane engrosses your fingers. Cherry bobs her head and a wet muzzle brushes your elbow. It tickles and you smile softly. "I wonder what will happen to you once they leave," you whisper. "Horses can't fit in a raft, huh?"

"No, they can't."

A hand presses into her neck beside yours, the person's arm extending over your shoulder. You crane your neck at Kyle but his eyes are on the animal, thoughtful, brows lowered. You wet your lips and step to the side to bring more space between your bodies. 

"Not hungry either?" you ask.

Finally he looks at you, lips quirked at the side. "Nah. I had a big lunch." He stops petting her and crosses his arms, chin tilting. "Ever ridden a horse before?"

"Once or twice. As a kid."

His eyes almost lean dark green in the cast of orange light, but it must be a mere illusion. "Care to go for a ride?"

His eyebrow rises expectantly. You glance back at the cabin and then at Cherry. "Why not?"

He instructs you how to get on. You grip the knob of the saddle and flex your core, hoisting yourself with more strength than you've had to use in a few days. Kyle sits behind you and grips the reins after untying her. The last time you were on a horse was for a friend's birthday party; you trekked through a ranch on a white pony. Cherry is much taller than that one was, or maybe you're not fond of being so high up. You thread your fingers through her mane.

It is a silent ride at first as you try to ignore the sting on your butt, unused to firm leather seat. He must notice your discomfort because he tells you to relax and lean back. You do, until your spine brushes against his chest. It helps a little.

Cherry trots calmly through the trees, towards the circle of stumps that marks the east. 

"Do you think she will be able to take care of herself?" you break the quiet. 

"I'm sure she will be fine. Smart girl, huh, Cherry?"

The sun has disappeared but it isn't quite dark yet. "Are you scared?"

A breathy chuckle emits from behind you. He must realize what you are referring to—scared for the journey. "Yeah, always. I mean—I'm scared about Ari. He's the last family I got, and as old as he thinks he is, he's still young and naive. I still have to make choices for him."

"I was terrified of losing Joseph," you admit, and swallow. "He was so young and fragile. It felt like...like trying to keep an egg from cracking when your hands are made of stone. But at least I never had to take him to another country."

"That was your nephew? Joseph?"

You nod. 

"Tell me about him."

You rack your brain. "Well, he was seven. And he..." You smile to yourself. "He was the pickiest eater in the world, even when we were all starving. I could not get him to eat meat unless I practically burned it. And he liked to look at bugs. I did, too, when I was young. I used to dig up worms when it rained to show him." He hums a gentle laugh behind you. You find yourself lost in the thought of it for a second. "Sometimes I...I think about how once I die, there will be no one left to remember those little things about him. Then, he will be completely gone, you know?"

You don't know why you're telling him this. You shake your head. "Sorry."

"Don't be. We gotta talk about shit like that or else we'll go crazy."

"I'm pretty sure I'm already crazy."

"Probably." A deer passes to the left and Cherry startles, but he is quick to soothe her with a flick of the reins and a stern—easy. She settles. "Are you scared?" he asks after a moment.

"Of what?"

"Of traveling so far."

"Well, I don't know if Ghost..." you trail off, absorbing the tone of his voice. You stiffen. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"I mean how we're all leaving in a month."

"Wait—stop." You grip his hand over the rein with more force than necessary, urging him to bring Cherry to a halt. You twist your spine and gape at him. "What are you talking about?"

He eyes you with a frown, and rubs his neck. "Shit. I thought he already told you."

"No, he didn't. Tell me," you demand.

He clears his throat. "He, uh, agreed to come this morning, but only if we take another month to prepare and shit. Get his daughter ready, sort things out."

You try not tremble in anger as his words sink in, clenching your hands as your breath picks up. "Take me back," you breathe out, brain racing. "I want to go back now."

The ride back is silent. You feel shaken. Your nail digs deep into the nick on your thumb unthinkingly until there is a smear of blood over your fingers. The others are getting ready for bed when the two of you return, moon bright. You bite your tongue until Ghost leaves to his room, then you follow him, closing the door as gently as you can behind you.

He is halfway through peeling off his socks and stuffing them in his boots when you approach. "What happened to being a man of your word?" 

He looks up, resting his palms on his parted knees, looking far too relaxed for your liking. 

When he doesn't respond, you add, "You were supposed to tell me. You said you fucking would."

Your voice is low but harsh.

He stands, a calm understanding washing through his eyes. "I was about to tell you."

You throw up your arms but try to stay quiet. "Bullshit. You're just saying that now. You've had all day to tell me."

"I was waiting for the right time."

"You think I can't handle it," you accuse, an ugly snarl on your face. "That I don't deserve to be apart of these conversations even after everything I have done for you, and for her. I saved her life! You get pissed at me for not telling you about stupid things, meanwhile you don't communicate something so important like we are leaving with them in a month to fucking Switzerland. Does Blue know? Or do you keep your own blood in the dark, too?"

He growls quietly and takes hold of your chin, tilting your gaze to his. His touch is firm but far from bruising. "I am not lying to you. I wanted to have a conversation right now, where it could just be us. And no—I haven't told her. How I explain this to my child is not your concern." There is a command in his voice that forces you to calm down some, but your breath is still warm through your nose. He moves his hand to gently thumb a strand of shortened hair off your forehead, staring at it for a second, before gripping your chin again. "There is nothing I think you cannot handle. Now, who told you about this?"

Blotches of red crawl over your cheeks. "It doesn't...it doesn't matter."

He is visibly unsatisfied. He taps his thumb against your chin. "Tell me."

"It was...Kyle," you concede in an exhale. "He assumed I already knew."

His eyes darken. "It wasn't his place to assume."

"He didn't mean to." You reach up to pry his hand off, and he relents, leaving your jaw feeling sore. You rub it. "Why a month?" You try to change the topic.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and looks away, jaw flexing. "She needs time. I want to prepare her for all possible outcomes. I still don't think she is ready, but that doesn't matter. There won't be another opportunity like this in the future. I have to make her ready." He sits down on the edge of the bed and sits his elbows on his thighs, collecting his thoughts before adding, "And the weather is a big factor. Just because we have means to get across the water doesn't mean it will happen safely. The current is most predictable in July and August. We will wait until then."

You mentally sort through everything he is saying, willing yourself not to linger on the fact that you are beyond scared. Scared to leave the place you have finally felt safe in. Scared to clearly be the odd one out again. A tag-along. Everyone else in this group has a loved one looking out for them. You have yourself. You don't know if you have Ghost, really—not when Blue is the one he loves. His allegiance can only go so far.

"Okay," you whisper, more to yourself than to him. "A month, then. What about shelter? The nights will be our most vulnerable."

"We'll look for the safest places for the night. There'd be seven of us, so plenty of eyes to keep watch."

"And what if we run into a horde?"

"Well, we have plenty of ammo now for that." He flicks his eyes up to yours. "Thanks to you."

You nibble your cheek, palming your chest as if to calm your heart. 

"A month," he reminds you. "We will account for everything."

"Okay," you say again. There is a tinge of embarrassment over your outburst, but he doesn't seem fazed, as if you hadn't just barged in the room yelling at him. "Okay."

A click of his tongue. "Any more questions?"

"Not...not for now, I guess."

A few silent beats pass. The tension has left the room, leaving you with a wave of fatigue. Ghost must notice because he rises, gesturing to the bed. "Go on, then." 

The bed is yours again. Too exhausted to question it, you slip under the quilt, curling into a fetal position by the slanted ceiling. It's best to enjoy the warmth before you're back on the move. A week journeying through the woods was the worst you'd ever endured, barely surviving. Now, it'll be months, or however long it takes to reach the goddamn Swiss mountains.

The light flicks off. There is a groan in the mattress and heady warmth spills over you. Your eyes fly open. "What are you doing?"

"Getting some sleep."

You turn around to see him lying beside you, flat on his back, with his arms crossed behind his head. "Together?"

"Clearly neither of us fancies the floor."

You flush, feeling his firm thigh brush against yours. "Just... keep to your side."

"I'll be a gentleman, if you're worried."

"I'm not," you mumble. "How do you even sleep in that thing, by the way?"

"Like a baby."

"Don't you think it's weird that Kyle has seen you without it and I haven't?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Twix."

"And mental sanity doesn't suit you, Simon."

"Don't recall giving you permission to use that name."

"What, only your old captain gets to use it? How close were the two of you, exactly?"

Teasing him feels better than you're willing to admit.

He grunts. A pillow is thrashed against the side of your face. "Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir," you bite into the pillow.

Your instinct is to flinch closer to the edge, though it is difficult given the small size of the bed and the unnatural size of him. Your knees float off the mattress. Still, his sprawled-out position leaves points of connection. The bastard. Your back, his elbow. Your feet, his calf. Small touches that do a surprisingly good job at soothing the mess in your brain.

---

You awake. Warm and rested.

Safe.

Morning light streams in, turning the backs of your eyelids red. Your face nudges forward until your nose brushes against fabric—a shirt. Awareness settles in slowly. Your toes stretch and brush against another set of toes. You realize you’re curled close against someone.

He’s still on his back, his right arm draped across your waist, fingertips resting on your exposed hip. Your breath hitches, and you do your best not to flinch. Your face is nuzzled into his chest, close enough to discern ribs from muscle. His steady breathing and gentle rumbles indicate he’s still asleep. You’re ready to peel yourself away when you notice your leg is on top of his, practically trapping him.

Fuck.

You stay still, devising a plan to extricate yourself without him noticing the position you're in. Then, in one swift motion, you leap up, removing all contact, and breathe hard as if ripped from a nightmare.

His eyes open and he swears. "Jesus. What was that?"

"Just a dream," you lie. "Sorry for waking you."

You jump out of the bed and practically run out before he can say anything; before he can realize how odd it'd be for you to have a dream when you haven't had one since... since staying in his room.

You lock yourself in the bathroom and grip the counter, knuckles whitening in the attempt to erode the feel of his warmth that seems to linger. A lump is forced down your throat as you lean back against the wall and close your eyes for a moment. When they reopen, you look down and lift your shirt, only to find the indent of strong fingertips brandishing your plush hip. Jesus. Your stomach knots and unknots. 

"You didn't like that," you whisper to yourself. You brush your thumb over the marks, gently at first, then palming them hard as if to erase them. You drop your shirt and look at the mirror. "You did not like that."

Before someone can stumble upon you talking to yourself, you comb your fingers through tousled strands and slip out. It seems most others are awake. How could you and Ghost have slept so long? Usually, the two of you are up with the sun. 

"Hey. Morning," you greet when you spot Blue on the porch, belly down, as she plays checkers with Kyle's nephew. She glances over her shoulder. Something in her bright eyes seems...off, but you can't put your finger on it.

"Hi. Is Ghost up yet?"

"Hm? Oh, uh—not sure. I didn't check, really."

"Okay." She looks back at the game and says nothing else. You feel as though she saw right through you. Or maybe that boy has told her everything. Surely he knows about Ghost's plans? Kyle had to have told him. Maybe that is why Blue seems upset, but like he said, it isn't your place to say anything. 

You are itching for a hunt. 

It feels urgent, for some reason. Like you want to get out of here before Ghost can be up, too. You find Kyle and he suggests that the two of you take Cherry so you can get go further south where he claims there is a meadow to look for deer. It is difficult to ride with him behind you and a bow on your back, so he wears it for you. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head.

"Awfully quiet this morning. Penny for your thoughts?"

"I talked to him," is what you give. "Last night."

"Ah. How'd that go?"

"It was fine. I mean, I am getting used to the idea."

"That's good. It'll be worth it, you know. Once we get there. Finally get to have a semblance of a normal life."

A normal life. You almost snort at the thought. 

The morning grows longer, and not even the haircut can save you from the sweat that gathers. You make it to the meadow after an hour of horseback that leaves your thighs bristling. He helps you down and ties Cherry to a tree. You wade through tall, bright grasses that sway in the humid breeze. It looks vaguely familiar, stirring something in your gut that has your boots frozen for a moment. 

Kyle looks back at you, noticing that you've stopped following. "Good?"

"I just—I think I've been here once before. When I was on my own. I came this way." Your eyes scan the surrounding trees, where the meadow feeds into the forest, and an a gnarly oak with distinctive branches catches your eye. "I definitely have been here. I slept in that tree."

You push into the meadow, shaking off the memory. Staying close to Kyle, you listen as he lightly shares memories from the military, careful not to startle any potential deer. He talks about his time in Afghanistan, mentioning that his brother was also there, but at a different base. Kyle didn't even know his brother had died until weeks later because he was out in the field.

"After Afghanistan is when I met Ghost the first time."

"Oh?"

He nods. "He was my lieutenant when I went to Russia. I was scared shitless of him at first. I mean, he had a bit of a reputation and I was only 22."

"He was good at what he did," you say.

"More than that. People said he was up to some shit outside of what he did, but that was just rumors."

You think you spot a streak of gold through the grass, but it is just a stalk of wild wheat. You look back at him. "What do you mean?"

"May have heard a thing or two about him killing a guy off-duty. Of course, unconfirmed, otherwise he wouldn't have been enlisted again."

He killed someone? Like actual murder? You're about to ask more, your mind flashing back to your face pressed against him an hour earlier. Then you spot a deer. Kyle sees it too and motions for you to stay quiet. Your boots are nearly silent as you draw an arrow, squinting to see clearer. There are three deer: an adult female and two fawns. You draw the string and aim for the adult, the easier target.

"I'll get the doe," you whisper.

"Gotcha."

The beady black eyes turn your way, and you hesitate for a moment. There's movement, a flash of grey, and the doe snaps her eyes in another direction. What is she looking at? Your brows furrow, arrow following her gaze, when the answer appears: a Grey launching toward the deer. The three deer run off, and you release the arrow, aiming for the Grey's head instead.

"Motherfucker. Ruined the kill," Kyle mutters.

You weave toward the corpse, surprised to see such a fast one alone, indicating a new infection. The stench is pungent, enveloping you in a thick cloud. You shudder. The Grey writhes, your arrow lodged in its neck instead of its brain. You draw another arrow and aim when a hand suddenly grips your shoulder.

"Twix," Kyle breathes in your ear.

"What?" 

You look away from the Grey and follow Kyle's gaze, your eyes widening in horror as you realize the terrible smell isn't from this single creature. It's hundreds. A dark, grey mist that unfurls through the trees. A growing chorus of agony as their tattered bodies collide—some limping, others hurtling forward in a grotesque dance, but all converging on the meadow.

[maskedbyghost]

i love fics where simon is obsessed with the reader, but the ones where reader is the stalker? chef's kiss. so let me set the scene for you babes:

when you first saw him, it felt like the world stopped for a moment—like every boring day you spent trudging through the monotony of life suddenly made sense. simon riley was something else, larger than life, and somehow more magnetic than anyone had the right to be. you knew you’d never be the same the moment you locked eyes with him in the briefing room that first day.

your transfer to the task force was fate. it had to be. how else could you explain the perfect alignment of events that led you to him? captain price barely got through his introductions before you’d cataloged every scar visible above simon’s mask, taken mental notes of his broad frame, and wondered just how his voice might sound murmuring your name in the dark.

you found yourself naturally gravitating to him—the way a moth is drawn to a flame. and maybe you flew a little too close too fast, but you didn’t care. when he stood silent in the corner, your feet took you to him. during training drills, your gaze zeroed in on his every movement, memorizing his efficiency and strength. at the mess hall? you were never more than a table away. oh, and when some other soldier—jessica—got a little too cozy with him? well, let’s just say the entire task force knew that no one casually chatted up ghost without your looming presence in the vicinity. you might’ve accidentally spilled your coffee all over jessica’s lap the day she dared to pat his arm. oops.

at first, simon didn’t say much about it. not when you conveniently bumped into him outside the barracks after every mission, nor when you “forgot” your hoodie in his locker room, just to see if he’d notice. his quiet smirk here and there was the only tell—almost like he knew exactly what you were doing and found it charming.

but when he finally cornered you one night in the base’s dimly lit halls, his voice low as he pinned you with that gaze, your heart all but exploded in your chest.

“why’d you scare off half the team today?” your mouth opened, words forming in your head but caught on the tip of your tongue. was he angry? maybe you’d gone too far—but then simon leaned in closer, crowding your space. the warmth of his breath against your ear made you freeze.

“not complaining,” he murmured, “just wondering how long you’re gonna make me wait before you make it obvious.”

your lips parted to question him, but his fingers gently trailed up your arm, anchoring your spinning mind to him.

“i see you,” he continued. “you don’t think i notice how you follow me around like some little shadow? hmm?” he didn’t sound annoyed—far from it, actually. there was something downright pleased about his words.

the realization nearly took your breath away. he liked it. he wanted you close.

“no one else gets to,” you blurted out, owning that possessiveness with every fiber of your being. “not them, not anyone. only me.”

you braced for a reprimand, but instead, simon’s mask shifted just enough for you to catch the tiniest upward curl of his lips. a smile. genuine, real, and meant only for you.

“good.” his voice rumbled with approval, sending a warm shiver down your spine. “you’re the only one i want close, anyway.”

and from that night on, every time your possessiveness made itself known—an icy glare at another woman, an intentional interruption of a conversation he didn’t want to have—simon only smiled.

you might’ve been obsessed, but the truth was simple: so was he. and everyone else? they didn’t matter. you were his, just as much as he was yours.

exactly as it should be.

--------------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah

[fucknugg3t]

seriously!! I had a teacher who argued that old ass men buying and marrying little girls was ok because it’s a different time back then and it was there culture so I can’t say anything against it because it would be disrespectful and like holy fuck? No? I tried to argue back and he said well we’re your proof how do you know and I’m like my guy I’m no goddamn historian but that’s just wrong like on a moral level there’s lots of things that are “normal” for our “culture” and their fucked up so the excuse it’s just culture is so shitty and he laughed and said I didn’t have a actual example of anyone not liking it and he was just playing devils advocate I fucking hate that teacher like a day later it hit me fucking PERSEPHONE i could’ve said Persephone‼️‼️‼️‼️ And I could’ve said clearly if an entire myth was made about mother mourning their daughters being taken and married off then it had to have happened alot!!! There must’ve been countless people like Demeter disturbed and terrifyed for their little daughters and countless Persephone’s who were taken and advantage of and stolen away

it always grossed me out how persephone’s kidnapping would be modernized and turned into a love story between her and hades and everyone acted all like “ohhh well Demeter is just some old hater lady who doesn’t like age gaps and persephone wants to escape with her lover and they live happily ever after” no what the fuck

if you want to tell that story there’s so many other gods and people to choose from to modernize!! There’s so many goddamn secret mortal lovers or whatever you could pick ANYONE ELSE leave the fucking rape victim and her mother alone let her at least be acknowledged in a myth I mean you really have to think about this can you imagine being a girl back then and hearing that myth and knowing at least somebody out there gets it and is worried about you and maybe others will hear it and know what really happened and how messed up it really was and how scared you are like that story had to mean so much to so many people back then let’s not be like fucking disrespectful ALSO that’s like still a religion There’s people who worship the Greek gods how do you think they feel having their gods misrepresented

anyway I’m no history professor or and I don’t study Greek mythology but that’s what I think

if Persephone and Demeter got to be upset and mourn this and all the women who dealt with all this garbage back then then you do to yknow I mean you could already but it’s gotta be nice seeing someone like yourself out there especially from the past and seeing them mourn what happened to them sort of feels like you can do the same thing and you feel less alone? Hopefully. people have always been going through shit and been ignored and talked down to over it so it’s ok to be upset and angry don’t let anyone convince you what you went through isn’t real or actually upsetting

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae!!! I saw that the requests were open so I thought I would request something but if I misread it or something then please ignore this!

I was wondering if you could write something with reader not used to being taken care of? Like they have always taken care of others and have never had the opportunity to be taken care of so when someone else does they feel the need to do something for them in return? I was thinking of maybe Remus for this one? Or maybe a poly! Ship but you can write whoever you want!!

I understand if this is not a topic you would like to write about but I just love your writing and thought I would give it a try. Thank you for reading this anyway and I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

(Sorry it’s such a long request)

No you were right lovely! Thanks for your request :)

roommate!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 625 words

You pad into the kitchen, blanket around your shoulders and half-dissolved lozenge tucked into your cheek, to find the sink clear of dishes yet again. Guilt grows like winding vines around your ribcage. 

You put on the kettle. Stand over it as the steam starts to rise, breathing in the thick air and imagining you can feel the pressure in your sinuses lessening slightly. You make a cup of turmeric tea with honey for yourself, and English breakfast for Remus, stirring in a tiny bit of sugar the way he likes. You’re careful to keep it well away from you and your potential contagious-ness while you carry it upstairs. 

You knock softly in case, but Remus is awake, as you knew he’d be. 

“Morning,” he says, looking up from his book with a smile. The sight of him, sleep-rumpled and happy to see you, is almost too much. His eyes flicker down to the mugs you’re carrying, eyebrows lifting. “For me?” 

“Mhm.” You pass it to him, ignoring his soft tutting when you turn it in your grip so the handle is facing out towards him. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says warmly. He blows steam off the top, honeyed eyes on yours. “I should be the one getting up to make you tea, really. How are you?” 

“I’m okay.” You shrug, taking a sip of your tea. The heat dissolves your lozenge faster, double soothing for your throat. “And you’ve done more than enough already. Sorry about the dishes.” 

Remus’ expression clouds with confusion for a moment before he realizes what you’re talking about. “Oh, I don’t mind. I wouldn’t be doing dishes if I was unwell, either.” 

“Thanks for doing them for me,” you say softly. Or you try to, but it ends in a rasp, your throat contracting against a cough that doesn’t form. You clear it embarrassedly. 

Your roommate’s brows bend with sympathy. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells you. “It’s really no problem. You don’t need to bring me tea just because I did a few of your dishes.” 

“I want to make it up to you.” 

His expression softens. “There’s nothing to make up, love. It’s not a debt that needs to be repaid.” 

You frown, chewing your lozenge. “At least let me make you breakfast. Is there anything you’re craving?” 

“No.” Remus smiles at you. Not quite confused, almost disbelieving. “You don’t need to make me anything. You should be resting.” 

“I’ve been resting.” You sniff, wincing at the pain it sends through your head. You’ve been either in bed or on the couch for days, and meanwhile Remus has been cleaning up your messes, keeping quiet so you can sleep, and bringing you soup from that place you like down the street. 

“It’s my turn to help now,” you say. 

“It’ll be your turn when I’m poorly and miserable.” Remus sets a hand to your forehead, humming disapprovingly. You use every scrap of willpower you have left not to melt into his bed. “Listen to me, alright? I don’t mind looking after you. It’s not transactional. I washed your dishes because they were there and I had the time, and—” He gives you a playful look. “—because I know that if I were up all night coughing, I wouldn’t want to worry about dishes. Okay?” 

His eyes hold yours. You feel perhaps the most out of it you have since this illness came on. Drunk, almost. “Okay,” you capitulate. 

Remus smiles. “Thank you. So you can stop trying to think up ways to get even.” He picks up his tea. “I can see that head of yours working. Leave it alone, it’s going through enough.” 

You smile back, caught. “Thanks for all your help.” 

“Don’t worry about it, love.”

[alarajrogers]

But that is the reason -- it's just cultural rather than the actual truth.

In society, random people feel entitled to tell a man who is an abuse victim that aktually, women are afraid of being abused... because culturally, societally, it never occurs to anyone that men can be abused or that women can be abusers.

So we don't have a song about a man burning his ex's house down because everyone would interpret that the same way we interpret Blue October's "The End", which is about a man murdering his ex and her new boyfriend, then killing himself. "The End" has no hint or inclination that the woman was abusive, just that she left the main character, and from the fact that he murders her for sleeping with another man after she left him, we can see why! Same deal in "The Regulator" by Clutch, where a man returns after a year away to find his wife has taken up with another man, and he decides to kill her. We know nothing of the circumstances. Maybe she was told he was dead, maybe she has to sleep with the new guy to keep from losing the house, but all the main character cares about is, she's sleeping with another man, so he has to kill her.

To write a song where a woman does a man wrong, seriously wrong, and instead of just crying about it, he does something, and we all perceive him to be justified... we'd be pushing against a very heavy cultural headwind. Most "my ex did me wrong so I want revenge" stories from male POV in music are "my ex slept with someone else so I want her dead." And most people, obviously, do not view that with the same "Yeah! Do it!" fervor that we would a song about a woman who sets an abusive husband's house on fire.

The song would have to be very, very clear that the woman is a shithead, that she is abusing the guy, and that his revenge is not murder, but something that hurts her without invoking the spectre of male violence. And people would probably still misunderstand it.

A song about something like "you told me I was worthless and would never amount to anything, but now that I'm free of you, I'm successful and I'm happy and so that email you sent me about can we get back together? Hell no, go crawl back in your hole" would probably do the trick. Or "my new girlfriend is hotter than you, my new girlfriend is smarter than you, my new girlfriend is kinder than you, and she didn't want me to tell you so because she's nicer than you -- but I'm not, so here are the facts". You gotta establish incontrovertibly that this isn't a guy whining about his girlfriend left him, this is a guy whose girlfriend hurt him, was bad for him, abused him, and he's celebrating that he's free of her.

I'd love to see it, though. There is not nearly enough cultural understanding that it's even possible for women to abuse men, and we need to fix that.

men deserve more breakup anthems. I know and respect the societal reasons this genre is dominated by women, but where is my guy version of Miranda Lambert singing about burning your abusive ex's house down, metaphorically, for legal reasons

[kirislovelygf]

self-care night (sevika x fem! reader)

contents: after the battle and after losing jinx and isha, you take it upon yourself to take care of sevika, giving her a much needed quiet night. total fluff, you and sevika are married, post seaosn 2 finale, sevika is finally taken care of like she deserves <3

wrd count: 1.6k

a few mornings ago, sevika had her first day on the job as a councilwoman. 

caitlyn gave up her seat on the council to give sevika the opportunity to speak up for zaun. 

she came home that evening angry as anything. the other councilpeople acted like she didn't even exist. 

and when she was able to speak up, her requests went in one ear and out the other. 

when she received the opportunity to have a seat on the council, we were thrilled. but after that day, she's been trying hard not to blow up on everyone and confirm their suspicions of what would happen with a zaunite on the council. 

tonight, i made her a warm and filling meal and set up the bathroom with candles and pleasant soaps so she can take a relaxing bath. 

i was sitting on the couch reading a book when she came home. 

she closes the door and looks up at me. "hi." she mutters. 

"hey. another long day?" i ask her gently. 

"tch.. you tell me." she joked. she sat down at the kitchen table that was just beside the front door to yank her boots off her feet. 

i close my book and placed it aside before walking over to her. as she struggled to untie the laces of her boots, i cupped her face so she could look up at me. 

"sorry, honey." i muttered before i kissed her. "at least you get the weekend off." i said as i looked at her face. she smiled gently before i crouched to untie the laces of her boots. 

"hey, i was doing that." she chuckled as i threw them on the doormat. "i'm not helpless." 

"just let me take care of you." i smiled. i look at her once more. "why don't you wash up for dinner. i was able to make your favorite tonight." i said to her as i stepped away to check on the food on the stove. 

i hear her come up beside me and take a look at the food that's simmering. 

"damn.. all this for just us?" she said. 

"yeah. i know you skipped out on lunch, so you must be starving." i said as i stirred the meat on the saucepan. 

"how'd you know i skipped lunch?" she asks me. i looked up at her. "i always do. now, go. wash your hands." she laughs softly before washing her hands in the sink. 

i quickly plate everything for her and place ehr food at the table just as she sits down. once i set everything down, i went to plate my own food. 

i turned to go sit down and i saw she hadn't touched anything in front of her. didn’t even move to pick up her fork. "what are you waiting for? eat." i chuckled. 

"i'm waiting for you, dummy." she chuckled, picking up her fork. i smiled at her as i settled into my seat. 

dinner was quiet but nice. i left music playing on the radio as i watched her enjoy her meal like she hasn't had one in forever. 

"this is.. amazing, honey. shit, i was starving." she said after slamming her cup of water down. i chuckled lightly. 

"i can tell." she smiles softly at me. after she got some food in her system, she talked to me about her stressful day as she waited for me to finish my meal. 

"they don't know.. anything about what life is like down here. hell, half of them think we've grown up in sewer pipes." she said quickly. 

"they cannot be serious." i shook my head lightly. "you would think they're stupid at first glance." she jokes. 

"maybe once they have someone with common sense on the council, they'll make better decisions." 

"yeah.. it's gonna take a while though." she hums. i watch her soft expression that is rarely ever seen. i love my wife. 

after washing dishes and cleaning the kitchen, i went nad ran the bath for her while she was occupied in our room, cleaning her mechanical arm. 

once i lit the last candle and turned off the lights, i went to our room to see her at her desk tinkering with the screws and nooks and crannies of her arm. 

"hey, vika?" i said softly. 

"hm?" she looks up at me from her device. "i ran you a bath. come on." i muttered

she smirks over her shoulder. "oh yeah?" 

"don't be gross. it's not like that." i chuckled. 

"oh.. damn.." she grumbled. "come on." i laugh. she follows me to the bathroom and i stand, leaning on the doorway

"you can stay there for however long you want. just relax, alright?" 

"whoa.." she gasped lightly at the acne in the bathroom. 

she looks down at me. "i- you didn't have to do all this." she hummed. 

i shrugged. "you're right. but i wanted to." 

she smiles. she wraps her arm around me while i do the same with both of mine. 

"i don't deserve you. seriously." she hummed after planting a kiss on my head. 

"yeah, you do." i said softly. 

i sat in our room while sevika took her bath. as i was flipping through the pages of my book, i remembered i had gone out and bought a scrub. at a shop up on topside, so it's bound to be good. 

i found it and went to the bathroom to give it to her. i knocked before walking into the dimly lit bathroom. she was sitting in the bath with her hair guarding her eyes from being seen at the side. 

"i bought this scrub today and thought you might like it." i said softly. “you did? why?” 

i sat on my knees as i unscrewed the top of the bottle. “it reminded me of you. here, smell." i said to her. 

i held it up to her nose and she took a quick whiff before humming. "it's nice.. like pine." she said. 

she went to grab it but i pulled it away. "let me." i said. 

"come on, honey. i can clean myself just fine." she chuckled softly. "no one's saying you can't. i just wanna do it for you." 

i look at her eyes before moving her strands aside. "you can't get your back anyway." i said. 

she rolled her eyes. "alright.." she hummed. i got up to find a stool and sat on it as i took a seat beside the tub, sitting behind her. 

the smell of snowy pine trees quickly invaded our noses as i massaged the scrub into her scarred back. 

looking at her muscles and scars, i imagined what it must be like to be her. to experience her life. 

her mother died at birth, father died even later. no siblings to mourn with her.

a best friend turned boss. now dead also.  

two young girls that were like her daughters, dead too. 

i feel like if i followed that same fate, she would end up offing herself. 

so much loss in her life. and she still stood strong every day without fail. 

"why are you doing all this?" she spoke up quietly. 

"hm?" i said as i rinsed off the soap crystals. 

"the dinner... the bath, everything you did tonight." she said. 

"i'm your wife, vika. it's what i enjoy doing." i said softly. 

there was a beat of silence. 

"it feels strange being taken care of like this. " she admitted. 

i poured water over her back again, watching the tiny crystals fall into the water. 

“i know..” i said softly. 

she shifts in the water, bringing her knees up to her chest. 

"sevika, you've devoted your entire life to bringing justice to our people. i've watched you take care of others, put their lives over your own.." i said, glancing over at her scarred stub that used to carry her left arm. 

i gently massaged the scrub over it, letting the scent sink into her skin. 

"it's like that's all you know how to do." i hummed. 

"after a while, you forget how to do anything else." she said quietly. 

"that's why i want to take care of you. while you learn how to pick yourself up again." i said, pouring water over her shoulder.

i’ve reminded her of this since we first got married. while she tells me she believes me, sometimes it slips. 

“you know, people look at you and see a terrifying old woman who can kill them with just a look.. and you are.” i said, to which she laughed softly. 

“but when i look in your eyes. when you hug me in the night when ere sleeping, all i see is a sweet girl who’s in need of love. and i want to give it to her.”

“so, while you're out there looking after the lanes… i’ll be here at the end of every day to take care of you.” i said. 

i rinse off the last of the soap from her shoulders and leaned back slightly. 

“okay?” 

she’s quiet for a second but turns her head slightly. “yeah.. okay.” she hums. 

i moved from my seat and sat next to her. i reached out to her chin and turned her head slightly to kiss her cheek. “i love you, you old softie.” i muttered. 

she looks at me with tears welling up in her eyes. 

“i love you. so much.” she said quietly. 

i held her face in my palm as i scanned her face before i kissed her lips. i pull away from her and smile softly. “you finish up here, alright?” 

i left her int he bathroom and waited for her in our bed. 

it was slightly cold, i just put on the freshly washed sheets, a new fuzzy blanket, and lit a candle that made the room smell like sugar cookies. 

she was dead asleep in seconds. 

a/n: i need to put sevika in my pocket, i love her and she deserves the world.

[theartofwoompwoomp]

I never knew we could coexist together 

Shadow x reader

Summary : shadow is surprised to learns that humans understand grief. And he learns it from the human that’s the most tolerable and happiest in his life. 

———————————————————————

“Do you really think you could ever understand.” 

His voice ragged and tight from the anger. There’s no way anyone could understand what he lost. Especially not you…

You have everything. A happy family, friends, a place in this world. 

 he had nothing…

Sure others may have accepted him, yet it has never been the same and it hasn’t ever taken the pain.

Someone as happy as you wouldn’t and shouldn’t ever understand his pain. 

His grip getting tighter in his hand, he can feel himself shaking a bit as he lowers his eyes to the ground.

He feels bad for snapping at you. He wasn’t expecting to have all his pent up anger explode on you. Finally the shame starts crawling it’s way and he was getting ready to leave. He didn’t want to see your face.

Not right now, when he feels so angry with you even though you’re the only one thats stuck around. 

All his emotions are spinning all over his head just waiting for another opportunity to explode, and he does not want you to be at the end of it.

Without saying anything else, he keeps his head down as he turns to leave. 

But just as he’s a few steps away his are is pulled back quite forcefully towards you again.

“What do you think you’re doing—“

You hugged him.

Holding tight making sure you won’t let go of him. He tenses a bit not fully processing what you’re doing. 

Why are still trying? Why do you still care even if he hurt you? He doesn’t deserve you.

Before he realizes it, he’s holding you close as well. 

Nothing is said between either of you, he’s simply shaking a bit in your arms as you rub his back a bit.

Memories come back to him. Those of maria, his actions, and of you.

Small tears roll down his cheeks but he could care less at the moment. “It hurts.” His voice broken and tired from all the pain that never goes away.

You hugged him a bit tighter as you whisper a bit into his ears, “I know shads, i know.” Not daring to let go or abandon him in this moment, you wait it out. Feeling your own tears slowly dropping as well as his cries intensify.

He feels like he just got ran over, but at least you’re still there, holding him. Both of you more calmed down from the whole ordeal. 

He finally decides to let go from your embrace and you let him. 

He sits on the ground and you follow along and sit next to him. Just waiting to see who’ll be the first to speak.

Surprisingly after a few minutes shadow softly starts speaking, “i don’t want to talk about it.” His brows furrow a bit, “i appreciate your kindness, but I don’t like speaking about my pain.” 

He feels you caress his hand. “That’s okay,” holding it firmly when turns it offering you to continue your action of affection, “i understand that pain can be hard to share.”

He turns to see you, eyes glazing over you face wondering what ever could have caused you pain to make that expression.

“You might be surprised but humans suffer from many things. Some of us are just a little better at pretending nothing’s wrong.” 

“Doesn’t it hurt to do that?”

You look over, seeing his worry through his eyes. “Of course it does. Suffering is always painful.” Your eyes and hands never leaving one another. Sharing more emotions this way than any words could describe.

You lean a bit onto him, “but you know,” he reciprocates as you continue, “i think that’s a reason why there’s so many of us in the first place. Maybe so we could  help each other through the pain… it’s too bad many seem forget the value of this”

He shifts a bit as he feels you move again. This time you’re kneeling a bit in front of him. 

“That’s why I’m so glad that I at least have you in my life.”

His heart twinges a bit, feeling guilty for trying to ever push you away. And you notice it before he even says anything.

“Please don’t shut me out,” you’re hugging him again.

And he hugs you back, holding you softly as he feels your breath on his shoulder. Your actions and words melting all the doubt and numbing the pain. He’s comforted knowing that you’re not going nowhere, staying right there with him.

“Im glad that it’s you, and not anyone else at my side.” 

———————————————————————

masterlist

[dobadoo]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ PETTING IN THE LABORATORY꒱ ˎˊ˗

Dottore decided to pamper his dear wife right in the laboratory

✧ warnings — NSFW, DUB-CON petting, wife ! assistant ! reader dottore being loving , detailed description of genitals, no "pussy" "tits" etc.a bit non-canonical dottore (but I tried lol) ✧ a/n — AAHHHH he's so hot, so elegant, but he scares me..

Dottore, taking you by the hands, escorts you and seats you in his chair. He leans on the armrests and hangs over you, leaning forward to kiss. Again, sweetly, with the desire for your lips, with feeling, relaxed. It seems to you that only he kisses like this - so imbued with the moment, so pleasantly.. You have long been convinced of this, now you only see confirmation.

For convenience, he puts his knee on the edge of the seat, between your legs. You hug him, raising your hands high, touch his shoulders, run your fingers along them and take hold of the edge of his black shoulder straps on his chest, wanting to feel your husband even closer. The chair awkwardly wobbles from side to side because of the hinge in the mount and the wheels on the stand. And it seems that one of you does not like this at all.

The harbinger moves away, stands up straight and, without asking you anything, moves the seat and its back to the table. It comes out somehow even rudely, you grin hysterically, seeing the strangely serious expression on your partner's face even behind his mask. And he is near you again, puts his palm in a black patent leather glove with blue palms on your thin neck, presses his thumb under your chin, lifting your face. The doctor kisses you again, but not for long, goes down and gives attention to your neck, pleasantly touching it with his lips. There are pale scars from his teeth on your shoulders. He still does not spare you. Unbuttons your shirt, doing everything even too quickly. Dottore is incredibly patient, you know, but… Now with you is not the same person with whom you spoke ten minutes ago.

"Maybe you have any bright preferences?" - He asks and with the nose of his beak mask outlines your cheekbone, tickling..

"Uh… I don't know…" - you feel awkward talking about this, that's all.

"Shyness is the enemy of debauchery. Flower." - he whispers in your ear, instantly spreading crowds of goosebumps on your shoulders.

"Don't you want to feel the best of what you can get?" — a soft and usually wet tongue runs along the shell of your reddened ear, it gets hotter..

"Dottore.. I…" - you are gently taken by the jaw and turned away, not letting you finish. He understood perfectly well what exactly of his actions turns you on, it was your whole body that betrayed you. The body-traitor, unconsciously giving an impulse to the fingers that yours squeeze the robe on someone else's shoulders.. The way you tremble and breathe heavily..

The doctor obviously knows well how the body works and reacts, and it is easier to read you than to read the title of a book. Now he is not interested in your curves, he needs a reaction. The essence of your desires, to understand who you are beyond common sense. To get to the truth, to the deepest plan, intentions. His "love" shifts to the collarbones, now open to the man. His butterfly kisses cover your bust, while his palms make their way to the belt. It is stuffy under your wet shirt, feelings are revealed anew when the scientist's fingers touch your back. You arch your chest forward, ribs become clearly visible, while Dottore unfastens your bra.

(And yet, when deeply in love, petting and sex are many times more pleasant than in other situations.)

A slight movement - Your bra is pulled up, your breasts are perfectly visible to your partner, who is trying hard not to examine you in too much detail so as not to embarrass you. Shame, shame after all.

One of your breasts is carefully squeezed in his palm, feeling it in a way that pleases you. Dottore, in order to restrain his sick impulses and not to scare you away, mentally prayed even to the damned Archons.

The blue-haired man kneels in front of you while you were sitting half-dry on the chair, he comfortably sat between your legs and thanks to his height, he leans towards your body on the chair, licks your areola with a tight movement, which causes a recoil between your already wet thighs, closing his lips he slightly sucks your nipple, pressing his finger on the second. You do not hold back a moan while inhaling, the sexual tension grows by the minute.

Next, your stomach is subject to attack, a weak spot for tickling, from which you twitch, trying to hold back involuntary laughter. The scientist takes your legs and puts them on his shoulders, looking into his eyes through his mask. You thought that it was impossible to blush even more than before? Well, it is very possible.

The heat burns your ears and cheeks. Incredible luck! you are wearing a skirt today… Yes, a skirt with gold inserts and patterns, quite detailed, in the style of Teyvat fashion. But today this skirt will be a provocation.

"What do you want to?…"

"To satisfy you," He enthusiastically turns his head and kisses your knee, not at all embarrassed to talk about what is happening.

You did not dare to answer, control is enough only to watch an interesting show under you. Dottore, having gone a little further with his lips along your limb, bites you, again with a hint of rudeness. Your nylon tights are running, what a bastard! They are expensive..! At the same moment you notice a clear and distinct reaction to what is happening on the scientist's trousers, it becomes somehow completely unbearable for you to sit and endure his.. attacks.

You offendedly let your right leg go from his shoulder, not having received its portion of kisses. The Doctor, not distracted from biting you, turns his gaze to the movement, but quickly turns around. You, looking at his groin, then at his mask, touch his erection with the toe of your foot, press lightly, and hear his sharp sigh. He lifts your pelvis and, taking you by the ankle, leans your foot against himself.

"Hmm, don't fool around, naughty girl" Having slightly come to his senses, the Doctor smiles. — "Come to me."

Of course, you lean over, it is clear why - even more kisses. The Harbinger, now with a clear intention, brazenly kisses your lips. His palm slides along the smooth fabric under your skirt, the hem of the skirt is already lifted due to the position. Now your thigh is crumpled by his long fingers, looking for the waistband of the tights. At the same time, Dottore presses his tongue on your lips, forcing you to open your mouth wider. A new vulgar gesture - the teeth are briefly outlined by the tongue, it moves towards yours. It strokes the roof of the mouth… For a second it seems to you that your husband's tongue is too long. Dottore has found the edge of your clothes, using his other hand he pulls them off you.

"You have a long tongue," you note out loud, already vaguely.

"Why do you think I talk so much?" — an object of interest opens up to your gaze… Archons…

Twice as long as average, together with the teeth it looks even slightly creepy, including unnatural. Your eyes widen, your cheeks are smothered with a blush, Dottore smirks and hides his dignity.

"Just genes"

"You never showed it before…" — You are shocked. What will happen now, Tsaritsa, have mercy…!

"Relax your muscles, just remember how it was the first time, haha.." — But still, the man is so calm and gentle, skillfully seasoning it with pepper of rudeness, that you cannot help but melt from excitement - it is impossible.

And Dottore keeps trying to pull your clothes off. Very intrusively. You are sprawled in a chair, led by your beloved, who, thanks to the position you have adopted, is still doing what he wanted. He is still on his knees, on the floor, between the tables, in an open laboratory, where one wrong move and an overturned flask can injure you both, He is going to satisfy you. What a shame, if someone comes in, you will not survive the shame!

His cold to the point of goosebumps hand, still elegantly covered with the fabric of the glove, touches you through your underwear. Strokes your vulva, slowly, viscously, torments, makes you almost fidget. He is handsome, damn elegant and smart, ideally knows anatomy and therefore understands perfectly what to do with you. Something in your lower abdomen is cramping from such thoughts, especially when he so dominantly and playfully pulls you towards him by your tie.

"Are you satisfied?" He whispers into your ear, you catch yourself thinking again that he sees your sensual gap and is pressing on it right now.

"Yes, but… That's not all, right?" — You insert a short, embarrassed answer, hug your lover's shoulders, he changes the position of his fingers on your external genitals - he puts his fingers on your clitoris, knowing the anatomy perfectly well, he instantly feels the organ.

"Hahaha… No, not all, darling" — His velvety and deep laughter reaches your ears, you involuntarily shrink in your chair.

"Wonderful, What an anatomy you have… Archons!" — He has such a tart whisper that butterflies fly in your stomach…

"You will do what I tell you, right?" —After a pause, you barely shake your head in agreement "Wonderful, my dear. Listen to elders, be a good girl,"

He exhales onto your skin, languidly, completely depravedly, — "How long do you think you'll last? Two? Three times?" — You sob pitifully into Dottore's shoulder, his dexterous fingers keep a clear and almost fast pace on your clitoris, and you are sensitive, especially because of trust. It appeared with the advent of experiments - after them He treated you carefully, honestly. He always felt sorry for you, all this is just for science, you help your beloved, you are ready to do anything for him. It's a pity, it seems so only in a fit of bright emotion.

"We will do everything so that you leave here on shaking legs, okay?" — Playfulness and craving in his tone, especially to warm you up. You feel the rush of pleasant sensation characteristic of an imminent orgasm. There was no need to say anything else, the first extravaganza hit you with a terrifying suddenness. Your fingers turned to stone, clutching the Doctor's robe, your breath caught, you barely breathe, receiving your well-deserved portion of all-consuming pleasure. You whine piteously, throwing your head back, listening to Dottore's approving hum.

What kind of reaction is this? Naturally, an orgasm that will overtake you too quickly to resist the feeling even a little. Dottore sees everything perfectly well and therefore, instead of brazenly interrupting your pleasure, he connects his long tongue, invading your warmth, making you literally jump on the chair, Dottore gently held your hips, forcing you to stay in place. After another thrust of his tongue inside you and massaging your clitoris - quickly brought you to the cherished climax.. You fell tiredly on the chair, throwing your head back.

"A successful and precise position of the fingers, foreplay and its continuation - the best mixture for getting an orgasm.. Don't you think so, darling?"

You should catch your breath for a minute, your partner patiently strokes your thighs, allowing this. He kisses somewhere behind the ear, since you are still hugging him. It's so strange, remembering the past, the end overtook you rarely in the company of a partner… Did the advantage of the profession work, or something else?

"Everything is fine?"

"Yeah… For some reason I feel so ashamed," - Ashamed.. It's because Dottore, during your work, said that sex and the caresses that come from it are disgusting. You generally thought that you would never get such a pastime from him, but fate decreed otherwise.

"No need to be ashamed. I am interested in watching you and participating in your satisfaction," - He cooed as straightforwardly and calmly as always.

"You are probably right. Oh, my leg is so cramped," - You smile embarrassedly and sit up straight, bending and unbending the mentioned part of the body.

"My poor girl, was I too hem, harsh with you?"

His charming voice and the same expression on his face.. And for some reason Dottore still doesn't get up from his knees, still sitting between your depravedly spread legs. You notice this and want to quickly cover your legs together, but Dottore's torso gets in the way.. He notices your nervousness, grins and slowly lifts the mask up.

"Is it okay for you to sit on the floor?" - You adjust your skirt, placing it on your knees.

..

"So we haven't finished our.. little experiment.." His smile is ingratiating, even creepy, he slightly tilts his head up, looking at you with a cloudy gaze, now you can clearly see his red eyes under the slightly raised beak-mask.

"In that case, why should I get up?"

@anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance @shyentsfoundherink @lavandulawrites @ashyashylee @theoutcastwrites

[crescenthistory]

hello there,

i’ve been a follower & a big admirer of your work for quite some time now — so i thought, perhaps i could leave a suggestion down here for when (if) you have the time and inspiration ?

here is what i had in mind,

female reader who is a freshly transferred student at hogwarts, and someone who happened to become very close to regulus. close enough for their mutual attraction to be clear and their relationship labeled as somewhat of a talking stage.

which is why it’s only natural when slytherin skittles, as regulus’ best mates, feel it is their mission to make sure reader is a decent person and someone who would not leave his heart broken. after all, it’s not an interrogation if they ‘just so happened to stumble over her in the common room’ while regulus is away. or maybe it is. still, they are looking out for him.

anyways, feel free to shape the scenario however you see fit or not write it all if it’s not what you’d be interested in. i hope your day is going great and i’m sending you all the love and hugs ! xoxo

hi there darling, thank you so much for your kind words and request<33 i went with the skittles hounding regulus prior to meeting up with reader, hope that's alright with you, mwah

Words: 1.3k

Warnings/tags: not proofread, fem!reader, slytherin skittles focus, banter, barty and dorcas bully regulus a little, you're not an active part in this but are talked about, regulus is in love and embarrassed over his friends, reader's background prior to hogwarts is not addressed, seer!pandora

"Is it truly so hard to believe that someone other than you lot would dare be friends with me?"

The dorm erupted in various statements of "yeah, pretty much", "duh" and even Evan's "if what you have with her is a friendship, then I don't think we're friends, Reg."

Even on his worst days, Regulus was beyond grateful for the ragtag found family he had been swept into during his time in Slytherin. Barty who essentially picked him up one day and claimed him as his own, Evan with whom he found solace in the quiet, Dorcas who became the best verbal sparring partner he could ask for and Pandora who understood him better than he had ever thought possible – these were his people through and through.

Unfortunately, his people were kind of arseholes.

"It's taken us years to crack through your," – Barty, from where he was perched across Evan's lap, waved in Regulus' general direction with disdain – "stoicism, and you tell me this bird has you asking her out within a month? We have to believe that shit is some twisted dark magic."

"You would know all about twisted dark magic, wouldn't you, B?" Dorcas volleyed through a laugh, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at him.

"Fuck off, Dorc, I thought you were with me on this!"

Evan playfully napped at Barty's ear when his passionate outburst turned its heat from Regulus to Dorcas.

“I can play for two teams." Dorcas seemed offended at Barty’s assumption of her loyalty, while Pandora sat beside her with an impervious smile, unaffected by the back and forth. “And don’t fucking call me that, Crouch.” 

Evan had to catch Barty’s foot by the ankle when he tried to launch it towards Dorcas in retaliation.

Regulus dropped his head into his hands with a groan. With Barty and Evan lounging on Barty's bed and Dorcas and Pandora on the floor in between, Regulus was left on the edge of his own bed, feeling awfully sorry for himself for having caring – if meddling – friends.

"Can you guys please be normal tonight?" he asked into his hands. Without looking up, he held a finger into the air to quell the argument about to fall off of Barty's tongue. "Don't. By normal I mean don't scare her off. Don't go asking weird or inappropriate or threatening questions, okay?"

"I simply cannot promise that." Both Dorcas and Evan gave Barty a wack to the leg and arm for his comment.

“I resent Barty at the moment, but yeah no, that’s going to be a tough ask, Reggie,” Dorcas amended.

Regulus eventually lifted his head to stare in near-defeat at his friends. "Listen. I... I like her, okay? Like proper, more than I thought I could. I want her to keep feeling comfortable around me, this is all still very... new to her."

He didn’t have to say that this was new to him, too. 

Pandora shifted in that way that alerted everyone to the fact she was about to speak – only when she spoke did Barty ever actually shut up. She smiled softly. "You're in love." She stated it plainly, a fact.

Regulus felt as if he had been punched in the gut by her assertion. "I– What?" he stumbled, gaze flashing quickly to spot the mirth and mischief on all of his friends' faces. With a steadying breath, he pressed his lips together and his palms to his knees. "That is way too soon to say, Dora. But I'd like to think I might eventually be. If you lot don't fuck it up for me." That last sentence was directed towards the bed opposite his with a light glare.

Barty threw his head back with a gleeful, almost screeching laughter and fully ignoring most of what Regulus had said. "This is going to be so fun!"

"We're not going to fuck it up," Dorcas translated Barty's sentence, with the dignity to wear a somewhat rueful smile. "Though, I will say, if she cannot handle these dynamics of ours, I question how she will be able to sustain a relationship with you."

That exact fear had been brewing in Regulus' stomach all day, ever since you agreed this morning to join him with his friends to Hogsmeade tonight after spending almost every day together in the library for the past month. Being with you was the highlight of his days, a quiet sort of ease settled into his bones, and he ached to extend it past dinnertime. What you had was special to him, something he feared to lose, though he did not dare voice it. He had no idea how to answer Dorcas' musings, but thankfully he didn't have to.

"Oh, she will," Pandora assured, breezily, as if this was a cosmic law.

"You’s seen her?" Evan questioned, looking at his sister with a gaze only she could decipher. She made a so-and-so head movement, which seemed to be a perfectly understandable answer to Evan.

Regulus supposed it was to him, too.

"Really, Reg, we're not going to scare her off or traumatise her or whatever else you're accusing us of here," Barty grumbled, as if relenting. He crawled out of Evan's lap to come hustle Regulus out of his perfectly comfortable seated position, slapping the sides of his arms when he stood. "We might interrogate her a little bit – but, hey, that's just to know that she deserves our little prince! And we'll be totally nice and polite or whatever."

"Reassuring, Barty." Regulus gave him an unimpressed glare, but the corners of his lips tugged at his best friend's familiar tactics.

"Great, 'cause that's not my strong suit you know!" Barty called out as he whipped around, grabbing his coat and bag in a flurry. “Pulling out the big guns just for you, Reggie.”

"Never thought I'd hear him admit that," Dorcas mumbled to herself, drawing a giggle from Pandora.

The rest of the group seemed to get the signal that it was about time to move outside, having been chattering away for the past half an hour after Regulus insisted on them getting ready early, lest they be late. "Finally heading out?" Evan questioned gleefully, not one to want to wait for long.

"Yeah. Just, again, please. Be cool." Regulus stressed it one final time, regarding them all sternly.

Barty gasped. "He said please!"

"Then we simply have to," Dorcas agreed.

With a roaring laughter, they opened the door and filtered out as if they were one large entity. Regulus supposed in some ways they were, which made him feel terribly sorry for you and what he was about to put you through.

And he knew he was a selfish man when he thought it next, but his blood warmed nonetheless as he hoped you liked him just as much as he did you – which would mean enough to withstand his friends' undoubtedly incoming interrogation.

Lucky for him, by the entrance of the Great Hall, where you had agreed to meet, you were standing in your favourite outfit and wringing your hands, eager to not just withstand but dance in that very storm.

[reignpage]

Hi reign! Your Eden AU is everything to me 🙏 I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing mundane things about the boys and their readers? Something like the way they take their tea or what their night/morning routines are. I love the idea of knowing their characters more outside of their relationships 🩷

morning routine:

Gojo

Wake up early cause of his alarm, he has some morning classes and lecturs, doesn't go to them Goes back to sleep Wakes up in the afternoon Does some work if he feels like it, never really needs to revise, he's pretty smart Breakfast is pancakes and lots and lots of syrup, just whatever's in the pantry, or he'll go eat donuts, it's actually so bad Best believe, he'll start eating greens when he gets with reader

Reader

wakes up late too hates waking up hates the sun hates everything but forces herself to go to her lectures and classes, just don't talk to her (not that anyone does) won't eat breakfast, doesn't believe it in, think it's Big Cereal at work but is very healthy apart from that, eats a big lunch and likely goes back to sleep if her afternoon is free

Geto

often doesnt sleep at all cause he's kept up by nightmares and artistic ideas he just needs to put to paper doesn't eat breakfast, maybe drinks tea cause he's sophisticated like that somestimes goes off to ride on his motorcycle at 5am if he's feeling very restless or heads off to the garage to work on his bikes or get some business done

Reader

wakes up early, like 7am with the sun meditates eats acai bowls if she can be bothered does some reading, listens to true crime podcasts goes to every class and lecture goes to some societyes like book club and crocheting

Choso

asleep all day sometimes that's why he doesn't go to class, it's cause he's asleep he also likes to go home sometimes and just hang out with Yuji, sometimes steals him away from kindergarten paints a lot, just very angsty and emo does that thing where he hangs around a brick wall, leans against it all mysterious and smokes or goes to skateparks breakfast is a cig that's how he gets his abs frfr

Reader

wakes up pretty late likes to just paint whilst listening to music might visit some art galleries or go for brunch with her friends but most of the time she's in the art building in a studio's she's booked really getting lost in her art sometimes likes to bike around campus and say hi to people (she's actually pretty popular because of her general cheerful disposition) breakfast is something quick like toast or a bagel she buys from a local deli

Toji

hates waking up early but has to do it anyways goes for a morning run around 6am maybe shoots some hoops or whatever you call it idk sports and then goes back to sleep gets up late in the afternoon doesn't go to class very often has to maintain a certain grade and attendance but when you're a friend of Sukuna, well... breakfast is healthy bowl of fruit boiled eggs protein shake

Reader

wakes up at a normal time goes to every class and lecture so she wakes up when she needs to spends a lot of time just doing work and making applications but she puts on the recent voicemails from her Insider's Line as white noise and if she hears something really juicy then her attention gets taken away and she focuses on that breakfast is a candy bar or popcorn, she just can't be bothered to eat healthy cause that means going to the store and it's so far away (it's a five minute walk)

Nanami

wakes up early, 7am every day drinks coffee during weekdays tea on weekends/holidays peppermint or green tea to be specific reads newspapers, goes on every news platforms and reads up on current events likes to read any new scientific publication listens to podcasts (doesn't really listen to music) on his commute makes a healthy, balanced breakfast if he has time but most times he doesnt cause there's always just so much work to do

Reader

sleeps through every alarm has to be shaken away grumpy in the morning needs her coffee which is just full of sugar that's her breakfast doesn't go to her morning lectures unless it's the ones she shares with Nanami has one class with him and that's the only one she has 100% attendance, until now.... she only listens to upbeat songs in the morning so she can get pumped up

Sukuna

wakes up early goes to basketball practice goes to the gym does his homework catches up on family news and affairs, goes to family meetings and business trips etc etc attends classes when he's free or if the topic interests him but generally speaking you shouldn't expect him there eats a balanced breakfast, same as Toji cause he is an athelete and he believes his body is a temple and yada yada yada

Reader

Wakes up early too Has lots of work She has to meet the trustees or investors or potential students has to file this, fill out that, write this and so on and so forth not to mention being a law student and the buttload of readings to do very diligent though gets it all done somehow she goes to campus even if she has no classes very much from 9am to midnight and sometimes even past that if there's just a lot to do stays in the library all day breakfast is something quick like toast but she often doesn't have time to and just eats granola bars she gets from the canteen

night routine

Gojo

parties all night and if he's not partying then he's watching movies and shows gets takeaway for dinner sometimes he does have to go to the family and do some traditional bs like pray for their ancestors or something hatessss that but loves seeing his grandpa (the patriarch) tho sleeps around 2am, later if he's at a party sometimes he's not in a mood to party, he just likes the noise

Reader

watches true crime documentaries to unwind drinks some concoction she calls tea maybe smokes some dried rose petals or something goes to the hospital as often as she can goes to sleep at a good time but will be on her phone for a while also the type who needs to masturbate to sleep lol

Geto

doesn't really sleep again drives around or works out angstily stays up last in the studio, likes to shoulder the burden of closing and wrapping up so his employees can go ahead also likes to just go through his mail and dms for next pro bono case eats lots of meat, like steak tbh sometimes when he's extra bored, he'll actually attend a party with gojo and Nanami's reader regrets it very quickly though so they often just go out in the streets or sits on the roof and shares a cig

Reader

does face masks drinks tea salad and salmon type of girl watches true crime documentaries maybe does some drawing and painting or reads a book by the window very chill very classy clean girl energy fr

Choso

up all night paints vandalises private property listens to metal forgets to eat sometimes has to do family business stuff but he's usually allowed to sit out or just no directly participates they sometimes leave him to take care of the kids sometimes likes to hang around reader's place like Edward Cullen

Reader

Often with friends at night doing movie marathons or having dinner pretty social sometimes gets stuck in the art building she falls asleep as she's painting and she's been locked in a couple times has even gotten friendly with the groundskeeper comes home late sleeps pretty soon after that

Toji

sleeps at a decent time knows the importance of getting his sleep goes to parties like maybe 3-4 times a week sleeps with at least one girl a day tbh sometimes can't sleep, in which case he'll be at the gym or shooting hoops again likes to go see his brother when he can eats healthy again boiled chicken and salad or something equally depressing

Reader

sleeps late writes a lot reads a lot scrolls on her phone feeling a little envious of all the fun people are having when she was dating her bf, she'd always have to wait up for him cause he gets really drunk and doesn't know how to get home and she felt a lot of dread at him coming over and expecting sex but now she's just living her best life getting all the good sex she deserves with toji even goes to parties with him now

Nanami

Sleeps late cause of all the work he has to do eats pizza if Haibara's ordered in but prefers homemade meals reads until he feels sleepy pretty boring tbh unless he needs to jerk off cause his reader was especially bold that day

Reader

sleeps late parties all night sometimes she's all partied out and in which case she watches true crime docs with her sister or horror movies and sequels and complains about everything they go home pretty often too to go see their parents online shops until dawn sometimes very messy no routine

Sukuna

sleeps late sometimes doesn't sleep at all creeps around night like Batman goes to parties just to sneer at the drunk people also likes to cause trouble if he's bored so he'll make some guys fight or put something in the way so they'll trip and fall just likes to push people around him maybe tries to steal a girl's virginity or something eats pretty normal Uraume always makes sure he gets his 5 a day

Reader

sleeps late also sometimes doesn't get any sleep if she's very very busy or very very stressed stays up late dreaming of all the ways she can make her enemies suffer she's so me fr also stalks people online cause she likes to know what's happening around campus eats healthy tho lays out her outfit for the next day journals has a minute by minute schedule