#connect with someone to feel that way in the first place

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 12) [note: trigger warning for a pretty rough spanking scene with a belt and minimal aftercare. if you need to, you can skip to the midway point (there's a line between the first half and second).]

first chapter >> last chapter

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He keeps your hands tied behind your back on the ride home.

All that does is confirm the fact that he must know. Graves must have tracked him down or perhaps he was approached by someone who did consider your sudden arrival in town suspicious. Why else would the sheriff chase you all the way into the mountains on horseback and then take you back with him? He would’ve within his rights to leave your thieving self to wander alone in the woods and succumb to the elements.

John doesn’t say a word the first hour of the ride back. You can feel the anger emanating from him though. He almost shakes with it. His anger somehow upsets you more than whatever is left to come. 

“Anytime you wanna start talkin’, I’m all ears,” John finally says, breaking the silence. 

You keep your lips pressed together, stubbornly silent. There’s no use giving yourself away before you’ve learned how much he knows. You haven’t built this life of yours with loose lips. 

“I don’t know what in the Sam Hill has gotten into you,” he continues, and his voice is cobblestone tread rough in the night. “Running off all by yourself. There ain’t nothing out in these parts except outlaws and highwaymen. There are men out here that’d love to get their hands on a woman like you—not even a knife to defend yourself with. You haven’t even got a scrap of food on you, never mind water. You’d’ve been dead in a week if the men out here hadn’t picked you off themselves.”

His words make your stomach ache. You know that there are worse things out there. A thousand gruesome ways to die. You’re less of a lady than John might think—you’ve heard stories. You’ve brushed close to that reality yourself. You wonder how he’d take it if you were to tell him about what had happened back east. 

Maybe running away this time hadn’t been your smartest idea, but it had been your only. You can’t fault yourself for the instinct to survive. 

“I know,” you mumble, dropping your chin to your chest. 

“You gonna explain to me why you stole my horse and ran off in the first place?” he asks. 

It’s the strangest interrogation you’ve ever heard of—sitting on the same horse with your back to the man questioning you and your hands tied together at the wrists. You wonder if you leaned back whether you’d feel his heart beating furiously in his chest. 

You remain mulishly silent though, reticent to answer the question.

“Maybe I’ve been spoiling you,” he continues, trying to rationalize it to himself. “After the fuss you put up those first few days, I thought a bit of structure and discipline would do you well, and it did. Giving you a bit of slack was my mistake.”

You frown at that. Those don’t sound like the words of a man with any knowledge of the circumstances leading to you running off. He might not even have come across Graves at all in the hours since the man made his appearance in the general store. Otherwise, you can’t imagine how he wouldn’t make the connection. 

Still, you can’t make yourself come right out and say it, even though every iota of your being aches to let the truth out. Call it nerves overpowering the need to be truthful and good. You vacillate between honesty and self-preservation, but each avenue feels like being dropped into a nest of vipers. 

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t question you like this. It’s a boon you can’t give up, not yet. Not when the thought of his inevitable righteous fury fills you with dread and self-loathing. 

“I don’t have to explain myself,” you spit out suddenly, and it’s not you saying those words but something ugly and sad in you. “You’re not my owner.”

“I damn sure am your husband though,” John growls, winding his free hand around your hair to tug you back into his chest. “And I know these parts far better than you, little miss. Beyond running off on me for no good reason when I thought we put your reticence behind us, you went and put yourself in danger the likes of which you couldn’t even fathom.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snap. “I know what men are like.”

“You’re telling me you pulled that stunt knowing what kinda danger is out there in the woods?”

“I wasn’t thinking!”

“I know you weren’t,” John grunts. “That’s the issue.” 

The rest of the ride home is uncomfortably quiet. John keeps one hand clamped on your waist while the other holds the reins of both horses, the two walking alongside each other back down the trail towards the house. The ride home is a lot longer than the ride out into the woods since John refuses to let either of them go faster than a slow trot while your hands are tied behind your back. 

He snorts in derision at your suggestion to undo your binds. “That eager for your punishment?” 

That gets you to zip your lips. 

When you get drowsy, John tips your head back and makes you sip from his waterskin. His hand fits carefully around your throat to hold your head in place, his fingers curling around to just graze the nape of your neck. Your throat pulses under his palm when you swallow. It’s far too intimate for how restless you feel, damn near shaking out of your skin, but it briefly shushes the voice in your head until he pulls his hand away. 

A shadow under the doorway of the house startles you at first before it takes a step into the faint light of the setting sun and you recognize the bristly blond of Simon’s shorn head and the red bandana shrouding the bottom half of his face. The tension ebbs back into you when you realize with creeping humiliation that the black horse you rode home on must belong to him. 

He watches the two of you approach with predictable disinterest, his eyes betraying nothing. The shame is excruciating. 

John brings the horse to a halt some feet from Simon, not bothering to greet him. You wonder if it’s the anger choking him or if this is just routine, men trading favors in silence lest a word in gratitude break the spell. After dismounting himself, John helps you down, all but picking you up and lifting you off the horse. 

Simon doesn’t say a word to either of you when he takes the reins from John’s hands, giving him only a curt nod and you a cursory glance before leading his horse away to mount. He doesn’t spare you a backwards glance before taking off back towards town. You watch him over your shoulder while John guides you up the porch steps and into the house, until the shape of him disappears into the horizon. Then the door shuts behind you. 

Alone now, your attention turns back to John. He stares down at you consideringly, a hand planted on the door he just shut until he lets it fall to his side. You can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing something out. 

It wouldn’t be right to call it anticipation; it’s not quite dread either. 

“I don’t make idle threats, you know,” he says, apropos of nothing. 

His words make you frown until you glance down to find him undoing his belt. Your blood turns to ice. He tugs the thick strap until it comes sliding out of each loop around his waist. The buckle rests heavy in his palm, thick fingers curling around it, and when he bends the belt in two, you already know that he intends to follow through with his threat from earlier, the one you said you’d gut him for.

“I’ll scream,” you warn, heart in your throat. It almost chokes you. “I mean it. I’ll scream like the devil.”

“Don’t go makin’ no empty threats now, darlin’,” he says in a low voice, almost taunting. You can hear the hard edge in his voice though. It’s not something he craves, but he’ll take it. 

“You touch me with that thing and I’ll never forgive you.” 

John’s eyes go hard. “I’ll just have to take that chance.” 

And then he’s on you.

He hooks an arm around your waist when you try to rush past him back out the door and it forces the breath out of you. 

You struggle as best you can with your hands tied behind your back, trying to wriggle out of his hold even as he heaves you up into his arms and climbs the staircase towards the bedroom. The steps creak under the added weight of you in his arms. The screams come tearing from your throat, ripping your vocal cords and nearly sending you into a coughing fit. 

“Let—me—go—” you shriek, kicking out wildly, hoping to catch something that’ll make him lose his balance. 

“All that squirmin’ ain’t making me feel more merciful,” he growls. 

John kicks the bedroom door open with his foot when he reaches the top of the staircase. The room looks ominous without the oil lamp lit, the shadows growing in the corners swallowing up the end table. The bed is just as you made it this morning, the sheets pressed tight and neat, and you only get a second to take that in before he marches towards the bed and throws you down onto it.  

You hit the bed hard, bouncing slightly. He sits down heavily enough to jostle you and when you try to roll away on instinct, a hand catches you by the bicep and pulls you back. He hauls you across the bulk of his thighs this time, far different from your first meeting back in the sheriff’s office all those weeks ago. Your feet don’t even touch the floor this time around, dangling in the air and flailing for purchase. 

“You brute—you bastard!” you screech.

“I’m not gonna be as charitable this time,” John says, yanking your dress up and your drawers down until your bare bottom is exposed. You gasp at the cold air, murmuring something like please, please, please under your breath. “Even if I knew why it was you decided to run off, that doesn’t excuse the fact that you did. You coulda been hurt or worse out there, darlin’, and I’d never have forgiven myself. I’m gonna make sure the lesson sinks in this time.”

He folds the leather belt to hold it in one hand, leaving the other to pin you down over his thighs, making sure you don’t wriggle out. The leather is cool at first when he drags it over your butt. It makes your breathing pick up. It’s so gentle that you can almost trick yourself into thinking that it’s all he intends to do. 

The first lash comes so quick that you barely register it. The second knocks the wind out of you, and then the pain sets in. 

It stings something fierce. Where his palm hurt that first time he bent you over his desk and spanked you, the belt burns. It goes deep and it lingers when he pulls the leather away from your stinging bottom. 

“Hurts like the dickens, don’t it?” John asks, not bothering to wait for confirmation before bringing the belt down again. “You’re lucky it’s only ten this time.”

You howl into the bedsheets, eyes tearing up and spilling down your cheeks. When you try to cover your ass with your bound hands, John grabs them and pins them to the small of your back. 

“What’ll you never do again?” he growls. 

“I—I’ll—”

“Say it, darlin’: I’ll never run off on my own again.”

“I’ll—n-never gonna—oh, it hurts, John—please—”

At some point, you must say the words he’s looking for. You lose count of how many times his belt has struck across your ass. Like thunder coming after lightning, you feel it and then you hear it. The sharp snap comes as a second wave of agony in and of itself. 

Your throat is stripped raw by the time it’s over. The aftermath finds you with a puddle of drool under your cheek, hair matted to your face. Sweat slicks the backs of your thighs and down your spine. Even the gentlest brush of John’s hand over your backside, the belt deposited off the side of the bed, makes you flinch, the skin there tender to the touch. You’ll surely feel it deep in your bones come sunrise. 

Too exhausted for anger, all you can do is lie there. It sits heavy in your stomach though, a pit at the center of you. You want to say, who gave you the right? The answer burns a ring around your finger though. You want to say, you don’t understand, it had nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with him and you. 

You can tell he wants to say something. It gets choked in his throat, but you can hear it in the way his breath draws in, like he’s trying to coax it from his chest but it simply won’t come out. 

“Stay right there,” John rumbles instead, shifting you onto the bed to let you lie on your belly. 

You moan in pain when he moves you, sniffling into your arms. The crook of your elbow is sticky with your tears and snot. 

The bed dips under his weight when he comes back. You flinch violently when he draws the skirt of your dress up again and smooths his hand over the tender cheeks of your backside, spreading a cool salve over your skin. The first touch of his hand makes you hiss, tears beading in the corners of your eyes again, but then the cool sinks in, alleviating the ache. 

He does that for another few minutes in silence. Gentle, tentative touches, only stopping when the salve has been spread evenly over your bottom. He’s quiet when he shifts you up the bed until your feet are no longer dangling off the end. You’re distantly aware of him taking off your shoes and tucking you into bed, but the events of the day have finally gotten the better of you. It would be easier to push a boulder up a hill than crack even one of your eyelids open.

Time passes slowly; sluggishly. Your thoughts can’t quite catch up with it, either too quick or too slow. You’re stuck in thoughts of the desert, caught in a sandstorm that manifests too suddenly for you to take cover. All you can do is close your eyes and wait it out. 

Morning comes like a brutal summoning into the waking world. 

It hurts, but you expected that. Before your eyes even open, you’re aware of a throbbing pain coming from your backside. You wince when you shift to your side, squeezing your eyes tight. You contemplate rolling over and taking your chances with John’s temper. The thought isn’t as appealing in the light of day though. 

It takes some time to get out of bed and when you do, you have to step tentatively from floorboard to floorboard, the ache making it decidedly uncomfortable. You can’t imagine what sitting down will be like. Riding a horse is just out of the question. 

From the bedroom window, you see John standing in front of the house with Simon, back again not even twelve hours later. With the window closed, you can’t hear their conversation, nor can you read their lips. Their exchange doesn’t last long though. After another minute or so, and a nod goodbye, Simon walks back over to his horse standing nearby and lifts himself up and over onto the saddle, taking off towards town. 

When John turns back towards the house, you see him glance up towards the bedroom window where you stand. The circles beneath his eyes are dark, pronounced. On another day, you might’ve ducked out of sight or jumped away from the window, but now you hold his gaze. 

He breaks your stare first this time, heading back inside. It’s less satisfying than you thought it’d be. 

You spend the day resting in bed and avoiding John for the most part. He spends the majority of the day out of the house. You hear him downstairs in the kitchen around midday, fixing himself up something to eat, and you listen attentively to the scrape of the chair across the floor and the pan on the stovetop. Like the day he brought you home, he brings you up a tray only to leave it at the door, rapping the door with his knuckles to let you know before heading back downstairs. 

When he comes up for bed, you’re already lying down with your back to the door, the oil lamp left unlit. John doesn’t say anything to you as he changes into his nightwear. He smells fresh when he climbs into bed, like he bathed in the creek out in the woods. You breathe in deeply, trying to keep your breath quiet enough to not disturb the silence. The pillow under your head is saturated with his scent. You turn your nose into it when he lies down on his back instead of curling into you like he usually does. 

Your chest aches at that simple denial. There’s a wall between the two of you and you know where it came from. Any trust that you’d built lies in ruins now. 

Perhaps that’s not quite right though. It’s a romantic notion that you’ve been building something together all this time, but it doesn’t feel right now that you have the wherewithal to look back and reflect. All this time, whenever you’ve touched, you’ve held him steadfast and at an arm's length away, stopping two degrees short of intimacy. 

Deliberately effusive; and worse, you’ve called it affection. 

The tenderness in your heart is the worst of it. There’s a bruise there, and it’s been there awhile. It’s only grown with your recent troubles. You tell yourself every year that you’ll air it out come spring, but then the winter comes and it freezes over again.  

The pillow under your chest grows damp with your tears. 

Your dress the next morning is cornflower blue. The wheatfields are golden stalks swaying in the breeze. It’s a pleasanter day than how you feel. 

The ride into town is as painful as you thought it might be. You wince with every stride, your bottom still tender as a rose. John’s arm tightens around your waist when you squirm, like you might slide off the saddle and try to flee again, and you bite your lip to hold back the urge to snap. 

The little bit of independence you’d grown to enjoy is snatched away from you. You expected that as well, but that loss of privilege comes with a biting ache. You fight the urge to gnash your teeth and bark at him that you’re not a child when he grips you under the arm and leads you down the road. It wouldn’t do you any good. 

When John leaves you off at the general store, you’re surprised to find Kate back, hale and hearty. She looks up when the chime over the door jingles and raises her eyebrows in greeting. The sound makes you flinch, memories coming back unbidden. 

You look over your shoulder to say something to John before he leaves, but the door is already closing behind him by the time you turn around. Your lips are pursed on a word that dissolves in your mouth. It has a bitter aftertaste. 

“Thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days,” you say instead, turning back to Kate. There’s already a chair pulled up for you by the wall and you make yourself comfortable there, grimacing at first when your sore backside touches the wood before settling in. 

She shrugs. “Plans changed. Gaz and I made it back late last night.”

You frown. “Gaz?”

“Kyle Garrick. Sorry—slip of the tongue. You’ve met him already. He used to go by Gaz way back when.”

“Way back when?”

“Not my story to tell. You should ask one of them, if you’re curious.”

You are, but not enough to ask. “Maybe.”

The two of you lapse into silence after that exchange. Before leaving the house, you remembered to bring with you some needles and wool to pass the time. They’re not as familiar in your hands as you’d like them to be, but you suppose, barring the possibility of Graves or another bounty hunter showing up in town to cart you off, you’ll have time to learn. 

The thought leaves you anxious. It feels distinctly more possible now. 

“You met Miles while I was away?” Kate asks, out of the blue.

Your head comes up at her question. “Miles?”

“He was minding the store for me while I was away. Said you came in the other day.”

You swallow reflexively. “Oh. Yes, I suppose I did meet him. I didn’t stay long, since you were gone and all.”

She hums and looks back down at the book in front of her. You feel nervous all of a sudden. 

“He said you were very helpful,” she says abruptly, breaking the silence. You flinch. “Told me some gentleman came by with a warrant for a murder back east and you were kind enough to take it to your husband for him so he could keep minding the shop.”

Your throat constricts. She pins you under her gaze, unblinking eyes staring into yours but not looking for anything. Wispy blonde bangs brush along her forehead when she tilts her head ever so slightly. 

You nod instead of answering. 

“Did you give it to him?” she asks.

“I didn’t have a chance to. The day got away from me,” you say tersely. 

“I heard something about that. Kyle said John had to borrow Simon’s horse the other day. Said something about him taking off in a hurry.”

Again, you don’t answer. It feels like without knowing it, you’ve crossed over a threshold. 

“Do you still have it?” Kate prompts when again you don’t respond. You don’t tell her that you don’t because in all the fuss the other day, it must have slipped out of your pocket and drifted off into the wind. “The warrant?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“That’s alright. I have a good enough idea about what it might’ve said.” 

Sweat beads on your upper lip. She all but says it outloud. You’re as still as a ferrotype under her gaze, imprinted in place, unable to move so much as a muscle or force a word past your stiff lips. 

“You’re under no obligation to tell me or anyone,” Kate says, and her voice is suddenly gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it before. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I won’t be telling John, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you breathe, throat so tight that the words almost don’t come out. 

It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting to it, tangentially or not, and even now it’s spoken only out of the corner of your mouth. You don’t think you have it in you to recite the events sequentially. Even in the privacy of your memory, it comes piecemeal, in fragmented images that flicker across your mind because maybe to remember it whole would be too much. 

You don’t say much more after that, and neither does Kate. That wasn’t the point of bringing it up, you think. You'd know if it was. 

When John comes to fetch you at the end of the day, you leave without saying goodbye to Kate. Only a stiff smile before heading out on your way. If she returns your smile, you don’t notice it. To John, you simply duck your head and follow him out the door, letting him help you up onto the horse without a word. 

If it bothers him that you refuse to speak to him, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s so many steps back that you might as well be back where you started. Maybe even further back, a voyage gone so wrong that when you look over your shoulder, you can’t make heads or tails of where you came from. The trees from the other side of the trail never look quite the same. 

If you could open your mouth and say it, you would. If you knew he’d listen. But you don’t think John is that kind of man. Against the gold of the setting sun, he cuts a figure from times of yore. He speaks plain while you tend to speak in fricatives and bilabial stops, incapable of enunciating the words. 

You feel like a wound on the world. Getting it wrong again and again. 

It’s an old pain, one that started back when you were too small to hold it all. Now, you’ve grown large enough to hold it, though it holds you back in turn. You remember your parents studiously ignoring first creation like some noxious cloud billowing from the chimney. There’d been too many children for them to care about the runt. Shipped off to your aunt’s and uncle’s just for the cycle to repeat itself. 

It’s an old grief, this one, friendly because it nudges at your hips when you brush by, striking in the blue-green. And when it burns, it burns.

“John, I—” you say when he helps you down back at the house. 

He stares down at you, waiting you out. Your mouth goes dry, the truth beyond your grasp again. Your heart aches when his brows furrow and the lines around his eyes crease again, frustration welling beneath the surface. 

You understand. It sits under your skin too. 

"Go inside," he says instead when you don't go on. "I'll bring in the horses and start supper."

Your God sits at the edge of the bed, wholly lacking praise. It’s not His fault that it’s been awhile. These days, you can hardly muster up the energy to say hello. You gargle saltwater before you bathe and scrub your skin free of blood, waiting for the next morning to come.

And you think, lying on your side while John sleeps on the other side of the bed, wouldn’t it be lovely to get it right now, rather than in retrospect?

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john price x reader #price x you #price x y/n #price x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #captain john price

[lnlightning81]

Positive P2

Summary : Surprising Lando after a race with the results to your pregnancy test

Pairing/s: Lando Norris x Reader

Word Count:

Warning/s: Pregnancy, Talk of not being able to have kids

Watching Lando with kids has always been a beautiful sight. However, watching Lando with Mila and Athena was a totally different experience. There was a different connection watching the two of them. Normally, kids cried when they saw Lando because their hero was right in front of them, but with Mila and Athena, he was just ‘Lala’ and not Lando Norris. 

The video of Lando playing with Mila when she was just a little baby throwing his phone about the place had started to circulate your social media; it only made your baby fever start to grow.

You were due to meet Lando at the paddock as he had gone a little early for the media and you just wanted to lie in but it wasn’t until you felt ill that you messaged Lando asking if he had time to quickly come back to the hotel after stopping at the shop for something. To which he replied obviously still in that state of life where you could ask him to murder someone, and he would. 

There was very little chance you could actually be pregnant with not only you and Lando being extremely careful but with you being told that there was little chance of you ever getting pregnant throughout your life but with your baby fever and how you were feeling everything pointed towards that actually maybe coming true. 

Lando had wanted to wait and see the results but you knew that he couldn’t or he’d get fined so you forced him out of the hotel room telling him that he’d be the first person to know. Except he wouldn’t be. If the test came back positive, you had the perfect way to tell him. 

But when you saw that positive result that’s when you panicked, you never thought you’d actually see the day when that test actually came back positive after many years of being told it would never happen. 

Now, standing in the Mclaren motorhome, you still hadn't told Lando the results. You didn’t want to stress him out before a race. Never mind a race when he was starting on the front row with the chance of winning but you did tell Zak knowing the perfect way to tell him after a good or bad race and hopefully he’d be happy with the news. 

Lando finished P2 just as he started. No one was getting past Max Verstappen any time soon, so it was basically a win for him, and you knew he’d say that when asked about it. Zak waved you over, and you walked over to the pit wall standing behind him as he placed his headphones over your ears and pressed the radio button for Lando’s car. Nodding to you with a smile 

“Hey baby. That’s a positive P2” You hummed, hoping he’d catch on to what you were saying without Sky or F1TV or any other showings catching it. 

“Positive?” He asked with a frown. You could hear the frown on his face

“Wait? What are you doing on the radio?” Now very confused as to everything 

“Yep. Positive P2” You smiled

“Zak let me tell you your position for the day” You looked at Zak, who was smiling at you 

“Oh my god, Y/N. This is brilliant. I love you so much!” He exclaimed 

“I’ll see you at the podium baby” You gave Zak his headphones back 

“Got a podium to get to. Let’s go” He smiled, and you walked with him. Zak’s more than just the CEO to you and Lando. He was always a phone call away if anything went wrong or if you didn’t travel out to a race and couldn’t get a hold of Lando the next best person to call was Zak because he’d always answer. 

Zak would invite you, Lando, Oscar, and Lily out for food whenever he got the chance or would send you little gifts during Christmas or your birthday. He was kinda like a father figure to you both. Standing watching the podium next to Zak, you could see how big the smile on Lando’s face was compared to normal. 

Meeting Lando back in his driving room, you were instantly wrapped in a hug with his hands landing on your stomach as he kissed your neck from behind 

“I can’t believe it, baby. You’re serious, right? We’re going to have a baby? I got the message, right?” He asked, and you nodded 

“I’m very serious. We're going to have a baby. I’m so glad you got that message, though. I was a little worried you wouldn’t understand what I was saying” You smiled, turning in his arms as he kissed you properly this time. 

“Oh my god, a little baby. Oh love you’re parent’s. They’re gonna be so happy they’re getting a grandbaby” Lando was very excited as he basically jumped around the room like a little kid in a sweet shop. 

“If it’s okay with you, I don’t want to tell anyone for a few months” you whispered, sitting down on the couch in his driver's room. Lando looked over at you

“Whatever you want” He smiled, and you nodded 

“After being told I probably would never have kids, I don’t want to tell people. There’s a risk that everything might go wrong and I don’t want to tell everyone we’re having a kid to be reminded that actually we aren’t” You explained quietly and he wrapped you in a hug 

“Whatever you want to do we will do darling but I do know that I love you very much and whatever happens will never change my mind but we’ll do it together” He smiled kissing you around your face causing you to giggle from his stubble tickling your skin 

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#f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x female reader #ln4 fluff #lnlightning81 #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 #ln4 x y/n #ln4 x you

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 1

Cowboy!Frankie x OFC

Hi!

I'm really excited to post the first chapter of my new fic after posting a little snippet of it almost a month ago! In it we meet a cowboy version of Frankie as he returns to New York to patch things up with his "maybe girlfriend", but he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.

No age gap, OFC story, angsty as fuck in parts, some smut, and I'm putting poor Frankie through hell again (I love him, I swear...)

And a big shout out and thank you to @i-own-loki who made the beautiful banner!

Warnings can be found here - contains spoilers but please read if you know certain themes may be upsetting for you. This fic is dark in parts and I don't want to upset anyone.

Series Master List

Main Master list

Prologue

The Greyhound bus rumbled away down the pin straight highway, heading west, towards the darkening mountain range. The sun slowly sank behind the highest peaks, soon their shadows would touch her feet. Looking back, east, towards a past she’d left on a whim, she sighed and let her eyes drift up to the indigo sky. Big sky country indeed. 

So alien to her eyes, so open to someone used to living their life surrounded by tall buildings, busy people, small trees in small parks. 

Here, the open prairie gave speed to the cold wind that hurtled down from the mountain range, whipping dirt from the road, tugging at her loose hair. She briefly closed her eyes against the particles of dust, inhaled deeply, tasting it on her tongue, dry grass in the air, a hint of snow from the mountains. No way back now, the bus too far away to stop. Only her duffel bag and a phone number, hoping he’d pick up and let her in. 

He pressed his thumb to the button with her name, the taxi behind him rolling away down the crowded street. The buzz from the intercom added another layer of noise to the assault on his ears. 

He dropped his hand. 

Waited.

Glanced down the street, letting the tall steel and glass buildings pull his gaze upwards, to the thin sliver of dirty gray sky visible above them. With a sigh he dropped his eyes down, towards the end of the long street, where the buildings seemed to merge into one solid wall. He knew he was looking west, could feel it in his bones, in the way his feet wanted to start walking towards it. Towards the tall mountain range behind his home. 

He pressed his thumb against the button with her name on it again, the buzzer grated his skin. He had a way back, nothing stopping him from hailing a cab, climbing back on the Greyhound and heading west again. 

But she was here. If he wanted to make this work, he needed to be here. 

Chapter One

A wall of warm air hit Frankie as he pulled open the door to the bar, chatter spilling out onto the street. His shoulders pulled up to his ears, the environment uncomfortable to him and he stopped just inside the door, scanning the room for something familiar apart from the smell of stale beer in the air. This bar was the first one he saw that looked like it would maybe serve someone like him, a Texas boy, fresh off the bus from Montana. He’s pretty sure he still has horse dung stuck to the bottom of his cowboy boots, his old army duffel bag slung over his shoulder. 

The door behind him opened again, cold air hitting the nape of his neck under the ball cap. 

“You growing roots, old man?” 

The line is followed by a man snorting and a hand on Frankie’s arm, pushing him to the side. He would snap, bite back with a threatening remark, or at the very least fix the man with his most intimidating soldier scowl. But he just took two steps to the side, his shoulders creeping closer to his ears as he tugged at his cap, the movement unintentional, a nervous habit. He knew he was out of place here, a stranger. 

The young man, a yellow backpack slung over his shoulder and long hair pulled into a bun, shoved his way past Frankie, catching the eye of the woman behind the bar. 

“Hey, dickwad! Behave yourself or I’ll have you barred,” she barked, her eyebrows furrowed as she jabbed her finger at the man and he raised his hands in a weak gesture of apology as he sauntered towards the bar. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he snarked, heading towards a loud crowd further in, walking away and ignoring the frown from the woman. She turned her attention to Frankie instead and looked him up and down, an appraising look, before meeting his eyes. 

“You coming or going, cowboy?” 

“Uuh..coming,” he managed to press out, picking up his feet and walking to the bar. He felt heat creep up his neck at being so easily pegged as a cowboy, an out of towner, swallowing down the urge to turn on his heel and bolt out the door. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and the woman behind it gave him a smile, setting down a coaster with a flick of her wrist. 

“What can I get you? You look like you’ve traveled far.” 

“Just a beer, thanks,” he said and she gave him a softer smile, pity flashing across her face. 

“This is Brooklyn, cowboy, I’ve got twenty beers on tap and forty in bottles,” she said and he felt fatigue set in, can’t even order a normal fucking beer in this city. He sighed deeply, dropping his head between his shoulders. But the woman just chuckled in a low voice, tapping her hand on the bar just in front of him. 

“Don’t despair, I’m a good bartender, I know what you’ll like.” 

He picked up his head as she stepped away, grabbed a glass, and moved to a tap further down the bar. Shooting him a quick grin, she began to pull the pint, amber liquid filling the glass, topping off with a creamy white head. He watched her from under the bill of his cap, shouldn’t really appraise her, but he couldn't help it. The fitted jeans on her curves, and the faded bar uniform shirt tied at the waist instead of tucking it in, made his eyes drop down over her ass in a way a man trying to save his relationship with another woman should avoid. And she clocked him, checking her out when she turned towards him again, making him snap his eyes to his hands on the bar. Heat crept up his neck as he rubbed the small bullseye tattoo next to his thumb. 

“Amber ale from a local brewery three blocks from here,” she said and placed the pint on the mat in front of him. 

“Thanks,” he replied, watching the bubbles rise to the bottom of the head, “looks good.” 

“One of my favorites, I’ve always had a soft spot for amber ale,” she nodded, picking up a cloth and returning to the never ending duty of cleaning glasses. 

Frankie picked up the glass and took a long sip, humming as the ale slipped down his throat. 

“Damn,” he said, “that’s good, that’s really good.” 

“Told you,” the woman smiled at him and he gave her a quick smile in return before he took another sip. 

She watched him from the corner of her eye as she moved around the bar, clean glasses getting wiped and stacked. Clearly a newcomer to the city, she’d called him ‘cowboy’ and he hadn’t protested, the boots and the duffel bag giving him away, even before she saw his uneasy eyes roam around the bar and his nervous shuffle. She’s used to assessing anyone who stepped in through the door, the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones who are only coming to make trouble. 

This man was one of the quiet ones, she doesn’t think he’s loud even when he’s in his own element, surrounded by friends. 

As he took another long drink from his pint, she turned and picked up glass, catching his eyes on her. She smiled warmly at him, wanting to make him feel welcome, at least in this bar. The city outside is usually brutal to newcomers, and this one seemed to carry more of a burden than most. 

“So you’re new to the city?” she asked him, moving back to his side of the bar, pushing long strands of ginger red hair back behind her ears before wiping another glass. 

“Yeah, came in on the bus a few hours ago,” he replied and she nodded. He doesn’t look like he flew into the city, he’s got the tired face of someone who's spent too many hours leaning against a window, watching the Midwest slip past. But underneath the tired eyes there’s a warmth, a softness in the way he gives her a small crooked smile that makes a dimple appear on his right cheek. 

“Spent two fucking days on it,” he sighed, rubbing a large hand over his face before he lifted his cap and swept his thick curls back. She was temporarily mesmerized by how they bounced back around his ears as he squashed the cap back down. 

“Two days? Where did you come from, Texas?” she asked, her eyes widening at the thought of spending two whole days on a bus, but he shook his head. 

“No, I think Texas is like three days, I came from Montana,” he took another long drag of his beer. 

“I’m guessing this isn’t a weekend trip then”, she quipped, putting down the cloth, all the glasses done, and leaned back on the counter behind her. There’s more work to be done but the stranger chuckled softly at her joke and it pulled her in, making her smile in return. 

“No, I’m here to stay with someone, my..ah-a friend, of sorts,” he said, “Gonna see if I can find some work around here, try a different type of life.” 

“What do you do?” she asked, “Maybe I know someone who knows someone, that’s usually how it works here.” 

“Back in Montana I work with horses, on a ranch,” he replied, rubbing his thumb over the condensation on the beer glass, “Before that, I was a mechanic, cars, helicopters, anything really, I can usually fix it.” 

“That’s a pretty handy skill,” she replied, sounding impressed and he gave a little shrug, as if the ability to fix helicopters was something inconsequential, “I’m sure you’ll find work, especially if you can fix old cars, lots of those around here.” 

She turned and grabbed a notepad from next to the till, “What’s your name and number? I’ll keep it on hand and ask around for you.” 

“Really?” He sounded surprised as he sat up a bit straighter, “Uh yeah, I’m Frankie, Frankie Morales.” 

“Nice to meet you, Frankie,” she smiled back at him and slid the notepad across the bar, “Write it down, and your number. I can’t promise anything, and I’m not recommending you to anyone, I’ll just let them know you’re looking for work.” 

“Yeah, sure, of course, but anything helps,” he replied, grabbing the pen and jotting down his information. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, as he passed the notepad back to her. 

“Aisling,” she replied, slipping it in next to the till again. 

“Do you own this place,” he asked, looking around the bar. When he looked back at her she was shaking her head. 

“No, not at all, I’m just the bartender,” she said, “Give me a minute, I’m just gonna serve these guys.”  She gave him a quick smile and headed down the bar to two men who had just sat down. 

Frankie watched her as she took their orders, smiling and laughing easily as she pulled a beer for one of them. The men, her age, are both hanging on to her every word as she makes a joke,  the blonde one clapping the other one on the shoulder with a loud howl. She winked at him and turned, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf to serve the other man. As she stood on her tiptoes, stretching to reach, her shirt rose up, a soft sliver of creamy skin exposed in the dim light of the bar. Frankie couldn’t help but stare at the glimpse black underwear peeking out above the edge of her jeans, a flash of lace, his mouth suddenly dry as his cock reacted. He dipped his head, but couldn't keep his eyes away, she swayed on her tiptoes, refusing to get the stepladder and her breasts pressed against the shirt as it rode up higher. Frankie had an image of her underneath him, all that soft flesh, warm and smooth under his rough palms, sweet smelling and whimpering.  

She managed to slide the bottle off the shelf and grab a glass. Frankie peeled his eyes away, looking down at the now empty pint in his hands, pressed his thumb into the tattoo, forcing his thoughts in another direction. At the end of the bar, Aisling rang up the customers’ order and wiped down the bar before coming back towards him. 

“Do you want another?” she asked, nodding towards the empty glass. Frankie considered it for a beat and then shook his head. He wanted a clear head when he went back to the apartment, he needed to say the right things to save the relationship with the woman who lived there. He already knew that not even in his head could he bring himself to call her ‘girlfriend’, he’s far from sure that’s what she is anymore, not with the way they left it. 

“No, I can’t,” he said, “It was good though, what do I owe you?” 

“Fourteen fifty,” Aisling replied and he tried not to cough at the price as he pulled his wallet from the back of his jeans. 

She took his bills and he left her a tip on the bar that she deposited in the tip jar with a smile. 

“Uhm…tell me,” Frankie said, absentmindedly tugging at his cap, “Do I really look that much like a cowboy?” 

Aisling’s smile softened as she heard his nervous question, “Well…yeah, the cowboy boots are kinda a give away,” she replied, “It doesn’t exactly look like it’s a fashion choice, and the whole jeans, suede jacket, belt buckle look…” She motioned over his body as Frankie’s eyes dropped down to his jeans and belt, hidden from view by the counter. 

“You’re good,” he said, a small chuckle escaping him, “You got all that just from when I came in?” 

“Tricks of the trade,” she replied, “I need to know who steps into the bar and read them quickly.” 

“So you assessed me as soon as I walked in? What else did you pick up on?” He was curious now and leaned forward on the counter as she laughed. 

“Well, I’m cheating because we’ve been talking for a bit now. But you do look ‘new in town’ and I’d say ex-army maybe?”

“I guess the duffel bag gave it away?” Frankie smiled, glancing down at the old bag at his feet. 

“No, they’re ten dollars at the army surplus stores,” Aisling replied, shaking her head, “But you sat down with your back against a corner, and I bet you can tell me exactly where the exits are and how many people are in here and which ones could give you trouble.” 

Frankie raised his eyebrows in surprise at her and she shrugged. 

“You’ve been scanning the room since you walked in.” 

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” he replied, letting his eyes roam across the room again, it’s instinct at this point, inherited from years in the army, “I quit the army years ago but it’s a habit I can’t seem to drop.” 

“What did you do? Mechanic?” Aisling asked and Frankie shook his head. 

“Helicopter pilot, which means I had to be able to fix anything, but mainly I flew things, anything really.” 

Aisling gave him a closer second look and the pieces fell into place, his quiet demeanor, the way he held himself, not exactly folded in on himself, but as if he was  trying to stay unseen and not be noticed unless he wanted to be. A strong, solid body gone slightly soft with age, betrayed by the gray in his beard and hair, small white scars across his knuckles, evidence of old injuries.

“What?” he asked as he noticed her eyes scanning him. 

“Just building the picture,” she said, a small crooked smile, “You know us bartenders, always trying to figure out the story of our patrons.” 

“Not much of a story,” he said, tugging at his cap and hiding his eyes, “just new in town, looking for work.” 

“Everyone has a story, Frankie Morales.” 

He shrugged at that and fumbled for his phone as it began to ring. Aisling gave him a quick smile and stepped away to let him answer in private. 

Frankie’s jaw ticked as he saw the name on the screen, Eva. He’s been expecting her to call since he left her front door. Their front door, maybe. The truth is, he doesn’t know where they stand anymore. They’d met in Florida, after a doomed mission to South America that left so much pain inside him, and a rift between old friends. She’d been a calming presence, someone who seemed to have his back when his mind spiraled out of control. But she hadn’t been enough, being in Florida became oppressive, and it wasn’t just the humid heat. The old haunts from the days he’d spent trying to numb his brain with white powder, bars and venues filled with memories of the friends he’d lost, both those who’d died and those who still lived, it all became claustrophobic. 

When Herb, his sponsor at the NA, first invited him to the ranch in Montana he’d scoffed at the idea. He was a pilot, not a ranch hand. But after a close call, nearly falling back into the habit, he’d taken him up on the offer and gone out there for two weeks. Herb had convinced him by talking about the clear, cool air making it easy to breathe, the open sky making the mind feel less claustrophobic. And he’d been right. The first evening they’d sat on the porch, the mountains at their back, the open prairie in front, and Frankie had looked up at the endless sky and it was almost as if he was back in a cockpit, flying close to the stars. Nothing encroached on his mind, no buzz in his ears, nothing tugged at his memories, just the open sky and an endless horizon. 

The two weeks of hard ranch work, aching muscles, blistered hands, sealed the deal. If he wanted to truly start over, he needed to leave Florida and come here. 

Eva had been enthusiastic at first, pulled in by Frankie’s talk of the horses, a new foal that had just been born, the small cabin they’d live in. He’d shared the pictures he’d taken, all rustic beams, sturdy wood furniture and a hammock on the porch. It looked like a romantic western dream and that’s what they both really thought it would be. And for the first few months they were happy. 

But when Frankie found peace and calm in the solitude of the isolated ranch, felt free and unrestricted, she began to feel claustrophobic and suffocated. The nearest town, a forty-five minute drive away, didn’t offer much of anything. She found work online and began to resent the life he’d trapped her in. That was the word she’d used, trapped. When the fights became a daily occurrence, Frankie felt the familiar itch of wanting to escape come back. Starting, as always, in his feet and crawling up his body until he spent more time out on the ranch than in the cabin. And for every hour he stayed away, Eva resented their life more, resented him more. 

Until eventually, one late evening when he came back after five days on the trails with a group of guests from a neighboring ranch, she’d left. Only a note saying she’d accepted a position in New York with the company she worked for. A line about needing a different type of life, no invitation to come with her, to follow her, just signed /E and that was it. 

He’d called her, spent hours on the phone when she eventually picked up, begged her to come back. Offered to move to a ranch closer to a bigger town, find a compromise where he could still have the peace of the ranch life, but let her live her life too. But she loved New York, after the silent cabin, she craved the noise and the tempo of the city. 

Eventually he agreed to come to New York, to see her new life and maybe find a place in it. But the city was an assault on his senses after so long on the ranch. The peace that his spiraling mind had finally found evaporated as he navigated the city, the metro, her friends, the bars. His feet itched, the skin around his nails was picked raw and he felt on edge, even in the apartment, his mind never getting a chance to be quiet. 

Eva called it his need for control, to always have a plan of escape, a way out. He knew it was the years in the army that had shredded his sense of safety, left his nerves ragged and too exposed to the mundane background noise of a city. Maybe he’d be able to deal with it some day, but now, he needed the silence. 

After two months in Brooklyn, he left. A loose promise from both of them to maybe try to patch things up, to try the long distance thing. But when he sent a text, saying he’d returned safely to the ranch, and she didn’t reply for two days, he knew it was over. And he didn’t miss her. He had loved her at some point, he thinks. But their lives didn’t match, their needs too different. And he saw that he should maybe not be with anyone while he laid down the foundations of a new life in a new place. He needed to find a way to live with himself, in silence, before he considered sharing his darkest sides with someone else. 

And then Eva called. Six weeks after he’d left Brooklyn. He could hear the heavy traffic behind her as she walked down a street somewhere, leaving a clinic that had confirmed what she’d suspected. 

“I’m pregnant, Frankie, and it’s yours.” 

The words floored him, sent a sharp jolt of dread through his system, his feet tingling, then his scalp. A baby. In New York. But his baby, their child. And the dread was replaced by nerves, how would they do this? Would she want to raise the baby in New York or come back to Montana? He had space for a child here, a guest bedroom with a view of the mountains. It would be a perfect nursery, he could paint it, build a crib with Herb’s help, the nearby town was a good place to raise a family when the child was old enough to begin school. Without even stopping to think, he built a new life around the unborn child. 

Or hell, even New York, he’d make himself put up with New York if that was what she wanted. The apartment only had one bedroom but maybe they could move further out, get a bigger place. He could renovate pretty much anything, he was sure of it. Maybe they could find a quiet neighborhood with trees, where his mind could find peace even in the city. Without even stopping, he built another new life around his, their, unborn child. 

“I don’t know if I’m keeping it, but I wanted to tell you.” 

Eva’s voice had been hard, letting him know that she was doing him a favor by telling him, letting him be part of it. 

“I’ll come to New York, I’ll get a bus today,” Frankie pleaded, “Let’s talk this through, a few more days won’t make a difference.” 

She’d conceded, and he’d thrown stuff into the old duffel bag, left a message with Herb, and driven to the crossroads where the Greyhound stopped. 

Now he was here, in a Brooklyn bar, looking down at her name on his phone as he pressed the green button to answer. 

Chapter 2

A/N: And we're off! I'm so nervous, I really hope you all will love this and follow along as I explore this new version of Frankie! I hope to post a new chapter every Sunday so fingers crossed life doesn't get in the way too much!

❤

Tagging the ususal suspects: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @casa-boiardi

#frankie morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier

[thatacotargirl]

Hello! I read your cassian x reader period fic and absolutely loved it! I had a request if you don't mind...

one with cassian where maybe reader has been a part of the inner circle for a while and because of this her and cassian have been really really close friends for centuries…but one day on the streets reader locks eye with a male who is her mate…but the male is not cassian just some random person…and she is ecstatic that she has finally found her mate and someone she will be able to spend the rest of her life with because even though she has had a major crush on cassian…she knows he will never return those feelings because she finds herself incomparable and insignificant compared to cassian…however later on the male wants to reject the bond because he doesn't find the reader attractive and mocks her and all…she goes crying back home and cassian finds out and comforts her…maybe months later after the bond with the other male was broken…she finds that the mother has given her a new mating bond…that connects her to the one she has always loved…Cassian❤️

Hi!! Thank you so much for your support! And I LOVE your idea - I hope you like what I’ve done with it!

Inbox is always open for requests ❤️

A Cassian x Reader Imagine

The day that Rhysand saved you from the Autumn Court ranks up there with some of the best days of your life. Also up there is the day that he introduced you as a member of his Inner Circle, and your eyes first lay on Cassian.

You didn’t think there was a single person in all of Prythian who would deny Cassian’s beauty. He was in an entirely different league to any male or female you had met before. What started as lust developed into a crush and, over the centuries, turned into feelings you couldn’t quite describe. Although really, they could be summed up quite easily. You had fallen in love with Cassian.

You were sure Cassian did not return those feelings, but you truthfully didn’t mind. You didn’t want anything to risk destroying the friendship that you had with him. Cassian was the first there to pick you back up when you fell, to dry your tears and make you laugh again, to support you and encourage you to be the best version of yourself. It wasn’t a surprise that you ended up falling in love with him. He cared for you in a way no one ever had before, and you were so grateful to have him in your life, even if you knew it would never be how you truly wanted him.

That was why, when you were walking the streets of Velaris after dropping off a letter for Rhysand, you were ecstatic to lock eyes with a blonde male and feel the snap in your chest as the bond clicked into place. After a brief exchange, you agreed to meet for dinner that night, and you rushed back to the River House to get ready.

-

“I found my mate!”, you screeched, running through the River House door. Feyre caught your hands and steadied you.

“You what?!”, she replied, eyes wide.

“I found my mate!!!”, you repeat, practically bouncing in her arms with excitement. Feyre grinned and pulled you into a hug as several bodies appeared behind the pair of you.

“Your mate?”.

You looked over Feyre’s shoulder and straight at Cassian. His face was contorted slightly, almost like he was in pain. You quickly raked up and down his body looking for injuries, but you couldn’t see anything obvious.

“That is wonderful news!”, Rhys smiled, reaching over to pull you into a hug. “I knew the Night Court was the right place for you”. He winked as he let you go, and your friends took it in turns to share their congratulations and shower you with hugs and affection. Cassian approached, a forced smile on his face as he pulled you in for a bear hug.

“I’m so happy for you”, he said. He sounded genuine, but there was something empty about it. You knew that he had hoped a few females over the years had turned into his mate, including one of Feyre’s sisters, but the Mother hadn’t yet blessed him. It must be hard for him to see his friends’ mating bonds snap and not his own.

“Thank you”, you smiled, breathless from all the love of your family. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for a date with my mate”. You beamed as you bounced up the stairs, closely followed by Feyre and Mor who insisted on helping you get ready.

-

Your family waved you off as you left for your date. You chuckled to yourself. They were almost more excited for you than you were for yourself!

As you approached the restaurant, you saw your mate standing by the door. The closer you got, however, the more you felt a deep void in your chest. You tugged the bond as you approached him, a gasp leaving your lips as you realise your figurative hands come up short, the bond no where to be found. Your raise your head to meet his, and his eyes hold an evil gleam.

“You must be stupider than you look if you thought I was going to accept a bond with you”.

You freeze. This wasn’t the same male you spoke with this morning, was it? Seeing your confusion, he takes a step towards you, looming over you in a way so intimidating it made you whimper.

“Look at you. I would be the most foolish man alive to saddle myself with you for all eternity”.

Whilst you did still stick out at the Night Court, quite clearly heralding from different lands, you knew you weren’t unattractive. At least, you didn’t think you were?

You couldn’t bear his smirk any longer. You tried to pull the bond one more time and he noticed.

“It’s gone. Maybe now the Mother will realise the error of her ways and give me a second chance”.

Your heart broke.

You turned on your heels and ran for the River House.

-

Your family were not expecting you back from your date so soon, so when they heard you come thundering through the front door they all stood abruptly from their chairs. You looked in at them, faces full of concern and sorrow, and couldn't bear the pity. You fled up the stairs to the guest room and slammed the door behind you.

It was only a few minutes later that you heard someone knock at the door and Cassian's scent flooded in. He didn't wait for your reply. He walked over to the bed, sat, and pulled you onto his lap. You leaned into his chest and sobbed.

"What happened?".

"He broke the bond. He said only a foolish man would want to be saddled with me".

Cassian's heart hurt as he held you cried harder, soaking his shirt with your tears. He held you closer, trembling with anger that some male you met on the street could reduce you to tears like this, could take advantage of your kind heart, could throw away the one thing that he had prayed to the Mother every night could be his - your heart. He had wished for centuries for you, for your love, to be yours. This male had it in the palm of his hands and had thrown it away.

"What's wrong with me?", you asked quietly, avoiding his gaze.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You are perfect", Cassian replied back softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Then why didn't he want me?", your voice broke as you whispered the question.

Cassian had no answer. He only held you closer and let you cry in his arms.

8 months later

With the help of your family, you had slowly begun to heal. Your heart was mended piece by piece with each bit of love and care they showered you with. Cassian was by your side every spare moment he had, doing everything in his power to make you smile, laugh. It was music to his ears. You had also resumed your duties to the Night Court, after Rhys had insisted you take a prolonged vacation to focus on yourself and your healing.

It was at one of these Night Court meetings that your life changed forever.

You were characteristically late to the monthly Inner Circle meeting, having spent far too long in the library that morning. You ran into the room, out of breath, giving a sheepish and apologetic smile to Rhys. You went to take your seat beside Mor when you heard Cassian's sharp intake of breath. You looked up at him and felt it. The snap. It was so powerful you could have sworn the entire room heard it. Your eyes locked with Cassian's as you heard Feyre gasp, realising what had happened.

"Looks like the Mother gave you that second chance", Rhys smiled, pulling Feyre into his side as they watched the pair of you process what had just happened.

"My mate", Cassian whispered.

"My mate", you replied, breathless.

Within seconds, Cassian had cleared the table, swooped you into his arms, and walked out the room with you.

"I take it we need to reschedule, Cass?", Rhys called after the pair of you, amused.

Neither of you replied, simply gazing at each other as he carried you up the stairs.

"I prayed to the Mother for you every day for centuries", Cassian confessed, tears filling his eyes. Yours mirrored, as you reached up a hand to hold his cheek.

"I prayed for you too, Cassian".

#a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #cassian x reader #cassian imagine #cassian #acotar oneshot #acotar imagine

[seoltzuki]

Persona

jihyo x gn reader

fluff, very unserious, suggestive (kinda), not proofread

wannabe player jihyo

You know it’s not the smartest idea, but it feels like it’s the only option to shake things up.

Nayeon’s been urging you all evening, saying, "Just get on a dating app, y/n. It’s easier to find someone who wants to hook up on there. And better yet, with no strings attached since you’re so allergic to falling in love and settling down."

You huffed and rolled your eyes. No need for her to be so… brutally honest. And so caved in. You downloaded the app and started scrolling through it. You swiped on pretty faces, ignoring those seeking long-term relationships, until one profile grabbed your attention.

Despite its douchy and fuckboy-ish vibe, you couldn’t help but be drawn to this person’s profile.

Jihyo.

Her photos showcased her with well-defined abs glistening under gym lights, another captured her in full hockey gear, while another showed her casually sporting a backward cap, adding a touch of laid-back douchiness.

Let’s not talk about her bio, which ew by the way… You cringed as you read it,

6’1 when I stand on my money.

ps: my couch pulls out, but I don’t when I’m strapped up👅💦

You gag at this but still swipe right. It’s clear she’s looking for the same casual fun as you are. And as expected, you both match, confirming your mutual interest in a no-strings-attached connection.

You begin texting Jihyo, and the conversations quickly become flirty, bordering on explicit. This back-and-forth continues for a week until Jihyo takes the initiative to set up a date to meet in person.

She suggests grabbing a quick bite at a fast food joint near her place. You find the idea crass and somewhat unappealing; after all, why bother with a lame meal when you could just head straight to her place for some action?

Nonetheless, you agree. Jihyo manages to sway you with another teasing message: “You’ll need energy if you wanna keep up with me, angel ;)”

The day arrives, and despite knowing it’s just a one-time thing, you find yourself oddly excited. You debate whether it’s worth dressing up for the occasion, knowing you’ll likely never see her again after tonight, but you make the effort anyway.

As you commute to the shitty fast food joint, a text from Jihyo pops up: “hey! I’m already here. I’m gonna be waiting for you at the bus stop, no rush :)”

You frown at first, but then a small smile creeps onto your face. It’s strange to receive such a normal and sweet text from her.

You feel a flutter in your stomach, but you quickly dismiss it. This is just a one-time thing, you remind yourself, as you gather your things to to hop off the bus.

Stepping onto the sidewalk, you glance around, expecting to spot Jihyo. However, she’s nowhere in sight until you hear your name being called. You look past the man who was hiding Jihyo, and as she steps forward, you realize she’s even shorter than you had imagined.

"I hope the ride here wasn’t too bad. Ready to eat?" She smiles wide, and you can't help but notice how much cuter she is in person than you had imagined.

You nod, following her into the restaurant. She walks with a pep in her step, and you can't help but admire how cute she looks in her baggy jeans, oversized shirt, and that damn backward hat. It's nothing like the pictures she had on her profile.

A cutie.

She orders and pays for both of you, and you can't help but slip out, "You must be really rich then."

She frowns, her lower lip popping out in a pout. "I mean-" she starts to explain, but you cut her off, "your bio. 6'1 when I stand on my money, remember?" You tease, then casually munch on your fries.

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, and a blush tinges her cheeks. "Gosh, I forgot about that. I’m sorry, it’s-"

"You’re cute."

Her blush deepens, and she adjusts her hat, offering you a shy smile.

As the conversation flows, you find yourself enjoying Jihyo’s company more than you expected. Her easygoing nature and genuine laughter put you at ease, and you start to forget about the initial awkwardness of the situation.

You notice her little quirks—the way she looks incredibly angry when she takes a delicious bite of her hamburger, that big smile that makes her eyes almost disappear, the way she gives you her full attention when you speak… It’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the flutter in your stomach.

She then offers you to come over for some dessert, and you can't say no. After all, this is what you originally came for anyway.

The walk to her place is short, and when you arrive, you brace yourself for the typical "fuckboy" house—a mess, dishes piled in the sink, and a less-than-ideal bathroom. However, when she welcomes you inside, you're taken aback. The place is pristine and beautifully decorated. You start to wonder if her dating profile was all just a facade.

You prepare yourself for the "dessert" as she instruct you to get comfortable. Taking a seat on the couch, you anticipate what's to come, but to your surprise, she returns with a tray to the coffee table in the center of the living room. The tray has an array of treats—brownies, cookies, and mochi—and hold up, are they homemade too!?

"I’ve made them for you! For tonight! Have a taste!" She says with pride, her smile wide and chest puffed out.

You take a cookie and bite into it, moaning at the delicious taste. It's so good that you kind of want to murder her for being such a good baker, but also for messing up your flow.

You guys should’ve been in bed by now.

She flops beside you, still smiling. “It’s so good,” you remark, savouring the last bite of the cookie.

“Yeah? I’m glad you like it, wasn’t sure what you were gonna be into,” she says, her eyes fixed on you.

As you meet her gaze, you sink further into the cozy couch. She removes her hat, allowing her curls to cascade, and you're taken aback by her beauty.

She runs her fingers through her hair before settling in, her arm draped over the back of the couch, hand supporting her chin. She continues to watch you, and you feel your cheeks flush under her gaze.

"I don’t think I’ve had the chance to tell you how beautiful you are, y/n," Jihyo says softly, her eyes scanning your face.

She bites the inside of her cheek and briefly lets her eyes drift down to take you all in. You smile shyly, noticing the subtle shift in her demeanor. Perhaps the "fuckboy" from her profile is finally making an appearance now.

Your hands sink into her sofa, and you hum, "This isn’t a pull out couch."

Jihyo’s eyes linger on yours, a teasing glint dancing in them.

"Never owned a pull out couch," she responds, her tone low and suggestive, "but I do have the strap."

You roll your eyes, but the shiver that runs down your spine betrays your true feelings. She smiles softly again, her gaze locked with yours as you edge closer to her.

"You're too crude, Jihyo. It’s not charming," you tease, allowing your fingers to trace a pattern along her arm, the tension between you growing.

"I may be crude, but hey, having a pretty person right beside me makes up for it, don't you think?" she whispers, edging closer. Her breath grazes your lips, igniting a surge of excitement within you.

And then, with a delicate touch, her lips meet yours in a tender, lingering kiss. The sensation is electric, your body melting into the moment as you get lost in the softness of her lips against yours.

A shared breath and she gives another kiss, deeper than the last. Her lips press against yours with a newfound urgency. You feel the softness of her touch as her hands slide to the back of your neck, gently pulling you closer.

A soft moan escapes your lips in response to the sensation, and she pulls back, breathless, her eyes locking with yours as the intensity of the moment hangs in the air.

“Y/n,” she starts, her voice gentle as she takes a deep breath to steady herself, “I know we’re both into the one-night stand thing, but I think I like you more than I should. And I know you should’ve been on your third orgasm by now, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to sleep with you unless we go on, at least, two proper dates.”

You stare at her, surprised by her honesty. The air between you is charged with tension as you process her words. Despite the initial intentions of this encounter, you can’t deny the flutter of excitement in your chest at the thought of spending more time with her.

Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you reach out and gently cup her cheek, brushing your thumb against her skin. “Jihyo,” you say softly, “I feel the same way. I’d like that.”

A smile spreads across her face, relief evident in her eyes. “Really?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Really,” you confirm, leaning in to place a tender kiss on her lips. It’s a promise of what’s to come—a beginning rather than an end.

A relieved sigh escapes her lips as she leans back against the couch, holding your hand tightly.

“Let’s watch TV and finish the sweets?” she proposes, her voice tinged with shyness.

You smile warmly at her, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “Sounds perfect,” you say, feeling a rush of affection for her. “But I need the backstory behind that insane dating profile of yours.”

Jihyo chuckles, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “Oh, that,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “Well, you see, I had a phase where I was tired of all the boring conversations on dating apps. So, I decided to spice things up a bit and I may have gone a little overboard with the whole ‘fuckboy’ persona.”

You giggle, intrigued by her. “It definitely caught my attention,” you admit.

She smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, well, I may have exaggerated a bit,” she confesses. “But hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Definitely,” you agree, squeezing her hand affectionately. “But I’m glad to see the real you now.”

With a warm smile, Jihyo leans in closer, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. “Me too,” she whispers, before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"However, I do give the best strap. No one can beat me to that and I mean it when I say I don’t pull out and-"

"Ew, you’re crude Jihyo!" you exclaim, playfully scolding her with a mock grimace.

Jihyo lets out a hearty laugh, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "Hey, just keeping it real, sweetheart."

You may not be allergic to falling in love after all.

#twice x reader #twice imagines #kpop imagines #gg x reader #twice scenarios #gg imagines #twice smut #jihyo x reader

[ashwhowrites]

Hi! Can I request an Older! Eddie x reader (can you do another Hargrove! or Carver! Reader one?) but maybe more fluff/smut? Like Reader being in a secret relationship with Eddie, so her dad doesn't know, but Eddie teases her a lot, he tells her what If you father knew about us? and he knows she'll get nervous bc he hates Y/N's father (you can add more things!!)

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Daddy's girl

When Y/N and Eddie met for the first time, a year ago, neither knew how complicated the relationship would become. Y/N was an adult, allowed to make her own decisions. And dating the older man she met at the bar wasn't a regret. Eddie caught her eye as he sat at the bar, having a beer. His dark hair, brown eyes, and chiseled jaw, coated in dark facial hair, looked memorizing underneath the downtown lights.

A few drinks in and she made her way over to him. A few more drinks and she was in his backseat, steaming up the windows as she clawed at his seats. His hands on her hips, his mouth on her back, and his cock buried in her.

They hooked up for months before they realized how deep their connection was. The complication occurred when Y/N learned her father was Eddie's enemy. She knew her dad was a dick, and wasn't surprised to hear that he made Eddie's life hell in high school.

Eddie couldn't help but feel smug about the fact he was dirting up Carver's daughter. He wished he could see Jason's face when he connected his precious baby girl called Eddie Daddy all night long. But also to shove it in his face that after all these years, someone fell in love with him. He wanted to brag and brag that someone as amazing as Y/N wanted to be with him.

But Y/N did not want her dad to know about the relationship, which Eddie understood. Jason wouldn't hesitate to destroy the relationship they created. Plus forbidden love was always a turn-on.

~~~

"You're so hot," Eddie mumbled against Y/N's lips. They stumbled into his house, lips locked and their bodies heaving.

"So are you," Y/N said as she shut the door behind them with her heel. Her hands worked on Eddie's belt as he unbuttoned his dress shirt.

"What time do you have to meet your dad for dinner?" Eddie asked as he dropped his shirt to the floor.

"In an hour, but it's at that gross pizza shop he knows I hate," Y/N rolled her eyes as she tugged Eddie's pants down. He stepped out and kicked them to the side then removed his socks.

"Better make sure daddy's good girl is well-fed then, huh?" Eddie smirked as she whimpered at his words. Her stomach flipped and her thighs clenched.

She dropped to her knees and watched as Eddie took off his boxers. His hard cock inches from her face and she drooled at the sight.

"Ready?" He asked, his thumb swiping across her bottom lip, her obedient eyes watched his every move. He loved how submissive she was when it came to him. Just one snap of a finger and she'd run away from her life and follow him.

"Yes," she said and opened her mouth. She clenched her thighs as he gripped his cock, he placed his lip on her tongue. She moaned at the familiar feeling as he pushed himself down her throat.

He pulled her hair back and held it, he moaned as she began to move her head up and down as she sucked him off.

~~~

Y/N sat in the hot car as Eddie filled up the car with gas. A road trip ahead of them to the beach, bags packed in the back. A romantic getaway that she could not wait to start.

She smiled as the door opened and Eddie jumped in. His tattooed arms glistened in sweat from the short time outside, his tank top sticking to him. He started the engine and the AC blew and released them of the hot weather. He pushed his sunglasses into his hair and pecked her lips.

"Oh look it's your dad!" Eddie said, pointing straight ahead. Y/N snapped her head to look through the windshield, her dad stood filling his tank.

"Oh my god," Y/N whispered, she quickly ducked her head down and hid.

"I think we should go say hi," Eddie teased with a smirk as he looked down at her.

"Not funny," she snapped, slapping his thigh. She jumped when Eddie honked the horn, a growl leaving her lips as she smacked him again.

"Oh, he's looking! Say hi to your daddy, don't be rude." Eddie teased again, loving the way she looked up at him terrified, yet pissed off.

She didn't move a muscle, she watched as he flipped her dad off and quickly grabbed his hand.

"He's gone," Eddie said, Y/N slowly peaked over and sighed when her dad was gone.

"You are such an ass," Y/N shook her head as she buckled herself in.

"Yeah, but you love me"

~~~

"I'm going to grab the beers," Eddie said, pecking her cheek as he rounded the corner in the store. She pushed the cart and grabbed hot dog buns from the shelf. She grabbed a few more things before she went to the next aisle. She froze when she saw the back of her dad's head and Eddie's huge smirk.

"I see you didn't become a rockstar," Jason scoffed as he glared at Eddie. "Life must be so unfulfilling. No wife, no kids."

Y/N was mouthing "no" but when did Eddie listen?

"I am so glad you brought this up!" Eddie exclaimed as he smacked Jason's shoulder. "I am not married, but I found someone who will be."

"Yeah right," Jason mumbled, pushing Eddie's hand off of him.

"It's your daughter," Eddie said, his eyes flashing to Y/N's horrified face and back to Jason's shocked face.

"I'm shitting with you man, but you should see your face," Eddie laughed, smacking Jason's chest before he walked off. Y/N raced to hide behind the corner, slapping Eddie the second he was in sight.

To Eddie it was a fun little game, giving his girl a heart attack kept him a child at heart. But the ring in his nightstand reminded him he was all grown up.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson fluff #older eddie munson smut #older eddie munson #older eddie Munson x reader #older Eddie munsin x carver!reader #ashwhowrites

[plumadot]

ok. ok. connecting the pretty much confirmed "jimmy is codfather somehow someway" post to the "first time flower husbands kiss" post and "jimmy is familiar to scott but they're still awkward" post.

what if the love scott feel isn't romantic love (or at least, not the primary source of it. maybe a secondary/later love?). it's the remnants of the devotion he feels for the codfather. it's intertwined with jimmy's prescence, his very being. so how does scott react to this unknown force drawing him to jimmy? the one that makes him trip over his words, this one-side attraction that has no reciprication?

he mistakes it for love, (as all unknowing aros do (/J)). that's why he pushes himself to kiss jimmy, to tangle his hands into scruffy blond hair, to hold their lips together for longer than he likes.

it felt foreign. not right, not like books and plays make it seem. jimmy's lips were too hot, scott's own heartbeat too fast, and the fire sounded too loud in the quiet space surrounding them.

he pulled away quickly (quicker than he should have, he scowls in the privacy of his tent) and locks eyes with jimmy. they're wide, but scott doesn't know him well enough to place what emotion they carry. shock? fear? horror? "i-i'm sorry-" he stumbles out, his lips failing him. jimmy's eyes soften. "s'ok scott" he shakes his head slightly before getting up. "i'll be heading to bed now. are you good with fire duty?" scott nods, and jimmy smiles softly. "alright then. goodnight." he walks away from the glow of the fire, leaving scott alone with his own thoughts.

(WOW that got away from me sorry anyways love this au <3 -🍳 (emoji is mine now >:) )

oh scott is definitely unsure about... everything. and that feeling is not something he's familiar with at all. imagine having lost someone many many years ago and suddenly they return but... they're not the same. jimmy is not a god, but there's definitely a part of him that scott knows intimately.

on one hand there's jimmy as a person; a sweet, almost carefree guy that scott is getting to know to be way more hardworking and courageous than most people. and then there's jimmy as a sorcerer, who holds a part of the entity scott has built his whole life around, whose powers could be immeasurable if only he knew how to unlock them, how to become whole again. and scott is unsure whom he feels this affection for. sometimes he thinks it's just for his god, sometimes he thinks it's both.

he's not ready to tell jimmy everything either. jimmy knows he's special somehow, that he's meant to be kept safe and that his magic is important to the world, as well as to scott. which should feel amazing, being the chosen one, but it doesn't. and every time scott looks at him, he feels it too. like he's losing himself, like he's becoming someone else. someone he should be. and he's not sure if he's ready for it.

it's fucked up lmao and i am so sorry

#ask #plume dnd au #i have to say i love the way you write btw :D :D :D

[mango-forest]

inspired by A Second Life by Die_Erlkonigin6083

“—lo?”

What?

“—an you hear us?”

Go away.

“The levels are stable. We should see if—”

He can’t move; he’s floating in place with wires attached to him. He can’t breathe; there’s some sort of liquid all around him. He can’t see; the liquid gel substance presses against his eyelids, forcing them shut.

“Process starting in three, two, one!”

What process? Just let him sleep.

“WARNING: SUBJECT F-4N70M DESTABILIZING. PLEASE CHECK ACTIVITY LOG.”

It’s getting warmer. He wants it to get cooler. Why is it getting warmer? He hates it. It only gets warmer when they’re doing tests. People are loudly talking to each other—or is it to him?

Is this another test?

-

He slowly opens his eyes. It is bright, in the way all of the Rooms are, sterilized white the only color on the walls. But there’s blue curtains surrounding the bed he’s in. They never let him have curtains.

Actually, there are a lot of differences between where he is and the Rooms. It’s hard to move, but when he turns his head to the side, it’s not only chairs and machinery that he sees, but there’s also a small table with flowers in a vase, and pillows stacked next to it. There is a tube connected to his nose, and another one leading to his arm. But the discomfort cannot compare to the awe he feels when he looks through the window and sees the darkness outside, speckled with lights.

He can see millions of lights past the window, glowing, tauntingly beyond his reach. It is overwhelming. It is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

He has to get closer.

Getting his body to move is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He clumsily paws at the tubes until they fall off and in the process tumbles out of his bed, crashing onto the floor. The machinery has gotten louder now, a constant screeching that he ignores as he painstakingly makes his way to the window. He has to slowly drag himself most of the way, but it’s worth it when he props himself against the wall, closer to the lights.

He hasn’t been there for more than a few minutes when someone sits next to him. “Hello,” the person—who was not there when he woke up—says. “What are we looking at?”

Why does the person have to look with him? He was looking at the lights first! “The lights,” he says. It’s quieter than he meant it to be. His voice is hoarse, and it actually hurts him to talk.

Something cool is pressed to his hand. “It’s water,” the person says. He doesn’t look away from the lights as the person sighs. He can’t curl his fingers enough to grab it. A hand presses against his chest, leaning him back into an embrace. Another hovers a few inches in front of his face, blocking his view of the lights.

Angrily, he looks at the other. The person smiles indulgently and uses the blocking hand to then grab the cup of water and raise it to his mouth. While he’s forced to slowly drink, the person says, “We call those lights ‘stars.’ Do you like stars?”

Carefully, he nods his head, a bit of water dribbling down his chin. Stars.

“I do too. Did you know there are other planets out there? My name actually came from one of those planets: my name is Nightwing. Do you have a name?” Nightwing asks slowly, placing the empty cup on the floor and then wiping the wet off his chin.

He also seems disappointed when all he gets in response is a blank stare.

“Okay then, kiddo,” Nightwing says. “Let’s get you back to bed.” The man shifts so that he’s now held against his waist. Then he gets up and they move back towards the bed with the blue curtains. They’re leaving the stars. Why are they leaving the stars? Is it because he didn’t answer? He weakly struggles against Nightwing, a whine leaving his throat. “Shh, shh, it’s alright, it’s okay. You can still see the stars from the bed.”

But it isn’t the same! Frustrated, he tries to bite Nightwing’s shoulder to get him to stop, because even the biggest scientist stopped when he did it, but even that doesn’t work because Nightwing’s stupid black and blue suit is too tough!

“Aw, baby don’t do that. This is special material, you’re just going to hurt your teeth.” Don’t tell him what to do. He stubbornly bites down harder.

The sheets are cool against his skin and Nightwing uses his hand to press against his chin and cheeks in a certain way that loosens the bite enough that he can detach him.

Ignoring the glare directed at his whole being, Nightwing then tidies some previously unnoticed papers on the bedside table and hums a little tune. “You know, if you don’t have a name, then I can name you. What about. . . Babywing? Or . . . Pythagoras?”

“Name?” he asks, unable to have before. “What is. . .?”

He trails off at the end, but Nightwing seems to have understood, frowning for a moment before smiling again. “A name is what people call you. It’s who you are, in a way.”

He doesn’t know what a Pythagoras was, but he does know he doesn’t want to be called that. “‘M not a baby,” he rasps.

Nightwing pauses and looks at him with a smile, probably pleased he was talking. “Well, your charts say you’re seven. So you’re basically a baby. A baby with no name, which I shall now fix by naming you. . . Small Boy!”

“You’re not good at naming,” he informs the adult. He’s forced to drink more water before he continues, unimpressed. “I have a name.”

“Nuh-uh,” says Nightwing. “I would’ve known, Small Boy.”

“Yes, I do.” His throat has gone dry and Nightwing seems to notice as he produces another cup of water out of nowhere and helps him drink again. “They called me Phantom.”

Never to his face. Never when talking to him. But sometimes, they would shorten his label to Phantom when talking to each other, something easier for them to say. To him and to the lab recordings, he was referred to as Subject F-4N70M only. But the thought of Nightwing—the only person to treat him like a person—using his label, a string of letters and numbers. . . it gives him a weird feeling of shame.

Nightwing blinks. “Phantom? That’s. . . a very nice name.”

He shrugs. It’s not like he chose it. “It’s not a normal name,” he mumbles. None of the people in the lab have names like Phantom.

Nightwing sits on the edge of the bed, giving him a gentle look. “Well, I think it’s fine. Nightwing isn’t a very normal name, either. Phantom sounds cool. Like a hero’s name.”

“What is a hero?”

The frown is back again for a second before the gentleness replaces it. “Someone who helps and saves people. My hero name is Nightwing.”

“You’re a hero?” he says in slight wonder. “You saved me. You were the voice I heard.” It makes sense: if anyone fits the label of hero, it would be Nightwing, he thinks.

“You could hear us when you were in stasis? Well, I was the one there, and I am a hero! But hey,” Nightwing quickly adds, “If you want to have a different name then you can! You don’t have to keep the name they gave you.”

“Really?” It is barely above a whisper.

“Really,” Nightwing responds, firmly.

“Can I,” he starts, voice small, “have—there’s this name I—“ He swallows and looks around nervously. Waving Nightwing closer, the hero indulgently leans over. He says it so quietly it might have been a murmur: “Can my name be Danny?”

“Danny?”

He nods. He’s never said that name aloud before; it’s only ever been floating in his mind—in fact, he’s never really said it even in his mind. But he knows, as soon as the name leaves his mouth, that it’s his. “Yeah. Danny, not—not Daniel, Danny.”

Nightwing smiles widely, warmly. “Danny with the bluest eyes,” he coos.

Danny smiles back, shy but undeniably happy. A yawn escapes him, making him a bit surprised. When another one escapes him, Nightwing laughs and says, “Time for bed, I think.”

“I am in a bed already,” Danny says.

“No, like—I mean it’s time to sleep.”

Danny tries not to flinch, although he probably wilts judging by how Nightwing’s face goes a bit worried. “Oh. Where’s the capsule?” he asks, looking around as if he just missed it the first time and it was in a corner he hadn't thought to check.

Nightwing frowns. “Your capsule?”

“Yes. Where else would I sleep?” Danny asks. Nightwing’s face does something complicated. Danny hopes this isn’t when he finally gets upset and angry at him.

#danny’s like seven or smth btw and in an alternate universe #genuinely do not care if anyone adds to this feel free #dc x dp #also really go check out a second life it’s so good #dick seeing his sort of son already flippant about hospitals: yeah i can see it #dick left to get water so of course that’s when danny woke up

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

whats hollyleaf like in your au?

I'm gonna be completely transparent. With all the talk about canon!her recently, I'm terrified of talking about WCR!Her. But, screw it. Let's be brave!

Hollyleaf

Well, let's start with the basics! Hollyleaf is a large, long-legged, pure black molly with a rip in her ear post-OOTS, long, soft fur, a big bushy tail, and pale green eyes.

Yes, Post-OOTS. Hollyleaf manages to survive the Great Battle when Dovewing slams her full weight into Thistleclaw, who is attacking Ivypool for being a 'traitor'. Since she isn't attacked by a Dark Forest cat the way she was, she makes it through the battle.

Hollykit is born to Leafpool and Crowfeather, and given to Squirrelflight and an unknowing Brambleclaw to raise alongside her 2 brother, Lionkit and Jaykit.

From an early age, she is inspired by her father and wishes to be the best cat she can be for Thunderclan.

She is initially ambitious about being a Medicine Cat, with the freedoms and power the position easily applies to its holder. She and Lionpaw are both assigned to Leafpool, but with Hollypaw being squeamish and Lionpaw being... Lionpaw... They're both reassigned. Lionpaw is assigned to Brightheart, and Hollypaw is assigned to Ashfur...

Ashfur is an AWFUL mentor. He constantly berates Hollypaw, drilling Starclan and The Warrior Code until her as hard as he can. When things come down to it, I'm not sure if Hollypaw fights him or Lionpaw steps in to try and help his sister, only leading to that horrible fight... But I know that no matter what happens, Brambleclaw STILL fails to see the real problem, and Hollypaw STILL takes guilt on board and begins to obsess over being a "thinker", a politician, someone who will fix a problem, no matter the cost.

When Swallowkit, Thistlekit and Sedgekit go missing in the tunnels, Hollypaw, Lionpaw, Jaypaw, Heatherpaw and Breezepaw go through said tunnels to find them. However, there is now a twist to it. Lionpaw tries to keep things a secret, and Jaypaw has doubts that kittens would go into such an eerie place, but Hollypaw?

Hollypaw can hear them. She can hear a lot more than she wants to, and she can't control it.

Hollyleaf! Third cat of the Prophecy! The Clairvoyant, capable of hearing and sensing things over a great distance. Lionblaze's eyes turn red, Jayfeather's turn silver, Dovewing's turn blue, and Hollyleaf's eyes turn a bright amber... The same colour as Leafpool's.

She has the hearing power until her mental breakdown, where she begs Starclan to take it away from her and give it to a "better cat". Starclan picked Dovekit, and swapped her would-be power. The ability to sense disaster. For any Pokemon fans, think Absol. Can sense when a disaster is about to strike. Time stops, just for a moment, and she can sense what is about to happen. When she controls this, it can give her a major advantagetk strategically think about her move, but she'll have to do it quickly. You can feel when something will happen. This doesn't mean you can prevent it. Hollyleaf is no longer The Clairvoyant, the title goes to Dovewing. Hollyleaf is The Sighted.

Before this happens though, she goes back into the Tunnels to hone her power, making friends with Fallen Leaves and getting close with the ghostly trans molly. She connects with Fallen Leaves and the two care deeply for one another. At first Fallen Leaves is apprehensive, it's been so long since she's had a real connection with anyone, and Hollyleaf could just leave... But when Hollyleaf gives her reassurance that she will always come back, and that she really does care, it allows Fallen Leaves to not only get closer to the entrance of the tunnels, but to begin aging alongside Hollypaw/Hollyleaf. Finally beginning to not only accept her death, but heal from the traumatic experience of it.

She stays in Thunderclan after the reveal and her murder of Ashfur, but her mental state is frail and all eyes are on her, she suffers hallucinations, flashbacks, and intrusive thoughts... She is given Dovepaw to mentor, the kid who Starclan gave Hollyleaf's power to. Hollyleaf does her absolute best to support Dovewing, and she's doing a better job than Lionblaze is, especially as he is now Ivypaw's mentor.

Hollyleaf and Dovepaw go on the Beaver Journey together, and from that point on it solidifies Dovepaw's place as the 4th Prophecy cat.

She and The Three work together, gathering information on Starclan and The Place of No Stars, while also trying to get through life in a time of heavy political unrest. Ivypaw and other Dark Forest trainees are manipulating political figures into battle.

Hollyleaf had no idea how bad things were getting for Ivypaw, how deeply she was falling into a trap. She ripped into Lionblaze, who had been neglecting his apprentice a bit to focus on Prophecy work. If she could do it and still be a mentor, so could he.

Hollyleaf is kinda popular in Thunderclan, her attitude mellows throughout OOTS as she learns to be a member of her community rather than a servant of Starclan.

It starts with the new Novella-turned-Super-Edition; Hollyleaf's Nightmare. Hollyleaf is in a small, safe tunnel with Fallen Leaves after losing her overstimulating hearing power. Only a single day later. They head deeper into a tunnel, when Hollyleaf suddenly gets sleepy. Fallen Leaves promises she'll wake Hollyleaf up.

"I will wake you up when you've snored 100 times!"

"Thanks, Fall, I.... Wait a minute, I don't snore!"

"Hollyleaf. You could wake the dead."

So she has a nap, and during this time, her new disaster power is about to come through... but... The Tunnels are not a place that is easy for any spirit to reach. Starclan or Beyond.

Hollyleaf dreams about a swirling misty field, but it's cold, and gray. There are no signs of life aside with the tiny plants that seem to struggle in the thick, heavy air... She steps through, only to no-clip fall through the ground and into The Dark Forest, where she is quickly ushered by an invisible force into one of the many prison cells.

By this time, Hollyleaf's sleeping body is in visible distress. Fallen Leaves is unable to wake her, and demands that Rock, the God of Time, do it. When Rock refuses, Fallen Leaves uses a tiny tunnel to get to Midnight, God of Dimensions. She begs Midnight to help, to do something, anything...

Midnight, seer of different dimensions and teacher of Fire to the cats, sends Fallen Leaves into the Dream World, to rescue Hollyleaf.

But Hollyleaf is clever, and able to escape the prison, setting off a riot. She and Fallen Leaves escape; though... When she gets out of the tunnel... The Lake looks quite different.

She and Fallen Leaves have gone back in time, as time and space are unstable in the tunnels. She lets Fallen Leaves go and see her family, though they will not be able to see her, while Hollyleaf stays and heals from an injury she got escaping Hell.

In the meantime, a baby Badger wanders up to Hollyleaf, starving and scared. Hollyleaf starts a fire, just like her mom... Aunt... taught her to, and cooks up some grilled pheasant. The baby Badger is thankful, and says so, startling Hollyleaf. She asks Hollyleaf how to start a fire, and when Hollyleaf shows her, she introduces herself... as Midnight.

The young god goes along her way, leaving Hollyleaf alone to think about her aunt. Her mom. Her other mom.... What even is Squilf to her anymore?

It's a lot to think about, and even more to miss.

When Fallen Leaves comes back, she and Hollyleaf head into the deepest tunnel to get back home. Hollyleaf heads back to Thunderclan, and finally sits down to have a talk with Leafpool.

Later, during Squirrelflight's Freedom, when Squilf steps down as deputy in a final act of defiance, Bramblestar chooses Hollyleaf for his second deputy. She knows what game Bramblestar is trying to play, and she's not interested. She takes his offer, but not his apology.

During TBC book 2, Hollyleaf sprains her leg BADLY. She was just out hunting when some thawing dirt gave way and the next thing she knew Jayfeather was fussing over her while his new husband Fuzzyleaf (Fuzzball) was gently massaging her hip. He confines her to her bed and Squilf is made temporary deputy against her will... She does it for Hollyleaf.

In time, he legs heals up, and she is torn between doing what is easy (killing Bramblestar's Imposter, as many times as it may take) or doing what is right, which is letting him at least have his body back. She dislikes her former father, but she isn't cruel. She knew if it was her in that situation she would be desperate for help from anyone.

She helps him, because helping people is the right thing to do, even if you dislike them.

During ASC, everybody is gunning for her to be leader. Dandeliontuft most of all wants another cat to replace her father, and places down the very first Thunderclan Leader Vote.

Bramblestar hates it and lashes out against them all before Starclan's divine intervention strikes hard and fast...

Hollyleaf quickly made aware that going to the Moonpool is not any sort of option to take. Something has cursed it, and no cat an get through. Breezepelt was mauled and may not survive, simply for trying to claim 9 lives.

Until things settle, Hollyleaf will call herself Hollystar, and will fight against Berrystar and Splashstar with clever tactics while others try and see if they can break the curse that withholds Starclan's blessing.

In the meantime, she'll be training Bristlepaw, and keeping a close eye on her as Starclan's angels close in to choose another "special" young cat...

#warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats rewrite #wcr #asks #hollyleaf #fallen leaves #lionblaze #jayfeather #squirrelflight #ashfur #leafpool #wc midnight #wc rock #dovewing #ivypool

[kangals]

way back in 2014, probably a few weeks or months after you posted that picture of boone with the stick on his head, i checked your blog out and so dearly enjoyed all the dogposting that i followed. i think you were the first dogblr blog i actually followed at the time, but it's been ages and my memory is bad, so i'm not fully sure. it wasn't long before then--2012 i think?--that i had gotten a new dog of my own, a border collie. iirc he and boone were just about the same age.

in 2018 i lost that blog i'd followed you with, and a lot of connections with it. i didn't return until 2021, and when i did, i didn't refollow most of the old blogs; i don't think i even really went looking for them. it took me a while to get back into the swing of using tumblr.

last september, my border collie had a sharp health decline, and i had to say goodbye. it's not the first time i've had to put a pet down, but i think it was the hardest. i'm still not over it. even just typing this now, i feel raw.

then in march or so, i made a new fandom friend who knows you, and i enthusiastically recalled following you before and how much i enjoyed it. i didn't even know about stellina, and now there's kep too! but... i also didn't know you'd lost boone. i followed because i still really enjoy your blog, and i love your collies too. and butters!!! so glad she's still here!

idk what made me look tonight... maybe because i talked about my old border collie with someone today. i went looking for the posts immediately around when you lost boone, because i guess some part of me wanted to know what happened. i spent the better part of an hour (maybe longer?) reading posts from the weeks before the decline, and then the loss, and then the deluge of old boone pictures after, and i've been crying pretty much the whole time just reading your posts and tags about him.

and this is a long and windy way to get to saying thank you. i'm glad you shared your grief, though that seems like a weird thing to say. there's something cathartic about crying over someone else's dog when you still hurt about your own, and knowing you're not alone in that kind of sorrow. boone was such a beautiful boy. i'll never forget that silly post that made me check your blog out in the first place, or the years of posts i stuck around for after. i wish i'd remembered to follow sooner, but the archive is still there, and it's so fun looking through all those old posts about him and his quirks and antics. he was amazing.

sorry for the length of this, i just... really wanted you to know that he touched yet another life, i guess. and i've been so deeply enjoying your posts about stellina and kep. i know it'll be a year soon... i hope there's some peace in how things have gone since he passed, and i hope the anniversary isn't too hard on you. thank you for sharing him with us.

i've been on tumblr for 14 years and this is, genuinely, the nicest ask i think i've ever been sent.

thank you - sincerely. there's been a lot of times over the course of this blog that i've felt like i was oversharing, or talking about pointless things only i cared about. i still so frequently start typing out a post only to stop mid-sentence and delete it because i can't help but think "no one cares about this." possibly it's why i like to talk about my pets so much - they're not me, but i'm the one who knows them best, so i get to say "hey look at this" and ramble and have people say "i'm looking" back. when boone passed, i lost that filter and i poured my grief out into this blog because it was the closest outlet i had. and to have hundreds of people not only acknowledge this but to commiserate, to reassure, to share their own stories - that helped healed me more than i can put into words. it's exactly as you said: there's a catharsis in grieving together.

i am sorry you also had to say goodbye. i wish i could say it gets easier, but i think that would be defeating the point of grief. your grief is your love and damn it if there isn't any act more loving in the world than choosing to say goodbye to an old, loyal dog. you think of how dogs were domesticated tens of thousands of years ago, of how human society and dogs have developed intertwined, of how we have records of ancient greeks and romans carving loving epitaths on their dog's graves, of how a prehistoric dog's skull was found with a bone placed in it's mouth after death, and you wonder if grieving a dog isn't one of the most consistent experiences in the whole of human history that there is.

i'm glad to know that this could bring you some comfort, in some way. it's incredibly touching to know that you kept me and boone in your thoughts for all this time. i am doing ok - i've been reflecting a lot as we approach the one-year mark. i'm not sure if i'll be able to condense those thoughts down into coherent words, but i'll do my best. i hope that my silly little pets continue to bring you some happiness, and that you've found peace with your own grief.

thank you, again - this is extremely touching and means a hell of a lot to me.

#i know exactly what you mean about reading posts about other peoples loss and grieving in camaraderie with them. i do that too #also mayhaps i am nosy sometimes and want to intrude. i cant help my nature to be a looky-loo #which is to say: you should never feel like you are intruding for doing so back to me.

[hxltic]

Someone pls tell me if this doesn’t make sense

Thinking about the comedic relief character (maybe in a mafia book). Its a bonus if their best friend/the person they take orders from is the love interest to the main character. He is the only single one of the men in the group when the book ends; where’s his happy ending?

He used to joke about taking his best friend’s woman from him to piss him off, and it’s even funnier when she sees him as a brother and doesn’t take it to heart anyway, but all fake interest stops when you come around. You, finally someone possibly for him, and you quickly find out that despite his bubbly nature, there was an inexplainable amount of pent up sexual frustration going on.

It starts when you first meet at the bar. His friends point out that he seems to be having fun from their booth across the club, laughing almost as hard as you were at his words. In the past 10 minutes you’d been talking, he’d already called you the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, told you insane stories that he swears are true, and uses his charming smile to make you more comfortable than anyone you’d ever met. Of course, you had no idea the man next to you has handed men their deaths on a silver platter, but who cares about that right now?

Regardless, his cologne overwhelms your senses when he leans in to speak, tugging a giggle from your lips, smiling against the back of your ear and placing a chaste parting kiss before pulling away. He asks you to dance.

That’s how you find yourself on the floor, his hands draped around your waist, letting you guide him as you shake your hips to the bachata. He follows, occasionally twisting you around and dipping your head. It makes you feel free. Letting loose with this man you’d just met.

When you feel him behind you with one hand moving along his hip and the other curled back around his neck, you flush at the tent there. It’s his gun, but you don’t know that.

And then the song switches, something slower, sultry. You turn to face him where he already is smiling at you. Your arms connect at his nape.

Just when you get close enough as if you’re about to kiss him, only a breath away, the beat drops. He’s completely entranced when you begin to descend slowly, dragging your hands down his body with a featherlight touch and eye contact that can end a man.

“Shit,” he mumbles. This time, it wasn’t his gun.

He’s used to being over the top, testing the people around him to see how much he could get away with, but you’re something different. You’re like him, but worse.

Once you get as low as your body allows, you come back up just as languidly, not letting go of the doe-eyed expression that renders him speechless. It was a perfect view, allowing a small peak into your dress from above. Any wrong movement and the small mounds of your nipples would be on display for him.

He separates you from his job, but he does let you meet the crew that night. They’re all huge, one with a scar, others with tattoos and stern faces; you realize it literally is just the way he acts. He’s the only one with a humor. You sit and you all pass around drinks. The only other girl is sweet, though.

Unfortunately, the heat for him grows as he caresses your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to your center, causing you to excuse yourself to the bathroom. He follows behind.

When you tuck yourself away, he knocks, “It’s me.”

You shout through the door, “Who?”

“The hot guy you were grinding on?” There’s a moment of silence. “…Is there more than one?”

Chuckling, you swing open the door, dragging him in. “You’re so annoying.”

“You love it.” He shoots you a sexy crooked smile. What you’re about to say next catches him by surprise.

“Unfortunately, and now you have to pay for it.”

“How so?” He knows how so.

You only prove it when you tug him by the chain wrapped around his neck, pulling his lips to yours. “Finish what you started.”

Instead of kissing you like he was supposed to, he swiftly rotates your hips around and tangles his hand in your hair as you face the mirror. “Actually, you started it.” His hold on you makes you release the softest hum into the air, but he may have heard it with how he leans right into your space, pressing up against you. “I vaguely remember you looking up at me, only inches away from what you want.”

His voice isn’t the same teasing one, but a velvety smooth version, rumbling through your core as the usually bright eyes sink into darkness in the reflection.

Sometimes people forget this character is his own person, with his own story, still somehow left unfulfilled in the end, even though he has an amazing group of friends and a seemingly happy ending. But damn, he’s just a man, you know?

Nobody takes him seriously since everyone knows he’d never separate his favorite couple despite all the times he’s said “I’m next.” The girlfriend in question rolls her eyes, saying “you wish.”

But he has feelings as well, and after fighting for so long, never actually having time to settle, he’d never thought about a real woman or the desire coursing through him. He’s more than just a side character.

Everyone is there when reading the erotic scenes of the main character, but what about him? Has anyone ever gotten perspective on the way he fucks? Because at the end of the day, he’s just as deadly as the rest of his friends, right?

Well you have an answer. It’s rough, and needy, and so so perfect. He hits you deep with a strong grip on your loose hair. And he’s not like the main character—they have two different personalities— he’s ten times more annoying and won’t degrade you. No, he’ll praise you, praise you until you know how much of a good fucking girl you are and how good you take his cock.

“Oh fuck, fuck—” you jerk into the counter from the force of the thrusts just to be pulled back in the same second. Only being able to stare at your distant reflection in the mirror is embarrassing, so you look past yourself to him.

He throws his hips into your ass and slaps the skin roughly a few times just to soothe out the pain with his hand. “Pussy’s so fucking tight. What? You don’t like me?”

He leaves enough room for you to twist your head no back and forth, whimpering as you try to provide an answer. “I-I do.” He’s huge, filling out and reaching walls you didn’t know extended that far.

He laughs outwardly hearing how fucked you are before gathering your wrists in the small of your back. His hand slips past your hair, now digging into your nape and forcing you down as he barrels forward. “That’s good. Can’t have that if I’ll be buried inside you more often.”

All that processes in your head is the grunts and the abuse on your pussy, pounding into your g-spot, and he’s loving every second he gets to witness the curled up features on your face to go with the mascara rolling down your puffy cheeks.

Breasts bouncing in the scrunched up dress, you begin to whine. “I’m coming,” you warn.

He leans forward and brings you up to meet him. His arms wrap under your neck, putting you into a headlock, but it’s nothing like the ones he does when he’s suffocating someone. It’s softer, foretold by the fact that you can still breathe.

All it does is bring him closer, his hips unstopping at a relentless pace, right into your ear so you can still hear him even if it’s slightly muffled by his arm. Every time he pulls out, you suck him right back in.

“Can’t believe that I get to ruin you.” Your hands come to grasp his arms, but it’s not nearly as tight as it should be. You groan deeply.

He’s petting your hair, somehow even able to press a kiss to your temple, but he never leaves. You can feel his lips move against your hot skin. “There you go pretty girl, fuck, keep clamping down on me. Show me how much you want it.”

“I w-want it,” you nod. Or try to.

“Yeah?”

Your eyes shut as the heat multiplies.

“You can’t back out now, baby,” he chuckles, and it’s a little breathless. He seems to be talking so fast and you can only understand a few words at a time. “Open your eyes. Watch yourself come on my cock.”

Your eyes might stay open for the slightest second, but it hits you so fast that they might have just rolled into the back of your head. He doesn’t stop. It still jolts you back and forth and it’s so overwhelming mixed with everything of him.

You come so hard you almost get a migraine.

Moral of the story is, don’t forget about your favorite side character. He may be just as good in bed. ;)

©️hxltic

#Vincent from Beg For It #any hockey books #smut imagines #imagine #oneshot #headcannons #hc #hcs #books #books and reading #reading #side characters #side character love #comedic relief #comedic relief character

[kxllerblond]

demisexual/romantic characters are my bread and butter because it's like they go from uninterested or confused or even disgusted by the concepts to like "oh ok. wait a minute. we're cooking. but just with this specific person i've connected to"

#clark who just uses sex as a tool and really doesnt care much for it as soon as he ends up with a partner: i mean ykno. actually....i might #fuck with fucking actually. #it depends on the partner too tbh he tends to mirror. like if he's got a hypersexual partner. bam he fuckin on the reg #but if he's got a purely no sex-ace or low drive or whatever partner. he mirrors that too #like sex is never really something he needs or seeks out #it just becomes something fun and enjoyable instead of a chore when he does it with someone he's connected with on a certain level #the romance side tho he will be down bad. he is insanely romantic (in his own way) once he's managed to actually #connect with someone to feel that way in the first place #anyway as a demi myself i think we're so funny because #it can just be like a light switch #and it's hilarious because it's so easy to gaslight urself you might not actually be on the ace spectrum but then you leave that situation #with that emotionally connected person or you try and imagine yourself out of it. and the switch flicks right back off lol #and you're like. Oh no yeah this is def not how the allos do it

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

fire and the thud came on my spotify shuffle while me and my sister were listening to music this afternoon, and at the end of it she turns to me and goes “who was that? the lyrics sound like the kind of thing you’d write” and honestly i think it’s one of my favourite unintentional compliments i’ve ever received

#the fact that she’s been reading my writing since we were both kids and knows that side of me better than anyone too #idk it just made it really hit with that bit more weight #also something about it was weirdly validating #because like that whole album has such a special place in my heart #i have never heard anything that connects me so fundamentally with my creativity in the way humbug does #and so to have someone who knows nothing about am go ‘hey these lyrics remind me of the way your mind works’ #when hearing those songs for the first time sometimes felt like someone had reached into my brain #was just #yeah #i don't even know actually #i'm not trying to claim i can write like alex btw #i'm not delusional lol #but i do hear echoes of myself and the way i connect with creativity so often in his writing #which is i think why i connect with it so much #even if i express that creativity differently #(and with less skill) #sorry i'm just rambling at this point #i feel like i'm not explaining this well at all but my brain is so foggy rn #so i'm going to shut up now and go back to my book #thanks/apologies to anyone who's read their way though this whole ramble #humbug #lulu posts

[dutybcrne]

Kaeya is rather touch averse, cringing away from casual contact people give him under the guise of being distracted or idle movement. He's used to it, the Ragnvindrs and Adenlinde got him used to frequent affectionate physical contact, but it can still be entirely Uncomfortable if he's touched by someone outside those he is close to or someone he's otherwise Allowed to touch him.

#hc; kaeya #//Mentioned before; but am Elaborating on other aspects since Aven get brain juices flowing for this #//Unlike Aven; he's FAR more tolerable of people who touch him unprompted. & more willing to indulge for himself outside his comfort people #//Unless he himself had actively given the indication he doesn't want it; in that case THEN he's likely to anger & retaliate #//But yeah; his response is usually Discomfort & trying to get away from it one way or another. Can tolerate it to appear friendly; sure #//But would rather not want people to touch him so easily. Is decently okay with brief touches tho; like shoulder pats or the like #//Will actively lean into it & encourage further touching ONLY as a means to an end; adjusting any wandering hands only when going too far #//Esp if he can use that like a carrot on a string–if they concede to what he wants; they can touch him more. Maybe MORE than just that too #//He won't initiate any touch unless he deems it Absolutely Necessary; WILL internally scream if they Immediately reciprocate the contact #//Uses it as a 'reward' sometimes; a little pinch of the cheek; a hug; getting right into their space; if he sees they'll react favorably #//Maybe more if they have connection enough; like Huffman or one of his longer-running liaisons. Is p ok w/ sleeping w/ them as reward #//Sometimes he forgets some people don't like that he does this; like Rosie. Tries the tactic to get a favor then Remembers #//Absolutely apologizes; feels mortified when she scrutinizes him for it. Esp since she'd be one of few ppl who KNOWS just how Averse he is #to it in the first place. Him slipping up like that in front of HER is smth he'd STRESS over. She could hold over his head for all he knows #//How can he even joke abt it? Worse if she asks abt his way of doing things or indicate she doesnt Like that he uses himself as bait #//Has absolutely accidentally tried to seduce/bait sb like that who he absolutely should Not have. Like Jean. Ended up playing it off like #a joke between friends; but damn near had a panic attack from the guilt the moment he was safely in his office. bc Jean is SPECIAL to him #could he treat her like THAT? How could he almost let her SEE that side of him? His casual charm and facade are ONE thing #//But him actively doing something like THAT; esp for Jean of all people; is COMPLETELY off-limits; no matter his feelings #//Actually; especially BC he harbors feelings for her. Ppl like Lisa on the other hand; he is VERY comfortable doing this with/to #//She GETS the flirty habit & dishes it back without losing image of him in the way someone he regards at Jean's level possibly could #//And as far as Lisa knows; it's Only a playful habit; not a means to an end. The ones who prolly Know might be certain folks in the church #//But that's just bc he gets frequent checkups after every lil Rendezvous of his. Which is why he's got dirt on Every Single Person There #//Except Barbara; but he absolutely makes SURE she's not the one he's dealing with whenever he goes. Wants to spare her his messes #//Damn; veered a little but it's alright. 'A little'; HA. Nah; my tags are but the cluttered corkboard of my thoughts jhdbfjdf #//Diluc; Addie & Jean are the people he most Fears finding out abt his methods. Doesnt wanna THINK abt how they'd feel/regard him after tha #//Knows for SURE it'd be painful if the way they treat him changes even a SLIGHT. ESP Addie; he can bear the other two; but Addie??? #//Nah; he'd be fucken DEVASTATED. That's the ONE person he knows hold true unwavering unconditional love for him; no matter what #//To do anything to damage that? He'd be so fucken GUTTED. He expects everyone to get fed up with/disdain him at some point. But not HER #//Keeps this shit on the down low by always having dirt on the people he gets Involved with; if not using keeping it up as an incentive

[drewsaturday]

fun to realize the reason i get so insecure about other people doing ~my ideas~ first for fanworks is that all i am is ideas. yeah two cakes theory but point is if someone else does that particular thing first it will be better than mine, even if mine would have its own uniqueness to it, so all i can really walk away with is "i did it first" in the inevitable case of comparison. without that there's nothing jsl;dfljsdf.

and while you can't prevent that from happening in FANDOM of all places that is why i like to keep my ideas to myself when possible. if someone comes up with that same idea on their own fine, but if they get that idea from me running my mouth about my wips and they do their version first (which is like! still allowed even if there are levels of courtesy for how you go about it) i will be mad at myself for stripping myself of my own ability to then continue my own due to knowing my own issues and obstacles with it, because i still don't know how to play nice and it is on me to deal with that.

i say all this knowing fandom is supposed to be fun btw.

#txt #i think while i do worry about plagiarism accusations bc fandom is fucking crazy #i tend to also mask these concerns with that lmao #bc it feels less self centered and insecure to say 'i just dont want to be mobbed :(' than #basically sounding like a five year old whining that someone else brought the same toy to the park as them #but because i AM okay with it in the sense of people saying im where they got that idea from or connecting me to it in some way #(or obvs like... someone gifting me a work based on things ive talked about! also rad! or even just asking first etc!) #that's why talking so much about plagiarism also works lol #like just give me Something to have that ties me to it that lets me pretend i have good contributions to a particular space #ultimately it's my own bullshit to get over bc i feel like i need to justify my place in a fandom by filling a niche or contributing #Something unique if it can't be Good etc etc but that's also kind of dumb bc it's not that serious or at least it shouldnt be #i just cant rly contribute much in terms of community events or quality works etc but i do have good ideas! #and i am trying to let go of everything i just said even though i am still clinging to it by my nails #again i know fandom should be fun and i rly need to just do more with original works at this point but likeee.... #we r here . #also im not trying 2 fish for complimence just objectively #i value all the skills ive learned due to fandom inspiration #but bc i am split cross quite a few and i have certain health issues that #limit how much i can practice or learn etc #other ppl are inevitably going to be better than me in their area of focus! #and i want to be more okay with that

[thethingything]

apparently sometimes I will just fall asleep for 2 hours, have a dream that consists entirely of having a lovely conversation with someone I really want to talk to more, then wake up, realise the conversation never happened, also remember how much I struggle with starting conversations sometimes, then just end up getting frustrated and upset about it

#personal #thoughts #🍬 post #vent post #dream posting #I'm trying to get myself to be better at approaching people I want to talk to #and I'm trying to internalise the whole ''if you want to do it but you're scared then do it scared'' thing #but I also am just better at starting a conversation if I have a specific thing I can send someone or ask about or whatever #trying to send completely normal stuff like ''hey! how's it going'' feels so painfully scripted we start panicking about it sounding weird #which I've just realised probably came from some specific experiences as a teenager... fuck 🙃 #apparently sometimes you get to randomly make a fun little connection between struggling to start conversations now #and being bullied by family members for any part of your speech that sounded ''scripted'' #despite being the ones that taught you to use those scripts to start conversations in the first place #''you should open conversations like this and ask these questions'' and then we'd do exactly that and get made fun of in front of everyone #I fucking hate this. oh yay we were bullied for saying things like ''how's it going?'' and ''how are you today?'' #and ''what have you been up to lately?'' and pretty much any other basic conversation opener #and now we can't start a fucking conversation the normal way because we feel too stiff and awkward and like we'll be judged for it #because we'd ask how someone was doing and be laughed at in front of everyone for sounding ''scripted'' and ''fake'' #awesome. now I need to process all of that bullshit too #I'm realising how much we got bullied for our speech patterns in general and oh my fucking god