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of-many-fandomss · 2 days

Note

Three times Charles or Max pined for you and the one time they finally did something about it?

Puppy

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: slight cursing

A/N: please don’t judge this, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve written anything

Word count: 1.4k

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Charles? Mr. Leclerc?”

It wasn’t the voice that roused the driver from being trapped in a loop of thoughts within his own mind, it was the gentle but firm nudge against his arm.

His head snapped to the side, his eyebrows up and eyes slightly wide, “Huh?” He breathed out in confusion.

Carlos smirked a bit at his frazzled teammate, “They’re talking to you.”

Charles’s gaze finally floated to the ground below the stage he was sitting upon, where people were sitting in a line, looking up at him expectantly.

He shook his head slightly, lifting his microphone off of his lap and lifting it to his lips, “Sorry, what was that?”

The man that had been asking the question for the press conference looked slightly annoyed, but repeated his question anyway.

Leclerc gave a short answer before his gaze drifted back to the place it had previously been resting, to the person standing in the very back in the crowd, somehow in the middle of a light that made it very easy for his eyes to lock onto.

You, however, were not returning his gaze. Your head was down as you furiously typed away at your tablet, eyebrows furrowed slightly in concentration and as oblivious to the piece of hair that had fallen in front of your face as you were of the formula one driver's stare.

“You’re staring again, mate.” Carlos’s voice floated into his ear in a low murmur as he directed his microphone away from him so as to not pick up on their quiet conversation as the crowd continued without paying them any mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was a pathetic lie, and they both knew it. Especially since he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes off of you long enough to even look at Sainz.

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips and he snickered, “Like a little lost puppy,” He mused.

That was able to finally bring Charles’s eyes away from you and to his teammate, blue orbs narrowing slightly, “Shut it,” Annoyance sat in his tone, though he didn’t bother even trying to deny anything.

Without even looking at you, it was as if the man could sense your movement and turned back to you just in time for you to look up from your device, your eyes locking with his.

“Smile,” You mouthed, knowing very well as his pr that any bad media pictures would not be fun to clean up in the morning.

He did so without hesitation, allowing his face to soften so he didn’t look as stoic as he had when he was addressing Carlos.

You smiled at him in gratitude before returning your gaze to the work you had been previously doing.

“Puppy dog,” This time, when Carlos whispered in a sing-song voice, Charles only allowed his smile to widen.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Here,” Charles’s voice was a soft murmur as he all but materialized beside you.

You glanced to his face then to the flute of champagne in his outstretched hand and took it eagerly, imminently taking a generous sip, “Was it that obvious that I needed it?”

He smiled softly, eyes trained on you as you scanned the crowded room of the charity event that the company had all of the current formula one drivers at currently, “I could sense it.”

It wasn’t any secret that this was one of the most important- and therefore stressful- nights of the season so far for you. Not only were you responsible for making sure that Leclerc looked good in the eyes of the public, but your bosses had enlisted in your help with doing the same for all of the other nineteen drivers.

Apparently you had done such an excellent job with Charles that they wanted to place you in charge of this night. You were never one to turn down new opportunities, no matter how much stress you knew it would bring.

Charles, bless him, had remained by your side for almost the entirety of the night so far, remaining like an anchor to your sanity.

From replacing Lando’s drinks with water to having to pull Daniel away from jumping onto a table, the man had helped you with every task without question nor complaint.

“You’ve been such a big help tonight,” You met the drivers gaze, your eyes wide and full of complete gratitude, “Thank you so much for all of this.”

He waved you off, “I don’t mind,” He told you honestly.

A sigh left your lips, “But you should be enjoying yourself-“

“I am.” Charles insisted earnestly, “This is fun.”

You laughed, “Fun?”

“Fun.” He echoed, subconsciously, moving a strand of hair that had fallen into your face without even thinking about it.

Your smile softened as you looked up at him, something flickering in his eyes so fast that you almost missed it. What it was, you didn’t know.

“Thank you,” You spoke again, your voice soft and full of emotion.

Charles just smiled, never once tearing his eyes away from your face.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“What’s all of this?” Your lips were parted as you spun in place to look around the room, eyes wide.

“Happy birthday!” Carlos cheered excitedly, bounding across the room full of the Ferrari team until he was right in front of you, sweeping you up into his arms in a bone crushing embrace.

“You did all of this?” You gawked up at him when he finally set you down.

“I helped,” He admitted before a large, cheesy grin overtook his features and he waggled his eyebrows up and down, “You’ll never guess who set this all up, though.” His voice was light and teasing.

Your heart swelled in your chest, “Charles,”

As if summoned by the sound of his name falling softly off of your lips, he appeared from within the crowd of red and yellow, joy alight on his features.

“Happy birthday,” He whispered softly as he came to stand by your side, ignoring the smirk Carlos sent him as he slipped away, giving you two some privacy.

The beam that he was met with was as bright as the sun, “Thank you, for all of this. Seriously.”

“There’s no need to thank me.” He smiled, “You do so much for me, this is the least I can do.”

Without thinking much of it, you pushed yourself onto your toes and left a lingering kiss on the man’s cheek, not even noticing his face go red nor his eyes go wide.

“Well, thank you anyway.” You spoke softly when you lowered yourself back to the ground.

“Who wants cake?” Landos voice boomed through the small room, interrupting Charles right as he opened his mouth to say something.

You joined everyone else in your cheers of response, excitedly taking Leclerc's hand in yours and pulling him towards the dessert table.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“I’m so proud of you,” You lolled your head to the side as you spoke, voice full of nothing but complete confidence and honesty.

Charles shook his head softly from the cushions beside you, “I didn’t get pole position.” Defeat crept into his tone.

“No,” You admitted, “But you got p2. Which is pretty damn close.”

“I-“ He opens his mouth to argue more.

You cut him off by firmly grabbing his hand in your own, angling your body to face him, “None of that.” You spoke strictly, catching onto his gaze being locked in your intertwined hands, “You raced amazing and did the absolute best you could.” You squeezed his hand, “I’m proud of you.”

His eyes flickered up to yours, staring into them for a moment as the briefest look of hesitation overcame his features.

Before you could even begin to question it, however, the man seemed to take a quick breath to muster confidence, before leaning in and connecting his lips with yours.

Your eyes widened briefly- for no more than a split second- and just as he went to pull away, you dove forward, capturing his lips in yours once more.

Before the kiss could deepen too much, you both pulled away slightly to catch your breaths, “I’ve been waiting a very long time to do that.” Charles admitted breathlessly.

You grinned up at him in response, “I’m glad you finally did it.”

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 2 days

Text

Reminder; Don't Forget

(Scrap)

❥Park Seonghwa x fem reader

➯a/n: i want park seonghwa to be mean to me while wearing a tank top, that is all ➯a/n: i'm going to start posting drafts that haven't been touched in over a month so they don't just collect dust, enjoy ya filthy animals

✃ "You need a reminder of who's good girl you are."

✫彡wordcount: 2.7k

(>ᴗ•)♡´･ᴗ･`♡genre: YANDERE SMUT (hinted mafia/crime au)

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: THIS IS A DARK FICTION. EMPHASIS ON DARK FICTION. i do no condone pretty much anything seonghwa does in this fanfic. this is very dark, the darkest i've gone so if you are uncomfortable with that check out something else. we have here: dark/yandere/savior complex hwa, degrading, unsafe physical restraint, choking, destruction of personal property, shaming, dubcon, extremely possessive behavior, some ddlg themes, slapping, praise, yelling, captivity, crying, knifes thrown at reader as a punishment(none hit!!), threats of violence, manipulation, mind break, hair pulling, mention of edging, face humping, throat fucking, messy bj, not proof read

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

"Did you forget your place, hm? It certainly seems like it, acting like a slut when you're mine!" His grip on your neck tightens, a chuckle leaving his furled lips as you grab at his tank top desperately trying to force out apologies through the pressure he puts on your wind pipes. "What, you can't even say that you're sorry? Another's man's number in your phone and you can't tell me you're sorry?"

Oh he's evil, he loves to see you squirm. And squirm you do: pushing against his heavy weight on your hips and clawing at his arm as your lungs beg for air.

He lets go, arms crossing his chest as he leans back nonchalantly, every bit of his weight in your lap as you heave. "Hwa-seong...Hwa, I'm s-sorry! I thought, thought, it'd be okay hes just a f-friend-"

"You thought," he laughs cruelly, "are you even capable of that? Dumb little girl," he slaps your jaw, lightly, but it still makes you face the wall with a look of defeat.

"I think for you, is that clear?" You nod, tear stained cheeks gleaming in the light.

"Hey, am I clear?" he shouts this time, making you jump.

"Yes! Yes, Hwa, clear..."

"There's my good girl—" He brushes back your hair, cooing as you lean away, "you're the prettiest girl I ever laid my eyes on, and you think men don't see that? You think they're blind? Or are you really just that naiive, pretty baby?" His cool finger tips trail down to the blooming bruise on your neck, pressing softly to make you whine. "Give me your phone."

He's up and off your body in a second flat, letting you catch your breath as you slowly manage to pull yourself to your knees. He doesn't press you to hurry or yell, he doesn't do anything but sit back in the bean bag chair he gifted you for previously good behavior and watch you like a hawk. His legs spread and hands on his knees, resisting the urge to snatch you up. When you turn and see him on the other side of the room, you simply outstretch your arm with the old prepaid phone he provided you with a few weeks ago. "Bring it here," he commands lowly, eyes tracking your every move as you slowly move towards him on your knees- having no energy to stand.

He spreads his legs further, a silent instruction. You slot yourself between them and hold the phone to him tentative, shoulders relaxing as he takes it. "Thank you, beautiful. See, isn't it easy when you listen to me?" He unlocked the phone quickly, eyes flicking to you darkly when you go to take it back. "Got something to hide?" You shake your head, looking down as he takes your hands and places them on each of his thighs. "Don't move."

So you don't, simply breathing deeply to replenish your abused lungs while he combs through your phone with a fine toothed comb. You know you haven't done anything truly wrong, but it seems like he has different definitions to you.

"Good girl..." He whispers to himself as he sees the message of you shooting down the idea your friend tried to corrupt you with, to go out without him. "Stupid, but good..." He continues as he reads through every message with the phone number of the man. He monitors everything you do, it was only a matter of time before he got around to checking all of the numbers in your phone and their owners.

"Aw, you really are just naiive, huh? My poor little angel. Cant even tell when someone's trying to take you away from me-" He tuts his tongue, setting the phone down on the floor. When you go to pick it up, he kicks your hand away. "Sorry, Baby, you can't be trusted with big girl stuff yet. Gotta learn first." He smashes the device beneath his booted heel, a squeal passing through your lips at the loud metallic crunch.

"Hwa!" A pouty whine comes before you can stop it, tears welling up in your eyes all over again. When he cocks his eyebrow up, you cower between his legs, stuttering quietly. "Sorry, m'sorry..." He swipes the destroyed phone to the side with his boot before tapping your hip with it. You shuffle quickly, untying his shoes with a shaky breath.

"I know you get bored baby, but I can't have others corrupting your mind. I'll get you some new books, maybe even a TV for in here if you're extra good." You whisper a soft thank you, and a promise you will be as you set his shoes off to the side neatly.

"Look up at me, Doll. C'mon don't be angry," you look up at him as softly as you can, a groan of affection bubbling past his throat, "there's my pretty little thing." You rub your fingers on his jean-clad legs in an attempt to ground yourself as he looks down at you like a predator that's spotted it's next meal.

"Aren't you so happy you have me to take care of you? Who knows what others would do to that pretty face of yours— not to mention that pretty cunt."

A heat immediately finds it way to your face, and he laughs deeply. "Oh, please, don't be coy. You know as well as I do that if I didn't take you out of there that that little hole would be ruined in an hour. I saved you."

You hide your face in his lap, mind racing. It's true that he's more gently than other people you've had the dis-pleasure of encountering in his line of work. But that doesn't make him any less over bearing and obsessive. His possessiveness bordering on ownership. Sometimes you're truly thankful he scooped you up before anyone else could touch you- other times you curse him for it.

He rubs the back of your head gently, leaning up in the slouching chair, like he can sense your thoughts. "You aren't going anywhere, Baby. You're mine- until the day you die and even after that. Even God himself couldn't pry you away from me. You are mine. Do you understand that?" You nod into his lap, a quiet 'yes,hwa' muffled by his jeans. "Such a sweet thing," he whispers before gripping your hair and pulling you up, earning a gasp.

That glint in his eyes- "Hwa, wait, wait—" he did no such thing, standing up with his clothed crotch in your face, pulling your hands up to his belt.

"You need a reminder of who's good girl you are-"

"No-"

"No?!" He laughed in disbelief, nails digging into your scalp as he makes you look up at him, the stretch of your neck uncomfortable as he cranes it up. There's a sharp hunger in his eyes, "you're so cute -so, so, so, cute when you're defiant... but I'm not in the fucking mood. Get your ass up," he tugs you up by your hair, ignoring the sharp yelps that tremble past your lips.

"Ple-ase don't take me downstairs! I'll be good, I'll be good!"

"It's okay baby, we aren't going downstairs," he positions you back to the wall and backs up, pushing you back when you try to follow and apologize. "I'm too tired." The glimmer of hope is stomped out as he unlocked his side of the nightstand. "You can take your punishment here."

"Hwa... I'm real sor-" A skinny throwing knife that thuds into the wall next to your head shuts you up quick, a squeal replacing your pleas.

"Been looking after you so much, I'm rusty-" He throws another with a groan, hiding his smirk as you jump, "stay still baby, I'm out of practice." You can't help but duck as it thunks into the wall just above your head.

"Stand up straight!" His booming voice shakes you to your core, and you stand as straight as you can manage with the knot forming in your gut. You grip the wall with your finger tips, looking down at your feet so you don't see the sharp objects coming. You've found that it's less fearful that way.

Knife after knife is thrown, each dull thump making you twitch as they're buried into the drywall in the outline of your body.

When they finally stall, his sock clad feet come into view, his curved knuckle lifting your chin. The flame in his eyes has faded to a simmer, an almost fond one. "Are you done being a brat? Or should I let my hand slip next time I need target practice?"

"I'm done..." you speak with a gulp, body still frozen against the wall lest you move and graze against the blades.

He seems to sense your thoughts once again, cooing softly as he notices your tense shoulders. "C'mon, sweet girl," he carefully pulls you straight out from the wall and twirls you around.

He wraps his arms around under yours and grips your shoulders, holding you close to his chest and resting his chin on your head. "Your life in my hands... Such a delicate thing you are." You eyes trail over the outline of your body, traced with throwing daggers. "If you just behaved, I wouldn't have to scare you. It's the best way for you to learn, my love. That fear you feel when we go downstairs, when I have you pinned up- that's the fear you would feel every waking moment without me. Just be a good girl, and let me protect you..."

"...Okay, I'm sorry, Hwa... I don't know why I act out," You don't know if you're telling the truth anymore. It is even acting out? You sometimes think you have a right to.

Maybe— "Maybe you like it when I'm mean to you."

You don't know what you would have thought, but that wasn't it. You think he likes being mean to you. He always finds a reason to punish you: whether it be with bone chilling fear or being pushed to your sexual edge and then repeatedly denied.

Some days, he's softer with the sexual aspect of his obsession with you.

He turns you back around and shoves you to his knees, right back into his clothed bulge where you started. "I want to claim you, I'm going to claim you. Every part. Take it off now before I decide to skull fuck you." Your breath hitches in your throat, lip trembling at his threat, knowing full well he will follow through.

Today is not one of those days, you realize.

You hands quickly find their way to his belt, unbuckling the golden buckle and letting it dangle, the button undone next and the zipper followed. He didn't bother to kick his jeans off, or even pull them down. Only his cock out, twitching to life infront of you inpatiently. "You belong to me, I'm gonna get that through your thick skull" -he flicks your head- "even if I have to use my cock."

He rubs against your cheek, sighing out in pleasure at the feeling of your hot embarrassed face. "Say my name," he whispers deeply, eyes swirling with an unreadable mix of emotions.

"Seonghwa," you pant out shyly, eyes closed as you feel him rutting against your face, his pre cum smearing on your cheek bone. His grip is continually becoming softer, loving as he lewdly humps your head. Your hands find purchase on his sock clad feet, helping you lift up your body into him. "Seonghwa," it comes out as a moan, and a thick groan comes from him in response.

He steps back just an inch, looking down at your tear stained face, his fresh pre-cum glimmering on the side of your face.

His full lips curve into a smile, his previously angry facade fading as quick as it came when he busted in the door earlier, while he lifts you to the bed and lets your head hang.

He's even beautiful when viewed upside down-

"You make it hard to ever leave your side, pretty girl. I could spend the rest of my life buried in any of your gorgeous holes, I love you so much."

"I love you, Hwa. I-" Your breath catches in your throat as the words tear through your throat. "I do want you to claim me, I want to know I'm yours." One of your hands seems to sprout a mind of its own, wrapping around the base of his thick and smooth girth. "Let me take care of you, and you take care of me."

A groan dies on his lips, shuddering as you slowly stroke him, the words you speak shooting through his heart and down to his balls. "Let me be your good girl. Please, I know I can!"

The fear he instilled in you just moments ago festered into a need to please, to solidify your place by his side so he would never leave. He never would dream of it- leaving you. You are his heart and soul personified. You hold his entire being in your hands, and you have no idea.

"Yeah? Gonna be my good girl again? Make it up to me?" His heart flutters as you nod enthusiastically, your mouth opening wide for him and tongue lolling out."Fuck, that's a good girl," he spreads his legs around your dangling head, slim fingers gathering yours to your chest and holding them ever so softly as he slips right down your throat.

The hot, velvety skin encasing him makes him moan loudly, squeezing your hands to ground himself and keep himself from fucking your skull like his life depends on it. But, oh, how he wants to—

"Good fucking girl, that's it, just like I taught you," you gulp around his overwhelming length, eyes closing as you focus on breathing through your nose, the smell of his body wash somehow soothing to your fried nervous system.

He holds himself back as long as he can, thrusting in your throat slowly and basking in the warmth of it. But as your saliva builds, nowhere to go, and the wet and lewd squelch of your throat grows louder, he can no longer do that. He intertwines his fingers with yours and lets you squeeze tightly, a soft growl letting you know his arousal is at a peak before he loses all control-

His hips draw back and slam into you, the head of his cock poking at the very depth of your throat and making you gag, and the noise just stirs him on, going again and again and again to hear that sweet sound of you choking around him. Sticky saliva tainted with the white of his pre-cum drips from the corners of your stretched mouth, dripping up your face. It seems like the onslaught will never end, but he has bigger plans for his building release.

The moment your throat is free of his cock, you draw in a large gasp, all of the wetness in your mouth dripping like a waterfall, letting you heave as he watches with dark eyes. Not that you can see the lust driven look on his face, if you were to open your eyes you'd be blinded by spit and cum.

He discards his pants and top as he lets you catch your breath, cooing all the while about how good you just did for him. He uses the softness of his tank top to wipe away most of the filth on your face, and you finally peek your eyes open as you feel him lift you.

You swear there's hearts swirling in the darkness of his eyes as he scans your messy face, a permanent smirk plastered on his features. "Pretty girl, you're such a mess for me," you can only pant in response, leaning into the palm he places on your cheek as he lays you down right-side-up, letting your head collide with the soft pillows.

The moment he put a pillow under your back, you knew you were in for a long ride.

And by the end of it, you wouldn't forget who you belong to.

#ateez #ateez fic #yandere ateez #ateez smut #ateez smau #park seonghwa #yandere park seonghwa #yandere seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #smut fic #yandere fic

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storiesofsvu · 2 days

Text

Welcome Home

Aaron Hotchner x reader warnings: language, smut, minor daddy kink, lots of praise.

Coming home from work had always been a form of relief for Aaron, knowing that his day was done, and he was able to relax at least a little bit before doing it all again tomorrow. But this Friday was different, this Friday not only was it a guarantee that he had two days off, he also wasn’t coming home to an empty apartment. Moving in together had been a very easy decision, he no longer had to worry about making a stop at his place before yours, didn’t have to triple check his go bag was always packed and he got to come home to you already in your shared space, happy as can be.

Almost every night this week he had come home to find you in the midst of an IKEA challenge or putting up some nice decorations. Which is exactly where he found you tonight, standing on a chair on your tip toes pinning up fairy lights over the patio window with your favourite playlist flowing through the room. As he put his things down, stepping out of his shoes and hanging up his blazer a smirk took over his lips at the actual sight in front of him. You’d clearly showered recently and chosen to tug on one of his oversized tee shirts instead of actually getting dressed and it appeared the shirt was all you’d bothered with. Your arms outstretched over your head caused the fabric to rise up, the curve of your ass poking out from beneath it as you secured another pin.

Aaron undid his tie, tossing it to the island as he started to undo his shirt, rolling up the sleeves while he crossed the room. Reaching out his hands slid over the curve of your ass before settling on your hips and he chuckled at the way you jumped, turning around when you felt him press a kiss to the small of your back. You were perched on the highest tips of your toes attempting to continue the chain of lights without toppling off the chair.

“You want some help with that?” He smiled softly and you let out a huff of a laugh.

“I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“Looks like you were pretty focused.” He nodded toward the lights, and you laughed again.

“I guess. And yeah, I can’t seem to reach it.”

With one clean swoop Aaron picked you up from the chair, resulting in a squeal escaping your lips before he set you on the ground and placed a kiss to the top of your head. You watched with a smile as he effortlessly stepped up onto the chair and was able to reach the spots you never would have been able to.

“That even?”

“Looks perfect.” You smiled as he stepped down from the chair, your hands coming to cup his cheeks so you could press a kiss to his lips, “thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope.” You shook your head, taking the chain of lights back from him, “it was just the part above the window I was struggling with. Go grab a drink, relax.” You squeezed as his hand, shifting the chair to the left before you climbed back up on it and he was left to wander down the hallway.

Doing as you suggested he got comfortable, changing into a tee and sweats, tossing his work clothes into the hamper and padding back down to the kitchen barefoot to find you humming along to the music as you continued your task. He found a pack of his favourite beer in the fridge, cracking one for himself and grabbing one for you, placing it on the bookshelf you were beside before he dropped into the couch with a satisfied sigh.

The two of you caught up briefly, talked each other through your day while he scrolled through his phone, though his attention mainly remained on you. Since plugging in the string of lights the room and thus you, were bathed in a nearly angelic glow as you continued to work. Every time you moved the shirt simply dared to show more skin and he knew you could feel his eyes on you by the way you kept shifting, the little glances you’d toss over your shoulder to him with an almost shy grin, your cheeks heating. At one point you bent over to grab another hook from the bookshelf and he felt his cock twitch in his pants at the sight of your pussy fully exposed to him.

“Careful…” He warned, a playful tone in his voice and you glanced over your shoulder with a quizzical look on your face.

“I know how to use a hammer.” You replied with a laugh, gesturing to all your previous work and he chuckled, taking another sip of his drink before he stood up to cross the room.

“I know…” he murmured, his hands ghosting up your thighs and your breath caught in your throat. One of his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him while the other travelled up your back, tangling in the roots of your hair, “but I do hope if someone else was to be helping you with this you would at least put some panties on.”

“Aaron…” you giggled, swatting at the hand on your hip. “I had actual clothes on when the guy came to install the dryer.”

“Oh so it’s just me you like to tease?” He smirked, his hand leaving your hair so both of them could trace patterns on the back of your thighs.

“Obviously.” You let out a sigh, your eyes beginning to flutter at the way he massaged your skin, hands creeping up higher under the hem of the shirt, just daring to brush your pussy.

“I think the rest of this can wait.” A steady arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you from the chair once again and he yanked you flush to him, the bulge in his pants apparent against your ass, “now you know just how wild you drive me.”

“Mmhmm….” You nodded, your body relaxing against him, your lips falling open as he started to grope your chest through the thin fabric, pinching your nipples until they were hardened and you were grinding back into him.

“Open your mouth.” His hand softly squeezed around your throat before gliding up and two of his fingers sunk in between your lips.

You sucked the digits deeper into your mouth, tongue swirling around them, coating them with saliva as he slowly thrust them in and out of your lips. With his other hand steady on your hip he backed the two of you up to the center of the living room where the nest of pillows and blankets was still tousled on the ground from your movie night the previous evening.

Aaron’s fingers slipped out of your mouth and you let out a whine in protest, one that he chuckled at as he pulled his shirt off over his head. His hands found the hem of your stolen shirt, tugging it up and off, dropping it to the floor.

“Relax honey.” His dry hand caressed at your cheek, “there’s no chance I’m done with you yet.” He pulled you to him, kissing you deeply, tongue surging into your mouth and you let out a soft moan into the kiss.

The fingers coated in your spit snuck between your bodies, lazily rubbing at your clit while the other one started to toy with your chest. Cupping the flesh, pulling louder moans from you when he started to pinch at your nipples, flicking at them as they hardened in the cool air. His arm wound around you, hoisting you up just enough that your weight was on him as he squatted and gently dropped onto the pile of blankets and cushions before he lay you down on them. His lips broke free from yours and he left a pathway of kisses down your neck, nipping ever so lightly, pulling a breathy sigh from you.

“Aaron…” you whined, “don’t tease.”

“Never would sweetheart.”

His hands smoothed up your thighs, spreading your legs for him before his fingers found your pussy again. They slid through your folds, coaxing out your wetness, smearing it around your pussy, circling around your clit until your chest was heaving and you were nearly panting. His thumbs slid up your pussy, spreading your lips apart and he could see it fully glistening in the low light.

“Such a gorgeous pussy honey.” He cooed, “and who does this pussy belong to?”

“You daddy.”

“Smart girl too.” He smiled softly down at you watching the way your eyes fell shut when he slid two of his fingers into your cunt. “So wet already… have you been thinking about this all day?” He asked, pumping his fingers in and out of you, “waiting for me to come home and find you indecent? Just so I’d fuck you?”

“Yes…” you breathed back, your hand reaching out in search of his free one, fingers interlacing when you found it, his thumb softly stroking over your knuckles. “Wanted to be all ready for you, surprise you.” You were already finding it hard to focus on your words, your pussy fluttering around his fingers as they stretched you out.

“You’re so good for me sweetheart. So thoughtful.” His fingers curled inside you and your breath hitched in your throat, “making sure I have something so gorgeous to come home to… something so sweet.”

With that he shifted onto his stomach, his tongue lapping up the juices around your opening while his fingers continued to twist and scissor inside you. He couldn’t help but groan over your taste, cock twitching in his pants as he shifted up and his mouth latched around your clit.

“Fuck!” You gasped, your hands threading into his hair, holding his face between your legs and you could practically feel the smirk on his lips as electricity sparked through you.

Aaron’s tongue varied between tracing patterns on your pulsing nub and flicking it with the tip, your fingers scraping at his scalp as the pleasure built higher and higher. He picked up the pressure right as his hand picked up the pace, fucking faster into you.

“Oh Aaron…”

Not wanting to let up he merely grunted against you before humming and the vibrations had you gasping, your pussy pulsating around his fingers.

“M’gonna—” You whimpered, feeling the heat about to burst through your veins and his head nodded, rubbing right where you needed it as his fingers curled up, pressing hard on your g-spot and you cried out, “fuck!” Your hips jolted up off the blankets, thighs shaking around him as he gently fingered you through your orgasm.

“That’s it honey…” he cooed, “so fucking pretty for me. Such pretty fucking sounds.”

Your body still trembled, little whimpers and gasps leaving your lips that were heaven to his ears as the aftershocks crashed through you. You were always so gorgeous when you came for him, splayed out on display, legs spread, pussy dripping all because of him, tits swaying as your chest heaved, body coated in a shimmering of sweat, that blissed out look of pure pleasure and desire in your darkened eyes.

He slipped his fingers from you, bringing them up to his lips and he caught the way you tugged your lower lip into your mouth, a greedy look in your eyes as you watched him suck them clean. He nearly made a show of it, groaning before letting them pop from his mouth.

“So fucking sweet.” He praised, “almost wonder what I should do with you next.” He smirked at the way you instantly pouted, letting out a soft whine, “what sweetheart?”

“Need you.”

“Yeah…” his hand came back between your legs, palming at your puffy cunt, “need what? My fingers again?” One slipped in, but only for one thrust, “my mouth? Or something else?”

“Your cock daddy, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Aaron grinned down at you as he shucked his sweatpants off, positioning himself between your legs. His hand wrapped around his cock, thumb smearing the pre-cum around it as he let out a soft groan, “fuck… you always get me so hard.” He thrust his cock through your folds, coating it with your juices, “you feel that honey?”

“Yes…” you whined, your hips rocking towards the touch, “please…”

“Please what?” He raised a brow in your direction as he continued his movement and you whimpered.

“Please fuck me!”

“Good girl.” He leant over you, pressing a kiss to your needy lips as he lined up his hips and his cock sunk into your warmth. You both let out satisfied moans at the sensation, his cock slipping all the way into you until his hips were seated against yours and he could feel your cunt clenching around him already. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Move.. please.” You whined, your arms wrapping around him, nails digging into his back as you pulled him to him.

Aaron kissed the side of your neck gently before pulling back until only the tip was left and he plunged back into you, earning a gasp from you at just how deep he was. Your legs eagerly wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper into you and he made a home in the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin as he started to pant. He set a steady pace, just fast enough to have you shivering and whimpering in his arms but still slow enough to savour it, to make sure you were feeling every inch and every drag of his cock deep in your pussy, to get it wetter with each thrust of his hips.

From the angle he was fucking you, each movement of his body brushed against your clit, the double sensation having you seeing stars already, pleasure tingling under your skin. One of your hands threaded through his hair again, holding him impossibly close as he continued to thrust into you. You could feel his cock throbbing inside of you, the movement getting larger anytime you let out a particularly loud whine. He loved the way you clenched around him, the sounds you made, knowing he was the one who was making you make them, that he was the only one who could pull sounds like them from you. Each thrust of his hips he could feel the wetness where your bodies met getting larger, the slick around his cock growing, the sounds getting more indecent with every pump.

“Oh god Aaron!” Your nails started to claw at his back, “s-so gg-ood.”

“Always take me so well.” He grunted back, his hips beginning to snap harder and faster into yours, earning a breathy gasp from you as you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist.

Your pussy was dripping, the squelching noises coming from it echoing through the living room and every time Aaron drove his cock deeper into it you felt new sensations, your entire body tingling, starting to shake with pleasure. The coil was building deep inside you, higher and hotter with each thrust and your eyes scrunched shut, a string of whimpering swears leaving your lips. Aaron groaned loudly into your ear at the feeling of your pussy pulsing around him before his mouth latched onto your neck, teeth sinking in before his tongue lapped over the spot to soothe the burn and his lips began to suck at your sensitive skin.

“Fuck!” You cried out as the trembling in your body blew into a full blown spasm and you hit your peak, pussy clenching down even harder around Aaron as he grunted, his hips stuttering as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“God sweetheart.” He muttered, kissing your neck before sitting up on his haunches to chase his own release. He picked up the pace, thrusting deeper and faster into you and with just how fucking drenched your cunt was it wasn’t long before he was groaning loudly, his cum spilling into your pussy and he dropped over you again. “Fuck…”

Your finger tips gently tickled up and down his back, your other hand coming to his head, scratching at his scalp as he panted above you and you finally managed to catch your breath. You pressed a tender kiss to the side of his head, letting out a very satisfied hum and in return he let out a breathless huff, leaving a kiss on your collarbone. He pulled his head up, his hand coming to caress the side of your cheek as he left a featherlight kiss on your lips and you smiled up at him.

“You okay?” He murmured.

“Perfect.” You replied, stealing another kiss before he gently rolled off you.

Aaron adjusted a few of the cushions and blankets so you would both be comfortable, pulling a blanket over the two of you as you instinctively curled into his side, resting on his chest. His arm wound around you and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, a small smile on his cheeks as he admired the decorating you’d been doing. The soft light cascading perfectly over the living room for a moment like this.

“You certainly know a thing or two about welcoming a guy home.” He teased and you laughed.

“Figured I could start off strong with what I know you love.” You shifted so you could see his face and he chuckled.

“Well what I love is you, doesn’t matter what form it comes in as long as I get to come home to you every day.”

“You’re a sap, you know that right?”

“Absolutely not.” He grinned back and you playfully rolled your eyes before leaning up to kiss him softly.

“I love you too.”

_______________________

@svushots @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @emobabeyy @daddy-heather-dunbar @mrs-ssa-hotch @hotchandspencearedilfs @mina2000alex @telepathay @darlingsfandom @ssamorganhotchner @hotchsdoormat @hopedoesntknow @thehauntingofbasingse @plaidbooks @niyizh @tommyriddleobsessed @supercriminalbean @hotchs-bitch @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @emlynblack @ivyflowers13 @ratsnestinmyhair @silversprings-mp3 @ssaaaronhotchnerr @speedynana @tgskitten @madamsnape921 @aaronandemilysbitch @mrs-ssa-hotch @boimlers-gonna-boim @nachofriess @khxna @tinyprettyangel @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @acctualdeemon

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #welcome home #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fanfic

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leviathanleva · 3 days

Text

Daisy

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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

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Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

[Graphic description of gore] 🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼 Chapter 3 "The Vault"

The flickering ceiling lamps only exacerbated the grim atmosphere, but they did slightly help with finding your way. They also hid the majority of the massacre, but you weren’t blind to the horrific scenes of vault dwellers strewn up and skinned and prepared for processing. You’d wretched and convulsed at the sight, clutching at the wall for support and fighting back tears of terror, and if it hadn’t been for your empty stomach you would have most likely thrown up all over the ghoul’s boots. There was so much food around and the raiders still chose their twisted ways and treated the corpses of their victims, human beings, as cattle in need of rationing and preparation. It was engraved in them, you guessed, after living so long in an apocalyptic, hellish world, eating people was as natural to them as breathing. You tried to justify their actions even if they made no sense, but after seeing cut-open bellies and spilled intestines and dribbling blood as the corpses were hung to drain, you couldn’t.

No matter how difficult a life, nothing could pardon such barbaric actions, not when the cans of cram and sacks of tatoes were right there. The raiders didn’t kill and butcher out of need, they did it out of pleasure, they drew with blood on the walls, bludgeoned flesh and bone to a pulp, stripped skin bare, and let bodies dangle like slaughtered pigs.

The more gore was presented to you on a rusty platter, the smaller your pool of empathy became until there was nothing but the screaming aftermath of gunshots sounding right above your head. You still jittered, but didn’t flinch anymore, he had you, you were safe with him. His boots echoed with menace through the corridors, beckoning the raiders to their end, while your delicate bare feet glided over grime and glass and chaos.

He used you as bait once the raiders were close enough to spot you, your history with them causing a sudden urge in them to let go of their logic and self-preservation and charge headfirst into a shotgun barrel. You would have minded, but he was death incarnate with a weapon, and you were so set on restoring the sanctity of your vault, your home, that you were ready to do just about anything. He killed until there was nobody else with a heartbeat except you and him. He killed so casually, that you almost believed it to be normal.

Once his end of the bargain was done, you started searching, straining both mind and vision for that particular room with a false bookcase. You guided him past the vegetable field, through the cafeteria, and rushed past the school because there were too many bodies piled up for you to stomach. He followed with minor protests, but mostly kept quiet and alert, acting as a guard hound while you pursued the location of the emergency storage. It was only when you ended up in the residential wing with a confused noise that he spoke up.

“You’re lost, darlin’, admit it.”

You shot him an angsty look over your shoulder, arm outstretched in front of you as the white flashlight installed in the Pip-boy illuminated the vault hallway. When you enter the first home, just the structure of it is enough to tell that you’ve got the wrong place, you scowl, but trudge further inside anyway.

“I’m not lost.” you retort, refusing to let his remarks leave a stain on your photographic memory, and pace around the tiny complex. “It should be in this wing, I just need to find the right room.”

“Whatever you say…” he hums in mock and purses his lips, then opens the metal door wider before stepping in after you. He lets you explore, his eyes skimming with disinterest over the homey aesthetic he was so alienated from that it didn’t even ring a bell of nostalgia. His sights lock on the fridge and his feet react faster than he’d thought possible. Bingo.

The self-powered beacons perched over the whey field creep through the windows and it’s enough light to scarcely brighten the complex. It would have been a haunting sight if the ghoul wasn’t with you and a timid part of your consciousness tapped at you, reminding you that he wasn’t going to be present for much longer. You hadn’t planned on dwelling on such a thought for long, but you had no clue what to do once he was gone. Left alone to fend for your life with no skills or experience aside from dry theory accumulated from years of reading, there wasn’t much you could do except live off the remnants of the vault and try to keep the garden alive.

How would you be rid of all the corpses though?

It would take years to restore everything, or at least the parts that were salvageable, you’d never be able to swap the broken windows or replace the shattered light bulbs.

You scurried off the nasty reality of your future and proceeded to kneel in front of a shoe cabinet. Your feet were irritably sore and in desperate need of protection so you sunk your arms to the elbows in the darkness, the flashlight distorting under the pile of slippers and sandals.

“You’re not mad, mister?” you ask and turn back to find the ghoul waist-deep in the refrigerator, rummaging as a cacophony of clinking bottles and stuttering plates soundtrack his rampage. He looked almost domestic and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from smiling. “Cuz I haven’t found the storage yet?”

He resurfaces at your question, a bowl of mashed tatoes and a platter of grilled cram cradled in his embrace, traces of soy milk stained his lips. He wiped his mouth on his shoulder and tossed the food on the kitchen counter before resting on his elbows while flicking his tongue.

“Plenty of Pip-boys layin’ around.” he shrugs simply and rips his glove off before sticking two thick fingers in the tatoes. “Can make a small fortune outta those.” he offers you a toothy grin before licking his fingers clean.

“Please use a fork, sir.” you grimace at his tasteless display before turning back to your task at hand.

“Mind your business, smooth-skin.” he grunts and sinks his teeth in a thick slice of cram, scarfing it down as if he’d not eaten in days. He scoffs at your faint giggle and waves you off, too high on the idea of a proper meal to care for your coquettish snip.

You continue to dig through the assortment of old shoes, relishing his vocal satisfaction as he feasts. He chews hastily, taking breaks every few bites to wash down the food with whatever juice or milk he blindly pawed at on the fridge door. After tossing away a pair of white fluffy slippers and jamming your hand against a leathery surface, you pull out a left-footed cargo boot. It’s stuck, tied by the laces to something crammed deeper in the cabinet and you feel your way until you find its twin. Once freed, you look them over with a tilted chin and a contemplative look.

They seemed remotely your size, with a pair of thick socks they’d probably fit perfectly and they were preserved and sturdy enough to withstand some broken glass.

“You think they’ll miss these?” you raise the boots in display and ask before thinking about how stupid your question was.

The boiled corn cob pauses just shy of his parted lips and he stares at you like you’d grown a second head. The silence that befalls is one of realization with a twinge of melancholy and you avert your eyes as your mouth twitches into a small frown. The shoes are lowered to your chest and you hold them close in wordless mourning, face dimming, shoulders lowering.

“Oh right…frick.”

“They’re dead, sweetheart.” he speaks softly, a hint of pity hidden beneath the layer of rasp. “Don’t think they’ll miss anythin’ anymore.”

In truth, you didn’t mourn the rest of the vault dwellers. They were strangers who’d shared the same living facility as you, there was no attachment there except for baseline human empathy. What you grieved over was your sanity, the solitude you’d be subjugated to and you’d grown accustomed to being alone, but after knowing the atrocities that had occurred and the reasoning for your lonesome existence, you doubted things would go well. You’d be forced to fend for yourself and there was no guarantee that another wave of intruders wouldn’t end up on your doorstep.

You picked at the soles of the boots absentmindedly, ignorant to the sympathetic stare targeting the back of your head.

You weren’t accustomed to caring for your needs, having been coercively babied all your life and lacking basic skills. The only bond you’d ever had was with your father and the knowledge that you’d eventually stumble upon his corpse riddled you in goosebumps. You dreaded that sight, eyes dampening at just the thought and mind failing to even picture such a sickening image.

You drag an arm over your drippy nose, sniffle and stand.

“Need socks.” was all you managed before hurrying to the bedside closet at the other end of the complex, hiding behind a wall and out of the ghoul’s prying gaze.

This was fine. You’d figure it out as you went. There was no point in worrying over things that haven’t happened yet, right?

You shone your flashlight into the closet's depths after flinging it open, searching for a ball of stretchy material, anything that remotely resembled a pair of socks. Shuffling came from the kitchen area, a throaty grunt, a few clanks, and the shattering of porcelain. Paying no mind to the ghoul’s ruckus, you sift through the clothing hangers, stopping only when an intricate floral pattern catches your eye. You tug at the cloth, pulling it off the bar and hooking a finger around the clothing hanger before straightening it out.

A dress, pretty and frilly at the bottom, littered with small hand-sewn red blooms, sparkling white and in pristine condition. It reminisced of better times when people reigned over a peaceful and bountiful land, when radiation existed only in the confines of nuclear factories and cannibalism was scarce and very taboo. Your dull expression softens with a doting smile as you coo over your new fit before tossing it on the bed.

Your search continues shortly after, rummaging and scanning, digging deeper until you find a small raft overflowing with undergarments. A pair of black tights and heavy woolen socks later, you pass an anxious glance at the edge of the wall separating you from your overly grumpy bodyguard before tugging the straps of your dress off your shoulders.

“What the hell are you doing in there!?”

“I’m changing!” you rush to answer, shimmying out of your dirty, torn attire before sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling the socks over your feet. After taking note of the now gooey gash on your ankle, you decide to postpone wearing tights until it’s been cleaned and bandaged. You swallow back a lump of anxiety and make disinfecting the wound your top priority…once you find the storage unit that is.

“Hurry up!”

Once the boots were secured, you neatly tied them up and scurried to slip on the new dress in case the ghoul decided he’d had enough of waiting and barged over in his typical unruly fashion. It fit you so well, but there was no time to enjoy yourself, you tossed the tights over the junction of your elbow and patted down the frilly edges grazing your knees.

The world came crashing when the zipper got stuck.

“Freaking fiddle sticks…”

You tried and failed to resolve the dilemma, patting blindly at your upper back, reaching over your shoulder, and coiling an arm behind your waist. Even when your fingers did manage to find the zipper again, it was jammed and no amount of vigorous tugging helped and you didn’t want to apply more force lest you cause a tear. A small whine, dainty and annoyed, bubbled in your throat and you hung your head back and stared up at the ceiling in despair. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a jut at you for daring to find a sliver of happiness.

“Uh…mister?” you call out, weak with embarrassment as you slowly succumb to the walk of shame. You round the corner slowly, apprehension in every step and boring a shameful visage. “I need help…please.”

Your lovely bounty hunter had sprawled out on the counter, his hands resting on his now full belly, one perched up knee swaying nonchalantly as his other leg kicked dangled leisurely in the air. His hat rested over his face, obscuring his vision as he breathed slowly, in utter bliss for the first time in a long while. The shotgun once secured on his back was tucked under his neck. The empty plates were carelessly chucked to the floor when he’d made room to lie down and now you knew what all that ruckus had been caused by.

It would have been quite the heartwarming sight if you weren’t currently wallowing in self-pity.

He rouses at your beckon, sitting up and readjusting his hat and giving you his best acid scowl for disrupting his peace. Then he notices your pained expression and skittish shifting and quirks a nonexistent brow.

“The hell’d you do?”

Ah yes, the sardonic question a parent would ask their misbehaved child after yet another minor disaster. That’s exactly what you need at the moment.

“I – ” your teeth grit, jaw tightening in discomfort. A sad puppy-eyed stare plastered on your droopy features as you stand next to the counter before reluctantly turning around and brushing your hair out of the way to expose your back. “ – It’s stuck…”

A snort of laughter fills the dim complex and you shrink in utter humiliation, fussing at his reaction like the wimpy thing you’ve been demoted to. He turns in his spot and his knees encase your frame as he slopes closer.

“Can’t even dress right.” his berating smirk nips at the back of your neck and earns a sigh of defeat.

Cooper Howard wasn’t a man to regret many things and he’d done enough awful deeds to have him kicked out of a church if he ever dared set foot in one. Not putting his glove back on, however, would be one of those regrets. When his disfigured fingers dipped beneath the hem of your dress to hold it steady as he worked the zipper free, he brushed against your skin and it was so soft that he nearly missed the feeling altogether. A pang of something awfully warm wrapped around his ribcage like a vine and he was so shaken to the core that he forgot he needed to breathe.

You felt like the past, all lovely and nice and tender, as if ripped from a time he struggled to recollect and let go of both, and you were thrust in his hands and he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do with you. All charming smiles and sugary words and naivety that had him torn between hatred and incessant thirst for more of whatever it was you did to him. So addictive yet so detrimental.

He chalked it up to lust, a guttural craving any normal man would feel when presented with a cute little thing like you. But it wasn’t that at all. It had nothing to do with any carnal human craving.

You were a gateway to what he used to have, a walking memory of who he used to be.

It made sense if your story was true. Being tended to all your life while locked in a lab orchestrated to be your private room, it would leave anyone silk-skinned, bright-minded, and burden-free. But that didn’t ease him, it didn’t falter him from feeling like he was drowning.

You were the even tune of midnight jazz, a slice of hot apple pie, and a fresh cup of Joe on a Sunday afternoon; a little piece of heaven he’d never asked for and a cruel incarnation of damnation he’d always feared would catch up to him.

“Is it fixed?” you peep, saving him from the jaws of his mind, and look back, happily unaware of his self-destructive internal dialogue. The darkness hides the strain hovering over his distant gaze. “Did you manage?”

“ ‘Course I did.” he barks and is back to normal in an instant, pulling the zipper up before letting you go. “Done.”

He makes sure to secure his glove back on and cusses out the invasive thoughts.

“Thank you so much!” you grin with glee and throttle away like a victorious toddler. “How do I look?” you twirl with pizazz, then remember the tights dangling off your arm and bunch them up in one hand in case they took away from your dashing performance. “Don’t mind those.”

The ghoul scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief at how stupidly charming you are, and slides from the counter before reaching for his shotgun. You take his reaction as a good sign, satisfied with your new, clean look, and brush down the dress with the back of your hand.

“Les go.” he clicks his tongue at you, motioning with his head before fiddling to load his weapon. “Can gawk at yourself plenty when I’m gone.”

His remark receives no pushback. You follow suit, back into the benevolent corridor with hanging dead lamps, stepping carefully next to him with Pip-boy pointed straight ahead. It felt good to not have to constantly worry over a stray piece of debris catching on your feet anymore. Now your footsteps sang in tandem with your bounty hunter’s albeit much lighter and more frequent. With eyes darting from wall to wall, you peeked into each adjacent living complex. The sting in your ankle continued, snapping at your every move and your grip on the tights hardened. Your nails sank into the material for purchase as impatience nibbled at your nerves.

Apartment after apartment. Nothing even remotely resembled the room you were looking for, but it had to be here somewhere. The vault plans didn’t lie and neither did your memory.

You nearly tripped over a stray cable while ogling a bright pink suite layered with fuzzy rugs.

“You sure you ain’t just sendin’ us on a wild goose chase?” the ghoul asks while cracking open another steel door for you to inspect, then dips his hat and lilts “Ain’t gonna shoot you, sweetheart. Don’t need to lie anymore.”

“I wasn’t lying, mister.” you look up at him with hurt and he keens, blinking slowly at you and deciding to leave it at that.

Whether it was due to exhaustion or that look, he wasn’t sure.

If you were this set on proving to him there was a storage full of medical supplies and provisions he wasn’t going to stop you. There was plenty of food and drink to stay a while and his current bounty wasn’t notorious enough to top a fresh bed and a full meal. The caps weren’t worth it compared to what you’d offered him and he had enough vials to last him a while before any feral symptoms started poking through.

“It’s somewhere here, I know it is, these are just the wrong rooms. But the map showed it was in the living quarters to the north. It has to be a bigger space and with a bookcase in – ”

A hand clasped gently over your mouth, cutting your ramble short.

The ghoul grips your arm and shines the Pip-boy at the end of the hallway, the tense look on his face making your stomach knot. He takes one step forward, leaving you to linger behind him and you would’ve liked to believe it was to protect you, but it was most likely to get you out of the way.

You hear his gloved hold tighten around his shotgun and bite back the need to ask him what he’d picked up that you hadn’t. You never noticed the almost silent steps that had slowly crept closer and yelped when you were roughly tossed behind him as he spun around. The shot nearly left you deaf and the bloodied kukri barely missed your shoulder, having been a hair away from the strap of your dress.

You shriek along with the gargled gasp, latching onto the bounty hunter’s coat. The loud thump that followed made you duck and wrinkle your nose.

“Oh my jeez. Oh my God!” you glimpse from behind him reluctantly, forcing your tightly shut eyes open.

The raider twitched, clutching his blown-to-bits shoulder as a puddle of blood formed beneath him. He choked for air, coughing out a storm of crimson and it made your knees weak. The smell of gunpowder was sharp and overwhelming and your head spun with a nauseating speed.

“Guess I missed one.” the bounty hunter leers and the absolute insouciance at his actions sent a chill up your spine. He unclasps the hunting knife strapped to his belt and twirls it between his fingers, then tosses you a warning glance. “Look away, sweetheart. Ain’t wastin’ another bullet on this shit.”

The heels of his boots clinked closer to the raider convulsing on the floor and with a shaky sniffle, you forced your legs to move. The pleas of a desperate man rendered defenseless and feeble, the churring taunts of his merciless killer who squatted over his prey with blade readied. A sickening noise punched you right in the gut, so raw and revolting that you covered your ears the moment you stumbled into another suite and slid down behind the front door. Clutching at the sides of your head, fingers curled and nails delved into your scalp to ground you, you died a little inside.

The reality of your existence, the consequences for being alive hit you full force, ripping you out of the tranquility that had befallen both you and the ghoul. Peace never lasted, and neither did joy, not in a world bathed in chaos and destruction.

The two curt knocks on the door made you flinch.

“Come on out, scaredy cat.”

“I’ll – ” with a twisted tongue and a clenched throat, you murmur out words to keep him away because you didn’t want to see the blood he was wiping off his knife. “ – I’ll be right there. Just looking…for a false latch or something.”

What a horrible excuse…but he didn’t question it and you were so thankful.

His steps crinkle over broken glass and pieces of discarded metal plates. The tension lifts off your shoulders when he leaves with a grunt. You rub at your face with a timid breath, jaw easing as your lips part to accommodate your forceful inhales. The gloom of the apartment embraced you in your self-indulgent grovel.

To imagine someone lived here only a day ago was to concede to hysteria.

He saved your life again. And still, you were left shaken and bothered and speechless and burdened by what would have happened if he hadn’t been there to rip you away from death’s claws. The possibility of there being more raiders skulking about hadn’t been a thing until this one nearly chopped your arm off. Your arm was still there though, intact and function. All because of him. A dilapidated, volatile guardian angel that looked like a grilled chicken and sounded like a fizzled-out radio station and he meant more to you than anything ever had in your short, secluded life. What were you supposed to do without him when he finally left and you were sealed into a blood-soaked, corpse-ridden underground bunker with just your thoughts as company?

You slapped at your puffed-out cheeks ferociously.

This was fine.

It wasn’t fine, but there was nothing to be done, you’d work with what you had, you’d manage somehow. You had to.

The ghoul whistled you over, loud and clear enough for you to hear even while tucked away safely in your corner. Enough spiraling. You stood and with a determined huff, exited the complex only to see him standing in front of an open door with crossed arms and a tilted head. He noticed you from the corner of his eye and nudged his chin.

“This it?”

You poke your nose inside the spacious room.

It was the vault president’s office, completely untouched and eerily still, made to resemble the quarters of high-ranking officials from the olden days. Thin sheets of wood were plastered over the walls and the floor was carpeted and clean, the large windows overlooked the fields and dining area. An elegant leather chair was neatly set behind the paper-ridden desk in the center of the room, and yellowing files peak from every single drawer and bookcase. Everything seemed organized in spotless order, even the mugs on the coffee table were arranged corresponding to their color. There were so many paintings strewn about, past vault presidents, men and women in distinct white coats, same as the one your dad had always worn, supposedly scientists.

He leaned against the doorframe as you barged inside, watching your newfound zeal with a half-smile.

You pressed the tip of your middle finger to the wall and slowly extended your other arm at a precise angle, then moved it barely to the left. With a calculative spark imbued in your eyes, you take deliberate steps and move your stiff arms mechanically as you work out the location of the hidden storage. It looked ridiculous and you were well aware as you maneuvered about like a possessed puppet, but without any tools to point the way this was your only crutch.

“Three feet to the left, diagonal to the glass case with the cat sculpture. One step back and turn to what should be west. North should be to the right, then. And…”

“There.” you state once your hand points at a particularly overdecorated bookcase. “That’s it. Has to be.” you step towards it with determination, throwing away documents and an old plastic globe until there was enough space to grab at the shelves. It creaks when you give it a solid tug to test its stability. You bite your lip in contemplation before turning back to the ghoul. “Think you can move this, mister?”

“You better be right, sweetheart.” he tutted, but complied, pushing himself off the doorframe before joining you. He towers over you and rests his hands against the polished wood. “Move.”

You did as told and gave him some room.

He managed to slide his fingers against the back of the bookcase and spread out his legs before letting go of a throaty groan and pulling with all his strength. Your knee jittered with the need to step in and help, but you hesitated, succumbing to your manners and letting him do the heavy lifting. The last thing you wanted was to insult his capabilities or hurt his man-pride.

The case toppled with a thunderous crash and its contents spilled over the carpet, some trinkets bounced off your boot and rolled under the desk. The wooden planks that had been hidden behind it were slightly caved in compared to the rest. A thick carving resembling a door was engraved in them along with a small rectangular shape just a few inches to the side.

This was it.

“Hallelujah.” he chuckles and kneads his shoulder while flexing it, brows raised and eyes settled on the hidden entrance and glistening with wonder. “Guess you weren’t lyin’ after all.”

You clumsily step over the mountain of books and smashed wood, arms extended for balance until you’re close enough to press down on the rectangle. With a whirling hiss, the wood slides to the side and a hole perfectly shaped like a Pip-boy appears. You stuck your hand in without a second thought, beyond impatient and on the verge of crying because your ankle was burning so intensely you wanted to just rip it off.

The door gave way with a few audible clicks and the storage lit up instantly, you guessed the lamps didn’t depend on the vault’s fusion cores, another little trickery to keep this place hidden. The power management engineers would have most likely noticed the excess electricity being used for a room that wasn’t supposed to exist. A smart move and also for nothing, everyone was dead.

The cynic in you cackled.

You were quick to rip your hand free and enter, spotting the hefty array of medical supplies gathered over a metal cart, driven by pain and discomfort and lacking the self-control to keep it a secret any longer.

“Well, I’ll be…” the ghoul gapes at the overflowing storage, pleasantly surprised and nodding to himself. “Consider your debt repaid, missy.” he plunges his knife into a sack of tatoes and promptly empties it.

His arm swipes over a metal shelf of stimpaks, greedily bunching them up and into the sack as he licks his teeth at the upcoming profit.

When you don’t reply to his remark he finally takes his gaze off the mounds of supplies and medicine and looks to you.

You’re a mussing mess, abrupt jitters causing bottles of pills and packages of bandages to pile at your feet as you scour for something specific. Initially, he opts to leave you be and focus on his own task, but when a disheartened noise slips past you he caves.

“The hell’s got you scramblin’ about like a cornered rat?”

You wince and turn back with a trembling frown. Your search had come out fruitless, the plan was spoiled at the absence of any antibiotics and you internally cursed for not stopping by the med-bay earlier and checking there first. Then again, you needed a key card and you weren’t fond of checking the pockets of decapitated vault residents just for that. But your open wound didn’t care for your antics. Now your ankle was probably red, still oozing and by how it rubbed against your sock, it was even more irritated and sickeningly sticky.

His stern look was relentless and you sucked in a breath before speaking.

“I can’t find any antibiotics…for my ankle.” you swallow a sob like a child caught red-handed trying to sneak past a broken vase. “The cockroaches – One of them bit me or cut me I think and… And it was fine at first, but then it started getting infected and I thought I’d find something here to help, but I don’t think only spirit will help so I thought antibiotics, but I can’t find any and it hurts so bad now – ”

You halted when his jaw stiffed and did nothing when he stomped close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. The sack was slumped by you and as he glared you simply averted your eyes to the floor.

“Sit.” he commands in a rigid tone, forcing you on your rump as the coldness of the tile floor seeps through your dress. “ ‘N take it off.” the tip of his boot nudges your foot before he tugs his pants up and squats in front of you with elbows resting on his thighs.

It’s only after you slip off your now-ruined sock that he cringes in annoyance and grabs your calf to turn it for a better view. Angry red outlined the open gash and the dead skin that still clung to it was soaked in colorless stickiness. He pressed on the side of the wound, shooting down your attempt at escaping with a scalding look, and more goo was excreted.

Radroaches were clean creatures, he’d seen them grooming themselves more than hunting for food. However, being mutated by radiation did tend to add some spice to their bites and you trudging around barefoot for a good full day had only added to the accelerated decay. Nasty little cut that was.

“Stupid git.” he hisses and stuffs a hand in the sack. “Nothen’ a lil stimpak can’t fix though. And lucky for you, we hit a goldmine.” the large syringe glints under the blaring white lights and he pushes at the base to snuff out any air bubbles before lowering it to your calf. “Now hold still.”

The sight of the needle makes you stiffen, a plethora of memories flashing past your widened eyes, and you’re overtaken by such a raw desire to get away that you nearly kick him off balance in your struggle.

Too many years stuffed full of constant medications and transfusions and scalpels and cuts and taking blood samples and fucking needles. All your life you’d suffered through nothing but medical treatments and the first day spent away from such hell had you realized just how traumatizing it had all been. Obligated to just take it because there was no alternative, you were never given a choice in the matter. You weren’t ready for this again, seeing that stupid needle so close to your skin made your heart drop in your stomach.

“Wait. Mister, wait. Wait!” you grab onto the metal bars of the cart as his grip on your calf tightens painfully.

“Quit fussin’!” he all but growls and pulls you back in place once you’d made some progress in slipping away. His tolerance for your display vaporizes when you land another inadvertent kick to his knee. He lets your calf go and reaches for the back of your head, grabbing onto a fistful of your hair and jostling you still. He’s right in your face and spitting acid. “What the hell’s wrong with you?!”

“The needle.” you hiccup and wrap your sweet little fingers around his forearm. Tears swell in your eyes from both pain and fear and it does something to him again, but he doesn’t relent. “The needle…I can’t – ” you whimper and plead, crumbling in his hold. “Please don’t, mister…”

He’s taken aback. The menace drains from his gaunt features, baring snarl gone, and his grip on your hair loosens.

“You’re kiddin’ me.” his eyes roll from you to the stimpak as if you’d said the most mind-blowing bullshit he’d ever heard. He dangles the wretched thing in front of you, watching you follow it incessantly, not even blinking. “You’re scared o’ this?”

You make a noise of displeasure and avert your face when he brings the stimpak closer. For once his mocking laugh isn’t welcomed. When he’s assured you’re not just being a brat and actually hold a crippling distaste for the needle, the ghoul pulls away with a scoff.

He thinks, rubbing his knuckles against his jaw while you sit between his knees, immobilized by his grip.

“Well shit...” he lets you go and you bonelessly slump back into the cart.

He’s not one for comfort, doesn’t know what words to use to help you overcome your dilemma; he can’t just jam the stimpak in and risk striking a bone, can’t slide it in gently because you’ll go into another fit. He could just leave…

“Look at me.” he beckoned and snapped his fingers at you. When that didn’t work, he grabbed your face and squished your cheeks, forcing you to obey by giving you a sharp jerk. He leans close enough for you to feel his breath hit your nostrils and of course, it smells like cram. “I said look. At. Me.”

Your eyes go from dazed to bulging when you feel the needle press back against your calf. A pathetic ensemble of bleats accompanies your heaving chest and you hold onto his wrist like it’s the only thing keeping you from dying on the spot.

“Shhhh – shhhh – shhh, ‘s okay sweetheart.” he hushes you with peculiar softness, stifling your meek complaints and scolding your eyes back to his own when he sees your attention dart down to your leg. You wince briefly at the prickle and his pinkie and ring finger leave your cheek and settle at the edge of your jaw, pressing down and rubbing ever so lightly. With an even push of his thumb, the syringe is emptied. “There you go…” he gives your cheek a good pat and leans away, resting on his knees. The pack of gauze you’d carelessly tossed away in your rampage was picked up and ripped open. “The good news is, you don’t need no stitches…but how d’ you intend to survive if you can’t even use a stimpak?”

“I’ll…” you smile in pain and it’s so crooked it rivals his. “I’ll figure it out.”

Tag list: @bountydroid @judgementdays-girl

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv series #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul fallout #x reader #fallout the ghoul #fallout show #the ghoul

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heart-of-the-morningstar · 2 days

Text

Brand New One Shot - First Preview

It’s time for a new one shot! I promise I will finish “Dress Up” in the very near future but I wanted to get a jumpstart on this! No active warnings for this preview, but there is a very very subtle hint to something naughty if you squint lol

You remember first meeting the King of Hell on the day you checked yourself into the Hazbin Hotel. And you remember thinking that Lucifer looked nothing like you had pictured. Of course he was beautiful, that wasn’t shocking, but he was so…unimposing. Not only that, he was kind, albeit a bit dorky as well. Not that it was off putting to you, it was endearing if anything!

Although, you hadn’t spoken to him all that much since the time you’d moved in. Lucifer seemed so nonchalant and relaxed with everyone else in the hotel, save for Alastor, who you noticed always managed to get under the fallen angel’s skin one way or another. Even you knew the radio demon was playing with fire; probably wasn’t the smartest idea to piss off the most powerful being in Hell. Regardless, how he acted around you was a little odd to say the least. It seemed like Lucifer was always trying to avoid you for some unknown reason. Did he not like you?

When you had first spoken to him all those month ago, you could tell he was tense. He rambled, a lot. And he somehow managed to fumble every other word that left his mouth. He quickly left after your initial meet, and ever since then it was nearly impossible to get in more than five words at a time. He had an impossibly perfect disappearing act, what with his portaging abilities. One time you greeted him from across the lobby and his only response was “O-Oh! H-Hey you! Uhh, I just, umm…welp, gotta run!” and took off before you could even say goodbye. Truly bizarre.

You eventually went to Charlie, telling her that her dad was seemingly very distant towards you. “Oh, don’t worry about that!” Charlie explained. “He’s a pretty busy guy, so he’s usually popping in and out of here pretty frequently. And he’s told me on multiple occasions that he’s glad you joined the hotel! He can come off as a bit scatterbrained, but rest assured he’s more than happy to have you here! And so am I!”

You smiled and thanked her. From the few months that you’ve known her, Charlie was never one to lie, so you decided to take her words at face value. For now, at least. For some reason, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was up with Lucifer. You needed to find out.

A few nights had passed and you found yourself wandering through the lobby. It was late, way later than you should be awake. Even Husk was asleep, the bar sat devoid of any life. It was difficult to sleep most night, you were still grappling with the fact that you were, in fact, in Hell. You thought you were a decent person in life. Never religious but you tried your best to while you were alive. But that didn’t seem to matter. Perhaps you should have attended church with your family more often, or donated to more charities, or not cut that one person off at that traffic light. Laying awake in your bed wasn’t helping these thoughts, but getting up and walking around usually helped just a tad.

You glanced over to the fire place, noticing the flames dancing against the walls. That was strange, considering no one ever used the fire place, or at least not that you’ve seen. But then you noticed one of the large chairs in front of it wasn’t empty. A white sleeve laid across the arm rest. You walked over out of pure curiosity, just to see who was awake at this ungodly hour like you. You craned your neck to see Lucifer sitting there frozen, his head down and eyes closed with his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked troubled. Before you could speak up, you heard him mumble under his breath.

“What the hell am I going to do…”

Worried, you outstretched your hand, but stopped short of touching his arm. “Sir?”

Lucifer’s eyes shot open instantly, turning his head to see you towering over him. He leapt from his chair completely startled and began stumbling backwards towards the fire pit.

“Watch out!” you warned, gripping his hand and pulling him towards you. Lucifer held his breath, trying to process what just happened. His head ended up flush against your chest, your face now feeling as hot as the flames in the pit. You let go of his hand and stepped away from him as fast as you could. Lucifer remained motionless. “I-I’m so sorry, your majesty! I didn’t mean for you to…I’m sorry!”

You finally heard Lucifer exhale. He stood up straight and fixed his wrinkled jacket, making every effort to not look you in the eyes.

“It’s alright, m-my dear,” he spoke softly, “no harm done. A-And please, call me Lucifer.”

“Okay. Lucifer,” you started, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I saw you over here and I heard what you said and…is everything alright?”

Lucifer was tense again. You noticed him clench his fists. “How much did you hear?”

“Not much,” you admitted. “you just sounded worried about something.”

The king let out a sigh, letting his hands relax. “Thank you for your concern, I-I appreciate it. It’s nothing…nothing that you need to trouble yourself with. It’ll be fine.” Lucifer waved his hand, a portal now swirling open behind him, leading to his bedroom. “I think we should both get some sleep now. And t-thank you for catching me. Although, fire can’t harm me…b-but I appreciate the rescue nonetheless!” He was about to step through the portal when you caught his hand once more.

“Wait,” you said quietly. Lucifer looked down at the ground, still refusing to meet your gaze. You frowned. “Sir-I mean Lucifer…I wanted to ask you something. I need to know.” You felt his hand squeeze yours; he was tense again. “I-I’ve been feeling like I’m not welcome here by you.” Lucifer finally lifted his head, his eyes almost piercing your soul. He looked distraught at your words. You never noticed how beautiful his eyes truly were, the soft yellow complimented his pure white skin nicely. You blushed slightly, but shook your head and tried to remember what you were saying. “I-I just mean, you seem to avoid me every time I’m near. If I’ve done something to upset you, I’m very sorry. And if you’d rather I’d not stay here, then…”

“NO!” he shouted, now gripping your hand with both of his. “I-I mean, no. You haven’t done anything wrong! Please…Please don’t leave. I should be the one apologizing if that’s truly how you’ve been feeling. I never want you to feel unwelcome here, especially not from me. It…It’s just that…I…” Before he could finish his explanation, his eyes dropped for just a split second before returning to yours. His gaze had somehow shifted into a more panicked expression. He let go of your hands immediately and stepped through his portal in a hurry. “I-I have to go, I’m sorry!” You couldn’t get another word out before his portal disappeared from view.

You stood alone in the parlor, alone and confused. The fire had died out, and you felt a shiver down your spine at the realization of how cold it had gotten without it. But you couldn’t let the conversation end there. You needed to know what was going on with him. You wouldn’t sleep until you did. Luckily, Lucifer’s room at the hotel was very easy to find.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #lucifer smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #my writing #preview #oh where could this be leading :)#if you know the prompt this was based on you know exactly where it’s leading haha

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sashiavi · 2 days

Note

Bear Shane insisting on cuddle time every day... He doesn't appreciate someone interrupting his time with you, this old man needs his naps

BearHybrid!Shane has my heart ♡

This might have gotten out of hand- this man consumes my brain and I went o f f on a tangent - hopefully it's legible :')

additional message : 18+ minors please do not follow - my blog is not a safe space for minors - thank you ♡

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Bear Shane is so soft - Literally - His body just made for big, warm, squeezing hugs. Bear Shane has filled out a little with age - and with other habits he'd cut out - Body still strong enough to lift haybales and chop hefty chunks of firewood, tough muscle hidden behind a man who eats and treats himself well.

Cuddling with him is always a treat, sweeter than molasses - and he can't keep himself off of you - You wonder if your heart beats so hard and fast from love- or if you're having a sugar rush from the deep syrupy way he whispers confessions into your ear.

"Lovin' you so much, Doll.." His voice is low, grumbling, tinged in a soft drawl unique to The Valley. Bear Shane paws over your skin in rhythmic caresses, a little clumsy with a heavy hand, and yet still sending soft shivers down your spine and to your toes never the less.

One way or another, you're always in Bear Shane's arms, in his lap, laying on his chest, always touching him in some form.

Bear Shane nestles you in his lap, reclined and relaxed in an arm chair, hand feeding you snacks you prepared together earlier while the Gridball game drones on the television. He mocks an aeroplane with a pepper popper, playfully popping it in your mouth. His thumb comes up to wipe a stray stain off sauce off of the corner of your mouth - and he licks it up with a smack of his lips. He can't help but chuckle at the face you give him, all too cute and scrunched up with faux disgust. His smile is goofy, nose nuzzling against your own, foreheads pressed together for just a moment, a sloppy wet kiss pressed to your cheek just to get another silly reaction out of you. His bear ears twitch and wiggle, following the teasing and goofy smile plastered on his face.

The hours after Bear Shane sends you into pure syrup sweet bliss in the bedroom are always the softest. After a wash and dry of your bodies, feeling soft and clean, back bundled up under the cool sheets of your bed. Bear Shane beckons you to him, big arms outstretched for you to fall into. He lays on his back, holding you to his body, watching your head rise and fall with his breathing. You can't help it- laying on his chest. Swollen pecs built from muscle and fat, skin warm, decorated in a decent sheen of dark hair- and his heart, pumping behind his ribcage, thumbing in your ear as you nuzzle and kiss him.

Yoba, the twinkle in your eye makes the moment all the more golden- glazed and sleepy dazzled in the soft lamp light, carefully brightening the room from the bedside table. You were warm, so warm on his skin, eyes warm for him, bathed in a room of warm golden light, kissed sweet in a honey glaze.

"Yer' my Sunshine," His voice is low, rasped with exhaustion and a huff of amusement, purposely saying such corny things to make your nose wrinkle for him to kiss.

Bear Shane is big on his afternoon naps. The man was tired from doing his duty on the farm; Tending to the chickens, tidying their coop with utmost care. Harvesting the tree tappers for maple syrup, trying is very best to resist just a little teeny taste of the forbidden nectre - lest you scold him for it. Last time he looked like a kicked baby cub, ears droopy, lips pouted, his teddy bear eyes eventually got him out of it. Poor Bear Shane dregs himself inside, gobbling up his afternoon lunch with you, wiping off a stray stain of muck and soot off of your cheek with a wet cloth while you wash up the dishes.

Exhaustion lays thick in his bones, he practically has to man-handle you from running out the door, coddling you up in a big bear hug. It's all giggles and smooches though, as he drags the both of you to the lounge or the bed, wrapping his thick arms around your torso and stuffing his face in the back of your neck. He can't help but place a big, wet kiss on your skin, his prickly stubble scrapping gently over the spot. His laugh is goofy, arms squeezing you tight for just a moment when you whine and visibly shiver at the sensitive tickling.

His bear ear flicks when the sound of the farm house door rasps with a knock. His thick brows furrow, lips coming to a town turned frown, exasperated when you shift to leave. He cooes a dramatic 'noooo', arms caging you in comically, rolling over, dragging you with him while you giggle and fein protest.

When you finally answer the door, the poor visitor jumps in surprise when they find a sleepy Bear Shane hanging over your shoulder, chin tucked against your neck, honey brown eyes glaring up at the intruder.

"Whadaya' want.." He grumbles, earning a soft smack on his hip. When the visitor states their business Bear Shane blissfully ignores them, using their boring droning voice to slowly doze back into your neck. He breathes in deep, savouring the subtle twinge of sweetness coming off of your skin- maybe your honey milk soap, or the pretty vanilla perfume you put on thay day- whatever it was it was golden behind his eyes, melting his heart down into syrup- strong enough to flavour anything in your life with his love.

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

Was this corny? It feels corny- confession: it's been probably 8 years since I have written just fluff- go easy on me ♡ and pls lmk how I could improve if I can!

shane my love, my mess, my chunkins- my heart blooms for him~

My inbox is very very full right now- thank you for all the wonderful ideas :)) I will do my best to catch up on them ♡

Bear Shane is May-pal serrup coded

#ʚ•*°SashiAvi Writes°*•ɞ #sdv shane x reader #shane sdv #shane x reader #sdv shane #stardew shane #stardew valley shane fluff #sdv fluff #stardew valley #stardew valley fluff #stardew valley x reader #sdv shane fluff #stardew shane fluff #cuddling & snuggling

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fraugwinska · 2 days

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Hhggffffffgg… pweasd.. pweasd more Leap of Faith. Part two of them meeting each other in hell. Pretty sure they’d end up in hell since suicide is a sin, iirc?

Uweh wahhhh. Felt it real deep of losing the only meaningful connection, the big sadness taking over. I’m sobbing. My heart—

Your writing is amazing as always. I eat that shit up.

...The people have spoken. I am your humble servant. Please accept this offering...

Heavy themes, religious trauma, mental/physical torture Minors please DNI

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Like a shooting star.

You looked like a shooting star against the purple, starless sky of the pride ring, a glowing gold and teal line trailing behind you like a tail.

Alastor pushed his shadows faster through the streets of the pentagram, not a care who he pushed, sliced or scared out of the way - he had to get to you, had to catch you and not let you crash into unforgiving ground, like it was mundane, like you were any other meaningless, unimportant, goddamned sinner.

He couldn't allow it. Wouldn't allow it.

Faster and faster your form grew shape, and he realized that the big, heavy radio that was still in your arms - still pressed tightly to your chest - acted like an anchor, accelerating your plunge, threatening to shatter you into the hard, stony streets underneath, or worse: Through.

"Let go!", he hissed desperately to himself, pulling and yanking and gnashing and urging his shadows to work to their limit, whipping them into a speed that could break both, him and the damned radio, if need be, if you would just slow down and gain him a few more crucial seconds to get to you. The distance between you and him shrunk until your fall felt close, so close, too close, as though if you'd only be conscious to just reach out and outstretch a hand to him, his eldritch tendrils could grab it.

"Come on." His dark silhouette growled, partly manifesting and elongating himself more to maneuver around the last alley corner. "Almost... THERE!"

As a streak of blinding light, like a lightning bolt, and with the force of a crashing plane, you smashed into his solid, physical demonic form, as Alastor manifested into an extension of flesh and limbs right beneath your descending trajectory, and swallowed you right there in his arms before both of you hit the ground.

***

The void around you was dark. Quiet. Endless and expanding. You couldn't feel anything other than the feeling of nothingness surrounding you, floating but at the same time... not. No ground beneath, no sky above - you didn't even know when you hit the water. Was it even water anymore? Did it matter?

In the blindness, you registered the vanta black around you fading into white, bright and scorching. And that feeling you previously lacked bloomed to the front of your consciousness: Pain. Like a thousand needles poking out from every corner of your skull, making you yelp out and whimper. You shifted your body, or at least tried, only to cry out and curl up into yourself, clutching whatever the big and heavy thing was in your arms, tight as the muscles in your upper body convulsed, twitched and trembled at the burning pain. Where the hell were you?

"𝓦𝓮'𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵, 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮'𝓼 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽.""

A voice made out of a thousand voices spoke, and it resonated from within you – amplified through every cell of your body, booming and mighty and utterly inhumane. You screamed out the pressure it put on your brain, cried as it felt as though something was pouring into you and flowing out all at once, burning, devouring and replacing every fiber, every strand of DNA. You writhed in agony, wanting to beg for whatever it was to stop, but you were in the hands of an infinite power above you, and so, all you could do was howl and weep.

"𝓘𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓲𝓵."

It was men and women and children, high and deep and loud and quiet and screams and whispers and it overwhelmed you to listen to it.

"𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓬𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵. 𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓲𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵 𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓮, 𝔀𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓲𝓹 𝓲𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷."

Your throbbing hands cramped around the object in your arms, nails scratching on the surface. Wood. Soft wood, warm beneath your fingertips.

"Alastor...", you sobbed through clenched teeth, memories slowly pushing through the pain to the front of your mind, clawing their way through the thick haze of the booming voice of the entity. "I want to go to Alastor..."

"𝓜𝔂 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭, 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮. 𝓓𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵."

"He's not..." A low moan spilled past your dry, bitten lips as another wave of excruciating pain crashed down your spine. Tears stained your cheeks as the radio in your arms felt heavier and heavier, dangerously close to slip from your grip.

"𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷, 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓾𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓵𝓾𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾."

The voice was patient, neutral, not showing any sign of rage or warmth or even condescension. It only held a commanding power, like a pull from gravity, unintentional, elemental, to give in, to accept, to repent. But you couldn't. Couldn't even if you tried. The tears that came to your eyes now weren't out of pain alone, but because you couldn't help the insurmountable longing to leave, to not be held back any longer.

"Alastor isn't evil or wicked...", your cracked voice whispered. "Not to me..."

"𝓓𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓬𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓸𝓯 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮. 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓯 𝓭𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂, 𝓽𝓸𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓪 𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓪 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷, 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭."

Torture. It felt as though someone was physically digging through you with dull claws, sawing into your very soul, bending, ripping, breaking and rearranging, molding the picture you had of Alastor to a villain, a torturer, a destroyer, a greedy animal without reason, feasting upon human despair and wailing screams, wreaking havoc and taking lives laughing along the way as he rips fangs into flesh that looked like your own.

"That... isn't him.", you mouthed breathlessly, forcing yourself to focus. "You're a liar."

You fought to come back, with the sound of Alastor's smiling voice, molten with static and spoken with feeling. 'And I can most assure you... pretty is a well fitting word to describe you.'.

"Liar... liar... LIAR!"

The illusion the entity conjured around you began to shatter, as did the images it showed you, breaking and tearing away like rotten paper from the ones you wanted to hold on to... The hours and days and nights spent together, the long and entertaining conversations over meals, his teasing comments and your quick-wit responses, the little things that made his voice lift an octave and a tiny huff, which you learned over the weeks was him trying not to chuckle at your banter. The softness in his tune when he realized you were drifting into slumber. The way he called you his dove.

"𝓦𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭."

the entity said, though their tone had begun to waver, echoing withing the faint sound of breaking glass.

"𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓭. 𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷 𝓫𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝓸𝓻 𝓫𝓮, 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻, 𝓪 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓸𝓭."

You felt heat creeping up your legs, as if your skin was bubbling, burning and it was hard to speak, as the smell of cauterized flesh and blood filled your nose. Bones were shifting, limbs trembling and twisting as if they wanted to turn you inside out, skin color changing and fading into palish white, nails growing into slender blue talons, something rough and rigid sprouting from your back and shoulders. But you only tightened your arms around the radio, eyes pressed close and teeth grit together.

You've had enough.

"Fuck your lies, fuck your salvation and FUCK. YOUR. GOD."

Gravity returned in an instant, like someone cut a hole through space, the air and heat from your lungs gone as it ripped you from the strange white with unexpected violence – malevolence even - body flaying in the sudden wind of the descend.

Purple and red shades swirled before your eyes, wild strands of glittering golden hair fluttered in and out of your vision, barely recognizing them as your own. The heat of the air and the sight of a black pentagram on a red sun, sinking slowly beyond a tumbling horizon were the last things you noticed before unconsciousness reached mercifully out to claim you again.#

***

“Angel! Get Charlie over here, I found 'im!”

Husk stared down the crater, trying to wrap his head around the sight before him. His ears flicked as he heard Angel shouting something unintelligible to the girls, his footsteps quickly nearing the place where he stood.

“She's comin' in a sec, she and Vagina ran ova' to the maneater colony to get Rosie and... what in Satans left ballsack?!”

The spiders' eyes widened when he saw what Husk saw - Down the deep and wide cavity, right in the middle, was a twitching, faintly green glowing mass of tentacles and limbs. A distorted groan rumbled from below, thick and riddled with static feedback as Alastor's corrupted form slowly receded to normalcy – as normal as he was. He was lying on his back, curled around the motionless form of a naked female demon. Her legs were pulled up, a limp hand with short, teal talons pressed against the side of the radio demons wild, madly grinning face, while the other was trapped and hidden in between both bodies.

Both Angel and Husks hairs stood on ends at the sound he made, not daring to move or draw attention to themselves until Alastor had regained full consciousness and, most of all, reason back. The unknown sinner that was pressed against Alastor's chest had gray, crooked looking wings sprouting from her back, various shades of teal staining the ragged tips. Her skin was white, bordering on cream with some spruce and azure specks that traveled over her neck and shoulders. From where they stood they could see blonde locks tangled in Alastor's claws, shimmering in hell's twilight as if they were made out of real gold.

Angel gave his partner a nervous side glance, as if expecting him to say or do something. "Should we... holy mother of shitballs, this is so fucked up... umm... should we get them out of..."

"̷S̷̷ T̷̷ A̷̷ Y̷ ̷W̷̷ H̷̷ E̷̷ R̷̷ E̷ ̷Y̷̷ O̷̷ U̷ ̷A̷̷ R̷̷ E̷."

Husk had only heard Alastor's voice like this on a few occasions and those instances had almost always ended in bloodshed. He shook his head at Angel in a silent warning, gripping one of his wrists when the blackened pits of the radio demon found his, glaring at him with glowing crimson iris'. It sent a shiver down the cat's back, and Angel, feeling the tremble of his partner and sensing that this was a rare occasion where he should keep his usual, lewd remarks to himself, cleared his throat.

"I-Is a'ight Smiles, we're not movin'. Charlies' comin, and she's bringin' Rosie, so just... chill, okay? No one's gonna hurt y-your uh... girlfriend?" Angel forced himself to remain eye contact, swallowing against the growing lump in his throat.

Alastor didn't answer for a good minute or two, eyes shifting over Husks' grim, but wary face and Angels worried one, before looking back down, the flames of anger and fear dying as soon as his gaze fell on the woman cradled in his lap. Her pale, motionless face was partially hidden by her hair, but the features he recognized were much like the ones she had before she did the unthinkable. Her breathing was slow and shallow - but, above all, she was here, right here, next to him, unbroken from the fall, safe in his arms...

He brushed a few stray strands of her golden mane aside, watching closely as her chest barely heaved and fell, transfixed at the movement, the guarantee that she lived. He lifted one his hands to caress her cheek, the motion much more careful and tender than either Angel or Husk thought him capable of, wiping off tiny pieces of debris from the radio she had carried like a lifeline. It had been burst by the impact, splinters of mahogany wood and shards of metal wiring scattered around them both. The top of her left wing had suffered some damage, no doubt the result of the force of his grip as he caught her, little cuts and smears of dried blood covering her sides.

"My dove. My foolish, silly, lonely girl.", his strained voice breathed, his usual filter missing, as he turned her unresponsive face gently with the tip of his claw, hoping to see any indication that the girl that he had driven to the lengths of sheer, reckless stupidity was still here with him.

The sound of steps on the broken concrete made his head turn with a sickening crack. Alastor was now curled completely over you, his arms wrapped tightly around your figure, hiding your vulnerable and exposed body from view. Rosie had arrived alongside the princess and her partner, all of them short of breath and as shocked and confused as the other two demons to find the radio demon and a freshly fallen sinner, locked into an awkward embrace.

He watched her kneeling next to him, her expression was best described as compassionate curiosity. When he didn't move, didn't talk, didn't acknowledge her presence around him, his form only slightly moving to shield your motionless frame away, Rosie, ever the understanding and pragmatic lady she was, carefully reached over to him and set a gloved hand onto his shoulder in reassurance. Her razor sharp smile was soft as she held his blackened gaze for a heartbeat.

"Seems like I will meet your little dove after all, my dearest friend. But now, let's get you both somewhere safe."

***

You opened your eyes to red. All red. Everywhere red. Warm and bright and comforting.

A sensation tickled your head and nose, feathers, brushing the top of them with a barely there touch. You wanted to brush them away, but your arms felt heavy and warped and strange, unable to be lifted. Slow blinks put your eyes into focus, like the lens of a camera that was getting adjusted on it's intended shot.

You were looking at a red painted ceiling, and when you strained your aching head to tilt a little your eyes slowly wandered over luscious, ornate wallpaper in burgundy's and scarlet's, morbid looking horns and skulls mounted on the walls next to slightly askew, empty picture frames. A heavy, dark bookcase on your right was full of tattered tombs, books and magazines, small models of twisted looking skeletons and an old, vintage... radio...

Everything clicked back into place.

Alastor, gone.

The bridge, dark over the water.

The black and the white.

The voice and the pain and the lies and the fall...

Your breath hitched, and your heart started to pound faster and louder, thrumming violently in your ears as you fell into panic, eyes frantically forcing your body to move, to search, until you realized you were stuck underneath the weighted presence of a head that rested upon your sternum, tufts of soft black and red hair draped over your chest, slightly covering a face hidden away in the crook of your neck. A low, quiet hum of white noise came from the person the head belonged to, sitting at your bedside and upper body half-slumped over you... a sound resonating deep within you, stirring up all too familiar feelings.

He was still, but clearly breathing, and he hadn't moved even though your pulse must've skyrocketed. A raspy gasp of relief and astonishment escaped you. It had worked. You really had done it. And Alastor...

You started to sob, loud and violent, your chest burning and heavy, but not out of fear or panic anymore but the impact of a thousand feelings of pure happiness. The sounds woke the creature slumbering on your shoulder, his shoulders twitched, and you could see him lift his head to slowly look up, dark circles under his crimson eyes.

Your name rolled over this demons lips, not a word, no greeting, only a longingly whispered name, spoken with a broken, ragged, familiar voice. It made you finally cry, tears spilling from you uncontrollably, unable to stop, unable to think. You heard him call your name again, saw the widening grin of his mouth through watery eyes, his arm reaching out to brush your tear-stained cheek. He didn't manage to even fully extend his fingers when your shaking hands reached out to grab his lapels, pulling him into you so that you could finally touch him, feel him instead of just hearing him. Finally tangible, finally underneath your fingers as well as your skin.

"It's you... i-it's you right?", you stammered breathlessly, voice wrought with tears of happiness. "A-Alastor. I found you, I'm not dreaming, You're Alastor..."

"At your service, my dear...", Alastor shushed softly, one hand gently caressing your hair as you leaned into the warmth of the touch. His wide smile wavered for a moment, gaze shifting to something sad and mournful as he pulled himself away to look at you.

"But you shouldn't be here, my dove." He sighed, but as he looked back to you and saw the frightened, horrified expression on your face he shook his head, leaning his brow against your own, a gesture of assurance.

"I never intended for you to be here. You didn't deserve this death, and hell doesn't deserve you."

"H-Heaven can take a long walk off a short pier..." You tried to speak with a steady voice, but failed, as your whole body began to shudder in bubbling anger at the mere implication of this cursed entity. The one that claimed to be merciful salvation but had no problem with cruel manipulation. You blinked a couple of tears away, drawing a trembling breath, before meeting his tired eyes.

"I was... in some strange place. I was offered redemption, if I..."

You frowned, sitting up slowly, careful not to make him withdraw more, holding onto the sleeves of his jacket with stiff, aching hands.

"They wanted me to denounce you. If I renounced you they... would've let me enter heaven. When I didn't want to, when I said I wanted to go to you... They showed me things while hurting me. Horrible, disgusting lies."

Your breath quickened and the corners of your vision darkened, and you realized with a shuddering panic that you were close, way too close to breaking down into sobs again. Your claw-like nails dug into the material of his sleeve as you struggled to compose yourself, ripping tiny cuts into it. You took a deep breath, pushing through the memory, reliving it until...

Your shoulders shook. For a moment, you felt him shifting, as if he'd expected you to burst into tears again. Instead, you laughed. You laughed despite your chest hurt, and even harder when you saw his floored, surprised face.

"I basically told god to go fuck himself."

For a heartbeat or two, silence enveloped both of you. Alastor blinked once, then twice, the third time his grin fell slowly. Another beat later he buried his face in the crook of your neck and...

...the boisterous, unmuted laughter, roaring, insane cackling, so deep and resounding, you could feel it in your stomach, erupted from him. Alastor almost toppled over as he tore himself from you, raking a hand trough his hair as his head shook, a manic, wonderfully impish grin tugging on the corners of his mouth.

"You know I don't think you were honest with me about your name, dove. Your initial answer of 'crazy' seems much more fitting."

Alastor was laughing so hard, his whole body was trembling with the effort. You felt yourself giggle, then unrestrained laughing along, but it died in your throat when his lips found yours in a sudden swift moment. It was full of everything. Full of curiosity, of promises and hope, it was the saving grace you sacrificed heaven for. You smiled into it, moved your lips against his, gentle and chaste, before he pulled away too soon and pressed his forehead against yours. You could feel his warm, slow breathing against your cheeks.

"How fortunate for you that I work best with 'crazy'."

Your beaming smile slowly faded, your hands finding his face to make him look at you. There was one more weight you had to lift off.

"I'm sorry.", you whispered, closing your eyes. “I'm sorry for...”

"Don't be, dear. I was at fault, fearing our connection would... weaken me." He sighed. "You might not understand it right now, but I will tell you everything, once you're fully recovered. Can you wait for that?"

You nodded, a small, grateful curl forming on your lips. You opened your eyes to stare into his, crimson, bright and intense, and yet soft and affectionate. Eyes you always tried to envision, although nothing you imagined came close to the real thing.

"Do you... still think it?", you asked, voice shaking slightly.

Alastor hummed a questioning noise, prompting you to continue, which you did, after a second of hesitation. "Me, weakening you. Do you still think it?"

His quiet laughter resounded in your ears, filling you with warmth and making your heart skip a beat.

"My silly, darling dove. With the woman on my side who dared to throw curses at the face of our very creator - What could ever stop me now?"

And, as Alastor's smile grew wide, and your own mirrored it, you were claimed by red claws and a hot, eager mouth once again, kissed again by those soft, sinful lips, the lips of your friend, your savior, your love - the devil himself, whispering the answer to his question unspoken through your skin right into your heart.

Nothing could stop the both of you now.

Nothing at all.

Taglist for the most awsome people that walk the earth: @littledolly2345 @sleepywritersworld @crescentparadise @rapturenyx-blog @phisen @alastorsgirl48 @mullet-mother @sirens-and-moonflowers

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #angel dust #charlie morningstar #hazbin husk #rosie hazbin hotel #angst #fluff #happy ending because WE NEEDED IT #TW: dark themes #religious trauma #for the frauchen #I almost died writing this what even is sleep

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sourholland · 2 days

Text

based off of taylor swift’s song style

a/n → we are so back. here’s the official playlist for style 🩵

summary → he’s the quarterback of the cincinnati bengals, a worldwide heartthrob with an ego the size of lake erie—but does he have the heart to match it? you’re the bengals newest cheerleader, desperate to prove how much you deserve your spot on the team. it doesn’t take much to catch the eye of joe burrow, however that isn’t necessarily a good thing when you’re told that any romantic relations between cheerleaders and players is strictly prohibited.

warnings → strong language, mentions of sex

word count → 3.3k

reblog and leave some comments if you enjoy!!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 5

After you and Joe had come close to being caught in his locker room, both of you decided it was best to make a swift exit plan that let you both make it to the parking lot unscathed and unsuspecting. You departed first, quickly turning the corner and leaving the hallway with your bag slung over your shoulder. Joe had in fact kept your panties, taunting you for a minute and motioning for you to attempt to grab them from him. Spooked by the disturbance, you only told him that he now owes you two pairs.

Joe left a few minutes after you, taking a completely different hallway out of the facility and practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He asked to see you before you’d split, so the fact that he knew he was going to follow you back to your apartment had seemingly put a bit of pep in his step. You watched him cross the large parking lot, waving at you and smiling in a way that left you shaking your head and laughing. He must have changed clothes before he walked out, adorning a pair of shorts and a black jacket overtop his white hoodie.

The drive was quiet, save for the few times Joe would purposefully begin to ride the ass of your car or honk like you had done something wrong. Funny, you bit back some amusement as you let the horn blare right back at him. He was unlike any guy you had been with in that aspect, his humor was genuine and never had anything to do with making you feel bad about yourself or to poke fun. His jokes never cut deep, which was rare in your few relationships thus far.

Joe parked beside you in your unit’s garage. His Porsche most definitely stood out amongst the line of cars, sleek and spotless as if he had just taken it through the car wash. Everything about him was so clean and prim and proper, it intimidated you now more than ever. A sudden feeling of insecurity washed over you, wondering if he was silently judging you and your life. You couldn’t help gazing down at the steering wheel, thinking endlessly about how much Joe really possessed in athleticism, riches, and looks compared to your ex-boyfriends.

Suddenly his knuckle wrapped against your window, “You got mac ‘n’ cheese up there? Tell me that doesn’t sound so good right now.”

You couldn’t help laughing at him, his so-casual words through the window that you rolled down. He leaned into your car, arms folded so his chin rested on them as he perched and tilted his head to the side. He looked inside of your car now, having never seen it. His legs were so long, you noted once again as you breathed another chuckle at his stature. He merely shook his head, waiting for a response about the food.

“I think I have the little Kraft cups. I might have some of the normal boxes, it might be Velvetta, though,” you watched as he gave you an eyeroll.

“You think one of those cups is gonna sustain me? I’m insulted,” he placed a hand on his heart and finally pulled his head out of the car. He opened the car door for you, motioning for you to step out with an outstretched hand for your bag. “I was practically inhaling those things at eight. You can’t seriously be full off one.”

“Excuse me, Joe. Not all of us are..” you spoke with booming amusement and sarcasm, prepared to give a dramatic reenactment as you approached the elevator. “The one, the only Joe Burrow! Heartthrob NFL quarterback, generous philanthropist, sexiest–”

“Ah okay, I see. Someone’s got jokes,” he interrupted, smiling ear to ear. “Please, don’t stop on my accord. What about me is so sexy?”

As you crossed the threshold and began upward in the elevator, you gave him a teasing smirk and noticed just how pink his cheeks had gotten at your comments. He was still holding your bag, bouncing up and down on his heels and occasionally glancing sidelong at you while you went up. The ride was a comfortable silence, simply peering at each other when the other was not looking in a sort of high school fashion.

Joe discarded his coat as he entered your freshly unlocked apartment, murmuring something about how he was sweating. You watched him curiously, tidying up and discarding some of the random things you and the girls had strewn around the apartment. He hadn’t ever been inside, he’d only picked you up when you went out for drinks. He definitely had no intention of masking his curiosity, he walked along the walls of your living room and noted each photo and piece of decor. He picked up a frame on the TV stand, it was a moment captured on film from your study abroad trip in Australia. His eyes scanned the photograph where you and Sydney were perched on pink beach towels, smiling drunkenly and wearing floppy hats for shade.

“What’s your life like?” He asked you, not a hint of hesitation in his question. “I know you’re a cheerleader, I know you’re going to school to become a teacher. What about all the other stuff, though?”

You paused and hummed, “I feel like my life might bore in comparison to yours.”

“I highly doubt that, but tell me anyway.”

“I grew up in a pretty rural area in Massachusetts. I have an older brother, his name is Jack. My parents have been divorced for a few years, but they stuck it out until I moved out. For better or for worse,” you told him without maintaining much eye contact. “I’m really not trying to dump all of my childhood trauma on you, I promise.”

“Y/N, what are you talking about? I asked,” Joe said, reassuring you and noting how you fiddled with the strings of the knit throw blanket. “I want to know, I really do.”

His expression was genuine, his eyes serious and fixated solely on you. He had discarded his car keys and phone on a nearby countertop, giving you his full attention as you inhaled deeper and thought seriously about what you wished to tell him. He felt unreal, like something you had dreamed up and manifested into your living room. A part of you thought you should pinch yourself and look again, sure that he would have disappeared into thin air. No, you forced yourself out of the thought and made yourself see that he was just as real and tangible as you are.

“We grew up pretty poor, for a while we were a one income household living off food stamps and just getting by. It was rough, those years especially, but we managed and eventually my mom and dad were able to save. They got into real estate later on and then opened a store, I’m grateful for all of it. I worked hard in school to help with scholarships and stuff so they wouldn’t be totally responsible for putting me through college,” the words flowed without much thought and he nodded, listening intently. “They weren’t happy. I knew it long before anyone mentioned divorce, but I was still pretty wrecked. I’m grateful, though. They gave me a great work ethic, you know just watching them build a better life for our family. I wouldn’t even live here without their help.”

“I can tell you’re a hard worker,” he was assessing you in your entirety. “Are you close with them? Your family, I mean.”

You stilled for a moment, thinking intently about the question. Joe was sitting across from you, elbows braced on his knees as he leaned into the conversation. His gaze was soft, gentle even. He wasn’t looking at you with pity, however. His expression was more of a mixture of understanding and concentration, like he was afraid to say the wrong thing.

“Not so much, no,” you answered. “But the love is still there. I just have a hard time expressing it to my family, I guess. If that makes any sense at all. With my friends, it always just comes so much easier. I’ve just always felt outside myself around my family, like they know nothing about me.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“It’s just kind of how it's always been, I guess.”

Joe listened to you for ten more minutes, not protesting when you rose from the loveseat and seemed to want to change the subject to something more positive. Following you into the kitchen, he began to look through the cupboards for something to make. It didn’t take him long before finding the Kraft cups, turning around and showing you with an eye roll. He began rattling off the nutrition label, making you raise your phone to him with a hand over your mouth as you captured a short clip of his fully serious assessment.

He continued to sift through the materials of your kitchen, finding an actual box of mac ‘n’ cheese and beginning to look for your pots and pans. You silently extended a hand, letting him take the pot from you and start cooking. You walked over to the fridge, glancing around your options for drinks.

“So I have Celsius, milk, Titos, Capri suns, and water,” you told him, cringing internally at the selection.

“What flavor Capri Sun?” He asked, stirring the food in front of him.

“Looks like… strawberry kiwi.”

“Yeah, I’ll take one of those,” he looked over his shoulder at you.

You both ate in front of the living room television, watching The Hunger Games underneath the throw blanket you had extended to him as soon as you sat down. He took it graciously, eating much faster and going back for a second helping before you’d finished even half of your bowl. You snickered softly, wondering the daily caloric intake of an NFL player and how much Joe had to eat to maintain his figure.

Once you both finished eating, he followed you into your bathroom with his bag. He took his toothpaste and toothbrush out, the set you assumed was only for practice and games. You both stood in front of the mirror, brushing silently until Joe would make a face in the mirror or you would go to rinse your brush and he would slap your ass. He took the lid of the mouthwash you had filled up, knocking it back just as you had. He stifled a laugh while you swished, pulling his phone out and taking a picture of you with your hands on your hips, eyes narrowed at him and mouth full of mouthwash.

Joe’s cold hand slid onto your upper thigh as you settled back into the couch. He pinched softly and you whacked his arm slightly harder, causing both of you to laugh as he threw his hands up in playful defense. You let him lean in as he mouthed the word ‘truce’, only to attack your middle and put you with your back on the couch. He hovered above you, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck and lips.

“Should I go?” Joe asked, looking down at his phone and realizing how late it is.

“Do you want to go?” You asked him in one breath.

The only light illuminating his face was from the movie playing in the background. Joe’s pupils were blown, his hair falling forward as he was still above you. His body pressed a fraction of his weight on you, both of your pulses pounding. He let himself think about the question, humming lowly and taking in the visual before him once again.

“I never want to go,” he said, half-joking with a smirk. “You tell me. I have to be at the facility to watch film at eight, I’ll be gone before you wake up. It’ll be like I was never here. ”

Is that what he wants? The question wracked your brain as you sat contemplating how casual this was for him. His flattery sometimes felt so real, like more than foreplay or meaningless flirting. There was always the undertone of what was wrong with you two being tangled up in the same blanket, though. Joe couldn’t bring you on a real date, you would never be able to show anyone the video from the kitchen–why shouldn’t this be casual to him? He likes you, perhaps. But how can you expect him to want to tiptoe around each other’s jobs?

“Okay, yeah,” the words came out more breathy than you intended. “Sounds good to me.”

Joe studied your dimly lit face, “Everything alright?”

You told yourself not to be that same girl you were at the bar, the one you could only assume he viewed as a psychotic bitch. A part of you was willing yourself to shove down some of those strong feelings for him, giving him a soft smile and nodding. He relaxed a bit, letting you turn in his arms and watch the movie with your back to his chest.

It was only about ten minutes before you heard the sounds of his soft snores, one arm tucked underneath his head and the other firm around your chest. His breathing was deep and steady, occasionally pulling you into him further. After a few minutes, you grabbed your phone off of the coffee table and turned your camera front-facing, making sure the flash was off and snapping a picture to send to your group chat with the girls.

Sydney: Oh. My. GOD.

Sydney: I’m actually throwing up rn what the fuck

Sydney: LOOK HOW BIG HIS HAND IS

Lena: I’m freaking the fuck out omg

Lena: I’m so jealous

Lena: He’s so

Sydney: He’s fine as fuck

Y/N: IKR

Y/N: I think I’m obsessed

Sydney: Girl wbk that

Sydney: Be fucking for real

Y/N: I simply do not think I will be making it to class on Monday

Lena: That’s three days away

Y/N: Ugh Ik

Y/N: Last first day of classes!

Y/N: I’ll call you guys tomorrow and debrief

Both of them hearted the message, sending their goodnight texts and equally dirty messages about you and Joe sleeping together. You flipped the TV off and let yourself lean into his arms a bit further, inhaling his scent of high end cologne and mint. He held onto you protectively, caging you into his embrace and brushing his nose against your hair. You slowly let

yourself drift to the sound of his breaths.

⋆------------⋆

Joe woke up around six, he felt you pressing into him and against him first. His neck was stiff, wishing he’d have made it to your bed last night. He couldn’t recall falling asleep, assuming he had knocked out while you both watched the movie. He inhaled the scent of your shampoo, closing his eyes for a few moments and allowing himself to linger between that sweet spot of sleep and consciousness.

He savored the few moments of domesticity, wondering what it would be like to wake up in bed next to the other. Everything about you was so intoxicating, he had never been much of a risk taker before. He would have never risked bringing you into the locker room if he was in a completely sane state of mind. He thought of you with such desperation and yearning that he simply couldn’t have cared less about what anyone had to say about it.

Joe knew this made him selfish, made him irresponsible, and that was the worst part. He knew and he didn’t give a shit, he couldn’t stay away from you. Not that he had really tried, but he also lacked the desire to. Being around you was bad for him, Joe thought as he watched you sleep soundlessly beside him. You cause him to completely lose control of who he is and yet he cannot seem to stay away.

Slipping out from behind you without waking you was difficult, but he managed to get out over the back of the couch and readjust the blanket to cover you. Joe walked around, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on whilst also cleaning up a bit and helping with the dishes he helped dirty. He came up with the idea to leave a note once he was left looking around your kitchen, shaking off his damp hands and pulling his sleeves back down. He found a notepad and pen easily, but stared blankly at the sheet. Is leaving a note too much? He had a hard time reading your attitude towards certain things, he had tried to get you to stay for breakfast and you flat out refused him. Perhaps it was better to adhere to what was agreed on, it would be like he was never there.

After a few seconds of contemplation, Joe sighed and set the pen down. He left quietly after brushing a hand over your head once more, shutting the door softly behind him so as not to wake you up.

⋆------------⋆

When you rolled over to grab your phone, Joe was already long gone and his spot beside you had now gone cold. Yawning, you sat up and padded to the bathroom to pee and contemplate everything that had gone on during the previous night. At first glance, you assumed Joe had tidied up the strewn pillows on the living room floor and moved your phone to the coffee table.

Once you made it into the kitchen, you realized he had washed the dishes that had been used and pulled out a sheet of paper. There was nothing written on it, pen sitting idly by as if he planned to write something for you to wake up to. Casual, you reminded yourself. Both of you had agreed on casual.

The run you went on this morning was particularly long, headphones blaring as you pushed yourself further and further away from your complex. Thoughts of cheerleading and Joe weighed on your mind heavily, his head between your thighs the night before most certainly did not make it any easier for you to focus on controlling your breathing. Casual felt like a punishment, especially in this case. He couldn’t have felt a fraction of how you did, your thoughts occupied constantly with the sight of his unruly hair and large hands on your body. He was making you crazy, the way he touched you was genuinely driving you into insanity. Much less the fact that you risked your spot on the team each time you answered at his beck and call.

Your phone began to ring, Lena’s caller ID popping up. You answered, sweat coating you like a layer of oil.

“Don’t freak out.”

“Freak out?” I heaved, taking a long sip of water. “Why would I freak out?”

“There’s a picture of you and Joe on Twitter. You can’t see your face at all and you’re at a red light, all you can see is him and some of your hair,” she informed you, cautiously attempting to keep your anxiety at bay. “It’s days old, but it popped up on my timeline just now and it has a few thousand likes.”

She sent you a screenshot, fingers shaking as you opened up your texts and tapped on the picture. It was a photo from the first night you’d gone to get food, a sneaky snapshot at a redlight when your window was half down. Thankfully, only your shoulders and the back of your head was visible under the light that made the color of your hair hard to detect. Joe was looking over at you, smiling with one hand occupied by the half-gone milkshake.

Feeling like the wind was knocked out of you, you silently copied the image and sent it to Joe.

“I feel like I should end things with him officially,” was all you said to Lena. “He wants casual and I’m not sure this is worth casual.”

lmk to be added to the taglist!

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#joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow angst #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow imagines #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x yn #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow fic #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow fluff

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nico-di-genova · 3 days

Text

Late Night Talks - Strollonso

Written for the prompt: [Lance and Fernando] dead-tired in bed, curled up to each other and they keep making dumb jokes and laughing at them

Warnings: NSFW, not super explicit, but mentioned.

@raapija hopefully this is sort of what you were looking for, I started with answering your prompt and then it just sort of got away from me.

Post Singapore is quickly becoming Lance’s least favorite post-race kind of feel, second only to Qatar which exists in a league of its own. He doesn’t do well in the heat, his body acclimated to colder climates and snow that comes up to his knees. Miami is about the closest he’ll come to acceptable humidity, and only when he can couple it with the lukewarm temperature of the ocean and the salty spray that comes from zipping through the waves on the back of a boat’s tow. But Singapore is the sort of wet heat that clings to you until you can’t breathe around it, it makes driving a car for two hours in on-the-limit conditions near impossible.

“I feel disgusting,” he complains to Fernando, drying the back of his wet hair with a hotel towel and grimacing. He still feels like he has sweat clogging his pores, embedded in his hair follicles, couldn’t seem to get himself clean no matter how hard he scrubbed at his skin.

Fernando, who had taken a shower in his own room because if they had shared it wouldn’t have resulted in attempting to get clean at all, wears a matching expression of discomfort. He’s sprawled across Lance’s bed, in nothing but his boxers and normally that would inspire something in Lance. But sex, especially with Fernando, is a sweaty endeavor and he would like to avoid adding to his already uncomfortable state.

Doesn’t stop him from getting hard anyway, noticeably tenting the towel low on his hips.

Fernando arches an eyebrow, peaks down at Lance through heavy-lidded eyes.

“No, ignore that.”

“Hard to ignore,” Fernando quips, but he’s just as exhausted as Lance and it shows when he doesn’t make an effort to sit up and pull Lance closer. Instead he closes his eyes and readjusts his arm where it’s resting under his head, lets out a sigh that Lance knows is a prelude to quiet snores.

“Don’t fall asleep there,” he complains, shucking off the towel long enough to slide on his own underwear, “You’re taking up the whole bed, asshole.”

He still needs to brush his teeth, probably make an attempt at skincare before the grime of the day sets in and breakouts quickly follow. But standing is beginning to take a lot of effort. It’s like he can feel the weight of the heat bearing down on his shoulders, even though they’re inside, can still feel it pressing on his chest. It’s a good thing they have a late flight tomorrow because Lance’s future plans include nothing more but sleeping until the bone deep exhaustion makes its way out of him.

Fernando hasn’t moved, still lays with his knees hanging off the bed, one arm flung out beside him, legs spread just as wide, like he’s intentionally trying to take up as much space as possible. He nudges Fernando’s knee with his own and it’s the only warning the man gets before Lance is collapsing down beside him, the full weight of him landing on Fernando’s outstretched arm and half on top of his body. They’re laying sideways on the bed, and Lance is too tall for this, immediately finds it uncomfortable. But Fernando smells nice, and he’s warm where Lance presses up against him, so he allows it for the time being. Even if Fernando’s arm is bony and uncomfortable where it’s digging into Lance’s side.

“You are still wet,” Fernando grumbles, still with his eyes closed, still half-asleep, “Off.”

“It’s my bed, old man,”

They share a hotel room most nights now, the separate bookings nothing more than a charade, but they are still technically in Lance’s room. Ignoring Fernando’s griping, he presses closer, throws a leg over the man’s body, finds the crook of Fernando’s neck and nuzzles his nose there, lets his wet hair brush against Fernando’s cheek, until Fernando is wriggling away in discomfort. Annoyance is not a tactic he employs frequently, nor is it one that typically works on Fernando, but it works tonight.

“Like a soggy cat,” Fernando chastises, and then sits up, taking his comforting scent and presence with him.

Lance smiles, satisfied, shifts until he’s right way up on the bed and can let his damp hair soak into the pillows. Fernando lets him get comfortable and then he lays back down, this time with his head resting on Lance’s chest, an area devoid of the moisture from the shower. His breathing evens out pretty quickly, tells Lance he’s quickly drifting back toward unconsciousness. One of his hands splays across Lance’s bare stomach, low enough that his fingers brush along the hair there.

And now it’s his turn to be annoying, because Fernando knows he’s sensitive, uses it to his advantage when he lets his pinkie inch down further.

“This is a dangerous game,” he warns, feels himself grow harder in his underwear.

He can feel when Fernando smiles against him, prickly beard rubbing against the raw skin of his chest with the curl of his lips, “You don’t want to play?”

“Too tired. It would be pretty boring, anyway. I don’t wanna move,” Lance lying flat on his back, Fernando half asleep, both of them pawing at each other’s dicks with flagging interest until the exhaustion won out and the draining adrenaline finally took the last bit of energy they had left. He doubts he could even cum, as tired as he is. And if he did he’d have to trudge back to the shower because no way is he waking up in the morning with cum dried tacky on his stomach alongside the inevitable sweat from being pressed next to Fernando, the human furnace, during the night.

Fernando laughs, quiet, rumbling, “You are a pillow princess anyway.”

“Hey.”

“Is true.”

“It is n-“ he thinks of last night, how Fernando had tried to goad Lance into riding him and he’d made himself more at home on his back. He liked looking up at Fernando, liked burying his head in the crook of his neck and scratching desperately at his back. All things that were pretty hard to do if he was sitting in the air having to dictate the rhythm himself. Lance wasn’t lazy, he just knew what he liked, so sue him.

Fernando knows he’s won when Lance changes the subject. “How do you even know that word?” he’s absentmindedly threading his fingers through Fernando’s hair, the strands mostly dry where Lance’s was still soaking into the pillow. His hair is soft, always well-maintained, soothes something inside Lance because the texture is familiar.

Fernando hums, pleased. Lance tries not to preen at the sound. Pillow princess his ass, he likes to make Fernando feel good too. He can put in the work. If the work is done easily on the comfort of his back.

“I am only forty-two, Lance. Not so old I do not know things.”

“One foot in the grave practically.”

Fernando scoffs, pinches Lance’s stomach in retaliation, “Yes. We go shopping for my headstone tomorrow, pick out flowers.”

Age used to be a thing between them. Back when this started a year ago. When Lance was twenty-four and Fernando still looked at him like he was seeing that kid standing in the Ferrari garage. It had been a thing approximately until the moment Lance took matters into his own hands, took Fernando’s cock in his mouth with practiced ease and any internalized war Fernando was fighting went right out the window. And then it had resurfaced with force the first time Fernando fucked him so hard he was sobbing into the sheets, the sex quickly aborted when Fernando got scared he’d done something wrong, no matter how many times Lance tried to promise it was only that he’d been doing everything right. So they’d had to have a serious discussion, establish boundaries, ensure Lance was in the right headspace to be in a relationship with a man he’d known since he was nine. Now they could joke about it, had put in the work so that the gap in their ages no longer mattered.

“A suit too?” Lance teases, accompanying the press of his words with the pads of his fingers against the base of Fernando’s skull, a pressure he knows helps because of all the times Fernando has done it for him.

Fernando laughs again, more gravely, barely there, “We are planning a funeral or a wedding?”

Lance thinks, stares up at the ceiling and tries to think of a reply that won’t leave him sounding strangled. Wedding. He is startled to find he likes that word, likes it coming from Fernando’s mouth with the concept of Fernando being the person waiting for him at the altar.

“Both. Two birds with one stone,” and then the image of a funeral wedding, both of them standing in a half-dug grave, an arch being replaced with a gravestone, becomes suddenly so funny he can’t stop giggling at the thought of it. “We could leave the reception in a hearse.”

It maybe speaks to his level of exhaustion that he can’t seem to stop laughing at the nonsensical turn in the conversation.

Fernando is still smiling, Lance can still feel it, “You are weird.” He says, and Lance can hear the alternate meaning in the statement, how fond it sounds.

“Been called worse,” Lance jokes, makes sure it stays that, because they both know there’s an element of truth to it. “You almost podium and you are talking about funeral weddings. Strange.”

Oh, yeah, P4. Singapore maybe had taken so much out of him because he’d pushed himself to nearly P3 with nothing but pure spite to fuel him. .3 of a second back from Sergio, chasing the unfamiliar sight of a Red Bull to the finish. He’d felt the desperate need to make up for last year, shut up a certain faction of people that couldn’t seem to keep his name out of their mouths. It wasn’t a podium though, only nearly one, so he still wasn’t particularly satisfied. Fernando had carried most of the excitement for him, praising him in post-race interviews and hugging him as soon as they climbed out of their cars. Lance had already seen pictures of the moment caught from his still active onboard, Fernando’s hand drifting to its natural place at his waist, the other on the back of his helmet. There was of course no sound, so no one had heard the praise Fernando showered him with before they went to be weighed.

‘So proud, cariño. So proud.’

“Almost a podium, Nano. It was P4,” Lance says now, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, slinking down further into the pillows. Fernando shuffles with the movement, until he’s beside Lance and then they’re both on their sides, parallel to each other. Fernando’s arm wraps around his waist, pulls him closer.

Lance studies the wrinkles forming at the corners of Fernando’s eyes, reaches out to trail the pad of his thumb along them. It is probably one of his favorite features, the mark of years’ worth of laughter. Lance likes to think of Fernando happy, likes when he can make Fernando smile enough that the lines deepen. He doesn’t like when Fernando presses his lips together as he’s doing now, a thin line of dissatisfaction.

“Still a good result.”

Lance concedes, “Yeah, it wasn’t bad.” Could have been better, would have been if he’d been able to manage his tires better on the entry to turn seven like his engineer had requested.

He yawns again, curls closer to Fernando so now he’s the one with his head tucked under Fernando’s chin. If they were still outside, still in their cars, the warmth rolling off Fernando would be unbearable. But the temperature of the hotel has been set to freezing, so his body is beginning to return to a stable level of self-regulation.

“Next time you will get around Perez.”

“He’s in a rocket ship, man. You want me to teleport to P3?” He mumbles against Fernando’s neck, eyes drifting shut, weight of his body sinking further into the mattress.

“Lawrence can hire people. Make that possible. He would invent this for you, I think.”

They both laugh, and then Fernando is rambling something about holding Sergio back next race, letting Lance take P3, and then P2 and then, impossibly, they both know, P1. It’s half in French, half in the bits of Spanish Lance is picking up but is too tired to follow, and then it trails off into nothing because Fernando finally lets the exhaustion win. Lance follows behind not long after.

When they wake in the morning it is to the ringing of Fernando’s phone, to the frantic texts buzzing through on Lance’s. They missed their flight, which means the morning sex isn’t rushed. It means that Lance gets to lay on his back, lazy and selfish, while Fernando teases him but continues to thrust with measured accuracy above him. He lets Fernando mark the skin at the nape of his neck as compensation for doing all the work, lets him suck at the soft skin there until Lance is sure the hickey will take a while to fade.

And maybe Singapore isn’t that bad after all. Despite the heat. Lance thinks he could justify the humidity like he does for Miami, if P4, senseless late night talks, and Fernando’s smile when Lance pants his name are the reward for enduring the climate. It all feels worth it in the end.

#strollonso #strollonso fic #my fic #I once again ask #is this even anything?#at this point I think I write about them just to senselessly ramble #idk if this is even good tbh

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the-kr8tor · 2 days

Note

Horse riding with cowboy Hobie!! it’s in my mind now imagine the sunset and you two are racing! Cowboy Hobie my beloved

Cowboy Hobie my beloved 😍 thank you for requesting! ❤️

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Cowboy AU, Western AU, established relationship, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie's ungloved hands are gentle on your waist as he helps hoist you up on your horse. The sun bathes the whole field in its ethereal orange glow, wild flowers scattered at his boots, hands warmer than the sun kissing your cheeks.

“Y’know I can get up on Honey by myself.” You say through the thick fog of affection rolling off you like tumbleweeds.

“I know you can,” he smiles, a smile that could rival the brightness of the ball of fire above. “What purpose do I have if I don't help my girl get on her horse?”

You lean down, almost folding yourself in half to reach his face. Flicking the brim of his hat, you press a kiss so sweet it has the cowboy in front of you to almost melt. Hand on your waist to keep you still, the other holding your face so gently, he welcomes your surprise kiss.

“You have so much purpose,” you peck him one more time to get your message across. “Like being my favourite lips to kiss.”

He chuckles against your lips, “I have two purposes then.” Tapping your cheek, he kisses you on your soft skin before helping you sit up. “Giddy up, sweetheart or we'll miss the sunset.”

“Continue later then?”

Hobie expertly gets on his horse quicker than you did. His spurs clink against the stirrups, leather gloves shoved inside his hands. You mumble a ‘show off’ under your breath. He hears it, hiding an amused smile under the brim of his hat.

“If you win we can continue later.” He teases, green eyes aglow with mischief.

You scoff with a smile. “And if you win?”

“Let's find out shall we?” With a swift kick, he rides off, leaving you in the dust.

“Hey! No fair!” You giggle as you race off after him.

Hooves thudding loudly, wind whipping at your cheeks, and the sun in your eyes, you follow close.

“Slowpoke!” Hobie yells above the noise.

“You cheated!” He laughs loudly at your playful jab.

The race is close, so close that you can reach him with an outstretched hand.

His dark horse finally reaches over the hill a split second before you could. Horses huffing, you pat Honey on her snout for a job well done. She neighs, eyes staring daggers at the laughing cowboy next to you. You do the same.

“You two are startin’ to look similar—” Hobie jokes, grin spread across his chiseled face.

“Continue and you'll be sleeping next to your horse tonight.”

“Just jokin’” he laughs, scooching his horse closer to yours. Knee to knee, he loops an arm around your waist. “I think you won, sweetheart.”

“If you think this is enough to forgive you for what you said—” he gazes at you softly, orange and pink rays bouncing off his emerald eyes. “Fine, yeah, I won.”

“You gonna claim your prize or not?”

“Shut up and kiss me yourself, cowboy.” Holding his face hostage, he lets out a guffaw before smashing his lips on yours, kissing you against the backdrop of the soft pink sky.

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #hobie brown x fem!reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #cowboy au #cowboy! hobie #cowboy hobie x reader #cowboy hobie brown #western au #hobie x reader #hobie fluff #hobie brown

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knoxdrei · 3 days

Text

"Roronoa? Bar brawl in your spare time, seriously? Are you hurt?"

The young cop shrugged his shoulders and dropped his folded arms. His hard expression suddenly softened and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a brief smile.

"Just a scratch! Need a nap! I may be drunk!" the young man grumbled and simply fell over backwards. With a thud, he came to rest on his back on the hard ground with his arms outstretched and started to snore soundly. Law leaned forward over the stretcher and looked after him. Shocked, he noticed the man laying in a pool of blood on the ground. Law wondered where it suddenly came from as he jumped up from his chair to check on the cop.

#roronoa zoro #zoro #one piece zoro #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #law one piece #one piece #lawzo #zolaw #Zoro ×Law #fanfic #opfanart #alternative universe

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bluuedraws · 3 days

Text

What’s this? A new fic? Yes, yes it is.

Chapter One

Slam!

Xelqua flings the door closed behind him, shaking fingers fumbling for the lock as he quickly glances around. He’s panting hard, chest heaving as he bends over, hands on quivering knees. He doesn’t rest long before he lowers himself to the ground, wings splaying out behind him, nearly falling over in the process.

He has to be quick. He can’t be caught.

If he is, it’s over.

Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, Xelqua opens his Eyes. They snap open immediately, effortlessly. It’s as natural as breathing. He can still remember when it was the hardest thing he’d ever done, taking him months to learn how to keep them open for longer than a second. Now, it’s second nature.

Xelqua shakes his head once, shutting down the memories as quickly as they came. He doesn't have time for this, not now. Not when They could find him at any moment.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Ignore the fluttering in his stomach.

(Wham!)

Again, he opens his Eyes, but this time with a concentrated intensity. Worlds upon worlds stretch out before him, tickling his fingers as he reaches out a hesitant hand.

Which one, which one…

(Wham!)

His teeth grind together, anxiety sparking through his chest as he looks faster, scanning worlds with a growing panic. All of them are multiplayer and heavily populated. No, no that won’t work, he needs a single player world, one where he can hide properly-

(Wham!)

Fingers dance in the air, Eyes flicking back and forth frantically. Xelqua can feel his rising anxiety, growing and expanding in his chest. His breaths are short and quick, barely audible even in the silence of the room.

…the previously silent room, that is.

Xelqua jerks his head up as the sound registers, ringing in his ears and heart in his throat. The door flies off its hinges, crashing to the ground mere inches from his left wing. It’s smashed to pieces, and as Xelqua spins around, he realizes who has found him. Swirling purple magic greets him, and he’s slammed against the wall with such force he’s left breathless.

No, no no no nonononono-

“O⍑, ||ᒷᓭ” a voice whispers in the darkness. “What a pathetic attempt, Xelqua.”

“Go away!”

He screeches and lunges for the worlds, still visible in front of him, dancing just out of reach. He no longer cares which one he chooses, just so long as it’s far, far away from here so he’ll be safe-

A hand catches his outstretched arm and flips him sideways, slamming him to the ground. Xelqua rolls away, shoulder aching and arm spiking with pain, but the adrenaline pumping through his body refuses to let him sit still. He lunges again, but is met with glowing talons that slash his face, his arms, his chest, and pin him to the ground in a spray of blood.

“ᓭℸ ̣ 𝙹!¡ ℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓭ! This is not a battle you can win!”

The claws tighten as blood drips down his arm, his face, into his eyes. Everything is red and Xelqua can’t breathe, he can’t move but he has to, he needs to get out get out GET OUT-

“I ∴𝙹リ’ℸ ̣ ! I WON’T GO BACK, I WON’T!”

The Galactic escapes him in his panic, and Xelqua kicks the thing off his chest, pushing magic into his legs to fling them farther. He leaps forward, half blind and body screaming in pain as he desperately reaches for a world, any world, he just needs to LEAVE.

His hand grabs something, and he clutches it to his chest tightly, desperately, as if it’s his very own soul and he won’t lose it again, he won’t-

But the world resists, deflecting his every attempt to get in. Whoever this world’s admin is, they’re a powerful one. Panic rising in his chest, Xelqua slashes at the wall that keeps him out, ripping and shredding until there’s a hole big enough for a person to slip through. He feels his pursuer nearby, mere seconds away from discovering his escape, and his heart leaps into his throat.

No no NO NO NONONONONO-

With a last desperate tear, Xelqua flings himself through the hole, his body on fire and tears streaming from his eyes.

He’s falling, falling fast, and he can’t tell what’s up or down, whether he made it through or was caught, just seconds from escape. The world fades from black to white to a sudden burst of color, and he shuts his eyes against the blinding light engulfing him. His head spins, everything spins, a twisted rollercoaster that he can never get off of. He feels sick, so sick, his head about to split open from the pain of the never ending fall. The world fades, everything fades, his body feels heavy and light at the same time, floating in the air.

Xelqua sighs, and lets himself drift into the black.

Xisuma has never seen anything like it before. He peers closer to the screen in front of him, hands frantically typing as he stares at the lines of code that are dissolving in front of his eyes. It’s as if something is tearing open the firewall, destroying the code that the admin had put so much time and care into to keep his hermits safe. Xisuma had thought he’d done a pretty good job, but fear sparks through his chest as he watches… watches something break its way in effortlessly, shredding his precious code to pieces.

He works with unmatched concentration, fighting against the thing forcing its way into the server, but it was a losing battle to begin with. Xisuma can barely keep it out 5 minutes before, finally, it shatters the last barrier between them.

“Shit!” The curse surprises him, causing him to stumble as he springs to his feet. He’s not usually one to curse, but honestly? It feels appropriate. Xisuma grabs his communicator and hurriedly types out a message to the group.

>>Xisumavoid<<

Emergency meeting at spawn, now. Everyone needs to be there. Something just broke through the firewall, so be on your guard. See you soon.

He ignores the immediate storm of shocked responses, instead shoving the console deep into his pocket, strapping on his elytra, and rocketing out of his base. He has to be the first to spawn. There’s a small chance the intruder would have appeared there, despite their unceremonious entrance to the world. If there’s any chance it’s hostile, Xisuma isn’t going to put any of his hermits in danger because of his failure. This is his problem, and he needs to solve it. As the admin slowly descends from the sky, he can make out two figures standing below him. Anxiety spiking, Xisuma quickly drops to the ground to see Scar and Mumbo already there, and deep in conversation. Relief fills him as he realizes they’re alone..

It doesn’t seem to be anywhere nearby…

“Hello Mumbo, Scar.” Xisuma lands with a soft thump beside the pair, startling Scar despite his soft touchdown.

“Oh! Xisuma, you scared me!” Scar’s bright laughter helps calm his nerves a little, bringing a bit of calm back to his thoughts. Honestly, just standing near Scar is an incredible cure for his anxiety. The man is so bright and bubbly, one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet. Xisuma has never met anyone quite like him before.

“Sorry Scar, but I must admit I have a few things on my mind right now, so I might not be very attentive at the moment.” Xisuma smiles apologetically before quickly checking his communicator for any updates.

It looks like everyone will be here soon.

“Yeah, about that X. What on earth do you mean something broke through the firewall? You can’t just say that and then go silent!” Mumbo fiddles with his hands, obviously nervous. His mouth is twitching as he fixes the admin with an anxious gaze. “Isn’t the wall supposed to be hacker-proof?”

Xisuma sighs, hand reaching for his hair but blocked by his helmet. He tries to pass off the movement as if he was just brushing something off as he thinks about how to answer.

“Yes, I thought so too. But I should save the explanation for when everyone is here. Better to only explain it once, that way we have more time.”

After a moment's hesitation, Mumbo reluctantly nods in agreement. The three of them sit in silence until more players begin to arrive, filling in the courtyard and chattering nervously. When it’s finally clear that everyone had arrived, Xisuma clears his throat and steps forward. Immediately silence settles over the crowd as all eyes turn to him.

“Hello all, thank you for coming on such short notice. I have some worrying news for you all. Something has broken into the server.”

This much is already known, although the confirmation does warrant a few gasps. Intrusion on a protected server such as this is practically unheard of. Xisuma is honestly surprised that no one is panicking yet. Even anxiety riddled Mumbo has managed to keep calm, with the help of Scar and a few other Hermits. Xisuma continues.

“I watched myself as whatever it is absolutely destroyed the firewall and slipped into the world. We don’t know whether they’re hostile or not, so please, everyone, be careful. I’ll need volunteers for patrolling, we’ll have to set up guards around the clock until we find this thing.”

Almost immediately after the words have left his mouth, several hands are raised. Xisuma nods his thanks to them before addressing the crowd.

“Thank you for the immediate volunteers. Scar, Keralis, Mumbo and Ren can patrol first. Pick any area nearby, and search it thoroughly. After a couple hours report back to me. In the meantime, I’ll be working on finding out anything else I can. Be careful, everyone. Stay vigilant.”

With that final note, Xisuma ends the meeting with a sigh. He feels exhaustion sweep over him, but he keeps his shoulders back and chin up. Showing weakness now would only spark fear. Xisuma walks over to Scar and Mumbo, the first to arrive and the last to leave. He gives them a small smile, before saying, “You be careful, ok? Don’t be afraid to ask me for help.”

“We know, X, but the same stands for you, alright? Don’t worry yourself to bits when we can help.” Scar fixes him with a stern glare, and Xisuma cracks another smile, nods, and turns. It’s time to go home.

He has a long night of coding waiting for him.

Something soft brushes against Xelqua’s face, swishing against his his jaw and tickling his nose. The feeling is so nice, so out of place from his usual life that he nearly lets himself fall back into the comforting blackness he’d been floating in just moments before. He lays there, relishing in the feeling, when suddenly pain spikes through his body. His eyes shoot open and he sits up with a gasp, frantically glancing around. The sudden movement sends more waves of pain through his body, and he winces again, bringing a tentative hand up to his cheek. It comes away red.

Xelqua quickly opens his Eyes and surveys himself, taking in every cut and bruise. His forehead has a relatively shallow cut on it, but seems to refuse to close. Blood still drips from the gash, pooling against his cheek and dripping down his cloak. His arms are marred with deep cuts, still trickling blood. He has quite a few bruises, but nothing seems broken, thankfully. His worst wound, however, is the one on his chest. It’s deep, very deep, and the constant stabbing pain causes his eyes to fill with black dots. Xelqua pants on the ground, clutching the ruined fabric of his robe against his chest in an effort to relieve some of the pain. It does nothing, of course, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the agony.

Where am I?

He’s sitting in a field, grass pressed against his legs and the sun shining down upon him.

Oh, the sun. How he’s missed the sun.

Obviously he’d managed to escape, or else he wouldn’t have waken up in the first place. He should be glad to feel anything, even pain. It means he’s alive.

But how long would he stay that way? How long until They found him again? The thought forces him to his feet despite the pain, and he stands there, panting and holding his chest, wings drooping against the ground, too exhausted to do much else. Move. He has to move. If he can find somewhere safe, he can rest, he can plan. Safety first, questions later.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Xelqua places one shaking leg in front of the other. He’s moving, very slowly but honestly? Who cares? As long as he was getting closer to safety.

What felt like hours, maybe years of pain-filled steps and heaving breaths, Xelqua finally spots a cave in the distance, overgrown and covered with vines. Shelter. With what feels like the last dregs of his strength, he hauls himself to the entrance and drops to the ground, too tired to move even an inch further. His eyes close, limbs still against the cold rock.

He hopes he’s hidden enough here, because there’s no way he’ll summon the strength to move again. Even now his thoughts are slipping away, falling back into that peaceful nothingness he’d come to treasure so much. He sighs, one last thought drifting through his head before he loses consciousness.

I made it.

Hope you all enjoy <3

Many thanks to @desertduality for the advice and support! Yes, I was the desperate anon begging for advice xD

Your support meant the world, and even though this chapter is fairly short, I’m so proud of how it turned out ^^

#fan fiction #Writing #Grian Watcher lore #Grian is Xelqua #Goodtimeswithscar #Gtws #Convex Scar #hermitcraft #Hermitcraft season 6 #minecraft #Mcyt #desert duo #Scarian #Xisuma #Keralis #mumbo jumbo #Rendog

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ikkosu · 1 day

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miniformer prowl drabble. had like this idea on a whim where you're a detective and prowl's your little help buddy.

"Oh? You found something, Prowl?" You felt a tug on your pants.

A swift tap to the spacebar halted the video. You were analyzing a footage sent in by your supervisor. A mysterious break in by a utility warehouse storing...metal. Pipes, pillars, beams. All that.

It wasn't particularly a bad situation. Nothing out of the ordinary had been stolen, except for fractured glass from where the perpetrator had got in. But the security was something of a problem. Especially, when said security bordered on, at least, five advanced locks with handprints and everything.

Its been a pretty long day and you wanted to get this over and quick but, looking down, at the sight of the scowling cop-bot and his bitty servos outstretched for upsies — that analysis can wait.

"Something wrong prowl?" You don't hoist him up.

Not yet. Not when it's so easy to rile up the cute little thing. The frown deepens, almost into a pout, and he breedles — probably cursing you out as he attempts to climb up the fabric of your pants.

"Alright," You laugh, "Come on. Don't be so sulky, now."

You gently curl your hands around the miniformer, watching his doorwings, and hauled him onto your desk,where, he's just as tall as the screen of your laptop. He swivels around and faces you. Lets out a huff and crosses his arms.

"I didn't bring you up all the way here just so you can huff at me, mister." You nudged his cheek, which he tried pawing away at your index.

He lets out a haughty breedle, somewhere close to the vowels of your language, and somewhere along the lines of 'no touch'.

"Didn't you want an upsie?"

'No', was his static warble. 'No touch'. He repeated.

Your palms lift up placatingly. "No touch," You nodded and his doorwings piked up, along with a small small, which he turned away to hide. Prowl pointed at the footage with a trill.

"Ah, I see. You've got suggestions..."

And, he's bound to be right.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #transformers idw #idw prowl #prowl x reader #miniformer prowl #miniformer au

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secondtechnicianrimmer · 1 day

Text

Space Corp. Directive #1215225

For some ungodly reason, you fancy the second technician, but you'd be damned if you ever admitted it.

Pairing: Arnold Rimmer x (F) Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content

Chapter Fourteen: Starbuggin’

It had been a nice day.

This wasn’t particularly notable or odd; you’d settled very happily into life aboard Red Dwarf, and now Starbug. It’s just that the general day-to-day usually tended to involve running from an insane creature, something exploding, and quite a lot of arguing. Boredom was often just as dangerous. But, so far, today had been lovely.

You had been lying on your bunk for most of the afternoon, a book raised above your head, your arms outstretched in front of you. There wasn’t much to do in the tiny ship; thankfully you’d thought to stock up on activities before you lost Red Dwarf.

When the position grew too tiring, you lowered your arms until your elbows rested on the mattress, the book now too close to be comfortable, but you didn’t mind.

Across the room, at a low table in the centre of the sleeping quarters, Rimmer was sat with his hands inside a perspex box. He’d had it for years apparently. Kryten had found the specifications in the holosuite a few months after he came back to the ship. Rimmer had never really found a lot of use for it. Now, all you had was time, and Rimmer was finally setting some aside to enjoy himself.

Inside the Holo-Box, heavy black gloves covered his hands, allowing Rimmer to gingerly cradle an old-fashioned Airfix model.

As he carefully dabbed a paintbrush against the side of something called a Spitfire, you smiled fondly to yourself.

Yes, it had been a lovely day.

“I’m gonna say it.”

Rimmer didn’t even bother looking up.

“Don’t.”

“I’m gonna.”

“I’m concentrating.”

With a sigh, you turned back to your book.

“I just think you should know-”

“Darling…”

“You’re much artsier than you give yourself credit for!”

Rimmer finally turned his head towards you, very obviously trying hard not to roll his eyes. He’d always been a bit softer with you, and lately he’d been trying harder to be less of a dick, but he still had trouble sometimes.

“This isn’t art,” he said firmly. “This is… Engineering.”

Your fond smile only grew.

“You’re painting model aeroplanes, Arn.”

“Exactly! Aeroplanes. That’s technical stuff!”

He was so determined to ignore any sense of his own creativity, you almost didn’t want to argue with him. Almost.

Plus he looked handsome today, and who were you to argue with Rimmer when he looked so good? His short-sleeved red shirt was enticingly soft, and those braces pulled tight over his broad shoulders constantly played on your mind. Sometimes, you came close to asking him to put his puffy uniform jacket on, because the sight of his lithe forearms and strong chest was almost too much to bear.

“Okay,” You shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

You turned over on the bed so that you lay on your stomach, keeping your book open with your fingertips pressed against the twin swells of its pages.

“But maybe if you explored your creative side rather than berating yourself for not passing exams about things your brain doesn’t compute as well…”

Half-smiling and doing a bad job of hiding it, Rimmer shot you a weary look.

“That’s enough therapy out of you, Lefty. Let me concentrate.”

Grinning, you turned back to your book.

“Yes, dear.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Rimmer’s back straighten, just a little.

There had been a marked shift in his confidence, in the general way he held himself, since your matching confessions that night. You hadn’t noticed it immediately, Rimmer had always been a little gentler about himself when it was you he was talking to, he’d learnt his lesson, so it took you a while to realise the change.

You couldn’t touch him, but there were a thousand other ways to show your affection. So far, you’d discovered that warm words, sweet names, and soft compliments worked the best. They made Rimmer’s shoulders sink, his jaw relax, as if just having someone be kind to him for once in his life was enough to loosen the vice around his chest. And he smiled more now. That was perhaps your favourite thing of all.

You turned your head and watched him work. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his curls falling across his forehead. There, at the corner of his mouth, his tongue was sticking out ever-so-slightly.

You let out a sigh, long and deep, and sank further into the bed. Folding your arms over your book, you rested your head there and silently watched Rimmer work, just enjoying the sight of him relaxed, comfortable, happy.

What you wouldn’t give to run your hands over those strong shoulders, to slip your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and tug slightly, just to see what he’d do. You couldn’t help imagining Rimmer’s eyes rolling back into his head, his taut back arching as you slipped into his lap and rocked your hips against his. He really was torture sometimes.

“What’s your book about?”

Your mind still swimming with thoughts of all the lovely sounds Rimmer might make as you grazed your teeth against his neck, it took you a moment to realise what he’d asked

You hummed, trying to cast your mind back. You couldn’t even recall the title of the novel you stole from a chef’s quarters all the way down on C Deck.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you admitted. “I haven’t been concentrating, really.”

“Hm? What were you thinking about?”

“You.”

You beamed at Rimmer when he turned to look at you, surprised.

“Me?”

You hummed, smiling.

“Y’know. What it’ll be like when I finally get to kiss you. Touch you.”

A pink tinge made its way across Rimmer’s cheeks and down his neck, almost blending into his bright red shirt. He visibly gulped, obviously thinking along the same lines as you. Then he looked back down at his model aeroplane, at the lengths he had to go to for something so simple.

“You really believe that’ll happen?” he asked softly.

“Don’t you?”

“I… I’m not sure. I used to. I hope it does.”

Rimmer went quiet then, his gaze still fixed on his model.

You carefully closed your book and slipped off the bed, curling up in the chair beside his instead.

“It will,” you said firmly. “I know it will. And until then, I have a very active imagination.”

To your delight, that made Rimmer glance up. He raised his eyebrows, a smirk tugging gently at the corner of his mouth.

“Is that so?”

You hummed and watched Rimmer’s gaze grow unfocused.

“You just wait. And, I mean, there’s always Better Than Life? I could touch you there, couldn’t I? We could have all sorts of fun.”

You watched, beaming, as his cheeks, then his ears, slowly began to turn bright red. Oh, he was fun. It was almost too easy, but it was fun.

Rimmer was sweet but he would always have a stick up his arse, it’s just how he was raised. Getting a physical reaction out of him, especially when he didn’t even have a proper physical presence, was always a brilliant game.

You leaned over the table a little more, sliding your elbow across its surface and resting there in his eye-line, so that he couldn’t help but look at you.

“Oh, Arnie, you’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You are!”

Shaking his head, Rimmer tried very hard to pretend to concentrate on his model.

“I don’t think I can blush.”

“Oh, honey,” You grinned. “You definitely can.”

He shot you another weary look but he was still smiling.

“It’s a lovely idea,” he spoke with an unexpected gentleness. “But I think I’d rather wait.”

“Hm?”

“When I kiss you, I want it to be real. I want to be able to feel you properly.”

The air in the room shifted. Suddenly, you couldn’t remember what you’d been teasing him about.

All around you, outside the emerald, pockmarked hull of your adopted home, galaxies and stars whirled around each other, intertwining and exploding and dying and creating, over and over again. And here, in your stark grey quarters, in the middle of it all, Rimmer wanted to kiss you so badly, he was willing to wait for the impossible.

You watched as his smile grew. Rimmer’s eyes were fixed somewhere near your mouth, any vain attempts to hold your gaze long-forgotten.

Laughing softly, you pressed the backs of your fingers to your cheek.

“You’re going to make me blush.”

“Well, now, there’s a turn up for the books.”

Rimmer looked pleased with himself. Again, you considered how far he’d come. It wasn’t enough just to show him some positive reinforcement. Even when the boys were kind to him, Rimmer either didn’t think he deserved it or refused to believe they were being genuine. It had taken a lot of time, effort, and soft words to cultivate that lovely smile.

“I don’t mind waiting, you know.”

You nodded your head to the side, gesturing for him to remove his right arm from the Holo-Box.

“I love you, Arn. I don’t need anything physical. Even though I am constantly insanely horny.”

As you slipped your hand inside the leather glove, Rimmer gaped at you.

“I really do that to you?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes, actually!”

Your fingers now safely nestled inside the thick, sturdy glove, you twisted your wrist and tapped your index finger against the back of Rimmer’s hand.

“Well, you do. I’m always thinking about you.”

He flinched. You couldn’t blame him, it had been so long since he’d been able to touch, Rimmer was probably starting to forget what it felt like.

The Psymoon where you'd first kissed felt a million years ago now. Every second since had been filled with a dull ache, a wistfulness for something you weren’t able to really appreciate at the time.

You could half remember how he tasted, that his lips were soft and that his hands had felt heavy and awkward and painfully endearing as they hung from your hips. It was wonderful, but so quick and full of fear. You’d give anything to have another go.

Slowly, carefully, so as not to overwhelm him, you slipped your hand around Rimmer’s and awkwardly fitted your fingers together, fidgeting left and right until finally, your gloved hands interlaced.

“You should know by now, honey. I’ve got all sorts of ideas,” you said, grinning.

As if transfixed, Rimmer stared at your entwined hands. A muscle, slim and overworked, twitched in his jaw as he swallowed hard.

What it must be like to have no senses to guide you. He couldn’t taste his favourite foods, couldn’t read his favourite books, couldn’t leave Starbug without a hollow tug in his chest.

Ever since you lost Red Dwarf, the fear of shut down had been hanging over your heads. Whenever the old ship met a new threat to its survival, you could feel cold dread seeping through your veins, long after you knew you were safe. And you couldn’t comfort each other.

Worst of all, with everything he’d spat about his family over the years, you didn’t think Rimmer had ever known a gentle touch. And now he finally had someone who wanted to take care of him, to love him, and he couldn’t feel it.

Well, you’d never been one to back down from an argument, and arguing with the universe was about all you had, three million years from home.

Rimmer’s fingers tightened between yours, then folded, his fingertips resting against the back of your hand.

“Better Than Life is looking more and more appealing,” he mused.

You squeezed his hand.

“I think you’re right.”

“Another turn up for the books. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“We should wait,” you went on, laughing softly. “Just think how good it’s going to feel when I finally get to touch you.”

“Oh believe me, I do. Often.” Rimmer raised his eyebrows. “Several times a day.”

That made your heart trip over itself in its hurry.

It wasn’t like you to be shy around Rimmer. He was ridiculous, it was impossible to be intimidated by him or to ever feel like you didn’t have the upper hand. You could tease him all you liked, annoy him, laugh with him, but it was all a distraction from just how much you really, properly fancied the pants off him. And as embarrassing as it was, sometimes he did manage to fluster you.

It was rare that you’d admit it, though. Somehow, Rimmer managed to maintain a massive ego despite also carrying more self-hatred than anyone you’d ever met. He was complicated, but loving him wasn’t, and neither was finding him so stupidly fit, it did seem like some kind of cosmic karma that you couldn’t shove him onto his back and ride him till the bunk’s slats snapped.

But then something Lister had once suggested popped into your head. It had seemed stupid at the time, back when you were sure there was more chance of Kryten fancying you than Rimmer. But now…

“Well, you know,” You squeezed his hand again, finding the gloves awkward and uncomfortable, but you were grateful all the same. “We can’t touch each other but… We can touch ourselves. That could be fun.”

Rimmer looked like he might pass out, then suddenly he was beaming like a kid at Christmas.

“You mean… You’d want to..?”

“Yes, Arnie.” You leaned closer until your nose was almost pressed against his, your lips forced to stay just millimetres from touching. “I want you.”

You meant to say ‘to’. I want to. But ‘you’ was more accurate anyway, and it made Rimmer’s eyes slide shut with a sigh.

You watched his chest rise and fall heavily beneath his scarlet shirt, watched the fingers of his free hand tighten over the curve of his knee.

When he finally opened his eyes again, they were clouded with a kind of frustration you’d both come to accept. This was life now. Loving but never touching.

“So,” You smiled as you tilted your head the other way, your gaze fixed on Rimmer’s mouth. “Are you going to come back to bed with me, love? Or are you going to keep playing with your aeroplane all on your own?”

Rimmer stood up so fast, you were sure he would’ve knocked the table over if he’d been able to.

At exactly the same moment, a shrieking alarm pierced through the thick atmosphere, tearing it in two.

Rimmer groaned.

“Smegging hell.”

The lights flickered, then died altogether with a sickening whoosh.

You whipped around, your heart in your mouth. For a moment, you were back on the Atalanta, terrified and alone. But Rimmer’s voice sparked like a Catherine wheel in the dark. You followed the sound of your name, half blind with fear, until he’d brought you back to reality.

The lights blinked back to life, unsteady and anaemic, but enough to see by as you charged through to Starbug’s tiny cockpit, where the others were already seated.

“What’s going on?” you asked breathlessly.

“Swirly thing alert!

Cat was at the main joystick, while Lister jabbed at the communications and navigation controls.

“Where?” he asked, frantically searching for something, anything, out there in the dark.

Cat shook his head.

“It’s not on the radar yet but I can smell it.”

Kryten took his place at the rear, overseeing the shipboard systems and long-range sensors. You stayed in the doorway, watching over Rimmer’s shoulder as his short-range sensor readers remained blank.

“Nothing here,” he reported back.

“Nothing on long-range,” Kryten agreed. “Sir, is it possible you could have made a mis-smelling?

Immediately and predictably, they fell about arguing. As Cat took umbrage at Kryten’s suggestion, Rimmer and Lister began to bicker over whether stepping up to Blue Alert was worth the effort of flicking the switch.

Still stuck in the gangway without a seat, you clutched the doorframe, your arms out at your sides like a bird in flight, and prayed that whatever was out there would just bugger off so you could go back to seducing your boyfriend. One day of peace, was that really too much to ask for?

“Wait!” Kryten suddenly cried. “I've got something. I'm punching it up.”

Leaning over Rimmer to see his monitor better, you held your breath.

Set against the stars and the endless cold night, a bright orange streak ricocheted across the screen. If there hadn’t been so many alarms flaring, you might’ve thought it was a comet.

“Too small for a vessel,” Lister said. “Maybe some kind of missile?”

“A missile?” You frowned. “Who would fire a missile at us? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Kryten shook his head.

“It's impossible to tell at this range. Whatever it is, they clearly have a technology way in advance of our own!”

“So do the Albanian State Washing Machine Company.”

Working as a team, Lister and Cat steered Starbug out of harm’s way. The little ship groaned as it suddenly jerked onto a different path but did as it was told.

You gripped the back of Rimmer’s chair, your gaze fixed on the monitor.

“Arn…”

He looked up at you, his jaw set. You could see he was frightened but he forced a grim smile.

You hadn’t told the others yet. It wasn’t a concious thought, you just didn't act any differently around each other and the boys hadn’t noticed. You weren’t sure if that said more about how long you’d so obviously been infatuated with each other, or about their observational skills.

He wanted to comfort you but there wasn’t time. You wanted to kiss Rimmer’s cheek and tell him he was doing well, but you couldn’t. Instead, you shared a thin smile and prayed this wouldn’t be it.

“You should buckle in, darling.” He nodded back into Starbug’s hold, where there were plenty of safer places to stand. “This might get-”

As if to prove his point, the ship rolled to the left, throwing you against the doorframe.

Instinctively, uselessly, Rimmer’s hand shot out to grab yours.

“It's still with us!” Lister cried. “It's some kind of heat-seeker. We can't outrun it!”

The ship rocked again, then heaved a sickly groan as it veered onto yet another course.

Rimmer looked pale.

“What on Io was that?”

“Some kind of suction beam. We're being dragged down!”

Next Chapter

Master List

#red dwarf #arnold rimmer #chris barrie #my post #arnold rimmer imagine #arnold rimmer reader #arnold rimmer smut #arnold rimmer x reader #arnold rimmer x you #arnold rimmer you

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