#NO ONE ever figured out they could make a needle?
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would you like a new home? (pt. 3.2)
forethoughts: i maxxed out arlecchino to lvl 90 🤩. rip all my fragile resins.
notes: gn!child!reader, NOT AN X READER READER IS A CHILD IN THIS!!!
Arlecchino was working when the caretaker had entered her office. She suppressed her disdain and annoyance as she asked the caretaker what was so important her work time had to be disrupted.
Arlecchino immediately stood up and stormed towards the caretaker when she heard your name.
“Y/N had gotten in a fight with another child? Two children?” Arlecchino pursed her lips, eyebrows furrowed. The caretaker elaborated more, handing her two distinct blades, one stained with blood.
“We have them in their room right now. The other two is in the infirmary. How would a child get their hands on such dangerous objects?” The caretaker commented, as Arlecchino took both blades, clutching both helms with one hand.
“I will deal with this.” Arlecchino walked out of her office, marching towards the infirmary. After all, you could use some more time to reflect before you would meet her.
You sat on your bed, knees to your chest and head on your knees as you stared at the wall. Father’s broken compass was next to you, the needle finally taking a rest. You could imagine the children outside gossiping and decreasing your odds of ever making friends in this hellhole of an orphanage. How you had injured the most popular kid.
Father made sure you knew not to care about what the others said about you. And you didn’t at all.
Father.
How was Father taking in the information?
Surely Father was already informed about the fight.
Your heart sank a little when you tried to imagine how Father was feeling. The betrayal. The hurt. The shock that you had used your new toys Father had only taught you on one of your ‘kin’. Perhaps the boy was right. In the end of the day Father might as well revoke everything she had given you. Including this room.
The sound of the doorknob twisting open shattered your confidence and determination you had about the fight, the sounds of Father’s heel clicking against the marble ground sending spiders down your spine. You felt a dip in the mattress being created, as Father sat down next to you, mere inches away. Father sat there, observing your hunched figure with a stoic expression in the deafening silence. You heard her pick up her broken compass-the gift she had given you to take care of. And it was completely shattered.
“...I’m sorry.” You murmured, breaking the silent barrier. “I tried to stop them from breaking it.”
Father let out a chuckle. “Anything that can break will break. Some can be fixed, some cannot.”
You felt Father’s eyes pierce your skull, causing your gaze to fall even lower. To your surprise, a hand was placed on your head, combing through your hair. You were shuffled closer to Father’s body, until your shoulder touched hers. “How are you feeling, dear? Are you alright?”
Father was… comforting you?
Your shoulders relaxed a little, but they were still stiff.
“I-I’m… okay.”
“Did they hurt you in any way?”
You bit your lips, the conversation one of the orphans had with you while their foot was on your head was still fresh in your mind.
“Yes…” You mumbled, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.
Father noticed-of course she did-, and placed her hand in yours, rubbing small circles on your palm.
“How so?”
You looked down. “...They started it.”
“Okay.” Father said calmly. “How so? And do look at me when you do.”
You reluctantly lifted your head, meeting Father’ surprisingly warm and calm gaze. “I was admiring the compass you had given me. And then one of them tripped me and took the compass and started playing with it. The other one shoved me and placed his feet on my head and pressed it down.”
You swore you saw Father’s eye twitch at your last sentence.
“The one pressing my head against the ground told me I had to ask you to have a smaller room, no dessert, last in line and an earlier curfew than the other orphans.” You spat each word out with poison. “They threatened to break Father’s compass if I did not do what they said. He shoved me first and attacked me. Father said if I was attacked first I could use my toys. So I did. I tried talking to them first but they wouldn’t listen. I did what Father said to do before I used my toys.”
Father remained silent, as her hand brushed over the area the boy had stepped on your head. “Does your head hurt now?”
“A-A little… b-but it's nothing…”
Father ignored your comment, as she lifted your body so you were on her lap. She examined the area the boy stepped on. Placing a single finger on the area was enough to make you shiver, the corners of your eyes burn and tears threatening to fall.
“My poor child…” Father sighed, wrapping her arms around your frail body.
Now your tears were really threatening to fall. “I-I’m sorry for using my new toys on the other orphans… I’m sorry for disobeying Father’s rule… I promise it won’t happen again. F-Father can take away my room a-and move me back to that room w-with the other orphans, put me last in line for food and give me an earlier curfew. I’ll take it without complaint. I d-deserve it for disappointing Father.”
“Nonsense, my child.” Father placed her fingers on your chin, forcing you to look her in the eyes. She moved her hand to your cheek, wiping your tears away with a gentle wipe of her thumb. “None of those things will happen. I will not punish you for acting in self defense. I am not disappointed in you for trying to defend yourself.”
“B-But-”
“No buts. What happened has happened. You are hurt; they are hurt. Adding more pain and suffering to one side of the scale will not make it balanced nor just.” Father’s lips turned into a thin smile, as she let out a sigh. “Come. Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed, okay? It has been a long day for you.”
Father lifted you up in her arms, cradling you as she carried you to what you could only assume to be her private bathroom, seeing she had walked past the showering hall.
“Father…?” You hesitantly asked.
“Yes, my dear?”
“...Why did you give me all those perks? A new room, first in line, no curfew?”
Father let out a sigh. “Even looking back I do not understand why I had the urge to do all those for you. I suppose it was because I was concerned and worried about you, my child. I could not bear to watch you sit alone and always get the last pick for everything. I could not bear to sit in the sidelines and watch you try and hold your tears back as you watched dust move across the ground. I could not bear to watch the other children treat you like filth when you were the kindness out of all. I believed that giving you some perks would help make your stay more… comfortable.”
Father paused. “Has it… made your stay more comfortable?”
You looked at the ground, your head resting on Father’s shoulder. “A little…”
Father let out a chuckle. “Better than none.”
Father carried you to her private bathroom, setting you down in the tub as she lathered soap across your back and body, washing your hair. Her touch was delicate and gentle, never lingering in one spot for too long or applying a large amount of pressure. Father dried you with one of her towels, dressing you in silk pajamas before carrying you back to your room. You found it hard to believe. You had injured two of Father’s children, and yet while they were in the infirmary, legs immobilized, you were wearing silk pajamas, being washed by Father, and coddled all along the way.
As Father laid you down in bed, brushing your hair one last time and planting a kiss on your forehead, you couldn’t help but ask.
“Why does Father treat me so well? Father w-wouldn’t do any of this for the others, would she?” You blurted out.
Father chuckled at your question, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards. “Perhaps it is true I treat you much differently and better than the rest. Perhaps I do have a sense of favoritism towards you. Perhaps it is because I see a part of me in you. No matter. Soon, my dear child, all of this will be over. I will deal with this. Do not worry about the other two children. Get some rest, my child, and all will be well. I will be coming back shortly to deliver you dinner.”
Father walked away, turning off the lights in your room as she shut the door. You laid there on your bed, her words echoing in your head. Father saw herself in you? Your little mind didn’t know how to think about that.
But all you knew was that Father cared for you.
Father loved you.
Father was not mad.
Father said everything will be better.
So everything will be better.
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Darlin' pt 7
pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3 / pt 4 / pt 5 / pt 6
Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (SMUT)
Description: After a close call Cooper gives in to his feelings for Reader.
Notes: This chapter is half smut. For those who don’t want that I don’t think you’d miss anything of importance in the story if you skip it.
TW: p in v, unprotected sex, irradiated cream pie, pretty vanilla (sorry pervs lol love you I'm just not good at smut).
His scarred lips were rough against mine, one of his hands on my hip the other tangled in my hair. This was a moment I dreamed about my entire life. Someone who cares about me was never something I thought I’d have. While having a couple of fleeting flings here and there with my brother's friends, I never had a true romance. This feeling? It was straight out of one of my novels. When he finally pulled away, I couldn't help but let out a breathy sound of dissatisfaction. He gave me a teasing smile before taking the vials from my hand and shoving them into his bag.
"Let's go find you some Radaway, Darlin'. We’ll have ya feelin' better in no time." He said as he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the building.
"Thank god Lucy left the door open." I thought to myself as we made our way inside.
The place was huge and felt like a relic of the past. The rundown storefronts and flickering lights left much to be desired. I pushed my body against Cooper's back as an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Noticing my discomfort, he gave my hand a small reassuring squeeze. He was still in bad shape, clear as day, as he stumbled through the building.
After some exploration, we came across a room full of bodies. "Didn't know Lucy was capable of this." I gasped.
"I imagine these fellas did most of it." He said, kicking the boot of one of the men on the ground. He was holding a gun, but it didn't seem to have done him much good. While Cooper scanned the bodies, looking for anything of value, I started to wander over to some of the other rooms. One room in particular caught my eye, some of the things inside reminding me of the medical center we found Roger in.
"Don't go far," Cooper said as he huffed another vial before rummaging through the men's pockets.
"I won't," I mumbled as I looked back at him one more time before entering the room. I swallowed nervously as I looked around the room before setting my sights on some drawers in a cabinet. After some searching, I could some syringes with the word "Radaway" written on the side.
"Found some!" I said happily as I made my way back to Cooper to find him shoving vials of Jet into his hat. “That's so much!" I yelled in shock.
The happiness radiating from the two of us could have probably lit up a city. He looked up at me with the biggest smile I have ever seen on him before his eyes flitted to the syringe in my hand. He dropped his hat on the ground as he held out his hand expectantly.
"Let me help you with that." He stated.
I was perfectly capable of injecting myself, but I liked the idea of Cooper taking care of me, so after a moment of hesitation I passed it to him. While he was looking over the syringe, almost like he was making sure it wasn't fake, I took the time to look over his face. REALLY look it over. His leathery tan skin and his beautiful hazel eyes. I knew that many people looked at him with disgust, but I don't think that after getting to know him I could ever think of him as anything other than beautiful. I was so lost in thought I barely registered the needle going into my arm.
"There," He said with a satisfied tone. "All better."
"Thanks, Coop." I beamed up at him. I had some Radaway, Cooper had a lot of Jet, and he finally kissed me. Everything felt perfect.
Cooper knelt down to pick back up his hat when something caught his eye. A rectangular black box with glass on the front.
"What is that?" I asked curiously.
"That, darlin'." He responded, a look of shock on his face, "That is a television."
I ruminated on the word, trying to figure out if I knew it from anywhere as he grabbed something and inserted it into the television. He slowly made his way to the couch and plopped down. The expression on his face was something I couldn't recognize. Amazement? I sat down next to him as I looked at the television curiously, whatever it was it was affecting Cooper. The box sprang to life, lighting up as he pressed a button on the controller he was holding. The television played a video. "Of course!" I thought to myself as I remembered the stories of moving pictures. The man on the video reminded me a lot of Cooper. The western attire, the confidence, and of course the gun he was holding.
"Reminds me of you," I said innocently, not realizing the weight of my words.
"Nah, He ain't nothin' like me." He said quietly before looking over at me to scan my face before looking back at the video.
The man in the video was talking and I was trying to pay attention, I really was, but It was so long since I had sat anywhere but the ground, and while under normal circumstances I would call the couch uncomfortable, it felt like the most comfortable thing in that moment. I put my head on Cooper's shoulder and yawned.
"Tired already, sugar?" Cooper teased.
"Maybe a lil' bit," I admitted. "I could stay up a bit longer, though."
"For what?" He mused, almost like he knew what I was thinking.
I giggled, blush coating my cheeks as I whispered, "Maybe some more kissing?"
He hummed happily before pulling me onto his lap. I yelped in surprise at his sudden movement, grasping at his shoulders. “Now why would you want to kiss lil’ old me.” He was mostly joking, but an undertone of seriousness hung in the air.
“A better question is why wouldn’t I want to kiss you, Cooper? You are strong, you take care of me, you are handsome-“ I started to explain.
He scoffed, interrupting me. “I ain’t handsome.”
“You are!” I try to explain, “You have pretty eyes.” I said like I did days ago, back when he barely tolerated me. “And the way ya hold yourself is very… sexy.”
His eyes snapped up to mine, they were darkening, hungry. The embarrassment coursed through me and I could hardly stand it, so I buried my face in his neck.
“Awww getting shy, sugar?” He mocked. Before I could respond I felt his lips on my cheek. He stayed there for a moment before he started trailing down my neck, leaving tiny kisses in his wake.
I sighed happily as I pushed myself closer to him. I could’ve stayed that way forever, but Cooper had other plans. His hands were still on my hips from when he pulled me onto him. He slowly started to massage them before pressing me harder down on his lap. I let out a sound that was a mixture between a yelp and a moan.
“You like that?” He whispered in my ear.
I shook my head yes, my face still hidden in his neck.
“I wanna see you, darlin’.” He stated, his southern drawl slurred. He wasn’t demanding it, the tone in his voice was soft and hesitant, like he was worried he was going to scare me off.
Holding my breath I slowly pushed myself up. I was sure my face was red as a tomato as I made eye contact with him. When our eyes met, it felt like a damn had been released, lust flowing through me. “Coop,” I whisper before I start moving my hips on my own.
He let out a growl as he squeezed at my plush hips. “So soft.” He said.
“All for you, I’m all for you,” I say before crashing my lips into his.
The kiss was heady and passionate, I felt like I was drowning in him.
“Too many clothes,” I mumble against his mouth. Before I started to tug at his tattered duster jacket.
“I agree,” he sighed. Instead of helping me with his jacket, he ripped my hands from him and quickly tugged off my shirt, almost tearing it in the process. He sucked in a breath as he took in my bare chest. It was a sight to behold. Hair messy, half naked, and pupils blown. There was no way he could question if I wanted him, not anymore.
“God damn.” He groaned before leaning forward to kiss my chest. It’s like he wanted to kiss every inch of my body and I was starting to get impatient.
“Stop your teasin’,” I grumbled out, tugging at his jacket again.
This time, he obliged, quickly shucking it off before his hands started fumbling at his vest buttons. I cursed at him for wearing so many layers. I took this time to slide off his lap to take off my boots and pants, leaving me in nothing but my underwear. His hands stuttered as he threw off his vest and pulled off his shirt, distracted by the view in front of him.
“You, sugar, are way too good for me.” He muttered, his hands reaching out to pull me back onto his lap.
I moaned at the feeling of his rough jeans rubbing against me through my underwear. I could feel myself getting wetter, smearing my arousal on his pants. I rubbed my hands down his scarred chest before finding myself fiddling with his buckle.
“You want me?” I asked as I bit my lip. “Then take me.”
This seemed to flip a switch in him as he quickly spun me around so my back was on the couch. He hovered over me before kissing me fervidly. I undid his belt before popping open the button on his pants. He briefly pulled away from me to pull on his pants completely before slotting himself back on top of me.
“Darlin’,” he moaned as he rubbed his erection against my core.
I was so lost in the feeling I could barely respond, “Yeah?” I moaned out.
“There was more Radaway, right?” He asked. It was sweet that even in his lustful state he was still worried about me.
“Yes, Coop.” I responded, “Now fuck me already.”
He chuckled at me before mocking me, “So eager.”
He continued to tease me as he slowly pulled down my underwear, kissing down my legs as he went. I started to get dizzy, the arousal was becoming too much to bear. Finally, he pulled my panties off completely, kissing his way back up my body. I widened my legs as far as they could go, silently beckoning him inside of me. I heard him curse under his breath before slowly pushing himself into me. We let out moans in tandem, reveling in the feeling.
I put my hand on the back of his head and pulled him down so our foreheads were knocking against each other. I looked deeply into his eyes before I started to plead, “Fuck me, Cooper. Make me feel good. Please!”
“I could never say no to you.” He whispered before sheathing himself completely, his head brushing against that sweet spot inside of me.
He gave me a peck on the lips before trailing down my neck again, sucking as he went. The idea of having marks on me that everyone would see made me moan loudly. He was claiming me as his. I started to wiggle, silently begging him to move. After a few moments, he gave in, starting slow. It was intimate, sweet even. He wasn’t fucking me he was making love to me. He had barely started but I was already a babbling mess. Repeating his name like a prayer I begged for him to go faster. It didn’t take long for him to oblige, picking up his pace. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room. The bodies on the floor were long forgotten as we got lost in each other.
“Y/n,” he groaned my name, causing me to squeeze around him. “Sugar, you keep feeling this good I’m not gonna last long.”
I was feeling too good to respond, letting out soft squeaks and moans as he pistoned in and out of me. He snaked his hand down my body to start rubbing at my clit, causing my body to tremble. I was close and he knew it, trying to get me to the edge before he arrived there himself.
“Cooper!” I cried out as I convulsed underneath him, succumbing to the pleasure. I could hear him swearing above me before he stilled, letting out one last moan as he came inside of me.
The both of us were breathing heavily. Saying we were exhausted would have been an understatement. He took a moment before starting to pull out of me. I let out a sad whimper at the lack of contact, grasping at his arms. He let out a breathy laugh at my actions. “I’ll be back.” He said, reassuring me. I watched him with half-lidded eyes as he went into the medical room for a moment before coming back to me with another syringe of Radaway.
I snorted, “That could have waited.”
He didn’t respond, instead opting to give me a smirk before sinking the needle into my arm. Once he was done he grabbed ahold of me, rolling us over so he was underneath me on the couch.
As he was rubbing reassuring circles on my back he told me, “Sleep, darlin’.”
I hummed happily into his chest before giving way to his request.
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#cooper howard#the ghoul fallout#fallout tv series#cooper howard x reader#the ghoul x reader#fallout#the ghoul smut#cooper howard smut
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I finished reading 4 books from Earth's Children series. The last three were really hard to read. After finishing Plains of Passage, I have come to really appreciate Clan of the Cave Bear as a standalone. I miss all the Neanderthals and Ayla's character arc. Gotta do some fanart!
PS. I MISS IZA! Best character in the series.
#clan of the cave bear#earth's children#after the first book it just goes downhill#REALLY DOWNHILL#Ayla becomes the biggest mary sue EVER#in the first book it was believable because it's established in the story the Neanderthals have different skills that Ayla must adapt to#and she wasn't doing anything over the top#She was just adapting#but later she starts doing insane things#like wtf?? NO human ever figured out they could strike iron pyrite to get sparks?#NO ONE ever figured out they could make a needle?#She invented the arrow too (or whatever that thin short spear things they did? not the spear thrower#I will not be surprised if she ends up inventing the wheel in the next two books#also domesticating animals#also there were so many traumatizing scenes#three different rape scenes in book 4 !!???#I was going to throw up#It just.. got very uncomfortable to read#it changed me#so I now I'm thinking about the first book#yes it has all these same elements from the later books but they were sparse and were actually part of the plot#part of the character development. in other books they were just things that happened. Like. the characters are not impacted by it at all.#you could read the end of the book and nothing about the characters change after witnessing these traumatic experiences#they are the same from beginning to end#uh um sorry for the rant O_O#anyways I miss izaaaa#bye
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Still thinking about Nikto, and that anon ask I answered just a bit ago.
CW for dissociation/depersonalization, unhealthy (but not harmful) coping mechanisms, codependence, Nikto is a very traumatized man
After the hallway incident you’re a bit shaken. A life of a heavy burden, but your shoulders are used to the weight; you’re a medic. But what Nikto offered you in the hallway — no, not offered, but gave, devoted. It makes it hard to breathe.
You’re not sure if what he’s seeking (or perhaps found?) is solace or penance. You don’t think you have much say in the matter really. If God asked His disciples to stop worshipping, would they?
The comparison feels too bold, even in the privacy of your own mind. Smacks of narcissism and ego. You don’t feel powerful. You feel scared. Of what it means to hold this broken, burdened man in the palm of your hand, trying to keep all the pieces together without cutting yourself on them.
Don’t be so careless with your life, you told him.
He’s taken those words as religious creed. He doesn’t storm around corners, guns blazing anymore. Doesn’t drop from heart-stopping heights to stamp-sized targets. Hes not the first one out nor the last one in anymore — though he never lets you get out first or hop in transport last either.
Suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise.
He cares for his wounds now, too. Cleans and changes them regularly, doesn’t over exert them before they’ve healed. You’re so dizzy on pride in him that you kiss the front of his mask one day, telling him “thank you”.
He grunts in something that sounds almost like shock and shakes his head at you. You figure he doesn’t feel he deserves praise for doing as you’ve told him. You do it anyway.
Things start to settle into this new normal.
Until you can’t find him anywhere. He’s become your new shadow, another limb, and suddenly he’s gone like so much smoke. You’re both fresh off a rough, but successful mission. You’ve just finished a stint in the infirmary and your debrief. Usually hed take that time to clean off and change in privacy, back before you could miss him.
Where is he?
You find him bleeding in his room, trying to care for his own wounds. Mask off, shirt gone, a new knife wound added to his macabre collection. You scramble to his side and collapse at his feet, snatching the needle from his shaky, slippery hand.
“Don’t you ever—” you choke on the words, unusual tears welling. You’re a medic; you’re not allowed to cry during treatment. But all you see if Nikto and blood and—
“I am okay,” he says in that low, crackly voice. Gravel in a blender. “It is not bad.”
You swallow and don’t answer, can’t because you’ll start weeping into his wound. Just stitch him up, hands steady even as you sniffle and the rest of you trembles.
When it’s done, you start wiping away the excess, prepping a bandage. He’s so silent you can even hear him breathing, but you feel his eyes like a physical touch. Finally make yourself look up at him meet his piercing eyes.
“You come back to me from now on,” you say. Quiet, firm, fervent. “I don’t care what it is, you return to my side always.”
The silence stretches and stretches, and he just stares with that unfathomable gaze.
“Understand?” you insist.
“Yes.”
Those two commandments become that basis of his new existence. Nikto once thought he survived it all because he still had work to do. He was wrong; it was because he still hadn’t found his purpose at all.
He’s found you now though, and you are a demanding god. But not a cruel one
Your first commandment is atonement. This vessel requires so much work. Food and water and rest. Maintenance for every abrasion, upkeep to stay strong enough to stand at your side, to protect you. It is endless, bitter work. He doesn’t care for the labor itself, but it must be done.
It is made bearable with you.
Your second commandment is salvation. Your quiet chatter during meals, the lingering taste of your mouth on his water canteen. Your kind hands mending tears and holes, keeping whatever he is now whole and hale. Your company in the gym, on sparring mats, at his side at the gun range. The smell of your sweat past the mask, your laughter goading him into another round.
You let him sleep in your bed. Let him wake you with nightmares or memories. Keep him warm because this thing he inhabits doesn’t always remember it’s not dying anymore. You are so very alive, the realest thing in any room. Your touch is the only thing he can feel sometimes.
It takes him a long time to realize that his body (because it is a body you tell him, a living one that needs care) reacts to you.
That some mornings the press of you against him is especially sweet. That there’s more than relief and pride when you pin him down. That, at most points of the day, his body wants your touch for more than just grounding.
He’s hard most times that he’s with you, simply for the fact that you are there. And he is with you almost always.
(That it is not actually always grinds at him, niggles in the back of his mind. A sticking point. He wants it to be always, you with him at all times. Like when he used to wear a cross pendant.)
You notice, of course you do, sensitive to your most loyal devotee. He can’t tell if you’re offended, but you haven’t sent him away. Sometimes you flush and he thinks he’s certainly upset you, but for all he’s survived it would kill him to break your second commandment. And so he stays, even if he waits to be told to leave.
“Nikto?”
You never need to call his name, he is always listening. He likes the sound of it anyway. These syllables and sounds that have a meaning, that you use for him.
“Do you… want to do something about that?” you nod to his crotch. There’s a blatant bulge pressing at his tac pants. At some other time, he would probably would have found it uncomfortable.
“Do what?” he asks.
You shrug. “Get off? I could leave—“
“No.”
You blink but don’t seem surprised. “Do you want to just ignore it then?”
He shrugs a bit. There’s a flicker of amusement in your eyes. You like when he makes gestures. He tries to remember common ones, and when to do them, and tries them out for you. Though you never seem to mind his stillness either.
“It does not bother me.”
You hum, look like you’re going to go back to your tv show.
“Does it bother you?”
Your eyes dart up, mouth parting in surprise. You didn’t expect him to continue the topic. Neither did he.
“It doesn’t bother me,” you reply, tilting your head. “But if you want to do something about it, we can.”
We.
“We?”
“If… if you want me to do something… I would.”
He couldn’t ask that of you. Not ever. He’s not allowed to want anything of you when you’ve given him everything.
“No,” he says quietly finally. “Just ignore it.”
“Okay.” You smile at him, touch his hand. It is bare, mangled tattoos on display. He wishes he could feel it more. “Come snuggle in?”
Snuggle in.
Such a quaint turn of a phrase for a creature in your room, wearing a man’s face. He climbs in, shoes gone, mask gone. You wedge yourself against his side and he stares absently at the screen as you continue your show.
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Jade Ik it's a bit past due but I would love a hotch and sunshine reader Valentine's fic!! I miss that trope
You can barely see Morgan to ask over your hamper, “Is he in his office, do you know?”
“Hi, mama. Somebody’s going all out today.”
You beam at him, nudging the flowers aside to see him in all his handsomeness. “You know me, Morgan. I love him.”
“Yeah, I know,” he says. “He’s where he always is. Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”
You wish Morgan a loving Happy Valentine’s and begin the treacherous journey up the steps to Aaron’s office. You used to be so scared coming up here, worried he’d reject you, chastise you for something, but somehow he never has. Now you ascend them with a smile and make your blind way to his office door and knock the window pane gently.
“Come in, please,” he says.
You smile like an idiot at the mere sound of his voice. The hamper and bouquet you carry shuffle in your arms, desperate to be dropped, but you make it soundly to his text before you lose your grip. “Oh, shit,” you swear under your breath, grabbing the flowers as their petals grace the surface of his cup of coffee. “Sorry.”
You can’t know how Aaron feels about you —he’s told you a succinct explanation of his feelings as people tend to do, affectionate, tender I love yous that don’t cover the half of it— but he’ll tell you later about this moment. You in his office with your lovely smile and how it cleaves him apart just looking at you. The hint of nerves, the tentative anticipation about you as you pull the card from a basket full of chocolates and red packaging to hand to him across his files.
“Honey, come here,” he says, the knife of you urgent, unignorable. He takes the card and catches your hand, encouraging you around the desk. “Come here.”
He changes his mind and stands. Your eyes widen ever so slightly as he holds your hands between your two bodies and leans down for a peck. “You’re not supposed to be here yet,” he says, “you'll have to wait a minute for your flowers.”
You laugh excitedly. “You got me flowers?” you ask.
“Mm,” he says, squeezing your fingers, “but they were supposed to arrive at lunch, with lunch.” He brings his hand to your face and strokes your skin back from the apple of your cheek to your ear with the side of his hand, pleased goosebumps erupting down your arms at the touch. “Is all of that for me?”
“Treats for you,” you say. You both know he knows the feeling flooding your senses now. You’re intensely easy to please. Any amount of affection could melt you, but you especially love being touched by him like you’re going to break if he’s not careful. You’re flustering the longer he strokes your face, his thumb drawing hearts at the soft skin beside your ear.
“And the lump in your pocket?” he asks.
Your mouth makes an ‘o’. “That’s for you too, of course. But I figured I’d give it to you during dinner.”
“Whenever you want. You can have yours at the same time.”
Your eyes glow like diamonds, and that’s fitting. He’s sure you’ll always shine brighter than any gift he gives you, but he’s really tried it this time.
You needle your arms behind his neck. “Happy Valentine’s Day, handsome.”
He leans down to hug you, arms crossing behind your back. He’s tempted to keep you forever like this, chests together, stepping on the toes of each other's shoes, but you’ve got better things to do, he’s sure. You laugh softly in the well of his neck and press a kiss to his jaw before you pull away.
“I can’t believe how pretty you are,” he says without thinking.
You look like you could burst. “Oh, I love Valentine’s. They should have one of these every month.”
Your breath escapes the corners of your lips in a breath that’s nearly a squeal when a knock sounds at the door. Hotch answers and takes care of the tip as he accepts your dinner for the afternoon and then, moments later, the intrinsic bouquet of your favourite flowers. He’d meant for you to be sitting when they arrived, but it barely matters. You’re so excited you linger by his side and make a face that he believes to be the holding of a silent scream as the delivery men leave.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey,” he says, closing the door with his ankle expertly.
You crush the bouquet between you, grappling for a kiss he’s eager to give.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble
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“i like this one,” you pointed to a particular design in one of the portfolio books you’d stolen from geto’s desk. it was a dahlia – black and white with wisps spinning around the flower. it was delicate and soft, and very much unlike the usual tattoos your boyfriend usually created.
the boyfriend in question peered over at you laying across his tattoo chair that you’d adjusted so the back was resting horizontally. he looked unfairly attractive – hair tied back in a messy bun and the glasses he only ever wore when no one else was in the room tipped to the edge of his nose.
“want me to do it for you?” geto nodded his head towards the portfolio in your hands, a small smirk present. to say you weren’t a fan of needles was an understatement and, in the six months you’d been together and the two years you’d been friends, he was yet to convince you to let him do one for you.
“no,” you scrunched up your nose at him, ignoring his light chuckle at your quick response.
“yeah no one wants your shit ass.” you spun your head around to see fushiguro toji sliding open the door to geto’s work space. out of all the people geto worked with, toji by far ranked in last place for his distasteful personality. his lips curled up into a twisted grin, scar lifting as his eyes drifted over your figure and you wished you were hiding behind your boyfriend and not sprawled out along the chair. “i’ll do it for you darling, even add some extra benef–”
“fuck off fushiguro,” geto said forcefully. you’d been coming to the tattoo shop long before you and geto had started dating and the older man had always been this way, but he’d ramped it up tenfold once you’d officially gotten together.
toji rested back against geto’s door frame, his cocky attitude fueled by geto’s clear annoyance. “gojo just wanted me to tell you that you haven’t responded to an email yet.” he gave a wink in your direction before he ducked back out of the room. you gagged in response, slipping off of the chair to shut the door he’d left wide open.
“asshole,” geto muttered under his breath, leaning back and pulling his hair out of its loose bun as he so often did when he was stressed. “how much longer are you going to be here?”
geto loved having you down at his work, loved being around you as he sketched as he considered you his muse. however, toji had his own special way of tainting every situation he was ever in and digging his nails right under your boyfriend’s skin in a way no one else could.
there was a small pout on your lips as you made your way over to geto, to your boyfriend who was usually always so level-headed no matter what was happening. “hey, don’t punish me for him putting you in a bad mood."
holding onto the back of his chair, you spun it slightly so that he was facing you. he didn’t resist your movements and his legs naturally spread enough so that you could shuffle between them, your arms loosely swung over his shoulders. beneath the collar of his top you could see the ends of several tattoos that decorated his tanned skin.
“i’m not,” he closed his eyes, leaning into you to press a light kiss to your forearm. “i just prefer for my girlfriend not to be sexualised by that thing.”
you pushed the strands of hair that obscured his face from your vision behind his ears, “i think i know what will make you feel better.”
“letting me tattoo my name on your forehead?” geto grinned up at you and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning down to kiss him. knocking your nose against his, you feel the cool metal of his nose ring against your skin. a nose ring he could definitely convince you to get, though it would be from shoko and definitely not him. you had seen what had happened to gojo’s ear when the two of them had gotten drunk and thought piercing each other with a sewing needle would be a genius idea.
“buying me something from the vending machine?” you countered, giggling at the drop of his smile. the vending machine had been gojo’s idea of bringing in more money for the business and he’d somehow managed to convince yaga he was right. so far, the only person who ever seemed to use that thing was you (with geto’s money).
“i hate gojo for buying that thing,” geto sighed, dramatically making a thing of grabbing his wallet from his drawer. he pinched your hip lightly and nodded his head towards the door, “after you, princess.”
#𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔#tattoo artist!geto#geto x you#geto x reader#geto suguru#geto#suguru#geto fluff#geto drabbles#geto imagines#geto fic
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Hii!! I love your headcannons they are so adorable 😭
Can you maybe do one "how the jjk men will confess"??
Have a nice day!! ♡♡
Oh my gosh thank you so much😭 I’m glad you’re enjoying them!! Here’s your request—I hope you like it!!❤️
JJK Men and How They Confess They Like You
Warnings: slight cussing in Inumaki’s
Yuji: confesses during movie night
Since he’s such a happy go lucky guy, I think Yuji would definitely not realize he had a crush on one of his friends until the realization randomly struck him like a freight train because he just really enjoyed your company and didn’t think too much about how close you were. He didn’t know he was going to confess to you tonight, but when his feelings for you dawned on him, he couldn’t hold back.
“Ready to watch the movie?” he asked, a wide smile plastered on his face. You nodded and he started the film, snuggling into his seat. He didn’t know why, but tonight felt… different. When your fingers collided in the popcorn bowl, he was reluctant to pull away from your warm touch. He felt himself slowly move closer to you as the movie continued on. During a particularly gruesome scene, you found yourself yelping and shoving your face into his side while Yuji’s heart started beating faster than he ever thought possible. From that point on, Yuji understood that these feelings meant he had developed a huge crush on you. While the credits rolled, Yuji looked you dead in the eyes.
“Y/n, I really like you.”
“I’m here watching Human Earthworm with you, of course I like you too, Yuji.”
“Not like that,” he blurted, blushing slightly, “well, I mean yeah, I like you, but I also like like you. I think you’re really cute.”
“Well, you’re in luck, Itadori,” you replied to him, smiling softly and taking his hand. “I think you’re really cute too.”
Megumi: confesses accidentally
We all know Fushiguro can be a tad bit moody at times (and we love him for that!) and this attitude seeps into his love life as well. I can totally see him having a crush for a very long time and even taking that secret to the grave with him! However, in the heat of the moment of getting a bit frustrated with you, he accidentally tells you how he truly feels!
You and Megumi were polar opposites and you were extremely talented at getting under his skin. Of course, your teasing was all in good fun and you never took it too far (until today, that is).
“Aww, our little puffer fish is getting mad! You guys, we better watch out! The porcupine is gonna launch his needles at us!” You, Nobara, and Yuji were almost on the ground due to laughing too much while Megumi was royally pissed.
“Ugh! Y/n! You’re so frustrating, I don’t know why I love you!”
It got eerily quiet. Megumi would’ve loved the silence any other time except for the fact he just told you he loved you, out loud, in front of all his classmates. His face turned beet red as he hightailed it out of there, rushing to his room as fast as his legs could carry him. You and your friends looked at each other, all with wide eyes and gaping mouths.
“I guess this is the part where you go after him?” suggested Nobara and you agreed, chasing after Megumi. You took a shortcut across campus and beat him to his room, blocking the door so he had to face you.
“Megumi, wait,” you said, between pants from running so hard, “I’m sorry I made you bare your feelings like that in front of everyone but you have to know I feel the same.”
Yuta: confesses on a holiday
Yuta, imo, is the BIGGEST romantic! This lil lover boy would love to confess his feelings for you during the magic of any holiday you celebrate, no matter if it was Christmas or Greenery Day.
In the month leading up to your birthday, Yuta decided he finally wanted to confess his feelings for you so he began to plan out everything he needed to make sure the day was as special as you are. Enlisting the help of Maki, Panda, and Toge, he was able to figure out all of your favorite things, from food to colors to games, and went searching around the city to make sure he had everything he needed for the big day. When your birthday finally came and you had no plans, you were delighted when Yuta invited you to a game night at his room. When he opened the door to let you in, you were greeted with decorations in your favorite color, a spread of all your favorite foods, and your favorite board games were stacked up in the corner, waiting to be played. You were in complete shock when he presented you with a bouquet of flowers as well, a sheepish grin on his face.
“Happy birthday, y/n. I hope you like it.” He took a deep breath and then cleared his throat before speaking again. “I also wanted to tell you that I really like you. I’ve had a crush on you for a long time and I hope this isn’t too forward but I would love to take you on a date sometime if you’ll let me.”
You were trying not to cry as you took the bouquet from him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, his face tinting a slight pink. Yuta was the best gift you could ask for!
Inumaki: confesses with a boombox and a sign
Inumaki had it harder than anyone at the school with his inability to communicate in a conventional way and I feel like that would frustrate him a lot in his love life. I see him as the type of person to have lots of fun, though, and be super cheesy with his crush!
Inumaki couldn’t stand it anymore, he had to tell you how he felt. And by tell you, he was going to use words in a way he hoped you’d never seen before! On a warm Saturday night, you opened a text from Inumaki.
9:42 pm
From: Toge👅
u up? come to ur window
You had no idea what this was about but knowing Toge, you knew it’d be worth it. You sent back a “k😂” and were ready to open your blinds when you heard music blasting outside your room. Your window was opened in a flash and you were met with a sight you prayed never left your mind. Toge was standing there, a boombox held over his head and a shit eating grin on his face. Just like an 80’s movie, Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” was the song of choice for the evening. You were absolutely shocked by this declaration of love, but even more so when he put down the stereo and picked up some handwritten signs.
“I have a… major crush…on you… will you… go out… with me?” You read as he quickly shuffled through the pile.
“Yes! I will!” you yelled out, but he cupped his hand to his ear to gesture you to speak louder as the song was still blaring next to him. You laughed and rolled your eyes as you ran outside, turning off the music.
“Of course I’ll go out with you.”
Noritoshi: confesses as a secret admirer
Noritoshi seems like the type to never waste time on futile things like crushes, especially when his focus is on bettering himself as clan heir. However, if he does fall in love, I think of him as a secret admirer who anonymously confesses his feelings in notes.
Your heart quickened its pace when you noticed another neatly folded paper sticking out of your bag after packing up your things in the library. You had been receiving love notes from a secret admirer and you were over the moon about it! Written on the various papers had been poems, observations, and sweet words from which the mouth (or, I guess hand) is still a mystery to you. This time was no different as you unfolded a poem and a pressed flower. From across the room, Noritoshi stared you down, gauging your reaction to his letter. You seemed to like it! He felt his heart flutter and was torn between wishing this nagging feeling whenever he saw you would go away while also relishing in the idea that he was capable of being loved. He quickly turned back to his notes as he noticed you approaching his desk.
“Hey Kamo! I was wondering, do you know whose handwriting this might be?” you asked sweetly, handing him the note. He tried to act as nonchalant as possible as he skimmed it over, pretending to think. He shook his head.
“Nope. He seems to—I mean THEY seem to—really like you. I’m sorry, I wish I could help more but I’m studying at the moment.”
“Okay. Well, thanks anyway! I’m sure I’ll see you around,” you said, glancing down at the handwritten notes he was slyly trying to conceal. As you walked away, you smirked, knowing exactly who your secret admirer was.
Todo: confesses during a fight with a curse
I know this man has no hesitations and grabs life by the reins!! I think Todo would waste no time trying to gain your attention whenever he’s training or fighting a curse, hoping he could woo you with his wit and muscles. Since he’s able to get good reads on people, I could see him lowkey trying to confirm you liked him back before he asked you out to avoid any undue awkwardness (not that he’d feel any shame—I don’t think he has an ounce of that in his body). One day, while working on a particularly tiresome mission, Todo decided that now was the best time to confess his crush on you.
“Y/n-chan! I have an urgent question to ask you!” he yelled to you as you two were busy hitting the curse you were sent to kill.
“What’s wrong? you asked, concerned he’d hurt himself or something.
“Did you notice how perfect you looked before you left the house today?”
You faltered, stunned by Todo’s words. When the curse lunged at you, Todo switched places with you and landed the final blow as the curse finally lay dead. You shook your head in confusion.
“Todo, what are you talking about?”
“Y/n,” he said, in an uncharacteristically toned down voice, “I really like you. You’re a gorgeous person and I was wondering if you’d allow me to take you on a date.”
You released a sigh of relief, a huge smile on your face.
“I thought you would never ask! I would love nothing more.”
In his excitement, Todo picked you up and spun you around. He couldn’t wait to treat you like the royalty you are!
Gojo: confesses nervously
I know a lot of people think Gojo would be able to put on the moves to woo someone without a problem, but I think when it came down to truly baring his heart, Gojo would have a very difficult time. That’s why I see him as a nervous confessor. Not quite able to find the right words, but tries nonetheless.
Gojo had unique ways of showing his love for people he deeply cared about. One of those ways was flaunting his immense wealth. That’s how you, his closest colleague, found yourself invited to dinner with him at one of Tokyo’s fanciest restaurants. You were no stranger to Gojo’s jokingly flirtatious ways, but tonight felt different. It seemed like he was actually giving you genuine compliments, and every time you returned the favor, he would look away, a feeling of warmth spreading through his face and down his neck. Finally, when dessert came around, Gojo knew he couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Y/n, we’ve been friends for a long time, and I’ve loved every second of it. I just… I’ve been lying to you. And to myself. I…” He took a few deep breaths, trying to compose himself. You reached over the table to take hold of his hand and his heart was absolutely racing at the touch.
“Satoru, whatever it is, it’s okay,” you reassured him. He took in another swallow of air as he lifted off his blindfold to look you in your eyes.
“What I’m trying to say is, I’ve fallen for you, y/n. I hope you understand what I mean.” His bright blue eyes were shining in a way you’d never seen before but hoped you could witness time and time again.
“I understand you, Satoru, I always have. I love you too.”
Geto: confesses while out on a walk
I believe Suguru to be the suavest out of all the JJK men. As he got older, his air of nonchalance leads me to believe that if he caught feelings, he’d be quick to tell the person how he feels and would do so in a classic, mature way.
You had been part of Geto’s group of curse users for a long time and had been close with the leader himself for most of that time. One day, while you were training your cursed technique, Suguru was watching you with great interest. When you were finished, you were greeted with clapping hands and a big smile.
“Y/n! Great job as always. Come, take a walk with me,” he said, motioning you over to him. You obliged, taking hold of his outstretched arm. You two talked about random things you had dealt with throughout the week, feeling weights being lifted off your shoulders by being able to talk through these things with someone else. Geto was thrilled you had understood him and his worldview all those years ago because he felt like he finally had someone he could trust again. As you two made your way along the path, Geto stopped to pick a wildflower and presented it to you.
“I have lots of respect for you, y/n. I appreciate all the time we have spent together over the years and now I have something to confess. I believe I’ve fallen in love with you.” He gently brushed a piece of hair away from your face and placed the flower behind your ear. “Please let me know if you feel the same. If you don’t, I promise to never make mention of this again.”
You reached your hands up to cup Geto’s face, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone.
“I’m in love with you too… Suguru.”
Nanami: confesses over breakfast
Nanami is definitely another classically romantic man. I feel like he would be hesitant to tell you how he feels since the life of a jujutsu sorcerer is not easy and only ends in suffering, but eventually he would come to the conclusion that he’d rather live without any more regrets so he’d keep the confession simple with an act of service.
Nanami knew you like the back of his hand. He knew all your likes and dislikes, your favorite songs, what cat breeds you thought were the cutest. He also knew you were hopelessly, chronically late to work. As someone who respects the sanctity of time, he could never understand you (the biggest mystery was how a teacher who lived on campus could be late to work almost everyday), but he liked to help you out anyway. He would always pick up breakfast from his favorite cafe and leave it on your desk for you to enjoy. Today was a late start day for the school, and since he knew you so well, knew you wouldn’t have checked your email to see you didn’t need to come in at your normal time so when you came barreling in a minute before class started, you were greeted by Nanami sitting on your desk.
“It’s a late start day,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his lips. You groaned in frustration.
“Of course it is! The one time I’m here on time,” you grumbled, sitting next to him.
“You’re cute when you’re disgruntled,” Nanami said, blushing when he realized he said that out loud. You tilted your head at him.
“I’m only cute when I’m disgruntled?” you teased, “That’s too bad. I think you’re cute all the time.” Nanami couldn’t believe what he just heard. You actually liked him back? He gestured to the bags and two coffees that were laid out on another desk.
“I brought us breakfast. May I join you to see if I think you’re cute while you’re eating?”
Choso: confesses with a plushie !! ^^
Oh my GOD I think Choso would have no clue what to do when he realized he liked you so who would he turn to for guidance? Yuji of course! And I think Yuji would suggest buying you a plushie instead of Choso’s suggestion of a wedding ring (at least he’s passionate🤷♀️).
Choso decided to drop by your office at the Tokyo jujutsu school to tell you he liked you and give you your gift. He sat on the floor next to the door, the plushie being held with a death grip in his large hands. As soon as he spotted you walking down the hallway, he clamored to get up.
“Choso! Hi! I wasn’t expecting you! Yuji just got out of class if you want to go see him,” you said, giving him a kind smile. Choso was extremely nervous but trying not to show it.
“Actually, I’m here for you. Y/n,” he got down on one knee, thrusting the plushie toward your shocked face, “you are unlike any person I have met before. You have taken over every one of my thoughts and my heart is no longer my own—it belongs to you. Please, will you accept this token of my love?” The token in question was a dog plushie with a bone in its mouth that said “I ruff you!” You took the plushie from his hands as he looked longingly in your eyes.
“I really like you, Choso. Of course I’ll accept it.”
#jjk x reader#jjk headcanons#yuji x reader#megumi x reader#yuta x reader#inumaki x reader#noritoshi x reader#todo x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#nanami x reader#choso x reader
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tattoo shop - e.m. blurb
main masterlist
an : something i was thinking about bc eddie obviously loves bigger women. should i turn this into a short story? :p
let me know! i love feedback <3
wc: less than 1k? maybe 1k? idk i didnt count LOL
✰ ✰ ✰ ✰
the thing about eddie is that he noticed he'd only ever have crushes on bigger women. it started in high school, when he had a crush on one his literature teacher. she was full, round hips and thighs that forced the fabric of her pencil skirts to stretch, and the outline of the buldge of her tummy. eddie could tell she would wear things to flatten her figure out, and struggled not to be that one weird student and comment on her body.
maybe it's milfs. maybe it's older women you were attracted to.
well, he leaned that way for a while. until he started his new job as a tattoo apprentice. you worked there, not chosen with talent or skills to actually tattoo pieces of artwork on bodies, or pierce flesh with needles all day. you settled for doodling at the front desk of the tattoo shop, and eddie managed to watch your every move.
you dressed in tight tops and baggy pants, always hanging off of your thick hips enough to show the hemline of your boxer briefs you wore. somehow you managed to look feminine while masculine at the same time.
you noticed him staring, but being too shy to say anything to the shaggy haired metalhead, you kept your distance and gave small, blushing smiles to him. he took it.
he didn't think he'd go from getting small smiles from you to bending you over his dining table at his place after a party he threw. but he did. eddie came on to you, told you how sexy you looked that night, asked if it was weird working at a tattoo shop with zero tattoos. that's when you asked him, who said i didn't have tattoos?
eddie quickly found out that you did. and you had a lot. they were littered over your stomach, your thighs and shoulders. how he managed to never see them was shocking, but what became even more shocking was when you accepted his flirty invitation.
i have to see it to believe it, sweetheart.
so, the house emptied towards the night, not a single person in sight besides you and eddie. you were in eddie's kitchen cleaning up solo cups and alcoholic residue when he walked in, thick with silence. he was watching you from behind, bending over his counter slightly to scrub away the stickiness.
"you don't have to do that, honey," eddie said as he walked toward you.
you stopped scrubbing with the rag, and faced him with the small of your back digging into the counter. "i know. just, felt like i should." you blushed, feeling heat rush to your cheeks from the mix of alcohol and embarrassment.
"you're a sweet girl, you know that?" eddie said with a cheeky smile, moving to stand in front of you as you stayed put.
"you don't have to compliment me," you said and averted your gaze. it was enough you had the epitome of your dream man standing in front of you, but he had to call you a sweet girl too?
"why wouldn't i compliment you? i think you're a real pretty girl. a real pretty girl who i didn't know had tattoos." he said with a smile, easing your nerves with a small joke and you felt yourself melt.
"they're just hidden. a surprise for whoever gets to see me with my clothes off." you admit and your face heats up even more, making eddie take a few steps closer to you.
"those lucky fuckers." he breathed, somehow closer than you remembered. close enough for his hand to ghost yours, and move to your hip.
"mm, don't know how lucky they really were if they never talked to me again afterwards," you said with a soft chuckle. he scoffed, moving closer and placing both his hands on the curve of your hips. you let him, the feeling of his large hands squeezing the parts of you that you hated.
"psh, you'd might need to get a restraining order on me if i ever saw these tattoos of yours," maybe he should've said something less forward, but the silence that rang through the house was so defining — he had you alone.
still, you played dumb. not necessarily dumb, you just wanted to hear him say it. "why would i get a restraining order on you?" you laughed. your hands instinctively rested against his abdomen as he brought himself closer.
"don't think i could ever leave you the fuck alone even if my life depended on it."
"eddie," you warned, as if you felt he was unsure about what he truly wanted, "you don't want me, i know you're acting like it but, that's not true,"
it came out weak, sad and almost insecure until eddie moved his hands up your curves, over the rolls of your back, and grabbing you with your cheeks in his palms.
"i don't really think you can tell me how to feel, isn't that right? i think i'm allowed to want whoever i want." he said confidently and your eyes went wide, doe like as if you were struck with the most impossible words you'd ever heard.
"you want me?" you squeaked, your voice not cooperating with you.
"will you let me have you, pretty girl?"
#plus size smut#smut#chubby smut#chubby#plus size reader#eddie x plus size reader#eddie x fem!reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie x plus size#eddie munson x plus size reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson#stranger things 4#eddie x reader#eddie x you#eddie stranger things#eddie st4#eddie munson st4#smut stories#blurbs
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The rest of the base has gone to sleep, but you don't sleep anymore. You don't join them in the mess hall anymore, either. You barely eat organic food at all these days, and when you do, it's mainly for pleasure. You can take the organics out of the pilot, but you can't take the love of sweets and pizza out of the organics, you guess. Despite that, you're so far removed from your humanity that it's gotten difficult to relate to most of them. It's not like anyone else is sharing your meals of titanium and copper.
The other pilots look at you with fear and disgust, knowing their inevitable fates if they're ever pitted against you. The mechanics see you as an oddity, a fascination, and heap praise and adoration upon you, but it's hollow in your eyes. It feels more like they're ogling a rare car rather than talking to a pilot. The corps see you as nothing more than a weapon to be pointed at their enemies, or whoever has less money than them that week.
The only person who still respects you as an autonomous individual is your handler. You adore her just as she loves you. Certainly, you're still a weapon - that's what the relationship started as after all - but you think she might be the only human in the base, including the mechanics, who could truly love a weapon of any kind. She's been so good to you through all of this, taking each stage of your radical transformation in stride as naturally as a lover watching her partner go through a more mundane transition. She's only gotten more attracted to you as you've grown into your new form and become more comfortable and confident with yourself. You'd burn the whole world down just to make her happy.
There's one other who respects you for who you are, though: your girl. Your beloved Wolfrun Mk.X, heart of Coral, veins of electricity, and arms of 5 ton power-guzzling metal-shredding AC-devouring WB-0010 Double Trouble carnage. Before all this started, you always thought of her like a weapon, just as the others see you now. Then she started changing you. The Coral in your augments connected with the Coral in her systems, and something changed in both of you. At first, it was just a whisper. Something brushing over your psyche, speaking just on the edge of hearing, incomprehensible but unmistakable.
Then your body started following suit. Your teeth, jaw, and digestive tract were the first things to change, presumably to allow you to consume and digest - you're not even sure if that's the correct term - the materials your girl needed to keep changing you. After your first meal, the tastiest 20 pounds of scrap you've ever eaten, your skin started changing too. The docs couldn't give you injections anymore. Their needles bent or broke when they tried to push them into your skin. You figured out why a few weeks later when what was left of your epidermis sloughed off and revealed armored plating underneath. They had to take an angle grinder to your arm in order to access your veins. You didn't feel any pain when they did. At the time, you thought that should have disturbed you a lot more than it did.
By that point, you'd been noticing Wolfrun's thoughts coming in a little clearer. In transit to your jobs, it was feelings of curiosity, probing, and wonder. In combat, it was a spark in your vision when you needed to dodge, a wordless warning about approaching enemies. In the base... still nothing but a whisper. That's when you started feeling lonely: when you couldn't feel her presence anymore.
As you became more and more monstrous, more and more like her, you began to visit her night after night. Maybe it was because you sensed an intelligence within her 65 ton body, or maybe it was simply because being near her drowned out the silence. You had no way of verifying this, but you felt like she relaxed as well when you were around. She was shut down in the hangar, of course, and there was no way any part of her could still be engaged, or so you thought. But as time went on, the whispers got louder, the words - feelings and thoughts, really - more comprehensible. And all the while, your body changed.
The 5'6" chubby trans gal who went into debt and subsequently under the knife to get a hand-me-down set of 4th gen augments all those years ago is long gone now. The thing you've become, whose claws clanged against the metal of the hangar's floor, had long since cast off that form. Where once was skin had become plated metal. Despite having no screws or rivets to speak of, it stayed firmly in place no matter how much the techs tried to pry it off. The augments which before had stuck partially out of the left side of your skull had seamlessly integrated themselves into the sleek plating that had cropped up on your head, looking far more natural than they ever had before. Your hair had fallen away, and the metal around your skull became angled and sleek, looking more bulwark than biological and with aerodynamic fins sprouting from it.
A sleek black plate had formed where your eyes once were. The day you woke up with that, you thought you had gone blind. You panicked, begging for help, afraid they wouldn't ever let you pilot her again. You had been moved into your new warehouse home at that point, and it took time for the maintenance techs to find you. Before they did, though, you felt someone - your girl, you realized - beckoning to you. She could help you. When the techs finally got there, you begged them to put you in her cockpit. It took them a while to figure out who you meant by "her", but your handler, who had come running the moment she heard the news, was on top of it. She barked at them to get you to Wolfrun, and with great difficulty, the three of them helped you get your then-8 foot form into her. You spent the next week inside her cockpit, refusing to get out except to eat and drink. She was there with you, and she let you see through her eyes. The world as she saw it was far more vivid than human eyes could ever see, infrared, ultraviolet, gamma, magnetic, smells, sounds, vibrations, on top of the visual spectrum you were used to. And when the delicate sensor plate where your eyes once were finally engaged at the end of that week, that's how you saw the world, too.
When you finally left her cockpit, you realized you could still hear her. From then on, she was with you always. That made you happy. It made her happy, too. You started letting her choose her own parts, and she was happy to. She still insisted you choose some too, though, since according to her, it was your body just as much as it was hers. True enough, whatever force was altering your body changed you to match her. When you tried out digitigrade legs, you stumbled getting out of bed the next morning after yours had reconfigured themselves to match. When you got her bulky, high capacity arms, your arms - fully synthetic by then - had bulked up considerably.
Even cosmetic changes started to affect you. You painted menacing, sharp teeth onto her head over the sensor plate with mechanical precision, and you found your own mouth elongating and becoming more of a muzzle as a result. You'd have thought being so malleable would have unsettled you, but you found you were more excited about the possibilities instead. It felt more like becoming who you were meant to be. Besides, it made wolfing down your metal meals easier. You figure intention, either yours or hers, or both, affected how you changed, but no one else had any satisfactory explanation for any of this. You'd stopped caring long ago in any case.
What you and Wolfrun ended up settling on for her, after earning a mountain of COAM for you and your handler with your unbeatable, utterly synchronized performance, was a mid-lightweight build focused on tearing apart the battlefield as quickly as possible with heavy machinery. What you became in response was anything but lightweight, at least compared to the humans around you. The finned bulwark and the black sensor on your head never really changed, but the rest of you seemed plenty mutable. Your arms grew long and powerful, your shoulders tipped with decorative spires. Your waist grew slender, tapering inorganically in nested panels to allow for plenty of articulation. Your torso got wider, too, though for whatever reason, the outline of breasts remained constant on your new chassis. You kept the digitigrade legs. Over time, hydraulic supports seemed to have formed on yours. The snout stayed, too. You were too proud of that paint job to ever take it off even with the changes to your own body. BECAUSE of the changes. You might be more machine than woman at this point, by you're still you, pride and all.
The techs estimate that only about 5% of your body is still organic. Probably most of your brain and maybe some other systems, plus a few symmetrical patches of skin. They suspect that you had either some kind of sympathetic Coral connection to your AC that rearranged your augments and allowed the changes to start, or that somehow repair nanites adapted to your form and began "fixing" you. In any case, they think the bulk of your changes are done with at this point. You're a little disappointed by that. Wolfrun likes the new you, though. She's happy for your connection and to be able to get even closer to you. Your handler appreciates your new form just as much. She doesn't even bat an eyelid when you tell her that you've been talking to Wolfrun. If anything, she seems a little sad that she can't talk to her directly. As for your relationship with your handler, you might be nearly twice her height, standing at a hulking 10 feet tall, but that doesn't stop her from loving you, or from jamming her fingers lovingly between your legs after missions.
But she's sleeping now. It's late, but you're still lonely. There's only one entity up at this time of night you'd care to talk to, so you climb the catwalks to meet her, claws clanging against the metal of the hangar. You smile your toothy, metal smile as she greets you, opening her cockpit so you can crawl inside and be one with her for a few more hours before your next mission.
#this one's probably too long to get attention#but it felt so good to write#armored core 6#ac6#mechaposting#mechposting#transhumanism#transformation#handler x pilot x AC
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FATHER FIGURE JOEL, I’M LOVING IT. Can you make some comfort from father figure joel, pleaseeee???
so far from it
▹— joel miller x platonic!reader
▹— summary: you get into some trouble, luckily, you know who to call for help.
▹— a/n: aghhh i don’t like it!! but gotta give yall something while you wait for the part two’s! ALSO IM SORRY THIS ISNT AS MUCH COMFORT AS I MEANT FOR IT TO BE
▹— warnings: father figure joel, violence, blood, swearing, reader gets attacked, needles, stitches, a smidge of comfort at the end
masterlist
∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘
Ever since you had joined Tess and Joel’s operation, things had been going pretty smoothly. Though they had argued on multiple occasions over your age, having various disagreements over your capability in this job, you had proven yourself time and time again.
It didn’t faze you. Nothing did, really. You could shoot an Infected point blank in the head without batting an eye, could dig through dirt and muck to find supplies you needed, could travel for hours upon end and Joel and Tess wouldn’t hear a peep coming from you.
That was life in the apocalypse, you supposed, the complete lack of any remorse for what could’ve been had you just been born a few decades earlier. This was your life.
Sometimes, it was a life you didn’t particularly want, but you continued, especially after working with the adult duo for so long, it had become increasingly clear that they needed you. You could get into places they couldn’t, your small size allowing those tight squeezes, and the strength in your arms helped towards moving things away from blocked entrances.
In return for your services, Tess had formed an agreement with Joel, that you could stay at their apartment with them, sprawled over their couch, and they’d provide you the ration cards you needed to survive. A roof over your head and food was more than generous, and you had known even back then that you’d be an idiot not to take it.
Especially when considering the power that Tess wielded in the QZ, with a network of informants spreading all throughout it, and with Joel, you knew nobody would dare look to steal from you. Everybody who was anybody in the QZ knew what the two of them were capable of, and considering your affiliation with them, you were sure nobody would even attempt to come for you.
You had prided yourself on being smart for a very long time, smart enough to survive in this world, smart enough to escape FEDRA school despite having no parents, smart enough to team up with adults who held some sort of power. You had never considered that that pride would be a bad thing.
But today, whilst out with Joel and Tess, you had decided to head a little further away from them than you would usually go, determined to use your ration cards for something you wanted. It was stupid, really. You wanted a dumb book, and thought your smarts were enough to trade the dealer for it, thought you were smart enough to avoid any tricks or cheats.
You knew there was something very wrong when two men stood behind you, one leering over your shoulder as you looked down at the object of your desires, and you repressed the urge to turn your head towards him.
Instead, you kept your eyes to the table, and shoved your hands in your pockets, one going to grip on to your ration cards, the other holding the handle of the knife Tess had given you.
It was when the seller nodded at the two of them that you knew you were fucked.
Trying to pull the knife out backfired, and the blade ripped your coat as the man on your right grabbed your arm, twisting until you felt your grip involuntarily weaken, and then the seller snatched it from your hand. The man on your left grasped your other arm, squeezing so tight you felt the bruises forming beneath his hand already.
It didn’t take a genius to realise you were in some deep shit, especially after being disarmed so quickly, and so you did the first thing that came to your mind.
“Joel! Joel, help—” Your yells were cut off by the left man slapping his hand over your mouth, and you bit his fingers, spitting as he hissed and pulled his hand away. You struggled, opening your mouth once more, but you were stopped before you could even begin again, as the right man grabbed your head, slamming it into the rickety table below.
Your vision swam, and you could only just register being pulled away from the street, down an alley nearby. Your ears were ringing, like they did when you fired your gun, and you weakly tried to reach up and hold your head, stopped by the hands grasping onto your arms even now.
The duo dropped you to the floor, and you just about managed to put your arms out to stop a second blow to the head, that would most likely have ended in a concussion.
Hands digging into your pockets were the next thing you became aware of, and your attempts of pushing them away went pretty much unnoticed.
“Fuck you, man.” You spat out, your voice garbled as you realised your mouth was filled with blood, and you could feel it oozing out of your lip and cheek. The metallic taste was disgusting, and it made you feel sick.
The two men pulled you to sit up against the brick wall, and you spat at the one you recognised to be righty, a glob of bloody spit landing on his knee as he crouched beside you.
“This fucking bitch,” He began, but was cut off by lefty, who shook the man’s shoulder with a sense of urgency as he looked towards the end of the alley.
You drew your gaze in that direction with some effort, and felt a grin light up your face. “Oh, you’re so fucked.” You laughed, blood still dripping from your mouth, and even the dizziness that overcame you couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face as the two men realised they’d dragged you into a dead end, and their only way out was blocked.
The fighting was a blur, if you were honest, the adrenaline leaving you as your body recognised that you were safe, Joel was here. It was only when his face was looming in front of you that your awareness came back, blood still pooling under your tongue.
“Shit, c’mon, kid. Let’s get you home.” Joel murmured, hands placed on your cheeks as he looked at your head injury, a wince on his own expression. Your head lolled, about to fall towards your chest if Joel hadn’t been holding it up, the weight feeling impossible all of a sudden.
You tried to help them stand you up, Tess having arrived at some point during the commotion, but you were likely more of a hindrance than a help. With an arm over either of their shoulders, you stumbled your way out of the alley, the FEDRA guard across the way turning his head to look away from the three of you.
You couldn’t remember much of the journey back to the apartment, which was probably good for your pride, as you could imagine it wasn’t easy. You probably looked like an idiot, unable to keep your own head up half the time, but Joel and Tess got you back safely, which you had never doubted.
“Concussion?” Joel asked Tess, after the two of them had settled you down on the couch, your neck resting against the arm of it, holding the weight of your head up for you.
“Let’s hope not,” Tess replied, handing Joel the bottle of alcohol and the rag that was left on the counter for times just like these. “I’m going back out, gonna go find those pricks and see what the fuck they were doing.” She announced, shouldering her backpack once again and frowning at you, before she turned and made her way out.
You could almost see the anger rolling off of Joel, the one emotion he never bothered to shy away from, and even as he tried to be careful, you still cringed and pulled away from the rag he was attempting to disinfect your injuries with.
“Sorry, kid, it’s gotta be done.” He grumbled, sounding the slightest bit sorry, and pressed the rag against your forehead, wiping away the blood that was still weeping from there.
You sighed, the taste of your own blood still lingering in your throat, but the wounds in your mouth had stopped flowing now. You couldn’t recall spitting out the rest of the blood, but you figured it must’ve happened on the journey back.
“Got me pretty good, huh?” You asked, your words slurring even though you were thinking of them with no problem, and you blinked your eyes shut in annoyance.
“Could’ve been worse.” Joel muttered, his hands moving your face to check it over for any further injuries. You could feel your eye and eyebrow swelling up now, and frowned at the sensation.
You should have never gone to buy that stupid book. It wasn’t smart, and you were always smart, so you couldn’t quite understand what had happened. That was childish, you realised, the feeling dawning on you suddenly, the shame, the embarrassment.
That was one thing you had always made sure to deny yourself of, those childish feelings, the spontaneous decisions that came with naivety, those were things that you couldn’t risk in the apocalypse. You couldn’t afford to — clearly, you had gotten too comfortable here, the impending doom that came with living in a world like this had started to feel far away, with Tess and Joel at your side.
It was embarrassing, having shown such a weakness, and for a moment you were worried it was going to cost you everything, but Joel finally returned to your side, having been to put away the alcohol and rag he’d used to disinfect your injuries. He was quiet for a few moments, and then started pulling something out of his backpack, the crease between his eyebrows deep.
You looked over at him, your brows drawing together when you saw the book he’d pulled from his pack, the blade of your knife stuck between the pages like some kind of violent bookmark.
The two of them were far too observant, and you swallowed nervously, frown growing deeper as you looked away from the book you had wanted so badly. That part of you, the childish part, the one that got you into this mess in the first place, wanted to reach out and pull the book from his hands, but you pushed that desire away like you should’ve done to start with.
“What? This not what you were after?” Joel asked gruffly, something like confusion catching in his tone.
“It was stupid,” You said in response, feeling anger warm your chest the longer you thought about the whole thing. From here on out, you were never gonna give in to such childish wants. “I was stupid.”
Your admission seemed to surprise Joel, if the way his eyebrows raised told you anything. He remained in silence for a few moments more, before he put the book down on the table to the side, and turned back to you. “You weren’t stupid,” Joel denied, about to continue before you cut him off.
“I was!” You said loudly, the words the clearest of any you’d said since getting back to the apartment, and you blinked away tears, blaming the head injury for making you more emotional. “I didn’t think. I put myself in danger because— because of what? A damn book? How childish is that—”
“You are a child.” Joel said, stopping you before you could continue your rant, your words getting more intelligible as you went on. You stared at him, the tears filling your eyes once more, and he carried on at your expression, “That’s not a bad thing. You’re allowed to want things.”
“I want to stay with you.” You told him, voice shaking and watery, “I don’t wanna have to leave because I act like a kid.”
“You ain’t goin’ anywhere, kid.” He spoke firmly, and with a bit of a hesitation, he reached out, moving the hair on your head away from the cut that had started to bleed once again. “Swear it. We’re gonna sort those guys out, and nobody’s ever gonna come after you again.”
You nodded, feeling the slightest bit relieved at his words, though no less ashamed of yourself.
“Alright?” You nodded once again, “Good. I’m sorry for this, kid, but that’s gonna need stitches.”
Your face fell, and he sighed through his nose, understanding your pain. He held the suture kit in his hand, and you realised he must’ve gotten it when he put the alcohol away earlier on.
He grabbed your hand, squeezing slightly, and kept his grasp on you when he started stitching, letting you grip on to him tightly each time he pushed the needle through your skin. “I hate getting stitches.” You murmured, when he was finally done, letting him take his hand back to put the suture kit away.
“I know.” He acknowledged, and ruffled your hair as he stood up. “Sit up.”
You did as he told you, swinging your legs so you were sat only on one side of the couch, and you furrowed your brows as Joel got comfortable on the other side. You finally realised what he was doing when you watched him reach over to the rickety wooden table and grab the book he’d taken from the seller.
“C’mon, let’s see what this fuss is about.” Joel grumbled, pulling the knife out of the pages and handing it to you, making you smile lightly even despite the pounding of your head.
“Thanks, Joel.” You told him, eyes still watery.
“S’alright.” He responded, letting you settle at his side as he looked through the book that had caught your attention. “Puns, really?”
You laughed at his less than pleased reaction, setting your head against his arm as you looked at the jokes in the book, laughing to yourself over some of them.
He just shook his head, pushing down the smile that wanted to rise to his lips as he listened to you laughing.
#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller one shot#joel miller imagine#joel miller fluff#joel miller angst#tlou imagines#tlou one shot#tlou imagine#tlou angst#tlou fluff#joel miller father figure#joel miller fic#pedro pascal angst#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal imagines#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal one shot#joel miller x platonic!reader
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~Beautiful edges~
An alpha!Abbywerewolf! x afab!omega!reader
SMUT SMIT SMUT MDNI
will have smut, like prolly gon be nasty need holy water smut. plot! slowish burn. alpha, only female alpha you've ever met. Smut is not under the cut but will be expressed!
⚠️ warnings: porn with plot!! dom!sub dynamic, breeding(r!receiving), vulgar words, VULGARITY, descriptions of genitalia, breeding kink, werewolfheat/rut! overstimulation (r!receiving) power and strength kink
Shummary: meeting an alpha was easy. Trying not to fall in love with one? Harder than it looks.
Here is to ALL YALL freaky sob's that just want to see Abby as a werewolf,,,, I love y'all so much
Also I'm SO SORRY THIS TOOK MY MONTHS FORGIVE ME
~~~~
Relocating to the WLF had taken some time to feel somewhat normal and you owed your life to them. You were accepted as one of them, when you were first alone and near death. Omega's in the wilderness alone was a death sentence, but you managed to make your life here wonderfully enjoyable. As close as normal got, it all flew straight out the window when you met Abby Anderson.
Was it strange to meet a female alpha with unbridled power, skill, and rage? Absolutely. Did she scare the ever loving shit out of you? Absolutely. But that didn't stop you from perking your ears to listen every time her name was mentioned.
Abby was a force of nature, she commanded respect without needing to utter a single word. Six feet of muscle and piercing blue eyes that glowed gold and opulent when her wolf appeared. Everyone in the WLF knew about Abby, and were either terrified, infatuated, or a little bit of both. She worked for Isaac, as she was trained and worked like a dog in combat. She led the most dangerous of patrols under Isaac, the man who allowed the WLF to keep you safe, who sent her out to do his worst work.
Being an unmated alpha made it even more..interesting...
As soon as her name entered your airspace, words passed around about the alpha's skills during her rut. You could not stop the onslaught of other companions dishing tidbits during these conversations. Hell you couldn't go anywhere in the past two weeks and not hear about Abby Anderson, the most "skilled" alpha in the entire WLF. You were even more curious to why a female inherited an alpha title. You wondered why you hadn't heard her name sooner, and you soon figured out why. Abby had been in a relationship, and a serious one at that. But, that was over, from what the other omegas in your rounds gossiped about. You were surprised to hear that Abby had been dating a male, a one of almost equal rank as her. Her most recent "pursuits" were women.
You rolled your eyes at Arya's gossip and finished suturing a deep abdomen wound from your most recent patient. The man smiled at you, thanking you for the dressings and ointment.
"Hey y/n," Arya says, your other medical assistant and friend catches your attention.
"Yeah? Whatcha need," you ask, wiping down your med tray and discarding a dirty needle.
Arya then asks you if you need to stay longer or if you need to head out. You reply no, you've got nowhere to be. Arya quickly discards her medical garb and ducks out, the sun already set. You sigh and work on seeing if anyone other WLF member needs to be attended to.
Something overpowering and strange enters your sense just after. It makes you stop, startled by the sudden thick air. A strong scent, almost hypnotizing. Abby Anderson is sitting on the bed across from you, blue eyes fixed on your figure. You start, now taken aback at how she appeared almost soundlessly.
"Jesus Anderson you scared the shit out of me," you swore, walking over to inspect a large shoulder wound running from her shoulder to mid bicep. Her muscles glisten with sweat, a now failing stitch job visible against her skin. Her honey hair in a signature loose braid, freckles dotting her neck and shoulders, clad in a gray tank top that exposes her skin to the blistering sun.
"Sorry, is' just a habit," she breathes, "I didn't mean to startle you."
Her smile is dizzying but wanton, skin too white. She's in pain.
"It's alright, what are we looking at huh? A mighty alpha needing some help?" You tease, lifting her arm to assess her shitty patch job. Abby hissing at the pain or the figurative jab, you weren't sure.
You smile quietly, adding in a few words of "Alright gimme a second, I can fix you up."
"Thank you y/n, if I tell Manny that his stitch job was shit he'd take it personally," she chuckles dryly to avoid the grimace of you cleaning her wound with alcohol.
The stench almost clears your nostrils of her overpowering scent, almost. With a steady hand, you begin to swiftly move a needle through her flesh. The skin gave way easy to the needle, signalling she must've avoided coming here for a few hours, at least.
"You avoided coming in here, at least since before dinner,"
you say brazenly.
Abby puffs a quick breath through her nose, unhappy with the answer you've settled on.
"Maybe I did."
You can feel her eyes on you, this whole time. She follows the movements of your fingers, you can hear her nose purposefully inhale quickly at least once, and your cheeks heat at the sudden interest she's taken in you. Her scent is making your mind do flips, alphaalphaalphaalpha repeating in your head by your unhelpful wolf. Your hands almost shaky by the end, Abby rolls her shoulder with the new bandage applied.
"Keep that one for at least the next 2 days, or until you've noticed its leaked through your bandage. Keep it as dry and clean as possible," you instruct.
Abby just flashes you a blinding smile. "You do a good job, I feel better already. Thanks doll," she flashes a wink at you, smirk in her eyes.
That wink makes your ears turn red, palms suddenly sweaty. You roll your eyes to act nonchalant, placing a narcotic in her hand.
"Take these no less than 12 hours apart with food, and I mean it Anderson, with food," you say, fingers brushing one another's as you close her fingers around the pills. A resounding shock zaps through your fingers as fast as lightning, snapping her head up at you. Her eyes flash red just as fast, replaced by their usual blue.
Your eyes are wide, hand zinging from some unseen energy. Abby thanks you silently with a nod, hands stuffed in her pockets, and rushes off.
-------
Ever since that day in the infirmary, Abby is never out of your sight. During inventory rounds with your other med students, led my Abby's surgeon father, Dr. Anderson. She's always just looming. Your friends start to ask questions when the blonde walks into the infirmary one day, looking as healthy as ever.
You stare curiously as catch her eye, when she throws another wink at you. All your other friends blush and try to look busy.
"You don't look in pain Anderson?" You question, raising an eyebrow.
"No," she chuckles, "but I do want to ask if you had any extra isopropyl alcohol on you? One of my buddies managed to get blood all over a cell, and we need a cleanup," she says, so casually.
You start, but manage to stutter out a response.
"Um y-yeah we have some but it's not here yet, I can bring it to you in an hour or so?" You question, to which she just nods and winks at you.
"Find me in the FOB on the first floor sugar!" She calls out, leaving you a blushing mess.
----
Some time later, alcohol in hand, you make your way to the FOB, when a sharp pain in your abdomen makes you lean against a wall in a back hallway. You shake your head, trying to clear your head as your wolf has taken over, screaming for help. Panic ensues. You know any willing male werewolf will hear you, and you sink into a corner.
Someone rounds the corner, and you can't see who it is as your vision is blurry with tears. You turn your head away to ease the embarrassment. The same overpowering scent you remember from two weeks ago invades your mind, and your wolf goes nuts. It's Abby, and she knows exactly what's happening.
SMUT I REPEAT SMUT
"I'm so sorry please don't come closer pleaseAbby," you beg through near tears, your heat blinding and painful. Quick breaths through your nose accompanied with full body shakes makes Abby growl lowly. She knew you needed to be claimed, the pain unbearable for her future mate to endure. A rumble in her throat makes you tilt your head towards the ceiling, breaths coming in faster. That growl is pure power, pure dominance. The fear in your heart of her power comes through your eyes and Abby realizes your fear, and it hurts. Your intoxicating scent fills her nose like a fog, your fight against a need to be taken care of slowly failing. Your heat and scent flies down to Abby's pelvis, unable to stop the whirlwind of arousal she feels.
"Hey, hey look at me," she commands, power still in her voice. She's knelt to your eye level. Don't be sorry baby. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise y/n, I promise. Please, let me take you somewhere safer," Abby begs. Alphas don't beg, they command. Her beg, plea has you staring in her eyes, desperate to believe her.
You pant, fear still swirling in your eyes. Abby just offers her hands, warm and calloused. After not saying anything, she slowly lifts you into her arms. Eyes lidded, mouth slightly parted, your heat addled brain screams at the feeling of power and protection. You can't help but inhale deeply at her scent, your core aching for more. Abby slips you into her room.
"Y/n, please," Abby begs. "I want to help you." Her eyes are a tinge of gold, showing her alpha side. She puts her forehead gently to yours. "I know you have feelings for me," she breathes. "But I won't do a thing unless you say it's okay."
Tears streaming down your cheeks, your eyes widen in surprise. You're lucid for just a second. "Oh god Abby, I-I don't know what to say," you groan, embarrassed. Your heat is blinding, a near total body and mind need to just be taken care of.
"I won't do anything you don't want baby," she cooes, her pet name undoing your resolve.
You take a deep breath and swallow, knowing that all you've wanted is for Abby to make you hers. And only hers.
"I want to be yours. I want to be only yours," you admit, cheeks darkening. "Please tell me you feel this as strongly as I do," you rush out, fully vulnerable.
Abby's turn to be wide eyed is short lived before she lands her lips on yours, desperate and hungry. "I want nothing more then to make you my mate. I- want- nothing more -than to fuck you into -this bed- for hours," she groans as you moan into her mouth. Her lips are warm, your arms reaching out to tangle in her blond hair. Your heat is begging, burning like a fire under your skin. You whine pitifully, Abby now fully aware of your need.
"I know darling, I know," she whispers. Abby lays you down on her bed, kissing you with a new ferocity that made you tug at her clothes. Feeling her strong abs run over your now bare chest made you bite her lip, a low growl coming from Abby's throat. Her mouth kisses down your neck and reaches the softness of your chest. With lips and tongue, she sucks your nipple between her teeth, licking it as it grows in need. Moaning at this was music to your alpha's ears. Your breasts are damp with spit and raised pink nipples fall in her mouth as she attends to one after the other.
She pulls your pants off, letting your heat racked body shiver at the sudden coolness. Her eyes flash a deep gold now, looking you over, a wanting moan leaving her lips.
"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to see you like this, how long I've been wanting to do this with you," she groans, the obvious bulge in her cargo pants making your mouth water and brain go fuzzy at her words. Her hands sink into your skin, pulling the flesh as she drags her hands down your stomach and over your thighs. Your cunt is wet, glazed over with slick and need. Pink lips swollen at the want of satiation. She kisses you, hand reaching down to palm you, gathering your wetness along her fingers. Your pants have turned into whimpers, into breathy moans.
"You're so wet for me, my precious mate," she cooes, dominance leaking through her words. "I wonder how wet you'll be when I sink my cock into your wanting pussy," you moan at her words, pulling off her pants. A small gasp leaves your lips as her member springs out of her boxers.
"That is a dick of an alpha for sure," you breathe out, hearing Abby chuckle darkly at your surprise. Its shaft covered in small veins, her pink head leaking precum at the sight of your naked body. Abby leans forward on her elbows, soaking up more of your slick on her cockhead, her kisses to your lips bruising. Your scent is making her drunk, the end goal of this mating lost. Ignoring her own desperation, Abby sinks below your waist and licks a long slow strip up your center, capturing your clit in her mouth to softly suck.
"I'm not fucking you stupid until your come all over my face, my pretty mate" Abby groans.
Her name leaves your lips in a yelp, unfettered moans follow. Her tongue is masterful, her lips covered in your shiny arousal. Up and down she moves her tongue, taking time to let herself tongue fuck you, dipping into your wetness. Latching onto your clit, she sucks soft pressure and swirls her tongue. With nothing to grab onto, you resign to tugging at your alpha's long blonde locks, legs high above your head, resting on her shoulders. The muscles in her back flex and stretch as she fucks you.
"Abby, o-o-oh fuck Abby baby pleaseplease alpha please," you moan and moan, dragging your hands through her hair.
At the mention of her title, Abby growls and picks up her pace. You feel the band in your belly tighten and snap within seconds as your orgasm washes over you in a blissful wave. Your toes curl and back arches off the bed, head thrown back in a long and loud moan. Abby continues to fuck your aching cunt into overstimulation, your legs shaking and breath uneven.
"Baby, baby I can't-can't take it anymore," you whine and moan. Abby doesn't stop but unlatches herself and slaps your pussy lightly with her palm.
"You're going to take what i give you angel, and you're gonna say thank you alpha," she hums and holds your jaw with her hand. "Okay baby?" She asks.
"Yes baby," you say softly, lips puffy as Abby captures them in a deep kiss.
"Thank you alpha," you admit shyly, peeking at her reaction through your lashes. Her breathing is ragged, hair undone and messy. Her eyes are a fierce gold, desire evident.
It didn't even take a minute before she slowly sinks herself into you, squelching sounds accompanied. Snapping up her head to you, she examines your features for any sign of pain. Your eyes are half open, lips parted in an O.
"Are you hurt?" She questions, stilling inside. You slowly shake your head, gripping her shoulders and wrapping your legs around her waist. With that, Abby slowly moves through your now sopping cunt. Her breath is short, focusing on not coming too early. You wrap around her like a vice.
"Fuck-fuck fuck baby you're so wet, so tight so warm you're so perfectfuck you are soperfect," Abby moans.
You moan at her praise, tangling your fingers in her hair, reveling in the closeness of your skin. Held up by her strong arms, the muscles in her biceps flex by your head.
"Hold on tight princes," Abby whispers into your ear, nipping at the skin.
Her thrusts start slow and languid, drawing out loud moans at each bury inside you. Your moans only get louder as her Hips snap back into yours at a near brutal pace, relishing in the wet sound of skin on skin. Abby examines your fucked out state of bouncing breasts, loud breathy moans and profanity.
"Fuck Abby fuck ABBY fuckfuckfuck my alpha fuck my alpha," you moan out, whining at the feeling of her cock stretching your walls to a beautiful feeling.
"Markmemarkmeplease baby breed me please baby please," you whine out, surprising Abby at your vulgar confession.
"Yeah baby? Fuck you'resofuckingwet, you take my cock so good baby you want my pups baby? Want me to breed you like a good puppy?" Abby moans, as the slap of wet skin fills the room.
"I bet you'd like me to breed you, huh baby?" Your fucked out smile gives her the answer she needs. "Yes abby please baby breed me please don't stop," you whine.
"Dirty girl, I knew you'd like that," Abby seethes as she bites your neck, sweat on her brow.
"You wanna be all round and fuckin full for me?"
"please Abby please baby yes yes yes!" you exhale a loud moan from your chest, as she leans forward to kiss you hungrily.
In a fast motion, she flips you on your belly, arching your back and pressing your cheek into the soft mattress. Your ass on display as she spreads you to see the slick drip down your thighs. You shake your ass slowly, all shame gone, wanting to be bred like a bitch in heat.
Her hands find your hips again, fucking into your cunt immediately like the world was ending. Muffled moans and screams come from your lips, Abby moaning at your soaking pussy sucking her in and milking her cock for all it was worth. Listening to your moans go up in pitch and your cunt get tighter and tighter told Abby you were so close to coming.
"You'gon come for me baby? Come all over my cock baby, c'mon you can do it. Cream all over my cock my good puppy," she rushes out, hands pulling you back to bounce on her dick.
"Fuck-ff-fuckfuck Abby I'm gon come 'my god I'm gonna come," your legs shake and let your orgasm push Abby into hers. Abby grabs your stretched out hand and squeezes it, to ground you. White hot pleasure consumes you and the heartbeat between your legs races.
You yell her name and moan a loud FUCK, drool sticking to the side of your cheek.
But abby wasn't done yet, your pleasure just comes first.
Abby's groans grow higher and higher, as your pussy pulses around her. As she feels you completely tighten around her, Abby's orgasm explodes. She feels her cock swell and a euphoric feeling washes over at the feeling of her breeding you completely full.
"Fuck baby, fuck baby ohgod," Abby moans as she collapses against your sweat drenched skin. You moan back weakly, shivering at her slow kisses up your back.
"You're so beautiful baby, gonna be so beautiful for me," Abby whispers, pulling out slowly to your disappointment.
"Fuck princess look at you," the alpha groaned, skilled fingers pulling your puffy pink lips apart to watch her cum drip out of your overstimulated pussy. You whine again, sensitive to her touch.
She coos, kissing the swell of your ass cheek.
"Come here princess let me hold you," Abby coaxes, slowing moving your body to lay between her legs. She softly kneads your back as you lay, breathing in her scent. Soft kisses to your forehead manage to lull you into a dreamlike state.
"Rest my precious mate, I've got you baby," Abby breathes, wrapping her strong arms around your figure.
Maybe falling in love with an alpha isn't hard after all.
#the last of us#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson smut#mel's musings#abby anderson#abby anderson x female reader#tlou abby#abby x reader#abbyasawerewolf#this woman#makes me question my life#I want a werewolf girlfriend
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scattered lilies
eddie doesn't have enough money for flowers before your date so he improvises by picking the prettiest flowers he sees on the way to your house.
warnings: cursing, fluff, soft!eddie, kinda shy!eddie, shy!reader, 0.6k
"shit," he curses in a whispered tone, desperately slapping at his pockets. he rushes over to his neglected, mountainous laundry pile, digging at every pocket he can find, praying to find a bill, a quarter, shit he'd be relieved to even spot a nickel. but the strewn out clothes with their pockets all turned out to reveal nothing but crumpled tissue and lint, eventually rendered useless.
eddie was becoming hopeless, running his boisterous silver ringed fingers through his curly hair that was growing unruly by the minute. pacing in his room, he nearly toppled over the picnic basket that he'd packed with food, drinks, books, and sweet mary jane for the two of you, which was where all of his money had gone, of course. glancing at the analog clock on his end table, the daunting red numbers blared 4:37.
from what he could see out of his small window, he spied ivory flowers growing out of mrs. hafers front yard of her trailer, and a cunning idea sneaks its way into his conscience. he tried to talk himself out of it as it was mrs. hafer who’d offered to put him to work at her cafe when no other employer in hawkins wanted to hire him after the incident in '86.
he figured he could ask his uncle to spot him so he could head down to the florist to legally obtain flowers instead, but he made the promise to pick you up by 5:00 and he was out of options. he couldn't not show up with flowers. what kind of a gentleman would he be?
he shrugged on his trusty leather jacket, tucking a bandana into his back pocket and scoops up the picnic basket that he hoped you'd love. he nearly knocked his uncle wayne over as he dashed out the door but soon changed his pace, creeping up to the bush of lilies. he plucked as many as he could without leaving the yard looking so obviously tampered with, and made a beeline for the main road.
on the trek to your house, eddie couldn't stop staring at the thrifted bouquet. he knew you loved flowers as you always had one threaded in the strands of your hair and wore pretty little dresses with floral patterns, but he had no clue what your favorite flowers actually were.
what if you hated lilies? what if you were more of a tulip or a dahlia kinda girl? eddie only knew those names because you talked about flowers so often.
he spent the rest of the walk picking any and every flower he saw whether it was red, pink, or white, big or small, tying the stems with a scrunchie you'd given him some time ago, when the bouquet grew too abundant.
his fist shook a little as he knocked on your door, nerves poking fiery needles across his skin, coloring him red. his cheeks and lips pulled into a toothy smile when you answered the door with a grin of your own, doing your best to hide your face with your hair. you wore a blush pink crewneck, styled with a white collar, a skirt of the same hue and sneakers that were almost identical to eddies. you looked nothing short of perfect to him.
"hi, angel," he waved to you the best he could, what with the basket and bouquet occupying his hands, and all.
"hi, eddie," you giggled, closing the door behind you, stepping closer to him. eddie's breath hitched as a gust of wind blew, allowing his senses to be overrun by your sweet, fruity perfume. "got these for ya," he gently rested the flowers into your cradling arms.
"thank you, they're gorgeous," you giggled at the wild assortment of flowers, recognizing some of them from your neighbors yard a few houses down. you decided to not question him about it. no one’s ever gotten you flowers before.
eddie took your hand in his, leading you to the park where he hoped to have a date that was as perfect as you were <3
💌 1 new message from jojo: if you made it down here i love you :) lemme know if i should make this into a full fic, cuz im thinking abt it…inbox is open!
#i rushed the end cuz i have class lmao#but yeah#love this goober#if he wanted to he would :(#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie and flower#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x black!reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson imagine
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Jailbird.
1.5k / Cellmate’s nephew!Joel x inmate f!reader
thank you @iamasaddie for the mood board!!!
PART 2 HERE: Collect calls
Summary: Your cellmate introduces you to her hot nephew and he comes to visitation hours.
A/N: Part 1 of 3. This one is due to @beskarandblasters and @wannab-urs and their hilarious list of new joel tropes and @raccoonhandedhottie's nerve to put the idea of doing one in my head. My masterlist
WARNINGS: References to sex work, ACAB. Horny phone/visitation talk, mild/non-explicit over-pants masturbation. Mickey Avalon Easter egg.
Without Mabel, you're not sure how you would've survived your first six months in lock-up. You were cuffed for solicitation when a dirty cop wouldn't pay what he owed. He says he took it easy on you -- you also clawed him and spit in his face. As soon as you told your new cellmate what really happened, she took a liking to you. She said you should've bitten him in the pecker. Mabel had been there, done that. She even knew of the cop who put you away. It wasn't Mabel's first time behind bars. She had the ink and reputation to prove it. Her knuckles said "TAKE NONE" and that was accurate. By now, nobody gave her any shit. Soon enough, no one gave you any either.
Mabel had a few photographs on her wall, mostly of her and a younger man. Not a particularly young man, but certainly younger than Mabel. He was probably in his early forties in the pictures, which were five years prior, before she violated her parole. She was giving you a poke and stick tat of a four leaf clover on your hand one day when you asked about the pictures.
"I was wonderin' when ya were gonna ask about my lil Jojo. I've seen ya lookin' at him, ya little horndog..."
She let you stammer around in response. "No, I, I'm just, making conversation, wanna get to know you better."
"It's okay, baby. He's my nephew. All I got left. He's a neat kid."
"He looks happy to be with you–ouch!"
"Don't be a pussy. Oh, he's a real sweet boy. Bet he'd like you, too."
"What makes you say that?"
She looked up from your hand "cause ya got a cunt and you're not bad lookin'," she laughed. "Hey,” she raised her eyebrows. “You ever wanna borrow one of those pics, you let me know, I'll give ya some privacy."
"No thanks."
"Oh, come on. You can fold it so ya don't have to see my pretty face."
You laughed.
"Bet he'd dick ya down real good, too."
"What?" You asked, quietly disturbed.
"He lives with me. Walls are thin."
"Ah. That must be awkward."
"Not really! We're all human. I could even tell ya the kinda shit he says if ya want. He can get real filthy. Or shit, I could just give ya his number."
"That's ok."
"Baby, he'd love to hear from ya. Trust me. I've told him all about ya." She put down the needle and picked up a tissue to dab your skin.
"You have??"
"Oh yeah. Here, I'm gonna write it down."
She took one of the photos off the wall and wrote his number on the back. Then she folded it in half and winked at you as she handed it to you.
—----------------
It only took a week of her nagging for you to call “Jojo.”
Your breath hitched when you heard his smooth, deep voice. The first thing he said was, “Ah, call me Joel,” and you could hear the smile on his face.
“Oh god, I’m sorry,” you laughed. “Well your aunt’s told me a lot about you, Joel.”
“Yeah, I can only imagine what,” he faux grumbled. “Real character, ain’t she?”
“I love Mabel,” you blurted out.
You found yourself opening up about how in some ways, she was more of a mother figure than you ever had. Joel was easy to talk to. It just came pouring out. You told him about Mabel’s antics and the mischief the two of you got up to. Things you’d steal from the cafeteria. The way Mabel kept the ladies in line who tried to dom you. Next thing you knew, your time was up. You apologized profusely for talking Joel’s ear off about yourself.
“Nahhhh, it was nice,” Joel said. “Hell of a lot more interesting than my life.”
“Well it was good talking to you,” you told him.
He said, “Hey, call me back any time.”
There was nothing sexy at all about that first conversation, but his voice did something to you. You squeezed your thighs together when you got back to your cell and looked at the photo. Mabel kept giving you a knowing look.
—------
You started calling Joel regularly. Mabel told you he liked you a lot, but you weren’t sure if you should believe her. She seemed overly eager to set him up. The conversations were brief and casual. When you didn’t call him one week, the next time you spoke, he told you he missed the sound of your voice.
Something came over you and you broke the tension. “My voice?” you asked. “Joel, your voice. . . you dunno what it does to me,” you blurted out. Zero to sixty, just like that.
“Well damn,” Joel said. “Shoulda said somethin’. Coulda given ya better than stories about Mabel.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Like whatever ya want, jailbird.” Your heart fluttered “Whatever gets ya hot and bothered.”
“Honey, you could read me the phone book,” you told him.
He chuckled. “Haven’t seen one of those in a few years.” His voice was sexy to begin with but the sharp edge of the phone connection made it even hotter.
After a moment of tense silence, he said, “Hey, uh, you notice any of your pictures missin’?”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, Mabel mailed me one. Didn’t tell me you were a fuckin’ smokeshow.”
You laughed bashfully.
“Well she did. But I had to see it for myself, and shit”
“Well, thanks. You’re not bad looking yourself.”
Your time was almost up.
“Hey I’m comin’ to see Mabel later this week. Y’all got the same visitor’s night or what? Cause I’d love to see you, too, if it’s allowed.”
“Nah, mine’s the next night.”
“S’alright, i’ll come back for ya, sugar.” Your heart skipped a beat.
“I’ve gotta go.”
“I know. Be good, jailbird.”
—--------
It was visitation day and you were getting nervous. Mabel thought it was adorable. She helped you get ready. Did your hair nice. “He’s already smitten with ya, baby,” she said.
You were escorted into the visitation room and sat at one of the booths, separated by glass, with a phone on each side.
When Joel came in, you didn’t recognize him at first. In just those five years, his beard had turned half-silver. He was striking in person. He was wearing a tight t-shirt and jeans. Tight jeans. You couldn’t help but size up the bulge in them.
When you looked up at his face, he was raising his eyebrows at you like he caught you looking. He sat down and put his elbows on the table. You picked up the phone, a little nervous, but more excited than anything. He checked you out and smiled at you coyly before picking up the phone.
“Like what ya see?” he said softly into the phone.
You replied with a low whistle, then asked, “You always dress like a piece of meat?” He had a few hand tattoos of his own. Faded, blurred together. A spade between his thumb and forefinger. A spiderweb curving around one of his biceps. He’d probably done his own time.
“When the hell are ya gettin’ outta here?”
“Up for parole next month,” you said.
“No shit!” He looked genuinely excited.
“Mabel didn’t tell you?”
“Thought she was yankin’ my chain.” He stretched his free hand behind his head and you watched his bicep. “You been good? Think you’ll get out?”
“Haven’t been bad.”
“Good.” He lowered his voice. “‘Cause sugar, I’m gonna need to see what’s under that garb.”
You smiled with faux shyness, and he continued, “God damn,” looking at you like a juicy leg of lamb.
You stared at each other, checking each other out for a moment. You watched his pupils dilate as your chest rose and fell with desire.
You made small talk for a minute or two, all the while fucking each other with your eyes. But, things took a turn again.
“What do you miss the most?” he asked in a low, sultry voice. “Bet ya don’t miss the clients.”
You shook your head.
He lowered his voice further. “When’s the last time ya had a nice hard cock ya really wanted?”
Your eyes widened. “Shit, I dunno.”
“Ohhh you’re in for it.” You looked around, paranoid, in disbelief that you could get away with a conversation like this. “Ain’t nothin’ harder than mine, baby.” He reached his hand into his lap. “Fuck. ‘specially for you.” You could see his arm moving very slowly but there was no mistaking what he was doing. His eyes devoured you.
“Joel,” you sighed. “Fuck, I believe it.”
And just like that, a guard approached him from behind. “Time’s up,” the guard said and glared at you. You rolled your eyes as a guard approached you, too.
Joel said “Later, jailbird” and hung up the phone. When he stood up, his massive erection was visible and made your heart skip a beat. You glanced up to his face and he was wetting his lips. He winked at you with pink cheeks and your eyes immediately fell back to his crotch as he adjusted himself and the guard hurried him away.
FUCK. You were gushing. Mabel’s Jojo. Joel. What a man.
---------
Part 2
Ty for reading. strip club manager!Joel will be an alternate timeline of this Joel set in the past while Mabel was on parole. DIFFERENT READER. preview
this trope actually gave me so many more elaborate ideas lmao.
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All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret
#joel miller x reader#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#toxicanonymity ☠️#cellmate's nephew!joel#CN!Joel Miller#CN!Joel#cellmate's nephew!joel miller#jojo ☠️
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Dancing in the deep end
Part of the Martyr in the Making series | Part 1 | Masterlist |
| 18 + MDNI | TattooArtist!Ghost x f!reader | CW dub con/non con themes, Simon being a possessive menace in general |
It takes a tremendous amount of effort to sit still today, fighting to keep a grip on the tense coil of compressed nerves within you. One wrong move—one wrong thought—and the tenuous bubble of calm that you and Kyle sit inside of is liable to burst.
It’s not the needles. Not the delicious pain of each pin prick that has you all keyed up.
It’s him.
And you’re doing your best not to think about it, focusing your attention instead on the collection of studs adorning Kyle’s ears and the glittering rhinestones that catch in the light each time his lips part to ask you another question. Inconsequential things about your work, plans with friends, or references you have saved on your pinterest board.
“Who are you gonna book with for that?” He studies the picture on your phone while he changes tips, handing it back when finished and returning his attention to the detail work on your right forearm.
“I’m not sure. I thought about Johnny. He’s good with realism, but this is more… macabre. Not really his style. And I don’t think I want any color, not for this. If I did I’d already be on your book.” You’d book with Kyle every time if you could. Prefer his affable countenance and comfortable conversation over the others. But they all have their specialties, and one size certainly doesn't fit all when it comes to artists.
He hums thoughtfully and the corner of his mouth twists up into a wry grin. “Sounds like something Ghost would take on. Definitely up his alley; all that spooky shit.”
So much for not thinking of him…
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?” he quips, breaking into a sharp-toothed smile.
“Grinning like there’s some kind of joke around here that I'm not in on.” When he pulls back to pick up more ink you shift in the chair, draw your legs up to cross underneath you and roll some of the tension from your shoulders.
“There’s no joke, hunny bun. Not about you.”
“Then what’s so funny?”
He shakes his head as he returns to his work, still smiling to himself. “Ghost, that’s what. Bloke’s been broody these last few weeks. More than normal, anyway.”
Oh.
“Had a bit of a tiff with Cap’ earlier. Dunno what about, but… I might have heard your name bein’ mentioned.”
“I thought you said this isn’t about me.”
“I said the joke isn’t about you. Never said what we’re pickin’ on him for isn’t about you.” He pauses his work just long enough to wink up at you, and you answer with a groan. “You don’t like him?”
You’ve been doing your best to not think about him. Even if the feel of his hands, pushing and pulling to arrange you the way he wants, tracing roughened fingers over the letters on your thigh, lingers like a phantom touch against your skin every night. The memory of his eyes, depthless yet brimming with beguiling allure, is burned into your retinas, staring back at you everytime you close yours–every time you blink.
You’ve been doing your best not to think of him, and you've failed miserably.
“I don’t not like him, he just…” Kyle’s hand hovers over your arm, the numbing bite of his needle just out of reach, waiting for your answer. “He fucks with my head. Can’t figure him out.”
Can’t get him out.
His smile shifts, full lips curled up at the edges and bright, intelligent eyes narrowed with a knowing glint. “Maybe that’s the point,” he surmises, and returns his attention to the half finished highlights.
In the days that follow, you start to think Kyle is right. That the reason Simon’s burrowed so deep under your skin is because that’s exactly where he wants to be, settling in with the same permanence as healing ink. An ever-present paresthesia that spreads like brushfire through the dried up remains of your resolve. Impossible to ignore.
Against your better judgment, you book your next session with him. This time, you’re determined not to let him get the better of you.
It’s another large piece, stretching from the apex of your spine to just below your shoulder blades, and needs multiple sessions to get the finer details just right. In retrospect, you really haven’t set yourself up for success in this whole ‘don’t let him get to you’ matter with your choice of placement and the inherent lack of clothing involved, but you’re adamant about this time being different.
It’s John who checks you in and collects the same signature and waiver as they always do, making idle chat and asking how some of your pieces have been healing while you fill out the forms. Leggings cover the bulk of Simon’s last piece so you show him the work Kyle did instead, holding out your arm for him to inspect.
“Gaz certainly knows what he’s doing with pigment. Boy’s got a knack for vibrancy.”
“His work is as colorful as he is. And Johnny’s language.” His eyes crease when he laughs, a full-bellied sound that echoes through the studio.
“Ghost should be ready for you. Same room as last time.” He gestures towards the hall with a tilt of his head, an unruly strand of hair escaping the hold of product and pomade to sway with the motion. “Good to see you, hun.”
“Good to see you too, John.”
No escort this time. You’re becoming something of a permanent fixture here, your presence something they’re quickly growing accustomed to. Ingratiated among their ranks and trusted to see yourself to each of their stations without need of their guidance.
Three short taps of your knuckles against the door, fading paint and a mess of stickers that are peeling around the edges dampening the sound, and Simon’s gruff voice grants you entry. When you crack the door open his back is to you, arranging his inks and tips to his specification on a rolling tray, clad in his usual monochromatic black. He’s silent as you slip inside, dropping your bag on the counter and shedding your jacket alongside it.
“Go on and get settled,” he directs, gesturing vaguely to the padded table beside him that’s replaced the chair from last time. His focus remains on setting up his station but you don't miss the way he cocks his head, watching you from his periphery. Once you’re comfortable, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the table, he reaches for the tablet on the counter beside him. “Gaz sent over the design? No changes?” he asks as he scrolls through the notes.
“Yeah, I’m really happy with the suggestions and revisions you made. It’s exactly what I’d envisioned when I sent over the references.” You fiddle with the hem of your tee, twirling a loose thread around your finger. “Should I…”
He looks up then, and it begins—the internal battle between logic and instinct.
The latter begs to let yourself drown in his gaze. Swallow lungfuls of churning amber and nestle into the warm, mindless haze that creeps at the fringes of your mind like mist over the earth, tinged an ephemeral gold by the first rays of dawn. The former recoils from the flaring of pupils like they’re the unhinged jaws of a predator, swallowing all of the light in the room in a uniquely serpentine manner. Some fragmented imitation of self preservation screams for you to run.
It doesn’t scream loud enough.
“Still with me, sweetheart?” Pale skin puckers around his eyes. Fissures in granite, the molten core of him pouring through the cracks and searing every detail of them into your memory.
“Yeah, sorry…” The hum that reverberates in his chest ripples in the space between you in waves of gravel that settle against your skin like velvet.
“Gotta go print the stencil,” he begins, standing from his chair, and he draws your gaze up with him to his full height. “Be good while I’m gone, yeah?” Ink stained fingers brush against your cheek, and you realize it’s not a request but a demand when he doesn’t wait for your answer, worn leather creaking with each retreating footstep until the door closes behind him and you’re left in dazed silence.
You blink once. Twice. Drag a hand over your face to wipe away the feeling of phantom fingers, and release the breath you didn’t realize you’ve been holding in a dejected sigh.
This doesn’t feel different. It feels exactly how it did last time.
Sit. Stay. Behave. These are his demands, and you’re powerless to defy them.
Each word uttered from behind that inane mask has the effect of being yanked by a leash. Dragging you along with him until you learn to match his gait, the cadence of his steps careful and measured, but the collar around your neck only ever gets tighter, reeling you in to heel at his side.
It should make you angry. Should rattle your head with alarm bells and shrill, screeching sirens. But all there is, is silence. Thick, hazy, blissful silence that swaddles your mind in an ardent blanket of warmth. A proverbial pulling of wool over your eyes.
But perhaps that’s too kind, not cruel enough, for the man whose presence smothers rationale and suffocates logic. Who steals the air from your lungs to feed his own conflagration and feeds it back to you on words, whetted by a duplicitous tongue, that feel like licking honey from a honed blade. Warm and sweet–but at what cost?
You wonder briefly if the slow slipping of your sanity is the price to be paid, and balk at the probability that he has even yet come to collect. You wonder briefly, because that is all the time you have. All the time you're allowed before the door swings open and in walks the phantasm of a man with righteous intent.
When the door clicks closed behind him, it sounds more, you think, like the striking of a gavel. A thunderclap in the court of the heavens. The sealing of your fate by something far beyond your control.
“Up,” his voice rumbles in the echoing thunder.
What?
He’s standing over you, hands flattened and fingers splayed on the table on either side of you, staring down at you expectantly. “Gotta take this off to get started,” he explains when you continue staring blankly up at him, dragging a hand over to your hip and curling his fingers into the same hem you’d been toying with not ten minutes ago.
You can’t decipher whether it’s by some divine puppeteering or an infernal possession that your arms slowly lift and you allow him to pull your shirt over your head. Allow him to guide you down onto the table, prone with a pillow tucked under your head, and your right arm folded underneath. To unclasp your bra, unhook each strap from its band, and slide it out from under you.
He smooths transfer paper over your back, cold solution causing you to flinch at first contact, and he quells the beginnings of a whine with gentle sushing and a warm hand at your nape. “Jus’ some cold. Save those pretty sounds for me, hm?”
Time moves slowly, cocooned in a heady smoke and honey scented haze, threads of it woven into his blanketing aura, and it weighs heavy on your limbs. Makes your body feel as sluggish as your mind.
“That’s it, good girl.” Numb and high on praise, you barely register the added weight of his arm slung across your lower back. A faint humming permeates your cocoon, accompanied by a distant fluttering that traces slow lines over your back, and a small, contented sound resonates in your chest. “So pretty like this. Such a pretty, empty head.”
This feels different. Nothing like the last time. There are no nerves that hum like livewires in your head. No furtive glances or chills that creep across your skin when you’re caught staring. He welcomes it–encourages it–but like the rest of you, your eyes feel heavy, lids drooping under a lulling weight.
When that golden mist appears once more at the blurry edges of your mind, there is nothing that stops it from surging forward and swallowing you down to the dregs of slumber.
Waking up feels like surfacing from molasses, thick and syrupy tendrils of sleep still clinging to you and trying to hold you under a little longer. But there’s a stinging sensation that prickles your skin and won't go away, wrenches your body and mind free of its sluggish haze.
Your back feels raw, skin overworked and leaking plasma, but it's the stinging of your arm that clears the fog from your head.
You blink sleep crusted eyes against the harsh overhead lighting of the studio, spots dancing in your vision as it slowly adjusts. It’s been a long time since you've fallen asleep while getting tattooed, and you wonder if maybe you slept on your arm–had it twisted under you at some odd angle that’s cut off its circulation and made it numb with staticy pin pricks.
No, this is different.
Bright color blooms before you, and for a moment you wonder if it's a result of phosphenes; if the pressure of confusion building in your head has somehow distorted your vision.
It isn’t.
The bright colors are a result of the newest tattoo on your arm, more than several weeks old by now, and the burning, itching sensation that should have long since passed is a result of the thick layer of fresh ink that's been overlaid.
‘MINE’ stares back at you in the hauntingly familiar scrawl of Simon’s hand.
Next>>>
©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.
#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost simon riley#simon ‘ghost’ riley#simon “ghost” riley#simon riley fanfic#simon ghost riley x f!reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x female reader#simon riley x female reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x f!reader#simon riley x you#ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost x female reader#ghost x f!reader#cod fanfic#call of duty#cod#cod mw2#cod mwii#cod mw#dub con#cw self harm#non con#grooming
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Voices and the Hero
I DID IT I FUCKING FINISHED THIS PIECE YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!
I have Thoughts about my designs for these guys so uh Design Notes under the cut!
I'm bad at drawing actual birds (if the narrator on the hero's shoulder is any indication) so I went with the next best thing that I'm better at: plague doctors! Plus plague masks are just fun to draw. I tried making each of the voices match the princess they correspond to, but it got tricky with a couple of them. In no particular order, here we go!
The Hero is a bird guy with a bird mask. Perhaps the mask is meant to keep his identity locked away? Either way, the outfit is more shapes than actual fabric, similar to the Princess' gown. Simple enough to register as clothes, but vague enough to change and be recognizable as the loops splinter. Also the cape is hims wings!
The Broken is made to be the wettest, most pathetic little guy, but also ever so slightly like a priest. This is to reference the Tower (mommy- I mean mommy- I mean-) saying that the hero's place by her side is "that of a priest, or a pet". So I made him look like a depressed little priest.
The Skeptic is the voice that joins you on the route of the Prisoner, so what would be more fitting than a warden? Or maybe an escaped convict? Either way I love his little ponytail poking out of his hood.
The Hunted looks like a feral wild child. Feather-hair out and messy, cloak made of scraps of fabric. I figured the most wild looking of the voices would be the one that corresponds to the Beast.
The Smitten is all puffy and soft shapes to match the Damsel's rufflier dress and softer appearance. Also my friends recommended the hat and I agree 11/10 would hat again. Gave him a bowtie AND a cravat because the Smitten strikes me as just that extra!
The Opportunist's beak is meant to resemble a parrot's, as he just parrots the ideas of whomever he considers to be "winning". This is also why he's dressed like a businessman. He kinda looks like a villain version of the Smitten, but I haven't played the Thorn's route yet, so idk if that's relevant. Also isn't this guy the only voice that doesn't show up in the Chapter 2 routes or am I forgetting one?
The Stubborn has demon horns to match the Adversary (and the Eye of the Needle HOOGH MAMA). He's also got battle damage, and his mask is fashioned to look like he has a wounded and scarred eye. Fun fact! Stubborn was supposed to get the ponytail, but I decided while lining that a half cut looked better.
The Cold looks the most similar to the Hero, but he's just a bit less put together. While I was drawing his hair I was thinking of L from Deathnote for some reason? Probably the cadence the Cold has.
The Cheated is supposed to look like a gambler, given his title and speaking patterns. There...wasn't a good way to pair him with the Razor, but I suppose the spade on his cheek could be seen as a nod to the razor's blades? I dunno, I'm reaching here.
The Paranoid suffers from my lack of impulse control when it comes to giving characters goggles. I fucking love steampunk goggles. Much like the Cold, he looks like a less-put-together Hero, but this one is a mess, actively having a panic attack, but is pushing through it because NEITHER THE HERO OR THE NARRATOR IS FUCKING HELPING. Also the stitches on his mask are meant to mirror the cracks on the Nightmare's mask.
The Contrarian has a mask with three beaks as a mirror to the Stranger's three heads, but also because the two on his head make him look like a little jester and I felt that was fitting for this smartass. His cape is asymmetrical to spite the status quo.
I hope you enjoyed my art + rambles about these designs. I love doing this!
#digital art#digital drawing#slay the princess#stp voices#voice of the broken#voice of the paranoid#voice of the cold#voice of the contrarian#voice of the hero#voice of the smitten#voice of the skeptic#voice of the stubborn#voice of the opportunist#voice of the cheated#voice of the hunted#slay the princess fanart
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Astarion x Tav || dress-making
without any strings attached
synopsis: He traces the edges of the loose, unwoven threads of fabric. He folds the muslin cloth and cuts the edges, unravelling worn patches with his knife. He patches the holes with a beautiful ladder stitch, hems the edges with a simple running stitch. He can ruffle the fabric around the arms to make a batwing sleeve for her. He holds up the chemise to the candlelight when he’s finished with it. It’s fit to the bust and adorned with a ruffled edge. It feels like something is missing—he likes to embroider phrases on his clothes, but he can’t figure out what to put.
Or, Astarion makes a nightgown for Tav.
an excerpt of ‘cause my love (is mine, all mine)
word count: 1817
pairing: astarion/tav
other tags: f!reader, hurt/comfort, sickfic, slight angst, non-sexual intimacy, romantic tension, friends to lovers, dress making, not being used to love or loving, help these idiots please
now listening: two - sleeping at last
ao3: here
concept: sickfic part 2 + dress making
All that occupies his mind is Tav. The dream he had, her blood, her songs, her tireless efforts, her pitiful trembling and perspiration, and the state of her clothes soaked with various unpleasant fluids. The realization of how powerless he is against natural illnesses.
Vampires and their spawn didn’t get sick. He had almost forgotten that was something that most people did. He can’t remember the last time he was sick—what he did, what his parents would do. They all belonged to a time before he was turned, when he was still just an elf. He knows the bare minimum, and Dalyria is ever-present to remind him: she needs food, water, and lots and lots of rest.
Still, he can’t help but think she must be stuffy with all the stagnant air in the keep and her old dusty, road-tattered clothing will help.
If he can’t get her body off of his mind, then he might as well do something with it.
He finds enough material in the wardrobes. There are a number of blankets that go unused due to their poor quality—whether it’s because of stains or tears, but he can’t let them go to waste.
Astarion would like to say that he doesn’t remember this particular skill of his. It feels menial—a task suited for peasants or handmaidens. He never saw himself as someone who fixed things, but sewing was just a small way to keep his luxuries intact. It helps him keep his life sweeter.
How many evenings had stitching, sewing, embroidering, granted him peace and reprieve? How many times had the needle pricked his finger before he could finish a pattern without staining the fabric with red beads? How long had it taken him to make knots that would endure the finest cloth?
He traces the edges of the loose, unwoven threads of fabric. He folds the muslin cloth and cuts the edges, unravelling worn patches with his knife. He patches the holes with a beautiful ladder stitch, hems the edges with a simple running stitch. He can ruffle the fabric around the arms to make a batwing sleeve for her. He holds up the chemise to the candlelight when he’s finished with it. It’s fit to the bust and adorned with a ruffled edge. It feels like something is missing—he likes to embroider phrases on his clothes, but he can’t figure out what to put.
It doesn’t need to be perfect, although he wants it to be. The red seams are a stark contrast against the white fabric and make every mistake obvious. It just needs to be fit for use when she needs it.
He figures he’ll ask Dalyria to bring it to her, since she’s been doing a well enough job as Tav’s bedside nurse when Astarion’s away. He had practically coerced her into sticking beside his companion—but if Dalyria were there, it meant that Leon would not be, which was to Astarion’s relief. It wasn’t his place to intervene, but he knows the temptation after a bite can be excessive, and Tav doesn’t have enough blood to share.
Just as he finishes folding it, he hears the door to the room creak open. He assumes it’s one of his siblings, and they usually let each other come and go without acknowledging the other’s presence.
But the scent hits him quickly. He would recognize it anywhere.
He feels warm arms wrap around his shoulders and a hot breath whispers in his ear, “This is where you were, Star?”
Her voice sends shivers down his spine. His ears are particularly sensitive, and he can’t help but wonder if she’s doing it intentionally as she continues, “Come back.”
“No need for such impatience.” He tuts disapprovingly, but there’s no bite to it. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
As he turns back to face her, he sees her hand reach out to him and he almost flinches. She brushes a lock away from his face, and tucks it behind his ear, her finger brushing his cheek. She seemingly ignores what he’s trying to tell her, and simply looks at Astarion. She bats her lashes up at him. “It was in your face,” she says, matter-of-factly, letting out a little giggle at the end again.
He sobers a little. Is this her plan to get him to forgive her little excursion out of bed? He reaches out to tame Tav’s hair. “All your hair is in your face,” he counters, trying to push it out of her face, until he’s holding her face from both sides. He looks at Tav’s serene, sleepy eyes, her cutely pillow-tousled hair, and, most of all, her soft-looking lips. She looks back at him, and he feels his throat go dry again. Damn.
When he goes to move his hands away, she reaches up and touches his right hand, leaning into his touch until she’s able to hide her face in it, until she’s all but kissing the palm of his hand.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I was saying nonsense.” She says, and Astarion furrows his eyebrows, unsure of what she’s apologizing for. It doesn’t sound like she’s apologizing for being sick—not anymore, at least—but then she adds, “Are you avoiding me?”
He’s a little surprised because he’s been doing his best to hide it. It wasn’t like he was completely abandoning her, of course, but he doesn’t want to get in between whatever she’s looking for. If she’s looking for more than what Astarion can give, he has no choice but to concede, so he explains, “I just don’t want to get in your way. I mean, far be it my place to tell you what to do, right?”
He had been very careful to sound as neutral as possible, so he’s a little surprised to hear her console him. “You’re not in my way. Why would you say that?” She seems to pout, and her eyebrows scrunch up with worry.
Because I suspect you’re going to find someone better and tire of me any day now, and so I have no choice but to mentally prepare himself, is what he wants to say.
Technically, this isn’t fair to Tav, and he knows it. The only thing she had done was allowed Leon to feed on her, so it would be easy to tell himself that this idea is all in his head and he should just get over it. Feeding wasn’t inherently romantic. She might even have done it just because Leon had been starving himself. It’s just that Leon sounded like he was… fond of Tav, and he knows his older brother is affectionate. He’s willing to sacrifice his freedom for the people he loves.
Tav deserves someone who loves her. Someone who is bound to her through thick and thin. There are times where Astarion wishes he was that kind of person; but he doesn’t know if he is. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to be. He doesn’t know a lot about himself, and surely Tav has better things to do than appease his uncertainties.
“I just…” Astarion pauses, unsure of how to word it. He turns towards the nightgown he made for her because it’s easier to look at than meet her gaze. “I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what you want. I don’t know how to love.”
Surprisingly, she replies, “I don’t know how to be loved.”
Astarion had expected her to say something sweet and comforting, since she always knew the right words to say. She was always so in-control of her thoughts and feelings. To hear her admission feels like it dooms them both. He realizes that her sickness has made her more honest, and she’s probably revealed something rather important with that statement, but it’s such an absurd situation that he can’t help but throw his head back, letting raucous laughter ring before settling down. “Well, fuck.”
She giggles as well, more in response to his contagious laughter than the situation itself.
He sighs, letting the electricity between them die down.
Finally, he shifts his chair backwards with a resounding creak, tipping back on his seat to balance the back legs precariously. “Before you distract me any more, you need to get back to resting. But before that, get changed.” He scolds, and passes her the nightgown he had made. “I’m not overly enthusiastic with the result, but anything’s better than your abused homely clothes.” He points out.
“A smock? It’s a little small for you, don’t you think?” She asks, and he sighs.
“It’s yours, actually. Something clean, for once.”
She reaches out to take it and unfolds it in her lap. He expects her to put it on and then he can escort her back to bed, but she looks down at it incredulously. She takes extra time to trace her fingers over the fabric, paying extra attention to the stitching.
Then her eyes start welling up with tears.
Astarion panics a little at this.
“It’s surely not that awful—” he starts, but then he properly sees her expression when he leans in to take it back from her.
Her tears drip onto the fabric as she looks down at it, treating it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world. “Y-You made this for me?” She chokes up, though Astarion isn’t sure whether it’s the light cough or the emotion in her voice. She continues, “Th-thank you.”
He figures the cold really must have chipped away at her senses, because he didn’t expect her to react like this. “It’s not that rare for me to do something nice.” He chides, but his hand already reaches to wipe her tears.
“No, no, it’s just—it’s your love.” She tells him, cryptically and poetically as usual, clutching it tightly. He doesn’t understand, so she continues, “It’s the shape of sewn holes, careful stitches and washed cotton, today.”
He still doesn’t know what she means, and it sounds like a bit of nonsense to him. He rolls his eyes, and tells her, “Yes, yes, you can tell me all your maudlin poetry about love once you’re feeling better. Now get changed.”
He turns around so she can do so, and she’s so amazed that she actually follows his request.
When he turns back around, he’s nearly knocked breathless at how well she wears his dress. There’s just something about her beauty, her long, disheveled hair and bare feet, the beautiful white gown fits her perfectly, and it gives an ethereal aesthetic.
“Gods, you’re beautiful.” The words slip out of him before he realizes it, and he sits back to admire her work.
She seems to agree with him, although she doesn’t say so. Her hands keep tracing the hems of her sleeves and the carefully stitched patterns at the end. All she does ask is, “How—How could you think you’re incapable of love?
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#astarion x tav#astarion romance#fanfic#writing#astarion x mc#astarion fic#bg3 astarion#cause my love#mahouwrites#mahoufiction#astarion x reader#astarion ancunin#baldurs gate tav#baldurs gate astarion
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