#Coming out is never easy no matter how old you are
Note
May I request an Aventurine x Halovian!reader
No pressure, have a nice day, byee
[Runs]
ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ
synopsis - Aventurine was always a regular at the bar you worked at due to it's reputation and closeness to the casino he frequented. As the weeks flew by, you couldn't help but gain feelings for the blond gambler yet you refuse to do anything with them. Turns out, it only took a Seven and Seven to seal the deal with him.
pairings - aventurine x halovian! reader
content - pining, drunk! aventurine, sober confessions, gagged reader
warnings - alcohol, a couple cuss words, possibly ooc aventurine, i tried focusing on the halovian part i'm sorry--
⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙
Working in a renowned bar had its fair share of perks and flaws. The perks were the free drinks you were able to make for yourself, the amount of tips you’d receive from dreamchasers, and lastly, the stories that you would hear from each and every individual. As for the flaws..you’d have to deal with drunk patrons who’d have no shame in flirting with you, getting a little too ambitious to where they don’t respect your personal space, and some of their messes (bar fights, vomit, etc…).
As common as these situations may be, you rarely have to go through them alone thanks to your coworkers and other helpful customers. These people as well as the regulars who frequent may be the sole reason why you decide to stick around, ignoring the pay and tips of course.
Currently, you are working the closing shift this time. You had always enjoyed working during the night, finding solitude in making drinks without having to run around all day. Although passing the time was difficult with the small number of customers, a slow night brought a moment of peace for your busy brain.
Hearing the familiar jingle of the bell signaling a customer snapped you out of your daze, putting down the wine glass you were just cleaning.
“Welcome, can I get you your usual, Mr. Aventurine?” You greeted, recognizing the familiar head of blond.
Aventurine was one of the bar’s regulars, always seeking out the place after he visited the casino he frequented. A gambler at heart, he truly knew how to swindle people of their valuables. And in this case, your heart.
Despite his flirtatious actions and compliments, you always maintained a healthy distance between the two of you, never wanting to get too close…
“You don’t have to be so formal.” Aventurine gave you a smug grin, brow raised in slight amusement. “But yes. You know me so well, don’t you, _____?”
And how badly that failed.
You knew you could never tell him your feelings, for you fear you misread between the lines and all you truly were was just a friend to the man. A simple-winged bartender who was easy to toy with.
You gave him a simple smile, preparing to make his drink. “I would hope so, you’ve been coming here for a couple of months now.”
There was a small pause.
You had heard Aventurine pulling out the stool from behind you, the crinkling of clothes as he took his seat at the bar. His gaze burned through your head, yet you focused on gathering the ingredients. Turning back around, you engaged in the process that you’ve performed numerous times.
“What have you been up to, Aventurine?” You spoke, attempting to ease the silence.
“Hmm, just some business matters with The Family. Other than that, I’ve been doing the same old thing.” He replied, toying with that chip he always had on him. You hummed in response, finishing up his drink.
“Seems a little troublesome. I’m glad this bar offers you a place to unwind.” Aventurine laughed.
“You know it.”
Sliding his drink over to him, you watched as he took it between his nimble fingers and swirled it around.
“What about you? Any patrons hitting on you again lately?” Aventurine chuckled as he took a sip of his drink. You rolled your eyes with a laugh.
“Of course, they always try to smooth talk their way into bagging a date with me. Which normally never turns out well for them.” You picked up the wine glass you had set down and resumed cleaning, humming along to the songs resonating throughout the bar. “Thankfully no one has tried putting their hands on me thanks to people like you coming to my aid.”
There were a few cases where customers were banned from the site due to harassment, where they would pull on your wings or fling your halo around. Those kinds of people were rare to come by, but your manager would happily deal with them by throwing them out to the streets.
“Don’t mention it, we are friends after all.” Aventurine waved you off, giving you a polite smile.
Friends.
You could only give Aventurine a smile of your own as your actions slowed.
-----
Some time had passed and the bar was nearing its closing time. Customers were long gone by now except for the blond gambler who lay slumped against the wooden counter. His gloved hand was propped up so he was supporting his head, his half-empty drink in the other. He looked a little rough.
With a concerned gaze, you put up the last chair and slowly walked over towards him. With a gentle shake, he stirred a little before his eyes met yours.
“Mr Aventurine?” You softly spoke, taking a step back to allow him some space. Aventurine rubbed at his face a bit, mumbling about something before returning his focus to you.
“Don’t call me that. S’too formal.” He grumbled, his brows furrowed. “Just call me Aven.”
Aventurine struggled to form a coherent sentence, his words were slurred together and he’d stumble over what he was saying. It was obvious that the man was drunk just by his speech and his request to call him a cute, little nickname. Seeing him behave this way made you feel a little warm but more so worried.
“Ah, ok… Er– Aven, we need to get you back to your hotel room. It’s getting late.” You took his finished glass and cleaned it, stacking it away with the other glasses on the shelves. Throughout the time you were cleaning, Aventurine just sat there and watched, eyes slowly blinking as he would occasionally sway from side to side.
After you had finished the last of your routine, you helped Aventurine stand from his seat, pushing the stool in with your foot. You struggled at first to get him past the door in the darkness, but eventually, the two of you made it outside. The cool night air made you shiver a little, but due to Aventurine’s body heat, it kept you warm throughout your walk.
“Aven..can you lead me to your hotel room?” You asked, eyes darting to his sluggish figure as he stumbled next to you.
“Mmno… I feel so dizzy…” Aventurine mumbled, leaning his head against your shoulder. His breath would fan against your wings, causing them to twitch in response which he’d giggled at. Sighing, you decided to direct him to your place instead as it seemed like he was a bit too drunk to remember his hotel room.
Fumbling with your door keys, you managed to get the door open with your free hand, nudging the door with your foot. Kicking off your shoes, you flipped on the light switch that way you didn’t trip over any furniture or items that could be lying around.
“We’re here. Make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll go get you some water.” Aventurine flopped onto the living room couch, clutching a pillow close to him as he sank into the plush furniture. You could hear him mumbling about something, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Grabbing a glass and filling it with cold water, you returned back to where he was and took a seat next to him.
“Here, you should drink some water, Aven.” You nudged the water towards him but he wouldn’t budge, turning you away. It took some time and effort but eventually, you were able to convince him to drink it.
It didn’t surprise you that he was dehydrated since he finished the entire glass, taking it from him and setting it aside.
“You feeling better?”
“...”
No response. You figured that he was tired and needed some sleep.
You moved to go get a blanket for him but a sudden weight pulled you back down onto the couch, trapping you. Shuffling around in a panic, you could see Aventurine’s blond strands in your peripheral vision, his hold tightening on you as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck near your wing.
“Aven! Are you–?” You were interrupted by a groan, his head burying further underneath your wing. You were afraid that your halo would poke him, so you angled yourself in a way that would be comfortable for the both of you.
“So warm…” He tiredly murmured, cradling you closer to him.
It was certainly unexpected but also a little inappropriate, you didn’t want him to get the wrong idea when he woke up. You tried wiggling your way out of his grasp but he wouldn’t move an inch, his hold only growing firmer around you.
“Stop moving around so much,” Aventurine grunted, cracking a single eye open as he peered down at you. You obeyed, but you were too flustered to even make eye contact with him so your wings had moved to guard your reddening face. You heard him make a sound of confusion, his arms moving to prod them away.
“Hey… Let me see your pretty face.” He huffed, finger tugging at your wings.
Pretty!?
Now you really didn’t want to make eye contact with him, your wings firmly remaining where they are.
“You need to get some rest, Aven. You’re drunk!” You protested, trying to swat his hands away. He pouted.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Aventurine…”
“No.”
“Aventurine!”
He rolled his eyes at you.
“Fine, I will, but you aren’t going anywhere.”
“Wh–”
Aventurine kept you in place in a spooning position so that way you had no escape from him. His face had resumed nuzzling into your hair this time, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo with a satisfied hum.
Your face was burning red at this point, stuck between wanting to escape his hold to staying where you are and living in your rom-com fantasy. You chose the latter.
With a defeated sigh, you made yourself comfortable. It looks like you’ll be here for a while…
-----
It had started to rain throughout the night, following into the next morning. The rain pelted against the glass windows of your house relentlessly, the sound putting your mind at ease. The smell of a familiar expensive cologne clouded your senses, reminding you of a blond gambler as you were about to drift back to sleep.
Wait. A familiar expensive cologne. A blond gambler.
Wait…
Your eyes flew back open, darting around the living room as you tried to locate Aventurine. The sound of a toilet being flushed and a door creaking open snapped your attention towards the bathroom, heart pounding in your chest as the memories from last night flooded back. You heard slow footsteps coming from the hallway, a small yawn coming from Aventurine as his eyes met yours.
“Oh hey, you’re awake. How was your sleep?” He casually asked, flashing you a small smile.
You sat there stunned, eyes blinking at him as he chuckled at your expression.
“Well, judging by the way you were clinging to me and your refusal for me to get up… I’d say you had an amazing good night's rest.” Aventurine’s smile morphed into a smug smirk, plopping down right next to you.
“Y-you–”
“Ah bup bup,” he shushed you, “I have a clue as to what happened last night. With my coat neatly folded up, my footwear being set next to the couch, my–” “Nothing happened!”
You interrupted, some of your feathers popping off due to the heart attack this stupid blond man was giving you. They had moved to cover your heated cheeks, leaving you an opening to look at the shit-eating expression Aventurine had on his face. You wanted to punch him right then and there, but you wouldn’t.
“Ohoh why so flustered? If you’re this embarrassed, then I can assume–” “No! You just passed out drunk on the couch and you refused to let me go! I-I would never do such a thing with a customer! Let alone if they’re drunk!” You cried, waving your arms in front of you. Aventurine pouted at you.
“Oh? And here I thought that I was special– that I meant something to you.” He dramatically sighed, falling back against the couch with an arm across his face.. “It seems that I read too far into your actions, dear _____.”
Your heart fluttered, confusion etched into your features at his words.
“Special? Reading too far into my actions? What do you mean?” You nervously chuckled, fiddling with your fingers.
Aventurine lifted his arm so it no longer covered his face, his magenta and cyan eyes piercing through your own with a gaze so intense it made you shiver. “I thought that it was obvious, _____.”
“What? What are you–”
Within a blink of an eye, he was now much closer to you. His hands which were no longer covered by his gloves gently tilted your chin up so you could look at him, his free hand interlocking with your own. You could feel the heat radiating off from your own face and his, growing hotter by the minute. You felt like you were going to overheat.
“I adore you a lot, _____.”
Yup, you were definitely going to overheat.
All you could do was gawk at him, mouth opening and closing as you struggled to get a word out.
“I-I–” Aventurine laughed, letting you go but still keeping your fingers interlocked.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. I already know the answer.” He hummed, pulling you up from your seat. “Now…”
“How about I take you out on a date? Consider it as an apology for having you take care of me all night.”
⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙
#writing➠#honkai star rail#hsr#aventurine x reader#hsr aventurine x reader#fluff#drunk! aventurine#halovian! reader#sober confessions#pining#longing
69 notes
·
View notes
Text
Just wanted to send out a reminder to all of you lovely people that you are precious, seen, and loved. That your life has value, even on the rough days. That your differences make you special, not monstrous (unless that's what you're aiming for- then you do you).
Remember that family doesn't have to be related to you by blood, and friends don't have to physically meet to matter. And if you need a hug, I've got a virtual one just for you. 🫂 ♥️
#hush speaks#I'm having a rough week due to some family issues#Coming out is never easy no matter how old you are#Can't sleep thanks to all that anxiety#Hopefully y'all are doing better#if not- hugs
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Biden is the best choice and he's actually really empathetic and reasonable but also you can't wait for a candidate that won't do genocide and war crimes because to become a presidential candidate you have to be willing to do that" see what you fundamentally don't understand is I'm not waiting for a candidate that won't do war crimes, because I know that. I cannot morally stomach this system, it's a joke to claim its democratic, and AMERICA DELENDA EST. this country is a plague on this Earth
#cipher talk#It's baffling because okay so you know how fucked up this is but you're behaving in a way that clearly indicates you want that this shambli#Disgusting empire to cling to life until after you're dead because it'd make /you/ uncomfortable and inconvenienced#To live through its destruction (the wealthier classes and more privileged experience lesser material changes in state collapse so long as#They aren't too highly ranked/involved in politics. A Sri Lankan wrote an article specifically addressing Americans about this)#It's so dehumanizing! People's blood is so cheap to you! You've just accepted its inevitable that genocide will happen!#Because of how the US operates! You can see no other future! It hardly matters to you!#You say this like the death of Palestinians of Yemenis of Syrians is someone else's dropped ice cream cone#You understand why people hate this country and you understand we deserve it but it just. Hardly matters to you#It feels like madness to watch this. It's disgusting#I keep thinking- it'd be so easy for you to justify my people being killed if violence broke out and it was in your favor#It's unlikely because. Well. America loves 'the church of the martyrs'#But you'd do it if that was favorable. You wouldn't think twice. You might feel a twinge in your heart but that's all#Because we aren't people to you!#We aren't all that important! Not important enough for you do anything more than 'well let's vote a blue in and do some protests'#What's a protest worth if you perpetuate the system and can't see a way out and don't try for a way out?#That's killing a man then putting flowers on his casket. It's /perverse/.#You get used to the idea that Africans die that West Asians die and that's just the way of the world. My g-d do you understand anything??#I watch necrosis take hold my parts of my culture and I watch every good person I know be ground to dust under a military regime#I talk to my friend who got drafted and is trans and may never come out because if they do they can get arrested as a 'prostitute'#I watch the wild hope for the future I was introduced to over radio at 9 years old wither#I watch people risk it anyway because just past the fence they can see they know there are people there#I watch my neighbor to the south crumble and weep because our hands are bloody and it's in part because we bloodied them for the west#And you just think that's how things are.#Fascist white death cult mindset
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
thinking abt lore at ... (checks watch) ... 4 in the morning
#{ i swear i have replies drafted + sb coming out on the switch RGHGGFHH!!!! }#{ anyway. so like. }#{ from the perspective that book canon is canon; even tho i hate ggy; i keep thinking abt it as i replay sb }#{ specifically the bits in the story where g.lam freddy SPECIFICALLY reacts to ggy's name being thrown around }#{ the story at least implies (imo) that g.lam f.red was always meant to be a protector for him. but like... }#{ taking gregorys 'role' into account...thats not Great lol }#{ im watching old astrals.piff vids in the bg as i replay too and- }#{ -''i think freddy's a fake friend. he only cares about [gregory].'' }#{ i hate to say it but that tracks really well if you account for the events in ggy }#{ if greggy boi hacked glamf.red with the intent to have a guardian then like... }#{ it makes sense that his reactions to his friends getting murked are so? downplayed ig? }#{ freddy never reacts. not even once. and it would have been SO easy to give him something; even a voice line of realization }#{ but theres just nothing. }#{ i care the father/son bond between fred and greggy SO much but that always felt off to me ig?? }#{ no matter how much freddy cares abt his son; i really dont think that should negate his feelings for his friends }#{ i listen to ''i miss him.'' and like. the difference between that and his nonreaction to his friends getting decommed is so jarring }#{ but yeah im. just having thoughts. }#🎬 || time for bear. (ooc.) || 🎬#🎬 || tear the pieces up and burn the shreds. (delete later.) || 🎬
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.
(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)
it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it
...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..
Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.
I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.
(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")
“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.
“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”
The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.
I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?
I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.
Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.
Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.
So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.
Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!
Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol
What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.
I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.
Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.
Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.
How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’
i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.
I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.
I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”
….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.
No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.
If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.
His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.
We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.
Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.
You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.
The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.
And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.
You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.
Give a heads up.
Something.
But don’t. kill. the media.
The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.
Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.
I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.
It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.
Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.
If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.
And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.
Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.
the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.
The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.
Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.
Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.
If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.
•
Muting notifs
#artists on tumblr#Artistic#digital art#art history#anthropology#humanity#art discussion#art theory#skit yells
12K notes
·
View notes
Text
(1)Learn the rules before you break them + Gather proper references
(2) Understand what you want to break and how
(3) Can't do it? Find someone who can
(4) It's going to look really bad for a while
(5) Have fun with it!
(1) -Yes, I am that kind of artist. Yet, not in the conventional way. I encourage people to go in guns blazing when it comes to drawing something new, then coming out analyzing what they know, and what they need to learn more of right away.
-Here, I broke down the anatomical pieces of Nour and Narinder's face with the same labels so you guys can understand this weird invisible pattern that I follow in my work. Doing this with any animal you're attempting to draw greatly improves your line confidence when drawing different face shapes. Also understanding the biological function for why animals look a certain way helps you keep consistency.
(3) Time to throw any artistic guilt you have for heavily referencing people's art OUT THE WINDOW and start ANALYZING PEOPLE'S WORK YOU WANT TO BE LIKE✨ I've always done this, having a reference of someone else's amazing work right next to my own drawing so I can try and understand how they make their magic work! No shame, no embarrassment, nada. Pure, unadulterated will and spite that I would be just as good as the artist who made me so motivated and happy with their work! I couldn't figure out how to make Nour's face both sheep-like, and humanly expressive, so I looked at a LOT of Zootopia and old Disney art for help!
(2) With how I draw narilamb, I'm still working on it (as you can see) but I wanted to break Narinder's face to be fluffier and slimmer, while Nour's face would be shorter and flatter. If you look at it for too long, it's absolutely going to look weird, in the way that if you look at Anna from Frozen for too long she starts looking really weird. The anatomy isn't meant to be correct or consistent, it's meant to convey the emotion and energy I want out of the characters in that moment. If you're able to properly get that across, then you don't need to think about how broken something looks, as long as your eye is happy enough to trick your brain into thinking what you're seeing is canny.
(4) Yeah, I hate this part too. It's going to look like shit at first. I can't even look at my art from a few months ago when I was figuring out their designs... God, so fucking ugly. If it weren't for the shittiness of those drawings, I would have never gotten here! Wading through the "trust the process" stage always really sucks, but it's absolutely worth the relief of when you finally get something to look right.
(5) Art is work, yes. It's stressful, it's long, it's straining, its draining, it's exclaiming, blah blah blah. But, I try to keep my art FUN. If I find my artwork becoming slow as I depressingly drag my pen over my tablet, I'm failing. You MUST keep spirit and life in your work. The spirit of emptiness or the life of sadness can have a very meaningful place in art, but those can only exist with keeping work light, easy, and fun! If you're stressing how a specific thing looks or how you can't get something to look right no matter what, FUCK IT. Draw something to bring the flavor back in your work! I'm kind of rambling, but just, HAVE FUN!✨️ Be messy, scream, laugh, slash canvases, throw paint, smash sculptures, tear apart books, GO CRAZY
#liseysart#illustration#cotl fanart#cotl lamb#cotl narilamb#cotl narinder#cotl#cotl art#i really REALLY need to work on how i draw narinder haha!#when i feel stumped#i watch videos that make me laugh to bring my spirit back
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Yandere! Crazy ex boyfriend
tw: female reader, non - con, heavy degradation, slut-shaming, abuse/violence, mockery of depression, suicidal ideation, obsessive behavior, death threats, dark
It's 2 a.m. and you can't sleep - you keep turning and burying your head into the soft, warm pillow, but something is off. The moon is too bright, coming in from the gap between your heavy curtains. The crickets outside are too loud, playing around and singing the same old melody over and over again. The static silence of the old radio tucked under the drawers is too repetitive, too predictable. All in all, you can feel it in your bones; something is wrong. Very, very wrong.
You hear the steps next. That sinister laughter - getting louder and louder, someone screaming at the top of their lungs, the echo flooding through the thin walls of your small shared flat. Someone's fist is gripping the lock with uneccessary cruelty as if trying to knock it out of the handle. The key falls down in one sharp motion, and your heart stops completely once the door opens with a squeaky, familiar bang - it still makes you jump even after all those months.
"Aww, baby!" The man exclaims, leaning against the door. You're not sure if you are hallucinating due to the countless hours of lost sleep, or there is actually smoke coming out of his old black trenchcoat. You're not even sure if he's trully here, or if this is yet another nightmare. "You didn't bother with locks this time!" He continues, smiling with childlike glee - but you know him too well. He's never peaceful. He's never cheerful. Any indication of happiness the monster exhibits is meant to confuse and trick his prey, and you're not falling for his tricks again. You already got burnt one too many times.
"Does that mean you missed me?" He tilts his head, almost pouting at you. He's all disheveled - a total wreck. The curly, unruly hair you once loved to caress and play with now just seems shaggy and unkept, sticking out like an explosion. His eyes are dark, well, darker, bloodshot, barely recognizable from the warm pots of honey that used to make you melt against him. He's lost weight, yet weirdly enough seems to have gained some muscle. You can't help, but think that it simply looks weird, unnatural even. Adam, the one you remember, was never strong - he was never threatening, never even raised his voice at you. But that was years ago in the sweet, distant dreams of the past, and that boy had died the moment you two moved in together. That's when your hell trully began.
"Were you trying to give me easy access, baby? Hm?" He smirks, interrupting your stream of consciousness. If you were unsure of his physicallity, of his existence, it's bright clear now - because you can never mistake that taunting, humiliating curve to his voice, the one he only uses when he's mad. Really, really mad. "Knew I would be back?"
You take a deep breath, slowly nodding along - maybe if you play nice, he'd just go away. Maybe this time you won't end up in cuts and bruises, all memories, good or bad, completely wiped off your drugged out hazy brain.
"Of course you did." Your ex boyfriend humms in satisfaction, taking a single step towards you - and it makes you tremble all over, no matter how much you wish you could remain calm and collected at the face of Death himself. "Because I told you so, no?" He clenches his teeth, raising his head so his eyes would meet yours. You feel like a deer caught before a trigger guard with an unstable trigger, one second away from being shot in the heart. "I told you-" He steps closer. "That I'll be back-" Another step. "Didn't I, princess?"
You nod again, unable to produce a sound. You almost wish he brought his gun so this little torture session would end quicker. Almost.
"Aww, look at you trying so hard to please me. It's adorable, baby." The man coos, his knee sliding across the edge of your bed. Fear takes a hold of your lungs, squeezing them in until you feel like you're seeing stars - and then Adam climbs on top of you. It all happens so quickly - one moment he's far away, and then he's towering over you, his hot breath ghosting over your sweaty neck, baby hairs sticking out with shivers. You can't shake the terrifying, unescapable feeling that you've been here before. That you somehow always end up underneath him, begging for your life - for mercy he won't ever grant you.
"I wonder where all that enthusiasm was when you decided to run on me." The white part of his eyes suddenly illuminates, brows raised together - he looks deranged. "Huh?" He looks at you, expecting an answer, yet you can't think of one. Your brain is turning to mush, consumed by raw panic - but why does it matter? Whatever you say he'll find a way to use against you. "Answer me, you fucking bitch!" He hisses, voice dropping to a diabolical whisper as his fist snaps around your throat like a metal collar. This seems to break off your stupor, and you open your mouth, ready to yell at whoever is still awake.
"Don't you dare fucking scream, cunt." Adam grips your jaw with one hand, crushing your cheeks into each other. "If I hear a single word come out of that filthy little mouth of yours, I am going to slit your fucking throat." His lips twist in a big sadistic grin you would have wanted to punch had you had the strength to move your arm around. Instead you whimper, defeated. Even after everything, your stupid self preservation instinct won't let you die - so it sacrifices the only thing you have left, your dignity. "And then in the morning your little friends will find you drowning in your own blood." He lowers his face, cold dead lips tracing the rough lines of your collarbone.
"A pretty picture for sure." He bites his lower lip, imagining it for just a second. "Bu-ut I know that even a depressed, suicidal little attention whore like you wouldn't want her friends to be sad." The man adds teasingly, and you can feel the bile back up into your stomach, burning and acidic. You may actually throw up all over him if you're not careful. And then he'd kill you for sure. "I mean, you seem to care for these pesky bugs oh-so much. It'd be a pity to force them to clean up your remains-"
"N-no, that's not true. I don't care about them, I only care about you!" You lie through your teeth, hot, salty tears pricking your eyes as you deny the love you have for the only people who care about you - the ones who basically saved you from a life of abuse and suffering. But apparently nothing good lasts, not when it comes to you. "Adam, I only love y-"
He backhands you - the slap echoes through the roof. Ouch.
"Don't say-" Your ex boyfriend grunts, roughly shoving you down. You take a shallow breath, letting the sting settle in. It's going to leave a red ugly handprint all over your cheek - and yet you stupidly thought your little confession was going to make him happy. Your anchors, the straws that used to buy you time, howerer rare and far in between, are all gone now. You used them up. You've run out of time, out of trick, out of will to keep fighting.
But you know he'll never make good on his threats. He'd never actually kill you - he doesn't love you enough to rid you of this miserable obsession that ties you together. And yet you tremble every time you feel the graze of his knife against your skin - you cower whenever he raises his hand. And you break down when he holds you close, hoping, praying that this time his embrace would prove just suffocating enough for you to stop breathing all together. It never does.
"Don't say you love me. You don't love me." Adam hisses in your ear, venom dripping off each word. "And I don't even care if you love me." He turns you around, pushing your face into your pillow - muffling your cries into weak, hiccuping sobs. "You're nothing." He swallows, averting his gaze to your lower body - yanking your shorts down with little concern as to whether they'd rip or not. "You amount to nothing, you're lower than dirt. You're just a fucked up little bitch." The man keeps mouthing off, and you can't decide what hurts more - his nails digging into your hips, or the razor sharp insults. " I never want you to forget that you deserve everything I give you."
You cry out as his massive length enters you with absolutely no preparation. It hurts - you're dry and it chaffs against your walls with nothing to make it slide freely, bruising your cervix. Your muscles are trying to push the foregin object out, but it keeps pushing in and out of you in forceful uniform thrusts. Between the waves of sharp and stinging-hot pain you manage to form a coherent thought - and you're surprised. Surprised that the man is even able to stay hard when all he feels right now is anger. Not love or affection, not even lust. Just anger. Surprised your body is still going even after your mind has given up. Surprised that, even despite all your protests and agony, you are growing used to this.
"I gave you everything." Adam start off again, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "Everything - but you're too much of a selfish whore to see." He pulls your hair back so you'd face him from beneath - then he slaps you with all force. "I want to mess up that pretty little face of yours." His hand connects to your cheek once again. You know you'll wake up all puffy and blue tomorrow morning - if you even wake up. "I want you so goddamn ugly no one wants you anymore." He pulls you in by your shirt, smashing his lips against yours with a brutal force - as if he's trying to become one with you, and break your face at the same time. "I want you so ruined-" He kisses you again, teeth running into teeth - yet he's the one to bite you first. "And lonely that you have no one else to turn to."
"I want you broken." He pulls away just to stare into your empty eyes, voice now back to a whisper. "As broken as me."
#yandere#yancore#male yandere#male yandere x reader#yandere oneshot#yandere x you#yandere male x reader#yandere oc#yandere oc x reader#yandere smut
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE ━━ FA14.
being the wife to a formula one driver is hard, especially when they're far away.
( fernando alonso x wife!reader )
━━ one shot.
When you were ten, you baked with your grandmother for the first time and fell in love. With the flour up to your elbows, an apron two sizes too big looped twice around your waist, and your grandmother's sweet voice crooning along to Sergio Endrigo, she taught you the differences between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, that a pinch sometimes means two, and when it comes to cinnamon you can never have too much.
“My angioletto,” she called you, her little angel, “it doesn’t have to look pretty when it’s done. When I was younger, I made my husband, your nonno, the ugliest cookies you could imagine. But I put my love in it, and he loved me very much, and he ate every single one and for the rest of his years claimed they were the best cookies I ever made for him.”
She’d lifted you onto the stool at the counter, so you could peer down at the mangled mess of cinnamon rolls. “It may look odd on the outside, but it is just as delicious as the others, and you know what? It’s even more special because it was made by my granddaughter.”
She’d wrapped you up in her arms then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and laughing loudly and warmly when you tried to squirm out of her arms with a giggle of your own.
“One day, my angioletto, you will find someone who loves you with their entire heart, and it won’t matter how pretty your baking is, because they will eat it, and to them it will taste like heaven.” She’d pulled apart the cinnamon roll, looked you in the eye, and smiled— “Until that someone gets here, I will stand in.”
You ate the whole pan together, and neither of you cared that it ruined your appetite for supper or gave you a stomach ache a little while later.
She’d driven you home that night after the sun had set, and when you got to the little shop on the corner of the market square, a little storefront overgrown with ivy, she’d slowed to a cruise and pointed out where the old sign used to be— where there was just an off-color splotch where the walls around it had been bleached by the sun.
She had regaled you with another story of her time as a girl in the kitchen baking bread with the owner, as she did every morning before school in exchange for a few dollars a month, and then she told you, as she always did, that one day she’d buy it for herself and turn it back into the best bakery Italy had ever seen.
When you were twenty— a law school dropout, struggling to find your place in a world that didn’t seem to have any room for you— you bought the small shop on the corner of the market square, turned it into a bakery, and named it after your grandmother.
It was all on a whim, a result of what you're pretty sure was some quarter-life crisis brought on by feeling as lost as you were. Still, you were living out the lingering ghost of a pipe dream from your teenage years that your father's harsh words and mother's disapproval had shattered to pieces, and following in the footsteps of the woman who inspired your passion for creation.
You’re nearly thirty now, and you still don’t regret buying the bakery. It’s your home away from home now— your home when your heart is halfway around the world and waking up as you go to bed. You love what you do, and you feel grateful that you’ve lucked out in being able to spend your days doing something that makes you so genuinely happy.
But that doesn’t mean that every day is easy.
Today is one of those hard days. Valentine’s Day is just a week away which means orders are coming in like crazy, and on top of the hecticness it’s also the thirteenth anniversary of your grandmother’s passing. Even though you’ve made it these thirteen years without her, the reminder of her legacy— her dream, which you now live for her— is no easier to deal with now than it was all those years ago when you’d just lost her.
The smell of fresh bread from the kitchen and the deep lull of Sergio Endrigo over the bakery’s speakers do nothing but remind you of her and the afternoons you spent in her kitchen, kneading dough and icing cookies. You feel like a little girl again, laughing over old stories of your mother and flushing bright red when she’d bump her hip against yours and ask if there were any boys at school that had caught your eye.
You’d give anything to hear her talk about her days at the bakery one more time, have her guide you through another recipe, or listen to her sing along to old Italian classics.
“Are you okay, Y/N?” Beatrice asks. She’s a young American woman you met a few years back when she was studying abroad. She hadn’t known much Italian back then, and you were the first person she’d met who could speak English, so she’d asked you for directions to the nearest bus station and you had walked her there to make sure she wouldn’t get lost, which had led to you both talking, trading contact information, and eventually you offering her a job at the bakery when she announced to you months later after continued talking that she’d be staying for the foreseeable future.
You wipe your hands against your apron and offer her a smile. It doesn’t come as easily as it normally does, and you feel like it shows. “Just being a bit nostalgic today,” you admit, turning your gaze to the picture of your grandmother that hangs on the wall across from the display case.
There are other pictures hung up with her— you in front of the bakery on the day you bought it, the bakery back when your grandmother still worked there nearly sixty years ago, you and your husband the day you got married, and Beatrice with her three dogs to list a few, all things and places and people you love and want to remember.
“My grandmother, who I named this place after, have I ever told you about her?”
Beatrice hums, thinking back to the many conversations you have both shared you imagine. As she does so, she reaches for a cloth to start wiping down the front of the display case. “I don’t think so,” she finally answers, rounding the counter to the glass front. “I knew the bakery was named after her, and that she taught you to bake, but not much else. You don’t really talk about her much.”
You frown, “I guess I don’t.”
“But it’s okay,” Beatrice adds quickly. “I know family can be a touchy topic. If you’d rather not talk about her, I understand. I’m not very fond of talking about my brother, to be honest.”
The only time Beatrice does talk about her brother is when she’s drunk, which she usually tends to be when the two of you sit down over a bottle of wine and gossip about the happenings of your lives. You’ve heard plenty of stories about him, and thinking back to the most recent one in particular startles a laugh out of you.
Beatrice seems relieved when you glance back over to her with a soft smile.
“My grandmother was the greatest woman I ever knew,” you start. “Do you mind if I talk about her?”
Your employee— your friend— smiles gently at you and continues polishing away the smudges on the display case. “I would love it if you talked about her.
“She used to call me her little angel…”
INSTAGRAM.
liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lance_stroll, and 45,918 others
yourusername i’ll leave a piece just for you, nonna.
view all 813 comments
user that looks delicious!!
user it’s actually my dream to visit y/n’s bakery 😍
↳ user no cuz literally same, idk anyone else who makes smth as simple as bread look so amazing
↳ user it’s like how irl some foods don’t look that good but somehow in cartoons they make it look like it’s the most appetizing thing in the entire world i would actually cut off my own arm and leg just to get to try a single bite
user così carino!! ❤️❤️
user how is it possible to make food look heavenly 😳
user every time she posts food it makes me want to marry a husband that can bake bc there’s no way i could ever do this myself but i do in fact want to live a life like this so very badly
↳ user FELT THIS OMG
user what a beautiful way to remember someone 🫶
user she’s gorgeous aND SHE CAN BAKE???
↳ user she’s really the most wag of all wags 😩
↳ user fell down a rabbit hole of wag interactions throughout the years and y/n’s introduction into the group is so iconic bc she baked them all cookies and brought them when she first met them all
↳ user i read that in an interview that she knows all their favourites and tries to make them all throughout the season when she goes to races
↳ user she’s actually such a sweetheart irl too, i visited the bakery before i ever knew who she was or what f1 is and if i hadn’t already seen that ring on her finger i would’ve shot my shot no joke 😔😔
↳ user what’s alonso’s secret??? where can i find me a wifey like that???
user this is gorgeous
user using food to celebrate a loved one is one of the most loving things a person can do in my opinion. so much love goes into food, but especially baked goods which take time and patience and practice. this is a really touching and beautiful way to honor someone, and i hope she’s watching down on you and thinking the same thing ❤️
↳ user didn’t think i was gonna be crying today but here we are ig 😭
fernandoalo_oficial mi vida, she would be so proud of you 💛
↳ yourusername i hope so, i am who i am because of her 💛
INSTAGRAM.
liked by fernandoalo_oficial, beatricejackson, and 71,074 others
tagged: fernandoalo_oficial
yourusername arrivederci 💛
view all 1,397 comments
fernandoalo_oficial and may it be soon, mi vida 💛
user obsessed with the way fernando is obsessed with his wife
↳ user the fact that he calls her mi vida every time he addresses her has me walking into oncoming traffic 🙃
↳ user “my life” in spanish 😭😭 i literally fucking can’t when is it my turn to get a man that loves and cherishes me like this
↳ user honestly i think it’s just time to accept we’ll be alone forever cuz if he don’t treat me the way fernando treats his wife then i don’t want him
user for the ppl asking, arrivederci means until we meet again in italian, it’s a pretty common way to say goodbye in italy
↳ user AND FERNANDO SAID AND MAY IT BE SOON OH I AM ILL
user when will he return from the war…
↳ user it’s only february the season hasn’t even started yet so why isn’t he with her??
↳ user aston martin’s hq is in the uk and fernando has to be there for the car reveal, testing/sims, training, promo content, etc. it’s the logistical pr side of formula 1 that makes the season start a lot earlier than what ppl might think
↳ user AND OVER VALENTINE’S DAY TOO??? 😭😭😭😭
user mama y papa
user i want to grow old with someone and have pictures of our vacations to look back on and remember and i don’t think that’s too much to ask for
user she’s posting like he’s dead or smth 💀
↳ user i mean i would be too if my husband was missing valentines day bc of work tbf 🤷♀️
user i can’t believe fernando alonso bagged a baddie who ain’t even 30 yet
↳ user i can have you SEEN fernando alonso?? 👀👀👀
↳ user have you SEEN y/n?? 👀👀👀
↳ user two baddies bagged each other guys there’s not a lot to try and comprehend
Fernando being gone has never really mattered to you much. You miss him, of course. He’s your husband and ideally, you would be able to travel the world with him on a whim without needing to worry about who’s in charge of the bakery, but despite how perfect your life seems with Fernando by your side, there are a lot of things that don’t go according to plan and Fernando’s hectic work schedule is one of them.
The constant traveling across the season is exhausting for both of you, even though you’re not the one doing the majority of it. You attend his races when you can— usually when Beatrice forces you to, which is more and more recently as of late, with the logic that you should get the chance to see the world while you’re still young and while Fernando is still racing— but even when you’re home in Naples, the worry that you feel for Fernando as he flies around the world and races in a dangerous car takes its toll.
You wouldn’t even think of ever asking him to give it up, but not being by his side is hard and you cannot afford— for the sake of the bakery— to follow him wherever his sport takes him. So for now, you will always worry and stress about the toll it all takes on him as well.
You honestly hadn’t given much thought that he’d be missing Valentine’s Day this year, but it occurs to you now as you scroll through the comments on your post.
It’s by far the first time he’ll be gone for the holiday, but something about this year just feels different. Maybe it’s the stress of the extra workload you’ve taken on at the bakery to make up for the extra orders this year and the employees that have had to call out, or maybe the anniversary of your grandmother’s passing is hitting you harder this time than it has in the past, but whatever it is, the idea of Fernando not being here to celebrate with you has your eyes filling with tears as you sit curled up in bed.
Alone.
As you have been for the last few weeks now.
Fernando is in Silverstone, preparing for the launch of the new car and getting back into the swing of things before the new season starts, and this is part of the job you understand. You’ve been his wife for many years now. The racing may start in March, but the real season begins much sooner, and to a certain degree it never truly ends.
There’s always a push to be staying in shape, eating healthy, and staying up to date with all the up-and-coming news. Fernando has worked hard to try and find the middle ground, to enjoy his break while he has it, and take a step back from the Formula One world if only to de-stress from the sport’s particular brand of pressure.
And you’ve worked hard to accept that he will always be thinking like a race car driver.
Nonetheless, though you have enjoyed the interview clips and photographs of him being posted around on social media, and you love even more the pictures your husband’s teammate has been sending you and you alone, you can’t help but want to be selfish. You want to have him with you, in your home, cuddled up beside you instead of 1700 kilometers away in another country.
But that’s the way of things.
You’re about to turn off the lamp and, maybe, cry yourself to sleep while ignoring the very cold and very empty other half of a bed that’s too big for one— a bed you haven’t slept in the middle of since before you ever met Fernando, too used to occupying one side and finding another body on the other— when your phone lights up with an incoming call and his contact image flashes across your screen.
It’s late in Italy, nearing midnight now, and the UK isn’t too far behind. With the strictness of his daily schedule and the importance of a full night of rest, he should already be in bed by now. He should’ve already been in bed hours ago, if you remember correctly from past seasons.
“Fernando?”
“My love,” he greets, soft and sweet and sounding like just hearing you say his name has left him breathless. You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I am sorry that it’s so late. I hope I did not wake you up, but I am calling because I simply could not bear to fall asleep without hearing you.”
You sniffle, wiping away at the tears in your eyes, but the quiet noise must’ve been enough for him to hear because he makes an inquisitive sound.
“Mi vida,” he calls to you, concern seeping into his words. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”
“Mhm,” you hum back to him, shifting around in bed to face the window and the scenic view that lies beyond. You can see the ocean from your home— the dark water pulling in and pushing out and glittering with the reflected light of the moon, and the boats docked at the marina, still, silent, asleep. The moon’s glow paints the cityscape in an ethereal haze, like something from a fairytale. “I’m okay. Just a bad few days. I miss you, Fernando.”
“I know, my love,” he coos. “But we will be together soon. Do you remember what I told you when I left?”
As if you could possibly forget. The morning he left, a fog had rolled in from the sea and you’d swathed yourself in a shawl to chase away the early, damp chill as you stood on the stoep to see him off.
Fernando had wrapped you up in his arms, an embrace so warm and safe that the feeling had lingered for hours afterward still, and he’d whispered in your ear that he would move mountain and sea to get back to you if you ever needed him.
“But I always need you,” you’d teased. He’d chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a promise, and then pulled you in even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting his fingers run through your hair and comb through the remaining bedhead tangles.
You would similarly move earth and sky to be with him again now, just to feel his arms around you, or in the bed beside you.
“I meant what I said,” he says over the phone, drawing your attention back.
You hum again, “I know. But sweetheart, you have a job to do. It’s a very important job, too.” You curl the blankets around you tighter. “Pay no mind to my musings, okay? It’s just been a rocky start. The bakery has lots of orders to get through for Valentine’s Day, and I am short-staffed now.”
“What has happened?”
“What hasn’t?” You joke, heaving a sigh. “Rodrigo broke his hand in a biking accident this past Sunday, and the doctor says he’ll be out for a month at least. I can have him work the register and do minor cleaning chores, but we really need him in the kitchen because Andrea hasn’t yet been trained to use the equipment. I am trying to have Beatrice help with that, but it will take time we don’t have. On top of that, Samuel’s wife is having her baby so he has taken paternity leave, and Gemma has gone back to France for her mother’s birthday.”
Fernando makes a noise of understanding. “You are so stressed, mi vida. I wish there was more I could do. I am sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to. In fact, I should be thanking you because I’m feeling so much better just hearing your voice,” you answer. Feeling the tears dissipate as your husband’s joyous laughter trickles into your ear from the phone’s speaker.
“And I am better just hearing yours,” he says. “But I will leave you to sleep now. It’s too late for you to be awake. Te amo, mi esposa.”
“Ti amo, marito mio.”
INSTAGRAM.
liked by yourusername, astonmartinf1, and 187,813 others
tagged: fernandoalo_oficial, astonmartinf1
lance_stroll i’m really only here to take pictures for his wife
view all 4,964 comments
fernandoalo_oficial the heart is for her only
yourusername and i appreciate you very much for it lancino 🫶
↳ lance_stroll at least someone cares about the work i put in 😔
astonmartinf1 Breaking News: Aston Martin’s Lance Stroll challenges Aston Martin’s social media admin for their job
↳ lance_stroll thanks but i think i’ll stick to driving fast cars. it’s less stress.
user FERNANDO MAKING FINGER HEARTS FOR HIS WIFE 😭😭😭
user if you look closely you can actually see me about to jump off the roof in that last picture 🫠
↳ user real
user why is the first one so cute??
user lance is really just fernando and y/n’s kid at this point, he’s the disgruntled son who reluctantly takes pictures of his dad to send to his mom, and he complains about it, but he secretly loves doing it
↳ user i mean have you SEEN what y/n does for his birthday each year??
↳ user no????
↳ user she specifically learned how to make bannock and a bunch of other traditionally canadian desserts and baked goods for him
↳ user i bet lance’s trainer hates that lmao 😂😂
↳ user you all are talking about them like y/n isn’t just a few years older than lance himself is 💀
↳ user leave fernando and his controversially young wife alone
↳ user guys?? he’s literally only 42?? y/n is almost in her 30s, it could definitely be worse. at least they’re both well into adulthood
user nobody talk to me for the rest of the day this is all i can think about now
user HE MAKES LANCE TAKE PICTURES TO SEND TO HIS WIFE PLS OH MY DAYS
INSTAGRAM.
liked by yourusername, lance_stroll, and 298,513 others
tagged: yourusername
fernandoalo_oficial throwback thursday, as they say, except it isn’t thursday and i just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife. te amo 💛.
view all 1,165 comments
yourusername i love you more mio carissimo 💛
↳ fernandoalo_oficial impossible, i love you the most
user adding “posts me just bc he can” to my list of standards for men
user SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING
user “just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife” oh my god fernando alonso the man that you are… 😩😩
user guys he’s the blueprint
↳ user she’s so lucky
user WHEN IS IT MY TURN???? CAN I NOT BE HAPPY TOO????
user she’s actually so beautiful omg 😳😳😳
↳ user they’re such a power couple
↳ user super excited for y/n to be back in the paddock this year (fingers crossed it happens more) cuz she’s actually so stunning and her outfits are always very classy and fun to look at
↳ user is there a reason she doesn’t go to many races?? they don’t have kids iirc, so idk why she wouldn’t be able to attend more 🤔
↳ user she owns and runs a small bakery in italy, which means she can’t just travel for 9 months out of the year. she shows up when she’s able to, don’t get me wrong, but it’s definitely less frequently than some of the other wags
user gen imagine being fernando alonso’s wife
↳ user i think i would cease to exist
user cuando es mi turno 😭
Valentine’s Day arrives and with it comes the added stress of knowing you’ll be stuck in the bakery all day helping last-minute patrons sort through pastries and treats for their partners. This in and of itself is not a problem, you’ve always liked helping people and baking is your passion after all, but the idea of rising before the sun and being on your feet until long after it sets is not the most appealing, and even worse, your usual happiness is still overshadowed by the cloud of gloom that’s been following you since last week.
Ever since his first late-night call, Fernando has been good about making sure to ring you in the morning before he heads into the factory, and at night when he leaves. It’s helped, certainly, but nothing ever compares to the real thing and that thought makes you feel guiltier every day that you think it.
He has a job to do, a job that he loves. Neither of you should be forced to give up your passions, and that just means needing to make a few sacrifices every once in a while.
He doesn’t call you that morning, however, and though you hide it behind as much of a cheery grin as you can manage, it stings and you’re disappointed.
But throwing yourself into your work is always something you’ve been good at, so you focus instead on kneading dough, mixing pastry filling, and icing cupcakes.
Beatrice finds you back in the kitchen an hour before the bakery is scheduled to open, and the look on her face tells you she knew it’s where you would be.
“You shouldn’t be working today,” she says in lieu of a greeting.
You shrug, sliding a pan of bread from the oven. “We are too short-staffed for me to not be working today. Plus, what would I do anyway? Sit at home alone pretending that I’m not? At least in the bakery, I can put myself to use and be distracted.”
All she does is sigh.
The morning goes well. There’s a bit of a rush when you first open, the most notable of customers is a disgruntled older gentleman who you consider to be a monthly regular. He explains a long-winded story about his daughter’s boyfriend breaking up with her over text last night, and needing something to help cheer her up. He leaves with a box of cannoli, and an extra loaf of bread you threw in for him on the house.
Near the afternoon is when it starts to pick up, but in a lull between customers just after lunchtime, Beatrice corners you in the back. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her mouth is set in a line.
“Go home,” she orders.
You huff. “Beatrice, I am the boss. Not you.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I am not going home! The rush will get busier later this evening and we are short-staffed—”
“Rodrigo’s coming in to work register in—” she checks the watch on her wrist, “—fifteen minutes. I ran Andrea through kitchen duty the other day and I’ll be supervising her the entire time, and Marco and Silvia both said they could pick up a shift. I also have a text from Samuel’s wife saying if we need even more help she would gladly get her husband out of the house if it means he’ll stop hovering over her, and I’m prepared to take her up on that offer should the need arise.”
You blink at her. There’s a reason she’s the one you leave in charge when you travel, but whenever you’re reminded of just how good she is at managing the bakery you’re always left a little shocked. She orchestrated everything in the span of a morning and you didn’t even notice.
“Why do you want me to go home so badly?” You ask her, shoving your hands down into your apron’s pockets. “Nothing is waiting for me there anyway. Even if we weren’t short-handed, I would’ve still been here.”
“You sure about that?” Is all she says before turning on her heel and exiting back into the front of the bakery.
You don’t pretend to understand what she’s talking about as you hang your apron up and head for home. Beatrice shoots you a wink as you wave goodbye, and it feels like some sort of foreshadowing for whatever awaits you.
Nothing, however, looks any different than it had when you left. You park your car in the empty driveway, collect the newspaper from the stoep, and unlock the door.
Your keys and the newspaper are both tossed onto the counter just inside the kitchen as you toe off your shoes. You hang up your jacket on the dining room chair as you make your way into the living room, and then you pause.
There, resting on the couch is a stuffed toy bear and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. In the bear’s arms is a little sign, and the handwriting is already enough to have your eyes filling with tears.
“Fernando?” You call out to the silent house.
You check the ground floor and find no other sign of him, so you take to the stairs and begin the ascent up to the next, continuing to call out the many different pet names you have given to him throughout the years.
You peek into the bedroom, “Mia vita?”
Stood in the center of the room, a big grin on his face, is your husband. Fernando looks mighty proud of himself, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s had this planned for a while and he’s smug that he’s managed to keep a secret from you. He opens his arms wide when you just continue to stand in the doorway, and like a flip has been switched, you rush into him when a sob of happiness.
He wraps himself around you, and the feeling of his arms holding you so firmly in his embrace is warm and comforting, and everything you had missed in the weeks he was gone. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck, and the smell of his cologne has you sagging even further against him, sinking as far as you can into his hold.
He presses a kiss to your head and sways the both of you back and forth.
“Mi vida,” he murmurs. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”
“I didn’t know you were coming home,” you cry against him, voice muffled from where your face is still pressed against him.
He runs a hand through your hair, scratching his nails against your scalp in the way that always calms you down, and hums. You feel it in the vibration of his chest more than you hear it. “I wanted to surprise you after you told me how stressed you were. I told you, no? I would move mountains and seas to be with you whenever you need me.”
“Ti amo,” you whisper against his skin.
“Te amo,” he whispers into your hair.
INSTAGRAM.
liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lance_stroll, and 97,141 others
tagged: fernandoalo_oficial
yourusername to the luce dei miei occhi, i love you more than life itself 💛
view all 3,731 comments
fernandoalo_oficial mi vida i'll love you in this life and the next, until the very end of time itself 💛
↳ yourusername ti amo mia vita
user LUCE DEI MIEI OCCHI = LIGHT OF MY EYES
↳ user oh my days 🫢
↳ user i’m actually ill that is too cute
user they ARE that couple and they have every right to be
user WAR IS OVER
user i need them to adopt me right tf now it’s not a want it’s a need
user GUYS HE WAS JUST IN SILVERSTONE LIKE A DAY AGO??? FOR THE CAR LAUNCH??? THAT MEANS HE FLEW ALL THE WAY TO ITALY LAST MINUTE JUST TO SEE HIS WIFE FOR VALENTINES DAY
↳ user fernando alonso once again proving why he’s the best husband on the grid
↳ user i’m obsessed with them a totally normal amount
lance_stroll every time i saw him he was talking to someone about how he had plans to surprise his wife, i’m so surprised he didn’t end up ruining the secret somehow
↳ fernandoalo_oficial have more faith in your padre
↳ lance_stroll well i’ve seen my “padre” make the most cartoon heart eyes at a picture of baked goods so i don’t think faith is really gonna cut it. you’re whipped man 🤷♂️
↳ yourusername lancino you must put up with so much from this old man
↳ lance_stroll you know what? i really do
━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @pear-1206
━━ a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, coming in at a whopping 5.4k words! and it's also the first request i've written for! so, cheers to that. this is my little valentine's day story, because i'm actually a big sap and i really do love good fluffy romances, so writing this distracted me from the fact that i'm actually very alone at the present haha! anyways, hope you all enjoyed! i also wrote this in under 24 hours, and it's a lot, so if there's any editing mistakes please ignore them, i genuinely could not bring myself to re-read all of this looking for every single mistake.
#formula 1#formula one#f1#formula 1 imagine#f1 imagine#formula one imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#formula one x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#social media au#fernando alonso#fernando alonso x reader#fernando alonso imagine#fa14#lance stroll
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
too slow
pairing: miguel o'hara x spider!fem!reader
warnings: angst heheh. spoilers! small scenes of somewhat explicit nsfw. mentions of death!
summary: the both of you would come back from this. you would...right?
word count: 4.9k
author's note: did i come out of hiatus just to post a angsty miguel fic? yes. you know i had to as y'alls fav angst queen
part 2
No matter how far you left that spider life behind, he somehow managed to pull you back in.
And god you tried so desperately to stay away. To refuse him.
Miguel O’Hara just had a way with you. He always did.
Sometimes you wished you were stronger.
The moment you stepped into your apartment was when all of your senses struck your spine and made you freeze in your doorway.
No one else would have known to continue forward cautiously by leaping up to your ceiling and crawling the rest of the way into the apartment, high on alert. Then again, no one else was you. At least not in this universe.
Your spider senses got worse as you crawled toward your ajar bedroom door. When you were close enough, you dropped down as quietly as you could to the floor. One hand preparing a web to shoot and the other raising toward the door to push it further open.
Only you freeze all together.
A sharp tingle struck your back.
Behind you.
Of course, you were quick. Without turning toward the intruder entirely, you shot a web to grab a large vase sitting on a nearby table in the short hallway and swung it behind you. They dodged the vase just as fast and you instantly shot both of your webs toward the intruder. Only for them to be caught by them with both their hands.
“I’m disappointed, Domino.”
It was a mistake to let your guard down by only a little. It was a mistake to instantly recognize his voice.
“Miguel—AAARGH!”
A sudden yank from the webs caused you to fly forward until an iron grip wrapped around both your wrists. Until you were facing the scarlet and blue mask of the one Spider-Man you never expected to see again.
“Too slow.” Even with the mask, you could hear his smirk.
Now that you were aware of who you were dealing with, the tension in your muscles lessened. Just a little.
Some part of you wanted to say “You shouldn’t be here” but since you weren’t in the mood for a long and exhausting spout with the man, you took the more easy and straightforward route of the conversation.
“Why are you here, Miguel?”
His hold on your wrists loosened but he didn’t let go right away. Which was to your dismay as you really didn’t want to be this close to him. Not when you knew that both seeing him now and now having very little space between the both of you would compromise your senses, your steeled will.
And yet you didn’t pull away.
You watched quietly as his mask disappeared, trying your very best not to get too drawn into his features like you used to. Resisting the urge to run your fingers through his dark locks, tugging on some of them like the old days.
Stop.
That was a long time ago.
And it should remain that way.
Unfortunately, Miguel didn’t appear as strong or restrained. The way he hungrily looked at you wasn’t missed but it certainly wasn’t voiced. By either of them. That was something they wouldn’t touch right now. Probably not ever.
When his forehead gently brushed against yours, when his scent overwhelmed your nostrils was when you forced yourself back on solid ground.
“Miguel.”
Eventually, he also had to pull himself together. Eventually, he dropped his hold on your wrists and walked around you, putting a good distance between the two of you. Warily and curiously, you watched his movements.
He gestured toward the shattered pieces of what once was the vase, “I bought you that, you know. That was rude.”
“So is breaking into someone’s apartment.” You retorted dryly.
Miguel suddenly took out a small object that shone in the gentle light of the sunset, “I still have a key.”
You huffed, “Imma need that back.” You tried reaching for it, only for Miguel to quickly yank it out of your reach, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his face. That’s when you grew annoyed.
“I thought you were never gonna come back to this universe again. Remember? You went on a whole tangent about it.”
“Mmm.” Was his response at first. You silently watched him tuck the extra key away into some invisible pocket in his suit. “That was only after you said you were never coming back to the team” You tensed at this as the memories came trickling back. “Or coming back to me—”
“So what’s changed?”
Miguel frowned, “I need you—”
“No.”
You reframed from smirking at the twitch in his jaw, at the way his trained mask momentarily slipped at your obvious stubbornness. You gestured in the direction of the front door, “If that’s all, the door’s over there—”
“It’s Electro.” That, of course—he knew it would—made you stop. It was your turn for your mask to fall, just enough for Miguel to notice as well. The intenseness in his features softened, “It’s your brother…he somehow made it into another universe—”
“When do we leave?” Miguel had the audacity to look surprised. You glared, “I’m not doing this for you, O’Hara. It’s like you said, he’s my brother. After that, I’m done for good, you hear me?”
With that, he schooled his face back to a controlled mask. One that meant business.
“Whatever you say, Domino.”
You wince and send him another glare before stalking toward your bedroom to change.
Ever since he started calling you that name, Domino, you’ve hated it. It originated from a mission gone bad—mostly for you—and he hadn’t stopped calling you Domino since. It was mostly because you had been knocked down into a bunch of trash cans that happened to be in a long line.
Hobie said you tumbled like a stack of dominos. Miguel never let that moment go.
Fuck him.
Yet despite your hatred for it, you never discouraged it. You just liked the way he said it. You liked the way his voice softened whenever—
No. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck. Him.
After this you wouldn’t ever have to see him again. You wouldn’t ever have to be wrapped up in his shadows, in his overwhelming way of showing…
Fuck him.
It was odd being back in your old suit. Frankly, it felt dated as you swung around in it. There was an itching part of you that wanted to update it, get new designs, and test them out of your suit. Self-restraint was a challenge during that mission. Especially around Miguel.
Thankfully, Jessica and Hobie showed up so it wasn’t just you and Miguel facing Electro—or in other words your estranged brother. It was already enough having to face family drama, but then you add a frustratingly unlabeled drama that kept interfering with your focus.
“Stay on your side, O’Hara!” You snapped when you dodged an electric zap sent your way.
“Don’t be a child!” Miguel shot back.
“I’m not! We agreed Hobie and I’d take left and you and Drew would take right! You are not holding your end of the agreement!” You landed on a nearby pylon. “Which is no surprise!”
Another blast came from Electro, this time aimed at Miguel and Hobie. Hobie was able to swing out of the way and land on the same tower with you while Miguel landed on the other side, “What the hell is that supposed to mean!?”
“She means you’re an asshole, bud.” Hobie added.
“Nobody asked you!”
“Hey!” Jessica shouted from below, steering her motorcycle toward Electro, “Less fighting like children and more getting this guy before he causes the entire city to go dark!”
The fight hadn’t gone on for long. Eventually, you were able to confront your brother up close despite Miguel’s protests against it. Yet you were the one that knew your brother the best, who was he or anyone else to tell you what to do when it came to him? Certainly not, Miguel. Leader of a secret society or not, this was your turf. He asked you here and you would complete the job the way you knew how.
There was a point where you managed to get Electro at a somewhat calm and the thrilled part of you was ready to prove Miguel right. But unfortunately, family bonds wouldn’t save you in this situation. It wouldn’t tie anything up in the neat bow you were expecting.
The blast nearly threw you entirely off the building if not for a bunch of webs catching you in mid air and bringing you back up. Miguel and Hobie managed to subdue Electro thanks to your unintentional distraction while Jessica was the one to pull you back to your feet.
“Damn, babes, that was a close one.” She gave an amused smirk. “Just how long have you been out of the game?”
“Shut up, Drew.” You grumbled despite the other woman’s grin.
Coming back to HQ was the very last thing you wanted to do. But you wanted to make sure your brother was properly dealt with. Even if that meant dealing with Miguel’s bullshit along the way.
As you entered the computer room, Miguel’s mask came off, “What the hell was that back there?”
“Domino doing Domino things.” You mutter dryly.
“Yeah you are.” Hobie held up his hand for a high five, which you reluctantly gave.
Miguel sent him a scathing scowl before turning back to you, “You think this is funny? You could’ve gotten yourself killed back there!”
“I had it handled.” You gritted out, removing your own mask. “He didn’t need everyone coming at him all at once. If you had given me a few more minutes with him—“
“But we didn’t have a few minutes, did we?” Miguel snapped quickly.
“No, of course not.” You crossed your arms, ignoring how he stood taller than you. Ignoring how he would’ve appeared menacing if not for your pissed off mood. “Because everything has to go O’Hara’s way, right? Fuck everybody else.”
Hobie smirked from the side of the room, his mask also removed, “I missed her. ‘ow come she’s not around often, Bossman?”
Miguel’s jaw twitched dangerously because they all knew Hobie never referred to him as “Bossman” unless to piss him off. because he knew that Hobie didn’t respect him as much, and didn't care for him as a leader. Bossman was just Hobie being a little shit, in Miguel’s words at least.
“It was fucking reckless.” Miguel seethed. “And as usual, you’re too immature to even realize what you did. What could’ve happened—“
“You brought me here!” You snapped back, as venomous as his fangs. “If you don’t like my way then you should’ve left me the fuck alone!”
“Guys, come on.” Jessica sighed, already used to the both of you like this.
Miguel was fuming and trying so desperately to hide the fact that you easily worked him up this way. And him failing at hiding it only made him pissed off even more.
He hissed, turning his back to you.“I was being considerate. For your sake. It was your brother after all…It was a mistake bringing you in. I should’ve known fucking better.”
A bitter laugh left your lips, “Finally! We can agree on something!” You stalked out of the room with Hobie trailing behind you—you were used to him following you around—as you muttered, “Let me know when you’ll be sending Max back.”
Just as you left the room, there was a loud crash and Jessica snapping at Miguel.
When your brother was finally sent back to your universe so that he could be sent to a cell powerful enough to hold him, you left HQ and didn’t look back when you did. Swearing to yourself that it would be the last time you would ever allow yourself to step back into that place. To allow yourself to set your eyes upon him again.
Unfortunately, that promise didn’t last too long.
Despite yourself, you started messing with your suit designs. Adding new stuff to make it look less dated than before. But that didn’t mean you were back to that spider life. No. Not one bit.
Hobie swung by your dimension and suggested that both of you went crime fighting for the day. And you only agreed just so your fighting techniques weren’t so rusty anymore. But you weren’t back in the game. Not one bit.
Then Jessica came to visit, claiming that she wanted you to see the progress in her pregnancy and catch up as friends. Which then led you to following her into another dimension to fight another Rhino, which was a great success.
Fuck, you missed this.
And you were tempted. You really were tempted to swing through your city as their Spider person again.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt after all. Didn’t mean you had to face Miguel. Yes. That was fine.
In the next month forward, you had started your crime fighting as the spider person of your dimension. A new suit and refreshed skills, you felt unstoppable. You even brought out your dimension traveling bracelet. Just to go and visit Hobie and Jessica whenever. Just that.
Soon, Jessica took on a new protege. Spider-Gwen. She was a nice kid and started coming over to your dimension with Hobie whenever they had the time. You liked her alot. She was like a little sister whenever she came around. Same as Hobie being like a younger brother to you.
At one point you found yourself back at HQ—you were honestly terrible at keeping your steeled will—but only to return a few bad guys to their respectful dimensions. You had fully planned on avoiding Miguel—at this point you hadn’t seen each other since your spat a month ago—and going back to your dimension.
That was the plan at least.
“How come you never go with us to see Miguel?” Gwen asked while the two of you watched one of the villains being sent back to their dimension. “You two don’t get along or…?”
Spider-Byte snorted and you sent the hologram a glare, “They have a special history, newbie. You’ll see someday.”
“Quiet, kid.” You mumbled, crossing your arms before addressing Gwen, “Yeah…we don’t get along. It’s best for the both of us that we aren’t in the same room together, right now.”
“Is it?”
You tried your very best not to allow your face to fall into shock at his voice coming from behind you and Gwen. Really, you should’ve expected that to happen.
Miguel approached the two of you, glancing briefly toward Gwen but his eyes remained glued to yours. “Drew’s asking for you. Says she needs your help on Level 4.”
It took you a few seconds to realize he had been talking to Gwen as the blonde nodded her head and disappeared out of the room. Spider-Byte threw on some headphones and continued with her work. In other words, it was just the two of you. The very opposite of what you had planned and wanted.
“I hear you’ve been coming around here a lot more often.” Miguel mused as he brushed past you, his arm grazing yours as he did. You watched him, a lot less hostile than you thought you would be. Instead, you only stared at his back muscles. “I didn’t know you’ve become quite the contradicting person.”
You shrugged, hugging your arms closer to you, “I’ve just been helping Jess and Hobie out. S’not a big deal.”
A sound came from his throat, similar to a chuckle, “I also hear that the White Spider is back on the news.”
“You’ve been keeping tabs on me?” You instead said, one of your brows raising slightly. “When did you start that up again?”
Miguel glanced over his shoulder, his face unreadable, “Who says I ever stopped?”
You smirk, trying to hide how tight your chest felt at his words. At how soft his voice had gotten.
“Look who’s become contradicting now.”
Miguel was quiet at that.
You tried to continue your original goal after that frustratingly vague interaction. You weren’t really sure where you had stood with him after that. Sure, you still were hesitant to rejoin the society fully—mostly because of him—but now you were going on missions with some of the members and helping Jessica train her protégé. At this point, you were practically back, just without the official stuff.
And now you were on a mission with Miguel. You hadn’t been on one of these since your fight. Piece by piece you were just breaking your own promises, your stubbornness was weakening. Your spine had shaken.
Damn him.
No matter what you could never resist Miguel.
You could tell it was the same for him.
“You should go home.”
“Do you know how many times you’ve said that and I’ve still ended up staying?” You leaned on the doorway entrance to his quarters with a smug look on your face. “I think you should give it up by now.”
Miguel was topless. After a particularly long mission, a lot of the team had come out with some cuts and bruises, Miguel wasn’t exempt from that.
You watched as he was cleaning his wound on his left shoulder, only that put too much strain on his bruised side every time he reached his right hand over to tend to that shoulder. For a few more minutes you watched him keep going at it before you sighed and eventually stepped in.
“Stop.” You smacked his hand to the side gently and took the bloodied cloth from his hand.
Miguel tensed, “Domino—”
“I’ve got it.” You told him sternly. “We don’t need you reopening your stitches. Just relax. I’ve got you.”
Your words had disarmed him and caused him to loosen the tension in his muscles at your gentle touch. The wound wasn’t too bad, at least not as bad as the one under his right arm. Once the blood was wiped away, there was just a bit of purple coloring. The blood must’ve been from someone else.
His breaths fanned against your own shoulder. You didn’t forget how close the two of you were in that moment. It was more like you were trying to distract yourself from the fact.
Instead, a small smile tugged at your lip, “It’s been a minute since you’ve been injured.” You noted the light scars on the other parts of his arm.
“Not really.” Miguel grunted, ducking his head down as he rested his elbows on his knees. “I got hit a couple months back. Only difference was that you weren’t there to lick my wounds clean.”
“Do you always need me to?” You joked halfheartedly.
A small tug upward in his lip made your heart skip, “I would prefer it better than being alone.”
“I thought you liked being a loner.”
“Not these days.”
You knew you were treading dangerous territory but the question left your lips before you could rethink it through.
“Did you really want me to go?”
Underneath your fingers, you felt him inhale, slowly.
“Honest?”
You scoffed, “I wouldn’t be asking if I wanted to hear a lie.”
Over his shoulder, he stared at you. A part of you wanted to shift under his intense gaze, a part of you wanted to look away sheepishly but you bravely held it. Though the change in your grip was probably a dead giveaway at your nervousness.
“If it were up to me, you wouldn’t have ever left my sight.”
You tried not to feel too overwhelmed by his words, knowing it was your own fault for asking. For even bringing it up in the first place.
So instead you snorted, “Wow. Sounds awfully possessive—”
His other hand grasped the back of your neck and brought you toward him, your lips connecting. His desperation for you was clear. And your resolve had slowly fallen—no that was such a lie. It had quickly crumbled the moment you felt his touch, the moment his lips were on yours, the moment you felt his desperation sink into your skin just as easily as his fangs would.
When his larger body moved on top of you, you knew your resolve had fully broken. Completely gone. When his lips found your neck, you were gone. When his hips rutted against yours, your mind was gone. When you finally felt him sink into your being, when you felt him inside you—god you never realized how much you had wanted this until now.
No. You knew.
Miguel held your hands down to the bed sheets, only you managed to slip them from his grip and find them tugging and running through his hair, legs wrapped around his hips to pull him closer.
You felt him smirk against your neck, “My stubborn girl.”
And just like that you were back into a cycle in which you swore not to fall into again. Only, this time the two of you didn’t make it known to the others. It was a silent choice between the two of you to keep whatever this was to yourselves. It was better that way you realized.
But as time went by, you knew it would be a little more difficult to hide it. Miguel was touchy. It was fine on days where it was just the both of you, when the both of you were working on something together. Yet on the days where you are around others, such as missions, you know he can’t help himself. And neither can you.
The both of you were terrible at hiding it in the end.
Hobie was surprisingly observant.
“You’re lookin’ cozy now.”
You glanced up to find Hobie lounging about as you were looking at videos of different dimensions. “Let it go, B—”
“I ain’t sayin’ shit.” He shrugged. “Just noticed a few things is all.”
And the two of you left it at that. Never really spoke on it again. Hobie now knew. And Jessica had eyes and a brain, she probably already put two and two together. Especially with you coming to HQ a lot more often now. Even the newbie, Gwen, took double takes every now and then whenever she saw you and Miguel together.
“You seem particularly stressed tonight.” You hummed to him on another night—this time in your apartment, squirming as his cock twitched inside of you.
Miguel looked down at you, a brow raised in challenge, “Can’t take it tonight, baby? Usually you like it a little rough, hmm?” He buried his face into your neck, his thrusts slower than before. Gentle nips at your neck that would sure to leave bruises the next day. Just the way he liked it. The possessive shithead.
“And yet, you’re still stressed.” You whisper next to his ear, breathing out a sigh of pleasure.
Miguel grunted in reply and remained at your neck. Until he slowly pulled away to rest his forehead on yours. He sighed against your skin, “Just another anomaly. Nothing we can’t fix.”
You smiled with a soft hum, “You always do anyway.”
His lips were pressed into yours, a hint of a smile shaping his mouth, “Not just me.”
The anomaly problem never went away it seemed. Soon Miguel got buried deep into his work. You were fine with it, already used to his committed work habits. Besides, you had your own world to manage. You weren’t just waiting all night for him to come home like some girlfriend slowly practicing patience. No, instead you had your own thoughts to keep you busy. But you still managed to find time and visit HQ. To visit the others. To visit Miguel.
It wasn’t until the anomaly was formed into a single person. Another Spider-Man. A kid.
Miles Morales.
Gwen told you about him a few times. How he was the first friend she made after her Peter’s death. You remembered wanting to meet the boy with how much Gwen kept talking about him. And you told Gwen this as well. That they should plan a day to go visit him. Unfortunately, that day never came to fruition.
The unfortunate part was the why.
“What are you not telling me about this Miles guy?” You already knew the answer. You weren’t stupid. You just wanted to know if Miguel would tell you. Would trust you with the information.
Miguel had his back turned to you, facing the screens when you stalked into the room to ask him this. “He isn’t your concern.”
“Bullshit.” You cross your arms. “Clearly, you said something to Gwen. And Jess. Hell, even Hobie. What are you not telling me, Miguel? Why is Miles Morales so important?” You narrow your eyes challengingly, “Or rather, why does he make you so nervous—”
“Enough, Domino.” Miguel said through gritted teeth, trying desperately not to snap at you. “He isn’t your concern. Let it go.”
Hobie had already filled you in on the details before you had come to Miguel about it. The information in itself was troubling, yes. But what was even more troubling was why you were hearing it from someone else other than Miguel. Why did he want to keep you in the dark about this?
That’s when your eyes landed on the old video of him and his daughter. The daughter he lost on another Earth.
“Fine.” You frowned. “Don’t tell me.”
Miguel still had his back toward you. You scoffed and turned to leave. You would’ve been fine to leave it there. That was the one thing the two of you disagreed on the most. The canon stuff. Your sister had to die for it. That’s why Max had become what he had become. That’s why you had left the society, left him in the first place.
Restarting all of this. Thinking you could forgive.
But there was no way you could’ve ever forgotten.
You had to stand by and watch your sister die because it was a part of canon. Because Miguel cared for you and your world so much that he did not want to see it unravel like his did. A part of you wanted to believe that—maybe there was a small part that did—but that didn’t change the grief nor the terror. You just hoped.
Hoped. And hoped. And hoped….
Eventually, you did some research for yourself. Apparently, this Miles guy hadn’t lost his parents but his uncle. Apparently, he was supposed to lose his dad once he became captain. There was nothing you could do about it if it was supposed to happen. You certainly couldn’t tell him that was going to happen.
You couldn’t do anything….
Until you could.
Hobie appeared in the middle of your living room that night.
“I quit that place.” He shrugged, flopping down onto the couch next to you. “But I suggest you suit up, yeah?”
“Why?” You furrowed your brows, placing down your book you had been reading until he unexpectedly arrived.
“Because I ‘ave a good feelin’ you are the only person that wouldn’t like what’s about to happen. What’s currently happening.”
This time you frowned, an aching feeling tugging at your chest.
“Hobie. What’s going on?”
It wasn’t long until you were flying through the HQ, following all of the spider people as they chased after one thing. One person.
Nobody had known you were there. Nor what you were there for. You had blended into the crowd of spider people, flying around, swinging around until you spotted a blip of the boy that they were chasing. And you saw Miguel, Gwen, and Jessica going after him.
All that you knew was that he was alone. The boy was alone. He needed at least one person at his side. One person who understood what he was going through right then.
By the time you had gotten to the speeding trains, Miguel had Miles pinned down to the top of the train. He had yet to see you. But there was no doubt he would sense you. There was no doubt that he would see your flashing figure, zipping toward him. There was no doubt that in the corner of his eye, he would see you flying at him with a kick and landing it just perfectly, and in time before he could prepare to block you.
Now you stood in front of Miles as Miguel rolled away before clawing his hand into the top of the train to keep him on it.
You removed your mask and grinned, “Too slow, O’Hara!”
“Y/N!” Gwen stared at you in shock.
“Who’s that?!” One Spider-Man with a pink robe—and a baby—attached to him questioned in confusion.
Miguel crawled to his feet. In the corner of your eye Miles jumped off the train and disappeared in seconds. “What have you done?!”
You shrugged, “Nothing yet. That depends on you.”
“Y/N, don’t!” Jessica shouted. “You can’t beat him!”
Miguel’s face was twisted into a scowl, mixed with both betrayal and anger, “She’s right, Domino. You can’t win. You’re on the wrong side!”
You pulled your mask back on and melted into a fighting stance, “I don’t have to win. I just have to give the kid more time.”
For a brief second, the scowl was gone. This look was only for you to see. The same look he wore when you first quit the society.
They were back to where it all began. This was the cycle. It was bound to happen. You knew this. He knew this.
“I don’t want to fight you.” He gritted out. “Stand down, Domino. I’ll only ask this once.”
Not once did you budge.
“I hope we come back from this, Miguel.”
You dashed forward.
Miguel let out a roar of anger and dashed toward you.
The two of you would meet in the middle. And for a second, you really wondered…
Would you?
Would you come back from this?
#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara fic#miguel o'hara one shot#across the spiderverse#spiderman 2099#miguel o'hara across the spider-verse#spiderman atsv#marvel#hobie brown#jessica drew#gwen stacy#miles morales
7K notes
·
View notes
Text
COD X PUPPY HYBRID! READER
Masterlist
MINORS DNI
WARNING:CONTAINS SEMI DARK THEMES DO NOT READ IF YOURE NOT INTRESTED
Fic contains: taboo / dark content please read this warning if you are triggered by any of this material
Reader info:
Referred with: she/her/girl/you
British! Pan! Short! Afab! Feminine! Reader
Coming soon: cat, bunny, mouse, deer, bear, cow, lamb and bird version
♡ callsign: cadaver!
♡ oh where to start with this little ball of energy!!!
♡ shes so dumb </3 but she's good at her job so that's all that matters
♡ it was a surprise to 141 to be presented with the least intimidating hybrid as their newest addition to the team
♡ this bubbly little thing who was practically shaking in excitement, her tail wagging so hard it looked like it was about to fly off
♡ naturally the men were disappointed that they're newest member wasnt some unbeatable tank but instead a tiny thing who was fueled by praise and treats
♡ speaking of praises and treats gaz cant help but spoil you!! Price tells him not to
"she wont listen if you give her so many treats"
"shes a good girl she always listens"
• hes right you do always listen, you're very obedient maybe too obedient
♡ despite his denial of your treats, your favourite man is obviously price <3 something about puppies and grumpy old men is a match made in heaven !!
♡ you like his ear scratches the best especially when you're in his office with your head on his lap
♡ he says he only likes you for your work but everyone knows that's a lie especially when he pays extra attention to you during lunch. Hes just making sure you eat all your food so you're big and strong
♡ you know how some dads pet their dogs my giving their back a good smack and rub? that's what hed do to you <3
♡ he has a wide selection of beef jerky in his office but you only eat it when someone feeds it to you <3 they're not allowed to hand it to you or place it infront of you they must feed it to you directly!! Makes you happy (you try your best not to nip at their fingers when they feed you but you just get so happy you cant help it)
♡ ghost can never be sarcastic around you your dumb brain cant handle it :( "go count every grain of rice in the kitchens if you're so bothered 'bout the numbers" and you do!!! he feels horrible because he knows you suck at counting :(( it must of took you ages to even get to 50
♡ its okay because it gives soap and gaz an excuse to pamper you!! You dont exactly understand why you're being pampered (must be because you're such a good girl for counting all that rice) but you accept it. It does make ghost feel so much worse for making you do things he didnt mean </3
"You're such a good puppy! You're so good at listening and you're so pretty!"
"Gaz that's enough I already said sorry"
"Aw come on Lt you made the poor thing count every grain of rice cant expect us to not rub it in can ya"
♡ ghost does make it up to you eventually, he takes you on walks around the base and points out secrets and tells you their stories
"Oi pup Do you see that dent in the wall?"
"Yes!"
"Johnny came back after a night out and rammed himself into it thinking his shadow was an intruder"
♡ they always have atleast one of your chew toys on them at all times after they noticed you chewing the inside of your mouth, your fingers, their sleeves or just anything you could fit in your mouth
♡ SCENTING!!!!
♡ your team must smell like you all the time, always, forever !!!! Whenever you get them alone youre immediately licking them!! Sometimes you bite but you're working on it <3
♡ if they come back from somewhere you have to smell them, what if they smell like another hybrid hmm?!?! >:((
♡ which is why you hate baths.
♡ they wipe away all your hard work I mean come on it's not easy to get the scent of your four favourite men nor is it easy to scent them!!! They're constantly around other people >:(((((
♡ luckily you arent the smartest so it's easy to trap and lure you in with kisses <3
♡ some one HAS to be in the bath/shower/ room with you
1. you cant be trusted not to eat the soap (smell nice ≠ taste nice)
2. Its scary in there
3. You get distracted and forget to even get in the bath/shower
♡ they treat you so well though !!! your ears and tail are always so soft when you let gaz wash them, he takes such good care of the soft fur and he never ever let's the bubbles stay in your ears and he spends a good long time near your tail but you have no idea why <3
♡ soap likes washing your body! He loves watching you relax as he takes his time to make sure you're clean, he loves letting you lean against him as he washes your back and loves watching the suds run down your body. hes so sweet that he makes sure to pay extra attention to your sensitive areas <3
♡ price is the one tasked to dry you off, you seem to only listen to him anyway (of course you do, your dumb doggy brain has to listen to the leader of your pack)
♡ he pulls you against him using your towel as leverage, he so graciously put it in the dryer to warm up so you're all toasty and warm. You sit in his lap while he rubs your body dry whispering praises about your "bravery" to even go into the bath/shower
♡ Which leaves ghost in charge of your skin care!! This big scary man lathering your body in lotions and creams so you're all soft and smooth. He loves the moans and whimpers when he presses down on your weak spots <3
"Oi mutt stop licking the moisturiser"
"No no nooo :((( Say the thing :((("
"....Simons says stop licking the moisturiser"
♡ you never wear clothes after your bath/shower, they're lucky to get underwear on you, you need to be as open to they're scents as possible!! Maybe you'll wear their clothes but only maybe
♡ our puppy wasn't meant to meet Alejandro and Rudy until the mission was over but she said her nose could be put to good use and laswell couldnt help but agree (puppy definitely didn't bribe her or anything puppy hugs do wonders)
♡ at first alejandro didnt even see the girl behind the mountain sized men, assuming it's only ghost and soap coming along
"This is cadaver, our k9 unit she'll be coming along with us"
"Hello!"
"Ah un perro! you'll be very useful"
♡ it was a tight squeeze in the backseat, two military men left little room but it's okay you enjoy sitting on their laps so it's not much different
"So they call you cadaver?"
"Yes sir!"
"You good at hunting corpses?"
"Uh huh! very good! The best!"
"Good because we're looking for a dead man walking"
":00?? A zombie :((("
♡ overall you got on very well with alejandro and Rudy <3 whenever they passed you they always gave a light scratch to your ear
♡ you dont understand the language but you like the attention and that's all that matters, they're so nice and help you cool off in the sun, you just need to get naked so they can help cool you off just let them help dont even worry about it
♡ you liked graves when you met him he got so hyped up on missions the energy traveled to you
♡ although he definitely tries to make you loyal to him and him only (mmm yummy dark! Graves <3<3) hes always been a fan of hybrids especially the vulnerable ones. Hes best at love bombing you, filling you with treats, pets and roaming hands. Hes a sucker for puppy girls
♡ valeria made you cry when you met her :(( well it was actually rudy but he didnt mean to he felt awful :(((
"Perro estúpido, solo eres una perra reproductora, ¿no? no hay pensamientos en esa linda cabeza tuya"
"Thank you :D"
"Dont thank her shes insulting you"
":(((("
• he gave you so many hugs, treats and kisses after he apologized profusely he forgot how sensitive you are he just didnt want you to thank her for insulting you :((
♡ mommy valeria tho so shes easily forgiven with a few fake compliments.
"You must think twice as hard with that brain of yours"
"Oh no! I dont even think once! :D"
♡ you entertain her, although she does wonder how it would feel to live in your head for a day
"Even the dogs in Las almas know not to bark at me"
"Oh no silly! We're in a shipping container"
"Yes in Las almas"
"Since when"
♡ thinking about how puppy got to keep valeria company while the big strong men go fight, guard dog duties !! Dont ask her how she got naked... and why valerias fingers are pruned... that's not important and you should mind your business
♡ cadaver has a muzzle and harness <3 !!! If you've ever been checked for harness safety you'll understand the feeling of being tugged around and how easy it is to want to jump someones bones
♡ ZOOMIES!!!
♡ always at odd hours too but you cant help it !! you have a lot of energy and you're too dumb to put that energy to good use :(( so it's only natural you jump on everyone and everything <3
♡ nesting with all of their clothes and belongings and they cant stop you or they'll get viciously attacked (you will cry)
♡ sticker collection (scented ones are the best) + mask decorating with ghost !!!!!
♡ konig is a scary big giant man whose just a silly guy at heart but jesus christ he needs to shrink
♡ the first time you met him you actually didnt see him, assuming the sun had exploded and the solid black mass that obscured your vision was the end of the world only to be corrected by an apology from the wall itself
"ah I'm so sorry I didnt see you there"
"Me neither :D"
♡ so big and scary but so warm and protective!! Ghost doesn't like you near konig he doesnt like sharing his toys with kortac
♡ you still hang out with him whenever you get the chance!! <3 friendship bracelets for all!! You did however underestimate how big these mens wrists were and cried when they wouldnt fit
༺*:ﾟ･✧･:*:ﾟ･♡ NSFW ♡･ﾟ:*:･✧･ﾟ:*༻
♡ oral fixation all the way !!
♡ mouth cockwarming!!!! Below prices desk? Yes!! Feeling sleepy and need to suck on something?? Soap is your guy!! Want to learn about the human anatomy? Rudy is there to help
♡ sweaty balls in my mouf
♡ slobbering on them until they scrunch up like raisins, suck the man juice out of them
♡ our puppy has a leash and collar so it's only natural they use it on you, held back by the neck as one of them is pounding into you
♡ puppy likes scent and prefers sex before
and after a work out
♡ listen... piss kink
♡ I just feel like they'd be in a meeting and she tries so so sooo hard to tell someone she needs to pee but they keep telling her to hold it (graves) but she just cant price made sure to keep her hydrated during lunch :(( it's too much and her bladder isnt big enough
♡ whimpers fill the air the sound of dripping water accompanying it their heads turning to face her as sobs bubble out of her mouth along with apologise while she so desperately cover her face to avoid the embarrassment. Her thighs clenched desperately to stop the stream but her attempts were In vain
♡ the first to realise what had happened was soap the fact that he was sitting next to her and had perfect view access to her entire body
"Aw pet don' cry its jus' an accident, happens to the best of us"
♡ :(((( shes so upset but our boys dont mind shes usually so well behaved and she obviously didn't mean to do it on purpose
"Oh puppy you tried so hard to tell us and we completely ignored you didnt we?"
"Uh huh"
"Yeah? And we didnt listen when you said you couldnt hold it did we"
"No i- but I- I did try to hold I really tried hard b-but I couldnt an- and now I've made a mess"
♡ they cant ignore the arousal they get from seeing her soaked and sobbing <3 they know it's wrong, shes upset and embarrassed but they just cant help it
♡ graves is a gross man who looks like fix it felix but dont let that fool you he 100% loves the control he gets from a piss kink especially for our puppy, he likes making you hold it and then mocks you in a high pitched voice but your dumb little brain thinks hes comforting you
♡ I think simon is more one for fucking you until you pee, he usually does it in the shower so he can wash off but he doesnt mind getting dirty, he likes the feeling of your cunt squeezing and gushing around him especially if you try to tell him to stop. Youre gonna pee? Yeah? Do it
♡ gaz is someone who likes to watch you pee he loves the view <3 the fluttering of your cunt draws him in road trip side of road
♡ Johnny, similar to his L.T, is someone who teases you until you pee. Rubbing your clit until its puffy and sore and you cant hold yourself up right let alone your bladder
♡ alejandro and Rudy like watching you wiggle they'll purposefully fill you with liquid and press on your tummy just to watch you squirm, they have bets on who can make you loose it first
♡ price pees in you
♡
♡
♡ theres a reason hes your favourite
♡ you know how I talked about scenting??... I hate to break it to you but she has definitely peed on them/their stuff at some point
♡ you mostly pee on price
♡ "what are you doing"
"Nothin"
"Where are you pants"
"I dont know"
"You're not gonna pee on the floor are you"
"No"
"That's right you're not because that would be bad"
"bad"
"Thats right bad"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"...."
"Just a little"
"No-"
♡ heats are always a pain for you :(( so horny and so wet desperate for someone to fill you with the pups you need. You drive the team crazy with your whimpers and cries but they know you cant help it, you're just achey :(((
♡ bullet vibrators are your best bet as they obviously cant fuck you 24/7 so that small buzzing of pleasure keeps you satiated until they can get their hands on you, the first time you had your heat you couldnt get the small thing out :(( your fingers were too small and it was so slippery you couldnt grasp it :((( you're so lucky your captain is kind enough to help you <3 dont think about his fingers wiggling inside you hes just trying extra hard to get it out that's why hes pumping them in and out of you
♡ sometimes they have to keep you in a cage because you wont stop begging to be stuffed, they dont want a rookie to think that they're allowed to overstep their place just because your in heat
♡ you hump everything!!!! Nothing is safe they take their shirt off for one second and it's on a pillow being jumped by no other than you!! You absolute fiend!!!
♡ you follow them around everywhere you love being around you favourite men!!!
♡ when 141 go on a mission you're left with Rudy and alejandro who always give in to you whines and begs <3 they treat you so well always stuffing you full when you need it, letting you have as much cum as you please, it makes the 141 so jealous that they have to fuck you as soon as they get back!
♡ graves probably pimps out puppy to his shadows there I said it
♡ konig isnt to slick with his touches either, he may think hes going undetected but that's only by our dumb mutt the other men are fuming with him. He let's you sit in his lap, his bear like hands inbetween your thighs rubbing along your most intimate areas you dont exactly connect what hes doing and hes completely okay with that just grind yourself back on him.
♡ he probably asks horangi to help him out, probably stretching you to prepare for the brute of the man
♡ definitely think gangbangs are a big part of your heat, vibrators, plugs, rope and muzzles are all items your familiar with. I like to think they just come and go when fucking you it's almost like a brothel
♡ they definitely finger fuck you while doing mindless tasks, brushing their teeth? You're bent over the sink pushing yourself back onto them, doing paperwork? Being cockwarmed by your snug lil cunt, lifting weights? You're bouncing on their cock weighing them down
#simon ghost riley x reader#141 x reader#task force 141 x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#alejandro vargas x reader#rudy parra x reader#valeria garza x reader#john price x reader#captain John price x reader#soap x reader#john mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#konig x reader#horangi x reader#cod mw2 x reader#kyle garrick x reader#gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#graves x reader#phillip graves x reader
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
mirror
summary: vil falling in love with you
type of post: short fic
characters: vil schoenheit
additional info: romantic, FLUFF, reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, takes place during/after book 6
author's note: vilyuu is such a good and underrated dynamic I'm never not obsessed with it. always thinking about him. holding them like dolls making them kiss mwah mwah
One might be bold enough to assume that actor and model Vil Schoenheit had been a victim of Eros before.
With the world under his thumb and millions of adoring fans at his beck and call, it was easy to fantasize about the image of a shining star that had left a string of broken hearts behind him. His persona of perfection gave off such a dazzling impression that any other truth is simply unimaginable. Beautiful, talented, devoted...
...Untouchable to such a degree that the very truth of the matter was that Vil Schoenheit had never been in love. He had no use, let alone time, to indulge himself in something that he found distracting at best and frustrating at worst. For most of his life, romance was nothing but another part to play, a frustrating rumor to dispel, a disaster to witness, something that nagged at him from the outside yet never made itself a home within him.
This idea of the confident heartbreaker Vil Schoenheit was nothing but a reflection of the image he put out, shone back at him by tabloids and fan accounts. It was a hollow interpretation, fueled by fantasies of a Vil that didn't exist in flesh and blood. And so, every time an invasive interviewer or pesky reporter inquired about the state of his personal affairs, he answered truthfully: Vil Schoenheit could easily go throughout life focusing solely on his career, on improving himself, and not miss out on anything at all.
There have been very, very few things that Vil has called himself an idiot over. That answer was one of them.
Because the very second he saw you again after being separated by Styx, the want to smack you for being so reckless in coming after him was only secondary to his want to hold you and cry until his water-proof mascara was running.
Love is such a strange emotion. Vil could never understand why Rook was so obsessed with it, how the vice housewarden fell in love with every beautiful person he saw. For his whole life Vil thought it to be painful, to be distracting, to be finite and often times nothing but a shallow reflection of all of one's ugliest traits.
And now, it made him feel weak and messy. He hated feeling messy.
...And yet, what he wouldn't do to have his lipstick smeared over your mouths. To have you see him with his hair undone and eyes bleary with sleep, and to see you in that state as well. It was not the time, nor the place, but he wanted to cradle you in his arms until this terrible, sickly feeling of longing you'd left him with went away.
For the first time in his life, Vil was suddenly terrified of being alone.
No, not alone- he was terrified of being without you.
To never see your smile again would be a fate worse than death, worse than growing old and haggard. How terrible to think that just one simple person could so easily undo everything about him, and yet, he wanted more of that very feeling. He would unwrap himself layer by layer for you if you asked, taking off all of the years of discipline and poise, and lay vulnerable before you so that you could be soft and simple together. Vil had always regarded romance as difficult, but falling in love with you was surprisingly easy.
He did not have to save Grim from the Underworld, despite what he claimed. Such a risky move cost him everything he loved, everything beautiful about him, everything except for you. And as much as he mourned for himself, he knew he would do it again and again if it meant saving the smile on your face.
And perhaps he was too wishful with his thinking, but he could have sworn he saw that same familiar glimmer of affection and admiration in your eyes when you met his gaze. As if you couldn't even see the pasty, wrinkled mess he'd turned into, and were peering at something behind it.
It made him feel utterly exposed and offered him no comfort, but the thought that you were looking at something not even he could see lingered in the back of his mind, even after his magical energy was rejuvenated.
He had become so familiar with everyone around him being a mirror, reflecting his carefully crafted image right back at him, showering him with two-dimensional praises, that being seen as an object of flesh and blood and tears was a strange notion. To behold his presence and see a person with wants and needs and flaws rather than a flat surface, a decorative magazine atop a coffee table, left him with a strange feeling in his chest. The thought both bothered and warmed him.
Vil Schoenheit was so hopelessly in love with you, and it didn't hurt. It wasn't difficult or ugly or forced, it took not even the least bit of effort. He sunk into the feeling like a warm bath which never grew colder, and he let that be his new reality. It felt strange to imagine that there was a time where he didn't love you, where he didn't look at you as if you were the moon itself, where you weren't such a part of his being that he couldn't imagine life without you.
And he never expressed these feelings in words. They existed inside of him, running through his veins like the very blood that kept him alive and warm, and they weren't distracting, just another part of him that he kept tucked away to occupy his thoughts on rainy days.
...But the best part of it was that he didn't need words. Because when you looked at him, when you saw the Vil the not even he could see, you could already tell they were there. The mirror, the pane of glass that had always existed between himself and others, was non-existent for you.
Vil thought that someday he might be able to see himself through that glass the way you did, but he was perfectly content with simply looking at you instead for the time being.
846 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 ⋆ 𝐜. 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳
THE OTHER WOMAN / SEQUEL !
where you acclimate to the current dating scene after eight years of being with carlos...
liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and others
yourusername life lately 🩷
username mother😩😩😩
username GLOWING!!
username come home, the kids miss you 😞
lilymhe convulsing from the ethereal vibes✨
lilymhe let me take you out on a date!
yourusername anytime anywhere!!
alex_albon hello?
lilymhe go away. can't u see me trying to score a baddie?
lilymhe i'll wine and dine u baby yourusername 🍝🍷
alex_albon can i atleast get some takeout? 🤲
blancasainz95 que mujer más guapa💗😚
username it's the sainz siblings still liking and commenting for me🤭
username media did claim they had an amicable breakup!
username favorite wag by a mile!!
username ex f1 wag you mean?
username op is not wrong! she's still a wag... just with a different sport now🫣
username who?!?!?!!!! 👁️👄👁️
username streets saying jimmy garoppolo😌😌
username JIMMY???
username carlossainz55 come get mother real quick! 😭😭😭
↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-
You felt like you had done a good job all by yourself. You took your sweet time getting used to being alone again, having spent the better part of the past decade accompanying carlos and living together with him.
As embarassing as it was to admit, there were days where you'd wake up abruptly as if hearing his footsteps, or the faint rumble of his voice lulling you to sleep. There were moments where you'd break down crying upon seeing an article of clothing belonging to carlos, or seeing pictures when you were still happily together.
It wasn't easy to forget an eight year relationship. You soon realized. He was all you've ever known and adored... You dreamt a life with the guy for crying out out loud!
You wanted all the permanent things, the domestic future, him.
But the reality was that you were different people who wanted starkly different things in life. Carlos was set on his career while you had the burden of being a woman. You didn't have forever to waste away, and you didn't want to spend it waiting for a future that could never be in the stars for you and him.
You had accepted it. It wasn't all tears, and tearful reminiscing anyways. Your life had picked up after a couple of weeks. It was a lie. You spent a month and a half being pathetic. But who was counting?
You were having the time of your life. Your singleness provided a way for you to realize new and old hobbies.
You finally went back to your hometown, despite your fears of facing your parents' knowing looks and getting an ill timed i told you so's from their ever skeptic way of seeing life. Especially your relationship with Carlos..
But your mother took one look at you; in your deshieveled and devastated form, wordlessly opening her arms and craddling your pathetic self as you wept about your broken heart.
You found peace in the tranquility of your childhood home. Reacquainting yourself with your horse, champion whom you had been neglecting— you realize belatedly. The help couldn't take the horses out that much, where you formerly took the stallion out for most of the day. You made sure to make up for lost time however.
You were also able to rekindle old friendships, quickly becoming fast friends once again as if no time had passed at all. You traipsed all over Madrid, enjoying the thrill of meeting new people, of learning new things... And how forward the current dating scene seemed to be in regards to matters concerning...
"Wait, wait." You press a hand towards his broad chest, breathing roughly. Your chest rose and fell with excitement as you tried to come down from how fast the things had quickly become heated between the two of you. "We're going a bit too fast, don't you think?" You whine under your breath, as his face came down to press open mouthed kisses on your neck, easily finding your most sensitive spot as he expertly manouvers your body, backing you up against the wall.
"Relax. We won't do anything you don't want." He says, softening his tone, "I'm not a hooligan." He tuts, pressing a feather like kiss on the side of your lips.
"Says the man who pulled me into a dark room to play tonsil tennis." You retort amusedly, stroking your fingers on his neck. You couldn't help but close your eyes at the sensation of his lips against your skin, his fingers making quick work of slipping under your skirt, and you hissed from the sensation of his cold rings against your thighs, "You're cold!"
"Warm me up then, love." He was evidently amused by your reactions and the way your cheeks flushed at his crude remark. He wiped away every other thought from your mind, as he kisses you wantonly. He made sure to hold your gaze as he pulls away, sinking down to his knees... and kissing your thighs softly. "Beautiful. So fucking beautiful. I couldn't think of anything else when you walked into the room. Nobody else mattered but you... you're bad for my business, darling."
You could hardly register anything else after that
↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-
The breakup came with the long forgotten territory of male attention. Sure, there were some bold and uncaring lads few and far between, but Carlos had quickly shut down every attempt with a swift glare and a possesive hand over you. You didn't mind. You only needed him and his attention and everyone else were merely annoying backnoise.
As it is, your breakup was made public through the urging of Carlos' management and his public relations team. You cooperated seamlessly despite being civil, to the point of rudeness, to their every demand.
How ironic was it that through his blatant act of wanting to separate himself from you and everything else that had to do with you; he made a declaration to the world that you were readily available.
Your dms were sure packed to the brim when you'd later had the energy to do anything asides from the basic tasks of taking care of yourself. You couldn't laugh nor cry upon seeing several of carlos' work acquaintances making their presence known in your dms. You even saw his former (and possibly current) teammates taking their shot.
You couldn't help but wonder for how long has he been... Non committal towards his best mates about your real score. They couldn't possibly muster up the courage had it been the true duration of your separation. Men aren't that proactive. They atleast had some base sense of loyalty.
Then again, it didn't take very long for him to be spotted with some model on his arm. He looked happy, invigorated... Annoyingly handsome. Fuck him and his perfect face. You wished you atleast threw a heel at him for being a dickwad.
Were you seeing other people out of spite or trying to prove yourself to him? You wouldn't exactly say so. You'd had an agreement with the well established, and good looking gentleman who had made you tremble and writhe under his tongue. He was incredibly lax and cool, and great company in every sense of the word. He made you laugh, he also made you cry just now.
And so while you made yourselves look presentable, you were first out the door while he waited a few minutes to make his entrance into the party again. You gratefully took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, wetting your parched throat as you looked around as normally as you could. Blending in with the fancy people in their cocktail dresses and designers.
You heard footsteps approaching after a few moments. Another man spotted him, and he grinned in recognition upon the sight of the ever famous....
"Sir Hamilton!"
#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#f1 x female reader#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 x you#formula 1 smau#formula 1 social media au#f1 smau#f1 social media au#f1#formula 1#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz x female reader#carlos sainz au#carlos sainz jr x reader#carlos sainz#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x you#lewis hamilton x y/n#lewis hamilton#f1 fic#f1 fluff
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
❀*ੈ˖°.𖥔 ݁ casual (part ii)
don't buy tlou — free palestine
you can read part one here!
pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader
summary: you haven't spoken to ellie in a week, 9 missed calls and 38 texts from her, none of which you've answered, but ellie doesn't give up so easily.
cw: smut, mdni, intimate sex, the knee thing (e!receiving), shower sex, fingering (r!receiving), switch!ellie and reader, multiple orgasms, nipple play/sucking, fluffy, reader lives in an apartment, ellie is very apologetic, barley proofread & semi-rushed and i think thats it. lmk if not.
wc: 2.9k
a/n: this was meant to be like 1.6k words so idk how we got to 35 words away from 3k but... enjoy!
(1:02am) ellie
please let me explain
(1:06am) ellie
cmon please i promise it'll be worth your while
(1:07am) ellie
i have your bra among other things. let me know when you'd like me to drop them off. i'm sorry.
(1:09am) you
guess who texted again
(1:09am) olive
no way
r u gonna reply?
(1:10am) you
absolutely not
i made a fool of myself
(1:11am) olive
maybe and JUST MAYBE
reply to her and get ur closure + super sexy bra back
(1:12am) you
what the fuck olive
do you want me to die? genuine question
(1:12am) olive
LISTEN
it might help
plus she seems genuinely apologetic
why is she even apologising?
(1:14am) you
for being a dick and wanting a quick hookup?
(1:14am) olive
because she has feelings and she knows she fucked up?
(1:15am) you
😐 bye
(1:15am) olive
just reply! say sometime tmrw. it can be easy, a quick in nd out
okay?
(1:16am) you
i'll think about it
(2:03am) you
11:30, you get two minutes
(2:03am) ellie
thank you so much
(2:03am) ellie
i'll be there
nine hours later, and ellie was a mess.
you had given her permission to come over and return your bra – hell you had her jumping for fucking joy when she saw that message.
but now she had to actually talk to you, and what the hell was she supposed to say? that she was sorry? that she 'couldn't sort out her feelings?' all of which felt wrong (maybe they only felt wrong because she was staring at herself in the mirror while repeating them for three hours... who knows).
but ellie had found herself with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand and a plan.
a plan to win you back.
she was going to apologize, let you scream at her, and hopefully let her explain, all in the two minutes you had gratefully gifted her.
so, when she rang the doorbell to your apartment after hiking the six story stairs, she found herself staring at her old, beaten up converse. stars and hearts you had drawn all along the sides of the soles almost mocked her.
then you opened the door, and ellie couldn't look up.
useless apologies started spilling from her mouth, panicked words that meant nothing. a collection of "i'm sorry” s and a series of "please let me explain" came pouring out, that was until she grew the gall to look up at you and take you in.
her heart stopped when she did, so did her words.
you looked tired. clearly old yet comfortable clothes adorned your body, you had your arms over your stomach but they weren't crossed, you weren't mad, you could never be mad at ellie, no matter how badly you wanted to be especially in this moment.
words rushed through her head but never made it out her mouth, you were... exhausted. and she caused it, she caused all this pain you were going through.
“oh…” she softly whispered, her stance faltering at the sight of you, not because you looked like how you did but because she was so mad at herself.
you sigh, you had made no effort to adjust your appearance or put makeup on. you told yourself it was because you had no energy to, but in reality, you wanted to show ellie how you were hurting, that she had caused this, that something fun and sweet had gone sour and at your own expense.
“ellie, i know i look….” you remove your arms from your stomach and signal to yourself shamefully, tears almost springing from your sunken eyes at the regret you feel for not even trying to fix yourself up, “ but can i please just have my bra back?” you’ve changed your position once again so that you’re leaning up against the doorframe of your apartment, gray sleeves up by your knuckles.
“no! no no no not at all you look… pretty. really pretty.” she breathes out hurriedly, your cheeks heat up before you spot the bouquet, and that's what makes the tears spill. because why was she here? she had never described you as pretty before, only hot or sexy, so why is she here apologising and calling you pretty if she doesnt just want a quick fuck by validating you?
tears now evidently filled your eyes, ellie’s kind smile had now turned into one of worry and concern when she saw the tears threatening to spill from your tired eyes, moving forward to embrace you, but she hesitated. will it only make things worse for you? feeling her again?
“can- can i touch you?” she asks gently, nerves shaking at the chance of you pushing her away for good, telling her she can keep the bra and slamming the door shut in her face.
instead, you silently shake your head yes and grant her permission to embrace you, it was a stupid idea, really, because everything you felt, all the times she had touched you that you had so desperately been trying to shut out came flooding back and it took everything in you not to sob, the subtle stream of tears gliding down your cheeks was worse enough. you avoided her sorrowful eyes, you didn't want her to feel sorry for you, you just wanted her.
ellie lets go of you, she’s still standing at the doorway, converse planted firmly on your ‘welcome!’ doormat, she delicately reaches to hold your cheeks and force your wandering eyes to look into her own, staring for a second, memorizing your face just in case before looping an arm around your shoulders and guiding you inside, closing the door behind the two of you with her foot, not looking back once.
you can feel the flowers gently brush against your shoulder as she never put them in her other hand, but the feeling of them is oddly comforting. you're not sure why exactly it’s comforting, but you do however manage to notice they're your favorite.
ellie guides you over to a kitchen counter, sitting you up on it and standing right in between your open spread legs, placing the array of flowers opposite to the two of you. you bury your head in your hands, wanting to disappear from this moment and never return.
“hey…” she gently prys your hands away from your head, and you immediately look up to contain tears, trying your hardest nor to hit the cabinets. “i'm sorry for just welcoming myself in, i assumed you didn't want the neighbors to see you…” the auburn haired girl uneasily babbles, and the tears slow down. you sniffle, looking down at the girl who can’t seem to slow her fast paced talking, and you're not sure how to quiet her down other than placing a hand over her mouth.
instantly, the talking stops as she looks up at you confused, you sniffle once more and she grabs your hand again to remove it from her mouth
“you were talking a lot,” you whisper “its okay that you came in, ellie.” your voice is silky, addicting.
“i just-” she sighs, anxiously tapping the space outside your thighs and staring at her own hands “i don’t know how i can express just how sorry i am, i fucked up. Bad. and your hurting because of it” she spills, shes not even sure if it made sense as it left her mouth, but it’s honest.
“ellie… it was always more than just a casual thing to me,” you admit, voice getting shallower by the second “and i mean, i don’t know, i always just assumed if i kept saying i was fine with it you would realize that i was who you wanted, but now i know it isn’t true.” ellie’s face drops upon hearing your words, alarms blare in her head because of course it was never just casual to her as well, she’s not even sure why she suggested it in the first place or kept reinforcing it when she wanted everything but that.
“i know,” she starts off with, you look down sadly, this was confirmation she didn't want to see you anymore, that you getting attached had ruined everything and there was no saving whatever you two had. “but,” she continues, you look up at her again, confused. “It was never just casual to me as well, you know? i’m not even sure why i suggested it in the first place.” she lets out a brief chuckle at the last part in hopes of clearing some of the tension around you guys.
“but you-”
“i know i always reminded you, i think it was because i was scared? i was so… infatuated with you and i guess i didn’t want to hurt you. i thought it was the only way.” she remorsefully confesses, and you smile, roles reversed as you gracefully grab her face and kiss her. a kiss that says everything.
it's soft, gentle, show’s no urgency or panic. it’s natural, and ellie can feel you smiling into it, as is she.
gently, she moves away and starts kissing down your neck, you lock your hands into her auburn and let out a sigh of content.
“ellie…” you needily whisper.
“yeah, baby?” she removes her mouth from your neck, grabbing your thighs and looking into your eyes. “this okay?”
“more than okay,” you confirm, “do you wanna shower with me?” your request is simple, but it makes ellie’s heart explode with excitement as she lifts you off the counter and begins to carry you over to the very familiar shower, the short walk is full of quick kisses and giggles bouncing off the walls when you finally arrive and she nearly stumbles over her own feet.
you're quick to discard your own clothes, the anticipation building to feel ellie’s skin on your own, the girls anticipation matching yours as she hastily removes her own clothing. Flowers and bra forgotten in the kitchen when she pulls your body into the shower with her, capturing you into a needy kiss once more. she reaches behind you to turn the water on, not accounting for the fact it'll take a minute to warm up and allowing the freezing stream to harshly hit your back. you yelp, moving away quickly in shock, hearing ellie’s restrained snort from behind you. turning to face her, you slap her bicep playfully when the water begins to feel warmer
“ellie!” you playfully scold, “that wasn't funny!” you’re trying to be serious, key word: trying, but you cant help to let your own laugh slip past your mouth as you join her in the fun.
“‘m sorry!” she giggles, the laughter between you two dying down “i didn't think it would be that cold!”
“yeah, well, obviously!” you attempt to splash her with the little bit of remaining cold water on your hands, but you're not quick enough. she pins your hands above your head against the wall adjacent to the stream of water, the glass becoming foggy with steam from the nearly boiling water.
silence falls in between the two of you. no words are spoken as you move forwards wanting a kiss from the girl, but she moves back. deja vu spikes within you from that night at the bar, days before everything went down.
she closes her eyes, leaning closer and pressing her forehead up against yours. You repeat the action, you weren't sure what she was doing, but you trusted her.
“let’s take this slow, okay?” she utters softly, just loud enough so you could hear her over the sound of water pouring, you nod instantly. slow was good. slow meant effort.
with your agreement, she locks your lips into a kiss once again. it wasn't hasty or rough, it was soothing and steady, releasing your arms in order for her to move her own to rest on your hips, your own reaching towards her neck.
the kiss continuous for a couple minutes, only letting go for a couple seconds at a time to catch your breaths before falling back into each other peacefully, but you were getting wetter and wetter, desperate for more than just kitten kisses on your neck, and you could tell ellie was getting wet too with her movements becoming more and more desperate and rough.
discreetly, you slot your knee in between her legs while she's occupied with your neck. Almost immediately you can feel the grip she has on your hips become tighter, fingernails digging into the flesh as you slowly begin to move your knee, she groans, dropping her head into your shoulder, moving her hips to match the rhythm with your knee.
“faster, please” she whimpers in your neck, busying herself again by leaving wet open mouthed kisses on your neck once more. who were you to deny such a pretty girl's request? you speed up the movement of your knee, nudging it up every now and again, removing a hand from her neck to reach down and slowly rub her clit.
from the way she sucked harder on that spot just below your ear she knew you loved, you assumed the sensation was taken well, your own wetness starting to drip down your thighs, mixing with the water from the muffled noises she was making alone. eventually, the stimulation caught up to her, legs becoming shaky, speeding up your movements and circling her clit, forcefully removing her mouth from your neck so you could bring your head down and suck on her left nipple, and that was her tipping point.
ellie came undone on your leg with a strangled shout of your name, legs shaking and thighs hurting as you slowed down the circles on her now sensitive nub before eventually stopping, removing the knee slotted between her legs as well as your mouth from her tit.
“you okay?” you whisper, giving her a couple seconds to come down from her high, the water providing a warm comfort over the two of you.
“yeah,” she breathes, coming up to give you a kiss on the lips, again, and again, making a wet noise each time, only further fueling your need for her. “more than okay, thank you.”
you smile at her, happy that she was satisfied with your work. you clench your thighs together in hopes to relieve some of the tension that had built up in your core, a move that did not go unnoticed by the dripping girl in front of you.
“but now i think i need to take care of you, hm? would you like that?” you quickly nod your head yes, anxious to feel her touch on you once more.
she doesn't wait to get to work on your body, lips going down to suck one of your boobs while her hand moves to roll the sensitive bud in between her fingers, almost instantly eliciting a moan from you.
quietly, she moves her hand that was previously rolling your nipple down your wet body to your core. you open your legs, she keeps her mouth on your boob, but teasing your folds as she ran her fingers through them and pinching your clit ever so slightly, causing you to squel.
“ellie.. please…” you almost beg, desperate to feel her skilled fingers inside you already.
she presses her palm flat against your clit, ignoring your begs but making you jerk back into the ceramic wall as a small whimper falls from your mouth, ellie smirks knowing just how much of an effect she had on you. she wasn't leaving you ever again.
lazily, she slips her middle finger into your hole, removing her mouth from your tit. the shower and your own slick providing enough lube that she didn't even have to prod at it.
“jesus babe… you're so tight” you clench around her finger at these words, and she mindlessly adds a second one. your hands move from her neck to the steaming glass beside you, indenting your handprint through the fog as you lose control over your own body's movements.
gradually, she begins pumping her fingers in and out of your sopping cunt, lewd and shameless moans leaving your mouth at an uncontrollable pace. she moves her thumb to your clit, pushing into it and causing as much pressure as possible, and it's not long before you cum with a yell of her name, babbling nonsense as she guides you through it. head in her neck as is hers in yours.
“‘m so sorry” ellie continuously repeats as her fingers still work at a relentless pace inside you “i'm so so sorry, ill never do that to you again.” she moves up and bites your earlobe, continuing to pilot you through your orgasm before halting her movements completely and removing herself from your body.
you lean back against the wall, eyes closed in content as you feel the droplets of water hit your skin, your water bill is gonna be so fucking high this month, all ellie does it look at you. admiring you in this post fucked out state. you reach your hand out, a silent request for her to take it and she does, right after turning off the stream for you.
“that was… amazing.” you breathe out happily, she beams at the peaceful look on your face as you peel your eyes open, ellie's smile making you crack your own.
“i'm glad,” she kisses you once more, the two of you smiling into it.
“we’re okay?” she asks
“we’re okay.” you confirm, and ellie has never been happier
“how about we continue this in the bedroom?” ellie suggests, and you grab her instantly to lead her out.
people who asked to be tagged: @a-little-bit-of-everybody ! @lmaoo-spiderman @macaroni676 @p4ison1vy @fatbootymuncher @elliessweetheart
#taintedpearls 𐙚#aria writes 𝜗𝜚#do not support neil druckmann#ellie williams headcanons#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams tlou#ellie x reader#ellie williams smut#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie smut#ellie the last of us#elliewilliams#ellie williams#ellie tlou#ellie x fem reader#ellie williams fanfic#ellie x you#ellie x y/n#mdni banner by @cafekitsune#lace divider by @v6que
821 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can i pls get some clingy ass illumi x reader who hasn’t seen them in days because of his missions?
Have a nice day!! Make sure to drink water💓
miss me? (illumi zoldyck x reader)
description: illumi has been gone for a week and when he returns, he seems slightly off. it didn't take you long to realise that he wanted attention, namely yours...
authors note: another super old ask but i love this one with all my heart and soul. illumi? stunning. clingy illumi? immaculate. seriously there is nothing i love more than illumi so this is how i think he would be when he's clingy and wants attention! have a lovely day anon and i really hope you drink lots of water! (seriously i've just found out how important this is so pls everyone drink lots of water to flush out that bacteria) 💗
warnings: none
word count: 1.1k
requests are open! please read my rules!
You hadn’t seen Illumi Zoldyck for the better part of a week. While you were used to the assassin leaving often for work, usually you were in a position to follow him. This time, however, was one of the rare occasions where you had to stay home at your apartment, all for that blasted electrician who kept cancelling on you. If he called you one more time to cancel, while you stayed home when you could have followed your boyfriend to a sunny location that you would have treated like a holiday, you swore you would hire the Zoldyck yourself to track him down.
As though he had heard your silent threat, the electrician came and went, and your kitchen appliances were once again fully operational. Happy that you could finally restock the fridge, you left to get groceries. You couldn’t admit this out loud, but your apartment often felt too empty without the assassin occupying it too. While he didn’t own the space where you lived, he stayed there often enough that he may as well share it with you.
It had surprised you when you brought up the offer of living together and he didn’t reject the idea immediately. Illumi actually seemed contemplative, as though it was almost a pleasant thought. That was what you assumed anyway, you could never truly tell what he was thinking most of the time.
By the time you returned home, you knew something was different immediately. For one, you were certain that you had locked the door. Cautiously stepping into the apartment, you coiled and prepared to strike whatever or whoever was lurking. Despite not being an assassin, you were still a qualified Hunter, and those licences did not come easy.
It turns out that you needn't have bothered as, when you approached the living area, Illumi was sitting calmly at your kitchen island watching you.
“Oh, Illumi!” Setting down your bags, you ran to him, throwing your arms around your boyfriend as you held him tightly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”
“No signal.” He said simply as he let you hug him, hands gingerly settling around you. You had to fight tooth and nail for him to learn how to hug properly, and even now he still hadn’t quite managed to perfect the act. Despite this, he still tried, and that was good enough for you.
Pulling away, you looked at him with a smile. “How was it?”
He shrugged, a clear sign he was disinterested in the topic. “Simple.”
Nodding, you stepped back to put the groceries away, not wanting them to rot on the floor. Illumi sat back down, fathomless eyes locked on you while you completed the task you had set for yourself. You liked to think that you knew the Zoldyck rather well, and that included when something was bothering him.
Turning around, you raised an eyebrow as you met his gaze. “What?”
“What?”
“You’re staring at me.”
“Why are you pointing that out?”
“Because I’m wondering why.”
“I stare at you a lot.” He stated, tone very matter of factly.
“I know, but now it seems different.”
“It isn’t.”
“If you say so, darling.” You rolled your eyes and finished putting the food away. Once you had, you turned to face your boyfriend once more, looking for an explanation.
“You forgot something.” Illumi said, and while his voice was the usual light and expressionless one, his eyes still bore into yours.
Looking around, you couldn’t see anything out of place, and you had certainly left nothing on the counters. “What did I forget?”
Illumi didn’t answer, only continued to look at you expectedly. Now you were really confused, and slightly unnerved by his odd behaviour. Illumi rarely acted like this.
With no answer to give you clarity, you grinned in feigned annoyance, kissed his cheek and whispered you were happy to have him back before you left to head into the room you used as an at home office.
Sitting down at your desk and opening your files, you stared blankly at the screen while you mentally observed Illumi’s behaviour. There was something amiss, and you couldn’t put your finger on what. He wasn’t usually the expressive one; well, he was never the expressive one. All physical, verbal, and emotional affection fell on your shoulders to deliver. While this may seem one sided to most, you didn’t mind as you knew Illumi was not able to express much by way of love. Despite this, you knew he loved you, in his own way. He had threatened to kill the electrician for you when you complained about the situation to him, and that spoke millions. Not only that, but he also allowed you to be as affectionate as you are with him, and he accepted it whereas anyone else wouldn’t have a chance in hell of even approaching him, let alone the things you did together.
What was bothering him?
Just then, you saw a shadow move in your peripheral vision, and your heart dropped to your ass. “Fucking hell, Illumi! At least knock!”
He ignored your outburst. “What are you doing?”
“Working.” You said as you willed your heart to calm down.
“Oh.” Illumi stayed standing behind you, hovering ominously.
Then it clicked, Illumi was being clingy. This was how he acted when he wanted attention. Unable to control yourself, you laughed loudly at the realisation.
“What?” He asked, watching you stand from your seat to face him.
Your smile was incredibly smug as you approached, wrapping your hands around his waist. “Did somebody miss me?”
Naturally, he didn’t respond and it might’ve been your imagination, but he seemed to relax under your touch.
“I think I know what I’ve forgotten.” You captured your lips with his own, smiling as you did so. It was moments like this that made you realise that Illumi did in fact love you, and that he was quite attached to you. Even if he didn’t show it much, his hands resting on you, the slide of his lips against your own, the way he seemed unwilling to let you go spoke for him.You pulled away for a moment, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek. You had the Illumi Zoldyck as your lover, and no matter what anyone said, he loved you. “Miss me?”
#hxh#hunter x hunter#hxh x reader#illumi#illumi zoldyck#illumi x reader#illumi hxh#hunter x hunter illumi#hxh illumi#illumi zoldyck x reader#illumi x y/n#illumi x you#hisoka#hisoka marrow#hxh hisoka#kurapika hxh#hxh kurapika#kurapika#hisoka hxh#hunter x hunter hisoka#hisoka hunter x hunter#hxh chrollo#chrollo lucilfer
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
A is for About Time
summary: You’re paired up with Spencer on a mostly physiological case… He’s impressed with how many of his obscure references you understand and how you’re able to carry on conversations with him unlike anyone else.
word count: 1.3k
warnings: details of a case: strangulation, blood writing
“y/n and Reid, I need you to stay here at the station while the rest of us go search the area.” Hotch said, handing you and Spencer each a file. “There’s information about the case in here. The PD thinks we’re dealing with someone who is able to outsmart that of the normal man. We need both of your heads on this. Got it?”
You and Spencer both nodded. You were smart, no denying it, but you know he knows everything you know times two.
You’ve only been in the BAU six months, but you’d only need to know Spencer two minutes to know just how intelligent he is. You don’t quite understand why Hotch wants you to stay back on this case with him, but who are you to deny the man.
You and Spencer take the Manila folders and make your ways to the conference room. He does a little jog to catch up with you. “You know, I’ve never had anyone else stay back with me on cases like these.” He says as he slows his step to match yours.
“Yeah, we’ll maybe you’ve never had anyone quite on your level Dr. Reid.” you joke as you pull the glass door open. There’s a bulletin board with photos from the case. You see Spencer grimace at them out of your peripheral. No matter how many cases you go on, this is one thing that will never be easy for anyone in this job.
Spencer sprawls out his folder on the half-circle-shaped wooden table in the center of the small office. The first image is a photo from the crime scene. It’s a white brick wall with blood writing, it reads:
“in this moment, she was mine, mine, fair, perfectly pure and good”
“It’s a poem.” He says. “Porphyria’s Lover.”
You interrupt him, “a mid 1800’s poem written by Robert Browning.”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“A poem in which a beautiful woman’s lover strangles her with her own hair? Yeah I’ve heard of it.”
He flips through a few more pages in the folder. They’re all just copies of what’s on the bulletin. You’re not too sure why you were each given folders containing the same pictures, but I guess consistency is key in this job.
“I never took you as an 1800s poem freak, y/n.” He says with a smile that you can’t quite tell the intention behind.
“Maybe you’re not as many levels ahead of me as you thought, Dr. Reid.”
_____
It’s only day two of the case, but between stupid jokes and bonding over old literature, there’s only one thing you cannot seem to pinpoint the reasoning for. And probably the only way you’ll be able to directly connect to the unsub.
He’s working off a dating app. He searches for women who meet his physical criteria, then stalks them until he’s able to pounce. Smart guy. Very smart guy.
“The one thing I just cannot understand is why if the poem he’s working off of is so keen on blonde hair, why have only half of our victims been blondes?” Spencer says, reading through a print-out of the original poem.
“Maybe the women with brown hair were just more available?” You say, not sure if you believe it.
Spencer takes a sip of his coffee. “No, a man like this would want blondes. He’s working of the exact motive of the poem.”
“And he must have a lot of time with his victims to be able to strangle them with their hair.”
You and Spencer spend hours reading over the poem and investigating that photos. Hotch comes back to the station to bring photos from yet another crime scene. Another blonde. If anything, that takes you further from figuring him out, messing up the blonde-brown-blonde-brown victim order.
“There’s no way he’s picking these victims at random. He’d have to spend far too long watching them to know their work schedule to be able to get into their apartments.” Hotch says. “I need you guys to further analyze the poem. It could have the key and hopefully we can find him before he strikes again.”
You and Spencer spend a further hour and a half looking over and annotating the poem. You’re both about to give up on the poem when you notice something: the rhyme scheme.
“A-B-A-B-B,” you think outloud.
“What?” Spencer is confused.
“The rhyme scheme, Spencer. It’s A-B-A-B-B. Auburn-Blonde-Auburn-Blonde-Blonde. That has to be it!”
“So he’ll go back to the beginning. He’s looking for his next victim with auburn hair, just like Julia Dempsey and Katie Flanagan. Nice catch, y/n. We’ve gotta call Hotch.”
He pulls out his phone and dials the eight digits quickly. He fills in Hotch on the info you find as you email over to Garcia. It’s only a matter of time before Morgan and Hotch move in on the man, Garcia finding him from a simple categorical search of dating profile preferences.
_____
You’re sat on the jet next to Spencer on your way home. You’re going on about old literature and artifacts pertaining to them. No one else understands a word either of you are saying, but they’re rather in awe of how the two of you are able to bounce off each other and carry on about, what to them, is utter nonsense.
It’s late. Early. Well, both. 2:47 AM. You’re leaned with your elbow on the table and your head in your hand looking and Spencer as he recites an old poem from memory. His voice is calm and warm. JJ and Emily are asleep in the booths next to you, Hotch minding his own in the back, and Rossi and Morgan make small talk a little closer to the front.
“y/n?” You hear your name being whispered.
You hum in response, opening your eyes to see a wide-eyed Spencer looking at you.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He says.
“It’s okay. I’m kinda glad you did, my neck would be sore when we land.”
“We’re still three hours from Virginia. Think you can make it that long?”
“Hell no, I’m exhausted.” You try cross your arms on the table, laying your head in them as you try to get comfortable.
“That position may feel better on your neck, but it’ll do a number on your back in record time.”
“Well, Spencer, there’s only so much room to work with on this jet.”
“I can move so you can lay in the seat if you’d like. But that could also hurt your neck considering you’ll be lying flat and have no incline.”
“Well then why don’t you tell me the most comfortable position and let me sleep in peace.”
“Studies show the best position for sleeping without a pillow is leaning against a wall or something of an upright nature. But there are no walls to lean up against, so you’re pretty much out of luck there y/n.”
He shifts in his seat, reaching for the blanket behind him. He tosses it at you and settles back down. He sips from his coffee. No wonder he’s not going to sleep, he drinks coffee 15 out of the 24 hours in a day.
You scoot a bit closer to him, wrapping the blanket around yourself. You tip your head forward, groaning. Tiredness overcomes you more than it already has, making it near impossible to even keep your eyes open.
“Hey, Spence…” You look up at him. His head tilts down to meet your gaze, flattening his lips in form of response. “Can I…” You let your sentence fade out, pushing yourself closer to him.
He softens his voice. “Hmm?”
Before he can even finish his hum your head has slumped on his shoulder and you’re already falling unconscious on him. You feel him reach his arm around you- pulling the blanket up- you assume. He does that, but his arm never leaves. His head flops gently on top of yours, his one unruly waft of hair falling over his face. You could stay like this forever.
“It’s about time those two realize how similar they are.” You hear Rossi’s gravely voice say.
And just like that, you’re asleep, in what is probably the most comfortable you’ve ever been in your life.
_____
next chapter: b is for Boy Genius
_____
a/n: hiii! i really hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Chapter 2 will be released tomorrow! Sorry if this one was a little boring, I promise the next chapter is more interesting. Im just trying to set up the story a little before we get into it!
#spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x bau!reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fic#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
no use cryin' over spilled milk | c.h./the ghoul
➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader
➥ word count | 2.8 k
➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, frottage, lactation kink, pregnant!reader, fingerfucking, praise kink, breast play, the ghoul calls reader pretty mama, he's a pervert who wants to lend a 'helping' hand
➥ summary | based off this ask; oops being an experiment from vault 4 where you may be the first rad resistant human pregnant with a possibly rad resistant baby, and you come across the ghoul who helps you get to a safe place but then he gets attached with you and the baby 🥺 (this is just me trying to insert a lactation kink somewhere i'm sorry)
➥ notes | uhhhh pls let me know if i missed anything, my brain is dribbling out my ears (its 3:44 am and i have work at 8 am rip) but the parasites persist. i'll do the tag list when i wake up ❤️
masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️
Going topside wasn’t an easy decision.
In fact, bile bitter regret often lingers in the back of your throat - a lump that stifled the air in your lungs.
And while you might’ve been bioengineered to survive better under these harsh wasteland conditions, every time you find yourself in a less than ideal situation, you're catapulted headlong into paralyzing self doubt; alone and rudderless.
No one lives in the vaults - not truly.
Birdie (and the others) warned you of what awaited beyond those lead-lined walls. But you couldn’t abide spending the rest of your life trapped in a cage, albeit a gilded one.
Not anymore.
Oh no, you wanted to feel a real breeze instead of air pumped through the HVAC. Experience the sun baking warm into your skin like fresh bread instead of the artificial heat of the UV lamp used for mandatory light therapy sessions. Complain about the chafe of sand in your shoes and hear the crunch of dirt under foot instead of a hollow clunk of sterile metal.
To witness first hand all the sights, sounds, and smells this world offers.
Only… you didn’t expect it to be this hard.
Nor did you expect to be pregnant when setting off into the great unknown on your own (a definite oversight on your part [you really shouldn’t have had one last hurrah before hitting the road]).
Through trial and error, motion sicknesses that swing into crippling nausea as manic energy - your first taste of true freedom! - dwindled into dragging fatigue, you found a happy medium. None of which would have been possible had it not been for the most unlikely of companions.
Ghouls; who knew, huh?
Sure, you’d heard of them from the rotating door of visitors that found themselves at Vault 4, but you’d never seen them. While you grew up surrounded by visible mutations, seeing the battlefield of his body was off putting; how a person could survive a patina of burns and patchwork slices without unraveling at the seams was beyond you.
And kind of frightening.
But he took it in stride, introducing himself as Ghoul. Refused to divulge anything else of substance no matter how much you poked and prodded. His life pre-bomb was a complete mystery filled with plot holes and unanswered questions (which is exactly what he preferred).
You learned to be comfortable with his meandering conversations, and all the words he spoke that said much of nothing. And what you did glean, you did so through observation alone.
He was alone - had been for a very long time.
He was very old - one of the last of his kind.
And he was, in his own way, very kind - at least by wasteland standards.
“The fuck you doin’?”
Pausing, you stop mid push and hover awkwardly on your hands and knees. The vault suit pulls taut across your hips, pinching behind your knees uncomfortably. Your toes squeak in your shoes, socks thoroughly soaked through with sweat.
It’s been unseasonably hot (or it’s the hormones). Whatever the case, this is the first semi-decent lodging you’ve camped in for weeks, and you’re not about to miss an opportunity to freshen up.
And maybe find a way to soothe the building ache in your tits - flesh swollen tender and nipples rubbed raw.
“I’m just, uh, gonna,” you motion towards the back of the house, the askew bathroom door clinging to its hinges by a corner, “y’know, f-freshen up. See if they don’t still have some water.”
The Ghoul scans you up and down, gimlet-eyed. “S’that so?”
You huff, your knees starting to ache.
Being five months pregnant throws your center of gravity for a loop, the atmosphere weighing extra heavy on your bones. It doesn’t help that the baby’s decided sitting directly on your bladder with a foot tucked under your ribs is the best position.
“Didn’t know I needed permission to take a piss now,” you snipe. Usually, you try to reign in the hormones but the day’s been too long and you’re in pain. Anyone would be a little snippy (right?). “Can I do that on my own or do you need to watch, Mr. Ghoul?”
A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his gaze glinting from beneath the rim of his hat as he tips his head. “Better watch it, sweetheart,” he says. “Otherwise, I might have’ta wash your mouth out with soap.”
Pushing yourself up with a grunt, you determinedly ignore the raspy chuckle that follows as you waddle towards the bathroom. Cussing him out all the while in your mind.
While he’s been ‘nicer’ today - stopping for extra breaks, even packing it in several hours earlier than usual because he noticed how weary you looked - he’s still an asshole.
The toilet’s gone, the tub’s tipped sideways, the linoleum’s cracked, and closing the door sounds like a pack of howling mole rats but its functional. When you catch your reflection in the spider web fractures of the mirror, you grimace.
The wastes have certainly left their mark on you. Gone is the prim-and-proper vault dweller, replaced by a gremlin of a woman Overseer Benjamin would surely scowl at.
A true ‘surfie’ now.
“Great,” you groan, scrubbing a palm over your face. “Just - ugh!”
You’re caked in grime, a steak of dirt smeared across the bridge of your nose. Mysterious stains darken the blue fabric, the golden stripes of your suit an off-putting grey.
Your hair clumps in greasy chunks. You’re glossy with sweat, and while your curves have plumped up over the last few months, you didn’t realize just how much until now.
The vault suit’s always been tight - now it clings and creases in unflattering places. And there’s nothing you can do about it, unless the Ghoul is willing to spare a sewing kit.
You could let the waist out some…
What the hell am I gonna do if he won’t? There’s no way I’ll fit if this baby gets any bigger. Shit, I look like a fucking sausage. Your hand cradles the side of your stomach, stroking over the bump with a frown. This is all your fault, you little parasite.
“You better be so fucking cute - the cutest goddamn baby in the wasteland. Or I will riot.”
Tugging down the zipper over your breasts is heaven, the swollen flesh spilling out of the parting fabric, no longer compressed. It’s almost enough to make you cry as you struggle to tug the lycra off your shoulders, the fabric putting up a fight.
After some awkward contortions that pull uncomfortably at the muscles of your shoulder blades, you manage to wrangle yourself free.
The temptation to burn the stupid goddamn suit is almost too much to resist, but then you’d really be traipsing around the wasteland in the nude and just… no.
Peeling off your undershirt is another story altogether, the soft cotton feeling like sandpaper as it scrapes over sensitive skin. Your nerves tingle with awareness, bolts of pain shooting through your nipples with every shift.
Quick like a bandaid, you think, taking a steadying inhale.
It’s a miracle you don’t scream.
Tears cling to your lashes, your nose running as you toss the shirt to the side with one hand and cradle your chest with the other. Sure, you’ve had tenderness with your period but this kind of pain? A whole new level.
You almost don’t know what to do with yourself.
How is this fair - aren’t you suffering enough?
Sniffling, you peer down at your tits and gingerly cup them with your palms. Swollen hard and warm to the touch; a heavy weight crushing your ribs.
Do I really have to milk myself like a fucking brahmin? Another bolt of lightning crackles through your nerve endings as if in response. Fine. God, this is embarrassing.
Only any attempt at touching your nipples produces pure agony, shards of glass biting into delicate skin.
No matter how slight your touch, no matter how gentle your fingers - it doesn’t work. Leaves you more distraught and in pain than when you began as inflamed nerve endings crackle and burn.
And when the tears truly start, the dam breaks. It’s not long before they drip down your cheeks in fat rivulets, your breath hitching from you in pathetic little exhales.
Your fist shoves against your mouth in an attempt to smother the sounds, teeth sinking into your knuckle until you leave sore indents.
But you should know better, not only does the Ghoul have heightened senses (he’s taunted you constantly with this fact like the asshole he is), but he’s uncannily perceptive in a very annoying way.
You don’t hear the squeal of the door, but you do sense his presence behind you; the rad warm burn of his body as he stops a scant few inches away. You feel his breath against the nape of your neck, the barest brush of his chest as he inhales.
“You ready ta stop bein’ stubborn?” he hums. “I thought I told you not ta wait s’long.”
Your voice warbles from you, “G’way.” You curl into yourself, shoulders hunching as you hang your head. “Don’t need your help.”
The Ghoul snorts. “Cuz you doin’ so well on your own, huh?”
“I resent that.” You shoot him a weak glare, the animosity ruined by the crumble of your lips. “I really, really do.”
You hate always having to rely on him, so desperate to prove that you can take care of yourself only to have every effort to do so thrown back in your face.
Shit, you hate how right Birdie was, “Honey, you won’t last five minutes on your own. Please stay here with us where it’s safe.”
“Well, maybe so. But pickers can’t be choosers, sweetheart,” he shrugs with a languid roll of the shoulders. “Ain’t no use cryin’ over spilled milk. C’mon, the longer you wait, the worse it’s gon be.”
“I just - you don’t understand…”
He reaches around you to set his hat on the sink, the dwindling light of twilight creeping in through the holes in the roof to bathe him in its bloody light.
He looks like a grotesque demon that clawed its way from the depths of hell. It gets your pulse thudding, electric awareness an unwelcome visitor as it roosts behind your navel.
“I understand plenty. Now, let me.”
Not an offer - not really.
More akin to a demand, one wrapped up pretty like a gift. You’ve been here many times before, and while the Ghoul proffers his help under the guise of not wanting to hear your bitching and moaning, the hungry gleam of his eyes as they rake over your face say otherwise.
If it’s one thing you’ve learned in your travels with him, it’s this: he is entirely self-serving. He offers because he wants to suck on a set of pretty tits. If you happen to cream your panties while he does, well, he counts it as a win-win.
Quid pro quo.
And what you hate more than how utterly correct everyone is about life on the surface, is how needy he makes you. How desperate and dumb and dripping he’s got you by the end, drunk off the flick of his tongue and the rasp of his touch.
Because it’s so hard to be strong in the face of pain when the solution is right there; open-palmed.
“...Fine, just don’t - don’t leave marks this time, okay?”
A slow waking smile creaks across his face, and he says, “I ain’t makin’ any promises, sweetheart.”
Your stomach swoops, and your thighs clench.
Shit.
Scarred lips work over tender flesh as a talented tongue flicks and swirls over the bumps of your areola, the tip digging into your nipple and drawing the swollen nub into a hot mouth. You whimper, arms tossed over the Ghoul’s broad shoulders.
Cold ceramic digs into the base of your spine, your body crowded back against the sink as he plasters himself to your front. Cuts off any escape routes and refuses to let you squirm away from the overwhelming sensations as he suckles.
Heavy palms grope at the plush curves of your hips, fingertips digging into the fat.
His lips pop off your nipple with a sticky smack. “Always taste s’fucking good,” he groans against your sternum. “Got the prettiest set a tits in the wasteland.”
“Hnn! N-Not so hard.”
While you say that, you don’t mean it - not really. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat, clit swollen and aching for friction. Your inner thighs are a mess of slick, your vault suit caught around your knees.
He never touches you below the waist directly (some boundaries still exist between you two), but at this point in your pregnancy, you’re so sensitive a gentle breeze could set you off.
“Heh, ain’t you know lyin’s a sin?” he says.
A scarred cheek drags over the swell of your breast, the rasp of rad burn alighting your nerves. Bolts of desire ricochet down your spine, fizzle like Nuka Cola on your tongue. He presses an open mouth kiss to your nipple, his tongue flicking out to massage the tender bud.
At the taste of your skin, his cock twitches where its grinding against your thigh. You feel him through his ragged pinstripe slacks, his shaft a thick line of heat.
It’s probably the hormones (you refuse to admit its anything else) but just the thought of touching him, of sinking down onto his erection - feeling how fucking good he’d stretch you out and fill you up - makes you dizzy.
You pant, your voice distinctly whiny when you say, “Please, d-do something. It still hurts.”
His grin reminds you of the mongrels roaming the wastelands. “Sh,” he hushes you. “I got you, sweetheart.”
The tips of his fingers brush along the side of your swollen stomach. Your heart flips in your chest, your breath catching as he follows the contours of your body, reaching down to brush over the skin of your mound. This is new, he’s never done this before. It’s simultaneously as arousing as it is terrifying.
“Can smell how wet you are for me,” he says, tone low and gruff. “You gonna be a good girl for me, ain’t you?”
“I-”
Then his mouth is slurping at your tit, his teeth biting down on your nipple gently as those strong fingers dip between your thighs. Blunt nails scratch through your pubic hair, a calloused pad swirling circles around your slippery clit. Your hips jump, your head rolling back between your shoulders as a loud moan rips itself from your throat.
You arch back so far your belly presses against the Ghoul’s, your tits smothering his face.
You think, half deliriously, it’s a good thing he doesn’t have a nose otherwise you might’ve broken it.
“Shit, that’s so - oh, fuck, please, please, please!’
Your legs widen to make room for his hand as yours fly up to grab his biceps, nails biting into the rough leather of his duster.
His tongue flutters across your areola. “C’mon, pretty mama, give it ta me.”
“Oh.” Sparks dance behind your eyes, your knees shaking as the Ghoul strokes over your folds, tests your wetness and the give of your cunt as he plays with your entrance. “Right there,” you gasp. “I’m gonna…”
He grunts, tugging on your nipple with his teeth.
The sharp bite of pain shoots through you, deepens the kindling warmth behind your navel that steadily builds and builds and builds. You feel on the very edge, nerves plucked like the keys of a piano.
So close you can taste it.
Then a tingling starts in the tips of your fingers.
Burns its way up your arms to settle in the weight of your chest, pins and needles pricking across the skin of your tits, lancing through the swollen buds of your nipples.
You tremble, the relief bringing tears to your eyes as tears the heaviness releases in a warm flood, your milk letting down to flow into the Ghoul’s eagerly pulling mouth.
“Fuckin’ finally,” he moans, chasing after the taste by nuzzling into your chest. His cock ruts against you. “Took you’re sweet damn time, didn’t you, darlin’?”
Your head spins, hazy thoughts scattering like confetti.
Endorphins simmer through your veins as you float on a cloud of cotton softness. Reality seems worlds away, your vision blurry as you focus on the points of contact between your bodies. The stretch of his fingers plunging into your pussy to stroke over the front wall.
Mouth slack, your hands creep up the Ghoul’s arms to trace over the sides of his neck, watch the dance of your fingers over his skin. “It feels s’good,” you slur. “Please don’t stop - wanna cum just like this.”
“Heh, wouldn’t dream of it.”
#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x you#cooper howard smut#the ghoul smut#cooper howard#the ghoul#fallout fanfic
555 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
polkadotsundaybeauty
PolkaDotSunday Beauty
drawthatout
DRAWTHATOUT
888aliamin
Happy Harvesting
fannicica98
Up to you how you live your life
dokidobe
yellow.dr.monv