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pathologicalreid · 7 months ago

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Spencer x fem!reader fic based on “Work Song” by Hozier?? Whatever storyline or category you want!!

work song | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, near death experience, blood, gunshot wound, hospitals. word count: 1.77k a/n: hozier song request makes my brain go brr. i hope the people of tumblr enjoy this bc i most definitely enjoyed writing it.

boys, when my baby found me

Your hair whipped your face as you spun around through the labyrinth of a warehouse that your team had found themselves in. It seemed like an impossible task, trying to navigate this space, but you had already cleared over half of the space.

A small noise, like a shoe squeaking, caught your attention, causing your ears to rise like an animal hunting for prey. Turning a corner, you had your flashlight and firearm raised, coming face to face with Morgan. The both of you relaxed ever so slightly, no longer ready to pounce.

Ricocheting throughout the warehouse, you heard a deafening gunshot. The sound bounced off of the metal walls of the building, making it almost impossible for you to determine where the sound originated from. Meeting Morgan’s eyes, he nodded his head to the left, signaling for you to go that way while he went right.

You affirmed his tactics, turning slowly and making your way to the left. The rusted building was now so eerily quiet that goosebumps were sprouting across your body, even under your bureau jacket.

Continuing your way down the narrow passageway, you saw movement inside of a room. Sliding your back along the wall, you peeked into the room, seeing two bodies on the ground. You whispered almost imperceptibly into your radio, calling for medical. One of them was the local officer that the BAU had been working the case with.

The other one was Spencer.

You pivoted so that you were entirely in the doorway, facing the UnSub, he raised his gun at you, but you were already pulling the trigger, hitting him square in the forehead. Breathing heavily, you lowered your firearm before scrambling over to Spencer.

I didn’t care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her

In your ear, you could hear Morgan shouting, “Y/N, Reid, sound off, dammit!”

Something needed to happen. You needed to do something, but you had such severe tunnel vision that the only thing you could think about was Spencer.

He was gasping for air on the metal ground of the warehouse, lying in a pool of his own blood. You observed in horror as the red puddle spread with each passing moment.

Launching into action, you tugged your jacket off, stuffing the fabric onto Spencer’s side in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Even Kevlar vests had an Achilles heel, and the UnSub had managed to strike him precisely where there was a gap in the material. All the while, you were muttering the words, “Stay awake.” Just those two words, over and over again, like a prayer.

You hummed, using one hand to apply pressure to his wound and lifting the other so that you could smooth his hair back. His skin was alarmingly clammy, and you knew that, even with your attempts, he was losing too much blood. “Y/N,” he muttered, sounding like he was using all of his strength to say your name.

Gently, you hushed him, “It’s okay, Spence. Don’t talk, you’re gonna be just fine,” you insisted as his blood soaked through the knees of your jeans. You weren’t sure who you were trying to console at that moment.

“It makes sense-“ he said, being cut off by a cough, sending blood spurting out of his mouth. If his lung was collapsing, there was nothing you’d be able to do. You tried to shush him again, but he had more to say – he almost always did. “That I’d see you while I’m dying.”

Choking on tears, you leaned your face onto your shoulder so that you could wipe them away without moving your hands. “I’m here, I’m really here,” you urged, he wasn’t hallucinating, and he wasn’t dying. Not on your watch. “It’s me, Spence. I’m right here,” you told him carefully.

He opened his mouth again to speak, and you wanted to tell him to save his strength. You also didn’t want to deprive him of his words. “You…” his voice trailed off as he searched for the words, “You’ve always been my favorite dream.”

Sniffling, you shake your head, “I’m not a dream, I’m right here.” You told him, watching carefully as his eyelids grew seemingly heavier, “baby, open your eyes.”

in the low lamplight I was free

His skin was pallid. Even in the dim, orange light of the warehouse, you could see a sickly sheen forming on his skin. His body temperature was dropping, and it was all you could do to not cover his body with yours as you tried to keep him warm. “Spencer, please,” you rasped, urging him to open his eyes.

Your only solace was that his chest was still rising and falling. His breathing was rickety, but he was still breathing, and that had to count for something. “Spencer,” you cried, watching as blood sept through your jacket, flooding between your fingers as you tried to keep him in one piece.

“Love, open your eyes,” you begged, your eyes flooding with tears until everything was just a blur of red.

His heart was beating, you could feel it beneath your hands. A weak, unsteady beat under your trembling hands. “Baby, please, oh my god,” you pleaded, verging toward incoherent babbling.

You were second-guessing if he was still breathing. If his heart was still beating. With that realization, you screamed.

when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

At first, you were just screaming, letting the vibrations of your vocal cords portray your emotions, and then you screamed for your team. You had never felt more alone, kneeling in a puddle of Spencer’s blood, and no one was coming to help you.

This couldn’t be how it ended. You refused to acknowledge it, even as you felt the life leave his body.

Leaning your head to the side, you spoke into your radio, “I need medical. I’m in the upper west wing of the building. The suspect is dead, I have an officer and an agent down.” Tears continued to stream down your face.

You heard footsteps behind you as people piled into the room, but you didn’t dare take your eyes off Spencer. Not when there was a chance that it would be the last time you looked at him while you were both still breathing. “Agent,” someone said, but it didn’t register. They kept repeating themselves until two strong arms wrapped around you, dragging you away from Spencer.

Now sat on the floor, you clocked the paramedics that were now frantically working on Spencer, packing his wound, and cutting off the Kevlar vest.

Breathing heavily, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Rossi approached the local officer, checking his pulse. Emily was hovered over the UnSub, collecting his weapon from his corpse.

You were still being firmly held back, trying to pry the tattooed arms of Derek Morgan off of your torso. “Stop, let me get to him. I need to get to him,” you struggled against his grip, but any attempts at freedom were futile. The medics were saying awful things about a weak and thready pulse and pneumothorax.

Clinging to any semblance of hope that you could find, you listened to them talk about Spencer’s pulse, knowing that a pulse meant he was alive.

Your breathing quickened as you looked up at Morgan, Hotch was hovering behind the two of you, “I should’ve called for medical sooner.” Your voice was miserable, you had sat there with your jacket to his side for far too long. He could’ve gotten help from professionals.

“You radioed almost five minutes ago for medical,” Morgan informed you. “The EMTs just couldn’t find you in this damn maze.”

While you had no recollection of calling for help when you first found Spencer, you also knew that Morgan would get no pleasure out of lying to you.

You heard one of the paramedics say there was no pulse, and you didn’t remember anything that followed.

no grave can hold my body down

Crumpled in a ball, you picked at the crusted blood in your fingernails as you focused on the steady beeping of Spencer’s heart monitor.

According to Emily, who had been there when you woke up in the hospital, you had passed out around the time that the medics lost Spencer’s pulse. The doctor said it was just a result of stress. Thanks to some IV fluids and hydroxyzine, you were able to be discharged.

Spencer had been out of surgery for several hours now. The doctors had been careful to use the term “if he wakes up”, while you had made sure to say “when he wakes up.” You were playing the most horrendous waiting game, and there’s nothing worse than playing a game you have no interest in.

You were now donning a pair of black sweatpants and an old Academy t-shirt. Being the only team member permitted to see Spencer while he was still sleeping – girlfriend privileges, as Morgan phrased it – you waited with only the noises of his monitor to keep you company in the ICU.

Nurses came in and out, trying to manage his pain without the use of narcotics, making sure his blood transfusions were helping, and every once in a while, they’d check on you.

At this point, you had been nursing the same cup of ice water for hours, remembering the last thing Spencer had said to you: You’ve always been my favorite dream.

There was something so peculiar about being with someone who read so much, especially when he said such eloquent things while bleeding to death. You sighed, slumping back in the chair, you looked back at Spencer, only to be surprised that he was looking right back at you.

You jumped slightly in the chair, leaning over so that you could look at him, “Hey,” you whispered, maintaining the reverent tones of the Intensive Care Unit. “How do you feel?”

He’d lie to you and tell you he was fine, but you could tell by the way his heart rate increased that it was a lie. His eyebrows furrowed as he clocked the white patient ID bracelet on your wrist and your bloodshot eyes, “You’ve been crying,” he observed.

Despite yourself, you smiled softly, “I thought you were dead.” Your voices were each raspy, yours from screaming and his from being intubated.

Slowly, he unfolded his arm so that his hand was extended to you. Without a second thought, you placed your hand in his. He hummed softly, “And leave you? Never.”

I’ll crawl home to her

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #margot's requests #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid whump #criminal minds whump

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slamminslamminmcgill · 8 months ago

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joel’s pussy eating game is RIDICULOUS!!!!! he claims to be into servicing ppl and he is but…. it’s more in service of himself tbh bc of how selfish and hungry he is

warning: squirting, oral, rimming

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy, clit/t-dick

he’ll start slow to ease you into it. long, broad strokes of his flattened tongue up your slit. wet kisses dotting your clit. lots of spit to get you nice and wet for his tongue to just glide along your cunt however which way he sees fit.

and once your own juices start to flow, loosening you up for him, it’s blood to a shark. one drop hits his tongue and he’s GONE.

“fuckin’ christ, you taste good. yeah… yeah, i need more of that.”

joel smushes his face into your pussy, his stubble prickling your hypersensitive skin, and he fucking LATCHES his mouth on your clit, bouncing his lips off your sodden flesh as he sucks you off. soon you’re leaking enough that he can slide two fingers into you with ease. he curls them up into your g-spot and keeps them there, pushing your button over and over to get you to burst.

and may god help you if you squirt.

it splashes against his face and you hear a deep, rumbling, feral growl. it’s the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard from a man. one that reminds you of our basest urges, that we are naught but beasts at heart. horny fucking beasts possessed by pheromones and need.

“fuck yeah, c’mon. c’mon, gimme another.” he demands, starting his fingers right back up again, right into the swollen trigger point that has you gushing over and over. a firm hand cuts through the typhoon with a loud-

(SMACK)

on the meat of your ass.

“sit on my face. i wanna drink you.”

you peel yourself off his leather couch, knees buckling like a newborn fawn as you stand, and hobble over to where he’s laying on the carpet. he’s frantic, aggressive and repetitive in his orders.

“get over here... get over here, boy... get over here…”

your knees flank his head, facing his legs, and you lower yourself down until your pussy bumps his nose. he starts licking right away. you look down and his cock is throbbing, an angry shade of red. being that he’s been so generous to you, you see fit to return the favor. you lean down and take his cock in your hands, though you barely get to kiss it before joel intervenes.

“nope.”

he hooks his arms under your armpits, grabs you by the shoulders, and YANKS you backwards, pulling your face away from his cock and holding your back upright.

“nuh uh. fuck my face. i want you to use me. don’ worry ‘bout my cock, sweetheart, just fuck my face.”

you hesitantly hump his face, tiny jerks of your hips to get used to the feeling and get a rhythm down. as you grow accustomed to it, your soaked cunt easily glides across his face, your swollen t-dick bumps his lips and he sucks it in his mouth. his tongue swipes between your pussy and ass, your juices dripping down his cheeks.

eventually, you squirt again, just a tiny bit.

but it’s not enough.

“give it to me.” joel barks, and shoves his fingers back in for some not-so-gentle encouragement. “c’mon, kid, give it to me. squirt down my fuckin’ throat, c’mon. lemme drink you. gimme somethin’ sweet to drink, baby boy.”

you give him exactly what he wants, squirting right into his mouth in hot jets. his growl vibrates your entire cunt and he slurps it all up.

when it gets to be too much, you roll off him and onto the floor. the two of you lay side by side, gasping for air. his face is dripping, his wet hair resting on an incriminating wet spot on the carpet. you’re staring at the ceiling as it swirls, creating beautiful constellations in combination with the stars in your vision. joel reaches out and tugs you close to him. his overworked lips smooch your forehead, and he says,

“good boy. hottest thing i’ve ever seen in my fuckin’ life.”

#shoutout to dilf irl for the inspiration 💖😌 mwah #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller headcanon #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #the last of us

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concretecultist · 4 months ago

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Pomegranates & Pleasure

summary: a hot, steamy, sensual night with Noah (requested)

pairing: fem!reader x noah sebastian

word count: 4.8k

warnings: 18+ !!! smut, shower sex, mentions of lube (bc sometimes we need a lil help), allusion to blood kink if you squint, p in v , oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, this could be a loose installment to the “Kingdom Come” universe

A/N: as always, be sure to comment and reblog if you enjoyed! it helps us writers out a lot!!🩵

~Berry🫐

—————

Noah had only been home for a few days, just getting off from tour and he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, saying that he needed to make up for lost time but honestly you weren’t complaining. Especially when he walked in the front door with a shit-eating-grin on his face along with bags in his hands. With an arched brow, you tilted your head at his ornery demeanor.

“What are you up to?,” You were sitting on the couch in one of his t-shirts, a simple pair of black cotton panties underneath and a novel in your lap.

“You’ll see in just a few, I gotta set everything up,” he rushed over to kiss your lips and you could hear the mischievous tone in his voice as he rushed off to the kitchen and then up stairs to your shared room. Noah was always the type to plan surprises like this, each one being better than the last and it always started like this, the playful yet nervous look in his eyes and always telling you to be on standby.

So, you continue flipping the pages of your book, immersing yourself into the content. You didn’t really pay attention to how much time had passed, finding it better to fully distract yourself and almost forget that he’s getting his surprise ready so that you’re not a sitting duck with an anxious tummy.

“Baby,” he sang, such a happy tune that had you grinning from ear to ear and somehow, it grew even wider when he stood at the bottom step with his hand extended, waiting for you to get up and take it.

You rushed over to him, bouncing on the balls of your feet while looking up at him.

“What have you got planned?,”

“Nothing like we’ve done before, so I need you to keep an open mind,” raising his brows as if he’s waiting for any hesitation from you.

“I’m sure it’s going to be great, baby. You always make it great for us,” sultriness bleeding into your tone, your hand running up his stomach to his chest over his black tank top, twirling his chain with your pointer finger, “I’m getting excited so why don’t we head up there, yeah?,”

With a simple smirk, he threads his fingers with yours and leads you up the dark stairs and down the dark hallway to your room in which a deep maroon glow is emitting from below the door.

The aroma of fresh fruit and cream make their way into your vicinity, setting off your olfactory senses and triggering a physical response from you, stimulating your body before you’re even fully in the room.

When you cross the threshold, you see candles lit everywhere, a blanket spread out on the floor with a glass plate. On that plate is a cut open pomegranate, its juices pooling beneath the bloomed fruit. Alongside the pomegranate, are cherries, whipped cream and an expensive bottle of red wine with one of your fanciest glasses.

Your mind takes you to the possibilities of what’s to come and you can feel your body beginning to vibrate with excitement. This was about to be a night of luxurious highbrow adventures.

“Wanna sit with me?,” he gently pulls you over to the blanket and sits first, bringing you down to sit right in front of him.

“What inspired this surprise?,” popping a cherry in your mouth, admiring the fact that he took the time to take the pits out.

“Oh, y’know,” he shrugs, opening the wine and pouring you a glass, taking it upon himself to hold it by the stem and tilt it toward you, he wanted to feed you the wine. He’s in a trance over the way your lips wrap around the rim, eyes going dark as the crimson liquid adorned your lips.

“Just a sucker for making my girl cum under red lighting”

You almost asphyxiate on your wine, caught off guard by his nonchalance of what he just verbalized.

“Oh?,”

He just sends that signature smoldering look and scoots closer to you after setting the wine down and handing you the glass. His hands immediately find your thighs and begin massaging them as you sip away and eat your cherries.

“Plus,” he began, “You deserve it. You deserve to be doted on. Holding me down and supporting me while I’m on the road, it’s the least I could do,”

“You know it’s no problem, honey,” voice dropping an octave, scooting closer to where your arms are around his neck and your legs are around his waist while his legs are still stretched out around you.

It didn’t take long for you to finish your wine, setting the empty vessel to the side, and it definitely didn’t take long to feel the beverage coursing through your veins.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips and he didn’t even give you a chance to lean in before his hand is on the back of your neck and your lips enter a dance, moving to a tempo you two made, the moans and whimpers escaping being the ad libs to the song your bodies created. The both of you are grabbing at each other, just needing to feel the other beneath your fingertips.

Noah pulled away for air to stare at your wet, kiss swollen pout, humming in satisfaction. He reaches over to pluck a cherry off the plate, it’s soaked in pomegranate juice and it drips onto your chin when he brings it to your lips. He surprises you when his tongue licks it away before it falls onto the blanket without a trace. When he pulls away he whispers to you

“Open for me, Pretty,” the pet name making your heart skip a beat

You follow his command with ease and he presses the soft cherry onto your tongue with his thumb. In the midst of looking him in his eyes, your lips wrap around the digit and he audibly groans at the sensation. Withdrawing with pop, you slowly chew the cherry, swallowing the tart bulb.

“It’s about to get a little messy,” Noah admitted, his hands making their way under the top you claimed as yours, “Gonna undress you. Gonna treat you so good,”

The space was getting hot and you weren’t sure if it was due to all the candles or if it’s because you have an idea of what he had planned and it excited you with how erotic it is.

When you’re bare in front of him, he props you up on a few pillows. He reaches for something out of view and you don’t really care to follow his hands, he just looks so good like this, the line work of his tattoos popping under the ruby lighting, his hair framing his face and his muscles taut under his skin. You just wanted to pounce on him.

A small bowl comes into view, a deep hue like blood but with the fluidity of water.

Pomegranate juice.

“I told you,” he grabs one of your legs to rest on his shoulder, pouring a small of the juice on your ankle, mesmerized by the trail it makes down your leg, “This is going to be messy,”

He dips his head near your core, kissing on your inner thigh, then flattening his tongue to lick his way back up to your ankle, lapping up the trail of the juice.

The sight of watching him lick fresh fruit juice off your legs had your pussy throbbing, bucking your hips up just for a little something, but he repeated this motion a few more times just to get you worked up. Sucking and biting like you’re a cool, ripe mango on a hot summer day. Little sighs and whimpers falling from your lips, just wanting him all over you.

Then he crawls forward, softly kissing your lips when his fingers begin circulating your clit.

“Open that pretty mouth for me again,”

Following his directions, he fed you some pomegranate seeds, “Keep yourself grounded, we don’t want you choking,”

He didn’t give you time to reply before he’s pushing his lengthy fingers into you, immediately curling when you begin to chew. The flavor coating your taste buds, taking over your senses as he moves within you, causing your head to fall back when swallowing the sweetly sour seeds

“Baby, that feels so good,” muttering softly, your pussy drinking in his thrusting fingers. You don’t flinch when you feel juice being poured down your neck, dripping to your hardened nipple. Noah catches a glimpse of this and instantly wraps his warm, wet mouth around the bud, drinking in the flavor of the juice and the taste of your skin. His fingers sped up as his thirst was getting quenched, his tongue flattening once more to lick up to your chest until he’s latching onto the sensitive spot on your neck.

Your moans bounce off the walls, your hand tangles in his hair, pushing him further into your skin, pathetic noises fall from your lips while you beg unabashedly. He retreats to feed you more of the jewel-like seeds and drips more juice over your torso, sucking and biting on the flesh that awaited his arrival.

Noah made sex such a beautiful thing. It never got boring and right now, he’s making you feel like you’re the rarest fruit and he’s the only one deserving to taste it.

He is.

The red juice paints your body like he’s a vampire who is carelessly drinking from his apprentice, letting the life force drip past his teeth.

“Fuck, Noah. Baby, please” feeling his tongue and mouth all over you with his fingers deep inside had you reeling.

When he pulls away, you’re under the impression that he’ll pour more juice on your skin, except his fingers come into view and they have fluffy white cream all over them. You notice the tub of whipped cream beside him, wondering when he was finally going to use it.

He holds his fingers to your lip, playfully swiping some on your bottom lip and smirking. His fingers still move inside of you when he leans forward to lick the whipped cream off your lips and push his tongue into your mouth. The sweetness of the whipped cream along with Noah’s natural taste was a delicious combo and it gets even better when he pulls away to insert his fingers into your mouth, pressing them onto your tongue once more. The top notes of the sugary cream in addition to the middle notes of the cherry and pomegranate juice and the base notes of his flesh was intoxicating.

His eyes never left your lips, they were so pretty and plump as they wrapped around his long digits, so long that when you pushed forward to suck them clean they hit the back of your throat but you were unfazed.

Noah was captivated by the fact that he had two fingers in your mouth and two in your soaking pussy and both holes were beckoning him in like a siren’s song.

“Do I taste good, baby?,” his voice low and his eyes dark

“Mhm,” you hum, not wanting to take his fingers out of your mouth just yet, there’s just something about tasting him like this that had you weak in his grasp.

“You gonna cum for me?,” he bends his neck for his lips to brush against your cheek, both hands working you out and you’re almost there when he pulls his fingers away to bring more whipped cream to your mouth.

He’s hitting the back of your throat again and you spread your legs wider for him to get deeper. He’s hitting every sweet spot and at this point, you’re in such a daze that you don’t care that your saliva is dripping from around his fingers, dripping down to your bare chest. You’re moaning like a cat in heat, legs trembling, breathing heavily through your nose, you were right there, so close.

You were about to whine after he took his fingers away from your needy mouth once more. But much to your approval, he’s bringing them back, but only to spread more pomegranate juice over your pouting lips.

The fingers that were coaxing you to orgasm were going hard, drawing you closer and closer to the edge and you were finally pushed off when he’s kissing the juice off your lips.

“Mmmm!,” your body is twitching as you ride out your high, face scrunching as your orgasm washes over you. You become weak and pull away from him and fall back onto the pillows he had set beneath you.

He gives you a few beats to catch your breath, taking this time to lick his fingers clean, savoring the taste of you.

“We’re not done,” he sang, amusement dressing his tone. He grabs a grocery bag and begins digging in it to find something, “I know shower sex can be uncomfortable so I did some research and found some lube to help us out. I asked the lady at the shop and she recommended this,”

Noah was right. Shower sex wasn’t always the most comfortable, strictly because the water washes away your arousal, causing discomfort and friction that was unbearable. So you grab the bottle of lube from his hand and read over the label- interested in what the product has to offer.

“Okay,” you nod, smile growing, “Yeah let’s try it,”

He’s eager, eyes shining in exhilaration, pulling himself up off the ground and helping you up.

“There’s one more surprise,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks you two into the bathroom.

“You’re just full of those tonight, aren’t you?,” happy that you’d actually be getting in the shower, the remnants of the juice starting to get sticky.

He doesn’t reply, only opens the shower door, allowing your eyes to scan the space to see what he had set up. At first you frown because you don’t see anything out of the ordinary.

Then you see it.

A fresh, shiny detachable shower head that seems to sport many different settings.

“Oh dear,” your eyes widened. You know what you were in for. There was only one time that you orgasmed from water and it was when Noah held you with your back to his chest, pinning your legs so they stayed open all while the bath faucet beat down on your clit, making you cry out for him from the intensity. Now there’s a new variable in the equation and you just know he wasn’t gonna play nice.

He could only chuckle at you, shaking his head when starting the water and stripping himself so you both stood there bare.

“Hop in, baby,” he tapped your butt after helping you tie your hair up.

The first half of the shower consisted of Noah genuinely helping you clean up, scrubbing your back, massaging your neck, bending down on his knees to wash your calves and feet. The intimacy of the soft actions had you yearning for him once more, just wanting him to press you against the cool glass door and take you how he wants.

Then you feel his lips on your legs, making their way up until he’s at your neck, his hands on your hips, grinding against your pelvis and without him asking, you lower yourself onto your knees. His cock stands out from his body, his back to the shower head and when you look up, he looks like a sexy villain. Steam flowing past his features, his dark wet hair framing his face, water beading on his tattoos, he just looked too good to not slurp up.

Thus, with no hands, you guide him into your mouth and you hear his sigh, taking delight in the way your cheeks hollow as you suck him in.

“Fuck, Sugar. You’re so good to me,” he presses a hand against the cool tile to brace himself

“You take me so well. So proud of you, baby,” he bucks his hips forward just a bit, the sensation of his tip hitting the back of your throat was overloading his mind. He was always so sensitive and responsive to you. Knowing this fact always gives you butterflies.

You place your hands on his thighs, just so you could feel his skin while you please him. The muscles under his hot skin were tense so you took this time to massage them, a nonverbal way to tell him that he’s okay and that he needs to relax. That thought of relaxing was pointless though, considering you picked up your pace which had him groaning loudly into the hazy space.

“Just like that, baby. Just like that, fuck you’re such a good girl for me,” his other hand comes to the back of your head to bring you forth, letting Noah follow his indulgence in setting the pace he desires. You love how empowered he became when you were on your knees for him. You loved sucking his soul out, you adored observing the way his mouth hangs open, loved when his lashes flutter and you always find it cute when his cheeks burn strawberry red. You were doing that to him. You were blessed with this view.

Before he got too carried away, Noah pulled your head away, creating some distance between your mouth and his throbbing length to bend down and kiss you with an urgency that said ‘I’m ready to rearrange your guts’

He stands you up along with him and lifts you up to set you on the built in ledge of the shower.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered, taking in your form, he just had to stand there and drink you in, “So lucky to call you mine,” he steps in between your legs just letting his hands roam until he goes for the lube.

You brush his hair back out of his face so you can see all of him, such a candid scene in the moment as he prepares to make your soul his once more and you’d give it to him over and over again for as long as you live.

The lube wasn’t cold as it spent time warming up in the shower with you but the slickness of it did take you by surprise, mixing with your own arousal to make this moment sustainable and pleasant.

“Just gimme one more on my fingers,” he begged, Noah adored feeling you cum on his cock but with his fingers it was distinct. Feeling your walls pulse around the tattooed appendages was different because with each thrust of his fingers he felt like he was the moon and you were the tide, like he was literally pulling each orgasm out of you, plus, seeing how brain dead you go for his fingers was always a sight for sore eyes.

“Uh huh,” you nodded, soft eyes, bottom lip caught between your teeth. With how he’s thrusting alongside the ease of the lube, you’d be cumming in no time. You brace your hands against the steamed shower door and the white tile wall all while you begin rolling your hips to meet his thrusts.

“Such a good girl for me,” his free hand coming to cup your cheek, “You like making me proud, don’t you?,”

“Y-yes, yes!,” you stare into his eyes, just wanting to give in a glimpse into the world that he put you in, everything he did to you felt overwhelming and he hasn’t even dicked you down yet.

He uses his thumb to circle your clit, adding a pressure so delicious that your ears begin ringing. He’s got that taunting smile on his face when he speeds his fingers up to the point your back is arching.

“Please!,” your wail bounces off the tile and you’re going hazy eyed. Fuck, does this man know how to make you melt.

“Please what, Sugar?,” he knows what you want, he also knows that words are so hard to put together when you’re like this, but he makes you say it every time, no matter how long it takes, he won’t give you what you want until you say it.

“C-cuu-,” you’re fighting for your breath as you try to form your plea

“C-c-cu-,” he chuckles, he finds joy in ridiculing you and your cheeks start to burn at the shame of knowing it’s what brings you closer and closer.

“Cum! P-please can I.. can I please cum!,” he always makes your first one easy, but after that he wants to hear you cry for it, he wants you a mess in his hands as you bear your soul to him on what you need.

“Give it to me,” his mouth wraps around one of your nipples, your hand quickly flying to the back of his head to hold him there, reveling in the sensations of his teeth nibbling on your sensitive bud, his fingers deep inside and his thumb circling your clit and you’re unraveling.

“Oooh, fuck,” gasping for air while the tremors take over your body, “Yes, yes, yesss!!,”

Your pussy tightens around his fingers as you cum for him once again. He keeps his head against your chest and you feel the vibrations of his laughter reverberating off your skin as the sound makes its way to your ears.

“Don’t laugh at me!,” slapping his shoulder as he pulls away and he can’t help but kiss your pouting lip.

“I just love how you let go and give your body to me,” he shrugs, kissing all over your face, rejoicing in the squeals you made trying to fight him off.

“You okay for one more?,” Noah steps away to reach behind him for the shower head, setting it beside you two as takes lube and begins stroking himself.

“I dunno, you tell me,” you wrap your legs around his waist, using your heels to pull him in and you sigh happily when you feel his tip brush against your entrance, “I’m always ready to give you more,”

Neither of you say a word when you weave your hand between the two of you, taking Noah’s slick cock in your hands, rubbing the tip against your clit and down to your hole, both of you exhale in tandem.

You guide him inside of you and he gives a low laugh at the way your eyes roll at the feeling of him filling you up.

Noah kept a hand on your hip and the other by your head, pressed flat onto the wall as he began rolling his hips. His jaw drops when your walls wrap and pulse around him at every angle. He’d never get tired of how good you feel because each time he found something new to love. Like this time, he notices that somehow, the pulsing inside of you had matched his heart beat and it had his stomach fluttering.

“Noah,” you beg, “Faster, harder, please,” You didn’t want it slow and sensual anymore, you wanted it hard and steamy, the kind that had you clawing at the walls and your voice cracking.

Noah climbs on the ledge with you, on his knees while your legs are spread open around him. The water on your skin splashes lightly while his hips smack against your ass. You were thankful you two had decided to add this ledge when upgrading your bathroom because with the pace he’s going at, you two would have fallen already. But he’s grounding you in place and vice versa.

“Can’t wait to fill you up,” he whimpers, “Can’t wait to watch you fall apart on my cock,”

He was such a masterpiece, like he was something pulled out of someone’s imagination come to life.

“Baby,” you huff, already feeling yourself ready to cum again. He knew what you were asking for, so he took the shower head and changed the setting to the steady jet and goosebumps arose on your skin.

“Just be a good girl and take it,” he leans back to watch you when he places the strong stream on your clit and you’re swiftly trying to pull away from him but he’s not having it

“What do we do when it’s too much?,”

“We… w-we breathe,” you grunt, hands slapping on the wet tile beneath you.

“So breathe, Sugar,” he instructs, continuing his torture on your clit and setting his pace back to what it was, “You know you can be as loud as you want, I don’t care, just don’t run from me,”

He was right, he always drank in your sounds like they were the fountain of youth, he just wanted to give you the pleasure you deserve.

“Noaaaaaaah!!,” a deep exhale escapes your chest, the water pressure was perfect, so good, inebriating even, but the way it was beating down on your sensitive bundle had you ready to shatter like beautiful stained glass.

“I know,” Noah shuddered, the angle he had the jet stream at was beating down on his length just below his tip each time he withdrew from you, “Fuck, baby, I fucking know,”

You were both vocal messes, he used the fingers of his free hand to dig into your thigh and you used your nails to dig into his.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you cry out, you were drowning in pleasure and soon it would overtake you like a strong wave.

“Please,” he groans, “God dammit, yes, cum for me,” Noah leans forward to press his forehead against yours, his signature move to let you know he was close, he loves being as close to you as possible when you both let go.

“Keep those pretty eyes open, keep looking at me, Sugar. You can do that for me c-can’t you?,”

“I dunnooooo,” your breath hitches along with your body and you know that’s not the answer he wants when his hand comes to grip the back of your head, pulling you in to kiss you so hard you think your lips will bruise, but it’s okay, it feels good. He’s nipping at your lips, teeth are clashing with need and tongues dancing. You felt like you were in your own personal porno but with real passion, real feelings, real pleasure. The steam from the shower was getting thicker, the temperature of the water felt so good and it wasn’t washing away the lube so the friction was immaculate.

“That’s not good enough,” He growls, “You know that’s not an answer your King wants to hear,”

His pace was earth shattering, it was chipping away at your composure and you were about to fall apart.

“So let’s try again-,”

“Yes!!!,” you yell, “Yes! Yes! Fuck… I… I can do it, please!,” your hands are framing his face, holding him close to you as you can feel the heat building up, “Noah, please say yes, I need to cum please, please can I cum, I’m always so g-good for you please!,”

Hearing you grovel had his hips faltering and he was about to crumble right along with you.

“Please,” you squeak, tears in your eyes, toes curling so hard you know they’ll be cramping later.

“Show me what a good girl you are,” he demands, holding the shower head at an angle that sets all of your nerves into overdrive.

“Noah, fuuuuuck!!,” eyes wide, fighting against the urge to close them, his name and profanities flowing out of your mouth as you cum around his cock, just like he likes. He kept the jet on your clit until he was done and it had you crying out in overstimulation.

“That’s my girl,” his mouth hung open against yours as he shattered to pieces, “So… f-fucking good,”

You felt him throbbing inside along with you as he spilled all that he had to offer. Both of you muttering I love you and words of assurance to calm the other back down. When you both seemed to catch your breath, you shared an intimate kiss, slow and lazy but the passion was there, no words were needed.

Washing up once more and getting yourselves out of the shower. You help Noah clean up the mess in the room and you scold him for letting the candles burn out of eye sight.

“We were caught in the moment,” is all he says, pulling you into bed with him, spooning you while he runs his hands over your body to help ease any tension in your muscles.

“You take such good care of me,” you mumble, yawning as the exhaustion is finally setting in.

“You do the same for me,” he assures, planting a kiss on your bare shoulder, pulling you in even tighter so he could feel every inch of you possible.

“Now rest up, I’ve got another surprise for you tomorrow,”

HI!! as always please make sure to comment and reblog as it helps us writers out big time!!

i thank you all for your love and support and can’t wait to hear what you all think !!

tags: @lma1986 @widowsofchaos @whatitsdecending

#noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian one shot #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian imagine #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens imagine #bad omens one shot #bad omens fic #bad omens smut

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antiadvil · 2 months ago

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early tit shows request

I already posted this in the community tab but wanted to make a separate post so it can be shared more widely.

TLDR I’m very photosensitive and have tit tickets for November 3rd in Chicago. I would like to compile a list of the flash effects in the show and when they are before I go, so I can know when to look away. If anyone else would find this useful, I can share the list publicly. I'll put the rest under a cut because it's very long and I want any discussion via reblog chain to be legible:

why i need help:

As some of you may know because I bitch about constantly, I have chronic migraine, and one of my symptoms is photophobia that ranges from moderate to severe Literally All Of The Time. On a good day I’m able to hang out in a dim room wearing my tinted glasses and experience no light related pain but even on my best migraine days I still find very bright, flashing, or flickering lights to be very painful to look at or generally exist around. I bought a tit ticket fully knowing there would likely be flash effects in it because WAD did, many of their videos do, ii and tatinof probably did, I don’t remember, and literally every stage production I have been to in the past year did, except for an orchestra, if that counts as a stage production 😂. I literally would not be able to leave my apartment if I avoided everything that triggers my photophobia considering the Literal Sun is one of the biggest offenders so I am really not looking for people to tell me to just not go or whatever. Obviously I hope that my migraine resolves by the time my show comes around (like at least breaking down into individual episodes instead of one incredibly long migraine would be nice), and it’s possible it will, since I haven’t actually gotten to try the most promising treatments yet bc insurance bullshit, but I expect to still be dealing with this two months from now.

how you can help:

So, it would be really helpful if anyone was able to tell me about the flash effects in the show before I go. Ideally, I would like to know how many there are, how extreme they are, how long they last, and MOST ideally, approximately when in the show they happen so I can cover my eyes and look away beforehand (I’m thinking, like, “after they do abc they flash the lights,” not timestamps, since I think that would be much easier for everyone involved to remember. I know this will probably involve spoilers, I don’t mind, I’m currently planning to look at spoilers for the show). I know this is not something people with normal eyes/brains/optic nerves normally remember after shows (even my closest friends who are genuinely trying have failed to warn me about flash effects before) but I am hoping through the power of crowdsourcing i can put together a semi-complete guide to When To Look Away At Tit For Photophobic people. I can share that doc if there’s any interest in it and anyone who is able to “test drive” the document before my show would be very helpful. I’m also willing to keep making changes to the document after my show, if that’s something people would find helpful. If it is though I would really appreciate hearing from you- even if it's just an anon or something, because I'm not going to do extra work if I don't think it will reach anyone who needs it. I'm sure I'm not the only person who's planning to go to tit and just suffer through any flash effects, but I don't know if this post/the document I make will reach any of them (does anyone know if there's an accessibility/disability community on phan twitter??). My tentative plan is to share the document regardless, since it doesn't take much extra work from me, but if this is something that would benefit you please reach out so we can make sure it benefits you too.

a hopefully helpful guide to flash effects:

Another challenge is, quite frankly, most people are very bad at even noticing flash effects if they’re not photosensitive. I get it, as a newly photosensitive person I was genuinely confused about why I left across the spiderverse with such a bad headache, because nothing in it looked like a “flash effect” to me. Some things that have triggered my photophobia before that people may not think of as “flash” effects include: the snow effect in stardew valley, candles (flames in general create a very flickery light), glitch/static editing effects, the sort of stuttery/laggy way video games look when your graphics card is bad, and video that flips through photographs/backgrounds very quickly (this is worse the more different the colors/etc in the photos/backgrounds are from each other but even if it’s done in a more stopmotion kind of way it still bugs me at low FPS. It’s like the video game thing, I’m not sure if there’s an actual word for that). Another thing that commonly bothers people (personally it doesn’t hurt much though it can make me a bit motion sick) is sort of swirly “hypnotizing” gifs.

From the set photos, I think any flash effects would most likely come from the light/rope/wire things, those just look perfect for some kind of sparking/lightning effect which I imagine would be very obvious and easy to spot. The video screens could probably also be a problem but if they’re all at standard screen brightness, unless they all start being flashy at the same time, they’re a much smaller portion of the audience’s field of vision so I don’t think they would be as problematic (though I would still like to know about them!). My worst fear is that they’re playing something really staticky for the entire show, though I hope that at my distance from the stage, the static would be small enough to just kind of blend into gray and not bother me much.

in conclusion:

Yes, this could all be solved if people stopped putting so many fucking flash effects in their shows. I am begging for the entire world to realize that nine times out of ten they are Completely Not Worth It and just putting a “some flash effects may not be suitable for photosensitive viewers!!!” warning on every piece of media ever created does not make their media accessible (hey Netflix! Wanna give me a timestamp to skip or am I just expected to never watch Stranger Things?). But here we are.

#lou is loud #dnp #dan and phil #phan #terrible influence tour #migraine #photosensitivity #photophobia #<- mostly for my own organization

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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 1 year ago

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hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring.

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness.

“I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation.

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard.

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this.

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing.

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road.

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment.

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands.

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him.

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers.

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill.

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head.

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear.

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left.

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening.

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough.

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud.

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him.

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose.

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods.

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted.

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke.

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism.

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can.

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon.

#konig #könig #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig smut #my work #ngl i just wrote my oc in second person pov so like sorry but honestly not that sorry lmfao everyone still gets to eat #but there's no use of names or nationality markers it reads pure reader

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haveateadude · 6 months ago

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bleak horizons

summary *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ yeah, okay. maybe you're sad.

warnings *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ depression, self-harm, mommy issues (dw there's A LOT of fluff and cuddles and hugging and it all ends up alright) this is just talked about but it can still be triggering!!!!! pls take care of yourselves!!!!!!!! my dms are open :)

author notes *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ wasn't planning on posting this but i love validation. also, this is not like cannon ellie i guess?? i did a really bad characterization bc i used this as a vent and i just wanted comfort lmao. hope this still makes y'all feel seen or fucking something. btw this first part is really boring hehe, i wrote this when i was in a rush and in a train and i was tired and sad so i don't mind if it flops lol

i hate this so much idk why i'm posting this as my first pots. aghh. here u go ig. don't hate on me. bye.

(not proofread, sorry abt that)

pt1 — pt2 — pt3

you look so out of it

pull it together

we can love you

forever and ever

I've recently moved in with Ellie after weeks of looking for someone to move in.

I had checked other apartments, but this was the one that didn't smell like there was a corpse under my feet, hidden from the light beneath the floor and it didn't look like it was haunted by ghosts. The walls weren't chipping away, also, so that was a plus. There's no denying that getting used to living with someone else was difficult, but it was the only alternative to live away from my parents. Not to mention I had developed feelings for Ellie—she's beautiful, with those eyes and auburn hair, and her tattoos just make her look fucking badass.

After a few weeks, I settled in with her: we both have a routine, and established unspoken rules, and now it's comfortable living with her.

Tonight was a lovely night—I had already finished everything I had to do, and I didn't have an exam until next week, probably—until I got a call from my mother. I know I can't run away from this one. She always threatens to unroll me from college and take me home when I don't answer her calls. And I know she's capable of doing so.

“Hello?” I said as I went out to the kitchen, to take a glass of water.

“You know, most people say something sweet when they answer their mother.”

I roll my eyes, even if she can't see me. It was just a fucking hello.

“What happened, Mom?” I ask, not wanting to fight.

She takes a second to answer, “Well—I was looking at some resources and there are a lot near your area…”

“Resources about what?”

“Therapy. Conversion therapy.”

It takes all of myself not to gasp, or cry. I don't know. I hear Ellie going out of her room, and walking towards the kitchen. I don't care if she's here; I haven't been caring about anything these past few days.

“Okay,” Is all you say. I don't know how to answer, or what to do. I leave the glass on the aisle with trembling hands.

“That's all you have to say?”

“I—I don't know what you want me to say.”

“‘Thank you’, maybe?” I stay quiet, I don't want to thank her, I don't want her to speak to me ever again. “You could also get therapy for, you know…”

“For what, mother?”

“The cutting. Your scars—I always thought they looked repulsive. No one is going to lov—”

I hung up before she could say anything else. I hate her. I hate my mother. I can't even believe she's a mother, let alone mine. I suddenly feel the need to hurt, and I hate to admit it, but my mother has always been right about the way they look—so I just shut my eyes and try to breathe. It always helps—deep breathing, that is. I have to remind myself that I'm clean. I've been clean for months. Maybe even a year, I lost count.

“You okay?”

Ellie's voice almost makes me flinch, already having forgotten about her. I open my eyes as she walks over to me and lays her elbows on the aisle, while I rest my back on the counter behind her.

I look at her, with a knot in my throat, “I'm fine.”

“Your mother…” She makes a pause, short enough to not make me go crazy, “Is she, like, a pain in the ass?”

I chuckle at that as I cross my arms, “Yeah.”

“If it gets too bad, you can talk to me. I don't mind. And my dad has some contacts, we can maybe scare your mother away.”

“It's okay,” I tell her with a smile. “I can manage.”

“I know,” She smiles, and I can feel my heart fluttering in my chest.

Before I say anything I regret, I go to your room with my door open—a technique I've acquired to avoid hurting myself.

I sit at my desk and look up conversion therapy first, I want to know what this is all about—I know that it's harmful to people in the community, that it leaves you screwed and fucked up. I don't like what pops up on my screen, so I close the tab and go to another one—where I search for therapy. The real one.

I went to a lot of therapy sessions, but my mother was always behind them, so I don't know if it ever was effective. I like this one a lot better. It should be helpful. It will help, I know that for a fact.

I'm having dinner with Ellie, which we normally do—today we ordered, since we were hungry and it always takes a little while to prep a meal—when I think to ask her about the topic.

“Do you know any therapy center?” I ask her. “Or the number of a therapist? Whatever.”

If she's curious, she doesn't show it. She stops chewing on her food, then looks at me; then continues to chew, and after she swallows she speaks, “Sure, I have some friends that go to the same therapist, so it's completely trustworthy, I guess. I can ask for the number.”

I wipe my mouth with the napkin on my side, “Yeah, that'd be alright.”

Ellie takes a sip from her cup and then looks at me, “You okay, though…?”

“I'm fine, just—you know, making sure everything's okay.”

She nods, “Got it—I was just asking.”

After my first therapy session, I ended up tired. My therapist—which feels weird to say out loud and even in my head—is a nice lady in her thirties who looks like a hippie.

I've realized I tend to lie a lot—I didn't talk about self-harm or my mother. Or anything else, really. Just about the movie Speak, and then almost cried when talking about the weather.

So, “Yeah, it went well,” is my answer when Ellie asks how it went, sitting in her car. She picked me up since I had taken my car to maintenance.

“Okay, then,” she says once the car engine starts. She connects her phone to Bluetooth, and we listen to music for a while. Ellie places her hand on my knee when I start bouncing my leg, which sends shivers down my spine and gives my brain something to think of that isn't any of my shit. “Do you want to go eat something?”

“Sure,” I accept. Her thumb makes little circles on my knee. I wonder if she knows what she's doing, her eyes are still fixated on the road. My heart does the flutter thing that it did a few days back again, and my core heats up.

She doesn't want you, I try to convince myself. She's your friend, she doesn't want you. She will fall in love with you, not your brain nor your scars, and when she finds out about the way you think she'll leave.

When we arrived at the restaurant, we ordered a plate together, since we always share and the food here comes in big sizes that we wouldn't finish if we ate it separately.

When we arrive at the restaurant, we order a plate together, since we always share and the food here comes in big sizes that we won't finish if we ate it separately.

“So, how's work?” I ask when we're waiting for our food.

“It's going well, I guess.”

“You guess?”

"I just hate my boss."

I furrow my eyebrows, “do you want to talk about it?”

“It's fine, he just sucks. But well, Jesse is postulating to—you know, be a boss; that fucker.”

I chuckle, “Well, I like Jesse.” I soon realize what I said, and my cheeks go red. “Not in a, uh, romantic way or anything. You know. Fuck. He's just nice.”

“Just nice?”

“I like you better than him,” I blurt out, which only adds to my embarrassment.

Oh, oh.

I like Ellie.

Fuck, yeah. You do.

Who am I kidding, I knew I did. From the start—from the first time she looked at me, for the first time touched my hand and spoke to me; for the first time she played guitar for me and made dinner because she knew how tired I was.

Ellie is flushed. I can tell.

“Oh, do you?” She asks with a grin.

The waitress comes with our food, and leaves the plate. I look at her, she looks at me at Ellie and then leaves.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and lay my elbow on the table, with my chin propped up in my hand.

“What if I do?”

She bites her lip, looks at mine and then at the food, “The food's getting cold.”

What the fuck. What the actual fuck. Did that actually happen, or was it my imagination? Holy shit. Shit! Fucking fuck.

It leaves me thinking, but my thoughts leave when I hear her laughter after I crack a joke.

We take the stairs up the apartment, and we laugh all the way up. We just laugh and laugh and laugh because she said something and now I'm almost falling to the floor from how much my stomach hurts.

“Stop,” I say when we get to our apartment door. I keep laughing because Ellie's laughing too and she can't open the door. “My stomach hurts.”

She looks at me and laughs. Idiot. I laugh, too.

“Hey!” We hear our neighbor say. “Quiet down!”

“We're sorry!” I exclaim back, as he closes his door.

Ellie giggles, “You're so fucking dumb, I'm not sorry at all.”

“Shut up,” I say.

“Oh, make me.”

And then—oh, god—and then, and then she looks at me as the curvature of my lips goes down, and then I kiss her.

I kissed her. I fucking did. Me, not her—not Ellie's brave and confident ass, but mine. The butterfly in my chest flutters harder when she kisses back. She puts both of her hands on my waist and deepens the kiss, while my hand moves from her cheeks to her neck, then finds its way to her torso.

Ellie manages to open the door without breaking the kiss, and then she shuts the door with her foot.

“We should—” I speak between kisses. “Ellie—couch.”

“Yeah, okay. Okay.”

Our tongues fight, but our souls mend and I find my way to her in every sense.

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #the last of us 2 #tlou #mental health awareness #ellie williams x y/n #wlw #lesbian #depression awarness #idk what is this #fic #emwrites ; ⋆

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thatdeadaquarius · 11 months ago

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@goldensunsetchild Asked:

Hello there! I know that you might be busy right now but I wanted to let you know an idea that I have, greatly inspired by your post: spanish reader who gets homesick but instead of getting depressed by it starts to do things they used to do back on their world. Dancing to their traditional dances while singing their accompanying songs, teaching the children the games they used to play when they were younger and also telling folktales to everyone who is interested in listening to. If you decide to do this idea and want to incorporate things from Costa Rica, please let me know and I'll help you with anything you need (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

(Content under cut)

HELLO YES SORRY IT TOOK ME SO DAMN LONG TO GET TO THIS!! 😭 /gen

I went to Costa Rica back in highschool in 2018? I think, and when I tell you I FELL IN LOVEEEE <3333

Costa Rica is a beautiful country and everyone was really nice, vibes were immaculate 🤌 ✨

☆

Sun: Costa Rican Reader! (you/they/them)

Stars: Sumeru cast

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: None known & Trigger Warnings: alcohol usage/drinking game.

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

☆

when u first crash landed in Teyvat, people luckily recognized you from when u were a player!

and u took in whatever culture and traditions everyone was so excited to show you as they were kind enough to give u clothes/food/shelter etc.

butttt… it did get overwhelming after a few months, and u got homesick more and more often :(

after all there wasn’t really an equivalent country to Costa Rica, and you couldn’t just take a plane back home, you were stuck here for… however long it takes someone to leave a video game universe??

You decided to actually do smth abt the crippling depression and “outsider” feelings instead of just rotting away, and went to Sumeru to get closer to the greenery of your home,

it made you feel a little better, but it could be the best, so u decide to lowkey force everyone in Sumeru to convert to Costa Rican LMAO

so ofc u did the most logical thing to convert ppl to a culture, the food!

u helped fund a small restaurant full of classic Costa Rican foods (coughandsoyoucaneatitwheneveryouwantcough)

(u still have the insane mora leftover from what u had in game so ur basically one of the richest ppl in Teyvat ngl 💀)

u recreated just the basic gallo pinto/casado with what was available (some beans from Natlan and rice from Inazuma/Liyue, the Ajilenakh nut from Sumeru acc kinda acts like plantains :0 and local fish/greens for salad)

Needless to say Sumeru is fascinated by the new cuisine and esp since its not a secret that you’ve funded it/made the menu from your homeworld

Alhaitham orders the casado most of the time bc he “admires the exact proportions, its all the nutrients you need, perfectly balanced” NERDDD

Tighnari likes barbudos bc there's not a lot of egg dishes in Sumeru but there are a lot of greens, so he “likes the familiar in unique combinations!”

unsurprisingly, Cyno likes Chancelta bc he can pick it up, eat it quickly, and go on with his patrol

Collei, Kaveh (and secretly Dehya lol) really like being able to munch and snack on sugar cane, (and the plantain imitation desserts!)

(u found sugarcane deep in sumeru forests, it was like on ur world, but sweet flowers sprouted out of the stalks too!)

You decide the next phase was to introduce dances and other fun stuff!!

Nilou was literally shaking with excitement to learn the traditional dances <3 (and also getting ur permission to add fun twists or Sumeru elements to them)

the kids that like to hang around and watch the troupe practice (and join) absolutely got obsessed with swing criollo, it was so cute to watch them all pair up and kinda trip over their own feet trying the footwork out

(u may or may not have teared up bc the band learned how to play a Spanish song for u guys to dance to, just for you)

teaching the theater troupes musicians how to adapt upbeat songs like Caballito Nicoyano or Ticas Lindas

omg getting Nilou Kaveh Faruzan Cyno Dehya (and Dunyazard!) to do the calipso limonense always cheers you up, (which is why they are so eager to do it when ur feeling homesick ❤️‍🩹)

Kaveh steps on too many people’s toes, Dehya gets dizzy from the spins/turns easily, Faruzan keeps spinning for too long, Nilou and Dunyazard are actually secretly latina bc they're so good at it (did they outdo you?? no, no they couldn't possibly-)

and Cyno just really likes the little dance line everyone makes lol

speaking of the General Mahamatra

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

u CANNOT teach Cyno a new game from your home country, and expect him to NOT be the most competitive mf in Teyvat abt it

that's actually how u spread any games from back home, Cyno just does all the work for you and challenges ppl to things like jackses and no one knows what it is

which he then proceeds to strong arm them into learning and beat their asses at it

(yes Cyno wins against you a lot, sorry lmao)

You definitely had a drinking game centered around it one time and the consequences changed with each person who lost

like Cyno had to learn how to cook tamales that were edible, and more importantly..

Alhaitham had to at least attempt the swing criollo lol

(was it unfairly attractive? maybe. was watching Nilou, who was teaching him, and Alhaitham both do swing criollo 2x as attractive?? that's just for u and the Sumeru vision users to know)

SPEAKING OF ALHAITHAM

absolutely hilarious, yet also impressive?? how quickly he picked up ur slang

smug bastard picked it up based off sheer context/vibes too, u didn't even explain it to him, just u trying to go sit down in ur Costa Rican restaurant and he pulls u back before someone mows u down saying “hey, suave un toque-”

YOUR NECK FUCKING CRACKING BC U WHIPPED AROUND TO LOOK AT HIM SO FAST LMAOOO

(ngl u scared the fuck out of the poor scholar before he got all smug abt knowing slang)

accidentally spread this knowledge to other vision users bc he got in the habit of casually using it, tbh more often when ur not around lol (Alhaitham being caught having habits bc he's fond of other ppl?? never)

his favorite is “qué chante…😒 ” obv lol

so now the forest rangers use stuff like pura vida and tuanis sending each other off on patrols! Collei so cutely excited to explain to other Sumeru ppl or tourists where the words come from and what they mean, spreading ur Costa Rica agenda very well 👌

and the mahamatra like to use “Jale pa’la choza” when coming back from the desert to Sumeru city homebase! :)

ALSO bonus:

u absolutely got leyendas into the bedtime warning/ghost stories of the entirety of Sumeru children lmao

u start spooking kids like Dori (Nahida finds them fascinating)

and after awhile u notice Cyno and Dehya mentioning watching out at night for La Llorona or los cadejos 💀??

like you've genuinely made them paranoid, bc they wanna be sweethearts and protect you from them, like even if they don't believe they exist, they're worried you do and are trying to make u feel better lol <3

☆

an iced coffee? for me?? :O

Blessed be Costa Rica, such a lovely country when I went, and as soon as I got off the plane coming back the first thing I did was make a Costa Rican meal the best I could

like got my mom to prep from dry black beans and rice etc. as fresh as we could get (nowhere near costa rica level btw) and made fresh guac and fried plantain chips and salmon I think? literally cooked the first night back bc I knew I missed the food already/knew id get sick

and I was RIGHT, that food I made was fine, but any other American food so bad I got nauseous

I literally got sick COMING BACK TO THE U.S like 😨???!!! I knew it was bad but not THAT bad lmao

and the first meal I had after that was still a homecooked meal, like my mom made it💀

love the coffee from there too, we even ordered coffee from the farm we visited when I got back to US it was so good (10x better than American obv)

THANK YOU BTW GOLDEN!! FOR BEING SO PATIENT AND LOVELY TELLING ME ALL ABT COSTA RICA <3333

I hope this did some amount of justice to ur beautiful home! :)

Safe Travels Golden Child,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/specifically this AU/fandom, please!")

♡my beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily

#genshin sagau #sagau #genshin isekai #genshin imagines #my asks #aqua asks #fuck i cant remember my tags #genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #genshin x reader #genshin x costa rican reader #costa rican reader #poc reader #gender neutral reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months ago

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Don't Speak 42

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Almost lost this chapter bc my computer went nuts.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You hit delete chat in the conversation settings. You leave it just as blank as before and close out the app. Just like Dr. Kemp said to. He can’t be there right away but he has a better plan. You’re not good at those anyway.

All you have to do now is wait out Andy. He’ll be going to work come morning and you’ll be alone. Then you can take your things, the things that are really yours, and leave. Finally. You realise that’s exactly what you’ve been longing for. A way out.

The hard part is still ahead of you. Freedom is still just out of reach. You have to pretend that everything’s fine but you’re realising, you’ve been doing that for a while.

You shake off your nerves and roll the tears back behind your eyes. You can cry later. Even as your cheeks strain and your nose tingles, you resist. Not yet, not yet.

You finish tidying up the tablet, trying to leave it as you found it. With not much else than your drawings. You close the cover and bring it with you as you turn off the lights and head upstairs. You sop up the mess in the bathroom and leave it dark.

You hesitate to approach the bedroom. You hear Andy’s snores, low and steady. Your skin crawls. You enter and put the tablet on the small side table where you charge it. You hang the damp robe and face the bed.

For the first time in your life, you want to hurt someone. You’re not afraid of being the one hurt. You really want to hit him and kick him and just let out your fury on him. You can’t and you won’t. You’re not who he told you you are. And you’re not strong enough for that. You’re still too small, too weak.

So you near the bed and climb under the covers. You move slowly as you pull the duvet to your chin. He snorts, making you wince, and sidles up behind you as he wraps his arm around you. You go rigid but fight through the ice that threatens to encase you. He can’t know, he can’t know.

“Mmm, where were you?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Had a bath,” you squeak, putting your hand over his. You want to rip him away but instead, you squeeze, holding him tighter. “Sorry.”

“Nmph,” he grumbles and nuzzles your crown, just as quickly drifting back into his rhythmic snores.

You exhale little by little. You close your eyes but just as quickly open again. You know you won’t sleep. You can’t. Not with him as good as on top of you. Not knowing what awaits you in the morning. But mostly, not with that needling guilt in the nape of your neck.

Amber.

You betrayed your own sister. You treated her like a villain. You demonised her. You ostracised her. You left her!

You don’t know if she can ever forgive you. You can’t blame her for that. Worse, you don’t think you’d let her forgive you. You don’t deserve it.

You feel brittle as you bite down on your cheeks. No crying, not yet, you remind yourself. For once, you have to do things right. You have to follow through. It’s up to you now.

🕊️

“I didn’t know you could make crepes,” Andy smiles as he cuts into the roll, compote fruit and syrup oozing out.

You do your best to mirror him, making a show of nibbling away at your own food.

“I found a recipe,” you tap your tablet, not far from you.

“That’s great. You’re… doing better.”

“I’m trying,” you assure him, “I hope it doesn’t make you late for work.”

“Hm? Oh, no, breakfast with you is worth it,” he pops a bit into his mouth and hums. You regret not spitting in it, repulsed by the thought when it came to you, but now, not so much.

He can sit there and lie to you. It makes it easier for you to do the same. He’s been lying this entire time. Making you feel like you’re a problem. A burden. No, you were a thing to be used. To be exploited. He never liked you, the girl he calls dove, he only liked what he could get out of you. And he got off on it.

He took Amber from you. He did that. Yes, you’re stupid for falling for it but he knew what he was doing. He lied to you. And you know exactly how he did it.

He took all that therapy and twisted it around on you. You wonder why he even bothers with Dr. Kemp when he’s not trying to change. More than the narcissist he branded your sister, he’s a psychopath. You found that on the internet too.

Bitter, angry, hateful. You’ve never felt this way before. You’ve never truly loathed anyone. Not even your grandfather. His fists were nothing compared to Andy’s emotional battering.

“Well, don’t let it get too cold. They get gummy,” you force a smile, only fed by the thought of what comes after. Of what you’re going to do when he leaves.

Run.

🕊️

When Andy leaves, you’re in the kitchen tidying up. You left all the dishes in a stack to make a convincing show for him. You’ll be busy all day scouring the skillet and the fruit stuck to the inside of the pot, along with your plates and the cutlery. Oh and the mess you made of the counters.

The door closes but you don’t break your charade right away. You give it ten minutes. Fifteen, just to be sure. Then you tiptoe down the hall and look out the window. The tire tracks are already snowed over.

You don’t hesitate. You’ve never been more certain of anything in your life. This is your chance. You spin and race upstairs.

You search the closet and the dresser, everywhere for the bag you brought there. It’s gone. Along with all the clothes from your old life. All that was you. Andy took them along with everything else.

Whatever. You grab a few pieces of the more practical slant; turtlenecks, some leggings, a pair of jeans. Socks and underwear. You work quickly, with intent. Just enough to get out, not a lot. Not too much. As little as you can. You don’t want to keep too much that will remind you of this place.

You rush back downstairs after you change. You grab your tablet and message Dr. Kemp, the chat log still blank. You delete each message once he responds. You can’t be too careful.

‘He’s gone. When can you get here?’

His reply isn’t long; ‘ten minutes, been waiting a block away.’

‘I’ll be outside.’

You close the cover of the tablet and stare at it. You hover it over the countertop but stop yourself. No, you earned this. It’s yours. Andy never did pay you for the painting. Not in full.

You hug the tablet and go to retrieve the bag you found in the front closet. A tote bag with faded floral print. You don’t wonder where it came from. You don’t want to think too hard about him or this place. They’ll soon be long gone.

You pull on your boots and your coat. That’s all he’s left you of your former existence. You don’t suspect you would have them for much longer if you stay. You shudder and grip the fabric handles of the bag.

You open the front door and step out into the drift. The snow floats down in fluffy flakes. As you step off the porch, it collects on your lashes. You make slow progress, lifting your knees high as the unshoveled walk makes each step a task. As you come up to the curb, a distant rumble comes from down the avenue.

You shield your eyes against the steady snowfall and squint. You think it’s Dr. Kemp. You’re not sure. When you saw his car, it was dark and you were more focused on other things.

He rolls down the snow-carpeted road cautiously and pulls in the next driveway before turning around and coming up along the curb. He grins at you through the passenger window and the doors unlock with a loud thunk. You grab the handle and pull.

“Hey, sweetheart, I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Thanks, doctor, I… thank you. I…”

“You sounded scared, how could I say no?”

You nod and look over your shoulder at the house.

“Let me deal with Andy when the time comes,” he insists, “come on, it’s hell out here. Get in.”

You nod and haul your bag onto the floor ahead of you and put the tablet on top. You stop yourself before you release the device. You look at Dr. Kemp. He stares.

“You alright?” He asks.

“I forgot something,” you say as you let go of the tablet. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll be two minutes,” you hold up as many fingers, “promise.”

“I trust you, sweetheart,” he assures with a smile, “I’ll be here.”

You take and breath and close the passenger door gently. You whip around and stumble back up the walk, stepping into the holes you left on your way out. You burst inside, not carrying for the melting snow you leave in your stead or the undone dishes, or anything about this place. There’s only one last thing that needs to be done.

You take the stairs two at a time as you complete your final chore. You barrel back down and don’t bother with a final goodbye as you head back out. For once, you feel accomplished. Like you’ve done something and you don’t give a heck what Andy feels.

You don’t look back, you just keep going. You falter but not from doubt, only the snow. You get back to the car and rip the door open, climbing in with a heave. You fall into the seat as you snap the door shut. You lean your head back and sigh.

“I’m ready to go now,” you say.

“Great,” he shifts into gear, “put your seat belt on, sweetheart, the roads are awful.”

You do as he says as you catch your breath. Your skin is buzzing from more than just the cold. You fold your hands as you try to settle your nerves.

“Good girl,” Dr. Kemp praises, “we’ll be home soon.”

🕊️

It’s real once you walk through the front door. You look around at the home decor and nearly fall apart. The stringent, almost sterile walls of Andy’s house haunt you. It’s only then, with something to compare them to, that you realise how much you dreaded them. How much you despised them.

You look around and take in every inch. The brown leather bench beside the door, a tall coat rack on the other side of the entryway, a mat for your snow laden boots, and a runner rug with the honey coloured curlicues on a deeper shade of brown. There’s a faint smell of cedar in the air.

“Ann made up the guest room for you,” he says, “and the kids are at school so they shouldn’t be a bother.”

You stop short, your hands on the collar of your coat. You look at him, dull with shock. Your cheeks tremble as you gulp.

“Ann… your…”

“My wife, yeah,” he says coolly, “she’s excited to meet you.”

“She is?” You blink, “I uh…” your eyes flit all around, “I’m so sorry, this isn’t–”

“It’s fine,” he intones, “really. She understands how vulnerable some of them a safe space.”

It’s like a slap in the face. You don’t know what you expected or why you expected it. He’s your doctor, you’re his patient, a crazy person. How did you forget that?

You glance down at his hand, his left hand. There’s a gold ring on his finger. It wasn’t there before. Not in your sessions, not at Thanksgiving. Never. Why wasn’t he with his family during the holidays?

“I thought I heard the door,” a woman appears from the other end of the hall, “oh, this must be her.”

You bat your lashes, fighting to hold yourself together. Don’t cry yet.

“Uh, hi,” you squeak as she struts down the hall.

“Hello, hon,” the tall blonde pulls you into a hug as you cower.

“Ann,” Kemp clears his throat.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I forget–” she lets you go, “I didn’t scare you, did I?”

You only shake your head. Your eyes are dry and itchy. You can only look back at her before slowly glancing at Steve. Your cheeks twinge and your lips pinch. He never told you about her. Why would he?

You feel like your chest is empty. There’s an icy whirlwind inside of you, flowing through you, sending a shiver up your spine. This is the worst thing you've ever felt. What is it?

“Ann,” Kemp says, “she's had a long night.”

“Oh, of course, you take her up to the guest room,” she backs off, “you take your time, hon, do whatever you need to do.”

You nod and mouth a thank you, unable to get any noise out. She goes back the way she came and you turn, focusing on undoing your coat. What have you done?

“I guess I should've warned you, huh? What with your… issues,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Just let me know if it gets too crowded around here.”

“Okay,” you croak.

You bend to wiggle free of your boots. You don't know what to do. You just want to be alone.

He leads you through the house. Into a cozy front room and to a staircase curled up to the second floor. You follow behind him, the tote bag dangling from your grasp.

He opens a door as he faces you. You try to hide your emotions but you can barely keep from frowning. He rests his hand on the door frame.

“This is you. I'm down at the very end,” he points over his shoulder, “if you need anything…”

“I'm sorry.”

“Sorry? For…”

“Coming here.”

“Sweetheart, I wouldn't say yes if it was a problem,” he coos as he reaches to caress your shoulder, “I wouldn't be a very good doctor if I don't make sure my patients are safe, huh?”

“I guess not,” you murmur.

“Look, you just get yourself situated. Try to relax. I know a lot's happened but you're strong. You can do this,” he leans in, “I believe in you.”

He kisses your forehead and you wince. His hand goes to your chin as he pulls away. You stare up at him.

“I meant it when I said you're special,” he hums.

“I…” you turn your head away from him, slipping free, “I need to lay down.”

“Sure,” he smirks and drops his hand, “I'll check in when I can.”

You turn into the bedroom, slouching through as you sense him behind you. You feel him watching, as if waiting for something. You refuse to look back.

“Just relax, sweetheart,” he purrs, “you're exactly where you need to be.”

The door shuts and you gasp as the bag falls from your hand. What does he mean?

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #don't speak #steve kemp #fresh #au #library au #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #defending jacob

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nereidprinc3ss · 6 months ago

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I just know Spencer smells so scrumptious‼️

What do u think he would smell like or maybe (if does wear cologne) which one he would wear?

WARNING I GET WAY TOO INTO A HEADCANON AGAIN⚠️

oh let’s discuss bc people are always talking abt the smell of his cologne in fanfics but i don’t rlly see him wearing cologne. he gets migraines easily and often scents (artificial especially) can trigger that. also some people with asd dislike perfumey stuff because it can be sensorially overwhelming. then again im sure some also enjoy it bc of the olfactory stimulation, idk

BUT yeah in terms of spencer i don’t see him being someone who is conscious enough of how other people perceive him to intentionally wear cologne every day. especially younger spencer. i think he would smell nice but like… just clean. like bro isn’t dousing himself in dior sauvage or axe body spray every day, yk?

later seasons spencer tho seems to develop a bit more of a mature personal style and i can see him having a cologne that he uses every once in a while. but it would kinda permeate everything in his room and linger on his clothes so he wouldn’t need to wear it all the time for you to be able to smell it

i think for himself he’d pick something more gender neutral. im also envisioning him as someone who’s likelier to pick a scent that evokes a place or a feeling, like storm over a jasmine field, which is a demeter fragrance i think?

i can also DEFINITELY see him being into the mason margiela replica scents. like whispers in the library, by the fire, or my personal favorite, jazz club!! i own all of those but jazz club is so him.

i’ll attach a photo of the bottle under the cut and talk abt why it’s spencer reid coded bc im crazy and ive thought abt it a lot

first of all it’s classy af looking and smelling and also very like simple and elegant so i think the aesthetic of the bottle would appeal to him lol like the twine around the top?? the color? would fit so well in his apartment

also ik you must be thinking why would he want to smell like liquor and cigars but it doesn’t RLLY smell like that, it’s kind of like this really rich warm ambery sweet smoky musky situation. it’s got some pepper notes too. it’s just so fucking good and it really does give the vibes of being in like an old jazz club made of dark oak and brick and people are smoking and drinking and being lit but it doesn’t rlly make you smell like booze. it’s giving that one scene where he goes to meet ethan in new orleans. it’s also not overwhelming but it does make a bit of a statement, it’s a unique scent. idk EYE think it’s sexy, i wear it when i go out w friends if i wanna be sexy and mysterious, it IS a VERY sexy and mysterious scent imo

anyway i got WAY too into this i’m sorry😭 i feel like jeremy fragrance

but i highly recommend it

and also i LOVE a unisex scent and am very passionate abt the fact that i think spencer would lean toward that as opposed to like versace eros or some other hyper macho bull jizz cologne. i think he’s so hot for that (something i decided he does just now😁)

#asks #headcanons

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mushroominaforest · 2 months ago

Text

I keep drawing stuff for the ask blog and then realizing i can't post it lmao (by "this keeps happening" i mean its happened three times I'm just dramatic)

look. look. the siblings au was just me having fun writing a story, and then one day i drew and posted one (one) meme about it to my account with twelve (twelve) followers, and it somehow blew up??? so i kept posting more about the au cause... people liked it! exciting! and now i have 321 followers and i have NO idea how that happened lmao but uh it did.

the thing is, the story and the canon is pretty dark in a few parts (obviously lol) and I'm worried about posting any more-in-detail angst and a few things i havent even mentioned bc i dont know how much i trust you guys to listen to trigger warnings. no offence of course!!!! im sure you guys are super responsiple and stuff, i just want to be careful, human curiousity is a very powerful thing and i know ive probably looked at a few under the cut things that I knew would upset me just because i was curious lol.

is that just me??? let me know if it is bc im clueless lmao

i just wanna know like. if i were to make a post on the ask blog with the comic under the cut and a "tw suicide" or something on top, would people actually lisen to that and be careful? I'm always worried that people will ignore those

#i could always change the canon #just be like “that never happened dont even worry about it” lol #i tend to be cautious around those things #like for instance ive posted comics with warnings about Bountiful and her horrible-ness on them #but ive never shown her actually hurting Inv or Saint (at least i dont think so my memory sucks lol)#just heavily implied or referenced it #i just wanna be careful!!!#so i try to avoid stuff thats like very obviously going to trigger someone if they saw it #but just like #if i did #because ive gotten a few asks regarding darker things #would you guys listen to any tw i put on the top #do tws actually work im not sure #(weird midnight ramble lmao sorry)#hmmm actually it is later than midnight #i should go to sleep

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upat4amwiththemoon · 1 year ago

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Love your writing. Could you do one that R is Maya Bishop’s sister and is training for the Olympics. She is stressed about her Olympic tryout the following week and is hoping her sister can calm her fears and nerves. Reader kind of barges into her sister’s apartment with very bad timing catching Maya and Carina in a heated discussion which is a little triggering to R bc Lane is being terrible and placing all sorts of pressure in R. Maya and Carina help Reader calm down and feel better.

Under water

Summary: It’s hard to be your father’s favorite child when your sister has an olympic gold metal.

Pairing: Maya Bishop x sister!reader, Marina

Warnings: I have zero knowledge of the Olympics or swimming as a competitive sport, Lane is an abusive father

Word count: 874

a/n: What’s your passion? Swimming. I really like swimming.

masterlists | guidelines

Y/N is running towards Maya and Carina’s house, having lost her car privileges, because according to her father, she needs to use every minute of her life to train for the Olympic tryouts. Even going to her sister’s house.

Her legs are screaming at her to stop, or even slow down her pace, but she can’t afford to slack off. She needs to be the best, just like her sister. You need to be more like your sister. Your sister was a lot more serious about this than you are. Did you know your sister has a gold metal from the Olympics? The sentences run through her head as she pushes herself to speed up on the last meters. Considering the way her father uses her sister’s success against her, it’d be easy to become bitter to her too, but Y/N loves her sister. Maya is her safe place. Has been since she was born.

Panting slightly, Y/N comes to a stop in front of Maya and Carina’s house. She does a few harsh knocks on the door, but decides to just open the door with an extra key she got from the couple. She steps inside and closes the door behind her, immediately hearing loud voices coming from the living room.

“Hello?” She calls out, not wanting to walk in on anything she shouldn’t be a part of, but no one seems to hear her. Y/N starts walking towards the shouting, her heartbeat fastening with every step.

“You know that isn’t how it works!” Maya’s loud voice boom through the house. “I can’t just-” the sentence gets cut off by a groan.

In the logical part of her brain, Y/N knows Maya is nothing like their father, but the way she sounds when angry is so similar to him. Her breath hitches as a bang comes from the living room. All the memories of Lane throwing something her way coming up. “Shit.” She mumbles, leaning against a wall to calm down.

“I can’t talk about this right now.” Carina sighs, walking out of the living room, but stopping the moment she sees Y/N in their house. “Maya!”

“What n- oh.” Maya stares at Y/N, instantly worried of her. “What are you doing here?” She sets her hand on her arm.

“I was just really stressed about the tryouts and dad, so I wanted to come here, but then you two were fighting and I didn’t know what to do, and I-“

“Hey, hey, hey,” Maya pulls her into an embrace, “it’s okay. You’re okay.” She rubs her back. “I’m sorry you heard that.”

“What did your father do?” Carina asks, also setting a hand on Y/N’s shoulder once she pulls away from the hug. Maya glances at her girlfriend at the question, but doesn’t comment on it.

Y/N shrugs, leaning to the touch. Ever since Maya started dating Carina, the Italian has become another safe place for her. “Telling me to train a lot, gives me no breaks, yells,” she hesitates for a moment, “sometimes he throws stuff.”

Maya and Carina look at each other, the latter has a look on her face that Y/N can’t decipher. It looks like the subject makes the couple tense. “Has anything hit you?” Y/N avoids eye contact at the question, which makes Maya ask it again, “has anything hit you? Are you hurt?”

“It’s not a big of a deal. He wants me to do well on the tryouts and get a gold medal like you did.”

Rubbing her forehead, Maya starts pacing. ”It is a big deal, honey.” Carina’s hand goes up to brush her hair. She has a worried look on her face. “He is abusive.”

“Carina.” Maya speaks up. “He just- he wants us to succeed. He is the reason I have my medal.”

“Don’t say that stuff in front of her.” Carina whispers, as if Y/N wouldn’t be able to hear her. “He is hurting your little sister, Maya. He hurt you. He is not a good father.” The conversation is starting to get heated again. Clearly this was the subject of their earlier fight too. “I know you don’t want to accept it yet, but you have to agree that she’d be better off with us.”

Y/N frowns. Were they talking about her? “We’ll talk about it later.” Maya mumbles, turning back to her sister, clearly ending the conversation. “Carina cooked some lasagna earlier today, you want some?”

“Dad said not to eat too much.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Maya shakes her head and pulls Y/N to the kitchen. “Well, I say you eat some lasagna. And then the three of us can watch a movie, okay? You’ll sleep over this night.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Carina speaks up, having followed them to the kitchen. “We’ll paint our nails and do our hair, have a pillow fight,” she laughs, “all the things they do in those American films, right?”

“Okay.” Y/N nods with a smile, already feeling like a small weight has been lifted. She knows it’ll all come back when she goes back home, but for now, she’ll enjoy Maya and Carina’s company.

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gremlin-girly · 1 month ago

Text

Flufftober Day 8

@flufftober

Prompt(s): Chopping/ piling wood

Pairing: pre-serum!Steve Rogers x Lumberjill!Reader

Warnings/Tags: FLUFF, kind of a meet-cute?, mentions of coughing/retching/nausea, pre-serum Steve, descriptions of asthma attack, muscled reader (ofc), nicknames (sweetheart, love, dame,)

Summary: When Steve has an asthma attack on a training drill and gets lost, he meets a friendly axe-wielding dame who takes his breath away. Word count: 1.6k

I hope you enjoy! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated 💜

A/N: I though of lumberjill!reader as soon as I saw the prompt. I know we see a lot of lumberjack!Steve or Steve chopping wood (bc of that scene in AOU) but as someone who did a whole project on the Lumberjills of WW2 in school - I couldn't NOT make a fic about one. We will just ignore that Steve never went to the UK pre-serum though x

I've linked articles here and here on the history of lumberjills that I recommend reading if you have the chance - Love, Grem x

Prev | Next | Masterlist

The ship over to England had been awful. The ship's interior was mostly barren and icy cold, which had triggered Steve's asthma. He'd tried hacking quietly in a corner, left to his own devices trying to sketch, but it wasn't long before he was on the deck spewing over the side of the ship - much to the amusement of some of his brother's in arms.

Within the last two hours of the trip, the waves became rockier and more volatile. Despite the size of the ship, it was still knocked about mercilessly in the sea. Now, it wasn't just Steve whose stomach churned. However, the rain outside had everyone stuck to the confines of the ship; soldiers too close, too hot and too sick to complain.

And that was only the beginning.

The rain never seemed to stop, even after leaving the ship. Everything Bucky had said about Britain in his letters was right; it was just grey and muddy. Steve's boots sank far into the mud, slipping and squelching along trying to keep up with the thrum of tired soldiers. Still, despite the sickness, despite the rain, despite everything; he was right where he wanted to be.

The rain never let up.

It was cold and humid, running in the mud through a forest trail somewhere in England. Steve was soaked to the bone and the wet, damp humidity was playing havoc with his lungs. At first, he tried powering through it. Pretending it wasn't happening as his chest tightened and he wheezed for breath.

When he couldn't ignore the tightness around his throat anymore, he'd already fallen behind. He hated this. He hated being sick all the time, the suffering, the pain. The struggling to keep up with everyone else around him. His chest tightened again and it felt like his lungs were being twisted and wrung out like a damn dishcloth.

He was supposed to be training under a British Colonel this afternoon. At least that's what he'd told himself. One who had a reputation for churning out the best soldiers. This drill was one of the first tests all of the privates and officers were put through to see if they could make the cut. Steve had stupidly tried to convince himself he could have done it. Again.

He wasn't sure where he'd turned off to either. He'd stopped to retch and catch his breath and when he'd started to jog again he'd managed to somehow take a wrong turn. Which wasn't helped by the fact he felt another attack brewing in his lungs, and had to slump against a tree to take deep, ragged breaths and cough violently, until it passed. Thankfully, the rain had stopped. "You okay?"

Steve was too busy coughing to respond but his bleary eyes looked up to see someone towering over him with an axe over their shoulder. He sucked in a harsh breath, still desperately trying to breathe. The person leaned closer, voice low and cool:

"You a nazi?" The axe slipped from their shoulder, the blade glinting viciously in the light. Steve's eyes widened and he threw his hands out quickly blinded by panic.

"American!" He wheezed, coughing again. "American!"

His palms fell against the forest floor, damp moss and twigs biting into his skin. The figure leaned back, re-adjusting the axe onto their shoulder. "Oh, sorry sweetheart. Must'a given you quite a fright."

Steve looked up again, blinking away tears from the coughing fit. The voice, now that he was paying attention, was a little too high to belong to a man. In the gentle sunlight that cascaded through the trees, Steve's mouth fell open as the sun caressed your face. You were dressed in overalls and boots caked in mud, some even on your face, with your hair tied behind you. You're smiling down at him, taking in his expression, but seemingly not offended. You looked... beautiful.

"Never seen a Lumber Jill before, have ya love?" You chuckle, offering him your free calloused hand. Steve looks at it dumbly before taking it and you tug him to his feet. You don't expect him to be so light, and he doesn't expect you to be so damn strong; so Steve ends up colliding into you, mumbling flustered apologies.

"S'alright," You chuckle, patting his shoulder as he wheezes again. Steve's face is red from coughing and embarassment. He feels worse now that there's a beautiful dame in front of him and he can barely speak without coughing and sputtering, not to mention the fact that you're helping him. "Come on, let's get you some water."

You jerk your head behind you and lead him to a stump with a backpack leaned against it. There's some neat piles of freshly chopped wood, tied together tightly with black ropes. You place your axe against the stump and rummage in the bag for a moment before handing Steve a flask of water. He mutters his thanks again, his eyes drifting over you as you stand tall again, hands on your hips. You're about his height, maybe a little smaller, but where Steve is lean and thin, you're slender and muscular. Steve can't help but stare at the way your biceps strain at the plaid shirt sleeves you've rolled up.

What a dame.

"Thanks," Steve hands back the flask and you take a swig yourself. "You said you're a - lumber Jill?"

You nod, screwing the top back onto the flask. "One of many in the Women's Timber Corps."

"The -" Steve blinks at you. "Women's Timber Corps? I haven't heard of-"

You wave your hand, cutting him off. "I didn't expect you too. Just another thing we're doing while the boys are away." You give Steve a wry smile, picking up your axe and chopping logs in two with ease and he finds himself feeling a little tongue-tied all over again. "How come you're all the way out here?"

Steve begins to explain the events of the morning and you listen with rapt attention, nodding your head in between soft grunts as you raise your axe. Once he finishes, you look over at him, free hand on your side again and leaning into your axe hilt.

"It's quite a ways back to the barracks by foot." You comment and Steve shrugs.

"I'm a soldier. If I can't even walk back there, I'll be sent home for sure. It was hard enough to get in in the first place." He grumbles, rolling a stone under his foot miserably.

"Who said anything about walking?" You quip, smirking at him. Steve's eyebrows shoot up into his cap when he looks over at you. You nod your head to your right at a dense patch of woods. "I've got the car through there. Let me finish this last pile and I'll drop you back on the way home."

Steve can't quite believe his ears, or his luck, but his momma raised him to be a gentleman. "I couldn't ask you to do that."

You raise an eyebrow at him, smirking slightly. "You're not asking, love. I'm offering. I've got to drop off some piles to the barracks anyway."

Steve grins softly at you and his eyes sparkle. "Let me help get the piles onto the car - at least."

"Sure. Thank you." You continue to chop the last of your logs, watching Steve closely as he dragged two of the four piles of wood past the treeline; huffing and puffing as he went. You had to bite back a grin more than once. Watching him soldier on was incredibly endearing. Although, the look on his face when you joined him at the car towing two of the log piles behind you at once was priceless.

The drive to the barracks was filled with chatter as you and Steve discussed your lives before, and during, the war. When you found out he was an artist, you demanded he bring you sketches when he was next in the town, to which he'd excitedly agreed.

Pulling up outside the heavily trodden gates, you killed the engine and looked over to Steve with a smile. "You better head inside whilst the weather holds."

"Yeah and thanks," Steve gushes, carefully climbing out of the car. He picked up one of the piles in his arms, leaning back to take the weight. You could just about make out the tip of his cap behind the logs and stifled a giggle.

"Don't worry about it, love." You call back to him, seeing his legs wobble a little in the mud and his ears go pink. Your own heart flutters at the sight. "Go and take those straight to Colonel L/N."

"Why? Do you know him?" Steve calls back over the roar of the engine as you restart it. That was the name of the colonel he had been so convinced he could work under. The one who had the reputation oof being one heck of a scary guy but had his soldier's respect. Steve had been unsure how he'd be reprimanded for getting lost, let alone failing to finish the drill. Thoughts of training under the colonel had pretty much dissipated.

"Yeah, he's my father." You chuckle, watching Steve almost do the splits, somehow managing to keep a hold of the wood. "Trust me, you won't be in trouble. If you tell him I sent you."

You drive away once Steve is back inside the barracks, knowing that when your father returned home that night, you would probably get an earful about sending Steve to him. However, you knew that once your father met him and saw that endurance, that drive, that spark you saw; he would help Steve become the best soldier Steve could ever hope to be.

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