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reidslovely · 8 months

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When My Time Comes

Content Warnings: Graphic depictions of:gun violence, murder, blood, throwing up, and panic attacks. Suicidal ideation, and a few swear words. Reader goes by the name 'Angel' throughout the story. Slightly supernatural/horror I'm not sure how to take it. Very different than anything I've written before please just hang in there lol. It's also unedited because I wrote it in a one day and wanted to get it out as fast as possible before the inspiration left me.

Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader/OC

Word Count: 5k

Genre: Angst with happy ending

I told y'all Mob!Peter was making a comeback..this is his rebirth. Thanks to Hozier's Work Song.

Please reblog and/or leave a comment instead of liking or hearting this post! Thank you.

There’s an uncomfortable frigid feeling in the room. It’s like that moment when giving a class presentation and everyone is looking dead at the person. Waiting for them to drop because they can tell the speaker doesn’t want to be here, and that they’re waiting for the worst to happen and the other shoe to drop.

“Angel-”

Felicia’s voice carried throughout the room. The legs she stood on grew wobbly, her vision narrowing. A mix of bitter bile and anger grew in her throat as she shot the platinum haired girl a heated look.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me-” She shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her. “This is your fault!”

It wasn’t. But it was easier to blame her, the person delivering the blow than it is to blame others.

Harry’s hands grabbed the distraught girl from under her armpits, to keep her from falling and approaching Felicia any closer than she already was. Harry tucked her into his arm, hand flattening out against her back, trying to soothe the heart he knew was breaking. The smell of the iron on his shirt flooded her nostrils, and only provoked more tears. She fought against Harry, who only held tighter.

“I wanna see him. Let me see him. I-”

“Angel, that’s not a good i-”

“Let her, Harry. Let her.” Felicia’s words were soft yet firm. Her lip was tucked in between her teeth as she wiped at her face. Harry looked between the two women, and at Miles who was standing in front of the door. He was fighting his own losing battle, and denying her would put him in his own grave. Once he released the girl, she ran as fast as she could and wobbled up the stairs to the bedroom all the way at the end of the hall. Vision so blurry from anxiety, and tears that she couldn’t even make out May, who'd just left the room shutting the door behind her.

“Angel, you can’t go in there. You shouldn’t. Pete, he wouldn’t want you to see him like this. Just stay out here for a li-”

Usually she’d respect May’s wishes, and listen to her wise words. Angel knew deep in her heart of hearts that she was right. That this was an event that would stick with her for life and couldn’t be treated so loosely. But, her husband, Peter, was sitting on the other side of that door and you needed to see him.

Pushing May aside, nothing, absolutely nothing, could prepare her for what laid on the other side of that door.

“Pete.” Her words faltered seeing his entire torso bandaged, a deep red of blood already seeping through the clean white color of the bandages. Angel carried herself as far as she could before dropping to her knees, crawling across the floor to the bed.

“A..Angel.”

Peter’s eyes wouldn’t open, but his voice was somewhat there. Tired and strained, her hands grasped his, as she bowed her head against the memory foam of the death bed. He wasn’t dead. Not yet.

“Shhh, I’m right here.” There was a sense of dread crawling into the bed with him. It’s the same bed they’d shared for years, but it’s different now as he lays dying. Out of pure reflex her hand reaches out, resting on his torso. He’s too weak to even flinch, her hand soaking with his blood. They’d been trying for hours to stop the damage the attack did to his insides.

“It happened all too fast and there were..too many. His body isn’t healing as fast as it usually does.” Felicia’s explanation came back to her. So much for being superhuman. Angel’s head pressed against his temple, as tears trickled down her cheeks hitting his bare collarbone.

“Oh Angel..” Peter whispered, pressing his head back against hers. “Don’t cry over me.”

She shook her head. “‘M not crying Pete, cause you’ll be fine. May gave you more of your blood, and your body is gonna speed up its process. And..and you’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m dying, Angel.”

‘Shut up.”

“No listen okay.” He used what strength he had to open his eyes, looking at her through half lidded eyes. “I am going to die. I know it and you..”

He coughed, blood splattering out of his mouth. “You kn-kno-know it.” She wiped the blood off his mouth letting tears fall.

“I love you…so much. You have been..the best part of my life.” She opened her mouth to respond. He closed his eyes again. Bringing his hand to hold her side close to him. “Just..just lay here with me okay?”

His chest rattled with a shaky breath, she hiccuped choking on her sobs. Laying her head against his cold one. She'd always pictured dying in this bed with him. But she thought she’d be older, thought she’d at least have had some kids- some grandkids. Thought it would be both of them on a quiet, average night. One where she’d go to sleep and just never wake up.

Never did she think Peter would be lying here dying at only 31 one years old. Angel knew what Peter did for work was dangerous, deadly even. It killed her father, it killed his uncle. Both knew these actions had consequences. Yet, Peter wasn’t human like everyone else. He had altered DNA from being studied as a kid, from being bit by a spider at seventeen that gave him powers that he used to climb his way up the ladder of organized crime. Yet, those same powers and abilities were what had him lying here fighting to keep going.

“Peter..” She whispered against his cold skin. “Peter.” Nothing. She put her hand over his heart and felt nothing. No warmth, no movement, nothing. Her hands shook, looking around in panic for anything..anyone.

“Peter!”

The yell was louder this time. One that burns the lungs. She shakes him, and shakes him trying to get him back. Starting to attempt her own CPR screaming for him to come back, to not leave like this. Being so engrossed with her own grief and anger, she doesn't even process everyone rushing in. Harry and Felicia pull her off of him kicking and screaming, as May calmly pulls the sheet over his head, before kissing his forehead.

Angel hated her. She raised him and she’s not even fighting for his life right now.

Not her, not Harry, not Felicia. None of them.

“He’s gone.” Harry spoke sitting on the floor with her, holding her as she screamed through the sobs. His legs pinned hers down rocking up back and forth. The smell of the iron from the blood on Harry’s shirt and her body wafted through her nostrils. Between the smell of her dead husband's blood and the pure panic seeping through the body she couldn’t hold back any longer. Angel’s body hunched forward on reflex as vomit spewed out of her mouth and onto Harry and the floor.

The blonde man didn’t even flinch, rubbing her back as you slumped forward and cried. A part of her laid dead on that bed with her husband's cold body.

The days lingered, in a still limbo. None of it felt in order. Felicia fed her some cocktails of sedatives, to keep her sane as they both helped May plan the funeral. “He didn’t want a shiva.” Angel spoke from the couch, biting down around the cuticle of her nail.

“I know we aren’t giving him one, just a wake and funeral and a remembrance party.” Felicia spoke, her hand reaching out to hold the woman's leg. Her free hand pulled her fingers out of her mouth.

“A fucking party?” She spat. “Is that what his death means to you? Some fucking excuse to get shit faced, so you can live with yourself for walking him into that fucking warehouse.”

Felicia bit down on her cheek, and took a deep breath. She could almost feel Peter’s hand on her shoulder and his stern yet soft demand for an apology to Felicia.

“I’m sorry. I should-”

“It's fine.” Felicia says, pulling the widow into a hug, letting her head rest on her shoulder. Angel thanked Felicia for her patience, because at this point she had none left. May’s shaky hand covered her own mouth holding back a sob, Angel pulling her into the hug, the three of them taking a moment to cry.

Harry and Miles had dealt with the dirty part. Harry had come home with a bag of medical supplies the night Peter died. He and May injected him with more of his blood that Harry had altered at Oscorp, both hoping for some last resort. Angel sat on the chair in the corner watching them. She had volunteered to wash and dress him before the coroner took him away. The man, Mr. Weekes had dealt in Peter’s dealing before, and he was listed specifically as who Peter wanted to treat him post mortem.

“Your death wishes list in your will is super morbid.”

She spoke in a low monotone voice, washing the blood off his arms. It was weird to see him like this: cold and still. Not bantering back and forth with her. “I appreciate it though, I just wish you’d told me about all this sooner. You’re demanding even in death.”

She washed his face next, and stitched up some of the wounds on his chest before dressing him in some of his more comfortable casual clothes.

“If only you’d tell me what suit you wanted to be fucking burried in. Planned everything else out..”

Shuffling through his suits, she started fighting back the tears as she came across his wedding suit. Again, feeling his hand on her back, trying to talk her through it. He always knew this was happening before she did. Angel pressed the palm of her hands into her eyes as she started to cry. Heartbeat racing, it felt like it was crawling up her throat and getting stuck. It felt like choking on nothing, causing her to gasp for breath. She dropped herself down into the soft green chair in the back of the closet, crying and gasping for air as she progressed. She started walking herself through it the best one could. Putting a hand on her chest following the breathing techniques, she tried to alter her breathing as much as she could. Once she started coming down, her vision settled back into normal. She looked up at the racks of clothing and let out a shaky, yet normally paced breath. She had settled on the grayish green suit he’d worn only a couple days before. Slamming the closet door to the closet behind her, she shoved the suit into the bag wanting to be done with it all.

“I shouldn’t hate you..” She started, sitting on the bed with him. Putting his watch on him and staring at him. “And I don’t..I don’t think I do. I’m just so..fucking angry. At everyone, at myself, at you. I shouldn’t have let you go, I should have gone with you.”

Angel laid next to him, his body cold and their sheets still slightly stained in blood. Maybe it was gross and fucked up. However, next to him, was the only place she felt peace. There was a brief staring contest with the syringe filled with some liquid that laid on a night stand. One stab to the heart would make everything go away, she could be with him again. Maybe the cocktail of sedatives everyone kept feeding her would do it for her at some point.

“Mrs. Parker.” Mr. Weekes says walking in, rolling the gurney in with him. Harry and Miles in tow behind him. “I have to take him now. Is that okay?”

“Angel..” Harry’s voice sounded pitiful, she felt her heart squeeze as she sat up.

“Yeah, yeah.” She sighed, scurrying out of the bed. Flattening out her clothes, watching Harry help Mr. Weekes transfer Peter to the gurney. Miles comforted her, his arms wrapping around her rubbing her back. Harry nodded his head towards the door, telling him to walk Angel out of the room. He followed directions sitting her in Peter’s office downstairs, both sat in their grief.

“Why does everyone call you Angel?” Miles asks, wanting to take her mind off Peter. Funny enough, Peter was the reason why she even had the nickname.

“When Peter and I started dating he brought me home and everyone was there with him at the time. They were ready to meet me if they didn’t know me already. Him, May, Gwen, Felicia, pretty much all of us…he walks me in and he goes "everyone this is Angel, Angel this is everyone.”

Shr laughs, and Miles smiles. “Everyone just kept calling me Angel till he realized about 30 minutes later that he’s called me Angel instead of my real name. So it was just a pet name that became a nickname. So everyone, including my own mother, calls me it now.” She watched Miles walk around Peter’s office taking in every piece of him.

“I’m really gonna miss him. He taught me so much, he helped me and my mom. I just..he was like a brother to me.”

“He thought a lot of you too. He cried on your 21st birthday, talking about how much you grew up and how proud he was of you.” She looked at Peter’s will open on the table, her and Harry had gone over it earlier. “You should head home Miles.”

“Are you gonna be okay? I can stay here.”

“Yeah, I have Felicia and May..and Harry.”

Miles nods, engulfing her in a hug. Angel smiled sadly, hugging him back, sliding an envelope from Peter’s desk into his pocket. “No questions. It’s what Pete wanted you to have. There's a note in there you should read it.”

Miles nodded and patted his pocket, taking the keys off the desk and headed out the office doors.

Grief was a funny thing, it’s a terrible gutting feeling one minute that had her laying in the bloodied bedsheets with your dead husband one minute, and sitting in the bathroom with her high school best friend laughing at memories another. Gwen had flown in from London the moment she heard, she helped get Angel out of bed and bathe her for Peter’s funeral seeing as she could barely bring herself out of the guest room.

“He really loved you.” Angel whispered, her head resting on her knees as Gwen sat by the tub with her. Gwen tilted her head to the side laughing, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder.

“He loved you more.” Gwen says. “I remember when we broke up and I told him if he didn’t ask you out I was going to do it for him. And I think that terrified him more.” They both laughed. “I knew he was going to marry you before he knew, before you knew even”

“Yeah?” Angel asked, smiling at her, tears rolling from her eyes.

“You two were made for each other. And I was lucky enough to love both of you.” Gwen whispered, taking her hand. “Let’s wash your hair, yeah?”

“Okay.” Angel nodded leaning back in the tub.

Standing by his coffin was awkward; she felt like a little girl at her daddy’s funeral again. Not knowing how to stand next to the body, not liking the way the pity filled stares felt, so she focused on his body. There was a rosy tint to Pete’s cheeks, and he almost looked alive. She rubbed his cheek looking at the gifts lining his coffin, stuff people wanted to lay to rest with him. “It’s only been five days, and I’m losing my mind.” Her voice whispered to him, her hand holding his.

“I don't know if I can do this without you.” She flattened out the white shirt under his tux and took a deep breath.

“Let's sit dear.”

May sniffles, holding her side reassuringly. Angel nodded, wrapping an arm around May, rubbing her shoulder. No one knew her pain like May Parker. She’d become her rock in the haze of grief. She had lost her husband and her nephew who was more her son than anything. She’d been staying at the house with Angel and everyone, she’d even climbed into bed with her most nights like a child seeking comfort from her mother. She was thankful for her and thankful Peter had brought May to her. They were the two most important women in his life and bonded like no other.

“Peter Benjamin Parker was the love of my life, and he was an amazing man.” Angel spoke into the mic standing before friends, family, and acquaintances. She looked down at him in the coffin, and smiled at him, already wiping away tears.

“I know to many of you he was frightening, and strong. He seemed unforgiving, cold, and inhumane on occasion but he was my best friend, and my soulmate. He was a complex human and that…is what brought his life to such a short stop. I’m no good at public speaking. I'm sorry, this was always his thing. He was so charming and knew how to talk to you all, and I stood behind him every step of the way. But in the last few days, I discovered he was actually the one standing behind me every step we took together, and he also stood behind many of you and helped you all in numerous ways. I think he left a part of him in all of us, and I hope we can all be half the person he was one day..I- I’m sorry. Harry..Har-.”

“I got you go, go.” Harry ushered Angel off the podium covering her crying frame from onlookers. She sniffled, wiping her eyes stepping off the podium into Gwen’s arms sitting back down between her and May. May kissed her head, assuring that it was all going to be okay. Her hands comforting and cradling her face as Angel tried to quietly bawl her eyes out. She stared at the casket in front of her during Harry’s speech, slowly turning everything around her out.

“Angel.” Eddie Brock smiled as she stood outside watching Peter be lowered into the ground. She smiled at him in return, letting him engulf her in a hug.

“Oh I’m so sorry, Peter was such a good guy. Kind of scary..but..good.”

Angel laughed sadly, squeezing his shoulders. “I know he meant a lot to you Ed.”

“He did, he really saved my ass more than once. I don’t know what I’ll do without him.”

She tilted her head, and tried her best to smile at him. “Hopefully stay out of trouble.”

Eddie shook his head back and forth, giving a smirk that said ‘We’ll see.’

They exchanged sad goodbyes and she watched him leave heading towards his car. She was thankful that Peter’s death was kept out of the headlines, it took some begging and bribing Betty Brant but it was worth it for such an intimate and private time.

She watched the grave diggers starting to fill in the dirt, and she contemplated staying the night on the bench. But May came, wrapping her arms around Angel, a jacket you immediately identified as Peter’s from smell alone.

“Why don’t you come home with me tonight?” May offered, pushing hair from the girls face.

“That’d be nice, yeah.” Angel whispered. “How have you not lost it yet? All I want to do is crawl in that hole with him.”

“I know you do. I was there once, it’s a terribly awful feeling Angel, I know.” May frowned, holding her arm with hers as they walked together to the car. “Peter, bless him. I love him, he was my son no matter what anyone said he was my boy. But because of that I saw every side of him and Peter had been ready to go since Ben died. And I find peace in thinking that they are together again, and that he is safe and protected..and- I’m sorry” May’s voice broke and she fanned her face. “And they are here in any way we want them to be.”

There was quiet for a moment before Angel let out a soft, yet grief riddled laugh.

“I need what you have.” You laughed sadly, both of you crying now.

May let a teary laugh burst from her chest. “We’ll go make some tea and talk about it.”

That's what they did. The two had a girls night with Gwen and spent it remembering Peter in their own way. About twenty minutes in She had wandered off into Peter’s old bedroom. Smiling as she stood in the doorway, and she knew grief was a funny thing because she could see the two of them about fifteen years younger dancing in his bedroom practicing for prom.

“Ouch that was my foot!” She yelled out. Peter dropped to his knees dramatically, grabbing her leg inspecting her foot playfully.

“Not broken.” He placed a kiss on the top of her foot before jumping to his feet. Watching her smile and scrunch her nose.

“I didn’t say it was.”

‘Well I had to make sure I didn’t hurt my girl.”

She shook her head in response, rolling her eyes. Hands rubbing his shoulders, placing his glasses on the top of his head. “Are you gonna do that at our wedding too?” She teased.

Peter pulled a face laughing, racking his head back and forth thinking. “Maybe! But since when are we getting married? What have you and Gwendy been planning, mhm?”

Angel looked over at his desk where she’d found her engagement ring tucked away only a couple years later.

“I couldn’t find the blue quilt but I found the gray one and everything is set up and ready when..”

They both froze looking at the green velvet box in her, now shaky, hand.

“Shit I knew I should’ve put it in the safe. My girlfriend is so nosey.” He laughed it off taking the green box from her hand. “You just couldn’t wait a couple weeks till your birthday mhm?” He laughs, kissing on her face. Angel could feel warmth wash over her face and body, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I was just looking for those pictures from our trip upstate you had processed.”

Peter smiled tugging up his gray sweatpants, dropping onto one knee.

“Angel, my sweet girl. I have loved you for years, for far longer than I remember. Ever since we were in middle school, and I got lucky enough several years ago to have you want me. Maybe we are a little young to get engaged, but I know I want to be with you forever. I’m not asking for a wedding anytime soon, I just want to know that eventually in-”

“Yes.” You cut him off excitedly, hands cupping over your mouth. “Sorry, sorry.”

Peter scrunched his nose, standing up as he slid the ring on your finger twirling you around.

“She said yes!” Peter yells throughout the house, the announcement bouncing off the walls and making a home in its fixtures.

May’s excited cheer could be heard all the way up the steps. You laughed, wrapping your arms around him as he spun you.

Walking towards the perfectly made bed, she mentally thanked May for never changing it. For keeping it the same all these years later. She took her shoes off, crawling into the bed closing her eyes waiting for sleep to wash over like a wave. For just a second she swore the other side of the bed dipped down, and in instinct made room for his tired frame to crash beside her.

“A distraught man was seen walking up around the streets of Harlem this morning, the man was described as looking dirty. Wearing a green suit, and was seemingly distraught and confused, mumbling to himself.” The anchorwoman spoke, reading off her cue cards shocked by the news herself. Angel scrolled on her phone wrapped in one of May’s quilts as she made breakfast.

“Witnesses say the man seemed distraught, and in a rush. Looking like he had climbed out of a hole, his suit askew and ran past anyone who offered help. Seemingly not wanting to be seen.”

She switched the channel before she cared to hear the other stories, not thinking she could handle the grief of another depressing story right now. Angel wrapped the blanket around herself, walking to the kitchen to talk to May. Her phone pinging, the front camera at the house notifying her that motion had been detected.

“I’ve gotta get to the hospital after I eat, are you gonna be okay getting home? I know it’s not that far of a wal- everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I actually should get a cap and head that way. I just got a weird notification I need to check out.”

“Okay yeah. Do you need me to go with you?” May asked.

“No, no. I, I don’t know what it is. Could be nothing or an error on my end.” Angel says, pulling herself out of the chair rushing towards the door. Quickly calling a cab she climbed into the back refreshing the ring app trying to get it to load. The dark screen freaking her out. She had called Harry, bouncing her leg in the back of the cab watching the houses fly by.

“I was just about to call you.” Harry’s panic was evident from his voice. “Someone dug up Peter’s grave. Kicked the headstone over and everything.”

“You don’t think it was Fisk’s guys do you?”

“Could be..could be anybody. I love Pete but he had a lot of enemies.”

“I got a notification that there's motion at the front door, but it’s not loading now. It's a network error.” She spoke as the cab pulled into the neighborhood, already unbuckling her seatbelt waiting for the sudden stop.

“Okay listen to me.” Harry says starting the car. “I’m thirty minutes away, there’s a gun hidden in a fake drawer in the table by your door. It’s loaded, and I know you know how to use it. Let’s just be prepared for the worst.”

“Yeah..” Angel nodded, rubbing her forehead wishing Peter was there to talk her through this. “Okay I’m heading in. I’ll let you know.”

Angel handed the driver a hundred that she had on her and hung up the phone, tucking it into the pocket of the pajama pants she’d been wearing at May’s. The front door was left ajar and slightly off its hinges. She looked down seeing a track of dirt leading from the front walk away all the way into the house.

Quietly she found the gun Harry was talking about, leaving the safety on till otherwise needed and slowly following the muddy footprints. The fridge was left ajar, food and drinks sitting on the counter. Whoever broke in was pretty hungry, having pulled out the pastrami and other gatherings for a sandwich. A soda poured into a glass and half gone. She checked Peter’s office, his file cabinets open and a couple files pulled out. As she went to open the files to see who it was research on, she heard the water upstairs turn on. Slowly and as quiet as possible she snuck up the steps, and through her bedroom. Her jewelry box was left open but nothing was taken out, everything in the closet was practically untouched except for a couple of Peter’s items thrown onto the floor. Taking a deep breath she pushed the door to the bathroom open, and nothing could prepare her for what stood on the other side of the door.

“Angel..”

The voice nearly caused her to drop to her knees. She knew grief was a funny thing, because Peter Parker was standing before. Dirty and clearly sore, his voice strained from not using it for a couple days. Her knees fell out from under her, Peter using his reflexes to catch the gun and her all in one go. Smearing mud and blood lightly on her as he caught her. He placed the gun on the counter away from them as he slid down onto the floor with her.

“Shh, shh I know. I know. It’s scary. It’s okay, Angel. Breathe okay. In and out.”

She couldn’t even find her voice to scream, she reached out hitting him trying to get him away from her. A ghost from her nightmare. The harder she hit though, the faster she realized he was real..this was all real.

“You’re dead.”

“I was..technically. Kind of yeah.”

“Not technically, legally.”

Peter laughed shakily holding her, tears starting to pour out of his own eyes. His lips pressed against her forehead letting out a gasp of air.

“Spiders..play dead when they sense danger. Meaning their bodies shut down completely out of their control, as a way to replenish and prepare to attack and prevent further damage.” She watched intently as he explained his mad man ramblings.

“I guess when I got bit that’s something my nervous system developed the ability to do. I read about it all those years ago after I got bit. It just never happened until I took so much damage. So, yes. I was..I did die. However, the amount of my own blood that Harry and May pumped into me. Helped me heal in that shut down state.” Peter laughs hearing himself. He sounded fucking crazy. Angel reached her hand out cradling his face, gasping at his warmth. His heat radiating off his body again. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she lunged forward holding him in a hug sobbing happily.

Harry’s feet pounded against the hardwood floor as he yelled for her.

“Oh fuck.”

“Hey Harry.” Peter laughed awkwardly. “Long story.”

Harry, in shock, stumbled out of the room immediately making phone calls. Letting out a scream of shock and awe.

“Angel..” Peter whispered. “I need to shower okay. You can stay with me though if you want.”

So she did, she washed his hair and body. Rubbing her fingers over the held wounds that once littered his chest now just scars in their place. So much for being superhuman.

“We’re never gonna have a normal life are we?”

Peter shook his head, kissing her head.

“No, no we won’t. But we’ll have each other, and no matter what happens. No grave will hold me down.” He laughs holding them together, making her look up at him. “I’m coming back here, back to you everytime.”

She shook her head holding him close listening to the beat of his heart, finally feeling that piece she lost crawl back home into her chest.

I know that was different...I hope you guys liked it. I really wanted to bring Mob!Peter back but I'm nothing if not dramatic..so :)

tags: @helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @a-lumos-in-the-nox @moonyslove78 @messymissy @adhdhufflepuff @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @ateliefloresdaprimavera @eevylynn

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luxaofhesperides · 2 months

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Listen. I love the dcxdp crossover. It’s a lot of fun! There’s so much that can be done for this crossover, with all the characters and settings and the many plots that can spring up from them. But as much as I love writing for it and sharing my fics with the community, there’s been a significant uptick in things that are rubbing me the wrong way. Some of these things have to do with canon vs fanon, but others are more about the shifting culture of the community.

(keep in mind that I only see things on Tumblr and am not in any discords, so my experience will be different from others bc I have a more limited experience with the wider community)

(putting it all under a read more bc its long)

Let’s start off with a look at what we’re doing as a group:

Building off of completed fics on tumblr: I always thought the etiquette is to not build off of a completed work without permission. Someone had an idea and executed it, then shared it with us. It should end there. If you want to add to it, contact the author first and see if it’s something they’re fine with; some will say no, some will say yes, some will say yes but be sure to credit them for the original fic. A lot of what I’m seeing is a completed fic gets added on to in a way that completely takes it away from the original idea. Having experienced this myself (on a requested prompt from someone else, no less), I found it kind of rude. Maybe it’s just me, but a completed fic is not a prompt request or something open for building up another story around. It’s already completed. Leave the story as is and let the author know you liked it.

Expecting others to write for you: the prompts are what build this crossover fandom, in my eyes. Prompts are posted and people create something around them, either as a group by adding onto what other people are saying, or as individual fics that one person wrote. Now I’m seeing people throw out prompts that are basically fic outlines, then begging others to write something for it. Like, those prompts are already written! They have very specific details! Why not write it yourself? You’re already halfway there, you can just write the thing you want to see and post it. It’s not about being ‘good’ or ‘bad’ at writing, it’s about crafting an idea to share to the world. Why ask others to write it for you when you’ve already practically done it?

But also, you are not owed fic. This might just be general fandom burn out talking, but being a fic author who has been treated like a machine? It sucks. I love writing, but I share what I write because what I wrote made me happy and I wanted to share that with others. I’m not a content creating machine who has to pump out fic after fic for other people’s entertainment. I just want to share what I love and having people pop up in my notifs only going “write more/tag me/sequel?/etc” is tiring. I get that it’s coming from a place of love bc you liked the fic enough to want to see more, but please actually talk about what I’ve already written instead of going “update? More? MORE????”

Hostility to DC canon: I get that DC canon is a mess, but it still is a canon and has a lot of cool stuff! I’m seeing a lot of posts recently about how dpxdc people refuse to engage with the comics, and I need to let yall know that this is not a new thing. DC fans also refuse to engage with the comics (it’s mostly batfam) and it’s very easy to tell who has and who hasnt ready batfam related stuff bc the fanon is incredibly wrong about characterisation and what happened in comics. But that’s for a different post.

I’m seeing both sides of the argument (this is for fun, reading comics isn’t required, don’t like don’t read vs it’s tiring seeing people butcher my favorite characters into ocs with their name/face, I want to share my love for comics but there’s so much pushback, it shouldn’t be weird to expect people engaging with a media to have actually engaged with that media). And I think you should engage with comics! DP is a unique case in which fanon is for the most part better and more interesting than the original show (also death to the author/butch hartman), but DC comics shouldn’t be engaged with in that way. If you like the characters you see in dpxdc, you should read about them in comics! The whole point of a fandom is that you’re a fan of the original media. That’s why you’re engaging with it in this way, writing within the world and characters and canon.

I don’t know how people write for fandoms when they’re not familiar with the source material. I wanted to write dcxdp so I started rewatching DP. I’m reading comics. I want to know the characters and their stories so I can have a foundation to write from, and also to better understand the media so I can share my love for it. The refusal to engage with source material while engaging with its fandom is so strange to me.

Also dc fans who love the comics are great! In my experience, they’re very kind and willing to help you jump into comics! Don’t know where to start? Pick a character or team and follow them! Want a reading guide? We’ve got TONS. want thoughts on a specific character or comic run? Just ask!

Now to more specific points about what I’m seeing in dcxdp works:

Mischaracterized batfam: this is a group of people who are disasters and have complicated relationships with each other. They’re kind, wonderful people who bring out the best and worst in each other. Why is Batman always adopting people. Why is this a running joke with the batfam. I get it being a joke the first few times, but I’ve seen it so often and done like it’s accurate characterization that I just. I can’t. I leave that fic immediately. I can’t do it anymore. Batman is paranoid and tried very hard to keep kids away from him/away from being a vigilante. Unfortunately all the kids he got are stubborn and smart so he was doomed from the beginning.

Superman and Kon: you guys are pretty much only pulling from Young Justice Animated which I think is a terrible adaptation, but that’s my own taste. But seriously. Clark is kind. That’s an important part of his character! He’s the strongest man in the world and he’s kind. He was also dead when Kon first appeared as a experiment from CADMUS in Hawaii. They’re not father-son, but they are family and they do care for each other, once they get to know each other. Also Kon is not an angry broody boy, he’s funny! And annoying! pls read kon comics guys, i promise youll like his actual character

Chronos??? Guys. Chronos is not a god in DC canon. He is in Greek mythology, but in DC he’s a Captain Atom villain and he’s literally just a guy who got obsessed with having perfect timing. He’s themed around clocks. He has nothing to do with time travel or time gods. The Speedforce is Time, basically, and it is not human. It is an eldritch being beyond our comprehension that can eat people. If it chooses to have a human form, it’s going to choose to look like Bart. Please read Flash stuff, it’s interesting!

Lazarus Pit Madness lasts like 5 minutes in canon. Jason having it, and being affected by it for years, is a purely fanon thing from the dc side. Not going to say anything more on this because it goes into Jason Todd discourse.

Repetition: I’m sorry but I’m tired of seeing the same things over and over. I barely see anything out of the dcxdp tags thats new and fun to engage with. Everything is the same variation of “Danny helps Pit Mad Jason”, “Bruce insta-adopts Danny”, “Superman is mean to clones”, etc etc. Think of any popular dcxdp trope and that’s all you’ll see. I get why these are fun and popular, but the way it’s being engaged with now? It literally makes me exit Tumblr and put my phone down.

Not every prompt has to go down the same routes as the other prompts. Please explore more options, branch out, twist those tropes around to do something new with them. And also stop going onto other people’s fics and saying “what about [dcxdp trope]? Cant wait to see [dcxdp trope]! You should have [dcxdp] trope.” If I didn’t include it, it’s not included for a reason. There are hundreds of other fics that write specifically about those exact tropes. Read those, or write your own. (im being super bitter here but please just let me write what i want to write without trying to pull the story into another direction for a trope you like. Im writing for me, but sharing it for you. Not every fic needs those tropes in them.)

Tumblr specific things: this is less about the content and more about general posting etiquette. Please put long posts under a read more. If it’s more then three paragraphs, consider adding a read more if there is significantly MORE than three paragraphs. Tag appropriately. Content warnings and trigger warnings should be at the very top of the post and in the tags so they can be properly blocked. If you’re posting fic/prompt, please double check your spelling and fix any typos you find because posts that are filled with excessive typos are difficult to read.

There’s probably a lot more to talk about, but just getting this much out is tiring and, frankly, I don’t want to think on it any more today. If you reply/add comments, I won’t get to them in a while bc I will be writing ghostlights and yhk fic to lift my mood :)

#rambles #dpxdc #dc x dp #tentatively tagged for cataloging and blocking purposes #i will probably make more coherent posts later abt the individual things in here so if u want a discussion wait for those #just so its easy to keep track of what we're talking abt

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perotovar · 5 months

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into the beat of the night (ch 3) "self control"

moodboard by the lovely @hellishjoel, gif by me

pairing: frankie morales/enby!oc!river price (they/them) rating: 18+ (minors dni) chapter warnings: fingering, one (1) handjob, discussions of sexuality/gender (in an... interesting way), goth stereotypes abound, swearing, more cute shit word count: 3k dividers by @saradika beta: @scenaaario (ily adrienne ♥)

for notifications, follow @oakslibrary and turn on alerts ♥

series summary: frankie thought he had himself figured out by now. he liked both men and women, had dated both in the past. but when someone that challenges what he thinks that means comes into his life, in an unlikely place, he truly learns who he is, and more importantly, who he loves.

series masterlist

“What’s their name again?”

“River. I already told you, Benjamin,” Frankie chuckled, taking a drink from his beer.

“Right, sorry. I’ve just never met a non… what was it again?”

Frankie, Benny, Will, and Santiago were at their usual bar that night. It was in a different part of town than The Night Owl, with a completely different vibe, but it was cozy. The four of them had become regulars and knew the staff by name.

“Non-binary person,” Will said, shoving Benny on the shoulder. “Are you listening at all?”

Benny shot his brother a look and stuck his tongue out, because apparently Benny was still five. “Of course I’m listening! Non-bi-nar-y,” he sounded it out, tapping his finger on the table with each syllable. “What does, uh… What does that like, mean, Fish?”

Frankie furrowed his brows and took another drink. “I haven’t actually asked yet. All they told me is that they’re like… both, and neither, at the same time.” He hummed thoughtfully. “I was a little distracted after that and didn’t get to ask.”

Santiago grinned, slapping Frankie on the shoulder. “Good for you, Fish.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, but smiled, thinking about the kiss he shared with River the other night. They kept texting, and he’d even asked River out on a real date, which brought the guys to the bar. It had been a year or so since his last date and he needed advice on where to take someone like River. He wasn’t as familiar with the goth subculture and thought maybe his brothers would have experience. At the very least Ben, who’d been with a few different kinds of people.

“I did look it up that night after I got home, but I’m still a little confused,” Frankie shrugged.

“Just ask them, man,” Will offered. “They seemed cool with your first question.”

Frankie nodded, a look of determination crossing his features. “You’re right. It couldn’t hurt, right?”

Frankie was sweating. Marisol was with her mom this week, so he hadn’t had to worry about having that conversation yet. He was planning on telling River about her tonight. He checked his hair in the mirror again before he left, deciding to go without his hat tonight, but worried all his nerves would deflate the work he put into it. He sighed as he messed around with the unruly curls again. This is why he stuck to hats. Frankie’s phone vibrated on the bathroom counter, startling him.

ok im ready, eddie 😉

River still thought it was hilarious that Frankie had worn an Iron Maiden t-shirt to a goth club, claiming that it fit his “old man aesthetic”, whatever that meant. This led to River referring to Frankie as “Eddie”, after the band’s skeleton mascot.

Yeah yeah i’m coming

Frankie saw the typing dots appear and disappear a couple times before disappearing completely. He sighed to himself and checked his hair one last time before leaving his apartment.

When he got to the neighborhood of the address River had given him, he checked his phone again, making sure he was in the right place. He slowly crept up the hill towards the last line of apartments and immediately his heart started pounding. Frankie really liked River. He didn’t want to fuck this up, and hoped him being a dad wouldn’t ruin that. Or his big dumb mouth.

River was standing at the bottom of the staircase of the apartment complex and waved, a huge grin on their face. Frankie stopped the truck and leaned over to open the passenger side door for them to climb inside. The scent of bergamot, clove, and sandalwood filled his nostrils again as the truck door shut. Frankie calmed down, and smiled, leaning over to give River a kiss on the cheek. “You look amazing,” he breathed, taking in River’s outfit; they had a collarless shirt buttoned up all the way, tucked into plaid pants, and nice dress shoes. All black, of course. They wore no lipstick today, their makeup was simple, and their hair was perfectly straight. It looked like they’d freshly shaved the right side of their head as well. River’s look was so new for Frankie, he couldn’t help being captivated by them every time he saw them.

“Thank you,” River smiled, heart skipping a beat. “Where are we off to?” They rested their ring-clad hand over Frankie’s larger one in between the two of them on the seat. “When you said it was a surprise, I admit I got a little nervous.”

Frankie placed his hand on the back of the truck seat and looked behind them as he backed up to leave the apartment complex. River’s eyes were glued to Frankie’s neck and subtly licked their lips at the sight of the thick muscles and veins. Their eyes moved up to Frankie’s side profile and they swooned.

“How come? Don’t trust me?” Frankie smirked, making eye contact before his eyes moved to the road, and started heading toward their destination.

River shrugged, even though they knew he couldn’t see them. “Maybe. Maybe not,” they smirked. The red light of the clock on the console caught River’s eye; 7:30pm.

“Well, that’s a shame. I had a nice dinner planned and everything,” Frankie showed them an exaggerated pout, a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, well, in that case.”

The restaurant Frankie picked might’ve been a little more… casual, then he remembered. The last time he was here was with Jackson. He shook off the memory. He was here with River now. The place was actually more like a diner, with vintage photos of women in pinup-style outfits and poses.

Frankie reached for River’s hand and laced their fingers together as he found them a table, letting River sit first.

“Such a gentleman,” River teased, squeezing his hand before getting comfy in the booth.

“I try,” Frankie smiled bashfully as he joined them on the opposite side. The light shining down onto the table lit River beautifully. He noticed that River’s button-up was actually a dark green, with subtle velvet roses all over.

They ordered their food and made easy conversation. River talked about their job as an architect. They were working on designing a building that was be built in the next couple of years in the city. Frankie found it fascinating but couldn’t focus on the words, too distracted by their calming voice and watching their mannerisms. River talked with their hands a lot whenever they got excited about something, and Frankie thought it was adorable.

“Sorry, I know I’m rambling now,” River shook their head, cutting themself off. Frankie frowned,mouth full of french fries.

“Please, continue, I don’t mind listening.”

So River did. They talked about anything and everything. Frankie interjected here and there, but was more than content to listen to River talk. When there was a lull in the conversation, Frankie’s palms started to get sweaty. Their plates were empty now, but River still had half of their milkshake left.

It was now or never. Frankie took a deep breath.

“So… I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he started. River raised an eyebrow and rested their chin on the palm of their hand, listening. Frankie cleared his throat before continuing. “Um, so I know this is a dealbreaker for some people, so I won’t be offended if you want to stop things after tonight. B-But I would like to stay friends if that’s the case.” He rubbed his sweaty hands on his thighs. “I’ve got a daughter.”

River was quiet for a second before a small smile appeared on their face. “I’m actually not surprised. How old is she?”

“You’re not?”

“Of course not. You’re an incredibly handsome man of a certain age–”

“Hey.”

“And any woman would be stupid not to make an honest man outta you,” River winked.

Frankie blinked a couple times before chuckling softly. River continued to surprise him. “Well, her mother isn’t in the picture, at least not with me. Marisol, my daughter, sees her half the time, and stays with me the other half of the time,” he explained, crossing his arms comfortably over the table. “Oh, and she’s four.”

“Aww, can I see a picture of her?”

Frankie’s heart fluttered as pulled his phone out, opening the album of photos devoted just to his little girl. He slid his phone over to River and they started scrolling through the photos with a smile on their face.

“She’s adorable, Frankie,” River hummed, returning his phone back to him. “I can tell you think the world of her. I won’t lie, I’m not really… uh, a kid kind of person. I always just planned on being the cool cousin and not a parent,” they muttered, resting their chin on their palm again.

Frankie nodded in understanding. “I totally get that. I just figured it wouldn’t be fair to you, or to Marisol, to keep her a secret, y’know?”

“Absolutely, and I appreciate you telling me,” River nodded back. “But I like you. A lot. And I’m willing to give this a shot with you. So I don’t think Marisol is a dealbreaker.”

Frankie’s heart soared at River’s words. “I really like you, too,” he grinned like an idiot, cheeks warm. “C’mon, we still have another part to this date.” He stood up and held his hand out for River to take.

After paying, the two found themselves back in Frankie’s truck heading down the highway. It was starting to get darker and the roads were clearing. They pulled up to a drive-in, but there weren’t any other cars.

“What is this, Grease?” River teased. “A diner and then a drive-in movie?”

Frankie snorted and reached out his window to pay for their tickets before finding somewhere to park. “I happen to like drive-in movies and diners, thank you very much.”

“That’s because you’re old–”

“I’m only a few years older than you,” Frankie deadpanned.

“Details.”

About a third of the way into the original Halloween, Frankie put his arm around River’s shoulders and pulled them close. River happily cuddled into Frankie’s side, loving the warmth and softness they found there.

Halfway through, River’s eyes started wandering elsewhere. They looked down at the crotch of Frankie’s jeans, and wondered what lay beyond the tight denim. They looked up at Frankie’s face and kissed the little patch in his beard that refused to grow hair. Frankie looked down at them, deep brown eyes looking over River’s features. He went from their dark-rimmed eyes, to their collarbone, and back to their plush lips, his heart pounding. He didn’t need any further convincing and started kissing River deeply, holding the side of their face.

River hummed into Frankie’s mouth and slowly crawled into Frankie’s lap. They grinned as Frankie huffed a breath against their lips, holding River’s hips in his large hands. River kissed the corner of Frankie’s mouth before moving down to the side of his neck and sucked a mark where his neck met his shoulder. Frankie shuddered, moving a hand down and squeezing River’s ass. They lifted their head and looked at the far-away expression on his face.

“Are you one of those guys that doesn’t like to fool around on the first date?”

Frankie blinked up at River, thinking about it. “I mean, no, but–” “Good,” River growled, latching back onto Frankie’s neck and sucking hard.

Frankie moaned openly at that, but pulled them away. “Wait,” he breathed. River tilted their head to the side and didn’t say anything, letting Frankie continue. “Um, I had another question.”

“Okay.”

“Well, uh. I don’t mean to kill the mood, because God, I really wanna get back to that, b-but I was curious,” Frankie swallowed, not making eye contact again. “I looked up what non-binary was after you told me and I was a little confused, and basically I just– Um, I wanna know like, how… this would… work,” he trailed off, gesturing between the two of them and at the bulge in his jeans.

“You’re asking what I have so you know how to proceed.” It was a statement, not a question, said softly in understanding. River played with the curls at the back of Frankie’s neck.

Frankie nodded. “If that’s an invasive question, I’m really sorry, and–”

“Shh,” River chuckled, pecking Frankie on the cheek. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m not offended. You’re actually being really sweet about all of this. I know this is new for you.”

Frankie smiled shyly and shrugged, but let them continue.

“I was raised as a girl. ‘Assigned female at birth’, is typically what we call it,” River looked down, playing with the collar of Frankie’s shirt. “You were assigned male at birth. The doctors looked at your parts and decided that’s what you were, and you never felt like it was incorrect, right?”

Frankie nodded, listening carefully.

“Right. Well, it felt wrong to me. I didn’t really know what the feeling was growing up. It’s actually kind of a recent development for me.”

Frankie chewed on his bottom lip, one question still buzzing around his head. “How do you… How did you know? And did you… have any… surgeries? To um–” he didn’t know how to word any of this.

River laughed softly. “Yeah, I had top surgery. I no longer have breasts, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Everything below the belt is still intact,” they grinned, moving their crotch closer to Frankie’s. “The complicated answer, especially for someone so new to this, is that gender is a societal thing. How you’re perceived, presented to the world is just through the eyes of society. How you see yourself is what actually matters, though. And when all that societal bullshit doesn’t affect your life, the roles you’re ‘supposed’ to play don’t matter anymore.”

“I’m River. River is me. I don’t care how people see me. I did all of this,” they gestured to their body. “For me. Not for anyone else. Because if I didn’t, I would be unhappy. And my own mental health and happiness matters more than some so-called church-going do-gooder’s opinion.”

Frankie looked at River in awe. Their confidence and respect for themself was one of the most attractive things he’d ever seen. “You’re amazing,” Frankie breathed, surging forward to kiss them deeply. He gripped River’s ass again and pulled them closer, grinding his hardening cock against them.

River moaned softly, grinding back, and tangling their fingers into his hair. Suddenly, Frankie pulled back, catching his breath.

“Wait, does that, like…” He thought for a second. “While I was doing my research, I came across a couple other terms I didn’t know.”

River chuckled and kissed down Frankie’s neck softly. “Go on.”

Frankie’s breath hitched, speaking shakily. “Um, I’ve always considered myself b-bisexual– oh– a-and if non-binary people are technically a th-third gender, then does that change?”

“No,” River hummed, licking underneath Frankie’s ear, before taking the lobe into their mouth and nibbling.

“It doesn’t?”

River shook their head. “Bisexual is more like an umbrella term. People interpret it differently,” they reached a hand down between them, trailing their fingers to Frankie’s belt buckle and undoing it. “For example, you’ve always assumed it just meant you were attracted to men and women, right?”

Frankie moaned softly as the pressure was relieved from his hard cock, and nodded.

“Exactly. Another way you could see it is you being attracted to people that are like you,” they gripped Frankie’s cock tightly, making him gasp sharply. “And people who aren’t.” They grabbed his hand and placed it onto their crotch, grinding against him.

He was so hard he was throbbing, and so turned on his head spun. He started undoing River’s dress pants and slipped his hand down to their panties, finding their pussy impossibly warm and wet.

“Fuck,” Frankie groaned, rubbing at their clit through the fabric of their underwear. River moaned sweetly and bit their bottom lip, moving Frankie’s boxer briefs out of the way so they could grip around his cock.

“You’re so hard,” River grinned, rubbing their thumb over the tip. They started stroking him slowly, watching as the head of Frankie’s cock appeared and disappeared underneath the foreskin.

Frankie was breathing heavily, resting his head on the back of his seat and looking at River through his lashes. He moved the tips of his fingers in small circles for a few moments before he moved his fingers beneath their underwear and touched bare skin. River gasped at the contact and nodded, giving him permission. Frankie slowly sunk his middle finger inside them and started pumping in and out. His thumb rubbed in time against their clit. River started moaning louder, throwing their head back to expose their throat to him.

Frankie saw an opening and latched his mouth onto their neck, marking them in return as his free hand held the back of River’s head. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned, biting at River’s skin.

River shuddered at the praise, rocking their hips against Frankie’s hand. “‘M close,” they whined, panting down at him. They started to lose their rhythm on Frankie’s cock and squeezed him tightly in their fist. Frankie nodded in understanding and started moving his fingers faster, adding a second one as the slick sounds coming from between River’s legs filled the truck.

“C’mon, baby. You gonna come for me?” he breathed against their neck, leaving soft kisses against their skin. The contrast between what his mouth and what his hand were doing was overwhelming and River wouldn’t change it for the world.

River nodded, their brows moving downward in pleasure before stilling above him as they came. Their hips rocked back and forth over Frankie’s hand as they came down, moaning and biting their lip.

The sight of River coming was enough for Frankie and his cock twitched hard as he erupted all over River’s hand. He grunted and hid his face in their neck as his balls emptied messily. He whined softly, twitching in the aftershocks.

River giggled quietly and held him close after licking their hand clean. “Gonna have to blow you next time,” they hummed thoughtfully.

Frankie groaned as his oversensitive cock twitched between them. “Don’t say shit like that while I’m still vulnerable, you menace.”

River bit his cheek, then kissed it softly. “You love it.”

He did. He really did.

a/n: please enjoy this meme that inspired the scene above

#frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier smut #triple frontier fic #oaksfics

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guess-that-ship · 2 months

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Guess That Ship Tournament Season 10: Submissions CLOSED!

The Concept: You describe your ship* to me, I pick out the submissions which I find most compelling and pit them against each other without revealing who they are, people vote on them, and their identities gets revealed once they’re eliminated.

Something special for this season will be a loser's bracket: the identities of the losers of Round 1 will not be revealed immediately. Instead, they will compete in their own bracket, and the winner will face against the finalists in the main bracket.

Submission Guidelines

*For the purpose of this tournament, relationships do not have to be romantic in nature. I’m sometimes going to use “ship” as a shorthand, just know I mean “relationships” in general.

Relationship can be between any number of characters.

Real people are accepted if they’ve been dead for more than 100 years.

Roleplay characters are accepted as long as the description only pertains to the characters and not the players.

OCs are accepted.

No overtly NSFW submissions. (Mentioning they have sex or are a sex worker is fine, but try to avoid anything more than that.)

Two submission per person. (I cannot enforce this on Google Forms without forcing you to log in. So just be champs and respect this rule.)

Failure to follow these guidelines may result in all of your submissions being disqualified for this season.

Summary Guidelines

Selection Process: I will read through the list of descriptions submitted without reading their names and pick the most compelling submissions. Then, I will check the name to make sure there's no repeats.

Keep it concise, but also bring something unique to the table. Make sure to describe their relationship, not just summarize the events of the story.

Previous submissions for reference. The ideal submission should be 2-3 paragraphs, but you can make it as short or long as you want. Please keep in mind the longer your submission, the less likely it is to get in.

A list of things to try to avoid can be found here.

Descriptions should be based on canon, not headcanon. (e.g. You can say “they love each other” instead of “they’re lovers” if their romantic nature is debatable.)

Avoid author commentary. (e.g. "They're canonically x," "I love them," "Play/watch/read this," etc.)

Use canonical pronouns.

Avoid identifying information or setting specific giveaways. (i.e. Ninja village, space necromancers.)

When submitting OCs, please make sure to at least put a name somewhere. (e.g. "John and Bob by anonymous" or "OCs by Joey.")

The more popular your ship is the more vague the description should be.

Exclusions

Ships that were accepted in Season 7 onwards and ships that at least reached the semifinals in Season 1-6 are not allowed. For a complete list, please look here. (No need to look through the whole list, just Ctrl+F to find the ship you want.)

Any submissions from Harry Potter will also not be included.

Notes

I will not vet the ships/pairings for problematic content.

If you participate in this tournament, know that you run the risk of unintentionally voting for your nOTP. The mod does not take any responsibility for any distress that may cause you.

Submit your ships here! Submissions will be open until Sunday, March 3rd at 9 PM EST.

Please reblog this post to spread the word! The more submissions, the better!

#tournament poll #submission call #tumblr tournament #s10

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cookie-crumblr · 6 months

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The Smell of Smoke

Innocent F! Reader x M!Yandere Bully OC

Part 2~

his info: 🖕✨

part: 1 2 3

!!MINORS DNI!!

CW: !F reader, use of she/her when referring to reader, reader has a vagina, reader in a skirt, NSFW, YANDERE, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, name calling (bitch, slut, ), BULLYING, stealing, use of toys, non con drugging exhibitionism

You make sure to check your peephole before leaving today. You make sure to make it to class early for a seat closer to the front. And by the gods you make sure to bring pepper spray.

You aren’t allowed weapons on campus… but maybe you can talk your way out of it.

“Move it,” You jump upon hearing Ezra’s voice way too close to you and begin to shiver and breathe heavier.

The person sat next to you scrambles to get away almost forgetting their wallet and phone.

He flops down in the now vacant seat.

You remain sternly faced forward. Trying and failing to just pretend he’s not there.

*Slap!* His open palm lands square over the width of your thigh. “So, bitch, what’s it gon’ be”

“Wh-what’s what gonna be?”

“Do you wan’ do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

His friends surround you both…

“E-easy way…” you don’t even know what he’s talking about, but you’re catching onto his game.

He snaps and they lift you to your feet by your bicep.

You comply, though they’re all taller than you and your shoulder bends uncomfortably.

They walk you shamefully in front of the group, pushing you when you start to slow down or stumble.

You’re taken off campus, and to a store in a strip, that felt like a thirty minute walk away.

The name on the front reads, “Tease” in big black and hot pink letters.

Ezra now personally pushes you towards the door.

“What a-are w-we do—” you start.

“Steal five things, go bitch! Go!” he claps and bends over you speaking in a higher pitch as if he’s telling a dog to go fetch.

He shoves you through the door.

Whiplashed you simply stand for a second, before taking a deep breath.

You grab a few of the first boxes you see, and head towards the back. there’s curtain covered changing areas… There won’t be cameras back there.

Glancing toward the counter where a woman reading a magazine, stands, you sigh. At least she doesn’t look like she’d care if you were stealing.

You slowly open the packages you nabbed and shove the toys in your pockets. You wore a big hoodie so as long as a hand is in the pouch you can cover up the lump and the other two are snug in the band of your skirt.

You still need two more things… but anywhere else you could put them would be too obvious.

You spot something labeled “anal plug” and have an idea… It’s a pretty terrible one, but it’ll definitely work.

You grab that, and one more box, then open up the curtain for hopefully the last time.

Your face is hot as you peel down your wet panties…

You open the first box and put the plug in your bum, trying to avoid thinking about what you are doing. A warmth spreads fast between your legs because of the pressure.

The next box you open is bigger than the other stuff you grabbed…

You contemplate for a second swapping it with one of the smaller things in your pockets, but it would be way too obvious there.

You try and push it in.

Struggling to even get the tip in you quietly grunt.

After a solid minute of trying again and failing, you put it in your mouth before attempting it again.

Thankfully it goes in this time, albeit rather painfully. You allow yourself time to adjust, and breathe.

You try and compose yourself before you walk out as normally as you can.

The bell jingles as you exit.

At first you don’t see Ezra and his gang, and you feel stupid. Maybe you could’ve just waited them out instead of stupidly stealing everything and shoving toys inside yourself.

A window on one of the cars blasting music out front, rolls down, revealing him with a cigarette between his fingers.

“Took ya long enough. Show us what cha copped,” he takes a drag, and inspects you from head to toe as you walk nervously over. You stumble a little, still not used to the toy intrusions.

“Hurry up, slut! we’ve all been bored as shit, I wanna get the fuck out,”

You drop the three things into his palms.

“Yur missin a couple a things,” His smirk becomes frigid and sinister.

You lean into his ear slowly, at first he scowls, before realizing what you’re doing. Then he lifts a hand to block your mouth from the rest of the guys so you can whisper freely into his ear.

“Th-there—d-down—there…” Your face is burning hot.

He busts out laughing, “Oi that’s fuckin rich! Hey guys! The bitch couldn’t wait!” He looks into your eyes, some emotion you can’t catch flashing across his face. “What’re ya waitin for? Bend over and show us already.” His voice is ravenous.

Swallowing, you do as instructed. Your legs shake as you pull your panties down again, and pick up your skirt then lean forward, keeping your eyes screwed shut tight.

They all woop and cheer and laugh at you, and Ezra smiles with what looks almost like pride.

He slaps your ass hard, and you bite your lip to stifle a cry. Then he stands to block you from them as you fix yourself.

Smiling at you devilishly, he now leans down to whisper in your ear, “You know… There were packs of gum and shit up front…”

He gets back into the driver’s seat and pulls off the lot, the other cars follow.

You’re left in the dust, with toys stuffing your holes, alone and embarrassed.

At least they threw your stuff on the ground before they left, so you can call your roommate for a ride.

She doesn’t question why you’re stranded, why you’re sitting weird, or even about yesterday.

Class the next day is quiet.

So are the hallways, you don’t even see any of Ezra’s gang.

You’re mid sigh of relief the next morning when he struts into class late, sporting some new bandages.

“Ezra! We saved ya a seat~” A girl toward the back waves as she greets him.

“Hey, Ezra~ last night was fun!” The girl sat next to the first, calls after.

You try and block him out, until a paper ball hits you in the head.

You ignore the first, and second… But at the third you turn to see him making a gesture for you to open them.

The first one just says “Bitch” and you hold it up to him with a question written on your face.

He mouths “The other one” while rolling his eyes.

The next one says “slut” and you almost laugh imagining showing him that one and feigning ignorance. But you think better than to irritate him.

The last one you unfurl reads

“I got ya a present”

You turn to mouth “thanks?” while shrugging, before you look back toward the front of the class, you notice each one of those girls have a hand on his chest.

You feel a small pang of jealousy. Why is he nice to them? What did you do to deserve the treatment he’s giving you?

On your way out of the room you hear him call after you, “Forgetting something bitch?”

You let out a long sigh through your nose, “coming…”

The two girls are the last to leave they wave on their way out.

While remaining seated he lazily extends a paper bag to you. His smirk is annoying and would make you angry if you weren’t still so scared.

“Wh-What’s wrong with it…?” You snatch the bag and sniff it first.

It smells like a brownie.

You open it, and it looks like a brownie.

He laughs out his nose, while watching you, “If you don’ wan’ it—”

“N-no… It’s fine, i’ll eat it!” You interrupt before he thinks you’re even more ungrateful.

You’re overcome with hope that this is him extending an olive branch!

You bound out of the room, making it on time, you decide to eat it before class officially starts.

It doesn’t really taste all that good… But you can’t be rude. He probably just… Didn’t know a good place! yeah.

you don’t know how far into the lesson you get to before you feel something in your guts shift.

You need to leave right now.

Luckily this isn’t high school and the professors don’t care if you don’t ask.

You make it to the bathroom in time to throw up.

The entire way there you stumbled, and ran into the walls. It feels as though you’re on a ship, that’s swaying in the ocean.

What the fuck kinda sea sickness feeling food poisoning was in that sweet? He must’ve got it from somewhere really terrible on accident.

When you leave you can’t stop giggling.

The giggling turns into crying, where the fuck are you? A hallway? it’s definitely the college corridor but… It’s reminding you of a hallway you’ve seen as a kid.

You were so small…

Now you’re…

What are you?

“Hahaaa” you’re laughing again.

You don’t even notice right away when you trip over your own feet, now you’re falling down the stairs.

Someone grabs you before you can truly fall, and now you really can’t stop laughing.

“H-hey thanks” You turn in what feels like slow motion and see a strange guy holding you.

“You can let go nooowww thanks~ hahhh haha” You try and shimmy yourself free, his hands remain firm.

128 notes · View notes

tcwmatchmakingau · 9 months

Text

Everybody Hates Neyo Round 2: Matchmaking Boogaloo

A/N: This is a standalone sequel to “Everybody Hates Neyo,” (NSFW) by @dystopicjumpsuit (that’s me), and “The Blacklist,” by the brilliant @blueink-bluesoul, who also generously let me borrow the character of Daria Trace (THANK YOU!). You don’t need to read those fics to understand this one, but you should because they’re great and they provide more background. I converted the Reader-insert into an OC because to be frank, she’s a piece of work, and I didn’t want to project that onto my readers. That said, as always, feel free to insert yourself into the story if you prefer; I haven’t described the OC beyond being a woman with hair long enough to pull.

Pairing: Commander Neyo x the Admiral (formerly Fem!Reader)

Rating: M | 18+ | Minors DNI

Wordcount: 6.5K (I know)

Warnings and tags: toxic, obsessive behavior; SO MUCH SMUT; hatefucking; rough sex; oral sex; PIV; hair pulling; biting; sex under the influence of alcohol; Neyo and the Admiral being absolute menaces to society

Disclaimer: Let me just put on my Auntie DJ hat for a second. *ahem* This is a work of fiction intended for entertainment only. Please do not take this as a guide to romance or a healthy relationship. Neyo and the Bad-miral are flawed characters in a wildly problematic relationship with more red flags than the Fire Nation. Enjoy!

Matchmaker extraordinaire Daria Trace was not accustomed to failure. When she applied her considerable intellect to a problem, she did not stop until she formulated a solution. Which was why her now-99% matchmaking success rate galled her so intensely. In all her years of matchmaking, she had never encountered a client so stubbornly determined to thwart her efforts as Marshal Commander Neyo. After twelve failed matches—one of which involved a call from an infuriated woman demanding to know “why the kriff you thought I was a good match for that sociopath”—she had reluctantly conceded defeat.

The blacklisting of Commander Neyo from the Right to Love Matchmaking Service spread like wildfire through the GAR gossip channels. Most of the troopers thought it was hilarious; others insisted that he’d finally gotten what he deserved. In fact, the only people who seemed to have any sympathy for Neyo were Commanders Bacara (to be expected) and Fox (somewhat less expected). And when Fox reached out directly to Daria and asked her, as a personal favor, to give Neyo one more chance, she agreed. One more chance, and ONLY to give her an opportunity to get that track record back up to a perfect 100%.

She glared irritably at Neyo’s file and clicked her stylus three times, twirling it between her fingers. The man was impossible. It was no wonder he’d turned to RTL for help finding a partner; any woman in her right mind would run in the opposite direction the minute she looked into those blank, frigid eyes. She shuddered involuntarily. Shark’s eyes. Daria had made a few discreet inquiries after he’d first signed up for the service, just to make sure she wasn’t about to set up some unsuspecting match with a serial murderer. Without fail, every single answer said the same thing: he was an ice-cold sonofabitch, but he had a strict code of honor, and no, he wasn’t a serial murderer. Probably.

She sighed and tossed his file to the side, to be revisited some other day. He was her most difficult client, but by no means was he the only problematic match candidate, and she had a small stack of what Blizzard liked to call The Hopeless Casefiles waiting for her to review. Just thinking about Neyo’s case had given her the beginnings of a spectacular tension headache, and she flipped through the folders quickly, looking for one that was a little less challenging. As she skimmed the stacks of flimsi, her eyes came to rest on one name: Reeda Wai’yen.

Now there’s a thought.

Daria was sure that Reeda was a lovely woman, despite all evidence to the contrary. She was just very… intense. Like Neyo, she had chewed through several potential matches, and the most frequent word that appeared in her failed matches’ post-date surveys was “intimidating,” followed closely by “terrifying.” Daria had sniffed disdainfully that those particular matches simply couldn’t handle a strong woman; however, she had to admit that after several months of trying, she had not been able to find a perfect match for Reeda. She pulled Neyo’s file and laid it out next to Reeda’s. As she compared their backgrounds and preferences, she became more and more convinced. This could work. Given their personalities, it might well be the best possible outcome for society at large if they were both removed from the dating pool. And if it happened to close out her two most annoying files, well. That would just be the cherry on top of her perfect-track-record sundae.

A timid knock sounded on Reeda’s office door.

“Come,” she called shortly.

Her assistant, Lissi, poked her head into the room. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but you’ve received a comm from RTL Matchmaking.”

Reeda cursed. She was up to her ass in flimsiwork, and she was meeting with the Senate Task Force on Galactic Security in ten minutes. She did not have time for this now.

“Take care of it,” she ordered.

“Sir?” Lissi asked, her wide, startled eyes giving her a distinct resemblance to a terrified ash-rabbit.

“Just take care of it,” Reeda repeated, tamping down her irritation at being questioned. “You know my schedule better than I do. Set it up. Somewhere nice—somewhere in the Federal district. I don’t have time to deal with traffic.”

Lissi blinked, nonplussed. “Don’t you want to see who you matched with?”

“No time,” Reeda said, rising to gather her materials for the meeting. “Just put it on my calendar, and I’ll be there.”

Three nights later, Reeda sat in the restaurant at the top of the tower where her penthouse was located, waiting for her mystery date to arrive. She had to commend Lissi’s efficiency in choosing the venue; the only traffic she’d had to endure was at the lift. And it was a lovely restaurant, she had to admit, with stunning views of the Coruscant cityscape. She had only eaten here once since she’d bought the flat, usually opting to have food delivered to her office at the Republic Center for Military Operations as she worked late into the night.

She had resisted the urge to bring her datapad with her to the restaurant, knowing that if she did, she would inevitably get sucked into work, but now she wished she’d taken a moment to review the file from RTL. It wasn’t that she thought all clone troopers were interchangeable; far from it. She had worked closely with them during the war, had fought by their sides, and she had found them to be brave, competent, and loyal. They were also notoriously attractive, but she was a professional, and she was their superior officer, and she had never allowed that line to become blurred—except on one memorable and highly regrettable occasion.

She had had no time for a personal life during the war, but now that it was over—well, to be honest, she still had no time for a personal life. Which was exactly why she had reached out to RTL; it was the perfect solution. She didn’t enjoy solitude. She wanted companionship, and maybe even something more. But she needed a partner who would understand the demands of her career, and nobody understood the burden of duty better than the clones. Now that she had separated from the GAR and returned to her post in her home planet’s military defense force, the rules regarding fraternization no longer applied to her.

She hadn’t bothered to review the file because she’d learned from the previous several failed dates that a promising file was no indicator of compatibility. Still, as she waited for her date, who was now seven minutes late, she wished she’d at least checked to see if he had any identifying marks or tattoos that would make him easier to spot. To be fair, though, the few clones present in the restaurant were already paired up with other diners.

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t intended to skip lunch, but she’d had back-to-back meetings with the joint chiefs of the Core Worlds Defense Alliance and the senate appropriations committee, and one thing led to another. The service droid had delivered a basket of fresh, hot bread rolls, which she had heroically resisted for the first six minutes past the scheduled start of the date, but now her resolve began to crumble. If her mystery date didn’t have the basic courtesy to be on time, by the Force, he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if she ate all the bread before he arrived.

She buttered a roll and took a small bite. She couldn’t suppress the groan of relief at the buttery, yeasty goodness, and she quickly polished it off, then picked up another. She had just begun to butter her third role when the unmistakable voice of a clone spoke next to her.

“Admiral.”

She turned automatically, a smile just beginning to form on her lips, when she caught sight of a familiar set of numbers tattooed on a handsome, arrogant face.

“Oh, no,” she said with disgust. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Marshal Commander Neyo replied contemptuously. “I have as much right to be here as you do.”

“I’m on a date,” she snapped.

He looked pointedly at the empty chair across from her. “Looks like your date has a strong sense of self-preservation. Probably took one look at you and ran for their life.”

“He’s just a little late,” she said, tilting her jaw at a haughty angle to hide the flash of hurt at his words.

“That must kill you,” he said with a mirthless chuckle. “I remember the time you made a Jedi padawan cry for being three minutes behind schedule.”

“There were barely tears. Do. Not. Sit,” she gritted out as he made himself comfortable in the chair across from her. He picked up one of the remaining bread rolls and took a large bite, and she sighed. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“It just so happens, I am also on a date,” he said, mumbling around the bite of bread.

“Oh?” she wrinkled her nose at his table manners. “And who’s the unlucky lady?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Some civvie named Reeda.”

Her hand tightened dangerously around her butter knife. Neyo’s eyes dropped to the blade, and he smirked.

“Disappointed?” he asked.

“You could say that,” she said, grinding her jaw. “I’m Reeda.”

He choked on his bite of bread and wheezed a bit, pounding his chest to clear his airway. Alas, he survived.

“What?” he sputtered.

“You didn’t even bother to find out my first name after you were inside me?” she demanded. Her sharp tone attracted attention from the surrounding diners, and she heard a few quiet titters from the tables around her, but she was too irate to care.

“You didn’t even bother to find out who’d be eating dinner with you?” he retorted.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t just as surprised as I am,” she snapped. “Didn’t you read the file?”

“I didn’t get a file, just a call.” He grunted. “Apparently, ‘beggars can’t be choosers,’ and I was lucky to get a match at all.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she mocked.

“Careful, Admiral. Don’t forget they matched you with me.”

“I would be insulted if it weren’t so obviously a mistake. I can’t say I’m impressed with their performance thus far.”

“For once, I agree with you,” he said. “You’d have to be a special kind of incompetent to think we were a good match.”

The service droid approached the table and asked, “May I take your order?”

“He’s not staying,” Reeda cut in.

“I’ll have the bantha filet,” Neyo replied, ignoring her. “Bloody.”

He turned to her and arched his brows. The droid waited expectantly.

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite,” she lied.

Neyo’s mouth twisted, and he huffed a breath through his nose. “The admiral will have the roast porg. And a bottle of Alderaanian red.”

The droid nodded and ambled away. Reeda glared at Neyo.

“I don’t eat meat, you presumptuous ass,” she said.

“Liar,” he said. “Unfortunately, the souls of the innocent weren’t on the menu, so I had to settle for your second-favorite meal.”

“At least you’re safe, since you obviously have no soul and you’re definitely not innocent,” she said in a pleasant tone.

Damn him for being right about the porg, though. How did he know?

The wine arrived, and he poured a generous glass for each of them. She didn’t toast; just downed half of it in a single swallow. Neyo sipped his and leaned back in his chair to observe her. His sleek, severe hair and the large tattoo on his cheek made him look menacing as hell, but it was his eyes that made brave men take a step back. She didn’t know how it was possible for his eyes to be that unnerving. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome? What a waste of perfectly good Fett genes to have a personality like that.

“Did you stay just to torment me?” she asked when the silence stretched beyond the limits of her endurance.

“And because I heard the filet was good,” he said affably. “What are you even doing on Coruscant? I thought you’d scuttled back to whatever hellhole spawned you.”

“Kuat,” she bit out from between clenched teeth. “I was assigned to work as our military liaison on Coruscant.”

“Couldn’t stand having you back on the planet?” he derided. “I don’t blame them.”

“I need to use the fresher,” she said, flinging her napkin down on the table with excessive force. “Feel free to die while I’m gone.”

She strode purposefully through the restaurant, her face set in a steely mask. She knew she was drawing attention from other patrons, but if she sat at that table and listened to Neyo needle her for one more second, she was either going to stab him or burst into tears. She pushed through the refresher doors and went to the sink, washing her hands just to give herself something to do. The face that stared back at her from the mirror was Admiral Wai’yen, not Reeda. Stern. Unyielding. Unaffected.

She swallowed, and her face crumpled. Tears of rage stung her eyes, and she ruthlessly wiped them away with her clenched fist. A soft noise at the door startled her, and she whirled to face the intruder. Horror flooded her. It was Neyo, and he’d caught her crying in the ladies’ room.

“What the kriff do you think you’re doing in here?” she demanded icily. “Get out.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then he locked the door. Stalking across the room, he cupped her jaw in his hands and tilted her face to get a closer look. She tried to pull away, to put her Admiral Wai’yen mask back in place, but then his thumb stroked softly next to her eye, wiping away the tear that had breached containment. She gasped involuntarily, and his lips collided with hers.

Reeda was so shocked that for a moment she went perfectly still, but then Neyo flicked his tongue across her lower lip, and her body remembered how to move. She thrust him away and stood back, glaring at him. His chest rose and fell quickly, and those cold eyes blazed with a dark and covetous fire. She raised a hand to her lips and felt the slickness left by his tongue. Something snapped inside her. She took two hasty steps forward, and she was in his arms again, his hands rough and dominating on her body as they consumed each other with a kiss that teetered on the edge of violence.

Lips, tongues, teeth crashed together. He clasped her tightly against his hard, unyielding body, and unbidden, the memory of him deep inside her came flooding back. He gripped her ass and ground his rapidly stiffening cock against her. Her reaction was electric. She rolled her hips, nearly climbing him in desperation. He dropped his mouth to her neck and kissed her once, roughly, and then to her breast, yanking aside her dress as he closed his teeth on her soft skin. He picked her up by the waist and set her on the edge of the sink, dropping to his knees between her thighs, rucking up her dress around her hips, and then his mouth was on her.

He didn’t even bother removing her underwear, as though he couldn’t wait another millisecond to taste her. He licked and sucked on her through the fabric, his mouth working frantically. Her body jolted and trembled at the effort of staying upright, and then his tongue snaked past the lace and dipped into her, smooth and hot and wet. He let out a vicious growl and grabbed her hips, settling her thighs over his shoulders, and then he pulled her off the sink and thrust her against his face as his tongue speared over and over into her cunt. She yelped and scrambled to brace herself with her hands, her arms shaking with exertion.

She couldn’t come like this, but kriff, it was hot to feel Neyo throw her around with such ease, like she was his own personal toy. How many nights had she fucked herself to sleep to the memory of their first encounter? The way he’d lifted her bodily off the ground and thrust into her, supporting them both with those powerful thighs—it played on a loop in her head for months, long after the bite marks and bruises had faded.

His tongue slid out of her cunt and swirled around her clit, and her legs spasmed around his head. She couldn’t come like this. Could she? All the muscles in her body began to tense, and her pelvis began to rock rhythmically against his face. Shit, I’m going to come. No sooner had the thought formed than Neyo dropped her back onto the sink and pulled away from her.

“No!” she wailed. “You bastard, I was right there!”

He shot to his feet. “Shut. Up,” he bit out, and kissed her punishingly hard. “Do you want the whole Federal District to know what we’re doing?”

He pulled her head back to expose her throat, and he scraped his teeth across her delicate skin. She felt his other hand fumbling in between them. Within seconds, his cock was free and thrusting against the scrap of lace that still covered her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him against her, determined to find the stimulation that she needed to reach completion.

“Get inside me,” she hissed.

“You aren’t calling the shots any more, Admiral,” he growled. “You don’t get to give commands.”

“I hate you,” she breathed.

“And yet here you are, begging for my cock,” he said coldly.

“I do not beg,” she said. “Ever.”

He released her hair and pried her legs away from himself, then took a step back. “You get nothing until you admit that you want me. I’ve waited a long time for this. I can keep waiting.”

“What the kark is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, sliding off the sink to stand in front of him.

“It means you give me what I want, or I walk out that door right now and you can figure your own shit out.”

Was this his twisted kriffing way of asking for consent? Because she was pretty sure she’d covered that when she all but ordered him to fuck her.

“Fine,” she said in a low voice. “I…” She nearly choked on the words, and Neyo’s intent gaze pinned her in place. “I want you.”

He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a bruising kiss, then spun her around and bent her over the sink. He pulled up her dress, yanked down her panties, and thrust into her. She muffled a whimper at the intrusion and squeezed her eyes shut as she adjusted to the stretch. He wrapped his hands around her hair and jerked her head up.

“Open your eyes. I want you to watch,” he ordered.

She complied, shocked when she saw her own ravaged face in the mirror as Neyo pounded into her from behind. Her makeup was smeared, her hair was a wreck, her eyes were dilated with lust, and a sheen of sweat glistened across her skin. She flicked her gaze to stare at Neyo. His face was twisted into a scowl, and if she had any sense at all, she would have been frightened, but she was in too deep to care. His hard eyes met hers in the mirror, and his jaw tightened.

He released her hair and slid his arm around her body, between her breasts, to wrap around her throat, and he lifted her upright so he could whisper in her ear.

“Do you know what you did to me?” His voice was hoarse and anguished. “Every time I kissed someone, all I could taste was you. Every time I hooked up, all I could remember was this perfect fucking pussy.”

He pounded into her with bruising intensity, furiously working her clit with his free hand. Her head began to throb. This was so wrong. He couldn’t be saying what she thought she was hearing. She was confused from the lack of blood flowing to her brain.

“I got matched twelve different times, and not one of them was right, because not one of them was you,” he snarled. “You cursed me. You haunt me.”

The world began to darken around the edges as her eyes drifted closed, and he released her throat and forced her head to the side so she faced him.

“Look at me when you fucking come,” he ordered.

She gasped, and he clamped his hand down over her mouth to muffle her scream as he wrenched an orgasm from her body. He didn’t let up, chasing after her at a frenzied pace that rocked her entire body as she sobbed into his hand.

“Inside?” he asked roughly.

She nodded and whimpered as tears blurred her vision and spilled down her cheeks. He came with two brutal thrusts, and she felt the hot rush of his release deep inside. He shuddered against her hair as his cock softened and slipped out of her. At last, he loosened his grip and turned her to face him as he leaned against the wall for support. He wrapped her in his arms and stroked her hair as she rested her head against him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she sighed as she licked his neck, unable to resist the temptation of tasting his skin.

“I’m sure there’s an official list in my GAR file,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Reeda cleaned up quickly while Neyo went back to their table so they wouldn’t be spotted leaving the refresher together. Her hairstyle was destroyed, so she hastily repinned it as well as she could, and then wiped off the mascara that smudged heavily beneath her eyes. A quick reapplication of lipstick, and she almost looked presentable—with the minor exception of her missing panties, which Neyo had silently retrieved from the refresher floor and tucked into his pocket while maintaining strong eye contact.

When she returned to the dining room, Neyo waylaid her with a ferocious expression. Force, what is he scugged about now?

“We’re leaving,” he said, taking her by the wrist and pulling her toward the exit. A few quiet murmurs whispered around the room as he dragged her behind him.

“What?” she asked, tugging her wrist to no avail. “Why?”

“The karking droid gave away our table,” he said.

“My deepest apologies, Admiral,” the droid said. “We can locate another table if you would care to wait.”

Reeda assessed the room quickly. Every table was occupied, and none of the diners were anywhere close to being ready to leave. Moreover, at least half of the customers were eyeing her and Neyo with expressions ranging from amusement to overt curiosity.

“No,” she said. “Have the food delivered to my flat.”

“Right away, sir,” the droid replied, waddling off to relay the order to the kitchen.

Neyo looked at her inquisitively. “Your flat?”

“I live in this building,” she said. “Come with me.”

She was keenly aware of the many sets of eyes that tracked their hasty exit, but before long, she led Neyo into the private, secure lift that opened directly into her penthouse. He stood silently next to her on the trip up, watching her with an inscrutable gaze. She tried not to give herself an opportunity to second-guess her decision to let him into her home. Strange, she thought, how this seemed more intimate than allowing him inside her body. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed another person into her home.

The lift doors opened, and he followed her into the flat, pausing long enough to remove their shoes, then looking around curiously.

“Lived here long?”

“A few months,” she said. “I bought it when I found out I’d be stationed on Coruscant long-term.”

“It’s nice,” he said. “Very… clean.”

She laughed. “You mean sterile. I haven’t had time to do much decorating. I’m hardly here except to sleep, anyway.”

He nodded. “I thought I’d have more time for hobbies after the war ended, but now it’s just nonstop—”

“Red tape and committees,” she finished with a sympathetic grimace. He shot her a wry grin. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile before, and it did uncomfortable things to her brain. She tried not to think about it, instead asking, “What kind of hobbies? Aside from plotting my slow death, obviously.”

“Oh, you know,” he said vaguely. “Torturing small, adorable creatures; sharpening my vibroblade collection; collecting stamps; that sort of thing.”

She blinked. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

He regarded her steadily for a moment, eyes unreadable as ever. “You really think the worst of me, don’t you?”

She was taken aback. “I—”

Her reply was cut off by the chime of the door. The food had arrived, thank the Force, which gave her a moment to stop herself from blurting out her immediate thought: You’ve never given me any reason to think anything else.

Neyo was a competent soldier—brilliant, in fact. There was no question that he had one of the finest tactical and strategic minds in the GAR. But as a person? From the moment they’d met, he’d been antagonistic, sardonic, cold. He’d challenged her authority and provoked her in meetings. He’d only treated her with the barest semblance of civility in public, and in private—Well. They both knew how things went when they were alone.

The service droid rolled a cart into the dining room and began setting up the meal.

“Can I get you a drink?” she offered Neyo. “I don’t have any Alderaanian red, but I do have Cheedoan whiskey.”

“The good stuff,” he replied. “I’ll have a glass. Thanks.”

The droid finished setting up and shuffled out the front door as Reeda poured two generous glasses of whiskey at the wet bar.

“Ice?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, and when she turned around, she nearly dropped the glasses in surprise to find him standing close behind her. He locked his eyes on hers and never looked away as he took one of the glasses and drained it in a single swallow, then set it down with a decisive click on the counter. Her heart began to pound as he loomed over her. He traced his fingers from her elbow up to her wrist, and then he wrapped his hand around hers and raised her glass to her lips.

The whiskey burned a fiery path across her tongue and down her throat. A few droplets escaped and splashed coldly on her chest. Neyo didn’t let up until she emptied the glass, and when she was done, he leaned down and sucked the liquor off her skin. His hands dropped to her hips and slid up her back as he located the zipper of her dress and dragged it down excruciatingly slowly, and all the while, his mouth moved across her skin. He slipped the straps down over her shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor, and then he kissed a path along the lacy edge of her bra.

“Thanks for the matched set,” he said, unhooking it and pulling it off.

“Those were expensive, asshole,” she said unsteadily.

He didn’t reply, but she knew she was never going to see that bra again. He kissed his way down her breast and captured her nipple in his mouth, abrading it lightly with his teeth. She jolted, and the empty glass slipped from her hand and smashed against the hard tiles of the floor.

Neyo barely responded to the sound of shattering crystal. Reeda froze, keenly aware that the smallest movement could result in a bloody footful of glass. She stood utterly, helplessly still as he continued to explore her body with his teeth and lips and hands and tongue. He was thorough in his attentions, and something about being entirely at his mercy was wildly arousing. Her head spun as the whiskey began to work its insidious way through her bloodstream.

“I missed this perfume. What is it?” he murmured against the soft skin of her abdomen.

“I don’t wear any,” she said.

He nuzzled against her as though he could transfer her scent to his own skin. Without warning, he scooped her up and carried her out of the room, completely disregarding the risk to himself. But instead of dropping her as soon as they were clear of the broken glass as she expected, he asked, “Bedroom?”

“Left,” she said, and he strode across the flat and kicked open the door, to her intense irritation. “You gonna pay for the broken doorknob?”

He didn’t reply, just tossed her onto the bed and pounced on her as soon as she landed. He slid in between her thighs and gripped her hard as his mouth descended on hers, kissing her as though he were trying to devour her soul. He was still fully clothed, and she scrambled to pull off his shirt. He was completely unhelpful, too engrossed in her taste. She raked her nails across his skin as she yanked his shirt over his head, and he seized her lip in his teeth in revenge.

At last, the barrier of his shirt was gone, and she writhed against him, desperate to feel as much of his warm, smooth skin against her as possible. They clashed together, sinking nails and teeth into each other. At some point, Neyo got his trousers down enough to free his cock, and he shoved into her. His belt chafed harshly on her delicate skin as she wrapped her legs around him, urging him to go deeper, harder, faster. The sounds they made were unholy, primal: growls and grunts and screams of pain and ecstasy as they tore into each other with all the aggression that they had built over the years.

She pulled his hair; he clawed her back. She slapped his face; he bit her shoulder. She snarled that she loathed him; he interlaced his fingers with hers and whispered how beautiful she was when she came apart beneath him. She thrust him away and kicked him across the bed; he pinned her down and fucked her until she sobbed and begged for more. At some point, she tasted blood, and she didn’t know or care whose it was. And when at last she lost count of how many times he’d brought her to orgasm, he curled his body around hers and traced his thumb softly over her features as she drifted to sleep.

“If I die while I’m inside you, it’s the closest I’ll ever get to heaven,” he whispered.

“Force, you say some kriffed up shit,” she grumbled.

Reeda awakened slowly, aware of something blissfully warm and soothing moving across her skin. She cracked her eyes open. Neyo was lying on top of her, dragging his tongue lazily over her body. He roamed along her curves, and it wasn’t until he paused at her bruised wrist that she realized what he was doing.

“Are you licking my wounds?” she breathed.

He didn’t answer, but his eyes met hers with an intensity that bordered on madness. Gods, everything about this was so fucked up, and she didn’t dare examine too closely why she found it so incredibly arousing. He moved slowly, meticulously, his tongue gliding softly over every centimeter of her body, until she felt like a bomb, ready to detonate at the slightest spark. She came before he ever reached her cunt, and again as he rocked gently inside her, his lips soft against her mouth, silent tears spilling from the corners of her eyes to course down her temples.

After, he guided her into the shower, and when her legs gave out, he held her upright as the hot water washed over them. Once he’d massaged her entire body with his strong, soapy hands, he dried her off and laid her back on the bed while he spread bacta across the damage he’d inflicted. It was disorienting to be cared for so thoroughly by the man who’d spent the better part of four years making her life hell. He didn’t speak, and she didn’t know what to say, so in the end, she simply watched him in silence.

When he finished with the bacta, he retrieved their dinner from the dining room. The food had long since gone cold, but after hours of intense physical activity, they were famished, and they ate it anyway, sharing bites and sipping whiskey straight from the decanter. Neyo sat with his back against the headboard, his long, strong legs bracketing Reeda as she leaned back against his broad chest.

“How did you know porg was my favorite?” she asked.

He shrugged. “They’re tiny, cute, and innocent. I just assumed you would enjoy extinguishing the life from them and consuming their remains.”

She laughed and snuggled closer to him. “Is that why you order your meat rare? Because it’s the next best thing to drinking straight from the source?”

“Finally, someone who understands,” he smirked. “Truthfully, I overheard you tell Admiral Coburn that porg was your favorite during a banquet at the strategy conference at Valor.”

She turned to stare up at him. “Neyo, that was two years ago. That was before we ever…”

“I know,” he said, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply.

“Stalker,” she murmured.

He dropped his mouth to her neck, and she tilted her head back against his shoulder as his lips glided across her skin.

“What does it say about you that you like it?” he whispered when he reached her ear.

He pulled her close, positioning himself between her and the bedroom door. From the proprietary way he held her, she knew it was a deliberate choice; any threat that came through that door would have to go through him before it got to her, and she had a feeling that there weren’t many beings in the galaxy that were brave or foolish enough to try.

Reeda jerked awake to a furious pounding at the front door. Neyo was already halfway out of the bedroom, stark naked and armed with a steak knife from their midnight dinner.

“Wait here,” he ordered, his voice hard and flat.

She rolled her eyes as she pulled on a bathrobe and grabbed a blaster from her nightstand. Neyo glared at her when she joined him, but didn’t bother yelling at her.

“Coruscant guard! Open up,” a modulated voice shouted harshly from outside the door.

Neyo glanced questioningly at her, and she shrugged, hiding the blaster behind her robe. He stepped out of view of the door, and she opened it to find none other than Marshal Commander Fox, flanked by two Corrie ARC troopers.

“Commander,” she greeted him, not bothering to conceal the surprise in her voice.

“Good to see you’re in one piece, Admiral,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, baffled.

“We received multiple calls about a disturbance at your address. Are you alone?”

Reeda felt a hot rush of blood wash over her face and neck. “I fail to see how that is any business of yours, Commander.”

“Sorry, sir, but it’s my duty to—” He stopped abruptly, and his visor shifted to a point behind her.

“Isn’t this a little below your pay grade, Fox?” Neyo drawled close behind Reeda.

Fox’s visor turned back to Reeda, then to Neyo, and then back to Reeda again. The two ARC troopers appeared to be fascinated by the walls on either side of the front door.

At last, Fox spoke. “I don’t send shinies to wake up admirals.”

Neyo’s hand slid possessively around the front of Reeda’s abdomen, and he pulled her against his nude body. Something large and solid prodded against her backside. Dank farrik, is he turned on right now? Sick bastard.

“Thank you for your concern,” she told Fox, “but everything is under control.”

“So I see,” Fox replied. “Still, you’ll need to keep the noise level down, or I’ll have no choice but to arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

Neyo reached forward silently and shut the door in Fox’s face, then he spun Reeda around, picked her up over his shoulder, and carried her back to the bedroom. The last thing Fox heard was the unmistakable sound of Neyo’s hand slapping her ass as Reeda shrieked with indignant laughter.

Republic Military HQ buzzed quietly with speculation the next morning when not one, but two of the most senior command staff called in sick for the first time in either of their careers. Rumors swirled: some were convinced a secret bioweapon had been released by Separatist holdouts; others maintained that the stress of dealing with politicians was beginning to take a toll; still others claimed that it was a coverup and that the marshal commander and the admiral had been taken hostage by pirates. It was whispered that Commander Fox had a particularly haunted expression that morning, and two of the Coruscant Guard ARC Troopers had contacted the legal department to update their wills. In the midst of all this, the beleaguered Lissi received a brusque order to inform RTL Matchmaking that the admiral no longer required their services.

Daria drained her third iced caf of the morning as she flicked through her holomessages. Buried amidst the intake forms and meeting invitations was an abrupt-bordering-on-rude note from Marshal Commander Neyo ordering her to close his file.

“Why do you look like the tooka that got the blue milk?” her fellow matchmaker Tarsi Renda asked as she passed Daria in the corridor.

“Oh, no reason,” Daria smiled. “The galaxy is back to normal, that’s all—and my track record is once again perfect.”

---

DJ’s masterlist | Join my tag list here

#tcw matchmaking au #clone matchmaking au #91st Mobile Reconnaissance Corps #commander neyo #neyo x the admiral #commander neyo x ofc #neyo x ofc #neyo x the bad-miral

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mymreaderlibrary · 5 months

Note

Hey buddy, gotta say, fucking LOVE your old man yaoi post with price and reader. It's also one of my favorite things and shit if you'd like could you write more about them? Like I need these two old men to finally own up and kiss damnit 😭

I wanted to get this out way earlier but ANYWAYS IM SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT AAAAGHHGH I honestly wanted to write about it a lil more but I wasn’t sure. I hope this is good, no beta cause I’m a looney toons of a writer who’s stubborn as hell.

[old friends to lovers, slight angst, injury ment, laswell is so fuckin annoyed by being the only smart person, use of y/n though they’re kinda treated more like an oc sorry, the ramblings continue]

[length: 1324 words]

They didn't speak of the night before, but they honestly didn't have to. Y/n and Price could tell their feelings were mutual, or at least stronger than a typical friendship, but instead they chose to be stopped by an invisible road block.

For y/n it was the feeling of lost time. They weren't young anymore, they didn't have the energy nor time for things like relationships and... well he wasn't sure if Price would want to be stuck with an old fart like himself. Price aged in a way that'd make any man jealous meanwhile y/n? Not so much. He was greying, his bones ached more often than not, he spent half of his time drinking shitty liquor that made his teeth reek, and, as much as he hates to admit it, he's just not handsome anymore. Price deserved to be with someone who still had life to them. Maybe a spunky military gal who could keep him on his toes or private operative with an infinite list of missions to complete. What he didn't need, however, was someone who already had their chance and wasted it. Y/n should've told him just how much Price meant to him, how much he envied the people who got to stay by his side. He should've searched for him, got on his hands and knees and begged to come with. Convince whoever had them separated to change their mind. He didn't care if he still went through the same pain he did when he was alone, if he had to amputate his own damn leg again, or deal with the loss of his parents one more time. As long as he could've done it by Price's side he would've been happy or at the very least satisfied. But that was the past and the current y/n could never catch up to the man Price had become.

However for Price it was guilt. He remembered the days that y/n and him felt invincible. Like every little thing was just a stepping stone in their grand journey to glory. No matter the pain they persevered, found solutions where others would've given up, made names for themselves amongst crowds of soldiers all baring the same purpose. Too bad those names couldn't stop them from being split up, from losing their friends, their families, from being sent all across the world with no way of knowing if the other was even alive. Those names couldn't stop y/n from losing his entire calf... (Price hated that he only knew of his friends injury due a rumor involved with y/n's discharge). Y/n shouldn't even be here, his time in the military was over, he paid his penance, he should be at home watching tv on a leather couch with a beer in hand. Nothing on the mind but whatever sore loser couldn't figure out tonight's Jeopardy categories. But no, Price had to go and drag him out from retirement, right back onto the front lines. Straight back into trouble. Even if he wasn't on the field that didn't mean he was away from risk. His mere association with the 141 planted a target on his back that wouldn’t be removed by simply walking away. Price didn't feel he deserved y/n's affection not when all he ever did was put him in danger.

So they both stayed like that, infinitely stubborn, hellishly avoidant, and not nearly as sly as they thought. The 141 didn't have a full understanding of what was going on between the two, but they could tell there was some unfinished business. Gaz thought maybe one of them slighted the other and neither have taken the step to apologize for it. Soap thought y/n perhaps betrayed Price and that's why he's missing part of his leg. Ghost had... almost the right idea, thinking there was a strange tinge of romantic tension between the two though he assumed it was from something like a love triangle. Maybe y/n and Price loved the same woman and had some unfinished rivalry? Regardless, it was not his problem so much as it didn’t effect the mission.

Laswell however, she knew. She wouldn't have the position she did if information like this just flew past her radar. She knew of their history, she saw how they reacted to one another. Laswell wasn't blind for god's sake, in fact she felt like the only one with eyes at the moment. She wasn't so crass as to demand them to make up and get it over with, but having no one to complain to was definitely testing her patience. Instead she stuck to subtly, casually chatting with Price about y/n and dropping questions in regards to their past missions together and how close they were, hoping to make some wheels turn in his rusted head. She wasn't gonna do more than that however, they were two grown men and if they couldn’t figure it out that was their problem. Could they just be a little more subtle though?

It took until a, quite literally, explosive scenario for them to finally get it together. A bullet had gotten lodged into Price's shoulder after an enemy made a lucky shot. It was far from the worst thing the Captain had faced but it still wasn't great, hurt like a bitch for one. And secondly it seemed to send y/n into a spiral. He was practically fuming when Price got back, going on some sort of rant about hygiene and wound care. Y/n demanded to be the one to dress Price's shoulder with a tone that had the others knowing they were not invited to watch unless they wanted to join in on the incoming lecture. And lecture he did, through the whole process Price could barely get a word in. Y/n paced and raved, threw his arms in the air and even knocked over supplies on accident. He was a complete mess and it wasn't until y/n was literally out breath that the Captain could finally speak.

An explanation of what happened was given, it was just luck (bad luck in regards to Price) that he got hit. This wasn’t overly common and the team knew how to deal with these wounds. Everything was okay, it was going to be fine. This just came with the job, risks were inevitable.

They were quiet, looking at each other and letting the silence permeate the room. Price reached his hand out to touch y/n’s but was caught off guard as the other man suddenly leaned it. Knocking his head against Price’s good shoulder and breathing heavily, y/n shuddered a silent cry. A plead for Price to be safe. Whatever false version of safety he could promise, just please don’t die out there.

The Captain raised his outstretched hand to cup the back of y/n’s head, running a thumb over the stubbled hair. Letting his hand slide to his face and pushing him back just an inch.

Another moment of silence. Hearts beating like rabbits.

“You gonna actually do something or do I-“

Price shut him up as quickly as he could. It was clumsy, a bit shaky, and definitely desperate, but the moment their lips touched it felt like pure ecstatic relief. Relief that this was finally happening, relief that the invisible barrier they built around each other was so weak, but mostly relief that those moments, all those touches and lingering stares weren’t for nothing.

They breathed in each others scent, something they’ve come to know so well and yet in this moment it felt brand new, and infinitely stronger. The spice of a cigar, the sting of sweat, and- oh right, sterile wipes. Price was left to chuckle awkwardly and y/n backed away. Any childish excitement felt would have to wait but at the very least they had this.

#sorry was stuffing my mouth with turkey today so I didn’t finish it when I wanted to #insert video of dude fuckin up that dry ass chicken sandwich #didn’t know if I wanted to add this but was listening to drunk drivers/ killer whales by carseatheadrest for a lot of this #my writing #mw #male reader #x male reader #john price #john price x male reader #probably ooc 😭😭😭😭😭 AURHHFJGNFJFN #im so shy about this help #cod #cod x male reader #price cod #ramblings #old man yaoi

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jjungkookislife · 6 months

Text

Kinktober Day 13

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟday 13: double penetration *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

♡ pairing: jimin x f. reader x taehyung

♡ genre: established relationship, polyam, smut [18+]

♡ summary: Halloween is for trick and treats. Jimin and Taehyung make sure to give you both.

♡ wc: 1.9k

♡ warnings: mask kink (?), jimin and tae play with oc, pet names (baby, baby girl, sweetheart), spanking, pussy slapping, voyeurism (mirror sex), threesome/double penetration, oral sex (f. giving and receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected sex, degradation, cum swallowing, creampie

♡ date: October 27, 2023

Jimin knew you’d drop to your knees upon seeing him and Tae. He licked his lips as he stared at his reflection just before Taehyung handed him his mask.

“She’s gonna be wet all night,” Taehyung smirked as he put his mask on.

Jimin nods as he places his mask over his face. “Let’s go get her.”

Upon arriving at Yoongi’s place, your boyfriends spot you grinding on their youngest friend, Jungkook. They watch for a moment, cocks already hard and throbbing in their jeans.

“Fuck,” Jimin curses as he watches you grind against Jungkook.

“Let’s go,” Taehyung orders as they part through the crowd. Jimin tilts his head and Jungkook hits the road, disappearing into the sea of bodies. You don’t notice your boyfriends watching from afar, nor question Jungkook’s sudden departure as your other friend approaches you.

“Are Jimin and Tae here?” Hoseok asks as he stands beside you, looking over the crowd.

“They said they would be,” you shrug as you look into the crowd and spy a person in a Ghostface mask staring at you from across the room.

“Though that might be Tae,” you tell Hoseok as you turn to him, but when you turn back to the person, they’re walking away. “Or not.”

Hoseok chuckles, shaking his head.

“I’ll go check,” you inform him, as you promise to catch up later. You part through the crowd, apologizing as you push past.

By the time you’ve crossed the room and stood where the person was, there’s no sign of them anywhere. You sigh, take your phone out of your bra (your sexy witch costume lacks pockets), and check your messages.

“Come play with us,” you murmur as you read Tae’s last message. You sigh, looking up from your phone just to spot another person staring at you with a Ghostface mask on. You shove your phone into your bra and start the trek to where you started, but of course, they’re gone before you can reach your destination.

You move to the kitchen, finding Yoongi and Hoseok talking to a few friends you don’t know well. You go to approach them but catch a glimpse of a Ghostface mask leaving through the other entrance.

Quickly, you follow them, but they get lost in the crowd of dancing partygoers and the last thing you want to do is enter that hell again.

Sighing, you turn toward the staircase just to see Ghostface staring at you.

Before you can take a step, there’s a tap on your shoulder and you whip around just to find nobody there. You groan, turning back to the stairs but there’s nobody there either.

Huffing, you reach for your cellphone and call your boyfriends, but there’s no answer. You spot another person in a mask and stomp toward them, ripping the mask off their face.

“Hey!” Jungkook pouts. “You’re ruining my cool guy vibe.”

You roll your eyes. “You and this damn mask have been fucking with me all night.”

“No?” Jungkook’s befuddled. “Jimin just gave it to me like five minutes ago.”

“Jimin? Where did he go?” You ask as you look over your shoulder.

Jungkook shrugs. “He said he was looking for Taehyung.”

“Are they both wearing these masks?” You ask, holding it up and handing it back to him.

“Mhmm,” Jungkook confirms as he puts his mask back on and disappears into the crowd. You sigh, alone once again. You look toward the stairs, you figure you could wait in the room for them to show up.

Hands find your waist and you scream, startled and annoyed someone’s had the balls to put their hands on you. Everyone knew you had two boyfriends, so someone being this bold was out of character.

“Hey, baby,” Taehyung greets, his hands gripping your hips tighter. He grinds against you in beat with the music and you relax when you hear his voice.

“Wanna go upstairs?” Jimin asks, wasting no time. You know he’s probably smirking under his mask. You reach out to grab both of their masks and bite back a moan. The two men look at each other and chuckle.

“Yes,” you agree, taking their hands as they lead you upstairs to the first empty bedroom. Your heart races in your chest as you follow your boyfriends, giggling with Jimin as you reach the landing.

The boys pull you into a bedroom, shutting and locking the door with smirks on their lips beneath their masks. Taehyung is the first to approach you, his hands gripping your hips as he takes in your lingerie that you’ve tried to pass off as a costume. He’s not sure what you’re supposed to be, but he doesn’t care as he pulls you toward him.

You take in his Ghostface mask, tugging it off his face to discard it somewhere in the room. Your lips meet his in a heated kiss that rocks you to the core.

Your hands twine in his curly locks, tugging on them as he nips your bottom lip.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans as his hands move down to your ass.

Jimin moves Taehyung aside. He kisses you deeply, moaning against your lips as Tae moves behind you. He rips your lingerie to pieces.

“Hey! I don’t have anything else to wear!” You huff and Tae shakes his head.

“Packed you an outfit,” he assures you as he kisses you again. You moan against his lips as Jimin runs his hands over your back, stopping to grab handfuls of your ass.

“Fuck,” he bites his plush bottom lip, his hand coming down to smack your ass, once, twice, three times.

“You look so pretty like this,” Taehyung coos as he notes the smeared eyeliner and lipstick. He kisses you again, his large hands cupping your cheeks as you reach under his costume.

Taehyung grins, taking his costume off to show you his shirtless torso and black jeans. His hard cock strains against the denim and he palms himself over the material.

With your eyes glued to him, and Jimin kissing his way down your body, he undoes his belt, tossing it to the floor.

Jimin makes you moan with a smack to your cunt. He curses when he feels how wet you are and he turns his head to the side to watch the three of you in the mirrored wall of the closet.

“Fuck me,” You’re already begging. You’re so needy and wet, your boyfriends hot as hell on their own, but the masks add a little something and it makes you want to devour them whole.

“No need to beg, baby girl. We’re here to please,” Jimin states as he takes his mask off and sets it to the side. His tongue teases your pussy, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you still.

“Fuck,” you nearly growl when his tongue flicks your clit. Taehyung laughs, kissing you again as your hands work the button and zipper of his pants. He kicks them off along with his boxers.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, kissing you one more time as your hands wrap around his cock. Taehyung looks over your shoulder at Jimin, tilting his head to the side, and both men place their masks back on.

“Fuck yes,” you curse when you look up at Tae. You reach out for him as Jimin fixed the arch of your back, his fingers sliding easily into your dripping wet cunt.

You moan his name, followed by Taehyung’s as your hand runs down his torso to wrap around his hard cock that’s dribbling pre-cum. Your mouth waters at the sight, your tongue licking the head, swirling around and around until you take him in your mouth.

“Shit!” Taehyung hisses, your warm mouth so welcoming. He threads his fingers in your hair, your mouth opening wider to take more of him in.

“That’s it, baby. Take my cock into that pretty little mouth of yours. Get your fill,” Taehyung smirks as you do as you’re told. It’s hard to see you with the mask over his face. The mesh in the eyes is almost useless, but just seeing you with those wide eyes and hungry mouth is enough for him.

Taehyung allows you to set a pace, his hand guiding his cock into your mouth now and then. You take him deep in your throat and gag. He chuckles when you come up for air.

“Just relax, baby. Let me help you,” he says as he grips your hair harder, drool already smeared on your cheeks with your lipstick.

Taehyung fucks your face, slowly at first and then a little faster, a little deeper. Your moans send shivers down his spine, his cock throbbing in delight.

Jimin isn’t one to be left out. His fingers fuck your pussy, thumb rubbing your clit. You cry out around Taehyung’s cock, thighs trembling as he continues.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Cum for me,” Jimin encourages as his fingers move faster and faster until you’re falling apart, soaking his fingers.

Jimin grins, looking up to see Taehyung staring at him. Jimin raises his mask just a bit and slides his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean before fixing his mask and wrapping his hand around his hard dick.

The fat head of his cock presses against you, your arousal costing it generously before he’s pushing inside.

Your moan is muffled by Taehyung’s cock. He pauses to let you adjust to Jimin.

The two set a pace, both groaning and moaning as you take everything they can give you.

They both turn their heads to the mirror, cocks throbbing at the sight of you between them, taking their cocks like a champ. Your moans mix with theirs and fill the room, not caring who hears beyond the four walls.

Jimin spanks you, gripping your hips hard to slam you onto his cock, just for Taehyung to pull you back onto his by your hair. You’re drooling all over him and yourself, slurping obscenely as tears roll down your cheeks, but you still beg for more.

You turn your head to the mirror when Tae gives you a moment to breathe. You lock eyes with Jimin in his mask and he fucks you harder. The sight is enough to push you to the edge, tightening around him and screaming his name.

Taehyung smacks your lips with his cock and you open obediently.

“What a good cockhungry whore,” he praises as you try to see both of them in the mirror.

Your body surges with pleasure at the sight. Jimin chuckles as his fingers find your clit, rubbing and pinching it to make you jolt.

Taehyung watches you choke on his dick while Jimin buries himself to the hilt. They’re both close, both moaning your name as they fuck you harder.

Taehyung is the first to cum when you swallow around him. He sets his cock on your tongue and covers it generously. You swallow, leaning forward to suck him dry before he pulls away to watch Jimin fuck you open.

Jimin is close. His hips smack against your ass until you’re screaming in pleasure. Taehyung kisses you messily, his tongue meeting yours as you fall apart, with Jimin following soon after.

The three of you lay spent on the bed. The masks are on the floor and your costume is in pieces long forgotten.

“Can we go home?” You ask after you catch your breath.

“How come?” Jimin asks as he drapes his arm over your waist.

“Want to use the masks again?” Taehyung asks as he kisses your bare shoulder.

“Definitely.”

kinktober masterlist

#bts kinktober #jimin smut #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader insert #taehyung x reader #taehyung drabble #tae smut #jimin drabble #jimin x reader insert #jimin x reader #vmin x reader insert #bts polyam #ghostface!jimin #ghostface!taehyung #boyfriend!jimin #boyfriend!taehyung

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jasdiary · 8 months

Text

Fableheart

Name Meaning :

Fable : A short, fictitious tale conveying a moral.

Heart : The core of oneself.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

“ Welcome to Fableheart, my dear! Oh- don’t be shy, step foot in, we don’t bite! “

Nabi Von Waldeck, Current housewarden

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

-ˏˋ. Introduction ˊˎ-

𓇢𓆸 Fableheart is an RSA dorm twisted from the Ever After High franchise.

𓇢𓆸 Fableheart was founded on the morals of the fairytale-bound heroes.

𓇢𓆸 The current housewarden is Nabi Von Waldeck (Twisted from Apple White) and the current vice-housewarden is Armaros Raven Corvidae (Twisted from Raven Queen ) ( by @rosietrace )

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I. Students of FableHeart are encouraged to follow their heart and reach for their goals of their own volition. Be it to follow the footsteps of a higher being or to reject that notion and walk down your own path is entirely up to you. Due to this, there tends to be many conflicts between students but they always come together at the end of the day.

II. As a part of FableHeart, you learn to remember that the end is just the beginning.

III. FableHeart is sometimes regarded as a cursed dorm, many if not all members having some kind of curse or dilemma that could change their life. For better or worse is to be decided.

IV. Students of Fableheart are known for their stubbornness and morality. They all know or are figuring out what they want to do in their future, but one thing for sure is that they’ll do anything to walk down the path they chose.

V. Students in this dorm excel in Ancient Curses and Seminars. It’s nearly impossible to defeat a Fableheart student in a debate or mislead them from a seminar. As for ancient curses…The students of Fableheart know about curses all too well.

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-ˏˋ. Dorm Appearance ˊˎ-

⟡ Fableheart’s dorm looks akin to a castle.

⟡ They have grand stairs (that are honestly quite a hassle to go up and down…)

⟡ The dorms stories are being held up by tree roots and vines.

⟡ They’re known for their extravagant structure and secret areas.

⟡ In terms of colors, You can expect to see a lot of purple and red. to separate them, there’s whites and golds along with blacks and silvers.

⟡ All of the students personal rooms are quite large, enough for 2 students to still have a good amount of space.

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-ˏˋ. Dorm Uniform Information ˊˎ-

<𝟑 There is no set uniform!! However, there are requirements as to how you customize and design your uniform.

<𝟑 The uniform is required to look regal, As if you’re royalty attending a ball.

<𝟑 You can be as dramatic or as minimal as you want to be with the uniform, depending on the type of person you are. It’s all up to you.

<𝟑 To show that you are indeed a student affiliated with FableHeart, the heart shaped locket given to every student is required to be shown somewhere on yourself. Where you put the locket is up to you.

<𝟑 All in all, just have fun coming up with your very own uniform and looking like the royalty you are~

<𝟑 Fableheart students all have an object or accessory that represents themselves and is used in place of RSA’s magic brooches. They also tie in with their curses.

< Examples >

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-ˏˋ. Fableheart Regular Uniform (option if you don’t want to draw RSA’s uniform!) ˊˎ-

✎ᝰ. Very much giving Barbie Princess Charm School!

✎ᝰ. Used in place of RSA’s uniform. ( I find it hard to draw i’m sorry )

✎ᝰ. As shown in the photos, it’s customizable to an extent.

✎ᝰ. ((The skirt can be switched for a longer skirt, pants or even shorts.))

✎ᝰ. The dorm colors are apple red and royal purple.

✎ᝰ. They are also available in red ↓

< IVE ‘Love Dive’ concept outfits >

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-ˏˋ. Fableheart Dorm Playlistˊˎ-

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-ˏˋ. Notes for those who want to make a Fableheart Oc ˊˎ-

𓇢𓆸 As this dorm was revealed to only a few people a while back, some EAH characters have already been claimed; here’s the characters that have been taken! :

Apple White

Raven Queen

Madeleine Hatter

Briar Beauty

Ashlynn Ella

Kitty Cheshire

C.A. Cupid

Darling Charming

Odette Cygnet ( Duchess Swan ) { @/starry-night-rose }

Lizzie Hearts

Renè Scarlett ( Cerise Hood ) { @/terrovaniadorm }

Rosalina Bellevue (Rosabella Beauty ) { @/slumberingrose-fandom }

Castor Del Rosario ( Courtley Jester ) { @/luvneuvillette }

Blondie Lockes

Maristela Undine ( Meeshell Mermaid ) { @/terrovaniadorm }

Lucia Primrose ( Farrah Goodfairy ) { @/sakuramidnight15 }

Ginger Breadhouse

Thornby Bell Faelan ( Faybelle Thorn ) { @/princekoala }

Mira Shards

Gaia Abor ( Cedar Wood ) { @/shinysparklesapphires }

Caoimhe Dulcie ( Ginger Breadhouse ) { @/sakuramidnight15 }

𓇢𓆸 The max amount of ocs per person is 3! This is so other people have chances to join!

𓇢𓆸 Just to reiterate, Each Fableheart member has a curse that impacts them. (Ex. Nabi aging every time they eats an apple and only being freed from the curse by a declaration of true love)

𓇢𓆸 Everything else is basically said in information section/s. If there are any questions or confusion, please don’t be shy to ask!!

What story will be written today?…✎ᝰ.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst fandorm #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #nabi🍎#nabi von waldeck #jas drew a thing.jpeg #twisted wonderland ocs #twst ocs #ever after high #ever after high fandorm #eah #eah fandorm #Fableheart #Fableheart oc #Fableheart ocs #rsa fandorm #royal sword academy

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unknownlemoneater · 6 months

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Hellsing oc lmao ((more abt her under cut))

Part 1 ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ Part 1½ ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁

((side note; Before I start, I dunno anything about skinbenders if it’s an actual thing, I just got the name from a comic book character and then just freestyling the rest, and my writing is horrible.))

//ability//

Calico can shapeshift into much more than just animals or human. she can shapeshift her whole, or part of her body into whatever she wants, objects, weapons, animal-like, anything she wants. for an average skinbender, it’s easy to spot them through their disguises, they always look deranged, or something’s just off and inhuman about them. but not Calico, She’s always flawless with her shapeshifting ability and that fact does give her a bit of an ego. Calico has to wear one’s skin in order to shift into what she wants, so does that also mean she consumes scraps in order to shapeshift into an object? Maybe…

\\Likes \ hobbies\\

⟡ Using her shifting ability, Calico loves to terrify the soldiers around Hellsing with her body horror, and Seras is definitely her favorite to scare, she would stand in dark corners and just stare. But unfortunately ((or fortunately ?)) the only people that wouldn’t fall for her antics is Alucard and Integra, makes sense because Integra had to deal with Alucard within the second half of her childhood so she should be used to it at this point. and I’m sure Alucard vampire senses would know Calico is there before she even get to do anything.

⟡ shifting into a cat and pretty much doing whatever the fuck she wants.

⟡ joining Hellsing was just like a retirement for Calico, doing random activities around the mansion while also becoming a vampire Hunter to satisfy her animalistic nature to kill. crocheting, bone collecting, gardening, just to name a few of her random activities, but her favorite out of all is baking, and sharing her baked goods to hellsing while they’re completely oblivious rather or not if she ever put anything in the food they’re eating, and she haven’t... yet.

⟡ Women. ((Not in that way))

((ok maybe a little in that way..))

//Dislikes//

⟡ Bald people.

((k here some concept))

\\The character\\

⟡ relaxed, serene, insensitive, sadomasochistic, two-faced, extremely kind when she feels like it, can be manipulative at times, and a challenge to provoke.

⟡ Calico speaks with a lot of hand gestures, and even touch the person she’s talking to, she does not acknowledge personal space, or possibly doesn’t even care. Her voice is usually soft, calm and almost robotic in someway, with a Chinese Mandarin accent, but her voice does change when she’s in her original form, it’s like a raspy, loud whisper. Calico has no filter, she would announce how ugly a baby is, in public, in front of the parents.. or casually ask a person why are they ugly, or bald. in other words she will say shit that probably shouldn’t be said out loud, or say what everybody in the room is thinking out loud in an awkward situation as another example and all with a small smile remaining on her face.

⟡ and there’s other times she’ll just stand there like a statue if anyone isn’t Interacting with her or just doesn’t have anything else to do.

//more random stuff abt this character//

⟡ Skinbenders aren’t exactly born with a pacific sex or gender, all their genitals pretty much the same and can be used the same way as both human male and female genitals, in other words, you could breed or be bred by them. ((WTF DID I JUST TYPE IN BRO 😭)) what I’m trying to get at is Calico is technically a trans woman if you think about it.

⟡ Calico forgets to blink sometimes, just putting that there.

⟡ ((I have this weird obsession with what a character bedroom would look like, so best believe I’m gonna explain what her bedroom looks like,)) most of her room is completely normal, a dresser she never felt the need to use, a vanity and shelves occupied with her small animal skull collection but what sticks out the most is instead of having a bed she has a nest in the size of an average king size bed made from majority of blankets and pillows she have stolen around the mansion all occupying in the corner of her room, she could be very protective of her nest, only allowing the people she trust the most to even be near, aka Seras, Calico has tried inviting her master Integra into her nest, but was always rejected.. so that’s why Calico has taken upon herself to settle for claiming her master's bed instead.

⟡ Most of her clothing is made of her flesh.

⟡ Calico is not completely emotionless she can make other facial expressions, a small smile is just her default / resting face.

⟡ If Calico actually labeled her identity, she would be an aromantic, pansexual, trans woman. but she doesn’t feel the need to label it, so you would never catch her calling herself these things.

⟡ Calico doesn’t really see people as, well.. people. So this is how she view the main four !!

Integra ((But Calico personally calls her ‘my master’))- Calico actually respects her authority and probably the only persons boundaries she would take into consideration. Also silly British hehehehe.

Alucard - Calico sees him as some vampiric Manwhore. But they’re civil with each other, they like to have conversations and even sometimes play chess together.

Seras ((but Calico insist on calling her by her last name, Victoria.)) - ah she absolutely adore her, Calico would have her attend with her hobbies if available. Calico treats Seras as like she’s a new puppy for her. So in case you haven’t noticed she’s obviously the favorite.

Walter - twink.

((that’s all for now!! this may have some edits since I’m never satisfied with any writing I do, and I will be making a part two lololololo.))

((Did I choose this silly cat video in particular because it’s a Calico? Yes, yes I did exactly that.))

#cw mild gore #hellsing #oc: calico #hellsing oc #hellsing ultimate #hellsing fanfiction #sir integra #hellsing fanart #hellsing headcanons #fanfiction #headcanons #hellsing fandom #digital art #lemons.art #lemons.oc dump

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softspeirs · 1 month

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Then and There, Wind in Your Hair (Bill “Hoosier” Smith x OC)

Pairing: Bill “Hoosier” Smith x Female OC (could be read as an un-named OC or a reader insert) Summary: After their meeting in Melbourne, Hoosier writes a few letters, dreams a few dreams, and finds her again after coming home. A/N: I know what you’re thinking - “Katie, aren’t you neck deep in your Masters of the Air hyper fixation?!” and the answer is yes, but I just had to write a companion piece to Clouds Overhead. You don’t have to read that one first, but some elements might make more sense if you do. Disclaimer: I don’t own The Pacific. Please don’t repost, translate, or use this fic for AI without my permission.

And we both laid entwined, stared at the night Clouds overhead, but that was all right ‘Cause then and there with the wind in your hair Heaven was jealous to merely look fair against you

He can’t remember how many days it’s been since he was in Melbourne.

Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he’s able to block out the rapid pounding of his heart and the distant ack-ack of machine gun fire and remember the sound of the waves on the beach, the feeling of her hair tickling his jaw.

There’s a part of him that’s worried he’s going to forget her face, though he’s not sure how that’s possible.

He’s worried about a lot of things. Worried is standard operating procedure these days.

They haven’t been able to get mail out in weeks, the shelling too intense for anything even resembling a CP or a supply depot to be set up, even behind the lines. The lines change rapidly in the Pacific, and he’s not sure he’s brave enough to try to find it even if he did have a letter to send to her.

He’s surprised when they’re finally taken off the line, and there’s mail waiting for him.

Bill, it starts, and he smiles, because she’s the first person in a long time that almost outright refuses to call him Hoosier.

Bill,

I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to see you off. The War Department has us all running around like chickens with our heads cut off getting ready for our next deployment.

I’m not sure where we’ll be going yet, and I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you if I did. I just hope wherever it is, it’s not as hot as it was in the Philippines when I was there.

Mostly, I hope this whole thing is over soon. I know it’s naïve of me. I signed up to go to war, and I don’t regret it, but I’m tired. I know you are too.

I hope wherever you are, you’re safe.

Thinking of you.

She signs it off with a metaphorical kiss, and he feels his heart kick into overdrive. He knows it’s dangerous, but he’s starting to dream about someday, and he can’t stop himself.

Surprisingly, the other guys don’t rag on him about it. They ask him a few questions, but they’re all so distracted about whatever’s coming next, there’s no thought about razzing anyone who’s finding a little slice of joy in anything outside of this hell hole.

He writes her back when he finally has a minute to think.

It’s been a long week, I think. He tells her.

I don’t really know how long it’s been since we were in Melbourne, but I think about it almost every day.

He wonders if he’s showing his hand too much, but he can’t help himself.

I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re far from the lines, wherever they are, and that things aren’t too bad. We were pulled off the line for a few days here, but I don’t think it’s going to last long.

“Hoosier.” Leckie says, voice hesitant like he hates to be the one to break him out of his letter writing. “We’re moving out.”

Bill sighs. Of course. Not a moment’s reprieve.

I think about you often. He scratches, hesitating only a moment. And I hope that’s okay with you, because it’s just about the only thing getting me out of the trench in the morning.

I hope you’re safe. I’m going to do my best to try to stay safe too.

Yours,

Bill

He writes to her nearly every day. He knows she’ll probably get a few of the letters all at once since the mail is so backed up, but he has nowhere else to put his thoughts, and it’s sending him half insane.

Most of his notes to her are mundane, stories about his guys and only a little bit about the mess going on in his brain. If she were here in person, he’s sure she’d look him dead in the eyes and demand he tell her what he’s thinking, but he tries to shield her from it, at least a little bit.

Her letters are the same, stories about the friends she’s making and at the bottom of one, a piece he rips off and shoves in his trunk - her address back home in Chicago.

Just in case something unexpected happens, I expect you to call on me, Private Smith. I’ll wait for you. There’s no one else.

It brands him like a tattoo right above his heart, on his breastbone where no one but him can see.

I’ll wait for you.

It’s the last thought he has right before it all goes to hell.

When he wakes up in a hospital a week later, he’s half out of his mind with exhaustion and morphine. Still, his first thought is of her.

He asks about her, and the nurse frowns at him. “No one here with that name, sugar. Sorry.”

Did he dream her?

Did his brain invent her just as a survival tactic to make it out alive?

When he sleeps, he does dream of her. He dreams of them. He dreams of that cookie cutter life with the white picket fence, and her smile. He pictures tangerine sunsets and a backyard barbecue. He pictures a little girl with her eyes and his smile.

When he wakes, he wishes he could fall back asleep.

He doesn’t get any mail, and he doesn’t have the time or the energy to write any letters himself. He’s hauled day after day into an empty room for rehabilitation, where a nice Lieutenant named Lanie listens to him curse a blue streak as he tries to put weight on his leg.

“Lanie, I’m beggin’ you to just write down that you saw me walk.”

She frowns. “No can do, Private. Besides, what good is that going to do you? Don’t want to get your dancing shoes on again someday?”

He snorts. “Who’s going to teach me how not to have two left feet?”

She shrugs. “I’ll do it. Or how about that girl you keep asking after? I bet she’d be a willing participant.”

He levels her with a hard gaze. “Lanie, if you know something...”

“Honest, Hoosier. I don’t know.” She leans in a little closer. “The hospital unit is still on the island and they’re socked in. I haven’t been able to get in touch with my friend there to ask her. You know how it can be.”

He sighs. “I know. Thanks for trying.”

“Now do me a favor, will you? Take a few steps so I can get rid of you and go eat some lunch.”

That night when he can’t sleep, he limps his way down to the mess. There’s a few other guys there, but he finds a table alone. Under dim light, he pens out another letter that he hopes makes it to her.

I’m in the hospital, he writes, his hand shaking a little bit from lack of use.

I have no idea if you’ll ever get this. I hope you do. I don’t want you to wonder.

What you told me in the last letter I got from you has kept me going. And it goes without saying (hopefully) that I’ll wait for you too.

Another nurse here, Lieutenant Elaine Meadows (don’t call her that, though, she’ll rip your head off. We call her Lanie) said she’ll keep her eyes and ears open for you if you ever make it here, or if one of your letters ever shows up here for me.

At the bottom is my home address in Indiana. Sorry to say, but I think I’ve got a ticket home.

If you find yourself stateside soon, and God, I really hope you do, please let me know.

I owe you a date.

Twelve weeks go by. He goes home. And between the agony of his leg and the mess inside his mind, Bill’s morale plummets.

He’s thrown back into the absolutely insane situation of having to find a job, but he can’t even fathom trying to work for someone so soon after fighting for his life. He has no idea how any of it makes sense anymore.

He almost sleeps through V-E Day, but manages to drag himself out of his bedroom and have a drink with his dad on V-J Day. They’re both quiet, out on the front porch of the house, listening to the revelry from the neighbors.

“You should get out of town for a few days.” His dad says, out of nowhere.

He frowns. “Pop?” He leans forward, wincing as he straightens his leg. “What do you mean?”

“You need-- you need to get your mind busy again. Take a break from all this, get your mind right, and decide what’s next.” He gives Bill a wry grin. “Besides, where’s that girl of yours, anyway?”

Bill feels himself pale. “I don’t--”

“Oh, don’t bother. You’re not a very good liar.”

Bill chuckles. “Guess not.” His hands tap out a rhythm on his knees, his body and mind unable to be still for too long these days. “Chicago.” He says finally. “She’ll be in Chicago.”

His dad nods. “Interesting.”

He still hasn’t heard from her by the time he makes up his mind to just go for it. He’s been seeing in the paper article after article about men and women coming home from overseas, and he just hopes that she’s one of them.

He really doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he shows up on her mother’s doorstep and she’s not there.

The train feels like it’s going slow as molasses. He sits among men and women in uniform, and he feels out of place. He fidgets. He eavesdrops on conversations about the war and about friends they used to know and what happened to them.

His palms start to itch.

When he arrives at Union Station, he only second guesses himself for a few moments before he seeks a taxi. The ride to the suburbs is nice, and he enjoys watching the trees change color the farther they get from the city. It seems to drag on and yet be over in a flash. He pays the driver, and gets out in front of a large house on a beautiful tree-lined street.

Bill’s hands are sweating. He hears chatter inside the large house, the windows open to let in the autumn breeze, and one voice in particular makes him stop in his tracks and shut his eyes briefly, trying to gather himself.

He knocks, takes a few steps back.

A screen door opens and shuts.

“Oh my god.”

He finally looks up.

They sit together on the back porch of her parent’s house, mugs of steaming coffee in their hands, her free hand tucked into his. Her eyes are closed, but the small smile on her lips proves she’s still awake.

He never thought he’d be here. He never thought he’d get this.

“Bill?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m--” she sits up, takes her hand out of his. He’s surprised to see her eyes filling with tears, and his heart kicks into overdrive.

“What?”

She smiles again. “Sorry. I’m okay, I just-- I can’t really believe we’re here.” She sniffs. “And I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me most.” She glances down at his long legs that are stretched out, crossed at the ankles.

He’s shaking his head before she can even finish her sentence. He straightens, turning sideways to face her. “You were there for me.” He reaches for her face, brushing a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “Whether you realized it or not, you were.”

“You didn’t even get a single one of my letters the whole time you were in the hospital--”

Ever since she opened the front door and ran into his arms, he’s felt more at ease than he ever did in Indiana. Despite his mother’s best efforts, he felt unsettled, and this was the final piece he was missing. Even if he had showed up and she apologized and told him it was just a fling, just a wartime romance never destined to go anywhere, at least he would have known.

But this -- this has the potential to heal him in ways he didn’t know he needed.

“Listen to me,” he says, voice soft but firm. “The thought of you kept me going. It kept me alive, as far as I’m concerned.”

Her face is a picture. Those doe eyes, a little drier now, looking up at him like he’s hung the moon for her. Doesn’t she know that he thinks that about her, too? He realizes with startling clarity that it’s very possible she has no clue.

“I’m in this,” he gestures between them, “If you are. You owe me a dance, after all.”

She grins, laughs. “I thought you had two left feet.”

He shrugs. “Well, maybe now I’ve got an excuse to be bad at it.”

“I’m in this too. All in.” She whispers. Their faces are so close she could tilt her head only a fraction and close the gap between them.

They linger there, in that so-close-but-not-close-enough state of almost euphoria so long that Bill starts to wonder if he didn’t die on that godforsaken airfield, and this is all something his mind has made up.

But then she finally kisses him, and it’s just as sweet as the first time, and it sends all his senses kicking into overdrive, and it just confirms it: he’s home.

A/N: If you’re craving more of their post-war reunion, a few of those lines are directly from this fic, which has a little more of that scene included.

#softspeirs the pacific fanfiction #bill hoosier smith x oc #hoosier smith x oc #bill smith x oc #the pacific fanfiction #the pacific fanfic #me: writing for hoosier in 2024? more likely than you think!!!!

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bobfloydsbabe · 11 months

Text

illicit affairs | bob floyd x oc | mob boss au

roadside rescue

SUMMARY: Abby has a flat tire. Bob shows up to help.

WARNINGS: sexual tension, jealous bob (if you really really squint). strictly 18+/minors dni.

WORD COUNT: 0.7k

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A/N: Special thank you to @wkndwlff for this prompt. It's not the most exciting thing in this universe, but it was quick and easy to write. I hope to have a longer (and angstier) fic out later this week or early next week based on a prompt by @joaquinwhorres. Thank you for both of your help and enthusiasm.

She’s leaning against the side of her car, using a hand to shield her eyes from the baking San Diego sun when he arrives. Her hair is tied up in a loose bun and her dress is much more casual than what he’s used to seeing her in. It’s Sunday. She had asked for the day off.

He slams the car door behind him, closing the button on his suit jacket, and walks to her.

“I called Bradley,” she says when he’s in earshot.

“I know,” he replies, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, and stops in front of her. “He’s busy.” He wasn’t. In fact, Bradley had been sitting at the club with his forehead on a table nursing a hangover, when Abby called.

“So,” she says, arms crossed in front of her. “You came instead.”

He grins. “What?” He takes a step closer, crowding Abby against the side of her car just like he had in the parking garage a few weeks ago. “Think I can’t change a flat?”

“I’m sure you can.” She turns her head to the side, cheeks lightly flushed, fighting the smile forming on her face. “Wouldn’t want you to get your suit dirty, though.”

Chuckling, he leans closer, his nose grazing the skin of her jaw. “If it does, you can help me take it off.”

She sucks in a breath, and Bob doubts he will ever tire of hearing it. The air around them is sticky and thick, almost suffocating, but it has nothing to do with the heatwave raging through California right now. It’s her. She sets his every nerve ending on fire and she doesn’t even know it.

What he wouldn’t do to hear her chant his name.

He shakes the thought from his head and straightens his back. “Do you have a spare?”

She looks up at him with glossy dark eyes, lips slightly parted, a little dazed and confused. “Huh?”

He steps back, putting some necessary distance between them. “A spare tire?”

“Oh,” she whispers. Bob ignores the disappointed look in her eyes. “Yeah, in the trunk.”

He unbuttons his suit jacket, sliding it off his shoulders. Abby instinctively takes it from him to hold, and a wave of electricity courses through him when their hands touch. He holds her gaze for a split second before looking away, going around the back of the car to get the spare.

He feels her watching him as he works on getting the old tire off to replace with the new one. At some point, he rolls up his sleeves, and he swears he hears a groan escape her throat, but when he looks up at her, she’s smiling at her phone. He wonders who she’s texting and what they’re saying to make her smile like that.

“There,” he says eventually, wiping sweat from his brow, and rises from the ground. “You’re all set.”

He places the flat tire in her trunk and comes back to the side of her car. She’s not looking at him, eyes flitting around, shifting her weight.

“Thank you,” she mutters, her warm brown gaze still a world away from him, and he realizes he wants her to look. To see him, know him, feel him. He longs to map out the expanse of her skin, watch her writhe and whine beneath him, long dark hair splayed around her head like a halo.

It’s getting harder to hold back. His restraint is wearing thin.

Bob lifts a hand, putting his index finger under her chin, and turns her head so their eyes finally meet. The sun is in his eyes, but he’s sure her pupils are wide and wild. Leaning down, he places a featherlight kiss on her cheek, lips lingering there for a moment too long just so he can commit the feeling to memory. He’s drunk on her as he walks back to his own car in long strides, as the last threads of his determination unravel.

When she shows up to the office the next morning wearing his suit jacket, he knows there’s no going back.

likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are golden

TAGLIST: @joaquinwhorres, @yanna-banana, @bradshawsbitch, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @sylviebell, @wkndwlff, @rooster-84, @roosters-girl, @bradshawsbaby, @cdauni, @withahappyrefrain, @linkpk88, @thedroneranger, @cherrycola27, @lunamooncole, @purplevortexx, @hangmandruigandmav, @lorilane33, @desert-fern, @wittywhispers, @mikpieboo, @soulmates8, @teacupsandtopgun, @daisiesandinvasives, @f1maverick, @rhettabbotts, @himbos-on-ice, @callsign-barbell, @genius2050

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bokettochild · 1 month

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Febuwhump Day 25: (alt) "I Love You"

What's this? Day 25 when I haven't even posted previous days? Yes. Warriors was giving me brainrot and this thing sort of just spit itself out last night after a pot of coffee and rotting on my couch for hours.

Heads up, this story is set in the TBBU universe, so yes, we have an original character here: Sablya. My apologies if you hate OCs, she's actually pretty prominent in this story and yes, in a relationship with a Link, so DLDR if that bothers you at all <3

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 4,626

Summary: Hit with a dark curse, the boys must seek out a user of shadow magic in order to help them. Luckily for them, Warriors knows someone. Unluckily for him, it's his ex-wife.

There's a particular brand of hurt that comes from words.

Simple words, words that once meant something precious, can turn into a knife that wrenches at the heart, and even when they’re meant with love, with care, with every amount of innocence, they still have the ability to plunge deep and strike a vein, severing sanity in their wake.

Warriors knows this, has known this. Since his mother’s first “I’m proud of the man you’ve become” had sounded, the very day when he most dreaded speaking to her to admit what he’d done; what he’d done for her and the girls; he’s known that words full of love can cause pain.

Words spoken in ire, somehow, cause less.

Given the choice between the two, the captain doesn’t know what he wants to receive when he enters the house. With his brothers behind him, in need, struggling under the burden of a dark curse that’s wound its way, tight, about them, he knows the need to hurry, to not linger. There’s only person in all Hyrule who can assist them at this moment, but that doesn’t make facing her any easier than all the other times he’s dared to try and do so.

The very concept of courage, when he stands at the doors of his own house, is a dart of pain to his pride, given how he, the hero, lacks it so just to walk through a door.

Does he want the screams, the pain and tears, the agonized look in warm amber eyes, or does he want something warm that will pierce and burn at a heart still in pieces from when last he faced her? He’s not sure. He’s not sure which would hurt more. He’s not sure which would be easier to survive.

“Are we almost there?” The desperation that colors words that should be annoyed, should be spoken with that signature put upon tone that’s nearly permanent from their vet, only further drives how his own hesitation is itself causing harm. The boys are all dragging, all pained, but to add the pain of their newly acquired curse to pain that already made function a struggle- he needs to get the help, and soon.

“Just a bit further, vet, I promise.” He tries to sound confident, assuring, warm, but he falls short.

Castletown really does bring out the worst in him, doesn’t it? He can’t even manage to be a comfort to the others while they’re here.

Eyes follow their weary forms curiously, although some skirt away, wary of the eaten down men and boys, armed to the teeth and clearly desperate, although for what, it’s doubtful the townsfolk know. It's a sharp contrast to their usual warmth towards him in the wake of the war, but then again, his scarf is absent.

The blue fabric hangs from Twilight’s shoulders, supporting the weight of their smithy who, for reasons none can name, has been affected the most, and thus is worst off of all of them. In the wake of the wizzrobes attack, what must have been a week ago now, the smithy has been listless, fevered, and in enough agony that walking seems entirely outside of his ability for the moment.

They need only last a bit longer though. They wander the streets at his tail, the boys leaning on each other heavily. Some had taken worse to the dark spell, others are still coping, and some, like the vet, are pushing their every limit to keep going. Goddesses, he can’t afford to hesitate, not with the like this.

Still, when the door looms ahead of him, his feet stutter and falter all the same, and though likely, he could excuse it as the curse, he knows the reason his mouth goes dry and stomach lurches has nothing to do with magic at all.

“Cap?” Sky’s looking back at him, past the blonde head resting on his shoulder, the sailor likewise struggling to keep pace having resulted in the skyloftian offering aid. Concern shines in crystal eyes, and it takes more effort than he’s got in him to try to smile back.

“I’m fine.”

He doesn’t even care that they all clearly don’t believe him. None of them have it in them to call him out though, and honestly, he’s a little thankful for that as he forces his feet to move again.

“We’re here.”

His hand stalls at the door.

Hyrule knocks, dark eyes dim as they turn up to him, worry the only thing still shining in them.

Goddesses, he needs to get over himself. These boys need him, need him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and ask his wife for help. For them. For their sakes.

The door opens with a familiar creaking, and despite his every attempt to steal himself for it, the sight of her still makes his breath catch in his throat.

Sablya is not so afflicted, and for a terrible moment, he half thinks the door will fly shut in his face, only...

Only, Hyrule’s hand has caught onto him for support. Only, Four and Wind are hanging from their older brothers’ shoulders. Only, Legend is swaying on his feet, even with the support of a cane to keep him upright. Cold though she’s turned to him, Sablya’s always had a bleeding heart, and whatever hurts he’s caused won’t stop her from seeing kids in need of help.

“What do you want?”

“Help. Please.” It’s a struggle to meet her eyes, to hold her gaze knowing full well what he’ll find. For them though, he manages. “They’re cursed, it’s-”

“Dark magic,” the words roll, accented and thick, like a cold wave over him. The door creaks again, just like it did the last time he made it inside; has she not had it fixed? “Come. Enter.”

With what strength he can muster, he scoops the traveler up and into the house, passing her by even as she darts towards the rest, offering a weak smile and steady hands to guide the rest inside. He doesn’t watch, even though he wants to, wants to see her warmth, even if it’s not turned on him. He doesn’t though, he pushes down the narrow hall and into the main room, and there he stops.

It’s almost like he never left.

There are no toys scattered on the floor, but the box still remains, tucked in one corner. Pictures, books, all the same, have only moved as much as needed for cleaning. The furniture is still in its place and muscle memory urges him to wind around it to his own chair before the fire.

He doesn’t. He settles Hyrule down on the couch, soothing curly hair absently, thoughtlessly, before dragging his aching body back towards the door. He passes her on the way, Wild curled in her arms. They don’t exchange even a look, but his heart still stutters at the ease she carries the younger hero, the familiar worried crease between her brows.

Twilight and Sky are the least effected so far, and they follow behind his wife, bringing the smallest two after. Time though is struggling, and while the weight of him is different from only a year ago, it still feels natural somehow to loop an arm over his shoulders and whisper encouragement to the man as they follow Legend’s limping figure into the house.

“Armor off,” is the order once they’ve made it in, door shut and the group of them gathered in the family room. It’s cramped, for ten people, but at least with the furniture as it is, but it doesn’t matter. “Tell me what happened.”

She’s already looking over Wind, dark hands cradling his ashen face like she used to with their son when he’d fallen and give himself a bloody nose or some other such injury.

“A curse,” Legend explains. “It was a wizzrobe. Don’t know what kind.” His breath is short, even as he’s crumpled down to sit at Hyrule’s feet, head leant against the couch arm. “None of our magic is any good and it’s- it’s affecting us physically as well.”

Amber eyes fall to stare at the lad, brows kitting together again. “How so?”

“Shortness of breath-” as though it wasn’t apparent “-pain-”

“Where?”

A shudder. “Everywhere.”

Her skirts rustle as she sinks down to be level with the scholar, hand lifted. “Where is it worst?”

Pink hair flies. “It’s not like that.”

“Explain then.” Her tone is soft, but firm.

Legend explains. He explains with words Warriors has seen in books on magic, but which he doesn’t know for himself. Sablya understands though, despite her hylian apparently still not being strong, and with prompting and feedback from the vet, she seems to get an idea of what it is that’s plaguing them. In the meantime, he leans at the couch’s back, hands mindlessly sinking to stroke curly heads and assure, as best he can, his little brothers.

“I think I understand,” the words have relief flooding over them, some of the boys even shedding a tear or two at the sound, “may I try something?”

“Go nuts.” Legend answers through a weary, pained smile.

It startles them, he supposes, to see the way darkness coalesces at her command, but when her hand rests against the vet’s chest, her voice low with the command to match his breath to her own, he sees tension bleed from the lad’s shoulders, resulting in something like a soft sob.

“Got it.” She moves to Wind next, although she orders, again, for the rest to remove their armor. “I cannot help you if there is a barrier. Take off the armor, I will help the children.”

It’s a struggle, in their weakened state, to get it off. Getting it on had been the same, but the risk of going without was too high considering the condition they’ve been in. It takes them all helping, or at least, those who wear it help each other, the vet’s hands joining after he sees to catch a breath.

Wind sags in relief when dark hands lift from him, and the vet moves to his side, gathering the younger up and waiting until Sablya has finished with Hyrule as well before pullng the traveler close as well. Both lads sink into him, nestling together, no longer in pain but fully drained from it’s effects.

Four is next, and then, because it is Twilight beside him, she quickly attends the rancher, although it’s only a second before she’s done. For reasons they can’t be certain of, but which the scholar had speculated might be in relation to magic exposure, the ranch hand had been least affected. While there’s still a sag to his shoulders as the hands of the captain’s wife lift from him, it’s not so much as to stop him pulling Four close with a soft hum, supporting the weight of the slumbering hero while their savior moves on to Wild next.

He tries not to watch, he does. He can’t help it though. He's missed her, even if thoughts of returning here have left him ill at ease and fumbling for ages. He can almost pretend, as he watches her drift between his brothers, that nothing happened. He’s home, she’s there, and save the lacking presence of a small child running about at their feet or tucked onto a hip or against a chest, it’s almost like nothing ever happened.

When all eight of the other heroes have been tended, she pauses. He sees her eyes drift to him, has to drop his gaze when it does, but she doesn’t step his way with that brisk step, with the determination that was turned on the rest. No, she lingers a moment.

“There are rooms upstairs. You are welcome to rest there.”

“Are you sure?” Twilight’s the only one with it left in him to speak, but the wide eyed stares of the rest convey their doubt and wariness.

Red hair swings free with her nod, drifting from where she’d hurriedly tucked it back while tending them. “You are guests, and you need rest. The children need to sleep, you all do, if you want to recover.”

“Thank you.”

“It is nothing.” Her smile is tight. “Please, make yourselves at home.”

Eyes turn to him, but he nods. He motions them along and, while the weight of magic still hangs from his shoulders, wrapping tight and making everything a pain, he just motions towards the doorway. “Stairs are at the end of the hall. Take any room that isn’t the first one on the right.”

The rancher’s brows raise, and the stares of the rest turn confused, but neither he nor his wife give answer. No, instead, she scoops Wind into her arms and, with a warning look nobody would dare disobey, not even Mask, she orders the rest of the younger boys to stay put.

“No straining yourself. I will get you.”

Such orders are not turned to Twilight and Sky, and the two men follow her out of the room, Four and Hyrule in their arms to be settled down. Usually, he’d demand they eat something before turning in for the night, but between the nausea and the exhaustion, he sees no reason to even try and suggest it. They need their sleep. They can eat when they don’t feel near ready to drop.

His wife is back a minute or so later, sweeping past him to gather Legend, only to be redirected to their champion. “I can last,” the teen vet assures, “get him first.”

She tuts at that, but listens. She doesn’t fight it, likely because she’s learned through experience with him that it’s pointless. It's only a short while later though that she’s back for the vet, and by then Time has mustered the strength to stand and follow.

Briefly, on his way out, their leader’s good eye falls on him, silent question hanging heavy, but he just grips the shoulder of the other in assurance. “I’ll be fine, just go rest.”

“Who is-”

“Someone we can trust,” and they are words that, from him at least, the others have all learned are never spoken lightly, can themselves be trusted. “Just go, sap. She and I need to talk anyway.”

There’s lingering curiosity there, but Time obeys. The man is too worn down, too tired from the last week, to likely even last through the long mess that would be answering all his questions. Time heads from the room, and while the house is a sturdy one, steps are heard overhead soon enough, signifying the motions of the boys to the rooms kept ready, at least while this house was still his home, for the presence of sisters, friends, and visiting family.

It leaves him alone.

Alone in a familiar room that’s his, but which feels wrong to linger in. The urge to wander, to stare, to take in the husk of the past, battles with the intense guilt of intrusion that he feels, even in his own home. Does he stay, waiting about for her to return? Does he wander freely, go where he will? He’s not been back since his first day returned from the war, and even then, he never made it past the hall. Is he okay to go to the kitchen and brew some tea for what will, no doubt, end up being a very tense night? Is he even allowed upstairs into their bedroom? Is he sleeping down here? With one of the boys?

He drags a hand through his hair and, for lack of anything better to do with himself, sits on the couch. Here, he’s least likely to cross the boundaries he can’t see, and here is where she’s most likely to look for him once she’s satisfied that young heroes are safely abed and no longer suffering.

Briefly, he hears steps pass. Briefly, he hears the familiar clatter in the kitchen. For a moment, the steps creak, skirts swishing up them with the brisque pace she always sets when worried or tense. It’s a moment later when the same sounds return again, getting louder as she returns to the main floor. She’s stalling, he thinks. Tending her guests by providing medicine for pain, blankets for warmth, and no doubt water for drinking and washing both. He’s glad the boys will have it, but every time her feet pass by the door, he finds himself tensing, panicking for a moment that now is the time he has to face her, and now he won’t have them here to act as a distraction for either of them. She just heads back up though, and he’s breathing in relief only to sigh it all out again in frustration with himself.

He needs to man up. She’s his wife for the love of Hylia! Yet even so, facing her is as daunting as walking up to face Cia, although his reasons are different. Against Cia, he was afraid for himself, afraid of her. Against Sablya, he’s afraid to shatter further what’s already so broken, afraid that somehow, he will cross the line of no return. It's not about failing with her, it’s the fact that he already has, and the question of how much worse he’ll make it.

“Your breath is bad enough, do not make it worse with a panic.”

Despite her words, his breath catches in his throat at the sound of her voice.

Her feet tap on the floor as she walks, but there’s a certain hesitance to each step. There's not the usual confidence in her pace, even if she crosses the room at the same speed as she would any other time, as she did just moments before when tending their guests. He risks a glance when the steps stop, and she’s standing in the middle of the room, facing him. He can’t manage to meet her eyes though.

“Armor off, I said. How do I fix the curse if you have it on?” She clucks her tongue, hands settling on her hips and, no doubt, golden eyes are staring down at him. He can feel their weight, but he can’t meet them. “Tch, come now, will you make this hard?”

The urge to remind her that the phrase in Hylian is “being difficult” rises in his mind, but he doesn’t say it. If anything, her attempts at the language are still endearing, even if her tongue is sharp as she says them.

He shifts, moving to shed the offensive attire. He’d forgotten, in the midst of aiding Time with removing his plate, that the mail he wears like a second skin these days was still on him. It’s heavy, yes, but it’s also familiar and grounding after so long wearing it for every waking moment. It’s almost a part of him these days, and shedding it is strange.

It’s strange to be without.

It’s strange having her eyes on him while he does so, even despite the fact that they’re married, that she’s seen him with much, much less. It’s different now though. They’re different. They haven’t been the young, happy couple- the one that stares back from pictures around the room; that smiles, arms around each other- in a very long time. Not since the war started.

He fumbles. Between the uncertainty and the curse that still lingers over him, his hands struggle with the buckles, the straps, never mind getting at the chain mail beneath it all. His hands tremble worse than normal, and even when he stops to master his breath, to try and calm himself, it only makes it worse.

Sablya clucks her tongue at him, and he can hear her hair swish over her shoulders with the shaking of her head, even as her feet tap across the distance between them. She’s moving closer, but that doesn’t change the fact that when she reaches out, hands brushing his arm, he still surges back.

She’s not Cia, she’s not, she’s nothing like. Still, he didn’t expect the contact, the hands, and all over again he must fight to re-steady his breath.

“You will not do this. You are weak; struggling.” He needs help, he hears, and his heart bleeds for it. Despite all, this woman will still stand there and offer aid, after everything he’s put her through, made her lose, all the hurt he’s brought to her life. “Let me.” She sighs.

So, he does. He drops his hands and only moves as she tells him, lifting his arm to let her get at the buckles beneath. In the back of his mind, a memory of her strapping those buckles herself, helping him gird himself for departure, for the war, plays in his head. Then, as now, her eyes had held a certain determination, one mixing with a sadness she refused to speak aloud.

“How you do these things to yourself, I do not know.” She murmurs. It’s not addressed to him specifically as far as he can tell, but he can’t help wincing at it anyway.

Does he answer? Apologize? Does he laugh it off as he might once have done to try and earn one of those wry smiles she would turn on him when they were young? Gods, he speaks like a man long aged, but the years spent courting, teasing, laughing and cheerful, they seem a lifetime ago.

Her hands are steady as they work the buckles, pulling belts free and finally lifting his pauldron away. He doesn’t need the help with his vambraces as badly, but she still moves on to them; his arm rested on her knees as she settles beside him, knee brushing his own and skirts folding over to drape over his legs as well as her own. She doesn’t move, he’s not sure if she notices, but he does. He can’t help but notice.

“Thank you.” He still can’t meet her eyes, and he doubts they will lift from where they work at leather straps. His own linger on her hands, moving deftly through their work. “For helping them.”

“It is the right thing.” She states simply, pulling free the vambrace and reaching for his other hand. She catches him by the wrist, grip fleeting, gone the moment he is where she wants him. “They do not deserve to suffer.”

He, who still sits with the curse heavy on him, perhaps does.

“They are heroes?”

He nods. She would know. He’s not sure how, but this woman isn’t the sort he could hide anything from, not ever. “Across time, yes.”

A nod, sharp. Her eyes remain lowered, but long hair falls over them. The urge to push it back, tuck it behind her ear, wells up within, but he stomps it down again. Chances are, she would welcome his touch as freely as he had hers just moments before, and the risk of it, of her potential rejection... he’s too much a coward to face it.

Silence hangs heavy between them as she removes the vambrace, setting it aside before moving, without stuttering, for his belt. It makes him pause, but he allows it. Lets her work the buckle of the baldric, his great belt, pulling them free and lying them aside. She’s methodic as she moves to aid him with his over tunic, and he lets her pull it free, shifting as he must to accommodate.

The mail is so much harder. He has to stand for that, and she follows after, both working to lift it free in an awkward tangle that would, at one time, have made them laugh together, at each other, at themselves. He would, maybe, have joked something, he can’t remember what, but he can’t. Words catch in his throat with her standing oh so close, determined stare fixed on him, on getting him free from the heavy shirt, and despite all else changing, the way she makes him breathless has not. At last though, it is free, and he’s standing there, defenseless, unarmed, unguarded, before piercing eyes that linger for a moment, hands that, by habit, smooth the shoulders of his shirt before starting away.

He wants to say something. Wants a word to come to him, to pierce the silence that hangs heavy between them. Nothing comes to mind though, only the urge to apologize, again, and again after, for everything. For himself, for his failures, for...until she tells him to stop.

“Sit.” She huffs, pushing back against him with the hand not holding his shed armor. “I will put it away.”

He obeys, sinking back onto the couch, now without the weight the mail brings to weigh him down. Somehow, he feels heavier without it.

She doesn’t take long with the armor. Really, it’s a matter of moving across the room to set it down beside everyone else’s; a mess for the morning once they’ve got the energy and strength to tackle it, or, more likely, do it again to depart and return to their work. He can’t imagine them being welcome past what’s necessary for them to recover, and his house or no, it’s hers as well. He doesn’t want her stuck with them just because they need somewhere to rest, not when the castle isn’t far at all, and he has rooms there already.

Her steps are slow this time as she returns, motions more hesitant as she reclaims the seat at his side. She’s more conscious, he thinks, of how she settles herself, and there is no brushing against each other save as is necessary; only her hand settling over his chest. Her breath is slow, controlled, but it trembles slightly. “Match me.”

It’s hard. It’s so hard. She’s leaning so close, all dark eyes and long lashes and fine features he could look at for an eternity. The slope of her nose, her cheeks, the way red hair curls so softly at the ends to caress dappled skin, the spots of pale flesh interspersed over the dark, it’s got his full focus, and his breath catches repeatedly for it.

“Focus.” She hisses, wincing the words, hand lifting for a moment from where it presses, warm, against his chest.

He tries.

Her chest swells, shoulders tensing, and he draws breath in. Her hair flutters, drawn lines loosening, and he exhales. In and out, matching to her and feeling the familiar weight of her magic ease around him, slipping beneath the curse’s bonds and lifting free, like a small blade cutting away awry stitching, working slowly, pulling, lifting and prying until the weight of it is gone and he’s left sagging back into the cushions, breath heavy despite no effort being required on his part.

Her hands slips away, dragging slightly over fabric.

He should say something.

“You are fixed. Rest now.” She doesn’t say his name. She won’t, he thinks, and golden eyes dart away as she stands, brushing hands down her skirt and moving for the stairs.

He should say something.

“Goodnight.” She says to the darkness in the hall, tone clipped, yet hesitant before she slips away.

His gaze is trapped on the walls, unable to turn to follow her. He needs to answer.

Her feet tap away.

“I love you.”

A stumble, a hitching of breath and then- the creak of the steps, the swish of a skirt, hands that fall heavy on the banister and then a shutting door.

Blonde hair hits the old couch, worn hands dragging through. The weight of the curse was almost better than that of the silence that answers his treacherous words. Words hurt, those that love, but silence pierces ever sharper in answer to them, and devested of his armor, he is but a man before it’s blow.

#sablya #lu warriors #linked universe #linkeduniverse #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump #don't come for me #writing this was a fever dream #they are in control #i cannot control the warriors #or apparently sablya #link x oc

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guess-that-ship · 4 months

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Guess That Ship Tournament Season 9: Submissions CLOSED!

Submission Guidelines

*For the purpose of this tournament, relationships do not have to be romantic in nature. I’m sometimes going to use “ship” as a shorthand, just know I mean “relationships” in general.

Relationship can be between any number of characters.

Real people are accepted if they’ve been dead for more than 100 years.

Roleplay characters are accepted as long as the description only pertains to the characters and not the players.

OCs are accepted.

Two submission per person. (I cannot enforce this on Google Forms without forcing you to log in. So just be champs and respect this rule.)

Failure to follow these guidelines may result in all of your submissions being disqualified for this season.

Summary Guidelines

Keep it concise, but also bring something unique to the table. Make sure to describe their relationship, not just summarize the events of the story.

Descriptions should be based on canon, not headcanon. (e.g. You can say “they love each other” instead of “they’re lovers” if their romantic nature is debatable.)

Avoid author commentary. (e.g. "They're canonically x," "I love them," "Play/watch/read this," etc.)

Use canonical pronouns.

Avoid identifying information or setting specific giveaways. (i.e. Ninja village, space necromancers.)

When submitting OCs, please make sure to at least put a name somewhere. (e.g. "John and Bob by anonymous" or "OCs by Joey.")

The more popular your ship is the more vague the description should be.

Exclusions

Any submissions from Harry Potter will also not be included.

Notes

I will not vet the ships/pairings for problematic content.

If you participate in this tournament, know that you run the risk of unintentionally voting for your nOTP. The mod does not take any responsibility for any distress that may cause you.

Submit your ship here! Submissions will be open until Monday, January 8th at 3 PM EST.

Please reblog this post to spread the word! The more submissions, the better!

#tournament poll #submission call #tumblr tournament #s9

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lowkeyrobin · 2 months

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hi hi!! 🦕 back once again!! i just love your writing :) could i get somethin where the reader is in their first mcc and their cheerleader (can’t decide on who from the cricket crew, surprise me!!) is cheering them on either from the sidelines, they’re on the same team, or on opposite teams and their cheerleader is purposely throwing to increase readers chances of winning pretty please 🦕

(also, yes, 🦕 anon)

(also sorry for request spamming)

omg no dw ab req spamming at all! and welcome to the family 🦕 anon! thank you so much for the compliment <3 ; and I love love love this prompt, hope u enjoy !!! i mixed ur req up a little bc I had to do Freddie bc he's so fucking underrated (and I'm carrying the badlinu fanfiction atm so yk) and I also wanted to include a little friendship bit w tommy, tubbo & billzo and also include freddie 💪💪 (if anyone's interested I do have a badlinu x enby oc fanfic on my wattpad [lowkeyrobin] so hehehhw)

FREDDIE BADLINU ; MCC cheerleader

summary ; freddie, although not playing in MCC, cheers you on from the sidelines while you're paired with Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo. The three also throw you some extra chances to win for the group, considering last MCC went horrible for you, and they want you to actually have fun this time!

warnings ; language, fake noxcrew drama/hate, maybe me forgetting how mcc works...

word count ; 1.5k

masterlist

Freddie sits next to you, helping you set up before you start your stream. He sets your famous y/f/c water bottle on your desk and sets some small snacks down as well, paired with a sandwich and chips.

You focus on your monitors before starting your stream with the Starting Soon screen, deciding to start earlier than everyone to just chat and then hop into MCC when your teammates join the VC. You talk with Freddie for a moment, making sure you both had snacks, water, and were comfortable in your current clothes. You begin your stream, screaming as the starting soon screen fades out, revealing you two being loud and waving hello.

"Hi chat! I'm starting before everyone else just to talk and eat for a minute!"

"And I'm here!"

"No one cares about you, Freddie!"

"Jesus, okay"

After talking for a solid half hour and eating your sandwich, and interacting with chat, your teammates began to spill into the VC.

"What the fuck is up, Pink Penises!?" Tommy screams as he joins the voice call, being the last to join.

"Jesus fucking Christ, man! Turn your volume down!" You shout, quickly removing your headphones after cringing from the ear-splitting screaming.

"Bitch, you turn your volume down!-" Tommy shouts back, cutting himself off as he hears Molly in the other room yelling at him to quiet down some, as she was trying to watch a movie. "Nevermind, I'll turn my volume down..."

You, Tubbo and Ranboo laugh, and you hop onto the MCC server, making a remark about how this would be your last MCC if you got treated like shit again. Freddie puts his earbuds in and plugs them into his phone, joining the voice chat so he could hear his friends.

"Wait, no, I remember that they said it was because you were blindly following people and you lost fair and square but when I rewatched the clip the arrows never popped up for you!" Tubbo exclaims, recalling one of the moments during Ace Race from your last MCC.

"Yes, dude!" You exclaim, meeting up with the three and crouch-greeting Quackity and Niki, who were with the Olive Ocelots with Punz and Foolish. "You can literally see frame by frame, not once did the arrows appear. It wasn't even a glitch just on my end, they just didn't show up and I dunno how! Even Sapnap defended me because they didn't show up for him either! It stopped the whole thing for 10 minutes and they still wouldn't hear me out, I just wanted to clear my name!"

"They literally said it was your fault meanwhile it was a problem on their end. The whole fucking Ace Race and Hole In The Wall were stolen from you, dude" Tommy nods, going in 3rd person to show off your matching, recolored pink skins, "Funny how the two you trained hardest for, you came in last for due to "your computer lagging/glitching and how it isn't their fault"

"I'm not even mad about it, it's the fact they kept blaming me when it's not my fault that their dumbass texture packs kept breaking" You complain, "Anyways, hopefully this goes a bit better" You lightly smile, feeling Freddie pat your shoulder. "Tommy, look at your shirt in front 3rd"

Tommy switches his pov to 3rd person front, seeing the whole front of his shirt had a large, pink penis on it, thanks to you designing the recolored skin. "You're so fucked up!" He laughs

"I'm the best, I know, I know"

Hole In The Wall had begun, Freddie being your sensei as he sat beside you, shouting out directions and strategic moves for you.

"Go to the left! Left, left, left!"

"On the right, quick, quick!"

"Dude, you got fifth! I'm so proud of you!"

Parkour Tag was next, and Freddie was being your eyes while you focused on being away from everyone else.

"Sapnap is it! He's right behind you, go up the left side!"

"How do I make that jump? That's fucking impossible"

"Crouch at the edge of that, sprint and jump, aim for the closest one, you have to go straight then like curve it"

"Oh my God, fuck yeah! See! You did it!"

"Just spam space, trust me!"

Bingo But Fast was never your strong suit so you let Freddie take a break, letting your teammates try and win that one for you. No way in hell you were gonna be able to find slime balls or an iron axe. Freddie stream sniped Ranboo, seeing their card was similar to yours, not even knowing where to find half the stuff on the map.

"Some others are lost too, they loaded the wrong map I think, you can't get some of this stuff at all on this one"

"Noxcrew..." You put on your best Batman impression, staring into your camera, "When I find you, Noxcrew, when I find you!"

Of course, all the training for Ace Race didn't go to waste, and with Freddie becoming your actual cheerleader, chanting and all, you'd ended up coming in second place.

Sky Battle was hell, and it was basically only you and Tommy after Tubbo got himself nearly insta-killed and Ranboo made the bad idea to try and take on Philza.

The rest of MCC remained with the pink haired boy behind you acting as your cheerleader and helping you out a bit. But, he also made sure you were drinking enough water and weren't getting too stressed out or getting a little gamer raged, considering it wouldn't be good for your mental health.

"Drink the damn water, you're screaming your voice away"

"Nuh uh" You say as you chug down at least half of the refilled bottle.

As Dodgebolt came around, you and the rest of your team were stressed. You had to win against the Olive Ocelots, because a little Twitter drama happened due to your big mouth shit talking Ranboo for the bit. You really just didn't wanna pay them a hundred dollars today, not after that shit loss in Sands Of Time. You swore the other teams were playing shit over the fiasco of last MCC, but Tommy, Tubbo, Freddie and Ranboo all agreed that you were just fucking cracked at Minecraft this afternoon.

Over the course of the stream, Freddie had stolen some sunglasses for you, a Valentines Day stream prop, and had been wearing them for nearly an hour, and he, in boredom, found a pink sharpie and used it to draw a giant dick on your forehead. Tubbo did the same with a washable marker he had laying around, and you guys started a little cult in between games, trying to summon Ranboo and Tommy into it.

You turn around to Freddie, apparently your coach now, "What do you say, Coach?" You ask him, referencing every football movie ever.

"Center left-field, defense on right" He answers.

"What?- Dude, MCC, not American football!" Tubbo exclaims, jumping all over your screen as to speak to Freddie.

The two of you laugh, and you turn back to him. "What's the plan, who should I aim for, Fred?"

"Okay, I think Tommy should go for Foolish because it's a little obvious, and make sure you're the first out! Ranboo and Tubbo could go for either Niki or Punz, and leave Y/n for Quackity. Leave it obvious the first round but totally mix up the strategy"

"Hear that, Tommy? Be quick, shithead"

"I got it, I got it"

The first to three of five wins, and sadly, it wasn't Pink Penises, although it would've been a win to remember.

Freddie stands up and wraps you in a hug anyways, whispering compliments into your ear as you smile.

"Much more fun than last time, yeah?"

You nod.

"We got fuckin second?" Tommy looks almost shocked, not realizing you'd lost the final round.

"We got second place! Hell yeah!" Tubbo smiles, throwing his hands in the air

"Second is the first losers, Tubbo!" Tommy shouts

"Shut up Tommy, you're just a sore second place winner because Y/n carried the whole team, take the L" Ranboo remarks with a smug look, seeing you and Freddie cheering yourself on and dancing over the video call.

After the group had muted and calmed down some, you turn to Freddie and hug him. He warmly accepts the gesture, seeing you a little teary eyed.

"Thanks for being my coach, man, I'm gonna miss you"

He catches onto the bit, sniffling as he nods, "You'll always be a star, don't stop dreaming, man"

You guys dramatically hug again, wailing and sobbing as you do so.

"Why the fuck are they wailing?"

"I swear to God, do you not use your ears?"

"I just undefaned to say goodbye!"

"Use your psychopathic powers, Tommy"

"What!?"

"That's psychological, Tubbo"

"Psychology powers, use them!"

"I'm leaving, fuck all of you and fuck you Ranboo for losing the last round"

"That wasn't even my faul- He's gone"

"I've never watched an American football movie, should I?" Tubbo asks.

You and Freddie quickly turn to your setup, shouting in unison.

"Nope!"

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