#*shrugs and yeets away*))

[piracytheorist]

Animation is a very interesting medium to analyze because every little detail you can spot is usually deliberate. If this was live-action, you could have attributed the red light next to Loid as a random timing occurrence, that the directors, cinematographers, gaffers, or what have you either missed to notice or shrugged off because it's not important enough to ruin the entire take.

But this being animation, this red light didn't just appear in the shot. Someone very carefully crafted it there, set it to red, and put it at a place that the characters wouldn't cover but would also not drive your attention away from the action in the foreground.

It's small enough to not catch your attention the first time (especially if you're anime only and aren't expecting this to even happen!) but also very deliberate. It's not there for world-building or plain set design, so on a rewatch it's very noticeable.

And again, I might not know a lot about symbolism (even though we're on the colour theory in children's hospital website) but I'm having a few guesses as to what that red light means.

I mean, we're taught from a very young age, even if we don't pick up a vehicle, that red means STOP and green means GO. Considering the care and attention the animators have put in the twiyor scenes this season, I doubt the red had any negative meaning towards this scene... so my guess is that the red signified how Twilight's brain stopped for a couple seconds, trying to process the information as Yor all but fell for on him.

I mean, we know the man has perfectly good reflexes. Just in the scene before he was able to ride a big wave, see Anya get yeeted across the water and jump to grab her and her surfboard. But suddenly, when Yor is right next to him and passes out, he just freezes on the spot and doesn't do anything for a good full second?

So really, what the red light might've wanted to say would be something like

*dial-up internet sound*

#we all know this man is stupid don't we #Yor: *approaches* #Twilight: *cannot compute* #Spy x Family #twiyor

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐞𝐝

Surprises were not an unexpected occurrence when you come to think of it, not when you had Bucky Barnes as your boyfriend, though you had to give him credit where credit was due — he was a crafty, cunning man when it counted.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✯ Mechanic!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✯ 2.0k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✯ This is just pure filth ჻჻჻ SMUT: Unprotected piv, rough sex, multiple orgasms, restraints/blindfold, inappropriate use of Christmas lights, oral fixation, biting, finger sucking, so much dirty talk (this fic has the most dirty talk I have ever done), Dom!Bucky ჻჻჻ KINKS: Praise, degradation, sir, breeding

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ✯ You can imagine why there was only one smut entry for this day, because I did end up yeeting myself after this one.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ✯ @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo ჻჻჻ Blindfolds (November), Dom Big Dick Bucky Barnes (January) — Masterlist ✯ @mcukinkbingo 𝗡𝟭 — Character is a Dom — Masterlist ✯ @sweetspicybingo Sweetheart Bingo — My Bed Now — Masterlist ✯ @rookthorne's Merry Buckmas — Masterlist

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Honey, sweetheart,” Bucky said innocently. 

There was a hint, a smidge of trouble in his voice — the very same tone he took when he wanted something far more than family friendly. You couldn’t help but smile as you sat on the couch in the living room, phone in hand; feigning blissful ignorance was a game you loved to play. 

Especially with him. 

A shadow moved in your peripherals, and this time, Bucky’s voice was a little closer. “Baby.”

The smile on your lips threatened to give you away, so you schooled your expression into being focussed. Your cover was made more successful by the furrow of your brow and tongue between your teeth.

“I know you’re listenin’ to me, kitten,” he drawled, and he sat on the couch next to you, his bright eyes staring so intently into the side of your face. “Stop pretending and look at me.”

“You know,” you began, locking your phone screen before you placed it on the side table. “Using all of the sweet names won’t get you what you want. I was Christmas shopping.”

Bucky shrugged, a coy smirk playing on his lips. “I don’t know, kitten—you seem to respond pretty instinctually to bein’ called all sorts a’things. Or maybe–” He leaned in closer, his breath fanning over your lips. “That’s just my pretty girl respondin’ to her sir.”

The breath in your chest hitched and morphed into a choked gasp. “Bucky!”

“What?” he asked, pouting. 

You sighed, then took a deep breath. “What do you want, you menace?”

“I want you, baby.” The couch creaked as he shuffled closer, and his hand moved to grab your jaw. His fingers gripped your face gently, and he moved your head, facing it forward so his lips could trace over the side of your neck. “I want you, spread under me an’ takin’ my cock like a good girl—that’s what I want.”

“You and your fucking words, sir,” you breathed, letting your eyes flutter shut. 

Bucky grinned against your neck, and his hand moved to press lightly against the front of your throat. “But this time, sweetheart,” he said, “We’re gonna do somethin’ new. Strip, then lay down on your stomach in bed.”

The moment you flew to your feet and followed his order was when you realised how right he was — the blood pooled in your cunt and your walls throbbed, empty and wanting. Your clothes flew to the corner of the room, a discarded pile, and you laid flat on your stomach atop the comforter, resting your chin on your crossed arms. 

Heavy footsteps came soon after, followed by, “Close your eyes, baby—I’m gonna blindfold you, then tie you up by your ankles and wrists.” Bucky appeared at the side of the bed, and he kneeled so you were eye level with him. “That sound alright?”

“Fucking yes,” you rushed, willing your heart to slow down — passing out before the fun began was not something you particularly wanted. “Please, I want that.” 

Bucky grinned. “Alright, hold tight now.” 

The soft fabric of the blindfold brushed your forehead, then rested over your eyes; all light was now gone, and you were cloaked in darkness. 

“How’s that, Honey?” he asked, the pads of his fingers brushing over your cheeks. “That okay?”

You nodded vigorously — the mystery of what he was doing, or what was to come, lit a fire inside you and the heat of it travelled to every nerve. The slick feel of wetness between your thighs made you rock your hips for momentary relief. 

An action Bucky did not miss. 

“You already achin’, kitten?” There was a dark chuckle, and you squeaked when his warm palm cupped your bare ass and pulled your cheek to the side, your core now exposed to the cool air. “You wanna be filled, huh?”

“Yeah– Yes, please,” you whined, pushing back against his hand. “Please, sir, I need it.”

“I know what you need, slut,” Bucky snapped, and his hand came down with a sharp crack against your skin. The pain startled you, and you gasped. “Patience.”

Rough hands moved down from your ass to your ankles, softly caressing the skin until you felt the tight grip of his hand around the back of your heel. “Here we go,” he whispered, and you nodded. The soft feel of some kind of fabric tickled the skin, and then, the fibres of something brushed over your ankle, tightening there. You could feel Bucky’s fingers between the strange material and your skin. “How’s that, baby?”

“It’s perfect,” you replied. “Now hurry up.” 

Bucky laughed and did the same to your other ankle, spreading your thighs wide and checking the tightness before you heard him walk up to the head of the bed. “Can I have your hands, please, sweetheart?”

“So sweet–” The covers ruffled as you held out your hands. “Why so gentlemanly, now?”

The same fabric on your ankles looped your wrists together, the hold strong and firm, but loose enough to tug free from. “Well,” Bucky said, his hand running up your arm. “There is one reason, baby.”

“And what’s that?”

Bucky chuckled darkly, and you felt the mattress dip at your side. The weight of his body on one knee made you tilt to the side. “So, Honey,” he said, and there was something in his voice you couldn’t place — your heart thundered against your ribs and in your cunt. “I thought ‘cause it’s Christmas, ‘n all.” There was a brush of skin over the back of your bare thighs, and you realised with a jolt that Bucky was naked, too. He settled between your thighs, his knees forcing your legs wider apart. “I wanted to tell you I love you.”

“Aw–”

“‘Cause I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”

Your cry of shock was wrought with a moan at the feel of Bucky’s cock pressing into your heat, inch by thick inch. It was too much to bear, but he wasn’t stopping. “Fuck, kitten,” he hissed, his lips against the shell of your ear, “You’re already so fuckin’ tight, let me in, baby.”

“Oh–” You groaned loudly at the feel of his hips meeting your ass, and his arms caged you to the mattress. “God!”

“That’s not my name, sweetheart.” The words were followed with such a harsh thrust the bed slid over the floor. “Your cunt is fuckin’ made f’me, isn’t it? Jus’ perfect to fuck and fill—leave wantin’ and beggin’ for release.”

“Yessir!” you cried, your hands balling into fists. “Please, move—I can take it–”

“Can you really?” Bucky said through gritted teeth. Hot puffs of air brushed your temple, and you felt his lips trail towards your earlobe, then down to your neck. “I know you can, slut—but whether– Fuck, whether you can manage not to break.”

“Break me, break me, need it– Sir, please,” you babbled, whimpering from the lack of stimulation when his hips stilled. “Fuc–”

Bucky’s hand covered your mouth, and he shoved two fingers between your lips to rest over your tongue. “Shut the fuck up, kitten—suck on them like you would my cock.”

“Hnng!” you managed, and your tongue ran over the pads of his fingers while your lips closed around them. The hollows of your cheeks deepened with the effort. “Mm!”

“Yeah, fuck it,” Bucky growled, low in his throat. “I don’t wanna hold back—not anymore, this cunt’s jus’ too perfect.” 

The first thrust was harsh; the second even harder; the third made your vision white out. 

Mercifully, Bucky took his hand out of your mouth and placed it back on the bed, the inner side of his elbows brushing your sides with the force of his thrusts. 

You couldn’t help the moans that fell from your lips like a prayer, his name and title loud over the slick sounds of his cock forcing its way in and out of your cunt. “Sir! Sir, please—feels s’good!”

“Tha’s it, baby,” Bucky praised, and his hips moved harder — the slap of skin a symphony with his grunts. “Call for me, baby—go on.”

“Ah– Fucking, please!” A loud ringing sound accompanied the pounding of blood in your ears, while an unbearable heat burned through your core, tearing your reservations to shred as it swept through. “I think–”

“If you can still think, slut,” Bucky growled, and he lowered his head into your neck. “Then ‘m not fuckin’ you hard enough.”

His hips jackhammered into you, fucking you with abandon into the mattress while he bit and sucked on your neck. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, just as the pleasure crested and rolled into something unbearable–

“Tha’s it, good kitten, good slut,” Bucky cooed, and he spread his legs, forcing yours wider. “Can feel you—give it to me, baby.”

The first sparks of your orgasm stole your breath, and you gasped, pulling in breath to your desperate lungs. “Sir! I’m–”

Bucky moaned, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through your whole being, and your climax swept you away. Distantly, you could hear his calls of, “Fuckin’ good girl, good girl!”

You could feel him fuck you through the throes, but each thrust forward sparked the climax into starting again; the rawness of your throat turned your moans raw and rasped. 

Even so soon after your first, the start of a second orgasm crept closer — you couldn’t voice it, but Bucky knew. 

“You’re gonna give me more, kitten,” he demanded, and he ground his cock deep, forcing you down hard onto the mattress — his cockhead continued to brush against that spot, making you dizzy from the pleasure while tears welled on your lash line. “Then I’ll fuckin’ fill you up ‘till it takes—fuck a baby into you, over and over– Fuck, yeah, baby, tha’s it!”

You wailed as a second climax tore through, fiercer and harsher than the first. 

Bucky’s hips faltered in their punishing rhythm, and you could hear his grunts and moans over your pants for air. “Please, please,” you rasped. There was suddenly light filling your vision and you shut your eyes at the shock of it — the blindfold landed on the covers with a light thump next to your head. “Wha–”

The glint of colour caught your blurred vision — you blinked to clear it, and you found your wrists encircled by tinsel and Christmas lights. And in your dazed state, you started to deliriously giggle. “You think it’s funny, baby?” Bucky purred, and you could feel his smirk; hear it in his words. “Why don’t you cum again for your sir, so he can fill you up?”

“Hnng– Yeah,” you moaned, “Please, please–” 

“You hear that slick while I fuck you, huh? You hear it?” Bucky asked, his voice deep and just as wrecked.

You nodded, closing your eyes to listen to his hitched moans and wet sounds of his cock as he fucked you deep and hard, the long strokes against your walls heavenly. “Mhm–”

“Give it to me then, slut,” he snapped, driving his hips faster, “Fuckin’ perfect pussy, can feel you squeezin’ me and beggin’ to be fucked an’ filled, baby—c’mon.”

There was no time to voice the pressure you felt as a third, devastating climax burst — you could feel your release coat your inner thighs and drip down onto the bed, and Bucky’s cock only forced more of it out. “Yes, yes, yes,” he grunted into your neck, “good girl.” 

The hard pressure of his teeth over the skin of your neck intensified the fire in your veins. 

Bucky’s muffled moans grew in volume when his thrusts fell out of rhythm. “Gimme it, sir,” you moaned weakly, canting your ass up to meet his thrusts. “Fill me up—need it so bad.”

“Fuck.” He slammed his hips forward, pushing his cock to the hilt while it twitched. “Fuck, fuck, y’feel s’good, kitten,” he rasped, and you started to feel the pressure from his release coating your walls. A guttural moan filled the air and you whimpered. 

“Good girl, good girl,” Bucky praised, lowering his body over yours while his cock still twitched in your cunt. “Takin’ me so well, tha’s it—jus’ a bit more, good girl.” 

Your sense for words had long vanished, so you laid there, under his weight feeling protected and full of him. 

Eventually, you managed to mumble, “Happy Christmas t’a me.” 

You felt Bucky’s chest shake with laughter against your back, and you smiled dazedly. “Merry fuckin’ Christmas, Honey,” he cooed, kissing your temple. 

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #babb2023 #rookthorne's works

[writeforfandoms]

Roardin

Find my CoD Masterlist

Title is the song “Roardin” by Marcela Bovio. Highly recommend listening to it before/during/after reading. 

This idea started as musing on this headcanon from the amazing mind of @soapskneebrace​ and she gave me permission to run with it. And then, uh. This happened. I... have no idea how. This one got away from me. There was an entire subplot that I cut. Gaz wasn’t even supposed to be here BUT HE IS. Look idk I’m just gonna yeet this and run. 

Soap x plus size f!reader

You’ve loved Johnny for a long time, but you’re convinced the feeling is not reciprocated. So you keep it to yourself and, well, at least he’s still your friend. 

Warnings: Swearing, some very unhealthy mental state on reader’s part, they’re both idiots, idiots to lovers. 

Word count: 7.5k

The first time you met Johnny was at a party. Your friend Emily had promised you it would be a lowkey thing. 

So of course there were twenty people. 

You ended up sitting on a chair, watching Emily flirt with one of the others. You were trying not to be bitter, but it was hard when you felt so alone. You didn’t know anyone but Emily, and you weren’t great in big social situations like this. So you sat and watched people, holding a cup of beer that was slowly growing warm in the balmy night. 

Someone dropped down into the chair next to you, and you blinked at him. He was handsome, dark hair kept short, blue eyes bright. 

“Doin’ alright?” he asked, smile kind, gaze focused on you. 

You were so startled you blinked at him, owlish. And then you nodded. “Yeah, just, uh.” You shrugged, ducking your head a little. “More people than I anticipated.” 

He nodded, leaning back in his seat. “Aye,” he murmured. “Me too.” 

"Who are you here with?" You glanced at him, cautiously optimistic. So far he was nice. 

"Eric, the blonde over there." He nodded in the correct direction. "You?"

"Emily." You looked around for her. 

And, as if summoned by her name, she appeared at your shoulder. "I don't think we've met," she said, flirty smile in place, holding out a hand to your conversation partner. 

"John." He shook her hand and then looked at you. But you were too slow to respond, too startled - Emily had already moved in, smile bright as she started talking to him. 

And you leaned back in your chair, feeling frumpy and boring in comparison. You weren't good at this sort of thing. You weren't the most personable person, you couldn't stop and talk with anyone. You didn't have the same kind of social battery that Emily did. 

So you mentally wrote the night off as a loss and contented yourself with being on the outskirts of this conversation. Which was becoming more flirting by the moment. 

Yeah. You were definitely sidelined, especially when you noticed Emily shifting closer to him, tossing her hair back behind her shoulder, eyes bright and confident. 

Maybe you'd get lucky and she'd drop you off at home before she went home with him, or something. 

After half an hour of listening to them flirt, you'd had enough. You stood, touching the back of Emily's shoulder with two fingers to get her to pay attention. 

"I'm gonna get a ride home," you said, gaze flitting to John and then down to the floor. "It was nice to meet you." 

If he responded, you didn't hear it, already heading for the door. 

You wouldn't be missed. 

You would have liked to talk to John a bit more before Emily stole him away, but you knew you didn't hold a candle to her. In so many ways. 

You were used to playing second fiddle to her. 

You honestly never expected to see John again. Not unless Emily nabbed him as more than just a bed partner for the night, but you weren't sure that would happen. 

So when someone sat across from you at the coffee shop, you felt yourself stiffen and prepare to make an excuse to leave. 

Until your gaze met brilliant blue again. 

"Oh," you murmured, blinking at him. "Hi." 

"Hi." His smile was warm but still soft, and a little bashful. "Hope ye don't mind, spotted you as I got m' drink." 

"Not at all." You smiled, a little thrill zinging down your spine. He'd actually chosen to sit with you! "Just unexpected, that's all. How are you?" 

"Oh, dandy. Enjoying my time off while it lasts." He winked, leaving you little doubt as to how he was enjoying. "You?"

You shrugged. "Wishing I knew more languages to cuss out this paper," you said, light and cheerful. 

“School?” he asked, leaning a little closer. 

“Mmhm.” You sighed at your laptop. “It’s annoying.” 

He chuckled. “Anything I can help with?” 

“That depends,” you said slowly, blinking at him. “Know anything about Paradise Lost?” 

“Not really. Had to read a bit of it, but not much.” He looked sheepish now.

“Don’t worry about it.” You shut your laptop. “I’ll figure it out later. I’m an expert procrastinator at this point.”

He snorted and then grinned at you. “Oh, aye? Not one to get things done early?” 

“I try, and then things happen, and then I end up doing them last minute.” It was your turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hunching a little. 

He laughed, playing with his coffee. “Well, you get it all done.”

“I do.” You relaxed a little at the lack of judgment. “Are you studying?” 

He shook his head a little. “Military.”

“Ah.” You blinked. It made sense, looking at him. “What do you think of it so far?” 

He made a complicated expression. “I’m glad I joined,” he said, firm and sure. “There are… ups and downs. Like any job.” His lips twisted. 

“Understandable,” you agreed, leaning back in your seat. “You’re on leave, then? How much longer do you have?”

“A few more days.” He shrugged, watching you from under his lashes. 

“I hope you get to enjoy.” Your smile was small but genuine. Your phone buzzed on the table, and you looked down to check it, making a face. “Dammit. I’m sorry, I have to go, apparently my apartment is flooding?” 

He blinked at you but nodded. “Good luck,” he said, watching you shove your laptop into your backpack. 

You murmured your thanks to him and took off. Well. There went your mood. And also some good company. 

You didn’t let yourself really register the disappointment, though, pushing past it and shoving it down to think about never. 

Surely, that would be it. He only had a few days of leave left, he’d said so himself. There was no way you were going to see him again. 

You saw him again. 

Normally you didn’t really go out, preferring to stay in the quiet solace of your room. But your room was temporarily off limits while repairs happened from the flooding, and you were all off-kilter, so you decided to go out at the invitation of a classmate to a local pub. 

Dinner, you said. And one drink. Your classmate (a really nice girl named Claire) agreed eagerly. (Which surprised you - you were too much of a wet blanket for people to get excited about going anywhere with you.) 

The two of you sat at the pub and chatted. It was nice. It was easy. You had some musical tastes in common, which helped. 

You both settled your bills and then she waved at someone. “A couple friends of mine are here, do you want to come meet them?” she asked, happy and eager. 

You turned to look, and blinked when those same blue eyes met yours across the room. What were the odds? You recognized the blonde next to him - Eric. From the party.

What a small world.

“Sure,” you agreed shyly, ducking your head briefly. But you gamely followed Claire over to the table, introducing yourself and settling into your seat, shoulders hunched to try to take up less room. 

For a little while, you just sat and listened to the others, content to fade into the background. But slowly, John nudged you into adding your opinion. It was odd, but in a nice way. You didn’t mind. 

And when you finally checked your phone and realized the time, you made your excuses. You had to get up in the morning. 

“Do you want me to drive you back?” Claire asked, a little concerned.

“Nah, it’s not that far to campus.” You smiled. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, yeah?”

“Of course!” She beamed at you. 

To your surprise, though, John stood when you did. “I’ll walk you back,” he murmured. “And I’ve got a plane to catch in the morning.” 

“Right.” You grabbed your things and waved once more to the table before you headed out, John a few respectful steps behind you. The air was chilly as you stepped out of the pub, and you paused a moment to adjust. “I’m okay to walk back on my own if you’d rather just grab a ride,” you offered, looking at John. 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I offered,” he pointed out. “How’s the, uh, Milton thing coming?”

“Oh, I’m still procrastinating,” you admitted, ducking your head as you started walking. “My current plan is to bang it out on Saturday.”

He tipped his head back to laugh, beautiful and bright. “Aye, that’s a plan,” he agreed, fingers just touching your elbow as you crossed a street. 

You took a deep breath, nerves fluttering in your stomach. “You know… If you ever got bored… you could text me sometime.” The offer came out smaller than you intended, and you winced at yourself. No wonder nobody bothered with you. 

“Sure,” he agreed, so quickly you lifted your head to blink at him. He was already pulling out his phone. “What’s your number?” 

You rattled it off, and moments later your phone buzzed in your pocket with a new text. 

“Ah’m not always the best at texting,” he said, a hint of nerves entering his voice. “But, uh.”

“It’s fine,” you assured him. “Like I said, if you’re bored or want to chat or whatever. I get it.” 

His smile relaxed at that and he nodded. 

“Well, this is me.” You stopped outside the residential area, turning to look at him. “Thanks for walking me back.”

“My pleasure.” He shifted a little closer to you, eyes bright. 

For a moment, you two simply stood and looked at each other, the air thick between the two of you. Then a door slammed and loud laughter echoed from an open window. 

“Have a good flight, and stay safe, okay?” You smiled at him, one hand reaching out and then retracting. 

But he held out his arms and lifted one eyebrow in silent question. You smiled and stepped into him, hugging him. And oh, he was warm and he was a good hugger. 

You stepped back before things edged into longer than socially acceptable, and his hands slid from your back. 

“I’ll text you,” he promised. “Good luck with your paper.”

You nodded and let him go, waving briefly before you turned to head to your building. 

Honestly, you half-expected him to fall through. It was easy to not expect much of people, a well-developed defense mechanism. 

It was hard to be disappointed when you didn’t expect anything. 

So when he texted you the next day to say he was back on base, you were pleasantly surprised. 

And he didn’t stop texting, either. Sometimes he wouldn’t for days or weeks, but he always got back to you when he could, hours long conversations making up for the necessary silences. 

You didn’t see him in person though for months. When he finally had leave again, he was busy - going out with friends, hiking, playing football. 

You even managed to see him a few times. Out at a bar one night, Emily once again dragging you out. He talked you into going hiking with him and a few of his buddies. (That one you regretted a little, feeling self-conscious around them.) 

But you began to notice more about him.

John had a lot of friends, and he seemed to be pretty casual with most of them. Friendly bumps or hugs were normal for him. Despite how often he went out, he never arrived to events with a date, always on his own.

But he often left with someone on his arm. Often a girl - one time a guy. (Thinking very briefly about that had left you warm and flustered for the rest of the night.) Emily went home with him a second time, and she gushed to you about him the next day.

But there was no expectation of more. Just sex.

You had no idea how they did it, but, more power to them. As long as everybody was happy with that arrangement, you weren’t going to rain on their parade. 

Months turned into years, and you watched as some of his friends drifted away due to time and distance and whatever else. Most of your friends were transitory, in and out of your life. You watched as he changed his hair, growing out a single stripe for a mohawk. You watched as his confidence settled into something proven without being boastful. You watched as he hid demons and nightmares behind smiles, as his job took him around the globe. (Which you only knew because he’d text you sometimes about the views or the weather. Never anything identifying, but you hoarded those dregs of information anyway.)

You always sent him a birthday text, even if he didn’t respond to it for days. He often missed yours, which you brushed off. But he didn’t miss holidays, either showing up a few days beforehand (he always spent the actual day with his family) or sending you gifts. 

Your friendship had settled into something deeper, something that lasted. Something that withstood the time apart and the silences and the rigors of his job. 

You, however, stubbornly ignored that your feelings ran deeper. That you cared for him, too much. More than you should. More than he cared for you, certainly. But you held your silence and ignored the longing and did your best to simply be there and be the best friend you could be. 

Which, really, was easy in some ways. The two of you just got on, had from the very start. Arguments were rare between the two of you, and you were always able to pick right back up where you left off around his absences. 

It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable pattern, but it was a pattern, one you were content to hold. It was enough to be in his orbit, to circle around him. It was enough. 

So seeing a text from him made you smile, even in the slurry slushy rain-sleet of December. 

Gonna be home for three weeks. You got time?

You read the message twice. Three weeks was longer than normal, even with the holidays around the corner. Maybe he needed some extra time to recover from something? But you could find out, you didn’t need to push now. 

For you? Always.

Well. That had probably been too honest. But it had been months since you’d seen him, and he was often silent on top secret missions. So, yeah, too honest but undeniable. 

Should be back in two days. See you soon.

You hummed and put it out of your mind for now. 

But if you ended up cleaning your apartment… well. That was just in case, really. And it needed to be done. So there.

(Even in the privacy of your own mind, you weren’t fooling anybody.) 

Two days later, your phone started buzzing with an incoming call, and you picked up with a grin. 

“Not dead yet?” you teased gently in what had become nearly a routine for the two of you.

He chuckled, the sound soothing the ball of anxiety that sat in your chest every time he went silent. “Not yet,” he agreed. “How are ye, sweets?” 

“Oh, the usual.” You smiled a little. “You?”

“Mandatory leave,” he answered on a sigh. “Got some company, though. One o’ my mates is here for a week ‘fore going home to his family.” 

“Sounds like fun,” you agreed, glancing at your calendar. “Work is still the same for me - any time after 5:30 or so I’m open, or weekends.” 

“No plans?” Johnny asked as gently as he could. 

You huffed. “No. No plans.”

The words sat between you, heavy and thick, for three heartbeats. Then Johnny clicked his tongue. 

“Won’t do,” he said with cheer that felt a little forced to you. “I’ll fix ye right up!” 

You laughed softly. “Just whatever you have time for,” you assured him. “I’m fine.”

“Ye’re home alone with reruns on doin’ nothin’ exciting,” Johnny predicted, and damn it all, he knew you too well. 

“That’s neither here nor there.” Your gaze skittered down to the floor. 

“Then come out with Gaz and I. Tomorrow. We can meet at our pub.”

Your lips twitched entirely against your will. “What time?”

“After work.”

You huffed a little laugh. “Alright,” you agreed. “I’ll meet you there tomorrow.” 

“Excellent.” The grin was clear in his voice. “See ye soon, sweets.”

“See you soon,” you agreed, reluctant to hang up but knowing you had to go. Well. More like you had to let him go. But you made yourself hang up. 

Now you just had to get through work and you’d be able to see arguably your favorite person on the planet. And one of his friends. Who also worked with him. 

No big deal.

You still showed up at the pub after work, looking around for Johnny. 

All you saw was a bright grin and that mohawk before arms grabbed you in a tight hug, absolutely uncaring of the rest of the pub. You squeaked as Johnny picked you up for a quick twirl, something you protested feebly. You were not some teeny dainty thing, you didn’t want him hurting himself. 

“There’s my sweets!” he crowed, finally setting you down. “Come meet Gaz.” Keeping hold of your hand, he led you over to a table in the back, where a dark-skinned man was already sitting waiting. “Gaz, this is my sweets.” 

You rolled your eyes and gave Gaz your actual name, holding out your hand for him to shake. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“You too.” He smiled at you, easy and warm. “This idiot doesn’t shut up about you.” 

“Oh really?” You turned to Johnny with a teasing smile. 

Johnny shrugged, shameless. “Hard not to when ye send me packages,” he said, ushering you into a seat and finally releasing your hand. “I’ll grab this round, aye?” And he was gone before you could protest. 

You huffed a little laugh, shaking your head. “I hope he actually shares and doesn’t just dangle the packages in front of you,” you said, grinning. 

“Sometimes,” Gaz said with an easy shrug. “Sometimes he just hoards things.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Sounds like him,” you agreed, fondness bleeding into your tone, even as you turned a little to look for him. He was easy to spot, leaning up against the bar, probably flirting with the admittedly very pretty bartender (who looked mostly amused). The sight didn’t even hurt (much) - you were just happy to see him. 

“How long have you known him?” Gaz sounded curious, and you snapped your gaze back to him.

“Oh, years now.” You smiled. “Met him when I was in college and got dragged out to a party.” 

He chuckled. “Haven’t gotten rid of him since?” he teased, though the way he looked at you was sharp, assessing. 

“Why in the world would I do that?” You shook your head, amused. “He’s a good friend. One of the best.” 

Gaz nodded slowly but didn’t have a chance to say more before Johnny was back, putting down drinks in front of you. 

“Here ye are,” he said with a grin and a dramatic wave of his hand. “Take yer pick, sweets.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Gaz grumbled good-naturedly, making you laugh even as you picked your drink. 

“Something like that,” you agreed, grinning. “So, what was your favorite thing this time?” You took a sip of your drink, watching Johnny go off about some cafe he’d found on assignment in some other country, and how much it had annoyed someone he called “LT” when he stopped there for every meal one day. 

From there, the rest of the night was easy. You didn’t drink much, aware you still had to work the next day, but you relaxed. Gaz was funny and nice and interesting, much like Johnny. You ended up giving him your number at the end of the night and promising to send him packages too, so Johnny wouldn’t be the only one having fun.

Johnny’s overly dramatic clasping of his heart sent you into peals of laughter again. 

And when you needed to go, both men stood to see you out, offering to walk you home, which you gently turned down. 

“You gonna come tomorrow?” Johnny asked hopefully. “Arranging a football match.” 

“If you want me there, I’ll be there,” you agreed. “Just text me where and when.”

“Copy that.” He smiled, warm and beautiful under the street lights, everything you wanted and couldn’t have. 

“See you tomorrow, Johnny.” But you couldn’t resist darting in for one more hug, just one. Just to get a whiff of him to take home with you. He barely had time to respond before you were pulling back, bright smile in place as you took off for home.

You couldn’t let yourself linger or you’d do something damn foolish. 

To your surprise, Gaz checked in to ask if you got home safe. He really was sweet. You reassured both him and Johnny that all was well before you went to bed. 

You had plenty of time to get to the football game after work, since most of the players also had to work. You’d brought an extra sweater, in case you stayed out later than you meant to and got cold, and found a place to sit and wait. 

“Sweets!” Johnny jogged up to you, beaming, Gaz not far behind. “Been waitin’ long?”

“Just a few minutes.” You smiled up at him. “Did you two keep out of mischief today?”

“Sweets, I am hurt! Destroyed! Me, mischief?” Johnny pressed a hand to his chest, staggering back two steps with an exaggerated look of hurt. 

“She knows you too well,” Gaz drawled, and ducked the swat aimed at his head. 

“I take that as a no,” you said, laughing, watching the two tussle. “Save some of that energy for the match, I need some excitement today.”

“Bad day?” Johnny paused, one arm still wrapped loosely around Gaz’s neck, focus shifting to you so fast you were surprised he didn’t hurt himself.

“Just long.” Your smile felt brittle, small, and you tried to force it to be better. To be a better shield. “It’s fine, I’ve been looking forward to watching all day.”

“You don’t play?” Gaz asked, and you could have hugged him for keeping Johnny from fussing.

“Oh, no. I’ll kick a ball around, but I can’t keep up with an actual game.” You shrugged easily, gaze falling to the grass. “I’m just here for moral support when Johnny loses.”

Johnny puffed up, successfully distracted. “That was once! One time!”

Other people started showing up, and Johnny was quick to introduce Gaz around. You stayed where you were, waving to some people you knew, content to be on the edges of things. 

And of course Emily was there, with a few other women, all standing in a group chatting on the edges of the unofficial field. You hunched into yourself, gaze skittering away from her. 

You shouldn’t have come. But it was too late now. 

You kept your gaze on Johnny instead. It wasn’t hard. He was so vibrant, laughing and cursing and jostling the others. It was never a hardship to watch him. 

The game broke up eventually, and you weren’t sure which team had won. Or even if there had been real teams. But they all seemed happy, trooping together to the side with the women to talk about dinner plans. 

You did not miss the way Emily curled a hand around Johnny’s arm, leaned in close to him, flashed a pretty smile at him. You swallowed and looked away when he nodded, barely having to dip his head to get closer to her. 

You didn’t need to watch. You already knew where this was going. 

Thanking all your lucky stars that you’re quiet and invisible when you want to be, you gathered up your things. It was time to go. 

“Leaving already?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Gaz’s question, hand flying to your chest. “I didn’t hear you come up,” you said, a weak defense for the way your heart thundered in your chest. 

“Sorry. Habit.” His lips twisted as he gave you a quick once-over. “Seriously, though, you out? They’re talking about getting food.”

“Some of them are.” You smiled up at him, holding your extra sweater tight to your stomach. “It’s okay, I’ve got food at home.” 

He looked over at the group, his brow furrowing a little. You didn’t need to, but you followed his gaze anyway to see Emily and Johnny stepping away from the group. 

Just as you knew would happen. 

Gaz’s jaw clenched and then he looked back at you with something far too close to pity in his eyes. “Come have dinner with me. My treat, yeah? We can have a nice quiet time of it, if you like.” 

You opened your mouth to refuse him… but nodded. He didn’t really know anyone else here, and Johnny had kind of abandoned him too. “Yeah. Okay. I know a nice place, if you like Italian?” 

“Sounds good to me.” He held out his arm in a gallant move, which at least got you to smile. 

The two of you were quiet as you walked, you steering, him simply keeping pace. 

“So,” he finally started, quiet, gentle, “how long have you been in love with that idiot, then?” 

You debated lying to him. He couldn’t know that for certain. He was taking a shot in the dark, testing his accuracy. But you knew as soon as you glanced at those brown eyes that there would be no lying. No getting out of this. So you deflated, eyes closing briefly, even as you pulled your shoulders in, sinking into yourself. “I’m not sure. A few years?” 

“You haven’t said anything?” He rested his free hand over yours, squeezing gently. Offering silent support. 

“No.” You shook your head, almost desperately. “No, and I’m not going to.”

He stopped, pulling you to a stop with him. “Why not?” He looked genuinely bewildered. 

You stared at him. “You’re joking, right?” You pulled your hand away, crossing your arms tight over your chest. “I mean, look at me. It’s obvious.” 

He continued to look confused, gaze darting over you. “Explain it to me.” 

You shook your head, taking a step back. “Maybe I should just go.”

“Whoa, hey, no.” He held up his hands, frowning a little. “I’m sorry, that was too much. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You breathed in slowly, letting the cold air burn down your throat and in your lungs, holding it for just long enough to begin to feel the sting before you let it out in a whoosh. But his pleading eyes got to you, and you sighed. “Alright, yeah. Okay.” 

“Thank you.” He stepped closer again and offered his arm again, looking hopeful. You tucked your hand in his arm again and finished leading him to the restaurant. But the silence between you now was tense, stifled. 

“This is it.” You nodded at the restaurant just up ahead, gaze immediately dropping to the ground again. 

The two of you got seated at a table in the back, because the owner knew you, and sat for a few moments, your shoulders winding tighter with each passing heartbeat. 

“Hey.” Gaz ducked his head a little, trying to catch your gaze. “I’m sorry. I won’t push. Alright?” 

You nodded, chewing on your lip for a moment. “Okay.” 

“Tell me about your job?” He tipped his head a little. “Or a hobby.”

“Well, I suppose that’s fair, since I know probably too much about your job.” Your lips twitched in almost humor but you drew in a deep breath to start talking. 

It didn’t take long for the space between you to ease again, and dinner was more relaxed. The two of you carefully danced around the subject of Johnny and your feelings, but Gaz had plenty of amusing work stories that he could share with you. (And some pictures. Your favorite was the one of their captain slumped in his chair at his desk fast asleep. You wanted to drape a blanket over him and leave him cookies. When you told Gaz as much, Gaz looked surprised and then undeniably fond.) 

Gaz paid, ignoring your arguments, and then offered to walk you home. 

“I hope he at least left you a key.” It was the first time you’d directly brought up Johnny since before you’d arrived at the restaurant. 

“Yeah, I’m set.” Gaz shook his head a little. “Don’t worry about me.”

You huffed. “You don’t know me well, so I’ll give you a pass on that this time,” you grumbled. “I am physically incapable of not worrying about my friends.” 

He ducked his head, smiling, and then shook his head. “You must worry a lot, then.”

“Fair bit, yeah.” You shrugged. “It’s okay.” 

“I know I said I’d leave this alone…” 

Your heart dropped. Well, you’d known that was too good to last. “What do you want to know?”

“How often has he done that?” 

“What, go home with someone?” You shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve kept track.” 

“How often does he do it when you’re out with him?” Gaz looked down at you, concerned. 

“Not all the time. And he knows Emily, they’ve, um, hooked up before.” You looked away, shrugging, fighting down your discomfort. 

Gaz blew out a breath, muttering something you couldn’t understand. “If you ever want to talk,” he offered slowly, carefully, “I’m here. Yeah?”

You stopped, then, frowning at him. “Why?” 

“Because you’re sweet, and you deserve to have someone support you.” Gaz shrugged. “Since that idiot is too blind to see what’s right in front of him, I’ll do what I can.” 

You held his gaze, frowning just a little, looking for any signs of teasing or deceit. But you found none. So you nodded slowly. “Okay. Thank you.” 

He just nodded, smiling a little, and walked you the rest of the way to your apartment building in silence. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” You took one last look at him and then went inside. 

Life would be so much less complicated if you could just… fall out of love with Johnny. You’d probably even be happier for it. 

But you couldn’t. It was out of your hands - your heart had decided and didn’t seem to be budging any time soon. 

With a low groan, you gave up and flopped face-first into bed. Maybe you’d manage to smother yourself. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with all of this. 

Johnny texted you over the next couple days, but didn’t invite you anywhere. You knew one day he dragged Gaz off on a full day hiking adventure - you advised Gaz to bring chemical heat packs, because Johnny always forgot. 

But this was a good thing. A little space to get your head on straight again, to shove that longing back in its box where it belonged. Where you could absolutely bury it. 

Saturday you didn’t get an invitation. You just got knocking on your door, too bright and early. You stumbled over to the door, bleary-eyed, and yanked the door open to yell at whatever fool dared disturb you this early.

Only to be met head-on with Johnny’s puppy dog pout.

You glowered for a solid four seconds before you sighed and left the door open, going to the kitchen instead. You needed caffeine. 

“I brought you some,” Johnny bribed, following you in. “Here.” He held out a to-go cup. You could tell from the smell it was just the way you liked.

“What do you want, Johnny?” You took your cup, curling around it, not quite awake enough to be embarrassed about your state of dress. 

“It’s Gaz’s last day here,” he said, looking hopeful. “Was hopin’ you’d spend it with us.”

“You have plans?” you asked on a sigh. You already knew you’d say yes.

“Nah, figured we’d figure it out as we went.” 

“Fine. Let me get dressed.” You took your cup with you into your room, shutting the door pointedly. 

This was going to be an absolute disaster, you could tell. But you were going to see it through anyway. Because you were a damned fool. 

Johnny was quick to grin when you rejoined him, pulling you along in his orbit as he led. His mood was contagious, and always had been. Before long, you were no longer grumpy, smiling along and letting the other two lead. 

The day really wasn't a total disaster. Actually you had a lot of fun. You went on an easy hike, tried a new place for lunch, explored an art museum, and had finally stopped back at your pub for dinner and a few drinks. 

Gaz excused himself for a minute and Johnny leaned into your space, comfortable and easy. 

"Y'know, he might fancy you," he murmured with a conspiratorial wink. "If ye wanted to…" He wiggled his eyebrows, playful and suggestive. 

But you just stared at him, blank at first, but with growing pain. "He doesn't fancy me."

Johnny snorted. "Think I know him a bit better’n you do, sweets." 

You shook your head, disbelieving. He could not possibly be this blind. "He doesn't fancy me, Johnny. I know. We had a conversation." 

"You–what? When?" He leaned forward, eyes bright, clearly expecting gossip. 

You scoffed a laugh, looking up at the ceiling. "After the football game, when you left with Emily." 

He looked away briefly, jaw clenching. "Oh." 

"Yes, oh." You shook your head, looking at your half-finished drink and knowing you weren't going to finish it. "He and I talked a lot that night. He's nice. He's a good friend. But we both know he and I won't go anywhere." 

"Oh? Ye ken, do ye?" He leaned in, a challenge in his eyes. "How do ye ken?" 

"Because I love you, you absolute dafty." 

The words escaped entirely without permission, and your eyes went wide. The world froze. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. You just stared at Johnny as his eyes went wide too, uncomprehending. 

You didn't wait for reality to set in. You fled. Someone may have called after you, but you could barely hear through the rushing in your ears, your heart pounding so loud against your ribs that it hurt. 

You didn't stop until you were back in your flat, shaky hands locking the door. Which was about when reality set in. You'd told him. You'd told him. And there was no way to laugh it off as a joke now, no way to take it back or stuff it back down. 

Somehow, you ended up in the shower, pressed against the wall, gasping breaths humid and heaving. 

You weren't sure you'd ever recover from this. 

But you forced yourself to move. Because what else was there to do, now? You couldn't go back. You couldn't take it back. 

You had to move. 

In this case, that meant finishing your shower. Cleaning up your clothes. Putting on your baggiest sweatshirt, the one that made you feel okay because it was simultaneously like being hugged and being hidden, and curling up on the couch. And turning your phone on silent so you could ignore it. 

That wouldn't work forever, and you knew it. But it would work for now. You just needed it to work for now. 

Sunday was a blur. You barely remembered what you did. You had no idea what you ate, if you even ate. When you did dare to check your phone, you had a dozen missed calls and even more texts. 

You ignored the ones from Johnny for now. Just the thought threatened to send you back into a panic spiral. 

But Gaz should be safe. 

Soap told me. That was definitely a way to do it. 

Let us know you're home safe, yeah?

I get it if you don't want to talk. You don't have to. 

Flying out today. Text me when you can. 

Let one of us know you're safe or he might break down your door. 

Please.

You breathed slowly, reading through them again. Nothing about how Johnny felt, how he'd reacted. 

You weren't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. 

I'm fine. I'm home. I hope you had a safe flight. Sorry I didn't see you off. 

You hit send before you could talk yourself out of it, and promptly hid again. 

One more day and Johnny would be going to visit his family for the holidays. 

You left a full half hour earlier than normal to go to work, anxious and keyed up and unable to sleep. 

But you couldn't break your habits, not entirely. You scrolled past all the texts Johnny had left you, too anxious to read most of them, and sent him a quick text. 

Have a safe trip, John. 

You put your phone away again before the temptation to read through his texts got the better of you at work. 

But you couldn't hold off once you got back home. 

Most of his texts were check ins, requests to call him or text him, let him know you were okay. A few were apologies. 

But one… 

Sweets please call me, please. We can talk this out. I'm a damn fool but I swear I'll make it up to you. 

And that? Well, that could really go either way, couldn't it?

You buried your face in your pillow and cried. Just a little. For lost things and broken things. For things you couldn't have. 

Two more days of work and then you had the rest of the year off. You could make it two more days without breaking down. 

Have you talked to Soap yet? Gaz asked via text the next day. 

Not yet. You were a little ashamed to admit it. But only a little. 

Call him. We had a long talk last night. It will be okay. 

You stuffed your phone away again before your hands could start shaking any worse, anxiety and insecurity surging. 

You dragged yourself home from work Wednesday and froze. 

Johnny was standing outside your flat, shoulders hunched, hair wild like he'd been pulling on it. He spotted you and froze, expression torn between hope and fear. 

"Johnny?" You approached slowly, keys in hand. "You're… here?" 

"Aye." He scratched the side of his head, shifting his weight. "Talked to my ma. And Gaz. Ma told me to, uh. Fix this." 

"Fix?" Your heart went cold at the thought, and you shook your head. "It's hardly your fault, Johnny, you don't have to–" 

"Please." He put one hand over yours, light as a feather. Just enough to make you realize your hands were shaking even as you tried to unlock the door. 

You'd always been terrible at telling him no. So you swallowed and nodded, pushing open the door for the both of you. 

"Can I get you anything?" You glanced at him as you put your things down, kicking off your shoes. 

He shook his head, watching as you buzzed around for a minute, putting things away and getting water for the both of you anyway. You couldn't bear the look in his eyes, the quiet grief there. 

So you tried to head it off. 

"Really, Johnny, you don't have to fix anything. I'm… I'll be okay." 

"Were you ever going to tell me?" He watched you now, gaze pinning you in place. 

"Not if I could help it." You gulped. "It was… you didn't reciprocate, and I didn't want to ruin our friendship. I didn't want this exact thing to happen." 

"What made you think I don't have feelings for you?" He spoke slowly and carefully. 

"John." You shook your head. "I've seen the kind of woman you go home with, and they don't… look like me." 

He winced. Actually winced. "That's not…" He trailed off, anguished eyes meeting yours, struggle clear on his face. 

"It's okay." You even managed to smile. "I know I'm not exactly the standard of beauty, and I'm not anyone's first choice. I understand." 

"But ye are!" He jumped to his feet, pacing in front of the couch. "Sweets, I never ask those people over ta mine, ye ken? They ask me." 

You blinked. That was… surprising, granted. But it didn't change much. "Okay?" 

He sighed, short and sharp, tugging at his mohawk again. "I did flirt with ye." 

"What?" You blinked at him, absolutely stupefied. 

"In the beginning. Tried flirting. Ye dinnae seem open to it, so ah stopped." 

"You… with me?" You were still stuck on that, brain whirring, trying to go back through your memories of your early friendship with him. 

"Aye, with ye." He looked sad for some reason you didn't understand. 

"When?!" You stared at him, flabbergasted. 

He huffed a little laugh. "Plenty." He stared at you, halted several steps away. "Ye didn't ken?"

"I had no idea." You slumped a little. 

He snorted, a little wet, and scrubbed his hand through his hair. "Any idiot would be lucky to have ye." 

"Any idiot…?" Hope curled around your heart, delicate but growing every moment. 

Johnny crossed the room, dropping to his knees in front of you, hands bracketing your thighs. "I would be lucky," he amended, looking up at you earnestly. 

"You don't mean that." Tears pricked in your eyes, and you blinked rapidly. 

"I do." Slowly, carefully, one hand migrated to your knee. "I really do." 

You gasped at the intensity of his gaze, trembling a little. "But I'm…" you trailed off, hands clenched tight in the hem of your shirt. 

"Beautiful." He sat up on his knees, leaning in closer. "Warm." His other hand landed on your other knee. "Kind." Both hands squeezed gently. "One o' the sweetest people I ken." 

"Johnny…" You stared at him, lips parted, hope and longing and disbelief all swirled up together in your chest. 

"Please, sweets." He shifted closer to you, hands rubbing restlessly but never progressing past the tops of your knees. "Lemme show ye, prove to ye I mean it." 

"Okay." 

You weren't sure who moved first, you or him. But it ended the same: kissing him, one palm against his jaw, the other in his hair, while he pressed as close to you as he could get. You slowly spread your knees and he moaned softly, immediately shuffling into the space presented, still on his knees. 

"So sorry, sweets." He kissed you again, one hand lifting to the back of your neck, holding you where he wanted you. "Ah'm an eejit." 

"We both are," you whispered, thumb stroking over his cheek tenderly. 

"Now, sweets, won't hear a word against ye." He pulled back, grinning when you tried to chase his lips. "Got it?"

"Fine, but please don't stop." You tightened your grip in his hair, trying to pull him back to you. 

Another several minutes were lost to kissing that slowly calmed from desperate to just lovely, slower and exploratory and open-mouthed and messy. 

"Come home wi' me," Johnny murmured in between placing sweet kisses along your jaw. 

"What?" You felt a little fried, like this was the best kind of dream, or like you had short-circuited and needed to reboot. 

"Promised Ma ah'd ask." 

"She's okay with this?" You felt bashful suddenly, dropping your gaze to your knees. 

Johnny laughed softly, nuzzling right at your pulse. "Threatened to kick me out, actually," he said, humor in his voice now. "If ah messed this up." 

You hid behind one hand, hot and flustered and trying to hide just how pleased you were. 

"Nah, none o' that,'' he clucked, pulling your hand away from your face. "Wanna see ye, sweets." 

And how could you say no to those eyes? "I mean…. If you're sure she's okay with it…" 

"More than okay," he reassured you, leaning up again to press his forehead to yours. 

"Then… okay." Your eyes suddenly widened. "I'll have to pack, and I don't have gifts for your family!"

"Ach, donnae fuss," he grumbled, though he was grinning. Beaming, really. "You are a gift." 

"That was awful." But you relaxed again, smiling. 

"Mm. Might'a been." His grin turned predatory, short nails scratching lightly against the back of your neck to make you gasp. "Now, how 'bout I show ye what we've both been missing…? Show ye exactly how beautiful ye are." 

Doubt flashed, a big blinking light in your brain. But there was nothing in his eyes but sincerity and desire, nothing harmful in the way he looked at you, not a hint of doubt in the way he kissed you. 

So you breathed in slowly, wrestling down your inner demons, ignoring their cries and screeches. And you nodded. 

"Yes, Johnny." 

#johnny soap mactavish x reader #f!reader

[drgrlfriend]

@brilcrist created this lovely art depicting a scene from my fic! My Heart Will Be Your Home by dr_girlfriend

Excerpt:

That is … definitely a guy fighting with a bow and arrow.  He’s tall and blond — could probably pass for Steve at a distance, but maybe even a touch taller and built a bit leaner — wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a fancy-looking recurve bow in his hand and a quiver strapped slantways across his back.  He’s got his back to a giant maple tree, and is firing arrows in a blur of motion while ducking lasers from the bots.  These ones look a little like the Daleks from that show Tony and Bruce love — vaguely conical and stumpy, with what seems to be a single laser on each.  

“Why ain’t he gettin’ up in that tree?” Bucky wonders aloud, revving through the preserve.  “It’s a better tactical position.”  He’s starting to see scattered bots now, and he slaloms a course through them, swinging his metal arm and sending them flying as he zooms by.

“Not everyone has sniper training,” Sam suggests.  “He’s probably just some archery hobbyist, or something.  Probably doesn’t know the first damn thing about fighting.”

A bot has gotten close up on the guy’s flank, and he seems to realize just in time.  He somersaults sideways, coming up with an arrow in his hand and jamming it directly into the bot’s side just as a shot from Redwing finishes it off.  

“I don’t know about that,” Steve says dryly.  “Seems to be doing pretty good to me.  Either way, we’re almost on him; Bucky, I’ll take the right side, you take the left.”

“Copy.”  There’s a line of bots advancing on the guy and Bucky pulls up with a sharp twist, planting his left foot and letting the rear of the bike skid sideways so that the back wheel takes out the bots like a row of dominoes.

Out of the corner of his eye Bucky sees Steve hurtle over the handlebars of his own motorcycle and yeet the whole damn thing at a cluster of bots.  No finesse, that guy.

Bucky jumps off his bike, swinging at the bots closest to him.  He’s just about dealt with that cluster and is only a few paces away from the archer when the guy’s eyes widen.  He lunges toward Bucky, pushing him aside just as one of the bots on the ground fires.

The man yelps and staggers, pressing a hand to his side.

“What kind of idiot are you?” Bucky growls, pulling the man back and putting his own body between him and the bot.  “Let me take the hits!” 

A furrow appears between the man’s brows, his mouth gaping for a moment, and then he seems to shake it off, nocking another arrow and loosing it.  It skims so close to Bucky’s face that it stirs his hair, and Bucky whirls to see another bot was sneaking up on him.

“Jesus, these things are everywhere,” Bucky complains, drawing his Glock and firing, taking out the laser of the one on the ground.  

“There’s a weak spot in the armor plating on the left side,” the man yells.  

Time seems to stop for a moment, Bucky’s heart stuttering and then kicking into overdrive.  The air around him suddenly seems crystal clear — Bucky can see every individual leaf on every tree, can hear the sighing of the wind and the rustle of the leaves, the whirring of the bots and the heartbeat and panting breaths of the guy as he ducks another laser.

“Bucky, did he —” Steve starts over the comm.

“Not now, Stevie,” Bucky manages.  He shakes off his shock and forcibly shoves the revelation to the back of his mind in order to focus on the task at hand.  Time seems to lurch back into a normal speed and Bucky concentrates on blocking the man from the line of fire of the largest cluster of approaching bots.

“I’ll make an opening, you run for it,” he shouts.

“I’m not leaving,” the man shouts back.  Jesus christ, another vigilante-wannabe.  They’re coming out of the woodwork these days.  Was this guy even in the park when all this started, or did he come looking for a fight?

“Watch your back,” Bucky instructs with a mental shrug, and then there’s no more time for words, the two of them fighting fiercely against the oncoming wave of bots.  

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #clint barton #hawkeye #winterhawk #marvel #avengers #fanfiction #my heart will be your home #my fic #fan art #brilcrist

[buckyalpine]

If it talks like a duck

I’m just in a silly goofy mood, I’m so sorry you have to deal with my shit. Just a lil more of this ridiculousness.  They’re not necessarily related 

Tony: Lets play guess the avenger, I’ll give you guys a clue and you guess who it is. Ass and no brains. 

Bucky: Steve

Steve:???

Bucky: *shrugs* Your plans consist of jumping out of windows and landing on your shield. 

Tony: Correct. Next, a lost puppy on 2 legs

Sam: Bucky

Bucky: What the hell? 

Tony: Bonus round, a lost puppy on 2 legs that blushes and freezes

Sam: Bucky, when y/n is in the same room as him

Bucky: What- no- 

You: Hey, what are you guys doing?

Bucky: *freezes before diving head first into the cushions* 

_____________________________

Tony: Truth or dare Bucky: Why are you like this

Tony: Just pick, 

Bucky: Truth

Tony: Do you have a crush on anyone on the team?

Bucky:…I pick dare

Tony: I dare you to tell me if you have a crush on anyone on the team

Bucky:…I’m putting myself back in cyro

Tony:....

Bucky: STEVE TAKE ME BACK TO RUSSIA 

_______________________________

You: Bucky, could you-

Bucky: yes.

You: oh, uh, are you sure? I was just going to ask if-

Bucky: yes.

You: It’s just that-

Bucky: yes.

A few days later

Sam: How did y/n rope you into taking care of her hamster?

*Hamster sits on his shoulder while they both watch a documentary on Netflix* 

Bucky: *brushes off sunflower seeds off his lap* Don’t ask. 

__________________________________

Sam: If it stares, growls and grunts like a bear, what is it

Steve: Bucky, when Walker talks to y/n

Bucky: Shut up punk

_________________________________

Sam: Two truths and a lie, go

Bucky: I don’t like anyone, my hair is brown and I have a metal arm

Sam: Those are all truths, one is supposed to be-

Bucky: *looks at you with heart eyes*

Sam: OH MY GOD YOU LIKE Y/-

Bucky: *Yeets Sam across the room* 

_________________________________

You: I can’t find my knife, has anyone seen it? I need it for the next mission. 

Sam: Here, take this with you *shoves Bucky by your side* He comes with knives, guns, and a staring problem. Great to shoo away unwanted attention.  

You: *poke his side teasingly* This could do, will you protect me Barnes?

Bucky: *blushes furiously when you slip your hand into his, tugging him to the jet* Always, doll

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fandom #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fan fiction #bucky fanfic #bucky fan fic #bucky fan fics #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fluff #tony stark #sam wilson #Steve Rogers #Iron Man #captain america #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfics #avengers fanfic

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 6: Fury

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, everyone! I know, I know - yeeting these out, aren’t I? A small change of plans, in that this one is the OG Chapter 4 split in half; I’m THIS close to having Chapter 7 done, too, and after that, it’s minor edits to the existing work. I’ve done the major reworking for this instalment, so yaaaaay! Only gotta rephrase/add slight things to upcoming chapters to make it all round out cohesively. As always, thanks to my slap daddy @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for reassuring me that this makes sense! YAY!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, violence, age gap, dubious consent.

Luring you in is easier said than done.

He finds you when and where he can, your seemingly untraceable movements easily resolved through quick conversation with Harrold Westerling, none other than the Lord Commander himself. A stolid, serious man, he’d taken little issue to his Prince’s request, providing Cole’s whereabouts with an ease that speaks to the Kingsguard’s acclimatisation to your routine. He does not particularly enjoy searching you out by means of the Stormlander knight, but needs must.

Daemon does it all, too. He spends what time he is able in your company, taking care not to press his suit too forcefully and scare you off; he regales you with tales of his nobler deeds and escorts you to meals with your family; he unearths his old stockpiles of accrued riches and selects the few among them he thinks you might like; he plies you with adulation and declares you to be the fairest maiden in all the known world, the envy of every creature fortunate enough to lay eyes upon you. He gives this endeavour all the effort he possesses, more so than any past conquest, for you are infinitely more valuable than some cheap fuck, and he is so sure that you will receive his attentions with a sweet smile and a ready spirit, all too willing to take the hand he is silently offering with every look and every word, urging you to accept him and—

And nothing. It drives him mad. So distracted is he that he begins to draw further and further away from his old associates, declining their entreaties wherever he might. The most recent occasion had left a rather sour taste in his mouth.

“Come on, man! Where is your head tonight?” Dargood asks, leaning across one of his many acquaintances to yell at him over the din. “You’ve not said a word all evening!”

Daemon lifts the tankard and takes a lengthy draught. “Ah—perhaps you bore me, then.” A wan smile curves as their gathered companions roar with laughter.

Truthfully, he’s been avoiding the lot of them; they desire little else than to drink and fight and fuck. While his taste for such pastimes hasn’t exactly waned, his enthusiasm has taken a great blow. He can only presume it has something to do with you, blasted tempting girl you are. Each time he resigns himself to one of these outings—each time he must playact at interest in the whores Dargood parades before him in yet another reputed establishment—all he sees in his mind’s eye is your face, wounded disappointment clouding your beauty and transforming it into something haunted and sorrowful.

Kettleblack snorts. “Of course he’s bored, what with his Delight waiting for him in the Keep! Probably wishing he was back in her right now!”

“Or is it his Delight in that shithole that he’s craving?” Hollard asks. The reminder of the whore—of that embarrassingly public affair in which he’d shouted your name in a fucking brothel, of all places—churns in Daemon’s gut.

He looks suspiciously towards Dargood, who shrugs innocently. Dargood had been the only one to pay attention as the whore had led him away and up the stairs; and, when he’d lurched from that shabby chamber after spilling himself like a green boy, he’d come across the other man loitering in the hall outside, expression alight as though he’d just learned some great secret.

He’d have to impress the importance of silence upon his longtime comrade a little more forcefully, it seems.

“Whatever will he do—two silver-haired lasses ready to spread their legs for him?” One of the men whose name he cannot recall grins, revealing his missing front teeth in all their hideous glory. Eyes glittering meanly, he adds, “Who has the time?”

Daemon dislikes the turn in conversation. “Now, now, lads,” he says with a conceited sneer, though his heart isn’t in it. “It’s poor form to tell tales of the royal bedchamber. Or one’s exploits in them.”

“Lucky bastard!”

He levels a look at this unknown. “I assure you; my mother and father were wed.” The manner in which he emphasises it, with a raise of the brow to accentuate, leaves no man unaware of his intent.

“Oi!” he exclaims, indignant even as the others guffaw. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Nothing at all. Only; they say bastards have a certain”—here, Daemon pauses and lets his gaze travel assessingly over his form, settling back with a smirk after completing his observation—“ look about them.”

Uproarious mirth follows his pronouncement, though it did not nearly warrant the volume with which the varied cackles and chortles now ring in his ears.

Hollard slaps his back, guffawing all the while. “Stop terrorising him, my Prince! He’s wroth enough as it is, what with you getting to tumble two Valyrian whores!”

“One cost me a single silver.” Daemon waves him off drolly. “You’re welcome to her. The other”—he thinks of Rhaenyra’s penchant for glittering jewels with a snide sort of affection—“well, you can’t afford her.”

“Tell you who I’d like to have a go with, eh,” Kettleblack slurs, having been in his cups for far longer than the gathering had taken place. “Our People’s Princess.” Daemon’s chest tightens at the mention of you. “Reckon she’d be a first-rate fuck, don’t you?”

“Mm.” Dargood smacks his lips after slamming his tankard back on the table, an unreadable stare trained upon his Prince. “She’s a shy little thing, isn’t she? Thought the confident ones were your type.”

“If it has a cunt between its legs, it’s my type.” This ignites a wave of jeers and more than one crass comment about whether or not he’s taken up horse-fucking as of late. “Oh, fuck off!” Kettleblack says irritably. “Not what I meant. Besides, she’s a looker. None of you would refuse, surely! Can you imagine it? The sound of her—”

He’s speaking before he even realises. “That’s enough.”

The harshness in his voice spurs them all to an abrupt silence.

Daemon had left not long after, unable to stomach spending longer than he had to their presence. Their ribald banter was by no means the most vulgar it had ever been—in fact, it was positively tame in comparison to some of the sentiments expressed in past encounters—but hearing them discuss you so crudely made him uncomfortably aware of how tasteless many of his own thoughts of you had been.

After this disturbing epiphany, he seeks distraction by throwing himself ever more into the task of winning you over, only to be thwarted at every turn.

His flattery is for naught; your lips curve up shyly when you look at him, but so too does this occur when any other compliments you. You absorb yourself in his stories, probing where you will and exclaiming in pretty ahs of girlish fascination, but so too does this happen when your half-sister natters on about her own day to your keen ear. You accept his gifts with earnest solemnity, clutching them to you as a child with a prized doll, but so too do you hold tight the flowers young Jacaerys presents to you after a morn spent in the sun.

Ever agreeable, ever kind, ever polite you are to his overtures—but you do not warm to him in the way he expected you to. The way he wishes you would. In truth, he isn’t entirely sure you are even aware of his motives, for you do not regard him with the same hesitance you do the Tyrell lord or Lannister or your idiot brother. Is that a terrible thing? he wonders. It is not as though you particularly like any of them. Nonetheless, he remains, frustratingly, your uncle and nothing more.

This is partly his own fault, he knows. The court had once had its pleasure in the scandal wrought by Daemon’s calculated seduction of Rhaenyra, obvious to all but the King himself—and what had resulted? His banishment, her ruination, his years in exile and her marriage free of passion. No such occurrence is to be the conclusion of this attempt; thus, he is resigned to stepping out from the shadows, conducting his business in the safe light of day. Never once does he dare to hint at anything less than what is proper in the presence of others—and never once does he dare meet with you alone. There can be no errors this time.

As such, his suit remains overlooked. He can do nothing else but persist, waiting for you to finally realise his intentions.

How tedious it is to lower himself to such a competition with no real opponent! He is the only one worthy of your pedigree, a man of high enough birth that you would not be ridiculed by wedding below your station. A man who could ensure you kept your familiar life in King’s Landing with your family, who could garb you in the finest velvets and silks and jewels this side of the Narrow Sea, who could give you trueborn Targaryen children worthy of your royal womb.

And yet, strangely, wooing you excites him. For all his many pursuits and passions, he had never once played the role of valiant suitor; and the sight of your pleased face as he offers you presents or walks you around your garden in amiable conversation tugs at a long-buried part of his soul. He wants to be your hero, wants you to worship him. In the bedchamber, yes, but also on his arm for all to see, to know that he has won your affections as assuredly as he has won your hand.

It is this that goads him to seek you out today.

You had welcomed his presence in the dank library, the scent of stale leather and rotting parchment permeating the echoing space. It’s fucking cold, too, in a tower so high up in the Red Keep he can swear the air feels thinner. You’d pulled out your winter furs, draping them over your shoulders to stave off the chill, and he’d noted with amusement that you’d done the same to your guard. Ser Crispin was fetchingly shrouded in flaxen hide, complementing his armour rather stunningly. His attempts to get a rise from the man at this had failed, with the cunt obstinately refusing to acknowledge his existence.

“Finne laz anha ezat sewafikh,” you say, grinning at the dubious twist of his lips. He has come to find that, for all your solemnity, it is easy to amuse you. “Go on, kepus—try.”

“Finne… laz anha—ezat swafeek.” He grimaces at the words as they leave his mouth. The flavour feels distinctly wrong.

“Seh—wa—fikh.” You correct him gently, nodding at him to try again.

Your Ser Lysan Marios is in the corner of the room, chin to chest as he snores in the only comfortable chair in the room. He truly is an old man. With dark skin and white hair, Daemon has never seen a person with so many lines on their face, looking more like the craggy hills of his dead bronze bitch’s prized Runestone than actual human flesh. A man of acuity and hilarity, it is no wonder you enjoy his company. 

“It is best to let him rest,” you had said as the man’s lids had drooped and his head had lowered forward, slumping in his seat. “He has been unwell lately—I worry for him.”

You had since obliged with his entreaties to teach him some phrases in Dothraki. It is a hard-won process. His jaw and tongue are unused to situating themselves for throaty dialogue, being far too used to the lyrical fullness of his ancestral native speech, but it is entirely worth it to watch your sweet face light up.

“Sewafikh,” he says. 

You gasp excitedly, wiggling in your seat. “The whole thing!”

“Finne laz anha ezat sewafikh,” he says, smirking at you when you clap. He can’t help but find you endearing in your joy, eyes shining and smiling bright. “Now, little girl—what have you just made me say?”

“I thought you would find this phrase most useful.” You grin impishly. He narrows his eyes at you.

“And this useful phrase is?” His brow quirks.

You’re already giggling. “You can now ask ‘where can I find the wine?’ should you discover yourself surrounded by a khalasar.”

A startled guffaw bursts from him at your cheek. You are a surprisingly witty little thing, and he has found himself more and more charmed with each hour he spends in your presence. A consummate royal youth, you are exceedingly well-versed in the politics of social niceties, navigating your exchanges so expediently that he has learned he must actively work to keep up.

“Impudent brat.” He chuckles, eyeing you as you catch your breath and making a list of all the parts of you he intends to get his hands on when you are his. 

Curls of silver bundled into a braided coiffure, strands threatening to escape—and he finds this more and more apt a metaphor for your character, a timid little bird just waiting to be set forth from its cage. The damnable temptation of your throat thankfully encircled with the abundance of precious stones forming the Valyrian steel necklace he had gifted you some days prior, a welcome respite from being besieged by the involuntary seduction of pale skin. Voluptuous waist and widened hips in perfect shape for his hands to span. Rounded cheeks and pouty pucker and dewy-eyed gaze…

You are a maiden strumpet waiting for her first lesson in the art of carnality. He is determined to be your instructor in this. Your only instructor.

“Here,” Daemon murmurs, withdrawing the reason for his visit from under his chair. He leans forward and places the item upon the desk before you.

You had paid little attention to the wooden case tucked under his right arm as he sauntered in, instead keeping your eyes fixed upon his as you uttered a courteous greeting, mildly perplexed as you always are when he seeks you out. He watches you as you open the chest now and lift out the carving inside, the same size as the little book before you. Your small hands turn the object curiously as you ogle the fine details of the gift, a soft little gasp of wonder escaping bow-lips.

You glance back at him.

“Is this Caraxes and Athfiezar?” you ask softly. He nods.

It had not taken long to realise your partiality lay less along the lines of ostentation and more meaningful simplicity; he’d only need to recall your lacklustre enthusiasm for Jason Lannister’s lion pendant to form such a notion. (Though, it may very well be that the gift had come from Lannister that had inspired such indifference, he thinks amusedly.) He had solicited the services of a common toymaker entirely by accident, having taken notice of the man’s goods during a nightly stroll through the city. 

Daemon had been absent-mindedly making his way back from that eve of tension with Dargood and his crooked companions, only to find that his feet had taken him entirely past the route to the Keep. Instead, he’d moved north along the Kingsroad to Cobbler’s Square, idly observing the shopkeepers flog their wares along the street. One look at the stall upon which were arranged brightly-coloured carvings—an array of lions and horses and dragons, of knights and ladies and Kings in an assortment of sizes, shapes and poses—and he had known that the skill of the man would be something you’d enjoy, honest and artful. The peasant had been overawed when met with a request from the Prince of the City, eagerly accepting the task of producing a miniature replica of your dragons.

The man really had spared no detail, he muses as he surveys your inspection of the sculpture. It is truly a fine piece, carefully depicting his crimson mount snarling and wound around the central figure of your own reptilian steed. They are posed as though they are about to take flight. From the whittled minutiae to the meticulously applied paints, it is a worthy representation of the pair. He would have to make further commissions of him.

“It is beautiful, Uncle,” you breathe, running the tips of your fingers over the hewn surface in concealed awe. You are careful not to disturb the layers of colour affixed to the wood. “I love it. But you should not have bought me anything”—you look back up at him with a frown as your hand lightly reaches up to touch his previous gift fastened at your nape—“for you have already given me something very valuable.”

(“I will treasure it,” you had said, stunned wonder muted by the veil of decorum. He has yet to see you without it; he likes to view it as almost a brand marking you as his.)

Cole is glaring at him from the entry to the library. Daemon sneers, lip twitching in smug enjoyment as the man looks away.

“Why ever not? I was thinking of you,” he asks gently, reprovingly. If I push too hard, she will withdraw. “I enjoy giving you things. Allow your old uncle to indulge, sweet girl.”

You smile unbidden, a flush blooming on the tip of your nose.

“You are not old, kepus,” you whisper, refusing to look at him, and a thrill tingles at the top of his spine at your receptiveness.

He is about to respond when there is a knock upon the door. It reverberates through the room, the bare stone floors serving to propel the noise around. Cole opens it to reveal the mousy form of a servant girl, the plain red linen of her dress and the cream caul adorning her head denoting her as one of the royal staff members. She colours as she notices his presence, quickly glancing away.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” she says, bobbing a curtsey to you and lowering her head, “but the Lord Tyrell is awaiting your presence.”

He seethes internally as you resignedly stow away his gift, giving it a final caress before latching the box closed. Fucking Denys. He’ll be damned if you dare entertain the notion of wedding that flowery cunt, all too eager to bend over for the Hightowers as he is.

“I’ll escort you, niece,” he chooses to say, solicitously stowing the chest under his arm once more as he heads off your weak protestations. He walks around the desk to offer his arm to you.

“I think you’ll find that I will be escorting her, my Prince,” Cole says stiffly, striding forward several paces. The knight stops when you turn to face him.

“Actually, Ser Criston—could you ensure that Ser Lysan makes it safely back to his chambers?” You beseech him quietly, and from the look on the Kingsguard’s face he has no doubt you are gazing up at him with wide, imploring eyes. It is entirely too winsome an expression on you, and he deliberates whether there is a man alive or otherwise who could resist the power of your pleading. “I would hate to awaken him, and my uncle can surely manage to escort me to my sister’s solar to meet with Lord Denys.”

The fastidious man insisted on meeting you for tea, of all things. Fucking ridiculous. Loath to leave you to face the obnoxiousness of his presence alone, Rhaenyra had insisted on playing host to the courting. Needless to say, the food and drink was to be the best part of the event each time he paid a visit to you.

Cole nods yieldingly as you thank him, sighing a defeat as he steps back and allows you to pass with Daemon.

Your hand is firmly wrapped underneath his arm, grip tight. The journey is quiet, and he notes that you have retreated into yourself once more. Though hates to see you unhappy, he cannot deny how well it bodes for him that you are.

“Chin up, sweetling,” he whispers conspiratorially to you as you approach the Princess of Dragonstone’s solar—the room adjoining the chambers of the royal heir to the right—and stop.

You smile weakly at his attempt to cheer you, though it does not reach your eyes, as he knocks on the door for you. Rhaenyra appears in the opening, her countenance morphing into perplexity at the sight of you and Daemon. It is clear she had been expecting Cole instead.

“Uncle,” she says, a wrinkle of confusion on her visage. “I didn’t think—why are you here?”

Her gaze shifts between you and him, noting the grip of your hand upon his arm and the manner in which he is angled toward you.

“Cole’s been tasked with an obligation by our Princess,” he replies, and it is a breath of fresh air to be able to look her in the eye and feel nothing but affection and the throb of old guilt and hurt. The desire has finally worn itself out, though the memory of it still lingers. He supposes you may have had something to do with that. “I felt it best to accompany her to your rooms myself.”

Rhaenyra nods, brow raised and mouth pressed in a thin line as she opens the door wide to let you both in. You whisper a small thank-you to him as you slip away from him, politely moving forward for the visitor to make his introductions to you.

Denys Tyrell is surely the most repulsive man to grace Westeros, Daemon thinks disfavourably.

The man stands aimlessly in the centre of the room, appearing to be idly examining the tapestries depicting the Targaryen Conquest adorning the walls. A stout, rotund lad, he is encased in a garish, ill-fitting doublet of pale sky brocade with gold flowers, straining mightily at the buttons. His features are diminutive among ruddy flesh, save for the huge, meticulously groomed moustache decorating his upper lip. The son of the late Lord Matthos, he is probably one of the few suitors close enough in age to you to bond with over the delight of being young.

And yet, he is still not good enough for you.

“Your Highness.” He bows dramatically, a ridiculous flourish of the hand punctuating the finish.

Daemon has to restrain the urge to scoff at the fawning grandiosity of the gesture. He observes with half-hearted intrigue as the lad’s eyes flick to him and his lip curls in an abortive sneer before quickly returning to you. Another one of his ‘supporters’, he expects.

You politely tip your head and engage in small talk, asking after the quality of his lodgings and the welfare of his family in a manner that suggests you have gotten this routine perfected over the course of these meetings. He wants to roll his eyes as the man brightens, loudly beginning to chatter his poor niece’s ear off.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra hisses from next to him.

Glancing over at her, he sees she has a forbidding look upon her face as she jerks her head towards the open door. Bemused, he follows her out of the room, casting a brief look back at you as you engage in conversation with your suitor. Flowery cunt.

Rhaenyra shuts the door quietly before rounding on him in the middle of the hallway.

“What in the name of the Seven are you doing, Daemon?” she asks, looking around quickly for any loiterers. The corridor is silent.

“Can I not walk with my own niece now, Rhaenyra? You really must apprise me of the new laws. I wasn’t aware that it was now a crime to chaperone my own blood—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” She scoffs, waving her hand toward the closed door. “Finding her all over the Keep? Staring at her constantly? The gifts? The flattery?” She steps forward threateningly, though her womanly disposition and her lack of height serve to diminish the effect. “She’s told me all about it—I know what this is.”

He smirks down at her, arms crossing. “And what do you think this is, then?”

Her hand clenches into a fist. He wonders, entertained, if she would dare to hit him. “Don’t play the fool, Uncle; it doesn’t suit you. I won’t let you spoil my sister the way you did me.”

He scoffs. “As I recall, Princess, I took no part in your spoiling.” He is callously satisfied by the flush spreading across her visage at the imputation of his words.

Oh, yes. I know about Cole.

He continues, timbre colouring with aggravation. “And I have no intention of ruining her.” Well, not yet—not until the wedding night. “Why does everyone in this fucking city always assume the worst of me?”

“Because that’s what you do!”

She has escalated to a near yell now, whipping around in her frustration, the end of her braid lashing across his chest with a thump as she moves away. When she turns around, her eyes are bright with the gradual swell of moisture.

“You pick a target, lay them thick with pretty words and affection, and then cast them away when you’ve grown bored. You do it with father; with your lickspittles and your precious City Watch; with your whores and your women; you did it to me, and now you’re going after my sister—”

It infuriates him to hear her slander his character so thoroughly, for all that it is true. Perhaps it is this fact that upsets him more.

“Is that jealousy I hear?” he asks cruelly, turning the attack upon her. He presses forward, allowing the fury to infuse his step, his words, his countenance. “Such a bitter shrew you’ve become. It’s no wonder I’ve moved on to more enjoyable pastimes. After all, your sweet sister really is exquisite—she’ll make a fine little bride for me.”

He watches with vicious gratification at the unmitigated outrage that overtakes her.

“How dare you—”

Suddenly, the door opens. Lord Tyrell steps into the doorway, lip curled and face red. 

“I believe this meeting is at an end, Princess.”

The man sneers, shoving past him as he exits. Behind him, Daemon can see your distress clearly. You are still in the middle of the solar, wringing your hands and biting your lip, refusing to look at anything other than the floor before you.

Rhaenyra tries to gather herself in affecting a disposition of regal indifference, though the cracks in her façade are clear to see. “You are leaving so soon, my Lord? I am sure my sister would so enjoy—”

“I think I understand what the Princess… enjoys, Your Highness.” He scrutinises you, then turns to Daemon and looks him over disdainfully. The insinuation is obvious. It is clear that he and Rhaenyra had been quarrelling louder than intended. “And who she enjoys it with. I’ll suffer no harlot as my wife, royal or otherwise.”

How dare he. How fucking…

It is a flagrant offence to one so pure as you. Of all the women in the city, you deserve such affront least of all.

At the sight of tears welling in your eyes—brows drawn, lilac blurred by the tear-sheen collecting on your lashes, “will I ever see you again?”—the familiar, burning fire of rage overtakes him completely, the dam bursting and breaking as he swings his fist directly into the foppish lord’s face.

“How dare you insult the Princess’s honour!”

The bestial part of his nature revels in the satisfaction of feeling the man’s flesh tear under the force of his knuckles as he drags him to the floor, of feeling the grinding frisson of pain in his bones as they collide with the insipid cunt’s face. The blood spills hot and wet over that ridiculous outfit, over his fists and clothes, spraying over the floor. The lord can only cry out as Daemon rains down punches upon him, seeking to erase the image of the man who’d dared to malign you so. The Rogue Prince thinks he can hear voices, but the sound is muted, muffled, like listening to a scream underwater.

“You stupid piece of shit, how dare you—”

He aims for Denys’s nose, hoping to smash it in entirely, when he is abruptly dragged off the man and forcefully shoved away. He presses forward wildly, attempting to finish his mission, straining against the hold of Breakbones—and by the gods, the Strong boy really lived up to his name, did he not?—until he takes in the sight before him.

He slows as he views the scene. The Tyrell attendants have run in to kneel next to their lord with rags already mopping at the blood oozing from his face, Ser Willas Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne of the Kingsguard stand with hands on pommels, and several servants are looking on with curiosity and fear at the sight before them.

And you. You are enfolded in the arms of Rhaenyra, a look of abject horror on your sweet face. His heart clenches.

—the horror in your expression feels like the edge of a blade carving to his very soul. “But… you promised”—

This is not what he wanted. He had made you fear him, he can see it; he knows you are afraid. How could he? How could he?

“The Prince attacked me—this is the gravest of abuses, Ser—” cries Lord Denys in response to Ser Rickard’s quiet inquiries, clutching a cloth to his swelling and bloodied eye.

He has to get out of here, he thinks rashly, pulling out of the City Watch Commander’s hold and spinning away, stalking out of the hall—

“Your Highness, you cannot leave while—”

“Daemon, stop—”

“Kepus—”

He runs.

Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/121060219

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#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x you #matt smith #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #fire and blood #house targaryen #dance of dragons #daemon smut #daemon fanfiction #daemon x reader #daemon x oc #daemon x you

[luvrsux]

I saw your desperate cries for requests - thus I heed your call ;-;

Picture this: Law receives a heart plushie from reader, because he‘s tunnel visioning himself in work and/or Luffy‘s been pestering that aloof man yet again.

(remember those heart plushies from IKEA XD THAT plushie…maybe without those arms tho, they‘re wack)

Reader just wants to be considerate (practically yeets that plushed organ at him) and Law is as oblivious as ever, just overall confuddled/flustered xD

Hope you like that lil‘ idea? If it‘s too boring you can leave it out no prob :3

*may the writer‘s force be with you* xx

thank you for the request! \(◦´-`◦)/♡

“Heart Pillow”

word count: 2.4k

summary: after living with the dr. trafalgar, you noticed he’s just overwhelmed with work, and on a particular day, it took a toll on him. you took it upon yourself to purchase him a gift that’ll completely make him go love-struck

content: fluff, mentions of insomnia

It’s been ages since you and Law moved in together as roommates. Considering you two knew each other since diapers, it was bound to happen. You stayed at home working at a local cafe while Law rotted away in his office from his doctorates. Ever since he finally became a professional doctor and surgeon, you’ve never seen him drown in so much work and get little to no sleep. Even when he was a little scholar in medical school, he’d still have the decency to remember to eat and get a few sustainable hours. Now, you’d hear him just get ready for bed while you got up and bright early for work. You’d see him leave the bathroom after a shower and rub his eyes with tired hands, while you were already dressed for your shift. You’d constantly nag him every chance you’d get to make sure he’d get the proper sleep he needed.

“I’m fine, (F/N)-ya…”

He’d always say in a groggy tone. This man was quite stubborn and didn’t really heed any warning anyone told him. Despite all of that, his studies and hard work paid off extremely. He was known as the best surgeon in the hospital he groggily worked at—too bad he wasn’t much of a people person. You always wondered why Law chose an ambition that required him to converse with a plethora of people and he just replied with a shrug. He’d always come home tired and annoyed by his coworkers and his patients that day. You couldn’t lie, though, they were interesting stories.

You’ve lived under the roof of the doctor for ages, as said before. The more you were drawn closer to him, the more your feelings shifted from platonic to romantic. You knew that Law wasn’t swinging towards you that way with the way he was suffocating at work, but you’d notice that he’d get a little flustered and go blank-minded whenever you did something nice for him. It could be something as simple as preparing him a cooked meal, recipes gifted by the one and only Vinsmoke Sanji, to taking him out on a day to take a break. Law loved how considerate you were, and he wished he wasn’t so busy to continue the nice moments you’d share with him. Considering Law made more money than you, he’d make it up to you by buying small gifts here and there. His excuse would always be something along the lines of “I had money to spare…” like he was embarrassed to show that he truly wanted to gift you for your kindness. Law would sometimes also see you knocked out on the couch, completely drained from your shifts, and carry you to bed without you noticing. You’d definitely catch on in the morning, but he’d act as if nothing happened.

Now, you were humming a tune with a sweet smile while you cleaned the kitchen after you prepared yet another loving meal for the missing doctor. He had a much longer shift today and you knew he’d be hungry as well as tired. Despite it being daylight outdoors, Law had been away for a whole 24-hour shift at the hospital. You wanted to make him feel extra special by cooking his favorite meal.

Behind, you heard the door knob jiggle and twist before swinging open. You were pleased to already know who entered the comfort of your home and you didn’t hesitate to exit the kitchen to greet the raven boy. Upon looking at him, he immediately crashed his leather bag onto the ground and kicked off his shoes. He seemed to be more than relieved to arrive home and see you all cheery at his presence.

“How did your shift go this time?” You asked with a cheeky smile, already knowing the answer. He tore off his lab coat to reveal his short, black button-up and inked arms. Rather ironic for being a doctor.

“Never wanted to quit my job so badly in my life” The man grumbled and exhaled, finally relieved to decompress from his occupation. He reached to pick up his neglected bag.

“How so?” You let out a small giggle before disappearing into the kitchen to show the stressed Law a plate of his favorite rice balls, but he was already tunnel-visioning his work.

“That idiot Strawhat-ya decided to get admitted to the hospital after a fight and…” Law sighed in pure annoyance, you could sense it from the kitchen. “He can never not cause chaos… Of course, I had to do a procedure on him”

Law explained. This wasn’t the first time the guy explained his annoyance for the scruffy boy named Luffy, nicknamed Strawhat for his iconic headwear. Law paced around the room, explaining the ruckus Luffy caused at his job and constantly saying things like "He's so aggravating!" or "I can't believe him!"

“I have to finish a lot of paperwork, I’m so sorry I can’t have dinner yet” Law apologized, de-escalating his anger. Despite his sour attitude, he looked sincere knowing you had probably spent time on it. You frowned.

“You can’t just procrastinate a little? I made your favorite” You tried convincing. Law just rubbed the back his his neck.

“No, just wanna get this over with” You heard his voice slowly fade down the hallway that led to the office he constantly stays in.

“Leave whatever you made in the fridge! I’ll promise I’ll eat it!”

You just removed your hand from the plate of rice balls and let them sit in the fridge they previously stayed on. You weren’t heartbroken or saddened Law didn’t stay for dinner like he usually does, you were more so concerned. Law would typically spend a few moments with you to eat. You’d share small talk about each other's day and you could’ve sworn you’d be able to put a small smile on his face at the end of it. Without that, it made you think about what you could do to snap Law out of his stressful trance.

You sat on the couch on your phone for a few moments to think about it, but soon enough you had a bugging nerve to check in on Law. You’d never disturb him during his working hours but this time you decided to take an impulsive action. You swung open his shut tight door to reveal a dimly lit room, the only thing illuminating the entire room was a small lamp on his desk. Despite your intrusion, Law didn’t flinch or remove his busy eyes from his paperwork. He just sighed.

“What is it, (F/N)-ya?” He spoke in a monotone voice and just continued scribbling down on sheets of paper. It seemed to really annoy him and you assumed the paperwork involved the scruffy Strawhat.

“How’s your… work?” You asked awkwardly. Law combed his printed fingers through his noir locks and dropped his pen.

“Terrible. I just want to burn it all” Law hissed. You saw him flip through each and every one, getting more and more annoyed as the amount increased. “I should’ve transferred that idiot to a different hospital…”

“I see… When you’re finished, I was wondering if we could watch a movie. It’s been forever!” You giggled. Law tried not to carve a smile at your enthusiasm, but the sheer amount of work is the very thing to his decline.

“I can’t, I think I’m going to be at this for a while before you head to bed” Those words made you frown. You wish you could remove all the stress from him for his own sake as well as your own.

“Don’t kill yourself over this work, Law” You gave him a small smile. You eyed his chair and realized the seat looked increasingly uncomfortable. You raised an eyebrow.

“Does your back hurt at all?” You abruptly asked. Your random question finally had Law made eye contact with you, but his head was still tilted toward his desk.

“Whaddya' talking about?”

“Your chair looks uncomfortable as hell. It might as well be a torture chamber”

Law peered to his office chair which was just a regular wheeled chair with thin cushioning. It was a decent chair to relax on, but not to stay seated for hours on end like Law.

“It does its job, I guess. Besides, I take painkillers” He went right back to scribbling like his life depended on it. You grumbled.

“I’m starting to think you need a doctor” You teased before leaving the room. Before Law could scold you for your demeanor you quickly left the room. You giggled as soon as you heard Law scream on the other side of the room, saying; “What do you mean by that!?”

You stood behind the door for a few moments before you quickly decided on what you could do to make Law ease up just a bit.

・❥・

Law didn’t realize he had been so focused on working. He felt like it was just a few minutes ago when he heard you yell ‘Law, I’ll be right back’. Now, you just arrived back home and he heard the door swing open from his office. He flicked his wrist toward him to reveal he was working for over an hour on his watch. He grumbled, seeing as how he still wasn’t done despite the length it took him to do it.

He was pleased to hear you made it home safe, but he didn’t budge from his desk. He felt himself slowly carve a smile when he heard your faint humming and bag rustling from the kitchen which wasn’t far. Then, he faintly heard footsteps.

“(F/N)-ya, I’m still busy-“

His face was met with red and plush. He flinched, causing a minor hiccup from his pen, and dropped it. Law could hear your manic giggles as he pulled away the plush.

“What the-…” Law made eye contact with whatever was thrown straight at his face. He raised an eyebrow at the bright red heart pillow in his hands that also had… arms?

“(F/N), what the hell is this?” He asked, continuing to analyze its rather odd features. Despite it being rather questionable, it was rather soft.

“I thought I’d buy you something since your day was pretty rough… And your chair sucks” You proudly placed your hands on your hips. Law turned his eyes to you before flickering them back at the plush.

With those words, as confuddled as he was, he swore he couldn't stop himself from blushing. He quickly tilted his head revealing the fact yet another kind gesture made his heart skip a beat. Law felt like squeezing the thing until its plush popped right out.

“…What’s with the arms?” Law finally asked, questioning the entire plush and its odd choice of design.

“Ikea, sorry” You giggled. Your humorous giggle made Law carve an amused smile and you could clearly see it. It caused a small tint of blush to form on your cheeks. “Do you like it?”

Law gave it a tender squeeze with his palms before placing it on his bed, the hugging arms springing once it made contact. He cleared his throat to prevent any further flustered emotions from seeping through.

“It’s… nice,” He said ever so casually. He sat back down in his brick chair and wheeled into his desk. “Thank you, (F/N)-ya…”

You hummed, shutting the door behind you. As soon as Law heard the click of the door, he bolted to his bed to tightly hug the gifted organ to his chest. He buried his gushing smile behind it as well as his tinted cheeks. Despite the odd arms, he greatly appreciated your kindness to him. He was afraid he’d expose his feelings about you right there and then if you stayed any longer. As his eyes trailed along the brightly colored plush, he began to ponder. There was no point in being so implicit about his feelings. This gift was a transparent way of saying you care about him more than he thought you did. He regretted pushing you away constantly for his work. With that, with the plush in hand, he exited his office.

There you were, laid back on the couch with a relaxed expression. You hadn’t expected Law to come out of his office at all, especially with the new gift you gave him in his arms. His cheeks looked more pigmented than a sickly bedridden patient he’d dealt with. You sat up almost immediately and formed a smile.

“Finally out, huh?”

Law averted eye contact, still flustered and embarrassed. He just plopped down next to you, rather close at that. You raised an eyebrow, wondering what he was going here instead of his dark office.

“Shut up…” He grumbled. “Play that movie…”

Law said, getting comfortable under the blanket that was draped along the couch. You stared at him with wide eyes that refused to make eye contact with you. You beamed before you flicked on the movie you were excited to watch with the busy boy.

About halfway, Law noticed you were falling asleep while he was wide-eyed awake. He gulped, wanting to make a rather bold move to you. He saw you jerking your head every now and then from your low energy. Once he saw you scare yourself awake from almost falling face-first into the coffee table in front, Law pulled an arm around your shoulders to lay on his chest. Safe to say you were no longer tired thanks to your rapid heartbeat. You could faintly hear his own.

Meanwhile, Law was internally screaming in his head wondering why the hell he decided to do that bold of a move on you. Seeing as how you didn’t object or call him out on his odd behavior, his internal battle began to die down. The plush lingered right in between both of you, like a token of your newfound relationship.

“Get some rest, (F/N)-ya” You could’ve sworn you heard Law slightly stammer before he could formulate his sentence. You felt a palm caress your arm and head for a few moments. Your tiredness soon came flooding back.

Law had adjusted in his seat to get comfortable himself, knowing he’d soon follow you and your sleep. He’d never felt this tired before. He’d have trouble falling asleep due to his insane insomnia but with you in his arms, a wave of fatigue came flooding forward. Maybe it was your body's warmth. Maybe it was the way he could feel your calm breath on his chest from your peaceful slumber. Maybe it was because Law had passionate feelings for you. He couldn’t decide, considering he was now fast asleep on the couch with his arms now wrapped around you.

Law never slept better that night.

All listening and ownership belong to Eiichiro Oda

#fanfic #one piece #op x reader #x reader #law x reader #one piece x reader #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar law #law fanfic #one piece strawhats #mugiwara no luffy #black leg sanji

[starryficsfinishwen]

“If I don't finish this paperwork right now, I will yeet myself off of Babylonia.”

“Hell yeah! And I'm going with ya!”

You believed there were only two braincells left in the beefy, red-haired man's head. But right now, they were fighting for third place, alongside your own overworked ones.

“Noctis,” You giggled, placing your pen and crumpled paper on the table, “I wholeheartedly appreciate the support. But I'd rather you stay so you can at least inform Celica about my whereabouts.”

“No,” Noctis hummed, “I can't do that. I can tag along so that you wouldn't be alone drifting in space.”

Sitting across you, meaty arms crossed, Noctis waited patiently. Although, you felt guilty, the man who had been staying with you for several hours. You had him shooed away earlier, yet, as hard as the chest plate he has, he still came back. Noctis' stubbornness was a charm that made you feel for him in the first place. At the same time, it was also his Achilles' heel. But that's another story for today.

“You know,” you cleared your throat, “You don't always have to stay here...”

“Commandant, here you go again,” Sighing with a pout on his scarred face, Noctis groaned, “I said I'm perfectly fine being here. Don't worry!”

“I'm worried that you'd get bored.”

“No problemo,” he shrugged, grinning, “Cerberus is free from any maintenance or missions.”

The idea of Vera and her angry tone that reminded of a mother, looking for the man who was the embodiment of chaos, made you reel back. You leaned to the table, hand supporting your chin, “I suppose that's the case. But what if Vera comes? Won't you be scared?”

“Of who? Vera? Hah! As if,” Noctis started laughing (at this point, your heart skipped a beat, tummy bursting with little butterflies fluttering), “It's fine. Really. She won't be looking for me.”

“Besides,” he quickly added, “What if you do jump out of Babylonia. You'd end up wandering in space alone!”

Sometimes, you wonder if you should tone down your humor. Yet, you still indulged in his fantasies.

“Ah,” you feigned a gasp, “What if I dive into the Earth like a meteor and fall?”

“I'd follow you, then!”

“But we'll be broke there!”

“Like you said, we can always go back to the bar,” Noctis' eyes started shimmering, “or-or, we can be travelling merchants! Exchange all the broken parts of a corrupted so we can get some money!”

Ah, stupid, yet ambitious dreams. It made you question if Noctis' braincells were still intact, or simply, they were busy doing something else.

“I mean,” quickly, Noctis spoke before you could, “They're not bad ideas. But don't you think Babylonia's facilities are better than being in a soaking hot desert?”

And you decided to go with it. “Hmm, true...”

“If the paperworks are your problem, then why don't we yeet that one off of Babylonia instead?”

And face Celica's wrath? Probably not. You contemplated a witty remark, but Noctis went quiet. Looking at him, his maroon eyes were trained to you.

“I may not know a lot of those technicalities,” his voice suddenly goes soft, his eyes a shimmer of an unknown emotion that you've never seen before from him, “but...if there is anything, anything that I can do, let me know.”

Oh? This was new. For a buffy, "violence-is-the-answer" kind of man, this was surprising to you, that your mouth went agape, seemingly unable to let your hand function to pick up the papers on the table. Noticing your reaction, Noctis shook his head, the raucous expression back on his face.

“B-but if it's writing the documents, then, hell no!”

You blinked. And blinked again. And an intrusive thought came to you. You raised your hand, so slightly, beckoning him to approach you. He followed, seemingly like a puppy. Once he was beside you, you turned to him and stood up. Although your height was at a disadvantage (you barely reached his broad shoulders), you stared so deeply into his maroon eyes. The distance, in which you've noticed was closer now— the heat bouncing off of each other, him looking down to meet you.

“Noctis?” you quietly called out.

“Co...commandant?”

“Will you” you breathed, so softly, “...will you let me touch your titties?”

Silence. And then, you busted out laughing. With a puzzled, yet amused look on his face, you couldn't help but break into another fit of laughter.

“Ah-haha!” you wiped a few tears coming out of your eyes, “S-sorry, Noctis, I was just joking-”

“-Go ahead!”

Another silence. Based on his clueless expression, mixed with joy, you thought this man probably misheard you.

“I- what?”

“You wanted to touch my titties, right?” Beaming, he spoke with a hint of excitement, “Go ahead!”

Suddenly, you weren't so such if your choices in life were right. That, or braincells were in the same grade as Noctis'. After a careful debate with yourself, you reached out anyway, hand now on one of his titties pecs. Squeezing it so gently, you realized an epiphany.

“Commandant, I thought you exercised,” Noctis asked, seemingly unsatisfied with your actions, “squeeze them harder!”

So you do. Squeezing them like a stress ball. Noctis, still unsatisfied, took your free hand and placed it in the other titties pecs. Somehow, you started to squeeze both of them. All the stress from earlier started to melt away— the paperwork, the fatigue, your caffeine addiction— as your braincells decided to merge with Noctis', all fighting for the last place.

“See!” You and Noctis laughed, decided to mush your face into his cushioned chest, “I knew I could help!”

“Thank you,” you were, genuine and true, “I didn't know that this was therapeutic.”

Except you've always wanted to do this for a long time. Seeing the genuine joy on your face, you failed to notice Noctis' expression softening. Although mechanical, his heart skipped faster, and you recognized that.

“...but you know,” he muttered, “living on Earth doesn't seem half bad.”

He thought you didn't know, but you caught him whispering, “...as long as it's with you.”

Fuck work. Living on Earth didn't seem to feel bad, indeed. Temporarily stopping, you tugged him by his dogtag, a soft, quick kiss to the side of his jaw and cheek. A mirrored pink blush on both of your faces.

“I'll hold on to it.”

a.n. - there is actually a planned story for all the husbandos of PGR. I wanted to just find out about Noctis and his story. look where this brainrot got me LMAO I now realize I wanna,,,mash my face onto his titties

p.s. - also new theme for me yeeey

#pgr #punishing gray raven #punishing gray raven imagines #pgr commandant #pgr noctis #this came to me so suddenly #I didn't even blink #hence why I am writing this down #pgr noctis x reader

[lassieposting]

Y'all ever think about how Young!Vesemir would still have to take contracts to provide for the Kaer Morons

Give me little Witchers who are left alone in a cramped room above a tavern for days at a time, told to sit tight and keep quiet and not draw attention because they're surrounded by humans and he won't be there to protect them

Little Witchers teaming up to look after Vesemir when he comes back from a hunt injured and exhausted. Double-mutated Geralt gets Stitching Duty, because he's got the steadiest hands. Eskel sits by Vesemir's head and distracts him during the unpleasant bits. Lambert gets sent out to make sure Vesemir's horse is stabled/untacked/fed/watered/groomed, and Remus goes running down to the innkeep to make sure Vesemir is fed and watered too.

Little Witchers who realise, as children inevitably will, that their parental figure is struggling, and try to ease the load. Geralt will venture out to forage for potion supplies while Ves is away. Eskel learns to charm free meals out of motherly innkeepers with compliments or the offer of helping out with chores. Lambert is a shameless little thief, but sometimes he'll filch something Ves can sell when their coin is low.

Vesemir who freezes in place the first time he comes back to a tavern, bloody and covered in mud, and is greeted by a gaggle of little Witchers running to hug his legs, because? He's their only stability. He's their protector, their provider, the only source of positive attention they really have. He's often sarcastic and short-tempered and sharp-tongued, but they miss him when he's gone, and they feel safer when he's back.

Vesemir who goes from oh no, absolutely not, every single one of you sleeps on his own bedroll to ugh fine whatever but the first one of you little bastards to kick me is getting yeeted when the pups all dogpile onto his bed after he's been away a while or someone has a night terror or he's hurt and they're worried about him.

Vesemir who shrugs off hateful comments aimed at him with a snarky comeback, but will absolutely throw the fuck down with anyone who starts in on his boys.

Little Eskel and Geralt - the oldest, the first to notice that Ves will go hungry so they can eat when funds are low or opt to replace Lambert's boots over replenishing his potion ingredients - who always ask to tag along on hunts. They can help! They'll be useful! They won't get in the way! They want to pull their weight!

Vesemir who actually realises that his own relationship with his father figure was more distant than he would've liked, as a boy. He idolised Deglan, wanted his approval. Deglan took a special interest in his training, served as his mentor for his first year on the Path, called him an affectionate nickname. But never hugged him. Never said he was proud of him. Always taught him that Real Men Need No One, young feller, now let's have none of that pansy nonsense.

Vesemir who sees the pups go from fearing him to missing him and trying to look out for him and seeking affection from him when they're scared or sad or pleased to see him, and makes a conscious decision that actually, Deglan, you were wrong. Yes, being cruel to be kind is often essential to Witcher training: it's a tough, dangerous, survival-of-the-fittest lifestyle. But real men hug their fucking kids

Just. Jesus I am like two years late to this party and absolutely consumed by single dad Ves feelings send help

#the witcher #netflix witcher #nightmare of the wolf #kaer morons #vesemir #dad!vesemir #just? how comfortable the wolves are with hugging each other and the deleted forehead touch scene with ves and geralt #this is a man who hugged his children

[sassylegshayne]

marry me, idiot. - chapter four

oh my god it's so angsty and there's so much cussing and I really don't know what else to say ab it lmfao I hope you guys like it bc I love this chapter sm okay lmk what you think!!! 4.1k words mwah xx!!

series masterlist

It started to seem like days in the office began to blend together, the month and a half since you and Spencer got accidentally engaged flew by. It was a whirlwind of shoots, editing, and meetings as you prepared to announce it to the world.

After a few weeks with no leaks known to the team it was decided that waiting would be for the best. You and Spencer spent more time in front of the camera as ever before. You didn't expect so many of the wedding videos to be shot so early, but Zoe made the point that the wedding planning could take quite a while.

Your last shoot for a few months was scheduled for today. It was an Eat It Or Yeet It wedding cake episode that left you with a bitter taste in your mouth, literally. You waited through the first two, allowing Olivia to get a red velvet sriracha cake and Damien to taste a pickle juice cake, which he of course claimed to enjoy.

You stared Spencer down as you slammed the bell, just barely beating him as he screamed out. The cake looked normal, and frankly good. The slice of cake appeared to be a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, so you decided to take a large bite.

"Look at this!" You defended as Spencer criticized your bite. "It's gonna be good, Spence, and am not sorry about it."

You shrugged and laughed as he scoffed, shaking his head. He continued to claim you would regret it as the others began to count you down.

"I hope it's just super salty or something, you deserve it." Spencer called over the others, crossing his arms with a smug look as he watched you take your bite.

You sat back immediately, your face dropping as you covered your mouth. Garrett shrugged and laughed nervously as you looked to him with a saddened expression.

Spencer turned over his shoulder, grabbing the bucket as his faux anger had quickly melted into concerned as you chewed slowly. Courtney slapped his shoulder softly with the cards, chastising him for stealing her job.

You chewed in slow silence, choking out a wish for water once you had finally swallowed it. Cheers erupted as you gulped down your water, groaning as you sat back.

"What was it? I'm sorry I wished that hell on you." Spencer chuckled as he placed his hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze as you rolled your eyes.

"Shayne should try it." You stated, pushing the plate towards him as Shayne began to cackle. Damien scrunching his face as everyone else began to laugh.

Olivia sat in confusion, looking around to the others. "Wait, what is it?"

"Y/N, what you just had was.." Courtney began, moving behind you as she read off the card. "Chocolate malic acid cake! Which is made of chocolate cake mix, malic acid, chocolate frosting, and more malic acid!"

You gagged a bit as Spencer wrapped his arms around your shoulders after Courtney removed your bib. He placed a kiss to your temple, mumbling another apology as he chuckled. You pulled away, pointing your finger at Spencer with your brows furrowed.

"You should have to take the big bite for that. You put that shit on me so you deserve it, if it's the worst bite, which I hope it is." You spoke pointedly as Spencer's eyes widened, rasing his hands in surrender.

"Okay, that's fair." He quickly responded, nodding frantically as you laughed, nudging your shoulder with his as the next dish was placed on the table.

"I think Y/N could punch you in the face and you would thank her." Damien quipped, pulling a loud laugh from Kiana behind the cameras. Shayne was greeted with what looked to be a confetti cake, but there was no telling what it could really be.

Shayne groaned, rubbing his face with one hand as the other slowly hovered over the button, dropping his hand dramatically as everyone cheered.

"I want it to be confetti cake but it's probably, like, microplastics or some shit." Shayne chuckled as he got some onto the fork, rolling his eyes and flipping the bird when Garrett tells him to get more frosting.

Shayne was pleasantly surprised to get a normal cake, leaving Spencer groaning.

"Goddamnit, Shayne." Spencer slapped the table, laughing as Shayne gave a thumbs up and went back in for another bite.

Courtney called it to be a perfectly normal cake mush to the dismay of everyone else. When Courtney pulls the cover from the tray, everyone begins to count down in confusion.

The slice looked very similar to yours from earlier, maybe a bit neater, but near identical. Spencer silently hit the button, slumped in his seat as you giggled beside him. He stayed silent as everyone was in fits of laughter as Spencer's pure misery.

"You're doing this to me, I want you to know that." He turned to you, laughing softly as the countdown began for the final time.

Spencer waited, slowly moving the bite to his mouth. He remained stoic for a second, but once he had realized it wasn't something bad his eyes fluttered shut as he let out a soft whine.

You gasped as he grinned, finishing his bite to loud cheers as Courtney removed his bib. Spencer pressed a kiss to your cheek, laughing softly as you sat in bewilderment.

"Thank you for that, that was fucking delicious." He laughed, handing you a fork from Garrett, inviting you to try it.

"What you just ate was 'Mythical Chef Josh's German Chocolate Cake'! Holy cow, that was a lot of words." Courtney laughed, flinging the card behind her. You groaned quietly, mirroring Spencer as the flavors melted on your tongue.

"We're not gonna tell you the ingredients because he gave us way too many!" Courtney called out as laughter rang from everyone.

"Fuck, can we get Josh to make this for our wedding cake?" You laughed as you went in for more.

Spencer felt a tug at his heart strings,nyet another pang in his chest as you picked up another bite, his eyes following your every move.

He's known for so long that he was in love with you, he's known for fucking years. He got you two into this situation, you'd been around each other and focused on this wedding for a bit now.

But in this moment, a moment he'll be so thankful that Alex had swung his camera in time to catch and thankful that Kiana had fought to keep the clip in, he would realized just how much he loved you.

The words sat on the tip of his tongue, his feelings clear in his eyes to everyone but you. You just grinned at him, offering him a bite of the cake, your other hand hovering just below his chin to catch any crumbs.

All Spencer could bring himself to do was smile and accept. He stuffed his mouth to keep himself from spilling the vomit of words he wanted to say.

There was so many small ways he told you that he loved you, but he couldn't just say that; he knew a jumbled mess of a confession to his years and years worth of love for you would make its way out.

So Spencer was quick to grab his fork, nodding and giving a thumbs up as he took another bite, eating almost half of the slice by the time Courtney finished the outro, jumping from his stool almost as soon as wrap was called.

You scooted out of your chair in confusion as your eyes followed Spencer, watching as he quickly took off his mic pack and darted out of the door.

Shayne and Damien turned to you with similar perplexed looks. You were quick to follow suit as everyone began to shuffle about the set.

You head toward the central part of the office, catching sight of Spencer in the communal kitchen, leaning down to look into the fridge. He turns, a kickstart in his hand, as he notices your entering the small space. Spencer is quick to smile at you.

"What up, wifey?" He chuckles, opening the can as you raise a brow. He'd picked up the new nickname in the last couple of days after you were gifted a cup with it splayed across the side.

"You okay, Spence?" You questioned softly, approaching him with open arms, smiling as he opened his embrace. The two of you hugged as Spencer scoffed, rubbing your back softly.

"Of course l'm okay, why wouldn't be? This is honestly going way better than could've imagined." He grinned, that pang in his chest returning from earlier.

He wasnt lying to you, but it sure felt like it. He was having a great time, and it was going way better than he expected, but his feelings are becoming very, very strong.

Spencer didn't expect it to affect him this much, especially after this long. It almost felt like he was falling for you all over again. You pulled away, smiling softly at him as you took his free hand in yours, giving it a gentle Squeeze.

"We made an agreement, if anything is making you feel weird or uncomfortable you can tell me. I really fucking mean that, dude." You huffed, brows furrowed as Spencer chuckled and nodded.

"I know, it's all good, I swear." He stepped forward, placing a kiss to your forehead before he slid past you, quietly heading toward your office.

You stood there, chewing your lip softly as you slumped a bit. Spencer was really begining to worry you. His mood shifted so quickly, you'd gone the whole morning just as normal, even then entire shoot was fine. He just switched as soon as wrap was called.

Spencer seemed almost cold when you asked, shocking you a bit. You were used to telling each other everything, from the moment the two of you met, there was an unspoken trust that helped your friendship and feelings blossom so quickly.

So the feeling in your gut that Spencer was holding something back was much more jarring than you could've expected. You couldn't even expect it, this wasn't a situation you'd ever thought of before. You were lost.

You could only think of one person you could go to as you pulled your phone from your pocket, opening your texts.

"ki can we do lunch please?"

Kiana squinted as she glanced at her phone, the stage lights causing a glare as she sat at the Games' set preparing a board game for the next shoot.

She sat up straight, only slightly alarmed by the text. She'd been biting her tongue since Spencer rushed off, her romantic heart racing when you followed after him. She wanted to follow after you, wishing to be a fly on the wall but chose to stay, knowing you two needed the privacy.

She wanted with every fiber of her being to believe that you had something good to tell her, but the pit in her stomach argued otherwise. Kiana responded quickly, promising to meet you at her desk in five minutes.

"Lizzy," Kiana called as she rose from her seat, beckoning her over. "I gotta run, would you be able to finish this up?"

Lizzy agreed, nodding as she shooed Kiana off, ignoring her profuse thank you's. Kiana smile softly as she entered her office, finding slumped in her chair, spinning slowly.

"Wanna order food?" She asked you as she quietly shut the door behind herself. You skidded to a stop, nodding as your eyes met Kiana's. Your brows were furrowed and your stress was clear on your face.

Kiana took the seat opposite for you, shifting a bit in the tough chair. She never knew just how uncomfortable her chairs were, making a mental note to order different ones.

"I'm ordering, you talk." She spoke, eyes on her phone as she nodded at you, causing you to nod back.

"Okay, Spencer's being really fucking weird and it's freaking me out. He ran off set so followed him, which I know you saw." You narrow your eyes, pointing your finger at her. Kiana smirks, eyes still down on her phone as her fingers speed about the screen.

"He was in the kitchen and he seemed like he was pretending to be fine. He was acting normal, he hugged me, he kissed my forehead, he told me he was fine and promised me that he was okay:" You huffed as Kiana locked her phone, setting it down on the desktop as she leaned back, eyes meeting yours.

"I honestly think it's just starting to get to him and he just doesn't wanna say anything about it. He's apologized over this so many times, Ki, no matter how often I tell him that love it." You groan, resting your head in your hands as you feel that same gut feeling from before.

"Y/N," Kiana spoke softly, offering you a sympathetic smile. "Spencer tells you everything, maybe he needs some time to sort out his feelings, yanno? He probably just wants to figure himself out before he tells you, he hates stressing you out."

You nodded a bit, not fully convinced but not willing to argue as your head began to pound. As if punishment from the universe, Kiana's phone rang loudly, causing you to jump a bit.

Ki answered quick, offering you hushed apologies as she spoke quietly, before excusing herself, your food waiting at the front.

You waved lazily as you laid your head on her desk the exhaustion hitting you full force. The busy schedule and your highstrung emotions were finally catching up with you it seemed.

Kiana peeked into the editing room as she walked past on her way to the front, frowning softly as she caught sight of Spencer. He sat with his headphones on, his face bored with a half eaten sandwich beside him.

Alex, one of the Games' producers, gave Kiana a small smile anda nod as he passed her, heading into the office she had just been peering into.

Alex pulled your chair out, quickly catching Spencer's attention, his brows furrowed as his head snapped towards Alex.

"I come in peace, dude." Alex chuckled, his hands raised as he sat down beside him, bumping your chair gently into Spencer's.

Spencer grinned, quickly putting on a face as he removed his headphones. He wasn't stupid, he knew why Alex was here. Everyone saw him rushing off of the set, and he probably got texted about it by someone. He wouldn't be surprised if you were avoiding your desk to keep from being questioned or questioning him yourself.

"What's wrong, Spencer?" Alex asked nonchalantly as he picked up a pen from your desk, grabbing a sticky note as he began to doodle.

A small laugh left Spencer as he shook his head, roling his eyes. Alex raised a brow as he glanced over, not believing the act that was being put on.

"I'm good, I just wasn't feeling great. I think Josh tried to poison me." Spencer chuckled, turning back to his monitor, effectively ending their conversation.

Alex huffed, nodding as he placed the pen back into the cup he'd pulled it from. He stood from your chair, placing the sticky note to the corner of Spencer's monitor.

"Well, if you're lying and you wanna talk, I'm here." He smiled softly as Spencer nodded, mumbling a thanks.

Spencer placed his headphones on, his eyes drawn to the bright green paper covered in different doodles of dicks.

You made your way to Rachel's desk after you'd finished your lunch, pouting as you arrived. She cooed, pouting over dramatically back at you.

"What's up, buttercup?" She grinned, causing you to smile softly, her warmth radiating. You didn't want to leave work early today, but your headache just seemed to get worse.

Today was your announcement day. Rachel, Kiana, and Lizzy had spent weeks picking the photos you and Spencer were to post, which videos would be coming out immediately after the announcement video itself, and helping find everything you need this far before the actual wedding.

Rachel had specific instructions on when you and Spencer needed to post to your different social medias; the schedule outlined perfectly in your calendar by Erin.

You let her know that you were heading home but you promised up and down, pinkies wrapped together and all, that you wouldn't miss it.

You let your walk drag on as you headed back to your desk, your nerves only making your headache worse as you dreaded the possibility of seeing Spencer again. This wasn't usual, you'd never once wished not to see him. You normally spent so much of your alone time wishing you were alone with him.

You found yourself exhaling a breath you didn't know you were holding as you were greeted with empty chairs and blank screens.

You rushed to grab your things, no idea just how quickly he'd be to return. You pulled an irish exit as you left the building, longing for the comfort of your bed and your kitty.

Spencer hadn't planned on leaving his desk anytime soon. He didn't have any upcoming deadlines to meet, but he did need a distraction. Maybe these next few months of wedding-less videos was for the best.

Maybe the distance between the two of you was for the best at this point. He fucked up, and the realization of just how terrible the situation he'd put you two in was finally setting in.

You two were getting married over a stupid joke and he's still in love with you. He's definitely fallen so much more in love with you in this time, but that probably isn't a good thing.

His phone buzzed, causing him to jump a bit, lost in his thoughts again.

"come to my office need ur opinion"

"seriously come here spencer I will drag you here"

He felt a tug at the corner of his lips as the second message came through.

"otw calm down"

He rubbed his eyes, saving his work before trudging down the hall and into Kiana's office, sliding himself into the seat in front of her desk as she chuckles, shaking her head.

"Hey," Kiana began softly, her brows furrowed as she glanced at Spencer, noticing just how tired he looked. "Are you oka-"

"I'm okay." Spencer cut her off, sitting up in the seat, finally fed up.

"I swear l'm okay. Why does everyone keep asking me if l'm okay?" Spencer scoffed, shrugging. Kiana was quick to forgive him, knowing that Spencer's anger wasn't directed at her.

"Because you're obviously not okay, dude. Can you at least tell me what's wrong? don't have to give you advice if you don't want it, just think you should get it off your chest, Spence Kiana reasoned, desperate to allow him the space to vent.

Spencer slumped back into the seat again, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that the door has closed behind him before he looked back to Kiana, the concern in her eyes causing his guilt to grow.

"This stays between us, everything I say, okay?" Spencer sounded almost desperate as he looked to Kiana with his brows raised, crossing his arms over his chest. She nodded, sitting back as her silence encouraged him to speak.

"I love Y/N so fucking much and it's making this so hard. I didn't even think that would happen want it to be real so badly. It feels so natural I almost want to believe that she loves me too." Spencer chewed his lip as Kiana nodded her head, humming in thought. She always has to stall when she was in these situations. You two often bitched about your feelings to her, leaving her to find quick ways to cover up her knowledge.

She refused to meddle with your relationship, no matter how badly she wanted to. Kiana never revealed that the two of you liked each other, but she could try her best to hint at it.

"Why can't she want the same thing? There's no way to tell that she isn't feeling the same exact way that you are." Kiana sighed as an alarm went off on Spencer's phone, cursing under his breath.

How was it 4PM already? He had planned to be with you when you posted your photos to instagram, expecting to see a message or call from you when he checked his phone. His throat felt dry as he found nothing. Kiana looked to him with worry once more as Spencer's face fell.

"ls Y/N here?" He asked, brows furrowed as he began selecting the pictures from his camera roll slowly, still holding out some hope.

"No, she left a few hours ago, she felt terrible." Kiana shook her head as Spencer looked up to her, his heart falling into his stomach at her Words.

Was this his fault? He hadn't thought you'd stress this much over him. Maybe you were stressing about the whole thing. It had just hit Spencer just how deep into this you were, maybe itd just hit you as well.

He quickly hit post, expecting to see a notification of your post shortly after. He waits a few minutes, aimlessly refreshing his feed before finally locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket.

"Ki, I'm gonna stay home tomorrow, I'll work on my editing still, I just don't really wanna be here." Spencer spoke softly as he stood, Kiana following his actions, nodding softly. She rounded the desk, enveloping him into a warm hug. Kiana gave him a gentle squeeze as she rubbed his back.

"Let me know if you need anything." She smiled, walking him to the door before watching him sprint down the hall.

Spencer had exactly twenty eight minutes until the video was posted. Rachel had wanted to build the excitement beforehand, small hints being left in the other videos posted this week.

He wanted to be as far away from the building as possible when the video was posted, there was no way he could handle the chaos at the building without you. He was so grateful your in time was later than his, causing him to drive himself to work this morning, a rarity nowadays.

Spencer grabbed everything and left without any goodbyes. He went home and went through his routines, but stayed as far from his phone as possible, spending most of the night editing as a means for distraction.

As Spencer brushed his teeth, refusing to look at himself in the mirror, scared to see the tired man staring back at him, a buzz of his phone catches his attention. He finally unlocks it, his feed opening where he had left it. Your post appeared at the top, having been made just minutes ago. Six hours and nineteen minutes after the scheduled time with zero explanation.

Was this a point you were trying to prove? He thought you really cared about this, Spencer believed you two had been on the same page with that at least.

This didn't feel like you, you were punctual, you apologize for being minutes late to meetings. This felt almost intentional.

Meanwhile, you awoke in a panic, your vision blurry as you rubbed your eyes. Your phone buzzed on your nightstand. You unlock it to what seemed like hundreds of notifications, your sleepy fog clearly quickly as you cursed loudly.

Your cat, Craig, jumped from his spot at the edge of your bed, quickly darting down the hall as he meowed loudly.

Your fingers moved just as quickly as your cat as you made your post, sending it off before you sent off many, many apology texts to everyone freaking out over your silence and tardiness. Kiana felt a weight lift from her shoulders as your apology lit up her screen, quickly followed by a request to stay home, pulling a chuckle from your friend.

Spencer and you could avoid each other tomorrow, but probably not much longer.

You two were getting married, for fuck's sake.

#okay this is my first time getting really angsty and i enjoyed it a lot #i hope yall like it #lmk what you think!! #mine #smosh #smosh au #smosh games #spencer #spencer agnew imagine #spencer agnew smut #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew #shayne topp #damien haas #shayne #shayne topp imagine #damien haas imagine #shayne topp x reader #garrett palm #kiana parker #alex tran #olivia sui #courtney Miller

[girlsg1rl]

ALONE ᰔᩚ

warning: eh.. smut, daddy kink, c1mming, f1nger!ng kink, eating out (ifykyk), praise kink, preggie kink

i dont like smut. ion kno why i am doin this as a Christian lmao

anyways probs my first n last time but hope u like it, ya freaks:

minors dni !! 18+

- - - - - - - - - - -

characs.

(original) kimberly fatu

joshua fatu

jonathan fatu

trin fatu

joe anoai

montez ford

bianca belair

jade cargill

___________________

desccc: the gng come over to kim n jey's house for a game night. jey wants to get up to sum else.. whatchu thank happens??

"Mmnn, Jey, c'mon", Kim said, Jey leaving sloppy kisses down her neck as she applies her blush.

"Nah, ma, you lookin a bit too fine, what's goin on?" He said, sucking her neck.

Kimberly moved from him before he could leave a love mark. "Is it so bad that cho girl wanna look good today? Leave me alone boy", Kim giggles. "Stop playin games, woman" Jey says, giving a quick smack on her ass and walking away.

*15 minutes later*

The doorbell rang for a good minute before Kimberly shouted at Jey.

"Daaanggg! I'm getting it, shoot.." Jey says as he rushes towards the door. "Heyyyy!" Trin squeals as she rushes into the house, sitting the wine down on their kitchen island. "Wassup, dawg?" Jey greets Jimmy with their 'secret' handshake.

"What's good?" Jimmy returned his energy. "YEET!" "NO YEET!", they said at the same time. Jimmy glared and mugged at Jey, Jey does the same thing, and enters the house.

Jey walks over to Trinity and gives her a short hug. "What's up, Trin, how y'all been?" Jey questioned.

"I'm good. We been good." Trin says, smiling at Jimmy.

"Yurrr" (means u heard fa da non vernacular ppl) Jimmy added.

"That's good."

"Where's ma girl?" Trin asked.

"Oh, uh, BAE!" Joshua called out.

"ONE SEC, BOO" Kim called out back.

After a few seconds, she finally walks down the left stairs and runs over to Trin.

Trinity does the same thing and they give each other a huge bear hug. "Girl, I missed chuuuu!" Kim speaks, pulling apart. "Not more than me fa sureee!"

They all laugh and joke around until a knock on the door and a doorbell is heard.

Kimberly gets up to open the door is is surprised to see Montez and Bianca with a new face. She lets them in, greeting the new girl politely but looking over her shoulder at Trin who seems to be skiking at the girl. They all sit down after saying their 'hello' s to eachother and Bianca began to explain.

"So this is Jade, she's new on Smackdown and we are in this lil' group thang or whatever. She's really cool and sweet, we have a feelin' you gon' like this girl!" Bianca beamed.

"Oh..heyyy, Jade!" Kim stuck out her hand for her to shake.

"Hiii, they talk about chu so much, my gosh, I'm literally so happy to finally meet chu!" she smiled.

Eh.. maybe they will get along.

*30 minutes later (roman finally gets there btw)*

"Okay y'all, that was fun!" Trinity says.

"Yeah, it was but I'm feeling for a more.. I don't know.. movey.. game?" Bianca calls out.

"Yeah, me too. This alcohol is running through my veins like crazy, gettin' me excited or whatever." Jade added on.

"Uh, what about twister?" Kim suggested.

"Sounds fun to me" Roman replied, shrugging.

Joshua's hand reached Kimberly's thigh and started to rub in and out. She looked over to him but he just ignored her and talked to Jimmy and Roman.

"I'll get the game" Kim said.

"I'll also change my panties 'cause DAYUM these wet asl" she thought to herself.

She walks up the stairs and goes to her and Jey's shared bedroom, she goes into the drawer and starts looking through their board games.

Kim can hear footsteps coming towards the room. Before she had the chance to turn around, Jey had already given her a slap on the ass. It was easier for him to do so as she was bending down to look through the drawer. Kimberly let out a quiet Yelp and turned around.

"Boy, quit playin wit me and go downstairs to entertain out guests, damnit!", she complained.

"Would rather entertain you." he says playing with her hair.

She tuts and attempts to walk away, the game they were waiting for in her hands.

Joshua pulls her by the waist towards him and they both landed on the bed because she fell on him. "What is you doin'?" she asked and got up but Jey put a stop to that because he pushed her back down on the bed.

"JEY, we ain't finna do this rn" she said, laughing a lil bit.

"You ain't want this?", he asked pulling out his 6-inch cock.

Her jaw dropped as if she had never seen it before. She says to herself, 'why is it that everytime he brings it out, it gets bigger?'.

"You ain't want this dick?" Jey asks as he slaps her face with it.

"I-.." she was lost for words.

He gave her a light smack with his hands. "Speak up, ma"

He walks over to the door, dick swinging and all, and locks it. "Tell me you ain't want this dick rn"

She shook her head at his request. "Oh okay so you do want it?" Jey laughed as his dick starting getting more and more hard and hit his stomach. "'cause one thang fa sure, I know it sure as heck wants yo' ass."

She crawled over to him from the middle of the bed to the edge where he was standing. Joshua places the dick on her tongue and she took him as a whole, balls included. Joshua let out a groan as she pulled away, catching her breath. "Keep doin' whatchu do, ma" he told her.

This time, she played with his balls whilst spitting on his cock and deepthroating him. She began to twist and bob her head on his dick, making sure to add in the tongue whenever she possibly could.

"Yeahhh, mmn, just like that, baby" he moaned. "Keep doin' that stuff, huh."

After around a minute later, just as she was about to make him nut, he pulled away. Kimberly frowned but later got rid of that face as Jey ripped apart her panties with just 4 fingers.

Dang, that man is strong.

"You like this stuff, hmm?" He says whilst dipping two fingers in her. "MMNN, UGHH, J-JEY.."

"Shhh, you ain't want them to hear us, huh, 'specially not cho new fren" he shushes her.

He begins to speeded up the process of fingering her wetness. "B-aeeee, ooouuuu, mnnnnn" she moans, quietly and her legs start to tremble. Joshua holds her to make sure she don't fall.

"Ouuu, you so good, daddy, mmnnn" she scream-whispers.

"Say that again"

"Ooo, yesyesyes, DADDYY, I-M FINNA C-" she squeals as she releases all over Jey's fingers.

"Well dang, that ain't take long, hmm?"

She is shaking.

"Answer me." he says as he shoves his cummed-filled hands into her mouth. Kimberly nods and slurps her nut.

"Turn around" he says out of nowhere.

Nevertheless, she does as she's told and turns around. "Arch for daddy". Once again, she does he instructions instructed to her.

Joshua sticks his tongue up all in dat phat. He swirls his tongue over her clit as he hears her pleas and her cries. It makes him even more turned on so he opens her lips with his fingers and starts to like the sides and all over her clit. He licks inside of her pussyhole and his sharp tongue reaches a certain small spot. "AARGGGGGHHH, JEYYY, MMNNNN RUGHT THERE BABY, OHHH!" she screams out, tears and mascara running down her cheeks.

As he does what he do best, he starts to slap her ass. For every slap comes every moan. "Keep yo' sexy ass down, yur?"

"Mmnn..."

"ANSWER ME" he says giving her a harsh, hot slap on her ass.

"Y-yes..Jey- yes!"

"Yes who?"

"DADDY! MMN, YES DADDY! AHHH!" she says excitedly, still struggling to speak though as she reaches her peak.

She let's loose all over Jey' beard. He moves from under her ass, her juices falling off of his hairy chin. "Y-you..so-s-so good, papi" She collapses onto the bed.

"Uhn uhn, you want this dick right?"

"Yes, daddy, yes please"

"You said you ain't want it though." he says, stroking himself.

"I-i do!"

"Beg for it then" he says smirking and winking at the poor girl.

"UGHH, PLEASE DADDY, PLEASE, GIVE ME YOUR DICK, MAKE ME DICK DRUNK. MAKE ME SQUIRT AND CUM TILL I CAN'T BREATH NO MO'. LET ME HAVE YO' BABY, DADDY, PLEASE!" she begged. She arched her back in the air higher than she ever had befo. She knew her back was finna ache in the morning but she was getting that good cock. Who gives a donkey's ass?

"Since you asked so nicely..." he mocked before slipping into her wet disaster. He messes her up till she came and squirted all up on him. It went like this:

"Ohhhh...damnnn, good dickkkk, gooood dickkk" she whispered and moaned.

"Yeah, gotchu looking like a dick-owned slut, ain't we? Yeahhh, you the slut." he groaned, thrusting into her, holding her hips.

"I'm the slutttt, your sluttt!" she moaned.

"Who own this pussy? huh?"

"Y-YOU, DADDY! YOUUUU OWN THISS!"

"Say it again!" he moaned, slapping her ass.

"You own this pussy. All. Freakin. Yours" Kimberly says as she begins to throw it back on his dick.

"Ughhh, ffff-...mmm..keep doin' whatchu is doin', baby!"

"You like this?"

He held onto her hair to bring her head back as they moaned in sync. Honestly, they could care less about who heard them. The sounds of their sweaty, wet skin against eachother and the sound of their moans and groans filled the whole room. "You want my babies? All that talk. You gon' have my child." he says, thrusting up in her even more rough and harder. He raises one leg up and starts to pound all in that. "AURGHHH, DADDYYY!!" she uses her hands to push him away but with that no avail.

"Nah, you was talkin' 'bout 'ion want this. ion want it.' but chu here actin' a fool now" he chuckled. "Don't try run from this 6 inch machine, baby"

"I'm gon' MARK YOU UP, BAE! YOU READY TA BE THE MOTHER OF MY KID, HUH, HMM?" Joshua questioned, his dick twitching inside of her and his dick getting sloppy. She was unable to speak. Weird sounds came out of her mouth as she came and squirted down his cock. Her legs shook.

Jey groaned loudly as he released himself inside of her also. Dang, that was some great sex. His dick slid right outta her with some of his cum dripping out of her too.

*15 minutes after*

Trinity speaks up, "Ha, yeah, anyways, y'all ain't wondering where the power couple are? Hm? They been gone for long.." she says giving Bianca and Jade 'the look'.

They return that look.

"Yeah, no, no, I've been wondering too" Joe answers.

"Maybe they still lookin' fa the game, y'all" Jonathan's stupid ass shrugs.

"No, dumbass, she got that diiiickkkk- ouch!" Montez talks before getting hit in the back of the head by Bianca.

Jade is very obviously uncomfortable. "Well, what a great first encounter, huh?" she jokes. Some of the others nervously laugh at the joke, whilst the others shrug or ignore her.

Finally, the couple that everyone's been talkin' bout came down the stairs, hand in hand. "So, where y'all been fa a hour straight?" Joe asks, Montez looking at his watch, Trin looking at the clock and the others looking straight towards them. "Yeah! And where's the game?" Jon asks. This time, it was Trin doin the lil hit on the back of the head. Jey stares at him, so do the others. "Damn, ay, ain't got it? That's cool.." he whispers to himself, rubbing the back of his upper neck, his eyes facing the floor.

Kimberly blushed uncontrollably and bit her lip, saying nothing as she didn't want to speak in that moment.

"We just needed some...time, that's all." Jey spoke up finally. Kimberly Fatu just nodded, not wanting to say anything. "Yup, a hour's time, oh jeyyyy, oh daddy, cu-"

"UH, ANYWAYS, really, y'all should go..thanks for coming, have a good night, goodbye." Jey says, letting go of his wife's hand and pushing everyone towards the front door. "We'll call yo-" Bianca and Trinity didn't even get to finish their sentence before the sound of the door interrupted them.

"Well... I guess we were loud?"

"Oh, really? Dumbass.." Kimberly smiled, showing off her dimples as she walked toward her husband.

#fanfiction #smut #jey uso #wwe raw #wwe #ocxjey #18+ post

[virgilisspidey]

When you scare the 2012 gang:

Mikey

You are very lucky he isn't holding any weapons

He will immediately aim for the head

My mans will scream and swing blindly until he hits something.

Donnie

Fucking freezes like one of those goats

He doesn't fall over luckily

But he will clutch his heart like an old man

Raph

Very high pitched scream

Fight or flight is immediately on, it depends if he's holding a weapon or not if he's gonna choose fight or flight

Will fucking stab you please run away

Leo

Windows start up noises

Literally blue screens

He's staring into space now and if you snap him out of it he'll punch you

Mondo Gecko

Dramatically falls over

He'll laugh afterwards

Very chill, very good sport

Timothy

He is like a shaking chihuahua

You can literally see him crying but he brushes it off and act tough

You will feel bad about scaring him so dont even try

April

Either slaps you or kicks you where the sun dont reach so thread carefully

She will automatically protect her head for some reason

Whatever she is holding gets yeeted

Casey

Very loud scream

Once he realized he screamed he tries to shrug it off because he's embarrassed

Raises his fists ready to fight but doesn't go through with it

Shinigami

The one that does the scaring

If she did manage to get scared she'd complain loudly about it

Bats just... Fly out of her cape after she jumps when she got scared... For some reason...

Karai

Sucker punches you straight in the nose

Is very mad

Tends to throw whatever she's holding in retaliation

Mona Lisa

Doesn't get scared easily

Would strangle you if she does get scared and doesn't understand it's a joke

But most of the time she just stares at you and thinks what you're doing is kinda cute.

#tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #tmnt 2012 headcanons #the gang's all here

[autumnslance]

Year of the OTP - August 2023 - Snowstorm

(Whoops, fell off with this thanks to Other Writing Projects, but let's get back into the swing with 2500 words of Heavensward pre-relationship and a draft I have sat on for years and am finally reworking and yeeting out here...Original prompt list here! Something of a sequel, or at least a similar situation, to Sandstorm.)

“This seems familiar,” Aeryn said as they shoved the old door closed against the howling winds.

“In some ways,” Thancred agreed, unable to stop his teeth from chattering. “Should we worry about heretics or creatures?”

“Durendaire cleared this hamlet recently,” Aeryn said. “I remember talking to Redwald about it, so figured it was safe enough for shelter.”

Thancred nodded and stamped his feet, following her from the foyer to the cramped sitting room of the abandoned house, one of many dotted across the icy countryside after the Calamity. The farmhouse wasn’t large, nor had it seen recent upkeep from weather such as the blizzard winding up outside.

It didn’t help that Thancred was soaked up to his thighs, having slid off an embankment and onto ice thinner than it had looked while they had fought their quarry for Clan Centurio, a rogue aevis of unusual size. It was a part of Nidhogg’s emboldened brood and had been terrorizing the supply lines from Falcon’s Nest to the Convictory and Tailfeather.

The dragon was dead—but they would be too, if they didn’t get a fire going soon. The temperature was noticeably dropping.

“Been awhile since we outpaced a storm like that,” Thancred said while they did their best to shut themselves into a single room. “Not sure if I wish to be in a sandstorm instead, though.”

“This is much too cold for my Thavnairian blood,” Aeryn sniffed. A quick check showed some remnant firewood made of broken furnishings. She got the fire going, using magic to speed the process.

“You’re half-Coerthan,” Thancred replied. “Surely that affords you some acclimation.”

“I left when this place still had proper seasons,” she countered. “You have to get those boots off.” She dug into her pack for blankets or anything else to help. Despite the spellwork making it capable of carrying quite a lot without burdening the wearer, Thancred knew what a crowded mess her bag was, and shuddered.

Or maybe that was just the cold.

“Working on it,” he replied, shrugging off the winter coat he had donned for this venture. He hung it over a nearby chair that yet survived, turning it to the fireplace to help dry the fabric, his gloves left on the seat. Then he sat heavily on the large, fuzzy rug—it was ragged, but at least in this cold there probably weren’t fleas or other vilekin—and began fumbling at the buckles and laces of his boots, fingers not as nimble as usual.

“Let me help,” Aeryn said, dropping a blanket next to him as she knelt on the rug.

“I’ve got—” He growled in frustration as his fingers slipped past a buckle again. Her hands caught his, pressing his fingers between her warm palms. “Fine, I don’t have it,” he admitted, breath caught at the feeling. At least there was a feeling.

“You’re colder than I thought,” Aeryn said, frowning. She let go of his hand, and it was an effort for him to not whimper at the loss. She quickly got his boots off, and the socks beneath them, pulling the wet fabric carefully. The feel of her fingers on his legs sent more shocks through him. “Um. Your pants are soaked, too,” she said.

“Then they’ll have to go,” he replied. “I can manage that, as entertaining the idea of you further undressing me is,” Thancred joked. He couldn’t help but grin at her expected blush.

“Well, you’re not so far gone as I’d feared,” she replied dryly. But she smiled in return, relieved he had the energy for his usual teasing demeanor.

“You’re not rid of me that easily,” he said. “And you should remove your own damp layers, Aeryn.”

She nodded in response, turning away from him as she removed her coat and boots. While she did, he managed to unlace and unbutton his pants and wriggle them off, dropping them aside while keeping the blanket over his lap for her sense of modesty more than his own. At least he had smalls on; while staying with the Vath, that hadn’t been an option. He pulled his sweat-damp top off while at it.

He distantly watched her hang up their gear to dry, over random old furnishings or even carefully off the mantle. She dug through his pack, too, for anything to help with the cold. He ought to help, but mostly wanted to sit and doze by the fire. She knelt by him again, and he thought the way the firelight framed her was rather pretty. “How are you feeling, Thancred?”

“Cold and tired, and my feet still feel number than I like.”

“May I?” At his nod, she pushed up the blanket and began examining and massaging his feet and calves to stimulate circulation, her skin warm and soft against his and gods. He swallowed hard and watched as her shoulders relaxed. “I don’t think you’re in danger of frostbite, just cold—”

“Could you keep massaging just a bit longer?” he blurted. “It’s helping.” He didn’t want to try to explain how much he didn’t want to lose the sensation of another’s skin on his, the simple touch of another person. He kept his eyes down as she studied him briefly, but then she nodded and continued for a few more minutes.

It was heavenly.

“It’s still getting colder,” she noted, finally moving away to look for more fuel for the fire; there wasn’t much left in the room. “We’ll have to strip down and sleep next to each other for warmth.”

He raised a brow, surprised she had been the one to suggest such. Then again, she had been living in Coerthas for moons now and had learned from her hosts. That was what he meant to say. What slipped out was an attempted jape: “Is that how things started with Lord Haurchefant?”

Aeryn’s face reddened as she fumbled with an old, broken set of shelves. “No!” she snapped, focusing on the fallen bits of wood to carry to the fire.

“I’m sorry, I’m not thinking clearly,” Thancred said, rubbing his arms. “I know his loss is still recent and naught to joke about. I do admit to a bit of confusion, as I recall you not caring for romantic matters and yet—”

“Stop.” Her tone was sharp, her back to him as she tried to busy herself by the fire. “Please,” she added after a moment.

He frowned at her back, more irate than he perhaps should have been. Probably just the cold.

“It wasn’t like that,” she finally said so quietly that he almost missed it. “I know about the gossip, and the godsdamned songs and poems the local bards have spun up since that day in the Vault, and since my return upon Midgardsormr.”

Which was how Thancred had first heard; he wouldn’t have given such the tavern bawds credence, however, if he hadn’t also spoken to the Fortemps servants about how besotted the young lord had been with their guest, and how she was so carefully interested in return, and wasn’t it all just so terribly tragic, she had been so aggrieved…

“If I could stop all those rumors, I would,” she practically growled. “Haurchefant was…a friend. That’s…that’s all.”

Thancred peered at her. She was still turned away, staring into the fire. “You’re still a bad liar,” he pointed out.

Aeryn did turn now, to scowl at him. She looked about to say something, then blinked, her irritation turning to concern. “Hells, Thancred, you’re freezing.”

“There is a blizzard out there.”

She shook her head, finishing removing her own clothes until she was just in her band and smalls, then dove under the blanket with him. He expected back to back, but she wrapped her limbs around him and was not only warm, but the close contact with another person again left him heady.

Thancred thought for a moment. How long had it been since he had touched, and been touched, by another person so intimately? Moons, certainly, even counting his brief tryst with Hilda on his first arriving in Ishgard. That had been...different, than this; more desperation than anything, sating an immediate need for carnal contact with willing company (and that wasn’t insectoid).

All right then; how long since he had experienced an innocently friendly, intimate touch with no other expectations? He really couldn’t say, as he wrapped his arms around Aeryn in return.

“I’d…tried to reciprocate his affections,” Aeryn said after a moment. Thancred frowned. Her head rested on his shoulder, dark strands of hair tickling his cheek while her breath was warm on his collarbone when she spoke. “He was my friend, and I cared for him as such—and realized, too late, that was how it was. He wanted something else. Then everything happened and I never got—never took—the chance to clear the air with him before…everything happened.”

“I’m sorry,” Thancred said, wincing. “For how that turned out, for that loss of a friend, and for my thoughtlessness and heeding of base rumors.”

He could imagine the little thinking crease between her brows as she took a long moment to respond. “Thank you,” she said eventually, not elaborating. Then she sighed. “Not the first time I’ve made such an error. I thought I’d grown past such, knew myself better. I hate feeling like I led the man on, or used him.”

“Knowing you, I doubt that’s what happened,” Thancred said. “Still, nice to know our Warrior of Light’s yet fallible,” he teased gently, jostling her.

She whined a little. “Keep that up and I’ll kick you all night.”

“Ah, is that the danger I face?”

“Only if you listen to my sisters. Or Yda. Or Y’shtola. Or—just go to sleep.”

He chuckled, watching the fire and listening to the wind howl outside. It was as cold as the Hell of Ice outside of their little nest of blankets. So stay put and don’t examine any other reason besides staying warm as to why that seemed like a nice idea.

Thancred shut the mental door firmly there. Aeryn was a friend and colleague, and they’d both been through too much hell in recent moons. His time of isolation had affected his mind and physical reactions when he was literally freezing and she only did what was necessary to keep him in good health, despite his acting like an ass. Had their positions been reversed, he’d have done the same with no thought of anything but her safety.

Well, he may still have made a few jokes, just to make her scoff and smile and snark back the way she usually did when he teased. He had truly missed that, and was truly sorry for causing distress by bringing up those rumors.

He merely wanted to look out for her interests and her own bruised heart. That was all.

—

He was alone. The plain was unending, empty but for the buzzing of insects and the distant roar of dragons. The wind howled, sounding like the shouts and screams of men in blue uniforms. Their ghosts sliced at his bare flesh as he ran, calling out the names of the Scions until he was hoarse while cold shadows blotted out his vision and Ultima burned through his veins as Lahabrea laughed…

—

“Thancred!” Aeryn’s voice jolted him awake. It was soon followed by the warmth of her hand on his face, checking his temperature. “Are you all right?”

“Bad dream,” he rasped, clearing his throat. “Apologies if my thrashing woke you.”

“More your clinging,” she said. She was one to talk, given how she had latched on like a barnacle. Aeryn started to remove her hand, but he caught it, holding it against his cheek, needing to keep that gentle touch, noting her scars and calluses, letting that reality ground him in time and place. “Thancred?”

“Apologies,” he said. “I simply…” Am acting a fool.

“You were alone for a while,” she said gently.

He smiled wanly, finally lifting his gaze to her. She was propped on her elbow, watching him. His eye covering had slipped off in his restless slumber; his left eye was beginning to throb from the aetherial underlay it showed, a result of the damage he had taken from the Flow before being spat into the Dravanian wilderness. He temporarily forgot the discomfort it caused as he finally looked at Aeryn with his eye uncovered. She glowed with bright aether, sparking across every ilm in shimmering blue, tracing her limbs, outlining each muscle, every scar, the well of brilliant strength within her possibly fathomless...

“The Vath are not the best company for a fleshling, unfortunately,” he admitted after too long spent staring. “I didn’t realize how lonely I had been until...well, until you all found me again.”

She pulled him close, letting him lean on her this time in a simple embrace. “You’re here,” she said quietly. “You’re all right.”

He let out a heavy sigh and listened to the steadiness of her heartbeat, breathed in the hint of her violas mixed with the tang of earlier activity sweat. “Do you ever tire of taking care of people?” he asked, only half joking.

“Sometimes,” she admitted, like it was a recent realization she was still parsing through. “But not right now.” Another pause, and a slight squeeze. “I’ve spent too long worried for all of you. Wanting to find everyone, and we still haven’t—“ She stopped.

“I’m glad you found me,” he said. “And with your good luck, it won’t be long until we find the others.” Until we find Minfilia.

He thought to wait until Aeryn was asleep again before adjusting to a more appropriate position— he was aware of exactly where her thigh was despite the innocence of their situation—but then her fingertips brushed his bare left cheek, startling him. “I just realized your bandana fell off.”

“It’s fine, didn’t mean to sleep with it on at all,” he muttered, reveling in the sensation of her fingers tracing along his cheekbone. Ever-caring, their Aeryn; she was simply helping him (again, a part of him hissed, a part he told to shut up) after so long on his own.

“No scarring; I thought you were injured?” she sounded like she wasn’t certain if she should be annoyed or not.

“Not physically, as such,” he answered. Her fingers ghosted over his eye, and there was an ever-so-slight bit of warmth and light; the only indication of magic used. He could no longer feel the shift in the aether, but he kept that annoying fact to himself.

“Aetheric damage,” she said, resting that hand on his shoulder.

“One does not traverse the Lifestream unscathed,” Thancred answered. “Even as a passenger.”

“Any pain?”

How to explain it? In the end, he simply said: “Not especially; eye strain headaches, hence keeping it covered most of the time. Nothing I can’t manage.”

“You try to manage much by yourself.”

He chuckled wryly at that. “But honestly, it’s mostly an inconvenience, I promise you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she replied.

“I don’t doubt that you shall.”

They faded off into sleep again, and this time there were no nightmares. Tomorrow they would dig themselves out and return to Ishgard, job done, and not speak of the details. Tonight, however, was friendly warmth and comfort while the storm raged outside.

#final fantasy xiv #lyn writing #lyn edits #YOTP 2023 #Thancred Waters #Thancred x WoL #Wolcred #Shippy Nonsense #Heavensward #Pre-relationship #Coerthas #Aeryn Striker #touch starved #how to deal with freezing temps #awkward conversations

[seniaasaysstuff]

𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐓 || 𝒋𝒋𝒌 𝒙 𝒂𝒐𝒕

This is just a snippet from my fic I’m thinking of posting on wattpad lol. Would you like to read it? Let me know.

Where itadori y/n gets isekaied into the aot universe along with her friends during the Shibuya incident. This is basically y/n rizzing up people.

"Guys where the fuck are we?" You asked, completely baffled by the situation.

“Caviar!” Toge muttered.

One moments you were in Shibuya fighting and the next thing you knew you were in a big land with a forest behind you.

"Have we all been fucking yeeted to a goddamn forest?" Maki spoke furiously.

And of course Mai had to butt in.

"Yeah like what the fuck?" Mai added angrily.

Everyone just started bickering with each other.

In the midst of this chaos,

todo and yuji were crying something about missing Takada-chan and Jennifer Lawrence,

panda had become the budha statue,

gojo was annoying nanami,

yuta,toge and megumi were silently having a conversation,

And you were having a staring contest with sukuna. Yes the great sukuna had finally been separated from yuji for plot purposes and assumed his original form.

"Give up brat you're setting yourself up for failure." Sukuna mocked you.

"I'm going to hit you sukuna shut the fuck up let me focus asshole." You cursed at him. This was his strategy to annoy you until you give up.

"You only have one decent eye asshole. Stop trying to act cocky with me." You huffed.

"Hey brat back in my day kids like you would have been burnt at the stake." He voiced. "And the fuck am I supposed to do with that information?" You grunted.

"Anyways you old bastard focus on me." You spoke, your eyes were watering but you couldn't just lose to this wrinkly old bastard.

"You know I kinda dig your whole vibe like- unapologetically I'd smash and let you choke me." You blurted, when you said that you were met with radio silence.

"Did you just say you are attracted to sukuna? The old wrinkly bastard that was inside me?" Yuji yelled. "Yuji just stop you're making it worse." Nobara bonked yuji on his head.

“Why are you booing me I’m right.” You yelled.

"Now now y/n-chan~ if you wanted to be attracted to somebody you could've just chosen me. I'm an amazing human/ genius." Gojo said pointing at himself.

Nanami hit the back of his head. "Stop being a nonce satoru." He muttered. "Nanamin stop bullying me." Gojo whined. "Bro literally shut up." You muttered.

"I prefer older guys no older people in general you know," you shrugged. "Daddy issues does that to you." You added.

"Y/N ITADORI THAT IS A GREAT GREAT GREAT SOMETHING GRANDPA YOU FRIGGING IDIOT. HOW ARE YOU INTO THAT PRUNE." Yuji itadori, your twin brother yelled at you.

"He's a sexy prune tho?" You whined.

Maki whistled. "You know I kind of understand what you mean."

"My man sukuna has unspoken rizz.” You wiggled your eyebrows at sukuna.

Sukuna was honestly embarrassed never in his many many many years of living he was treated like this.

He picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. “You seriously need to be taught manners.” He clicked his tongue.

“Will you teach me daddy?” You fluttered your eyelashes looking at sukuna.

He groaned. “What the fuck is this thing? Someone take her away.”

This is what sukuna looks btw.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk imagines #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen yuji #itadori yuji #ryomen sukuna #nanami kento #gojo saturo #yuta okkotsu #maki zenin #mai zenin #panda jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro #nobara kugisaki #inumaki toge #todo aoi #jujutsu sukuna #aot x jjk #aot x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk nanami #jjk megumi #jjk yuuji #jjk anime #jjk nobara #jjk maki

[il-predestinato]

Let’s test your speed writing shall we? 😛

Hmm… my favourite number maybe? 38 🥺🧡

38. "Small Talk" by Katy Perry; pairing - lestappen (what a surprise!)

I just can't believe We went from strangers to lovers to strangers in a lifetime

So... Al, this one completely got away from me: it’s um... slightly longer than 5 sentences (2093 words apparently).

send me an ask with a number between 1 and 100 and I'll write a 5ish sentence fic inspired by that song on my 2022 wrapped playlist!

Title: One Day

Summary: The Monaco Grand Prix is cursed.

Day 37

Max always remembers. Charles always forgets.

Max remembers the address of Charles' apartment in Monte Carlo. (Charles told him on Day 5. Not too shabby, thought Max, for two people who were never friends and closer to enemies.) This time, he goes there first. The speech is well-rehearsed by now. It was a blabbering mess on Day 9, and Charles nearly tossed him off the balcony. (Day 10 was worse; Charles actually called Christian, fuck his life, and nearly called a sports psychologist before Max yeeted his phone off the balcony in desperation.) By Day 13, Max had a polished version of 'the speech'. By now, he could probably rhyme it off in his sleep. Not that it ever yielded any better results, so he abandoned this approach on Days 30 to 36. And that got him nowhere either. So back to square one.

He waits patiently for the five stages of grief to cycle past on speedrun; to give Charles some credit, despite the lack of memory retention, he did seem to get over it quicker and quicker each time. Perhaps something of each Day lingered, even if it wasn't remembrance per se.

"So it's always at Nouvelle Chicane or Le Portier?" questions Charles, hands rubbing at his temples.

Max nods, and then shakes his head. "At the Swimming Pool once," he amends. "On Day 12, I think... a crane fell on my head."

"Why was there even a crane?!" Charles groans, scandalized.

Max shrugs. He hasn't even told Charles about Day 31; a jewel thief literally ran across the race track and smashed a briefcase full of diamonds straight into Charles' helmet at 285 kph.

"So sometimes you die, and sometimes I die?" mumbles Charles with a frown.

"It doesn't matter who," confirms Max. "Then the Day restarts with my alarm going off at 7 am."

-

Day 38

"You've got to be kidding!"

Max is trying not to smile, but Charles looks absolutely petulant.

Charles glares at him. "I died at La Rascasse?" He throws both hands up in the air. "Like... how?! La Rascasse! At the hairpin?! I drive faster to the supermarket, mon dieu!"

"This time I think you took Lando with you -"

Panicked green eyes met his. "Oh, putain!" screeches Charles. "Did I kill Lando? Oh my God, oh my God. Max, please tell me I didn't -"

"Relax, mate." Max rubs both temples. Why is he always cursed to remember? "Everything resets. Lando will be fine."

"But are you sure?" insists Charles anxiously.

Max squeezes him gently on the shoulder. A little shiver runs up his arm, and he's not sure why. This wasn't exactly their first physical contact off the track. (Some Days he can remember more vividly than others; he's not quite ready to admit that the hug from Charles is the reason he remembers Day 9 more clearly than the 29 days that followed.)

"I promise," he says softly. "I got both George and Lance on Day 24, and they both came back just fine the next day."

-

Day 40

“Okay, what if we kill someone else first?”

Max is both impressed and mildly alarmed. It really didn’t take Charles all that long to make the leap from ‘wallow in despair about the unbreakable curse’ to ‘let’s move on to murder.’

“It won’t work.” He shakes his head. “Day 17. Toto and Helmut sort of decapitated each other mid-race, but the Day didn’t end until Carlos put me into the barrier.”

“Toto and Helmut did what?”

-

Day 43

"Tell me what happened yesterday."

Max freezes. The ache in his chest hasn't dulled at all.

Yesterday.

“It’s easier if I show you,” he murmurs, as he tries to ignore the sting in the corners of his eyes.

He steps closer to Charles. He hesitates.

The problem is that he has spent 42 Days with Charles, while Charles has spent none of those Days with him.

He laughs inwardly. But then again, Charles won’t remember this Day either, so what does he have to lose?

Boldness, grief, desire - seizes his chest all at once - and he gathers Charles’ face between his hands; for a fraction of a second, he realizes that Charles isn’t flinching, isn’t moving away. He kisses the soft lips, the very same ones he kissed for the first time yesterday.

Charles kisses him back. And it’s like it was yesterday again.

-

Day 61

It’s worse when he is the cause of death.

-

Day 87

No, it’s worse when Charles dies in his arms.

-

Day 90

He’s wrong again. Nothing is worse than seeing the grief in those green eyes as Max dies in his arms.

Max wants to rip at the gaping wound in his chest. Let him bleed out faster. Let it be tomorrow already.

-

Day 91

“Tell me what happened yesterday.”

Max laughs and sobs. (He sobs in joy.)

He thanks all the stars that Charles didn’t remember. That Charles never remembers.

-

Day 113

“I wish I could remember,” confesses Charles. “It doesn’t seem fair that you know so much about me, and I know almost nothing about you.” He traces his hand along Max’s exposed chest, nestling his face deeper into the crook of Max’s neck.

Max lets him explore. He selfishly loves it. There’s a certain awe in Charles’ expression that he adores, the way he “learns” (relearns) Max’s body each time.

“It’s better that you don’t,” he teases, going for levity this time. “It’s the only way I can guarantee you mind-blowing sex every time, like you’ve never experienced.”

Charles punches him lightly on the sternum. (Max smiles; it’s kinder than the mean little pinch Charles gave him on Day 99.)

“Let’s stay in bed today,” he suggests. “No racing today.”

Charles nods, pressing a feathery kiss to his collarbone. “Maybe that’s the trick.”

Max doesn’t have the heart to tell him that they already tried: Day 7, Day 21, Day 78, Days 103-109. If anything, they always died faster.

-

Day 188

“I love you,” Charles tells him.

Butterflies dance in his chest, and Max fights to maintain composure, just like he did all the previous times when Charles said those words. “You’ve only been with me for a few hours.”

“More than half a year,” corrects Charles.

Has it been that long? Max doesn’t say out loud.

He squeezes Max’s hand on their way out the door, on the way to the race track (on the way to their doom).

“Even if I don’t say it tomorrow, or the Day after that, or for a few Days,” insists Charles. “Just remember that I love you. Always. Even if I don’t remember it.”

-

Day 213

Charles dies for the fifteenth Day in a row.

Max prays to a deity that he doesn’t believe in.

-

Day 219

Charles dies for the twenty-first Day in a row.

Max curses the deity he doesn’t believe in. He vows to let the world break its fucking neck if it means he can keep Charles.

-

Day 220

He tries a different approach. He reaches for all the ugly parts of him that he once swore he would never become.

“- and that is why you will never win the Monaco Grand Prix,” he snarls at Charles, even as he feels his chest - his whole body - fracturing. He wants to bite until he bleeds and swallow his own tongue, but he ploughs on for Charles’ sake. “You will never live up to what you promised your father or Jules -”

Charles punches him. Hard.

It hurts.

He’s glad it hurts. Maybe if Charles hates him, like the universe did, maybe then - just maybe - he might live.

-

Day 224

“I didn’t mean it,” he swallows thickly. “I didn’t mean any of it -”

Charles kisses away whatever apology he was trying to form in his throat.

He can’t help but think: If Charles could remember, truly remember, he would never forgive me.

-

Day 330

Today, he doesn’t go to Charles at all.

Maybe he is the problem.

The poison that feeds this curse. He is the constant variable after all, the part of the equation that dooms them to this eternal purgatory.

-

Day 359

Charles tries to go to him.

He never accounted for that.

Max wants to open that door. Just one twist of the door knob, and Charles will be on the other side. Beautiful, kind, brave Charles. He wants -

It takes every might of his willpower to pull his hand away from the door.

-

Day 362

It’s raining. It never rains. This Day is always, unfailingly sunny.

Charles is in his arms once again, bleeding out on the pavement. The rain tries to wash the blood away. Tries to wash Charles away.

He’s crying, but Charles can’t see that, because the rain washes his tears away too.

“I should have been with you.”

All that wasted time. And for what?

He hasn’t seen Charles for twenty-two Days, but the green eyes that stare back at him are calm, even as the life behind them fades with every passing second.

“You’re with me now,” whispers Charles weakly.

“I love you,” he sobs. He doesn’t care if he’s practically a stranger to this Charles, the one dying in his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

When Charles’ eyes close at last, his face is peaceful, almost the hint of a smile tugging on his lips. A little bit of pain departs with the last breath that Max releases before his world fades to black.

-

Day 363

Charles launches a baguette at his head, and Max cannot believe the man still insists that he doesn’t possess a single iota of French ancestry.

“You abandoned me for how many days?” Charles’ accusation makes him flinch harder than the impact of the baguette on his forehead.

“Schat, I -”

Charles growls at him. “Don’t ‘schat’ me! First of all, I have no idea what that means -”

Max makes an offended noise. Charles loves his pet name, if only he could remember.

“Second of all,” continues Charles relentlessly, “I may not remember, but I felt it.”

That causes Max to fall silent.

“Oh.”

Charles sniffs, picking up the discarded baguette off the floor. “I don’t know how to explain it, but even when I don’t remember, I feel all of it. I can feel everything we went through.”

-

Day 365

Some Days are easier than others. He’s not sure which Day this one is yet. A quick, painless death after a long, beautiful day of laughter? They even made it past the actual race twice. (The first time, Charles drowned in the Monte Carlo harbour during the after party; it remains the one and only time he’s ever won the Monaco Grand Prix, which Max continues to tease him about. The second time, Daniel accidentally cracked Max’s skull with the podium champagne.) Or will it be a painful, drawn out death after a gloomy, joyless day? (Max is still embarrassed about that time he slipped on a bar of soap in the shower on Day 81, ending the Day about 15 minutes after it had started.)

Charles lays a bowl of tomato soup in front of him.

(Max once told him that he loved tomato soup. Maybe 150 Days ago. Maybe earlier than that. He mentioned it only once. Not that Charles ever remembers.)

Somehow Charles always remembers.

“So what’s the plan today?” asks Charles lightly.

The morning sun is streaming through the pearly white curtains, and a crown of light dances around Charles’ soft brown curls. A soft breeze through the open window wafts the tangy aroma of tomato soup towards him.

He takes Charles’ hand in his own and pulls him down so he can taste him on his lips.

“Just being with you,” he whispers, and his heart lightens when Charles rewards him with a dimpled smile. “If I have to live one Day over and over again, then I’m going to spend that Day with you.”

He understands now.

He thought the universe had cursed him. Had cursed them. But even a single Day with Charles was a gift. And he got to relive it over and over again. He won’t waste it again.

-

Day 366 Tomorrow

The alarm doesn’t go off at 7 am.

He only wakes up when the warm duvet is rudely snatched away from him, leaving him shivering in the crisp morning air. A pair of ice cold feet burrows their way into the warm space between his thighs, and a whiplash of messy brown hair makes his eyes sting after settling on his pillow.

-

Hope you enjoyed, @alestire

That kind of... spiralled.

#charles leclerc #max verstappen #lestappen #* #my fic #elle.ask #al tag #ask game #spotify wrapped inspired #this is how i cope with the monaco gp curse

[anonymoosen]

ZIMPAI STORY PART 6: A CONFESSION OF OBSESSION 🥺👉👈

(YALL THIS IS GONNA BE THE LAST PART FJDJFDJ CUZ I HAVE TO END THIS WEIRD STORY BEFORE I BURN ANYONE ELSES BRAINCELLS AGAIN)

(AND THIS IS GONNA BE MY THING FOR ZIMDAY/IZDAY LOL)

———-

“LIEEESSS!” The alien desperately screeched out loud on the top of his lungs (or whatever aliens had). Dib raised an eyebrow in confusion, distracting him from the overwhelming sadness he was trying to hide. “I…uhhh- didn’t say anything…?”

Zimpai blinked and tried to regain his composure. He slowly took a step back and tried to escape. Dib-chan tilted his head, and his hair bone scythe hair cowlick thingy turned into a light bulb as a thought struck him. “C-could it be…”

Just as the big headed boy opened his mouth to let out his undeniably kawaii anime voice, Zim-kun began to run and covered his nonexistent ears.

“Z-Zimpai has…a…a…”

Dib-Chan’s delicate pretty voice suddenly became deep and sounded like he was a macho and buff man. “CRUSHY WUSHY LUSHY USHY BLUSHY CRUSHY ON MEEEE!11!1!1!1!11”

The yell was so loud and ear piercing that the whole ground collapsed while everything around Dib got pushed away by 999999999 kilometers.

This was so powerful that even Gaz became flabberGAZted by this and was more concerned than ever. “TAK- WHY THE ACTUAL HELL DID YOU MAKE THE ANIME BEAM DO THIS???”

Tak, despite her messy hair and being literally yeeted away by an incredibly long distance from a pathetic lover boy, was still smiling smugly and just shrugged. “I had the most tragic villain story from the most stupid defective Irken of destruction demolishing a vending machine. His stupid lover obviously has to be as insane as he is.”

Back with our main character idiots here, Dibby boi realised what he has done and sobbed, “Z-Zimpai my pookie…! I didn’t mean to hurt you like thisss…!!” (he obviously did lolll)

From 999 something kilometers whatever that number I typed earlier (oh wait I can copy and paste but oh well) away, the green space cockroach creechur growled, “GRGRGRRR YOUUU…!! YOUUUU!! WHEN YOU YOUUU!11!1!1 YOUUU MADE ME MAAADDD GRGRGRGRHDIEJDEKJ” (bro this space boi couldn’t hear dib a shmillion times even when he was 1 inch away from him but now he can-)

(wAIT I SHOULD MAKE LESS BRACKETED TEXTS SORRY-)

Instead of apologizing again, Dib got mad at Zim too because it would be too out of character if the boys didn’t fight each other here as it was still an ENEMIES to lovers arc after all.

Deeb Doob Dob Dib’s voice became all buff again as he himself became buff too, electricity surging all around him. He then ascended from the ground, T-posing and let the mysterious anime power carry him towards the alien.

The alien boi zimmediately tried to become as buff as Dibby boi did by casually grabbing a machine that was 69 420 times his size in his PAK and blasted himself with it, causing his scrawny-looking green arms to develop more and more muscles and become as buff as Dib was.

The boys just stared each other down, eyes glowing while T-posing in front of each other.

Dib-chan then broke the silence that lasted for 10 hours by saying in a small and cute voice while still in that buff state

“…Z-zim-kun I… I… l-love y-you…”

Zim then reverted back to his cutesy smol chibi shape and responded with a little “B-baka!!” even when Dib didn’t finish the sentence.

Surprised by that, the big headed boy also reverted back into his original pathetic form and giggled, “I love you….your mom!” He laughed even more and smirked. Zim was taken aback and felt his heart— whatever aliens had shatter into smithereens. Was this really how Dib felt…? Was it all just a silly little game…?

Before Zim could take get out his PAK legs to absolutely destroy and obliterate the human, Dib laughed once more and threw that one love letter to Zim, smacking his face and not the back of his bald head this time.

“Nahhh! Just kidding, and uh- happy birthday, I guess…” Dib looked away quickly as the butterflies returned in his stomach. Dang it— he forgot how cute his crush looked despite how stupid he was…

“Ehhh- birthday?? Invaders don’t NEED pathetic Urth birthdays!”

“Yeah, yeah— but today is still special, y’know? It’s the day you set your little alien foot on this planet!”

Zim tried not to smile at his beloved nemesis remembering AND writing some letter to him for this day. But then…

“WAIT! How did you know it’s today?? We met at the disgusting skool one or two days after I landed on this filthy planet!!”

Dib smiled and responded, “I’m a paranormal investigator! Of COURSE I know the exact day an alien comes here!”

“You were a creepy stalker from the start, Dib-thing… even before becoming those… yhaaan-deers…”

“You’re creepy too, y’know!! And you were so weird too! In fact- everything was so weird earlier… nothing new, I guess!” Dib chuckled.

Zim coughed and shifted his eyes away from Dib, yet getting closer beside him. “…Yeah. Very…strange…”

Dib-ch- I mean DIB noticed this and leaned closer and closer to Zim and….

HELD HIS HANDDDD!1?1!?!1?11!1! SO SCANDALOUS!! THE END-

(Just kidding :3)

…he affectionately smooched the bug boy’s cheek! This gesture was so sweet that even the usually cold Gaz let out an “awww!” along with every other bystander around them!

The gay boys finally completed their enemies to lovers arc….

…until the cartoon resets again and everyone forgot what happened !

The end uwu

—————-

KFKDFKDKDKD HELP ITS ACTUALLY OVER AHHFJDJDDJD

THIS STORY HAS BEEN… SOMETHING! LOLL IF U ACTUALLY READ THIS, OR EVEN READ ALL THE WAY FROM THE START- I JUST WANNA SAY THANK YOU.

THANK YOU FOR ALL UR SUPPORT AND STILL STICKING BY DESPITE THE SLOW UPDATES AND THE LOW QUALITY WRITING AND PHONE DOODLES!

Honestly, I’m gonna miss this story, so maybe I’m still gonna make things for it in the future like doodle comics or more writings but after the reset! Anyway… again thanks so much for reading this if u did and have the bestest day or night! Don’t let the buff boys haunt you XD

———-

FIRST

PREV

NE- OH WAIT THIS IS THE LAST LOLL FKDKDD BYEEEE!!

#KFDKKDKD #U GUYS WONT HAVE ANY MORE HORRIBLE HORRIFYING THING THAT WILL MELT UR BRAIN CELLS NOW #UNLESS U COUNT THE REST OF MY BLOG #DJDJ #YEAAAH U GUYS CANT ESCAPE MY CRINGE AS LONG AS I EXIST HEHEHEE #ZIMPAI STORY #ZIMPAI #ZIM-KUN #DIB-CHAN #anonymoosen #moosenarts #my art #aka low quality phone doodles #my writing #(horrible writing) #izday #Zimday #happy bday zim :3