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astralnymphh · 10 months ago

Text

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette.

And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet.

April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde.

Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

“Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper. You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

“Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..”

Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..”

Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right?

One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

“Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood.

Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence.

“Say cheese!”

America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you.

Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’.

Un–fucking–believable.

Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed.

“C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels.

Not so good for the respiratory system though.

Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—”

Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

“Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?”

A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

“This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.”

Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

“Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

“Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

“Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama.

And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

“You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

“Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

“Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

“For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

“Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

“Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

“Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy, “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

“That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”

Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting.

“Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

“If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?”

“Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.”

“Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles.

“Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

“I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.”

Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

“Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.”

You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant.

There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

“Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

“No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

“Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together.

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco.

Stygian tones.

“Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

“Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

“Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more.

Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting.

“Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.”

They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.”

“My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

“Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

“Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

“Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

“Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

perm taglist: @whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @slynxs @maleelee @savannahsdeath @littlegingerperson5 @seraphicsentences series taglist: @tearouthearts @planetloverr @elliesexual @isitadinosaur @eveshyper @3lli3l0v3r @yourmothersfavgirl @emst4rr @theloserqueen @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @whenlostinthedarkness @diddiqueen @deliriousrn

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cailinsblog · 3 days ago

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Caring for You | macklin Celebrini

Macklin celebrini x reader

So for some reason it won’t let me put any of my new story’s to my masterlist so I’m sorry about that🙏🏻🙏🏻

Y/N sniffled miserably from her spot on the couch, bundled up in a mountain of blankets. A box of tissues sat beside her, along with an untouched cup of tea Macklin had made before he left for practice. She felt like a total mess—her nose was red, her throat was sore, and her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

It had started with a tickle in her throat a couple of days ago, but she’d brushed it off. Now, it was a full-blown cold, and all she wanted was to sleep it off and hope Macklin wouldn’t fuss too much when he got home.

But, of course, Macklin did fuss.

The sound of the front door opening pulled Y/N from her groggy haze. Macklin stepped inside, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder and his cheeks still pink from the cold outside. His smile immediately turned into a look of concern when he saw her curled up on the couch, looking pale and tired.

“Y/N?” he asked, dropping his bag by the door and rushing over to her. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she croaked, her voice hoarse.

He crouched down beside her, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up! Why didn’t you call me? You should’ve told me you were feeling this bad!”

“It’s just a cold, Mack,” she said, offering a weak smile. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” he repeated, his brows knitting together. “You’re never a bother, Y/N. I don’t care if I’m on the ice or on the moon—you call me if you need anything, okay?”

Before she could protest, Macklin stood up, determination in his eyes. “Alright, first things first. You’re staying right here. I’m going to take care of you.”

“Mack, you really don’t have to—”

“I do have to,” he insisted, already heading toward the kitchen. “You’re my girlfriend, and I’m not letting you suffer alone.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile despite how awful she felt. Macklin was always so thoughtful, and she knew there was no stopping him when he got into caretaker mode.

He returned a few minutes later with a tray holding a fresh cup of tea, a bowl of soup he’d quickly heated up, and a cold compress. “Here we go,” he said, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “Tea to soothe your throat, soup to help you feel better, and this,”—he gently placed the compress on her forehead—“to bring down your fever.”

Y/N reached for the tea, but Macklin beat her to it, carefully holding the cup to her lips. “Let me,” he said softly. “I don’t want you to spill it on yourself.”

She took a small sip, the warmth soothing her scratchy throat. “You’re too good to me, Mack,” she murmured.

“You deserve it,” he said simply, sitting down beside her and tucking the blankets more snugly around her.

The rest of the afternoon passed with Macklin fussing over her like a mother hen. He kept her hydrated, made sure she took her medicine, and even queued up her favorite rom-coms to distract her. At one point, he disappeared into the bedroom and came back wearing his favorite oversized hoodie—the one she always stole.

“What are you doing?” she asked, laughing weakly.

“Sacrificing my hoodie to the cause,” he said dramatically, pulling it off and helping her into it. “This is scientifically proven to make you feel better.”

“You’re such a dork,” she said, her voice thick with affection.

“Yeah, but I’m your dork,” he replied, kissing her temple.

As the evening wore on, Y/N started to feel a little better, thanks to Macklin’s TLC. He sat beside her on the couch, her head resting on his chest as he absentmindedly stroked her hair.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said softly, looking up at him.

Macklin shook his head, his eyes filled with sincerity. “Y/N, I’ll always take care of you. That’s what you do when you love someone.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she reached up to cup his cheek. “I love you, Mack.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “I love you more.”

The two of them stayed like that for the rest of the night, wrapped up in each other’s warmth. And while Y/N still had a ways to go before she was fully recovered, she knew she’d never felt more cared for or loved in her life.

#hockey #nhl #nhl x reader #fanfic #macklin celebrini #macklin celebrini x reader #san jose sharks #san jose #nhl imagine #nhl x y/n #nhl x oc #nhl x you #macklin celebrini x oc

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chaimilkshake · 3 months ago

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Evan Peters x Actress!reader

summary: Evan is your boyfriend, but has been hesitant lately about showing you off.

word count: 658

a/n: this is not my best work, i just had the itch to write, so bear with me. criticism and suggestions are welcome <3

warnings: none!

You and Evan had been seeing each other for a few months now, under the radar. It started as a coffee date after a chemistry read, where you were casted as a couple in an upcoming movie. You had hit it off pretty well, and one thing led to another.

It was four months in, and it was getting harder and harder to hide. Your urges to soft launch him on your story were strong, but not as strong as your loyalty to Evan. You would have to talk to him about it first.

“Hey, Ev?” You ask, lifting your head from his chest. The two of you were sitting on his couch, curled into blankets, watching one of those cheesy Hallmark movies. He hums in response, taking a second to tear his eyes from the screen. “What do you think of me maybe posting you just on my Instagram story?” You offer, sitting up a bit more to sit face to face.

Evan paused, clearly not expecting that question. He lets out a prolonged “Uhh” for a second, grabbing the remote to pause the TV. “I mean, I don’t know,” he says eventually, scratching the back of his head in thought.

“Not anything super serious. Just…a soft launch.” You say, watching his expression as it sticks. “I just feel like it’s been long enough. Y’know?”

He hums at that, clearing his throat. “I thought we were gonna wait until after the show aired.” Evan looks at you fully then, making eye contact with you. It sticks for a moment, an unvoiced conversation happening between the two of you.

You deflate, seeing the hesitance in his eyes. “Listen..” He comforts softly, pulling you close again. “I know. It’s easy to jump right into showing each other off when we like each other so much, but I’ve been burned before. I’m not saying I don’t believe in us, I just think we should wait. Okay?” He explains, hand slowly running up and down your arm.

Part of you wants to lash out. Yell about how he’s not proud of you, and he doesn’t deserve you. But that small part of you understands. You weren’t just normal people. Relationships were a big deal in this industry, and had to be passed around carefully. Luckily, that part took hold as you relaxed into his side. “Okay,” you whisper, nodding and returning to your position on his chest. He reaches for the remote and the movie resumes, gaining your full attention once more.

—————————————————————————

Today marked the six month anniversary of you and Evan’s relationship. Half a year may not seem like a big deal to most adult relationships, but to you two, it was something to celebrate. Your TV show had just come out, it was getting great ratings, the two of you were scheduling interview after interview. This was your excuse to be alone.

Evan had made a reservation at a fairly fancy restaurant, telling you to dress your best. You spent at least two hours getting dolled up, and maybe matching your outfit to the color of his suit.

When you two arrived, you were seated immediately. It was a beautiful, dimly lit restaurant with off-white linen tablecloths. The prices were nowhere to be found on the menu, which is how you really knew it was bad.

Before you could think about it any further, you heard the click of Evan’s phone camera. You look up, seeing your boyfriend smiling at his phone, solidifying your theory.

“Did you just take a picture of me?” You ask, watching him tuck his phone away.

“Maybe. Is that a problem?” He teased, picking his glass up to sip his wine.

“I suppose not,” You chuckle. “Who are you sending that to?”

“You’ll see.”

evanpeters happy 6 months <3

liked by yourname and 800.4K others

view all 6,729 comments

yourname what a dork 🩷

hanna_04 HELLO???

arizonatlvr literally called it bruh

#evan peters #evan peters fandom #evan peters x reader #evan peters x y/n #evan peters x female reader #fanfic #fluff

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dailyreverie · 1 year ago

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In the morning light

@flufftober - Day 3 “Wait you love me?” - “I always have”

Pairing: Marc Spector x reader (+ a brief Steven mention)

Word count: 933

CW: friends with benefits to lovers and everything that comes with it - implied sexy times.

Flufftober masterlist

Every time Marc and you met, every single night that you spent together, made the friends-with-benefits situation that you agreed to much more challenging for him. It seemed like the perfect scenario back then: Marc could not do a relationship as of right now - with the whole Egyptian god that loomed over him and the issues that came with it - and you were in for just a good time, that was enough for you. Surely the feelings you had for each other, so clear and obvious and always out on the table, could hold for a little bit, or maybe die out with the passing nights.

Of course Marc thought that, and of course it backfired.

You woke up in his apartment after what was supposed to be just a casual lunch which evolved into going for drinks, which eventually became dinner, and, for the looks of it, had extended over breakfast. It kept happening time and time again, the need to be together so consuming that you couldn’t be away from each other; a shopping trip, a coffee run, going to the movies… it was all mushing together unto, basically, dating.

What kind of an idiot he was. It was the ground rule and, as he rose from the bed to see you cooking breakfast, he knew he had broken the agreement in the worst way possible. He had battled against it long enough that seeing you there, wearing his cozy sweatshirt to ward off the chilly London morning, it felt like a simple spill that broke the dam.

“I think I fucked up.” Marc sneaked up on you.

“Good morning to you too.” You kept on your food prep, acknowledging him with a quick glance over your shoulder and a smile. “What did you fuck up?”

There really was no easy way to tell you the daunting realization that came upon him, not when he could lose you, but he couldn’t keep lying to himself, much less to you. When he didn’t speak you turned around to see him, leaving on the counter the fruits you were cutting. “Are you okay?” Marc stood in the middle of the kitchen as if someone had dropped him there without telling him why or what to say.

After a deep sigh, Marc finally spoke. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Oh,” You whispered, almost just to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited for him to elaborate; something he apparently was not going to do. “Well… we said at first that the moment we want out then it’s done, so-”

“It’s just-” Marc seemed exasperated with himself, scrunching his face trying to find the words that wouldn’t break your heart. But when he looked at you, the words came to him with ease. “Steven’s got a crush on you.”

“Does he?” Your eyes opened with delight, a huff of laughter coming out of your lips. You knew Steven was nagging at him in his head.

“He does, and he’s been really annoying about it lately.” In Marc’s head, if he blamed Steven maybe this would be easier.

“Why is Steven not telling me, then?” You knew there was more about it than he was saying, something in his hesitant stance told you so. You approached him, holding his hands to unclasp them from his sides to try and help him relax. “You can’t tell me.”

“We said no feelings, and I’m doing a terrible job at that.” he chuckled at himself. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but whatever we are doing is not what friends with benefits do. We are going on dates, you’re cooking breakfast. This is the complete opposite of what we agreed on, and all this is messing me up.”

“Marc Spector, you sap dork.” You could see right through him, right through his ramblings about feelings and agreements that happened months ago. Your hands clasped behind his neck, holding onto the base of his head. You smiled up at him with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen in his life, a smile he never thought he would deserve, let alone be responsible for.

You pulled him in, shutting his brain off for a few seconds as you sank into his hold, melting in the kiss, letting it say everything Marc was not able to. His hands stayed on the small of your back when you parted, though your noses were still touching.

The truth is, it was everything you felt too; every word he said you had said it to yourself too. Except for you it was clear. For you, the turmoil you felt came together in a simple word.

“I love you, Marc.” You said softly, gazing up to his eyes so he knew you meant it.

A hint of surprise danced across his face, prompting him to pull back slightly while maintaining his smile. "Wait… You love me?"

“I guess I always have, at least for a few months now.” You cheeks turned red and he held you tighter. He didn’t have to ask why you didn’t say anything before, he knew exactly why, since it was the reason he didn’t speak up sooner too.

“I love you too, baby.” You hummed against his lips at the sound of the nickname, as if you could feel this new love you just exchanged for each other in his kiss. As you kissed again, it felt as though the stars had finally aligned to bring you two together, sealing your bond with a love that had been there all along, just waiting to be acknowledged.

🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨🌙✨

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

#flufftober2023 #flufftober #day 3 #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector fanfic #marc spector imagine #marc spector blurb #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfiction

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lovebugism · 2 years ago

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Congrats on 6k!! 🎉 You deserve it and plenty more! ❤️

This one is slightly different but mutual pining office romance with modern Steve? Some inspo like “I got a coffee and muffin for you because I noticed you haven’t left your desk all morning”, teasing jokes, tension in the elevator, the a/c in the office doesn’t work and it’s the middle of summer 👀

18+ (ish)

It was Casual Friday on a Tuesday.

The air conditioning went bust building-wide, and the stuffy businessmen on the fiftieth floor decided to be lenient about the dress code for the time being. Of course, that still meant everyone had to work in ninety-degree temperatures with little to no relief, but at least Steve could see you waltz around in a pretty little tank top and pencil skirt.

“I’m pretty sure there’s a policy against showing your shoulders, sweetheart,” Steve jokes to announce his arrival as he walks into your office.

Jolted from your stupor at the printer, your head whips over your shoulder. You find the boy in his usual white button-up, unclasped to reveal his ribbed undershirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Sweaty honey hair pushed back over his forehead, the underside of his glasses slightly fogged.

He sits a white paper bag and a cup of iced coffee on your desk.

You smile, warmed by his presence in a way that’s far more tolerable than the heat wave.

“I’m pretty sure that’s because Mr. Harrington knew his son wouldn’t be able to keep it in his pants otherwise,” you squint at him, still grinning.

“Well, I must say, you are far sexier than balance sheets.”

You giggle like a schoolgirl when his broad arms wrap around you from behind. His lips sprinkle chaste kisses to the sticky skin of your bare shoulder. You can feel him smiling against you.

When you turn around to return the favor, you notice that the blinds of your office are still open — leaving the both of you on display to the entire rest of the floor you manage. They’re all too busy with their own work and too plagued by the heat to notice, but you pull away from Steve and his kisses anyway.

“You didn’t shut the blinds, you dork!” you scold, pushing your hand against his chest as you step back like he’s burned you.

Steve laughs. “C’mon. Nobody’s looking. I can kiss you.”

You’re not swayed by the wide palms he slides on your hips.

“Not until you shut the blinds and lock the door,” you scowl sternly, using your uncowed, badass businesswoman voice that always makes his knees buckle.

And even though he thinks twisting the slatted curtains closed is far more suspicious, he listens to you anyway. It’s the least he can do to make his girl feel comfortable — to make her less tense and more receptive to his touches.

Your concerns aren’t totally unfounded. You’ve told him a million times why you don’t want to make your relationship public. “I’d be dating my boss’s kid, Steven,” you’d gripe. “All my accomplishments stop meaning something after that.”

You started out on the second floor in the mail room, spent a year slaving over the books in the dim eerie hall of the seventh, and then got promoted to floor twenty-five after a particularly lucrative sale. You worked your ass off and it left you much more concerned about your position in the firm than most people tend to be.

You were halfway to the top. The very first woman to run this whole floor.

And you loved Steve, just not enough to throw all that away.

“Happy now?” he singsongs as he locks the door with a low click.

With your bottom lip between your teeth, you nod.

Now you can ogle him without fear of someone noticing, touch him all over without someone reporting it to H.R.

He looks far too sexy than what should be allowed — in his loose slacks, glasses perched on the bridge of his strong nose, chest hair poking out from the collar of his tank top.

Screw the shoulders, Steve’s body should be a company-wide violation.

Propped up on your desk, the boy settles between your thighs — spreading them slightly with his hips and making your skirt ride up. His wide palms settle on the outsides of your bare knees. Your hands rise to cradle his scruffy jaw, pulling him down for a much needed kiss.

His lips on yours are as all-consuming as the humidity surrounding you.

Your mouths click wetly when they part.

You smile at each other like two lovesick idiots.

“What’s in the bag?” you wonder, nodding your head to the paper sack beside you and the iced coffee already melting next to it.

“A blueberry muffin and one of those bagels you like,” Steve answers, big hands squeezing your thighs. “‘Cause I know you haven’t eaten all morning.”

“I’ve eaten!” you protest half-heartedly.

“Yeah?” he challenges. “What.”

“…An apple slice from the platter we had in the meeting room.”

A laugh rumbles in his chest. “That so does not count. You gotta eat better, babe. Alright? Especially in this heat. Can’t have you passing out at the copier or something.”

“Well, that’s why I have you, right?” you retort, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. This heat wave’s no match for the fire that sparks between the two of you every time you touch. “So you can bring me breakfast and feed it to me when you know I’m too busy to eat.”

“Why would I feed it to you?” he chuckles in a scoff.

You shrug. “‘Cause you love me.”

“…Touché.”

“What about you, Stevie?” you lilt, almost teasingly. “Have you eaten today?”

“I bought me something when I stopped at the café for you, but… I could always go for another bite.”

You grin wide like a mischievous cat. It would be alarming how quickly the air between you can turn from innocent to sinful if you weren’t already so turned on. You’ll just blame it on the heat for now.

“I bet you worked up a real appetite in this heat, huh?” you ask him, feigning sympathy, as the tip of your nose brushes his own. His breath fans against your mouth. You can already taste the coffee on him.

“Yeah,” he huffs lowly. “Definitely.”

“Maybe I should give you something else to eat…”

Your eyes flutter shut when his hand trails between your thighs to cup your pussy over your cotton underwear. Your neck becomes free real estate for his mouth when your head tips back. His thumb rubs your clothed clit. He can feel a damp patch already starting to form.

“Let me clear off your desk, baby,” he slurs into your pulse, smearing his spit there. “Need you to ride my face…”

“Shit, Steve—”

A knock at the door pierces the silence made velvet by sweet nothings and heavy breaths. Both of you freeze in shock, still clutching onto each other, like if you stay still enough whoever’s behind the door will leave.

“Who is that?” Steve murmurs to you, his eyes trained on the shined shoes behind the sliver of space beneath the door.

“I don’t know…”

“Steve? Are you in there?” Mr. Harrington’s voice comes muffled as the door handle jiggles. “When I told you to be fast. I meant fast. I need you for another errand.”

“Oh, shit,” you swear, breath caught in your throat. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit—”

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers sharply back to you. He inches toward the locked door.“Just… Just be cool.”

“Steve Harrington—”

“It’s fine.”

“—Don’t you dare open that door.”

He swings it open anyway. His father stands before him, looking just like his son but a few decades older and not nearly as pretty. He scowls. “Care to tell me what the door was locked?” he deadpans.

You’re glad he’s not looking at you for an answer. You wouldn’t have been able to lie like Steve does. It comes rather effortlessly to him because he’s done it all his life.

“I was bringing her breakfast, remember? Like I told you. And then we just started talking, you know? I can be a real blabbermouth sometimes.”

“Don’t I know it,” Mr. Harrington monotones. By the time he pokes his head around the doorway to your desk, you’ve already rid yourself of any evidence that you might’ve been kissing his son. His stern expression never wavers. “Both of you. Come with me.”

You nod like you’re happy to do it, swallowing down the inkling that you’re about to get fired that rises like bile in the back of your throat.

Like cows to the slaughter, you and Steve trail behind his father as he leads you through the twenty-fifth floor and to the elevators. Steve tries to grab your hand in a feeble attempt to comfort you. You jerk away from him, not wanting to be caught being so unprofessional a second time.

The elevator is quiet and stiff with sweltering heat. Mr. Harrington presses the button for the fiftieth floor.

“Um… Can I ask where we’re going?” Steve answers when the doors shut.

“I’ve got a big client coming in and want you two to sit in on the meeting. I think it could be very beneficial for you both,” he answers, still monotone, but obviously not angry.

Your chest deflates with a sigh of relief.

The man’s hands are tucked neatly behind his back. His eyes stay locked on the digital inclining numbers below the ceiling — 28, 29, 30…

“I want you to clean up in the bathroom before you go in, too. You’ve both got lipstick smeared on your chin.”

Your heart sinks all over again.

Mr. Harrington turns to his son, still as stern as ever but with a foreign glint in his eye. It borders on playful. “And if you run off my best accountant, Steven, I’m booting you back down to the mail floor.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things #steve harrington #st drabbles #stevie drabble #office!steve

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holdmytesseract · 2 years ago

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Royal Visitors

☆ The Baby Fever AU ☆

Loki x Y/N feat. baby Narfi & Ella

Summary: Odin and Frigga come to visit the newest member of the family - baby Narfi. But things don't always go by plan, right? Especially not, when Ella comes home with her uncle Scott in tow...

Warnings: fluff, fluff and even more fluff! slight thirst? 👀 baby things and a lot of humour! scott being a dork. 😂

Word Count: 4k

a/n: @fictive-sl0th asked me, if I would write this - and of course I couldn't say no. 🥰 So well... Here you go! I hope you, my wonderful friend and everyone else likes this! 🥰

I'd also like to dedicate this story to @smolvenger . I hope this little, funny fluff piece can conjure a smile on your face. 🫂

Baby Fever Crew: (Let's try 'em tags again! I hope it works! ☺️) @km-ffluv @lokisgoodgirl @eleniblue @vbecker10 @loz-3 @jennyggggrrr @lokisninerealms @peaches1958 @multifandom-worlds @fictive-sl0th @lovingchoices14 @simping-for-marvel @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lou12346789 @kimanne723 @coldnique @lady-rose-moon @acefeather2002 @aagn360 @mostclevermiss @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @chennqingg @anukulee @lokiforever

Peeps who I think might be interested in this as well: @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @evelyn-kingsley ☺️

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Babe, when are your parents going to be here again?" You asked your husband, while cradling the tiny boy you squeezed out of you a mere week ago in your arms; breastfeeding him. Loki turned to face you; stirring the cup of coffee in his hands. His hair was positively a mess. He was wearing nothing but black boxershorts and a matching black and very stained tank top. The dark shadows underneath his eyes were the result of the lack of sleep he suffered from the past days. Having a newborn again and a six-year-old wasn't easy for him, nor for you. Especially for him, though, because he made sure that you got as much rest as possible; still needing to recover from the not so easy-going birth.

"Umm..." Loki checked the time, "In about... two hours." and took a sip of his coffee. "Alright. I have to get ready then. Take a shower, put on fresh clothes... Probably even brush my teeth..." Loki gave you an incredulous look, before he made his way over to where you sat at the dining table; passing by the kitchen counter. "You can do that, my love, but first..." He reached for the dozed off baby in your arms, "You are going to take a much-needed nap. Unless I'll have to fear that you are going to pass out in the shower - which wouldn't be good." and took tiny Narfi - who had himself curled up in a fetal position, in his strong, muscular arms. "And I am going to look after this little man, yes?"

You blinked; tired brain trying to process his words. "But... But babe... You only just got up from a nap, because Narfi woke you... You need rest, too. After all, you watched him almost the whole night and morning. Plus, you helped Ella getting ready for primary school. I can't ask you to look after him again, while I-" The god had heard enough and successfully shut you up with his lips on yours; kissing you gently. "Darling... This goes without saying. Of course, I am doing this for you. I'm your husband. We are partners. A team... And this little prince here is my son as well. Not just yours. I am his father and I have the responsibility to look after him as well - just like you. But the decisive and important difference is, that you carried him for over six months within your womb; keeping him safe and sound. You birthed him - which was very difficult, nerve-wracking and exhausting. You deserve and need the rest. I can see when the mother of my children needs a break - and I'll not let it happen that you pass out because of exhaustion. So please... Take a nap."

You were stunned. Utterly touched by Loki's words.

Blue eyes looked deeply into yours, while he shifted Narfi, so that he could intertwine a hand with yours. "Please." He added; gently squeezing your hand.

You felt how your emotions got stuck in your throat; eyes becoming teary. "Oh Lokes, I... I don't know what to say, I..." You stood up; moving to wrap both your arms around his waist. "Thank you, baby. I love you so much. You are the best. I couldn't have wished for a better husband and father." The god smiled; kissing you once more. "I love you, too, my goddess. And now off with you. I want to see that pretty ass in our bed now. Get some rest."

While you laid down and slept in only after a few minutes. Sleeping like a log; Loki took care of the newest addition to his family. He carried Narfi around a little longer, to make sure that he stayed asleep, before he laid him down in the crib - which stood inside your shared bedroom. Then he went to the living room and decided to help you out a little more; folding some laundry. Mostly onesies, rompers, bibs and burp cloths. Unfortunately, it was a very... Let's say tiring task, and so the god slept in as well; cuddling the onesie he was about to fold. The cup of coffee he had consumed was not helping him to stay awake; failing - and perhaps it wasn't the best idea of him to cover himself up with a soft, warm and inviting blanket. Therefore, that nobody was awake now and watched the time, two hours flew by within the blink of an eye and it came how it had to come...

The Bifrost opened up in the middle of the living room with a rather loud 'wooosh' - but it didn't bother all sleeping members of the family at all. Everybody was way too tired to care. Even Narfi slept through it.

Odin and Frigga appeared; standing now where the rainbow light once was. They both noticed immediately that it was awfully quiet. No Ella who came running excitedly up to them... No you, who greeted them warmly, nor their son. Not even the coos and cries of a newborn could be heard. Nothing. Just entire silence.

The couple exchanged a look. "No welcoming committee?" Asked the Allfather almost sceptically. "You did tell our son that we would come at this time of the day?" Frigga nodded, "I did, dear." and finally started to look around. It didn't take long for her to find her son - deep asleep on the sofa; snugly wrapped up in a blanket. She smiled, "But perhaps they were victims of a higher power." and tapped her husband's arm gently; making him see. He huffed. "What are we going to do now?" "Let them rest and come back later." Odin shook his head. "Dear wife... As you should know, I am a king. I have a kingdom to rule and duties to follow. I don't have the time - unfortunately," stated the king and approached the sleeping Loki.

"Son. Wake up." No reaction. Odin cleared his throat and raised his voice. "Loki!" It helped. The god ripped his eyes open and literally jumped up. "Yes, Sir, I'm awake, Sir!" He almost shouted; blanket falling around his ankles and the onesie hanging messily over his shoulder - just like his hair. Again. Loki was definitely completely out of it; caused by Odin, who ripped him so 'harshly' and sudden out of his deep slumber.

While Frigga placed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling like a maid, who had heard the newest gossip, Odin was rather shocked at his son's messy appearance. Sure, he had a newborn child, but where was his royal behaviour? "Son..." The Allfather started, shaking his head. "What in the nine realms are you wearing?" Loki blinked; was still trying to properly wake up and looked down himself; seeing the stains on his top - which undoubtedly came from Narfi, and that he was basically just in underwear. Oh.

Swallowing hard, he quickly scrambled to get away from the sofa - and the blanket, and snapped his fingers; letting his seidr correct his outfit. "A-Apologies, father, I-" Frigga lifted a hand and placed it on the now black shirt clad chest of Loki; interrupting him. "Don't be, my dear. We understand." She gave him a heartwarming smile, which calmed the god down. "Thank you, mother." Frigga nodded and cupped his cheek for a moment, before she let go.

"Where is your wife and daughter?" Odin questioned Loki then, looking around. "Oh, um, Ella is out with her uncle Scott. He shows her around his father-in-law's superhero suit laboratory and Y/N is sleeping. She's been very exhausted." Loki had no other words to describe his father what his daughter was doing. How should he explain this? The Pym particles? That they were able to shrink you or grow you to the size of Asgard's palace? Right… He couldn't.

Odin frowned; was visibly confused. "What by the holy roots of Yggdrasil…?" Yeah… Exactly, Loki thought. "It's science, father. That's a complicated Midgardian thing." Frigga again just giggled, while Odin huffed, "Such foolery. I'll never understand those Midgardians." and shook his head. "Now, may we move on to the reason why your mother and I made our way here? We wish to see our newest grandchild, don't we?" The Allmother rolled subtly her eyes at her husband's behaviour, but nodded; giving her son a smile.

You and Loki hadn't told his parents yet if you were having a boy or a girl. Both, you and him agreed to keep it a secret and surprise them. Actually, you wanted to do it together, but when Loki saw you sleeping so peacefully and soundly; wrapped up in your oversized cuddle blanket, he didn't have the heart to wake you up. So, Loki tiptoed over to the little crib and slid both his big hands underneath the small body of his son, in order to lift him up in his arms. Narfi stirred; scrunched his little face. "No, no, no, don't wake up, little prince," Loki whispered; rocking him gently. "It's all good. Daddy just wants you to meet your grandparents. They are beyond excited to meet you." The god continued to whisper to the infant, while he carried him towards the living room.

"Mother, father..." He announced his return with a smile. "It is an utmost pleasure for me to introduce you to your sweet, little grandson - Narfi." Frigga gasped as she laid eyes upon the baby; eyes starting to get clouded by tears. She was visibly happy.

While the Allmother gasped and tried to hold back her tears of happiness, Odin let out a loud, uh, shriek of happiness. It almost sounded like a battle cry; causing both Loki and Frigga to flinch. "A boy! A boy! Finally another man in the family! An heir to the throne! A new ki-" The Allfather cut off his own sentence, as he saw the bombastic side eye his wife was giving him. She was clearly not amused by his reaction. Odin cleared his throat; giving his son, who was looking quite a bit confused at him a nod, before he reached out a hand and clapped him forcefully on the shoulder. "I-I meant great, my son. Producing such strong and healthy children."

Loki - and Frigga were both still not quite convinced by his choice of words, but either way, Loki knew that his father was happy. That he was proud of him and his kids - and that made the god smile. "Would one of you like to hold him?" At this question, Odin got surprisingly excited. "I definitely wish to hold my grandson! May I?" Loki blinked; smiling, "Of course, father." and handed Narfi carefully over. The king looked down at the newborn; the softest of smiles twitching at the corners of his mouth. "He's a broth of a man, son. But why is he still in his Jotun form?" "Oh, uh, he just hasn't learned to shapeshift yet. Ella could do it immediately, but Narfi's got more of my Frost Giant genes and needs a bit more time to learn," the god tried to explain. "Ah, I see."

"Shall we have a seat?" Loki continued; gesturing towards the sofa. Both royals took the offer and sat down. Odin handed Narfi then over to his wife. "He is truly a wonderful, sweet little boy, my dear. You can be proud." Loki smiled; eyes fixated on the still sleeping infant. "I am, mother, I am - but I am even more proud of Y/N. The pregnancy, all that happened while she was pregnant and the birth itself were anything but easy and she did so great; worked so hard to bring him into this world." Frigga - and even Odin nodded; agreeing. "Indeed she is, Loki. Without a doubt one of the strongest women I know."

You had been asleep for a good while now, but your motherly instincts had tickled you awake. A sleepy gaze on the alarm clock, standing on your bedside table told you, that you had slept for almost three hours now. Three hours and Narfi didn't wake me once? You thought; felt the said motherly instincts kicking in.

Rubbing the remaining sleep from your eyes, you yawned and got quickly up; walking over to the crib - only to see that it was empty. A wave of panic and fear rolled over you, until your hazy brain told you, that Loki was with your baby; causing immediate relief to wash over you.

Making your way to the bathroom then; you heard voices coming from down the hall - and suddenly you remembered. Odin and Frigga wanted to visit you! And you slept through it. Shit. Quickly closing the door behind yourself, you took a pee and tried to make yourself look a bit more... presentable. We spoke about the king and queen of Asgard... They were royalty. After checking yourself in the mirror, you decided to join 'the party.'

The first thing you saw when you stepped inside the living room, were three adults, who had their gazes fixated on little Narfi; laying in his grandmother's arms. He was awake; cooing and gurgling - definitely being the main attraction and superstar.

You smiled; stepping closer. "Seems like the little prince met his grandparents already." At the sound of your voice, every head turned to face you. Loki was, of course, the first to react. He got up and walked over to you; gently placing both his hands on your hips. "Darling. As I can see, sleep has released you from its powerful clasp?" You nodded; smiling softly at all the love and affection Loki gave you in this moment - despite his parents presence.

"And as I can see, have the king and queen already met our little prince," you replied; standing on tiptoes and gazing over your husband's shoulder. "Indeed, darling. Apologies. I meant to wait for you, but you slept so peacefully... I didn't want to wake you." "It's okay, babe." You reassured him and placed a chaste kiss on his lips, before you stepped past him - out of his embrace and approached your son, Odin and Frigga.

The Allmother handed Narfi quickly over again to her husband and stood up; opening her arms. "Y/N, my dear," she said, pulling you into a hug. Frigga was - without a doubt, one of the sweetest and kindest souls you knew. "How are you feeling? I hope you could recover a bit?" You smiled; hugging her back. "I could, yes, thank you. I still feel tired, but it's way better." "Oh, that is very reassuring to hear."

You then greeted Odin as well, who was very enthralled with your little baby boy - just like everyone. You sat down on the sofa then - in between Loki's legs; leaning against his chest, with his arms loosely wrapped around you. Narfi quite enjoyed all the attention he got. Just like being held and carried the whole time, so it was no wonder that he slept in soon again.

After a little while, 'the party' got even bigger... Scott returned Ella back home - and of course she had asked him to visit her little brother as well, to which Scott couldn't say no. And perhaps Ella forgot, that her grandparents were on a visit already...

She gently opened the main door, having learned that she must be quiet in case Narfi was sleeping and tiptoed inside the apartment. Loki had practically enchanted the door knob, so that Ella could make her way inside her home without knocking or taking a key with her. She was already a big girl, but watching over an important key was perhaps a too big task yet. So, whenever she wanted to go back inside, the doorknob turned into a doorhandle for her.

"Come on, uncle Scott!" Ella quietly, but excitedly called out; holding the door open. Scott grinned at her and sneaked inside; walking on his tiptoes. After Ella had closed the door again, they both sneaked down the hall - like agents, on their way to find her parents and brother. "I hear voices, Agent Ella. I think your brother might be awake." The little girl had to suppress her giggles. "I think that too, Mr. Ant-Man. It comes from the living room, so we should go there." "Alright. Lead the way, Agent."

Getting closer, the hushed voices got clearer - and suddenly Ella realised. "Ohh..." "What is it, Agent Ella? Have you been hit?! Is there an enemy close?!" Once again, she had to suppress her giggles. "Nooo, Mr. Ant-Man. But my grandparents are here. I could hear grandma Frigga talking." Scott's eyes widened. "Ohh... So you've got very royal visitors today?" "Uh.Huh. But that's okay. I'll take you to see Narfi anyways. Let's go, uncle Sc- I-I mean, Mr. Ant-Man."

Together, they reached the living room. Ella peeked around the door frame first; analysing the situation. She saw how Narfi was laying in Frigga's arms, while she fed him a bottle. Odin sat beside her - just like you and Loki. "Mr. Ant-Man, we're clear!" Ella turned and whispered to Scott, "All right, Agent." before she peeked around the corner again. "Hi mommy, hi daddy, hi grandma Frigga and grandpa Odin!" The little girl chimed happily, causing everyone to look at her with a smile. Scott, being the dorky and funny guy he was mimicked Ella. He peeked around the corner above her, smiling as well. "Hi Y/N, hi Loki, hi Ella's grandparen- I-I mean greetings, your majesties!"

Ella giggled like mad at her uncle Scott's funny behaviour. She adored him - without a doubt. You had to suppress a giggle as well, while Loki rolled his eyes. And Odin and Frigga? Well, they were quite a bit taken by surprise and confused. After all, they didn't have a single clue who Scott was...

"Hi princess, hi Scottie!" You answered, giving them an amused smile. "Laing, what are you doing here?" Asked your husband, visibly annoyed by the friendly Avenger. Scott wanted to answer, but Ella was the one who did. "He brought me home, daddy, from our expo- No, uh... Expola- Exploration!" "Exploration? That sounds quite exciting, if I may say so," chimed in Frigga, while she still fed the bottle to Narfi. "What did you explore, sweetie?" You asked. Scott didn't tell you what exactly he wanted to show Ella. Just that he was going to take her to Hank's laboratory - and you trusted your friend, of course. After all, he was a father, too.

Ella smiled, grabbed Scott by the hand and pulled him after her inside the living room. "He showed me his friends!" "His friends?" Questioned the Allmother. Loki, though, had already a guess. "Oh norns..." He whispered under his breath. "Uh.Huh!" The little girl let go of Scott's hand again, in order to greet everybody. Hugging you, Frigga and even her grandfather; pressing a smacking kiss on Narfi's tiny, chubby cheek and lastly running into her father's arms. It was the hug that lasted the longest - and everyone understood, because all knew that Ella was a daddy's girl. It hadn't changed and probably never would.

"He showed me his ants!" She announced proudly and happily then, causing Odin's eyes to widen. "Ants?! That mortal showed you ants?!" "Yes, grandpa Odin. Scott has sooo many of them and they are so cute and friendly!" The girl explained; totally ignoring Odin's confusion and aversion. "That is ridiculous," the Allfather whispered under his breath, while Ella talked away; earning another side eye from his wife.

"Well, that sounds amazing, sweetie!" You said, giving your daughter a good feeling - and Scott, too. "Scottie, would you like to sit down, have a cuppa coffee?" You then offered; smiling. Loki wasn't amused, what his eyes told you immediately, but you didn't care. Scott was your friend - and definitely Ella's friend. The man with short black-brown hair smiled, nodding. "I'd love to!" "Great! On my w-" You wanted to stand up, to get Scott that cup of coffee, when Loki leapfrogged you. "I'll get our favourite insect a cup of coffee, love." You blinked; were a bit surprised, but nodded. "Alright, babe, thanks."

While Loki was away, you decided to put Narfi down and lay him inside his crib, since he got quite a bit whiny and fractious. After all, there were suddenly a whole lot of people here, directing all their attention on him... Perhaps it became a little too much for the newborn now. So, you took Narfi in your arms and carried him back into yours and Loki's bedroom.

When Loki and you were away, Ella pulled Scott over to the sofa; making him sit down between her and Odin - and the Avenger was visibly excited about this. After all, he sat beside a king! A real king! An excited, hyped grin was painted on his face, as he slid closer towards the Allfather. "So, uh, Mr. Odin - your majesty, Sir..." Odin turned his head slowly; facing him, but he was definitely not quite as amused as Scott was. "How is it to be a king? It must be so freaking awesome and- Oh ma gosh... Is that gold?" He saw the buttons who kept his robe attached to his tunic. Odin wasn't wearing his armour today, since he was on this family trip, but nevertheless was he dressed royally. "Real gold??" Odin nodded; confirming Scott's assumption. "Wooow... And... And that robe..." The black-brown haired man continued; grabbing a fistful of the king's red robe. "What awesome kind of fabric is that? Some kind of cotton mix? It isn't polyester, is it??"

Odin wasn't very pleased about a mere Midgardian touching his robe. "No, it certainly isn't." He hissed and gave it a tug, to pull the fabric straight out of Scott's hands. "It is fine Asgardian silk." Scott's eyes widened and he smiled even brighter; absolutely not caring that the Allfather didn't like what he was doing. "Wow! That's so cool, I swear!"

While Odin became more and more annoyed with every passing minute; Frigga and Ella were having a hard time to suppress their giggles.

Later on, when your guests had left and Narfi was fed, you decided to take a bath, in order to relax a bit. Loki let you, of course; was more than happy that you took time for yourself to relax.

Now the god was laying on the sofa, wrapped up in a soft blanket with Narfi sleeping on his bare chest, as Ella made her way inside the living room. She was already dressed in her pyjamas; ready for bed. Loki saw her tiptoeing inside the room and smiled. "Hey there princess," he whispered; already shifting a bit. He knew what was coming and therefore lifted the blanket. Ella smiled her brightest smile, causing the proud dad's heart to skip a beat. She hopped on the sofa, crawled underneath the blanket and cuddled close to her father and brother. There needed no words to be exchanged. Just love. Loki wrapped his free arm around his daughter and dipped his head to press a lingering kiss on her head.

The three of them just laid there and enjoyed the cuddles. No words were spoken, until Ella decided to change it.

"Daddy?" "Yes, princess?" "Can I visit uncle Scott sometime again?" Loki smiled. He and Laing probably weren't best friends, but Ella adored him, so why denying her that? "Of course you can, Ella." "Really?" She quipped excitedly; blue eyes shining. "Really." "Yay!" Loki chuckled; the vibration of his chest causing Narfi to whine subtly - and Loki stopped immediately. "Apologies, little prince."

The conversation died down then, until Ella spoke up once more.

"Daddy?" The god hummed in response. "I invited uncle Scott to come to Asgard with us." Loki blinked; was quite a bit shocked. "You... You... What? Why?" "Because he wants to have a robe like grandpa Odin has." Loki grimaced; not amused by this idea. Oh norns...

#the baby fever au #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader #loki x you #tom hiddleston x reader #loki fanfiction #loki x y/n #loki #loki fluff #loki laufeyson x reader

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belovedastolove · 9 days ago

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webgott as songs!

aka songs that (in my head at least) are literally about them analyzed to fit them :)

apologies in advance that this first one is basically just my unpolished rambling + not so great/surface level-ish analysis but i wanted to put something out for webgott wednesday bc i haven’t for a long time!

here is my first song i thought of for this… it’s just so them it makes me feel actually so crazy

line 1: joe can see happiness (flowers) with david thats waiting for him, he’s into david like a lovesick puppy but makes him wait. and david does. and that just makes joe sick

line 2: pretty obvious, david is a writer and joe gives him so much shit for being a harvard dork and knowing so many big words but truthfully he admires web’s scholarly side so much it makes him want to punch people.

line 3: i imagine david, being so young and likely inexperienced to get very attached very quickly. he wants to call joe “liebling” all the damn time and it drives joe nuts because this is Not how he envisioned this playing out, and he hates being so endeared by this fucking Wealthy ivy league schmuck..

like 4: the more attached david gets the more joe wants to push him away but he literally cannot help himself like he is down horrendously.. he constantly seeks david out with the “you want some coffee?” and being so so unbearably touchy with david but also verbally agressive? he cannot make up his mind At All.. but joe is also sooo overwhelmed by any semblance of true affection or worry/care for him as a person that it feels suffocating to him and he has to get away

lines 5-8: these happy, jittery moments between them feels so right to joe but since he has major self esteem issues he believes he could never deserve anything this loving or gentle… so he Has to fuck this up so bad from davids perspective that david has to hate him & wish they never met

lines 9-10: joe has to drag david down to his level, make him angry so that’s all he associates with him. he wants david to realize that (in his head) he will never live up to his expectations, that he will always be stuck in this cycle of arguing and being miserable.

lines 11-12: joe genuinely believes with everything in his being that he just sucks the life from things with his anger, with everything wrong with him. he would never say this to david aloud (bc why break the illusion that he’s someone to be hated, not pitied?) but he holds such a sentiment that every argument, flare, literally anything and everything that goes awry between them is his fault at the root of the problem. he will constantly say otherwise, but he believes all the fault lies with him.

line 13: he thinks of david soo highly and like. above himself? david is meant to do, have, and be more than this. more than joe has or will ever amount to, and he cannot willfully hold david back from what joe thinks is best for him.. it kills him to think that david would end up “stuck” & unfulfilled with him, that he can’t be the loving and kind companion bc that’s just not him, that he’s so wrong for david but that he still wants and craves him so bad and its all the worse that the feeling is mutual. he’s not the type to agonize over how he looks or sounds (at least not outwardly) but he thinks he doesn’t have the wherewithal to match david in terms of smarts, looks, personality, any of it. he wants david to find someone he matches with. he knows that david “loves” him but fully believes it’s infatuation and will fade after the thrill of sex with a man stops being exciting or joe pisses him off well enough, whichever happens first.

joe wants david to perceive him as horribly as every thing that is said about him (he’s belligerent, volatile, callous, cynical, and sometimes just downright mean). he wants to say “i proved them right, didn’t i?” that there’s no basis for david to like him or even love him, he is not a good person.

the way that i daydream abt this verse in my head, is essentially after what happens with the commandant, joe wants to have one last run around before he forces himself to quit david. and he’ll make it good; everything david likes, slow and loving like he deserves. and david is like what the actual fuck is happening… the “a little more hurt won’t kill you” is lieb justifying this even though he feels like the most selfish bastard in the world for it. joe is enforcing what he wanted this to be from the beginning: casual sex, pretend it’s fine, let’s not get too personal like i’ve selfishly let you get.. this was a mistake.

if you made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

#i need to smoosh them together to kiss like barbies #they make me feel violent #band of brothers #webgott #david webster #joe liebgott #Spotify

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myveryownfanfiction · 2 years ago

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18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @writingkitten, @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @verysmolnerd, @freddiefredfive, @ghostlypie

Warnings: otto is insecure about his weight, insinuation of sex

I heard the front door open and close as I wiped my hands on the kitchen towel. I heard the keys hit the table as I finished up the dinner. Walking out of the kitchen, I saw Otto sitting on the couch.

“Dinners just about ready. I just have to put it in the oven. You want to eat in twenty minutes or after you shower?” I asked as I leaned against the doorframe. Otto didn’t respond and I leaned over to take a good look at him. His head was hung, shoulders hunched over. “Otto?” I asked softly. I walked slowly over to him and sat down on the coffee table. “Baby?” Ottos shoulders lifted and went down as he sighed.

“bad day at work.” He breathed out, looking over at me. He gave me a tight smile. “Tried to leave it there and it’s harder than I thought. Things just keep running through my head and it…” Otto sighed again and I reached for his hands. He let me take them and pull him forward a little.

“You know you can talk to me about it right?” I asked, worry lacing my tone. Otto nodded before sighing again. I sighed and looked towards the kitchen. “One second.” I got up and put our dinner in the fridge. “Now that that’s sorted,” I sat down on the table again. Cupping ottos face, I leaned forward and kissed him. Otto whimpered into the kiss and I pulled away, my eyebrows furrowed. “Are you ok?” Watching me carefully, Otto shook his head. “Want to tell me about it?” Otto shook his head again.

“you’ll laugh.” I frowned and shook my head. “Norman did.” My frown deepened. “Said I shouldn’t have listened to the guy. Our relationship was proof he was wrong.” Rubbing my thumb I’ve this knuckles and nodded.

“I don’t know what this guy said but Norman is right about our relationship.” Otto took a shaky breath.

“I don’t want to repeat what was said but it was about my weight.” My face relaxed in understanding.

“Oh.” I breathed out. I moved to sit next to him and gathered him into my arms. “Otto…” I kissed his cheek and nuzzled into his neck.

“He…he said that…” Otto took a deep breath before trying again. “He said that there was no way someone with my weight would ever belong with someone like you.” I grumbled under my breath and nuzzled further into Otto.

“I can say wholeheartedly that Norman is right and this guy is just an asshole that you shouldn’t listen to.” I turned ottos face towards me and kissed him hard. “Otto I love you. With all my heart.” Otto melted a little in my touch.

“But i am…” his hand brushed his stomach and I grabbed his hands quickly.

“So fucking what.” I smiled at him. “There’s just more of you there for me to love.” Otto choked on his air a little and blushed at my words. “I truly love you Otto octavius. All of you.” I paused as I looked at ottos slightly glassy eyes. “Next time anyone tells you that you don’t deserve me, for whatever reason but especially if they belittle you as this asshat did, remember this.” Cupping ottos cheeks again, I kissed him as hard as I could. I wrapped my arms around his neck as Otto hesitantly put his hands on my hips, his fingers flexing against my skin.

“Wow.” Otto breathed out as I pulled back from him. “Where did that come from?” I blushed as he smiled at me.

“You know where it came from you dork!” I laughed as I kissed him again. “Want to forget dinner and give you more reasons to not listen to those idiots?” Otto stood up quickly and practically dragged me into the bedroom.

“Yes!” He cried as the door slammed shut.

#otto octavius #otto octavius x reader #otto octavius fanfic #otto octavius fanfiction #otto octavius imagine #alfred molina #alfred molina imagine #alfred molina x reader #alfred molina fanfiction #alfred molina fanfic

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andkisses · 1 year ago

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♡ always, promise | sunoo ♡

you decide, snuggled up as the weather turns colder, that sunoo deserves all your love

♡ sunoo x gn!reader | wc. 1.4k ♡ genres/tropes: domestic, fluff, two dorks in love who say it ♡ mentions of/warnings: sunoo calls reader a pet name ♡ a/n: this is a rewrite of a fic i wrote and posted YEARS ago; unfortunately it was eaten up when i accidentally deleted my blog :’) it was originally for mingyu from svt ♡ masterlist ♡

Rain showers the roof in soft pats, sliding down the walls and running over the windowsill before continuing it’s journey downward. Outside, the trees and grass and flowers have become an electric shade of green, with the leaves glowing in the fresh water. Wind blows the light raindrops around in swirling circles, creating a delicate mist that moves and breathes at a moment's notice.

Just inside, separating cool from warm, is the fireplace, flames licking and crawling around the logs. They crackle and spit when the wind rushes or when raindrops slip down the chimney. A warm glow casts around the living room, where the heat keeps the winter chills at bay. Soon, the weatherman figures on the television, the rain will change into sleet and then into snow. By tomorrow morning, he determines, there should be a good foot of fluffy white snow blanketing the ground. Double check your plans, he warns, because some things will have to change.

But you don't have plans. You hardly even hear let alone register what the weatherman is droning on about over your heartbeat. And you swear you can hear his, too.

Every single blanket the two of you owned, including the fluffy comforter off the bed and the soft throws from the couch and every extra one from the linen closet, were tossed onto the floor between the couch and the fireplace. The coffee table has long been pushed aside and forgotten along with the cooling mugs of cocoa and coffee resting on top. Every single pillow has made its way down with the blankets, too.

And then there’s the two of you, snuggled up in borrowed hoodies and long pants and warm fuzzy socks. You're in one of his hoodies—you "borrowed" and never returned (partially because it's warm and partially because smells like him) but he never asked for it back (partially because he knows you love it and partially because he loves how it looks on you). You're both buried beneath the blankets and pillows, but still close enough to feel the fireplace's heat to feel delightfully toasty.

Close enough to feel each other's warmth.

Your hands find their way to cup his cheeks, and he leans into your touch, eyes closed with a soft and peaceful smile on his face. A frown shapes your lips. “You're still cold,” you say, pinching his still-red cheeks. “You shouldn’t have come over in the rain.”

He laughs, giggles turning his cheeks warm beneath your touch. “What are you? My mom?” He reaches out to boop your nose. “I distinctly remember you saying you were lonely and asking me to come over.”

You make a face, scrunch your nose–because he’s right. You were lonely and you did ask him. And you had been paying attention to the weatherman earlier, imagining the snow and ice and what it would be like to build pillow forts with Sunoo and keeping each other company. He’s already closed his eyes again, melting into the touch of your hands. God, you’re so in love with him.

But you don’t let him know that. That would be embarrassing. Instead, you counter, “You could get sick.”

One eye slowly peers open mischievously, the matching eyebrow quirking up. “Me? Sick?” He laughs again, shuffling closer to you. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in, and you end up with your own arms around his neck. He plants a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, and even though you can’t see it, you can feel his smile against your skin. You must have me mistaken for someone else. I'd never get sick.”

You stay there like that for a while, a smile secure on your lips, you nestled in his arms and safely tucked under his chin. He curls into you, almost like a kid who’s spent too long from home. A drowsy state falls over the room, and you see everything through warm, hazy vision. Outside, the rain had turned to sleet, just as the weatherman predicted. It pinks at the windows. From behind the clouds, the sun begins to sink below the horizon, taking the little light with it. The streetlights turn on. The flames of the fireplace continue to flicker, casting everything in a moving orange glow.

“If we fall asleep now, we’ll ruin our sleeping schedule,” you murmur, already feeling the warm hands of sleep coaxing you away from the land of the awake. “We’ll wake up at like four in the morning.”

Sunoo pulls you a tad closer, hands spread out, one splayed against your ribs and the other running soothing patterns over your back. “Or,” he begins, eyes glittery in front of you with firelight, “we fall into a deep slumber and don’t awaken for thousands of years, but when we do, we'll be rulers of a magical land.”

You blink, eyes tired. You can’t help the smile on your lips. “Would you be the king?”

“Yeah, but I'd let you do whatever you want.”

A lazy laugh escapes your lips, and you move your arms from his neck to wrap them around his torso, to hold him close, face tucked into his chest. He's precious, you realize suddenly, and you feel as if he needs protecting. You think back to when you first met, and he was a cute, bubbly, adorable hot mess trying to start a conversation with you. His confidence clashed with his nerves about you. His cheeks had flushed red hot and he could hardly look you in the eye, but when he did, all you saw was genuine sincerity and child-like curiosity. When he finally asked, "would you be my friend?" you couldn’t fathom how someone could possibly say no. The next memory, the one where immediately after you said yes he jumped and giggled like you told him Santa was actually real and on his way right then.

“You're smiling, I can sense it,” Sunoo coos, drawing more circles onto your back with his fingertips. “What’cha smiling at, honey bee?”

You shake your head, slightly embarrassed by how such a simple, faraway memory could make you feel so giddy and lightheaded. It pairs with your feeling from earlier–how madly you love him–and you know your face is red. “It’s nothing.”

Sunoo pulls away slightly, a small smirk across his lips, mischief in his eyes. “Nothing, hm?” he echoes. He quirks his eyebrow up again. “If nothing does this to you, I'd love to be nothing. I’d be able to make you smile all the time.”

You can’t get your hands to cover your cheeks fast enough, so you bury your face in his hoodie, listening to the charm of his giggles as he laughs at your antics. You pull him even closer, and you feel him do the same, enveloped in his warmth.

Then, he whispers, soft and tender. “I love you,” he says, and you’re convinced your heart is about to burst. “You don’t have to say it back yet; I know it’s big, and—”

“I love you, too.” The joy in his eyes, growth of his smile, how his touch holds you that much more. It makes it all worth the nerves you felt building those worse, convincing yourself to say them before you took Sunoo up on his offer of not saying it back. You really lucked out with a boy named Kim Sunoo.

“Always?” he asks, a tone of seriousness. You know there’d been people before you; you know they weren’t always as kind or as protective with his heart. If they were, you wouldn’t be here, and he wouldn’t be in your arms pleading with you. “Promise?”

Kim Sunoo, you decide, deserves a soft, good love. Before you kiss him, you see snowflakes falling outside. You imagine the two of you, bundled up, running around and playing. You can see snowflakes landing on Sunoo’s lashes, imagine him laughing as he pulls you in for a kiss, hands on your waist. You can imagine helping give him everything he deserves.

“Promise,” you reply. You kiss him then, soft and delicate, ignoring your crazed heartbeat. When you pull back, you move your hands from his cheeks to the back of his head, carding through his locks before moving him to be tucked beneath your chin. Sunoo curls against you, a happy hum against your throat as you continue to stroke through his hair. “Always.”

#kdiarynet #kwritersworld #kflixnet #k-labels #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanons #enhypen scenarioes #enhypen imagines #sunoo fluff #sunoo headcanons #sunoo scenarioes #sunoo imagines #prose #enhypen #sunoo

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aliveinacoffin · 2 years ago

Note

I feel like ur getting bored of just writing aizawa so can u write about either present mic or Deku (or anyone u want i won’t mind!) and just write about them. It could be about anything! I love ur fics so much I wouldn’t mind! Thank you 💗

Omg ty sm! You're so nice 😭 I don't mind! But it's definitely nice to write other stuff. You're literally so nice omg I could just smooch you 😭😭

You're Not Just Him

Hizashi x F!Reader

Your husband deserves a break, and you're the one who needs him to drag him away from work to do so.

Feel like I punish my little guys too much, so here's a cute lil' family fic for you lmao

Hizashi Yamada and Present Mic were two very different people. One was a very famous night radio host who also doubled as an English teacher, who also doubled as a pro hero. The other?

A big doofus who so happens to be your husband. And the father of your children, how unfortunate.

"Presentation Micheal!" You called out, using your mom voice™ on him. You were standing in front of him, hands on your hips while you blocked the view of the TV in front of him. Your two older kids, Kanato and Carmen froze on the spot. They took one glance at one another before sneaking off into their rooms.

"Y-yes, honey?" Hizashi gulped out, a sweet smile twisted up nervously.

"¿Qué es eso? What is that?" You swept your hand across the dark coffee table. You looked at him with a deep frown.

"Uh, work?" He replied nervously. His hair which was usually slicked up was now hanging loosely around his shoulders, all over the place. Most people didn't fully realize how long his hair was, it reached to the middle of his back, thick and luxurious. It was a real pain in the ass to wash.

"And may I ask you why you're doing work on your day off?" Your voice was dangerous now, a scary look came across your face. You looked terrifying, as if there was a dark shadow covering your scowling face.

"W-well! I just have a lot of paperwork to catch up on and-!" He started to defend himself, sweat building up as he waved his hands about.

You sighed, cutting him off, and looked up at him with a gentle look. "You promised you'd spend the day with us. It's a long weekend Hiz', take advantage of that!" You scolded lightly, coming around to sit next to him. You brought your hands to cup his face, slightly rubbing away the deep creases in his forehead.

He sighed, looking down at your bulging belly. You were seven months pregnant, and while you only had two months left, it still felt like this pregnancy was being stretched on forever.

It was probably because of how little time Hizashi was spending at home now. You knew his hero job was important, and you were in complete and full support of him, but it felt like now more than ever was it eating away at his time at home. His duties of being a radio host/emergency contact coordinator were also dragging him away from home, forcing him to spend fewer and fewer dinners with you and the kids.

"I'm sorry my love, you know how my job is." Hizashi sighed again, pressing a small kiss to your forehead.

"I know amor, but that's why you need to take a break. You're not just Present Mic you know? You're also Hizashi Yamada. The lovable and gentle guy with a wife and kids who love him very much." You said, concern in every word you told him. He stared at you with those tired eyes, and it pained you to see the eyebags he didn't hide with makeup.

"I love you so much." Hizashi said softly, kissing one of your hands cupping his face.

"And I love you, you dork." You smiled, pulling him into a deep kiss. His lips were soft against yours, and you put all your love and adoration into it.

"Ewww! Get a room you two!" A voice cut the kiss short, and you both looked over to see Carmen peeking from the hallway with a disgusted look on her face.

"We own this house! We'll smooch where ever we want!" Hizashi proclaimed, grabbing your face and pulling you into another deep kiss.

"Ayy! Stop it! ¡Ustedes parar!" She cried, covering her eyes with her hands.

"What's all the yelling abou-Aw sick!" Kanato cried, also covering his eyes.

You pulled away from Hizashi, both of you laughing breathlessly at one another. He put his head in your chest, stuck in a giggling fit. Your laughter trailed off, and you smiled at your two children. "I heard there's a festival going on downtown today. Why don't we check it out?"

"Okay, but only if you two promise not to kiss again!" Carmen cried.

"Sorry hun, no promises!" Hizashi smiled deviously at her, and she just cried out in misery in response.

___________________________________________

Hizashi secured the large sun hat on you, while you checked your purse to see if you had everything you needed.

Carmen came bouncing out in the same sun dress as you were, she even had the same shoes and sunglasses you were wearing. Hizashi laughed, picked her up, and twirled her around.

"My two favorite girls are matching! How will I ever tell her apart!" He cried.

She laughed, "Mommy is pregnant, not me!"

"That's right, and you better keep it that way." Hizashi lightly scolded, though there was no real heat behind his words. Kanato came waltzing out of his room, wearing a breeze-themed tank top and simple shorts. He had his headphones in, and before he could walk out of the house Hizashi plucked them off.

"We're all hanging out together today, alright son?" This time, his scolding was real.

"Alright." He groaned, rolling his beautiful green eyes.

"You're father's, right honey, it'll be fun, I promise." You kissed his cheek before heading out.

"Yayyy! Festival day!" Carmen excitedly ran out of the house, running up to the car and trying to get into the locked car.

Hizashi scooped her up while you slid in the passenger seat, buckling yourself in while he buckled your youngest in.

Katato easily slid into his spot, and being twelve he easily settled himself in. Carmen still needed a bit of help, even though she was a capable and headstrong six-year-old, she still struggled with the seatbelt. You figured she had a slight fear of pinching her fingers in the buckle.

Hizashi then got into the driver's seat and adjusted the radio before looking in the rear-view mirror to take a peak at the two kids.

"Everyone ready!"

"YesYesYes!"

"Yeah."

"Yes sir!"

"Then we're off!"

___________________________________________

"Ice cream mommy!"

"Oh look at that game, can I play please Mom?"

"Let me win this for you babe, it's a strength babe don't worry."

"Oh gosh, I'd kill for some food right now."

The whole time spent at the festival was time well spent. All of you walked around marveling at all the booths that were there. Buying, winning, and losing a fair amount of prizes and games made the whole experience that much more fun. Plus, you stayed late enough to watch the fireworks together while eating ice cream.

You and Hizashi realized it was time to go when your feet started to swell an unbearable amount and Carmen was starting to tear up at her tiredness.

"Oh gosh, they're not out like a light." Your eyes flashed to the two behind you. Your hand ran up and down your belly subconsciously, soothing the unborn baby to sleep in your stomach.

"Yeah, they had a lot of fun today." Hizashi said, a content smile forming its way on his face.

"They missed you and today will definitely cheer them up. I'm glad I got to tear you away from work too." You reached a hand to hold his thigh, squeezing it lightly before you looked at the window. The passing building looked beautiful late at night.

"I missed you guys too. I'm sorry work as been pulling me away. I didn't realize how badly I needed a break until you dragged me away. I'm glad you did." Hizashi looked at you, gaze soft.

"Don't look at me like that! You're making me nervous." You teased, lightly hitting his arm.

"Like what?" He laughed, soft and confident.

"Like I'm the stars and moon."

"No, you're my sun and my rain." He said dreamily, and you couldn't help but melt.

...

"Get a room you two." A soft voice murmured out, and Hizashi swerved the car out of shock.

#hizashi yamada x reader #yamada hizashi #my hero academia hizashi #my hero academia fanfiction #my hero academia #my hero x reader #hizashi yamada x reader fluff #fluff #mha fluff #fanfiction #mha fanfiction #x reader #THERY SO CUTE #i love them #theyre all cuties #carmen is my fac

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fangirlingfromdownunder · 2 years ago

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Comfort in Room Service

Summary - Part 24 in the Comfort series

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader, Reader x Sam (platonic), Reader x Bobby (father-figure), Andre (OG Character) x Reader (best friends)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“I believe we have a case to talk about first…”

“Best I can tell … it’s a vengeful spirit. All the victims so far are newly married men. My guess is a couple got hitched, things went sour so she regretted it and then she must’ve died somehow. Potentially killed by the new husband, and now she’s taking it out on all the men that get married in that chapel. If I wanted to play devil’s advocate I would say she’s trying to protect the women, but I still don’t think it’s right.”

“For someone who’s been out of the game for a while that’s some good deduction work. You got the actual research and files to back it up?”

“Files? I told you, I don’t do that stuff anymore. I found out what I could legally. The rest is up to you and your boy toy.”

“Dean’s no more my ‘boy toy’ than Danny is yours. I chastise Dean for not being nice enough to you, don’t think I’ll refrain from treating you the same. He drove all the way here to help with a case you found, granted I had a big part in it, but he’s here all the same. He deserves more respect. He’s reserved, but he’s never been rude, not to you anyway.” You go to say more but you hear the bathroom door open. You shoot Dean a smile as he walks towards you.

Andre stands up awkwardly. “Yeah, so uh, that’s all I got. You think you can work with that?”

You look back over at him and nod, “Yeah, thanks. We’ll do some more research and check it out. You and Danny enjoy your wedding planning.”

Dean gives you a quizzical look as Andre turns to leave.

“Thanks. Be safe … both of you. Good night.”

“Good night,” you call out as Andre leaves.

Dean sits on the couch beside you pulling your feet into his lap. He starts to massage your feet, ankles and calves as he looks at you for an explanation. When you stay silent he says, “I heard all that you know. It was quite sweet of you to defend my honour like that.”

“That’s not what I was doing. I just … I know what he thinks about our relationship. He wishes I could’ve found someone who wasn’t in the game, like him and Danny. But I didn’t. I found you, and he doesn’t get to take that out on you. I choose who I date … who I marry … and I choose you. Regardless of what anyone else thinks.”

“I promise I’m going to get you out of this life … one way or another.”

You sit up and put one of your hands on his, briefly stopping his movements. “We’re going to get out … together. But first, we really should talk about this case.”

“Alright, Sweetheart, what’d he give us to work with?”

You lean back again and say, “Well, a vengeful bride is killing off any newly married men in a popular chapel. What we need to figure out is who she is, or was, so we can burn her bones before anyone else dies.”

“So, we go in as FBI tomorrow and get access to the list of everyone ever married there and figure out who’s dead.”

“Or we could go undercover … you feel like playing bait?”

“I thought you didn’t want to get married in Vegas?”

“I don’t. FBI it is then, except I didn’t bring anything FBI-worthy. When I left with Sam I was going to hunt what I thought was a werewolf or something.”

“I’ll buy you something to wear, on two conditions…”

“Yeah?”

“One, I get a fashion show. And two, you also get something really nice for the casinos and a fancy dinner once we gank this ghost.”

“You know you’re the only boyfriend in the world that actually wants to go clothes shopping with his girlfriend.”

“Fiance. And it’s not like it’s a common occurrence. I like spoiling you and seeing you dress up.”

“Dork.” As you finish talking your stomach growls loudly.

“Sounds like it’s time to feed my girl,” Dean says. As he reaches for the room service menu on the coffee table, you hear a knock on the door. You give each other a confused look as he gets up.

He walks back into the room a few minutes later with a trolley covered in a crisp white cloth with silver dishes, utensils, wine glasses and a bottle of red wine. “Son of a bitch’s still trying to upstage me…” he grumbles as he wheels the trolley over to the couch.

“Dean…” you scold.

“I’m taking you to a five-star restaurant before we go home. Five-course meal minimum with drinks and a view to kill for. I’ll show you I can give you what you deserve.”

You reach out to him and say, “Jealousy is not a good look on you, Babe. Come here.” When he gets close enough you take his hand in yours and pull him down to sit beside you again. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re all I ever want and need? This is just his way of apologising for how he acted earlier.” When he stays silent and glares at the trolley you continue, “Have you ever heard of love languages? Andre’s is quite obviously gift-giving. Do you know what mine is?”

He slowly shakes his head, still not looking at you. You sit up and take both of his hands into your lap as you force him to make eye contact.

“It’s quality time with a hint of physical touch. Two things that you give me almost daily … because I’m convinced yours are the same. You need and want those things as much as I do so it’s second nature for you to do it. That’s one of the things I love most about you. I don’t need gifts or fancy dinners, I just need you to hold me. That’s enough. You’re enough.”

He looks away again as tears start to well up. You rest your head on his shoulder. “I know you’ll never hear my words, or never truly believe them anyway. But I just hope some part of you knows how I feel about you. I’ll never leave you or choose anyone else over you, Fiance.” You kiss his neck softly before sitting up and examining the trolley. You pick up the wine bottle carefully opening it to ensure the cork doesn’t fly off and break anything and then fill the two glasses with the rich red liquid. You place one glass in Dean’s hands as you lightly tap your glass to his.

“I know you like to provide for me. Another part of how you show your love is through acts of service. But you do that all the time. I’ll let you take me where ever you want tomorrow and cook for me when we get back to the Bunker. But for tonight, can we just enjoy this dinner together? Please, Baby? Just because Andre bought it doesn’t mean we can’t still make it about us.”

Finally, he lifts his head and meets your eyes as he takes a small sip of the wine. You smile and follow suit. You quickly lift the covers off the plates before you lose his attention to his self-deprecating thoughts again. One at a time you reveal serves of chicken pot pie, salmon filets, lasagne, ribeye steaks, tiramisu, and creme brulee. It’s the biggest selection of food you and Dean have seen in a long time. You hand Dean a fork and you each start digging into the dishes not even bothering to serve them on the plates.

By the time you get to dessert you’re feeling full but Dean takes the two dessert trays and a spoon and goes over to the bed. As he takes a big spoonful of the tiramisu he looks at you suggestively. Curious and a little excited about the thoughts going around his head you get up and climb into the bed and join him. He holds a spoon out to you and you let him slip it into your mouth, you close your eyes, moaning at the initial sweetness and then the bitter mix of the coffee and alcohol. Once you swallow you take the spoon off him and feed him.

“It’s no pie, but it’s alright,” he says before kissing you. His hand cups your cheek securely as he deepens the kiss. You drop the spoon and slip your hand into his hair. You try to pull him to lay down with you but he pulls away. You chase his lips for a few more quick kisses. “Patience, Sweetheart.”

He gets up and puts the leftover food in the fridge and then rifles through your bag until he finds the stuffed bunny he bought you months ago. He tosses it towards you and you catch it, hugging it close to your chest. “I can’t believe you brought that with you.”

“When I left the Bunker I was going on my first hunt in forever without you. Of course, I brought it. It’s the only thing you’ve given me that doesn’t have a life-saving property.”

“It’s hard to believe you’re a hunter sometimes. You’re so cute.”

“Says you, Winchester. Now come here and cuddle with us.” You hold up the bunny.

“You’re over-dressed,” he states as he comes over and pulls your jeans down your legs. You reach under your shirt and unclasp your bra and slip it off before throwing it at him as he’s shedding his own jeans. He then lifts his shirt over his head and holds it out to you. Once you take it he rounds the bed while you swap your own for his larger one. This whole routine was not unusual for you, it’s actually almost second nature, especially when on hunts. You often shower after getting back from a gruesome hunt and then redress in a clean set of day clothes until bed when you strip and steal one of Dean’s shirts. Eventually, he just started to offer you the one off his back and sleep topless next to you.

He climbs into bed with you and you snuggle up close resting your head on his chest and draping your arm across his stomach. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. You lay there for a while enjoying the silence.

You’re pretty much asleep when Dean quietly says, “I promise I’m gonna get you out safely. I love you too much to trap you here in this life with me. Whatever it takes, Sweetheart. You’re gonna get out.”

Assuming that he’s only opening up because he thinks you’re asleep you subtly snuggle closer, keeping your eyes shut. You feel him run his fingers over your silver ring. You can only imagine the thoughts circling around in his mind. The dread of what he could be planning settles deep in your stomach and you push back tears and will yourself to go to sleep.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A/N: Sorry we still didn’t get to the hunt or much action this week. I just keep getting lost in these fluffy moments between Dean and Y/N and can’t bring myself to cut them out or skim over them.

Tag list: (Leave a like or comment on this post or let me know below if you want to be added to the tag list for this series)

@bitchwitch1981, @muhahaha303, @justrealizedimmascifygurl, @mcdowell-123, @leigh70, @marvelsmarauder, @losa12308, @tapedeck-hearts, @luvjaida, @peachtxa, @ambearsstuff, @shadow-of-a-cloud, @slut-for-buck, @iprobablyshipit91, @sassy-pelican, @fallenlilangel99, @heavenlyhopeful0

#dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff

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goldendoodlerlockerlove · 1 year ago

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I’m a huge Multishipper and find the merits of almost any Ship for Bob’s Burgers. I’ve seen so many good content for so many lovely ships!! Here are some of my favorites (and the blogs that produce the best content for these ships):

Tina/Josh is so underrated, in my opinion. The show did make it so they’ll never be canon (probably), and Josh didn’t get nearly enough screentime, but I think they’re adorable. I loved them so much in Linda-Pendant Woman, with Tina pulling a Prince Charming and trying to find who Josh’s bandaid belonged to. And their Fresh Feed kiss!! Tbh, I kind of ship them the most (please don’t come for me) and they’re super cute. But the show’s most likely not going to do anything else with them. They have a ton of potential, and I wish they spent more time fleshing Josh out as a character. If they had, this ship had the potential of being as good or even better than some of the other ships with Tina. I also definitely headcanon Josh as Bi. That boy is not straight in my opinion.

Tinimmy is such a classic, I adore it and all of the lovely content that @drawthethingdoppelganger and @jimmyjrsmusoems have put out. These two are the absolute Tinimmy Queens, so if you want Tinimmy content, go to their blogs immediately!! It helps that this ship is basically canon, and Jimmy Jr. is such an awkward dork 😭 He doesn’t know how to express his emotions, but he does care so much about Tina despite what some people say 😒 It’s so frustrating when people always put J Ju down because of one episode (V For Valentine-Detta). Yes, it was a jerk move, but he’s a flipping middle schooler!! And it wasn’t even that bad, anyway. And one bad move doesn’t erase all of the lovely things he’s done for Tina. Like finding her Barrecklace and saying it made him think of her?? Wanting to do a Sky Kiss with her?? Agreeing to go on a date to Pie in the Sky even though he’s not really a fan, and inviting her on a completely genuine date to Fro-Yo Mama?? Come on, these two are adorable. And they deserve a coffee date sometime if DT’s recent art is anything to go by. I also headcanon Jimmy Jr. as Bi sometimes and a heavily closeted Gay boy other times. It kind of depends how I’m feeling, pffffft. @br1ghtestlight has headcanoned him as Aro/Ace, and that’s a fun and valid interpretation too, but I usually feel as if he does have some sort of interest in Tina romantically. I’m not sure. I guess it depends??

Zekina is so cute even though I don’t ship it as much as the other two. Zeke wanting to take Tina on a date to the aquarium and then out for tacos is just so adorable!! But it always annoys me so much when people say that Zeke is obviously the better choice for Tina and is always nicer to her and always has her best interests at heart. Like, Zeke is a sweetheart, but he’s had his moments of not being great to Tina. He’s a teenager just like Jimmy Jr. He’s not obviously the better choice for her just because he suggested that date of tacos and touch tanks. Zekina is lovely, and I respect anyone who ships it and makes content for it. I definitely see the appeal. But people really need to stop coming for Jimmy Jr. Yes, I will keep yelling about this forever 😭 Anyway, if you want some of the best Zekina content, you must go to @theangrypomeranian’s blog right now. You should absolutely read Baby Steps!! I started it but haven’t gotten far because of the length, but everyone should go read it and support them!! @br1ghtestlight has also written a Tina and Zeke fic (though they might just be platonic there) that I still haven’t read yet, but everyone should go read that too.

Zeke/Jimmy Jr., aka Zesto (not sure if that’s their actual ship name, but it should be) is great. It has so much potential, and I ship it a ton. I tend to ship Tina/Josh and Zeke/Jimmy Jr. the most, not because of Jimmy Jr., but because those are the ships I just enjoy the most and I think have the best potential/chemistry. But plenty of other ships have lovely potential and chemistry too!! Anyway, these two can be read equally well as platonic besties, but them being together romantically intrigues me. It would be a ton of fun, I think. They would definitely be a chaotic couple, but a cute one. I mean, Jimmy Jr.’s reaction when he thought Zeke would start going to a different school?? He was so stressed!! And Zeke always wanting to wrestle with J Ju as a sign of affection? And agreeing to do things like help J Ju get a chicken nugget in his mouth? I love.

Genecadero is adorable and @dianadeadwing has made such cute artwork for them. Gene doesn’t have many ships, and I probably enjoy this one the most. It’s definitely a rare pair. Gene deserves a cute romance with a sweet partner!! It’s weird to me when people sometimes say that Gene is too young for that when the show already tried giving him a straight relationship with Courtney. Yes, they broke up, but still. The showrunners are clearly open to giving Gene a relationship. I love the idea Diana brought up of Peter not-so-subtly having a crush on Gene and Gene just not getting the hints. But I like to think he becomes super lovestruck and a super doting partner when he’s older.

I’m cheating and putting Gene/Alexis (I came up with a super cute ship name for them now now I can’t remember what it is ☠️ Does anyone want to help me come up with one??) on here, because I was like “Welp, if others don’t want to give Gene many ships, I’ll make one myself!” I’ve grown very attached to Alexis as an OC, and I’ve suddenly realized he has similarities to Alex 😭 I imagined them both as being voiced by Thomas Middleditch, their names are similar, and are both kind of nerds. But I think that’s where the similarities end. I definitely wanted Alexis to stand out as a character, and I think he’s still different enough from Alex. Anyway, I can’t help but talk about these two, they make my heart sing. I will never get tired of making content about them or just rambling about them like here.

Gene/Sasha is such a rare pair, and the enemies to lovers potential?? Amazing, actually 🤌🏼 If this ship wasn’t so rare, I think it would have Louigan potential, tbh. I love the idea of these two talking more and bonding, because let’s be real, Sasha is 1,000% not straight. Just look at him. Their ship also kind of reminds me of Dipcifica from Gravity Falls, with the rich kid potentially opening up and becoming a better person thanks to someone else’s influence. I just love a good Enemies-to-Lovers romance, and the potential they have for banter is immaculate.

Ahhh, Roudise (aka Louwheeze, which is an incredible ship name), is just the cutest thing on earth, I adore it. I love a good Friends-to-Lovers, and I think I just have them on the brain because of Roudise Week. They’re just adorable and basically canon like Tinimmy. I probably ship them the most?? They just make me happy. I love how Rudy brings out Louise’s softer side, and Louise helps bring Rudy out of his shell. Their friendship is precious, their potential romance even more so. I just have a lot of thoughts about these two, they make me happy. Also, Louise slapping Rudy after kissing him in Bob, Actually sends me every time. If you want some of the best Roudise content, go to @ltwharfy and @devilh0rnsinc. Their Roudise content is just so lovely!!

Louigan!! This ship is great too. I don’t understand why people who ship it get blocked. There’s so much potential there!! Again, Enemies-to-Lovers is one of my favorites. And their potential for banter?? Amazing. Incredible. No notes. If you want the best Louigan content, you must go to @babsvibes immediately. I started reading Stacy’s Cardamom, which is basically her Magnum Opus. I haven’t finished it yet, but it’s incredible and everyone should go read it. She’s truly the Louigan Queen and got me interested in this ship in the first place. And she was kind enough to invite me onto the Louigan Discord, which has been an absolute blast (even though I hardly share anything Louigan on there ☠️). I want to change that and make more Louigan content. I have a lot of ideas. Y’all better watch out if Louigan Week happens again next September 👀 Louigan Week was also amazing this year!! Everyone show Babs some love for running that incredible event.

Louissica is cute and has potential. I feel as if it’s quite similar to Roudise as a cute, charming Friends-to-Lovers. But Jessica just needs to appear more and be more developed as a character, because she just hasn’t appeared enough for me to have as many thoughts about this ship as all of the others I’ve listed so far. I loved them hunting for that Wharf Monster together, that was such a fun side plot. And them bonding at Louise’s sleepover when she’d driven everyone else away.

BOBLIN. If there’s a ship from this show I love the most, it’s Boblin, no contest. There’s a reason my very first ask to DT was Boblin-related. But I’ve rambled about them enough, so I’ll try to keep this short, pfffffft. They’re an example of a couple that’s as close to perfect that I’ve ever seen. They’re so sweet you’ll get a cavity, they’re domestic, and they’re ancient as hell muppets. What else could you want?? I love how their love stems not just from huge, loud, romantic gestures. It also stems from more quiet, subtle moments. Like Bob massaging Linda’s feet. Or Linda deciding to give Bob a quiet night in for his birthday, because she realized he’d enjoy that the most. Or Bob making her a heart-shaped pancake on Valentine’s Day. You get the idea. If you want the best Boblin content, then @jimmypesto is your girl. She’s written some of the best BB fics I’ve read, and the way she writes Boblin is unmatched. She’s such a talented writer, it’s insane. She’s also written a ton of Boblin smut, if that’s your thing!!

Frondbrose is wonderful. These two also have such good chemistry and banter, it’s insane. Their Enemies-to-Lovers potential is insane. I wish they were canon so bad. They definitely need to interact more. Mr. Ambrose showing his softer side for Mr. Frond is just so adorable to me!! This man would be the epitome of “I hate everyone, but I don’t hate you 😌” They make me all giggly. I can’t get enough. They’re definitely the type to have Hate Sex once and then deny it ever happened 🤣. But everyone would know the truth.

Tedmort is so cute and has so much potential. I love it. I think Teddy and Mort’s friendship is precious already, but a potential relationship between them?? The wholesomeness meter would be off the charts. They can be an ancient muppet couple like Bob and Linda!! Mort would treat Teddy 1,000% better than Denise, but tbh, anyone else would treat Teddy better than Denise. If you want Tedmort, then @keepyourhornson-spyro is the person for you!! They’ve written some lovely Tedmort fics that everyone should read.

Marshmallow/Nat has such potential, and there should be content about them!! It just seems like such a fun ship, and I think being with Marshmallow would help Nat get over her ex-girlfriend. These two also share a similar vibe of just coming and going as they please, and “being truly free” 😌 I still love that Marshmallow is canonically Trans and Nat is canonically a Lesbian. They’re wonderful.

Hemita is a canonical rarepair, which I didn’t think was possible, but here we are. I think they’re so cute and definitely good for each other. Susmita asking out Henry in Morse Code?? That was adorable. We need more moments of these two being cute. I love them.

Barryl is such a rare pair and has won me over so much. There’s just something that makes sense about these two being together that’s difficult to describe. There’s something so sweet about Becky being able to find love after being unlucky with Jimmy Jr. Darryl would be such a sweet boyfriend to her, and she would be such a sweet girlfriend in return. They would be so cute holding hands and listening to the Frozen soundtrack on repeat. Sure, to ship them, you need to ignore Rosa, but she was only in one episode anyway. I gotta shout out @theangrypomeranian again for basically creating this entire ship herself. Amazing.

Arnlee is such a gigantic rare pair it’s insane, and they’ve definitely won me over too. They’re so cute!! They’re just two socially awkward kids who would work really well together. They deserve to have some sort of side plot where they bond. I would love that. @devilh0rnsinc made the cutest art of these two together for @ltwharfy, and that was what officially won me over. That and @ltwharfy’s adorable fic about them which everyone should go read.

I might cut myself off there, because this post is insanely long. But it just goes to show how many lovely ships there are in this fandom. And they’re all valid. Seriously, can we please just respect each other and who we ship??

Anyway, there’s a little something for everyone in terms of ships, and I just love that so much. Everyone needs to check out all of the blogs I mentioned for some lovely content❣️They’ve also just been so sweet and welcoming towards me, I can’t stress that enough!!

#fandom ships #bobs burgers #we need more content for some of these rare pairs #rare pairs are just so fun to talk about #all of these ships make me so happy in different ways and i’ve had my eyes opened to so many of them because of these talented people #for example i was very normal about tinimmy until dt and kaitlyn came long pfffffft #now i have intense brainrot and you know what?? i’m not complaining #caroline also helped make me even more insane about boblin thanks to her amazing fics. i can’t stress enough how lovely they are #everyone in this fandom is just so amazing and talented i can’t handle it❣️

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quillquiver · 2 years ago

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Happy 2nd anniversary to those two old guys from supernatural [[ao3]]

Their room is a mess.

It’s not their fault; though they’re largely retired, Claire and Kaia needed backup on a nearby mystery monster situation. So Cas’d cracked open the books and Dean had packed a duffle and when they’d stopped hearing from the kids, they’d gone in after them. ’Course, by the time they’d gotten back they’d pretty much just shed their viscera-covered clothing and dropped into bed.

Bright winter sun streams in through the window, causing Dean to groan and Cas to burrow further into his pillow. The duffle has been thrown at the closet door, the thing busted open and swollen with weaponry. Cas’s angel blade thigh holster hangs off the bottom-right bed post and Dean’s gun sits atop the dresser. The room smells like sewage and monster guts, which isn’t exactly ideal for a second wedding anniversary, but Dean figures they’ve done worse; last year, Jack had been so sick they’d spent the day trying to stop his puking.

But Jack is with Sam and Eileen today, and after a shower and a change of sheets, Operation: Oops We Did It Again can finally commence. Starting, hopefully, with a vat of coffee and Dean getting fucked silly as many times as they can swing it.

“Cas,” he whines, eyes closed. He shakes his shoulder. “Coffee.”

“You do it,” Cas says.

“Did it last time.”

Cas slaps at Dean’s hands. “M’gonna burn it.”

“S’automatic, you loser.”

“Can’t.” He rolls over. Tucking his face into the juncture of Dean’s neck, Cas applies half-asleep kisses everywhere he can reach, mumbling nonsense about how good and strong Dean is, how he’s the best provider and so manly and wouldn’t he prefer to make the coffee?

Dean stumbles out of bed grumbling.

Cas smiles. “I love you,” he murmurs, eyes still closed.

Yeah, Dean bets he does.

By the time he comes back with two mugs and his present under his arm, Cas has moved from his side of the bed to Dean’s, his head face-down in Dean’s pillow. Dean still has no idea how he manages to breathe like that. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. C’mon.”

Cas groans.

“Cas, seriously. There’s shit all over the room, I need you to grab this.”

He rises from the bed like a zombie from the grave, sitting up and offering his hands. As soon as the mug is cupped between his palms he sighs. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“Kiss.”

Dean grins. Pecks his mouth. “We’re so nasty,” he says. “Feel like I need to go through a human car wash.”

“Mm.” His blue eyes are only barely open. “Made it though.”

“Yeah by the skin of our teeth.” Dean frowns at his mug. “Gettin’ old.”

“For fighting, maybe. For everything else...” Cas shrugs. Smiles. “I think you deserve a real retirement.”

Dean purses his lips. They haven’t really talked about going whole hog on their apple pie life yet, and it’s not something he really wants to think about; if his family’s in trouble, he’s just supposed to sit around with his thumb up his ass? He’d never leave Jack, how could he leave Claire and Kaia?

“We don’t have to decide right now,” Cas says, clearly more awake. He shrugs. “It might be something to think about. I don’t like it, but Sam and Eileen’s network has been doing great things. And I think we scared Claire.”

“Yeah,” Dean chews his lip, distracted. “Maybe.”

“...Is that for me?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Smiling, again, Dean takes the badly-wrapped package from under his arm and offers it. “It’s, uh, nothin’, y’know. Just... yeah. Happy anniversary.”

Cas kisses him, soft and sweet. “What is it?”

“You have to open it, you dork.”

“Alright, well...” Cas stretches and reaches under the bed, bringing up a present of his own. “Happy anniversary to you, too.”

Dean grins. “Open mine first.”

Cas’s gift is a riotously coloured cotton sweatshirt and short set. The thing looks like it’s been pulled right out of the 90s, soft and bright and Cas smiles so big his gums show. “I’m going to wear it once I’ve showered.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” He leans in for another kiss, grinning when Dean chases as he pulls away. “Open yours.”

Dean shakes his head, moving to press soft, wet kisses across Cas’s top lip. “Wanna make it last.”

Cas gives as good as he gets, shuffling until he’s practically in Dean’s lap. Their empty mugs have gotten lost in the dirty sheets somewhere, hands holding and squeezing and grabbing as the kiss deepens to something sexy and slow. Cas has this way this way of kissing that makes it feel like the main event. “Trust me,” he breathes. “We’re going to want what’s in there for the next part.”

“The shower?” Dean teases, leaning in again.

Cas nips his bottom lip. “The sex.”

Dean tears into the wrapping paper.

“Oh hell yeah.”

Sheets.

“Egyptian cotton,” Cas grins. “500 thread count.”

“Mm, talk dirty to me.”

“Single-ply,” he says lowly. “Hand-dyed.”

“Oh baby.”

They beam at each other.

“Thanks, man,” Dean says. “I love ’em.”

“That’s only part of your gift,” he explains matter-of-factly. “I also plan to fuck you on those sheets. And to have pizza delivered later.”

“Hot.”

They make-out for longer than they probably should given how gross they are, until Cas is trying to hump him like some over-eager teenager and Dean is rapidly forgetting why they shouldn’t just add to the mess (the answer: that would be disgusting). “Sweetheart, we gotta—we should—”

“What if we just, ah, like this. Then later—”

Dean shakes his head. “Want it to last. I want—”

“I can do that. I can—fuck—”

“Cas, if you come without fucking me I’m gonna be pissed.”

Cas wrenches away, frustrated. “Then just let me—”

“Woah,” Dean interrupts. “What’s the rush? Sweetheart, hey. Castiel.” But Cas refuses to meet his eyes. Dean cups his face. Cas grips his wrists. “Talk to me.”

“I love you,” he blurts out.

Dean frowns. “Yeah, I love you, too.”

“I love you so much,” Cas says, like it’s a confession. Like it’s being ripped out of him. “I’m here. We’re married. We almost died. And I just—Dean, I don’t know—There’s something wrong with me, I—”

Dean’s eyes soften. “Nah, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Sorry,” Cas croaks, squeezing his eyes shut as if to stop himself from crying. “I want you. I-I want—So I don’t understand why I’m—I was fine. I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “You are.” His dirty fingers thumb away tear tracks from the apple of Cas’s cheek. “Look, sometimes... we think we’re fine but we’re overwhelmed, y’know? S’okay.”

“I wanted to take care of you today.”

“Who says the day’s over?” Dean asks. “We’re gonna go take a nice long shower and I’m gonna wash your hair, and then I’m gonna go order like 40 pizzas and choose a movie, ’cause you owe me for coffee this morning. Then we’ll shove everything in the wash, and change the sheets, and you’re gonna fuck me so good I’ll feel it for the rest of the week.” Cas huffs a laugh. Dean smiles. “Darlin’,” he murmurs. “We’ll talk about hunting.”

Cas bites his lip. “I don’t want to die,” he breathes. “I only just got you back.”

The smallness of his voice hangs in the air between them. Dean feels something in him break. “...Yeah,” he swallows thickly. “I know.”

“But I don’t want to leave Claire if she needs help,” Cas argues with himself. “And you love hunting, I don’t want—”

“Alright well, first of all I don’t love hunting.”

“You know what I mean.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Dean promises. “We always do.” They’re quiet as he rubs at the cut of Cas’s jaw, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. “Not to change the subject or anything,” he eventually says. “But that was some serious real adult shit right there.” Cas rolls his red-rimmed eyes. Dean puffs out his chest. “C’mon, you gonna tell me I didn’t just make that conversation my bitch? I win at relationships, man.”

Despite the smile creeping across his face, Cas shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Whatever, I’m totally winning.”

Cas squints. “You routinely put things away without asking where they go. And then you forget about them, like a squirrel.”

“Please, you leave your shit all over the place. What am I supposed to do? Just walk right on by?”

“Yes! You...” Cas trails off, eyeing Dean’s shit-eating grin with a grimace. “Fine. Yes. Thank you. You’re very good at relationships.”

“Some would even say...” Dean prompts.

“They’d be wrong,” Cas says simply. “If the sample size is the rest of our lives, there’s no way to tell you’ve won yet.” A shrug. “And as we aren’t even through the whole day today, the jury still seems to be out on that, too. Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry.

Dean hums. “So what you’re saying is, we should get in the shower to figure out who’s better.”

“As a start, yes.”

“Cool.”

Dean’s halfway to the bathroom when he suddenly pulled into a hug. Cas steps in and around until they’re pressed chest to chest, clinging to him in a way that would have broken bones if he was still an angel. He pulls away with a kiss to Dean’s closed mouth. “Thank you,” he says emphatically. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop being thankful for it.”

A blush explodes across the bridge of Dean’s nose. “That’s cheating.”

“I meant it.”

Dean looks at him, helpless. “Cas.”

Cas stares his fill until he’s apparently done, nodding to himself before leading Dean, by the hand, into the bathroom. “Come.”

Dean does, for the record.

#destiel #destiel fic #destiel anniversary #happy anniversary dean and cas!#fluff #lemon-y #hurt/comfort #kinda #adventures in fanfic #man this was supposed to be so short #and then took me like 2.5hrs #oops

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hangmanbradshaw · 1 year ago

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WIP

Tagged by @itshoneywhatever and @satanssugar so here's what I've got cooking.

Darkest Little Paradise:

“He deserves life.”

“And you don’t?” Jake asked, cocking his head in that way he always did.

“He’s got others. People who love him, need him. He has Ice…love.…their friends. I don’t have anything, apart from him. The world’s a better place with him in it.”

IWTBY Vacation One Shot:

He’d been a little embarrassed about his insatiable need for Bradley’s skin under his at first, but then he’d learned that the more he gave in and let himself want, open with the affection and touches, the more Bradley would blush and bat his eyes all dopily and stare at Jake like he was everything. The more he would giggle and joke and they’d lose the sexy talk to laugh at each other as they gripped onto each other’s skin and found release. The more he would chase Jake around the house after he jokingly poured ice down the back of his shirt when he was cooking. Long gone was the cool, confident, collected man he’d met all those months ago. In front of him now was his Bradley, massive dork, complete softie, so loose and carefree in his return affection.

He’d thought for so long that had just been Bradley, and it had, in a sense. It was a part of him that had always been there, but he was learning to accept the fact that he brought it out in him, had dug in and pulled it out of the rubble it had been stuck under since Bradley’s accident. Just as Bradley brought out the lightness in him, unearthed the part of himself he’d buried long ago in the Texas soil that was capable of intense love, he’d somehow become the anchor Bradley also steadied himself to. It was thrilling, and terrifying, and amazing all at once.

He still hoped he wouldn’t break it, this fragile little thing Bradley had given to him with a sign screaming ‘handle with care.’ But every day, he saw that heart in his hands grow stronger, steadier, and every day he found his own touch holding on tighter, less afraid of what he might do to it.

He still got it wrong some days, but it was okay. They were learning. It never left a bruise anymore, just some dust that they were able to blow away together. And as for his own heart, well, he’d given it to Bradley and not looked back.

Bradley bit his lip and Jake finally pushed his hand into the waistband of Bradley’s swim trunks. He walked his fingers down his dick and then grabbed on, squeezing once before slowly pumping his fist, using the water to ease the glide.

“Jake.” Bradley hissed, eyes darting around. He looked torn. “Someone could see.”

Jake glanced around at the open ocean. The boat swayed in the water, anchored next to them. The shore was a good few hundred feet away, the water around them empty and clear. It was why they’d chosen the various spots they had in the Greek islands- privacy.

Proposal AU (my winter fic...hehe)

Jake tapped his foot as the elevator music that haunted his dreams at night played over the tiny speakers above him. He checked his watch again and sighed as he shifted the coffee tray in his hand. He was going to be right on time, which might as well have been thirty minutes late. The elevator doors dinged as they opened and he high tailed it out, speed walking through the lobby of the office and greeting everyone as he passed.

He rounded the corner and thanked every deity known to mankind and animals too when there was no sign of his boss through the glass doors of his office. He set the coffee on his desk and headed back to his desk with a sigh of relief.

“Jake.”

He looked up at the familiar voice. It was a voice he’d dreamed of frequently, though not usually in a good way, apart from the few dreams where that voice was breathing against his ear instead of snapping at him. Those dreams were almost worse than the stress dreams. He wasn’t sure what it said about his psyche that he occasionally had sex dreams about the devil incarnate, but, well, that was a thing to add to the list of his future therapy appointments he was sure he’d need after this job.

“Mr. Bradshaw, good morning.” He replied with a sunny smile.

Bradley, as he referred to him only in his head, stopped near his desk. He looked as he always did- dark curls gelled back, scruff lining his jaw, a suit that fit perfectly hugging his body. It was a shame such a nice package had to hold such a miserable bastard, he thought. Bradley’s eyes were trained on his head, and he itched to fix his hair, sure if must’ve looked like he’d just rolled out of bed because…he had.

“Morning.” Bradley said, a little oddly. His eyes didn’t move.

Jake blinked several times when no barking order immediately followed it. He wasn’t used to getting a relatively normal greeting and he momentarily wondered if he was still dreaming.

“Anything I can do for you this morning, sir?” He asked with that bright smile he’d perfected.

Bradley finally snapped out of it, blinking and shaking his head a bit. He cleared his throat and said, “I’ve got meetings. Hold my calls.” He stared again at his face, and Jake suddenly remembered he was still wearing his glasses, not something he usually did at work. Bradley added on, almost awkwardly, “please.”

The man walked into his office after that, leaving Jake to gape and wonder if he really was still dreaming.

“Hey, man. Late night?” Javy asked as he popped his head over the partition of the cubicles.

He shook his head and turned to focus on Javy. “Yeah, had a date with that guy.”

“The male model?”

“He’s a librarian.”

“Same difference.” Javy waved him off. “You gonna see him again?”

“I think so.”

A throat cleared behind him and he whirled around. Bradley was standing there with that pinched expression he got when he was pissy.

“I said hold my calls, not gossip.”

He blinked and stood a bit straighter. “Right, sorry.” He glanced down at the box Bradley was awkwardly clutching in his hand. “You need me to do something with that?”

Bradley blinked, surprised, as if he’d forgotten about it. He shoved it behind his leg and said, “No. Get back to work, and fix your hair. I need you to come up to see the board with me in a bit.”

Bradley was gone before he could respond. He stood there, blinking after him, confused as hell by the rollercoaster of the morning.

Untitled AU (still debating finishing this one...it came to me randomly one day and I had to write at least part of it...it's kinda a political marriage AU)

“It was good. You get off, I get off. Mutually beneficial. Everyone wins.” Jake said, wiping himself down clinically, methodically, before tossing the rag to Bradley.

“Can you at least pretend that you like it?”

“I did like it. I came, didn’t I? Mission accomplished.”

“No, I mean…” Bradley cut off, looking like he was at war with himself. “That it’s me.”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“Shit, I don’t know! I guess I mean kissing, touching each other, being…intimate.”

“Your dick is in my ass. Doesn’t get much more intimate than that.”

Bradley gave him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“What, love, romance, is that what you’re talking about?” Jake asked, eyebrows raised. Bradley stared at him, a silent confirmation. He said, incredulously, “That’s not us.”

“It could be.”

Jake blinked several times. “Bradshaw-“

“It could be us, if we tried. If we actually gave it a shot.”

“This was always the…arrangement. Your ring on my finger, your dick in my ass every Friday, a smiling partner on your arm at work parties. We both knew the deal going in.”

“It’s not enough.”

Jake was sure his eyebrows must have been sky fucking high. “Pardon?”

“No, not like that. I mean.” Bradley cut off, cursed. He closed his eyes and refocused then said, “I see those moments, sometimes, when the real you slips out. I just…I want to know that part of you.”

#woof i'm all over #so many worlds to create so little time #tag games #my fics

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kallie-den · 1 year ago

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A Commanding Weakness Ch. 4

Peggy Morgan, the Inyx's dorky science officer, starts confusing fact and fiction when other crew members mysteriously offer to cosplay with her and reenact some of the lewdest scenes from her favorite anime

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Peggy Morgan, the Inyx’s science officer, made sure to offer a proper salute to Captain Vasser as she finished up her duty shift on the bridge and headed into the turbolift that would take her back down to her quarters, in the bowels of the ship. As soon as the doors slid closed with their distinctive hiss, though, she slumped against the wall.

Another awful day.

It just wasn’t getting any easier. Peggy had always hoped that, somehow, once she made it to a senior enough post, she’d be able to fit in. No such luck. Instead, it felt like other members of the crew were constantly laughing at her behind her back, be it because of the way she looked, or the way she talked, or her tendency to get lost in daydreaming and fantasy when during an uneventful shift.

Yes, Peggy was a huge nerd. She understood perfectly well that she was a complete stereotype of a science officer. Peggy was pale and freckled, with long, red hair and huge, round glasses. She couldn’t handle contact lenses or laser correction, and a nervous habit meant that she often stuttered or lisped when she spoke. Thanks to that she usually kept quiet - but when she found her voice, she sometimes got carried away with her scientific explanations.

It wasn’t her fault that the finer points of subquantum physics were so fascinating! Really, other Alliance officers should try to educate themselves. Instead, when Captain Vasser cut her off, they just giggled behind their hands. And why did the captain have to be so short with her anyway? She was an officer! A young one, yes, but she still deserved respect.

Peggy sighed. Hopefully, once they were through with this mission, she could get herself transferred to a ship that suited her better. Until then, there was no use dwelling on it. All she could do was go back to her quarters after every shift and try to take her mind off it all by indulging in her favorite hobby.

Anime.

Yes, being obsessed with twenty-first-century media was often considered cringe. No, it didn’t help with her image as a complete and total dork. But Peggy didn’t care. Anime was her life. There was nothing better than curling up in her bunk with her body pillow and waifu plushes to burn through a few seasons of classic animation.

It was such a shame that Peggy didn’t have anyone to share her passion with. Unfortunately, to most people, anime was just some boring, old-fashioned, dead medium, no different from opera and ballet. Apparently, your average Alliance starship officer didn’t have much interest in classical culture. Oh, Peggy had tried to spread the good word. But just like everything else, it had mostly gotten her ignored and quietly made fun of.

Fine. Whatever. All Peggy needed to do to escape their scorn was make it back to her quarters without running into anyone unpleasant. Then she’d have the evening all to herself.

But it was never that easy. Peggy cursed her luck when she rounded a bulkhead and found herself staring at the Inyx’s chief of security, Samira Carter.

Great.

Chief Carter was one of the worst. Peggy had spent her entire education looking forward to the day she no longer had to deal with abrasive, small-minded, meat-headed jocks. But as it turned out, they had a way of following you wherever you went. Peggy and Chief Carter were never going to be friends. Chief Carter had that loud, swaggering confidence that just grated uncomfortably on Peggy’s nerves. She treated the whole ship, and everything in it like it was her own personal playground - especially the women. It was infuriating that, just because she had a few muscles, she assumed she could have any girl she wanted. It was even more infuriating that she seemed to be right.

Peggy would have disliked Carter even if she’d left the science officer completely alone. She was everything Peggy had learned to resent and avoid. But in typical fashion, she was also the ringleader of all the mockery Peggy had received. She had been the first to make cutting comments about Peggy’s love of anime, and she was always the one who laughed the loudest whenever she tripped over her words or got shut down by Captain Vasser. And since she was such a big presence wherever she went, the rest of the crew had ended up taking their cues from her.

Peggy had tried to give Chief Carter the benefit of the doubt. It wasn’t like the security chief was singling her out in particular. She treated almost everyone this way. Probably, it was her version of being friendly. ‘Harmless banter’, she’d call it. It wasn’t her fault that Peggy was so bad at sticking up for herself, and so easy to make fun of. But at the end of the day, that didn’t matter. She was making Peggy’s life miserable, and Peggy couldn’t forgive her for it.

So, as they walked towards each other, Peggy just fixed her eyes on the floor and silently prayed that Chief Carter didn’t take any notice of her. She couldn’t take one more mean comment. Not today. Hopefully, she was busy. Hopefully, she had something else on her mind. Hopefully, she was-

“Hey, Morgan. How’s it going?”

Her deep, cocksure, sultry voice was like nails on a chalkboard to the science officer. She kept her head down and quickened her pace, hoping against hope that Chief Carter would just let it go.

No such luck.

“Woah! What’s the hurry?”

Peggy felt herself thrown suddenly off balance as something slammed into her shoulder and spun her around. Immediately disoriented, she braced herself to hit the floor before she realized that, instead, something was bearing down on her and keeping her pressed firmly against the nearest bulkhead.

It was Chief Carter. The security chief had slammed her against the wall.

Immediately, Peggy was flinching and panicking. Physical abuse? She hadn’t imagined even Carter would sink quite that low. It was a major escalation. What was Peggy going to do? She could take it to the captain, yes, but that was slim consolation while she was getting her face pounded in by a brute of a security chief. Peggy started bringing her hands up to fend off the blows, shaking furiously.

“Hey,” Chief Carter said, in her very lowest, smokiest, most seductive voice. “Why such a hurry, cute thing? Surely whatever you’re doing tonight can’t be better than spending time with me.”

Peggy barked an awkward, disbelieving laugh. It took her a long moment to process, with disgust, that Chief Carter didn’t want to beat her.

She wanted to screw her.

Scarcely a more appealing proposition.

“G-g-g-get off m-me!” Peggy spluttered. Chief Carter just laughed good-naturedly.

“No need to be afraid, Morgan,” she cooed. “I don’t bite… much.”

Peggy felt like she was going to hurl. This was completely ludicrous.

“L-let me go!” Peggy doubled her efforts to squirm free. “Or I’ll… I’ll…”

To her surprise, Chief Carter actually eased up on her a little - although not enough for her to escape.

“C’mon. Is the prospect of spending an evening hanging out with me really that bad?” Chief Carter’s voice gave Peggy pause. She sounded surprisingly sincere.

“S-save it,” Peggy replied wearily. “You’re just making fun of me anyway.”

“Huh?” Now Chief Carter seemed all but wounded. “No, not at all. Why would you think that?”

“B-because it’s what you always do!” Peggy exploded. “I’m used to it by now, OK? You’re not gonna fool me that easily.”

“Morgan…” Chief Carter’s eyes turned big and deep and sorrowful. She reached down to gently caress Peggy’s cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry that you were hurting. I never knew. Won’t you let me make it up to you?”

Peggy was almost taken in. She let out a momentary gasp and lost herself briefly in Chief Carter’s eyes, before reality once again reasserted herself. Chief Carter’s charm was formidable, yes. It wasn’t difficult to see how so many girls had been taken in by it. She’d say anything to get a girl into bed. But no matter how charming, she just wasn’t Peggy’s type. Peggy was into girls who were gentle and sweet. Girls she could share her interests with. Not brawny jocks.

“L-look!” Peggy cried as she tried to push Carter away. “I… I’m honestly not sure if you’re joking or not, but I’m really not into you, OK? So, uh… thanks, but no thanks.”

Chief Carter’s whole face fell. She pulled back and withdrew her arm. “You won’t even give me a chance, huh?”

“I-it’s just… a little hard to believe.” Peggy was taking deep breaths to calm herself. She’d never been so eager to get back to her quarters. “I mean… why would you even be interested in me?”

“Maybe I just think you’re cute.” Chief Carter shrugged. She still sounded dead serious. “Look at it this way: we’re a long way from home out here on the Inyx. It’s only natural to take a certain interest in each other. I… really want to learn more about you, Morgan.”

“Oh.” Peggy turned frosty and started turning away. “I see how it is. Y-you’re just bored and looking for another notch on your bedpost, aren’t you?”

She took a few steps away, but Chief Carter’s powerful hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“No, wait!” The huge security chief sounded so ardent and desperate, it made Peggy freeze in her tracks. “Please let me explain!”

At that moment, it dawned on Peggy that this was real. Chief Carter wasn’t playing some kind of trick on her. Nobody was waiting around the corner to burst out and laugh. Somehow, for some reason, Chief Carter genuinely wanted to woo her.

It was a strange realization. It made Peggy grow warm with an unfamiliar, satisfying emotion. It made her feel powerful. She still didn’t reciprocate Carter’s feelings, of course. But she decided to hear her out. If nothing else, maybe a proper, firm rejection would teach her a little humility.

“Fine,” Peggy said firmly, turning back and folding her arms. “But tell me what’s going on. And be quick about it. I have places to be.”

She didn’t, really. Going back to her quarters to watch anime by herself didn’t count. But it sounded good.

“OK, OK.” To Peggy’s surprise, Chief Carter’s face turned a deep red color and she looked around furtively. “I just… I think you’re really cool. Seriously. And I actually think we might have a lot more in common than you realize. Maybe. With certain, uh, interests.”

Peggy frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Chief Carter glanced around again before saying, in a hushed voice: “You like anime, right?”

“H-huh?” Peggy’s heart skipped a beat. “Um, yeah?”

The security chief checked yet again to make sure nobody else was around before she blurted out: “I’m a huge MaMeStaSe fangirl!”

Peggy froze. She stopped breathing. Of all the strange things she’d heard in the past five minutes, this was by far the most unbelievable.

‘MaMeStaSe’ was the preferred fan abbreviation for ‘Magical Maidens Star Sentinels’, a magical girl anime and Peggy’s absolute favorite show of all time. It was a cult classic, and for Peggy, it had everything: incredible animation, brilliant characters, heartwarming themes, and titillating action. She’d rewatched it so many times she’d lost count, she’d plastered posters of it all over her walls, and she even had a body pillow of one of the protagonists. Meeting another fan aboard the Inyx was a dream come true.

But it was a little difficult to believe.

“You are?” Peggy didn’t bother to hide her skepticism.

“Yes!” Chief Carter had a big grin on her face, like she couldn’t contain her excitement. “I swear!”

“Prove it,” Peggy told her flatly. “Do the pose.”

She was absolutely sure that Carter wouldn’t know what she was talking about, which made it all the more surprising when, without hesitation, Chief Carter performed an adorable little pirouette, struck an iconic pose, and, in a voice sparkling with hope and love, recited:

“In the name of the stars, I’ll punish you!”

It was perfect. She was a true fan.

Peggy started bouncing up and down with glee. She couldn’t help herself. She lunged forward and threw her hands around the security chief.

“Ohmigod!” she squealed. “It’s so good, right? It’s soooo good. I mean, the opening? The transformations? Hey, what’s your favorite arc? Have you read the manga? I like it too, don’t get me wrong, but to me, the anime is just so much more-“ Peggy cut herself off and blushed. “Oh no, I’m babbling.”

“No, no, don’t apologize!” Chief Carter exclaimed. She clasped Peggy’s hands and looked every bit as overcome with joy and excitement as Peggy felt. “I can’t wait to talk about everything. But, right now, I had something a little different in mind.”

“Oh?” She had Peggy’s full attention.

“Have you ever thought about recreating one of the episodes?” Chief Carter asked her.

“You mean, like, in the holodeck?” Peggy asked. She had; it was her favorite way to use her holorec time. She loved immersing herself in the fantasy, even if it wore off all too quickly once her time was up.

“No, better,” Chief Carter replied. “In real life!”

Peggy just tilted her head, confused.

“It turns out,” Chief Carter said, “Dr. Hiraga is a fan too! I only found out a little while ago, but she and I have been working on something down in medbay. Costumes, holographic assets - the works. But we need a third person. And you… well, nobody else knows Magical Maidens Star Sentinels the way you do.”

Peggy puffed up a little in pride upon hearing that.

“So, what do you say?” Chief Carter turned bashful again. “I’m… sorry for coming on so strong earlier. It doesn’t have to be, um, a d-date or anything. But I’d really love it if you’d come.”

Peggy couldn’t help but be endeared to this cuter, nerdier version of Chief Carter. Besides, hearing that Dr. Hiraga was an anime fan too was nothing short of breathtaking. Three magical girl fans on one ship? There was no way she could decline.

“Of course I’ll come!” she replied. “We need to save the stars with the power of friendship, right?”

Chief Carter pulled Peggy into a huge bear hug, one that almost lifted her off her feet. Then she took Peggy by the end and started leading her down towards medbay.

Inside medbay, everything was dim. The main ceiling lights had been switched off, and instead the room was illuminated from strange angles by an array of holographic projectors mounted all over the walls. Peggy knew medbay had some holotech to support the emergency medical hologram, but this seemed excessive. Someone had been making some major upgrades.

That was just a stray observation, though. Peggy was far too preoccupied to dwell on it. She was busy wondering what was going to happen next. They’d hurried to medbay so quickly, she hadn’t been able to ask any questions. What did recreating a magical girl anime in real life mean? And wasn’t something missing here?

“Where’s Dr. Hiraga?” Peggy asked quietly.

“Behind there.”

Chief Carter pointed to where a holographic privacy screen had been erected at the far end of the medbay. Peggy frowned.

“She’s… hiding? Why?”

“To help set the scene.”

Peggy’s frown deepened. “What does that mean, Carter?”

Infuriatingly, Chief Carter answered her question with a question. “Season Two. Episode thirty-seven. What happens?”

“Sentinel Green goes to try and save Sentinel Blue from the clutches of the evil Doctor Tomoe,” Peggy recited. “But the doctor makes Blue betray her, and both of them end up brainwashed. It’s one of my favorite episodes!”

For a fan of Peggy’s caliber, the question was trivial.

“Right!” Chief Carter said excitedly. “Isn’t this perfect? Medbay looks just like Doctor Tomoe’s evil lab!”

“It does,” Peggy admitted.

“We can do the whole scene!” Chief Carter exclaimed, overflowing with nerdy glee. “You can be Sentinel Green, I’ll be Sentinel Blue, and our very own ship’s doctor is perfect for the remaining role.”

“Oh, like roleplay!”

When Chief Carter nodded, Peggy was satisfied that she understood what was actually going on. It was still well outside of her comfort zone, though. Peggy adored roleplay. Losing herself in a shared fantasy was rewarding and intoxicating in a way nothing else could match. It was one of her favorite ways to pass time. But she’d never done it in person, only over text. It was easy to get swept away by Chief Carter’s enthusiasm, and by heady thoughts of fangirling together with her and Dr. Hiraga afterward.

“O-OK!” Peggy squeaked nervously. “Um… we all know the scene, right? How do we get started?”

Chief Carter’s dorky grin widened. “We get into costume.”

Peggy blinked, and then turned a deep red. “Y-you have costumes?”

Oh no. She hadn’t expected this. If they were wearing costumes, then this went a step beyond simple roleplay.

It was cosplay.

"U-um,” Peggy squeaked. “Maybe I should… uh… r-rewatch the episode first! And, um, I t-think I had a duty shift to cover later. And-“

“C’mon, Morgan.” Chief Carter gave her shoulder a comradely squeeze. “Don’t be like that. There’s no need to be shy! I’m sure you know the episode like the back of your hand. And everything’s ready right now. Trust me, your costume is perfect.”

Peggy’s blush deepened. She couldn’t bring herself to back out. Not when she was finally getting the chance to be a part of something. She couldn’t face going back to her quarters alone. She had to participate. There was just one problem.

Science Officer Peggy Morgan had a huge cosplay fetish.

She couldn’t explain it. Not really. But there was something special - no, magical - about cosplay. Seeing a character come to life through costume and performance felt like nothing short of a miracle. The holodeck never had the same appeal. Holograms were just light with a little pre-scripted AI running behind them. Cosplay was real. It was transformation. When Peggy saw a cosplayer truly become the character they were cosplaying, it made her feel like anything was possible - even for a mousy nerd like her.

That was her fascination. But, admittedly, her fetish went beyond that. Peggy couldn’t explain why cosplayers turned her on so much. Maybe it was their mannerisms, so fictive and exaggerated. It was almost mesmerizing, seeing a flesh-and-blood person follow a script intended for an animated character. Maybe it was their beauty, so stylized it was almost unreal. Maybe it was what they represented: characters that she was used to seeing as drawings or dolls come to life, but still presenting themselves to be looked at and played with and enjoyed. It just turned her on like nothing else.

And, of course, plenty of cosplays were far from innocent. Erotic cosplay frequently left Peggy drooling. Sometimes, when she was alone in her quarters, she would spend hours scrolling through massive archives of pictures until her own arousal and pleasure grew to be too much. But even regular cosplay excited her to an embarrassing degree. In the past, she’d excused herself from costume parties, just in case they got her a little too worked up.

But now she had to cosplay alongside Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga.

All without giving herself away.

“Here’s yours.” Chief Carter, oblivious to Peggy’s inner turmoil, picked up a bundle of green clothes from a nearby table and handed it to her. “Try it on! Don’t worry, I pulled your uniform size from the databanks as I replicated it. It should be perfect. I’ve got mine too. Let me give you some privacy.”

Before Peggy could say anything, she headed off to a far corner of the room and activated another holographic privacy screen, hiding her and Peggy from one another. Now that she was, relatively speaking, alone, Peggy took a deep breath and looked down at the clothing in her hands.

It was immaculately designed. Replicators could make anything, of course, but making sure the stitching, fit, and design were all just right could be a labor of love, and Peggy could tell that no effort had been spared here. This was Sentinel Green’s magical outfit, right down to every last detail of the frills and ribbons. There was, at first glance, just one issue.

It was latex.

There was usually a level of interpretation when it came to deciding what materials to use for cosplay. Animation, after all, rarely made it clear precisely what was intended. But shiny, bright, smooth rubber was certainly quite the choice. Thinking about what this was going to look like on her made Peggy shiver with equal parts anxiety and anticipation.

She considered refusing, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She had to. Which meant there was nothing for Peggy to do but try on the cosplay.

Peggy removed her Alliance uniform swiftly and efficiently. She was used to that part. Putting on a magical girl cosplay outfit was something else entirely. But once she experimentally slipped one of her feet into one of the white, embroidered, thigh-high socks, something came over her. It was like she was possessed by something; a feverish enthusiasm that had her limbs moving in a hurried frenzy and putting on the cosplay like it was second nature. Before she knew it, Peggy was wearing the whole thing.

She shivered. It felt amazing.

And it was so, so skimpy.

Once the initial rush wore off, Peggy was stunned by how much air she could feel on her bare skin. Admittedly, the outfits in Magical Maidens Star Sentinels were, according to some, pretty revealing. The term ‘fanservice’ was frequently bandied around. Peggy had always ardently insisted that it was unfair, and that the designs were perfectly tasteful as long as you looked at them in the right light.

She was now reconsidering that stance.

The blouse, while tailored to fit Peggy, was clearly intended to suit the slim proportions of an anime character; as a result, it left the layer of puppy fat on Peggy’s tummy embarrassingly prominent. The same was true for her thick thighs, on two counts: they muffin-topped over the thigh-highs, and threatened to make the pleated, too-short skirt ride up every time she moved. The fact it was all so brightly colored, so shiny and green, made it all the more lurid, and the way everything was styled, with frills and ruffles and sparkling gemstones, took the ensemble to another level.

Peggy had never been more embarrassed, and she had never been more turned on.

“Morgan?” Chief Carter called out, from behind the privacy screen. “Changed?”

“Y-yeah,” Peggy answered without thinking. Then: “W-wait, no, d-don’t come-“

It was too late. Carter flicked off the privacy screen, and the two of them saw each other. For a moment Peggy thought she was going to die from embarrassment - but then that thought, just like all her other thoughts, was obliterated as she lost herself in the sight of Chief Carter in her cosplay.

Her outfit was the same as Peggy’s except in blue instead of green, and yet somehow, it looked completely different. The similarity in design simply brought out the contrast in their physiques. In Chief Carter’s case, the tight-fitting, revealing magical girl outfit seemed to be struggling to contain her proud, sculpted muscles. The result was similar to what was going on with Peggy, where her clothes were threatening to ride up all over, but the effect was totally different. It accentuated the triangular shape of her torso and all the work she put into her abs.

God, her abs. Peggy had never really deigned to notice just how appealing muscular girls could be, but the latex outfit shed Carter’s physique in such a new light, she couldn’t help but stare. It conformed so tightly to her torso, each one of her abs had its own, shiny highlight from medbay’s dim lights. The effect was nothing short of pornographic, and Peggy was enraptured. The best part was how strange it all looked on her. The tall, swaggering security chief would never normally dress in something so bright and attention-grabbing. The way it transformed her was, to Peggy, both erotic and magical.

Chief Carter was Sentinel Blue.

It made Peggy wonder how she seemed. Had she been transformed too? It was such an exciting thought, and Chief Carter’s reaction confirmed it for her immediately.

“Oh my gosh!” she squealed uncharacteristically. “Morgan, I knew it! You’re perfect.”

Heat rose in Peggy’s body. She looked away. “R-really?” she asked bashfully.

“Hell yes!”

The sparkling enthusiasm in Chief Carter’s eyes left no room for doubt. Peggy was beyond euphoric. It was all she could do to keep herself from bouncing up and down. She was cosplaying as a character from her favorite show. It was a wet dream come true.

“But… um… why l-latex?” Peggy ventured. “It’s a little…”

“Oh, that was the doctor’s call,” Carter replied. “Doesn’t it look magical? The way it shines, it’s like it’s glowing!”

Peggy couldn’t disagree with that. She was utterly captivated, and her head was filling with unspeakable fantasies about all the things she suddenly wanted to do with Chief Carter. It was strange; dressed normally, she had no interest in the muscular woman. Dressed like this, she was a fantasy made flesh. She was irresistible.

“So,” Chief Carter said, striking a small pose. She was radiating joyful confidence. “Shall we get started?”

Peggy walked over to her, trembling with nervousness, trying to ignore the way her thighs rubbed together pleasurably with each step.

“S-sure,” Peggy struggled to say. She decided to try looking at the floor. That seemed safest. “So, um… w-what now?”

“Well, we’re all ready!” Chief Carter’s uncharacteristically innocent enthusiasm was an uncannily perfect match for her magical girl cosplay. Peggy tried not to think about that too much. “We all know how the story is supposed to go. So… places! You can start over by the door. And I’ll…”

Chief Carter clambered onto one of medbay’s many examination chairs, which immediately reclined to accept her. Without warning, restraints mounted within the bed snapped shut around her wrists and ankles. The sound made Peggy jump, and she scampered over to the medbay door.

Abruptly, the lights shifted. This was it. The scene was starting.

Immediately, Peggy was struck by the realization that, metaphorically speaking, all eyes were now on her. Sentinel Green was the hero of the scene. It was on her to get the ball rolling. She knew the script practically line by line, but acting it out properly was another matter. Peggy had never done anything like it before. She wasn’t even sure if she could.

But the more she thought about it, the more a strange, nervous excitement started to flood her limbs. It was the same feeling Peggy got when she was standing a little too close to the edge of a high precipice. The urge to take a leap of faith. To throw herself into the role. Her body burned with it and so Peggy let it take her, and stepped forwards.

“Blue!” she called out, her voice sounding, even to her own ears, brighter and clearer. Peggy took a few cautious steps into medbay - no, into Doctor Tomoe’s evil lab. “Sentinel Blue! Blue, I’m here to rescue you!”

"Green?” came the weak, weary reply. It was Chief Carter - no, Sentinel Blue - no, both. “Is that really you?”

Peggy rushed to her side at once. It was strange; now that she was playing a role, it was so much easier to stand taller and feel braver. She was a Star Sentinel. A hero. And she was here to save her comrade.

Looking down at Chief Carter in cosplay, though, made her feel anything but heroic. All of the shameful, secret feelings she’d experienced earlier came surging back - but they were all the stronger now that Chief Carter was like this: prone, helpless, restrained. With her arms trapped at her sides, her body was even more exposed, and the knowledge that she couldn’t resist anything being done to her was dizzyingly titillating.

It was like she was a doll. A toy to be played with. And it made Peggy itch to touch her.

Instead, she stayed on script. “Blue! I’m so glad I found you. Let’s get you out of here. Can you break out of those restraints?”

Chief Carter followed the script perfectly and began to strain against her bonds. Sentinel Blue was strong, but they were stronger. With all her muscles, Peggy wondered if Chief Carter might actually be able to bust out, but it appeared not. Just like in the episode of MaMeStaSe, she eventually gave up and slumped back into the examination chair, flushed and gleaming with sweat from her exertion.

There was, however, one major difference between the Sentinel Blue Peggy was looking at now, and the one from her beloved anime.

This Sentinel Blue was blatantly extremely turned on.

There was no mistaking it. Her cheeks were burning red from more than just strain, and there was a lurid shine to her eyes. She was panting far more than was reasonable, and with her cosplay outfit so absolutely tight around her body, Peggy could see that her nipples were forming two hard little bullets underneath the latex.

The sight was mesmerizing.

“S-Sentinel Blue?” Peggy ventured. She wasn’t sure what to do.

"I-I guess I’m not… s-strong enough,” Chief Carter panted. The confession made her squirm. It was obvious it excited her. “You’ll have to… to set me free.”

She was sticking to the script, at least as far as the dialogue was concerned. Was Peggy supposed to play along, like nothing strange was happening? That seemed absurd, and yet there was something irresistible about it. It was like she’d be living in a work of pornography.

Peggy decided to keep going. If nothing else, she couldn’t help wanting to see Chief Carter squirm even more.

“I’ll look around,” she said in an urgent stage whisper. “We just need to get you out before-“

“Before I return?”

Dr. Hiraga’s voice, coming from behind the holographic privacy screen at the far end of medbay, sent chills down Peggy’s spine. She knew Dr. Hiraga, of course. Everybody on the ship did. But she sounded different now. Her voice was colder and more sinister. She sounded like a villainess.

It was perfect for the role of Doctor Tomoe.

“Doctor Tomoe!” Peggy cried right on cue, dropping into a fighting stance. “But you’re supposed to be on the other side of the city!”

“Did you really think I would fall for that cheap distraction?” Doctor Tomoe cackled. “I sent my minions to take care of it. Your friends are tied up fighting them. Which means you’re here, alone, with me.”

She stepped out from behind the privacy screen and, even though it was true to the script, there was nothing planned or intended about the way Peggy gasped.

Dr. Hiraga was in cosplay too, of course, and her outfit was a perfect match for Doctor Tomoe’s. In MaMeStaSe, the evil scientist wore a long, white lab coat over a sleek, black bodysuit of some kind. And in keeping with the other cosplays, Dr. Hiraga had chosen to render the bodysuit in black latex, polished to a mirror sheen.

In the past, Peggy had never given Dr. Hiraga’s body a second thought. Now, it was impossible to ignore. Every single one of her indulgent, middle-aged curves was highlighted by the way the light glistened off the shining rubber. It was glorious. Peggy forgot how rude it was to stare. Not drooling was the most she could manage. Dr. Hiraga was shining like a dark star. Unlike the magical girl cosplays, hers was suggestive only in its sleekness. It wasn’t revealing or needlessly tight. It made her feel more dignified than Peggy or Chief Carter. It made her powerful.

She had become Doctor Tomoe.

The cognitive dissonance hitting Peggy was hypnotic. It was like she was looking at two people at once. The gentle, caring Dr. Hiraga, and the evil, indomitable Doctor Tomoe. It seemed just as impossible for Dr. Hiraga to be so imposing and sinister as it did for Doctor Tomoe to be here, real, in the flesh. It was a perfect cosplay. She kept instinctively searching for some missing detail, for something out of place, but there was nothing. Even her makeup, thick and sharp and dark, was perfect for the character.

Which was a huge problem, since the character in question had been the source of some of Peggy’s biggest sexual awakenings.

“Surprised?” Dr. Hiraga - no, Doctor Tomoe - no, both - cocked an eyebrow, amused. “You should be. I have you exactly where I want you, Sentinel Green.”

“How dare you!” The scripted words came effortlessly to Peggy’s lips. She couldn’t break the scene, no matter how flustered she was. “In the name of the stars, I’ll bring you to justice!”

“Oh? All on your own?” Dr. Hiraga’s smirk was so perfectly mocking and superior, that Peggy couldn’t believe it was acted. She was utterly convincing. “You’re not so strong without your magical little friends.”

Peggy squirmed at her dripping, molten contempt. A hundred scenarios flashed through her mind, each more perverse and depraved than the last. Her mind, tainted by countless hours of staring adoringly at lewd cosplays, was working overdrive. Peggy couldn’t count how many times she’d blown off steam thinking about Doctor Tomoe. But no matter what, she had to stick to the script.

“I’m not the one who’s alone!” she shot back. Even though she was insanely turned on, her voice sounded heroic and full of innocent conviction. Dr. Hiraga was a perfect Doctor Tomoe, but Peggy was managing a decent Sentinel Green. “You don’t have your minions here. And I have my friend right by my side!”

"She’s a little tied down at the moment,” Dr. Hiraga sneered viciously. “She won’t be any help to you!”

“That’s what you think!” Peggy cried. “But with the power of friendship and justice on our side, we can overcome anything!”

Now she was the one panting and struggling to keep the lust out of her voice. Nevertheless, she reached across Chief Carter to put her hands on one of the metal shackles keeping her trapped against the examination chair. In the episode, Sentinel Green summoned her magic and used it to set Sentinel Blue free. Hopefully, Dr. Hiraga and Chief Carter had set things up so that if she just tugged a little bit, the manacles would release of their own volition.

Sure enough, they did. Even though it was all fake, in that moment, Peggy felt genuinely heroic. She was channeling the emotion of the scene, and that made it easy to plant her hands squarely on her hips as she stared down the villainous Doctor Tomoe.

“There! Now it’s two against one,” Peggy declared. “Surrender now, Doctor Tomoe. Or else.”

Chief Carter rose to her feet to stand beside her, gently nursing her wrists. The two of them made a perfect matching pair as they squared off against the doctor, even if Chief Carter seemed, somehow, a touch disappointed. Thanks to the magic of the moment, her presence made Peggy feel that much stronger and braver. Even though they were both wearing porny latex. Even though she knew exactly what was about to happen.

“Is that so?” Dr. Hiraga purred. “You’re right about one thing, Sentinel Green. It is two against one - just not the way you think.”

Lazily, she raised a hand and snapped her fingers.

Peggy looked round sharply as she sensed Chief Carter abruptly start to sway. Immediately, she froze. She had been expecting, maybe, a convincing performance of being stunned or entranced. Despite the strange reaction she’d had to the restraints, Chief Carter was proving to be a surprisingly skilled performer. What Peggy saw now, though, went far beyond acting.

Chief Carter had spirals in her eyes.

It was impossible. At first Peggy thought it had to be a trick of light, but no. The more she stared, the more it became clear that this was completely and totally real. Chief Carter’s eyes had become spinning, spiraling orbs, each one glowing from within with an unfathomable light. Peggy couldn’t believe how accurate to the anime it was. The way Chief Carter had swayed and sagged as if totally drained of mind and thought was just as perfect.

“W-what have you done to her?” Peggy breathed. It was Sentinel Green’s line, but the question was genuine.

“No one can resist my treatment!” Dr. Hiraga cackled. “Not even the Star Sentinels. Sentinel Blue is mine now. She’s one of my minions. And soon, you will be too.”

“N-no,” Peggy gasped. She was completely caught up in the emotion of the scene. She remembered the sense of dawning shock and horror she’d felt so many times, watching this moment unfold. Now, she was living it.

“Oh yes,” Dr. Hiraga crowed. “You’ll soon see! Minion, seize her!”

Peggy shivered and squirmed as she felt Chief Carter’s powerful hands seize her by the shoulders.

“Blue!” Peggy let her voice become a high-pitched, girly shriek. “What are you doing?”

“She can’t hear you now,” Dr. Hiraga warned. “Minion, strap her to the chair!”

Peggy hadn’t thought this far ahead, and so she wasn’t prepared for the way Chief Carter lifted her bodily off the ground without the slightest hint of real effort. Evidently, when she’d pushed the science officer against the wall earlier, she’d been using a bare fraction of her true strength. When Peggy felt her feet leave the floor, the way she writhed in a frantic bid to squirm free wasn’t acted. It was very, very real.

Fortunately for her, Chief Carter wasted no time in swinging her around and placing her down firmly on the exam chair. An instant later, she was forcing Peggy’s hands into the same manacles she herself had just been freed from. Peggy was too stunned to say anything, and what had stunned her the most was Chief Carter’s complete lack of gentleness. The chief had been so friendly and enthusiastic, but now she was throwing Peggy around like she was nothing more than a sack of meat.

Almost like she was really brainwashed.

It was a silly thought, but Peggy couldn’t seem to shake it. There was just no way Chief Carter was actually this good of an actor. Everything about the way she moved and carried herself was unnatural and rigid. It was too perfect. And then there were her eyes. Peggy had seen plenty of cheap cosplay tricks. Enough to know that they weren’t just a trick. Most alarmingly of all, when she stared into Chief Carter’s eyes for just a little too long, she could feel herself starting to slip under the spirals’ hypnotic influence.

Something strange was happening.

So shouldn’t she say something? Do something? Call the scene to a halt? That would have been the responsible thing to do. But Peggy couldn’t make herself do it. There was a magic to the moment. To the way they were all three of them caught up in the flow of the scene, living out their characters’ actions, feeling all their sensations and feelings.

It was everything Peggy could have ever asked for. She couldn’t give it up.

“Not so strong now, are you?” Dr. Hiraga mocked. She moved to stand over Peggy, and from where the science officer was sitting she seemed more imposing than ever. “You Star Sentinels are so easy to fool.”

Peggy’s mouth was dry, but she forced herself to stick to the script.

“S-Sentinel Blue!” she cried out in a decidedly uneven voice. “You have to listen to me! You have to fight! You can beat this! Resist!”

Chief Carter opened her mouth and for a moment, despite the source material, Peggy found herself hoping she would find the strength to fight off the mind control.

Instead, all she said was: “I obey Doctor Tomoe,” in a droning, monotone voice that was so far away from Chief Carter’s usual, brash tones it made Peggy whimper.

“It’s no use,” Dr. Hiraga sneered. “She’s completely under my control. And soon, you’ll be just like her.”

“N-never!” Peggy tried to sound defiant, just like Sentinel Green. Instead, she sounded like she was moaning. It was like she was a porn parody of the real thing - a thought that drove her wild with need.

“Ridiculous!” Dr. Hiraga threw back her head and laughed. “You’re powerless, Sentinel Green! Look, you can’t even brush my hand away.”

Peggy went very, very still as Dr. Hiraga reached down and rested a latex-gloved hand on her thigh, up under the hem of her skirt.

This was it. It was an infamous moment in the anime, depicted in a thousand less-than-savory fanworks - especially ones by lesbian fans. Peggy had always steadfastly maintained that it was a simple illustration of Doctor Tomoe’s lack of respect for others, but it was hard to deny that there was something titillating about it.

Peggy, turned on as she was, had mostly been hoping she wouldn’t do something embarrassing like squirm or moan. She had been sure Dr. Hiraga would barely even touch her. It was just roleplay, right?

Instead, Dr. Hiraga started openly groping her.

At first, when Peggy first felt the doctor’s fingers pressing roughly and insistently into the flesh of her pale, exposed, sensitive thighs, she couldn’t believe what was happening. Surely it was just a mistake. Surely Dr. Hiraga was just about to break character and apologize. But no - she just kept going, and with each passing moment, her grin widened and her fingers reached further up Peggy’s hips.

The look in the doctor’s eyes was the most shocking part of it. They were shining with glee and malice, like she was drunk on the pleasure of violating Peggy’s body. It was completely authentic and sincere, and completely unlike Dr. Hiraga.

But perfect for Doctor Tomoe.

Before Peggy could dwell on that, the sensations filling her body overtook her shock. Her back arched, and she was forced to gasp and pant for each breath. Her cheeks turned the deepest red as she was drowned in overwhelming embarrassment and shame over how she was reacting. But she couldn’t help it. Being touched like this felt amazing, even though she wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was because she’d watched this scene in the anime hundreds of times, fascinated by how it looked, imagining how it might feel, wondering what it would be like to look up helplessly at Doctor Tomoe. And now she was living it. She was living her fantasy, and her whole body was electric with the thrill.

“You see?” Dr. Hiraga mocked. “Helpless.”

Her hand reached further, pushing up her tiny latex skirt and beginning to touch at the hem of her panties. Peggy couldn’t help but moan, but even as she did she was wracked with confusion. Had Doctor Tomoe gone quite this far in the anime? Wasn’t this a little too much? She couldn’t exactly remember. It was getting so hard to think clearly.

“G-g-get off me!” Peggy whined. She sounded unconvincing - but then again, so had Sentinel Green in a few moments. “Y-you’ll pay for this!”

“We’ll see about that,” Dr. Hiraga purred. She brought her other hand to Peggy’s chest and started groping her there, too. There was something magical about the sensation of latex on latex. “Soon enough, you’ll accept me eagerly. You’ll profess your undying devotion and obedience. You’ll beg for me.”

“N-n-never!” Peggy moaned as Dr. Hiraga squeezed her tits and stroked the lips of her cunt.

They were off-script now, she was sure of it. Doctor Tomoe had never touched Sentinel Green like this. So… she should put a stop to this, right? That thought nagged at her again. Wouldn’t that be the right thing to do? Young though Peggy was, she was still an officer. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen on a military vessel. But in the moment, she was struggling to think about that.

She was too busy thinking about how wet she was. Too busy struggling to figure out if she wanted Dr. Hiraga to notice or not.

The fantasy was too powerful. She couldn’t sacrifice it. She wanted - she needed - to immerse herself deeper, no matter how twisted it was getting. Where was she ever going to find this feeling again?

All she needed to do was stop thinking and lose herself to the wet dream. She was being groped by Doctor Tomoe. By the hottest villainess in all of fiction. It was amazing.

It was so amazing, she whined in disappointment when Dr. Hiraga finally pulled away. The doctor noticed, and the look of scorn that flashed through her eyes made Peggy’s cunt clench.

“I can’t wait to brainwash you to our cause,” Doctor Tomoe declared. “But the pleasure won’t be all mine. My dark mistress wishes to see you fall.”

Peggy’s eyes flew wide. She’d almost forgotten. The big twist of this arc of Magical Maidens Star Sentinels was that Doctor Tomoe was, herself, brainwashed - by the true villain, Queen Betalia. What did that mean? What was going to happen? When Queen Betalia showed up, she was more of a looming, shadowy presence than a real character. A hologram, perhaps?

“Queen Betalia!” Dr. Hiraga cried out theatrically. “We beseech you! Appear before us!”

There was a distinctive hum as holographic projectors concealed around medbay flickered into life. Peggy wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to see, but the very last thing she’d anticipated was an ominous, familiar figure with dyed hair, wild eyes, and dozens of visible tattoos and piercings.

It was Wasp. The vandal-hacker the Inyx was hunting.

As science officer, Peggy wasn’t as motivated as some of the other crew members by the thought of catching her. She was in it for the experience, and to study any anomalies they came across. But she’d still been in all the briefings. She knew exactly who this woman was, even if she couldn’t begin to fathom what exactly her presence here meant.

Wasp, unlike the rest of them, wasn’t wearing any kind of cosplay. She was dressed in what Peggy understood to be her typical attire: leggings, a big, punk battle jacket, and a sports bra. But if that wasn’t enough to set her apart from the role-players, the way she leered at Peggy and cackled certainly was.

"You know, you’re really a girl after my own heart,” Wasp said to Peggy in an absurdly conversational voice. “I mean, I’m a hacker, right? Deep down I’m a huge nerd. Not that I’ve ever taken it as far as you. That’s one hell of a hentai collection buried in your personal computer files.”

Peggy craned her head to look at Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga. Chillingly, neither one of them had reacted to Wasp’s holographic presence in any way. Both of them were just standing there like statues. Like dolls who had been momentarily set aside.

This was really bad.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Wasp told her. “In fact…”

She snapped her fingers in Dr. Hiraga’s face. An instant later, Dr. Hiraga’s eyes turned into glowing, spinning spirals. The exact same spirals that Peggy could see in Chief Carter’s.

This was really, really bad.

Peggy’s mind, still sluggish from arousal and fantasy, was struggling to parse what this meant. Were they still roleplaying? It seemed unlikely. If Wasp was meant to be Queen Betalia, she wasn’t in character, or even in cosplay. Why would it be her? And if she was just a hologram, why was she veering off script and breaking the fourth wall?

But what was the alternative? That Wasp, a hacker, had infiltrated the Inyx’s systems and somehow brainwashed senior members of the crew? That was even more difficult to face up to.

“Hey, hey, relax,” Wasp added when she noticed Peggy’s growing distress. “Just think of me as part of your little roleplay. Just an unexpected little twist. That’s how this is supposed to go, right? The big bad shows up, trances the doc, and then the magical girl gets brainwashed. Trust me, I’m not going to ruin your fun on that count. That’s the very last thing I’d want.”

Peggy just kept glancing nervously between Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga for clarification. She wasn’t sure what to believe. She tugged against her restraints again, hoping against hope that they might come loose.

“L-let me go,” Peggy protested weakly. “You’ll pay for this!”

They were just the words that popped into her head. They felt right. But they were also Sentinel Green’s words.

Wasp seemed to pick up on that. “That’s right,” she urged. “Just lie back, magical girl. Enjoy the ride. Hell, enjoy the view.”

“B-but…” Peggy spluttered uncertainly, once again half-consciously echoing her character, “But… but…”

“Just look at them.” Wasp gestured towards Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga, drawing Peggys’ eye. “Aren’t they perfect? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?”

Once Peggy looked, she couldn’t look away. There was something spellbinding about seeing her fellow officers like this. The cosplay, of course, sent forbidden thrills of pleasure running down Peggy’s spine, but so did the way they were just standing there, devoid of emotion or personality. They looked so empty. They were like toys, waiting to be played with. Like figurines, waiting to be posed.

“Or… maybe you’d prefer it like this.”

Wasp made a show of snapping her fingers again. As she did, Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga shuddered back to life, although their eyes didn’t return to normal. Instead, their spirals shifted color to a deep, pink tint. They didn’t react to Peggy or Wasp either. Without warning, the two women stared intently at each other and then rushed into one another’s arms.

“Oh, Sentinel Blue!” Dr. Hiraga cried, in a voice uncharacteristically thick with unrestrained emotion. “I can’t pretend anymore! It was always you.”

“I know!” Sentinel Blue wailed. “The truth is, I never cared about Sentinel Yellow. I never cared about justice or vanquishing evil. I don’t think I ever cared about anything but you. I love you!”

The two of them started mashing their faces together in a deep, clumsy, passionate kiss. The little scene playing out between them was so strange and melodramatic it was almost comical, but Peggy wasn’t laughing. She was enthralled. She recognized this - their words, their kissing.

It was from a work of fanfiction. A work of fanfiction she’d written, years ago.

As the two brainwashed officers kept kissing and grabbing at each other in their overenthusiastic display of affection, Peggy couldn’t dream of looking away. She couldn’t even bring herself to feel guilty about staring. After all, this was yet another of her fantasies come to life. They were literally following her script. Wasn’t she meant to look? Weren’t these two supposed to be looked at?

That’s what cosplay was all about.

The sheer, blatant, fetishistic nature of their latex outfits only accentuated that further. Ogling them for Peggy’s enjoyment just seemed right. They were dolls. Dolls were meant to be played with. That was obvious.

Her anguish over her situation was starting to abate, and her cunt was starting to drip down onto the examination chair beneath her.

“Or,” Wasp added, “it could be like this.”

The hacker snapped her fingers yet again, and Dr. Hiraga and Chief Carter’s eyes changed color once more. Without any hesitation, they broke off from kissing. All of the overflowing, ardent longing they had been expressing drained away into nothing. Moving in eerie synchronization, they knelt next to the examination chair Peggy was restrained in, one on each side of her.

“Sentinel Green,” Chief Carter whispered, in a low, breathy, seductive voice that made Peggy’s whole body tingle. “We’re all yours. We’re here to service you.”

Peggy whimpered as raw need washed over her.

“We’ll do anything,” came Dr. Hiraga’s voice from her other side. Hearing Doctor Tomoe talk like this was driving Peggy crazy. She sounded like an actress from a cheap porno. “We just want to make you feel good.”

As one, they lowered their mouths to her body and started kissing, licking, sucking across her bare skin, all along her legs and arms. Peggy couldn’t keep herself from squirming wildly, but with the restraints keeping her limbs trapped, there was no escape. She couldn’t believe how sensitive her body had become.

It was the cosplay and the roleplay. Layers upon layers of fantasy and fiction, each one heightening the fetishistic appeal even more. The way Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga were behaving now was unmistakably pornographic, and that was the hottest thing of all for Peggy. She was watching them debase her favorite characters, all for her titillation and her pleasure.

“Do you know the best part?” Wasp commented, grinning wickedly. “They’re not acting. Not pretending. Oh no. I made them believe. To them, you’re really Sentinel Green.”

Peggy flushed and shivered. God, that was so hot.

“And in a way, they’re not wrong,” Wasp mused. “Just look at yourself. You’re just like them. You fit in perfectly. The costumes really are perfect. It suits you.”

Peggy wasn’t sure why being complimented by a villain and a criminal made her body throb with fresh pleasure - but it did. This was all she wanted. To be Sentinel Green. To submerge into the character. To look good and hot in her cosplay. Nothing could be more arousing.

“You know,” Wasp added leadingly, “if anyone walked in here right now, they wouldn’t be able to see the difference between you and them. I’m not sure I can.”

That comment lit a fire in Peggy’s mind. No difference. It made sense, when she looked down at herself. She was dressed just as provocatively. She was acting just as pornographically.

Just like them, she was a doll.

Something to be posed. Something to be played with.

As Peggy continued to moan and squirm, Wasp bent down and put her lips to Peggy’s ear.

“And,” she whispered, “in just a moment, I’m going to make you exactly like them. I’m going to make you mine.”

Peggy froze. She’d been getting lost in the fantasy. But as much as she wanted to be Sentinel Green, she was Peggy Morgan too. She was the Inyx’s science officer. She had a responsibility to the crew.

And yet…

“Don’t get me wrong,” Wasp added, straightening. “You don’t have any choice about it. I’m sure you’re already plenty wound up. There’s no way you can resist. I’m just saying, it’s up to you how you want to feel about it.”

“W… what…?” Peggy managed, desperately confused.

“I’m just saying.” Wasp shrugged. “Who needs boring old reality, when you can live a fantasy like this. Am I right?”

Peggy’s back suddenly arched as Dr. Hiraga planted a kiss dangerously close to her needy, throbbing cunt. Clear thought was a distant memory. What Wasp was suggesting should have horrified her - but it didn’t. Instead, one single, powerful observation was at the forefront of her mind.

In all the time she’d spent on the Inyx, this was the best she’d ever felt.

Something inside the nerdy science officer snapped. She made her voice.

“Y-you can’t!” she cried out desperately. “I’ll never betray my comrades! You c-can’t make me!”

It should have been a cry of defiance, but the words weren’t hers.

They were Sentinel Green’s.

“Atta girl.” Wasp laughed. “I won’t sugarcoat it, though. You’re totally gonna betray everyone. I’m gonna use your smarts to perfect this little implant-brainwashing procedure the doc and I have been working on. No more breaking down resistance. One little zap is all it’ll take. Soon enough, everyone on this fucking ship is gonna be under my spell.”

Peggy just moaned. It felt so right. Sentinel Green, brainwashed to betray her allies. That was how the story was supposed to go.

“But you’ll have fun,” Wasp told her. “I can promise you that. I can have endless fun with you. And with the chief, and the doctor. And, who knows? Maybe once I’ve got the whole ship, we can put the rest of the Star Sentinels together.”

For just one single word, Peggy let herself break from the script and say something Sentinel Green never would have said.

“P-please!”

Wasp laughed again, and snapped her fingers. Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga rose to their feet and backed away. Wasp drew herself up theatrically.

“Y’know, I’m glad you asked so nicely. I may have gone a little overboard when I was planning this out. It took a little time to get the hardlight holograms to look and work just right. But I don’t regret the effort. I figure you’ll appreciate the fanservice.”

She extended a hand down towards Peggy, and there was a loud hum as the medbay’s holographic projectors kicked into overdrive. An instant later, two tendrils made of something shiny and black erupted from Wasp’s hand. They were fake, of course - they had to be - but they were as real as Wasp, and she’d already proven how dangerous she could be.

And more importantly, within the fantasy Peggy had surrendered to, they were all-powerful. Shadowy conduits of Queen Betalia’s will.

The tendrils looked like they were made of the same kind of latex as the cosplays, shiny and alluring, but they moved like living creatures, snaking towards Peggy before pouncing on her, one on each side of her head, and burrowing deep into her ears.

Peggy shuddered for a moment as she felt something cold and malevolent touch something deep inside her, implanting something there, behind her eyes.

And then, as the holo-stimulant implant came to life, her eyes were drowned in glowing spirals, and she thought about nothing at all.

As she peeked through a tiny crack in the door to medbay and beheld the debauchery unfolding within, Crewman Lori Delaney tried her hardest to keep perfectly still and quiet. She’d come down here after, as usual, feigning sickness to get off her duty shift. Dr. Hiraga was a soft touch; it was usually easy to convince her to provide a doctor’s note and let Delaney rest for a few hours instead of working. Other officers would usually catch on and chew her out, though, so she’d developed the habit of opening the door a crack so she could peek through and make sure nobody annoying was around.

Starship doors weren’t supposed to open like that. Especially not when they were locked. But with a little hotwiring, anything was possible.

Today, she’d found far more than she’d been expecting. Something truly weird was happening in medbay - and clearly, it involved Wasp. Delaney didn’t care about the Inyx’s duty to catch her even a little bit. In fact, she was tired of their uptight bitch of a captain’s constant lectures about it. But that didn’t mean she had any sympathy for a preening, attention-grabbing asshole like Wasp. And given that she clearly already had several members of the crew under her control, there was really only one thing Lori Delaney could do.

She rose silently to her feet and ran off to find Captain Vasser.

---

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