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stellarbit · 7 months ago

Text

Caught on Camera

3.7k words - NSFW

Tech's loses a screw in his bed and finds your earring instead. He looks back through some camera footage to see how it may have gotten there. Turns out you had gotten more than comfortable in his cot.

Piggyback's a tiny bit off of an earlier fic. Just barely though. Enjoyyy

***

Tech marched to his cot, flipping a few parts around in his hands as he went. They needed tweaking, possibly a complete overhaul, but regardless, he was set on documenting his repairs. He’d installed a motion sensor, barely detectable, microcamera in the upper corner of his cot for such occasions. While he rarely needed to review his procedures, he found satisfaction in adding to his archive.

Shoving aside chords and spare parts, Tech swung his feet up, unfazed by the clutter that surrounded him. His brothers often questioned how he managed to sleep amidst the chaos of tools and bolts scattered around him. To them, it was a horror, but to Tech, it was a carefully organized system . He found the idea of having to get up for common parts more horrific.

As Tech delicately removed a small screw, the piece slipped from his grasp, bouncing off his fingers, and, by the sounds of it, into the corner behind him. . With unwavering focus on the device before him, Tech maneuvered his fingers into the tight space, determined to retrieve the errant screw. The first thing he felt was definitely not the screw.

Examining the object in his hand, Tech raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Hold on," he muttered to himself, turning the item over in his palm. Upon closer inspection, it became evident that it wasn't a stray screw at all, but rather a piece of jewelry—a stud earring, to be precise. Intrigued, Tech glanced around his immediate surroundings, searching for any other anomalies, but found nothing amiss.

Glancing at the cot hanging on the opposite wall of the Marauder he had no doubt the earring was yours. The question lay in how it found its way into his cot. Closing his fist around the stud and setting aside his projects, Tech left his cot to grab his datapad. Once in hand, he settled back into his usual spot, plugging into the dataport next to his cot, and began sifting through the camera footage.

While Tech seldom needed to review the recordings, he was meticulous in his examination. As the footage played, he focused intently, scouring for any unexpected visitors in his personal space.

It didn’t take long for him to find the clip. More than 30 rotations ago, you appeared on screen, settling onto the edge of his cot, looked towards the exit, and pulled yourself fully up into the bunk. Mimicking your actions, Tech leaned out to survey the area for any potential interruptions before returning his attention to the footage, his curiosity piqued.

As Tech continued to watch the footage, he observed your relaxed demeanor as you settled into his space, making yourself at home. Your hands explored the surroundings, tracing the sketches adorning the wall and the edges of his bed before coming to rest on your stomach. Tech glanced at the pillow beside him, surprised he hadn’t picked up on your scent.

In the video, you leaned back, seemingly preparing to relax, prompting Tech's curiosity to peak. He watched intently as you closed your eyes briefly, a fleeting moment of apparent calm. However, your fingers soon began to fidget, and your eyes opened again, scanning over his drawings. Tech observed with a mixture of fascination and perplexity as you pulled your shirt from your pants, revealing the skin below your navel.

Tech didn’t have time to consider what you were doing before your hands got to work on your pants. Adjusting his goggles and bringing the datapad closer to his face, he watched intently as you deftly worked on your pants, effortlessly opening them just enough for your hand to slip inside. Even through the fabric, the movements of your fingers were unmistakable

Tech reared back slightly, his mind racing with thoughts. He paused the video, freezing the image of you lost in your own touch, unaware of the camera recording your actions. His thumb wandered along your silhouette, he’d witnessed you sleeping and caught you off guard on occasion but this felt very different.

Although you were technically intruding upon his personal space, Tech reasoned that you likely believed you were not being watched. Holding his breath, he hesitated for a moment before pressing play, eager to see how the situation would unfold.

Tech's eyes widened as a mixture of disbelief and arousal washing over him. Your actions were intimate in a way he hasn’t expected. His hand instinctively moved to adjust his goggles, his focus unwavering on the datapad screen as you continued.

Your hand dove farther into your pants while your free hand slid up your body and onto your chest. The hand on your chest mirrored a moment he couldn't forget—the moment he had separated you and Crosshair by means of a hand Crosshair’s shoulder and another your chest.

He heard you hushedly moan, “Tech.” The way you said his name sent a shiver down Tech's spine, his heart rate quickening in response.

He hesitated for a brief moment, torn between shutting off the video and continuing to watch. It wasn't until he felt the undeniable strain against his own pants that Tech finally forced himself to pause the recording. His mind raced as he pieced together the timeline of this event, recalling the mission with the 501st that had stirred up unresolved feelings and tension between you and the Bad Batch.

Tech watched you in his cot and a small smile came to him. Evidently it was his touch that had the most impact. With a thoughtful expression, he uncurled his hand, the stud earring still nestled within his palm. Casting a glance at the concealed microcamera, Tech knew he had to handle this situation delicately.

As he pondered his next move, Tech considered the whereabouts of his teammates. Echo and Hunter were engaged in a meeting with a Jedi general, Crosshair and Wrecker were occupied restocking supplies, and you had taken on the task of handling rations. You made it clear you were only handling the rations this time.

Glancing at the time displayed on his datapad, Tech calculated that you would soon be returning. With a sense of anticipation, he tapped the corner of his datapad, preparing himself for your imminent arrival.

He pinched the earring between his thumb and forefinger to place it on your pillow. Unplugging from the dataport, Tech went to stand in the Marauder’s doorway. Leaning against the frame, he appeared engrossed in his datapad, though his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of your impending return.

As he scrolled through the datapad, Tech played out various scenarios in his mind, preparing himself for the interaction to come. He wanted to handle the situation with finesse, ensuring that neither of you felt uncomfortable or embarrassed.

Soon enough, he spotted you approaching, a hovercart laden with rations in tow. Your smile was warm as you greeted him, not at all surprised to find him waiting. You chuckled lightly as you shook your head, teasing him by saying, "Guess I shouldn't be surprised you're already done with your tinkering," you remarked, your tone affectionate.

Tech remained focused on his datapad initially, not looking up as you approached. "I've told you, it's not 'tinkering,'" he reiterated, his tone matter-of-fact. With a casual push off the doorframe, he straightened up. "Besides, there's another matter that has arisen, and I require your assistance with it."

You leaned casually on the handles of the hovercart, feigning nonchalance. "My help? Must be pretty desperate," you teased, eliciting a bored, almost annoyed look from Tech. Chuckling at his reaction, you urged him to lead the way, pushing the cart toward the ship. "Fine, fine. Let's get whatever it is over with."

Following Tech inside, you watched curiously as he handed you his datapad. He retrieved a long cord from beneath his cot and plugged it into the device and the dataport beside his cot. Pointing towards your cot opposite his, he instructed, "You may sit there."

You followed Tech's suggestion and settled into your cot as he maneuvered into his bunk, opening a panel beside the dataport. "I need to calibrate a camera I installed in my bunk.”

The word 'camera' caught you off guard, and you struggled to maintain your composure, your surprise barely contained to a single raised eyebrow. "Since when do you have a camera in your bunk?" you asked, trying to sound casual despite the rush flooding your mind. Inside, you felt a sense of panic at the implications of what might be hidden in the camera's memory. Your heart raced as a live feed of Tech working on the datapad panel appeared on the screen, confirming your suspicions.

"For playback purposes when I make repairs," Tech said with a shrug of a shoulder. "It can prove useful for reference purposes. However, I've never found the need for it," he added with a smirk of triumph.

Internally, a wave of relief hit you. It seemed that Tech had never bothered to review the footage, which eased your earlier concerns. "So, you just have a constant recording going?" you asked, trying to sound bored.

Tech shook his head, scoffing at the suggestion. "That would be unnecessary," he replied. "The camera is motion-activated. Recording only initiates when someone moves in front of it. Even I would find it tedious to scour a constant feed for a single event.”

You nodded, your attention fixed on the screen as you watched Tech's movements. The camera panned smoothly, capturing every adjustment he made. "I'm not sure what I am looking for, but the view looks fine," you said.

“Sarad.” The mention of the Mando’an nickname caught you off guard and put you on high alert.

“Hmm?" you responded, feigning nonchalance as you hummed out a reply. Onscreen, Tech closed the wall panel and settled back into his cot, positioning himself to face the camera directly. His gaze locked onto the lens, and even through the video feed, you felt the weight of his stare, a subtle kind of eye contact.

"I believe I found something of yours, it is on your pillow" Tech said, pointing towards you as he addressed you directly. Your gaze followed his gesture, and sure enough, there it was—a tiny stud earring perched on your pillow. You brightened at the sight, recognizing your lost jewelry.

Ditching the datapad, you plucked the earring and returned it to its rightful place in your ear. You beamed at Tech, who was now looking directly at you. “Tech, thank you! I thought it was lost for good.” Already forgetting the previous circumstances, you asked, “How in the stars did you find it?”

Tech's gaze softened as he watched you reclaim your earring, a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I stumbled upon it recently during my ‘tinkering’ as you say."

Your beaming dimmed with a bit of confusion as he continued, "It was nestled in an unexpected place—in my cot, of all locations." He paused, allowing the implication of his words to sink in.

A short, nervous laugh bubbled out of you. "In your cot? How did it end up there?" you asked in a bad play confusion. You suddenly knew exactly how you came to lose it.

Tech's eyes narrowed as he soaked in your reactions. He was committing this interaction to memory. Never having experienced exchanges like the ones you two shared, and with nothing to relate it to, he found himself struggling to predict the next outcome.

He cleared his throat before speaking. "Actually," he began, his tone betraying amusement, “I do have an idea of how it ended up in my cot." Pausing for a moment to gauge your reaction, he continued, "You see, while reviewing the camera footage for the earring’s orgins, I happened to come across a rather fascinating incident."

"It seems that during a moment of relaxation, you may have inadvertently misplaced your earring," he explained, choosing his words carefully. His eyes dipped for a blink as he practically purred, "It was quite captivating, really.”

Tech noticed the hastening of your breaths and the familiar red blotches blossoming up your neck. The corner of his lips twitched in rhythm with his fingers.

Despite the temptation, he knew it wasn't the time for such impulses. He resisted the urge to reach out and feel the warm flush of your skin. He found himself wondering how you would react, but he pushed aside those thoughts.

You sat there wide eyed with an anxiety induced smile stuck in place. No words came to mind, all you could imagine was what kind of expression Tech had while he watched you.

“How much did you see?”

“May I ask you something?” He completely ignored your question, too engrossed in dissecting the situation for it to register. You squeaked out a yes and he asked, “What you did in my cot…” He leaned forward, hands on his knees, “Do you do that in the others’ cots?”

He’d asked you something similar in the past. About whether you reacted to his brothers the way you did him. If he knew of the ache between your legs his intense watch was causing, well that would be his answer.

Your breaths became heavier and your tongue still felt like lead when you said, “You don’t like that idea. Do you?”

Tech considered the concept for a moment. “That is irrelevant to my question.”

You sensed his hesitation, but you needed a definitive answer before proceeding with your plans. "Amuse me," you urged, pushing him gently for a response.

As Tech's gaze momentarily flickered away, a serious expression crossed his features. “I have no say in where you choose to… relax.” After a brief pause to compose himself, he adjusted his goggles and met your gaze again. “But no. Hearing you’ve done so in other cots is not something I would enjoy.”

“Are you angry with me for what I did?”

Tech's response was immediate and straightforward. "No," he replied, his puzzlement evident in his tone.

“May I show you something?” You were on your feet and in front of him before the question was finished.

In response to your abrupt question, Tech found himself slightly taken aback. "I-I suppose so,"Tech watched as you undid your pants, mirroring the actions he had witnessed in the recording. However, this time, instead of proceeding as before, your hands settled beside you.

He stared at the little spot of abdomen peeking out. Keeping his head still, Tech raised his eyes to meet yours, a question evident in his expression.

There was a moment of silent understanding between you, mutual acknowledgment of the question hanging in the air. Tech's analytical mind raced, seeking to decipher the meaning behind your actions, yet he remained composed, awaiting your response with a mixture of curiosity and intrigue.

“Take off a glove, Tech.”

He didn’t break eye contact as he lifted his right hand and pulled at each finger until the glove was off. Bracing a hand on the bunk above him, you leaned down to reach for his hand. An inch away, you stopped. Tech was so careful with you. Getting clear consent and understanding before even touching you. You wanted to afford him the same thing.

Your stomach fluttered as you confessed, “It happened only once outside of my own bed.” He swallowed upon hearing that, fueling you to continue. “The thought of you, Tech, makes my body react in a way it doesn’t for others.”

Obliviousness was not a characteristic of Tech’s. Certain social cues were lost on him, but he was the most intelligent man you’d ever met. He could read between the lines and he was. Tech’s hand closed the small gap to lay palm side up in your hand.

“I require a better understanding of what you mean.” Without speaking you guided his hand to the cusp of your pants, his fingers barely touching the patch of exposed abdomen.

The surprise on his face only encouraged your rising fever. “If you want a better understanding,” You leaned into his touch, “You’ll have to get one for yourself.”

In the thralls of discovery, a ravenous look consumes Tech and that was the expression spiraling over him in that moment.. He put his left hand on your hip, pulling you slightly lower while, at the same time, angling his hand between your pants and your body and right between your legs. His touch took your breath away.

His middle finger smoothed over your skin and hit the wetness dripping out of you. He pressed another finger over your slick entrance and pulled a soft noise from you.

“This is unexpected.” Tech’s face was vibrantly proud. It was that cocky self confidence that made you weak kneed in the first place. “I rather like it.” He applied more pressure and his fingers began to dip inside of you.

Your knees bent at the touch, your body begging for more. It worked to the point of getting his fingers farther inside. Tech responded by curling the two fingers into you and pulling you forward. The grip you had on the bunk above was the only thing keeping you from collapsing to the ground. When his fingers started to move, that life line nearly snapped.

“I didn’t watch your recording very long.” Tech admitted while his free hand moved to grip your ass. He gently squeezed your ass and said, “This is something I wanted to observe first hand.”

“You wanted this?” Your question came out in a whine, you could barely think of anything other than the fact Tech was fingering you.

Tech buried his fingers deeper, “Oh, most definitely.” At this point, his hand was about the only thing keeping you on your feet. The angle of his palm made it so he was constantly brushing against your clit, making it hard to stay standing. He felt your knees wobble and he tugged your forward again, fingers still working inside of you.

You fell into him, hands on his shoulders and a shin over his thigh. The sounds you were making for him, only for him as he was constantly reminding himself, were working him into a frenzy as well. He wanted more, he needed to know what other faces you would make for him. What sounds he could pull from you as he played with you.

With each careful movement of his fingers, Tech observed the subtle shifts in your expression, the moments when your eyes fluttered closed or your breath caught in your throat. He adjusted his touch accordingly, seeking to provide you with the perfect balance of pressure and release.

You had long since lost yourself in the sensation of his touch, your gaze drifting away as you surrendered to the pleasure coursing through your body. It had been years since you had felt this kind of intimacy. It was with a member of the 501st and it had never felt as intense as this moment with Tech.

Tech studied you far more than you realized. Learning how you worked and what you liked was intoxicating him. This was no different. He had no relevant experience with such intimacies, but he was priding himself on learning your body. You’d never have guessed this was his first time with the way his fingers strung you along.

His middle finger curled into a soft spot on your wall, sending a jolt through you. You leaned farther into him, panting into his ear. “Tech, you can’t keep doing that.”

Tech barely let off the pressure. Instead he rolled his finger into the spot over and over, coaxing you to tighten around him and collapse. You were straddling him at this point and, with his free hand anchoring you in place with a firm grip on your ass, release was rushing towards you. “I’ve barely done anything yet.” The timbre in his voice sent a shudder through you.

You pulled back and held his face in your hands. “Tech,” his name came out in a whine. “I don’t want the first time you see me like this to be on your fingers.” Your mouth hung open in a soft moan.

Tech’s gloved hand flew to your face to hook a thumb into your mouth. He drew your face closer to his, his voice dropping to a low, almost teasing tone. "Too bad," he murmured, his words laced with playful defiance.

He gripped you with whole hand, his palm working into your clit while his fingers kept up their pace. The combination made you see stars as heat burst through you. Pleasure shot from your core to every nerve in your body. You arched into him and you rode out your climax on his hand. His hand moved over your mouth, his thumb now wet with your saliva.

You pushed his hand off your mouth, it fell to your back, and you caught his lips in a kiss. It quickly became a hungry dance between you. The pressure of the kiss was almost bruising, but neither of you cared about air at the moment. As you licked and nipped at his lips, Tech quickly followed your rhythm until you pulled his tongue into yours for a gentle suck. He groaned at the sensation and couldn’t stop the thought of what else might find its way into your mouth.

Gradually, Tech slowed his fingers and the kiss faded into soft exchanges. Tech was withdrawing his hand when the kiss finally broke completely and you both were left panting.

Tech’s gloved hand casually cradled the small of your back as he shifted your weight onto his left leg. He brought the fingers, still slick with you, to his mouth to suck on the tips. He smirked at your blatant surprise, gave his hand a wipe on his cot, and set it on your thigh.

“With your permission, I’d like to refer back to this particular recording in the future.”

It took a moment to shake off the haze of pleasure and remember the camera. You shifted your focus to the lens, then leaned in, your voice barely above a whisper. “Only if you touch me like that again.” Satisfied with your playful tease, you attempted to lean back, but Tech's firm grip held your head in place. His lips brushed against your ear.

In a quiet, firm voice he promised. “That was only the beginning.”

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars #bad batch #tbb tech #tech #the bad batch tech #clone trooper tech #tech bad batch #tech tbb #tbb tech x reader #tech x reader #the bad batch tech x reader #tech x you #tbb tech x you #bad batch tech x reader #Why am i feral for this man #stay tuned #x reader

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switchypanic · 9 months ago

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Wishful Thinking || A 'Hazbin Hotel' Tickle Fic (100 Follower Special)

Summary: Vox's obsession with Alastor is no secret, but the true extent and nature of said obsession is an entirely different story. As his thoughts grow increasingly consumed by his rival, Vox finds it harder and harder to think about anything else, ultimately coming to a head with a very interesting discovery.

Content Warnings: Canon-typical language, brief mild violence, use of restraints, a lil' bit of blackmail, and Vox being a thirsty bitch for Alastor (because we love a good dose of one-sided attraction). Also, not really a warning, but any scenes that take place in somebody's head are in blue and italics (you'll see what I mean as you read).

Word Count: 3,669 words.

Vox couldn't fucking stand Alastor.

His stupid smile, his stupid voice, those stupid powers that allowed him to crush anyone in his way like an insect. The man was infuriating, always acting so calm and in control, even after Vox managed to get the drop on him that fateful day seven years ago. It was like nothing could touch him in any MEANINGFUL way, a fact that frustrated Vox to no end.

Yes, Alastor was nothing but a big pain in the ass, constantly doing anything in his power to screw with Vox, oftentimes broadcasting it for the entirety of Pride to witness.

Worst of all was the way that he infiltrated Vox's processor, filling his head with fantasies he had no way of controlling without shutting himself down completely. And it wasn't even intentional! That bastard had no idea what he was doing, or if he did, he gave no indication of it! No, he just kept on smiling that stupid grin, making those passive aggressive remarks, acting like he wasn't the thing consuming Vox's mind nearly twenty-four hours a day.

Vox watched the surveillance footage captured earlier that morning, feeling his breath hitch at the staticky image being displayed. He could just barely make out Alastor's form through the distortion (another thing that Vox hated about him; the bastard made it damn near impossible to get a clear image of him), standing outside the doors of little Princess Morningstar's hotel discussing something unintelligible with that winged cat sinner who often hung around him.

Through the grainy audio, he could just make out Alastor barking out a laugh, the sound itself laced with static and radio interference. The deer demon's shoulders shook, his ears pinning back slightly as he chortled, his companion letting out an irritated huff in response.

How many times had Vox watched the clip now? He had honestly lost count. He didn't know why he kept returning to that particular moment of footage; nothing particularly useful or interesting was occurring. Just a regular conversation, from what he could tell. There was just...something in the other overlord's moment of mirth that captured his full attention, setting something ablaze within the TV demon.

More; he wanted to hear more.

The lights flickered, the sound of screeching radio filling the air, accompanied by something entirely different.

Giggling, pure and hysterical.

Alastor lurched forwards, hands latched onto Vox's wrists as he tried to lean forward and away from the other demon, who held him firmly against his chest. "Rehehehehelease me at ohohohohonce!" The usually composed overlord was a mess, face tinted a bright shade of red, eyes crinkled with mirth as another wave of snickers shook his frame. "Shihihihihihihit!"

Vox chuckled, leaning forward to croon into Alastor's ear, which immediately flicked at the feeling of the other's warm breath. "What's the matter, old man? Too ticklish?" He sang, smirk widening. "What would the public think, knowing the famed Radio Demon is so...sensitive..." He growled the last part, low and teasing, resulting in a shriek of microphone feedback from Alastor. "Perhaps I should turn on some of my cameras, hm? I doubt you could focus on messing with them while your giggling so hard. I could let all of Hell know just how much of a ticklish little-"

Vox blinked, pulled from his daydream by a raised brow from Velvette. "Vox, are you listening to me? This is important shit! I need to make sure you're on top of the advertisements for my new collection if we are going to see any substantial sales!"

Vox cleared his throat, trying to urge his screen to COOL THE FUCK DOWN before his flusteredness became obvious. "Apologies, I seem to have gotten distracted. You were saying, my sweet?"

Vox chuckled, watching his rival's squirming form, bound to the chair with the purest grade of angelic steel money could buy.

Only the best for this occasion.

"Well, well! Look what the cat dragged in!" Vox laughed, walking in circles around Alastor, taking in every detail of the scene before him. He was going to relish thing; savor it. He had waited so long to have the other at his mercy, and now he was going to take his sweet time and ENJOY the fruits of his labor. "You've lost your touch, old timer! It was far too easy to catch you in my little trap."

Alastor's eyes narrowed, grin tightening in a clear show of displeasure. "You would do well to remember who you are speaking to." He retorted, chin raising defiantly as Vox finally stopped in front of him.

"Oho, I remember good and well. I'm talking to the prick who has done nothing but make my life harder ever since he arrived here, and I'm going to see to it you feel every second of what's coming next." He leaned forward, locking eyes with the other overlord as he gave a grin of his own, his far more devious. "Little buck."

Vox's hand's shot out, latching onto Alastor's ribcage and beginning to claw at the boney torso. Alastor's breath hitched, his eyes widening with alarm. His grin became more strained as he jerked forward, trying to curl inwards on himself. His breathing became sporadic, lips sealed shot as a wobbly, genuine smile began to curl at the corners of his mouth. "F-Fuhuhuck!"

The TV demon laughed lowly. "Trying to hold out, are we? We'll see how long that lasts..."

Vox awoke with a start, his screen turning on as he bolted up in bed. His eyes were wide, immediately flicking over to Valentino, who lay beside him. Thankfully, the moth was still sound asleep, snoring loudly without a care in the world. Vox sighed, running a hand across his face and feeling the heat of a blush under his palm.

Damn it, this was starting to get out of control!

Vox was going mad! No matter how hard he tried to clear his thoughts, they always returned back to those deep, hidden desires playing out over and over in his processor. He found himself constantly thinking about Alastor's smile, his laugh, the prospect of taking him down with a few well placed squeezes or prods. To make matters worse, Vox was having a hard time FUNCTIONING at work because of this, and he could tell the other Vees were starting to catch on that something was up.

The TV demon rung his hands together, pacing back and forth in his private office. He had to find a solution FAST or he was royally screwed!

'Damn you, Alastor!’ Vox thought, a small growl slipping out as he rubbed his forehead, flopping into his chair and turning to face one of the many spying monitors plastered to the wall. "Pull up what we have on the Hazbin Hotel." He grumbled, giving in to his urge to spy on his rival once more. Inside, he secretly hoped to catch another fleeting moment of mirth from Alastor, even if it was just a chuckle.

Three monitors came to life, showing the hotel from various angles, with one focused directly on the front entrance. Aside from his...ongoing interest in the Radio Demon, Vox liked to keep tabs on who was going in and out of the hotel, just to make sure the princess wasn't gaining any more powerful allies he needed to know about. The scene was serene, or at least as serene as a live feed of Hell COULD be, nothing out of place. It seemed luck wasn't on Vox's side, as Alastor was nowhere to be seen. The TV host felt his eye twitch in irritation, disappointment stirring within him.

"You motherfucker! This is a brand new suit!" Vox yelled angrily as Alastor dodged another of his attempts to strike him.

The Radio Demon let out an amused chuckle (though unfortunately not the kind of laugh Vox had been secretly craving), one flick of his microphone sending three tentacles darting at Vox from different directions, which the other barely managed to avoid. "Really? Could have fooled me with how tacky and outdated it looks." The redhead retorted smugly.

"Oh, fuck you! I'll wipe that shit-eating grin off your face!" Vox retorted, giving up on using his powers in favor of lunging for the deer demon himself.

Alastor took a step back, Vox's claws just barely grazing the sides of his neck. The radio host opened his mouth, as if to make another snide remark, but whatever he said died in his throat and was replaced by a startled crack of microphone feedback. The two demons froze, eyes widened as they stared at each other wordless for a moment.

"What the fuck was-" Vox started, but in the blink of an eye, Alastor was gone and their fight was seemingly over.

"I mean, seriously?! What the fuck WAS that?!" Vox asked himself, finding himself pacing around his private surveillance room once more. "He never runs from a fight with me! Shit, he only ran from Adam because he was about to fucking die! He was nowhere near that point today!"

Did Vox somehow managed to hurt him? No, he had thrown far worse at the Radio Demon before without leaving so much as a scratch. He had BARELY touched him, and even with his claws, it couldn't have possibly hurt. So what...

The TV demon stopped, eyes shooting wide open as his breath quickened. No...no fucking way...

Alastor was ticklish. Not just in Vox's mind's eye, not just in his secret fantasies. He was actually, tangibly ticklish, and going from the reaction one brief touch had garnered, horrifically so.

Vox's processor raced at the prospect. He had been daydreaming about turning the other overlord into a cackling puddle, wheezing for mercy through a cracked voice, but he had never actually imagined it was possible! Vox got the feeling this discover was only going to make his daydreaming problem worse, but at the moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Alastor was TICKLISH...

'There has to be some way I can...some trick I can pull to...' Vox's mind raced, barely able to finish a sentence. He HAD to have the other now, even if just for a brief instance. Vox NEEDED to feel that high of reducing his mortal enemy to giggling shambles; to know what it felt like to be the one to finally BREAK the feared Radio Demon. But how?

Obviously the heat of battle wasn't the best place, though it would ensure a public audience to witness his victory. He doubted Alastor would agree to a private meeting, especially after their most recent fight. And there was CERTAINLY no way Vox was going to lower himself enough to go crawling to Princess Morningstar's little hotel. No, Vox was going to have to come up with another solution.

"Something on your mind?" A voice purred from behind him, low and dangerous. Vox yelped, whipping around with widened eyes. From one of the darkened corners of the room, Alastor seeped out of the shadows, grin ever present but appearing more strained than usual. Vox felt a nervous lump form in his throat.

"What the fuck?! How did you even get in here?!" He yelled, immediately moving to hit the alarm button on his control console, only to find his wrist being suddenly restrained by a shadowy tentacle sprouting from the floor.

"Ah, ah!" Alastor tutted, taking a few steps forward. "None of that. I just want to talk." He cocked his head to the side. "And as for how I got in, let's just say your security is shockingly terrible for a demon of your status."

Vox's eyes narrowed. "If you're going to kill me, at least make it quick." He growled, attempting to put on a brave face and save a bit of his pride.

"Kill you? Why, I'm planning to do no such thing, at least not today! After all, to defeat one's rival in such a disgraceful, sneaky manner would not be becoming of either of us, would it?" Alastor chuckled, moving closer to Vox as another tentacle grabbed ahold of his other wrist, keeping the TV demon rooted firmly in place. A flash of green magic briefly passed over Alastor's eyes as he chuckled. "Though it would be quite easy for me to do so with you sooo defenseless."

Vox's brows furrowed in confusion. "Then why the hell are you here?"

"Like I said, I just want to talk." Alastor leaned forward, maintain eye contact with the shorter demon. "To ensure that you keep your trap shut about matters which do not concern you."

"What are you going on about?" Vox sighed, clearly irritated by the other's continued vagueness. He continued to stare at the other demon, who merely continued to watch him wordlessly, before it dawned on him. "You're worried I'm gonna tell somebody you're fucking ticklish?"

Alastor's eye gave the slightest twitch. "Sensitive." He corrected.

"I'm pretty sure you're ticklish." Vox retorted, taking some delight in his rival's clear displeasure. "And what makes you think holding me hostage in my own office would stop me from mentioning it during my next broadcast? You can't keep me like this forever."

The sound of microphone feedback briefly overtook the air around him, making Vox wince at the volume and pitch. "No, I can't keep you here indefinitely, but I can provide you with a little incentive to keep your trap shut." One of the tentacles coiled further down Vox's arm, the end gently brushing over the trapped overlord's armpit. Vox tensed, breath hitching as his eyes grew wide as saucers. "You see, don't think I haven't noticed your own sensitivity, Vox. In fact, I've known about it for some time."

Shit.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about! Get the fuck away from me!" Vox stammered, eyes locked onto the other's devious smirk.

"Oh, come now, don't be shy! It's not as if it was especially hard to find out about! We have fought so often, categorizing your little weak points was easy enough to accomplish!" Alastor took a step closer as the shadowy tentacle began to stroke Vox's armpit more firmly, slowly moving up and down in an agonizingly teasy motion. "I will admit, it took me some time to figure out why you often flinched at the slightest of touches during battle. However, all it took was witnessing one little tickle fight at the hotel to make everything fall into place."

Another of Alastor's tentacle slipped up, beginning to tweak at Vox's side, causing him to bite down on his lip in a desperate attempt to hold back snickers. "Those weren't the reactions of a man barely avoiding a fatal blow, those were the reactions of a man trying oh so hard to keep from giggling."

Vox felt his screen heating more and more by the second, both from embarrassment and the effort to keep his laughter bottled up. What the fuck was happening?! How was this real life?! The TV demon lurched forward, straining against the restrains as a particularly well-placed prod to his hipbone pulled a soft snort out of him. "Shuhuhut the fuck up!"

"Being stubborn, are we? I expected nothing less." Alastor chuckled, clearly amused. "Perhaps I should take a page from Angel Dust's playbook then, hm?" The other overlord suddenly materialized behind Vox, melting from the shadows and resting a clawed hand on the back of Vox's head. His grip tightened, pulling Vox's head backwards as he crooned into his ear. "Coochie coochie coo..."

Vox just about short circuited at that, the sound of loud television static filling the air. As Alastor's free hand suddenly dug into his stomach, he couldn't hold back any longer, bursting into a wave of panicked giggles. "Ohohohoho shihihihihihit!" The flood gates had opened, and Vox had no hope of closing them again, no matter how hard he tried.

"Lovely." Alastor seemed quite pleased with himself, clawed fingers scribbling across his rival's exposed midriff as the tentacles (thankfully) stopped their own attacks, now focusing on holding the TV demon nice and still.

"Fuhuhuhuhuck you! Lehehehehet mehehehe go!" Vox tried to sound threatening, he really did, but that was impossible when every word was laced with titters. He squirmed desperately, attempting to curl inwards and protect his sensitive torso, but the restraints held firm. His voice raised in pitch as Alastor zeroed in on his upper stomach, just below the ribs, refusing to acknowledge the borderline squeal he made.

"And why would I do that? I have you right where I want you; nice and helpless..." There was a low growl to Alastor's words, both threatening and teasing in the most awful of ways, sending Vox further spiraling into flusteredness. His claws began to slowly inch upwards, like a spider slowly climbing towards prey trapped in its web. "From what I have gathered, your ribs seem to be an area you're quite desperate to defend during our little fights. I wonder why that could be, hm?"

The TV host began shaking his head furiously. "Dooohohon't yohohohou fucking dahahahahare! I'll kihihihihihihill you!" He snorted, the sound of television static increasing ever so slightly.

"Oops, too late!" Alastor's claws dug in, beginning to rake across Vox's rib cage slowly, moving up to just below the armpits before cascading back down to just above the stomach.

Vox screeched, thrashing becoming downright desperate as he threw his head back with laughter. "NOHOHOHOHOHOOO! OHOHOHOHOHO MY GAHAHAHAHAHAD, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!" His cooling systems had kicked in, the fans whirling loudly as they attempted to cool down his quickly heating form. "NAHAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHERE!"

Alastor chuckled devilishly. "Why Vox, you should know better! Everyone knows that saying "not there" only makes the attack want to exploit that spot even more." He hummed, mockingly pretending to think. "Perhaps you DID know, and you're just enjoying this so much you want me to keep going? Is that it?"

The other overlord let out a startled squeal at the feeling of something fiddling with his antenna; when had ANOTHER tentacle popped up?!

Vox face felt like it was on fire from the teasing, his laughter pitching up with flustered desperation. "SHUHUHUHUT THE FUHUHUHUHUHUHUCK UP! THAHAHAHAT'S NOHOHOHOHOT TRUE!" He denied vehemently, knees starting to go weak. After a moment, his legs gave out, but instead of slumping to the floor, Vox found himself being held up by Alastor's sentient shadow. The creature's grin widened, becoming downright feral as it let out an amused cackle at his plight.

"Whatever you say, old pal! Now, if you REALLY want this to stop, you will agree to keep what you discovered today between us alone." Alastor rested his chin on Vox's shoulder, the touch shooting a bigger shock through his nervous system than any tickling ever could. "Do we have a deal?"

Vox's processor was racing a thousand miles a minute. Fuck, why was this actually fucking fun?! What was wrong with him?! He knew he should have hated it; the powerlessness, the teasing, the terror of being so utterly defenseless in front of his greatest rival. Yet...he didn't hate it, a fact he found more flustering than any tease Alastor could have pulled out of his ass.

No, Vox did NOT want it to stop.

Still, if Vox DIDN'T give in, it would only confirm the assumption deer demon had so accurately deduced, and he wasn't sure his heart would be able to take the cruel, crooning teases Alastor would no doubt come up with upon such a revelation. When weighing the humiliation of yielding to Alastor to the humiliation of admitting that he was ENJOYING getting tickled to the brink of his sanity, Vox would take the former any day.

"FIHIHIHIHINE, HOHOHOHOHOLY SHIHIHIHIHIT! DEAL, DEHEHEHEHEEEEAL!" He screeched, a little wheeze slipping out as one of the tentacles tugged on his sensitive antenna. "JUHUHUST STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP, YOU BAHAHAHAHASTARD!"

As soon as those words were uttered, all touch disappeared, and Alastor reappeared a few feet in front of Vox. The overlord collapsed against his surveillance console, panting as his fans worked overtime to cool his body down. He shook with residual titters, his sharp-toothed grin nearly slipping his screen in two.

"There, was that so hard?" Alastor purred, sharing a smug grin with his shadow. "Now, I expect you to hold to our deal, otherwise I will have to take this little audio recording and make it the center of my next broadcast!" The deer demon twirled his cane, gazing at it and humming as Vox's eyes shot open.

"What now?"

Alastor scoffed. "Oh, please! Did you really think I would take you on your word alone that you would stay silent? I knew you would not make a soul deal with me over it, so I took matters into my own hands." The other sinner explained. "See, my microphone was recording our little interaction the whole time, minus the parts about my own...shortcomings. Think of it as insurance; it will not be released to the public as long as you behave yourself!"

Vox's face exploded into a bright blush blush. "Wait, that wasn't part of the fucking-"

"Oops, I'm afraid I have another engagement to attend to! Until we meet again!" Alastor cut him off, melting back into the shadows and disappearing from sight before Vox could finish his sentence. The TV host growled, flopping into his chair. His claws dug into the armrests, slicing into the slight padding. That prick! He couldn't just-

The overlord sighed in defeat after a moment, eyes closing as his breathing slowly returned to normal and his fans kicked off. He could still feel those claws scratching at his ribs, setting his nervous system alight with ticklish fire. He could still hear that voice, singing those awful, teasing words into his ear. He could still feel his limbs strain against the tentacle's hold, preventing him from squirming away no matter how hard he tried. Vox swallowed, feeling his blush returning full force.

He might have a different daydream to worry about now...

#brief ticklish!alastor #ticklish!vox #hazbin hotel tickle fic #hazbin hotel tickles #tickle fic #sfw tickles #sfw tickling #sfw tickling community #tickling community #sfw twords #sfw tword community #tword community #switchy writes tickles

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zepskies · 10 months ago

Text

As You Wish

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When Dean agreed to watch your favorite movie with you, you didn’t think it’d come with live subtitles.

AN: Here’s a little something in honor of Dean’s birthday! If you haven’t seen The Princess Bride, do yourself a favor. 🥰

Word Count: 600

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, and nothing but the fluff. (Established relationship.)

“My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!” Dean says, right in time with the iconic swashbuckler on the screen, complete with his best approximation at a Spanish accent.

You giggle against his side, hard enough to rock both of you on the bed. When he agreed to watch your favorite movie with you, you didn’t think it’d come with live subtitles.

“Are you gonna quote the whole damn movie?” you ask.

Dean brandishes an imaginary sword with his fist held out.

“HELLO! My name is—”

Biting your lip, you cut him off short by playing dirty. You wrap your arm around his middle and dance your fingers across his ribs. He’d never admit it, but he’s got sensitive sides.

He flinches and laughs on reflex. “Hey, hey! That’s a foul move!”

His arm tightens around your waist while his other hand closes around your wrist. You try to grapple with him, your bare legs tangling with his pajama-clad ones, but you both know it’s a losing battle.

Dean gathers you tighter against his chest and traps your wandering hand.

Huffing another laugh, you relax again. His heart clips at a faster pace under your ear. Your hand smooths up his chest and finds its way up the back of his neck.

Dean can't help it. He lets out a contented hum when your nails give his scalp a little scratch.

For a moment, his attention drifts away from the movie and down to you. He spies the soft edge of your smile, feels your hair starting to itch against his arm, your soft curves under his hand, pressing against him.

You two don’t get these quiet days often, but he wants to make sure you get some rest. You, Sam, and Dean spent about three straight weeks in a row with back-to-back hunts, and the last one had really taken it out of you. So now, Dean’s satisfied to see you so relaxed. Happy, even.

Yeah. You really do seem to be as happy as he (secretly) feels.

Sometimes, he finds that part hard to believe. If you could want this with someone like him, then maybe…maybe he doesn’t screw up all the time.

Dean tunes back into the movie just in time for Buttercup to jump out of the window in her pretty white dress. She and Westley join Fezzik and Inigo on white horses, and the couple shares the kiss that left all the others behind.

Dean glances down at your face. He’s amused by the way you’re eating up all this sappy rom-com crap. Your eyes are shining with unshed tears. He ducks down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You just spring a leak over anything, don’t you?” he teases. You shove at his chest with a halfhearted hand.

“Only over the good stuff,” you retort.

He accepts that with a chuckle. When the credits start to roll down the screen, he reaches for the remote and searches for the episode you guys left off in Game of Thrones. You tap his chest.

“Hey, wanna go out to dinner tonight?” you ask. A warm smile plays on your lips. “Just you and me?”

Dean blinks. He doesn’t remember the last time you two went on an honest-to-God date. No time, no privacy, always something evil on your asses…

A decision made in his mind, Dean gives you a smile back. He brushes his thumb across your cheek.

“As you wish,” he says.

AN: 😘 Hope you liked this one!

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

#As You Wish #Happy Birthday Dean Winchester!#dean winchester #the princess bride #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female reader #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen ackles #jensen ackles characters #zepskies writes

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nataliasquote · 9 months ago

Text

Double the trouble | groceries | n romanoff

Double the trouble AU

summary: Nat volunteers to do the weekly shop with two babies

Age: 7 months

warnings: none

pairings: WandaNat

note: I got inspired by a really cute baby I saw in the grocery store today

-⧗-

The large glass doors slid open to reveal the harsh lighting of the local grocery store. Sunday mornings weren’t too busy and being the early riser that she was, Natasha took it upon herself to complete this week’s grocery shopping. With Wanda’s carefully crafted list in one hand, cart handlebar in the other, she was armed and ready to conquer.

But she wasn’t alone. Babies didn’t understand the concept of sleeping in on weekends, so she was accompanied by two tiny terrors who were far too busy looking around from the vantage point of their seats. Nat and Wanda had purchased an extension of a car seat that clipped onto most grocery store shopping carts which made their lives ten times easier.

“Ok team, let’s do this,” Natasha muttered under her breath, eyes set on the vibrant display of vegetables located at the front.

As much as she loved any moment spent with her twins, they weren’t much company during this mundane task. Natasha still spoke to them, asking their opinion on the colour grapes she should get or how many bananas a family of four would need. Only the occasional gurgle or coo would emerge as a response, but what did she expect of two 6-month old babies?

“Mommy’s cooking up something special this week, I can sense it,” she once again mumbled, pushing the heavy cart down the next aisle. The bright coloured boxes caught Y/n’s eye and she waved her chubby fist, trying to wriggle out of the way and see. Her determined noises caught Natasha’s attention as she turned around with a bag of granola. Isla was chewing on the ear of her stuffed elephant, completely ignored her sister’s antics.

“What is it malyshka?” Nat placed her items in the cart and leaned down to hold Y/n’s hand, tiny fingers clasping around two of her own. She shook it gently, insides melting at the adorable baby giggles her movement elicited.

Y/n’s reply was incoherent but she blew a raspberry with her mouth and wiggled whilst looking at a bright box of fruit loops. She’d never tried them before but the bright characters and letters had captured her attention like that of a cartoon show. Nat followed her gaze and sighed, smoothing the fine red hairs on the top of her daughter’s head.

“You can have those when you’re older malyshka. For now, we stick to bananas for breakfast.” Y/n blew another raspberry in response, clearly fed up of eating mashed bananas every day. She kicked her feet in her onesie and wriggled from side to side, accidentally tapping her sister’s leg by accident.

One tiny nudge by a small socked foot and Isla started to cry, her tiny face screwed up, turning almost as red as the hair on her face. Natasha grimaced and smiled apologetically at an old lady who walked past, rather disturbed by the noise. Pulling the cart off to the side, Nat quickly leaned down and unclipped Isla from her seat, scooping her up in her arms and rocking her back and forth to try and quickly soothe her cries. Y/n watched them, her eyes big.

“It’s ok, big girl, you’re ok.” Natasha’s voice was soft and calm, turning the screams into whimpers in a matter of minutes. Wanda often joked she had the magic touch when it came to the girls, and although Natasha brushed it off, deep down she knew there was some truth in her words. “There’s no need for this fuss, you’re ok.” She leaned slightly against the shelving unit behind her, rubbing Isla’s back every time she felt her hiccup. “No more tears baby, no more tears.”

Y/n clearly couldn’t care less that she’d made her sister cry. She was much more interested in her feet, a new fascination she’d discovered in the last couple of days. Wanda found it thoroughly entertaining to watch Y/n just sit and stare at her foot, bewildered. With Isla more calm now, Nat carefully strapped her into her seat, offering the now soggy elephant plushie for her to cuddle. A kiss was pressed to each of their heads before Natasha sped through the last aisles, throwing in a couple of surprise snacks for Wanda to find later.

The middle aged woman at the checkout was gushing over the twins, which was nothing new to Natasha. Her twins were beautiful, both mothers loved to brag about it, and daily tasks took twice as long due to constantly being stopped.

Y/n was particularly chatty to Ruthie at the checkout, babbling away as Nat expertly packed the groceries. Isla was still slightly grumpy from earlier so she didn’t contribute to this “conversation” as she usually would.

Babies secured. Groceries packed away. Kesha playing quietly through the speakers. The drive home was relatively short and Natasha pulled into the drive after only 20 minutes on the road.

Her keys jangled in the door, alerting Wanda of her arrival. The Sokovian dropped her tea towel and rushed to the door, desperate to see her girls for the first time this morning.

“How were they?” She asked, taking the car seats from Nat and setting them on the kitchen table. Both twins giggled and held out their arms, wanting to be set free from their strapped in prisons.

“A few tears but mostly good,” Natasha called over her shoulder as she brought the last of the bags into the kitchen. “Isla will probably be grouchy all day, just as a warning.”

“What happened?” Wanda unclipped Isla and hauled her out of her seat, cuddling her close despite the pout she wore. “Hello grumpy butt.”

“Little miss over here accidentally kicked her.” Natasha mirrored Wanda’s actions with Y/n, settling her in one arm whilst she placed a bunch of bananas in the fruit bowl. “She wasn’t hurt, just crocodile tears.”

Wanda pouted at Isla, rubbing her little legs. “Oh babygirl, you’re ok now.”

Y/n started squirming in Natasha’s arms, clearly put out by the affection Isla was receiving. She reached out to Wanda and started whining, hands balling up into fists.

“Baby swap,” the mothers chorused with a laugh, switching the child they were holding with expertise. Y/n gurgled happily and kicked her legs, a movement that was becoming a habit with her.

“This one’s got some power behind those kicks,” Wanda commented, holding Y/n with her outstretched arms and watching the baby kick her legs like a jellyfish. “I spy a future dancer.”

“Or ninja.”

Wanda shot her wife a glare. “I’m sticking with dancer. Does this mean you’ll finally start a baby ballet class?”

Natasha couldn’t help but laugh at her wife. Wanda had fantasised about baby ballet classes all throughout her pregnancy, to which Natasha had said no. But with two girls of their own, it had crossed the Russian’s mind more than she cared to admit.

“You already know my answer.”

Wanda peered down at Y/n, softly stroking her cheek. “But how can you say no to this?” She tilted her arms down so Natasha could see the smiling face of the baby in her arms. Y/n’s attention turned from Wanda to Nat and she cooed, letting out a squeal at the sight of Natasha.

“Don’t start using our kids as bribery now!” Natasha Romanoff had very few weaknesses, but her daughters’ faces made her cave every single time.

“I’m not! I’m just-“ Natasha’s raised eyebrow made Wanda halt mid sentence, gulping down her words before busying herself with another task. “Ok! Who wants breakfast?”

“Want me to get their bottles sorted?” Wanda nodded and gestured to the bottles drying on the rack. Both twins were slotted into their high chairs, Isla’s frown still plastered on her face. Y/n babbled at her, the usual baby talk they communicate with now heavily one-sided. As the milk heated up in the microwave, Natasha watched the girls interact and almost laughed at how comically Isla ignored her sister.

“I think we’re gonna see a lot more of this when they’re older,” she muttered to Wanda, who turned around to view the scene. “She’s really taking those 11 minutes between them seriously.”

“Trust me, when you’re a twin, those minutes mean everything.”

#fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x daughter!reader #double the trouble au

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imnameimswrld · 6 months ago

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ⵌ ׄ ۪ 𝐀 𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 ⁰⁰ ׄ ⑅ KSW ‌˖ ֺ ᰮ

— DESCRIPTION ੭ in which sunwoo is everywhere in all the paddocks except for his girlfriend's.

— PAIRING ੭ kim sunwoo x vca!redbull!driver.

— FILE ੭ social media au.

— WARNINGS ੭ language, kinds unhinged tbz but what's new ? (pun very much intended)

— SERIES ੭ "WAIT...THEY MAKE SENSE !?"

❪ main masterlist | f1 masterlist | kpop masterlist ❫

━━━━━━━━━━❪ 🖤 ❫━━━━━━━━━━

🎧 LIP GLOSS – THE BOYZ

liked by kev.in.orbit, ynusername, and 2 343 222 others

f1 sunwoo through the grid's eyes 👻.

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user I'm sorry, is that kim sunwoo with ROSCOE !? 😭😭

user pls I don't get why bro is everywhere in the FORMULA ONE PADDOCK WHAT IS HAPPENINGIDNDOEND

ynusername *sighs in tired girlfriend* what do I do with him ? send help.

↳ sunwoo u know u love me baby :)

↳ jakeyjbae she is so sick of ur menace ass bro 💀

↳ idisnew ur literally everywhere but ur own girl's paddock

↳ sunwoo what matters is, is that where ever I am, I'm always rooting for her !!

↳ tbzuyeon screw u, y/n I can be the perfect trophy boyfriend 😁

↳ sunwoo MF BACK THE HELL UP TF.

user I'm sorry... GIRLFRIEND !? as in, y/n l/n and kim sunwoo 😀😀😀

user I wish...I...if...words...

ynusername

liked by yukitsunoda0511, thesangyeon, and 978 233 others

ynusername tough day, we'll get 'em next time... well done yuks on p7 tho !!

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user you still did well y/n ! 🤍

yukitsunoda0511 thanks n/n :)

user okay but did ya'll see sunwoo raging in the paddocks 😭

↳ user girl, WHICH paddock, because I swear I saw bro in at least 3 different ones 😀💀

user y/n, babe, u gotta consider putting a leash or tracker on your boy 😭

↳ ynusername oh trust me, I'm considering it.

↳ sunwoo noooo :( , I just like exploring !

↳ q.feed leash him ! leas him ! leash him !

user the clip of y/n dragging sun back to the vca garage ny his ear will always have me cackling

user bro is like a kid in a candy store I swear

sunwoo

liked by ynusername, yukitsunoda0511, 1 232 222 others

sunwoo I swear she loves me guys :(

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yukitsunoda0511 yeah...I'm sure she does sun...

↳ landonorris so much, I'm almost sure of it

↳ sunwoo almost !? 😭

↳ oscarpiastri well mate, be still for 5 minutes so she doesn't have to run around like a girl on crack to find you, and maybe she'll be more adoring towards you... just a thought

↳ ynusername a very well said one osc, thank you.

user ain't no one taking sun's side pls 😭

ynusername sunwoo.

↳ sunwoo i love you i love you I love you please don't leave me I promise to never leave ur garage again even if lewis offers me yummy british candy and let's me play with roscoe, and max let's me touch his car when no ones looking, and-

↳ maxverstappen1 dammit sunwoo.

↳ ynusername now you've done it maximus.

↳ maxverstappen1 he wasn't supposed to tell !

↳ ynusername it's like you don't even know him at all !!

↳ sunwoo what's wrong ?

↳ ynusername don't worry about it love 💋

↳ sunwoo ...okay 😊❤

redbullracing y/n, I assume you'll settle this ?

↳ ynusername yeah yeah, I got it.

━━━━━━━━━━❪ 🖤 ❫━━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @minkyungseokie @dreamyzhou @treehouse-mouse @ilivbullyingjeongin <3

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #kpop #smau #imnameimswrld #kpop x f1 #the boyz #kim sunwoo #tbz x reader #tbz sunwoo

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lovelyhan · 1 year ago

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17:12 — JOSHUA

inspired by this clip of shua at the airport today. special mention to @duhnova i've never been the same since she sent it to me <3

"s-shua."

"hm?"

"why're you being so..."

"so what, baby?"

you flash your boyfriend a little pout that makes him laugh. joshua's large hands massage your thighs as he leans forward to press his lips to yours. you nearly melt into him again when he licks into your mouth only for joshua pull away the moment you let your guard down—earning himself another whine in protest.

"you're such a tease," you complain, lightly punching his chest for good measure. "i thought you said you missed me."

he laughs again, that sinful tongue swiping along the plump curve of his bottom lip. you know he doesn't miss the way your eyes catch the movement and it only makes that stupid smirk grow wider.

"i did miss you, sweetheart," he coos and if he thinks he can distract you with the way his hands grip your thighs with just a tinge of possessiveness, he's not wrong. "it just so happens that i also miss the way you react whenever i tease. why? does my baby hate it so much when i do?"

you want to say that yes, you do hate it when he strings you along like this. but part of you is well aware of joshua's penchant for building up your arousal and anticipation. he likes the chase. likes holding the prize over your head to see how desperate you're willing to get just to get his hands on you.

well, in this case: his tongue.

"just want your tongue in me, shua," you mumble, the muscles of your aching cunt clenching around nothing as your boyfriend gazes up at you with a lazy, hooded gaze. "gets me so hot whenever you kiss me like that... please, please, baby. i've been good for you, right? you'll give it to me, right?"

a low laugh reverberates in joshua's chest as he reaches a hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear. when you beg so prettily like that, how can he ever refuse you?

that's how he finds his face smothered between the plush give of your thighs as he slurps at your pussy like he's been dreaming of the entire week. your fingers are tangled in his hair, eyes screwed shut. every breathless moan that slips from your lips rushes straight to his cock, but joshua doesn't have any plans on relieving himself until you've coated his face with release.

"fuck, joshua," you breathe sharply—air whistling down your throat when he slides two fingers inside you. coupled with the sensation of his hot tongue alternating between flicking across your clit and licking long stripes across your soaked folds, you're completely at the mercy of your merciless boyfriend. "s-so good..."

he laughs again—those deep-seated vibrations humming across every nerve ending between your legs. it doesn't help that your boyfriend knows exactly how to drive you insane at any given moment, curling his long fingers as he flattens his tongue across your slit.

your spine immediately straightens at the stimulation and joshua's hands migrate from your legs to twine them with yours—making it much easier for you to rock your hips into his face as he brings you to the apex of pleasure.

"shua," you nearly sob, loving how your fingers fit in the spaces between his, loving how he makes you lose your mind every time, loving him. "'m close."

he parts from your sopping cunt for just a moment to breathe out, "i know, baby. i know," before he dives back into you—tonguing at your entrance until all that's coming out of you are high-pitched keens of his name.

you come undone on your boyfriend's tongue when he squeezes your fingers with his. like a wordless confirmation that he's allowing you to come and the authority he has over you magnifies the sensation a few hundred notches.

joshua helps you ride it out the entire time—peppering your inner thighs with butterfly kisses as he goads you on. my beautiful baby, you look so fucking sexy when you come all over my face. that's it, pretty. let yourself feel it. i promise i'll make you feel even better in a minute.

#seventeen smut #joshua smut #hong jisoo smut #svthub #im clinically insane atp #im so obsessed w shua it's a disease #i'd write more to this but #it will just be a neverending fuckfest tbfh #lovelyhan

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xxelleswrittingxx · 2 years ago

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A Curious Predator

Warnings: non-con smut, somnophilia, NeytirixHuman!reader, AFAB!reader

Synopsis: Reader is lost in the Pandoran forest and Neytiri stalks her, but with this being her first time meeting a human and seeing that the reader is asleep, she grows curious about their anatomy.

AN: This is my first time writing a fic so critical feedback is appreciated, I'm thinking of writing a part 2 so let me know if you have any ideas!

Eclipse had started and the temperature was beginning to drop. Y/N found this to be a relief from the hot humidity that clung to their skin. Countless hours of searching for the route back to their comrades meant exhaustion and sticky clothes.

Doctor L/N was a scientist working on Pandora. This was the second time they had ventured out into the forest with other co-workers in hopes of samples and field experience, only this was the first time getting lost. The search for the next undiscovered fungi lead them astray, in their own world of passion for work.

The unfaithful com-call screwed them over, a limited range would only get you so far in the vast forests of Pandora. After realisation of having to stick out the night, Y/N decided to set up camp. A groove between the roots of a large tree would do, but the shelter only helped a bit to ease the fear of Pandoran predators that would be lurking. That, and the knife strapped to their shorts.

The stress of the last few hours was setting in and Y/N couldn't hold back the sleep that drooped their eyes. Neon vegetation and the soft chirping of nightlife soothed them to sleep.

Neytiri felt wide awake though.

The excitement of hunting down new prey never seemed to grow predictable. She noticed your blundering over fallen branches a while ago and knew of her duty to put a stop to you wandering close to home tree. So she followed from above.

That's why the smirk crept onto her lips when she saw you falling asleep. This was easier than she could have predicted. Not that she expected much difficulty, with you being a sky person she knew of the advantages she had over you. Not only her physical capabilities but her knowledge and experience of hunting in the forest. She almost pitied you. So small and dumb, unable to prevent yourself from giving in to sleep, leaving yourself vulnerable.

She decided to get a closer look. The view she's had of you from up in the trees allowed for her to go unnoticed, but now with you unconscious she needn't worry. Curiosity seems to have gotten the best of her. She drops down to the next branch. A soft purple glow illuminates your silhouette. You seem so different from the Navi, more curves and less skin to see with the heavy looking garments you wear.

She wants a closer look. Thoughts seem to be rushing through her mind. How she shouldn't get closer, but what's the harm if nobody knows?

And so she crawls down a few more branches. Now laying across the one that hangs directly above you. Neytiri's yellow eyes graze across you harsher. She's never been this close to a human before.

She takes in all the new details. Soft skin without markings, a tank top and shorts that cover so much, heavy boots, and a tube that sits below your nose and behind your ears. Her gaze follows it down your neck, chest, and waist to where it connects to the Exo pack clipped to your waistband. Above it is a sliver of skin that peaks out between your clothes. She feels an urge to touch it, and this bothers her. She feels guilty about wanting to get this close to the human. Again her curiosity gets the best of her.

Neytiri slips around the thick branch until she can hang above you by her hands. She drops down onto the ground you lay on. With her large feet on either side of your waist, the only evidence of her disturbance is the purple moss that glows beneath her weight.

Her head tilts at the sight of you, not even a twitch at the new presence. You have no clue about the danger you could be in. Neytiri considers that she could eliminate you here, now, and move on to go home. Let her parents know about her success in protecting the clan from a sky person.

But she can't bring herself to, not with your soft features that seem to draw her in. Before she realizes it she's knelt above you. Her blue digits graze down the bridge of your nose, so different from her. She tilts her head towards the side of yours to see your profile. Your nose bridge protrudes out... and she wants to keep looking. She wants to see what else is different.

She runs her finger over your lips next. So big compared to them. She can't fathom how much bigger she is. How she could overpower you so easily, and this sparks something inside of her. A deep tingling inside her stomach. Neytiri blames this on her heat that should be coming soon.

Neytiri ponders over your mouth, she lifts the corner of your top lip and looks at the tiny teeth you have. Blunt with small fangs. She smiles at the cuteness. But this time you twitch and stretch your head away from the invasive hands.

She waits for you to settle into your new position and moves on downwards. Your exposed neck is enticing and she leans close to take a whiff. The scent is exhilarating. It tingles in her nose to the back of her head and down her spine to the tip of her arched tail. She breathes in deeply again, but then she feels her mouth water...

Oh Eywa, how she feels the urge to taste your flesh.

Neytiri flinches away at these thoughts. She knows she should stop here but she can't. Instead, she moves lower. One of your arms is across your waist, the other is up by your head. Your chest is left exposed and the cool air is evaporating the sweat off your skin.

Peaked nipples catch the Navi's attention. She runs her finger around the bud and a soft intake of breath makes her ears twitch. She flinches away again, but this time in fear that you've woken up. Neytiri knew she should have stopped, stupid!

Your exhaustion was greater than expected, you were still deep under. Neytiri has another intake of scent and is drawn in once again. Blue digits are back on the peaks straining against cotton. Gentle circles are drawn around it. Your steady breath starts to grow heavier at the new stimulation and Neytiri picks up on this. Does the tiny human enjoy this? Her lips part at this and the digits move onto the second breast. A little rougher results in soft twitches.

The Navi picks up on the shift in scent, a little bit muskier, almost spicy. She rolls the bud between callused digits and ears perk at the soft mewl it receives. Her lips part into a soft gasp and the smirk makes its way back again.

How could you enjoy this so much? She doesn't understand, can touching your breasts feel that good? So with one hand on your small body, the other goes to touch her own. Eyes trained on your expression she feels herself start to reflect it.

Heavy breathing. Twitches. Soft mewls.

She wants to see more. Big hands grasp your shirt and slowly draw it up to your neck. Neytiri scootches down your body so she can lean towards your chest. Her hot breath precedes her wet tongue that slips over your pebbled nipple, big eyes stare up to take in your reaction. The breast against Neytiri's mouth pushes up as your chest expands with a quick gasp of air. She likes the reaction so she continues the motion of licking over you, switching from left to right and back again. Trying to pull more from you.

Each sound sends jolts through her body. She feels the need to rub her thighs together but can't with you between them. This must be her heat starting.

Looking further down your body, Neytiri sets her sight on your shorts. Her head tilts as she wonders if there is also different or the same. And so she gets to work with the task of undoing the tiny button and zipper, she's never worked these before and struggles with her lack of knowledge and large hands.

Finally, the button is undone, but she fears she may have jostled you too much. You stretch in your sleep again, but the Navi isn't as worried as before, she suspects that you must be dehydrated or have heat stroke from how deep of a slumber you seem to be under.

CLICK CLICK CLICK

The teeth of your zipper come undone one by one and Neytiris perked ears take in each sound.

She thinks of pulling down your shorts but instead decides to slip her fingers in. She really doesn't know what to do if you wake up in the middle of this, but she trusts her instincts.

Her fingers brush past a soft patch of hair and into a pool of wetness. Her jaw drops and she truly understands your reaction to her touch. With a shift of her hips, she realizes that she's just as bad as you.

Her fingers continue their exploration and she feels the bundle of nerves at the crest of your folds. She smirks as she recognizes the similar anatomy and decides to circle it, a touch she has experienced herself when she is in the midst of her heat.

Heavier mewls escape your lips and Neytiri is trained on the way your brows furrow. Soft rubbing turns harder and your hips twitch. Cobalt nostrils twitch to take in the heavy musk that is filling the air, she recognizes her own scent mixing with your own and it satisfies a feral part inside of her. Fingers dip further down and she feels your tiny opening with her fingers, could you take them, she wonders? Maybe one...her palm rubs your clit and she circles her middle finger around your opening. Hips buck up into her and she slips the tip in.

You're so tight that she worries she will rip you, but from your expression she reads that all you feel is pleasure, and so she continues on. Slick noises come from inside your shorts and Neytiri feels her clit throb. Eywa, she watches your face and wishes that she could have those pretty eyes on her. Wishes to know what colour they are. Wishes to hear you beg.

She works soft but steady and feels you tighten on her. You're close. Head turned into the glowing moss and breathing heaving, the peak is right there.

Just as you're about to come, Neytiri leans in close to rub her nose and cheek all over you. Your body tenses and soft moans fall from your lips. The Pandoran feels satisfied with the reaction to her touch and how your scent is now mixed with hers. She slips her fingers out of your shorts and into her mouth. Ears flicked back and tail swishing she savours the taste of you.

She does your shorts up and allows your breathing to return to normal. Satisfied for now she climbs back up the tree to continue watching you.

The curiosity that got her into this whole situation is not satisfied, if anything it has grown stronger. Neytiri wants to know what colour your eyes are. What you sound like when you beg. She knows she will figure this out eventually. But for now she will watch until you wake up.

#avatar #neytiri #atwow #neytiri x reader #neytiri smut #tw noncon #tw somnophilia #avatar smut #wlw smut

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sharkyswaters · 1 year ago

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#jewelry #handmade #handmade jewelry #resin #vintage beads #gunmetal #striped #stripes #earrings #leverback #lever back earrings #clip on #clip on earrings #screw back earrings #sharkyswaters #pink #screwback earrings #handmadejewelry #cliponearrings

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chapel-of-rizztual · 1 year ago

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yes, hello once more. I’m here to request more Phantom calling Papa “Daddy” but in the regressed way. I’m sad on main and think Copia giving Phantom some love would cure me 😔✊🏽

Hi my friend, I’m sorry you feeling sad, I hope this helps. sorry it’s short I hope you like it anyway.

cw: age regression, regressed ghouls .

Copia woke up to a heavy weight on his hips and something poking at his cheek. He lets out a groan, screwing up his face and someone above him giggles at him. He opens his eyes, squinting a little and is met with Phantom peering down at him, gently poking a claw into his cheek. It was still early, the sun only just coming and casting a dull light throughout the room.

“Hi, daddy.” He beams down at the older man.

Copia blinks at him, to clear the sleep from his brain. “Hi, babybug.” He rubs his hands down Phantom’s bare thighs that are bracketing his hips. “What are you doing in my room so early?”

Phantom bits his lips and looks around, his ears dripping slightly from nervousness. “I-uh, everyone is still asleep.”

It’s not really and explanation but Copia still understands what he means.

“Oh, and you thought waking me up was okay, but none of the other ghouls?” He smiles at him and digs his fingers into Phantom’s ribs tickling him so he knows he’s joking.

Phantom squeals and wiggles where he’s sat on him, sitting up fully. Copia notices a pacifier clips to his sleep shirt and the bat plushie that was stuffed into the top of his shirt, the head peaking out through the neck hole. “Ah, you brought a friend with you.” He taps the bats nose.

Phantom gives him a nod, his hands coming up to rub at the bats ears.

“We wanted you, daddy. Not any of the other ghouls.” He says it like it’s obvious.

“Ah, right okay. I’m sorry for misunderstanding.” Copia gives him a nod. “and what did the two of you want from me? Breakfast? Cuddles?”

Phantom tilts his head to the side with a hum, pretending to think. His tail wraps around Copia’s ankle and he smile down at him again. “Cuddles please?”

Copia shuffled up a bit and pats the space beside him. “Just enough room for two baby bats.”

Phantom giggles. “I’m a baby bat.” He flops down, burying his face in the pillow. “Hmm, smells nice, daddy.”

“Oh yeah, what does it smell like?” Copia brushes the stray hairs from Phantom’s eyes so he can see properly.

Phantom rubs his cheek along the pillow. “Smells like you daddy.”

“Awhh, you are cutie, aren’t you?” Copia ruffles his hair. “Do you want to go back to sleep, or do you just want some cuddles.”

“Can I have both, please?” Phantom looks up at him with big puppy eyes.

Copia hums, looking around like he’s pretending to think. Phantom gasps, grasping his arm and somehow gives him even bigger puppy eyes. “Please, daddy! Please?”

Copia opens his arms and pulls the ghoul into him so his head is resting against his chest. “Of course, babybat. How could I say no to you?”

Phantom gives him a cuff, rubbing his chest against his chest. “Thank you, daddy.”

Copia runs his fingers though Phantom’s hair before moving to his velvety ears and rubs along the length of them. A purr rumbles though Phantom’s chest as he does, it’s so loud Copia can feel it vibrating though him. “That feel good, baby?”

Phantom gives him a him in between purrs, loosing the fight on keeping his eyes open. Copia grabs the pacifier that’s attached to his shirt and taps the rubber against his lips gently. “You want this, baby?”

Phantom opens his mouth to allow Copia to push the pacifier into his mouth. He hums again around the rubber, happily sucking on it. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep after that that, his head resting on Copias chest letting the sound of his heartbeat lull him back to sleep. Copia isn’t far behind him, drifting off the the sound of Phantom's purrs while he continues to rub at his ear.

#regressed ghouls #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #phantom ghoul #papa emeritus iv #Ficlet #my writing

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lewkwoodnco · 1 year ago

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Hey hello, can I get a fanfic of the reader (either female or gender neutral,) of Lockwood having a nightmare and sort of freaking out, and the reader is passing his door to get something from the kitchen, so she wakes him up and comforts him.

I love fanfiction where you take care of them but they are so hard to find. Base it on 'Safe and Sound's, please.

Take your time and feel free to ignore, I hope you a happy time

Safe and Sound - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: 'I hope you a happy time' is genuinely the cutest thing I've read in a while!!! hope you enjoy the fic!!!!! <3 Side note: might I recommend this author on ao3? I randomly stumbled across her fics a few days ago and I think she does hurt/comfort amazingly!!! wc: 2k

She woke with her throat feeling like sandpaper and groaned miserably. She was so delightfully cosy in her bed that the only thing that could relax her even more was a refreshing glass of water. A refreshing glass of water that was all the way in the kitchen. After groaning about it for a while, she slipped on her dressing grown and padded downstairs.

She stumbled down the corridor half-asleep until something caught her attention. She paused, blinking blearily, straining her ears. She heard it again. A faint rustling, a gentle thump, and more rustling, coming from Lockwood's room.

She knocked. No response. She knocked more insistently. Still no response. She placed her hand on the doorknob and hesitated. She had not seen much of his room, given how little time he spent there. Entering his room would be crossing over an imaginary threshold in their relationship. Another thump came, louder this time, and she screwed her eyes shut, twisting the doorknob.

Lockwood was tossing in his sleep, his back muscles spasming in the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway. His head occasionally bumped into his headboard, and he seemed locked in an intense internal battle. She looked around, carelessly and noisily switching his bedside lamp on, shaking him awake. She felt as though she would never forget the haunted look in those brown eyes as he was jerked awake.

"Hey, hey, it's me. Deep breaths."

He choked, shielding his eyes from the light. Some strange urge to protect this gaunt, nervous boy swelled up inside of her, and her fingers reached out to brush back the lank hair plastered to his forehead. His face was clammy and throbbing under her fingertips, but her touch seemed to soothe the emotional turbulence building up and crashing down inside of him.

It made her stomach turn to see Lockwood shaken to his very core. Even as his breaths began to even out, his fingers would twitch as he nervously smoothed the sheets while his eyes maintained a dull yet ever-present panic. Lockwood, who was forever self-assured and charismatic, reduced to a trembling, anxious mess. In the quiet of the night, surrounded by long, grotesque metaphorical and literal shadows that hovered at the corner of her eye...it was easy to feel scared.

A similar kind of twisting and writhing had possessed him earlier that night. They were at an old house, tackling two suspected Type Twos. She had noticed the funny look that had crossed Lockwood's face as soon as they stepped in, and she could tell why: the house was an almost exact replica of 35 Portland Row (minus the newspaper clippings gushing over Lockwood littering the walls).

The case proceeded like any other, with Lucy, George and Lockwood all in different rooms while she went around checking in on them. As the clock ticked its way to midnight, Lockwood had grown steadily increasingly pale.

"You all right, Lockwood?" The last time she had seen him, he had been restlessly pacing the room, but she had just put that down to a surplus of nervous energy. Now, he still had that uneasy air about him, but seemed particularly fascinated, or haunted, by the stack of boxes in the far corner of the room. There was an unhealthy pallour on his face as he spun around as if struck from behind at her voice, taking a few moments to scrounge up a coherent response.

"I'm fine." The stress on his face briefly abated, and his usual charming smile flickered, but she was not wholly convinced. Still, Lockwood seemed sufficiently adamant that nothing was wrong, and she was too paranoid to leave George and Lucy alone for too long. So it was against her better judgement that she warily leaned back, weight shifting on her feet as she turned to leave.

"Wait!" The fear that had been knitted into every crease of his face re-emerged, breaking through his cool facade. She turned back and closed the door in a heartbeat, resolutely deciding to stay with him. "Don't leave me here...alone. Please."

And so she had sat next to Lockwood, cross-legged, both of them leaning against a wall. She didn't feel pressured to make conversation because he was clearly dealing with some sort of suppressed emotions or memories that this room pulled out in him. Some muscle would tense, or his breath would suddenly draw up short, and he would be suspended in that tension for a few moments, until the tension eased and the cycle repeated itself. It was an exhausting sight to see, even without the threat of the Type Two looming over their heads.

Suddenly, they had heard a high-pitched whizzing and then the sound of a small explosion. She reached the window first, terror settling in her heart as she watched George dodge the Type Two by the skin of his teeth all over the salt bomb as he hazardously tossed salt bombs at it. She heard Lucy yell from somewhere and then there was a bigger explosion, and she felt rather than saw the flames leaping into the night sky. Lockwood was still struggling to peer out the low, tiny window with that same nervous energy coursing through his veins. She pulled him away by his coat.

"No- don't. It's not worth it." She had to say something, do something, give him something to obsess over instead of the very real fear that was beginning to take hold of her. "We need to find the Source, they can manage the visitor. Whatever you do, don't look outside." He looked like he wanted to argue but she shushed him before he could. "I mean it, don't. Just listen to me for once, please?" Lockwood certainly didn't look happy about it, but George had just let off yet another salt bomb in the span of a minute. They didn't have much time.

The anxiety had returned, if it ever truly left, if the way he was fumbling with the drawers was any indication. Her heart panged distantly. "Lockwood." He jerked his head in some sort of flimsy acknowledgement. "You'll be alright." He didn't look like he believed her, but it was enough for him to gather himself.

Now, that same tension seemed to resurface, pulling him under. As his disorientation (and claims of being fine when he was so obviously not) subsided, his panic remained. Yet, she watched the telltale signs form of him putting on a front of strength or normalcy: the way his spine stiffened, the forced blankness of his features, the locking of his limbs. It was so irritatingly familiar that she hated herself for ever falling for it before.

"You didn't look quite right, today. At the house."

"Oh, yes. It looked a bit like -?"

"Yeah, I noticed."

"The room we were in. It...it looked like Jessica's." He inhaled and his eyes fluttered shut, as if the next words were being ripped from his mouth. "And I was having terrible, awful thoughts, that that was all that would be left of this...of us...some day."

In the dim light of his ancient lamp, Lockwood never looked like a misshapen, out-of-place limb of the house more than he did right now. Forever tied to the place he yearned to escape yet couldn't bear leave, it was as though the walls had consumed him and he was now part of the silent shadows. They sat quietly for a while, both of their minds racing each other, struggling to keep up, let alone get ahead. He shifted, and he looked up. She saw him trying to force something out, but most of his words were swallowed up by his panicked gasps and delirium.

"If...if you-" he wheezed brokenly, and she felt her heart stop. "I mean, you don't have to, but if you, um -"

"Spit it out."

"I wouldn't mind if you...stayed."

It took her a second to wade through her confusion. When she thought about it, she realised how normal it would have been for her to briefly console Lockwood before returning to bed herself. He probably expected it, and rightfully so. But sitting next to him, his body shivering from some invisible fever...leaving was the last thing she wanted. She hated that that wasn't something immediately obvious, and the need to let him know in some way, any way, rubbed something raw into her liver. She slipped her tentative hand into his limp one, registering the roughness of his palm for a split second, before her fingers curled and rested on the back of his hand, wrapping themselves around his hand the way she wished she could cocoon him.

"In my head...you..." he scratched at his pillow with an expression that left a hollow ache inside of her. "You were gone. I drove you away. I tried, I tried..." His voice reeked of some desperation that made her feel physically ill. "I tried to get you to stay but, for some reason, it just...wasn't that simple."

"Oh, please. It's so like you to think you're the one thing that could get me to leave. You think you can get rid of me that easy? You're stuck with me." But her attempt at lightening the situation was too weak against the oppressive silence in the room. She swallowed the lump growing in her throat, willing her spirits to stay buoyant enough for the both of them. "I'll never let you go."

"Promise?"

His eyes were uncharacteristically dull, heavy with tears unshed, and she didn't dare breathe too hard lest they fall and the hole inside him gaped and became devastatingly real. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. As someone who was always so smooth, so confident, larger than life, it was easy to forget how young he truly was, and how alone he had been for so long. Suddenly, her hand in his was no longer enough; it could never be enough for her to express how much he meant to her. How much she needed him, breathing, thrumming and living next to her.

She slipped an arm around his waist and cautiously placed her head in the crook of his neck, but then he shifted and wrapped his arms around her, artificially casual, while he gripped her shoulders desperately. His cotton shirt smelled of starch but the curls at the nape of his neck, tickling her nose, smelt distinctly of him. It was now os much more intimate, so much easier to share and ease emotional burdens they were both weary from carrying. That weird detachment she had been wrestling with over seeing her employer being so fragile and come undone finally dissolved, and all that she was holding in her arms was Lockwood; Lockwood with his sharp edges and soft spots and gloriously sensitive heart.

"I used to have horrible insomnia when I was younger."

"Mhm?"

"Yeah. My parents tried everything, but it was never an issue of me being tired. Oh, my eyes could be gritty with sleep and I would still not go to bed. I couldn't. It was the night that was just so...awful."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's fine, I grew out of it. My mum- " She stopped short, suddenly painfully aware of how little she knew about her mother now. "My mum...she used to tell me that all the hours of misery of the nighttime were washed away by the first rays of the sunrise. It made the night feel less...repulsive. Just a promise of a better time. Of sunlight."

She lifted her hand from Lockwood's clavicle, tracing a scar that dipped to his chest, feeling his heart vibrate against her.

"We've been through so many long, difficult nights. We have even more to live through. But..." She placed her hand where his neck met his shoulder, and he leaned his cheek against the top of her head. "We'll get through it all. Morning's waiting for us just at the edge of our fears."

#fanfiction #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #fanfic #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x y/n #taylor swift #safe and sound #requested

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apocalypseornaw · 11 months ago

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Don't Blame Me (Pt 5/5)

Dean Winchester x Reader

A rescue and a second chance

Warnings: cursing, mention of violence

It was a strange feeling, regaining consciousness. You hadn't been knocked out since you were a human and considering you had several years under your belt since then, re-adjusting to it was strange.

The ache in your shoulder told you that bullet you'd been clipped with was a devil's trap one. You strained your neck down to look at the straps holding you to the table and recognize the language,Enochian. Fuck you were screwed.

You heard footsteps getting closer and knew better than to attempt to pretend to still be out. Instead you decided on the false bravado act, you'd perfected it your first hundred years or so on the racks “Why is it you fella always feel the need to strip a gal down? While I do appreciate that you left the bra and panties that was a limited edition Led Zeppelin shirt. If you fucked it up I'm gonna be pissed”

The laugh that hit your ears made the skin on the back of your neck crawl. How fucked do you have to be to make a demon get the ick? “I heard you had that mouth on you. I see why Winchester and Crowley like you”

The demon finally came into view. He was wearing a skin head as a meat suit. Dude even had a certain nazi symbol tattooed on his ball head. No wonder he set off your creep radar “Don't know if you got your signals crossed but hello? Demon. Dean doesn't exactly want me anymore as for Crowley I come in handy to have around but at the end of the day I'm just his pet hunter nothing more”

You saw the knife when he picked it up and nearly asked him if he had forgotten you were a demon too until you saw the holy water vial. You struggled against the straps but that sent a jolt of pain through you so you were stuck watching as he first wet the knife with the holy water then dumped salt along the blade. He sent you a smile right before he slammed the knife into your leg closest to him.

You didn't give him the pleasure of a scream. You did however bite into your cheek hard enough you caught the taste of blood on your tongue. He didn't seem put off by your refusal to scream, no he seemed to enjoy it.

“Tsk tsk tsk. Don't underestimate yourself Y/N. You've been Crowley's right hand woman for years. You fast tracked your way off the racks and even managed to get your original body back. Even the big guy was impressed with that” your breathing was a little haggard from the effort to keep your voice steady as you said “Oh poor Luci. Stuck in the cage and seeing a hunter get pulled out of hell. Must have sucked for him”

That seemed to strike a nerve because the next thing he did was retrieve the holy water vial. He kept his eyes on yours as he uncapped the vial then twisted the knife in your leg before pouring the holy water into the wound.

It felt like flames were gnawing through your bone and the scream that escaped your lips echoed off the walls. A grin split his face “Attagirl. Let's see if we can make ya scream like that some more” “I spent three hundred years on the racks. Bring it asshole” You spoke through gritted teeth. He shook his head and walked over to a table in the corner of the room “Careful what you ask for”

“What are we looking at here Crowley?” It was the first time Dean had spoken since they got to where you were being held. “Dozen or so demons. Lucifer's last two remaining hellhounds”

“Hellhounds?” Sam asked about the time a puff of air alerted them to a presence at Crowley's side. He reached out and patted what looked like air to them but they knew it was a hellhound “Don't worry boys. If they're between this one and Y/N they don't stand a chance”

Dean hated hellhounds. Death by them would do that to you but this once he let his eyes linger on the empty space where Crowley's hand rested “You take care of the other hounds we'll get the rest” a low growl was the response he got and Crowley nodded “I think she agrees with the plan”

He looked back at Sam “No one gets to smoke out. They were dead the moment they touched her” Sam nodded, gripping an angel blade in his hand “Let's go get her”

You could feel tears drying on your face. Flashbacks of your first couple decades on the racks ran through your head. You had to hand it to Skinhead, he was creative.

He placed one of the tools back down on the table, it was slick with your blood. “What's the point of taking me? The point of torturing me?”

He grinned again “Crowley will come for you. The Winchesters will come for you. We kill them and get the big guy out with no one guarding hell” you shook your head “No they won't. I'm nothing to Crowley, just another flunkie and as for the Winchesters you fucking idiot I'M A DEMON. THEY KILL DEMONS!”

You groaned with pain from the effort of yelling at this idiot. Lucifer sure knew how to pick em didn't he?

Your head fell back against the bed with a heavy thud. Skinhead went to grab another toy but the sound of a howl echoed through the building, you knew that howl anywhere. Juliette.

He looked back at you “How the hell did you get a hound?” You grinned despite the blood you knew stained your mouth “Just lucky I guess”

He grabbed an angel blade off the table and looked back at you “You'll be dead before she ever reaches you” your eyes widened looking at the blade but then another sound caught your ears, the sounds of fighting. You could hear a shout about the Winchesters. He'd come for you, black eyes and all he'd come.

You cut your eyes up at skinhead “Doesn't matter cause Dean will rip you apart” he raised the blade and went to plunge it into your heart.

—-------

Lucifer's hounds were dead, along with most of the demons. Dean was fighting one when it went down to the floor, a spray of blood separating its head from its shoulders then he felt a large head nudging at him. It was eerie being that close to a hellhound but then a thought occurred to him.

He looked towards the feeling of the head despite not seeing anything besides dark blood dripping to the floor. He wanted to ask if the hound was hurt considering you had a bond with her but he couldn't exactly see and Crowley was with Sam disposing of the rest of the demons.

“Did you find her?” a low growl responded so he nodded “Lead the damn way” He felt teeth grab his jacket sleeve and despite it all let himself be led further into the warehouse before the teeth were gone from his sleeve and all he saw was large bloody footprints leading away. She was running to you.

—-------

You braced yourself for a blow that never came, instead the demon was knocked flat on his back with Juliette on top of him. “JULIETTE!” You screamed. She was covered in deep gashes and looked like she'd been through a literal war but she was doing her best to keep him from getting up.

You lost track of the fight considering they'd rolled further than your straps would let you see but you could hear her growls. You struggled against the straps, tears streaming down your face from the pain.

The moment the door burst open and Dean was there you heard a low whine and the fighting stopped. “Kill him” You whispered and Dean snatched the demon to his feet and slammed the demon blade into his throat before turning back to where you were tied down.

“She's dead isn't she?” He nodded before covering the space between you. He quickly untied you and pulled his flannel off to wrap around your shoulders. “You came for me?” You asked a mixture of pain and emotion threatening to drown you. His eyes flicked across your face looking for permission and when you sagged against his chest he pulled you into his arms “Even in death sweetheart”

You finally broke, demon or not you sobbed into his chest as he held you. “I still love you” you admitted and he kissed the top of your head “I still love you too. Nothing could change that”

—--------

Crowley and Sam burst in the door and looked around. Crowley's eyes landed on Juliette’s body “That's unfortunate” you sniffled harder laying your head back over on Dean's chest “Get me out of here Dean”

You sat at one of the tables in the library of Sam and Dean's bunker. It was technically a men of letters bunker that their grandfather had given them the key to, with them you didn't question the fact that their grandfather had been dead as long as he had.

Crowley had given the ok for you to go with them after he lifted the warding the witches had put on you. You'd been sitting for the last half an hour listening as Sam explained the fact that they'd found a cure, you had a chance to be human again. The bad part? It had a chance of killing you.

Dean's arm was around your shoulders, your head against his chest. He hadn't spoken but every time Sam mentioned the risks his muscles tensed. Once Sam was through you nodded “When can you get the blood?”

Dean's arm slipped from around you and he walked out the room. Sam looked from his retreating back to you “Do you want to think it over a little more?” You shook your head “My life, my risk. Go get the blood. I'll talk to him” he nodded and started to walk out but stopped then walked over to pull you out of your chair and into a hug “It's good to have you back”

You smiled up at him “After this works i'll be back fully then” he pressed a kiss to your forehead “I'll be back soon”

—---------

You walked softly down the hall towards the room where Dean had showed you was his. You started to knock on the door but just walked in instead. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and glanced up when you walked in “It could kill you” “It's my life to risk. Dean I love you but a Winchester with a demon? That'll never work. I need to be me again fully. I want your support but if we really want another chance these?” You let your eyes slip then added “They gotta go”

He nodded then held out his hand to pull you closer. You were standing between his legs and he had his hands resting on your thighs “I need to tell you something” you leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his lips “I think I know”

He looked up into your eyes and damn he had tears in his. “They didn't mean anything. I just missed you so damn much” you nodded, feeling your own eyes tear up before admitting “I wasn't exactly a nun Dean” he flinched slightly “As long as it wasn't Crowley I'm good sweetheart” You laughed and shook your head “No Crowley”

He pulled you forward causing you to have to climb into his lap to keep from losing your balance. He moved back further in the bed then looked up at you “You don't know how amazing it is to have you in my arms. I don't mean to be an ass about this cure but I've lost you once and it nearly killed me” you rested your head over in the bend of his neck and placed a kiss on his pulse “Then be with me for the cure. Hold me. If it goes south at least we get a goodbye this time”

The armory of the bunker had been cleared out. There was a devil's trap painted on the floor and Sam had made a decent looking pallet of blankets. When you questioned it he'd shrugged “It takes hours and you've got to be in it the whole time”

You nodded then smiled “Thanks Sam” you looked back at Dean who grabbed your hand “C'mon sweetheart..I'm with you”

—-------

Dean was scared. He had just gotten you back and now he was holding you in his arms while you were washed down in sweat, your entire body shivering with every breath you took.

You slowly opened your eyes and looked up at him from where you lay in his lap “I'm ok Dean. I'm ok” he smiled despite the thoughts in his head “I know sweetheart. I know”

—---------

“Last shot” Sam announced, injecting you with the final vial. You inhaled sharply, curling into Dean. “Fuck it hurts” you whined and he rubbed your back soothingly “Just breathe baby. Breathe”

You weren't sure if hours or minutes passed before the shivering and pain stopped. You slowly looked up at Dean who pushed your sweat soaked hair back from your face. “How are you feeling?” “Tired” you whispered and he nodded to Sam “Give me the vial”

Sam held out the holy water and Dean looked to you for permission. You held out your wrist, bracing for pain but this time there was no burning or pain. The holy water was just wet.

“It worked” you breathed before laying heavily on Dean “Will you help me shower then take a nap with me?” He laughed lightly “I'll do anything you want me to”

You were laying in bed, curled up against Dean's chest. It'd taken you a day or two to convince him you were healed up from the cure but when you finally did it was like no time had passed. You'd stayed wrapped up in each other for hours, relearning every inch of every curve of each other's body.

“How the hell did I get this lucky?” Dean asked and you smiled sleepily up at him “Someone somewhere must like you Winchester”

He caught your lips in a kiss before pulling away. “Come back” you whined but he laughed as he reached into the table next to his bed. When he turned back you saw he had something in his hand. He uncurled his fingers so you could see the silver ring sitting in the palm of his hand “Can this go back where it belongs?”

“I can't believe you still have that” you whispered in shock before holding up your left hand “Please” he slipped it onto you then kissed your finger “I love you” “I love you”

He grabbed you by the hips and pulled you over on top of him. You straddled his hips and smiled at him “You don't know how much I've missed you” you leaned down to kiss him but before your lips could touch Sam knocked on the door and hollered “Can you two come to the library?”

You looked back at the door then down at Dean “He still has shit timing doesn't he?” He laughed then flipped the two of you over so he was on top of you “Don't worry. We'll see what he wants then come back to bed”

You walked into the library with Dean's arm around your waist. Sam sat at the table with a large wooden crate right in front of him.

You raised an eyebrow “What ya got Sammy?” He motioned “It's yours” Dean walked closer to it with you and you saw an envelope with your name. You picked it up and it simply read “So it turns out you weren't the only one to get another shot. Figured she belongs with you”

You looked at Dean who'd read the note with you. He shrugged then walked to the crate. He cautiously pried the top off then looked in and a laugh fell out of him “C'mere baby” you walked over and looked in. A German Shepard puppy sat inside and the moment you popped your head in she sat up and barked, you cut your eyes at Dean who shrugged before looking at the puppy “Juliette?”

She barked again and you couldn't help but laugh as he leaned over and picked her up then held her out to you “Looks like she found her way back to you” You took her in your arms then he slipped his arms around you both, scratching Juliette’s head.

“I found my way back to you so stranger has happened” Dean placed a kiss on your cheek “We're together that's what matters, even if we now have a puppy” Juliette barked again and he laughed “Yeah yeah yeah. I hear ya”

@starkleila @lacilou @suckitands33 @lyarr24 @decadentstrangernacho @nix-rose @irgendwas122 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @tas898

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dont blame me mini series

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Text

POLLUTED MARROW & HOLLOW BONES (VIII)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER IX ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader.

WORDCOUNT: 6.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, arguments, high-tension scenarios, talks of death, strained familial relationships, anxiety symptoms including lightheadedness, vomiting, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“L-let’s not be rash, here,” you chuckle awkwardly, still staring down from the top of the roof into Gaz’s glaring eyes, the amber in them boiling and rolling with fire. The vans all open their obsidian black doors, multiple armed men spilling out to case the area—but all the Sergeant does is set his jaw.

“Get down,” it’s the only thing said. A low rumble and tilt of accent. Dead.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and for a moment you’re so tense you forget the fact that you’re looking into Kyle’s eyes without so much as flinching. You stare a moment longer, one hand on the edge of the concrete, steadily tightening its hold as the other cradles your father’s things.

“Eh…” Your eyes dart away, blood on the bottom of your face dried and itchy. You’d never heard him speak like that before.

Before you can think to protest, you’re slipping onto the latter with a burning face and a skip in your heart. This was worse than having to smack a man with a vent grate—like being taken to your death.

When you land on solid ground, a hand latches onto the neck of your jacket and begins forcefully moving you to one of the vans. Your free hand snaps to the clenched fist, grasping onto his wrist like a whiny teenager and releasing a sound of alarm.

“Hey!” Your feet try to dig their heels in, but the void of the car door is coming up quickly. “Gaz, let me go!”

There’s no response. The form beside you is so firm and his hand so unrelenting you wonder if you’ll be in even deeper trouble this time than when you stole your mother’s credit card in middle school. Kyle’s athletic build surges with anger—a clench to his teeth so hard his jaw bones can be seen while the corners of his eyes.

Any snappy response or insult stales on your lips as you see his other hand tightly curled in on itself, the tiny growl that builds in him at your struggling. Throat bobbing, you let the man push you forward to the car and hop in without another word.

Oh, I’m screwed. You thin your lips and cringe at the loud slam of the door, trying to keep calm in the enclosed space as the darkness sets in. Some of the soldiers enter the Museum, probably doing damage control.

Bringing your items to your chest, you take a steadying breath and rub under your sore nose; bits of red flaking off like dirt on the wind. Your head pounds with uncertainties.

Did you really think you could pull this off? Body hunching in, the driver glances back at you, his eyes narrowed with annoyance and a frown on his lips. Your face and the tips of your ears feel like they’re being placed over hot coals.

You clear your throat, staring at the portion of skin right under his orbs. “Problem?” The driver scoffs and returns his gaze to the front as the passenger side door opens with a pop.

“Get us back.” Kyle orders, voice clipped and final.

Engine starting, the man that had tracked you down clicks his seatbelt on and closes the door with a stiff arm. Alone in the back, you do the same after a slight beat of hesitation; a second of something like panic hitting you in the chest.

It was stupid to ask why he would be acting like this, but you still wondered if you had really met Kyle’s breaking point. The aggressive re-situating of his ball cap seemed like a good hint—the rod-straight spine and tapping fingers on the door-arm.

He was in full gear.

But…this was what you wanted, right? A breaking point?

Your mouth opens and then slowly closes, breath caught in your throat and not knowing what to say. Why did you feel like you’d just done something irreversible?

Gaze darting to the floor, you glare at the mats as the vehicle jerks forward, turning to bring you back to the mansion surrounded by metal like an abyss and bullet-proof glass.

“I…found some stuff, y’know,” you puff out, not liking the strangling silence about two minutes in. The USB in your pocket sits heavy.

Again, no one answers. The Sergeant’s eyes don’t even glance at you from the mirror. Frustration grows like a virus.

“I wouldn’t have done this if you’d just let me help, Gaz.” You try to get him to speak, suddenly nervous and building in volume…or was that desperation? “I mean, really, it’s my dad!”

Nothing.

Face stained with shame and lips peeled into a sneer, your eyes crinkle with a slight burning sensation trapped behind the skin. You sit with shaky fingers the entire ride, your mouth strangling down the loud exclamations as to why this wasn’t your fault so you don’t bark like a dog.

You had to, didn’t Gaz understand that?

Whatever was in your father’s belongings would tell you what you needed to know—break this entire thing open. And if the rest of the Sergeant’s friends overseas could track down the two that started this, all of it could be over.

You could be left alone again, finish your classes, and…and…

Brows slowly slide in.

What then? As the car pulls up through your gate, you find a horrifying realization that you have no idea.

Unclipping your seatbelt, you go to try and open the door with a frown, only to find it’s unwilling to release you. Lightly pushing on the material again, your eyes slowly widen.

No way.

Kyle had child-locked you.

Gaping, you have to wait for Gaz to get out in a long moment of letting this new reality settle into your blood. He does so after pure silence, seeming as if he might say something, but the Brit just ends up sighing loudly and shaking his head. Gaz gets out and grasps the handle to your door, pulling it out and standing back—all without a mumble.

Like you want to prove to yourself that this doesn’t make your chest feel weird, you shuffle out and scoff at him. But anyone can see the guilty expression on your face.

Striding up to the front door, you push at it with your shoulder, the night air cold and encompassing before the relatively warmer air of your house hits your face. The plate you’d left out for the cat hours earlier is left behind on the step, empty.

Kyle follows close after, hands hanging off his combat vest. In the foyer is when you snap.

“Are you going to speak up or keep acting like a child? Look at the stuff I got, Garrick!” You hold the items in display as you can hear the car out front leave in a grind of gravel. “This could be the answer to if my father really—”

The laptop and the journal are all swiped from your grasp and he’s pushing past you before you can continue. Shocked, even petrified for a moment, your mouth flaps like a fish.

Realization hits you like a truck.

“Fucker!” That was a new one.

Twisting on your heel, you stalk quickly after the male as he stomps, hands clenched into themselves and the skin of your knuckles thin. “Give those back! Garrick—don’t you ignore me, I don’t deserve this!”

It’s like he snaps at that, whipping around and pointing a finger right into your face. You balk back, surprise and alarm alighting your features.

“Deserve?!” Your eyes blink rapidly, lips parted. You stare widely into his cheek scar as his lips turn into an attacking jibe. “Bloody fuckin’ hell, what you deserve is to be locked into a fucking jail cell! Least then I’d be able to keep track of you, eh? What kind of bastard do you have to be to think that was a good idea?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it your family that’s,” you splay your hands, the house echoing with the sounds of verbal battle. The glass finally shatters. “Being goddamn hunted, Sergeant? Your father that got his head fucking imploded?”

You didn’t want to admit how much this argument was making you feel uneasy, but you want your father’s things back. They belong to you, and now they’re stuck in this jerk’s gloved hands like a doll. Those things were valuable; they could fix this.

“If it was me, I wouldn’t be running off like a bloody fool! I’d be listening to the people that are here to keep me alive!” You growl and shake your head. “How thick-headed are you?!”

Gaz isn’t done, his finger moving back and forth as the skin of his cheek tightens, lips dancing to speak rapidly like a fire was under his feet.

“Your father is dead.” Blood drains from your body, expression immediately blanking. “He’s gone and he wasn’t someone to be proud of. Whoever he was with you was a facade for his family and the public. If it wasn’t an end by Row, it would have been by someone else, yeah, you understand that?” Tears infect the sides of your wide gaze, and you’re suddenly sucked into Gaz’s eyes as you had been the first day you’d both met. Amber and flashing gold—enraged emotion and raw bluntness that you’d had yet to experience in this capacity. What had happened to his sarcasm? His stern and laughable annoyance?

“Hell,” he keeps going, moving his finger to point to the side. “Look at the carnage he’s caused just by being dead—innocent civilians and a fucking daughter who fights for an honor that doesn’t exist! You’re mental, Love, fucking mental!”

Kyle pants, staring into your face and your tiny pupils; your shaking body. He grits his teeth and peels back, angrily twitching his nose.

“If you would listen to me, this all would have already been over with, can you get that through your skull? I’ve tried to be nice about this, truly, but I’m done. No more leaving the mansion; no more late-night stunts that leave me callin’ up my Mates only to find you’ve gone and snuck out. No more damn,” he holds up the laptop and journal, “involvement from you. You’re done. I’m done.”

The house gradually goes back to silence, but it’s no longer a deep, ancient feeling. It’s like walking on glass, blood pooling along the soles of feet and sticking through flesh.

You stare and can’t find it in yourself to breathe anymore.

Amber darts to your bloody nose and Gaz bares his teeth, face bright with dismissal. He pushes past the concern at the crimson flecks. He’s done trying to earn your favor, so he blankly spits out, “Clean yourself up. I’m finished with being your bloody punching bag,” and turns down the hall.

“I fucking hate you,” the words spill out in a strangled gasp, a wheeze on your tongue. Gaz pauses, his back taunt and straight. His chin partially peeks over his shoulder.

“Good.” The worlds feel like lead. “It can go both ways, Love.”

When he disappears, you stand in the darkness and feel the first dribbles of tears wet your lashes—making them stick to one another as you stutter on air.

Your brain can’t make sense of it.

Empty-handed, your body is so heavy the first few steps in the direction of your room feel like you’re dragging a statue of stone behind you; the rope tied to your fingers and toes. But when the bile starts to fizzle in your throat, you pick up the pace; darting through your opened bedroom door and beelining to your bathroom.

Just in time, your face finds the toilet, vomit coming out in sputtering coughs as your sobs exit moments later, stuck between the acid in your throat and your stubbornness.

You hated crying—hated vomiting—but lately, it was like those were the only things you could do; your body didn’t listen to your pleas or begging, only did what it wanted. On that front, you believe that your brain and matter were equally matched.

Gasping and feeling saliva drip off your lips, you raggedly cough up what little you had in your stomach until you can sit back against the wall and blankly stare ahead. With varying success you try and take down deep breaths, shivering something awful as the chill gets to you.

But suddenly the silence of the mansion was a prison.

The water pipes, the small creaking—the click of your small clock out in your room.

Click-clock, click-clock, click-clock.

Your mind told you that you shouldn't feel bad. Shouldn’t be wearing that thousand-yard stare as you tase vomit on your tongue and in your throat; the burn of that shame and guilt. You had nothing to be guilty of—nothing.

It was your father, not Gaz’s. He’d do the very same thing.

Right?

You grasp at your scalp and lean forward, slotting your head in between your knees. Everything spins and twirls, there’s a violent need to satiate the thirst in your throat, but you can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think.

“...I’ve tried to be nice about this, truly, but I’m done. No more leaving the mansion; no more late-night stunts that leave me callin’ up my Mates only to find you’ve gone and snuck out. No more damn,” he holds up the laptop and journal, “involvement from you. You’re done. I’m done.”

Gaz’s hands on your palm and the way your very injured hand stings now in memory; those stitches popped and bandages bloody—the crimson on your nose.

How he held you in the kitchen and leaned you back against the island. Spoke so softly and casually, as if you hadn’t nearly passed out on him.

He’d apologized not hours before you’d gone and snuck out.

Your heart tightens.

He’d apologized.

Your fingers dig into your flesh, biting hard as you suck down sobs and tiny whimpers; tears staining your clothes in fast droplets.

“If it wasn’t an end by Row, it would have been by someone else…Look at the carnage he’s caused just by being dead…a fucking daughter who fights for an honor that doesn’t bloody exist!”

You curl into a tiny ball of horror.

“I’m finished with being your bloody punching bag.”

—

Kyle moved his things to the room directly in front of yours in the middle of the night, when you’d passed out from your panic on the bathroom floor. He’d grasped all of his belongings with clenched hands, bags contouring under the force.

At every instance, he cursed your name and everything you’d put him through.

“Bloody, unbelievable,” he growls, shoving clothes into his duffel bag before zipping it up and wrenching it over his shoulder.

It was rare to find the Brit this mad, so often level-headed.

“Give her every chance in the books, and what does she do?” He flicks the lights of his old room off and quickly walks down the hallway. “Fucking plays me for a fool! Jesus. Brilliant, just brilliant.”

There was no way to describe how his heart had jerked out of his chest when he’d come to try and speak to you hours earlier; when he’d found the room empty after knocking for minutes—trying to be considerate to your privacy.

The open window, the damn curtain rack.

It was insulting.

Gaz stalks in a bitter and steam-emitting silence to the room across from yours, not bothering to check on the cracked open door from your own. You’d had your fun, you’d probably just forgotten to close the door fully as you made fun of him behind his back.

Kyle frowns and sets his things down on the white, sheeted-covered bed that would be his. Tiny, and not even long enough to let his legs stay on it fully.

He tries not to remind himself about how afraid you’d looked as he’d laid into you. Halfway through his barking match of emotion, he’d thought maybe it was time to stop—to ease off a bit and reel it back in, but then it had become necessary.

If you didn’t listen to him when he was calm, the fact was that you wouldn’t listen to him at all. Best to get it all off his chest while he could.

He’d already sent in a reassignment request to Laswell not an hour prior.

Taking out his things, his fingers brush your stolen laptop and journal. Christ, there was so much paperwork to go through after what you’d done—damage reports and write-ups on his record for losing track of his VIP; the crimes you’d stacked like awards that needed to be scrubbed.

This wasn’t only a protection Op, this was his job.

And you were taking a hammer to his perfect track rep.

Pulling out the two items, Gaz huffs and shakes his head, running his free hand over his chin.

“Two things and it couldn’t have waited a few more days? What is this girl about?” They’re placed down on the bed and not given another glance.

He’d have to go through them later.

Kyle goes and splays both of his hands over his face, pressing his palms into his eyes before taking a deep breath to fill his lungs with oxygen. An attempt to calm down.

You’ll not get anything done acting like this.

The resounding truth was that he was tired. You’d tested him to the point of snapping—how was that even possible? You were a bloody Uni student with a big mouth and a stubborn streak, not even a drug lord could do what you did.

You’d gotten him to yell at you and on the other end, he’d gotten you to look at him. Yes, look, with your own volition, but that fact left a sour taste in his mouth where it should have felt like a triumph after the terrible first in the park.

You’d stared into his eyes with utter shock and numb fear—as if he’d pull a gun on you.

A civilian. His charge.

You had been terrified, even if you’d tried to use entitlement to sneak around it. You’d been shaking. With eyes dead still.

“God, you twat,” Gaz grunts. Had he really called you mental? “Bloody hell, you’re in for it.”

You’d be livid tomorrow when it catches up to you. A damn near homemade bomb wrapped in metal and filled with nails; Gaz’s name written on the top in red ink.

As he kept his door open to stare at yours in the middle of the night, the Sergeant prepared himself, still angry and dreading the future.

If only it could be that simple.

In the morning, you wouldn’t even look at him.

Wearing a large hoodie and pajama bottoms, you had already downed three cups of coffee by 9 o’clock, your body stiff and the air around your head a cloud of indiscernible separation. But it wasn’t like Gaz had tried to speak to you, either.

Both of you were forced to be in the same room, as the Sergeant wouldn’t let you alone save for the bathroom. You couldn’t be trusted.

It was mental torture.

Jaw clenching, the man watched you work on your personal laptop, doing classwork while your USB stuck out of the port—he blinked away, writing up his own reports on the incident last night.

The air was so thick you could be lost in it like a forest full of mist. It simmered; burned—then cooled to a degree of freezing before starting back up again. No words, no acknowledgements.

Brown drifts back to your blank face as your fingers stop over your laptop’s keys, a small tremor, and then get back to it. Gaz bites his lip and closes his eyes harshly, shaking his head once.

He had to stop feeling guilty for the truth. You needed to hear what he said, no matter how blunt. It was the truth, after all.

But the truth didn’t stop his heart from hurting when you reverted to a state of waking nothingness with little desire to eat or move beyond the shuffle of your body.

Gaz sighs and tells himself it’s not his problem anymore—in a little bit he’d be gone if Laswell approved him for transfer. Back with One-Four-One. Working with people who trust him and his judgment.

It was for the best.

You stare at the ‘enter password’ screen on your laptop with a chill on your neck, blind to all else as you wrack your brain for answers.

The USB from your father’s office was password protected. Ten tries before it got locked out. You’d gone through five already.

Staring hard, Gaz keeps distracting you.

He was sitting in the living room with you, on the opposite couch as well as on the opposite end—as far as he could be with still being near. Being in this state and feeling the tension in the air made you lightheaded with anxiety.

It’s as if every urge to speak or breathe near him dissipates; your face a perpetual furnace, blood on fire.

Focus, you have to tell yourself, but it only makes it worse. Eyes dig into the screen as the two words blend into one another, taunting.

You can hear his breath, the scratch of his pen as it travels over paper—if the circumstances had been different, it would have been the picture of quiet companionship.

A pity you both were the way you are.

The shame was urging you to apologize, to rectify what you’d done; pride was taking that shame by the throat. But you were faced with the reality that you couldn’t go back to living alone like you had before, because this silence was enough to make you go insane.

You missed his voice, and you’d only been without it for a short while. Kyle’s smirk and his cheeky quips. You both hated it and longed for something to grapple to.

It was true, you admitted, hands over the keys, you’d grown used to him. It was disgusting.

About to chance another possible password—your parent’s anniversary halfway typed in—the front door rings.

Immediately, everything that had seemingly already been still, halts.

Freezing, you stare at the laptop and let the echo spread across the mansion, the high ding of the rarely used object. Your eyes slowly rise to stare at the living room opening, blinking, and for a moment any thought of Kyle and the argument; the hatred at your stubbornness and pride, utterly ceases to exist.

With a twitch of your fingers, you close your laptop in what seems like hours, the tiny sound it makes when it lays flat making your ear perk.

Gaz’s head is already swiveled, body wound up. He sends a quick glance your way before standing and reaching for the X12 in his waistband. Your eyes catch the glint of his watch and you look away with a frown, lids narrowed with hesitation.

Tell him you’re sorry. You know you are.

Standing to follow, Kyle sends a hard look your way. Your feet stall.

Both of you seem surprised by that.

The Sergeant’s eyes widened for a second, hand on his weapon loosening and pulse up-ticking. So much expressed with absolutely no words to be muttered aloud. You take a deep breath and lick your lips, not able to speak over a raspy grunt of, “Kyle…I-I—”

The doorbell rings again, longer this time.

You snap your mouth shut.

Kyle looks you up and down, but his feet only hesitate a moment longer. He turns his head away quickly and carefully leaves the living room.

Running a hand over your neck, you close your eyes and contort your face into an image of confused pain, an inner hatred at…everything. You’d messed up. Badly.

And you were afraid of your own fear. Afraid of your sudden unease at Gaz’s absence and his angry silence. Afraid because, deep down, you knew his outburst last night was nothing but the truth.

Sighing, you sit back down and lean into the cushions with a growing headache. You wanted more coffee, your stomach rolled with hunger, and you were cold.

You hated being like this.

“...Sweetheart?” your head whips up to a familiar face in the grand double doorway, breath getting taken in with a big inhale.

A woman dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants stands with a hefty designer purse over her shoulder, face open and soft, blinking through the wetness at the corners which you stare at in pause.

Gaz comes in behind her with another man, tall and blond with a mustache—your mother’s guard, because that was who the woman was after all...your mother. Home. The Sergeant looks over at you and places his gun back with a small sigh.

You clear your throat, standing before you shuffle your feet.

“Hey, Ma,” you glance to the side, itching at your arm. “How’ve you—”

You’re slammed into a tight hug and you flinch violently into it, sharp noise escaping your lungs and Kyle takes a quick step forward in alarm. The blond guard sends him a look of confusion, but the Brit stares at you and feels his lips thin.

“Oh, my God!” Your mom exclaims in utter relief, sagging to you and placing a hand firmly on the back of your head. “I was so worried, I-I saw the news about the shooting but I wasn’t able to get in contact with you.”

Your body is moved back and forth and you awkwardly place your hand on the small of her back. You stare at the far wall like a stuffed animal. Your mother was never a hugger, but maybe Gaz’s expression in the kitchen had been true. People change.

Three years.

“Christ, you have no idea how much I wanted to call you. Are you alright, talk to me.” The meat of your arms is taken and you’re maneuvered back so your matriarch—and last remaining family member—can look you in the eyes.

You quickly move your head to the side.

“I’m fine, Mom,” licking your lips, you shrug. “Glad you’re back…How was overseas?”

She sighs, looking at you in concern, and brushes past your question.

“You look sick,” your chin is taken and moved to the side, and another hand is taken and placed on your head. “And you’re running hot—when’s the last time you slept?”

Hot? You’ve never felt more cold.

“Mom,” taking a small step back, you whisper out a meaningful utterance.

“Okay, okay,” she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I know, I’m a worrier...But, how have things held up? I feel like we haven’t been able to speak in lifetimes.”

We haven’t. Who’s fault was that?

Gaz tilts his head at the interaction, seeing your uncomfortable stiffness and your mother’s open and obvious love. This wasn’t how you described her at all, but then again, your mum’s actions weren’t the same either.

“How’s it been?” Alex asks, his arms crossed as the two women speak in low tones a few feet away. Your body is seen shifting and hands flexing. “Heard some stuff, everything goin’ smooth over here?”

“Wouldn’t call it smooth, Mate,” Kyle utters. “Recon you had it better than I have.”

“Ah,” the CIA Officer shrugs. “Gonna be honest, the Old Lady’s pretty easy—most I had to do was ask for her tea with extra sugar while on the plane.”

He sends over a twitch of his lips, a raised eyebrow. But the expression shifts to serious moments later.

“Word is the boys overseas haven't got any leads, they’re stuck in the dirt with this.” Kyle grits his teeth.

“Nothing?”

“Nada.”

“Fuckin’ hell. That’s bollocks—how well are those two hidden?” Alex moves his fingers from their hold on his biceps, moving them up in a show of ‘no clue.’

He draws out his words with a huff. “It’s going to push out this timeline even farther than it already is, is what I’m tryin’ to say.”

“There any good news?” Gaz watches you as your feet realign, hands going to hide inside your sweatshirt pocket. A bobbing to your throat makes his shoulders turn in.

What is your problem? the Sergeant hums to himself. It's just her mum—Christ. Ease off it. Alex’s eyes narrow in question when he notices the hatted man’s attention is half on you and half on the conversation.

“...Not any worthwhile.”

“They’re expecting us to just wait? We can’t stay in a single bloody location forever, it makes a bigger target.” A brown gaze doesn’t stray from you as he says this.

“Not much we can do, Garrick. VIPs take priority.”

Kyle shakes his head in disapproval. “For now, we might have something here—some new intel. Have to look into it.”

Alex perks, his arms falling to his sides. “How’d you come by that?”

“Long story.” Gaz sighs deeply and the blond chuckles, giving a half-shrug.

“Fair enough.” Alex nods to you and Kyle tenses. “It have to do with her?”

“...Longer story.” That gets a few grunted laughs, and the Sergeant smirks lightly, feeling a bit better to have someone he knows to talk to.

Across the way, you explain everything the best you can to your mother in small sentences and stuttering words. Her hands don’t leave you; studying you deeply at every mico-expression.

“Well,” she takes a deep breath. “I think I’ll make us some tea, hm? Start cleaning up the estate when I get settled. I understand it’s a lot of work, but let’s at least open the curtains.”

She laughs and it fills you with dead. Clean up? She didn’t really expect to mess with everything right? Your mother kisses your cheek.

“I’ll be right back—be sure to introduce yourself to Alex. And do try to be respectful.” Her fingers pinch your skin and you thin your lips. “Smile, Dear. No foul language. A-and let’s try to get some sleep tonight, okay? School can wait.”

“Right. Yeah, I know.” She nods and smiles brightly, before telling you how happy she is to see you again. Your mother walks out and slips past Alex and Gaz.

Two sets of eyes level on your form.

You waste no time snatching up your laptop and quickly walking to the separate set of doors, ignoring the confused looks before entering the hallway and breathing heavily.

This should be a good thing—having your mother back. Hell, you should be relieved she’s still alive after everything that went down.

So why did it feel like everything was going to change? Three years and you’d had it under control, your routine, the fitful nights, you’d managed—not well, but you had. Now all of that was gone; stripped away like some meaningless cloth.

It wasn’t meaningless to you.

The house was the way it was—like you in many senses. You lived with the covered furniture, and the curtains over with windows with a glance and nothing more. That was your normal.

She’s going to change everything. She’s just come back and she’s going to wreck it.

It wasn’t fair to her to be like this, but it wasn’t fair to you to have disappeared when you needed a mom more than anyone.

“Oh, God,” you cover your mouth with your hand and try to push away the footsteps that follow behind you, the nearly vacant press of shoes.

Of course, he wouldn’t even allow you to have five minutes to gather yourself.

Gaz doesn’t utter a sound as he follows at your heels, staring into the back of your head. You briefly wonder where the ‘Alex’ fellow went, but find you don’t even care. Your mother was here after all. She’d take care of it.

She’d take care of everything.

You glare painfully at the hardwood ahead of you and hold your laptop tighter, wishing you had your father’s journal—something that belonged to him. But Gaz had already stashed it away, probably locked it up from you.

And you can’t find it in yourself to be angry, which makes you annoyed.

That annoyance stays, just as the guard at your side does, even one day later. You don’t speak anymore, you don’t quip and dig; he doesn’t respond or smirk—no jokes taken in stride where yours are blunt and his whitty.

Everything changes overnight.

Gaz had seen your body completely turn to stone on the stares when you’d come down and glanced at the furniture open to the air, no sheets or coverings. Things were dusted and set on display; even taken from storage and laid out in expensive finery. He’d darted his vision down at you and tightened his lips, again saying to himself that it won’t be his problem for much longer.

Yet, when he’d clocked your very-much real panic at the sight of the open curtains, he’d nearly put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed, having to restrain himself.

You didn’t take it well.

“Honey!” Your mother calls down from the foyer, holding her phone in her hand. “Lovely, just who I was looking for. Do you think we should change the colors from navy to green, or to violet?”

You stare in horror, hands clenched into fists near the banister.

“I-” your voice stutters. “Why are you changing the navy?”

“Well…it’s a bit dated, don’t you think?” Gaz’s face pulls. “Let’s, I don’t know, mix it up a little!” She laughs, flicking some dust from the coffee table near the old fireplace. “We’re back together—it’s time to move on.”

And still, to his shock, you say nothing, the fight sucked out of you. You bite your tongue and hold it all in as he spares you wide brown eyes. A sound of confusion bounces from Kyle’s throat.

If it were anyone else you’d be down their ear by now—barking about the history and the memories.

For a moment he’s left as you slowly start back down the steps, back straight and neck tense, blinking at your spine.

He almost speaks to you.

Almost, but not quite.

As you seem to sink into a hole of mute acceptance you begin to close up even more—what little you’d opened up to Gaz was shuttering closed with a great shaky slam.

“Hey,” Alex is leaning against the wall as a loyal hound would, keeping an eye on the ground floor. When he sees you he stands up straighter. “We weren’t properly introduced—Alex Keller, I’m glad to hear you’re—”

You stride past and grasp at the single straw to your name—the USB. You’d still had no luck with it yet. Only two tries left. It was weighing on your soul more than your mother’s insistence on eating meals at the family table.

“...alright…”

Alex passes a look to Gaz and the Sergeant only shakes his head over his shoulder and quickly moves.

The blond is left with lightly parted lips and quickly blinking eyes—hand barely outstretched in failed greeting.

You end up in the library, hurriedly messing with the books under your name and piling them on the table out of instinct. Call you possessive, but no way was your mother touching anything that directly belonged to you.

You own the estate now, you remind yourself, just tell her to stop.

You only grab books faster—especially the ones that your father read. Maybe there was something of importance there; he liked to highlight and annotate important sections and quoted things often.

A sequence of numbers or a code? A phrase? Who knew at this point, but you needed to do something. Keep you occupied.

Keep you from thinking about the silent man who watches you from the side of his eye near the door.

The silent treatment—you weren’t new to it.

Just didn’t expect it from a soldier in his mid to late twenties.

Huffing, you drop more books onto the table and tidy them, brushing off dust in your form of cleaning with a slap of your hand. When you’re done, the large objects are piled high in front of you and relatively dusted.

Breathing stiffly, you try to push back the weight on your lungs before brushing off the heat on your cheeks as Gaz watches, head tilted and face tight.

If he’s anything as stubborn as you, he’ll be keeping this up for—

“What’s the question, then?”

You immediately wind up like a jack-in-the-box, eyes daring to connect with Kyle’s. Twitching, you settle instead on his scar; studying the darkness. It’s a minute before you respond, and when you do, it’s nearly silent.

Brows moved with apprehension.

“Kyle?” You ask, sticking your hands into your pockets. You’d left your coin back in your room. A frown mixes with a grimace.

It’s hard to admit how his voice made your heart lurch.

Gaz clears his throat, feet shifting, but his voice is still hard and monotone. “Your question. You cleaned the books off.”

“I help you clean, and when I say we take a break, I have to answer one question of your choice.”

Your bargain. A bit skewed, yeah, but apparently it counted.

“...I don’t have one,” you admit lowly, not a hostile thorn heard. Vision sliding, you look down at your objects. Apologize. Grunting, you grasp a few of the books, moving forward with them in your arms.

Kyle lets you slide past, moving his shoulder until you’re not about to bump into it. In the bright light of the open curtains, he stares after and closes his eyes; breathing in through heavy lungs.

Re-assignment couldn’t come soon enough. If not for his sanity, then for yours.

Kyle fiddles with his watch and fixes his cap once before continuing after you, a very large hole of something in his chest that can’t be filled.

By how he wishes for your sarcastic comments and your fiery spite right about now, staring with growing worry at your hunched shoulders, he dreads what that something could be.

Tonight he’d take a look at your father’s laptop and journal—too busy yesterday with paperwork and reports; getting through red tape and trying to get into contact with Price.

He hadn’t told you, but there had been a break-in at the museum the same night you had snuck out. Same section. Same box bearing your father’s name ripped open and thrown to the ground. Five minutes after his team had cleared it.

Five minutes after you’d left with the items in your dust-coated hands and bloody nose. Your wide, fake-innocent, eyes over the corner of that roof.

Someone was playing games.

And they were getting closer.

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