#would be the most comfortable and easy choice for him to make because changing is suffering changing is dying for them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pigdemonart · 1 year

Text

Battle Subway Depot Agents (by pig-demon)

When I made designs for these guys last year I didn’t really think they needed colored references/master post, but since then I’ve drawn them a lot! Also people have added them to their fanfics and drawn fanart! So I figured it was time I made a post for easy ref. :]

These designs are obviously free to use, just give credit (and link me your work if you're comfortable, because it makes me happy to see!) All I request is to stay respectful to their pronouns and skin colors, ya knooow… 👍 note: The pokemon on their cards are all companions, not the ones they use on the Battle Subway. Except Jackie...the litwicks are just there to fill space/give them company.

More info under cut:

Edit: Important disclaimer:

These are again my designs/interpretations for the agents. Please don’t treat them as canon or as the only, quintessential designs for these literal background npcs. Many people have done takes on them before and after me, even back in 2010. It feels silly to ask, but due to past experience, I ask that you please DONT hunt down anyone that does a different take on the depot agents!! 👍

Tags:

I'm gonna start tagging them individually, but for now all Depot Agent comics and art on this blog are tagged under Depot Agents.

Height chart:

I’m not too strict about heights, so I don’t really care about actual measurements. Here’s an approximation of what I tend to visualize though:

Sexualities/Gender Identities: I don't have official labels for each and every agent because I like keeping things fluid for characters to develop these traits on their own. However, as a queer person, I enjoy designing characters who are also queer, therefore I can safely say none of these characters are straight. The ones who are set in stone are Ramses (gay man), Cloud (lesbian woman,) Jackie (non-binary.) Furze uses he/they pronouns but their gender is undetermined. I also welcome anyone giving the agents a different gender identity to suit them (as long as it's done respectfully.)

Notes about each agent...

Cameron:

- Cameron dyes parts of his hair blonde and keeps other parts in black. This is because he is a big fan of Elesa and her fashion choices. - Though there have been a few occasions to meet his idol, he is always way too nervous to approach her, feeling deep down that he'll mess up somehow. - He practices modeling poses in secret. He loves flourishes and flare, but is simply too insecure to put it on display. - Of his coworkers, he gets along the best with Furze. He's the easiest to talk to because Furze will do most of the talking. - Cameron is easily intimidated — even mean Pokémon can make him nervous. Though, his two worst fears are being left in a room alone with Jackie, and being left alone in a room with Isadore. - He takes advantage of his height to sometimes hide behind some of his coworkers. - Cameron is much better at Pokémon battles than he gives himself credit for. Emmet and Ingo were pleasantly surprised by this, since Cameron was promoted to fit a temporary role on the Battle Subway. They happily made him a permanent member when he proved himself capable. - His Dwebble (Pebby) is secretly very strong, and rushes to protect Cameron when it can. Cam sometimes thinks Pebby helps him feel more confident in himself too. - If he stumbled into any of his coworkers outside of work, he would simply explode of embarrassment. - He is the youngest child and only son of his family. He lives in his own apartment in Nimbasa.

Cloud:

- Cloud (like Ramses) knew the twins when they were very young. - She used to be an ace trainer in her youth, even going so far to compete in the Pokémon league. Winning and becoming the champ was the most important part of her journey, but something happened along the way that changed that outlook. - It seems with age, her competitiveness has mellowed out. However, she maintains an intense energy when battling. - Her favorite types are Psychic and Flying types. Swoobat (Sweetie) is her ace. - Her favorite hobby is baking, and she often bakes sweets for the crew. She knows all their favorite flavors by now! - She prioritizes keeping a friendly relationship with all her coworkers and thinks of them fondly. She considers Ramses family after all the years of working together! - She is a big fan of Brycen's movies and can recite the lines. - She lives with her wife in Anville. - Cloud loves doing maintenance work both at home and in Gear Station. She enjoys bringing her own tools and industrial flashlight.

Furze:

- Furze only has one volume setting (mid loud,) but he finds himself feeling right at home when talking to either one of the twins. - Furze has ADHD, and this is reflected in some of his habits, most visibly is his fidgeting when sitting still for too long. - He rides a bike to work every day. When he is late, Cloud clocks in for him so he doesn't get in trouble. - This is a kind of a guy that sits crouched gargoyle style on chairs. Only outside of work, of course. Bad posture could get him in trouble. - While working on the Battle Subway, there will be times Furze feels sorry for his opponents and offers to quietly let them pass anyways. This...has also gotten him in trouble. :[ - He went to the same elementary school as Isadore in Castelia. Though Isadore seems to have forgotten their short-lived acquaintance, Furze has not. This is part of the reason Furze claims they are in fact good friends!!! - Furze is the middle child of a big family. He lives with his mom and takes care of her, along with his many Darumakas and Darmanitan. All of his Pokemon have famous trains names. - He collects model trains. Naturally.

Isadore

- Isadore had plans to become the station master the moment he was hired as a depot agent, but alas... (sad trumpet sound.) - As a youth, he was more interested in science and engineering over Pokemon battles. He enjoys the strategizing aspect, at most. Not so much the competitiveness. - In addition, his Pokemon are all rescues and not used for battling. He's had his Watchog (Winston) since he was in his late teens. - His Electrode (Gregor) and Voltorb (Leonard) were rescued from the likes of Team Plasma. - Isadore admits he understands Pokemon better than humans. This has been apparent his whole life. - In spite of acting like a sitcom villain, Isadore cares about the management of Gear Station and the safety of the passengers to an incredible degree. He sees it as a personal life goal to assist in the management of Gear Station, as well as the success of the Battle Subway. - Though it pained him to become a subordinate to the twins, he begrudgingly accepts it for the greater good. - His almost militant efficiency certainly made up for his years of antagonizing the twins before they became the bosses. Ingo and Emmet understand this better than anyone. - Isadore keeps tabs on all of the staff members. So he very well knows all their birthdays and makes it a point to celebrate it. This is by no means a -happy- or -festive- event. It's just customary. - Like Furze, he was originally from Castelia, but now resides in Nimbasa. Isadore's only family is his mom and she lives in his childhood home with their Stoutland. - Isadore would have probably been voiced by every glasses guy ever J. Michael Tatum had he not already been cast as dear Emmet lmao

Jackie

- Jackie is a mystery and they like keeping it that way. When they talk, it's practically impossible to determine what is a lie or truth, especially if the subject is themselves or their background. - They love scaring Cameron the most and will ask to be paired with him whenever possible. They claim Cameron is their "favorite coworker," while Isadore is the least favorite. - It's plain to see why -- Jackie is the only one that doesn't passively tolerate Isadore's tirades. - Though my comics sometimes may allude to Jackie being a ghost/supernatural, this is not confirmed nor canon. I just personally enjoy toying with the concept. : ) That being said...

- Item #: SCP 7453

- Object Class: Euclid

- Special Containment Procedures: The ████ ██████ is ██████ within ████-██████. - Ingo and Emmet choose to not question anything about Jackie, since it's clear they're one of the more efficient workers. However it can be a safety concern... - Cloud and Ramses have worked with Jackie for a long time, though they've forgotten somehow. They believe Jackie is a new hire since they appear to be young. - Anyone trying to make sense of Jackie's employee records simply can't bring themselves to any conclusions. It's better to ignore the inconsistencies. - Jackie has never been seen to leave Gear Station. Jackie has never been seen in anything but their uniform. Jackie has never been confirmed to eat, drink or blink. Jackie knows your secrets. Jackie thinks it's... amusing.

Ramses

- Ramses sometimes misses having a full head of hair, but he thinks his signs of age make him look distinguished. (he is correct.) - Ramses is sort of the "mom friend," making sure everyone's concerns are heard, as well as trying to keep the peace whenever a conflict might arise. - If another coworker is feeling low, Ramses will try to cheer them up with a lighthearted joke or offer advice if they'd like it. - When the twins were promoted to bosses of the Battle Subway, Ramses cried because he felt so proud. - In most circumstances, he is a very simple and logical man. He is quick to find solutions and tries not to fret over the little stuff. It's not good for his heart after all. - His ace is his Pikachu (Musa,) though the mouse is more of a lap pet now. At home, he also has an Audino (Sara) and a Manectric (Nubi) who keep Ramses' husband company. His Klinklang (Moli) is the only one of his personal pokemon that accompany him to work nowadays. - Ramses considers Cloud family. They are best friends and love having family gatherings outside of work. They also gossip a lot, and don't mind when Jackie decides to join. - Ramses jokes about looking forward to retirement, but really doesn't want to leave until he is physically incapable of working anymore. Gear Station is like a second home to him.

In-Game Quotes

The most important reference of all are their in-game quotes, of course, so I'm adding it to the post. A lot of their personality traits can be extracted and interpreted from these few lines. And I personally love that about Pokemon NPCs -- there's a lot of room to explore and play with. Some appear very obvious. Cameron practically announces that he isn't ready for the battle that's about to ensue and seems genuinely surprised to win. Furze comes out the gate talking about the subject they actually care about, which is their job and their love for trains. The two of them are very easy to understand. Now, Ramses lines allude to a gentle and simple personality. He views himself with humility, and maybe even with a bit of humor comparing himself to a train and to his opponent to a station. If he loses he shows no signs of disappointment, he just accepts defeat with one last honest quip. It s also amusing to see the Depot Agents all use train metaphors to describe themselves since it falls in line with how Ingo and Emmet talk.

In comparison, Cloud does the same thing calling herself the terminal instead. Immediately, she is way more daring, though still keeping a sense of professionalism. To me, it's obvious she is competitive as she even admits she was expecting to win ("Ah...I didn't see it coming.") Jackie's lines are fun since it's up to interpretation if they are being literal or lying. It's almost like they are more interested in confusing/creeping out their opponent than actually beating them. To me, it gives off a mischievous vibe. Isadore's opener "There are only two roads in life." is a curious one because it almost feels like he is trying to be philosophical. Definitely a guy who views himself as an intellectual, regardless if that’s true or not. I like to think it's a saying he really believes in, and it applies to his life. The road he likes (long route) vs the road he hates (shortcut) -- fighting tooth and nail to become boss vs biting his tongue and accepting Ingo and Emmet as the Subway Masters.

Those are just my thoughts on how I write these characters. Please have fun playing with these lines too!

#depot agents #depot agents master post #my art #submas #submas adjacent ahaha #will probably edit as time goes on but who knows really #if you spot any typos no you dont kiss kiss #cameron #cloud #furze #isadore #jackie #ramses

2K notes · View notes

tizzyizzy · 6 months

Text

Seen some talk around the interwebs about how Izzy is a totally different, or his arc happened too fast, whatever. He is my argument to the contrary.

There are three major factors driving the change in Izzy's behavior.

Default Pirate Culture → Gentleman Pirate Culture

Izzy spent his entire pirate career before Stede acting like, well, a pirate. There wasn't room for softness. Being tough was expected. Blackbeard's crew's culture in particular discouraged weakness to such an extent crew were expected to kill their pets before joining.

In S1, Izzy's relationship to the crews and captains was ambiguous. Was he training the Revenge crew to be proper pirates? Was he in charge when the captains weren't on board? Was Ed planning on killing Stede and everyone aboard, or not? So it's unsurprising Izzy held himself away from Stede's crew instead of becoming part of it, and tried without success to make the Revenge crew follow his lead.

In S2, Izzy ends up in Stede's crew, and Izzy isn't in a place emotionally or socially to try to push to change the culture of the ship. He's outnumbered. Izzy has to adapt. At the very least, all of the expectations he has been living up to his entire pirating career are gone.

Taking Care of Ed → No More Ed

Izzy said he'd been cleaning up Ed's messes his whole life. Scenes from S1 and S2 suggest that is the case. In S1, Izzy is dealing with Ed making strange choices on his search for meaning, which requires him to manage restless crew members and deal with the risky spots Ed puts them all in. Once Stede arrives on the scene, Ed is contradictory and non-communitive, leaving Izzy to wonder if the plan to kill Stede and the promised captaincy were bullshit (they were).

And because Izzy has no emotional intelligence, he thinks that Stede is seducing Ed into losing everything, and he desperately tries to pry the pair ppart.

I mean, we all know what happened in the early S2 episodes. Emotional, off-the-rails Ed trying to himself and everyone else while Izzy desperately tried to protect Ed and the crew, until he was forced to give up on Ed.

After breaking up with Ed via bullet, though, Ed is officially Not Izzy's Problem. Ed isn't a threat to the crew. Stede is incompetent, but was clever and brave enough to escape Zheng's ship and rescue them. Izzy is free to have a drunken breakdown. After, well, he gets to do whatever he wants.

What does Izzy want? Well, he's finding out.

No Trust → Trust

The major reason pirates put on such a tough facade is to protect themselves. Being tough keeps enemies from messing with you. It keeps your crew too afraid to mutiny. It's easy to recognize that Ed puts on a persona of Blackbeard, but Izzy put on a persona too. A weak link can be targeted and broken.

Just look at the scene where Izzy finally breaks down and is comforted by the crew. Izzy doesn't make the choice to be emotionally vulnerable. He is behaving the same way he always with crew who question his orders. He yells, he curses, he commands. It is only the level of his emotional distress and the crew's acknowledgement of it that make him incapable of hiding his pain.

I think it's safe to say that has been hiding grief, frustration, confusion, sadness, etc. behind the "Get back to work!" facade for years. It only crumbled under extreme pressure.

But when Izzy breaks, and is at his most pathetic and vulnerable, the crew have his back. Under Blackbeard, they comfort him, hide him away, and treat his injuries at the risk of the captain's wrath. Under Stede, when he's at his most pathetic, the crew make him a new leg and accept him into the crew without judgement.

There's almost nothing Izzy could do in front of the crew now that would make him look more weak than he was when he was crawling across the floor drunk and repeating "You're born alone, you die alone" over and over. He hit rock bottom and there was a pillow there to catch him.

So, Izzy is in the "talk it through" culture of Stede's Revenge. He is free from obsessing about Ed as a man and as a captain. He is surrounded by people who saw him at his worst and showed him compassion.

Izzy's worst behaviors in S1 were motivated by fear. Fear of the new, fear Ed was losing it, fear of what would happen if he showed weakness. In a "safe space", where he has nothing to worry about? Of course Izzy calms way down. This is the Izzy that swaggered up to Stede on the island and at Spanish Jackie's in S1. Dry, sarcastic, sassy. Some flair for the dramatic with the swordplay.

It is because Izzy feels so safe that he can put on that makeup and perform. Wee John is doing it, and Wee John wouldn't let him do anything embarrassing. He's clearly got confidence in his ability to sing.

He's still Izzy. He says fuck constantly. He's kind of a dick. He offers good advice. He's a dramatic, whether he's cutting his name into someone's shirt or singing in French from a balcony. He's just an Izzy that can be whatever he wants without fear.

#izzy hands #izzy hands meta #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd season 2 spoilers #ofmd spoilers

405 notes · View notes

nonegenderleftpain · 2 years

Text

To all the new, young MCR fans out there who are just finding them during this tour - you will never know what it was like to be a fan back before and during the hiatus.

And that's a good thing.

I have been following My Chemical Romance since I was ten years old. MCR was the band that the freaks liked. The band that young queer kids were called fags and dykes for liking. Someone once called them the "poster child for suicidal depression," and they aren't wrong. We watched the band struggle with drugs and drinking and idolized how much they were able to do while blackout on tour, because if they could do something so powerful at such a disadvantage, then maybe we could, too. We watched the popularization of "guyliner," because having a term for men wearing makeup could make it an ironic fashion statement instead of a deliberate choice that would get you left bloody and unconscious on the floor of a gas station bathroom. We watched these guys destroy themselves, and we saw ourselves in them because we were destroyed, too. We wanted to believe that we could be just as important, no matter how broken we were, and we found shared experiences at concerts and cafeterias and skate parks and libraries, with other fucked up kids that wanted to listen to the guys that didn't care if people called them gay. The guys that made out on stage to the jeers of thousands of people and got bottles of piss thrown at them but kept doing it anyway. The guys that played with gender and sexuality and everything on the fringes of acceptability, in their lyrics and their performance and the way they treated each other.

This was important. It was life-saving. It provided a comparatively safe space in an unsafe cultural environment for the freaks to find comfort in. It was also hugely and dangerously unhealthy.

I've talked at length to my friends about how healing and lifechanging this tour has been for me, and I want to illuminate that for these young fans that are falling in love with MCR like I did when I was their age. When we were kids, most of our heroes were already dead. They died young, had tragic lives, and we saw ourselves in them. I fully believed MCR would end up the same way. It would have been so easy to be martyrs - to die young and beautiful. Gerard said it himself, back in the day, that MCR was destined to die young in a car crash and stay beautiful forever, and I think he truly believed that.

So they broke up. And, like a miracle, things started to change. They got clean. Got married. Had kids. Not just Gee, but the lot of them. They aged out of the 27 club, and then out of their 30s, and they only seemed to continue to thrive. Today, in 2022, Gerard Way is 45 years old. He has wrinkles. He has a daughter who is older now than I was when she was born. And they are touring again.

The cultural change from when I was a teenager to now, when you guys are, is monumental. It's insane. It's fantastic. Back in the day, Gerard made some occasional comments about playing with gender presentation (that all us trans people, including those of us that didn't even know yet, hunted down and cherished and kept in our chests for safekeeping), but the idea of doing something so flagrant as headlining Riot Fest in a dress was ludicrous. It would have gotten him booed (still did, even now). It could have gotten him killed. The fact that Gerard Way has stepped on stage three separate times this tour in a dress (so far! it's not over!) is such an incredible, monumental change from when I was a kid and I am so, so happy for you to be experiencing it as kids.

I had a cry about this at a P!ATD concert in 2018, after seeing preteens running down the halls in pride flags, and I feel even more strongly about it now than I did then. That you're able to talk openly about Gerard's gender performance without fear, that you're able to hear them go by he/they pronouns, that you're able to interact with other young fans in the wake of MCR's revival in a safe environment and take in the messages that are at the core of what they stand for? These are beautiful fucking things.

You can't know what it was like, growing up with MCR back in the day. But you get to know what it's like to grow up with them now. Cherish that. In Detroit, Gerard told us to take our meds, and reminded us that we made it. They made it. They fought through the hard parts, fought the demons, and came out the other side better for it. As you watch them put those demons to rest from concert to concert, know that there are older fans cheering you on, so fucking happy to see you sharing this experience with us, and so excited to see what way this changes you. We know it changed us.

#my chemical romance #mcr #mcr 2022 #my chem #gerard way #gender stuff #music stuff #mcr are my heroes and i dont use that word lightly #this tour has only further cemented my deep respect for them as performers and as people #seeing them so full of joy and life is so novel and i dont think it will ever feel like anything short of a miracle

3K notes · View notes

djarinterstellar · 1 year

Text

Safe Place

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: What starts as a night off alone escalates into some trouble in town. Luckily, when you’re employed by one of the fiercest warriors in the galaxy, backup is never too far away.

Tags/Warnings: category is- MUTUAL PINING[!!] they just don’t know it. mostly comfort/fluff. some violence in the beginning + 1 minor injury. mentions of alcohol and spice (cannabis) use. Reader is fadeddd most of the plot lmao. Protective/Soft Din 🥰 mentions of Force-sensitive Reader. also no Grogu today, it’s past his bedtime :(

Word Count: 8.6k

a/n: not me posting this on the cusp of season 3 finally premiering 💀 also this was supposed to be shorter but honestly, this thing got so out of hand so fast, idek why it drags on for as long as it does. but i was inspired by this very stoned prompt i thought of months ago with my favorite tin can babygirl and decided to finally finish it so. here we go. ✨

ps: i’m still trying out the 3rd person pov thing so lemme know if you hate it or not. also to settle any confusion amid the new szn, this takes place between s1 and 2 :)

Translation: Sen’ika = little bird

It’s supposed to be an easy night.

Mando is on a hunt and she’s been left in charge in his absence. Normally she would’ve argued coming along and you know, making herself useful as she’d originally agreed upon. But the Crest could only land so close and the additional foot travel was too long and treacherous for the Child to follow along. Plus Red trusted her enough to leave her alone with his foundling without making off with his ship and she had no other choice but to agree.

A few days had passed now since he’d departed. He estimated he’d return in about a week, so she was in no rush in waiting for him. Mando had settled them on the outskirts of town, far enough where they could lay low in peace but still close enough for her to make any emergency supply runs in town. She was left with everything she needed to care for the kid. And with specific instructions not to leave the Crest unless it was absolutely necessary.

Which is exactly what she decided to categorize this as.

The pair of double doors leading into the local cantina burst open and she stumbles back out into the streets, giggling to herself as she cradles a pair of warm cider bottles to-go in her pouch. She hadn’t planned on lingering at the bar but three drinks and a pair of shots with a group of local girls later, plans were changed. She was even invited out back to share a round of their spice joint, a generous offer she simply couldn’t refuse. She was now blissfully intoxicated and felt lighter and happier than she’d been in weeks.

The kid had finally settled in earlier and if his recent patterns served her correctly, he’d be down for the rest of the night. She was finally alone, a privilege she found extremely rare these days since joining Mando’s crew, which gave her ample time to wander into town. Was it responsible of her to leave the Crest and the kid alone? Most would argue it wasn’t, Red most of all. But he wasn’t here to say no! Plus, she had locked the ship down to keep the kid inside and protected from any potential stragglers. All goes well, she would be in and out before he woke up.

And she was confident about this because she’d already gone out just last night. Sure, she hadn’t been out this long, but again, Mando wasn’t expected anytime soon.

She liked exploring towns. It gave her a reason to not only scope out her environment, but to familiarize herself with the locals and figure out which spots in town were traveler-friendly. It was easy to wander when she was on her own, but now that she was a full-time employee, it had become somewhat of a rare treat.

It was week’s end for these particular folks, which meant most of them were out in droves tonight. She could still hear the fits of laughter and drunken serenades belting out of the cantina behind her as she walked away. The air was far cooler at night and the refreshing taste of it in her lungs gave her cloudy head the clearance it needed.

She was delightfully drunk and probably just as high, but she was conscious enough to know she needed to get back. Leaving the kid alone for a couple of hours was fine, but stretching it out any longer than that was far too much of a risk. Live music was playing somewhere from around the corner, locals dashing around her as they hopped from one cantina to another.

The energy buzzed around her like an electric current, yet she walked with a familiar ease. She felt oddly safe within the center of town. But as she drifted further into the outskirts, the street lamps dulled and the crowds thinned out. A pair of fraternal moons became her guiding light as she willed herself to remember the path back to the Crest.

And for a while, it was fine. Despite the silence, she couldn’t help but feel a bit more on edge out here alone than when she was surrounded by a bunch of drunk miners. She ignored it though, trying to tell herself it was probably the spice making her antsy. But the farther she walked, the longer her paranoia festered and itched and scratched until she realized it wasn’t the libations talking to her.

It was the Force.

She realized too late she was being followed until just before she was confronted. A Balosar male slinks out from an alleyway behind her, long and slim with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his oversized coat. She wills herself to keep her eyes straight ahead but she could hear him glide over to her side to match her stride.

“Where ya goin’ sugar? The party’s that way!” he drawled, sending an immediate chill up her spine. Shit.

“I know where I’m going,” She doesn’t look at him as she attempts to brush past him. “Have a good night.”

He reacts by slipping around her once more, this time blocking her path directly ahead. “Whoa whoa, take it easy!” His accent is thick and laced in what she can only describe as mock-innocence. “Relaax, nobody’s gettin’ hurt here!”

Her facial expressions remain unmoved, glancing up at him boredly. In reality though, her heart was hammering against her ribcage. The last thing she needed, especially right now, was unwanted attention from anybody, let alone from this total stranger. She moves to step forward but he cuts in her way, a sly grin stretching across his face.

“It’s okay baby,” Her stomach internally caved in at the pet name. “just tryna find where the cool people hang out.”

“Wouldn’t know where to point you to.” she replies flatly, straightening her back. “Excuse me.”

She attempts to move around him again, but his arm comes up to lay on the wall next to her and he leans forward to cave her in. “Where’re you from then? I’ve never seen anyone this pretty so far out here.” His free hand inches towards her face but she’s quick to turn her cheek, her jaw clenching behind her lips.

“And you never will.” she snaps back, already inching backwards.

This only prompts him to step closer, a frown crossing his slimy face. “Ey, you don’t have to be a bitch.” His tone switches almost predictably and her hand slips behind her cloak to reach for her holster.

“Back off.” she snarls him a warning with the coldest glare she can make.

He tries reclosing the gap between them again. “C’monn honey- ”

“NO.” Her fight-or-flight instinct kicks in and she fully pushes her weight on him to shove him down. Her stand off is cut short though when he finds his balance and pushes back. She’s thrown back against the wall and before she can even process it, a pocket knife is jabbed against the skin of her neck.

Shadows move over his shoulder in her peripheral vision and when she follows them, 3 more Balosars creep out of the dark, hovering behind the first one in a sort of half circle around her.

It’s at this moment that she realizes 2 distinct things. Firstly, she doesn’t recognize them. In her 4 or so days since they touched down, she’d observed the villagers in her down time and gathered a very broad consensus of who was who— and in that time, she hadn't seen any Balosars in this town, which told her they were also just passing by. Secondly, she thinks as she watches the other 3 close in, she’s tangled herself in a very complicated web here. It was 4 against 1, with a notable size difference amongst all of them. She couldn’t see straight, was hilariously underprepared for a fight given the company she was currently keeping, she was fucked up and only growing more inebriated as her vices soaked into her bloodstream, and she was alone. No baby, no bar friends, no civilian witnesses.

No Mando.

Fuck.

A strangled little noise escapes her throat when the knife is pinched further into her skin and she curses herself at how whimpered it comes out.

“Fine, since you wanna do this the hard way..” the first Bathosar sneers almost mockingly, his frame towering over her own.

She’s curling into the overcast of her cloak when her fingers finally find the handle of her blaster, skin digging tightly into the cool of the metal. She looks into his eyes and sucks in a deep breath before the tension snaps.

Fuck it.

In an instant, a shot zaps out, aimed directly at his foot. He cries out when it makes contact, and she smashes her blaster across his temple when he folds over in distracted pain, his knife clattering to the ground. Despite her inebriation, she can sense the others jumping into action and she points her gun at the closest one, shooting him right in his chest before he can get any closer. She doesn’t have time to watch his body crumple to the floor as she turns to shoot at the other two, a rapid succession of plasma bolts whizzing out almost desperately. Her second target barely misses her line of fire and as she follows his trail, she fails to block the third Balosar from tackling her into the wall. She cries out as he harshly elbows her wrist to disarm her, the blaster forced out of her hand.

“Grab her!” She hears her attacker hiss from above her before she’s suddenly snatched from behind. Her arms are pinned to her sides as she’s grabbed and lifted several inches off the ground.

Her heart is pounding, blood pumping into her ears as she yells out. Her feet start kicking furiously in an instant, every functional instinct left in her telling her to fight back. “Get off me!” she shrieks, flailing until her boot finally connects with a knee. She hears him yelp behind her, his grip slipping. She jabs her elbow fully into his nose, sending them both tumbling.

Two separate voices are shouting incoherently above her in a blend of confusion and exasperation. She can see her blaster just feet away and she starts crawling, scrambling in a desperate effort to reach it, until she’s yanked backwards by her ankle.

“Pin her down.” she hears one of them growl maliciously from above.

Her stomach turns as she’s dragged back into her assailant’s grip, trails of her fingernails digging into the dirt floor. She feels her brain short-circulating in its panic so she resorts to one last defense tactic.

She starts screaming.

And it’s a shriek that’s piercing and raw and louder than she was planning it to be. But she screams anyway in hopes that anyone within the block can at least hear her, even if it’s another drunken villager on their way home.

“Shut her up!” A second voice hisses hastily, hands scrambling to smother her.

“NO- ” She bites down on the first hand that touches her face and only squeals louder, her pitch jumping another octave in her hysteria. She starts kicking again, nails scrambling in the dirt for a spare rock, a glass shard, anything physical to grab in her defense. When her palms only fill with clumps of dirt and sand, she clenches her fists around them anyway.

What started as a dreamy, whimsical high has quickly soured into a debilitating panic trip. Rather than floating in euphoric bliss, she feels tranquilized, her focus and motor skills severely hindered and overpowered by these 3 much larger adversaries. Her stomach is turning over under her ribs, waves of nausea churning with her rising panic. Her heart is pounding too fast she feels, and her lungs are tightly clenched despite how fast she’s gasping for air.

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until she’s flipped on her back, the welling tears spilling down her temples. Before she can scream again, a balled up handkerchief is forced into her mouth. Two of them meanwhile, are putting their full weight down on her to pin her limbs to the ground. The first one is limping over to them, his knife recovered in his hand while patches of fresh blood trail behind his injured foot. She audibly whimpers now, wriggling in their grasp like a drowning fish.

“You know.. I was gonna let you go after all this,” he starts, turning his blade over in his hand as if to inspect it. “But that was before I believed the rumors.” He pauses here, and the dread is only momentarily overwhelmed by her instinctive curiosity. “I mean- we all knew the bounty’s primary target was a Mandalorian with a green pet- ” Her stomach drops. “ -but there was no mention anywhere about his pretty little accomplice.”

She rustles again as he looms over her. “And I gotta tell ya, I didn’t think it was true at all. I mean, a Mandalorian with a business partner? And a girl at that!?” He almost laughs before he pivots. “But then we sees’ you in town, carryin’ this little guy around, and we think, maybe there’s some truth in all this, ya know?” Her stomach sinks even lower at the realization that they not only spotted her with the kid, but that they’d been watching her this whole time too.

Double fuck.

Suddenly, he’s kneeling in front of her, his injured foot tucked behind his knee, and she’s roughly sat up to face him by the snatch of her hair. “So here’s what’s gonna happen,” She grunts helplessly when his blade is pressed deeper against her neck as the three men crowd around her. “you’re gonna point me in the direction of the gremlin, you’re gonna watch us shoot his kidnapper, and then, and only then, will I finally kill you myself.”

Her brows crease in pain as she tries to pull away from his blade, but the hand twisted in the back of her hair only pushes her into it. The handkerchief is yanked out for her to answer and his head tilts to catch her eyes. “So?” he snaps. “What’s it gonna be? Now or later?”

Her eyes harden, nostrils flaring. Honestly, right now, she just wants to tell him to fuck off. It’s not like this was her first time being mugged and/or threatened, and unfortunately not while inebriated either. But this one felt pretty damn close to getting got. Her brain is already scrambling between scattered half-assed theories on how to get her out of this.

Fw-ip !

A whizzing sound passes under her and it’s so subtle, she almost doesn’t notice it. Then there’s a pause of silence that’s almost too heavy to be coming from nothing before she notices that the first guy’s eyes have blown wide open. They make eye contact and she squints, almost confused.

Suddenly, he’s thrown back and he starts screaming before she realizes he’s being yanked into the shadows by his wounded foot. She can hear the mechanical whizzing again as he’s dragged, even over his friends’ shouting, and it takes another split second for her to realize it’s a whipcord. And just like that, the Force alerts her that she’s not alone again. But instead of dread, something else flutters in her gut.

The Balosar’s screams are cut short by a single blaster shot, and she inhales a gasp of air before a chill crawls up her spine.

Two heavy, familiar boot steps clunk in front of them as its owner steps into the dim lighting.

She exhales and pure euphoria blooms in her chest.

He’s towering over them, broad shoulders stiff and gloved hands clenched into iron fists, his armor gleaming like a beacon even in the cover of night.

She can’t stop the smile that’s spreading across her face. “Mando..-”

“Kill him!” One of the Balosars yanks her back into his chest as his friend scrambles to his feet, blaster already in hand. She squeaks and the sound seems to snap Mando into full action. She’s yanked to her feet as his arm wrangles itself around her neck.

From here though, she can see her Mandalorian in his full glory. She watches him stalking towards his prey, blaster bolts bouncing off his beskar like raindrops as the other guy empties his clip into him. And of course, when that doesn’t work, he headbutts him to stun him before striking. Despite the weight of his armor, Mando moves like a viper and is just as deadly.

She feels herself being dragged away and she grunts in protest, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. It’s then she remembers one hand is still clenched. Without a second thought, she swings backwards, smacking the guy right in the face as she temporarily blinds him with a fistful of dirt.

“Agh- !” He shouts and she slips out his grip. She starts towards Mando, but then she’s grabbed by her hair and is yanked backwards with a cry. “Fuckin’ bitch- !” She hears him snarl before the back of his hand strikes her directly across her cheek.

She drops against the brick wall behind her, his body towering her, but from the corner of her eye, she spots Mando. The second guy is now motionless on the floor and his helmet is fully trained on the last one. And based on the swell of his chest and how hard he’s breathing now, she doesn’t need to gauge anything else; he just saw what he did and he’s furious.

He crosses the space between them and drags him backwards and away from her. The Balosar starts fighting back but he's quickly overpowered as he’s disarmed with an unnatural twist of his wrist. Mando spins him around and lands a punch directly into his face once, twice, thrice and then a final fourth blow before the guy falls to his knees. And it’s there that he goes for the kill, grabbing his head with both gloved hands and snapping his neck with an enraged grunt and a sickening crunch.

She watches the final body crumple to the floor with blown out eyes and her jaw fully dropped. She’s physically shaking, she realizes, and can barely breathe, let alone stand on her own. But when Mando finally turns to her, his chest rising and falling, she clings to the wall behind her to gather herself back up.

“What the hell happened??” Mando’s tone is harsh and agitated, even under his modulated panting. “You weren’t on the ship when I-”

He’s cut off when she runs straight into his arms. She all but collapses into his chest, arms coiled around his neck and her face smothered into his cowl. Before he can even process what’s happening, she pulls back to look up at him. “You’re earlyy!” She’s practically beaming up at him, one of her hands tracing the cheekbone of his helmet.

He’s speechless. First, a hug. And now she’s.. glad to see him? Not to mention how she’s smiling up at him with those big, adoring puppy-dog eyes. She’s never been this nice to him before, not even around the Child. “I- ” he hesitates before clearing his throat. “ -Yes. The target uh, took less time than I thought.”

This only makes her smile wider before she buries herself in him again. This time, her arms slip around his back, her cheek leaning into his chest plate. She could care less about how the edges of his armor were pinching into her skin, or how his fully loaded bandolier was pressed very uncomfortably into her collarbone. All that mattered to her right now, was this. “I’m so happy you’re here.” she all but whimpers, closing her eyes to savor the coolness of his beskar and the familiar scent of metal and gun smoke.

Now Mando was really stunned. But he can also feel the physical tremble in her muscles and the speed of her pulse, so he relents with a long sigh before a single arm drapes around her back. “Are you okay?” he asks, his tone much softer this time.

She nods into his chest before pulling away again. “Y-Yeah I just- ” she takes a deep breath and lets out a shaky exhale. “ -that was.. too close..”

“What happened?” He decides to ask again. “Are you hurt?” His hands quickly pat her down as if checking her for any other injuries before one of them comes up to gently cup her chin. He carefully tilts her face to get a better view of her red cheek and it doesn’t go unnoticed when she refuses to make eye contact. His helmet tilts ever so slightly. “Sen’ika..”

Her lips press together and her brows furrow as she flinches. “Well..”

“Did they kidnap you?” He asks, his other hand gesturing towards the 3 bodies behind him.

This makes her head snap back up. “No! No, they had no idea where I was staying. They were just trying to follow me back t..” she trails off the moment her brain catches up to her lips, and now that she’s face-to-face with him, she can practically feel Mando’s visor burning a hole into her forehead.

The pause between them stretches out uncomfortably before he finally speaks. “Where did you go?” His voice makes her insides squirm, like a teenager getting caught out after curfew.

“Uh..” She starts and suddenly she’s become hyper-aware of how hot her face is. She can’t remember the last time he was this close to her, and the realization of this somehow makes her self-conscious. She’s also still remarkably faded, too faded in fact to fake any semblance of sobriety. And if he’s already here, there’s really no point in lying to him, he’s way too smart for that. “..the bar.” she finally finishes meekly.

His shoulders slump as he exhales. “You got drunk?” he asks incredulously.

Her face brightens in embarrassment. “Okay, look- ” she starts and she can practically hear him groan under his helmet as he looks up to the sky. “-to be fair, I only went after the kid passed out, cause I knew he wouldn’t wake up.”

When she looks up, his helmet only tilts to the side, a silent move that only prompts her to keep going. “Ok, so there’s this pattern I’ve noticed, so when you give him a full meal and a glass of warm milk, and then you just let him play with his toys and get him to make them float around the room, after a certain time, he’ll get super tired and, like, fully sleep through the night. And I know that sounds like the most basic excuse in the book but I swear I tested this three nights in a row and it worked every time, okay so I wasn’t being totally stupid..”

She doesn’t realize how long she’s been rambling until she glances up again. He’s now leaned in closer to her, and for a moment she thinks he’s examining her cheek again. What she doesn’t realize is how carefully he’s looking into her eyes. He can tell she’s been drinking by now, and despite the trauma of the attempted assault on her just now, her eyes are still way too bloodshot to just be the liquor. Not to mention the hint of another smell on her..

She inhales sharply through her nose when she feels his gloved hands slip over her own. She gazes into his visor, as if straining to look for a pair of eyes behind it and leans in ever so slightly. She’s never been as curious to see what his expression looks like as she is right now. Her face softens as she stares up at him. “Mando..?” Her voice is just above a whisper and oh-so delicate.

She can feel his thumbs gently press into the pulse points of her wrists as he stares at her, and the surprising warmth of his touch makes butterflies flutter in her ribs. And just before she can open her mouth to call out to him again, he leans directly into her eye level.

“Are you high?” He’s audibly confused.

Her eyes turn into saucers in silent panic and it’s here that he can see her pupils are blown wide open.

“…Uhhhh…”

He sighs heavily as his head drops in defeat. It’s the only answer he needs.

“Okay,” he relents as he lets go of her. “Get your stuff. Let’s go home.”

He immediately stiffens once the words slip out. Oh, fuck fuck fuck.

No Din, no! This was temporary, remember?? She’d only made that abundantly clear the day she stepped foot on the Crest with a single bag and 2 datapads. It was always a mutual agreement though: she was to join him on the Crest to work full-time on tracking down a Jedi, with a deadline of at least a couple of months before he was to drop her off at a new planet of residency of her choosing. After all, she’d only just begun resettling her life and it was a path she intended to follow through on her own. Din understood this partnership was fleeting and it was unfair of him to call this ‘home’, yet for some reason, he insisted on slipping up in little moments like this again and again.

Though based on the glazed, clueless look in her eyes, she didn’t notice at all. “Okay.” she simply says, turning around to scan the alley for her belongings. As she skirts off in one direction, Din sees her blaster laying just a couple of feet away. He picks it up for her when a loud clanging catches his attention.

“Hey!” She calls out, straining to pull her bag out from under one of the bodies. Once she rolls him off with a kick of her foot, she holds up her bag and pulls out one of the sources of the noise. “Look, the cider survived!”

His helmet tilts almost disapprovingly, but he does nothing else as he holds her blaster out to her. “C’mon.” he all but huffs impatiently.

“Okay okay, sorryy- ” she slurs, stumbling over the same body as she returns and accepts her blaster. “One of these are yours ya know!” Mando is already walking away as she’s throwing her up bag over her shoulder, and she has to scramble to keep up with him, a move that makes her trip on her own two feet.

His helmet tilts over his shoulder at her. “Can you walk?” She’s not sure if it’s meant to sound demeaning or not, but it makes her puff her chest as she pouts at him.

“Of course I can walk!” she shoots back. “You’re just going too fast.” He grunts in response, helmet facing forward again and continues his pace. She’s not sure if it’s the spice but his strides feel more rushed than usual. His shoulders are also still fully straight, she notices and something tugs in her chest as she tries getting a sense of what his body language is telling her. She’s only a step or two behind him, and her eyes wander to the floor in front of her, the words spilling out before she can stop herself. “..are you mad at me?”

She almost sounds like a child, remorseful and heavy with guilt and she already hates how it comes out. But what punches harder is his response. Or his lack of it. Because he simply keeps walking at the same pace, fully ignoring her. No grunt, no hum, not even a sigh. And for some reason, this makes her ache. She stumbles over her own feet again and almost instantly she can feel tears threatening to well under the skin of her cheeks. She wants to curse herself for getting emotional, but it has to be liquor making her moods swing so drastically, she tells herself. Not that this thought doesn’t stop her from speaking again.

“I’m fired aren’t I- ”

Before she can blink, she runs face-first into a wall of beskar as he stops abruptly. She can’t help but yelp as she clutches her now-throbbing nose and when she looks back up, he’s turning to face her again. He stares at her until the silence frays at her nerves, and just when she can feel her face burning up to her ears, she hears a soft exhale from his modulator.

“C’mon,” his voice is soft as his right arm slightly pokes out towards her. “I can hear you tripping around from up here.”

Her brows furrow ever so slightly. “Are you makin’ fun of me?” she asks.

“Does it sound like I am?”

Her eyes narrow this time. “Mayybe.” she coos. But she loops her arm into the crook of his elbow and is silently delighted when he tucks her against his side. She finds it much easier to match his walk now and she can’t help the jump in her pulse as she’s pressed closer to him. In fact, she has to bite her lip to stop the silly grin threatening to spread across her cheeks. They walk in comfortable silence for a while before her spinning brain comes up with another enquiry.

“Mando?”

“Hm?” His response is barely registered under his modulator.

“How’d you find me?”

For a moment, Din doesn’t answer. And it’s not for the lack of one either. He’s just not sure where to begin. Does he start when he first re-entered the Crest to find the kid safe and sound but with her nowhere in sight? Or when he went back outside in hopes that she was on the roof stargazing or fiddling with the ship. Or when he started speed-walking through the nearby alleys because now he really couldn’t find her and just before his panic could bubble over, a single sound just yards away made his heart stop before he jump-started into a full sprint for her.

“I heard you scream.” he eventually replies and it almost sounds like his teeth are pressed together under that helmet.

She smiles at that. My hero. She almost wants to swoon until he speaks up again.

“I’ve warned you about being alone Sen’ika,” His tone is still soft, but firmer this time. She flinches and tucks her face down from him, nodding once.

“I know, I- ” her head swirls at the pang of shame but she swallows the urge to say anything other than what was necessary here. “I’m sorry.”

Another pause of silence. She decides to focus on their footsteps instead. There was something about the synchronized crunch of gravel under their boots that just satisfied every single sense in her. And it isn’t until she looks up and gets a full glimpse of the night sky that she realizes the spice is still very much in her system, unnatural neon lights and shapes bouncing across the stars. She stares in drunken awe up at them for a little too long and when she sees the Crest finally back in eyesight, she practically deflates in relief.

“Hey,” Then, Mando gently slides his arm out of their loop, leather ghosting down the length of her arm until he cups his palm over her fisted hand. “What matters to me most is that you’re safe,” he says softly. His visor turns to her, and he slowly opens her hand to slide his own into her palm. His gloved thumb gently squeezes her knuckles in what she can only gather as reassurance. “Okay?” His tone is so warm, it’s almost tender.

It catches her so far off guard, she’s pretty sure she short-circuited and is only still breathing on emergency autopilot. Her cheeks flush up and her eyes are blown wide open in the same sweet doe-like expression he adores so much, that he can’t help but smile behind the safety of his helmet. She blinks and she almost resets, clearing her throat as she looks straight ahead. She’s still blushing as she smiles and nods once. “Okay.” she replies sweetly.

Even his gloves are impenetrable, thick and almost twice as large in size. But she can still feel a warmth radiating from the other side against her skin. Suddenly feeling brave, she shifts, slipping through his gloves and slowly linking their fingers together. Mando stiffens at first, until her nails sink into the shape of his knuckles, and he internally melts. Before he can process his own reaction, he squeezes back, his thumb gently stroking over her own.

She looks up again, grinning from ear to ear. Clouds are dancing in her vision, stars swelling and shrinking in size across the painted skies. She dares herself to glance at him from the corner of her eye. He’s looking straight ahead thankfully, only semi-lit under the glow of the moons, but his beskar has never been more radiant. The same colors in her eyes bounce off the high points of his armor, illuminating him in an almost ethereal glow. She can’t stop her eyes from wandering. He’s perfectly shaped from every angle. He stands tall and proud, and walks with an effortless swagger so few could replicate. His mere presence can shift the focus of an entire room. He’s daunting and striking and is the picture of discipline and strength. Yet he cradles her hand in his like she’s made of glass. She’s never seen anything past the chiseled cut of his helmet, yet he’s never looked more beautiful in her eyes right now. She knows she shouldn’t be looking at him the way she is right now; with stars in her eyes and the softest, most affectionate little smile spreading from cheek to flushed cheek.

“You’re so pretty~” she slurs out in the sweetest tone. From behind his beskar, Din’s heart jumps into his throat.

“You’re drunker than I thought.” He doesn’t skip a beat though, somehow keeping his tone flat and neutral.

“It’s still truee,” she shoots back, leaning against his side with a wide grin. “It’s always been true!”

He glances at her wordlessly and she smiles back at herself through his visor. He’s not sure what to say to that, if anything, he’s too flustered to think of a rebuttal. He’s never been called pretty by anyone, even as a joke. Eventually he clears his throat and looks away and she only grins wider. Did she just leave him speechless? She can’t help but try to read his body language for any hints.

BONK.

Unfortunately she’s so distracted by the dancing Mudhorn on his pauldron that she fully trips on the descending base of the Crest’s ramp. The only thing that stops her from falling on her face is Mando’s sudden grip on her elbow. His visor slowly turns to her again. And she knows he’s frowning this time. He yanks her back to her feet and they finally ascend to the deck. She sighs happily once she stumbles into the safety of the Crest.

As Mando closes and locks up the gangway behind them, a late thought suddenly strikes her. She turns to him with panicked eyes. “The kid!?”

“Shh-!” He quickly hushes her with a gloved pointer over her lips. She stares into her own flushed reflection as her voice echoes into the cockpit above. She’s hyper-aware of just how loud she’s being now that she’s no longer outside. Along with the scent of sunkissed leather directly under her nose. She doesn’t move until his finger slowly pivots to her right and when she follows his direction, she spots his hover pod, sealed up and safe and sound, just as she’d left him.

She sighs softly and her shoulders slump in relief. Mando leans in pointedly. “You’re lucky you were right.” he whispers into her hair. “He didn’t flinch when I got home.”

As goosebumps sprout up the back of her neck, he pulls away and crosses the room to the ladder. “I’m gonna lock us down. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.” Just before he climbs, he turns back to her. “Bedtime, Sen’ika. Now.” It's a gentle, but final warning.

She nods wordlessly and he leaves her in the middle of the room, dizzy and flustered. Her ears are also ringing now that she’s swallowed in silence. Eventually, she slowly pads into her designated corner. Her hammock is tucked away in the pocket of an empty storage closet, a thin makeshift curtain the only barrier between her ‘room’ and the deck. The walls hum around her and she realizes the heat has been turned back on, thankfully. She’s too drunk to fully wash up but she’s got enough energy to rip off her tight, itchy outdoor clothes and boots. She grabs the closest pajama-adjacent shirt and lounge pants she can find and wriggles them on.

She opens her hammock and finally allows herself to lay down, eyes turned to the dim ceiling.

How would it have felt if she’d laid her head on his shoulder?

No.

Would he have pushed her away? Or allowed her to stay?

Her brain’s focus shifts to the vision of his arms. His hands. His sweet, soothing voice.

I mean, he let her hold his hand, didn’t he? And hug him. Surely she could’ve gotten away with a little shoulder lean.

Gods, no.

Is he soft under all that armor? Does he run hot or does the beskar keep him cool? Is there a human face behind that m-

No! Stop it!

She physically shakes her head to break her train of thought. This was dangerous terrain. Just because you’re drunk doesn't mean you should be humoring these silly curiosities of yours! Her eyes squeeze shut and as she tries to take a deep breath, she realizes her heart is racing.

This is ridiculous.

Okay, so what if she has a crush on her employer?? It's not exactly a new phenomenon, and it certainly wasn’t the first boss she’d ever fallen for either. What was insane was what she liked about him. Because for the very first time, she couldn’t put a face to it. Instead, it was in his voice. His strength. His unwavering faith in his Creed, in the Way. He was loyal, honorable and resourceful. Stubborn as a Bantha, but quick to strike like lightning. He was also kind and selfless. He had the patience of a saint for the Child and innocent locals and despite his daunting appearance, he never hesitated to help out others, even if it meant pushing back on their schedule. There were actually various reasons why she liked him, and she couldn’t even put a name to a single one of them.

Not that any of it mattered. Because not a word of this would be uttered to anyone, let alone to him. Not to mention that this was a temporary gig, it’s not like she’d be around much longer anyway. The last thing she needed was to complicate this job for herself with her unprofessional schoolgirl behavior.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she shifts her focus to the only other thing clouding her judgment. Her head is still spinning but the heaviness behind her eyes makes it easy to keep them closed. She also focuses on slowing her breath, allowing her limbs to fully sink into the cradle of her hammock. A few minutes melt away and just as she finally feels herself beginning to drift..

“Pin her down.”

She physically jolts awake as the image of her ex-attackers kneeling over her flashes behind her eyelids. Her heart jumps to her throat as that same awful wave of nausea courses through her. Okay so clearly she wasn’t over what happened just yet. Her stomach turns again though this time for far more terrifying reasons.

She leaps to her feet before she can stop herself. She’s not sure what she wants just yet, but she knows whose presence she needs. She whips her curtain aside and almost jumps out of her skin when she sees Mando already standing at her doorway. “G-Geez- !”

He doesn’t flinch. He’s also holding a metal cup that he offers to her when she looks at it. “Drink this before you fall asleep,” he simply says.

“What is it?” she accepts it anyway, peering inside before taking a test sip.

“Just water,” Mando pauses and inwardly smiles when she gags at the aftertaste. “and powdered electrolytes to cut your hangover time in half. You'll thank yourself in the morning for it.”

“Mm, awesome!” she flashes him a pained grin and he almost chuckles. She’s so adorable like this, it’s almost painful.

He lingers for just a moment longer before he nods once. “Sweet dreams.” He starts walking away until a single hand on his arm makes him stop in his tracks. His helmet shoots towards her expectantly and when her eyes meet his visor, her voice suddenly clamps in her throat. She catches the almost-panicked expression in her reflection’s eyes and looks away. She almost starts apologizing, but he turns towards her instead, closing the distance between them. “What’s wrong?”

“I- ” Her face feels warm again despite her growing anxiety and she feels betrayed by the flush burning across her cheeks. She huffs and looks down at her feet. “Never mind, it’s n- ”

“Sen’ika,” He doesn’t even have to say anything else. His helmet ducks to try and catch her eye. “Tell me.” His voice is so gentle and reassuring that she has no choice but to succumb.

Fuck it, right?

“C… can I stay with you tonight?” Her voice is so soft, it’s almost a whisper. Her hand gently squeezes his sleeve, teeth catching on her bottom lip. “I don’t.. wanna be alone tonight..” To be fair, it wasn’t a lie.

It’s so quiet, you could hear a pin drop from the cockpit. In fact, she can’t even hear him breathing. Fuck. Did she fuck it up? Is he weirded out? Is she fired? Again?? Fuck! Take it back!

She has no idea just how startled Din really is though. She can’t hear his heart doing somersaults in his chest or how almost-terrified he looks behind the visor. But then she looks up at him with those frantic angel eyes for just a moment, he knows that despite whatever’s asked of him, how could he ever deny his little bird?

She opens her mouth and he perks up. ”Okay,” he says. It’s just as soft as she asked and almost nervous. He nods to follow up and clears his throat. “Of course.”

Her eyes round and she blinks back at him, almost dumbfounded. Holy shit, it worked? “Yeah?”

He nods again. “Yeah,” he replies lightly before his helmet jerks in the direction of his bunk. “C’mon.”

He crosses the room to his bunk to open the hatch. The kid’s pod is hovering peacefully right by the door where either of them can reach him if they have to. She follows him wordlessly where he steps aside for her. “Pick your spot, I’ll be right back.” he tells her.

Ironically, she was no stranger to his bed. He’d offered his room to her plenty of times before she carved out a spare corner for herself to give him his privacy back. She never imagined she’d actually be sharing it with him for once. She downed the last of her water and put the cup aside before she stepped into the bunk. She decided to slide into the corner facing the wall to give him as much space as possible.

Mando’s only gone for a few minutes, but in her panicked, overthinking state, it feels like ages. She finds comfort in his sheets. After getting so used to this space then moving out for a stretch of time, they felt familiar and almost welcoming to come back to. She acknowledged this was mostly due to their scent, the warm, woodsy musk that she recognized as what was likely the scent of his skin. She nuzzles into his blankets, inhales and sighs into them.

Then his boot steps echo back into earshot. She rolls onto her back and props up on her elbows, watching his shadowed figure fiddling outside. After a particularly heavy sigh, he clicks a light off and steps inside. For a second, he almost looks like a shadow sliding along the walls. It’s then she realizes he’s not wearing his beskar. He's stripped down to his full flight suit, boots, gloves and of course, his trademark helmet. There’s still not a shred of skin in sight but this still gives her a full view of his own figure. She’s dumbstruck at just how broad he truly is even without his armor. Then, it dawns on her that he took off his beskar to make room for her and something flutters under her ribs.

He looks at her and she scoots into the wall. His gloves clench and unclench in a subtle twitch as he slides into the space next to her. It’s a tight squeeze, laying shoulder to shoulder, but it’s a fit that would’ve probably been unbearable with the few inches of additional armor on. She crosses her arms, making herself smaller and fitting around the bigger gaps between them.

They both sigh and for a moment, it’s quiet. Her heart’s weirdly racing and she’s not sure what to say. Or if anything should be said at all. He shifts next to her, and her first thought is that he’s warm, even under his dense flight suit. He sighs again, and it sounds spent. She wonders if his eyes are closed behind that helmet.

Her head cranes towards him. “Long day?”

A short huff cracks through his modulator. “Something like that.” He’s smiling behind that response.

She grins back and looks up at the dark ceiling again. Colors are still swirling in her eyes if she squints long enough, but they're fading, she notes. There’s another short pause before this time, he breaks. “If.. this is too uncomf- ”

“It’s not.” she cuts in sweetly, still smiling to herself. Despite the angle, he’s warm and sturdy and she’d never felt more secure sandwiched between a man and his metal walls. She gently nudges his side. “Thanks again for saving my ass.”

He huffs again and nudges back. “Any time.” he replies.

She giggles and pauses, words pricking at the tip of her tongue. She’s feeling brave again and in her growing drowsiness, she decides to throw caution to the wind one last time. “Mando?”

“Mm?”

She inhales and shifts, her chin gently pressing into his shoulder. “Can I be honest about somethin’?”

His helmet shifts to her expectantly before pointing his chin at her. A silent approval to keep going. “I’ve been surrounded by armies my whole life. For as long as I can remember. Rebels, mercenaries, outcasts. You name it, I’ve met ‘em,” She peers up at his visor, ensuring she’s making eye contact. “And I’ve never felt safer with any of ‘em than I have with you.”

He doesn’t so much as twitch, but she swears she hears his breath seize under the helmet. Once again, his chest blooms and swells and something warm settles in his stomach. He smiles inwardly and before he can stop himself, a gloved hand comes up between them, leather knuckles stroking along the shape of her cheek.

She leans into it for just a moment and then she breaks through, ducking under his arm to curl herself up into his side. She rolls onto her own side, an arm draped across his chest and her head resting below his collarbone. Surprisingly, he not only allows her position shift, but he wraps his arm around her and even pulls her into him. “I made a promise to you,” he says. His hand settles between her shoulder blades, his thumb tracing a single circle into her back. “As long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe from harm. I intend to keep that promise as long as it takes.”

With her ear pressed into his shirt, she realizes that his pulse is racing against her. He also smells nice, like a combination of gunsmoke, the outdoors and the linen of his sheets. It’s woodsy and crisp, but it’s warm and homey and so intoxicatingly comforting.

She wants to say it.

She could get away with saying it if she played it right. But she's too drowsy and delirious and exhausted to keep thinking. He’s draping his blankets over them, tucking her into the ultimate heat source and she wants to soak in it. There’s a cool press against her hair and she realizes that his helmet is leaning into her. “Is this okay?” he whispers to her.

She nuzzles into his shirt and sighs contentedly. Sleep is pulling her into its depths faster than she anticipated but she has enough energy to sweetly mumble, “No. It’s better than okay.”

He exhales through his nose from above her and his hand gently rubs her back. “Get some sleep, mesh’la,” he purrs. “I’m here.”

She doesn’t know what that one means. She makes a mental note to ask tomorrow. Right now, she picks her head up to press a single kiss into his collarbone before plopping back down. “G’night Mando..”

His heart rate picks up again. He pulls her up closer so her head is nestled into the crook of his neck. This allows her to wrap both arms around him. His helmet tilts down and she swears she feels his eyes on her. “Good night.”

She closes her eyes and smiles, allowing herself to sink into his warmth and scent for the first and probably only time. Her words were never truer than in this moment; never had she felt safer than in this tiny bunk, wrapped in her Mandalorian’s blankets. She falls asleep shortly afterwards, her breaths evening out and her heartbeat slowing into a tranquil pace. This time, her mind takes her to more pleasant dreamscapes.

She can’t detect Mando at all, listening to her pulse as she sleeps. She doesn’t feel how long it takes before his gloves slip off in the dim lights and two arms fully wrap around her. She can’t sense his warm palms holding her against him, one across her back, the other coming up to smooth and brush her hair. And she’s long gone by the time he makes the conscious choice to give his helmet a break, telling himself he needs the air and it’ll be back on long before she wakes up tomorrow.

Somewhere in her subconscious, thoughts flash across her eyes; images of the Child, his laugh, his bright brown eyes, and his infectious joy. Repeated images of Mando, his visor, his cape, his arms. His sheets. His voice. His leathered touch. Their hands linked under a coat of stars.

She swears she feels a pair of ghostly lips brush against her forehead, if only for a moment, but she never quite figures out where they came from. Not that it matters. Because for now, this is enough. Even if it is only temporary.

* * *

a/n: stream season 3 only on disney + <3

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x female reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x female reader

2K notes · View notes

carmyboobear · 3 months

Text

ALEXITHYMIA CH 1: onions, weed, and pizza

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 2 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it.

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love.

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, cursing, yearning, repression, SO MUCH REPRESSION, angst, mental illness, canon-typical imagery, unresolved tension, for now, virgin carmy, use of weed, alcohol, all that good stuff, carmy character study, eventual smut, gender neutral reader, nonbinary reader, up to you

A/N: HI I've never posted fic on tumblr before but i deeply love Carmy...please enjoy!!!

CHAPTER 1: onions, weed, and pizza

It always stays the same.

This is the thought that Carmy has when he wakes up, gasping for a chance to just catch his breath and keep it. It’s a kitchen knife twisting like a lock and key in his chest. It fits just right, as all awful and familiar things seem to do.

No matter how many times he wakes up, he’s never anywhere different. That drowning feeling suffocates him in his sleep and follows dutifully into his waking hours. He can’t remember when that haunting started, only that it’s always been with him.

He hates feeling like a drifter, like he’s lost (even though he is both of those things), so he picks a goal and runs after it like a monster. He’s an animal, hunting and working and bleeding until he fucking makes it work , because that’s who he is, and that’s who he’s always been. He can’t not make it work. Because if he can’t do it, then…then what was it all for?

What is he even for?

These are the thrilling thoughts that serve as the background music to the swirl of his cheap morning coffee, oils rotating in a slow circle. He thinks about getting a nicer brand next time he goes grocery shopping. But that would mean change. That would mean less money on the restaurant, too.

Yeah, so it tastes like shit, but it doesn’t matter. Even if it mattered once. Less and less matters to him these days.

Mornings in Chicago are not technically quiet by definition, but when compared to other times of day, they are. Especially when most of his day is spent in the kitchen wringing out his throat. It isn’t bad to have a quiet morning by normal means, but for him…

The quiet is dangerous.

It’s not silent, but it’s not enough. There’s distant beeping of impatient cars. The whirring sound of the old AC unit. He tries to listen to them, but his rampant thoughts nonetheless rise above them all, buzzing everywhere with nowhere to land.

A brief analysis of his thoughts reads as such:

Beef sandwiches eggs flour shipment Michael cigarettes smoking sore throat late shipment so tired not sleeping Michael Sugar Mom coffee tastes bad it’s too early my stomach hurts Michael fucking hates you Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael you piece of shit you fucking ki—

“Mornin’, Carmy.”

Until his roommate wakes up, that is.

When he moved back to Chicago, there was a fact, plain, simple, and unchanging. He wasn’t gonna make rent on his own, not with the restaurant. Not with everything. So maybe he didn’t need to deal with a new roommate, but it’s not like there was a choice. It seemed bearable, survivable enough.

He keeps waiting for the thing that’ll make him grit his teeth, make him regret not getting a place on his own, but it never comes. They’re easy to live with. It’s so easy, as a matter of fact, that it feels strange. The difficulty that he was so certainly expecting just isn’t there.

If anything, he looks forward to being at home. For someone who lives at work, that feeling is completely foreign.

They don’t steal his food (not that there’s much). Instead, they cook him food, leaving heated leftovers on the stove on late nights. In Carmy’s case, that’s most nights. They don’t bring over obnoxious company and keep him up with the noise. Rather, he basks in their company, and they make a ruckus between their laughter. Their presence doesn’t stifle him, it soothes him, just like the candle they leave lit in the kitchen for him when he comes home. They’re not just easy to live with, they’re good to live with, and that’s…

That’s been a hard adjustment, Carmy would say. It’s too much of a good thing that he’s not sure what to do with himself.

On those late nights, they’re usually fast asleep by the time he’s home. But as he sits and eats the leftovers they’ve kept for him, he wants to say something. Something about how a long time ago, there was once a Carmy who cooked for himself, who looked after himself, but that he’s not that Carmy anymore. That it doesn’t matter that he’s a five star chef and they’re just some guy in the kitchen, as they would put it, because he’s…

He’s grateful. Incredibly so.

And yet, the words will never come out. He feels the words tingling on his lips, but it feels scary. He can thank them as many times as he likes (which he does) but it will never capture what he’s really trying to say when he says thank you . There’s too many words, and it just can’t…it just can’t—

It always stays the same.

“You’re up early,” he says to them when they enter the room. It’s a rare sight to see them up at the early hours he frequents. He sees the morning drowsiness in their mussed hair and big t-shirt stained with hair dye. They yawn back at him, nose scrunching.

Cute , he thinks, and he stamps it down as soon as it flashes through his mind.

“Randomly woke up.” They fall into the empty seat next to him on the couch, and they rub at the crust around their eyes. “About to head off to work?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he replies. There’s a certain sentiment that lies on the tip of his tongue, something about how he wishes he could have a slow morning with them instead. Of course, he can’t voice it. He can’t even come close.

“The plague of the working man,” they sigh. “Well, I got an idea that might cheer you up.”

“...And that would be?”

“Let me paint you a beautiful picture,” they start. They clear their throat and gesture widely with their hands. He notices their chipped nail polish, the writing callus on their middle finger. “Imagine this—you come home from work, tired. You need to relax —something you need to do more often,” they add with a pointed look. No comment. “And I have dinner ready. Some sort of soup, pasta maybe. I need to check the fridge.” They pause with a yawn. “And before we eat, we smoke a big, fat joint.”

He snorts as they finish, unable to hold back a laugh.

“That’s a nice picture,” he admits. He doesn’t remember when he started smiling. “Y’know, I was wondering when the joint was gonna pop in.”

“You fucking know me, man,” they reply, blooming with his interest, his smile. Not that he can perceive that. “So? Thoughts? Haven’t done that in a while, right?”

“Right, right,” he echoes faintly. His mind is already sorting through the pile of tasks on the schedule. “Well, I gotta go over this new recipe with Marcus, today,” he mutters, partially under his breath. “But before that, ingredient orders. And those invoices before the end of the day—and that, that toilet guy was supposed to come today…I think?”

“Dude, I do like, one task, and the day’s over for me,” they say sympathetically, and the look on their face is so serious that Carmy struggles to hide his smile. “You’re crazy.”

“I, I’ve seen you do tasks,” he argues.

“Name one,” they argue back.

“You did two loads of laundry and did the dishes all before lunch time once,” he says, the memory clear and instant. “And when I woke up, you were vacuuming the whole place.” The immediacy surprises him, and it seems to surprise them, too.

“Damn, I said name one , but I guess I’m just that good!” They laugh, a breathy, exasperated sort of thing. “Well, point taken. Anyway, it sounds like you’re not gonna be home early tonight.”

“It is a Friday,” he says, “but…”

“But.”

“Can’t make promises I can’t keep,” he sighs, and shame melts over him like butter on a stainless steel pain. This isn’t anything new.

“I know, I know,” they say, gracious as ever. “It’s okay. Such is the life of a business owner, yeah?” He searches for some thinly veiled shred of disappointment, frustration in their expression, but he doesn’t. No matter how many times he lets them down, the explosion he’s waiting for never comes. They remain patient, collected through it all.

Says more about him than them, he supposes.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “such is the life.”

“C’est la fucking vie,” they say, and he laughs with a shake of his head.

It can feel strange to laugh. He worries that the lightness in his chest will expand like a balloon, and he’ll float away. It’s uncontrollable, foreign. It should be scary, how his emotions lead him when he’s around them, not the other way around, but it’s not.

It’s not scary to loosen up around them, and that’s the scary part. There are no words to describe why. All he can see is that the fear exists, stubborn and persistent. That fear is what makes him snap out of it, makes him look at the clock. He holds back a sigh.

“Time to go,” he mutters, and they nod.

“And time for me to go back to bed.” They salute him. “Best of luck with your day, brave soldier. And just shoot me a text if you do end up coming back early, ok?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll try. And, thanks. You, you too,” he gets out. He stands up, readjusting the waistband of his pants. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

“See you,” they say through a yawn, waving at him from where they’re lying down. They’ve taken his spot, sprawled across the couch, tangled hair flayed out on the pillows.

Cute , he thinks again, and hearing the thought in his brain makes him wanna panic.

He doesn’t wanna panic, doesn’t wanna think about it at all, so he nods, shuts the door, and heads out to work with a cigarette hastily lit in his mouth.

By the time it’s Carmy’s lunch break, he swears his vocal cords must have snapped by how tight he was wringing them.

The soreness has never stopped him from lighting a cig, though. As he stands outside in the back, finally forced to go on his 30, he smokes rather than eating. There’s a sandwich in his pocket, one that was bearing the brunt of test ingredients. He can feel the aluminum wrapping at his fingertips.

Eventually, he does eat, though, because he sees the way his hands are shaking when he flicks his lighter. He doesn’t wanna shake when he uses a knife, so he eats. He tastes it, but he doesn’t really taste it.

In truth, he wasn’t even planning on taking his lunch break at all. Most days, he forgets about it. The kitchen’s always busy, there’s always something missing, there’s always something that hasn’t been prepped that’s ruining everything, the lights in the hallways keep flickering because they need to fixed, Fak’s supposed to fix them, but he can’t, because Richie’s still out getting the replacement bulbs, the pile of papers on his desk are bigger than he remembers, he doesn’t have enough fucking time—

But then he’s in the middle of chopping an onion, and the cutting board slips. The half-chopped onion and its sliced offspring scatter on the floor with the cutting board. The sound of its fall draws Sydney in like a whip.

“You okay? Need a bandaid?” Sydney’s already kneeling by him, helping him pick the onions off the floor.

“I, I’m fine, didn’t drop the knife,” he explains, and it feels like an ocean current is rushing by his ears. “Fucking, I just—such a stupid fucking—” He sucks in a breath and goes silent.

His entire body feels tight, wound like a spring. He can barely fucking breathe.

“Hey.” Carmy turns his intense stare from the onions to Sydney, and when he sees her searching expression, he remembers himself. “Maybe you should go take your lunch break.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” he repeats, and he feels like he’s heard this before. From someone else. He can’t remember. Who was it? “The onions—we’re behind on onions—”

“I can handle onions for 30 minutes,” she interrupts, decisive and firm. “Seriously.”

Carmy’s about to say something, but then he’s looking at the onion half in his hand. His hand is shaking.

“Okay,” he sighs after a beat. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. For fucking up.”

“It happens. We all have our moments.” She shrugs. When he keeps standing there, she makes this shoo-ing motion with her hand. “Go on. Take your 30!”

So here he is, taking his lunch break a whole hour later than he’s supposed to. Although it’s better than most days where he doesn’t take it at all.

She wouldn’t have had to tell you to take a break if you didn’t fuck it all up, he thinks to himself, eyebrows knitted together. When the last time I’ve fucked up something so fucking easy?

He thinks about his dream from last night. A familiar sight of red fire and flames up to the ceiling, crackling so loud it sounded like screaming. The only good part is that when he woke up, he wasn’t at the stove burning his place down. It hasn’t happened at this apartment yet. Carmy hopes it never happens.

Just get it together, he thinks. He aggressively taps the ash out onto the decrepit ash tray they have in the back. It’s full. You’re supposed to be at this shit. So just be good.

“Cousin.” Carmy snaps his head up, and Richie’s at the door, stepping out. His presence yanks him out of his inner whirlpool, a quickly descending spiral. “Gimme one.”

Wordlessly, Carmy hands him a cigarette. Richie plucks it out of his hand like a flower.

“You had a lighter, but no cigarette?” Carmy comments, squinting at Richie pulling a busted up red lighter from his jean pocket.

“Shut up,” Richie mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. “Got the wrong damn light bulbs,” he explains unprompted.

“Alright,” Carmy sighs. He has so little energy that the frustration bypasses him completely, diving instantly into deflated acceptance. “Just return ‘em.”

“Can’t,” Richie says, and when Carmy gives him a look, he elaborates, “no receipt.”

“ Dude .” Carmy opens his mouth, but then he shuts it again. It’s just not worth it. “Thanks anyway, cousin. We’ll get it done.”

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, you asshole. I didn’t do shit.” Richie nudges him, but like before, it’s not an angry thing. “Also, toilet guy’s not comin’ today.”

“The fuck? Why ?”

“Canceled,” he replies simply.

“Fucking hell,” Carmy mutters under his breath. “Did he say when he could reschedule?”

“Not yet.”

“Great.”

“Yep.” Richie tilts his head up, blowing out a slow stream of gray cigarette smoke. “Might as well wait for Fak to get his ass back in town at this rate.”

“I guess.” Carmy sighs. He thinks about all the things he still needs to do. “I dropped this onion I was chopping, earlier,” he mentions out of nowhere.

“Okay.” Richie gives him a look. “And? You bitches chop those things up faster than I could cut one in half.”

“I dropped it on the floor,” Carmy tries again, but Richie’s expression remains unchanged. “I never do shit like that.”

“Well, cousin, you did.” Carmy feels something in him deflate. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nevermind,” he replies, because he’s a coward. “Just—just forget it.”

Silence. The spark of a lighter.

“I’m gonna leave early,” Richie says, like he can just do that. Which…he can, Carmy supposes. “If no one’s gonna show up, what’s the point?” He slaps Carmy’s back, and Carmy doesn’t watch him as he heads back inside.

Guess all I need to do later is get rid of those papers on the desk , Carmy thinks to himself, idly moving the shortening cigarette between his lips. Then that’ll be it, I guess.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone home early. It’s hard to even imagine what he does on days like those. Sleeping, probably. There’s nothing much else for him to do, not with how tired he is—

Shoot me a text, okay?

He hears them in the back of his head all of a sudden, and he remembers.

Oh, he remembers, hands moving to take out his phone. Almost forgot.

“Sorry to bother you, chef.” Carmy’s not sure how he didn’t hear the door opening. Marcus’ head pops out, nose covered in flour. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re gonna need more flour for tomorrow.”

“Order’s not gonna come for a couple days. I thought we had an extra bag left,” Carmy tries, but the guilty look on Marcus’ face explains it all.

“Dropped it,” Marcus grimaces, and Carmy’s already fucking over it.

“We’re all fucking up today, chef,” Carmy replies, and the day goes on.

. . . . .

It’s a strange, delightful miracle, but he manages to get out of the restaurant before the sun sets.

Considering their collective track record, the fact everyone was able to leave early was cosmic intervention. It helps that the toilet guy didn’t come, in an unfortunate way, but still. Standing outside of the restaurant in the evening like this feels…weird.

It’s not that Carmy’s complaining about a nice thing, it’s just that he wasn’t prepared to have anything good today.

Shower, dinner, and weed, he thinks absentmindedly on the way home. He juggles the three around in his brain. Just the thought of it feels like relaxing. A little.

With company , his brain helpfully adds, and his stomach squirms.

Self control, he thinks. He needs more self-control. He can’t just keep thinking of them so indulgently. He’s not allowed to think of them that way, because it’s not fair to them. Even if no matter how many times he chastises himself, it never works. Even if they remain in his brain like sun-spots in his vision. Even if it’s not his fault that he just can’t help it.

The thing is, though, it always is. Even when it’s not his fault, it actually is. Always.

You dropped that fucking onion , his brain helpfully adds for no particular reason. Fucking loser.

Fuck off , he thinks back as he approaches his front door. Predictably, it does not stop.

Just as his fingers search for his keys in all of his pockets, he hears something that makes him pause, hands stopped on his waist. It’s music, distant and muffled. They’re probably listening to music in the kitchen. He stands, trying to place the song, but he doesn’t recognize it.

He does recognize the voice that’s singing over the music, though.

Oh, he realizes. That’s them.

The way their voice clumsily layers over the music shouldn’t make him pause like this. He shouldn’t be doing this, standing in the doorway and listening rather than opening the door. The keys are in his hand. This, this is a breach of privacy, he tells himself, feeling a little dizzy with distress, he just needs to just—

There’s an abrupt, loud clang, and he shoves the door open.

Concern is on the tip of his tongue, but it dies there. The source of the noise lays face-down on the floor—a pan sitting in what seems to be tomato sauce. The matter next to it is what makes the words evaporate from his lips, like they were never there at all.

They’re kneeled down next to the pan, paper towels in hand, but all they’re wearing is an apron.

His mind blanks. He thinks he stops breathing. He’s never seen so much of their skin at once. He needs to look away, he thinks, but his eyes keep traveling, traveling, and traveling. It just happens so quickly. He doesn’t mean to look, he doesn’t, but they’re right there and he can see right down their—

“No, I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were coming back early!” They exclaim, quickly crossing their arms over their chest, and that’s what makes him tear his eyes away.

“I—I thought I texted you,” he says quickly, hot face turned to the side, “on my lunch—...“ He stops there, the memory reconstructing itself.

He forgot.

“It’s fine, I just feel bad about dinner, and, uh—okay, I’m just gonna change real quick, and then I’ll clean this up,” they reply, words rushing out. In the corner of his vision, he sees their bare legs dart to their room.

It seems wrong to just stand here staring at the tomato sauce slowly expand outwards on the floor, so he cleans it up. A couple paper towels later, he’s gotten most of it, and they’ve returned with a change of clothes.

“Sorry,” Carmy starts right as they also go “I’m sorry”. He pauses, meeting their eyes. It’s a lot easier now that they’re wearing leggings and a t-shirt as opposed to, well, nothing. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate the leggings.

“Sorry you had to see me like that,” they sigh. “I don’t—I don’t usually walk around the place naked, I just—I didn’t think you’d be back—“

“I should’ve texted,” he interrupts. He struggles to not think about them walking around the living room naked. “I forgot. But it, it’s fine. You’re fine. Really. Sorry for not texting.”

“Okay. Cool.” They exhale, a tired noise. “And it’s okay. It happens.” They look at the floor and make a sound of surprise. “Did you clean this up?” The look they give him has far too much gratitude, and it feels like a searing hot iron.

“Yeah, uh.” His hands are moving like he’s trying to explain something, but no words crop up. “Felt weird not to.”

“Well.” They smile, grateful. “Thank you. That was gonna be dinner, but…” They trail off, looking at the floor with a sour expression. “I fucked up.”

“It’s just that sort of day today,” Carmy mutters.

“Shitty day for you, too?”

“Yeah. Lots of shit went wrong.” Especially me, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “You?”

“Gotcha.” They shrug. “As for me—yeah. Really not my best day. It was just, uh, some family shit. You know how it is.”

Carmy makes a sound of acknowledgement. “That sucks.” He doesn’t know much about their family other than that they’re fairly shitty. It’s the same the other way around, too.

“It’s whatever,” they say, even though it really isn’t, and he knows it. They look at the floor one more time before looking up at him. “Do you just wanna order pizza or something?”

“Yeah, I do,” Carmy replies, his words coming out much more despondent than expected.

They settle on some pepperoni pizza from a place down the street. It’s a tried and true method—they deliver, it’s cheap, it’s oily, it’s cheesy, it’s good. Just talking about it makes Carmy taste it on the tip of his tongue.

“You can go and shower if you want. I’ll get the door when pizza comes,” they offer. They’re standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up.

“Okay, thanks.” Carmy pauses then, gears turning. He’s vaguely worried his memory is going to shit. “Did—did I just say I was gonna shower?”

“Oh, no, you didn’t, you just always shower when you get home from work, right?” They say it like it’s the weather, like it’s familiar, and that’s when Carmy realizes because it is. After several months of living together, of course they’ve picked up on his habits. It doesn’t need to be a thing. There’s no reason for it to be a thing.

“I do,” Carmy replies faintly, and for some reason, that’s all he can say.

“Thought so.” They look at him for just a moment, but it makes him feel like his body’s gone transparent. “I notice these things, you know.”

“Yeah.” Carmy looks at them when they turn back to the dishes, back facing him. “You do.”

He tells himself he’s not gonna think any harder about any of it. He’s not gonna think about the singing, the apron, the way they just notice these things, but then he does.

He’s in the shower, and he thinks about everything.

The water pressure is pathetic, but the warmth still feels nice. Between that and the sound of the running shower, it’s usually enough to quiet his thoughts. This time, though, it doesn’t. To his credit, he does try to think about anything else.

He thinks about work, because he always does. He thinks about flour, about onions, about knives. He thinks about the shampoo lathered in his hair. He thinks about those lightbulbs they still need to get. He thinks about food. He thinks about them. He thinks about pizza. He thinks about the way they sing when no one’s around. He thinks about the way they know him.

He thinks about them, knees on the floor only in a—

He thinks of bashing his head into the tile wall until he explodes.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers to himself, rivulets of hot water trailing down his forehead and dripping off his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

The soreness is still present in his body, but that never quite goes away. He does feel a bit better now that he doesn’t have sweaty, sticky skin, though. It gets even better when he puts on a clean white t-shirt and his favorite sweatpants. It’s a nice surprise from his past self who did his laundry for him.

This amount of niceness is okay. This is what he’s used to—a shower and comfortable clothes when he’s home from work. That’s enough.

He steps out into the kitchen with a damp towel on his head. He finds them sitting by their one shitty window that opens, pizza box in front of them and joint lit. It casts an orange glow to mix with the golden light from the window.

“Hey, pizza’s here!” They slap their hand on the greasy cardboard box. “Just got this joint started for us, too.”

“So you weren’t gonna smoke it all on your own?” He doesn’t mean to tease, but he does. He slips into the seat across them, arms resting on the table they placed by the window.

“I couldn’t smoke this whole thing even if I wanted to,” they protest. “Besides, joints are made for sharing. Here—now you get to take it. Isn’t that nice?” With their elbow propped up on the pizza box, they hold up the joint to him. The lit end of it sizzles a bright orange, emitting a thin trail of smoke up to the ceiling.

“That is very, very nice,” Carmy agrees, taking it carefully from their fingers. Their face spreads into that contagious grin of theirs, and he’s far from immune. Sometimes he smiles so much around them that his face hurts, rusty and unused.

Sure, he can blame that on the weed, but if he’s being honest with himself (a rare occasion), that’s a complete lie. Obviously the weed lessens the tension, the stress that winds him up tight. It’s not just the weed that gets him to relax, though.

It’s them. There’s something disarming about their presence, something that makes him loose-lipped around them. Even when he’s sober, he finds himself feeling comfortable. He’s not quite sure how that happened, or if that’s ever happened. He supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Just something he’s noticed.

He wonders if they’ve noticed.

“You like the new rolling papers?” They tuck their knees under their chin, propping their feet up on the chair.

“Hm.” Carmy lowers the joint from his mouth to give it a good look. He rotates it around in his fingers. “Strawberry?”

“Yeah, it’s strawberry,” they confirm, poorly hiding the excitement in their demeanor. Not that they were trying to. “Can you taste it?”

He pulls from the joint, the edges of the paper sizzling red with the weed. It’s an even burn this time. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth after he exhales a cloud of smoke.

“Still no,” he decides after a beat, and they sigh.

“I don’t know why I ever get my hopes up.”

“I do taste something else in this, though.” He takes another hit, stews on it. “Lavender?”

“Shoulda known you would’ve gotten it on your first tray. Yeah, it’s lavender. I found some lying around.”

“You made this one pretty nice,” he observes, eyes tracing the shape of the joint. “Between the lavender and the new papers, I mean.”

“Well, y’know.” The smile on their face is small and shy. “I don’t smoke joints often, so I wanted to make it nice, and I, uh…”

They’re paused for so long that Carmy interjects.

“And?”

“And I—want that joint,” they finally say, outstretching their hand. Carmy has a strong feeling that they weren’t originally going to say that, but he hands over the joint nonetheless.

“Strain?” He asks curiously. He can feel the body high creeping up his shoulders, fluid and light.

“The strain that gets you high,” they reply with a grin.

“Oh, thank god,” Carmy sighs in relief, and the way that makes them laugh… It makes his chest tight.

“To actually answer your question, though—I dunno.” He likes watching the smoke drift from the tip of the joint as they talk, thin gray wisps in the air. “I think it’s a hybrid? Not sure if it’s more one way or not, though…”

“As long as it’s not the weed that puts you to bed.”

“Um…well, if you smoke enough of it, it can.”

They sit together like this for a while, just sitting and taking turns with the joint. It’s an easy, fluid exchange, flowing between them like smoke. No matter how much they both try to blow it out the window, it always comes back in. The smell of weed is strong in the air, earthy and pungent.

Although he would never describe himself as a talkative person, sitting stoned across from them makes the words come out. Sometimes, he thinks he likes himself better when he’s high—his mind isn’t running circles around itself, and the soreness of his body just floats away. He feels more like a human than a poor imitation of one like he usually does.

This weed smells kinda good, he thinks, and when they laugh, nose scrunched up, he realizes he said that out loud.

“That’s literally what I’ve been saying,” they agree, a bright grin lingering on their face. “That’s how you know you’re a fuckin’ stoner!”

“Feels weird to call myself a stoner,” he muses. He plucks the joint from their outstretched hand. It definitely looks shorter from when they started a moment ago. “But I guess…”

“If you like the smell of weed, you’re too far gone,” they say with a grave expression. “It’s so fucking over for you.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, equally as serious, and then they’re both bursting out into laughter. He likes the sound of their laugh—it’s unabashed, fills up the space.

“Dude, I’m high,” they whisper after they both calm down, like it’s some sort of secret, and Carmy can’t stop himself from laughing all over again. “Oh my god. Are you high?”

“I—I think I might fucking be,” he gets out between laughs, and that sparks them straight into another cackle of laughter. He’s not supposed to be able to make others laugh, he doesn’t even make himself laugh—but then he’ll say something, and they’re lit up with laughter.

“We need to eat this pizza now, ” they yell, projecting over their combined noise. They flip the pizza box open, and it smacks Carmy right in the face.

“Oh,” he reacts mildly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine, it’s not like you punched me in the face,” he reasons, but their guilty expression persists. “It didn’t hurt, it’s just cardboard.”

“I’m sorry, I’m high,” they sigh apologetically.

“I know,” he replies with a little smile. His eyes drift down to the pepperoni pizza sitting before them, glorious in its perverse amount of oil. “So, we’re gonna eat this, right?”

“Oh my god, yes we are,” they gasp, and the moment is forgotten.

When he tears off a pizza slice, the cheese stretches in thin, gooey strings. They grab the slice adjacent to it to snap the strings in half, but they’re both leaned back in their chairs, pizzas in hand, and the cheese is still connected.

“This doesn’t seem right,” Carmy mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “We should’ve just cut it.”

“How could we have predicted this?” They pull their pizza further back, and the string still doesn’t break. “Wow. I’m honestly impressed. I don’t think it’s ever been this insane before.”

“I think we’d remember.” He’s not sure why he’s still talking and not just running his finger across the string to break it.

“I think we would, too.” They snort, shaking their head. “This—this is some spaghetti type shit.”

“What? Spaghetti?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

“I—I mean like—that fucking disney movie. With the dogs.” They pause for a moment, mouth silently moving. “Fucking—lady and the, the truck—”

“Uh.” He has to hold back a laugh. “...The lady and the tramp?”

“ Holyshittheladyandthetramp ,” they blurt out in a rush, and the cheese string finally snaps in half. “…Well, I guess it’s not exactly like the lady and the tramp, then.” They take a large bite of their pizza, and it reminds Carmy exactly how hungry he is.

“You mean lady and the truck,” he corrects, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. Especially not with how good this hot pizza is, delightfully salty and greasy in his mouth.

“Shut up, I was trying,” they grunt through a mouthful of food.

“How exactly is this like the lady and the tramp, again? Or, uh, not like it?”

“Well, it was just like it, but then the string broke.” Somehow, they’re already halfway through their slice. “Could’ve been a beautiful spaghetti moment.”

“Spaghetti moment,” he echoes under his breath, holding back a laugh. “Remind me how that scene goes?”

They go quiet for a moment. It’s like he can see the gears turning in his head. If he’s being honest, he already remembers how that scene goes, but…he wants to hear them say it. He needs to hear them say it.

“Uh, well, they’re…eating spaghetti. The titular lady and tramp.” Their eyes are fidgety, flickering back and forth between their pizza and the window. “And they’re sharing the plate, the two of them. They’re eating together, and, um…”

“...And?”

They meet his eyes, mouth hanging open, and then they close it.

“Um, I don’t remember, actually,” they say, shaking their head and blinking. He sees it for the blatant lie that it is, and yet. “Do, do you remember?”

As he stares back at them, unable to look away, he wonders. He wonders about what this really means. About if this really means anything at all, about if he’s going to find out if it does.

“I don’t remember,” he answers quietly, cowardly, and neither of them say anything else.

Out of the two of them, they’ve always been better with recovering from awkward moments, so they do. They start talking about something else, and the world keeps turning. But in the back of his head, Carmy remains in that moment, unwilling to let it go.

Why did you say that you didn’t remember? He wants to say. Why didn’t I say that I remembered how it went? Because I remember. They kiss—they fucking kiss. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what I wanted to hear?

But because he’s Carmy, he doesn’t say anything. He just eats.

He’s so hungry that the pizza disappears in minutes. It’s delicious, but he’s so high he’s not completely sure he can taste it. Somehow, it remains the best thing he’s ever eaten.

The rest of the night is a blur. He remembers getting onto the couch at some point. They both decide on a random movie he doesn’t catch the name of. They finish off the joint on the couch together, sinking into its cushions. It burns hot in his throat as it reaches the end.

And as it turns out, the weed he smoked is the one that puts him to bed.

“...Ca…Car…” Someone’s calling him. “...Carmy, c’mon. You’re gonna complain about your neck tomorrow if you keep sleeping here.”

“Mhm,” he replies helpfully. He turns his head into the cushion. His body feels like an abstract blob, perfectly molded into the couch cushions.

“Okay, you made a good point. But. ” They laugh quietly, under their breath. “Movie’s been over for like 20 minutes now.”

“Mhm,” he repeats, nearly inaudible. He doesn’t wanna get up. Whenever he falls asleep, it always feels like he’s never gotten an hour of sleep in his life. There’s nothing he needs to think about, worry about. He’s warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t feel like letting that go just yet.

Everything goes silent again for a moment, save for the cars on the road. He begins to drift away again, slipping back into his dreamless sleep.

But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and it’s like a smoking brand on his skin. His eyes fly open and he jolts awake, jerking upright.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they apologize, fretful. Between the dark of night and haze of sleep, they look pretty different. The blue light from the television is streaked across the blurry planes of their face.

“It’s fine,” he replies, drowsy. Speaking feels…heavy. Begrudgingly, he adjusts to sit up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Weed,” they say with a shrug.

“How, how long was I—?” He cuts himself off with a yawn, wide with condensation in the corners of his eyes.

“Only like, 30 minutes.” They yawn back. Typical infectious yawning. “End of the movie sucked anyway.”

“Oh.” Pause. “What was the ending?”

“Love interest died,” they state plainly. “He told her about how he felt, got rejected, and then she died in a car accident. Pretty tragic.”

“Huh.” Carmy makes a face. “That does suck.”

“Yeah, a bit.” They’re idly fiddling with the remote, scrolling through Netflix without reading anything. “I feel like the movie was trying to say something profound about the unpredictability of life or something, but the writing was shit.”

“I guess it’d be too perfect if they got together,” he muses.

“I guess,” they echo. They turn off the tv, and the room goes dark. The only light is from the yellow street lamp right outside their window, wonderful in its inconvenient placement. It illuminates the shape of the back and leaves their face in shadow. “I think I remember how that scene went,” they say suddenly.

“Oh.” Carmy’s heart feels stuck in his throat. “And how does it go?”

“Well, they’re—both eating spaghetti. Like I said.” They’re not facing him, leaving their face shrouded in shadow. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the shake in their voice or not. It’s beyond him why there would be any shakiness at all. “They somehow get the same noodle, so they, uh, kiss.”

“They kiss,” he repeats for some unknown reason.

“Yeah.” They let out a quick laugh, but it doesn’t sound like they actually find this funny. He wishes he could see the look on their face.

“I don’t think pasta works like that,” he hears himself murmur faintly. For some reason, he can’t help but think that was the wrong thing to say. But he’s already said it. Maybe it’s the same reason as to why his heart is beating so urgently.

“No, I, I don’t think so either,” they mumble. He refuses to place the way they’re feeling.

I can’t fucking do this.

The thought resounds like a gong, hit with a mallet right next to his ear.

“It’s late, I gotta head to bed.” It feels like someone else is speaking for him, moving his body for him. He can’t stop them. When he stands up, he avoids their face.

What the fuck are you doing?

Another thought resounds. He doesn’t respond.

“Right, I—didn’t even notice the time.” He pretends he doesn’t hear the strain in their voice. No, he didn’t word that right—there is no strain in their voice. “G’night.”

"Night,” he murmurs back.

This is enough, he tells himself as he falls into bed. His sheets are tangled. This is enough , he repeats, and it’s not because he’s scared, afraid, anxious, or any other stupid synonym. It’s because he believes it, needs to believe it.

He tells himself, this is enough , even though he wonders, what is supposed to be enough? He doesn’t listen. He stamps down the protests, the thoughts that are out of line. The high usually helps with that, but it’s worn off, now just leaving him in a weary, sleepy state of things.

This is enough, he thinks, and he falls asleep looking at their shrouded face behind his eyelids.

#carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #lip gallagher #the bear fanfiction #hahaha i've been stewing on this fic since sept 2023 and now its here... i have like 2 more chapters written right now #they're around the same length #AH!!!! CARMEN BERZATTO!!!!#my writing #my fics #carmy #reader #alexithymia fic

275 notes · View notes

saltofmercury · 1 year

Note

A König x reader where the reader gives off scary dog privilege.

Like at a McDonald’s, König will stand behind them, even if he’s like a MOUNTAIN compared to the reader and the reader will be like “HE asked for no pickles >:(“

Idk think it would be cute if the reader would help König out in social situations where he would be uncomfortable.

If König doesn’t feel like talking the reader redirects the conversation to themselves so König can just listen.

Pairing: König x reader

Summary: König feels better after meeting you.

"We"

He didn’t date. Dating was exhausting, humiliating, and daunting for König. A series of awkward silences followed by stupid questions, that seemed to be in constant loop.

“What do you do?”

“Where are you from?

“Why are you so quiet?

He was always too quiet, too shy, for women. Too soft, too detached with men. It’s like he couldn’t be perfect for either.

It was worse when he thought they were having a good time and König, already filled with nerves and anxiety, had ordered his meal wrong.

“Why didn’t you ask to have it without mushrooms?”

“Why don’t you ask them if that's not what you ordered?”

As if it were easy. They looked at him with stupidity like he couldn’t just do it.

Second + third dates were then followed by

“I’m not asking them to switch it, that's your meal.”

“You’re a big boy, use your voice.”

Small jabs towards him because of his height and build, that he wished he could just push himself to do it but he didn’t want to add an extra burden to the waiter or crew in the back.

“It’s fine, I'll eat it.”

Later coming to realize at the end of the date that he wasn’t for “them.”

“It’s not me, it’s you, I just don’t see it working out.”

Until he met you.

You weren’t looking for anything, as a matter of fact you just wanted to decompress from the day, have a small get together with new and old friends, but lots of things changed that day.

As you went around introducing yourselves, König said hi, but didn’t really put much input into the group. He seemed to be making himself smaller, fading away behind the group of people. He seemed uncomfortable.

You approached him— A small shiver from his side, mentally preparing himself knowing the lines of—

“WHY aren’t you talking?”

“How tall are you?”

“Why aren’t you drinking?”

“Why are you so quiet?”

However it wasn’t like that at all. You did most of the talking. Just asked for small input from him. He was so taken back by how comfortable you made him. You made talking to new people easy and by the end of the night it was you asking him on a second date.

He nodded, dumbfounded. “A second date?”

A small shiver again, maybe this time it was different?

The second date, at some small diner nearby, you take the lead on talking again. You think it was perhaps due to your nerves, you had become a chatterbox.

“So why the military?”

“Uh— personal choice.”

Small silence as you chewed on the appetizer in front of you. You wide eyed, trying to not say

“Well that explains the haircut.” so instead you said,

“Must be lots of traveling huh?” You continued, listing places you wanted to visit and asking if he had ever been there.

Relief pooled inside him. What was your motive behind this?

When it was time to place the order, König’s nerves had bundled inside of him again that he forgot to mention “no black olives.”

His dish was placed in front of him.

He looked concerned, like he was in for a long night of picking them off his meal, then bombarding him with questions of “why didn’t you just ask?”

You saw the concern on his face.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Why aren’t you digging in?”

“Ah… I said no olives but it’s no big deal.”

It was a big deal and you called the waitress over.

“I’m sorry we said no olives”

“Oh! I’m sorry!” The waitress flushed and ran away with the plate.

“Here” you said, so calm, “you can have some of mine while we wait.”

How effortless you did it. How were you so good at this?

“I hate when I do that. I can’t have cilantro because it tastes like soap.” You laughed and continued to pick at french fries in front of him.

God you were adorable.

He was sure he wasn’t going to see you again, thinking that maybe you thought he couldn’t speak up for himself, or the conversation ran too dry.

You however kept pushing yourself in, being his voice when he couldn’t speak.

“We said—

‘No olives’

‘No pickles’

‘This isn’t what we ordered’

Relief washing over him that you took it upon yourself when he had made the mistake ordering.

How you used “we” as opposed to “he” and he really liked that you didn’t single him out. He could melt. Was there finally someone who could lessen the burden of his anxiety?

Dinner dates went from bi-weekly to weekly. Then it was just easy. It was a no-brainer being with you.

You never once thought he was too shy, or too quiet, too soft, or too detached. You didn’t question things between you two, you just took the lead in conversations with people, often checking in with König for a small part in it. You knew the right amount to get out of him.

You took the burden of first time conversations. You had started ordering for the two of you, knowing what he liked and didn’t like. König felt lighter, felt better that someone was here for him and opposed to him.

#könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig imagine #könig cod #könig #ask #small drabble #könig x you

2K notes · View notes

southangel · 2 months

Note

hi lovely! ive really been enjoying your works, may i request nsfw alphabet with kyle? 🤭

Kyle Broflovski NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: NSFW content, MDNI

Notes: Thank you for the compliment!! I hope this doesn’t get out late, I haven’t released anything in a while.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Kyle is the most caring out of the main 4.

He would clean you up with a damp towel first, then running a warm bath or shower of your choice.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Kyle’s favorite body part for himself would be his eyes.

He loves how with a single look at you, you could be experiencing so many feelings.

His favorite body part for you would probably be your whole face.

Kyle loves everything about your face, especially how your expressions change so fast while he’s doing various things to the rest of your body.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically...)

Kyle isn’t a messy person, so he doesn’t really know how to deal with cum.

His cum would be thin but a little thick, it would stain pretty easily.

He doesn’t want to cum inside of you on purpose, so the best he can do is your stomach.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Kyle has probably has thoughts of being bottom.

He has before, but he wants to be a submissive bottom.

He wants to see you in control, he’ll never say anything about it though.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Definitely not experienced.

Kyle has no idea what he’s doing, so he hopes he treats you right.

He learns fast though, so you’ll probably be crying under him a week from your first time with him.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Kyle’s favorite position would probably be missionary.

It’s a classic, but it gets the job done.

His favorite part is how he’s still able to see your cute face, but he’s always open to trying new positions.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Definitely serious.

I don’t think he sees anything funny in the moment. He’s making love to you, nothing much.

The most Kyle will joke with you is just with his teasing, that’s it.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Kyle is well groomed with not much hair down there, probably a bit darker than his hair color.

Not much to say on this one.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect...)

Probably the most romantic out of everyone else.

Kyle wants to make this moment perfect for you, with every move he makes.

It doesn’t matter if you do this often or not, he is wants to make you feel special in every way.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

I don’t think Kyle would jack off much.

Maybe if he was extremely sexually frustrated and you aren’t nearby, that would be the only time.

He would be louder when jacking off rather than having sex, maybe because you aren’t there.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Probably praise, have you seen Kyle?

He loves knowing that he’s doing something right.

Other than that, angry sex, which might lead to degradation as well.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Best place would be his room, he wants to he comfortable while it happens.

Kyle will probably stay away from public areas, he doesn’t like to risk things too much like that.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Whenever he’s frustrated or just annoyed in general.

Kyle is pretty easy to get heated up, and it’s natural for him to want to take out his anger.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Kyle will never do you with his parents around, never:

That’s the last thing he would do, doesn’t matter if they’re sleeping or even out in the. backyard.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Kyle prefers giving.

It makes him happy giving to you, when you’re pleasured so is he.

He cares more about you than himself, so he tries to learn everything about you so that he knows what you like and what you don’t.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Definitely more on the slow and sensual side.

There are times where Kyle can be rough and fast, but he probably would need to be provoked at first.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Definitely prefers proper sex rather than quickies.

It’s not like he hates them, it’s just that with quickies he feels under pressure from how fast they are.

Kyle likes to take his time with you, you get the whole experience once he knows what he’s doing.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Kyle would prefer not to take risks, but if you’re open to it then he would experiment for you.

If any of the risks have to deal with going public or just risks of being caught in general, you can bet that he’ll refuse right away.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...)

Kyle can get tired easily on certain days, but be pretty fueled on others.

Most days he goes for 2 rounds, maybe an extra, but he keeps going until you’re satisfied.

He doesn’t mind going for a while, but eventually he’ll stop.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

I don’t think Kyle would use toys.

He wouldn’t own them, he doesn’t want his parents to find them.

Not interested in using toys, at all.

If you want to use them, he doesn’t mind. Kyle just isn’t going to ask you to use them or not because he doesn’t care either way.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Kyle would tease you, but not too bad.

Definitely does it often, but he feels a little bad once he does it for too long.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

More on the quiet side for sure.

Kyle could let out a few grunts and moans here and there, but nothing too loud.

You can make him get loud though, it’s just pretty rare.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Please pull on his hair.

Kyle LOVES it when you pull on his hair, no idea why.

It just gets him going even more.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

For Kyle, I would say about 5.1 inches, 13 centimeters.

He wouldn’t gain too much extra length when being hard, maybe just an inch or two.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

High, but not too high.

If we were to put it on a scale, probably a 6/10.

Kyle does want his time with you often, but he isn’t that desperate.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Kyle would not fall asleep until you’re properly taken care of.

It doesn’t matter how tired you are, he’s going to clean you up first and make sure you’re all comfortable.

It’s not until after that he decides to finally fall asleep.

“I’m not leaving you until you’re all cleaned up, okay?”

#south park x reader #south park #south park x y/n #kyle broflovski x reader #south park smut #kyle x reader smut south park #kyle x reader smut #kyle x reader #south park kyle

149 notes · View notes

arabellasleopardcoat · 9 months

Text

Last word (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Aemond instructs you on the importance of protecting your virtue. Featuring bratty reader and the good old enemies to lovers.

Warnings: Smut. Titty sucking. Degradation. PWP.

A/N: I have the most dreadful cold because I can’t dress for the season. I did as I often do and reread one of my comfort books, Seducing Mr Bridgerton. Here you go. I needed to get this out of my head.

“What were you thinking?” Aemond drags you towards the carriage, barely allowing your feet to touch the ground. He gestures angrily at the coachman, but you are too furious to care.

“What was I thinking? You are the one sneaking around the Street of Silk when your father just died. I thought you…”

“What?” Aemond snarls, roughly pushing you inside the carriage. “You thought I needed your help? You thought I was as weak willed and pathetic as Aegon, coming to drown my sorrows?”

You gape at him. It’s exactly what you were thinking, although in much harsher words than you would have used. When you saw him and Cole leave the palace, you had a rented carriage to follow them, worried about Aemond.

He was not the easiest man to be around. But he was your betrothed, and you worried about him. And you guessed he cared about you, in his own twisted way. He was not the most affectionate of men, but he tolerated your incessant questioning and chatter, as he called it.

It is to be noted that Aemond didn’t make the task of caring for him easy. Yet, you worried either way. Not only because it was your duty to do so, but because you were friendless in the Red Keep and had nothing better to do.

To Queen Alicent, you were the perfect daughter-in-law. She often mistook your interest in Aemond’s whereabouts for devotion, when at best, you two tolerated each other.

Perhaps it hadn’t been the wisest choice, to follow him on a borrowed carriage. You had promised the merchant a few silver dragons for it, leaving him stranded on the Red Keep. Your curiosity had been picked when you saw Aemond and Ser Criston go out of the Red Keep’s walls dressed as commoners. Not wanting to lose them, you had not bothered to change, and showed up in Fleabottom in a gown much too pretty for it.

You were certain you were about to get mugged when Aemond showed up and dragged you back to safety. There had been a couple of men eyeing you in funny ways, and two women you were pretty sure were whores had offered you company.

“I don’t need your compassion, you fool.” Aemond sat down next to you, scowling. It was not the first time you angered him, but it was the first time you saw him this pent-up. He looked like he was about to strangle you. “You should not have ventured outside. It’s too dangerous.”

“Oh, too dangerous? What were you doing out without guards, then?” Thinking yourself so discrete, you sniffed at him. He smelt like usual. No traces of cheap perfume, nor alcohol. No whores, no ale houses.

“Cole and I split up to search for Aegon. I was not drinking, you silly woman.” Aemond leaned in, to let you smell his breath. He smelled strongly of tea. Nothing more. Still, you scowled back in principle. “Besides, it’s different. I am a man. You are a woman.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You crossed your arms over your chest. Aemond politely averted his eye from you, looking flustered.

“I can defend myself. You can’t.” His eye was firmly on his boots. You were so not letting this go, not when you had the upper hand. Perhaps you were a petty person, but no one liked being told they were defenseless, even when it was technically true.

“I can!”

“Oh? What if instead of me, it was another man dragging you out of that alley? You don’t even carry a dagger, for the Seven’s sake!” Aemond looked at you. He might have a point about that. Not even a few minutes ago, you had shrieked in terror at what you thought was a stranger trying to drag you away. A dagger could have come in use, and in fact, you owned one. A small silver one, that Aemond had gifted you, and you had not thought to bring along.

“Not that I would know how to use it.” You mutter, weakly. You are starting to lose the argument and don’t like it.

“I told you I would teach you when we had time.” And it wasn’t like he truly wanted to teach you. The dagger had been gifted to you only after a pointed comment from his mother, reminding him loudly that young ladies expected gifts when courted. By the horrified look on Queen Alicent’s face when you had opened the carved box, this was not what she had had in mind.

It had been clear then, with Aemond making half serious promises to teach you how to use it, that the dagger was meant to annoy his mother and not as a gift. Weaponized incompetence, never more aptly named. Alicent had not asked him again to put any more effort in wooing you.

“But you never have time! You are always running after Aegon.” It came out more bratty than you intended, and it only served to rile him up further. Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose, before turning to face you once more.

“Because that’s my duty, you hare brained…” His tone was full of venom, and you wouldn’t let the slight pass. You hated when he made remarks about your intelligence, always thinking himself the smartest in the room. Perhaps you had not had the chance to receive the same education as him, but you thought yourself moderately clever. Aemond, instead, thought you were empty-headed and only concerned with pink ribbons and silks.

“Don’t! I am not…”

“Oh, but you are.” Aemond grunted, before roughly grabbing your face. The sudden motion surprised you, and so, you only gaped at him. He looked like he was about to murder you. Idly, you wondered if you had finally pushed him to his breaking point.

But instead of murdering you, Aemond leaned in and kissed you. It was not the first time it happened, really. He had kissed you before. Once, at Alicent’s prompting, on the forehead. Another time, your cheek, icy, during your name day. Never on the mouth before. And never in anger.

After a few more seconds of absolute and utter shock, just as Aemond was starting to pull away and apologize, you were kissing him. Furiously. You compensated your lack of experience with rage, pushing at his mouth, biting at his lips, until he budged.

As you parted, both of your chest heaving up and down in strangled breaths, Aemond still took the time to chastise you.

“No concerns for your honor… No concerns for your safety…” Aemond kissed your cheek, almost feverishly. His lips traced the contours of your jaw, and like a man starved, he buried himself in the crook of your neck.

It was hard to take him seriously, though. Whatever anger his face held, it could not be seen by you. He was too busy kissing imaginary paths down your neck for it.

Unexpectedly, it felt good. There was a pleasurable heat forming right on your stomach. You wanted so badly to melt against it, turn into butter in his arms, but you knew Aemond would never let you hear the end of it if you did.

With a mighty pull on his hair, that made him yelp like a kitten, you got him off you, and shifted to straddle his lap.

“I am concerned.” You grumbled, biting at his jaw. He was actually quite handsome, you realized. How had you not noticed sooner? “I would fight you, if it wasn’t you.”

You kissed him, a lot more brutal. Aemond hissed. Apparently, he took issue with his hair being pulled so roughly, or perhaps your lips on his felt good.

“You are not. I bet you would have let any man jump you in that alley.” His tone was angry, but his hands told another story. They were cupping greedily at your hips, squeezing your ass.

“By the Seven!” You groan, unable to be angry any longer. His hands feel warm and big against your hips, too good to complain. There is something hard poking at your stomach, and you try to bring a hand towards it, but Aemond rolls you over and pins you down before you have the chance.

With your wrists pinned down above your head, laying on the borrowed carriage’s seat, there is not much you can do. You look up at him, helplessly.

Aemond leans in, and presses a kiss right above your pulse point. He follows it with another, slightly lower this time. And another, and another. Until his lips are bumping against your collarbones, and he looks up at you with a desperate eye.

He looks wrecked. Hair in disarray, flushed cheeks, swollen mouth. He still wears the angry scowl.

“I don’t think I can control myself any longer.” Aemond whispers, as if telling you a secret. He rubs his thumb over one of your breasts, making you arch under him. It’s unlike anything else you have ever felt. You feel as if that simple touch has set you on fire. As if you are burning up in need.

“Aemond.” You plead, desperate for anything that he is willing to give you.

“I despise you. You are the most infuriating, nagging woman I know.” He tugs the bodice of your dress a little lower, kissing the start of the path between your breasts.

“And you are a pompous, terrible man.” You answer, almost in reflex. Then, because you are furious he is having such an effect on you, you go the extra mile and add. “I rue the day I have to marry you.”

“Sure.” Aemond mocks, sucking a bruise at the top of your breast. He pinches your buds, almost cruelly. You gasp, not knowing if you should pull away or closer.

Giving you a little respite, his hands come to undo the first buttons of your gown. That allows him to pull it a little lower, baring your breasts to him. But instead of going straight for the prize, Aemond takes his time exploring the curves of your shoulder and neck.

You are so desperate for him, you think you might beg him to kiss your breasts. Your poor, ignored nubs ache.

“I despise you.” You mutter, hoping it does the trick. To your surprise, Aemond laughs. Laughs. Him. Before, on the days you were most lucky, you have gotten him to smile.

“I know you don’t.” He says, as he finally, finally, starts sucking at your breast. You moan, tangling a hand in his hair.

Aemond is many things. Determined is one of them. He keeps at it, until you are moaning so unashamedly you think the coachman must be hearing you. You are building towards something, wetness gathering between your thighs, back sweaty, Aemond’s skillful mouth wrapped around you.

You risk a glance at his expression. The vision is almost obscene. His eye is closed in bliss, cheeks flushed, seemingly unaware of the effect his actions are causing on you. His hips are doing small aborted motions against your leg.

You feel as if you are on the edge of something. You scratch his scalp with your nails, needing just a little more. But at the exact moment he opens his eye to look at you, the carriage jerks to a stop.

Hurriedly, you nearly throw him off you. Any second now, the coachman will open the door, and he cannot see you partially naked under a man, no matter if it’s your betrothed.

Aemond, not even needing to be told what the issue is, quickly rightens himself. As the coachman opens the door and goes to help you out of the carriage, Aemond dismisses him with a wave of a hand.

He gets off the carriage in an agile little jump, and offers you a hand.

“I think, betrothed, you don’t rue the day you will have to marry me.” Aemond whispers, as he helps you down. He kisses your cheek, making you squirm. The memory of those same lips in other parts of you is too fresh not to. “I think you are awaiting the wedding night so impatiently, you must be gushing.”

Your cheeks heat up at the double entendre. It’s true, you are beyond wet. If Aemond was not so stuck to his own moral code, if he didn’t think himself superior to you, you would tell him. But you know if you do, he wouldn’t help, but deny you. So instead, you lean in, hand grasping at his thigh for support.

“I think, my Prince, you should look into a mirror. Because that…” You point between his legs. “Looks painful.” And with a kiss on his cheek, you leave him there, standing next to a borrowed carriage and having to endure the humiliation of paying for the ride.

You cackle all the way to your rooms. He will probably have his revenge later, embarrassing you in some way, but you are too high in your triumph to care.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fic #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond smut #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x female reader

853 notes · View notes

avatar-anna · 4 months

Text

Nothing Left to Lose

saw this photo on pinterest and got inspired! happy weekend, y'all!

Masterlist

*.*

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Don't—Don't ask me that. Please."

"Why?"

Harry sighed and rubbed a tired hand over his face, wincing when his fingertips came back with blood on them. "Because we promised not to lie to each other, and I don't want to give you an answer you won't like."

"Damn it, Harry!"

Y/n looked like she wanted to hit something, probably him, but he was too far out of reach. Angry tears lined her eyes as she took an anxious drag from the cigarette that dangled between her fingers, but Harry knew better than to go to her. She was pissed, and he needed to let her seethe properly before comforting her.

"I'm sorry—"

"You're not because you keep doing it!" A tear slipped from Y/n's eye, but she quickly wiped it away. "I told you I didn't want any part of this life. You said—You said you wouldn't do this anymore."

"This isn't something you just send your two weeks notice into, Y/n. I can't just say, 'I quit.'"

"Don't try to explain that bullshit to me, Harry!"

That was a wrong choice of words. Sighing, Harry took a chance and stepped closer to Y/n. "I'm trying, Y/n, really. I know it doesn't sound like it, but I am. I just don't...I don't know how to safely get out of this."

"Then let's run away," Y/n said, grabbing onto his hands desperately, neither of them minding the smoke curling between them. Harry's knuckles were split and bruised, dried blood caked around them, though most of it wasn't his, yet she held onto them anyway. Y/n had never been one to shy away from a little blood. "We can go somewhere, anywhere. The world is such a big place Harry. His network doesn't stretch that far. We can—We can forget all of this."

"It's not that easy—"

"He's using you!" she cried. "He's using you to get to me, you have to know that, Harry."

Harry held her face in his hands as he rested his forehead against hers. He knew nothing about the life they shared was easy. From the moment he stumbled into the bar she worked at, battered and bruised and reeking of trouble, he knew. Y/n had known right away that he was one of her father's men, even if the easily recognizable tattoo that curled around his shoulder and up his neck was covered thanks to the hoodie he wore. What she didn't know was that he'd been purposely tasked with keeping an eye on her, a direct order from her father. That little secret came out months after they met, after Harry realized he was falling for Y/n and that he couldn't hide it anymore.

This wasn't what he expected out of life. He'd fallen into the wrong crowd long before he ever should've, and it spiraled into a life he knew he shouldn't have been proud of. But the money was good and if he kept his head down he didn't get into any serious trouble. There were a couple nights where guilt kept him from sleeping, or when he lied awake in a safehouse because someone else fucked up and he had to disappear for a few days. Maybe his line of work wasn't something to be proud of, but he grew up believing he wouldn't amount to anything, and this life, the one he built for himself, was his and his alone.

All that changed when he met Y/n, though.

He'd never met her prior to the job her father had tasked him with. His boss' daughter was elusive at best, but it was well-known that they were estranged. But Y/n's father still considered her his greatest pride and joy, hence sending Harry to keep an eye on her to make sure she was safe. He'd taken the job, mostly because he couldn't really say no to his boss, but also because he thought it would be easy enough, stress free.

Falling in love was never the objective, yet here he was, and it killed him to see his love cry.

"I know," Harry said quietly, maybe even sounding a little defeated.

"I want a life with you, H," Y/n pleaded, resting her hands over his. "I want a long life with you without my father's shadow hanging over our heads. This...this isn't living. We're hiding."

"I know," he said again. "I know, you're right."

"I love you," Y/n said. "So much, H. That's why it freaks me out when you leave and come back like this. I...I hate what he does. He ruins people, Harry."

Part of him believed it was impossible to get out from under her father's thumb, and part of him was scared of leaving everything he'd ever known behind to start over somewhere new. But for Y/n, he was willing to try. A future with her was worth running into unknown territory.

Harry tried for a smile and kissed Y/n's forehead. "If it makes you feel better, I had a terrible night."

"Mm...Maybe a little," she said, a small smile creeping onto her face.

"Is persuading you to kiss it all away off the table?"

Y/n's smile softened into something more somber. "Promise me we'll run away."

Harry looked into Y/n's eyes, saw all the hurt that the cuts and bruises and blood he came home covered in affected her. He wasn't just looking out for himself anymore, Y/n was a part of his life he wasn't willing to give up. She was a non-negotiable, and making her happy had to be his top priority.

"We'll run away," he promised. "Wherever you wanna go, baby. Just you and me."

"Really?" she asked, as if she actually thought Harry wouldn't agree.

"Name a time and place, and we'll go," he said. "I love you, Y/n. I'm in this with you. All of that bullshit means nothing when I have you."

Y/n exhaled, and Harry could practically see a weight lift from her shoulders. Leaning in, she kissed him once, pulling back and giggling a little as she rubbed a thumb gently over the cut on his lip. Pressing one kiss to his cheek, she took his hand and led him down the hall to the bedroom they shared.

"Let's see about getting those cuts cleaned up."

"I've actually got one that needs really special attention—"

"Shut up, Styles!"

Harry just grinned as he took the cigarette from Y/n's offering hand and put it in his mouth, happy to hear the laughter in Y/n's voice. There was light for them at this long, winding tunnel. He believed in it, he wanted it enough to believe in it. Harry had never tried to leave this life behind because it was all he'd ever known, there was no reason to try to build a life outside of the crimes he committed. Y/n should've felt that way too, but she didn't. She wanted more for herself, and for him now too. Harry was willing to give up everything, to risk everything, to make sure he was happy, that he was able to give her the life that she wanted.

And if slipping between the fingers of the most powerful man in the city was what she wanted, then he'd find a way to make it happen.

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot

305 notes · View notes

mysaintkitten · 4 months

Text

prompt: a fight with your stepbrother gets unexpectedly heated (18+ MINORS DNI !!)

WARNINGS: stepbrother neil (he is the littlest bit pervy), implied age gap (everyone’s legal), spying, masturbation (m)

this is so short and dumb lmao

you sit on the couch, legs crossed while in some shorts and a baggy tee. it’s a late saturday night and you weren’t planning to impress anyone so you dressed comfortably.

“neil, pass me the remote.” you ask, sticking your hand out in neil’s direction as your eyes stay fixated on the screen. you wait for maybe twenty seconds and the remote still isn’t in your hand. you twist your head over to neil and raise your brows. “give me the fucking remote!” you repeat while shaking your hand.

“jeez ..” neil chuckles, “relax.”

he finally passes you the remote and you angrily snatch it from his hand, muttering a small bitter thank you in response.

with the remote, you scrolled through the seemingly infinite movie options. after a few moments, you picked one that peaked your interest. it didn’t take long for neil to verbalize his disagreement with your choices.

“no, no, come on.” neil said with furrowed brows. “this movie sucks. it’s not even good-bad. it’s just straight up bad.”

neil scoots closer and grabs the remote from your hand, searching for a movie that he’ll enjoy.

“i mean, it makes more sense for me to pick. i’m older, after all.”

you scoff and roll your eyes at his absurd reasoning, “well, this is my mothers house. i’m her biological daughter, you’re a stepchild, at most. so what i say ..” you take the remote back from neil, “goes.”

without saying any words, neil attempts to snatch the remote back, but your grasp is too tight on it.

a tug of war kind of fight begins to break out, you and neil fighting like children over the remote. with a laugh, neil takes the remote from your hands, scooting his body backwards to prevent you from grabbing it again.

that really didn’t stop you though, because seconds later you began to crawl on top of him, straddling his lap as he waved the remote around out of your reach. while leaning your body forward, your baggy shirt draping over neil’s face, you retrieve the remote.

you huff as you crawl back to your side of the couch and slump your back against the arm rest, tucking your knees up to your chest with your feet slightly apart as you begin to play the movie you had originally picked. the movie starts and a satisfied grin makes its way across your face, you look over at neil to rub the victory in.

his face has dropped, and his eyes are glued between your legs.

“give up that easy, huh?” you laugh, finding it interesting how quickly neil gave up the fight. normally fights between you two could go on for hours. you’re both insanely stubborn.

neil swallows, “are you wearing any panties?”

your cheeks flush and your brows stitch together. no, you weren’t, but why would he care?

“what kind of question is that? you pervert.” you retaliate

“your shorts ..” he stammers, glancing back between your legs, “they have a hole in them.”

you sneak your hand between your legs and sure enough, there’s a hole, directly where your crotch is. your pussy had been exposed to him for lord knows how long. you quickly cover yourself up as best you can but neil’s eyes don’t move.

“quit staring!” you squeak before scurrying up to your room to get changed. neil watches you leave, not saying a word.

while in your room you slip on some panties and some new shorts, your heart racing at what just unfolded. you can’t believe neil saw such a vulnerable part of you, you felt absolutely humiliated.

as you walk back downstairs, you notice the living room is now vacant, neil has seemingly left. you shrug it off and assume he probably felt really awkward as well and decided to take a bit of time away from you.

you make your way towards the kitchen and on the way there you pass by the bathroom, you hear small huffs and whimpers on the other side. you pause, what’s making that sound.

with light steps, you creep closer to the door, placing your ear against the door as you listen for the noise again. and there it is, more huffs and whimpers, now some moans are being thrown in as well.

this is basically your house after all, so in a way you feel entitled to enter any room you please. quietly, you crack the door open, peeking your head inside only to see neil standing there with his cock out.

as you watch in shock, neil fists his cock urgently as he whines and moans, his head tipped back and his eyes screwed shut. you wince at the sight of his cock, but you can’t take your gaze off of it. it’s pink, pale, and a clear liquid is spilling out from his tip.

“oh fuck .. oh fu-uck ..” neil lets out a shaky exhale as he picks up his pace, “pretty fuckin’ pussy ..”

your face burns harder, did he really think that? moments later, and with a few more whimpers, neil’s shooting his load onto the bathroom floor. he bites his lip in attempt to stifle his moans, but you’ve seen everything, no sense in staying quiet now.

before he fully comes down, you pull the door back shut and leave it open ever so slightly so neil doesn’t hear the sound of the door clicking. quickly, you make your way over to the couch and sit there as if you’ve been lounging there the entire time.

you hear the sink running and you can tell neil’s washing his hands. great, at least he has the slightest bit of decency. you watch him approach the couch and sit parallel to you, where he was originally sitting before.

you sneakily look over at him, his face is a bit flushed and he’s still a little out of breath but he overall looks normal and put together. you cannot believe you just saw your step brother touching himself after he got a glimpse at your pussy.

was he that desperate? all it took was a look to get him all worked up?

“where were you?” you ask, acting oblivious to what you had just seen.

nervously he meets you here gaze, forcing a cough before responding, “oh uh, well i uh just needed to use the bathroom.”

“oh.” you say, “it’s just weird because when i passed by the bathroom i was hearing these really weird noises, what were they?”

neil becomes visibly more awkward as he tries to find a reasonable excuse, “i just wasn’t feeling well.” he chuckles in attempt to alleviate some of the nerves.

“i see.” you hum with a nod, “see, for a second i thought you were jerking off after seeing my pussy.”

neil’s mouth gapes open, he begins to ramble up some more excuses.

“it’s okay,” you hush him, “i won’t tell mom.”

—

im still procrastinating what is WRONG WITH ME !!!!! also this is inspired by a clip i saw on twitter :)

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #neil lewis #neil lewis x reader #watching the detectives #hope y’all like this #:)

340 notes · View notes

moronkombat · 7 months

Note

Hi sweetie!

I’m here to request, pretty please, some more hcs for babygirl Shang Tsung 💚

- his reaction to pregnancy or taking care of the reader while pregnant

- How would he react if someone hurt you

- Him being soft on daily basis (maybe calling reader sunshine or some other cute little things?🫣🥺)

Sorry if it’s too much, I just fucking can’t get him out of my head and I’m dying to read what more you got for him ✨

Thank you for this and for all the content you’ve been doing, it’s amazing and it’s making my days happier!

SFW/NSFW

Shang Tsung and his partner share each other's bodies regularly not necessarily because the two of you have a high sex drive but because it the way you two feel closest to each other

Fingers spread across the skin of your hips while lips are pressed to your own. They taste of dry saffron coated in the fruit of nectar. A swirl of what should not mix at all but here it blends perfectly

Honeyed words go whispered into your ear before teeth most sharp snag and pull

Your nails crawl for salvation along the ridge of a bending spine and a sigh so euphoric is birthed

There are many gatherings like these but never are they truly the same. No, Shang Tsung likes to keep his bedroom rendezvous every evolving

Leather, oh it so cold as it wraps around your shivering flesh, is a preferred choice of his

Night is too young and even into the morning it isn't enough. Shang Tsung is insufferably thorough but how can you complain when your lips and mouth used to moan and mewl for him?

When all has come to a still, those sweet words coated in silvery honey come to you. He means them all. You are his princess, you are the sunshine, you are his everything

Shang Tsung loves to call you his princess, his most precious sunshine and they never fail to make you smile

Pregnancy HCs

It should not come as a shock that you had gotten pregnant. Shang Tsung and you were not exactly careful and yet you both are surprised and apprehensive

Shang Tsung wears a brave smile and tells you it will all be alright and that adding a new addition to your duo will be a good change of pace

Deep down though, he has many doubts and worries about how he is supposed to be a father

There are more pressing matters, however, you need to have the best of care and he will find it for you

His preference is for you to stay relatively rested and not on your feet too much

He would make your room as comfortable as possible for you and try to furnish it with everything you could ever need

And still you find yourself leaving it to visit him in his study. He always appears surprised to see you and will quietly remind you that you need to be resting for both you and baby

You tell him that you miss him and wish the two of you could spend more time together or that he could maybe tell stories to the baby that grows inside you

Shang Tsung is...puzzled. It difficult for him to connect to a child he cannot yet hold or see but he can see how much this means to you

When he feels the first kick of your child upon his palm is when reality really hit him. He's going to be a father and where there was once trepidation there is now hope

You'll be sitting in his study while he works on something, he typically keeps you very close by now and he will occasionally reach over to you and lay his hand on your naval

There are no words spoken. He just smiles lightly before returning to what he was focusing on

It is not all bliss. Nothing could ever be so perfect. When you're hurt, when someone has brought pain upon you all that fear has returned

Any blemish that has been left on your skin that is usually so smooth sends him spiraling

There will be no easy end to those who have done this no matter how much you assure him that you are alright

He will replay them the favor but it there will be more. Much much more

Shang Tsung is a thorough man, after all

#mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat fanworks #mk1 #mortal kombat headcanons #mortal kombat x reader #shang tsung #shang tsung x reader #tw: pregnancy

187 notes · View notes

mermazing-art · 15 days

Text

The real name of the Furious Five

After the Kung Fu Panda 4 movie I started thinking about what Zhen's first conversations with the Furious Five would be like. I imagined her nervous about making a good impression but fitting quite well with her group dynamic given her mischievous attitude and enjoying their adventures with her, establishing a relationship of trust. Which led me to a thought "Would she, wanting to know them more, ask them what their real names are?"

This theory has been circulating in the fandom for years since it is said that their names actually refer to their fighting styles or their species (as well as Master Ox, Crocodile or Rhino) since those who retain their own name within this discipline are those who have a superior role such as Oogway, Shifu or Po and those who do not have a title such as Zhen or Tai Lung.

Well, I decided to look for a suitable name for each one, one that fit their physique or personality, that was easy to remember and that would distinguish one another, let's go!

Mantis: Xun Yu ( fast jade )

With Mantis I was clear that I didn't want to look for anything that had to do with his size but I did want to highlight his most powerful abilities such as his speed. That's where his first name, Xun, comes from. His middle name, Yu (Jade), is because of his green color although this can also mean ''insect'' depending on the kanji with which it is written. My idea is that Mantis calls himself ''the green lightning'' referring to his real name.

Crane: Zimo ( refined ink )

At first I wanted his name to be related to the sky or the air due to his avian species or his techniques, but it made me think that one of the things that catches my attention about this character is his interest in Chinese calligraphy. Therefore, I decided to name him Zimo (ink or writing) to reflect his beloved hobby in his name.

Monkey: Wong Sang ( yellow mulberry )

For Monkey, I researched his voice actor, the one and only Jackie Chan, born Chan Kong-Sang. I wanted to take it as a reference by changing the name Kong since it is the name of the Monkey's brother to Wong (yellow), relating it to the color of his fur. I wanted to make a reference to his comic side but I couldn't find a suitable name for the guidelines I had assigned to it.

Viper: Jia Ling ( beautiful tinkle )

As with Monkey, I researched on her voice actress, Lucy Liu, whose full name is Lucy Alexis Liu Yu Ling. I wanted to reflect her charming and sweet personality, so I took the name Ling (tinkerbell) as a reference of the hiss' snake she produces, as well as her happy attitude. But her first name would be Jia to emphasize the beauty of this character.

Tigress: Xia ( sunrise )

For her, I thought I would delve deeper into her story and her development as a character in order to give her the appropriate name. This is her story:

When Tigress lived in the orphanage, she received the name Xian ("who lives in seclusion") from the other children perpetuating their contempt and fear of her. When Shifu finally decided to adopt her, after He heard that name many times, almost always accompanied by the word "monster", he asked her what new name she would like. She simply accepted Tigress because she didn't believe she could deserve a name. Shifu pondered and decided to call him Xia. Tigress at first didn't like this idea because it sounded similar to the previous one, but Shifu explained his choice to her. Both names, although similar, did not have the same meaning because now she would no longer be in the darkness, secluded and alone, but rather she had the opportunity for a new life, a path marked by the light that emanated from her, a new sunrise.

So yes, Zhen would ask the furious five their names, giving the situation that Po would find out right then and there about this. Everyone except Tigress would answer this question since for her it is still a very personal matter related to her past and Shifu and she still doesn't feel comfortable sharing it with everyone. Could Tigress talk to a certain panda about this?

#dreamworks #kung fu panda #kung fu panda 4 #kfp #kfp 4 #kfp tipo #kfp po #furious five #kfp tigress #master tigress #master mantis #master crane #master monkey #master viper

74 notes · View notes

comfortless · 10 days

Note

how do you think König would react with an S/O who playfully fights/teases as a way to show affection? my love language is light bullying so idk if he'll be too receptive to that 😅

ohhh this is a fun/sad one, actually! 🥲 i think this would be torture for him, because i don’t see him as being someone who can take a joke well!

SO!

We are all aware König was bullied in his past. I personally see him as being somewhere on the spectrum, too.

He speaks his mind, and expects the same of you whether he voices that need or not. The people he was surrounded by as a child play a huge part in this. There was never any “playful” bullying when it came to his father, any change in tone or insult ignited a fight or flight instinct for König because of this. The children at school were even worse. His father was always easy enough to read as he had no choice but to be around him.

The fake love confessions, the mocking compliments, and the unprompted aggression were another thing altogether. If a girl called him “hot” growing up, she always seemed to be lying, laughing with her friends the second he became hopeful. If another student wanted to “be friends” it more often than not ended with poor König either showing up and sitting through a movie entirely alone or doing their homework for them with nothing in return.

König never properly mastered people, they’re all different shades of confusing. He never had the proper upbringing or chances to read them properly at all, and though he’s grown more comfortable in his own skin now, these things do still haunt him to an extent.

He would love a play fight, adores the feeling of getting to pin you and feel that flood of power. You’re smaller and weaker than him, most people are, but he doesn’t get to exert that energy anywhere else than on the field. It’s certainly not as fun when his opponent winds up dead and there’s no romantic aspect to it at all. You’re such a cute, fragile little thing in his eyes, he’s overly gentle but doesn’t hesitate in the slightest to engage. Physical touch is his love language, and the promise of getting to rough you up in other ways afterward is just a bonus!

But… say you’re playfully insulting him. Call him “ugly” or hurl any other insult at his body, and he just sort of shuts down. He’ll give you the blankest stare, avoid touching you, and likely storm off until he’s had time to calm himself down. A part of him recognizes that you don’t mean it, but the internal wounds speak much louder.

He would assume the worst, that all of this time you’ve just been pitying him and you’re only now speaking true. You’re not attracted to him, and he was an idiot for ever believing that you might be. This guy had tried and failed countless times to find himself with a pretty thing that he can love, and never would he say anything like that to you. It’s always an abundance of praise and an eternal stare. His eyes and hands never leave you. So, that stings.

Once he calms down… some, he would return with the same hurt painted across his face, ask you why through gritted teeth. Just, “Why?” Depending on if it’s something that can be fixed, maybe he’ll offer to do it for you. Make himself prettier, better built, anything so that you don’t leave him for a man you deem more worthy. He knows he sounds small and pathetic, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t want to lose you. It pisses him off knowing that he’s already done the work, too, only for the end result to be the same as the things he’s already endured.

He wouldn’t be entirely convinced that it was just a joke, but he isn’t the type to come sobbing to you for reassurance, either. The next few hours are filled with condescending little comments. “You like fucking ugly men, schatz?” or “Do you always get wet like this when you’re sorry?”

#kö headcanons

64 notes · View notes

sevenpoyo · 9 months

Text

school headcanons for because i only got 3 more weeks

margo’s is so long even tho she got like 2 minutes of screen time bc i love her so much and she’s my gf

Margo Kess, 1610Miles, 42Miles, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar

margo kess / spiderbyte

ain’t shorty on zoom in the movie?

my girl dont attend class, she once shut down the entire blocks power so she would have an excuse to not be in class

eats in class all class everyday, only shares with you

takes really good notes and never studies them

like???? ma’am??? share???

all her electives are programming related and she pretends to busy while playing centipede all day

sends you 50 links to stuff you might like while ur in math

she got papers that let her opt out of gym

no matter how much you beg ur gonna be alone in gym and she doesn’t feel bad about it

popular with no friends type

like everyday 50 ppl stop you both and say hi

she only knows like 5 of their names she can’t stand half of them niggas

empty ass backpack like she got one notebook and one binder

all a’s and b’s like bitch how

her memory is absolutely ass but she can remember every story you told her or stuff that happened when y’all hang out

don’t ask her what she did in her class

don’t ask her if her class also has a history test

she don’t know

she don’t care

but she do know that when you were 8 your cousin burned ur thigh while y’all were playing iron vs knife fight

(u were dumb as hell for picking knife everyone knows iron always wins)

i looked it up on her word everybody uses those virtual avatars

she’ll shit on your class choices so damn hard

she just likes making fun of your choices fr

like half of ur conversation go;

damn i’m tired

u was up doing stupid shit last night you don’t get to complain

stfu that’s why ur a bitmoji

that’s why ur granny beat ur ass for something your brother did when you were 9

i hate telling u shit

then stop telling me shit

(i have no clue how accurate this is to her character but i need to write about her i’m in love but damn it’s long)

1610 miles / spider-man 2 lmao

book bag full locker full but never has a pencil

writes notes assignments and homework in paint pen ink don’t ask this nigga for notes

(he gets nigga treatment but not my queen margo bc i got favorites)

he miss mad classes but somehow still solid attendance record???

somehow always present in the record he miss 40 days and get caught on like 6 of them

unless his mom make breakfast and lunch on her day off for him he eating the most random shit from the bodega closest to visions

like what do you mean you got a cosmic brownie and a cold chopped cheese from last night ? it’s literally 7 in the morning no i don’t want none

makes you hype him up every time he slap boxes people and he’s so ass at it

he be ashy with no lotion atleast 5 times every month it’s embarrassing

he calls visions his white people school to his parents and his friends

once he said it to gwen and they sat in literal complete silence for like 10 minutes

prolly took music theory because he thought it would be easy and switched out of that shit so fast

i’d be so mean to him for enjoying physics

like this nigga trying to make something of him self

lil einstein ass nigga

he understands color theory but can’t explain it

12 half full sketchbooks but at school he literally draw on computer paper he don’t let the sketch book leave his bag

i know he’s ass at watercolor, he always spills shit, the colors always end up brown

try’s to be interested in your class choices bc he wants to know stuff he can talk about with you

when you first meet he can’t take meaner jokes bc he thinks that you mean them

but one day he’s gets comfortable, and brutal

no one in your life is safe when he looses a video game

except your mom

rio taught him better than that

42 miles / the prowler

comes to school with no school related supplies in his bag unless you count art stuff

finds a pencil on his way to class

has a change of clothes, rat tail comb, 3 bottles of water, a camera, a flashlight, lotion and cocoa butter.

like bro ur going to Ap Art not a camping trip

once he pulled out a griddle and and pancake mix and y’all started making pancakes in class

forgets his metro pass every day and gets so pissed ab it

runs into people in the hallway bc he’s never paying attention

idk if he goes to visions but if he does he calls it his white people school with his full chest to anybody even if they’re white

he be leaving halfway through the day all the time like bro you miss algebra 2 every damn day

uncle arron always talking him out of school with some bullshit reason

bro’s had his tonsils out 8 times on the school’s records

He will get ur parents to put his uncle on ur pickup list and you will be out of there with him

he will YELL if someone step on his shoes no matter what the situation like the school could be on fire and he fighting in the burning building

also his uniform is so pristine

his pants stiff

that button down is bleached ironed pressed and allat

this mfer is an online shopping addict u just know he be on amazon in class

will offer you the weirdest food combos like no i don’t want to put tajin mangoes on my beef patty i’m sick of you nigga

not school related but he’s super good with kids (both miles fr) but he’s the #1 little cousin defender and apologists

he ride for them always one of ur little cousins could sucker punch u and he be like

‘they just want u to play with them’

he takes a preforming arts class for fun prolly

loves sports but doesn’t play one understands the stats well and would help if you played one

wakes up at the asscrack of dawn on weekends

SICK ASS COSTUME FOR HOLLOWEEN IK THIS NIGGA LOVE HOLLOWEEN

plans costumes for school spirit weeks but always checks to seen if he’s gonna be the only one wearing a costume for it

never eats lunch unless his mom makes it he be hungry all day and be complaining

his socks are never in uniform (yes some uniform schools have sock rules)

gwen stacy / spider woman / ghost spider

idk what to call her

she has every snack you could ever want in her lunch bag

hates her music theory teacher

she literally has the most pristine locker with a calendar and a mirror and all that shit will write down test for you and important dates for the both of you

goes to school plays and shits on the story, like she ain’t pay 5 dollars to be there

some of her teachers hate her

like ma’am ur beefing with a whole 16 year old rn

she hate english teachers but love creative writing teachers

she keeps all her books in her locker never brings them home never brings them to class

always comes through with an extra pad no matter what

she also always has hand sanitizer

in like 4 extracurricular after school things and complains so bad

ur starting to hate that shit to ur sick of hearing it like girl quit then

10/10 cameraman she has every fight and every drama in 10khd and she will share them if you ask

she chews her pens and nails

has her drumsticks out always teachers have banned her from taking them to their classes

can watch tv on her phone but look focused you think she’s paying attention but then you look over and she’s watching good luck charlie

pavitr prabhakar / spider-man india

always late for class never in trouble

always eating and sharing food and never in trouble

how is he blessed like this? it ain’t fair

eats from the school vending machines or begs other ppl to share

will always have and share the homework answers no matter what he’s an angel

his sock always have holes in them like sir please get that shit together

gym try hard ik goes insane in football/soccer

very encouraging for shit u don’t wanna do he believes in you

you him and Gayatri talk so much shit but are somehow all well liked

he tells you what teachers are dating (he can just tell)

he has toothpaste in his bag for some reason?? i can just feel this one

his aunt will let you come over after school she’s so sweet to you.

always got a job at school assemblies

he’s reading poems or shaking hand or leading in the school pledge or something

Pav’s is short because i have no fucking clue if school in India is different form america and Barbados

#miles morales x reader #42 miles morales #margo kess x reader #gwen stacy x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr my beloved #atsv x reader #atsv spoilers #spider byte x reader #the prowler x reader #42 miles morales x reader

192 notes · View notes

softhairedhotch · 3 months

Note

If this is not something you’re comfortable with writing please ignore it.

The reader (trans man) coming out to Hotch, after a case that has caused their dysphoria to become worse. Whether it’s a victim who was trans or a bigoted unsub and it makes them visibly angry and upset to deal with.

Ideally it would have a happy ending but the rest can be as angsty or not as you would like.

thank you for the request, i really hope i did it justice <3 it didn't come out as angsty as i thought, it's pretty sweet tbf. it's not really what i wanted to do which this idea but i couldn't think of anything else and didn't wanna keep you waiting :')

aaron hotchner x trans male reader

after a case involving murdered trans kids and a transphobic cop, you come out as trans to aaron.

warnings/content: mentions of transphobia/hate crimes, feeling unloved and unworthy, deep conversations, coming out, love confessions and kissing

word count: 1.6k

also on ao3!

what about today?

“Agent.”

You paused, Aaron's soft voice surprising you. Taking a deep breath, you turned around and forced a smile. “Yes, Sir?”

Aaron's eyes swept over your features as he slightly tilted his head. He opened his mouth, struggled to make a sound, and closed it. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

He sighed. “Sit down. Please.” You nodded and stepped toward the chair in front of his desk but he shook his head. “On the couch.”

Realisation slowly dawned on you–this conversation wasn't going to be easy. Either you had to lie and tell him the case didn't affect you mentally, that it didn't remind you how ignorant and full of hatred people can be towards others like you, and pray he didn't see through the cracks in your armour, or you told him the truth. And the truth, no matter how hard, felt like the right choice in the end.

But whatever happened, you knew it couldn't happen in his office. You trusted him with your life but you couldn't be sure how he'd react. Taking a deep breath, you quietly asked, "Can we go somewhere else?”

Aaron tilted his head. "Like where?"

"I don't know," you shrugged, wringing your hands together. "A bar?"

If Aaron was confused, he didn't say anything. Instead, he moved from behind his desk and reached out to gently grab your elbow, leading you out of the office.

As you parked the car, Aaron eyed the area with interest. His eyes, shining in the low light of a street lamp nearby, flickered over the entry of the bar. He observed the gaggle of women huddled away in the smoking area, all sharing a cigarette, then the two drag queens giggling away at an inside joke, and finally the security guard who stood at the door with a pin that proudly exclaimed ‘love is love’. “A gay bar,” he mused. “It looks nice. Do you come here often?”

“When I need to clear my head and feel a little less alone, yes.”

He smiled. “You ready to go inside?”

You took a deep breath and nodded. A few people called out to you as you made your way to your usual seat, waving with grins that you matched, although it didn't quite reach your eyes. The bartender waggled his eyebrows at you when he spotted Aaron and you bit back a laugh. Aaron slid into the booth opposite yours and gave you a polite smile, patiently waiting for you to speak.

“So you're probably wondering why I brought you here.”

Aaron shrugged. “Because you have something you want to say and you feel as if being in a public space surrounded by people you trust will make it easier?”

You opened your mouth to answer but no sound came out. “I… What happened to not profiling each other?”

“Not a profile,” he smiled, glancing away for only a moment. “Just an observation.”

“Well, you're right. Uh, I wanted to explain why this case affected me more than most.”

Aaron sighed and leaned forward, reaching out for you as if to take your hands in his. At the last second, however, he changed his mind and pulled away, standing up instead. You stared at him with your eyebrows knitted together as he moved to your side, sliding in beside you. When he was settled, his knee bouncing against yours, only then did he speak. “You never have to explain yourself. Not to me. I just wanna make sure you're okay.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest and if your heart wasn't already beating a mile a minute, it was now. Tenfold, actually, and your hands shook in your lap as you gave Aaron a tentative smile. “I appreciate that, Hotch. But this… I need to.” His eyes found yours and you lost yourself for a moment. Smiling, he glanced away, giving you time to collect your thoughts with no pressure, and for that you were grateful. Taking a deep breath, you began. “I thought I'd be okay with the case because, well, I've seen stuff like this everywhere. I see it online or on the news more often than not; it's something we can never get away from. Violence against people who are, are different, that don't conform. We've seen it before, too, on cases. People in this community have been murdered for as long as time.”

You paused, taking another shaky breath, and for a moment it felt like time slowed to a stop and you couldn't breathe. Aaron turned to give you a smile, small but genuine, and reached out for your trembling hand. “It's okay,” he whispered, interlocking your fingers. “I'm here.”

“Thank you,” you whispered back, squeezing his hand in return. Instead of pulling away immediately like you thought he would, he shuffled even closer so that your thighs and shoulders were pressed completely together. It gave you the courage you needed. “So when we were on that case with those… those little boys who only wanted peace and happiness, who wanted to be loved, who just wanted–needed–help and never got it from the people that should have been there for them… and when that cop said that they deserved it because they were different, because they were trans…” Aaron tensed beside you. “Something inside me broke. I felt like a kid again being told that I'd never be loved because of who I am.”

“Because of your sexuality?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. The hand in your lap felt like a weighted blanket, something that brought comfort, and it allowed you to breathe out your next words. “Because of my identity. Because I'm trans, too.”

Aaron didn't flinch. He didn't pull away, he didn't breathe, and he didn't make a sound. You immediately thought the worst–that he was disgusted in you but couldn't bring it in himself to react. Hesitantly, you slowly began pulling your hand from his, unwinding your fingers. But before you could pull your hand completely away, he tightened his grip and pulled your combined hands into his own lap. The rough pad of his thumb slid across your knuckles, his touch featherlight but filled with a tenderness that had your heart leaping into your throat.

His other hand gently cupped your cheek, large and warm and firm, and angled your head up so that your eyes connected with his. Instead of disgust, all you found was acceptance. “Listen to me,” he said, voice hushed as if you were in a library. Despite the excited bustle surrounding you, music so loud it was almost disorientating, all you could focus on was him. His tongue flitted out and swept across his bottom lip nervously before he continued. “This doesn't change how I see you. You're still you, okay? And you always will be.” He gave you a sad smile. “And you have every right to be upset. Every right. What that cop said… I wish you hadn't heard it, I really do, but more importantly I wish he hadn't said it, or even thought it. I wish many others didn't share the same views, too, because you… you don't deserve that.”

“No one does,” you replied.

“No one does,” he repeated. “But you… Oh, you. I'm sorry that someone thought it was their right to tell you that you could never be loved because it's not true. Not in the slightest.” His thumb gently swiped over your cheekbone. “You are so, so loved.”

You gave him a weak smile. “I know. But not in the way I want to be. I don't think I'll ever get that.”

It was as if you could see the reflection of Aaron's heart breaking in his eyes. He gave you a sad look, not one of pity but of understanding, and nodded. “You will.”

“Maybe one day.”

“What about today?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “What?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping low to your lips before finding your eyes again, and his head moved hardly an inch closer. If you weren't so close already, you wouldn't have noticed. But now you were keenly aware of his breath mixing with yours, the way your combined hands slotted together perfectly, how the comforting and familiar smell of him washed over you, and how his eyes shone with acceptance and love.

“I…” Aaron started, trailing off in uncertainty. It's the only time you've ever seen him truly nervous. He licked his lips again and it took all your strength not to surge forward and press yours against his. “I love you.”

All that strength disappeared the moment those words left his trembling mouth and, before you knew it, you were kissing him. Mind completely silent, body losing all sensation except for where his body met yours, you felt like you were floating. His grip loosened on both your hand and face for hardly a moment before he held you twice as hard and kissed you back. It wasn't romantic by any means, the kiss feeling like a game of catch-up you had no idea how long had been in motion, lips and teeth and tongues clashing frantically, but it had your blood rushing in your ears and the world disappearing around you.

When you pulled back for air, Aaron remained still. His lips were still slightly pursed, as if trapped in a memory he never wanted to escape, and his eyes were closed, a slight red tinge to his cheeks. He looked peaceful. He looked beautiful.

As you admired him, the words slipped from your mouth with ease. “I love you too.”

#aaron hotchner x trans male reader #aaron hotchner x male reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #cas writes #aaron hotchner fanfic #x reader #x transmasc reader #x trans male reader #reader insert

101 notes · View notes