#trying so hard not to be a yank about this but surely you jest

[princehendir]

"this is a Piccadilly line to Cockfosters" not a real country.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

I can only share my interest in Aegon to you, so I’ll just drop this here. (Dw, contrary to what I say next, this is not a request. Just desperation.)

Broski, I NEED reader wife who’s scared of heights and dragons but Aegon gets her to ride with him just cuz he feels like it. (My hand is probably 1/3 smaller than one of their teeth. I believe Anyone sane should be scared sh’tless while seeing a dragon. 💀)

I ONLY READ ONE FIC WHERE THEY FLY ON A DRAGON! WHY ARE THERE SO MANY AEMOND FICS OF THISS??? HELP ME FIND MORE CUZ I NEED TO HAVE A RIDE ON A DRAGONNNNN. Imagine the refreshing air and scenery. (I personally imagine the beautiful pink/orange clouds from Httyd when Hiccup and Astrid fly together for the first time)😭⚰️

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Also, about the death threats, you handled it well. Really, when everyone finds out you like a hated character, it’s like they are trying to get you to sign your own death sentence. Anyway, keep doing you. You write exceptionally 🤭🫶 ily

PROMISE NOT TO DROP ME? ONLY A FOOL WOULD DROP YOU. ( HOTD x Reader )

pairing: Prince Aegon ii Targaryen x Lady-in-waiting! Reader prompt: Aegon kidnaps you to ride on dragonback, it does not go well. word count: 1, 000+ words

You had been very very firm when it came to dragon's. You were no Targaryen nor held a drop of Valyrian blood in your veins. Sure, you like to gawk at them in art. The dozen paintings, stained glass windows, and books that filled the Red Keep were enough. You would never dare to go near one in real life. Dragon’s were not natural. To ride one, to tame one, it was not natural. A lot of the things that the Targaryen’s did were not natural. 

So when you started as Helaena's Lady-in-waiting, you did everything you could to politely refuse to be near them. Need to go to the Dragonpits? The carriage was nice and comfy, no need to leave it. When Helaena offered to fly with her? Suddenly you grew ill with a cough. Helaena accepted, understanding your fears. She offered kind words and an open invitation should you ever change your mind on the matter.

Aegon was, as always, different. The word 'no'  just could not connect in that tiny little brain of his. He took it as a challenge. He would jest about kidnapping you and taking you flying. You laughed and told him you'd push him out of a window if he dared to do it. 

Of course, he had tried once with a look a little too serious on his face. After waddling away, clutching his groin from your hard kick, he learned that it would not be easy to get you on dragonback. You’d fight back. You would be a challenge, he liked that a lot.

Kicking and screaming at the top of your lungs, you did everything you could think of to get free of Aegon's hold. Clawing at his arms wrapped around your waist, he dragged you along to the Dragonpits, the dragon keeper's onlooking in confusion and mild horror. You could give less of a shit if they thought you mad. There was no way in the Seven Hells that you were going on a flight with Aegon. You'd rather kiss the King's rotten lips than to go flying.

"No! Put me down, you drunken oaf!" You shout, thrashing against him.

"No."

"I am going to kick you so hard you'd never be able to get it up again, Aegon! Put me down!" You bellow, yanking at his hair.

"Not a chance, we are going flying." Aegon brushes off your threats, "You will enjoy it. Tis' delightful."

Letting out a loud scream into his ear, he did not falter, running off of pure spite and stubbornness. It would have been admirable, if it was not for the fact he was dragging you along to go flying. Yanking hard on his hair, he yelps loudly, though his grip does not falter. Gods damn it, why did he have to be strong? Sensing that fighting would not help you, you tried another way.

"Please, please, Aegon." You beg, "I'll give up my desserts for a whole moon. Just let me go."

"Tempting." He chuckles, a smirk on his face.

"Please, Aegon. I do not wish to fly." You beg, on the verge of tears.

"I fly all the time. Once I even did it drunk, tis' nothing dangerous." He scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

Shaking your head frantically as his grip tightens, he drags you into the dark cave, the stench of dragon thick in the air. The few torchlights in the cave illuminated enough to see his dragon, Sunfyre, burrowing into his rocky nest. Feeling tears of fear bubbling up, you go deadly silent, losing your voice. This was your worst dream come true. Face to face with a dragon. Holding back the whimper in your throat, Aegon presses a kiss onto your temple, refusing to let you go.

“He won’t harm you. He’s used to your scent.” Aegon whispers into your ear, “I brought him one of your dresses to smell.”

“Let me go.” You whimper out, voice full of pure terror. 

“Come on, you’re already here. Let’s just go for a quick flight.” Aegon argues, shaking his head dismissively. 

“Aegon..”

Slowly letting go of your waist, you go to bolt for the cave exit, only to be swept back up into Aegon’s arms. He carried you like a toddler who had a habit of running away. Letting out a loud cry as he refused to put you back down, he wags his finger mockingly, a half amused look on his face. Hearing Sunfyre stir in his nest, you try more desperately to get away, the rumbling of the dragon echoing loudly in the cave. 

“No, no, no.” He scolds, “Bad Y/n. No running away.”

“Put me down! I want to go back to the Red Keep!” 

“No, if I have to attend Court, then you cannot escape this.” He suggests, “Consider this your duty.”

“Fuck duty. Put me down, Aegon!” You sob, bottom lip wobbling. 

“Ooh, so now we do not care about duty, hm?” He mocks, shaking his head with a smirk.

Pressing a gentle kiss onto your temple, he carried you closer and closer to Sunfyre, until the two of you were right in the dragon’s face. Feeling your grip tighten on him, he slowly smiles at the feeling, like see you so unlike yourself. This had to be the first time he had seen you act so improper and anxious. It was refreshing, amazing, and amusing all at the same time. 

Smiling bright as Sunfyre stirs away, the golden dragon huffs at the two of you, his two large green eyes staring back. Puffing his chest out in pride, he hoped the sight of his dragon would impress you and make you swoon. His dragon always got compliments. Looking down at your face, there was not an ounce of admiration or awe or anything positive, only terror. 

“He’s pretty is he not?” He gloats proudly, “You know, they say he is the prettiest dragon to have ever been hatched.”

“If I survive this, I am going to kill you.” You whisper out, face pale.

“Stop speaking as if you are going to die. Sunfyre would not dare to attack, not whilst I am here.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“I’ve seen your dragon, can we leave now. I want to go back to the Red Keep, Aegon.” You whimper, tears bubbling up in your eyes.

"No. Don't you dare." He argues, "Don't you dare do the whole crying trick on me. I am not foolish like Helaena and can be swayed."

Watching as you sniffle and whimper, his grip tightens on you, not wanting to give up just yet. Seeing the big puppy dog eyes you give him, he grits his teeth, tensing up. He falter's for a moment. He was always sucker for those big puppy dog eyes of yours. You knew how to make him crumble.

"No, no, no, don't give me that look." He tries to resist.

"Please, Aegon."

"No. Stop that." He shakes his head, "Stop that right now. I demand you stop that."

"I..I want to go home, Aegon. Please, take me home." You beg, sniffling.

Letting out an exasperated groan at you begging and pleading to go home, he begrudgingly agrees to it, knowing that it would be no fun if you cried the entire time. Scowling like a child who had its toy taken away, he loosens his grip on you, putting you back down onto your feet. One day he’d get you on dragonback. Sadly, just not today.

"Aegon, please, I want to go home." You whimper, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.

“Fine, fine, stop crying.” He grumbles, “But next time, we are going to actually get on the dragon.”

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

[skywarpie]

Snow Day

literally just Copia and his daughters in the snow. That’s it. Just that.

1,101k words

Enjoy.

The snow had started earlier the previous night. What were light flurries had soon turned to fat snowflakes that quickly accumulated into several inches (then maybe a foot?). He wasn’t entirely sure how much there was, just that there was a lot. 

Copia had known it was only a matter of time before his two young daughters awoke and came bursting through his office door. They were at that age where everything was something new to learn about. It was honestly refreshing to be around, compared to the common everyday life of the ministry. He smiles as he signs off on a paper, remembering the first time he had introduced his eldest to his many pet rats. She had talked for hours about how they should spruce up their cages to make them feel like they’re royalty. About what foods she planned to steal from the kitchens to give to them as treats. Where she planned to take them on adventures with her. Any other person would no doubt become exhausted after having to listen to this for hours, but not Copia. The whole while she spoke he had worn the goofiest grin, happy to have someone be as enthusiastic about his rats as himself.

As if on cue, two small figures shove the door open and make their way inside. “Papa! Papa!” Athaliah, the elder of the two rushes forward to fling herself at Copia. “Nevicare! Nevicare!” Her small form is practically vibrating as she clasps to his frilled sleeve.

“Si.” Copia laughs as he lays his pen down near his inkwell and scoops her up to sit on his lap. “A lot of snow by the looks of it.” He smooths a piece of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. 

“Sn-ow.” Accalia, the youngest, toddles in after having been abandoned by her sister in the doorway.

Copia reaches out his free arm as she stumbles forward, snatching her before she can fall. He maneuvers both of them so there’s a child on each knee (Satan forbid one have an inch more than the other. He’d learned that the hard way.). “Si, snow.” Accalia, unlike her sister, had yet to properly grasp a hold on either English or Italian. 

“Outside. Outside. Possiamo uscire?!” The eldest yanks particularly hard on his sleeve. “I want to go outside!”

Accalia, oblivious to her sister’s demands, busies herself trying to stick a stubby finger in the inkwell. Copia twirls his chair ever so slightly so it’s out of reach. He really doesn’t feel like cleaning up ink today. “Go outside? No.” He jests as he tries to hide his smile. “I don’t think you want to go outside.” 

“Si! I do! I do!” She wraps her tiny arms around his neck, pulling herself as close as possible to him. “Please Papa. Please.” Her small hands grasp his face to make him look at her, her expression one of an abused puppy. Accalia settles for gnawing on Copia’s pen.

“Well,” he gently pulls the pen from her grip, placing it further up the desk. It earns him an angry wail. “I’m afraid I have too much work.” He mocks, sticking his bottom lip out. “Sister Imperator is trying to kill your Papa with paperwork!” Copia adds in a dramatic voice, bringing a hand to his forehead in mock exasperation. 

“Papa.” She groans, clearly not finding it funny. Which is a shame because Copia thinks it’s one of his best performances. Everyone’s a critic. 

A sharp tug on his scarf grabs his attention. “Ai!” She shoots him an apologetic look but also somehow one of irritation at the same time. “Alright. Alright. I guess I can take a quick break.” He smiles, keeping up the charade. “I would hate to disappoint Il mio bambine!” An excited squeal is his own response.

—---

After what felt like an eternity, and probably very much was close to an hour if he’s being honest, Copia and his daughters finally make their way outside. It’s not entirely his fault though. Copia just wants to ensure that both are bundled up correctly and won’t get sick. He’d hate himself if he let that happen.

Both of his much larger hands hold onto the smaller ones to ensure that there’s no mishaps and falls. 

Excited squeals fill the air around him as Athaliah breaks free and runs forward into the deep snow. “Fa freddo!” She giggles, wasting no time grabbing a handful of the snow. 

Copia grins as he hoists Accalia up onto his hip. Unlike her sister, the snow seems to not be a hit with her. He can’t really blame her. The cold isn’t really his friend either. They keep this up for several minutes before eventually he places the younger back on the ground so he can properly show them both how to make a snowball. 

The two of them then spend the next while trying to make snowballs of their own and to be frank, they’re all terrible. They wouldn’t last for a single throw, but Copia doesn’t really care. They’re having fun and enjoying each other. That’s all that really matters.

Eventually he rounds the two of them up and herds them inside. He gains some resistance from Accalia who seems to have suddenly grown to love the snow. But none from her sister who’s clearly tired herself out. 

The trio make their way back inside and Copia ensures that each child is out of wet clothes and in nice dry ones. Only once he’s sure they’re taken care of does he peel off his own wet clothes and settle for his favorite track suit. 

Once everyone is taken care of, he brings in two mugs of hot chocolate (ensuring that they aren’t hot enough to burn but warm enough to serve their purpose). Copia settles himself on the couch, Athaliah leaning against his left side, covered in the largest blanket Copia thinks he’s ever seen, as she sips at her own mug. Accalia sits on his lap while he gently tries to offer assistance with their shared mug. It doesn’t go as planned. He still ends up covered in hot chocolate but he doesn’t care.

They sit like this for a while before he notices Athaliah has fallen asleep against his arm. Copia slips the mug from her hand, placing it on the end table along with his own mug that had been placed over there long since the youngest drifted to sleep. He positions himself so he has an arm around each child and sighs contentedly. I should miss work more often. 

---

Nevicare - snow

Possiamo uscire - can we go outside?

Il mio bambine! - My babies!

[bunnys-babies]

Ass-phalt

Connie Springer x gn!reader

wc: >1k

warning(s): none I think! Connie calls reader a bitch as a joke but other than that complete fluff and crack!

a/n: no cause I really think I’m so funny with that title idec - ANYWAYSSS ty @plutowrites for consistently indulging me and my Connie obsession :3 y’all have her to thank for this cause she CONSTANTLY keeps him on the dome (this is also inspired by the fact we’re having a rauuuunchy ass storm over here - eek!)

“Okay, on three!” Even Connies shouts were difficult to hear over the thunder and pouring rain pounding against the damp, or rather soaked, concrete steps following down the entrance of the public university library.

You had both mistakenly thought that an impromptu late night study sesh was the move, failing to recall the talk of the day amongst your classmates.

“Oh my god, have you heard about the storm passing through tonight?”

“I wonder if we’ll flood!”

“You think we’ll get out of class tomorrow if the power goes out?”

“Dude, did you know we’re supposed to have some crazy ass cyclone or something tonight?”

You both heard it all, and yet you each still forgot something as simple as a jacket.

“I don’t think runnings a good idea Connie!” You struggled to make your voice heard over the roaring wind, and your bubbling laughter making you stutter didn’t help either.

“I know right! We shouldn’t get too wet if we run!” You squint and shout a huh at his dopey smile, not entirely sure what he was saying or if he heard what you were saying correctly. But before you knew it he was screaming, tree!, or maybe he said three, and was pulling you along with him down the slippery steps.

You burst into a laughter that normally would’ve made you buckle at the waist if Connie wasn’t pulling you along so diligently with a vice grip on your hand.

“Oh shit, my keys! Keep going!” He pulled you to an abrupt stop to shout in your ear before turning to search for his car keys that must’ve fell out of his pocket. He didn’t have to tell you twice to keep going.

“Got em! - Oh shit!”

You turned around at the sound of a wet smack to see Connie laid out, flat on his back, rolling over and holding his stomach. You weren’t sure if it was with pain or jest, but you couldn’t hold back your own laughter.

You’re sure you both looked crazy. Two lone students on campus outside during a storm at 2 in the morning, one on the ground rolling around, and the other cackling like a witch.

“Are you- are you okay?” You continued to howl and stumble over your own feet until Connie struggled to stand up and hobble over to you. You felt a sense of relief when you heard his own laughter mixing with yours.

“You bitch!” He shouted the last word and smacked your arm a little too hard, underestimating his strength per usual, but you knew he meant nothing of it.

“I fell and you laughed at me!” Laughing at his “hurt” expression, you push him lightly before tugging him along to the direction of the parking lot.

“Hurry the hell up! It’s pouring out here!” You shout through the left overs of your giggles.

Thankfully it was less than another minute of running before you spotted his car.

Sanctuary.

Sprinting around the back to the passenger side, you yanked on the handle a little too roughly in your excitement just for the door not to budge.

You looked over the top of the car to cock your head at Connie, who stood there smiling in all his glory as he dangled the keys above his head.

“Connie! Unlock this fucking car!”

He’s so lucky he’s cute.

“Say you’re sorry!”

“Connie you-“

A flash of lighting illuminates his childish display of shock and excitement, mouth and eyes wide.

“I hope you get struck by lightning you asshole!” You scream across the car and can’t help but laugh with him as the beep beep of his car fills your ears, and it sounds like the bells of angels.

Whipping open the door as fast as you could, and shamelessly trying and failing to lock his door before he could hop in himself, you slam into the seat and breathe heavy.

It’s quiet for maybe point two seconds until you reach around to smack his wet arms and chest dramatically. You can tell by his high pitched yowls of laughter you’re not really hurting him.

“You are so lucky I love you, Connie.” You grab him by the collar of his now very damp shirt and attempt to send him daggers with your eyes; but it’s pretty hard when he’s smiling at you like that and leans forward until his nose brushes against yours.

“Mmm, mhm. I love you, too.” His breath is hot against your cheeks and warms your face from the cold rain that you’re currently drenched in.

He manages to steal a quick peck from you before he puts the key in ignition and blasts the heat.

“Ready?” He gives you that lop sided smile that makes your heart skip a beat as he buckles himself in.

“Mhm, you better hope I make it that far and don’t die of hypothermia or something.” You make a show of pouting and crossing your arms against your chest, your shirt making an awful squelch as you do so - which of course sends Connie into a spiral of little giggles.

He was gonna be the death of you.

——————

taglist: @d1lfluvr @plutowrites @carmillous @pretty-pop-princess-hs (if you’d like to be added jus lemme know!)

[legends-of-apex]

‘Finally’ - Kung Lao x Reader (smut)

Rating: 18+ for smut

Word count: 5,000 words (I know it’s a lot, lmfao)

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long!! Just really wanted to make it good :D there’s so little written for him that I just had to! In short, Kung Lao and the reader have been pining for one another for months and finally decide to do something about it. This fic contains both fluff and smut. Reader is AFAB. Hope you all enjoy, please feel free to let me know what you think and thank you for reading :D

You were trapped between him and the table. His arms on either side of you, braced against the table’s edge so he could lean down to your level where you sat. “It’s very rude you know. To tease your friends.” His eyes held a challenge, a sprinkle of mischief that never seemed to leave when he was with you.

“We were never just friends though were we?”

You weren’t sure why a sudden burst of boldness had overcome you. Perhaps it had something to do with the absolutely unbearable frustration that had been training with him mere moments ago. You were both so distracted by one another and intent on teasing with small jesters and jabs that you couldn’t take it for another minute, delighted when the sudden appearance of the moon relieved the necessity to train. You couldn’t be sure exactly what had sparked it that day but one thing you were sure of was that you wanted him. And you needed him to know that.

It was selfish. Of course it was, but something deep within your gut was begging you to just do something about the way you felt.

“Sounds like you’ve been having some improper thoughts.” He was joking but his voice held little semblance of his usual jest, the tone soft almost timid as he took one of your hands in his and brought your knuckles to his lips. He looked as though he was almost apologetic for having such an effect on you.

Romantic affection and other such distractions weren’t permitted by Raiden. But right now, being so close to Kung Lao, you couldn’t have cared less about what Raiden did or did not permit. His scent was all around you, coupled with the dirt from the fight pit where a kick had sent him tumbling. You swallowed hard, attempting to calm the strange feeling in your stomach in response to his affection.

“Most of my thoughts of you are improper.” That was it then, you’d finally done something that feeling. It was pointless pretending like you didn’t care for one another. You were done with this, done with the longing glances and the pining.

Moving your hand away from his lips so he could speak, he instead pressed your palm to the red dragon enshrined on his chest plate. You were so close together now that he seemed to have a hard time concentrating on your eyes, his gaze instead directed towards your lips. “Perhaps some meditation might remedy the issue.” His tone held absolutely no sense that he meant or likely even knew what he was saying. He was far too focused on drinking the image of you this close to him into his mind.

“It just…” you allowed yourself to lean in closer to him so your lips almost grazed his as you held his cheek in your free hand,”...doesn’t quite scratch the itch.”

“Oi, if you two are going to fuck in here at least let me get in on the action!” Kano’s grating drawl cut straight through whatever moment you had.

Lao moved to stand up straight and likely confront him, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, but you took hold of his forearm, silently asking him to stay. The both of you turned your heads to glare at the man and for once he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, “Well, worth a try! I’ll leave you to it. Don’t fuck on the table, we gotta eat there tomorrow!” With that, he left.

As soon as Kano rounded the corner, Lao turned back to face you and before he could even register it, you pressed your lips to his. The exchange was soft, sudden. But you felt him smile into the kiss and cup your cheek with his hand. His lips were so gentle. You couldn’t help but sigh when he deepened the kiss just a little, clearly testing where the boundary lay. You had both been holding back so much for so long, and yet you held back still for now.

When you pulled back for a little air, you kept your cheek pressed against his, wanting him close. “Finally,” you whispered and he smiled once more. The tension between you felt like it had finally subsided, even just a little. You pulled away a little more to get a better look at him, admire him in his hazy state. “Finally,” he agreed.

That one singular word was enough to reassure you that he’d had the same issues you had for a while now. You had been pining for him from the moment you met him when you first entered the temple. His cheeky smile and bold words had you hooked. Not to mention literally everything else about him. And you had noticed, the way he looked at you sometimes like he was gazing at the stars. The quick glances at dinner or in training that sometimes weren’t all that quick or subtle. The softest of touches when your fingers grazed his when he would pass you a plate or fill your glass with water without you having to ask him to pass the jug. The way Lui Kang would shake his head at him whenever Lao was a little too excited to help you with something or even just to spend time with you. All of this and more should have told you that he’d felt the same, but you were far too engrossed in the potential scandal of it all to put two and two together. Lord Raiden would surely have your heads for falling prey to such distractions and for breaking Kung Lao’s vows.

“So what now?” You asked him, hoping, just silently praying that he’d take the hint of how much you needed him right now. Hell, you’d have dropped to your knees before him there and then if you could be sure Kano wouldn’t interrupt. He pulled back from you, extending to his full height once more, grabbing his hat and offering you his hand to take.

“What would you like to do?” He asked, his face held a look of almost pleading but his pride and the public setting wouldn’t let him do so. It was then as he held his hand out to you in invitation that you noticed just how tightly the thin leather cords were tied around his upper arms and how wonderfully under stress the cord seemed right now. One side of his mouth quirked up into a smile like he could hear exactly what your mind was screaming, he saw you admiring his thick arms. He had done many times. The slight hitch in your throat at his question too told him everything he needed to know about what you wanted right now but he wanted to hear you say it.

“I think….” You took his hand, trailing your finger over the centre of his large palm before entwining your fingers with his, “That we should take this somewhere a little more private. I mean unless you want Kano to join..”

He looked like he wanted to devour you. His chest heaved a little, tongue darting out to wet his lips as you rose from your place at the table. He couldn’t speak properly, couldn't believe you truly wanted this with him. So many days spent pining for one another yet he still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that you wanted him, not Liu Kang or anyone else, him. You tugged on his hand lightly, yanking him out of his thoughts and towards your bedroom.

As you hastily unlocked your room with your keys, he couldn’t help but place only the faintest of kisses along your neck from where he stood behind you. His hands found your waist and circled round to meet at your middle, your back pulled flush against his chest. You were so beyond touch starved that even the faintest of touches had you in pieces. You couldn’t help the soft moans that slipped from your lips when he bit down on your skin ever so gently. And he couldn’t help what hearing that sweet sound did to him.

When you flung the door open and tugged him inside, all bets were off about being reserved. His hands were all over you, trying to make up for the lost time that he could have been touching you. Kicking the door shut behind you, you pulled him against you once more. Desperate to have him close. The metallic rattle of his hat hitting the floor rang throughout the room. His lips were far less gentle on yours now and you loved every second of it. A slight nip of his bottom lip between your teeth had him groaning. Such a gorgeous sound. He had you pinned against the door in his efforts to be near you. You were thankful as it gave you just enough leverage to hike your leg over his hip. He took that as his queue to lift your other leg up too, bracing you against the door with his strong arms supporting you.

At the new angel, he nuzzled his face into your neck, pressing kiss after kiss, light bite and after light bite to your soft flesh. You dragged your fingers through his dark hair, careful not to undo the red ribbon he had so carefully tied. A gasp escaped you when he kissed his way down to your chest, mouthing his way over any exposed skin he could find.

You wanted to tell him to just take you then and there. To shove your underwear aside and have you against your bedroom door. But his stature was far more caring than that right now. He was wound tightly, the hardness against your thigh told you that much. So much pent up tension between the two of you and yet he treated you as though you were glass. You’d soon fix that.

“Bed. Please.”

He carefully carried you towards your bed and set you down, mouth never leaving your skin as he did. When he released you to remove his robes you couldn’t help but stare at him. Of course, you’d seen him bare-chested in training many a time before, but it was a view of which you would never tire. His chest was strong and broad, the muscles were defined and well-worked but benefitted from a soft layer above them so his skin was soft to the touch. You couldn’t help it, dragging your fingers over his chest and stomach. You felt each shiver that wracked through him at your touch and revelled in the way his chest heaved from your fingertips alone.

His hand came to shadow your own, near dwarfing it beneath his as he held your palm over his heart as he had done mere minutes before, “Are you sure you want this?” His voice was low, heavy with want, but gentle. You could see the desperation in his eyes. You shared it too.

“More than anything.” You replied, and he smiled, taking your hand and carefully pressing your knuckles to his warm lips for a long moment as though he was almost praying to you. Butterflies spread throughout your stomach, you couldn’t believe the effect he had upon you.

“In that case, lay back,” you quirked a brow at that,”I want to taste you.” He clarified.

You hadn’t been expecting that. You did as you were told for once, shuffling back onto your bed but propping yourself up on your elbows so you could see what he was doing. He ever so gently undid your shoes and slipped those, followed by your socks, off your feet. Next came your trousers once you lifted your hips enough for him to take them off. He let out a huff at the sight of you, staring almost in disbelief at you sprawled out before him. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? It is truly distracting.”

“Is that why I keep whooping your ass in training?”

“Maybe.” He chuckled before turning his attention back to your dripping underwear, “So wet for me already and I haven’t even touched you.” His eyes held a hunger as he parted your legs at the knees a little more so he could get a better look at you. Taking your knee, he hooked it over his shoulder as he sank to the floor, pressing slow kisses along the inside of one thigh and then the next. The touch sent shivers through you, right to your already dripping core. You whined when he got so close to where you wanted him, only to turn his attention to your other thigh again.

“What’s the matter? I thought you liked teasing?” He asked when you whined. You dared not look at him, knowing he’d have his smuggest smile on display.

“Please.” You mumbled, desperation for any touch at all. With a nod of his head towards you in compliance, he rid you of your underwear, tentatively rolling the material down your legs to expose your heat to the nighttime air.

“I’d hold on to something if I were you.” His mouth returned to the tops of your thighs, only this time he let his lips ghost over your core rather than skip over it completely. Your folds were so slick and warm that it almost felt as though his lips melted into you. A long groan escaped you as he began to move his mouth and tongue, laughter vibrating through him at the sound you made. You didn’t know what to do with your hands, you wanted to tug on his hair but settled on grabbing the sheets beneath you. When his tongue flicked your clit, that was out the window and one hand shot to the back of his head in desperation.

He pulled back from your pussy for a moment, “Please pull as hard as you’d like.” He’d obviously caught on. You tangled both hands in his hair then, before he returned to your warmth and he moaned before bringing his lips back to your core. Oh, he liked it when you tugged on his hair, you’d have to remember that.

He sucked your clit between his lips then and let it go so he could lick a strip right up the middle of your folds. “Oh fuck,” you exclaimed, “P-please, do that again!”

“Since you asked so nicely.” He repeated the action, this time taking extra care to move as slowly as possible. Another lick and he was gathering your wetness on his tongue and once again groaning at your taste.

He moved one hand from your thigh and brought his fingers to rest by your lips, “Get them nice and wet for me.” He told you, and you didn’t need to be told twice, sucking his two digits into your mouth and lathering them up with your tongue. “Gods.” He breathed, no doubt imagining that was his cock in the place of his fingers. He withdrew them from your mouth and brought them to your core, circling them slowly in your juices before ever so slightly prodding your entrance with them, slipping the tip of one in and out, followed by the other, in and out, intermittently whilst he worked the rest of your pussy with his tongue.

The very sight of him between your legs would have been enough for you on any other day, but today you were spoiled for choice on what to focus on. He snuck a glance at you from beneath his brow every once and a while, watching your facial expressions in between closing his eyes in pure concentration. You were close now if the coil in your stomach was anything to go by. Honestly, you were surprised that you’d lasted so long given the circumstances.

“I’m close!” You told him.

“I know.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He hooked both his fingers into you at once now, noting how you clenched around him when he did. Pleased with himself when he hit a spot within you that had your head flung back so your chin pointed towards the sky. He chuckled to himself and looked up at your face, not wanting to miss the reaction on your beautiful features.

“What are you- Oh!” The new motion of his fingers, pressing firmly exactly where you needed them to be, was an entirely too overwhelming sensation. Not only did you grab his hair now, you pulled on it, grinding your core against his face in a desperate plea for your release. In your haste to keep him close to you, you’d accidentally pulled the tie from his hair letting the strands fall upon either side of his face in a beautiful frame. He put his mouth into overdrive too, moulding his lips around your nub and giving it as much attention as he could, eyes never leaving your face now. You clenched around his fingers once more before the dam broke and he’d swore he’d never heard a more delightful sound.

His name fell from your lips as if it were the only thing you’d ever known as your orgasm washed over you. He held your hips down with his free hand as he helped you ride it out, never once stopping his movements until you’d finally collapsed back on the bed. You continued to pet his hair as he lay his cheek upon your thigh, brown eyes gazing up at you in a haze.

“They teach you that at the Shaolin academy?” You asked in jest as your breath began to even again. You tilted your chin to look down at him and the adoration in his eyes was enough to send your stomach fluttering once more. He smiled up at you then, his usual half-smile with a slight tilt of his head that you’d grown to love. “Seriously that was great, thank you. Would you allow me to return the favour?”

“If you wish, but please don’t let me finish too soon.”

“Too soon?”

“If you would allow me such a privilege, I would like to feel your body around me as well as your lips.” Gods, you wanted to feel him inside you too.

Once you were ready, still aching with want but satisfied for now, you slipped down off the bed and onto your knees. “Oh you poor thing. Need me to take care of that for you?” You asked when you saw the strain in his trousers. You pulled the waistband of his trousers down with ease, revealing his underwear. You could tell from the outline that he was big and painfully hard but you couldn’t help but tease him with a few soft strokes with the pad of your thumb through the fabric.

“Please-” he gasped when a particularly long stroke had his cock twitching. “Oh sweetheart, it looks like you’ve been hard all day.” You pulled his pants down and allowed his cock to spring free. His cock was thick, thicker than you’d ever imagined. It had ample length too but it was a particularly large vein that ran along its side that really caught your attention.

You pressed a kiss to his leaking tip, another to the vein. Such sweet noises left his mouth already and you’d barely touched him. Dragging your tongue along his underside whilst looking up at him seemed to really do it for him because his cock twitched in your hand. “Oh, gods. Do that again. Please.” You obliged him and earned the most breathy, muddled sound from him.

You gave the tip another kiss before wrapping your lips around just the first half an inch or so.

“Fuck-“ He pulled his cock from your mouth, “As beautiful as you look with your lips around my cock, I’d rather not finish so quickly.” He brought you up from your knees to kiss you again before lifting you slightly so you sat on the edge of your bed once more.

“Do you still want this?” He asked, hand lovingly caressing your cheek, eyes soft and locked with yours. You stood, gliding a hand from his stomach, up along his chest until you reached his strong jaw, eyes never leaving his as you did.

“More than anything. I just want to be close to you.” You confessed.

“We can just lay together if you’d like? We don’t have to do this, I’m more than happy to wait until you're ready.”

“I’m ready,” you told him, “I want you, so long as you want the same?”

“Oh I do. I've wanted this since the day we first met. You have no idea how much I want you.”

“Oh I have some idea.” You pushed on his chest lightly and he fell back onto your bed, taking you with him in his arms, shimmying until he was comfortable. You tugged your shirt over your head and rid yourself of any remaining underwear, flicking your eyes towards him only to see him dumbfounded at the sight of you bare before him. Heat rose to your cheeks for the first time that night. The man had just been eating you out like his life depended on it yet his gaze still made you giddy.

“You are so cute when you’re nervous, you know that?”

“Oh, shut up and fuck me.” You laughed, taking his head in your hands once more and kissing him, revelling in the feeling of his mouth on yours. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

“I know.” You rolled your eyes playfully at his cockiness, sitting upon his hips, careful not to let your body sit fully on his stomach or any other sensitive part of him. His hands glided down your sides until they reached your hips, resisting the urge to tickle your sides as he would have in any other situation.

“You ready?” You asked him, sitting up on your knees, hands braced at the base of his thick chest. He nodded, swallowing hard in anticipation.

With one hand you took hold of his achingly hard cock and directed it towards your entrance, taking care to coat the tip in your wetness before aiming it at your aching pussy. A sharp inhale and you were sinking down onto his lap until his cock filled you completely. With each inch, Lao arched further off the mattress before collapsing back once fully inside you, a long moan escaping him as your pussy enveloped his cock within you. The fullness you felt was something else. His velvety cock filling you so pleasantly you thought you could just sit there like that forever if you wouldn’t have gotten needy.

“My gods,” you groaned at the overwhelmingness of it all, “you feel so good.” You told him and he smiled amid his haze, absolutely delighted he was able to make you feel good even from his place beneath you. He let you take it completely at your own pace, supporting your hips when you moved up of him and then slide back down onto his cock. He wouldn't last long, not with months worth of pent up frustration finally coming to a head. He never thought the day he’d be inside you would ever come, didn’t let himself wonder what your walls would feel like around his member. To be fair, usually, just the thought of kissing you was enough to get him off.

You rocked forwards again once you were sure your body had adjusted to his size. Falling forward to essentially lie directly atop him. You didn’t want to ride if you couldn’t touch and be close to him. Another grind of your hips and a moan fell from his lips right into your ear, his hands now gripping your lower back, helping you move on his cock whilst keeping your form flush against his. His hips moved up in tangent with yours.

“Shit!” You cursed when his cock hit a particularly sensitive spot.

With another roll of his hips, he made contact with that spot again, your hands desperately grabbing fistfuls of the sheets at either side of his head to attempt to transfer the tension in your body from such pleasure. “Again!” He obliged you, full concentration on helping you reach your release.

“Lao, please!” You almost begged, “harder please!”

To your surprise, he pulled out of you completely, gripping your hips and lifting you off of him. In one swift movement, you were on your back, Lao leaning over you and tugging your knees around his hip so he had easier access to your pussy.

“You ready for me?”

“If you don’t get back in there and fuck me I think I’m going to die!”

A laugh escaped him but in truth, he felt that desperation too. In fact, he would have come ages ago had he not been in essence edging himself so that he wouldn’t finish long before you.

You sat up so you cling to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him in for another kiss. You couldn’t get enough of his lips, or hips scent, his arms around, or really anything about him. His arms wrapped around your right after he entered you as you kissed, your moans swallowed by one another’s mouths. That wonderful fullness was back again and he waited until you gave him the go-ahead that you were comfortable again before moving. His thrusts were measured, slow but forceful in a way that had you mewling against his shoulder.

He took his time with you, basking in the feeling of being with you in such a way. His lips found your neck once more, then your shoulder, then your chest and over the tops of your breasts. A particularly loud moan on your part had his attention turned back fully to spearing you on his cock.

“There?” He asked, looking to you for your response. You nodded your head into shoulder and he kissed the top of your head tentatively, smiling at your pleasured state. He focused on hitting that spot again, and again, until your nails started to dig into his shoulders. He let one hand drift between your bodies and down to your core, using the knowledge he’d gained from exploring you with his mouth to heighten your bliss.

“Lao!” His name left your mouth, along with obscenities. You weren’t really sure what you were saying at this point apart from his name. His fingers dancing over your clit combined with his thrusts had you feeling so stimulated that you swore that was all you could feel right now. The coil in your stomach had been rigid and pulsing for a few minutes now.

He pressed another kiss to your temple, “I’m almost there!” He told you, voice shaking both with intensity and the constant movement of you both.

“These bed sheets are a pain to clean.” You informed him in a moment of clarity and he laughed, but his voice was strained as you met his thrusts with your hips.

“Where-“ he gasped, “Do you want it?”

“Inside.” You quickly replied, knowing that you had taken any precautions you needed to.

He laughed again, “I swear you’re trying to kill me.”

As he rubbed harder and more sloppily on your clit, you knew he was extremely close. His forehead was tucked into your shoulder now, skin glistening. When you tugged the hair on the back of his neck between your fingers, he was done. A cry escaped him, cock twitching as he filled you with his release.

That feeling, the feeling of his body shuddering against you, his warmth filling you, was what finally made you come for a second time. You fell back against the covers, taking him with you as you worked through your release. He kept going, lightly and sloppily moving in and out of you until he was sure you were spent. He collapsed a top you, chest heaving in tandem with yours as you slowly came down from your high. When he turned his head to look up at you, a smile spread across your face and his in turn.

“We really shouldn’t have waited so long.” You sighed, feeling the stickiness between your legs as he carefully pulled out of you, not moving his cheek from your chest.

“Agreed.” He huffed in another large breath before his breath evened. It was so good to be with you, in any capacity really but this, this was something almost heavenly.

“Sorry, I think these sheets are still going to need to be cleaned.” He leant up off of you and off the bed, careful not to crush you under his weight, his playful little side smile returning as he walked to your en suite to grab a towel.

You looked down between your legs to check, groaning at the mess. “It can wait for tomorrow!” You didn’t feel like doing any kind of cleaning right now. Your body was spent and your muscles had already begun to ache. He returned with a damp towel and ever so gently wiped away any mess from between your legs, his movements so tentative that it was hard to believe he’d been the one to make that mess in the first place.

“Why? You got something else planned for tonight?” He asked, chucking the towel in the general direction of your bathroom before scooping you up in his arms and setting you down against your pillows.

“Yeah I was just about to go train.” You said in a mock serious tone, actively shoving the covers down so you could both crawl beneath them.

“Ha! Sure.” He had already settled beside you, bringing his arms to wrap around your frame. You turned to face him, your hand sliding beneath his upper arm to gently caress his back as you buried your face in his chest. You felt his lips on your forehead again, his arms tightening to bring you as close to him as he could.

Yeah, you weren’t moving for the world.

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

An Embarrassing Secret

Word count: 2150

I feel like some of these are sort of repetitive, but maybe that's because I've had to reread them to proofread so many times? In any case, you all seem to enjoy them! I hope you like this one as well.

* * *

“Ah! Y/N! Just the person I wanted to see!”

Loki flopped down on the couch beside you, jerking you from your thoughts as the couch cushion bounced under his weight. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned your gaze from the television to the Asgardian beside you, only inches of space between your leg and his.

“Me? What do you need from me? Trying to prank your brother again?” you snickered.

“Not this time, no. I just thought I should come find you and let you know about something interesting I learned this morning,” he replied, an impish lilt to his voice.

“Is this something I would find interesting? Or just you? Because the way you said that, I feel like I probably won’t find it nearly as interesting.”

“Oh, I believe you’ll find it very interesting,” he assured, a smirk tugging at his lips. Something about the way his gaze was fixated on you was unsettling. You paused the TV and turned your full attention to the god.

“What is it, then?” you questioned hesitantly.

“I learned quite an interesting secret about you earlier today.” There went your heart again, skipping another beat.

“You… did?”

“Oh, yes.” His smirk grew wider.

Your mind was racing. What on earth could he be talking about? Did he figure out you had a crush on him? What if that was the secret?? Was he disgusted by it? Did he reciprocate??

“That is interesting,” you noted, trying to keep your voice even to prevent him from seeing your anxiousness. “And… what was that, exactly?”

“Well…” he began, pulling out his cell phone from his pocket, “… this morning I happened to be perusing the library, trying to select a new novel to read. While I was wandering between shelves, I happened to notice something of yours sitting out unattended.”

You thought hard, trying to recall what it was you had been doing in the library. Had you even gone to the library this morning? You couldn’t even remember what you had for breakfast. Then again, it was difficult to concentrate with those blue-green eyes gleaming in front of you…

“And what was that Loki?”

“Your laptop.” Loki was now typing something into his phone, holding it in a way that you couldn’t see the screen.

“My laptop?” You rarely brought your laptop to the library with you, as you were typically reading books and had no need for electronics. You wracked your brain trying to remember when the last time you had even brought it with you to the library, looking away from the trickster so you could think straight.

Then you remembered. You’d brought it with you last night, hoping to get some peace and quiet away from the others, who were causing quite a ruckus in the common area playing one of Peter’s video games. You could still hear them through your bedroom door, so you packed up your laptop and brought it to the library with you to continue writing.

Writing. Oh. Oh no. No no no.

Your heart dropped into your stomach the moment you realized where this was going. Still, he hadn’t mentioned anything specific about what he’d seen yet, so you made every effort to keep a straight face. You weren’t about to give away a bigger secret if he had only learned something minorly embarrassing.

“At first, I was uncertain to whom the device belonged, and as it was already left open on the table, I decided to see if I could determine the owner so I could return it to them,” he continued, “and I found the screen to be unlocked when I turned the machine back on.”

Yep. You knew exactly where this was going now.

“You act like you were trying to do a good deed or something, but you were obviously just snooping around my stuff, weren’t you?” you muttered, trying to throw him off with your annoyance.

“Shh - I wasn’t finished with my recounting of the story yet,” he scolded facetiously. He had finally finished tapping buttons on his phone and was now scrolling through something on the screen. “When the screen unlocked, I saw quite a fascinating narrative typed out on the screen. Truly a masterpiece, really.”

“Y-you read it?” you squeaked, hiding your face in your hands.

“Oh, I did more than that darling. I also scrolled through and reviewed the rest of your little webpage.”

Your face was burning red hot against your palms now. If you could have just melted into the couch and disappeared, you wouldn’t have hesitated to do so. You felt your heart pounding in your chest with nervousness and embarrassment at the whole situation.

“Shall I read some aloud for you?” he asked.

“Nooooo Loki,” you moaned, your voice muffled by your hands. You lifted your feet up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around your knees and hiding your face behind them, trying to become as small as possible.

“Ah, here is a good part: ‘The dark-haired god suddenly tackled you to the floor, pinning your arms down at your sides under his knees as he dug his long, slender fingers into your sides.’” You pulled your knees even closer to your chest. If the floor could swallow you whole now, that would be fantastic. “Darling, you’re not paying attention.” A poke to your side caused you to jolt one arm down away from your face to protect the sensitive skin. You stole a quick glance at the god, your eyes wide.

“D-don’t!” you exclaimed.

“Isn’t this what you want?” he asked, prodding your side a few more times, causing you to jerk away each time he made contact with your thin T-shirt. “Let’s see… ah! Another great line: ‘He drilled his thumb into the front of your lowermost ribs, digging his fingers into the sides of your ribcage simultaneously. You supposed you should have known that someone with his mischievous title would be good at tickling, but the way his fingertips sought out every single one of your weak spots was causing you to slowly slip into madness.’”

You started getting up off the couch to try to make a quick exit then, hoping to hide in your room for the rest of eternity. Loki caught on before you got very far, though, and grabbed hold of your wrist to prevent you from leaving.

“Let go!” you begged, refusing to look at him as you pulled your arm hopelessly to try to escape his grasp. He tugged you closer, quickly wrapping both arms around you and tackling you to the floor. A thrill ran through your chest as you found yourself staring up at the god of mischief, your wrists pinned to the floor at your sides in his hands.

“Seem familiar?” he asked, smirking. He leaned off to the side, looking at his phone screen beside you on the floor. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes, I remember.” Loki’s fingers connected with your sides, scribbling and kneading in the best worst way. You shook your head rapidly, still too embarrassed by the whole situation to allow him to hear you laugh. “Your narrative appears to be inaccurate – according to this, you should have ‘giggles bubbling from your mouth’ but I hear nothing.”

“Loki! S-stop teasing!” you pleaded, covering your face with your hands once again now that your wrists were freed from his grasp.

“I’m simply pointing out there are some inconsistencies in your writing, y/n.” He moved his fingers to your belly, scratching maddeningly gently at the bare skin where your shirt had ridden up from squirming. You couldn’t hold back the giggles anymore, but you did manage to keep one hand pressed over your mouth to muffle your voice as you brought your other arm down to protect your torso.

A small part of you, buried deep underneath the raging embarrassment you still felt, was loving every second of this playful side of Loki. Clearly you had fantasized about this before, as evidenced by your writing. You just hadn’t anticipated he would actually find your fics, much less read them and use them against you.

“Let’s continue, shall we?” he goaded, interrupting your thoughts. He picked up his phone in one hand while continuing to dig into your belly with the other to keep you squirming while he thumbed through more of your posts. “Here’s another excellent excerpt: ‘he moved to flutter his fingers against the delicate skin behind your knee, squeezing just above your kneecap simultaneously with the other hand, making you snort.’ I would very much like to hear that, I think.” He moved down to mimic his fictitious self in your writing, making you laugh out loud and kick your leg frantically. “Y/n, I’m not hearing any snorting. So many discrepancies; I have to wonder if you’ve ever been properly tickled in the same way as your fictional likeness.”

“Stohohop… stop making fuhuhun of my writing!” you demanded, although it wasn’t very intimidating laced with your laughter.

“Oh, I don’t jest, dear – I’m merely pointing out facts. Maybe this will make you snort.” He reached down and grabbed your ankle in one hand, lightly tracing the sole of your socked foot with one finger. You, indeed, did snort. “Aha! Maybe you should have requested assistance before posting these inaccuracies.”

“LEAVE MY FEET ALOHOHONE!” you shrieked, yanking your leg to escape his grasp. He responded by simply tightening his grip, dragging four fingers up and down your foot, making sure to note which spots made you jerk. He settled on scratching gently just below the ball of your foot, laughing himself as you rolled side to side trying desperately (and ineffectively) to evade his fingers.

“You realize, darling, you’ve essentially written a map to every ticklish spot on your body. I know exactly how to exploit your unfortunate weakness.” You opened your mouth to protest but he cut you off by unexpectedly switching to digging his fingertips between your ribs. The suddenness of his movement made you squeal, batting weakly at his hands. “It’s adorable, really, how you are pretending to fight me, when we both know this is exactly what you want.”

“SHH! Shuhuhut up Loki!” you countered. He put a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“You wound me, darling,” he teased, smirking. “What did that one quote state? Ah, that’s right! Your ‘death spot’ as you’ve titled it?”

“Wait! Nohoho I’m sohohohorry!!” you panicked, planting your feet on the floor, and trying to scoot away from your assailant.

“I don’t think you are, actually.” His fingers were inching vexingly closer to your ‘death spot’ as he’d pointed out. He found humor in the fact that your laughter slowly began pitching up in octave the closer he got. “I’m pleased that you’ve written this down for me to find, y/n. I don’t believe I’d have found it otherwise – as I understand, it is not a conventional place to be so unbearably ticklish.”

“No! No no! Plehehease Loki!” you pleaded, albeit halfheartedly.

“Hmm… alright then,” he conceded, moving back down to tickle your right side, moving his other hand to scribble on the right side of your belly. It had exactly the effect he was hoping for, causing you to jolt and roll hard toward his hands. Quickly, he grabbed your left side and pushed you all the way over onto your stomach, pinning your hands down to the floor with his knees. “On second thought, I think I’m going to do it.”

“NoOAHAHAH!” you practically screamed in laughter as his fingers made contact with your back, just below your shoulder blades. Seemingly encouraged by your reaction, he applied more pressure, gently kneading between the backs of your ribs. Your nerves were on fire with ticklish electricity, and you tugged desperately to try to free your hands. It wasn’t long before your laughter became silent, your shoulders shaking as you laid there and just accepted your fate.

It seemed Loki had noticed the sudden silence, and he removed his torturous fingers from your back, releasing your hands so you could roll back over. You curled up on your side, knees close to your chest and arms wrapped around your torso rubbing the residual tingles off your sides. He hovered over you, leaning close to whisper in your ear.

“You know, darling – if you wanted me to tickle you, you simply had to ask. I find it quite adorable.”

“Oh my god, Loki…” you groaned, covering your face with your hands once again. A single finger scratched under your arm, making you pull your arms back down. “Stahahap!! Can’t you see I’m embarrassed??”

“Mm, I can see that. But was it worth it?” he asked teasingly, planting a kiss on your cheek. The flames ignited by his lips spread across your face, up to the tips of your ears.

You supposed that, just maybe, it was worth it.

Part 2: A Difficult Question

[tobiosmilktea]

umpah umpah! smau

↪︎ bokuto x f!reader x iwaizumi

[008] — we meet again!

masterlist | prev. | next

a/n: i was listening to hozier while writing this which explains why both bokuto and iwaizumi is whipped for the mc ✨

asking if you were okay was a good question. really, it is—too bad you didn’t know the answer to that very question no matter how grossly interchangeable the words were tossed around and scrambled into nuances phrases. if anything, it made your mood turn even more sour as your two best friends tried their best to calm you down. keyword: tried

kaori was too busy dying of laughter as she would tease the glaring look on your face. “you’re going to pop a blood vessel, honey.” she snickered, holding her stomach as it ached under the constant tension.

meanwhile akaashi was still profusely apologizing beneath the latter’s amusement. a sigh left your lips for the umpteenth time in the span of five minutes as your arms braided over each other in frustration. “what the fuck are you trying to get at, keiji?”

a gasp practically escaped kaori as she slapped her hand over her mouth, “(y/n) used your first name, that’s how you now she’s pissed off.”

akaashi could only roll his eyes. it was to his best bet to ignore any of kaori’s quips as she’s known to escalate things just by the power of that witty brain of hers. “nothing!” the editor exclaimed as he turned back to you, “i just figured it wasn’t a big deal since you and bokuto both said you guys ended on good terms. besides, i warned you to check the list.”

“okay, but that doesn’t explain the fact that iwaizumi is here!” it was at this moment that you were glad the music was pumping loudly through the venue speakers to hide over your shouts.

“i told you they work for the same team, but i didn’t know they were friends until i saw who bokuto wanted to invite!”

you groan, “unbelievable.”

“i just don’t think you should let their presence ruin the rest of the night, (y/n).” akaashi mentions flatly.

“i agree,” kaori suddenly cuts in, “it’s your party, you could kick them out if you want.” she suggests with an impish tone and an expression laced in provocation.

“i’m not going to kick them out, kaori—” you’re interrupted then as she swiftly elbows you in the breast, “ouch! what was that for?”

 “sorry, i was aiming for your ribs not your titty.” she laughs briefly before motioning to a familiar figure making it’s way towards you three. perhaps it was his height that triggered a response in you to cause your heart to rapidly thump against your ribcage, but honestly, it was probably his spiked hair with white tips that was the perpetrator. “is that bokuto? oh fuck, he’s coming, act natural.”

great, you thought. you had to fight the urge to just walk away a leave, but you knew it wasn’t going to end well whatever you did. knowing your luck, you were going to stumble upon this man one way or another.

“akaashi, there you are!” bokuto calls out over the crowd, serpentining his way through groups of conversating individuals to reach his best friend. but in all honesty, akaashi knew what this guy was doing. bokuto didn’t listen to a word he said in his text messages as the volleyball player ended up coming over here either way just to talk to you.

you’re over (y/n) my ass, akaashi thinks to himself, feigning from rolling his eyes again because at this point, it was just a matter of time before everything came crashing down.

it almost felt like a target was on you, perhaps a red laser shining right in the middle of your forehead the moment bokuto flickered his attention to you. “(y/n)! it’s so nice seeing you again!”

you nod as an awkwardly smile melted on your expression, “it’s nice seeing you too, bokuto.” despite your meek demeanor, what you said certainly wasn’t a lie. you would be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t miss bokuto and his warming aura. you suppose it was the sudden meeting that caused your fight or flight response to suddenly kick in.

bokuto’s eyebrows furrow slightly, “bokuto? what happened to calling me kou?”

as if the situation wasn’t already difficult being in, it was as if he flicked another match into the burning dumpster fire of a party. “well... we haven’t seen each other in years, so i thought it was appropriate.”

“ah...” his voice trailed on as a few beats of silence ensued.

“oh shit,” kaori suddenly curses under her breath as she nonchalantly spilled his drink all over her arm. “um, akaashi could you come and help me clean this off?” she asks in faux concern, not bothering to give the guy a chance to answer as she tugged him away.

you couldn’t help but feel a faint smirk forming on your lips as you watched the two disappear into the crowd. kaori was always good at acting herself out of awkward situations that you honestly had to applaud her. maybe later you would teasingly remind her to audition for the webtoon’s live action just to spite her. it was just a little mindless payback for leaving you alone with your ex-boyfriend.

your striking gazes met again as you turned your attention back towards bokuto. at first glance, he looked exactly the same as you last saw him—then again, the last time you did see bokuto was when you two decided to break up on the day before graduation, you couldn’t remember much of him as it was dark under the midnight sky as tears blurred your vision. even when things ended up mutual with no hard feelings, you still couldn’t help but feel a tug at your heart when you recalled the way bokuto looked at you then.

it was hard to sleep that night. 

it was a bizarre juxtaposition of comparing eighteen year old bokuto to him now. rather than appearing before you with messy hair and tears streaming down his face, he was beaming in some contagious lightheartedness. it was a feeling you never thought you would feel so nostalgic in as he still smelt like fresh chamomile. he was much bigger now, more buff as one would say and not to mention taller as well.

perhaps going professional really treated this man wonders as you had to admit how increasingly more attractive he has gotten.

“you look great, by the way.” bokuto says, pulling you out of your thoughts as you realize how long you have been staring.

“thanks...” god, this is awkward. this certainly wasn’t leaving a good impression on your part, “you don’t look too bad either.”

a red tint burned at the tips of bokuto’s ears as he scratched the nape of his neck like it was some kind of nervous tic. he usually doesn’t get nervous meeting people, new or old, yet there was something about the way you look at him even after all these years that would send his heart rate into the extremes. he hated how this all ended due to your differing aspirations. “congrats on having a successful webtoon. love cemetery is amazing and i’m obsessed if you couldn’t already tell.”

“i never really pinned you to be one of my biggest fanboys, you know.”

“i’ve always been your biggest fanboy,” bokuto assured with a smirk, “how about you, are you still my biggest fangirl?”

you playfully scoffed at his statement, “um...”

“um?” he pressed, finding the amusement in your eyes adorable.

“i dunno, i haven’t really kept up with volleyball after high school.” you chuckled, swirling the contents of your drink in your hand. “besides, i think you have enough fangirls drooling over you.”

“who needs all of them if i have you?”

you rolled your eyes as you took a sip from the alcohol in your hands. “you’re flirting again.”

“isn’t that the reason why you dated my in the first place?” bokuto jested, feeling the burning in his cheeks as he couldn’t stop smiling. this was progress to him knowing that this playful banter was enough to surely get you two to reconnect again.

you peered your eyes at him suspiciously, “you’re planning something, aren’t you?”

“you’re making it sound like i’m evil!”

“well, are you?”

“of course i’m not,” said bokuto, “i just wanted us to be friends again.”

“you’re kidding.”

he shook his head, “never in a million years.”

you weren’t sure if it was his words that made your chest feel warm or if it was the alcohol in your system. regardless, you refused to let bokuto affect you so easily in a span of a couple minutes even if you took your alcohol well.

“at least you weren’t kidding when you said you were going professional.” you hummed, leaning against one of the smaller round tables as you stared into the crowd. you were hoping bokuto would do the same, but he’d rather look at you than a congregation of random strangers.

“and you weren’t kidding either when you said you wanted to become an artist.”

“i mean, becoming a webtoon artist wasn’t exactly what i thought i was going to be, but i’m glad where i am now in life.” you answered as your eyes wandered the room.

“even without me in it?” god, what a flirt.

that infamous laugh of yours emitted from your cherry-colored lips. it was the type of laugh everyone found themselves attracted to and never annoyed, in fact, it was the laugh bokuto hadn’t even realized he missed so much until the moment it left you.

his mindless attempts at flirting was catching up to you now as you couldn’t fight the feeling of the heat rising to your cheeks. “well, you’re right in front of me aren’t you?”

“things are different know, though...”

“right but—” you tried to respond, but was inevitably interrupted by yuko.

she came up to you in a slight hurry, calling out your name before apologizing to bokuto. “sorry to cut your conversation so short, but i need (y/n) to come take care of something for me.”

confusion melted upon your expression as you turned to her, “we do?”

“we do,” she huffs.

“it’s alright,” bokuto says while motioning for you to follow suit of your manager. “let’s catch up more sometime, yeah?”

you smile at him, one that’s less mediocre and awkward and a bit more genuine. “of course,” was the last thing you could say before yuko yanked at your arm once again until you were in just another body in the crowd.

despite yuko’s hand firmly gripped around your wrist to ensure you wouldn’t get lost in the sea of people, it was difficult trying to focus at one thing at a time. at first it was the worry about your manager and her sudden interruption, but now it was trying your best not to spill your drink due to all the drunken bodies bumping into yours. were there really this many people on the invite list?

grumbling to your self, you threw your head back as you finished the last bits of drink in your hand while you were pulled through the crowd like a ragdoll. having to pay for a stranger’s dry cleaning due to a spilled drink was the last thing on your mind right now.

“what did you want me to help you with?” you shout over to your manager once she slowed down.

“nothing,” said yuko over her shoulder, “i was watching you and bokuto talk and you kept getting redder and redder i thought you were going to pass out.”

embarrassment flushed through, cheeks heating up again at the thought. “ugh, was it that obvious?” you groaned as your head fell from the utter humiliation that was coursing through your body at that moment—far too distracted that your humiliation could only worsen the moment you bumped into another.

“sorry, i wasn’t looking—” the apologetic tone in your voice subsided as your eyes flickered up to whoever’s chest it was up to a yet another familiar face.

“(y/n)?” he says.

“iwaizumi?” you say.

your names were jumbled up in unison just as much as your thoughts immediately dissipated into thin air. just my luck, huh? you swore you were dreaming. nothing in the absolute world could possibly make such a ironic turn of events as if you were in some melodrama yourself. call it fate or destiny, but bumping into both of your exes within a span of ten minutes was something you never would’ve wished upon yourself.

“it’s um... fancy meeting you here.” you start the second you flicker a look over to yuko as she could only give you a pitiful smile. “it’s been a while, right?”

regardless of the confident aura you were extruding right now, you were completely freaking out for the third time this evening. you knew today was going to affect you emotionally, but you wasn’t expecting it to be like this. you were expecting to get a bit emotional due to the fact your webtoon that you poured your absolute heart and soul into has come to an end and not because two attractive dudes from your past just coincidentally came back into your life.

and yet it didn’t matter, it wasn’t like iwaizumi could see through that little façade of false confidence in your expression as it felt like he was meeting you for the first time all over again. it fit all down to a tee from the way his adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat to his breath hitching from the sight or to the infamous monarch butterflies tickling his gut.

“it’s nice to see you too, (y/n)...” his words trailed as you couldn’t help but notice how deeper his voice had gotten since the last time you’ve seen him. granted, he was fifteen back then and had a lot of time to grow up and become this absolute adonis.

iwaizumi certainly wasn’t planning on coming across you this evening either. if anything, you two both shared that internal panic when your eyes briefly met at the start of the party. however, he couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved knowing that in the end you two did manage to cross ways. he supposes that after seeing you and bokuto talk as if you two have known each other for years created an inkling feeling in his gut.

he hates the way you distracted him the majority of the night. it wasn’t like you two were on talking terms especially after years of not seeing each other, yet it felt strange for him to even let himself feel this way.

besides, iwaizumi felt absolutely terrible knowing satomi was trying her hardest to capture his lingering attention by making conversation about anything—literally anything.

anyone who had been friends with iwaizumi in the past know he’s an absolute sweetheart, but at the same time, he’s honest. he’s not the type to hesitate in telling someone the cold hard truth even if it meant hurting their feelings, yet whenever he would look at satomi, he couldn’t bring himself to say that he wasn’t interested in the conversation.

you cleared your throat, pulling iwaizumi back from his thoughts, “so... i heard that you became the new athletic trainer for the black jackals.” the man before you nods as he was stilling taking you all in. was he staring at you for that long? “i thought were living in california, why the sudden change of plans?”

iwaizumi shrugs as he took a sip of his beer, “i ended up getting a better job offer here, so i decided to move back. why? have you missed me?”

the moment those words left his lips, he immediately wanted to slap his hand over his mouth and cringe. why was he suddenly so flirtatious with you? was it because he saw you and bokuto flirting earlier, was that it?

you chuckled in amusement as you nod. you honestly weren’t going to lie that his words did catch you off guard for a second. something like this was definitely not in iwaizumi’s handbook his (more or less) complicated personality, yet you decided to play along anyway. “of course i have, iwa! i’m not soulless, you know.”

iwa? the man before thought to himself, what happened to haji? he shook the thought out of his as he opened his mouth in attempt to speak, but he noticed your attention leaving his and onto the person beside him.

satomi cleared her throat as she looks at him innocently, waiting for iwaizumi to introduce her to you.

“oh uh,” he motions his head to the team’s physical therapist next to him, “this is yahagi satomi, she’s my—”

“—date for this evening,” she cuts iwaizumi off and answers for him, catching him a bit off guard and confused, yet he doesn’t correct her. granted, satomi was his plus one so it made sense.

you purse your lips as you took in her features. she was a bit on the shorter side with her long copper hair pulled back into a sleek high ponytail as her bangs were styled perfectly to fit her face. semi was right, she is pretty. it was then you stuck your hand out for her to shake, feeling who cold her palm was compared to yours. “it’s nice to meet you. how long have you two been together?” you ask out of the blue.

i mean, what’s wrong with a little curiosity?

“oh no, we’re not together.” iwaizumi is quick to answer, not even noticing satomi’s slight change in expression when she parted her lips to answer herself. “she’s just my plus one because bokuto told us to.”

you nod at his words, trying your best to ignore the intravenous relief that was coursing through you at that moment. you realized how long you had been standing there then, failing to notice that yuko was still by your side the entire time. if anything, she was just trying to help you out once again as she could literally feel the rising tension in the air. if you were to talk to satomi any longer, it would surely go wrong knowing your luck. luckily, she spots sugawara’s silvery hair just a few feet away.

yuko wasn’t entirely sure how in the hell she was going to get his attention to save your asses, but it was going to happen one way or another. she was just glad you were too preoccupied talking to iwaizumi and satomi that yuko was able to text sugawara to come over.

she watched sugawara feel the buzzing of his phone in his pocket, observing his every move as he pulls it out and read the text as the screen light shined over his face. he looked up then, eyes scanning the room briefly before landing upon yuko’s familiar figure standing next to yours.

the manager widens to eyes a bit at him like a warning to come over here.

she wasn’t sure what was so hard to understand from the pure helplessness in her expression, but sugawara was taking his sweet ass time.

yuko grumbled to herself. at this point, perhaps she was just trying to save herself.

it was then sugawara was finally making his way over to you and yuko. “oh hey, iwaizumi! long time no see, sorry to interrupt but i need to borrow (y/n) and yuko for a second.”

you gave sugawara a confused look as it washed over your expression. again? ugh, give me a break. however, before you could excuse yourself from the conversation, iwaizumi grabs your upper arm lightly.

“(y/n),” he stops you in place, “we should catch up sometime.”

you open your mouth to respond, but sugawara interjects before you could. “why not catch up now?” he suggests, causing all four of you to snap your head towards him, “i’m sure i’ll just yuko’s help will be enough, plus (y/n) has tons of time to talk to more guests.”

the silver haired man gives you a sly wink before taking yuko with him and leaving you behind. great.

you honestly couldn’t excuse yourself now as it would be obvious why no matter how many excuses you come up with, so you had to power through. besides, what could go wrong with talking with your first love and some random girl that somehow gives you a weird vibe?

“so how do you guys know each other?” satomi questions you, suddenly interested in your relationship with iwaizumi. it sounds suspicious, yet she was genuinely wondering if she was attempting to make moves on someone like iwaizumi was a good idea.

“we went to middle and a little bit of high school together,” you answer as a matter-of-fact. there was surely no need to lie.

her eyebrows rise in curiosity, “that makes sense... you guys must have been really close, huh.”

you flickered a look to iwaizumi, examining his reaction if he was also noticing her off words. “yeah... really close.” his expression melted into confusion then as you placed your gaze back to satomi.

iwaizumi scratched the back of his neck as the words remained at the tip of his tongue. why weren’t you mentioning that you two dated before? it wasn’t like it was a crime nor secret. he hated to think this, but could it be because you regretted your relationship with him?

he shook the thought out of his head quickly. the obvious answer was no as the breakup was mutual, yet after all these years of drifting apart, was that really the truth?

if he recalled correctly, one of the last words you said to him before you inevitably left for tokyo and never looked back was that you love him and would always be there for him no matter what. you even promised to text him as much as possible, yet after months had passed since you moved to your new life, it was as if the promise was nonexistent. however, iwaizumi couldn’t bring himself to blame you. if anything, he had himself to blame considering how many times he had written that same text over and over again, yet never had the courage to send it.

“(y/n) had to move to tokyo after our first year so we kind of drifted.” iwaizumi answers. even now with the chance open for him to mention your previous relationship was out in the open, he was still do cowardly to say it.

perhaps somethings never change.

fun facts! —

iwaizumi wasn’t really keen on using social media back in high school, which explains why he never really found out about (y/n) and bokuto’s relationship

it wasn’t like (y/n) and bokuto liked posting about their relationship either at the time

satomi and bokuto have always been homies after they have gotten closer when bokuto injuredhis knee and had to go to physical therapy, but he never really talked about his past relationships, hence satomi not knowing about (y/n)

taglist: (comment or send an ask to be added!)

@moonlightaangel @elianetsantana @k4tiepie @memorableminds @skyguy-peach @suhkusa @kitsunetea @airybby @noeminemi @truly-a-snitch @keichan @cosmicmermaid25 @bap-kingdom @saturnfarie @kwdflash @ennos-baby @dinablossom @chrisrue15 @seikamuzu @nestlevanilla @chasekudo @yammmers @pixcldust @iwaizluv @h0ngh0ngh0ng @emogril @tiredandkindaoverworked @atsunakaashi @underratedmage @bokutosuwus @kellesvt @kaiju-teeth @oh-tapeworm @scrappydaisies @alittlebitofrain @mxngy @tpwkatsumu @atsumuwoah @macchiatoast @dicerawr @kageyamasbabygorl @some-random-stranger-007 @vhskenma @wntrmn @little-plants @stargirlara @kissungjae @je11yfishwriter @sbaepsae

[tokisguitarpick]

interruption part.1

characters: Skwisgaar Skwigelf x Reader 

doods, I really tried to make this one giant piece but I said that on friday, it’s fuckin wednesday, work has been kicking my ass, here’s what I got so far

The first time you met Skwisgaar Skwigelf was unfortunately also the first time you pissed off Skwisgaar Skwigelf. 

In your defense, you thought it would be prudent to bond with the support staff- your boss Charles, the music producer Abigail and her assistant Dick, the Klokateers, the people around the band- as soon as you could to cement your place at work first. After that, then you would really worry about Dethklok liking you. It's not that you were rude to them, hell your whole job was making sure their needs were met and they were secure and happy on a day to day basis. But if Charles asked you for a report at the same time Murderface told you to go get his dethphone from his bedroom, Charles took first priority. Which was why when you were sent to deliver a fax from Crystal Mountain Records to Abigail, you went diligently down the 4 floors it took to reach the studio and entered quietly, recognizing the red recording light on over the door. A brightly melodious guitar solo rang through the gothic studio rooms, sounding as exquisite as a Beethoven composition when unaccompanied by the rest of the death metal band, and you hovered by the door for a moment. You were nervous to disturb now that you heard exactly what they were recording. But your rationale won out and you decided to simply slip the fax to Abigail and leave.

Approaching her desk, you got a clear look at the source of the music and it caused your step to falter. Skwisgaar, tall and imposing, shredded his guitar with deft hands inside the recording booth, his fingers moving faster on the Gibson neck than your eyes could follow.

Instead, they moved to his face, taking in his closed eyes, his full lips parted, and a light sheen of sweat covering his skin as he worked. His long, cornsilk hair was uncharacteristically swept up in a messy bun at the nape of his neck, short tendrils made loose from exertion clinging to the edges of his face or else flowing around him. A bead of sweat caught your eye as it rolled down his Adams apple and your gaze trailed to his thin, defined arms and the muscles working under his skin, his long fingers showing off every ounce of skill he had. He looked nothing like the guitarist that took the stage with Dethklok, giving a heavy and thrashing performance. He looked at peace, a man entirely in his element. He looked heavenly.

Suddenly, every headline calling him a rock and roll god over a photo of him covered in ghoulish makeup felt entirely false. If only they could see what was in front of you now.

Sadly, all good things come to an end. Your faltered step caused you to squeak as you caught your balance. Abigail jumped and turned in her chair. The music ended with an abrupt squeal and Skwisgaar's icy blue eyes snapped open.

"Oh, who the fucks is this?!" he spat into the mic and you blushed, embarrassment finding a home in the pit of your stomach. Abigail sighed, looking you over with a crooked eyebrow.

"So sorry, I was just bringing this to you." You handed Abigail the fax and she unfolded the paper to read it over. Skwisgaar, who seemed to find your interruption bothersome enough, bristled as your eyes flickered between him and the music producer. He yanked the guitar strap off his shoulder and snarled, "Not evens anythings important! Get the fucks out of heres!" He held the guitar by the neck and gestured aggressively with it.

You jumped, turning tail and hurrying away as fast as you could without running. The only reasoning for his behavior came at the end of an email from Abigail, a throwaway line about it being crunch time with the production of the newest album. But sadly, that was the start of your professional relationship with the Dethklok member and it was a shame, that one instance coloring the way he treated your presence in Mordhaus. He didn't reply when you asked the band questions, he turned his nose up when you had to contain some of the band's more brutal ideas, he only ever referred to you as a servant, the list went on.

It was taxing and honestly, a little upsetting. You had managed to piss off Nathan your first week here as well but by the next morning, he greeted you with a joke about it and asked you to make a pot of coffee. You spent many afternoons wondering if there was any way to make it up to the haughty guitarist. And wondering what exactly you needed to make up in the first place.

The next climactic moment in your relationship came around the four month mark of your employment.

The acrid smell of burning plastic reached you as you walked past the hallway leading to the kitchen, making you sigh. You put a jump in your step, something at odds with the very exasperated expression you could feel on your face, and hurried to the source of the smell, the armful of dirty laundry you'd picked up in the living room discarded as you jogged. Entering the kitchen, it took no time to zero in on the small fire slowly growing on the stovetop. 

Toki and Skwisgaar stood over it, the former blowing frantically at the quickly blackening frying pan while the former flapped at the fire with a hand towel. The mere sight of Toki's long hair billowing around the open flame made your chest seize. "Guys, guys," you will be the first to admit, your voice came out in a shriek, "stop! Move!"

Toki jumped away from the stove with a welp, his eyes wild when he saw you. You snatched the fire extinguisher off the wall by the door and ran up to the stove. Skwisgaar still hadn't moved. If anything, he seemed to step in your way, blocking you from the fire. "I has it under controls, leave." His voice was hard and cold, almost jarring in contrast to the scene playing out.

 And in your bewilderment, you snapped. Months of irritation compounding itself into a rage that bubbled past your lips, you growled, "Skwisgaar Skwigelf. If you think-", you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and wrenched him back, "-for a goddamn SECOND-" Skwisgaar stumbled and you caught his slim waist in the crook of your arm, "-I'm going to explain to Charles-", you threw him behind you and lined up the extinguisher, "-his most arrogant guitarist got third degree burns because he was too fucking STUBBORN-" aim, "-to MOVE!" fire. You pulled the trigger on the fire extinguisher and doused the stove in a thick, chemical scented foam, holding it there until the fire was smothered. Breathing heavily, you spun around and shoved the extinguisher into the blonde's arms. "Then you're stupid, too," you murmured with venom.

Skwisgaar was a tall man so even face to face as you were, he still towered over you, his eyes icy and his hands overlapping yours on the safety equipment. His eyes traced your face and you could the heat coming off your cheeks but using all your strength, you softened your expression. "Stop freezing me out. I'm just here to help." Your voice was still low but much gentler, which seemed to throw him off. Skwisgaar's haughty face mellowed and his eyes dropped to your mouth, his bottom lip finding a place between his teeth unconsciously.

"Ja," Skwisgaar finally replied, a terse acceptance as he took the fire extinguisher from you. His eyes hadn't left your face for a moment and he just rocked back on his heels, keeping the equipment awkwardly held in front of him. "I suppose Charles woulds finds dat upsettings."

Breathing a sigh of relief, you finally looked back at the stove and frowned at the charred frying pan. "Can I ask what you guys were doing?"

Toki finally piped up, seeming relieved that you weren’t yelling at them. "We's were tryings to makes a grilleds cheese."

Eyebrows furrowed, you studied the charcoal in the pan until you recognized it as a whole block of cheese. The mental image of a new, freshly purchased block of cheese, still wrapped in the plastic, being placed by these adult idiots into the frying pan made your blood pressure rise and you immediately put it to the side, deciding against any other questions.

"Okay. Well. I'll order us some pizza."

That cheered Toki up immediately but Skwisgaar simply nodded once, his cheeks turning a very light pink.

From that point on, Skwisgaar seemed to slowly accept your place as a member of the support staff. Between riffing on your jokes and agreeing with you on occasion, you would've said that your relationship with Skwisgaar was the best it had ever been.

Unfortunately, this came with an unforeseen consequence. 

Now, you had a massive crush on Skwisgaar.

Okay, sure. Technically, you'd had a crush on him for a few years. Everyone in the world knew Dethklok and regardless if they liked the music or not, everyone had a favorite. Yours had always been the Swed. And sure, he looked hot as fuck in the recording booth all those momths ago. But all the following cold shoulder encounters had turned you off of the rock star, the withering look he shot you whenever you had tried to reign in the band members kicking any thoughts of fancy to the curb.

But that was before. This was after. The shock you felt later that day when he addressed you by name for the first time was electrifying. Instead of jestful barbs at your expense on the off chance he acknowledged you, Skwisgaar joked that you took no shit so Murderface better stop riling you up. No longer barking "Moves!" if you were in his way, he simply slipped past you, his hand warm against your upper- though once or twice, lower- back. Now you preened yourself when you knew you would see him, not wishing you could hide. It was driving you crazy.

You felt like a groupie or a schoolgirl, constantly fixated on your crush. Wishing and scheming to get closer when he was around you, his presence obscuring your thoughts when he was away. You had read all the print interviews available in the Mordhaus archives, watched the video interviews online, and had even followed a Dethklok fan Instagram to get a smattering of band photos on your timeline every day. You justified it all as being diligent at your job. But that only went so far, even with yourself. You stayed there, living in limbo for months as you wrestled with your feelings and professionalism. Skwisgaar, however, seemed oblivious to the effect he was having on you. You caught him staring at you sometimes but it was so few and far between that you simply chalked it up to him zoning out.

Or that's how you lived until Christmas.

You celebrated your winter holiday early so you could be on call for the band during actual Christmastime, which turned out to be a good idea. The mothers of Dethklok decided to visit the week leading up to the 25th, having skipped the year before on Charles' recommendation and they seemed exceedingly cranky due to that. The week itself was brutal - Nathan was broody and even quicker to anger than normal, Pickles hadn't been seen sober since they learned about the impending arrival, Murderface was essentially a walking scab from the anxious picking he'd subjected his arms to, and Toki was catatonic.

Of course, your focus was caught most by Skwisgaar. Sulky with a sour stomach, he kept his head down all week. He had his guitar glued to his hands and was second only to Toki in using avoidance as a defense mechanism.

It was incredibly stressful juggling between the bristled band members and their neurotic mothers. Charles himself said it would be at least a month before they could schedule any public appearances so the boys could decompress, and ideally avoid a PR nightmare. So to say you were glad to see their mothers finally leave, only Nathan's thanking you for attending to her, was an understatement.

After a long day of taking everyone to eat then to the airport, you had retired to your small Mordhaus apartment as soon as you could - which was pretty soon as the band seemed just as exhausted and had disappeared once you had gotten home.

You didn't reemerge until after midnight, sneaking out and down the hall to find something to eat at a quarter past twelve. The house was quiet on your walk to the kitchen but after grabbing your snack - a cold cut sandwich you had wrapped in a paper towel to avoid leaving a trail of crumbs - you heard soft, twinkling music coming from the living room as you passed it on your way to the elevators. Pausing to listen, you recognized it as guitar and wondered which of the guitarists were playing, given that Nathan was the only band member who couldn't. You wondered if Murderface had seen you head down and was trying to get your attention, a ploy he had used before, ending with your curiosity getting the best of you. You crept to the living room entrance to peek.

Skwisgaar sat on the sofa facing you, pale and glowing in the dim light coming from the arcade games. His eyes were closed as his fingers glided over the neck of his Gibson, his silky hair draping down his neck and naked shoulders. Seemingly dressed for bed, he was shirtless - though his guitar hid his midriff, to your disappointment - with a pair of black sweatpants on. He seemed lost in his music, strumming out a low melody with mastery.

Your breath caught as you took in the sight and you stood there silently, trying to photograph the moment in your mind, until you registered his expression.

Devastation.

His eyes were closed but tears were streaming down his gaunt cheeks, his quivering eyebrows were furrowed, and he was mouthing a song to himself, his full lips pale. He looked like a man at war with himself, lost and broken. The music was no longer soft and twinkling, it hung in the air like a funeral dirge.

As the past few days ran through your mind, every mention of Skwisgaar's childhood came back to you and all the pieces suddenly clicked into place. This wasn't a man lost, this was a man, once again, in his element. The grief and sickness he had been feeling all week was flowing out of his guitar like the tears from his eyes.

Feeling your own eyes prickling, you felt like this was too much, too personal, for you to see. But despite that, your heart ached and you were stepping forward before you registered the motion. "Skwisgaar?"

[nomadthor]

PROTECTOR - II - BUCKY BARNES

this is part two! click here to read the first part

prompt: the reader and bucky try to escape a sticky situation, bucky protects the reader at every available opportunity words: 1734 warnings: mentions of death, violence/gunfights, blood, angst, hurt/comfort notes: gender neutral reader

if you have any ideas or requests please send them to my ask so I can write them!

What you judged to be approximately a quarter of an hour, you apprehensively sat with Bucky’s hand cradling yours: you both awaited in strained quietude until you presumed the coast was clear after a stretch of secure silence. Despite his hesitant and disquieting demeanour, he seemed indifferent yet the elusive curl in the corner of his flushed lips told you the contrary. “We should get going now,” Bucky hoarsely commanded as he let your grip slip from his before he toiled to stand on and support his own body weight but he contrived with a throaty growl nonetheless. He briefly glanced at his bullet-ridden phone as its technical innards blistered from the globular apertures which still had fragments of the shrapnel embedded in the splintered plastic; how if only luck would have been on your side you could’ve called for help.

“Do you need a hand?” He softly questioned with delicate eyes as he presented his hand once more, you’d be being dishonest to yourself if you affirmed that you didn’t relish his solicitous, protective and balmy hands that made you feel secure and rid most of the anxiety and fret. You felt guilty and disinclined to acknowledge these feelings since ultimately you were just coworkers. “I’m good,” you muttered and heaved yourself from the floor, abruptly being reminded of the absence of room as the pair of you were now rubbing shoulders. The close proximity you both shared both filled you with satisfaction and compunction as you were anticipating the early arrival of sprouting feelings that would soon doubtlessly become unrequited; it was bittersweet. Something changed in that room and you don’t know what it was.

Frailly, he twisted the knob of the door and cautiously pulled it towards you both after becoming a human blockade as he shoehorned himself between you and the expanse of dubiety. He carefully peered around the corner with an attentive survey making sure to detect any almost imperceptible movements. With a swift flex of his head, he motioned for you to follow him as the set of you immediately scanned the conflict tarnished building for any means of self-defence: crimson stains and defunct cadavers besmirched the shattered debris rooted floor. Bucky trounced the pain from his laceration as his stagger shifted into a succinct strut with an acute limp. He hurriedly strode towards an adrift pistol with scarlet blemishes coating the finish before he checked the magazine to authenticate the unconsumed ammunition. “Take this,” he instructed unwittingly appearing abrasive but you were habituated to his inflexion and his adventitious gesture of compassion countermanded his sternness.

Hesitantly you took the weapon from his hand unsure whether you should have been first priority due to the circumstance of you not having profound wounds daubing your limbs. Bucky quickly discerned your concerned delay before he reassured you, “I’m a super soldier, I can manage,” he dryly quipped with a minute grin as he failed to find another weapon with any bullets left before he lead the way down the unsettled and dismal corridor, “besides, I trust you more than I trust myself.” Evidently, he was being sincere but you were taken aback by his forthright commendation as your conversations were plainly incisive and condensed; he was slowly unravelling to become exceedingly personable, he was just restricting this part from you whether it was deliberate or not.

He continued to escort you throughout the building acting as a human shield to protect you from any unexpected oncoming bombardment, although you didn’t refrain from keeping a close eye on your six. Bucky regularly and consistently checked on you throughout the whole ordeal and although admittedly, it was growing to become increasingly irritating it made you surge with appreciation and feel deeply indebted towards his consonant trouble. “I can handle myself,” you jested lightheartedly as you both approached a doorway and began to descend the concrete steps. “I know, that’s why I gave you the gun.” He retorted wittily as his heavy lumbering footsteps echoed through the towering washed-out stairwell. The descent was unnerving, to say the least, it put you at a monumental disadvantage due to anyone who would waylay from the upper floors would have a quality vantage point; they would metaphorically and quite literally have the higher ground. Despite this, your venture was thankfully undisturbed and you set forth to the final few rooms before you could evacuate the building and retreat to definite safety.

As you approached the final room a rogue bullet whizzed past your head, the brisk air skimming your head. The crack of the bullet as it became lodged in the wall beside you was devastatingly loud as it immediately pummeled your eardrums inevitably causing them to ring overwhelmingly. Bucky grabbed your arm and impulsively pulled you behind a counter for cover, unintentionally yanking too hard albeit with good intention. Nevertheless, you had worse things to worry about. “Where was that from?” You questioned as you clasped the gun firmly in your hands ready to tug the trigger if need be. The pair of you winced at the bullets that proceeded to soar just inches above your head as they became fixed in the now splintering walls, plastering chipping off and sinking to the floor. “On our six.” Bucky relayed as the gunfire paused which signified they’d either taken cover or needed to reload their magazine. You took this chance to peer over the ceramic tile countertop as you just barely caught the glimpse of a figure before the appearance and the shine of a metallic assault rifle instinctively cause you to duck before the bullets continued to rain once more.

The incapacitating sound of the bullets pummeling the walls and any surrounding surface ceased just about any communication as you couldn’t hear his voice over the resounding extermination. Systematically the gunshots stopped periodically as you peeked once more to return the fire which ultimately led to a drawn-out scrimmage where the winner was the one who eventually could land a shot. Alas, your gun eventually dry-fired as it choked due to the preordained fact it had run out of bullets. All that left your mouth were a string of curses as you angrily threw the futile firearm to the ground out of frustration. Your attention soon turned to Bucky who impetuously looked you up and down with dismayed eyes.

Dense and prolonged footsteps traipsed closer, sending jolts of panic through your body with every step. You couldn’t help but just stare at each other out of sheer panic and confessedly the thought of him being there with you was comforting and slightly eased the tension. He nervously bit his lip as he pondered, scrambling to think of a plan so you didn’t both become victims of the barrel of the gun that was leisurely parading closer. Bucky was already incapacitated with an injured leg so this was a major disadvantage but coming face to face with sudden death: anything was worth a try. He gave you a final longing look before hoisting himself above the counter with a struggle and promptly hurling hefty punches as the opponent made triumphant attempts at blocking them before powerfully pressing the butt of the gun between his eyes. Bucky’s neck contorted backwards as his whole body painfully and forcefully propelled to the floor headfirst with a belligerent thump. What could’ve easily knocked someone unconscious merely left him with obscured vision as he crawled backwards towards you.

The vermillion began to seep from his head as it left a sizeable gash on his eyebrow. Bucky’s head swayed as he barricaded himself between you and the formidable stranger who was glancing down the iron sight with a wicked grin, only doing it to savour the fear and panic, he elongated the process. Bucky looked absolutely woeful presumably thinking you were disappointed and displeased with his final efforts. The eye contact you made was beyond intimate and familiar. It was too late to do anything with the barrel of the gun pointed right at you, any sudden movements and you were unmistakenly dead. Bucky hopelessly and desperately embraced you as he used his hand to cradle your head into the crook of his neck. Exposed to all danger, his back was facing the gunman as he was willing to catch any bullets for you.

A sudden bang caused you to jump in your skin but was attenuated by Bucky’s secure and caring clutch. Staying nestled for a few seconds longer, the quietude became eerily bemusing as you pulled back from his embrace but arms still lingering on you. His eyes were wide and bewildered but relieved, they immediately scanned your body for any punctures before he even gazed down at his own body. He swivelled his cricked neck to witness the gunman face down and a bullet wound centred in his chest. A thud of a door being booted open as it slammed against the wall with force, you’d never felt so grateful in your life to see the familiar face of Sam who examined the room, panic-stricken, to find you both. He stared for a while at your clutched bodies, “come on love birds we’ve got to go,” he jested completely destroying the tension and morbidity in the air. Bucky gently turned his gaze back to you as he examined your face looking for any reaction out of Sam’s statement. Maybe he was looking for your revulsion or a snide remark but your silence spoke volumes as you slipped out of his arms and helped him up.

“Let’s get you patched up,” Sam composedly stated in regards to Bucky’s blood-engulfed leg, and the streak of red that flowed down his forehead. “How did you find us?” Bucky confusedly questioned as he approached Sam, bolstering his neck which probably was going to accompany an agonising concussion. “I traced your signal before it went offline, sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” Sam apologised as the pair continued to the exit of the building as you followed, lingering just behind. Completely ignoring the words that were being spoken to him from Sam, Bucky turned around and shot you a gentle gaze, his eyes soft and tender as he tried to analyse you again. Ambiguous as to whatever he was looking for he surely was going to get his answer sooner or later. What brings people closer than desperately hugging each other at death’s door?

-

= masterlist =

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Wicked Ones

(A Max Phillips x Reader Smutty One-Shot)

Summary: So, a couple months ago I was sent THIS POST like 900 times by all of you screaming at me because I tagged it as “Max Phillips” so...here it is. This is straight up PWP--Max is the big shot boss that we know and love and you are his long time girlfriend. You both call out in favor of staying home and spending some quality time together--but he has an important meeting that he just can’t miss...no matter what he is doing when he gets the call.  

Pairing: Max Phillips x Reader Word Count: 3k Warnings/Ratings: NC-17/18+ - smut, pwp, choking, dirty talk, rough, teasing, established relationship, vampireness, slight exhibition kink, hand-over-mouth, having sex while on the phone with your job--MAX. BEHAVE. (spoiler...he doesn’t)

[MASTERLIST]

You weren't sure how this had started. This insane competition between the two of you that seemed to be escalating with each round. It was attributed to the fact that you were both stubborn, cunning, and meticulous in your efforts to please one another. But it had to stop sometime. Right?

If you had to think about it, it probably was your fault. It probably all started on that day you brought him lunch to his office. But it wasn't food that you had in mind. You locked his door, twisted the blinds closed and dropped your black pea-coat revealing the white lingerie that he had gotten you on your anniversary. He seemed to understand then--you were lunch.

He was a walking cliché in the sense that white was his favorite color on you when it came to lacy underthings. He liked the way balconette bras made your breasts into pillows perfect for sleeping, or biting. He liked the way you always wore your panties on top of your garters, meaning he could take them off first and keep the latter on to frame the swell of your perfect ass. And he liked the way the white made you look like something about to be sacrificed, and he was the willing volcano. His second favorite color on you was red...typical.

That day he had spread you out on his desk and eaten your pussy like a man starved. No paperwork was safe from the way you swept your arms above your head when he sucked your clit. Unless they were deaf, you were certain everyone in the office had heard you whine his name as he pounded into you hard enough to make the wooden desk creek with protest. But then again, no one dared say anything because he was the boss. Making you, his girlfriend, untouchable.

This morning you had both called out in favor of staying in bed tangled up with one another. And this was the day you realized you were destined to lose this war.

"Max…" you said breathlessly as you put a hand on the headboard above you to push yourself against him as he pounded into you relentlessly.

"What is it, sweetheart? You like waking up to my big dick? Beats the hell out of going to work--" he grit his teeth and gripped your hips, yanking you down the bed and slamming himself inside of you to the hilt.

"Yesss," you whined, closing your eyes and palming at your own breasts.

It was moments like these that Max made you feel incredibly desirable. His desperate, needy nature in the sack was the exact opposite from his calm and collected management style in the office. You did that. You broke that composure down to its purest form and it was a rush of power so exquisite you coveted it as a prized possession.

“Come here,” he growled as he leaned down and picked you up enough to roll you with him to where you were straddling his lap and he was sitting up against the pile of pillows on your now disheveled bed. His large hand came down on your ass cheek and he grinned. “Fuck yourself on daddy’s dick.”

“Max!” you laughed as you put your hands on his chest. “You did not just call yourself daddy--fuck..” You bit your lip as you started to bounce on his lap, the new position making the movement more intense. The head of him hit the end of you easier and it was a pleasant sharpness deep within your lower abdomen.

“Too much?” he chuckled, and the sound went right to your core.

“You’re always too much.”

“And you love it,” he smirked.

"Nah, I only do this for the extra vacation d-AYS!" You yelp when he pinches your nipple in retaliation for your jest before grinning as you fall into a fit of giggles.

"You're bad, you know that?"

"Says the vampire." Before you can continue to ridicule him, he leans up and kisses you hard, stealing any bite that was left to your words.

His lips were almost as bruising as his fingers that were digging into the soft flesh of where your hips met your ass. You felt the solid press of his fangs inside his mouth and you hungrily asked for more. He opened and gave it to you, letting your tongue trace along his own, and up to his teeth. It had taken a long time to perfect the art of kissing him. You had lost count of the number of times you had nicked your tongue or lip when your mouths and bodies were intertwined. But, Max was a patient man, and it helped that practicing was extremely enjoyable.

He pulled back abruptly and shoved two of his fingers in your mouth, barely giving you time to draw a breath. "Suck--good girl." He grinned and he felt your cunt clench around him as he praised you. His fingers pulled from your lips with a soft pop and he shoved them between your bodies to play with your clit as you continued to ride him.

"S-shit," you breathed, the action bringing you closer to the edge. "Is this my payback for earlier this week?"

"What? That little stunt you pulled in my office?" He shook his head after you gave a nod. "No, your payback for that was me eating that perfect pussy on my desk--now everyone knows how good I make you feel."

Although you knew you should--you didn't care. This was part of that power trip that Max seemed to give you when the two of you fucked. And, well, if anyone did dare to say anything...he would eat them. You were certain he had made it his mission to fuck you all over that corporate building before they sent him to his next assignment at another branch.

"Did Evan hear?" You teased, knowing full well about his past with the previous acting sales manager.

"Why do you think I moved his desk closer to my door?" He snarled and flipped you back over, pinning you to the mattress and jack-hammering his hips against you hard enough to make you cry out.

"Fuck!" You yelled as you dug your nails into his back and held on for dear life. The both of you knew that if you said 'stop', he would, but like hell you wanted him to slow down when your orgasm was so close.

"You good?" He panted as he looked down at your scrunched up face and you nodded.

"Right there. Right-there-right-there-right--" your jumbled pleas fell from your lips in a truly embarrassing manner but you were beyond caring. You were just so close.

His cellphone started to ring on the nightstand to your left and he slowed his hips and the both of you looked at it. The flat black device buzzed so violently that you thought it might fall off the edge. Max continued to piston his hips against the backs of your thighs in such a way that you thought he was going to let it go to voicemail. You should have known better.

"Don't move," he said in a tone that it made you clench around his dick. He groaned as he put his left hand on your lower abdomen as if to hold you down, and leaned over the edge of the bed to grab his bluetooth with his right. "Max Phillips," he said, formally as he slipped the device over the shell of his ear and adjusted his knees back between your thighs. "Yes. Sure, that's fine."

You let out a small huff as you looked up at the ceiling and then back to your boyfriend kneeling between your legs. Surely he wasn't going to just sit there, buried in your cunt while he took a fucking call? The thought made you want to cross your arms at him in annoyance. The both of you had called out for a reason, to avoid your jobs. But despite his skills in delegation, Max was a workaholic--even if he refused to admit it.

"Yeah, I do apologize. I woke up and just felt terrible--"

You raised an eyebrow at him as a small grin slowly overtook his well-kissed lips.

"Is this a good time?" He looked down at you and you started to shake your head, eyes widening as if you could suddenly read his mind. "Actually...it's a perfect time. Fire away."

He thrust forward again, sheathing himself inside you to the hilt and grinning when it made your back bow off of the bed. "Max!" You gasped his name and he put three of his fingers in your mouth, gripping your chin and pushing you back down on the pillows, causing a small gag to come from your throat.

"No, that's just the TV." He chuckled and you swear you felt the sound against your clit. "Yes, I'm sure. I'll turn it down...make sure it's quiet."

You opened your mouth to protest not only the situation but his oh so loving metaphor of speaking about you as an inanimate object. Instead, he leaned forward, clapping his large hand over the bottom half of your face. You yelped against his palm and it just came out incredibly muffled. He put more pressure on your body as he held himself up with one arm and let the full weight of his pelvis and belly press against you as he resumed his thrusts.

"Yeah, I originally told them I wanted thirty percent--"

Your eyes were wide as you looked at him, desperately trying to convey with a look how hard it was to be quiet when he insisted on continuing to rail you. You gripped the sheets on either side of your hips and he shoved your leg up higher with his knees and the tip of his cock stroked that beautiful spot deep within you.

"Mhmm," you moaned against his hand, the sheer patheticness of your own voice shamefully making your libido spike. He had you. This was his show. The bedroom was currently his boardroom and as always he was running it.

"No, that's bullshit," Max shook his head, not even sounding like he was exerting himself in the slightest. "They're trying to low ball you, Ted. We talked about this, remember?"

He removed his hand from your mouth and grabbed a handful of one of your breasts. You arched into his hand, biting your lip as he tweaked your nipple. Obviously only half listening to what was being said on the other side of the device, he gave you a wink and your heart did that mildly annoying flop that it had been doing quite a lot lately. He gave your nipple a small tug and when you squealed, he slapped your tit roughly, stealing the sound from your throat with pure surprise.

"Oh...oh fuck, Max," you breathed quietly, but apparently, not quiet enough because he stopped thrusting.

"Just a minute--yeah, just one second, Ted." He clicked the mute button on his earpiece and looked down at you sternly. "Now, if you can't be quiet, I'll make you be quiet." He gave a deep grind of his hips, pressing his cock slowly back into you and you pressed your lips together in a firm line to stay silent. Max smirked, "There’s a good girl."

Oh, you were going to get him back for this.

Max clicked the button again and said, “Alright, champ. I’m back.” He leaned down and kissed you hard, the press of fangs against your closed mouth, a silent promise that made your clit throb. "Yeah, put him on."

Max pistoned his hips against you as they obviously tried to conference call in a third party. The squeak you gave when he hiked your left leg over his right shoulder was apparently justified because he didn't chastise you for it. "Bryce! Talk to me, baby, what's going on? Ted tells me you're thinking about backing out of our arrangement."

He turned his head and nipped the inside of your calf, smirking as you bucked your hips up against his pelvis. You gripped the pillow and shut your eyes tightly trying to think about all of the ways you could one up him--and yet all you could think about was how this new angle had the tip of him brushing against your cervix. It hurt, but in the best way, a short, blunt, feeling followed by the pleasurable drag of his length back through your heat.

He pinched the fleshy part of your skin where your ass met your thigh and mouthed for you to 'open your eyes'. When you complied, he continued.

"Here's the thing, Bryce. A deal this big might be scary at first--but you're never going to reap the rewards if you don't take the risk!" He leaned forward on his knees, pressing your leg back towards your chest and sinking deeper into your cunt. "When you have an opportunity like this in front of you, you have to grab it. Sink your teeth into it, and don't let go until. You. Are. Balls. Deep."

He accentuated each word of his disgusting metaphor with a hard thrust and you reached for him, desperately wanting to hold him close, bury your hands in his hair, anything. Instead he held himself up by locking his left arm rigidly on the bed and grabbing your throat with his right. Your breath caught, and the moan you were about to release was nothing more than a silent vibration against his fingers.

“You heard me--” Max grunted as he slammed his hips against you. “So, just tell me--” He gave a hard thrust and a deep sound of exertion. “What I want to hear--” thrust. “And we can both walk away--” thrust. “Richer men.”

He was close, you knew it, surely he wasn’t audacious enough to finish while he was still on the phone. Who were you kidding? It was Max--of course he would.

You reached up and tried to shove his face to get his attention, put your fingers in his mouth like he had done to you earlier. He obliged and turned his head to suck your pointer and middle between his lips with a loud ‘pop’, laving them with spit. You took the opportunity to then shove them between your legs and play your clit in time with his sloppy thrusts.

“Perfect!” Max said suddenly, and loudly enough to startle you, causing you to buck up against him. “That’s what I like to hear! Ted will send over the paperwork and I’ll get it on Monday--fuck, shit--no, Bryce not you--” he bit his lip and squeezed your throat. The added pressure was just what you needed to peak over the edge of your orgasm. Your eyes rolled back and you hand stilled between your legs as you clenched down around his cock and it was apparently enough to bring him with you.

“Max!” You said, strained against his grip around your neck as you leaned up into his body, and held on tightly to his sides.

“Yeah--yeahthatsoundsgreat--Bryce, shut up. Ask Ted--bye---fuuuuuck!”

Max all but flung the Bluetooth across the room as he collapsed almost his full weight on top of you. He buried his face in the crook of your shoulder and groaned as he came deep inside of you, hot and hard like his breath against your already flushed skin. You clung to him, drawing full breaths now that his hands were occupied with digging into your back.

“I can’t--” you panted against his hair as you turned your head to kiss his temple. “Believe you just fucking did that.”

“What?” he chuckled against your collarbone as he held you tightly and grunted as his cock gave a last twitch inside of you. “You think those big wigs never have a Skype meeting without their secretary under their desks sucking their dicks?”

“That’s different--gross. We’re not debating this.”

“You have to admit, it was at least kinda hot--” he grinned against your skin as he kissed from your pulse point down your clavicle, to the tops of your breasts. You rolled your eyes, putting your hand in his hair as he continued to nibble on all of your weak spots.

“Don’t think you can use your mouth to get out of trouble. I mean it Max--” you words stopped as he took one of your nipples in his mouth and bit down gently.

“Uh huh, yes, of course, sugar tits--ow!” He laughed as you gripped his hair and pulled at the nickname you hated. He settled his face between your breasts and you kept your tight grip on his hair.

“I swear to god, if you try to motorboat me right now, I will kick you out of this bed.”

“You’re no fun.” He pouted as he kissed down your stomach and you slowly loosened your grip on his hair. His hands slid down your body, over the swell of your hips, pausing only briefly to cup your ass as he walked his knees down the bed.

“And where are you going?” You watched him, raising an eyebrow as he rolled his eyes back up to you with a smirk.

“Using my mouth to get me out of trouble--lay back,” he breathed gently against the insides of your thighs and ran his tongue along the front of his teeth. You knew he wouldn’t out right ask, but if he made you come again, you’d gladly let him feed from your thigh.

“You sure you don’t have another phone call to make?”

“It’s going to be awhile before you quit holding this over my head, isn’t it?” he chuckled.

“Oh, you bet your ass, it is. Get to work, Mister.” You put your hand back in his hair and pushed his head down against your cunt. The moment his mouth opened to envelop your clit, you leaned back against the pillows with a heavy, contented sigh and closed your eyes. “Hmm, that’s the ticket...champ.”

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[alittlebitmaybe]

i’ll stay warm

for @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo​!

Prompt: ice skating

Relationship: Geraskier

Rating: G (with very mild language and a tiny bit of blood)

Warnings: None

Other Tags: Fluff, Companionable Snark, Already Dating But Too Dumb To Notice, First Kiss

“Let me get this straight,” Geralt says.

Jaskier waves him on.

“You’re going to tie those—,” he gestures to the slim planks of iron on Jaskier’s kitchen table that have leather cords threaded through holes bored into either end, “—to your shoes, and you’re going to go down to the river and stand on it.”

Jaskier, unperturbed, says brightly, “Uh-huh!”

Read more on ao3 or below the cut!

“Let me get this straight,” Geralt says.

Jaskier waves him on.

“You’re going to tie those—,” he gestures to the slim planks of iron on Jaskier’s kitchen table that have leather cords threaded through holes bored into either end, “—to your shoes, and you’re going to go down to the river and stand on it.”

Jaskier, unperturbed, says brightly, “Uh-huh!”

Geralt says, “Why?”

“Because Priscilla asked me along, and it’s good fun, and you can do all sorts of loop-de-loops and swirlies and spinnies and whozits and, uh, whatzits. I dunno, Pris knows all the tricks, I never got the hang of it. But, Geralt, people have been doing this in Oxenfurt for years. It’s the only way fashionable and exciting persons such as I pass the winter these days, gliding as an angel over the ice, cheeks chapped fetchingly pink, you know, it’s all very attractive, one may say winsome—”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back in the small chair and tucks his shoulders in. He takes up too much space in Jaskier’s quarters, and already he rues the day he agreed, in a fit of insanity, to pass the season in the city instead of trekking up to Kaer Morhen as usual. “You’re going to die.”

Jaskier hacks a laugh into his steaming mug and nearly spills tea all down his robed front.

“Nonsense!” he cries, once he has recovered himself. “We go every year once the freeze is hard enough, me and Pris and all my many other dazzling friends, which I absolutely have.”

“And if Priscilla told you it was fashionably good fun to walk yourself off a cliff…”

“I’d do it, obviously,” says Jaskier, not missing a beat. “Haven’t you ever had to cross a frozen river on your travels, Witcher? How’d you go about it then, if not on skates?”

Geralt levels him an incredulous look. “How would I get a horse across a frozen river?” he asks, and Jaskier frowns in thought as he takes another sip.

“I mean, you could just—,” he mimes pushing outward with one palm, “—give ‘er a good shove and see how far she gets.”

“Could give you a good shove. Bet you wouldn’t make it far.”

“I’ll have you know, I have the grace of a, a, er…elk? Are elk graceful?”

Geralt nods and says seriously, “Especially the newborns.”

“There you have it. Graceful as a tiny baby elk with those on my feet, I am.”

“Maybe you should wear them all the time.”

“What good would that…” he starts, and then comes, “Hey. Rude. Remind me why I wanted you here?”

Geralt grins and shrugs. His own mug is on the small table, and he sniffs the steam coming off of it. Floral. He takes a sip. Carefully does not spit it back out. Sets the mug back down farther away.

When he has successfully resisted the urge to spit on the floor to clear out his mouth and looks back up, Jaskier is still holding his own mug gently in the curl of his long fingers, and a lock of rumpled hair has fallen into his eyes. His robe hangs open at his collarbone, down the line of his chest. He wears a strange expression that lies between the exasperation Geralt expected and something startlingly softer.

“So you’ll come with us,” he states.

“Someone has to take your body back to your mother when you break your neck,” Geralt says.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “You jest, but Mum would be thrilled to see you. Likes you better than me, I think. Her only son! But you’ll come, eh?”

Geralt ducks his head quickly to hide the smile creeping across his face, grabbing his boots and yanking at the laces before acquiescing, “Yeah, I’ll come.”

“There now,” Jaskier says, appeased, “that wasn’t so hard, was it.” He knocks back the dregs of his tea, then stands and pads to the sink, talking on. “You should’ve known I wouldn’t let you stay cooped up in here all winter. I’ll have to see if I can dig out my spare pair of skates, they’re older—animal bone, not iron—but they might be big enough for your witcher feet, and it really works just as well. Or maybe Pris knows someone…I even heard they’re renting the things out down at the river now. Industrious, isn’t it, the ways people come up with to make some coin?…”

Geralt half-listens as he ties neat knots, lost somewhere in the midst of mulling over what Jaskier has described, trying to give it the benefit of the doubt despite its obvious frivolity. Based on the day’s weather it will be a clear night with a brisk breeze, a bright moon. The wind chill will have them each bundled up in furs, and the tip of Jaskier’s nose will go pink as he rubs his gloved hands together for warmth and glances happily over at Geralt. The river ice will be torchlit and smooth as glass, and they’ll strap on their skates and step out onto it. They’ll have a good hold on each others arms, for balance, but then as they gain their footing they’ll find their fingers threaded together and neither will let go. Geralt will listen to the quickened beat of Jaskier’s heart as they pick up the pace, and eventually Jaskier will break their hold to skate backward and taunt Geralt with a small twirl that ends only a little unsteadily. Geralt will smirk and give chase, chuckling when Jaskier squawks and takes off at speed. It’s no use, of course, even with Geralt’s inexperience; Geralt will anticipate his movements, head him off, catch him by the wrist, by the shoulder, and they will collide chest to chest with a huff, the momentum from the chase sliding them a few more feet across the ice before they come to a halt. Their cold noses will almost be touching, there will be frost on the riverbank, there will be a distant owl hooting its nighttime song. Jaskier will quirk his lips and say, “Gotcha, Witcher,” and Geralt will lean in, feel his hot breath, press their lips together—

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, tapping him on the shoulder. A hand waves in front of his face. Geralt keeps his expression carefully neutral as he comes out of his sudden reverie, though he’s been caught red handed. “Are you meditating? We’ve got to be off to the market. Have you even been listening to me?”

“Never,” says Geralt, and Jaskier scoffs and whacks him gently upside the head.

*

The riverbank smells like dead fish.

Geralt knew this. He doesn’t know what he expected. He doesn’t know where the pine-scented idyllic winter wonderland from his earlier distraction even came from, because it couldn’t be farther from reality.

Besides the fish stink, his boots squish and stick unpleasantly in the muddy ground, and the place is teeming with cityfolk, the crowd so thick that you can’t see the opposite bank even despite the abundant torchlight.

“Are you sure it’s frozen solid enough for this?” Geralt asks sourly.

“Of course,” Jaskier replies.

Geralt’s frown deepens. “Couldn’t we go around the bend where there’s not so many people?”

“And where’s the fun in that?”

“Breathing room.”

“I asked about the fun, Geralt. Ah, there’s my girl!”

Priscilla pushes through a group of loitering teenagers and throws her arms around Jaskier’s neck, only her toes left on the mud. “Jask! I see you got your…friend to join us.”

She pauses before friend, eyeing him overtly, but Geralt doesn’t notice because one of the teenagers has been shoved, giggling, into him by another of the group. He steadies her, and does not react when she turns to apologize, catches his unnatural gaze, and stifles her laughter. He doesn’t see Jaskier watching him past Priscilla’s ear, the fond crinkling around his eyes when Geralt gently straightens her and returns her to her place in the circle, which subsequently puts a few feet between itself and the newly-noticed witcher.

“It was either this or die of boredom in the dark, wasn’t it, Geralt?” Jaskier says finally as he releases Priscilla.

“I chose the dark,” Geralt lies, and Jaskier sticks out his tongue.

“Well,” Priscilla says, straightening her skirts, “shall we?”

Geralt pulls both sets of skates from his deep cloak pockets and passes the iron pair to Jaskier, who hops around indelicately while securing them over his boots, rather than plop himself on the soft ground—which is, of course, what Geralt does to put on his own. Priscilla and Jaskier waste a few minutes on a tiff over whether it is polite or belittling for Jaskier to insist on helping her with her own skates whether she wants it or not, but eventually they are all ready to go.

Geralt is the first to the ice. He tests the toe of his bone skate against it, judging the friction of it, deciding if it is likely to hold his weight even with the evidence of the dozens of people currently gliding and spinning past him. It seems stable. Stepping out, he finds it surprisingly easy to get a feel for balance, the minute shifts of weight that send him one direction or the other. He swings himself wide and turns around to see Priscilla and Jaskier also stepping out onto the river, Jaskier clutching tightly to Priscilla’s sleeve, face white and eyes trained on his feet.

“It’s okay, darling, you’ve got this. You made such good progress last time, come on now,” Geralt can hear Priscilla murmuring under the loud chatter of nearby skaters.

When Jaskier sees Geralt watching them, he bodily removes Priscilla’s hands from his person and says, “Please, Pris, I’m a capable man.”

She bristles immediately, leaving him to stand on his own. “And I wasn’t a capable woman when I was putting on my skates?”

Jaskier ignores her to begin shuffling awkwardly across the ice, his knees locked straight.

“Jaskier?” Geralt says apprehensively.

“Doing peachy, thanks, it’ll come back to me, just need to recall how to, um—oh no—” Jaskier starts with a strained voice before he promptly stops, because he has begun to slide inexorably forward. Priscilla and Geralt both reach toward him, but they’re too late; Jaskier’s arms wheel wildly, he tilts on wobbly ankles, and he faceplants onto the ice.

“Ow,” squeaks the Jaskier-shaped lump.

*

“I think your nose is broken,” says Geralt. He dabs at the blood on Jaskier’s top lip with the edge of his own cloak. They are safely back on the bank, and Jaskier is, this time, sitting in the mud. “I guess you were right,” he goes on wryly. “You’re exactly as graceful as a baby elk.”

“I knew you were making fun of me,” Jaskier says thickly, due to the nose injury. “I also knew you’d be a natural. Bastard. I could never get the hang of this stupid bullshit.”

Geralt hums and wipes off the last of the blood. At least it’s clotted quickly. Maybe it’s not a break.

“You didn’t need to lie about your abilities. Who are you trying to impress?”

Jaskier snorts, then winces in pain. His fingers twist in his lap. “Oh, that’s funny.”

Now, Geralt is often joking, but he’s fairly certain that that wasn’t one. Did Jaskier also hit his head? He pushes back Jaskier’s fringe to check his forehead for signs of bruising and doesn’t find any. “Um,” he says, “what is?”

Priscilla skates past holding hands with a woman that Geralt thinks she met approximately three minutes ago. She calls, “All right, Jask?” and in reply, Jaskier gives her a bitter thumbs up. She winks and swoops away as quickly as she came.

“Because I was trying to impress you, obviously,” he answers, gazing after her, before he turns his eyes back to Geralt.

Geralt pauses. “Why?”

“Because I’m actually always trying to impress you. And everyone else, constantly, but…mostly you.”

“You don’t do a very good job of it,” he says, and regrets it when he hears how it sounds coming out of his mouth.

Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine, if a little wistful, like Geralt has amused but not surprised him. “I am well aware, thanks.”

He reaches for the words that will take that edge of resignation off Jaskier’s face, feeling like a fumbling fool. “That’s not what I meant. I meant you don’t need to try to impress me.”

“Yes, I know it doesn’t matter, but I can’t help—”

“No,” Geralt interrupts, “I mean you don’t need to try because you do.” He clears his throat. “Impress me.”

“Oh,” says Jaskier, and then nothing more. “That’s. Okay.”

“Yeah,” says Geralt. He has never been so exposed in his life. He thinks that’s probably a bad thing. “How’s your nose? We could try again, if you want.”

Jaskier looks around at the laughing crowds and shrugs. “Came all this way, got all bundled up. Might as well! I’m sticking with you this time, though.”

They find a spot at the farthest reach of the torchlight where the ice is less populated to step out. Geralt goes first, as before, and finds his footing even faster this time. He returns to Jaskier’s side after a moment of testing the reliability of his newfound skills, and presents his forearm as a handhold.  Jaskier does not protest about his capability this time and takes the offering. With a long preparatory exhale, he puts one foot and then the other onto the ice.

“I’ve got you,” Geralt says quietly.

Jaskier replies, “I know you do.”

“Can’t let more harm come to the money maker. I’ve gotten used to staying in inns.”

“Good gods,” says Jaskier, “I’ve broken him.”

They gradually move farther from the bank. “Loosen up,” Geralt tells him. “Don’t lock your knees. It’s like you’re trying to fall over.”

Jaskier grumbles but takes the advice, and eventually he gains the confidence to move a little faster, though not to stop hanging on to Geralt. They stay on the fringes where they are less likely to be run into by a distracted stranger, gliding along at pace, with Jaskier remarking on the who’s-who of Oxenfurt society who are also out tonight. Geralt recognizes some of the more powerful names, but mostly he lets Jaskier chatter on so he doesn’t think too hard about his feet.

Priscilla passes by and greets them a few more times with her new companion, who at one point proclaims, “You two are so cute together!” before Priscilla drags her back into the mob. Geralt glances over and thinks Jaskier might be blushing, but that might also be due to the swelling around his nose.

“Should ice your face,” says Geralt.

“Sure, later. Hey!” He swings around to face Geralt, stopping their progress. “Spin me!” At Geralt’s no doubt dubious expression, he pouts. “Geralt, I demand to be spun. It’ll be fun!”

“Fine,” Geralt sighs.

He takes Jaskier’s hand, and has a flash of his daydream. There’s too many people, and it does still smell like fish, but this isn’t too far off—

He collects himself, holds their joined hands over Jaskier’s head, and gives him a little push to start him spinning, not too quick, but Jaskier takes it upon himself to propel himself a little faster. Jaskier laughs and maintains his balance remarkably well, until he exclaims “Oops—dizzy—!” and topples directly into Geralt, succeeding in knocking them both down, Geralt on his own back, Jaskier flat on his chest.

Geralt, trapped between the frigid ice and Jaskier’s weight, looks up as Jaskier starts to laugh. The steam of his breath hits Geralt’s cheek, and his knitted hat has gone askew, and his nose is turning purple, and Geralt puts his hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck and pulls him down and kisses him.

Jaskier leans away. “What?” he asks, eyes wide, then continues, “oh, who cares,” and leans back down.

*

Later, with an ice pack pressed to Jaskier’s face and two more hot mugs at the kitchen table, Geralt watches Jaskier rummage through his cupboards. He comes back with two packets, one matching the floral tea from earlier and a different one. He hands the latter to Geralt.

“Black tea,” he says, “for you. Noticed you didn’t like my herbal stuff. I don’t either, to be honest, but I already spent the coin on it.”

“Thanks,” Geralt replies, oddly touched.

As Jaskier passes Geralt to take his seat, he leans down and pecks him on the cheek. Smiling faintly beneath the ice pack, he says, “You know, Witcher, I’m glad you’re here and not up in some weird lonely castle,” and Geralt finds that he is, too.

[the-witty-pen-name]

It Happened On Sakaar Pt. 2

Mando x F!Reader; Loki x F!Reader

Rating: M; 18+ Only

Warnings: swearing, grieving, angst, slow burn, mentions of violence (smut in later chapters)

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: The bounty hunter’s most recent puck sends him across the Galaxy to an unfamiliar and artificial planet named Sakaar- literally the galaxy’s trash can. Sakaar is a bizarre planet, but so is his most recent bounty. Din is chasing a man he only knows as The God of Mischief. The reader lives on Sakaar as a scrapper, a similar trade to that of a bounty hunter and has a tangled history with the man Mando is looking for. Will the unlikely duo team up to capture the mischievous Asgardian or will the reader fall victim to Loki’s promises?

A/N: 

IMPORTANT UPDATE

I made a Google form to be added to my taglists, so if you want to be added, the link is in my bio. I’ll only be adding people to the list if they requested to be added by filling out the form! This way all of the requests are just in one place so I don’t miss requests! Thank you!!! 

This is unedited and if I missed anything that I should include as a warning please let me know! Thank you y’all!

Part One

Tags and Requests are OPEN

You had just gotten paid another hefty sum for brining a new fighter to the Grandmaster, not as good as the supposed Lord of Thunder Scrapper 142 caught but still nonetheless, he was pleased and you were more than satisfied with your payment.  You were at a bar, feeling pretty good about yourself. You deserved it and you wanted to treat yourself to a drink. You sat on one of the barstools, nursing a drink and did your best to ignore the gladiators behind the barrier nearby. You weren’t looking forward to this upcoming fight, but then again, you didn’t particularly care about them in the first place anyways.  Scrapper 142 joined you, opting for a bottle instead of a glass.

 You understood her. It was an unspoken feeling you knew she also understood. You were similar people, and on this planet to escape your past. She had been here much longer than yourself, and you observe that nothing can penetrate her hard shell. She was invincible, and you envied her ability to keep her emotions at bay. Well, except for the drinking, but you still admired her.  At some point she went over to the barrier and actually spoke to one of the gladiators. It was odd, but you didn’t question it. When she got up, you bid your goodbyes and headed to get ready for the fight. You knew you wouldn’t see her at the arena, but you know she wouldn’t take it personally that you left without a goodbye.

Walking down the hallway towards the entrance, an arm grabbed your bicep and pulled you down an empty hallway. Without hesitation, you pulled your blaster with your free hand and pushed it to the temple of whoever grabbed you. When it made a clinking noise, you sighed, knowing exactly who it was.  “Mando,” you say curtly, yanking your arm free and turning to face him.  

“I need you to tell me about the God of Mischief,” he states plainly. 

“I thought you were a good bounty hunter,” you roll your eyes. 

“I didn’t get any information, I’m working with nothing,” he explains. You stare up at the visor, like somehow, you’d be able to study his eyes. You can feel them staring back at you though. 

“How is this my problem?” You scoff and he sighs, clearly getting frustrated.

 “You’re the only person I know on this planet that can help me,” he tries to insist, “I’ll split the reward, please.” 

“I’ll tell you what I know,” you say defeated. You felt bad for the man, and you knew it must’ve been hard for him to come to you. “But I’m not helping you hunt him down. I don’t want to be close to this.”

 “Deal,” he says, and offers out his gloved hand for you to shake.  

“We can’t talk here,” you state, “the fight is going to start soon and I need to be in attendance for a work thing.” 

“A work thing?” he taunts. You chuckle.

“Unless you want to join me,” you offer, “If you can get a babysitter.”

 “Fine,” he says, following your lead. You walk in silence to the stands, and you find your regular seat, and he takes the one next to you. You chuckle at how out of place he looks, too bulky from the armor to fit comfortably.  

“Do you always need to wear all this?” you ask him, gesturing to the armor.

 “Yes, it’s part of my code,” he replies, looking down at the arena. “Now, the bounty.” 

“He’s one of the two princes from my home planet,” you explain. “He’s actually a god, with powers.”  

“Powers?” 

“Yeah, astral projection, shape-shifting, hypnosis, telekinesis, teleportation…” 

“Are you serious?” 

 “Yeah,” you say with a chuckle at the shock in his voice.

“How the hell are you supposed to catch someone like that?” he sighs, leaning back in his seat more. 

“Outsmart him. Take advantage of the fact he probably has no idea you’re here or that anyone would be after him.” 

“Would anyone be after him?”

“Oh gods, he’s made enemies all over the galaxy,” you retort, “I have no idea how to determine who sent you. He has a laundry list of enemies.” 

“Of course,” he grumbles.  “Just in recent years, he sabotaged his own brother’s coronation by allowing the Frost Giants to attack Asgard- our planet. Then, skipping a lot of other chaos, he led an alien attack on Earth. He was supposed to face lifetime imprisonment in the Asgardian dungeons, but he was freed to help fight when Dark Elves attacked Asgard, and he faked his death. This brings us up to speed to when I left three years ago. With everyone thinking he was dead, he returned to Asgard and removed his father, Odin, from the throne and had been ruling Asgard disguised as Odin. He was doing so for several years, before Thor- that’s his brother; Thor came back and exposed him. So that’s when I left, so if he’s done something else since, I don’t know.”

“That was the summary?”  

“That was the very abridged version,” you chuckle, “but that’s sort of the relevant bit.”

“Why did you leave?” he asks curiously, “it seems like him being exposed by Thor was a good thing but you left.” 

“Because I mourned him for years,” you say spitefully. “Told me himself while disguised as Odin that Loki was dead. Lied right to me, deceived me and the entire kingdom. We built fucking statues in his honor like idiots…” 

“You loved him,” he states simply, preventing you from spiraling. You appreciated his ability to simplify the situation. It was grounding.  

“Yes,” you say simply. 

“And you’ve been here for three years and he only just shows up now?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Asshole,” he mutters, making you laugh.  

“Indeed,” you agree.  

“You deserve better,” he affirms. 

“Then a wanted war criminal? I would hope so,” you jest.  

“No, I mean, yes, but you seem- just, never mind.”  

“Thanks.” 

“Do you still have feelings for him?” he asks, after a short, uncomfortable silence.  

“I don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” you answer honestly.  

“I understand,” he says, but he sounds like he’s far away, lost in his own thoughts.  You both fall into a more comfortable silence, when the giant hologram of the Grandmaster emerges introducing the event and the fighters. You aren’t really paying attention; you have heard it all before. The Champion will come out, the crowd will go crazy, and he’ll just defeat whatever poor soul they put up against him. However, you are snapped out of your thoughts when you hear a familiar voice yell.  

“Thor?” you say in disbelief, standing up from your seat to get a closer look. His hair was shorter but without a doubt it was him. “Shit, what happened to him?”

 “Thor, like Loki’s brother?” Mando asks, staring down at the fight, both of you at the end of your seats. You look over across the stadium, and you see a familiar figure in the Grandmaster’s private box.  

“That weasel,” you say, narrowing your eyes, to try to get a better look. It’s him. Without a doubt, it’s Loki sitting on the large couch next to the Grandmaster. “He’s right there,” you point, and Mando follows your gaze.  

“He’s watching while they send his brother to slaughter,” Mando observes and you nod. 

“I thought I couldn’t be more disgusted,” you scoff. You wanted to be surprised but how could you be? This was Loki. Gods, you had been so blind for so long. 

“What can we do?” Mando asks, already trying to look around for the exit. There are way too many people. 

“Thor has powers like Loki- not the same ones, but he’s also a god,” you say, partly to explain but also in an attempt to calm your own nerves. “He can win this.” You hear Thor proclaim that he knows the Champion and that they are friends from work, and you cover your face with your hands from the secondhand embarrassment. You silently plead for Thor to stop trying to talk and just fight his way out. Mando hesitantly wraps an arm around you. He’s stiff and awkward but you appreciate it regardless. It was comforting. “I can’t watch,” you say, hiding your face in his shoulder.  

Mando had never experienced something like this, ever. He hadn’t touched someone for this long in a very, very long time. He knew the circumstances were terrible and his heart was breaking for you. But selfishly, he basked in the feeling of intimacy, even if it was strictly platonic. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if it was platonic, because that implies a friendship. His mind was racing and he tried to ignore the warm feeling spreading throughout his body at the contact. He doesn’t dare move; he was enjoying the feeling too much.  Mando was rendered speechless as he watched the man literally conjure lightning from nothing. The fight was unlike anything he had ever seen. Of course, he’d been all over the galaxy and has seen wonders, including the little baby back in his room, but never has he seen so much power yielded all at once. He gulped, thinking about what he would be up against trying to bring in Loki. Without a doubt, he’d need to use the carbonite chamber on the Crest- but would that even hold a being of this much power? He didn’t have much else of a choice.  

The crowd erupts, booing as the Grandmaster rigs the fight in the Champion’s favor, and Mando rolls his eyes under his helmet. Of course, he thinks. However, he can tell the man is still alive and is relieved to tell you, especially since you didn’t dare look at the spectacle- too afraid to watch the fate of your friend unfold.  “He made it,” Mando said gently, nudging you and you finally turned your head back to the arena. They brought out a stretcher and the floating device brought his body off of the ground. He was breathing. “We can find out where they took him soon,” he says reassuringly. He felt compelled to help you find Thor, not just because of his own needs, but he genuinely wanted to return the favor for the intel you provided- at no charge at that.  The crowds clear out in a somewhat orderly fashion, but then take to the streets to celebrate the Grandmaster’s Champion. 

You are furious that Loki would sit by and watch as Thor was sent out on that field. You had no doubt in your mind that he knew that was happening but didn’t stop it. You knew him too well to think otherwise. Part of you a very long time ago had a hope the two could actually work as a team, and you had seen Thor try- you realize that now. However, at the time, you always defended Loki. You remain seated, even after the whole section of seats has long since been cleared. You felt numb and disgusted.  

“Any way I can help you, I’ll do it,” you say finally, your eyes fixated on the crater that was formed by the fight. You were rigid, very much pissed. You had wasted a large portion of your first year here hoping he’d come after you, and as much as you’d say you wouldn’t have taken him back, you know that you three years ago would have fallen back into his arms in a heartbeat if he had tried to come find you. Skurge knew where you had been sent. Loki could have easily gotten that information and followed you if he had wanted to. He obviously didn’t. And you have already wasted more energy than you should’ve in your lifetime by his side, defending him, mourning him, loving him. You were done. If there was any doubt of that in your mind before, the display before you tonight solidified your feelings. 

You wanted to see him get what he deserved. 

“I need you to get close to him again,” Mando says hesitantly, and you can hear the reluctance. He knows he’s asking way too much from you, but he’s desperate. It’s the only way he can think of to out smart him. He cringes, not wanting to subject you to this character again, but he feels as though he doesn’t have a choice.  You were right that Mando needed to take advantage of Loki not knowing he was here. He could operate behind the scenes while you distracted him. It was a flimsy plan at best and he was sure you would say no. He wouldn’t blame you. He saw the hurt and pain on your face, just out for the world to see. You were usually much better at hiding it, he had observed, but the events of today undeniably bothered you greatly. He felt relieved to have his helmet on. He couldn’t imagine the discipline of controlling your expressions. It was something he never needed to master, and he admired your ability to do it.  

“I’ll do it,” you sniff looking back at him. Your eyes were glossed over with tears that you were not letting fall and you still held yourself with your head high. You were trying your best to not let your emotions spill over, and he marveled at your strength.   

“You sure.” 

“Positive. I can do it. Besides, I don’t know how you’d do it without me.” 

“You’re right,” he chuckles. 

“I always am,” you joke. You wipe your eyes and stand up, both of you heading out of the stadium. “It’s probably better if we try to find Thor tomorrow,” you conclude noticing how dark it is now. Mando nods in agreement.  

“Are they immortal?” he asks hesitantly, wanting to talk to you longer.  

“No but we live a long time,” you say with a sigh, “Very slow aging process as well.” 

“How old are they?” he asks, “I mean- do you not age either?” 

“Loki and I are similar in age, Thor is older,” you explain. “I mean, I don’t know an exact age in years, but at least a thousand? Thor probably about five hundred years older or so if I had to guess.”  

“Are- are you serious?” he asks in disbelief.  

“I’m an old maid,” you chuckle.  

“You look younger than me,” he says, still in shock. 

“Asgardians have a five-thousand-year lifespan roughly,” you giggle, finding it amusing you’ve made the bounty hunter speechless. “I know I look pretty good for my age,” you joke.  

“Yeah,” he says in agreement, and he doesn’t miss the way it makes you smile. There’s a tension between the two of you that becomes glaringly more obvious, and you both chose to try your best to ignore it.  

“So, what are you?” you ask. “You and your son- what species?” 

“I’m human,” he says quickly, embarrassed at what you thought he must look like under the helmet. “He’s adopted,” he explains, and you laugh at how flustered he sounds through the modulator.  

“Are you from Earth?” 

“No, I was born on Aq Vetina,” he explains and you nod. 

“I’ve never heard of Earth.” “I thought Earth was the only place humans dwelled,” you say intrigued, “Interesting.” 

“Are you royalty?” he asks, trying to change the subject from his backstory. 

“Almost was,” you admit, “but no. I was in the Einherjar army, warriors who protected the throne.” 

“Almost?” he asks, not wanting to pry but his curiosity of wanting to get to know more about you getting the better of him.  

“Loki and I at one point were engaged,” you say, facing the ground.  

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “I shouldn’t be asking.” 

“No, it’s okay,” you say reassuringly, “It’s nice to talk about it after all these years. I’m enjoying having someone who’s willing to listen.” He wondered if that would be something he would want as well.  “Then he faked his death, and well,” you joke, “I would say that is the most unique way I’ve heard of to break off an engagement.” 

“I don’t think that was because of you…” 

“Oh, I know,” you reassure him, “But it clearly showed me how little he actually cared for me.” 

“He’s a fool,” he said quickly.  

“I’m afraid I’m the one who deserves that title,” you jest, trying to make the atmosphere less depressing.  

“I don’t think so,” he counters, but doesn’t expand on his statement. You nod as a silent thank you. “I need to get back to the kid,” he says, “Should I meet you tomorrow?” 

“Where are you staying?” You say, “I’ll come to you. I’m too close to the Grandmaster, and then by extension Loki- me going to you keeps you off the radar longer.” 

He gives you the name of where he’s staying and his room, actually trusting you with it. You immediately know where he is staying and you assure him you won’t have any trouble finding him. You insist you want to go find Thor alone and he respects your request. You promise to go to him after. You part ways, and you return to your apartment and him to his room. 

With the secured behind him, he picks up the child and checks on him. He felt guilty for having left him so long, but the kid had only just woken up when Mando arrived back at the room. The child was babbling and happy, and Mando fed him. His mind is still racing with thoughts of you, and how much you’ve been though.  

It almost angers him, the way that you’ve been treated and discarded. Like you were just a pawn in a chess game. The pain and sadness behind your eyes said more to him than your words had, even though he hung on to every syllable. He feels ridiculous, but part of him thinks about how he can be the one to change it. He can be the one to give you justice, by catching the man as he was sent here to do. And maybe somewhere also in the back of his mind he thinks about being the one who can truly make you happy.  

The rapport between the two of you was so seamless. He never had such an easy time talking to someone before. It’s like you just showed up out of nowhere and fell into his life and he wants you to stay in it. He thinks about if you both are successful, he somehow by some miracle is able to catch this guy, would he just part ways with you and never see you again? He hates the idea already. He knows how irrational he is being, but he allows himself to indulge in the idea of sharing things with you the same way you opened up about your past to him. He thinks about your words about how good it felt to have someone to listen, and he thinks about the urge he has to tell you everything. He thinks about finishing this job and getting off this wasteland planet and taking you away with him. He knows it would never happen. You are the closest thing he could ever encounter to a deity, and there’s no reason for you to want him.  

With the child tired out yet again, Mando closes his pod when the baby is asleep and he is now free to take off his helmet. There’s a mirror on the wall and he looks at his reflection. He sees the signs of aging on his face, something you won’t experience until long after his lifetime. You’re the most beautiful being he’s ever encountered and here he is thinking you would return the affection he has begun to feel towards you. He doesn’t believe you’re someone who cares too much about appearances, but you are used to walking among ethereal beings. He knew he would not be good enough. Maybe he had been alone too long and his mind is playing tricks on him, but he can’t forget the way he made you smile. He clung onto it and took pride in it, desperately wanting to be the cause of your smile again. 

Taglist:

@msclifford @doctoreuphoria @gloryekaterina @sassy-kassaay​

[wizardofrozz]

Welcome to Westview!

Warnings: none

A/N: This chapter is on the short side but things start to pick up in the next few chapters and I’m excited! lol

Chapter 16

Clint POV

I tensed when Billy’s distraught voice rung out; I glanced around, and saw the twins were barreling towards Wanda. I grabbed Nat, dragging her towards Wanda and Pietro, making it to them at the same time the twins did.

           “What? What is it, Billy?”

           “I hear Dad in my head. He’s in trouble,” Billy panted, his small body rigid with fear. “I don’t understand. What’s happening to me?” The crippling panic radiating off the boy squeezed at my heart; I rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, attempting to ground him.

           “Where is he? Where’s your dad?” Wanda pushed.

           “Hey, don’t sweat it, sis. It’s not like your dead husband can die twice,” Pietro jested. It happened so fast that my brain needed a few seconds to catch up; Wanda growled, hurling her ‘brother’ into a bale of hay before turning back to her son. I jumped back, my hand falling away, and I stared wide-eyed at Wanda; Nat’s face mirrored mine as she gaped at her friend.

           “Billy, I need you to focus.” Wanda grabbed his shoulder, focusing his attention again.

           “I can’t tell. I see these….” Billy closed his eyes, his face scrunching in concentration. “…soldier.” His eyes flew open, tears welling up as he looked up at Wanda. “They think he’s dying,” Billy whimpered. I glanced over towards the rest of our friends as (Y/N) started towards us, but she froze mid-step. Silence filled the town square, and it seemed that time stood still; I willed my brain to move my feet, but the message apparently got lost along the way. Bright, red light erupted, covering the entire town, and I had to close my eyes when it started to burn.

***

I opened my eyes again to find myself standing at the end of our street with Nat at my side. I blinked a few times, but Nat grabbed my hand and pulled me towards our house, swinging our interlocked hands.

           “Nat?”

           “What’s up, dear?” Nat asked, looking up at me.

           “How did we get back to our street? We were just at the town square.” I glanced around, noticing the neighborhood was quieting down as parents wrangled sugar-fueled kids inside.

           “Uh, I’m not really sure….” Nat whispered, her brows pulling together. She shook her head and kept walking, but I pulled her to a stop.

           “Natasha, tell me I’m not crazy. You know something is wrong,” I growled, pulling her close.

           “Clint, stop it!” she hissed, yanking her arm back. “Of course, I noticed something was wrong, but I-I don’t know what to do about it!”

           “We need to go talk to (Y/N),” I sighed, ripping the mask off my face.

           “She’s felt it too?”

           “Everyone has!” I hissed. “That’s why Bucky went after Vision. Enough is enough, we need answers.” Nat opened her mouth to say something, but pounding footsteps interrupted her.

           “Have you guys seen Bucky?” Steve yelled as he jogged up to us.

           “No, not since he went after Vision,” I replied, tension building in my shoulders.

           “Should we go look for him?” Thor piped up from behind Steve.

           “Let’s see if he comes home tonight. If not, we’ll help you look for him tomorrow morning,” I offered, resting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

           “Alright,” Steve sighed, dropping his head.

           “Come on, Steve. I’ll walk you home,” Nat urged, lacing her arm with his. Thor and I watched Steve and Nat walk towards his and Bucky’s house.

           “What the hell is going on here?” Thor whispered.

           “I was just about to ask you if you noticed,” I mumbled, glancing at the blonde. “Where’s your brother?”

           “I have no idea. I was about to check his house.” Thor glanced across the street, eyeing his brother’s house; I saw the living room light on and took that as a sign that they were home.

           “Let’s go,” I huffed. Thor and I hurried towards Loki and (Y/N)’s house, slowing when we heard what sounded like muffled yelling from the sidewalk. Thor and I looked at each other, hurrying towards the front door; Thor threw it open to find (Y/N) and Loki frozen in the middle of a screaming match.

           “What are you two yelling about?” Thor snapped, glaring at his brother and sister-in-law.

           “It’s nothing,” (Y/N) barked, crossing her arms, shutting herself off from us.

           “She thinks I’m hiding something from her,” Loki sneered, glaring at the side of her head.

           “Are you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you feel how off things seem?” Loki let out a long, dramatic sigh, dropping his head to rub between his eyes.

           “…yes,” he whispered.

           “Couldn’t you just say that!” (Y/N) snapped, throwing her hands in the air.

           “I sound like an idiot because nothing is physically wrong! It’s just a feeling!” Loki yelled back, mimicking her arm movement.

           “Can you two rip each other’s heads off later!” Thor bellowed. The room fell silent, his commanding tone demanding compliance. “We need to figure this out. Bucky and Vision are missing, and Steve’s distraught about it. Fight later!”

           “Sorry,” Loki and (Y/N) chorused, dropping their heads.

           “Back to the issue at hand,” Thor huffed.

           “Bucky, Steve, and Vision were with me at the office when that weird synchronous speaking happened.” Loki seemed to sense the glare from (Y/N), but he avoided looking over at her.

           “You didn’t tell me about that,” (Y/N) snapped, crossing her arms.

           “I didn’t really get the chance,” Loki sighed, squinting at her.

           “Anyway,” I sighed. “I saw something weird going on with Bucky’s arm when we were at the neighborhood watch meeting.”

           “Weird?” Thor asked, tilting his head.

           “It looked like it was made out of metal,” I stuttered. I everted my eyes as I shuffled in place; the silence of the room was deafening. “I think he noticed too because he looked just as freaked out.”

           “I thought I saw armor on (Y/N),” Nat mumbled, brushing up against my side. No one seemed to notice Nat walk through the door but none of us dwelled on it for too long.

           “Me?” (Y/N) squeaked. Nat nodded, glancing up at me before looking over at (Y/N); I wrapped an arm around Nat’s shoulders, rubbing her shoulder.

           “I keep losing time,” Thor mumbled. “I don’t remember how I got to the end of the street earlier, and I feel like there’s something I’m supposed to remember but I can’t. No matter how hard I try, it’s just out of reach.” Thor dropped onto Loki and (Y/N)’s couch, folding in on himself, covering his face with his hands.

           “How’s Steve doing?” I whispered to Nat, squeezing her arm.

           “Shaken up but exhausted. I left him to get some rest,” Nat sighed, resting her head on my shoulder.

           “Is Bucky okay?” (Y/N) shifted in place, wringing her hands and flickering her eyes around the room.

           “We don’t know,” Thor replied slowly. “He went with Vision, and we haven’t seen either of them since.”

           “We have to go find them!” (Y/N) shouted, lumbering towards the door.

           “Darling, wait,” Loki pleaded, gently grabbing her arm.

           “We already told Steve we’d look in the morning if he doesn’t come home tonight and Vision may already be home. Let’s just wait,” Thor urged, getting to his feet, slowly advancing towards his sister-in-law. Thor wrapped his arms around (Y/N)’s shoulders, pulling her into his chest; Loki sighed and kissed the back of her head before wandering towards the couch again.

           “(Y/N), they’re okay. They have to be.” I tried to reassure her, but instead, her anger suddenly shifted; I could see he shoulders shaking slightly as she clung to Thor.

           “We should head home, birdie,” Nat whispered, squeezing my bicep lightly.

           “Yeah,” I sighed heavily. We walked across the room, and Nat gently tugged (Y/N) out of Thor’s arms and into hers, whispering against her head. (Y/N) nodded faintly before pulled away from Nat, ducking her head; I smiled tightly, reaching for my friend to pull her into a firm embrace. “Don’t worry yourself sick.” I cupped the back of her head, tenderly stroking her hair as she buried her head in my shoulder. Nat and I finished our goodbyes to the brothers and trudged onto the sidewalk outside Loki and (Y/N)’s house. Fear settled like a weight in my stomach as I glanced over at Nat, and it only intensified when I noticed the same anxious look reflected back at me.

           “I don’t like this,” Nat whimpered, tears pooling in her eyes.

           “Me either, baby,” I mumbled. “Me either.”

Chapter 17 | Series Masterlist

Taglist: @marvelfansworld​ @imagine-yourself-happy​ @alluringshawn​ @lovelokiqueen​ @neenieweenie​ @shadowolf993​ @somegeekychic​ @wandas-love​ @jointhehunt67​ @starks-hero​ 

[copias-thrall]

I really liked the Papa III x F! S/o where the s/o was a typical shy and cute introvert, but this huge dork with those closer to her. Would it be alright if I requested the same with our dear Papa Copia (god I’m so happy to call him papa now :) )

Of course, nonny! Let’s get some sweet Papa IV up in here.

(Reference Prompt here. 😊)

Copia notices you because of your quiet nature. There are lots of Siblings that are vying for his attention and favors…and then there you are: sitting quietly during mass and reading the hymn book.

(He doesn’t have to know that you’ve been reading the same page the whole time while you admire him from out of the corner of your eyes.)

Every time he looks out, all he sees is your quiet dignity, and it speaks to him on such a personal level. While he’s grown to enjoy and embrace the showmanship of the Ghost project, he’s not a natural extrovert. So, when he sees you existing in your subdued state, he can’t help but yearn to be right there with you.

He sees you reading your book in the quad on a nice day, and he immediately pictures himself with his head in your lap as you read to him. When he spies you daydreaming in the library, he imagines what it would be like to play footsie with you under the table. As he comes across you sweeping the halls with your headphones on, he pictures giving you a homemade mixtape to listen to while you work.

Really, he wants to worm his way into the rich inner life he knows you must have.

He never does anything about it, though—in his mind you’ve been perfectly clear about your indifference to him. And he’d rather not stammer through an invitation that you’re only going to reject.

The mess hall is always a sticking point for Copia. He loves the attention—he does; it amuses him to watch the Siblings fight over who acquires his meal and who gets sits next to him. He’s still a man with an ego, and he likes it to be stroked.

But.

Some days, the whole scene just gives him a headache. On days just after an important sermon, or when he’s just back from tour, or when he’s spent the morning on a stack of paper Imperator has given him, “ASAP now, please, Papa”—it’s simply too much for him to have to be On for his admirers.

On those days, he has his Ghouls create a distraction (and Dew is always more than happy to set a fire) so that he can get in and get out with no one noticing. Then, he tries to find a quiet, out of the way place to eat his food in peace.

And that’s how he encounters you cavorting about with your friends.

You're out on the grounds because it's a fine spring day, and he can't believe that his this reserved, demure Sister is running about and chasing her fellow sister with a worm! You're laughing—not a coy titter, but a full belly laugh after you make a ribald joke about Imperator and a Brother!

Copia gapes.

You have a secret side that only your intimates know about? Well! It’s a circle he desperately wants to be a part of! (Even if he’s contractually not allowed to jest about the Seestor.) 

He imagines your laugh ringing out in his quarters as you let his babies crawl all over you (someone who doesn’t mind worms surely wouldn’t mind rats, yes?), and how you'd make him laugh with your uncouth humor. He can almost taste the domesticity.

But…he decides to stay out of sight—he doesn't want to ruin the party (which he’s sadly come to realize that, as Papa, he does quite often just by virtue of his presence)—and that’s when he realizes he actually has a hope.

You’re lying back in the grass, watching the clouds roll by, and you say,

“Hey, that one looks like a rat,” to which your friend responds, “That’s just cuz you have Popia on the brain.”

“I do not!”

“You think he’s gOrGeOUs, you want to KisS him, you want hUG him,” he singsongs.

“Shut it!” you screech as your face flushes and you throw a balled up napkin at him. 

He blocks it easily, and you lie back down with a huff.

“Whatever. He doesn’t even know I’m alive.”

Embarrassingly, the conversation shifts to how you’ve done it to yourself and if you’d just look at Copia instead of doing your best impression of a church mouse, that would be a good start.

Your face burns the whole time. I mean, having his intense focus just on you? 

You shudder. 

Surely you’d combust.

Copia bites his fist.

He could…? Have you??

***

Perhaps any of the other Papas would have been on you like white on rice…but research has always been more Copia’s thing.

Which means he spends the next few weeks slinking about like a bad spy (seriously—he might as well have on Groucho Marx glasses) trying to figure out what all your favs and interests are. 

And the Siblings are beginning to talk about it.

“He was behind a column, and I thought he was a statue,” hisses one. “He moved, and it scared the crap out of me!”

“I saw him petting the potted plants in the west corridor like a weirdo,” whispers another. “I hope Primo doesn’t hear about it!”

“I went into the broom closet to get cleaning supplies, and when I pulled the light on, he was just…standing there!” laughs someone else. “I was too surprised to be startled. He just coughed and excused himself!”

The only weird thing to you is that you seem to be the only Sibling who hasn’t witnessed Copia being adorable odd.

You often sit by that pillar to read when it’s chilly outside, and that area in the west corridor is where you sweep. Heaven!—that broom closet is next to the wash station you use! How haven’t you seen him even once?

Dew thinks this is great fun. He’s been suggesting even more ridiculous schemes (that Swiss and he giggle about back in the Ghoul dorms) for Copia to “overhear” you and your party—which Copia is taking down in earnest.

Aether thinks Copia’s being a dumbass and guesses he and the girls will have to fix this mess. Cirrus thinks Copia just needs to learn the hard way (“He’s taking advice from Dew—how does he not know better?!”), but Cumulus agrees. The two of them coral Copia into the practice space where they firmly, but gently, tell him to stop pussyfooting around and just kiss the girl already!

Copia stutters out a series of awkward rat noises before simply nodding.

“I have been procrastinating, eh?”

“You can do it, Boss.”

“Who’s the best Papa!”

Copia straightens his posture. “I am.”

***

You’re staring out the window in the classroom—woolgathering instead of dusting—when you hear a quiet throat clear behind you. You nearly jump out of your skin and hurriedly turn to make your excuses.

What you’re expecting is Sister Imperator on one of her shadow runs—but what you see is a one (1) Papa in his casual blacks (that still seem vacuum-sealed onto him) looking at you with eyes full of mirth.

It’s with great effort that you yank your eyes from his thighs up to his face.

“Oh! Your Dark Excellency, sir! I-I-I…” you stutter before composing yourself. “If you need the room…?”

A smirk turns up one side of his lips as his white eye twinkles at you.

“It is you I wish to be seeing.”

You toss the duster to the side and smooth down your habit.

“M-me?”

“Sí.”

Did you do something wrong??

You worry nervously at the sides of your habit.

“I—” Copia starts, then suddenly looks unsure. He runs his hands over his head, smoothing his thick hair back into place.

He starts again, his speech clipped and formal.

“Would you do me the honor, Sister, of joining me for dinner?”

 “I—dinner?” Like a staff dinner? Or...?

Copia blinks at you.

“I am asking you on a date.”

You blink right back.

Just you and him? Alone… 

His face turns into lines of apprehension.

“Mi scusi—perhaps I am mistaken.”

He starts to back away, and you finally find your voice.

“Wait!”

When he stops, you gulp and take a deep breath.

“I would like that, Your Dark Excellency.”

A look of relief smooths his worried expression right before he smiles at you.

“Ah…‘Papa’ is fine, Sister.”

He takes his leave of you, closing the door behind him.

You manage to hold yourself together for another moment before you let out a loud whoop and jump up and down (and unbeknownst to you, Copia is standing just outside the door, beaming).

***

Dinner went over smashingly (literally—between the nervous energy of two of you, a plate, a goblet, and a wine bottle all ended up in pieces). Copia was the perfect mix between awkward rat man and smooth Papa, and you felt comfortable enough to engage easily in conversation with him. 

You’d been a little trepidatious about after dinner (Copia certainly had not absented himself from the pleasures afforded to a Papa), but the only thing you’d done in his quarters was to meet his rats.

He’d walked you back to your room, then asked if he could kiss you. It was just a press of his lips to yours as he’d cupped your cheek, but it had felt like a promise.

The two of you end up making a perfect couple, actually. Copia, of course, respects your quiet demeanor, but it’s more than that—he understands it. The only time he singles you out is when you need to be his date to a clergy function or Abbey party—and he always gives you forewarnings for those!

On the flipside, you and he have the high capacity to be total dorks. The two of you feed off each other's humor, often being the only two in the room cracking up as you wheeze half-uttered statements at each other while the rest of the gathered looks on with pained expressions.

But neither of you care. 

You finally have your Papa, and he’s made all of his imaginings with you a reality. 

[echo-hiraeth]

The Changing Table - Frankie Morales x Pregnant F!Reader

Summary: Part of the Ikea series. At eight months pregnant, you and your husband, Frankie are eager to finish up your nursery, he even asks his friends to come help out. However, it seems putting a changing station together isn’t as easy as you’d expect.

Warnings: swearing, pregnancy, mentions of labour

Big thanks to @peterhollandkait​ for helping me think of this one :))

Masterlist

“Hermosa, what did I say about that?”, Frankie tuts as he takes the paintbrush from your hand. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine Frankie”, you reassure him, placing a hand on the swell of your belly.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here and back on that couch”, he says, softly guiding you with a hand on your sore back.

As he helps you down on the couch you look around, frowning when seeing the amount of cardboard boxes surrounding you. “Is it just me or are there even more boxes now?”

He sighs loudly from the kitchen, getting the both of you something to drink. “The movers dropped off the last of our stuff. I told you it was a bad idea to move now, querida.”

You playfully roll your eyes as he hands you a glass of water. “I thought you liked adventures!”

“Not when my wife is eight months pregnant”, he scoffs, protectively resting a hand on your huge bump.

“I’d kiss you if I could”, you taunt, flashing him one of your brightest smiles.

He leans forward to catch your lips in a gentle kiss, his hand never leaving your bump. “I love you.”

“I know you do honey, but if you don’t let me do at least something around here, I swear I’m going to die of boredom.”

“What if you unpack those clothes while I finish putting together the wardrobe?”, he offers, eyes soft and caring.

“I’ll take it! Any chance to see my man at work”, you tease, pressing your lips to his again.

“Isn’t that how we got here in the first place?”, he jokes gesturing towards your swollen stomach.

You laugh at that, playfully swatting his hand away. “Don’t remind me Morales. I’m sure you’ll pay for what you did to me in that delivery room.”

 The rest of your day is spent in the nursery. While Frankie puts together the wardrobe, as promised, you unpack the boxes of clothes and smaller items. Your radio is playing some music while the two of you work in a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s company. It isn’t until you start to cry that Frankie breaks away from the instruction manual.

“Querida, what’s wrong, are you in pain?”, he asks while worriedly kneeling in front of your rocking chair.

You’re holding a tiny romper, chest heaving as you sob. “It-it’s just so cute and tiny.”

He smiles to himself and wraps his arms around you. “Hey, it’s okay. I know it is, just wait until there’s a baby in it.” You smile at him, engulfing him in another loving kiss. “Do you want to stop for the night?”

You nod as you pout, the hormones completely taking over. Frankie smiles at you once again as he helps you stand. A grunt leaves your mouth as you place a hand on your aching back. “Want to get the heating pad in a bit?”

“You’re reading my mind, Love.”

 As much as you didn’t want to, you had to agree with Frankie. Moving houses while pregnant wasn’t the greatest idea you ever had, but the two of you had outgrown your tiny apartment. You’d been living in the new house for a little less than a month now, seeing that the lease on your previous place had ended. Most of your free time was spent renovating the new residence, much to your husband’s dismay. The boys and your friends had been helping out when they could and it was slowly coming together. Most of the rooms, except for the second bathroom and nursery, were done and only needed furnishing and decorating. So at eight months pregnant, you spent your time painting and furnishing your baby’s room. Frankie couldn’t leave you out of his sight for even just an hour. The first time you’d been home alone, he’d come back to seeing you sprawled out on the new carpet in the nursery, panting. He’d lectured you about the dangers and made you vow never to do something like that again.

That was another thing, as soon as you found out you were expecting Frankie went into full-on protective mode. It didn’t take long for everyone to find out, seeing how he was hovering over you everywhere you went. By the time you were three months along, he’d read every pregnancy book you owned three times already. The night you’d shown him the positive test, was the most chaotic you’d ever seen him. The poor man couldn’t stop gushing over you and how amazing your body was for growing a whole baby. So when your bump finally started showing he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, caressing and cupping your stomach whenever he saw fit.

The farther along in your pregnancy, the more useful he’d proven to be. He was there every step of the way, holding you when you needed to cry whether it was over the Disneyland commercials or your bloated figure. Your husband was a dream to have around, his hands working magic on your aching feet, back and breasts. And if you wanted a strawberry milkshake to dip your chicken nuggets in at four AM, he’d get you exactly that, no questions asked. Where other couples drifted apart the two of you grew even closer, coming to love each other more and more with every new sensation and experience.

“How’s that feel?”, Frankie asks, wedging the heating pad behind your lower back.

You let out a moan at the instant relief. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“Here, let me help you with that”, he murmurs as he unclasps your bra, another satisfied grunt leaving your mouth. “Careful now, preciosa, it hard enough to resist you as is.”

“Sorry Frankie, it’s just been a long day”, you sigh, laying your head on his shoulder.

He pulls your legs onto his lap, starting to rub your distended feet. “The guys are coming over tomorrow, to help with that changing table and the crib.” You hum in response, eyes closed as you enjoy his soothing movements. “But we need more paint and screws, so I’ll be gone for an hour or two while they’re here.”

“I don’t need a babysitter”, you chuckle, as you softly stroke his beard.

He leans into your touch, grinning: “You’ve clearly proven that you do.”

“Maybe Will can have a look at the shower, the drain keeps overflowing”, you suggest, pressing a sweet pack to his neck.

“That’s not a bad idea.” He looks at your face, noticing your relaxed features. “How about we head to bed for the night?”

That night you get little to no sleep, the baby kicking away at your bladder and spleen for most of it. You keep stirring, trying to find a somewhat comfortable position to fall asleep in, to no avail. But eventually, the baby settles down, and with Frankie’s heavy arm resting on your chest, you find some peace, only to be awoken by the pressure of your bladder a few hours later. You groan as you pull yourself up, finding the bed empty. You hurriedly waddle over to the bathroom, scolding your bump as you step on a power cord. It isn’t until you wash your face that you hear the baritones coming from downstairs.

You smile to yourself as you get dressed, settling for a flowy skirt and one of Frankie’s old and oversized t-shirts. A high ponytail and some light make-up was all you could bring yourself to do these days, panting with the slightest effort. The men were laughing together, drinking coffee as you made your way down the stairs.

“There she is!”, Benny announces, arms spread wide open as he catches sight of you.

Frankie quickly rushes over to you, holding your hands while helping you down the last couple of steps.

“Jesus Fish, she’s pregnant not immobilized”, Santiago jokes, making you huff out a breathy laugh.

“Might as well be at this point”, you groan, going to hug the three of them.

“Nonsense, you look beautiful”, Frankie shushes you, kissing your temple. The guys agree with him, successfully flattering you.

 After the five of you catch up and go over the plans for the day, Frankie gets ready to leave, car keys in hand.

“Don’t do y/n things while I’m gone”, he pleads, hands resting on your hips.

You chuckle, pecking him on the lips. “I promise I will just be there to annoy the guys. And I’ll only help out if they really need me to.”

He rubs his nose against yours, taking a deep breath. “No heavy lifting, no bending down, no standing up for too long.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Get your butt out of here now, those supplies won’t get here by themselves!”

And with that he’s gone. You shake your head as you join the three men in the nursery. “M’lady, your throne awaits”, Santiago quips, showing you to your rocking chair.

You let out a content sigh as you sit down, the three head staring right at you. “What?”

“You look a mess”, Will starts out.

“I think he means you look tired”, Benny soon corrects him, handing you the box of clothes.

You throw a romper at the both of them. “I’d like to see you try to sleep at thirty-six weeks pregnant.”

“Yeah man, have some respect for the lady”, you smile at Santiago, “she had to fuck Fish for that.”

“Santiago!”, you exclaim, mouth agape at his comment.

The men laugh in chorus as you try to hide your bashfulness. “M’sorry sweetheart, let us know if you need anything”, Pope says between laughter.

You eventually all get to work, Will (the only capable one) having left the room to check up on your shower for you. Benny and Santiago at that point have been trying to figure out how to put together the changing table’s drawers for nearly an hour.

“Oh my fucking God, how hard can it be! Give me that”, you laughed, yanking the instructions out of Benny’s hands.

The two men watch you, drill in your small hand, as you easily put the drawers together, one after the other. You were sat on your knees doing so, the backpain already settling in.

“I don’t get it, we had the same instructions, didn’t we?”, Benny questions, looking at the stack of finished drawers.

“Maybe you two are just idiots”, you jest, hammering the top of each drawer to ensure their stability.

“Hey now, no rea-“

Santi’s cut off by two bags hitting the floor, your husband standing in the doorway with a shocked face.

“Why is she holding a hammer?”, he interrupts, tone eerily calm.

The two men help you to your feet. “Well, genius, she was the only one who could figure out the instruction sheet.”

Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose, jutting his hip forward as he slowly exhales. “What. The. Hell. Did you just say?” You fail to stifle a giggle, making Frankie look up at the other two. “You mean to tell me that you made her put all of this together?”

“C’mon man, it’s not that big of a deal, she’s a big girl”, Benny intervenes.

“She is eight months pregnant!”, Frankie yells, the anger in his voice making you laugh a little louder.

“I mean, we can see that”, Santi jokes, making your husband only more furious.

Frankie shakes his head at you, still scolding his friends. “You two mean to tell me that two ex-soldiers - top soldiers - at that can’t even put together Ikea furniture?”

The three of you were laughing even harder at that, so hard that you doubled over, holding onto the small wardrobe to keep you from falling over.

“Relax Fish, she’s doing just fine”, Benny huffs, cheeks cramping up from laughing.

Will walks in, confused when seeing the four of you. “What’s going on?”, he asks glancing between you and Frankie.

Your husband crosses his arms defensively, annoyed at the three of you for laughing at his genuine concern. “Did you leave these two dumbasses alone with her?”

“Fuck man, sorry, I was just checking in on your shower problem.”

You suddenly stop laughing, making the four man look at you. The smile replaced by a look of surprise as you feel something wet trickle down your leg, onto the floor. A sharp pain hitting you right in your back. Frankie bolts over to you, steadying you as you let a whimper.

“That’s not good, is it?”, Santiago asks.

“I’ll kill you two later. Baby, look at me, are you hurting?”, Frankie’s voice softens up when talking to you, the other men leaving the room with a look of sheer horror on their face.

You shake your head at him, clutching to his arms as you start to panic. “It’s too soon Frankie, I-I”

“I told you not to do y/n things”, he taunts.

“Now’s not the time”, you grunt out between clenched teeth, another contraction hitting you.

His eyes widen a bit at that. “Let’s get you to the car.”

 While the two of you were at the hospital to deliver your bundle of joy into the world, the other guys were at your place. They finished the nursery within the next four hours, rushing over to the hospital to find out you were enduring a very long and painful labour. The three couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty and soon found themselves buying peace offerings for you in the small giftshop.

After another long and stressful seven hours, your baby boy made it into the world and your friends were finally allowed to come pay you a visit. The earlier commotion was soon forgotten when they laid eyes on your son, cooing and musing over how cute and small he was.

“We uh- decided to get you guys a new carpet as well”, Will says, watching you and Frankie with the new-born.

“You better, that’s the least you can do after making my wife endure all of this”, Frankie retorts.

“Weeeeell, technically it’s your fault for not being able to keep it in your pants”, Benny jests.

You quickly throw him a disapproving glance, gesturing towards to sleeping baby on your chest.

“Let’s just hope this kid turns out like his mother”, Santi sighs, smiling at your little family.

Years later the two of you still tease your friends about those drawers, telling your son the story of how a pregnant woman kicked two macho’s asses. Frankie gladly goes along with it, secretly grateful for that night, God knows he couldn’t stand to see you so miserable for another four weeks. But by the time your second pregnancy nears its end, the guys have read up on Ikea furniture building, determined to kick your ass this time around.

[whumping-every-day]

(Insert arrow here) for Callum Ask Ash if he wants a hug/headpat/physical affection of any kind, if he says yes then give him affection. Vamp bapy has been through enough and I want him and Callum happy even if Callum is awkward about it.

Thank you, Anon! I sat down with this intending to write some fluff, and... well. I don’t know what i fucking expected. xD Please enjoy, Nonnie! 

CW’s: Aftermath of torture and references to said torture, some dehumanization, reluctant/clinical/sorta creepy caretaker, comfort, alternating POV, food mention, blanket warning for Ash’s fucky headspace. 

-

Callum squints at the order. He doesn’t mind offering the vampire an affectionate touch here and there, of course; but the undeniable power dynamic has always made him hesitate. It’s the way Ash watches him; he’s always a silent shadow at Callum’s side, always so eager to obey him. (Too eager).

It’s the kind of eager that has fear behind it. Eager to please, so Callum won’t starve him; quick to obey, so Callum won’t beat him. Every action is driven by the belief that if he can’t keep Callum happy, Callum will do something horrendous to him. 

He looks at the hunter, sometimes, and Callum almost thinks that he wants to be touched. But then the hunter will clear his throat, or uncross his legs, or move, and the vampire will flinch like he’s been electrocuted, and Callum knows better. 

There’s so much about the time that Ash spent with his captors that Callum doesn’t know. But there’s a lot he can tell from what he’s seen; and the vampire is always so grateful for such small mercies. 

Even the briefest kindness still gives Ash that dazzled, awed look, and every time a little bit more of the dazed, worshipful quality stays. He could ask anything of Ash, anything at all, and the vampire would give it. 

“Hey, kid?” Callum keeps his voice soft, tries with all his might to ease what he knows is an impressive resting glare. Something still clangs in surprise in the other room, and there’s a hurriedly stifled gasp. 

There’s silence, and then the quick pattering of bare feet. Ash appears in the door frame like a phantom; his dark eyes glitter, wary compliance layered over alarm at being summoned. 

“Y-yes, Sir?” It’s soft, and Ash shifts uneasily on the balls of his feet, gaze darting from the floor to Callum’s feet and then back. 

The vampire is always so good; waiting to be fed, waiting for permission to leave his cell, waiting to be told what to do and where to go. Callum still wishes Ash wouldn’t call him Sir. But it seems to bring the vampire some comfort... and it’s better than the first thing Ash had called him. 

“I just wanted to ask you something,” the hunter says carefully, and Ash’s shoulders immediately go tense, distrust plastered all over his face. Shit. “You can say no,” Callum promises; the whites of Ash’s eyes show, like a skittish horse. 

From the vampire’s perspective, the space between it and its master is both too little and too much. The hunter moves with an unassuming grace; it’s easy to forget just how big he is, until he walks through a doorway and nearly grazes the ceiling. He’s seated, at the moment, loose and nonthreatening, and his bulk trapped safely (hah) on the other side of the work bench. 

The vampire’s instincts are still blaring a red alert. 

“Would you like a hug?” The creature startles, refocuses on Callum’s face with bewilderment. Its gaze drops then, to the hunter’s work-worn hands, his scarred forearms, the size of his biceps. The terror in its eyes has him offering again; “or I could pet your hair. Shh, shh, hey,” he murmurs. “You’re alright, bud. There’s no test here.” It’s in that same patient, soothing tone, so unusual coming out of Callum’s mouth. 

Ash’s heart hardly beats anymore, but even sluggish and undead the creature’s pulse tries to thrum. The question is a trap - there is always a trap. It hasn’t figured out where the pitfalls are, yet. And every hunter has traps to be tripped, it’s only a matter of stumbling onto them. 

“I’ll tell you what.” Callum speaks to break up the spiral he can see unfolding behind Ash’s eyes. The vampire’s gaze snaps to him, and Callum gives it a light smile and wiggles his fingers. “I’m halfway through this project. Just oiling Hugo’s gears, here.” 

The vampire’s gaze slips to the workbench, where the mechanical crow is perched. One of its wings has been removed, and Ash can see the moving gears beneath, like muscle and nerves. Hugo turns his head to the side and eyes the vampire with one beedy black eye. 

“It won’t even be another ten minutes.” The hunter speaks casually, but the vampire still shrinks under his attention. “You’ve been working hard. I’m very pleased,” he adds. “So if you’d like, you can come sit with me while I finish this. Okay? And if that means some head pats, well, that’s up to you.”  

Up to you. 

The vampire isn’t used to being a you, yet. It doesn’t know what to do with this lack of boundaries, and every step it takes feels like navigating a rigged obstacle course while blindfolded... but it knows from experience that when Callum tells it to choose something, it will have to choose. 

The vampire briefly debates the merits of fleeing back into the other room. Callum might let it go, it thinks... the hunter’s punishments have been unbelievably lax so far. He lets it sleep, lets it cower away when it’s frightened, doesn’t punish it for flinching or crying. 

It doesn’t run. 

The hunter waits patiently while the vampire stands there chewing on its bottom lip, caught between indecision and fear. If it goes closer, the hunter can grab it, hurt it...

...

But also, if it goes closer, the man can pet it. The thought crosses its mind, unbidden, that those hands are big but they’d also be warm.

There’s suspicion and something else warring behind Ash’s eyes as the vampire takes a halting step forward. It waits for a split second, for the other shoe to drop, for the hunter to spring up out of his seat and shout gotcha. 

It doesn’t happen. 

Ash - and that is something else the vampire has to be grateful for, its name. Ash inches into the hunter’s space, and it doesn’t dare take too long, lest the man lose his patience. It’s not like this is the first time it’s been close to the man - the hunter had carried it in the beginning, every day, from its cell to the lab, and then back. But this is the first time the hunter has summoned it like this, no tests to perform, no wounds to tend. 

When it stops, shoulders hunched in Callum’s shadow, there is no retribution, and no sudden, violent outburst. The hunter just nods, and he puts one of those massive hands in his lap casually, picks up the oil-stained rag with the other. 

“This won’t take long,” he says again, still soft, still careful. The vampire watches him for a moment, and Callum can feel him assessing the situation, trying to figure out how it might end. “I’d say you’ve earned a break, little one,” he murmurs, and each word is laid with intent. 

He’s pieced together by now that Ash was made to earn a lot of things, before. Blood, shelter, mercy, a slightly less heinous method of torture. The language of rewards and punishments isn’t something Callum likes to employ... but from the corner of his eye, he sees the vampire hesitate, and then loosen, like magic. 

Ash doesn’t speak again, but some of the tension has eased. Framing this as a reward had worked, which... Huh. Callum turns that over in his head for a moment. He also knows that the peace is fragile; he can’t pay the vampire any undue attention, or he’ll spook it. 

To all outward appearances, Callum is exceedingly casual, and entirely relaxed. He’s careful as he goes back to work one-handed, and he leaves the other hand in his lap, open, fingers loose. There’s a second stool beside his; Callum knows better by now than to try and force the vampire into it. 

Instead he feels the air shift as Ash sinks slowly to his knees, folding his hands in his lap. It puts the vampire at just lap height, and Callum carefully doesn’t look down as he goes back to removing, cleaning and then reinstalling Hugo’s gears. 

From where the vampire is kneeling, its palms prick with sweat. It has been summoned here and told to take a break - so of course its heart is in its throat waiting. But when it risks the tiniest glance upward, minutes after kneeling, the hunter seems to be genuinely invested in his work. 

This hunter is so smart, the creature thinks. He’s always working on something; diagrams or strange substances and powders, things that click and spark and grind. Callum calls them machines, says that they are new. But to the creature’s eyes, much of it seems like magic. 

It is glad to be allowed to sit there; Callum has been generous to give it tasks. It can be useful this way, counting arrowheads or polishing leather, or scrubbing the pots clean. It is a far kinder use than the others had for it. 

Instinct tells the creature that it’s in danger; but it squeezes its eyes shut and breathes, dredges up the hunter’s words from memory. You’ve been working hard, and I’m very pleased. 

Pleased. With it. Assuming that the human does not jest, Ash can only marvel. 

But then, the vampire reasons, if the man was displeased, surely he would have made it known by now. Surely he would correct its behavior, and not simply allow it to continue in its filthy, rotten ways. 

Something moves in the corner of its vision, and the vampire tenses - but it’s only the hunter’s hand, draped loosely again his thigh so his fingers hang free. 

Headpats are up to you, he’d said. 

His hand is close, but it’s not reaching, not tugging or yanking or grabbing. Ash casts another glance upwards, and Callum is busy, not paying any attention. Even just the simple act of being ignored is comforting - the hunter can’t be angry with it if he’s not thinking about it. 

It takes some time, but the vampire slowly, slowly starts to lean. It’s stupid, and its heart is in its throat - this is a test and it is failing, it’s failing terribly. But somehow, irrationally (desperately) the creature wants what has been offered. 

This is what the man wants. The vampire tells itself that, over and over again, to stifle its own hesitation. If it does this, it’ll be good. If it does this, it will stave off the hunter’s wrath for just a little longer. 

Callum’s leg is thick and warm when Ash finally leans into it. The creature is shivering, left-over vestiges of adrenaline rattling through its system at the touch. It holds its breath as it settles; it’s barely there, resting a fraction of its weight as it braces for the anger and yelling. 

Instead, there’s nothing. Ash’s fingernails dig furrows into his palms with how tightly he clenches them, but it’s like the hunter doesn’t even feel him. 

The ground is cold, but the hunter is warm, and it seeps through the fabric of Ash’s shirt and sinks into his side. The heat is soothing, and the vampire bites down a soft, high sound as it slumps a little further. It waits, at each stage, for the human’s reaction, and each time there isn’t one. 

Ten minutes later, Ash is curled up at Callum’s feet, resting his temple against the of the hunter’s knee. Its head is almost in his lap, and this time it barely flinches when something settles on its hair. 

The vampire peels its eyes open, and the hunter has a hand on top of its head. Ash checks again, and Callum is still occupied with his task, like the creature sitting at his feet isn’t a dangerous, blood-sucking leech. 

Then that hand moves, slow and careful; the first proper stroke makes goosebumps break out all along Ash’s arms and shoulders. He whines softly, but he quickly swallows it down; Callum’s hand pauses, and Ash’s lungs don’t work until it starts to move again. 

There has always been something to be longed for in the grace of human warmth. Eventually, the vampire even dares to nuzzle against Callum’s knee, timid and soft. The hunter huffs quietly, and his touch drifts to the back of the creature’s neck, scritching gently at its nape. 

This is the reward, the vampire thinks - or hopes. Not a break from its tasks, it’s been given a multitude of those already, far in excess. No, the reward is the touch, a mercy given without being earned or bled for. 

Its hair is still a mess, frazzled and wild - and longer, now, than it had been before. Calloused fingers pet over the brown curls, then dig deeper, nails scraping ever so lightly against its scalp. The vampire shudders in pleasure at that, and its eyes flutter halfway, murring needy in the back of its throat. 

Callum drags out the simple task of cleaning Hugo’s gears for another thirty minutes. By the time he’s finished, the crow’s gears shine like new, and Ash is purring, slumped bodily against Callum’s legs and head fully in the hunter’s lap. Callum watches him for a moment, dark lashes against soft cheeks, and feels something fierce and protective stir in his chest. 

For Ash, time has started to blur again. The creature knows what it feels like to have the passage of day and night lose their meaning, but this is different. This is pure bliss, a thrill that starts at the back of its spine and trickles in shivers down its back. 

It doesn’t know what it did to be worthy of such a kindness. (something, it must have done something.) But it hopes, this time, that if it keeps trying to be good, if it’s small and silent and sweet enough... maybe it can earn this sort of reward again. 

[END]

Tagging the vampire gang this time :3    @wildfaewhump @pepperonyscience @robinsdoghouseofwhump @angelsuperwholock @pennsss @silver-sparrow-462 @silverinkgoldenquill @kestrelspaverius @learningtowhump @shameless-whumper @latenightcupsofcoffee @thebluejayswhump  @what-huh-imconfused @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic  @pink-and-purple-flowers @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whump-em  @umniyah-s  @adventuresofacreesty @scarheart  @kyra-plays @lionhxartxd-blog @blue-flare10 @whumpywhumper @doityourselfbombs  @pastry-case @maybeawhumpblog @httyd-chocolate  @maqcyloup @yyyee-haw @to-hurt-and-comfort @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @manip-loki @dungeons-and-dragons-and-whump @ariirenn @poetofswords86 @whumpity--whump--whump @swagjudgehandsdragon @machimaquiaveli @theladyoffangorn @oracle-of-maybe @cuddlycryptid @the-potato-beeper @insanitycheshire @slam-whump @sweeterthanadonut @ffaerie-dustt @whump-in-the-night @elfo8792 @kinda-bad-poet @crackedskel @deluxewhump @this-zombie-will-eat-you @a-moment-to-write @stoic-whumpee @paradigmparadoxical @burtlederp @whump-with-wren @whimperwoods @winged-ace-whump @whump-only @sola-whumping @theoretical-toes @servenas-inner-fangirl  @hurtmebeautifully @shaegal @crystalrainwing