#has he ever met john green and like in the back of his head thought ‘balls are one of my favorite tastes’

[lethalchiralium]

showing mellie’s birth gave way to my evil thoughts 😈 what if reader died during birth and simon has no idea.

coming home to a new baby he has no idea exists and a dead wife, winnie crying unconsolably under roach’s sympathetic but helpless eyes, and is now having to take care of a toddler and a newborn. shower us with angst keri!! bwahahahha!! 😈😈😈

you’re evil. i love it. oh i thought about killing missus at all turns. i think about it. just a warning lol

HAPPINESS AU.

There were thousands of missed calls from you when Simon turned on his cell phone.

There were dozens of returned ones by the time he had pulled into the drive, not even caring that he left the car unlocked. The house was lit up, he raced up the steps and slammed his key into the lock before turning it. He threw open his door, not caring that his daughter could be asleep. Something happened and he wasn’t there.

“Y/N!” He called, walking down the hallway into the living room, eyebrows furrowing as he saw his good friend, Roach, leaned against the back of his couch, cradling something in his arm and holding his daughter against his side. Winnie came running from Roach’s side, sobbing. Simon picked up his daughter, her face red, splotchy, and full of tears.

He pushed some hair from her face, cupping her little cheek and speaking calmly, “Winter, what’s wrong?”

Her little body trembled, she shook her head before diving into his neck. He held her to his chest, one hand cradling her head as be looked to Roach, the baby Roach held in his arms had your hair color, your beautiful skin, dressed in an olive green onesie.

She didn’t. She couldn’t have been… Fuck.

“Y/N!” He called, moving towards Roach’s form leaning against the back of the couch. “Y/N!” He called upstairs, looking up it to see no lights on. He almost took a step up but stopped when he heard a cry.

The newborn in Roach’s arms began to fuss, little arms moving as they cried out. Roach could only gaze at Simon’s face, his own eyes full of tears.

“Where is my wife?”

Roach didn’t stop crying.

Fear plumed from his chest, anger fanned the flames as he shouted, “Where is my wife!”

Footsteps came from the front door, Simon’s heart lurched in his throat as he turned around to see his- Captain. Boonie hat rung in his hands, tears in his own eyes.

“Price, what-“

“Set Winnie down.”

John Price spoke with a softness Simon has never heard before in his life. Chills ran up his spine, the daughter loudly crying in his ear was drowned out by his heartbeat. Her little arms wrapped around his neck, tighter than they ever have before.

“John, where is my wife-“

He put up a hand. “Simon.”

The confused husband silenced, just wanting to know where the love of his life was. John met his eyes, and for a wordless moment, Simon felt grief. Sadness.

“The baby Roach is holding is your newborn daughter, Melody.”

His stomach dropped, eyes widened in surprise as he turned around to look at the creature again. She was so little.

With just a blink, he was back in that NICU - tubes and wires coming out of this little pink… thing in an incubator.

Another blink and he was back in his home, gazing at the little baby that looked just like you. His hands held his four year old tightly as he turned back to face Price, who was now a few steps closer. His face full of sorrow, tears running down his face as he stated in the military voice he was used to hearing, “Y/N didn’t make it out of the hospital.”

Simon’s head began to spin, around and around and around as he could barely take in small breaths.

“What are you saying?”

Price’s hand rested on Simon’s shoulder.

“Y/N is dead, Simon.”

The air went frigid. His lungs constricted, his head felt like a pound of bricks smashed against it, and he could hear his heart shatter into a million pieces on the ground. His knees locked, his hands froze, all he could feel was the familiar weight of holding his child.

“I learned right after you left the base half an hour ago. I called you, you didn’t answer.”

He felt nauseous. Dizzy. Like blood was oozing from an open wound in his chest, he felt exhaustion like he has never felt before. His bones were dipped in acid, his muscles constricting painfully - he felt like he was decomposing in that spot.

“Simon?”

Would flowers grow if I died right here?

If I died right now, would you lay beside me for the rest of time?

“Simon.”

If I live, how could I ever look at this place the same? How could I gaze at my daughters and act like I don’t see you in them?

If I live, how do I pretend that you’re still here? How can I remember the way you hold me if I haven’t seen you in months? How can I ignore the way your laugh haunts me, even when you were still here?

Winnie’s cries were loud, his entire body felt only pain, yet no crying wounds opened his skin. The only thing he couldn’t feel was his heartbeat.

If I live, how could I ever thank you for what you have done for me? What could I do to make you be proud of me?

There was ringing in his ears, he pressed his daughter to his chest and cheek. The Lieutenant has been beaten, stabbed, burned, suffocated, waterboarded - any torture method under the Sun, all without a single cry of pain because he forced them down. Now, as he stands in his living room, he willed for his throat to drag out a pain-relieving scream.

He made no noise as he fell to his knees.

How do I raise our daughters with the same grace and resilience you have? How do I tell them about you, their beautiful mother? How can I explain to them that I wasn’t here? How do I explain to my children that I broke a million promises to you?

How do I stop these tears?

PLEASE GIVE ME MORE HAPPINESS ASKS IM THRIVING

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

#happiness series #lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x wife!reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x wife!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader

[ghcstao3]

Absolutely loosing it over the idea of Ghost sneaking around to see what Soap is doing on leave. He gets jealous/insecure seeing him set up a date/picnic etc. Can't get it out of his head, has to know who John is getting things for. Stalking only for Soap to call out to Ghost while hes waiting-

"'Knew you were here the whole time, Lt. Join me? I brought tea." (or something along those lines).

-🤺

what a silly thing for ghost to do. also so real. love it

-

Ghost hadn't ever thought of himself as the jealous type until he met John "Soap" MacTavish.

Truly, he hadn't ever had reason to be the jealous type before Soap. Nor does he now, really, but of course the man who brings out the best in Ghost also has to bring out the very green-eyed worst. It's upsetting.

And impossible to ignore.

His envy begins with smaller things, like the casual touches Soap offers to just about anyone, or the smile he always seems to be wearing when Ghost wishes it were just him such a thing was reserved for. It's an ugly feeling that only grows worse with time—but what else can Ghost do but stand in the sidelines and feel miserable for himself? Soap has always and will always deserve better than Ghost.

But even if Ghost's jealousy gets to the point where it's a constant, overbearing presence, he does his best to manage it well. He does manage it well.

On base, that is. Surrounded by other soldiers, his colleagues, and always with something more important to do, Ghost is able to tame the beast that Soap has brought life to.

Then they're sent on leave. Horrible, ever-dreaded leave. The entire 141, including Price for once. And suddenly Ghost's envy cannot be shoved aside for menial tasks and conversation, not for long, at least. Being on his own doesn't bode well.

So he decides he'd visit Soap. Sort of.

The train ticket booking is on impulse. Ghost finds a hotel room even knowing where Soap lives, because he doesn't know if Soap would want to see him.

He's... pathetic, really. Utterly hopeless.

By the time he's mustered any courage to actually show up at Soap's front door, Ghost happens upon the man on his convoluted route there.

Well, happens upon is a strong term. It's more like Ghost sees Soap from afar, sitting on a park bench with his journal, and plants himself far enough that Soap wouldn't see him, but Ghost would still be able to watch.

Forgive him, for being so nosy.

Ghost isn't sure what overcomes him, when Soap eventually stands and Ghost rises, too. He isn't sure what overcomes him when he waits a few seconds before continuing to follow, to lurk like a complete creep. But he does, anyway. Until he snaps out of whatever stupid trance he's in, turns tail and heads back to the hotel.

It doesn't stop that day, though. He figures Soap might frequent the park, knowing the sergeant and his love for any sort of outdoors—and Ghost is easily proven right, as he watches Soap set up at the same bench with his journal the very next day.

He's curious, alright? Nothing more—until jealousy flares through him with the easy smiles Soap offers passersby. Until Ghost is envious of whatever kind greetings Soap offers those same people with that accent Ghost had grown to love even in spite of the nonsense Soap sometimes spoke.

Until a young woman, beautiful and surely Soap's type, joins him on the bench and makes Soap laugh. Until Soap is happily showing her whatever is in his journal and talks to her for ages.

Ghost leaves the park first, that time. But he comes back the next day, and the next. It's the same thing, minus the woman, until one day Soap isn't at the bench. Instead, he's laid out a blanket on the green and is unpacking enough food for two from a plain rucksack.

Ghost doesn't know when, but he creeps closer. He still stays out of sight—God forbid Soap see his lieutenant stalking him—but close enough that he can make out the things Soap has brought. Close enough that he can see the vague shapes of sketches Soap is still endeavouring to draw before whoever he's surely waiting for arrives.

Which is too close, apparently.

"LT," Soap is suddenly calling out. He hasn't so much as looked up from his journal. "I know you're here, ya numpty."

Ghost hesitates a long while, the kind of hesitation that would get him killed on the field. But here, it only stretches on an awkwardness Ghost had hoped never to face. To never have to admit he'd been observing Soap, his subordinate, from afar because he was jealous.

But Soap is patient as Ghost gradually makes his way to the blanket. He doesn't sit right away, however, even when Soap prompts him.

"Aren't you waiting on someone?" Ghost asks. He prays he sounds impassive enough, but he can't help the tinge of bitterness that seeps into his voice.

Soap shakes his head. "Unless I count you," he says. "C'mon, Simon, sit. I brought more than enough for the both of us."

Ghost complies, dropping cautiously across from Soap, staring owlishly at the sergeant who seems far too casual about all of this.

"You're not going to ask?"

Again, Soap shakes his head. "If I wanted to know on my terms, I woulda walked over to you the first day I saw you at the park. Now, I dinnae have much tea at home, so I hope what I brought'll do."

Soap continues to chatter away to both himself and Ghost while he shoves food and drink in Ghost's direction. Ghost just sits in disbelief before he's able to settle.

But once he realizes that the green-eyed monster has finally backed away for once, Ghost allows himself to just enjoy Soap's company, before he thinks to answer any questions and ruin this peace. He has the sergeant to himself, for this one moment, and, really, it's all he's ever been needing.

#ask #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #soapghost #ghostsoap #writing #drabble

[lerclec]

to remember

summary : moments where you take a photo of jj

pairing : jj maybank x routledge!reader , s2!kiara carrera x s2!pope heyward, sarah cameron x john b routledge

genre : fluff and smut

warnings : 18+ mdni, everyone’s 21+, no use of condom, pet names(baby), drinking, cursing

word count : 1.2k

a/n : wasn’t planning on adding smut but i didn’t know what plot i was gonna write for that one photo 🤭 btw there’s a link on the dates, it’s the photos from pinterest

tuesday, 5:23 pm, Aug

It was five o’clock at noon, birds tweeting can be heard, the winds making the tree leaves fall from the ground, the orange sky reflecting through the windows, grass beneath your feet. You were walking up to the château, a sling bag holding on to you, filled with things such as your camera.

When something caught your attention, it was a figure laying on their back at the top of the couch, with their hand on the floor, green empty bottles of beer at the table.

When you reach porch stairs, that’s when you saw that it was JJ. You reach for the doorknob and open the door, you look at jj with admire spreading on your face.

Then the thought came to mind, you pull out your camera and position it on jj, the sunset also being seen. click, you bring down the camera, waiting for the photo to print.

You look up to jj, studying his face, the way his mouth opens, his hair being a mess, then his mouth moves, forming a slight smile, his dimples being seen, the sight making you blush.

You look down to see that the photo has been printed, you pull it out before pushing it down to your back pocket, planning on adding it to your collection of photos.

Saturday, 3:49 pm, Nov

All kinds of birds can be heard tweeting, water splashing as a crocodile moves around their cage, snake hissing as they watch a person move, a roar of a lion can be heard from the whole zoo.

It was a Saturday, you and JJ are at the zoo, with his black t-shirt,jeans and his bracelets he always wear.

You brought your camera, you hold it on your two hands, gripping on it while looking around as JJ follows you, also looking around.

You position your camera to a crocodile at the other side of the glass, before clicking it, you hear JJ gasping. You turn around, just to be met by JJ with the smallest frog you’ve ever seen, he had a grin spreading on his face, the frog just sitting on his hand, looking around as it croaks.

I want him, as a pet he demands, tapping the frog’s head. You laugh, jj we can’t have a frog as a pet, where are you even gonna put that? you question jj answers with i don’t know, as long as i have one, like dude it’s so cute! he squeal with excite.

You laugh before looking down to the camera on your hand and position it to him and the frog, a smile still sitting on your face. A click can now be heard.

You put down the camera and look up to him, a grin still on his face, you can see that he’s still so amazed, the frog was croaking and looking at JJ as he laughs. The photo then prints, and you show it to him with a proud smile and he looks up to you, chuckling at the sight of him.

Friday, 1:56 am, Dec

Late night, the bed creaking as you bounce on top of him, both of your moans can be overheard outside of the room, the only light coming under the door as it reveals a slit of light.

You throw your head back, a loud moan coming out of your mouth, JJ whispers a be quiet, baby stuttering. He had his hands on your hips, following it as it bounces on top of him. You start to feel an intense pleasure throughout your body, you speed up, allowing your hands to travel his body, feeling his abs, then placing your hands on his collarbones for support. He feels you squeezing him, knowing that you’re close.

Baby- baby please, please- i’m close! you whine, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s okay, c-c’mon you can d-do it baby, you’re doing so good he moans wanna fill you up he continues.

His words opened something in you, you then felt your orgasm in your body. He lets go of him cum and throws his head back at the headboard, gripping your hips. Your legs shake as you drop on top of him, you look up to him, as he place his hand on his face letting it flex.

The thought of taking a picture of him turned you on, before reaching for your camera you say to him don’t move as you rise to pull your camera from your bag you hear him whisper a what? coming back to your position, you look at him to see that he still have his hands on his face, you position your camera to the best spot and change your posture, click.

When he realizes what you did he leans in to your ear, he chuckles before a you’re naughty falls out of his mouth.

Saturday, 11:18 pm, Jan

Wood burning, orange light glowing through the place, fire crackling, burned ashes mixed with the sand, marshmallows on sticks, beers inside a red cooler filled with ice, a log used as seats circling the burning wood, the pouges laughing as jj come out with a joke.

Kiara and Sarah was next to you, gossiping about Kie’s love life, Kie! c’mon tell us, is something happening between you and pope Sarah teases, looking at her for some kind of answer.

Nothing, i swear to god! she defends, laughing and hiding her face. Oh c’mon Kie, you have to lie better than that if you want us to believe you you laugh at her attempt.

Okay, fine! Something happened, like two days ago she finally says and that something is? you tease more you know!

Actually no i don’t you joke with confusion on your face yeah literally no clue! sarah joins.

Kie just laughs as you and sarah share a look before bursting out of laughter. Can we take a picture with your camera Kie asks you. You reach into your bag, hand searching for the camera, Yeah sure!

Guys let’s take a picture! catching the boys attention as they look at you. You raise you camera, facing the lens onto you and the pouges, they fix their position and pose with silly faces and smiles.

After the photo, everyone was back to their business, Kie and Pope were talking, Sarah and John B were flirting.

You were fixing the lens of your camera when you feel a pair of eyes looking at you.

You look up, just to be seen by JJ looking at you with adore on his eyes. He was shining with the help of the fire, his blonde hair being a mess, his red sleeveless shirt, and a beer in hand.

Hi he whispers loud enough for you to hear. Hi you whisper back, a small smile forming on your face and a tint of red on your cheeks.

Why are you blushing he asks laughing at you Is it because of me? Am i that hot? He teases, you laugh at him.

No, i’m not bruising your already bruised ego. you chuckle, he raises his arm and place it at his chest, with an open mouth, pretending to be offended.

He then stops and continues to look at you with a smile. You raise your camera and taking a quick photo before he changes his face.

He smirks am i still not that hot?

a/n : I SUCK AT WRITING SMUTAJSKAJSIWJS

#jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #outerbanks #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank x you #rudy pankow #rudeth #outer banks #outerbanks x you #smut #fluff #routledge!reader #photographer!reader #lerclec ; j. maybank

[glorious-imagines]

Nosedive

Sequel to Crushed

Jason had messaged her multiple times since their breakup. Mostly, he was blocked. He knew it was unfair of him to want to communicate with her. He just couldn't help himself. He, at least, hoped they could be friends again.

A cup of coffee was sat in front of him. "Girl, troubles?" His favorite waitress asked, light tone trying to hide her worry.

He gave her a sly smirk. "Are there any other kinds of trouble?"

"You alone make up half of them." She joked as she wrote down his usual order and handed it to a passing waiter.

"You wound me, Gabby." He feigned hurt, wrenching his shirt in one hand.

"So," she slid into the seat across from him. "Tell mama Gabs all about the girl that has you all up in your feelings."

Jason chuckled, "I'm not in my feelings."

She raised a brow, "Jay, you've been staring at your phone with that hit puppy look since you got here."

"Whats wro--"

"You've been here for over an hour." He finds he can't deny her claims. "If I didn't have a shift, you'd have been kicked out. You didn't even order anything."

He sips his coffee. "Thanks, Gabs..."

"Now, tell me what happened."

Jason huffed and sank further into his seat. "Her name is Y/n. She's the most amazing woman, I've ever met." He told her everything that happened.

"What the hell, Jay? Did you fucking cheat on her?!"

"What?" Jason sneered.

"I swear to fucking god, Jason, I will kick your ass--" she threated.

"Gabs, I would never cheat. You know me better than that." They stared each other down before she relented.

"Fine, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But this timeline isn't making sense."

"Thats because it was supposed to be a one night stand. It was before Y/n and I even got together. She said she was on birth-control..."

Gabby nods along, piecing things together easily. "So you put your... gunk in her?"

Jason bursts with laughter at this. "Gunk?"

"Well, I don't like thinking of you like that. It's gross." She feigned a baby barf.

He shakes his head with a smile. "Anyway, she took it upon herself to keep said gunk swirling around in her." She throws a ketchup packet at him.

"Without talking to you?"

He shakes his head solemnly, fidgeting with the ketchup packet. "No, she did, but what was I supposed to say? 'Get an abortion?' That would make me a piece of shit. She even gave me an out."

"So, why didn't you take the out?"

His smile became dejected. "How could I, Gabs?"

"Even at the cost of losing the woman you truly love?"

"If I leave the kid, I know I'll regret it. Now, isn't the right time to have a kid. Especially not in my line of work. But I couldn't say that I'd stop. It would never be the right time. I can't abandon this kid. Leave them wondering what they did wrong..."

"Jay..." She said quietly when she noticed his eyes becoming misty.

He takes a moment to collect himself. "I love Y/n, but I'm not about to leave my kid high and dry. It'll be hard to balance work and home but I know I can do it."

His food arrives, interrupting the flow of the conversation. Gabby can tell when Jason is done talking. She leaves him to eat but keeps an eye on him until he leaves.

...

Y/n had thrown herself into work. Both hero and not. She took many extra missions and when she couldn't she worked overtime at her day job. There was hardly a moment to think. And she preferred this.

Currently, Y/n was on her way back to work from lunch. She sipped her favorite boba and scrolled through her phone. She immediately noticed when someone was following her. Their steps were light and shakey, unsure. They weren't there to harm her, apparently.

Before she knew it, the steps had retreated. Whoever it was, they weren't a threat. Maybe they just thought she was someone else.

Her phone vibrated in her hand, John Stewart's face showed on the caller ID. She debated if she wanted to answer or not. If she did she'd probably have to leave work. She sipped her boba.

"You were just going to let me go to voicemail?" Green Lantern floated down to her.

She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Next time, just come thru with a whole ass blimp and some fireworks. That'll really get peoples attention."

He powered down his ring, choosing to ignore the sarcasm. "I heard about the breakup, Y/n."

Her face pulls into a scowl, "You're about three months late on that, G."

"Well, excuse me for having intergalactic duties." He puts a hand on her shoulder, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No. I'd rather forget it ever happened." He raises a brow. "Yeah, obviously I'm not gonna forget or use magic. So, I'm doing the next best thing."

"Keeping yourself so busy that you neglect your health?" He chided her. "Y/n, everyone is worried about you."

"For what?!" She snapped, "I'm fine! Just like when his ex showed up and they had a private conversation. Or when he told me that she was fucking carrying his seed. And even now that we're not together anymore… I'm. Doing. Just. Fine."

John pulls her into a hug. "Listen, kid, it's okay to not be okay. It's okay to be angry and hurt… and even to still wanna be with him." He gently stroked her hair. "Your feelings don't somehow make you less and no one gets to tell you how to deal with them."

"Even if I decide to kill them?" She mumbled against his chest.

He chuckles, "I could leave'em on a deserted planet if you want."

"As if his family would let that happen. It's a nice thought, though."

A woman cleared her throat behind Y/n. "E-excuse me, can I have a moment with Y/n?"

With the way Y/n went so rigid in his hold, John could guess who the woman was. "I don't think--"

"And let's keep it that way, G." Y/n interrupted, her frown finding its way back. "I'll contact you if I need anything." At his hesitancy, she made him a promise and he flew off.

Y/n stuffed her free hand in her pocket to keep from punching a pregnant woman. 'Her face isn't pregnant,' her thoughts retorted but she shut the impulse down.

"I sent a text, but…" Isabel trailed.

"If its one thing bitches gon' have it's the motherfucking audacity."

"Excuse me…?" She faltered.

"Obviously, you're blocked. What the hell gave you the idea that I wanted to talk to you?" She crushed the boba cup in her hand causing it to spill over and making Isabel jump a bit.

"I-I only came to apologize--"

"For what? Destoying my perfect relationship?"

"Jason deserved to know. It was his decision to be a father."

By now, Y/n was beyond pissed. This bitch was just asking to be smacked up. "You didn't come here to apologize. You came to absolve yourself of your guilt. And I am not going to help you with that."

"I was trying to be the bigger person but you're too childish. Jason choosing me was the best decision he's made."

"Bitch--!"

Y/n was about to tear into Isabel when a hand was on her shoulder. "You're making my friend angry. And that makes me angry. Leave before I forget you're pregnant."

"Fine but Jason will hear about this." She stomps off like a toddler denied candy.

"Ugh, I need a drink."

"Me too, I'll buy."

"Thanks, Shana. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Apparently, threatening pregnant women." Shana turns to her, brow raised. "Who the hell is that?"

"I'll explain on the way." Y/n tosses the destroyed boba in the trash.

At some random bar Y/n finishes explaining her life's current events. "Anyway, she sucks, he sucks, and I will never love again."

"Or, and hear me out, maybe you need someone to help with the process a little?" Shana smiles at her suggestively.

Y/n frowns, dread filling her stomach. "Oh no, what are you thinking?"

"The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, duh." Shana rolls her eyes like Y/n should've known that. "I came to ask for help for a mission but shirking my responsibilities is more fun."

#jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #dc universe imagines #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #original post #glori posts #glori imagine #red hood #jason todd

[marciabrady]

as i was thinking about both fiona and odette one day, i realized how many similarities they shared! fiona transforms into an ogre at night, while odette transforms into a swan by day- literally recalling fiona's curse: "by night one way, by day another."

in their respective films, they're both seen healing parties that been injured with arrows back to health:

someone must've had to teach them how to heal said arrow wounds...with fiona, specifically, i feel like she's a product of the early 2000s. in certain moments, they make her this traditional princess for us to laugh at, and in other moments she's like this badass fighter, but they don't explain where those things came from...like who taught her how to fight? then my mind started opening up to the possibility that odette and fiona were somehow related/their stories intertwined

upon further thinking upon this theory, i thought about odette's formative years as portrayed in the opening number of her film. she's seen as being a prim princess with proper manners, but also someone that's combative and isn't afraid of a physical confrontation

ok so remember this. BUT ALSO there's a frog called jean bob in swan princess, who claims that he's actually a prince and that, if odette should kiss him, he'll regain his human form

you know who the voice of jean bob is? JOHN CLEESE AKA FIONA'S FATHER, KING HAROLD, THE FROG KING

this convinced me that fiona's ogreism is a recessive gene from king harold since she, too, turns into a green swamp-dwelling creature, similarly to a frog, just like her father.

BUT if it's recessive, that means it would've had to have been inherited from both sides...which would only be plausible if her mother had a similar transformation spell she was under- say, a SWAN TRANSFORMATION SPELL

also, in shrek 2, fiona's mother says the following about how she met fiona's father:

"don't you remember when we were young? we used to walk by the lily pond and (they were in bloom) our first kiss."

um, our first KISS

also, both odette and lillian (fiona's canonical mother) have feathered blonde hair. another connection- in the third film, fiona's mother is seen head-butting through a brickwall and freeing the princesses from a prison. when fiona is shocked, her mother replies:

"well, you didn't actually think you got your fighting skills from your father, did you?"

UM

odette is a fighter and, going along with my earlier point, the one that i think taught fiona how to safely remove arrows! so odette HAS to either be fiona's mother or cousin and lillian is her aunt or mom...it all connects

also, not for nothing, but odette is the only princess to have an onscreen awkward phase (which relates to fiona feeling ugly) and odette is literally a ginger with braids at that time, which is fiona's signature look

furthermore, in the beginning of the swan princess, the parents arrange a marriage between derek and odette. in the hopes that the prince and princess will fall in love, the parents make them spend every summer together from the age of 6 to 16, praying they'll develop a romance. odette secretly likes derek the entire time, but derek hates her. it isn't until their final meeting, when she's grown up and conventionally attractive, that he takes to her and quickly announces to, "arrange the marriage!" odette interjects, "wait!" he replies, "what? you're all i ever wanted...you're beautiful." and she LITERALLY says, "thank you...but what else?" he blankly stares at her and says, "...what else?" to which she replies (source):

i can see this being a generation curse where fiona, too, needs to learn this lesson and i think, since odette already knows there's more than beauty, it causes...tension between she and fiona. fiona being like, "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE LIKE THIS."

but also, the frog king, the swan princess, the ogre princess- this is def a family line COME ON

also since odette knows it isn't what it seems (which the prince has to master in the swan princess, as per odette's father)/there's more than just beauty, that's why i think she (lillian) wasn't shocked when fiona came back in shrek 2 as an ogre, whereas harold was visibly more upset. also, idk if you all know but there's a deleted scene with a character called dama fortuna that asks fiona to choose between 'beauty' and her 'happily ever after.' fiona chooses beauty like...again, the generational curse!

this would prop fiona up to be a perfect mix between her parents. like odette, she sees past appearances and knows there's more than beauty which explains why fiona doesn't judge shrek that much. she's initially disappointed he's an ogre purely because of her curse but otherwise, she doesn't care. meanwhile she can't accept herself because she takes half after her father, harold, who is so unaccepting of himself but also those around him (ogre shrek and fiona). like it makes SO much sense that fiona would be a combination of these two (source)

harold's need for "beauty", ie people who are societally acceptable in his eyes, leads to him literally imprisoning his daughter to a tower so no one sees her as an ogre. meanwhile, with lillian, she's way more accepting which is why i never understood how she would also send fiona off, especially since she willingly married harold the frog king.

BUT if you subscribe to my theory that she's odette

it would absolutely make sense she's cosign on sending fiona off because of the line above ("you're all i ever wanted; you're beautiful"). when fiona's growing up, odette/lillian notices fiona parroting a lot of her father harold's harmful rhetoric. where harold sends fiona off to hide her, i think odette/lillian sends her off so fiona learns the same lesson harold/frog king had to learn (it isn't as it seems/there's more to life than beauty or being accepted by society) and allowing her daughter to mentally develop in her formative years without the negative influence of her father or the unrealistic beauty standards/wrong priorities that far far away sends forth as an allegory of the entertainment and beauty industry (fairy godmother).

BUT i think with time, odette/lillian starts to feel bad and urges harold to bring fiona back, which brings us to the fourth movie with that scene where she convinces harold to make a deal with rumpelstilskin to bring fiona back

i have so much more to say on this but i'm wrapping this up for now and am qualifying this as the thesis of my theory

#the swan princess #shrek #princess fiona #princess odette #marciabrady #mine #some of this requires suspension of disbelief because yes i understand fiona's mother's canonical name is lillian BUT #here needs to be more discussion around these two female characters in general because they're incredible!

[ricinbach]

DULCE PERICULUM | CHAPTER II - MIRRORS

through me you pass into eternal pain.

(John Wick x Reader)

The music had stopped.

The ivory keys released themselves in a slow, relentless surrender. Along followed the black, the low vibrations succumbing into the sudden drift in the air. The crackles in the fireplace were resistant, burning through the sickeningly calm atmosphere with their fiery glint, the warmth echoing across the stone confinements.

An almost-composed symphony of the world’s fanciest crystal hitting the polished mahogany and marble followed suit, the amber liquids within shaky yet no drops escaped. Fingers rested on the rim of the thin Baccarat awaiting what was to come, sensing the change.

Heads began turning around ever-so-slowly, fingertips all around the vast lounge letting go of silverware against the fine china, books hitting the dark leather couches. Some gasps, audible yet subdued, emanated from the edge of the room. Breaths were held as eyes with enlarged irises only focused on one particular focal point.

Like they were meant to be.

It was as if the universe was playing along with his gravitating effect as he walked into the room. Feet light as feathers in the leather soles, yet have run miles too far to count. The pitch-black suit, one-of-a-kind and classy as ever, was tailored solely for him and his edges, his broad shoulders, and long limbs. It matched the raven mane that framed his face, all slicked back which adorned his sharp features, his neatly trimmed dark beard contrasting the fair skin and the hollows of his high cheekbones.

All this time, all these years, and you still did not fully understand just how he managed to do it. How he held the aura of recluse, of determination, of discipline and power, exuded without much evident effort from of his end. It had to be the countless years of witnessing the deepest, darkest secrets this world had to offer. It had to be the deep pain he had been put under in another life, the sacrifices he had to make and the bullets he had to take.

It all had to mean something. Every sliver of blood, sweat and tears had to mean something. At least, that was the way you had been taughtYou would have reckoned the Russians did not care that much of philosophical meaning anyway, as long as contracts were being fulfilled. They had been always the practical ones, straight to the kill.

As long as the teachings of the Russians helped you tonight and onward, it was nothing you could not live with.

Taking a couple steps into the small entryway through the curtains, he overlooked the room briefly and his pitch black eyes met yours.

Like they have been searching for them to begin with, though with which combinations of complicated emotions, you were not sure this time around.

It has been a while, John.

In any room he would ever step in, his eyes would somehow latch onto your being. Like they would always search for you, a part of you, in any corner and crevice. No matter how many years had passed, how many bodies were in between, how many memories forgotten - but never lost.

It had always made a jolt of unknown emotional origin ran through you.

That was then.

The thrill was short-lasting as your body grasped back into reality with the briefly clouded thoughts of the business you had to conduct slowly coming back to the forefront of your mind.

Now, it was someone else the dark orbs searched for. Someone you kept hearing whispers about. It did not take long for rumors to get transported overseas, echoing throughout the pink and emerald green marble walls of the Rome Continental. Hushed in low voices over a couple of martinis, in passing, throughout the circles of assassins. It seemed like nothing ever stayed a secret in your world, not for too long anyway.

All you knew was if your secrets were slipping out the lips of dangerous strangers, all they did was to put a target on your back.

“She is not one of us.”

Someone who did not belong to this world of deep and dark secrets, of constantly defending for your life, of running from one bullet to another punch in the face. Someone who undoubtedly had been pure, unscathed and unscarred. Caring and giving, taking good care of John when he needed it the most, in his lowest moments. Concealed moments and emotions that only came out of hiding in her presence.

Someone who brought the rare good in him, hidden deep in the pits of darkness, death and fear, a small yet mighty shining star in the night sky. The softness that is under the stone cold exterior. A side of him that not many lucky people got to bear witness.

A side you had memorized to the core back in the day, staying alive in the crevices of your deepest memories. That had once been your sole reality, the center of your universe, pulling you back from the darkness and into the light in the most forgiving way.

All gazes followed him for a brief moment as his polished leather soles hit the hardwood, a gentle but commanding series of thuds dissipating in the luxuriously silk carpet in his stride as he approached the bar, towards you.

As if he was trying to cross the rift that had parted you, the arrogant waves of salty ocean water separated you both away from the shore and led you astray. His steps appeared calculated, but what was not when it came to him?

“Didn’t have to do much this time, did I?”

Snapping out of your thoughts, your gaze focused on Winston yet again, a knowing smile stretching your lips to match his. Elbow gently leaning against the counter as he watched the scene unfold, always analyzing and protecting his establishment. Checking his watch, he straightened up and began buttoning his suit jacket all the while looking at you, as if he wanted to gauge if you would hold up alright in his absence. A soft, smiling nod from you would do the trick.

As John made his way over in what seemed like an eternity, and took a seat on the leather stool next to you, life at the Continental lounge resumed - the soft keys of the piano started echoing across the walls, crystals were twinkled and drinks were sipped. Like a giant shark, paving his wave through the vast ocean of activity, cutting through the surroundings with habitual ease. An ease that was brought by being the one and only. The menace of the ocean. Cannot be tamed, cannot be controlled.

Except only by one special person he would burn the world for, rumor had it.

Winston excused himself, as he made his way towards the inviting booths towards the back of the lounge, a parting nod, however subtle, towards the impeccably dressed assassin seated right next to you and a sliver of an approving smile. His presence as the owner of the whole joint made itself known, this time a more respected aura than one fueled by fear, as a white gloved waiter immediately placed a refill of his favorite Chianti on the marble table.

Speaking of drinks, just as John sad situated himself at the edge of his seat, yet another glass of a freshly made Negroni clinked in front of you - and him, a whiskey, neat. The bartenders at the Continental knew every assassin that spent hours on the bar over the years, after all. There were worse places to be regulars at.

His dark eyes still gleamed the same when they met yours. The same neutral curve of his lips and veined fingers as he reached for the crystal in front of him. A slight lean of his torso over the counter, balancing himself to face the point of his attention for the time being.

But there was one difference, albeit minor to many but a noticeable one. The faint smell of oud and neroli from expensive cologne exuded from his body, getting mixed up with the aroma of liquor around.

The John Wick preying on his enemies would not have a scent linger on him, to never leave a trace nearby. He would let nothing give away from his already designed scheme, each movement and thought brushed over hundreds of times before the moment.

If John Wick wanted you to know he was there - you would know. That was one of the qualities that made him, that many could not master.

No, this time, he was vulnerable. An off-duty Wick, one of the rarest occurrences of all. This time around, he wanted to be known, his presence to be felt, to be acknowledged and discovered. Perhaps, to be indulged. The question was, by whom?

It was a question you had already learned the answer to prior.

“Welcome back.”

And his voice still had the familiar, warm tint laced with it as he took a sip out of his drink and spoke to you. Words spoken genuinely, as was the story told by his eyes warming up to your sight sitting in front of him yet again.

“It’s good to be back.”

The pianist continued his gentle tango with the ivory keys, adorning the background of the conversation. The Negroni hit you a bit harder this round in his presence, the bitter liquid making its’ way through your throat strangely calming - thankful for the bartender for the refill as it gradually became evident of just how nervous he made you, no matter how many times you had told yourself you would not get nervous.

“How is everything at the Rome Continental?”

A small smile erupted on your lips with a nod, and a murmur of “good”. This had to be hard for him too, you had thought. Maybe just as hard as it had been for you, yet you tried to conceal it the best you could. Tried your hardest not to think of who was waiting at home for him.

Tried not to think of who was waiting at home for you, just for a finite, slow sliver of a second as your past caught up to you, managing to sit right in front of you.

“We would love to have you over sometime, whether business or pleasure.

Oh, how you wished you could talk more, ask more, know more about him and his life - but the floors had ears and the walls had eyes. Too much was at risk for being thrown around in casual conversation between two old friends at the lounge, surrounded by people who lied and coerced for a living.

John, in return, let out a smile in thanks - whatever intrusive or questioning thoughts he was thinking in his mind, you had no way of telling from his stance. It had always been the toughest battle to read his true emotions, a battle you sometimes won in glory but most of the time succumbed to the opposition.

This was one of the latter times.

“I come with good news this time, John.”

His head tilted, clearly intrigued in the next words to follow out of your mouth, he appeared to not be overly enthusiastic, concealing maybe his true feelings. As he had every right to. You never knew what could go awry in deals made in the lounge, over a couple of drinks. It was always something he excelled at - preparing yourself for each and all possibility, let it be good or catastrophic.

“Santino agreed to help with the task.”

In his world, everything came with a price. That was lesson one.

Just as you finished your words with a slight smile on the corner of your lips, without breaking eye contact with John for too long, your nimble fingers placed the crystal on the mahogany counter and instead reached for the black purse in front of you to pull out an object of interest.

“But there is only one task.”

A ray of light through the chandeliers hit the bronze marker in an angle as it shone while being slowly slid across the polished bar by your red fingernails to barely touch the large hand as it made it’s destination. His body covering the line of sight out of any potentially interested guests - this was a sight meant for just the both of you.

The faint gleam of the marker reflected in his dark irises as an almost inaudible sigh left his lips, gaze slowly directing to catch yours. Your head tilted as it awaited for a response for a couple of moments, eyes glued into his in a desperate attempt to read the reflections with a reassuring smile adorning your features. His fingers brushed over it in passing as he grabbed his drink and sipped whatever was left in it with year’s ease, in a single go.

Within you, you knew there was a time in your lives where he would do anything for you. Maybe, just maybe, he still would. Or maybe, he would do anything for the one on his mind and his future - not the one in his past.

John Wick was not a man to delve in the past.

“Tell Santino I will take it.”

#ITS HAPPENING #john wick x reader #john wick #santino d'antonio #santino d'antonio x reader #john wick chapter 1 #dulce periculum #val writes

[starrycassi]

What about a Catholic au to deal with my religious trauma, uh? Again, Mary dies before. Sorry girl.

Also this directed towards the CHURCH and the bad bad people on it, love to all my Renee walkers out there <33

Just a heads up, Alex = Neil

Bad decisions, God, and Andrew. Religious!AU.

Virgin Mary was a saint, pure woman, even when she gave birth to Jesus. Mary Hartford was suffering, even when she managed to run away from that thing that Nathan made her call home for so many years.

Alex laughed at this thought, because if his mom found out he was out there comparing her to a literal virgin, she would probably slap the back of his head so hard that he would feel the pain for the whole day.

Well, she would slap him for a lot of things right now if she wasn't dead. For being enough of a fool to cry for her, maybe. For being stupid enough to stay in one place to long. For being delusional enough to search for help in other people.

But he is barely 15, and she is gone for good, so bad ideas are the only thing that he has. The worst one he could've ever contemplated was, probably, going to a church to ask for food and shelter.

But there he is— staying in some sort of "Troubled Teenagers That Need God" thing, squeezing himself in an old bed while the scent of incense making him remember time and time again the horrible, horrible smoke that consumed his mother's body not so long ago. The blanket he has isn't thick enough to keep the cold air away from his body at nights, the prayers they profess before shutting the lights down aren't enough to keep the memories away from his brain.

He didn't sleep that night, hugging his duffel bag, trying to come up with a plan.

The sun rose before he managed to get a decent one.

*

When the sun gets up, so does everyone else. After repeating prayers he doesn't even really know, and chugging down a breakfast that is probably not enough for a growing boy, he gets send up to do house chores.

"You make God feel proud when you help in his temple. He's the one that dotes us with the gifts we then pass on to all of you" they said.

We will feed you if you work for us, but we don't want to say it like that, is lwhat they meant.

He didn't mind the work, anyways. It would've been the same anywhere he went to, nothing is ever fully free.

So he did everything he was asked to in silence. Laundry, cleaning the floors, helping in the kitchen, making sure to greet the new boy that came in today.

"He really, really needs to meet and love God, Our Savoir" they said "and we think that since you're both almost the same age and you're already starting to follow in the rigth path, you should be the one to welcome him"

He's really, really problematic, and probably on drugs, they meant, and in case he decides to start a figth, we think that it would be best to send you as friend-bait or a punching bag

But he didn't complain, and they whispered something about how good he was for following God's wishes.

His name was Andrew. Andrew was 5'0, so they were the same height. He was 17, so they were two years apart, even if John, his new alias, was supposed to be sixteen. He also didn't seem to be happy with this whole thing, so they had a lot of stuff on common, didn't they?

"...and this is the room. We'll share, and that's my bed, so this is yours" he pointed to the old and damaged bed that he had moved and placed right down the window. Just in case he needed to run in the middle of the night.

But Andrew threw his backpack on that bed, and then sat on it like he was challenging Alex to... to something. Green eyes that were blue as ice under the fake contacts met golden eyes that reminded him of the fire that consumed his mother.

And he really, really wanted to start a fight right there.

"You really need God or a fucking punch to the troath" was what he thought.

"... that's the closet, and here you can put your shoes on" was what he said.

Maybe he was starting to pick up some traits from this place, after all.

*

Lunch time was a mess. Or more of a mess than usual, anyway.

The usual chaos was endured, the screams of the younger ones and the running in all directions. He had managed to show the whole place to Andrew by now, and even if the meat they served in this place tasted more like a very chewy plastic, Alex was happy that he could finally swallow something that wasn't his own words, because God knows how many time he had wanted to just fucking insult Andrew at different times of the day. And the fact that they had to sit one next to another in the table, like all roommates do, was definitely not helping his resolution to get out of that place within killing anyone.

It's not like it worried him a lot, anyways. He was not planning on staying long enough for Andrew to become some sort of seriuos problem, and he was sure that he would manage to share a room with the blond demon without strangling him until then.

But then, then they started to pray.

Alex wasn't chatolic, nor Muslim, nor Islamic nor anything that involved believing on some higher power, because Mary made sure that he knew that, in this life, he had only himself and the things precariously packed on that bag of his. But still, he closed his eyes, put his palms together and lowered his head, because blending in was a crucial thing to do, and if everyone did it... well, he was going to follow them.

Except Minyard seemed to have a different idea.

It's not like there wasn't any other kids that didn't pray, really. But they just stayed in silence while it was going on.

Minyard started to clack his fork on the glass in some sort of rythm, maybe a popular song, while everyone stared at him in disbelief, and Alex knew, like one knows that the sun is coming up the next day or that the ice is cold at touch, that this boy was going to be serious trouble.

"Young man" started talking a priest, but Andrew didn't even spare him a glace of those hazel eyes, continuing his drummer session "Young man— Minyard!"

A raised voice seemed to work, because the new resident finally let his fork fall from his hands and lie in the plate like a tree branch that has fallen from a storm, now looking at the older man.

"I'm a bit deaf, you know?" He lied. "I didn't realize you guys were praying"

The priest smiled with understanding, starting to pray, again. Andrew started the noise, again.

This time, he didn't stop.

*

Fuck Andrew Minyard and everything related to him.

Alex groaned, sitting on the floor and feeling the coldness from the stones move to his bones. Andrew had been banned from the kitchen until he started to behave, and for some sick and twisted reason, one of the older guys made him accompany that demon, to see if he could "talk some sense into him" is what he said.

Get him to behave so we don't have to is what he meant.

So here they are, eating in the bedroom. The food they serve is nothing close of a feast, but one of the benefits of being in the table was the fact that you can ask again and again for more coffee or whatever beverage they are having. Maybe the vegetables tasted like an old shoe, but being able to digest it with something warm made it a bit more tolerable.

He had clearly lost that privilege in the same second that Andrew decided to be a little annoying bitch.

"Tomorrow morning" Andrew mused, looking at the ceiling, and John felt like throwing the whole bowl of soup at his head "are they going to send you in here, too?"

He was stating things more than he was asking things. That he didn't plan on behaving was one, that he was aware that he would be punished again was another, that he understood why he was being punished and didn't care was there, too.

"I guess so. They like doing everything in teams or duos, so you basically answer for what your roommates do. They said something about community and God wanting everyone to be equal"

"That's really, really stupid"

"I'm eating on a dirty floor while I could be down there in a table with every else. Of course it's stupid. I didn't do anything! You're the one with a fucking problem here"

Huh. He'd made it almost a whole week without swearing in front of anyone else.

"You didn't stop me" Andrew said, shrugging.

John felt a weird mixture between disbelief, offense and anger. He didn't stop him? As long as he knew, Andrew was the older one here and didn't need a babysitter. Much more important, even if he did need one, he was not going to be one.

"You have several brain damage if you think I'm some sort of caretaker. You're the one that's seventeen here, remember? I'm sixteen! You should be the adult, what do you honestly expect of me?"

Andrew looked at him, his hazel eyes staring into his soul in a cold manner, while stirring his own bowl of soup, as if he was being presented with a very big puzzle.

"Everyone here seem to think you're a quiet one"

And that was right. Nathaniel had made sure to be as pleasant as possible with everyone, because getting kicked out before time definitely wasn't an option, and even if he hated every single second of it, it was better than having people too interested on him. Interest raised too much questions, they would try and get him to talk about his past if he acted like an incontrollable person, and that wasn't something he wanted to do.

"That doesn't answer my question" is what he said.

That's not of your business is what he meant.

"How long have you been here?" Andrew continued.

"Maybe a week now"

"Are you a believer?"

"I believe that some food is better than nothing"

"So you're pretending"

"I never said that"

The room went silent again, and the soup in their bowls started to disappear slowly, as the sound of a clock in one of those walls made them company.

"You would rather be out there" said Andrew again, after ten or so minutes. Af it wasn't obvious.

"It's a bit less cold when everyone is together"

"You have a blanket"

"It is as thin as my patience. I'm still freezing"

"Die, then"

"Maybe I will and you'll have to drag my corpse out of this place"

"No. I'll eat it so I don't have to go to that fucking kitchen ever again"

Strangely enough, they managed to get out of the room and have an actual breakfast in the table after four days. Alex honestly thought he would have to wait the whole week to get Andrew to behave, but after too many cold meals in their room the blonde seemed to cave in.

That was the only thing in which he bothered to act properly, anyways.

#aftg andreil #aftg #andreil #andrew x neil #aftg au #aftg and my insomnia #andrew minyard #Renee is going to appear here someday #I'm tired as fuck I've been trying to write this for months lol have it #I JUST finished my monography #lol #IT WAS SUPOSED TO BE LARGER BUT I GOT TIRED OK

[cellarfulofnose]

We Were Talking About the Space Between Us

prompt #98. flower power!

(I know I said I'd write a different prompt, but this one was bouncing around my head and I had to get it written out. Hope it tides you over until I get back to requests)

At first, George is angry and hurt that Paul won't trip with them. What's the point, if they're not going to do this together? He knows, now with more lucidity than ever, that a good thing is meant to be shared. If Paul can't see that, he needs only to expand his consciousness, and there's no better way. But he's too obsessed by control--to hear John tell it, anyroad. Can't bear not having his wits about him, giving up control for half a minute and just being.

John, by contrast, is more than happy to explore this wonderful new world with him, all the wicked twists and turns it has to offer. It's so much better with him, too. When they sit together, minds split open, George is sure he's never met someone who can talk about gods and souls and bodies and music the way John can. They connect on levels George wouldn't have thought possible. After a few months, he's not upset with Paul anymore. He feels bad for him for a while, but when all the resentment has faded, he starts to feel a little smug. Paul can't do what they do. He doesn't have what they have, not in his wildest dreams. Soon he stops thinking of Paul altogether when they trip.

Until one day, he does.

He remembers something Ringo said to him, after that party with Mick and Marianne and company. Helping Paul get over an insecurity. He'd scoffed when he heard it, but now his brain is inviting him down paths he hasn't thought to follow. There's something he's been meaning to ask John, in that vein. And with his thoughts coming and going like a river, he doesn't want to forget. Why? becomes Why not? John will probably say no, anyway.

"Yeah, sure," says John, only slightly slowed by the LSD, his smile hazy but full of color.

For some reason, that gets George smiling so wide it hurts his ears, and he almost misses John's instructions. Hold your nose. Hold your breath. Don't even breathe in.

That's it? Piece of piss. He'll have it down pat in no time.

"Ready?"

George nods, though he doesn't know what he's saying yes to, and then John's pulling his head toward his chest, burying his face in his lapels. George's nose sinks into the fluffy, feathery trim of John's outrageous jacket. The feeling is very green, and somewhat sharp, triangular. It tickles. He laughs.

"Breathe," orders John, and gives a huge sniff to demonstrate. George obediently inhales, and right away, the tickle is enough to make him laugh again, so itchy he can almost hear it. It's hard to inhale while giggling, but he manages. He nuzzles against the trim, and everything's green now, vernal green-yellow. John can feel it, too--somehow, he knows this; John can feel everything that's happening to him. The fantastic tickle. The way his breath suddenly leaps in his chest...Oh.

"John." It's thin, frail. He can't quite get enough air. But each time he gasps, it's as if the floor beneath them, the whole room is shifting--gasping. "I think..." he pants, "I'm gonna..."

"Hold it," John sighs, sounding equally out of breath, "hold it."

George doesn't want to move. He keeps rubbing his nose into John's trim--is it fur, or feathers? It makes him feel bigger, fuller, but hot with urgency, like he's barreling toward something huge and shattering.

But he can't, he remembers with crushing clarity. He's got to stop it. He gasps, again and again, the last one pulling him away from John's jacket. The ground is shaking. Just as he's certain the earth is going to explode, he clamps a hand around his nose.

"--'ptsschhhw!"

For a split second, everything goes static-white. Then George is spinning dizzy, like the floor just tipped to the side. God, that was...rapture. He was born again, like a star, in a flash of light. No, wait--fuck, he wasn't supposed to do that. He was supposed to hold it in. But John felt it too, right? Surely he couldn't fault him for that, not for something so pleasurable...

John huffs a sharp breath out through his nose, looking intensely uncomfortable, his face pinched. "Don't--" he begins, but coughs in the middle of it. He swats at the air like he's trying to bat away smoke. "Try not to--do that again. If you can."

He doesn't sound angry at all; in fact, he sounds pleading. Something's wrong. Green fills George's peripheral vision, covering the walls and floor, climbing all over them. "Why, what's--"

"Please, the..." John waves his hand, gesturing between them. "...the flowers," he manages, just above a whisper, and instantly George sees. They're in a garden, lush with rainbows of different buds. Each petal bowl is mostly closed, some loosely enough that he can see a slice of their golden center. They look heavy, almost drooping on their stalks. When he sighs in wonder, a strong wind ripples through the garden, and every flower trembles--just a bit more force, and they'd burst right open. Erupt in petals and pollen.

But that would mean, just now, when he--shit, he'd blown it right at John. That's why John looks so uneasy, he's trying to breathe through a faceful of pollen. "Sorry," George blurts, "I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay, 's just..." John's breath catches and he touches his nose, delicately, like it's something fragile. "You couldn't help it, 's just, I think...I think you better not do it again."

"Yeah," George agrees, and he means it. He won't.

That is, as long as the flowers remain undisturbed. "I think you'd better not, either," George adds, and John nods dejectedly. All right. It won't be easy, but they can do it.

Only...

George feels what John is feeling. Everything that John is feeling. And right now, John (and by extension, George) has a very, very itchy nose. This isn't good. George doesn't like this at all. "Um--" When his voice comes out thicker than he'd hoped, he has to clear his throat. "I sh- I should go."

"What?" John looks horrified. "No, you can't, you can't leave me here..." He grabs both of George's hands, as if to physically stop him. "Not alone with the flowers, George, Christ..."

George's stomach turns with guilt. He knows he can't do it; John wouldn't stand a chance. But just looking at John, just hearing his voice waver, watching his nostrils redden and twitch, all of it's nudging George dangerously close to the edge of another sneeze. "I know, but I...I feel it from you, it's your nose, and I don't think I could hold it back, I feel like I'm...like I'm gonna sn--"

"God, don't say that," John begs. His hand flies up to pinch his nose as his eyes screw shut, turning far enough away from George so that he doesn't have to look at him, but it doesn't do any good. His breath is coming in fluttering gasps that make the flowers sway and dance.

"Please," whispers George.

"I'm...trying--!" John stammers, then convulses forward into his hand. His whole body rocks, but there's no sound--almost none, just a smothered noise in his throat, contained in his head. He takes a shuddering gulp of air and lurches forward again, twice more, squelching two more sneezes into near-silence. The flowers squirm and bulge...and stay closed. Both of them sigh heavily, relief mixed with exhaustion. "Sorry," John snuffles.

George can't answer, isn't even sure his voice would work. It must be the smell of the flowers that's getting to him now, and God, there are so many of them; sharp red ones like tongues of flame, perfect pink tulips, blue bells, fat clusters of lilacs. Pretty ones and ones that don't look quite right, that swim and spiral if you look at them straight on. If they all opened at once...Jesus Christ. John still hasn't recovered, and no wonder. George can feel vividly, electrically, that holding back brought him no relief. Might have worsened things, even, denying himself release like that. Denying them both. George doesn't think he has the strength, if it comes down to him.

"Fucking hell, John." George buries his head in his hands, pawing at his eyes and nose. He's so itchy. He just wants to flush it out.

"I know, all right? It was your..." John sniffles, "brilliant idea..."

George catches a glimpse of the tears welling up in John's eyes and whips around to look the other way, but the damage is done. He feels it already. There's nothing else in his head. The fucking state of them, twitching with little stuttery breaths, eyes and noses weeping. It's all too much. "Just one," he prays.

"No--"

"I can't stand it, John, my nose, I've got to..." George's breath hitches, but not just his. He's part of something so far beyond him, and he can see traces of it now, the deity that breathed life into man's nostrils, gearing up for a sneeze on a cosmic scale. He can't stop it--he doesn't dare.

John cries out in warning and claps both hands over George's nose and mouth just as he sneezes, like a cork forced into the mouth of a bottle. George doesn't know which way is up--he can't breathe, he's going to sneeze again--he buckles forward into John's hands, stifling the explosion.

He did it. Just like John told him to.

John must feel George's smile of triumph, because he breaks out in a grin too. But he must be feeling more than that--they're still linked, after all, and this time, there's nothing stopping John from gasping a sudden, sharp breath and sneezing down at the floor.

"hheH'TChhew!!"

In perfect synchronicity with the deity. And with the room around them, George realizes, as every flower sprays a fairy-dust shower of pollen into the air, gold and glittering. A white rose turns sniffly pink, a few lilies of the valley seem to drip.

"Jesus wept," John sputters, tearing his hands away from George to shield his face with his jacket. George yanks his collar up over his nose and starts to cough. The flowers cough too, and the deity's eyes are fluttering closed again, pinching tightly shut...

In retrospect, George can't say how long it lasted after that. Whether it was hours or just a couple of sneezes back-and-forth between them. But when the garden's just a carpet again, they're exhausted, panting for breath, their noses running all over their clothes.

John clears his throat a couple times. "Could do with another dose."

"Yeah," says George, and they bustle into the kitchen in search of the tea.

John brings it up a few days later ('Anything good?'), and by then George has forgotten the finer details. Something to do with the beauty of nature--and cripes, was it beautiful. That he remembers clearly. Oneness with the divine, how they're all connected, your pain is my pain and that. Discipline over one's body. Paul bristles when they talk about it in front of him, which for some reason John keeps doing. George knows it's petty, but maybe it'll get under his skin and he'll decide to join them next time.

Still, maybe it's for the best that he hasn't decided to yet. George rather doubts he would've survived the garden.

[lady-snow-flower]

A Weekend at the Hauntley Inn || Part One: Friday

Summary: A familiar stranger checks into the inn on Halloween Weekend...

ft. the Hauntley Staff (@wolf-innsheepsclothing)

It was Halloween Weekend at the Hauntley, a most beautiful and decadent time for a haunted house and all its beloved monsters. Those monsters had been waiting all year for this very weekend. It was a time for them to shed their human faces, stretch out their wicked bodies, and finally relax. One by one, the guests arrived with smiles as wide as half-moons, and Snow exchanged those smiles for room keys. For one weekend, they’d fill her dining room with laughter and conversation – roam the gardens – drink by the fire– and this old place would sing with life.  They’d be more than friends to the Hauntley. They’d be part of the family. 

And that was why Snow was right there at the front desk, overseeing check-in, even if it wasn’t normally her job. Oh, she’d help out here and there; Snow did so love working the front desk. Whenever she did,  it brought her right back to when she was just 18, starting her first ever job at the Green Lake House BnB. She liked the idea that she’d be the first thing that her guests would see– like a perfect first sentence in a novel, or a welcome mat at the door that hinted at the things to come.

“Just two more guests,” said Snow. “Oh, but the Greywoods called, that’s right– they’ll be a midnight check-in.” She nodded, pen scratching over the registrar to make that note. “ I’ll need to have a fresh brew ready for them. I should start that–” Snow checked her watch “--hm, in about an hour? Oh shoot, I’ll run into suppertime then… I could probably squeeze it in after–” 

The front door opened as the penultimate guest stepped through. Snow glanced the figure’s way and like always, easily found her smile, as the stranger meticulously cleaned his boots.

Then, the man looked up and Snow’s smile vanished. 

She knew that man. 

At first, she thought what any innkeeper of a haunted house would think: this man was a ghost. He drifted toward her, unfolding a past that Snow had tried to shove under her bed, or in the back of her closet, all those places where children tried to hide their mess. Yet he’d escaped there somehow, the way that real-life Bogeymen always do. He stopped in front of the desk, lip twitching in a smile she couldn’t read. His chin was covered with days-old stubble, but as he removed his hat, the light bounced off the top of his shiny, pale bald head. 

I’m the bald devil. Ha! You’ll know. That was how he’d signed the first letter to her. 

“Hullo there, flower,” greeted John in his Irish lilt. “Fascinating the twists and turns the roads take us, eh? For me to show up on your doorstep like this.” 

Snow’s heart beat so quickly, she thought she might faint. All she could manage was, “Oh, yes.” 

John chuckled. “I see you didn’t recognize my name.” 

Snow glanced down at her registrar. “You– you never gave me your last name. Before.” 

“Ah. So I didn’t. That sounds like me.” John put his hand down on the desk. His knuckles were rough and dirty (Snow could only imagine where he had been. In what graveyards, digging up what bodies?) “But I didn’t mean to surprise you, flower. What a lovely little place this is, eh?” John whistled, leaning against the desk with more of his body weight. “The pictures on your website don't do it justice.” 

Next to Snow, Demi cleared his throat. Instantly, that pulled Snow out of her shock. She started. 

“Right, well– we should get you set up in your room then!” Her voice seemed to come from somewhere else– from that 18-year-old version of herself, maybe, who stood at the front desk of the Green Lake BnB and never hesitated. Xuemei had no reasons to hesitate, no reasons not to give her smile. She hadn’t touched any dead bodies. She hadn’t met any necromancers. She was just a girl. 

Snow fumbled with her papers enough that Demi quickly stepped in. “Here we are, if you could just sign these,” said Demi smoothly.

Snow watched John’s thick fingers grip the pen. His signature was wobbly and clumsy. She wondered if he was a bit drunk already. (He had always been a bit drunk, even when teaching her.) 

“And just these as well, please,” continued Demi, as Snow folded her hands in front of herself. “And now the card on file– the one you used to place the reservation. Thank you! Alright, just one more moment, sir…” The keys clacked on the computer. Demi glanced toward Snow, a question in his eyes. She smiled at him as reassurance, but that smile was a lie. 

“Alright. You’ll be in the Cinnamon Room. Here are your keys. It’s on the second floor. Do you have any questions for us?” Demi asked.

John gripped the keys and grinned. “Not at the moment.” He put his hat back on, tipping it in Snow’s direction. “I’ll see you later.” 

And then Snow’s Bogeyman slipped upstairs, each step creaking as he went. As soon as he was gone, Snow sat back onto the stool behind the desk. What had she done, letting her own personal demon into the inn? 

“Miss Song?” murmured Demi. 

Snow glanced up at him. “It’s… I’ll tell you later. In the kitchen. Will you get Wolf for me?” 

-

But first, there were guests to attend to. 

Snow had always loved that about hospitality– that no matter the disaster, you still had to make the beds, fetch the sheets, cook dinner, and throw open the windows to let the beautiful moonlight in. It was a Friday, same as ever, which meant it was busy and bustling and there was so much to do. Guests had immediate requests and Bones had to start the feast. Snow wanted to talk to her staff right away, but it had to wait. Because her guests were always her priority. Even John.

It was only until the dining room was filled with all the Hauntleys’ guests that the Hauntley staff huddled together there in the kitchen for an impromptu staff meeting where she told them exactly who the man was – John, her first necromancer teacher. 

“Is he dangerous?” Demi asked the obvious question. But there wasn’t an obvious answer. At least, not to Snow.

And so she was quiet, first opening the door to the kitchen ever so slightly to peer out at dinner taking place. She found John easily. He’d grabbed one of the tables around the perimeter, ordered the lobster, and had already polished off one glass of ice water. He was working on his second, as he ate in big bites and didn’t talk to anyone else, but that wasn’t unusual. Many people came to the Hauntley Inn alone. 

Snow let the door swing closed again and she told them the truth. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He… we just didn’t end things very well,” she admitted. 

The answer darkened Wolf’s eyes. She knew what he was thinking. She was thinking about it too. 

The heart. The skull. The loosened hubcaps. Could those things have been John? The pieces fit together, making Snow’s stomach twist, but the motive still made little sense. Why would one necromancer attack another? John had always been so secretive and paranoid– terrified he’d one day be caught  and painted the villain. He’d chased Snow away because he believed she was a risk to him. So why would he do something so risky as send her a bleeding heart? Why contact her in any way at all? 

“And why would he check in?” Snow asked. “He’s been so careful up until this point, if the threats are him. And now he’s just… going to check in?” 

“He could just be batshit crazy,” said Gregoria, a hand on her hip. She clucked her tongue. “I dunno, Miss Song. Maybe just let Wolf throw the bloke out. We don’t need his business when we have a full house.” 

“We wouldn’t have a full house if we threw him out…” muttered Demi.

“Well, personally I don’t want a potential ax murderer staying in the Cinnamon room,” Gregoria shot back.

Snow ignored them. “If it is him, then maybe we’ll find out why he’s doing all this anyway. Or he’ll have some demand we can meet and then we can put this whole thing behind us,” said Snow. “Let’s… let’s just give him tonight. Wolf will watch him and Gregoria, you can watch him too, if he walks the grounds. He’s outnumbered here anyway.” 

“Are you sure?” Wolf asked. It was the first thing he had said since the meeting had started. 

Snow glanced up at him and hesitated again. Gregoria was probably right. It was easier to throw John out. It was safer to throw John out. 

But he was a guest of the inn. He had paid. And right now, all he was doing was eating lobster. He was a guest, and Snow was the innkeeper, and she had a duty to him. 

“Yes,” she answered after a beat. “Yes, I’m sure. Let’s all talk tomorrow. And until then, let’s do our jobs, okay? It’s our biggest weekend, everyone. Lots to do.” 

The meeting was adjourned.

#story #a weekend at the hauntleys #snow wolf #all hallows eve arc

[darthvashtique93]

Return of the Hawk

Chapter 11

Shayera gripped the parallel bars as sweat poured down her face and arms. She hated this. Sharp pain shot through her body with every step she took. And where the hell did Bruce find this physical therapist? She was way too perky for Shayera's taste. "Come on, Shayera!" the therapist encouraged loudly.

And speaking of Bruce, he had been scarce for the last two weeks. Tim had been hanging around more. Shayera was surprised he wasn't sitting in on today's appointment.

"You can do it! A couple more steps!" the therapist cheered obnoxiously.

If only Shayera had her mace…where was her mace?

"Just one more step!" the therapist called out.

A brief mental image of the therapist's head being introduced to Shayera's mace made Shayera snicker and ultimately lose her focus…and balance. She hit the floor with a rough "Ugh!"

"Are you okay?" the bright, cheery therapist crouched by Shayera.

"I'm fine," Shayera answered sharply.

"Now's as good as time as any to take a break," the therapist, Barbie, sat on the mat adjacent to Shayera. "You did well today."

Shayera only nodded in response before straightening her legs. Then, she began going through her stretches.

"So…" Brandy, spoke hesitantly, "you're Hawkgirl."

"I was Hawkgirl," Shayera barely glanced at…Brenda. What was this chick's name? It said a lot about Shayera that she couldn't remember the name of her therapist of two weeks.

"Man, what was it like?" the blonde girl – Bethany – asked eagerly. A little too eagerly.

"What was what like?" Shayera asked, trying to mask her annoyance.

"Being part of the Justice League? Duh," she giggled.

Giggled, Shayera shuddered inwardly. "It was, well…" Shayera frowned. "It was adventurous. Every mission was exciting."

"What was it like working with Wonder Woman?"

Shayera tried not to scowl. "Fine. She's wonderful—the perfect princess of peace, sisterhood, and girl-power. Everyone loves Wonder Woman," Shayera said, her voice tinged with bitterness. "She's beautiful and strong and can do anything a man can."

"I'm guessing you two didn't get along," the therapist – Brigdett – smirked.

Shayera shrugged as she reached for her nearby water bottle. "Didn't really get to know her. She wasn't part of my mission."

The blond-haired person nodded as if she understood. "Is Superman really as perfect as some people say?"

"Uh…he has his moments of stupidity. Honestly, I don't think the JL would be able to function without the serious, brooding, mistrusting nature of Batman."

"Really?" the blonde raised a brow.

"Yep. He is very intelligent for a human. It's…impressive."

"There was a rumor that he and Wonder Woman were a thing. Is that true?"

"How would I know?" Shayera bit out sharply as a strange feeling filled her chest. The blonde only smirked at Shayera's reaction. "I don't know if you remember, but I was busy betraying my team and home. I spent two years in exile. I wasn't privy to the interworking of the Justice League during my exile."

"But did you ever- "

"Are you helping or hounding Shayera?" Shayera breathed a sigh of relief as Bruce came into view.

"Well, you never tell us anything," was the exaggerated response.

"There's nothing to tell," Bruce shrugged.

"I had to hear from Bart, who heard from Wally, who heard from Virgil, who overheard Jefferson say that Green Lantern actually proposed to Vixen!"

"Stephanie," Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

Stephanie, Shayera thought to herself. That was the girl's name. Wait…what! "Who is Vixen?" Shayera asked aloud. What she wanted to say is, John is getting married? But Bruce was watching her. Shayera could feel his stare as Stephanie said what she said.

"Oh," Stephanie turned back to Shayera. "Vixen is this amazing chick with the body of a model. She can harness the spirit of any animal. I've never personally met her, but she just seems so cool."

"Oh," was all Shayera said, still avoiding Bruce's stare.

"Well, we're done for today," Stephanie jumped to her feet, so carefree. "You did great," Stephanie said to Shayera, who refused to stand. "Tomorrow, we'll try the treadmill."

Oh yay, Shayera thought. Fun.

Shayera remained on the floor as Bruce escorted Stephanie out of the cave; her chattering didn't cease until she had completely left the cave.

Finally, silence. Shayera fell back on the mat. John was getting married. John was getting married. And…it didn't hurt. But, it made her wonder what if.

What if she'd been honest from the beginning?

What if she had opened herself up to John?

What if she had allowed herself to feel emotion?

What if…there was no use dwelling on the what-ifs. The past was the past. All she could do was move forward. And the first step she was going to take towards moving forward was towards the jacuzzi in Bruce's bathroom.

Bruce returned from patrol around 3 a.m., not surprised to see Shayera sitting up in bed. "Shayera," he announced himself before entering the room. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I haven't seen you since you introduced me to Stephanie two weeks ago," Shayera replied.

"Sorry about that," Bruce said, looking surprisingly sheepish. "Alfred already scolded me for not being a better host."

"A better host?" Shayera repeated in shock. "Bruce, you've been an amazing host. You've gone above and beyond for me. You've done so much. I don't – I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't…I'll talk to Alfred. You shouldn't have to put your life on hold for me."

"I don't mind," he leaned against the doorframe. "How are you liking Stephanie?"

"She's…bubbly. And peppy. And happy."

"Yeah, that's her," Bruce laughed. "Tim has a slight crush on her."

"How do you know each other?"

"She was Batgirl before she left for college."

"Oh," Shayera replied. "She's really talkative."

"Believe me, I know," Bruce groaned. "But…the treadmill. How do you feel about that?"

"Don't know how I'm supposed to feel," Shayera shrugged, poking at the comforter. "Guess it means that my body is getting used to the idea that my wings are gone. At this rate, I'll probably be completely recovered in a month."

"I wouldn't say completely recovered," Bruce smirked.

The two stay in somewhat comfortable silence. "Well, I should try to get some sleep," Shayera eventually said. "And…you should, too. You have work in four hours."

"So worried about me and my job," Bruce gave her a slight smile. "I own the company. I can go in whenever I want. But I can tell when I'm not wanted." Shayera gave him a raised brow. "I will see you in a few hours. Get some rest, Shayera," Bruce concluded kindly.

Shayera nodded as Bruce left the room before falling back onto the bed. "Stephanie?" she muttered to herself. "Why did I think her name started with a B?"

Lobo tapped his foot impatiently in the empty hall, eyeing the two stoic Thanagarian female guards in their gold armor. As much as Thanagarians annoyed him, these two were kind of hot. He'd been trying to get a rise from them for half an hour, but they acted like he didn't exist. Screw this! He was tired of waiting. "Tell her highness that I'm gone," he said, about to leave.

Suddenly, the biggest door he had ever seen opened, and out came two females and one male Thanagarian. Judging by the shininess of their armor and the flowing capes, Lobo surmised that these were the ones calling the shots on this ostentatious planet. Unfortunately, he couldn't see any of their faces. Damned masks, Lobo thought.

"Lobo, I presume," the female walking in front of the two others greeted.

"That's me, darling. Why do y'all have gold wings surrounding your planet? Do you know how hard it is to navigate through those?" They all ignored him, their gazes steady. This is why he hated these hawk people - they thought themselves above every other being in the universe.

"I am Lieutenant Issi Hol. I've been told you are the best bounty hunter in the universe. Is this true?"

"Uh…yeah," the audacity of these bird-nosed –

"We have a job for you." A picture of a startling attractive woman appeared on the Thanagarian's wrist hologram.

"And who's this beauty?" he cheesed. His day was finally getting interesting.

"A disgraced Thanagarian taking refuge on Earth. We need her brought to us alive."

Lobo scoffed. Him…take on a Thanagarian by himself? He couldn't leave his bed for a week the last time he did that.

"Don't worry. It shouldn't be too hard," the lieutenant said as if she was reading his thoughts. "She no longer has wings."

"No wings? How'd that happen?"

"She needed to pay for her crimes, so we tore them from her back," the Thanagarian stated nonchalantly.

That's messed up, Lobo thought. "That's…brutal," Lobo said. "How'd she manage to escape you all if she doesn't have wings?"

Judging by the downturn of the lieutenant's lips, she did not appreciate his question. "Why does it matter?" she asked.

"Just curious."

"Can you do it?" the lieutenant huffed in annoyance.

"I ain't cheap, darling," Lobo said with a smirk.

"Can. You. Do. It," she punctuated each word.

"Yes."

"Name your price," she said.

"I don't want much. Just a sword made from that fancy metal y'all are so protective of." As soon as he said it, the female behind the lieutenant started speaking very fast in a language he did not understand. The lieutenant held up her hand, stopping the female mid-sentence. Issi then said one sentence to the nameless female, not taking her eyes off Lobo. Finally, the unnamed female turned away begrudgingly and disappeared behind the enormous doors, leaving Lobo, the lieutenant, the lieutenant's male friend, and the two guards in uncomfortable silence.

"You know, I've always wondered something," Lobo said, "do y'all females give birth to live children, or do you squat and lay eggs like an Earth bird?" Lobo laughed out loud while the Thanagarians said nothing. They didn't even flinch. Gods, he hated this place.

Thankfully, the doors reopened, and the nameless female who had left came back with a long rectangle case. She handed it to her lieutenant, who held it open for Lobo to see. In it was lying the most beautifully crafted, silver sword he had ever laid eyes on it. He slowly and reverently lifted it out of the case. He tested the balance; he swung it around. It was surprisingly really light. Lobo thought it would be heavier.

"Satisfied?" the lieutenant asked.

"Immensely," he said, giving her a 100-watt smile. The lieutenant visibly grimaced. So…she wasn't made of marble. "When did you say you need her delivered?"

"A month. Alive."

"Done. See you in a month, bird people," Lobo gave them a two-finger salute before strolling out of the building. He couldn't wait to get off of this stupid planet and be done with these damn creatures.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13461097/1/Return-of-the-Hawk

#bathawk #batman x hawkgirl #bruce wayne x shayera hol #shayera hol #bruce wayne #hawkgirl #batman

[strawberry-valentines]

First request for a John Doe bc we don’t got enough content for the skrunkly man 😩.

This is kinda sad but idk why I can’t get the concept out of my head. So the whole time loop idea has always been interesting to me and I was wondering how doe would feel. I image probably irritated at first but as time goes on he just becomes devastated. Nothing he does in one day will ever matter because the next day “you” won’t remember. After he comes to this one day he just breaks the cycle just crying in your arms because he doesn’t know what to do. Poor “you” is just left confused and concerned consoling a seemingly broken man.

I know that’s a bit long and specific???? But I thought it maybe interesting to throw out there. Anyways have a lovely day!

Melting Point (John Doe Hurt/Comfort Fluff?)

Content warning: Mental breakdown, Anxious thoughts.

A/N: Hello!! Oh my god this was my first ask and I am so happy I got to write this, it was super fun! And seriously dude long and specific is what I like to do lol--

Sorry its not the greatest but thank you for the ask! I really hope you like it and please have an amazing day!! ♡♡

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Doe..?! What- What are you doing in my house!?”

As you panicked, wondering why on gods green earth John Mcfucking Doe was in your living room of all places, the perpetrator of this fear winced backing away as if he was the one being threatened.

Every day.

Every Single day…

It never changed.

Despite everything. Despite how long he yearned for you to remember him and spent every night restless and praying to whatever god forsaken force that decided to stick him in this purgatory to just let him be happy.

Hell…even if you still hated him when you saw him again he wanted you to recognize him even for a moment.

Even if you only saw him as a creep.

It would be better than this.

It made him so sad. No matter what he did to the world or what he looked like…He was still just some creepy guy to you.

How fucking fitting because he was a creepy guy but...

He didn't want to be some creepy stalker that showed up out of the blue and acted like he knew you despite you knowing full and clear you had never met this man in your life.

He just wanted you to love him or at least understand what was happening and just…Above everything he just wanted to be happy. To have this one happy fleeting moment to himself.

So as Doe stared at you tonight, for possibly the hundredth night in a row, as your eyes glistened with undeniable fear and dread, he simply crumpled.

He couldn’t even start the routine…Not again…It hurt so bad.

As soon as you looked at him like that…He just couldn’t take it anymore.

Sinking to his knees on your carpet, Doe began to sob uncontrollably clutching himself.

“I’m here because…because I just-“

He choked out his words slowly as he tried to make sense of it all, mind going blank.

"Because You…I just want this to go differently-“

"Why cant you just remember me- Please. Please You I’m trying so hard I’ve done everything right I just-“

"I just want to be HAPPY.

"I can be anything you want me to be…ANYTHING just please give me a chance. I can’t LIVE like this anymore its everday…I know I’m horrible, I’m a horrible person but I’m trying-”

"Every single time I see you, you don’t remember me! And…It’s always going to be like this and its never going to change and…Its not your fault but please…”

Your initial fear and anger melted into confusion as you stared down at the glitching pained mess of a man grovelling at your feet.

It was obvious this man was broken. Broken beyond belief and…

You didn’t understand why but somehow it had to do with you.

And it wasn't just him saying it that made you think it. You just knew it in your bones.

You knew as soon as you saw him for the first time this morning he seemed familiar and…It drew you to him but also terrified you.

It was serious Deja’Vu all of it and to be honest it freaked you out. But…You couldn’t just do nothing.

After a few moments and despite your better judgement, you crouched down as well, and albeit cautiously, reached for his pale tear-soaked face cupping it in your hands.

Doe tensed before shuddering as you touched him, staring at you with large, yellowed eyes. He leaned into the motion without realizing it, taking a shaky breath, mouth unconsciously curling in a tentative smile. It felt nice to be...acknowledged like this.

You stared back at him, sadness clouding your own face before slowly beginning to talk, releasing him (to his dissapointment) and scooting closer on the floor.

"Listen…Doe I don’t know what you mean fully but…I do recognize you a little. We’ve...met before somehow haven’t we?”

“You’re familiar.”

Does face flooded with sudden euphoria mouth widening in a grin before going desolate once more, staring down at the floor nodding.

“Every night…It’s a loop.”

“Its hard to explain but…every night the world resets and...you never remember me and…I don’t know how else to explain. But I…I always try to find you because…I really love you and I just want this loop to end and I don’t want to give up on this..."

He studied your face before quickly adding.

"Sorry I'm creepy."

“I know its strange…because you don’t know me right now…”

He cracked a pained smile before continuing.

“But I do love you.”

He bit his thin lip wincing as you began to respond, anticipating your answer.

"So its endless then…I…I don’t understand fully …I’m so sorry Doe."

You stared at him another minute. He seemed....genuine and....you weren't sure but you felt deep within you it was safe to believe him. Despite everything.

"Listen...I believe you. There has to be a way we can break it but…I don’t know how and …I know this can’t just be a crazy coincidence.”

Your voice hardened slowly with resolve.

"But we can do it. I know we can. We’ll find a way somehow…And if we can…I would really love to get to know you. Your right…I don’t know you at all but…I want to.”

You smiled softly tearing up a bit as well.

“I mean it. Even if you are kind of scary."

The moment lingered in the air, the quiet enveloping both of you.

John simply stared at you, face flooding with emotion as tears continued to pour down his cheeks.

…You believed him. You actually BELIEVED HIM.

With no second thought he launched himself into your arms burying himself in your shirt as he continued to cry shaking slightly.

"Thank you You…Thank you...So much.”

You gasped slightly in shock, before hugging back tightly brushing his long hair out of his face.

"Not at all Doe…Stay as long as you need okay? It seems like you really need a hug.”

And for once in this time loop, Doe had a little hope that things might improve.

#john doe game #john doe #john doe fanfic #self insert #john doe x you #john doe x reader

[bluemoonstonesy]

It’s me, isn’t it?

John Stones

song: dress / taylor swift

- everyone thinks that they know us, but they know nothin' about all of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation -

warnings: smutty tones + not proofread

“Someone’s looking good for once.”

You shut your eyes in a sudden wave of frustration as soon as those words work their way to your brain, mind somehow convincing itself that you can make him suddenly disappear if you completely ignore the familiar voice.

But he doesn’t. And you can very much still feel his presence standing behind you, knowing already that he definitely has that stupid grin on his face.

“I think that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You eventually remark, turning around to be met by a very smug looking John Stones, the top buttons of his shirt opened and his hair falling into his eyes ever so slightly.

Dick.

You wouldn’t even need one hand to count how many times you and John have had a confrontation without at least one of you making a remark. In fact, you’d need absolutely none. If you typed into Google ‘How many times has John Stones been a normal person around me’, it would come up absolutely blank. No results, because it hasn’t happened on one single occasion.

At first, you thought it was just him being him, his natural persona off the pitch. But whenever you’ve found yourself observing him unintentionally, it’s only ever you that he’ll drop these remarks to. Even the thought of it makes you furrow your brows.

One minute he’s a flirt, the next he’s a complete and utter prick. On a few occasions that you’d rather keep to yourself, you’ll catch his gaze and have a moment of doubt, realising the almost disgusting truth that he’s actually one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever laid eyes on. But in a split second, he’ll remind you as to why you would not mind giving him a slap on the head when he’ll come out with yet another sugar coated insult.

But still, there’s something that seems to be hidden underneath the egotistical exterior that seems to greet you whenever you find yourselves in the same room together. And sometimes, you find yourself wanting to delve further into what it could possibly be. John Stones is a very interesting person, but also very, very annoying.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss, trying to glance around the room to distract yourself from the man who toys with your emotions like nobody else can.

He just laughs. That stupid laughter that pains you to admit that it’s more contagious than irritating, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s our friend’s birthday.”

You face him once again, “Wow Stones, you’ve actually gotten funnier since I last saw you,” He’s standing close - extremely close. You can basically almost feel his arm brushing up against yours, hating to admit that he’s sending your mind into a frenzy that you’d rather not have linked to him in anyway whatsoever, “I meant, what are you doing over here? Don’t you have someone else to annoy?”

He steps closer, looking around momentarily before placing his mouth against your ear, “But you’re my favourite to annoy. Just admit it, you love it.”

You’re about to say something back. But before you have a chance to even register anything, he’s leaving you stood alone once again, moving around the room to greet other people as you’re left standing in the corner with a frown on your face.

All night long you feel his eyes following you. Even when you’re deep in conversation with someone, those eyes that are made up of a million hues of greens and greys are firmly locked onto you, and you only.

He’s testing you, you know he is. And unfortunately for John, it seems that you know him a lot better than he first anticipated. So you do the thing that he’d least expect, and catch him in the act every time he glances in your direction. It’s like you have a radar that goes off everytime you sense that John is looking in your direction, seeming to pay off pretty well as whenever you turn your head, he’s trying to dart his eyes away as quickly as possible, playing with the collar on his shirt to try and appear calm and collected.

Soon enough, you’re becoming the one giving him the looks, giving him a taste of his own medicine as watches you with a quirked brow and lip between his teeth.

As the evening wears on, it becomes a sort of game, a silent competition almost of who can catch the other person out the most. And it’s pretty obvious that John is absolutely fucking shit at it. You shoot him a glance as you walk towards the kitchen, allowing him to interpret it in whichever way he wants to. Either way, you’re not letting him get away with jack shit tonight.

The adjacent room is thankfully empty, the perfect place to allow to you gather your thoughts even if it’s momentary. Which it certainly proves to be as not even a minute later, a large figure is appearing in the doorway and striding towards you. You smile to yourself as you study his expression, leaning against the kitchen island as you notice his flustered expression that’s no doubt been building up throughout the evening. You watch with an amusement as he places both hands on the island, keeping you in place between them and getting you exactly where he wants you.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, darling,” He steps closer, “But you’re certainly not going to win.” It’s only moments later when you feel John brushing his lips against your jaw, trying to coax something from you. Anything. You’re frozen in place at the sudden switch in dynamics. But it feels right, almost scarily right.

“I’m not playing at anything. I really don’t know what you mean.” You try to hide the shakiness in your voice, holding in what you can only assume would be an embarrassing sound as you feel his mouth trail down to your collarbones. It’s fucking maddening. Yet, you don’t want him to stop. You hesitate slightly before moving your hands up and beneath his shirt, goosebumps appearing over his expectedly toned stomach and only spreading more as you move up towards his chest before pulling away. He tenses at the sudden contact, but it’s needed. Overdue, if anything.

“I know what you want.”

You look up to see his eyes staring down at you, pupils dilated and usual green iris’ sporting a darker shade than usual. “I’m not sure that you do.” You smirk, running another finger down his chest and peering up innocently. John shudders under your touch and you grin again in satisfaction. But seconds later he grabs your slowly moving wrists to halt your teasing actions and places his lips against your ear.

“It’s me, isn’t if?” John whispers, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, “Go on sweetheart, say it. There’s nobody else in here.”

You look up at him, expression coming across as unaffected by his statement. His hand is still wrapped around your wrist, but you can feel it slowly loosening as he becomes more hungry for your touch, “But what if i don’t?”

“Just so you know, denying anything won’t help your case, I’ve seen the way you look at me. You’re not very subtle, I have to say.”

You actually momentarily hate him for how good he looks close up, maddened that someone who you thought you hated can simultaneously drive you insane in so many other ways.

“Maybe I can go back in there and be a bit more subtle then?” The look on his face changes completely. One that tells you that you’ve got him completely wrapped around your finger, and it’s probably not for the first time in the years that you’ve known each other.

“But what’s the fun in that?” He replies, pulling your hands back to place them flat against his chest, skin hot under the thin material of his shirt. John thinks that he might fucking die right there and then if you don’t comply with what he’s been fantasising about since the moment he laid eyes on you tonight.

“I can think of many reasons as to why watching you would be fun.”

He’s about to reply with another comment. But before he can, you’re peeling your hands away from his chest and stepping backwards. John frowns, grabbing for your wrist to put your palms back to where he certain they’re perfectly made to be. But you’re too quick for him, slowly backing away with a grin on your face, “Don’t look at me like that, Stones. I’m off to be more subtle, in a room full of people.”

“No you’re not.”

A sudden wave of confidence overcomes you, “Good luck keeping those hands to yourself in front of our friends.” You watch as his eyes narrow, lips between his teeth as you watch with upturned lips. If he wants to play those games, then so be it. And before he knows it, you’re leaving the room behind as well as a red faced John still leaning against the island in the centre of the kitchen.

He’s determined that he’s not going to be the first one to crack, although the dress you’re wearing tonight is certainly going to make things a lot more difficult for him. “Oh, it’s on.” He mutters under his breath, composing himself slightly before following in your footsteps to begin an intense game of subtle looks laced with lust that will only end in one way, and John is determined to not be the one to ignite it because he knows he’ll never hear the end of it.

But maybe the reward would be worth it.

#john stones #john stones imagine #john stones x reader #john stones fic #football imagine #man city imagine #england nt imagine

[xgryffinwhore]

september nights

request:  i was wondering if you could write another soft bill smut? i don’t really have a specific plot in mind, we’re just really lacking content on tumblr rn :( in some really precarious place where they don’t want to get caught

warnings: soft smut, like i mean very soft.

word count: 2118

before your lips met bill denbrough’s, love was always, to say the least, a conundrum. lets be real for second, boys wasted your time, and you let them. only the cute ones of course. you are a hopeless romantic, drunk off of molly ringwald and john travolta films. you wanted any relationship you had to be just like the movies.

through your heart breaks, your best friends stood by you, your losers. eddie, richie, bev, stan, ben, and bill. for each tear you shed a punch was thrown to the man who caused it, they were protective over you. bill the most though, he always got so defensive when you were in the mix. all throughout middle & high school, bill has had to deal with every guy who even dares to think about breaking your heart.

“its not fair bill” you wailed into your pillow. he stroked your back and hushed you, his eyes welling with tears. “im never fucking good enough for any guy and its so fucking sad!” your complaints being cut off mid sentence by a choked out cry. “y-y/n. all of y-your boyfriend are i-idiots. anyone w-who would d-d-do this to you isnt w-worth your t-time. anyone w-would be the luckiest in the w-world to have y-you in their life” you picked your head up and looked at him with swollen lips and blood shot eyes “there no one out there for me bill, no one.” 

he bit his lip, fighting back any tears dripping from his eyes “they j-just dont see how p-pretty you are. how g-gentle and caring and s-s-sweet, and h-how your face c-can light up any room. theyre f-fucking idiots, and you d-deserve m-more.” you clearly thought he was being nice, because you could take a MOTHER FUCKING GOD DAMN hint, so you replied “i wish there was someone out there like you, for me, that thinks of me the way you do.” 

he furrowed his brows, tossing his head back and running his fingers furiously through his hair. “d-dammit y/n!” he cursed “cant you s-see what ive b-been trying to say? w-w-what ive been t-trying to say f-for the last f-five years!?!” your expression was bewildered, your brain was going a mile a minute trying to figure out what he meant. his frustration got the best of him, he got up and stormed out the door,  feeling embarrassed and stupid for trying to make you understand how he felt.

he was half way out your front door, fuming for his keys lodged deep into his front pocket; when suddenly:

“bill!”

his head turned at the call of his name, “y-y/n please i d-”

smack.

your lips locked with his, he rain pouring heavily outside. bills lips stilled at the contact, but this lasted briefly, he deepened this kiss by pulling you in to his abdomen by your mid back. your bunched the front of his base ball t shirt with your fists, and he did the same but with your hair.

the rest is basically history.

now six months later, and you couldnt have been happier. bill knew how to treat you, nights out twice a week (you always wanted to pay but bill insisted,) holding your hand to and from classes, he let you borrow have his varsity baseball jacket, which smelt just like him and was a little too big for you. 

when he would drop you off and your classes, he would always grab your hand and transfer a tiny piece of paper into your palm. when you got into class to unfold it, it was always a cute little message about his love for you. 

bill had it bad for you, everyone knew that, and you loved every minute of it. he met every and any standard you had, and exceeded your expectations. 

it was september, still warm enough in derry to wear shorts, so you and your friends thought of a last hurrah for the ending of the summery weather.

“camp out, its nearly perfect” Richie exclaimed. eddie rolled his eyes “like youve ever been near anything perfect toizer, do you even know what perfect means?” richie shoved eddie “yeah eddie i actually have. have you seen amanda’s tits?”

 you tuned out richie and eddies bickering as you’re boyfriend cleared his throat. “you g-gonna go?” he said into your ear, “only if you promise to wear bug spray bill, you know how bad-” he cut you off with a kiss, his mouth forming a small smile at how cute you were. “get a room, honestly” stan poked, pda wasn’t his favorite... “at least i h-have something to k-kiss aye s-stannie”

you arrived at the edge of the forest, parking your car at the last parking ish space. you walked toward the sounds of ben and richie fighting, and came to see that richie really went all out. three tents, sticks for a fire, and more snacks than anyone needed. 

you all spent the remanence of the daylight dancing in the light sky, sharing stories, and eating waaaay too many chips. it was dark now, you all huddled in a circle near the fire; making small talk and trying not to admit you were all very tired.

“ok folks, im off to bed” richie yawned “me stan eddie n’ mike will take the green tent, bev and ben in the red.” richie paused and smirked over at you and bill, you were tangled in his limbs, golfed in his navy blue pull over. “and uh- heh- billy boy and y/n in the yellow tent eh?” you could practically feel bills eye roll, god richie was so immature.

“w-we dont have to s-sleep in the s-s-same tent, i c-can ask ben if he’d s-switch” you look up at bill and reassure him “bill no- its not a big deal, right?” he tucks your hair behind your ear and kisses the side of your temple “c-course not.”

you both went into the tent, bill began to unroll the blankets you both had packed tightly into your bags. You both set up your makeshift bed, bill leaned against a pile of pillows while you hugged his side, your face buried in his neck. his smell was absolutely intoxicating; his skin had remanence of his milk and honey body wash, but it was slightly overpowered by wintergreen, clove, and his bourbon cologne. 

you were like this for around an hour, the orange crank-powered lantern being the only source of light. you switch positions though, you now laid your head on his lap, reading a magazine you stole from the hair salon. he watched your eyes scan every letter, when you read something funny you’d huff to yourself, and when something was intresting you stuck your tongue out from between your teeth. he adored you.

“d-dont stay up t-too late” he stroked your hair off your shoulder “we have t-to have you w-well r-r-rested.” you sat up from beside him, as he adjusted the pillows and took off his pull over, then his pants. he got under the covers and waited for you.

“nice donut boxers” you laughed. “s-shut up” he blushed and regreted not changing them when he had the chance. you turned around took off your shirt, you were shy about how you looked, but it was just bill. it was just bill. you heard his breath hitch, his eagerness radiating off his body onto yours. the air became tense as you unzipped your pants and threw them to the corner. you turned around, bills pupils growing until you were completely facing him.

“yeah i know. mine are boring” you laugh nervously, brushing your hair behind your ear and getting under the covers next to him. he didnt respond, he couldnt take his eyes off of you.you began to sit up again “i can go put back on-” “n-no!” he interrupts, his blush taking up his entire face.

“i j-j-just cant b-believe i g-get to see something s-so special” he gulped “s-so b-b-b-beautiful.”

you grabbed him by his shoulders and kissed him, hard. youve been with boys before, i mean youve dated plenty of people. but no one ever called your body special. hot, yeah. nice, yeah. beautiful, sure. but no one ever thought that it was special. 

bill was a kind boy, the most you two have ever done is get each other off with your hands, always clothed. bill never asked to see more, he felt lucky enough just to make you feel good, and that was enough for him. so when you felt the heat of his hands hovering over your body but not touching it, you new you’d have to call the shots tonight.

“bill,” you laid down “just touch me everywhere, please.” he crawled in between your legs, kneeling so that he could lean over your face “m-my pleasure.”

he traced your collar, leaving small, delicate, kisses to make up for what his fingers left behind as they trailed. he kissed the valley between your breasts, licking slow striped down your skin. he picked up your upper back a little and cocked his head to the side, you nodded and he unclipped your bra. he sat their with his mouth open, taking in the view. you blushed and muttered “hey, keep that mouth to good use.” he dipped down and sucked on your nipples, his mouth felt so good against your skin grazed with goosebumps. he was gingerly with his tongue, it was sexy, it was romantic. he kissed down your stomach, his fingers sweeping down your sides. you could see his member pressing against his boxers, the pressure made him wince every once in a while. his fingers met your panties and he hooked them. again, he looked up for permission, you nodded once again. 

he brought your underwear down your legs and off, looking back to see what he had relieved. he licked his lips, getting ready to please you more than he already did. but you felt bad, bill always gave gave and gave. “its ok, im ready right now.” bill looked up at you in shock, he wasnt expecting you’d want to go all the way. “y/n, y-youre sure?” you lean up and kiss his lips, swiping your tongue against his bottom lip “please.”

he pulled down his boxers eagerly, his member sprung out to hit his stomach. he lined up with you, checking once more that it was ok. then he pushed in, bottoming out. he felt bigger than you thought, of course he was well endowed, but he filled you up so well. you mewled, the pain and pleasure making a delicious feeling that made your toes curl.

he waited, but began slowly moving after a bit. he grunted, feeling you wrapped around him was something he’d never be able to get out of his head he thought to himself. he grunted “f-fuck this feels g-good’ he grunted, his breath becoming heavy and full of lust. with every stroke, you felt yourself get more and more lost in the bliss he made you feel. “youre making me feel so good  bill” you moan, the sound of his name coming out of your mouth driving him absolutely crazy. he speeds up, loving the view of your face contorting in pleasure and your body moving with his. 

he couldnt help but feel admiration to you, your hair formed a halo around your head, and the sweat that coated your skin made you glisten in the orange light. “im t-the luckiest in the world” he husks, holding your cheek. 

you felt the knot in your core coming undone, “bill im close” you strain, trying not to be too loud so you dont wake your friends. he moved your leg up to his shoulder, hitting you from a different, deeper angle. his fingers went to your clit, making you bite your had to stop you from screaming. “you l-look so p-pretty y/n, t-taking me s-so well. making y-you feel so good.” “so good bill” you repeat, drunken off his cock and fingers. 

without warning, you came came, your legs spazzing as you moaned “fuck bill” he followed, his hips stuttering, as he cried out into your shoulder. he pulled out and laid next to you, both of you breathing heavily and coming off your highs. 

“y/n” he looked at you “t-that was really j-just wow- thank y-you.” you kissed him, chaste and sweet “that was great yeah?” “it w-was perfect babe. t-thank you f-for t-that. i love you y-y/n.”

“i love you too bill.”

he sat up, his fingers dancing on your inner thigh.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“c-can we p-please do t-that again?”

#bill denbrough #bill denbrough x reader #bill denbrough smut #bill denbrough x you #bill denbrough fanfic #IT movie #it fanfiction #it bill #jaeden martell #jaeden lieberher #jaeden wesley #jaeden x reader #jaeden martell x reader #jaeden martell smut #richie tozier #eddiekaspbrak #stanley uris

[siempre-bucky]

I.I.G.Y.M.H.W.Y.T.I.A.M.M.T.H.M.I.T.W?

COWBOY!BUCKY X READER

♡if I gave you my hand would you take it and make me the happiest man in the world?

Summary: Nat and Wanda take the reader post break up to The Stark Ranch, a beautiful little place in the lush green countryside. God she hated it, she didn't want to be here only wanted him back. With one dip of a black cowboy hat and a deep-voiced greeting, the readers brooding would have to wait.

Part 1 of 3

Warnings: light mentions of past abuse,

WC: 3.8k

A/N: there was a tiktok and it was just cowboy Sebastian Stan and this fucking song!! Here's a thing I can't stop thinking about! I edited this the best I could.

In the long, rich history of bad ideas, this had to be the worst idea anyone has ever had. Here she was, squished in between her best friends in the back of an Uber. An old country song from the 60s played on the radio as the two redheads gushed about the small town they were driving through. The most popular restaurant back in Brooklyn probably had more people inside it than this little country town.

"Are you done brooding?" Wanda complains, her Sokovian accent purely intensified the distaste in her tone.

"All I want is John, back," Y/N mutters bitterly, her jaw clenched, sinking lower into the seat. Both women roll their eyes at her comment.

"You haven't stopped mentioning Walker since we got off the plane. It's been 2 months Y/N," Natasha reminds her, checking her watch that was peaking from her black leather jacket. "Don't forget this is why we're here! A getaway is just what you need."

Has it already been 2 months? It only felt like 2 weeks since he left. His last words still sent a chill down her spine "Did you really expect me not to cheat, Y/N? It's New York, get used to it, babe." Y/N shakes her head, trying to get that man's callous words out of her head. She felt like she was already at the acceptance of the grieving process. She clearly wasn't there.

Natasha suddenly gasps, the Stark Ranch coming into view with its black iron gates, its name the biggest thing on it. Y/N looks in Nat's direction, the 4 story red and yellow inn sat in the middle of a long dirt road and was nuzzled in with the saturated green grass and big trees. Y/N thought it was pretty but she would never admit that to her friends.

"Ladies you have a good time out here! I reckon you'll find our little town quite charmin'!" The older man tells them happily as his car comes to a stop in front of the inn. The girls give him their thanks and get out to take a look at the place.

Nat's hand shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up the place, a confident smile on her face since she picked out this place in the middle of nowhere. Wanda stood in the middle with her hands in her pockets and a relaxed smile. As for Y/N? she might as well have a dark cloud hanging over her. It smelled like grass and horses, her black ankle boots were covered in dust, and worst of all...Natasha blocked John's number. "Relaxation awaits girls!" Nat cheers as she leads her small pack into the front doors of the inn.

The inside was just a cute as the outside, country-style couches placed in the center with a mahogany coffee table littered in doilies. Guests laughed and chatted behind the french doors in the restaurant beside them. "Welcome to Stark Inn!" The front desk lady greets them, her strawberry blonde hair tied in a bun and a glossy smile on her features.

"You go check-in, I'm staying here," Y/N sighs, plopping down onto one of the floral couches, taking out her phone from her back pocket. Nat and Wanda rolled their eyes, pushing their luggage next to their friend before walking over to check-in.

She checked her phone 5 times, 5 different bell-sounding notifications from 5 different apps. Nothing from her former love, of course, not because he's blocked. The next bell sound didn't come from her phone but the front doors of the inn. The ding was followed by two men laughing loudly, one clapping the other on the back. The Y/H/C girl looks up at the source of the ruckus.

One was blonde, wearing a thin blue flannel shirt and dark jeans. He was cute, had a nice ass, and blue eyes a lady could swim in. The other man was a different story, however. A blush crept up her cheeks as she looked at him. His shoulder-length hair was tied up in a low bun, face nearly hidden by his black velvet cowboy hat. Fuck that man looked good in red flannel.

The said man looked down at her. Oh shit, she'd been caught staring at the two cowboys. Before she could look away the one in red smirked at her and dipped his hat "ma'am," he speaks in greeting, his voice was low and raspy, sending butterflies to her stomach and other regions.

"H-hi," Y/n says shyly, like a schoolgirl whose crush finally talked to her. The man turned away and walked away to walk towards the front desk, mud left behind from their boots which they were quickly scolded for.

"Well while you boys are makin' a mess 'round my inn you can take help these girls up to their room," Pepper, the co-owner huffs "307... the nice one." Pepper waves them off, turning to grab the keys to the room.

Natasha eyed the blonde man up and down, resting her back on the front desk, propping her elbows up behind her. "Hi there cowboy," she speaks to him flirtatiously, her pink lips form a smirk. The man ducks his head and laughs.

"Hi there. I'm Steve."

"Natasha."

Y/N rolled her eyes at the flirting, rising from the couch she went to grab the handle of her bag but was met with cold metal. Her eyes flew up to see the man in the back cowboy hat already grabbed a hold of it "I'm assumin' this is yours?" he chuckled with that honey-like voice. Y/N nods and crossed her arms over her chest, her hand still feeling the chill of his hand.

She followed behind them, taking the red-carpeted stairs. She was behind them enough to stare at the broadness of his shoulders, a small smile appeared on her lips thinking about what it would be like to run her hands down his back. No, she quickly erased the image out of her mind. That thought returned as they climbed the second set of stairs, her Y/E/C traveled down his back and landed on his backside as he climbed. A red rag hung out of his back pocket.

The man turned around as they reached the top, catching her stare at him "I'm Bucky," he tells her, breaking her out of her trance. Bucky was 2 for 2 catching her stare at him. The red in her cheeks matched the vibrant red of the rag her eyes were once fixated on.

"Y/N," she responds simply, her voice quiet.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, miss." His words made her skin tingle, small bumps rising to the surface of her clothed skin. Her green jacket covering all the evidence.

"It's nice to meet you too, Bucky," she ponders over his name for a minute "did your parents name you that?"

Bucky laughed, oh God his laugh was precious "No, uh- my name is actually James. Bucky is just a nickname, I like it better," he explains. Y/N moved from the back to his side as they walked up the final set of stairs.

"Both names are nice," Y/n chuckles, "they suit you." They both looked at each other and instantly smiled, she even unfolded her arms and let them linger at her side. She forgot what it was like to be comfortable after all this time. Walking on eggshells for a man who could set off at any moment was what she grew accustomed to. This was nice, even she had to admit that.

The two girls in front couldn't help but give each other a knowing look, Steve even joined in. "He hasn't dated in years," he whispers to Natasha as they approached the room.

"A shell of a man cheated and dumped her," Wanda tells them in a hushed voice.

They reached the white door with a golden plate '307' written in script numbers. "This is the best room at the inn!" Steve starts to gush, placing the bags on the ground.

"Clear view of the stables, horses walking around all the time," Bucky chimes in, his elbow nudging Y/N the arm. he looked up at him with raised eyebrows but he wasn't looking at her this time. Did he do that on purpose? No. Probably not.

"Well... we'll let you ladies get settled in. Don't hesitate to reach out of you need anything." Steve dipped his hat and started to walk away, clapping his friend on the shoulder, turning him to walk in the same direction.

"See you around, Y/N," Bucky told her before walking away. Her eyes lingered on the tall man as he walked away and even he turned around to catch another glance at her. 3 for 3.

"Did someone catch feelings already?" Natasha laughed as he unlocked the room. Y/N eyebrows furrowed in anger, walking in after her friends, roughly brushing past the sassy redhead.

"All I want is John back. I don't know what the hell that was out there," she defended herself, snarling as she sat in the chair by the large windows, her legs hanging off the ledge.

The women hung their heads and began to unpack "You can have the other bedroom," was all Wanda said before the conversation ended. Y/N felt the guilt rise in her heart. She didn't mean to be so blunt and rude to them, in the back of her mind she knew they knew they were trying. She was trying too.

Time had passed and clothes were hung and folded away in their drawers. Nat sat on her laptop looking for places to eat in town while Wanda checked in with her husband and kids back home. Y/N hadn't left the chair since they arrived. Checking her phone for someone who couldn't talk to her.

"Look at this cute little place in town! It's home cooking they call it. We should go," Nat tells the girl happily.

"I'll call the Uber after I talk to Tommy," Wanda joins in.

"I-I don't want to go," Y/N says, her voice softer than before. She turns his attention to the sables below her, a black horse being led by the man in the black hat. "Bucky," she whispers to herself. She watches him, his lips were moving, obviously talking to the beautiful animal. A smile dared to appear on her face while she watched him, she saw her reflection and she sucked in her lips. Her attention went back to her friends.

"We're not going to let you coop yourself up in this room all night, Y/N." Natasha squints her eyes in judgment, closing her computer with a loud thud.

"And I don't want to make this trip miserable for you guys. I just need to be by myself for a while."

"That's what we're afraid of. It took 2 weeks to get you out of your apartment."

"I'm doing better now!" she shouts, realizing what she did she gulped and sat straight up in the chair, placing her feet on the floor "I'm sorry, Nat. Please just go, have fun and I promise we'll do that spa ay like you wanted tomorrow."

"Fine, but give me your phone," Wanda interjected, holding out her hand while her other one placed her phone in her back pocket. Y/N scrunched her nose and shook her head. Wanda's eyebrows lowered, her hand still stretched out as she walked towards her. She cocked her head, striking fear into the Y/H/C. She hated when Wanda did that.

"How are you going to reach me if something bad happens?"

With the phone now in Wanda's hand, Nat said "We'll call the front desk."

The girls had left, telling Y/N to make her time alone useful. She wanted to sit and wallow in her never-ending sadness. She remembered a time like this at a New York lawyers convention when John left her in the room for hours while he partied downstairs. No, no, she didn't want it to be like this even if it was her choice now.

The stables. She walked over to the window and saw the red building empty from what it looked like. Maybe she could get a glimpse of the horse she saw. Bucky didn't even cross her mind then or was that the reason she wanted to go so badly. No, it had to have been the horse she saw. Keep telling yourself that.

Y/N stayed back a bit longer, giving Nat and Wanda enough time to leave the property. They would never let this go after the stable comment Bucky made. She stepped outside, the sun starting to set and a small chilled breeze brushes past her. Lurking around to make sure no one was there she slowly walked into the stable, the horses not paying her any attention.

There she was, the beautiful black mare standing her her stall, her face poking out of the window. Y/N walked over and let the horse sniff the palm of her hand "You're so pretty, my darling," Y/N beams, rubbing her nose. The horse nickered, making the woman laugh "You like compliments don't you."

"She craves attention!" A voice called out from the other side of the barn. Y/N whipped her head to the side, her heart thumping against her chest. Bucky started making his way over, two silver buckets in his strong arms. The sweat on his face didn't go unnoticed by her, she swallowed hard and took a step back from the horse.

"I-I didn't see a stay-out sign, I'm sorry if I'm not all-" her rambling was cut off by his soft chuckle and the clang of the buckets now on the ground.

" I don't mind, doll. Clementine loves the company." I was hoping you'd show up, he kept that to himself of course. "While you're here, do you want to help me brush her? She gets sad if I don't do it before I leave."

Y/N smiles softly and nods at him, her hands folded in her lap. Bucky eagerly opened the stall and allowed her to enter first. He ran around to empty the feed buckets and placing the buckets on the shelf. He pants as he hands her a brush, his awkward smile earning a thank you.

Bucky stood on one side while she stood on the other, brushing the shiny coat of Celmentines's body. The silence was a comfort and the soft brushing noises were music to their ears. She enjoyed the silence and stolen glances at each other. His steel-blue eyes fixated on his favorite horse, she'd never seen someone look that loving towards someone else.

He breaks the silence "So what brings you guys all the way out to our neck of the woods?"

Was she supposed to be honest? Because 'I'm desperately trying to get over a man who ripped my heart out' doesn't scream approachable. She bit her lip and looked at him from the other side of the horse, their searching eyes meeting.

"Fella did me wrong so my friends decided a getaway was the best medicine," she explained, a watered-down version of what the real devastating truth was.

Bucky nods as he listens to her, slowly making his way to her side, brushing Clementine's hip as a cover. He didn't push it any further, now wasn't the time and he remembered her somber appearance when he first met her in the lobby "Where ya from?" He asks instead

"Brooklyn." His ears perk up, he hadn't thought about that city in so long.

"Brooklyn?" he hums, "how's the city these days?"

"Busy," she responds, looking over at him trying not to act surprised that he moved closer. "You've been?"

"Once or twice." 7 years. He frowned and bit the inside of his cheek. Y/N hums and starts to brush the side of her neck. Clementine whinnies, making the woman jump back. "I-It's ok," Bucky tells her kindly, holding out his hand, "she likes that, let me show you." He takes off his hat and tosses it on top of the hay pile behind them.

His flesh arm placed at on her midback, bringing her closer to the horse. His metal arm covers her hand to guide the brush down Clementine's neck. The sound of her own heart was deafening, he was so close she could pick up everything. The smell of hay and horses mixed in wish musk and was the cedar? It was manly...just like him. The stands of loose hair stuck to his forehead, small grey hairs mixed into his stubble.

Her eyes shifted away from his face onto the sight in front of her, his hand over hers, the gold and black metal shining in the overhead light. She wondered if he could feel her. "Your arm?" she questions barely audibly.

"It was a military accident...I fell," he responded, she couldn't tell if there was sorrow in his voice or he was just accustomed to explaining it all the time.

"It's nice! I hope I didn't offend you," she tried to pull away from the situation she created but his flesh arm held her still. He looks down at her and smiles.

"You didn't. It was a long time ago."

His reassurance got her to relax. They eased into small talk about their lives, she learned that he was born here and always helped the Starks on the ranch when they opened it, leading into a job when he got out of school. He was kind and funny, made her heart constantly skip beats when he said something nice. It made her forget John Walker for a while.

The sun went down, the auto light of the stables turned on. Bucky knew he should've clocked out by now, but this was far better. She was sad, he knew that, but when she relaxed she was surprisingly funny with her quick wit, soft smiles, and her newfound love for his favorite girl Clementine.

"Have you ridden before?" he asks as they finish, taking her brush back.

"No," Y/N laughs as she recalls her childhood, "I saw a boy fall off one at summer camp and I swore I'd never do it. I admire from afar."

Bucky joins in on the laugh while he grabs his hat and dusts off the loose straws of hay on his hat. Y/N bits her lip and pats Clemintine one last time before the pair walked towards the door "Watch your step," he warns, holding his metal hand out for her to take. She looks at him for a moment, feeling like her feet were cement. Her eyes flash from his hand to the softness in his eyes.

"Fucking hell Y/N let's go!" John's hand outreached for her, it was shaking, matching his anger. "I'll fucking leave you here. You know, fuck it. Walk home." That hand turned into a fist... she didn't like that fist.

Hesitantly she takes it, her nervous fingers wrapping around his palm as he guided her over the edge of the stall and onto the main ground of the stable. "Thanks for letting me brush her, it was nice," she smiled, still holding his hand. She wasn't the only one who didn't let go.

"Any time, doll. How long are ya here for?"

"5 days," she responds. Not enough time, he frowned and bit the inside of his cheek.

"Well you can come down any time you'd like, Clem would like the company." I would too.

Y/N finally realized she was holding his hand, her eyes went wide and pulled away suddenly, her nervous chuckle ringing in his ears "I-I should go... thank you again Bucky."

She scurries off towards the inn, their hands still tingling. He'd never been this happy to still have nerves in his arm "God bless Wakanda tech," he praised under his breath, clenching and unclenching the hand.

"Y/N! Wait a minute," he shouts stopping her mid way. She turns and see's him standing there in the overhead light of the stable, like he was waiting for her to get there safely.

"Yeah?" she questions, matching the volume of his voice.

"While you're here you should try Happy's Diner! Best coffee in town!"

"I thought this place did?"

"Don't let Pepper convince you!"

Y/N giggles and nods "I will. Goodnight Buck."

"Goodnight, Y/N!" He watches her leave, making sure she was safely inside, she turned to catch one last glance at him making the brunette smile at her and waving her off.

It would be another hour before Natasha and Wanda returned to the room, finding their friend in the same position in the chair by the window. This time her shoes were dustier than before, black hairs visible on her cream-colored shirt. She stared at the cowboy painting on the wall in front of her like her life depended on it "What did you do all day, Y/N?" Wanda asks, tossing Y/N's phone on the bed.

She expected her to run and grab it, feverishly checking the messages John couldn't send. That reaction never came, she didn't flinch when the phone landed on the bed with a soft thud. Her mind was still a blur, Bucky was kind, he held his hand out for her and got her to the other side of the stall...he waited for her.

"This," Y/N remarks, coming out of her thoughts pointing to the chair she was occupying. The spy in the leather jacket didn't buy it, looking at the differences in her clothing and demeanor.

"Sounds like a bore," Nat sighs, deciding to let it go for a moment.

"How was the restaurant?" Y/N yawns, getting up and walking past them. The two redheads sniffed the air as she passed, it smelled like Y/N had been sleeping in a barn. Well, that was almost true.

"What the hell is that smell?" Wanda grimaced, her nose scrunching at the foul smell. Y/N stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes, she wasn't about to tell them about her time in the stable with Bucky. She brought her shirt up to her nose, fuck, it was her.

"Must be the atmosphere," she laughed it off, "I'm going to bed!" She rushes off before the accusations came and she knew they would come.

The door to the adjoining room slams shut and the girls give each other a knowing look "Twenty bucks says she smuggled Walker in here," Wanda bets.

"Nah, it was the guy with Steve. She blushed way too much to have done nothing about it."

"Fair."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #cowboy!bucky #cowboy!bucky x reader #sebastian stan imagine #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky au

[twirlywhirlywriting]

Little Tease

This is a John Murphy x Reader smut! (fem!reader and Dom!Murphy)

WARNINGS: NSFW, rough sex, choking, light bdsm, cursing

---------------------------------------------

It’s been a difficult few days after the Ark sent 100 kids down to Earth. People have kind of already grouped up and made friends, and have made some rivals as well.

You, on the other hand, blend in and you’re not really… noticed. Not in a bad way, but you keep to yourself. You would rather not be noticed and not notice others either.

There is one person you do notice though, and he sees you too. Ever since being on the drop ship, your eyes have met frequently. You always glance away, but you always feel his stare linger longer than yours.

John Murphy quickly made a name for himself, so you decided it was best to keep your distance. But for some reason, you can’t seem to stop yourself from watching him yelling his opinions and taking charge. A fire inside you burns and you feel your cheeks flush.

Tonight is different than most. As usual, you are sitting by yourself, sipping on Monty’s shitty home-made liquor, thinking about your new life on Earth. But what’s different about tonight is that you feel completely… seen. Usually you go around, completely unnoticed. Not tonight. You feel goosebumps creep onto your skin, and you feel someone staring at you. As you turn your head to look around, it’s none other than Murphy. You quickly turn away again, but it was too late. He knows you saw him.

You get up to walk away, back to your tent, to somewhere his eyes can’t make you feel that exhilarating nervousness. It’s not like you’ve never been with a guy before, but there was something different about Murphy, and you could tell. Obviously, he’s different, he’s loud and obnoxious, but that stare. The way he stares at you like he knows your every thought, like he knows all your secrets and feelings.

As you are walking towards your tent, you feel a hand grab your wrist and flip you around. You look up to see his piercing green eyes boring into you. The second your eyes meet, you were trapped. A smirk played on his lips as you ripped your hand away from his grip.

“Hey doll face, what’s the problem?” he chuckled out, “You can’t seem to take those gorgeous eyes off me, but you wanna keep running away? What, are you purposefully being a tease or something?”

You feel your cheeks flush, and your mind stumbles over what to say. You weren’t being a tease! You thought, but then again, maybe you were. Maybe you wanted him to chase you, you wanted him to want you as badly as you have wanted him. Goddamn it, but you didn’t want to want him. He’s dangerous.

You don’t get a chance to respond to his question anyways because he leans forward and whispers into your ear, “Because if you have just been teasing me, I may have to punish you.”

You let out a tiny squeak, feeling yourself get wet despite trying so hard to not want him. But you do, you want him so badly now. All this time just staring at him and watching him stare back has built up a desire in you that you don’t think you can’t stop yourself from anymore.

He chuckles at your accidental squeak, but you see his face soften for just a single second, as if to make sure you really are wanting this. “Fuck it,” you think to yourself, “I can’t pretend anymore. I want him. No, at this point, I need him.”

You feel a wave of ease and excitement wash over you as you look up at him, batting your eyelashes and letting a playful smile come across your lips. “What ever do you mean?” you ask, feigning innocence, “I would never-“

He cuts you off mid-sentence with a kiss that takes your breath away. His soft lips pressing into yours with such intent, and suddenly you feel him grab your wrist again and pull you into your tent.

Once inside, he pulls you close to him, pinning your arms behind your back and kissing you again before whispering into your ear, “Little teases get fucked extra hard, understand doll?”

You give a nod, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy him. He pulls your hair back with his other hand, his voice losing all its previous playfulness. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

Your cheeks flush again and your hips squirm slightly from the wetness growing in your pants. You whisper that you understand, but the look on his face shows he is still not satisfied with your answer. He tosses you on the bed and shoves your face down into the make-shift mattress to position your ass up and gives it a smack. A hard one. You make a little whimper as he growls, “You say ‘Yes Sir’ when talking back to me, Kitten.”

Suddenly your pants and panties are pulled off in one swift motion and you hear him sigh with content. “You’re so fucking wet and needy already.” He starts kissing your ass, sometimes with a nibble or bite mixed in, before slowly moving towards your slit. He takes his time, slowly licking up and down, avoiding the one place you need.

After a little while of this, you wiggle your hips and let out a whimpering, “Please…” which just makes him chuckle and slap your ass in response.

“What, is being teased frustrating to you?” he says, and you can just hear the evil smirk he has coming through his voice alone. Then, that voice is suddenly right next to you, in your ear. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice about teasing me again.”

You groan in frustration at his words, but quickly gasp as he has gone back down and starting licking and sucking your clit so intensely you try to move away, but he stops what he’s doing to hold your hips down and start spanking you repeatedly.

“Don’t.” Spank. “Fucking.” Spank. “Move away.” Two spanks. “From me again.” Seven hard spanks and lots of moans from you later, he flips you around onto your back, pinning your legs open, to ravage your pussy with his mouth. You do your very best to stay still, but fuck he knows what to do to you. You feel an orgasm rising quickly.

The second you start cumming your legs tremble and shake, and you use your hands to try to push his head away. You pull his hair, try to push him, try to tell him that it’s getting too intense, but the white-hot pleasure doesn’t stop. He pins your hands down and keeps going until your orgasm finally cools down.

Once he finally pulls his mouth away, you are gasping for breath, not expecting him to remove his own clothing so quickly. He is on top of you and has a hand around your throat almost immediately.

“What did I say about trying to move away from me, Kitten?” His voice is calm, but it doesn’t make you feel at ease. It is almost too calm. With his next words, his hand around your throat slowly starts to tighten. “Trying to push me away is even worse than trying to squirm away. You just seem to love to get punished, don’t you?”

His hand around your throat and what he was saying made you unaware to the fact that he was perfectly positioned already to slide inside of you. He feels how wet you are with one hand, and realizing you’re fucking soaked, he shoves himself inside of you and doesn’t give you time to adjust before going faster.

His hand on your throat tightens every time you moan, until your breathing gets a little bit difficult. Once he notices, he starts fucking you much harder and deeper, causing you to reach around and dig your nails into his back. Another orgasm builds up and he grins, feeling you tighten around him as you cum, hard. He fucks you through it, never slowing down, until another orgasm starts to rise and you cum again. Every time he makes you cum, he growls into your ear what a good girl you are.

After what seemed like countless orgasms, he finally pulls out and finishes all over your stomach and chest, ruining your shirt. He lays beside you and brings you in for a tight cuddle.

“Are you okay?” he whispers into your ear with a kiss on your head, and you nod enthusiastically.

“Yes. I am… so fucking good.” Your response makes him chuckle and he kisses you sweetly before taking off your shirt and handing you his.

“You can keep this. Let everyone in camp know whose you are.” He winked at you and you blushed. You thought this was going to be a one-time thing, but it seems like John Murphy just really wants you, only you. And he wants you to be his.

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[butterysalt]

I’m Not Going Anywhere | Sherlock x Reader

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x reader (gender neutral)

Summary: After John beats up Sherlock for being gone for the past two years, you help tend to his wounds back at Baker Street.

Word Count: 1,405

Contains: Slight post-Reichenbach angst, injury

A/N: Other fics are in the works I swear,,, Creative energy is at a small low right now. But I still wanted to be somewhat active so I pulled this one from the old archives. Personally, this one isn’t a favorite of mine. Hope you’ll enjoy either way. :)

You and Sherlock took a cab back to Baker Street. The flat still needed to be cleaned up after sitting idle for so long. The occasional sheets of dust that weren't cleaned by Mrs. Hudson remained thick on the surfaces of shelves and furniture. Generally everything there was left untouched. No one could bear to see themselves throw any of it out. A part of Sherlock Holmes lived within everyone whether or not he was still around.

You briskly wiped down the old green couch with your hand and led Sherlock to sit on it. He groaned lowly in pain as he carefully leaned back into the cushions. You frowned watching Sherlock’s sore expression. His eyes were shut tight and he hissed quietly, an arm clutching his ribs.

John did quite a number on him. It was your job to watch over him while Sherlock was gone but you supposed that no amount of pampering and comfort could bring anyone complete peace after losing their best friend — someone that meant so much to John. But you didn’t doubt that Mary would help bring him around with time. They were Holmes and Watson after all. They always figured it out no matter how much they’d like to deny it.

Sherlock eventually opened his eyes again and found you staring. He made an effort to straighten his back and relax his face as best as he could in his condition. He flashed a sarcastic smirk. His voice came out quiet and tired. “Don’t worry. I’ve looked worse.” There was that infamous wittiness you remembered so dearly.

You fought back the smile trying to creep on your face and shook your head at him. You went to the bathroom to grab some first-aid supplies. You returned to the living room with a bowl of cold water, some towels, and a first-aid kit. With everything on the coffee table beside the couch, you just stood in front of him expectantly. No words had to be exchanged for him to understand that you were waiting for his permission to help him. He smiled a little at your old habit. Always the sweetheart. Sherlock nodded lightly and you sat yourself down on a soft spot next to the detective.

His eyes followed your hands as you wrung out a small towel in the water. You dabbed the cold cloth along his long face, being sure to avoid touching the cuts and green bruises. Sherlock inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and relaxing under your care. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach seeing how calm he was with your touch. How he could fully trust you and be himself in your proximity.

Even when he was wounded and struggling to keep himself together, his mind was still racing as fast as ever. You swore you could hear how loud his thoughts were bouncing around in his head. Suddenly, the curly-haired man sighed heavily, “I thought I told you to take care of him when I left.” He was referring to John.

“I did, Sherlock.”

“Not well enough, surely,” he perked his eyebrow and immediately winced from it. You blew air in your face, huffing at his comment. “I did the best someone could do when their friend disappeared off the face of the earth for two years.” Sherlock was silent hearing this. Afraid you had struck a nerve, you scanned his face, searching for any signs of vulnerability. But he looked overall unconcerned so you decided to continue.

“He has been quite well, actually, aside from tackling you at dinner. He met Mary a few months ago and really felt something special with her… He was actually trying to propose tonight,” you said pointedly, pausing your sanitizing to give him a sharp look. Although his eyes were still shut, his lip twitched from the feeling of your gaze.

“John hasn’t been the same as before but let’s face it, no one is. We’ve all been doing the best we can; I’ve been doing the best I can.” The subtle shaking in your voice didn’t fly past him. It was safe to say that he was a big reason for your internal disturbance. He peeked an eye open and analyzed your expression.

You were focused solely on taking care of his injuries. Your brows furrowed down in concentration and your jaw clenched and unclenched ever so often. In your eyes, you were troubled. Conflict flashed and swirled within them but Sherlock could see how you suppressed those thoughts.

He knew you spent these last two years blocking out everything and marching forward. All this effort to keep yourself functioning. To keep living each day one second at a time. If it were otherwise, you would have cracked under the overwhelming pressure a long time ago. Anyone would do so. And yet here you were, still putting others before yourself like always.

Your hand accidentally brushed the cotton pad over his cheekbone. He hissed sharply and pulled his head away. You mumbled a quiet apology, “Sorry.” Your gentle hands carefully caressed his face and pushed his hair away. Along the way, you ran your fingers through his wavy locks. Sherlock leaned into your hand from the sensation.

He was reminded of how much he missed your tenderness. No matter how many harsh jabs you tried to throw at him, you were too good for him. It was a known fact to Sherlock — and one he did not choose to argue with.

His pale hand trailed along your waist as you leaned forward to patch up his wounds. Your mind was too busy to register his fond touch. Sherlock absentmindedly messed with the material of your clothes. He was soon engrossed in the feeling of the fabric wrinkling under his rough fingertips. You were still wearing your formal attire from the restaurant and Sherlock had to admit, it was a good look on you.

“You clean up nicely,” he commented. His soft tone shook you out of your immersive state. You pulled your hands away from his cuts and looked at him, baffled. “Was that a compliment I heard?” Sherlock made a small smirk and shrugged. You narrowed your eyes down at him. “...Odd hearing that from you.”

“I’m a changed man.” He smiled at you and you willingly returned it. The detective was all patched up now but you found yourself resistant to leaving that spot on the couch. Sherlock was humming deeply under the slow circles of your fingertips in his hair. You felt your chest heaving up and down as your eyes flickered along his beautiful features in the room’s dim lighting. You were his peace as he was yours. “You have no idea how much I've missed seeing your annoying face.”

“Well that's not a very good compliment,” he mumbled, on the brink of falling into a sweet slumber from your ministrations. You snorted at his casual humor, trailing your fingers around his jaw. “Yep. Definitely missed that.” He grinned in response and covered your warm hand with his, getting lost in your eyes. 

You continued to trace his features, delicately dancing around his wounds. Sherlock’s colourful eyes pierced through you and your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were blown, dilated. You could feel the vibrations of his heart pulsing through his body and over to yours when you touched him. The way he remembered to stop and breathe and all the tension in his body left when you were with him. And that’s when the realization finally settled in.

Sherlock is back. It's really him. A tear slipped from your eyes and a strangled noise gurgled in your throat. You pressed a hard kiss on his hand and curled up into his chest. He was shocked, jumping at first, startled by your sudden movement.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around your figure and rubbed your back comfortingly. He hushed you, now being the one to run his fingers through your hair. “I really did miss you, Sherlock,” you hopelessly cried into his shoulder. “It’s been so long. I’ve been so worried, you idiot.” You weakly pushed his chest but ultimately ended up hugging him.

He smiled admirably at you, pulling back briefly to return a kiss of adoration on your forehead. Then he pulled you tighter into his form, holding you more securely as he whispered into your ear. “It’s alright. I’m home now. I'm not going anywhere.”

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