#he looks so cold and unemotional

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

Fascination -  The state of being intensely interested or attracted

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #I think it is hilarious that they should go outside and than wait at the other side of the bars #I mean come on guys #it makes me so sad how everyone can't look at Vegas but Pete #he looks so cold and unemotional #and on the other hand quite curious? #so damn calm! #bl drama #thai series #thai drama #bl series #myedit

[dexlexia]

dracule - mihawk x reader

pairing: dracule mihawk x reader rating: 18+ summary: Mihawk was a warlord of the sea. He was a feared swordsman, he crossed oceans and slayed anyone who got in his way. Mihawk was a strong man, the kind of man you didn't want to face alone in a fight and to be honest even having a crew by your side wouldn't help either. Fear would be an emotion you'd feel if you were faced with him. 

But you simply knew him as - ”Dracule!“  tags: fluff, smut, injured!reader, anime canon, sweet & cute, gentle sex, multiple positions

Mihawk was a warlord of the sea. He was a feared swordsman, he crossed oceans and slayed anyone who got in his way. Mihawk was a strong man, the kind of man you didn't want to face alone in a fight and to be honest even having a crew by your side wouldn't help either. Fear would be an emotion you'd feel if you were faced with him. 

But you simply knew him as - ”Dracule!“ 

  ”Yes, my dear.“ He said as he came to the doorframe of the bedroom you both shared. In the centre of the bed lay your sick form. In all fairness you were for the most part fine, but the big bruise on your face said otherwise. 

It looked worse than it felt, but Mihawk was worried. The greatest swordsman was shaken by the fact that the person he loved had a bruise. He came closer and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out to the side of your face that wasn't bruised. 

  ”It's cold.“ You pouted. 

He leaned in and kissed you softly on the lips, ”I will get you another blanket then.“ He knew you were playing it up a little, but the worrying guilt in his stomach made it hard for him to dismiss your whining. 

He got up and went to the chest near the far wall of the bedroom that was stuffed with extra blankets and pillows. He grabbed a nice quilt that he got in the northern islands. They could keep anyone warm.

  ”Here you go.“ He said as he laid out the blanket across you. But before he could turn to leave the room, you reached out and grabbed him on the arm.

  ”Stay?” You asked. 

He exhaled, “Perona and Zoro will be wondering why dinner hasn't been made yet.“ He turned to look at you, gold eyes scanned your body that was neatly tucked under three layers of blankets. 

  ”Well the strays can fend for themselves. I want my man.” You softly smiled at your own comment. Mihawk returned the smile before he got into bed with you. He was quick to make sure no heat escaped from under the blankets as he pulled you into his arms.

  “I guess so.” He replied as he caned his neck down to kiss your on the head. He was so soft in private. So caring and warm, while most thought he was a vampire you saw the heart beneath it all. To be a warlord meant to be stoic and unemotional, but behind closed doors Mihawk was a kind lover. 

He pulled away and lifted your chin to look him in the eyes, “How is your bruise?”

  “Better. Doesn't ache.” You replied. You were a little emabressed by how you got such a big bruise. It looked like someone took a lead pipe to your face. 

  “You could've broken something. Next time you want to clean the weaponry, please get myself or one of our strays to help. I'm pretty sure Roronoa would be happy to find *something* else to do with his time rather than lift weights and drink all my liquor.“

You blushed, ”I know, Dracule.“ You snuggled up closer to him and kissed his face. You felt content and even rubbed your legs together in the sheer happiness of being close to him. Your Dracule.

  ”I worry.“ He said, ”I know you are not a weak woman, but I brought you here to protect you. I don't want the things in our home posing a risk too.“ He pushed hair out of your face to keep it away from the healing bruise. 

  ”I'll always be okay, honey.“ You said as you tangled your legs with his and moved down to press your head against his clothed chest, ”Because you're here.“ 

  ”And I will be here until my last breath, my dear.” He leaned down to kiss you on the top of the head. He wrapped those arms tighter around you and held you close. You could hear his heartbeat and you pressed both hands against his chest. When you sighed constantly, he was able to do the same. 

There were not many things he held dear in this world but as he held you so close to him, he felt like everything worth fighting for was nestled in his arms. Despite being injured, you were as perfect as ever. A dream in his eyes. 

Eventually you moved further up the bed to look into his eyes. You reached out for him and placed a hand on his face. You rubbed your hand against his facial hair and you smiled at him. 

  ”My Dracule.“ You said, ”The bravest swordsman, the scary warlord. But I could never be afraid of you.“ You leaned in and kissed him on the lips. 

  ”And I will do everything in my power to never make you afraid of me. I care for you too deeply, my soul is tied with yours in this world and the next. I will fight in my dying breath to protect you.“ 

You felt the heat rise into your cheeks from his endearing words. He sounded like an old poet when he spoke, but the low rumble of his voice paired with the closeness to you made you feel more loved then with any other man. 

You kissed again, and he held onto you tighter. So close, so intimate that it left a swirl of warmth in your gut. When you pulled away from his lips you went to his ear and asked, ”I want to be closer, Dracule.“ 

  ”Then closer we shall be.” He replied as he started to unbutton his shirt. He watched you with careful eyes as you undressed as well. He observed every mark on your skin. He breathed deeply through his nose as he continued to get undressed. 

Soon you were both nude. Your hands explored his body, the expanse of muscle and the admiring every mark on his body. Even though the scars were old, you could see them faintly. You pressed another kiss against his lips and felt your heart flutter in your chest. It was a euphoric feeling, the ability to be so close to him. 

He was godsent. He placed a hand on your ass and gave it a firm squeeze as you two kissed. It got warmer under the covers as the two of you felt each other up. He groaned into the kiss when you softly touched his cock. 

He shuddered when you grasped onto it and gave a firm stroke. But he quickly deepened the kiss and continued to passionately make out with you. The heat in the room rose as he explored your body with his soft hands. 

Despite his use of a sword he always kept his hands so soft. But they were strong and his grip could be bruising. You moaned into the kiss as he grabbed your ass once more and massaged the cheek with his palm.

  “Does that feel good?" He asked, “Do you like that?”

 “I love it, Dracule.” You moaned into the kiss. When you pulled away you kicked the covers to the bottom of the bed and wrapped your leg around his waist as you continued to feverishly make out with you.

Mihawk loved when you liked this. A normal poised, in control woman succumbed to the deep desire of her lover. It was almost endearing how badly you wanted him. He knew your heart was racing. 

  “You look divine.” He said as he held onto the thigh that was at his waist and stroked the warm soft skin. He traced patterns into your skin while the two of you kissed. The soft sounds of your kissing filled the room. 

  “Dracule.” 

  “Mmm, yes.” 

His touch became more aggressive the more you made out. And soon he was moving you onto his lap with his cock pressed against your ass. His hands at your hips, he rubbed circles into your left hip with his thumb as you adjusted yourself onto his lap. 

  “You look divine too.” 

  “Thank you.” He said, he tensed up as you raised your hips and seated yourself onto his cock. He held onto your hips tightly as you got comfortable. He exhaled deeply but it got caught in his throat however when you started to move your hips.

  ”Like that?“ You asked.

  ”Yes, you are doing perfect.“ He replied as he moved his hips. He rolled them against you as you moved in return. His heat raced in his chest as he felt your tight heat around his cock. He tried to hold back his noises for the sake of the others in the castle but that plan was soon abandoned when the pleasure became insurmountable as you continued to move up and down his length.

  ”Ah!“ You moaned, ”Dracule.“ You placed both hands on his toned chest to keep yourself stable as you rode him. You moaned and moved your hips as you felt the pleasure well up in your gut. You loved having sex with Dracule, it was an intense feeling that you couldn't put words to. 

He looked at you with such tenderness, such commitment to his cause. The cause of loving you, to be a loyal man to you. You leaned down and kissed him once more as you rolled your hips. You were a tight fit around him, but he found the feeling quite amazing. 

Pleasure roamed through both of your bodies as you passionately made out. Like two halves of the same whole, a perfect fit for one another. You felt your heat hammer in your chest as you continued to move with Mihawk matching your pace. The kiss deepened as you moved. 

The pleasure was an immense feeling, the sounds of sex filled the room ad most likely bothering your other guests. But in that moment neither of you cared, you only wanted one another. You only wanted the rush of pleasure that came from being in bed with the warlord himself. 

  ”You are a gift.“ He said, ”The gift I want to unwrap over and over again and devour your bearings. I want to worship where you stand and be loyal till I am nothing more than a pile of bones.“

You smiled and pressed your forehead to his while you continued to move your hips, “Good thing, Dracule.” He said, “I'm not going anywhere.”

  “Excellent.“ He said as he kissed you once more. He groaned against your lips as he matched your pace. His cock was nudging against your sweet spot as you both felt the wash of pleasure over both of you.  ”A sight to behold.“ He added as he pressed his forehead against yours. His breathing was ragged. He could feel the sweat on his body as he held you against him. 

  ”Dracule.“ You said in a slightly higher voice as you felt the curl of orgasm in your gut. The overwhelming feeling of pleasure.

  "I am not going anywhere, dear.' He said, ”As you say, we are stuck together.“ He grabbed you by the hair and held your head back as he gazed into your eyes with devotion. 

  ”Please.“ You said.

  ”Always.“ He replied as he quickly moved you over so you were on your stomach with your ass in the air, facing him. He sank into you once more, the pleasure still swirled in his gut. He watched you grip the pillow as he started to fuck you. 

You moaned into the soft pillow under your head as he moved quickly against you. The slapping sound of sex was dominant in the room as he made quick work to make you orgasm. 

With another hard thrust, he finished inside of you but kept the pace of his thrusts until you came as well. Then slowly his pace ended and he pulled out. He grabbed you in his arms and laid in bed with you. Your bare bodies are exposed to the cooling bedroom air. 

  ”How was that?" He asked, “Does your face hurt?”

  “No, no, Dracule. Everything is perfect.' You sighed contently in his arms. You felt at peace, even in the care of the most feared swordsman. He may be Mihawk to most, but to you he will always be - “Dracule~”

#dexlexia writes #reader insert #anime x reader #mihawk x reader #mihawk one piece #one piece mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #dracule mihawk #op mihawk #darcule mihawk #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece smut #oneshot

[amasterpieceofmadness]

comfort – bucky b.

pairings Bucky Barnes x reader

summary Bucky had a nightmare and you find him sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the night. You being there for him and comforting him makes you two confess your feelings for each other which ends in total fluff

wordcount 2.6K

warnings fluff, slight angst, Bucky needing comfort

______________________________________________________________

Bucky had a nightmare in the middle of the night so he got up and went to the kitchen. He leaned against the counter but after a few minutes footsteps are heard. You walk into the kitchen and frown as you can see Bucky standing there, leaning against the counter. His eyes widen at your presence and he raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing up?” he murmurs, his his voice husky from just waking up.

You shrug and look at him a bit concerned as you walk into the kitchen, leaning against the counter across from him. “Heard some noise, wanted to check. Why are you here?”

Bucky smirks and rests his weight on the counter, crossing his arms "I was hungry...I went to get something to eat" He replies, his eyes are tired and his face is a mask...cold and unemotional.

You let out a soft sigh. You knew him too well to believe that. “So... what did you eat?”

He gives you a deadpan look and you can tell that he is lying "cereal..."

You nod, looking around for some used dishes or anything, but there is nothing to be seen. “And now?”

Bucky’s lips twitch as he turns away, facing the opposite direction to you. You can tell he doesn't want to answer...that there is something else going on that he is hiding. You lean against the counter across from him, looking at him softly. “I know you are not big of a talker. But I'm here for you, okay?”

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, you can tell he needs a moment to breathe, but when he opens them, his expression is unchanged. nothing seems to bother him and he shrugs "I'm good"

You give him a weak smile “I know you better than that, Bucky…”

Bucky bites his lip from frustration...you know he is lying but you can't tell why. He remains quiet and distant as he stares ahead.

After a few minutes of silence you push yourself away from the counter, reaching out your hand for him to take and shooting him a soft smile “Come.”

Bucky stares at your hand for a moment. He doesn't move, nor does he flinch, you can tell his body language is cold and closed off, yet his heart is beating out of his chest as he thinks about taking your hand. He doesn't want to open up but at the same time he does. So he reluctantly takes your hand. You smile gladly as he takes your hand. His is a lot bigger than yours and you can feel his calloused skin, yet his touch is gentle and soft. You pull him with you towards the couch and sit down next to each other.

Bucky feels a rush of warmth as he sits down next to you. His muscles relax and he leans back into the couch. It's almost as if his guard and mask are slowly starting to fade. As if this was exactly what he needed… you. It has been so long since anyone has cared about him. You look at him, smiling softly as you get comfortable on the couch as well. “We don't have to talk. But there is no way I'm gonna believe you are fine”

He sighs and I closes his eyes, not wanting to look at you just yet. His mask is starting to fade, as if you were the key. If you were anyone else, he likely would not have let his guard down. But his heart is beating out of his chest as he realizes you are the key that could unlock that guard. He lets out a soft breath and relaxes his body even more, glad you are there but aren’t trying to push him.

You sit there for a couple of minutes in silence. You don't want to push him and if he doesn't want to talk that's fine. But you want to be there for him because you know he needs this right now. After a while he speaks up nonetheless. His voice is husky and his words are quiet. He talks in a slow pace, almost as if talking about it drains him "I just...I had a nightmare...a bad one..."

You look at him comforting, yet a bit concerned “Another one?”

He presses his lips together and nods slightly "another one..." 

You stay silent for a minute before speaking up again, asking carefully "About... our past?"

He looks away and lets out a shaky breath. He wants to refuse and reject, just shut down, hide everything. But he can't. This is you, his safe space. So he nods slightly.

A look of sorrow crosses your face. Even though you want to hug him right now and reassure him that he is not alone, you keep your distance. You know he has difficulties with physical contact so you don't want to push his boundaries “I'm sorry...”

Bucky raises his head to look at you. He holds onto your hand as if for dear life. His hand is bigger and his grip is stronger, but gentle at the same time, not wanting to harm you or make you feel uncomfortable. He closes his eyes and shakes his head as sorrow fills him. Your thumb starts to softly caress the back of his hand as he holds yours.

It's been so long since he have felt this comfortable with someone that he does something that he would normally never do. His thumb curls and rests in your palm, almost like the two are holding each other in a comforting way. His heart beats faster and he lets out a soft breath. He is starting to feel something. A feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time. His eyes are still shut, muscles tense yet his body is relaxing. He is almost starting to want you to hug him, but he stays silent.

A smile crosses your face as you look down at your hands. Bucky seems all cold and distant, but in reality this though guy is a huge teddy bear, needing comfort so badly.

Bucky holds onto your hand, not wanting to let go. He’s so used to hiding himself that he almost didn't know what true comfort felt like. He’s almost afraid to say it but he’s starting to crave your touch.

As Bucky looks up our eyes meet and you give him a soft and tender look. You can see the pain in his eyes and you are once again tempted to hug him “Your hand feels nice...”

His cheeks flush just slightly, not red, just a slight pink. He smirks a bit and looks away as he shakes his head, not believing what you just said. His hand is rough and his grip strong, yet you find it nice. He looks down at your hand in his and realizes how small yours is. "you're not scared of me, are you?"

You frown “Scared? Why... why would I be scared of you?”

"Because... because I'm me. I'm the winter soldier. I'm a trained assassin, and I don't think I can love like a normal person...I don't know how to..."

You scoot a bit closer to him and get more serious now at his words. You look directly into his eyes as and answer him “You are James Bucky Barnes. And whatever you did in your past, that wasn't you.”

Bucky nods slowly and his eyes are locked onto yours, they are deep and he is starting to drown in your beautiful eyes. A warm feeling starts to fill his chest. He is getting closer to the edge that will have him fall off this mask. He wants to say it, tell you how he feels, but he couldn’t. His voice is shaky as he replies "how can you be sure?"

“Because you may seem a bit cold and distant. But I know it's only a mask you are wearing, a wall you build up to protect yourself. But in your eyes there is still this young man from the 40s, from before all of that horror, who just wants to love and be loved” I tell him, smiling tenderly and lovingly at him.

His breathing is shallow and he feels like his walls are starting to crumble, his mask is falling apart. He looks at you and smiles, his voice shakes even more "what if the walls are too thick...what if they can never be broken down..."

You smirk softly at him, motioning to your intertwined hands. “You sure they can't be broken down?”

Bucky chuckles softly and his hand squeezes yours. His thumb strokes the top of your hand and he looks away, lowering his gaze. "perhaps not...but are you ready to put the work and patience into breaking down these walls?"

“Seems like I already am” You shoot a soft smile into his direction.

A soft laugh escapes his lips as he notices a hint of a blush across your cheeks. His breath steadies and his muscles relax a little bit further. He looks at you and you can tell he’s starting to feel weak from your touch. Your smile widens as you hear his soft laugh, it makes your heart flutter.

"how am I this weak...just your touch and I melt...just your words and my guard starts to crumble...just your smile and my heart starts to flutter..."

You chuckle softly at his words. “I wouldn't call this weak, but... I can tell you that you have the same effect on me”

His breath gets more shallow and his cheeks are pink. His eyes are locked with yours as he continues with a quiet tone "do you realize just how much you mean to me?"

As he speaks those words you look up at him surprised. Did you hear this right? “I... You... what?”

He keeps his eyes locked with yours as he speak. a warm feeling fills his chest, almost as if his heart is about to melt. He smiles softly as he repeats his words "you mean everything to me, Y/n"

Your eyes widen at his words. He has no idea what that means to you and you can feel your heart beating out of your chest “And you mean everything to me”

The feeling in his heart intensifies. He is getting weaker with each word. He can’t tear his eyes away from you. Though he is still afraid. He looks away and whispers softly "...promise me you won't leave me..."

“I promise, you won't get rid of me so easily” You chuckle softly at him, squeezing his hand a bit tighter as your heart is beating faster. You are so close to each other.

Bucky feels so vulnerable and yet so safe. He looks back at you “Hold me, please…”

You let go of his hand just to move closer to him, finally wrapping your arms around his neck slowly and carefully. He lets out a soft sigh as you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. Bucky wraps his arms around you as well, holding you tightly. The feeling of your soft body against his is comforting and relieving. He closes his eyes and buries his face into your neck, wanting to be as close as possible to you. You can feel him slowly relax into your embrace.

After a while you pull away just slightly, your arms still around his neck, as you look into his eyes and smile softly. You lean in slowly, your lips just inches apart. You hesitate, as if not sure wether he wants this or if it’s too much for him.

Bucky notices you leaning in and he wants to give you a soft kiss. He notices you hesitate and a wave of emotions rushes over him as he doesn’t want to mess this up. He takes a deep breath before speaking “Can I…?”

You nod, feeling a bit nervous now. His heart races as he take the last step, his eyes close and his lips close the gap between you. His breath catches as you hold this kiss and there are no words to describe this moment. The kiss is short, yet passionate and loving. As you pull apart your faces stay close to each other, looking into each other’s eyes.

His breath catches and his lips are slightly parted. He leans in again to kiss you again and this time he lingers. When he pulls away he leans his forehead against yours and whispers "I...I like that..."

“Me too” You smile at him widely and a small blush appears on your cheeks as you look down.

He looks at your cheeks and notices the blush. He doesn't want to break this moment. So he leans in once again and kisses you, this time, he goes slow. He takes his time and doesn't pull away. His hands caress your jaw softly.

After a while you pull apart in need of air. Your face is completely red as you look at him, his eyes soft and loving.

“You’re blushing” Bucky says with a smirk playing on his lips.

A chuckle leaves your lips and you feel yourself blushing even more due to his words and his charming smile. “Yeah... I know”

He can't take his eyes away from your blushing cheeks. You look so cute to him, his eyes sparkle as he looks at you "do you realize how cute you look when you're flustered?"

“Do I?” You look up at him a bit shyly.

His eyes are dancing back and forth as he look at you. His smile is bigger and he can feel his heart beating faster and harder. every kiss and every touch is starting to melt him inside. His hands caress your neck as he moves up to kiss your jaw, his breath soft and sensual "oh yes...yes you do..."

You can't stop yourself from smiling at his soft and tender touch His fingertips are tracing over your skin, causing a shiver down your spine.

Bucky notices your shiver and can't help but grin. He slowly moves his hands down your neck and as his fingers trace your collarbone, they gently move up to your chin. He pulls your face to his and looks into your eyes as he moves in to kiss you softly again. He swallows as he tries to find the right words. “Y/n?” He asks, his voice quiet.

You look at him curiously as you notice a change in his expression. “yeah?”

“…I think I’m falling for you” His words hit you right into your heart. Did you hear that right? Was he actually confessing his feelings right now?

“Can you… Can you say this again?” You say, not believing your own ears anymore.

Bucky smiles and puts his hand softly onto your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin softly as he looks into your eyes. “I’m falling for you, Y/n”

Your mouth drops. You had heard him right. Without hesitation you answer him, a huge smile across your face “The feeling is mutual”

You can see Bucky’s face lighting up as you say those words, his heart melts and he can’t help himself but lean in and kiss you again and he puts all the love into this kiss. He pulls away slightly and breaths against your lips “Be mine, please” He looks at you with pleading eyes.

You can only nod “I am already yours, Bucky” You can see the happiness in his eyes and this time you lean in to kiss him another time. You forget the world around you as you sit there on the couch, holding each other close. And he just made you the happiest girl in the world.

A/N Here is my complete masterlist with all the ff, imagines, oneshots, smut and whatever. Check it out and leave a like :)

#marvel #mcu #oneshots marvel #buckybarnes #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #marvel x reader #mcu bucky barnes #fluff #marvel fluff imagine #marvel imagine #sebastian stan

[capricornlevi]

no surprises - toji x reader

wc 1.6k - hitman!toji x mobwife!reader, fem!reader, strangers to lovers -dark elements (but not really related to sex -- toji breaks into reader's house to assassinate mob husband), cheating (technically -- reader's husband is a piece of shit lol)

nsfw, mdni

Toji hates it when his hits have wives or girlfriends.

As cruel a bastard as he may be, the thought of unnecessary collateral makes him uneasy to say the least. It's messy, too, unnecessary and uncomfortable. When one of his targets has a wife there's a sure guarantee she'll be by his side more often than not. It increases the risk for all parties, whether they know of their involvement or not.

He wonders why these men never have the decency to get a divorce before involving themselves in shit like this.

And so, as he carefully picks the lock to your kitchen window, he hopes that tonight's job is clean. That you'll stay out of his way.

Kill the guy, clean up, and ideally, get out without even waking you.

So imagine his surprise when he makes his way inside as planned, turns down the hallway to get to the bedroom he's so carefully mapped this past week, only to find you standing pyjama-clad in the hallway with arms crossed, looking at him with an expression one could only describe as inconvenienced.

"He's not here," you mumble, the words laced with sleep but still pointed.

Toji prides himself on being quick on his feet, but in this rare instance, he's lost for words. He doesn't even draw his weapon.

"Uh ... hm ... what?" he finally decides, though the words leave him without much active decision-making on his part, spilling out into the cold night air.

"He's not here," you repeat, enunciating each word slowly. "Did you not hear me? Though that would explain why you made such a fucking racket breaking in."

"What the fuck-"

"And you're replacing that lock, by the way," you spit, eyes heated with frustration as you give him a once over. "I heard you give up and break it."

Toji's head could explode right here and now. How has this ... this cannot be happening ... he's carried out hits numbering in the three digits, and not one target has ever seen him coming, much less the wife of some low-ranking gangster who stole the wrong amount of money from the wrong people.

Still, you don't shy away from him, keeping your gaze fixed on his increasingly confused face.

"What do ya mean he isn't here?" Toji huffs then, finally realising the futility of this situation. Standing there stupidly isn't going to improve his image, he needs to cut to the chase. "Is he out?"

You huff a laugh. "You could say that."

He arches a scarred brow. "He's dead?"

"May as well be," you answer plainly, devoid of any sympathy or grief. "Kicked him out on Sunday. Tried to steal my engagement ring and then went after my parents, mumbling some shit about collecting their life insurance policy even though the idiot isn't even named on it. So I made a call and the name of his hotel is with your bosses now."

"Then why didn't they--"

You roll your eyes, exasperated. "How should I know? They probably sent some other guys to the hotel and kept you here in case that worm came wriggling back."

Toji's not sure why, but he believes you -- probably because of the unafraid, unemotional manner in which you're delivering this information. As though you're a teacher scolding him for a failed assignment.

He releases his grip on the weapon tucked at his hip -- he doesn't even remember at which point he went to grab it -- silently swearing at a wasted evening.

Sure, he'll still get the flat rate for a call-out like this one, but if he has proof of death he gets triple pay. He could really use that this month; he likes having his lights stay on for longer than forty-eight hours at a time, and figured tonight would've been an easy job, particularly with how stupidly your husband has been acting these last few months.

"Uh ... okay. Sorry for inconveniencin' ya," he mumbles, figuring it best to leave now without wasting either of your time any further.

He could stay here and argue more, but he's not in the mood. He needs to get back. Plus, he's already disrupted your night enough -- as curtly as you've addressed him these past few minutes, he can't say he doesn't see where your frustration is coming from.

In this short interaction, he's developed a sort of begrudging respect for this woman who views an assassination attempt in the same way most would view a parking ticket.

"Wait!" you call out just as he turns around. He hesitates -- though you don't seem like the type to call the police given your knowledge of your husband's business.

Maybe you're not finished giving him shit for this embarrassment of a botched assignment?

"Yeah?" he answers dutifully, brushing his hair from his eyes with a tired swipe of his hand, turning back to face you.

"Want to have a drink with me?" you ask straight-forwardly, arms still crossed and expression unmoving. "He left his 20-year whiskey behind, and I haven't had new company since he weaselled his way into my life."

"I-"

"If you've nothing better to do, anyway."

This woman ...

He has never had as difficult a time reading someone in his entire lie.

"Well?" you press, a hint of impatience growing in that beautiful voice. "What do you want to do?"

Surprise once against takes precedence over any other emotion in Toji's body.

Tonight couldn't get any weirder. He's sure of it.

Except it definitely can, as he discovers just thirty minutes later, with you sitting atop him as he's spread out on your bed, riding him so hard the bed rattles against the wall.

This is a little fucked up. You both know it. He came here to kill your husband, but it's so hard for him to care about minor details like that when he sees how your tits bounce with every thrust upwards, how your face looks when it's torn in pleasure.

Your husband is a bigger idiot than he thought.

You haven't been touched like this in a long time, haven't had someone's hands on you like you deserve, and that thought enrages him for some reason.

His focus for tonight has shifted entirely. He's no longer out to kill, to hurt, his one responsibility is to make you cry out on his cock, on his tongue, on his fingers, until both of your voices are worn out and hoarse.

You're so pretty like this, so responsive to every twirl of his thumb and jerk of his hips.

Though -- and he hates to admit it -- you're exerting some control over him as well. His well-worn self-discipline is being tested like never before. On your couch just a few minutes ago, with his mouth spread against you and your leg tossed over his shoulder, you had managed to then manoeuvre yourself until your fist was wrapped around his cock, your pretty fingers stroking him until his breaths sounded choked and desperate, until a flush spread up his chest to his neck and jawline.

He had to still your wrist to keep from coming all over his own chest. That would lose him any shred of credibility he had left.

He's obsessed with the way you kiss him, too, so hungry and desperate with no sign of that earlier unshakability you possessed. He's sure you still have yourself in some semblance of control -- though he barely knows you, he knows you wouldn't relent that quickly -- but you release yourself a little, sinking into it with a quiet moan that sends ripples up his spine.

And now, with your hips sitting flush against his own, it's hard to imagine caring about a single other thing than the sight of his cock disappearing inside you.

You take him so well, every inch of him, knowing exactly what to say to drive him insane. In turn, he learns what he can from your reactions, each microexpression showing him how you like to be touched.

You toss your head back, that beautiful throat gulping down gasps of air in between cries of Toji's name, shoulders tight with the tension of keeping yourself seated on him.

He gives you more when you ask for it, pumping up into you and relishing the answering groans and mewls of pleasure.

(Honestly, he'd give you anything you wanted from him. He'd give you the shirt off his back if you requested it with those pretty doe eyes and your lips curled into that sly little smile.)

A familiar heat curls in his stomach but in a way he's entirely unfamiliar with; usually, it builds slowly and reliably, bit by bit, but this time it rises erratically and without any sign of when he's approaching the edge.

This is dangerous. You're dangerous for him, you have him in the palm of your hand and hold the ability to crush him into tiny pieces if you so wish. It scares him while also sending pulses of pleasure straight to his cock, coupled with the feeling of your throbbing clit as he circles it with his thumb --

Thankfully, you fall apart at the same time, spasms of pleasure overtaking every single thought in either of your heads.

As you settle into the afterglow, Toji is in no rush to move you or shift himself. He runs a roughened hand over your thigh, the skin smooth as silk, marvelling at how you shiver under the touch.

He just looks up at you, that hint of confusion from earlier still present but accompanied by something else.

Strange, he thinks to himself. Not a wasted evening after all.

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #i have no thoughts in this empty brain of mine #may tries to write #toji x you

[sp25]

in the trunk

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

summary: you do it in the trunk with your lieutenant, Ghost

warnings: 18+ this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy or use ai on my shit, i'll find out. consists of kissing, sex (m&f), name calling, slight breeding kink, cumming inside, cursing. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

a/n: another one. yes. took me a lot of time. please comment and reblog. It really encourages me to write more smut for yall. Please! I’m desperate ;( also inspired by another character ai response. This time it was a character called “Ghost” by @Faunnaa. Please go and support them too. (also please dm me, im bored)

You had been a part of the Task Force 141 for about 2 years now. You had developed a pretty close bond with your comrades. But, you always had your eye on one specific person, Ghost. To an outsider, he might seem like a ruthless, heartless, unemotional person but, you understood and related to him. You felt his pain when no one else did.

You worked with Ghost but, you didn’t have a close relationship to him like Soap did. You always dreamt to be with him though it seemed like those dreams would stay dreams forever.

Until, Task Force 141 was sent on a mission hours away, the military trucks loaded with soldiers. The mission was smooth, until one of your men made the wrong move and jeopardized the whole operation, forcing you to flee almost immediately.

Everyone was running to the trucks and you just so happened to be one of the last along with Ghost. No actual seats were left, so you had to resort to the trunk. “Bloody hell..” He cursed, Before jumping in and pulling you onto his lap to reserve space.

You were shocked. You hadn’t excepted this. You couldn’t believe what Ghost just did. You had no say. But you knew better than arguing or going against him so, you stayed quiet while you sat in his lap.

Soon, you started feeling congested. To get more comfort, you started changing your position. “fucking hell..” Ghost groaned under his breath. He held onto your hips and forced you to stay still on his lap with your head on his chest.

Ghost didn’t say a word. He was pissed off and annoyed at the whole situation of the mission being cancelled. He didn’t like being in a position of weakness. But he also couldn’t deny the fact you were on his lap. He knew you hadn’t had the best day either so he kept quiet. You felt his chest move slowly, as he breathed.

But, the day wasn’t so good for you either. Your closet friend, Sam and more had gotten injured and killed during the failed mission. You were heartbroken. But, seemingly, Ghost’s warmth and hold seemed to comfort you. You needed more now.

“ghost? could you please hold me?” You sniffled, hoping he would accept. You knew that your lieutenant would make fun of you. You waited for your embarrassment to come.

Ghost wasn’t one for displays of affection at all. But he saw you were sad. He wasn’t that much of a dick to blow you off this time. You felt him move his body slightly to face you whilst holding you. He put a hand on the bottom of your chin and lifted you up. Your eyes met, the moonlight pouring in from the cracks of the trunk illuminated him.

You looked up at him with your glossy teary eyes into his cold emotionless ones. “Come on, get it together.” He said bluntly, in his trademark gravelly accent. “A soldier doesn’t fall apart just because of a cancelled mission.” He had the same stone face he always wore. But there was a subtle softness behind his cold demeanor, he cared.

You could feel his cold heart’s walls slowly crumbling. So you decided to take advantage of it. “I feel so scared..” you whispered under your breath. You couldn’t control your emotions anymore.

“Don’t worry, I’m here..” He mumbled, sounding slightly warmer than usual. He pulled your head onto his chest, where he continued to caress your cheek.

His touch seemed to send waves of goosebumps to your skin. You could feel your heart racing. “I don’t want to be alone today..” you softly said, hiding your face in his chest.

Ghost’s gaze shifted downwards, the sound of your breath was soothing. He couldn’t deny how pretty you looked in this position. In the back of his mind he knew that this was wrong, as a soldier he shouldn’t be getting distracted by something like this. But he also couldn’t help but feel the heat of your skin against his own.

“Shh, you’re not alone now..” He muttered, pulling himself closer in the cramped space. You felt his arm wrap around your lower back, pulling you into his embrace. His touch was tender, which was a side to him you hadn’t seen before. In all honesty, the whole situation was sweet. A comforting presence in a place where you felt vulnerable, all the whilst you were held by someone so attractive.

“No one else can see us right?” You whispered carefully. You knew that if anyone saw you both, in this position, it would destroy both of your careers.

“Nope.. unless somebody can open this damn trunk..” He sighed. “Even then, what are they gonna do? Tell on us to our Lieutenant?” He chuckled with a slight smirk. This was his ‘flirty’ side, he was testing the waters.

For the first time after a while, you smiled. “you ain’t wrong there.” You laughed softly as you said that, which made Ghost smile too. Gosh, his smile sent your fucking heart dead. You just couldn’t believe that he smiled.

“I feel like I should kiss you..” That was a little too forward. He realised that the moment the words slipped out of his lips. You felt the heat rise and your heart racing, but for some reason you actually wanted him to do it. A tiny smile played on your lips.

You had never imagined that your dreams would become a reality. You knew you had achieved what you desired. You softly nodded your head, unable to form a response cause how much you were blushing.

“That’s all the yes I need..” He softly said before leaning towards you and pressing his lips on yours. It was everything you could have imagined and more. The feeling of his strong hands, his body against yours, and his kiss sent you into a trance. His scent was intoxicating, along with the feeling of his rough tongue against yours. His hand ran through your hair, as he held you close. This was your dream come into reality.

You both were meant for each other. You held onto his armour as the kiss became more heated. His kiss made your already desperate pussy more wet. You moaned softly.

You broke the kiss and glanced at him, your gaze locked with his. You felt as if you were still in a trance, he had swept you off your feet. “You want me now..?” He whispered, a smirk played on his lips. You were speechless. This was like a movie scene, in a good way. A good soldier, a sexy, charismatic man, and a mission gone bad. Couldn’t get better really.

“Yes.” You whispered with such surety. You were never ever going back to being away from Ghost ever again.

“This is a bad idea..” He mumbled, but he also knew it was too late now. He pulled you in for another kiss. This time it was much more intense and you could practically see the sparks between you.

He picked you up, and shifted you around in the trunk in order to find a more comfortable position. You didn’t even care how tight it was by this point. He sat you on his lap, and moved himself so he had his back against one wall, and his legs against the other. He then pulled you close again, and kept kissing you.

He smirked and pulled you closer in his arms. The tension had built up throughout the day, but now those feelings had resurfaced once more. His hand gently brushed your cheek, and ran through your hair. He was a little rough, but it was what you liked.

You could feel his bulge against your thighs. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours. “going to let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours solider?” He whispered smirking.

“yes sir..” you responded blushing. Ghost pulled away from the kiss briefly. “Are you sure? We’re in a.. trunk.” He mumbled, not even sure himself what he was saying. You just nodded your head unable to form words.

“Such a good girl for me”, He smirked as he unzipped his pants, pulling out his hard throbbing cock making it hit his abdomen.

You in amazement, put your hand on it and started stroking it as his precum got over your hands. You could feel how hard it is and how it twitched in your hands. You realised he needed you as much as you needed him.

“take it off.” He ordered. You know exactly what he meant. You pulled down your tight leggings revealing your lacy black lingerie underneath.

“fuck..” he muttered under his breath. He pressed his fingers over your wet panties. “so wet for me love..”, he softly pushed aside your panties so he could have access to your needy cunt.

“Alright..” His hand traveled down your body and caressed your thigh. He kissed your neck and then gently nibbled your earlobe. He felt your breathing speed up, and took it as a sign that you were enjoying what he was doing. He continued to kiss your neck gently, nibbling softly with his lips, and then your chin. A soft moan left your lips, and he smirked.

He held onto your hips tightly that you were sure that it would leave bruises. He moved you so that you were right on top his cock.

He slowly pulled you down on his hard cock. You moaned softly feeling his cock stretching you out so blissfully. You could feel how thick his girth was.

He kept pulling you down in his cock until he was all in while he kept muttering curse words cause how tight and wet your pussy wet for him.

He started kissing you passionately and aggressively as he started thrusting into you but ensuring that his cock went fully inside each time making you moan.

“so fucking tight for me..” He groaned into your ears as his thrusts seemed to get more aggressive and faster. But, your moans seemed to get louder so he pressed his hand tightly against your mouth. “shh..” he whispered in your ears as his cock went so deep and hard into you.

You were going dumb cause how good it felt. His cock was hitting the right spots each time. He spanked your ass couple of time before he started playing with your clit too now.

You were a mess. Your mind was clouded with thoughts about him only. He kept muttering and whispering sweet nothing in your ears, while he kept his hand pressed against your mouth.

But, suddenly you felt his slams into your hips become harder, you knew he was about to cum. “gonna let me cum in your wet fertile cunt for me? yeah love?”, you nodded your head unable to form words.

“cum for me love, cum.” You immediately felt yourself cum as your eyes rolled back in pleasure. You could felt the hot thick spurts of his cum fill your womb. He kept thrusting in you softly as you both rode out your high.

He laughed softly and smiled. So did you. His eyes had a hint of lust still present in them. Round 2 was just about to begin.

The rest of the ride was filled with soft laughter and heavy breathing. After it was done, Ghost looked at you affectionately. “Well.. that was something.” He chuckled.

He slowly pulled out of you and you could see him cum leaking out your pussy. Ghost watched it with fascination as he softly pressed his fingers on your leaking hole and whispered in your ears, “can’t let a drop go to waste..”

You smiled softly and whispered, “I can’t believe we fucked in a trunk.”

“And nobody will ever find out. We really have to keep this a secret. We’re in the same unit, that would be bad..” He whispered, he wanted to be with you. The mission meant nothing now, in his mind he had already decided he wanted you. In his head, he knew the chances were small, but he was going to make his move now, and see how you reacted.

“I know..” you whispered. “You don’t look upset about it..” He smirked, the moonlight still pouring in to illuminate his gorgeous face. He tilted his head up slightly, studying you with a smirk. He could see your cheeks were red, and your hair was slightly disheveled. Even if you looked like a mess, you looked adorable to him.

“What can I do, I can’t seem to stay away from you..” you smiled blushing. This was the answer he had been waiting for. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Really?” He chuckled nervously. The answer was obvious but he wanted to hear you actually say it. You were a good girl and he was a bad boy, and he knew that. He felt guilty by doing this to you but it was too late, he couldn’t deny himself what he wanted.

Before you could respond, the truck came to a halt and you heard the engine turn off. Then the sound of multiple boots hitting the floorboard was heard. “Everyone out! We’re back at base..” one of your fellow soldiers yelled. You and Ghost both looked at each other awkwardly. You had spent the past few hours making love (more like fucking like rabbits), now you were being greeted with the outside world again.

The truck had reached its destination, base camp. You felt sad. Reality hit you like a literal truck. “well this was fun..” you whispered trying for sound not sad, you opened the trunk.

“Mhmm.” Was all he was able to reply with. He was deep in thought. His heart was saying to ask you out, but his mind knew it wasn’t the right time. “Right.. Uhm I should go and debrief with the others. I’ll see you around okay.” He got up and took a step outside the truck.

“okay.” You muttered as you admired him. You didn’t know when you would get the chance tone this close to him again so you kept looking at him, memorising his face.

You softly got out of the trunk and stood on the ground. You felt so sore and it was tough for you to walk. You could feel his cum still inside of you.

You heard the click of the truck trunk closing and then you were alone. Slowly, you dusted off your uniform. You wanted to be angry with him, but deep down you secretly enjoyed the afternoon. You were just starting to get over him when you spotted him. Ghost was walking over to his tent, he noticed you looking at him. He shot you a wink, and then disappeared. You sighed and made your way back to your tent.

#simon ghost x you #simon riley imagine #simon ghost smut #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost cod #ghost #ghost x reader #ghostsoap #ghost mw2

[emeritusemeritus]

Call me by your name [Fred Weasley x Malfoy!Reader]

Pairing: FredWeasley x Malfoy!Reader

Timeline: OOTP, reader and twins are in their 7th year.

Summary: Malfoy!Reader had been successfully hiding her secret relationship with Fred Weasley for years. What happens when Fred no longer wants to hide? Cue angsty breakup and makeup fic!

Warnings: Mentions of deatheaters, Umbitch, negative commentary of status and wealth. House divide, negative talk of Slytherins. Abusive parents. Sorry Narcissa, I actually like you. Mentions of arranged marriages, swearing, public declarations of love. DA and inquisitorial squad mentions.

Word count: 3.4k

This came from a wonderful request from my dear @kellyxo1, as always thank you so much for your wonderful request, hope this is okay!🖤

The air in the stuffy old Manor House was unbearably cold and stale, much like the family that resided there. The home of the Malfoy family, much like their surname, was figure of stature and tradition, a paragon of social status that oozed wealth and importance on account of their pure-blood status. Each member of the family had been selected by the sorting hat upon their arrival at Hogwarts to enter into the house of Slytherin, a fact the family was most proud of, another ode to their pure-blood roots and continued beliefs. Every malfoy had followed in the footsteps of the previous generation, marrying into other pure-blood families as to keep the bloodline strong, fraternising with equally powerful families that held the same beliefs, each out to gain and maintain status in the wizarding community.

"He's younger than me!" You shriek, you left arms lifting into the air as you look upon the stiff and unemotional faces of your parents who stand by the edge of your bed, delivering the news.

"Blaise is a fine boy and he shall make a fine husband," your father says, as if he truly believed the words that he was speaking. "He's from a long line of Slytherin's, a good student and a promising young wizard."

"He's a complete twat," you argued, taking a seat on the edge of your bed, completely exasperated by the conversation you were forced to endure with your parents.

"It's only two years difference," your mother says, trying to remain at least diplomatic as your father gave you a thunderous look for your selection of language.

"He's a friend of Draco's! It's archaic and barbaric." You added, trying to express your disgust at the very thought but it was immediately apparent that your parents did not share in your distaste, nor understand it.

"Young lady!" Your father hissed in displeasure, the veins on his head looking fit to burst.

"I just don't understand why I have to marry someone with status," you say, in a calm and somewhat emotionless voice, realising that your emotive reaction was doing no favours here. "I don't understand why I have to be married at all, much less to somewhat that wasn't my choice."

"We want the best for you," your mother adds, her hands clasped in front of her as her gaze flicks between you and your father. It's a blatant lie, a way of manipulating you into following their path but it wouldn't work, not this time.

"Then let me make my own choices," you retort, not meeting their eyes.

"So you can run back to that blood traitor?" Your father all but screams, his temper exploding as he throws his cane, narrowly missing the house elf that was tending to the paintings in the hallway just outside of your door. He storms off in a flurry of black robes, almost growling under his breath as you hear his heavy footsteps marching angrily away.

The mention of Fred makes your stomach roil dangerously, filling you with hatred for your family, for the life you'd been born into. You don’t know how they came to know about your situation, but you detested their use of it against you. The anger dissipates slightly as you watch your mother perch on the side of your bed, hands still folded in her lap as she looks at you with a conflicted expression.

"We just want what's best," your mother repeats but you interject, frustrated by her attempt to keep pushing the matter you were so obviously not open to discussing.

"You had your chance! You chose to marry for money and status," you replied, a harsh tone to your voice that you'd seldom used at your mother.

"I didn't have a choice!" She says, her voice coming out like a hiss as her resolve drops so that you finally see her fraying nerves.

You pause, taking a moment to really see your mother as a young woman that was in your position so many years ago.

"If it's so bad why would you want that for your own daughter?" You ask, trying to appeal to her though your emotional delivery, trying to reach out for that young woman who must have felt exactly how you did right now.

She refuses to meet your eyes, nor answers your question. You realise very quickly that you're getting nowhere and never would. All emotions exit you as you look upon your mother feeling no love or affection, nor receiving any in return.

As you looked upon the vision of your mother and thought of your fathers reaction, you felt an empty void of emotion where love should be. The chasm of happy memories was empty, at least when it came to your family.

Right then you thought of Molly and Arthur, of the whole family and the strong, foundational outpouring of love in which the family was built around. Two people that loved one another deeply, building a life and a family, creating a warm and loving home for their children to thrive in.

They'd be celebrating Christmas right now, with gorgeous homemade food and handmade presents, surrounded by love and laughter and maybe the occasional cross word.

Poor in wealth but rich with love; and you would always chose that over this.

"I refuse to marry Blaise Zabini or any other pure blood suitor you deem acceptable," you say matter of factly, your voice completely void of emotion as you made your point clear. "I'll make my own choices in life. You may not have been strong enough to resist the pressure but I am, I refuse to be forced into a loveless marriage and live out a miserable existence like you."

"You're no daughter of ours," your mother sneers. "No. I'm not."

Later that night, you lay in your dark and dreary bedroom, looking around at the bare, lifeless walls that held no sentiment nor icon of your personality, your life. You thought of Fred and George's bedroom and how cluttered it must be, with all their quidditch memorabilia and Weasley products lying around. They'd have bedspreads that had been knitted for them, fresh sheets that smelt like their home and little trinkets around the room that had been collected throughout their lives. You had none of that, even down to the colourless and scentless sheets on your bed. You thought of Fred often, the boy you loved more than anything in the world. The boy that had seen past your surname and your Slytherin placement and still loved you regardless. He hadn't been prejudiced or hateful, nor had he used you to gain status in the Wizarding community. He simply loved you because he loved you.

Loved.

Memories flashed behind your eyes of happier times, your relationship strengthening over the years until you were completely infatuated with each other, planning your futures in hushed whispers and promising secrets. You could be yourself around Fred, completely unashamed of the things you'd believed for so long to be personal failures and character faults.

You'd been together since your fifth year, unable to deny the attraction any longer. You'd started sneaking around, stolen kisses in the secret passageways, sneaking out after hours, notes slipped into pockets, fingers grazing as you walked past eachother pretending the other didn't exist. You secretly cheered for each and every hit he'd administer on the quidditch pitch, every dive and skilful deflection of the bludger. Though you couldn't cheer or support him outright, you always kept a little something on you in Gryffindor red that you both knew meant that you were there for him.

After a while, you told your small group of friends and Fred told his, including his siblings. There were tensions at first, of course there was, but after seeing how good for each other you were, of how happy you were together, the grievances quickly quietened.

His friends became yours too, a real and honest group of friends that too could rely on, share with and care for in return.

You didn't have to hide anymore, at least not with them. But Slytherins much like their name were mostly all vicious snakes, with sharp tongues and deceitful tendencies. You couldn't let them know, couldn't allow them to spoil the singular good thing you had in your life and so for the most part, your relationship remained hidden to the wider school.

It was exciting at first, rebelling against the restrictive and domineering upbringing you were forced into. You weren't like your parents or Draco, or any members of your family really. You were certainly no deatheater and didn't hold the same disgusting values that they did. Blood trainers, mud bloods, muggleborns or muggles, everyone should have the right to be treated the same, to live their life without fear or prejudice.

Fred knew, he knew you weren't one of them, that you were better, different than your name but also that you couldn't step out of line for fear of the repercussions you'd face. Or at least, you thought he understood.

Your seventh year at Hogwarts, your last. The last hurdle to get through before you could truly be your own person and break away from the chains of being a Malfoy. You had a plan, carefully and slowly formulated for years for the eventual day you'd be your own person and free to make your own choices, leaving your family behind. Your world would gain colour and warmth instead of the cold and monochrome world you felt you loved in. Only, it wouldn't happen now, at least not as you always planned it.

Things had been going so well, you were on track to ace your NEWTS, your relationship with Fred was almost blissful and with everything happening behind the scenes, it kept your parents busy and mostly out of your way. But then it all started to crack when Fred became Fred up of sneaking around, becoming paranoid and suspicious of your true intentions. You'd tried your hardest to squash these intrusive thoughts, to calm his nerves and to show him just exactly how much you wanted him but for so many reasons you couldn't be open about it. He'd face repercussions too, not just you. But he didn't see it that way, said he didn't care, that he just wanted to be able to be in love without having to hide it.

The last nail in the proverbial coffin came when Umbridge turned up and tried imposing her disgusting views upon the students, altering the curriculum and moving in favour of the deatheaters under the guise of ministry control. You'd joined Dumbledore's Army without a scone thought, knowing it was the right thing to do. The only Slytherin who was invited to join, their trust in you appreciated. But then Umbridge had formed the inquisitorial squad and you'd never felt a more painful divide in your life. Your younger brother had proudly joined, sadistically enjoying the power he was bestowed with. The danger of being discovered , found to be a traitor and the consequences of that were almost enough to make you quit the DA, but you persevered with increasingly fraying nerves.

You were stressed, tormented by the divide in your life and the conflicting expectations of you with no outlet to express your frustrations.

So you did what you had to do and fought harder to keep your relationship a secret, to keep the one good thing in your life away from the dementor-like happiness stealing of your family. The Christmas holidays were coming up and your anxiety was peaking at having to spend an extended amount of time away from your boyfriend and friends and have to go back to that dreary manor with your even drearier family. Fred could tell that something was up with you, that you were unhappy, tense and quiet but he never stopped to read between the lines, to see the big picture. Instead, his insecurities began to plague him again until one day you both snapped.

"I just don't understand why we still have to hide!" He says with a frustrated growl, pinching the area between the bridge of his nose and his eyebrows.

"Because I can't be without you!" You say back, voice raising to a dangerous level as you become irritated at having the same conversation over and over again. "If my family find out that's it, they'll force me to stop dating you, lock me away. I'll never be able to leave then."

"So what, I'm just a part of your plan? A stepping stone for you to break away and then as soon as you're free you can throw me away? Thanks for that mate, sorry to using you and all," he mocks, only furthering your anger that you're painfully trying to repress.

"Using you? You think that's what this is? You think you're just a pawn for me, even after two years of loving you?"

"You tell me," he says, eyes dark.

"Unbelievable," you say under your breath, closing your eyes as you take a seat on one of the wooden crates down in the passageway between the staircases and Honeydukes, your regular spot.

"Or are you embarrassed by me, is that it? The poor, scruffy Weasley boy that fell for the rich, beautiful Malfoy. The prophet would have a field day, wonder if they'll make us into a film," he rants, a vicious side appearing in his tone. "The deatheater and the peasant."

"How dare you!" You say, standing up in a fit of rage, squaring up to him like you'd never done before; the insult he'd so readily dished out feeling like a blast to the heart. "I'm no more a death eater than you are you prick! You think I'm embarrassed of you? I think you're ashamed of me, ashamed that you fell for the bad seed, the villain. I think you can't stand that I'm a Malfoy and you know it. My surname bothers you much more than your's bothers me."

"Yeah maybe it does."

Silence. His words are met with sheer silence, except for the pounding of your breaking heart. I'm your worst nightmares you'd never expected those words to fall from his lips, for him to admit the thing you'd been fearing the most since your crush of him started to bloom. You were tainted goods, a person that tried her hardest to be good that would always be haunted and spoiled by her name.

"No, no sweetheart I didn't mean, I don't think that," he began backtracking, realising that he'd gone way too far this time. "It makes me crazy that I can't shout from the bloody roof that you're mine no matter how much I want to. I don't care that you're a... Malfoy," he says, reaching out for you to hold you close, knowing that he was hanging by a thread here.

You're quiet for a moment as you take in his words, unsure of how to proceed.

"Maybe you're right, about it all," you paused. "But if you wanted me to believe all that, you should have said my surname with less disgust."

You turned around walked away, ignoring his calls, barely holding yourself together until you made it back to your dormitory and finally allowing yourself to sob. You should have known you could never be happy, it was ridiculous to think that anyone could ever get past the fact that you were born to be bad.

The week that followed before the holiday was sheer torture. You gathered sympathetic looks front your friends, or rather Fred's friends but were unable to get any actual comfort as you couldn't fraternise with the social enemy.

Fred however, hadn't spared you a single glance since that evening in the tunnel, the fight that had ended your relationship, or so it seemed. He went back to pretending you didn't exist, believing your harsh words all to easily. He'd said things on his side too but you thought, stupidly, that you'd be able to explain that you were simply retaliating. Apparently he wouldn't give you a chance to explain.

"Maybe you're right, about it all."

Those words haunted you, cut you deeper than any splinching ever could. If only you'd pushed down your anger, never said those words, he'd still be yours. But now he wasn't.

Christmas break was miserable, even more so than usual as you sat alone in your bedroom, physically and mentally distanced from any sense of company.

You though of Fred often, wondering what he was up to, wondering if he was happy. You hoped his dad was okay after hearing through the grapevine about his attack. You hoped that even if it was just a little, that he was missing you.

When you got back to school, you were just as miserable and separated from your peers as you were at home. The friendship group you'd built up of good people still have you distanced smiles and sympathetic glances but you felt the distance more than ever. It lasted for a few days before you'd had enough, completely depleted and in need of something good back, you needed Fred. You tried to think of ways to get him alone, to explain but you couldn't think of anything. You sat in the Great Hall, completely separated from your Gryffindor friends and sat between two of the most bearable Slytherins you could find, trying to ignore the boasting and mockery your brother was bestowing a little further up the table.

It makes me crazy that I can't shout from the bloody roof that you're mine no matter how much I want to.

You looked around you, considering your options. It wasn't a rooftop per se, but it would do.

You climbed up on the table, unfazed by the cries of outrage of the people around you as you ascended, trying to be mindful of the plates and glasses on the table. Draco shouts at you to get down, what are you doing, but much like always, you ignore him. The commotion began pulling people's attention towards you but you knew you had to make it quick because the faculty and teachers were starting to notice.

"I have something to say," you said, projecting your voice until you were certain you’d be heard across the hall. “I’ve been hiding something, for so long, something that never should have been hidden in the first place. I was scared and stupid. I’m a Malfoy, a Slytherin… but I’m completely and hopelessly in love with a Gryffindor.” You look up to where Fred is watching you with wide eyes, the first hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. Your eyes quickly flick over to George who is beaming at you, enjoying the demented display you were putting on, encouraging you to continue before you lost your nerve.

“Fred Weasley I’ve loved you since that bloody third year Quidditch match when George hit that bludger at Snape and you winked at me for laughing. You told me that we didn’t have to hide, that you’d shout from the rooftops, well this is the best I could do considering.”

Fred makes his way to you quickly, sensing that the teachers were on their way to inevitably punish you.

“You’re bloody insane woman,” he says with a laugh, unfazed by the entire hall watching you as he holds out his hand for you to come down. You smile at him, so happy to see him smile at you again, to hear his voice.

“Y/n Malfoy! Get down, get down! Detention!”

Instead of helping you down, Fred suddenly seizes your hand and uses you to pull himself up until he was also stood on top of the Slytherin table, cackling at the groans of the other slytherins around you.

“Mr Weasley, detention!”

“More time to spend with you,” he shrugs, smiling as he bends down to kiss you wildly in the middle of the hall as cheers erupt around you, making you both laugh into the kiss.

“It really doesn’t bother you that I’m a Malfoy?” You ask, suddenly bothered by what he’d said before as you pull away slightly. His hand holds your cheek as he smirks, shrugging his shoulders.

“Not gonna be a Malfoy for much longer, I plan on making you a Weasley as soon as possible.”

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[korpuskat]

Twines Counterclockwise

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral) Rating: T WC: 3.6K Warnings: Hanahaki's Diseases, Blood, Injury =

It starts with an itch in your chest. Just the faintest inclination you needed to cough- which would’ve been fine, a normal little human thing that nobody thinks much of. Except that in front of you is a holoscreen, displaying blueprints in glowing 3D, spinning as their creator motions to various features and systems. His fingers are long and shine brilliantly when they cut through white, hovering lines. It’s his updated design of the slicer’s laser, modernized, faster start-up, less heat emission, and-

“Sorry,” You interrupt, turn away, and cough.

He stops long enough to look at you, but with his unemotive faceplate, whatever he’s truly thinking is lost. Probably irritation for impeding his explanation, which makes you resist the urge to duck your head. It’s unprofessional, you tell yourself. Instead you settle for purposefully looking at the design, “Please, go on.”

He waits a moment- perhaps debating how worth it is to snap at a human trying to give him orders. Finally, he continues. If he notices your gaze wandering off the crisp, white lines and back to his hands, he says nothing.

You don’t think much of it, even if you’re having to clear your throat repeatedly just to rid yourself of that itchy feeling. Probably a cold, or perhaps the icy antarctic air has finally started to wear on you. It’s nothing, a quirk of being human in a place so intensely not made for humans, an annoyance- until it isn’t.

And of course, it’s when he’s escorting you through his waiting production lines. Motioning up above to the never-ending converters, arcs of welders and robotic arms, waiting so long to be tasked again. He speaks in that rumbling, low voice of his, explains the modifications he will need to make before mass production can begin. His synth loses its regulation when he gets excited, sounding less deceptively almost-human and more robotic. It’s not a bad sound.

He points overhead towards one line. Even for his size, his movements look graceful, fluid. Each joint is wellkept, oiled, and the gold design on the few scraps of cloth that he wears shimmers in the low lights. He motions again, then turns and looks at you- bright red array, empty black optical slits.

Right. The production line.

You fight to keep the facade of professionalism. He continues. This line needs repairs, did not work with London, couldn’t source the parts for it without raising flags he didn’t have the resources to cover. He would need it to be updated and-

And you’re softly coughing into your fist. Ramattra’s head turns subtly, glancing at you from the corner of his vision. You hold up a hand, one finger in a silent plea for him to wait just a moment. This isn’t a big deal. It isn’t.

But you don’t stop coughing, turning first towards your inner elbow- but it won’t stop. Your throat burns, itches- but each spasm of your diaphragm isn’t doing anything to help. Each cough brings on the next, and the next-

“Are you… alright?” He asks, and oh, you can almost convince yourself there’s actual worry there. It would be a pain if a Talon agent died alone in his omnium, so soon after their tentative agreements. You nod, try to smile between coughs- but it must not work because he follows it up with “Are you sick?”

You don’t get the chance to dissuade him, because you’re doubling over, falling to your knees. Coughs turn to retches, full-body shudders and there’s something in your throat. Tears burn at your eyes, blur your vision, even as three silver claws step in front of you. You can’t stop coughing, can barely breathe between each one and all you can do is flex your throat, hunch over, squeeze your eyes-

Something falls into your hand, still cupped over your mouth.

The itch is gone. Tears cover your face. Finally, you can breathe again, taking in lungfuls of cold, antarctic air- which feel like knives in your irritated throat. With the back of your hand, you wipe at your face, trying to hide the evidence of tears and spittle. You’re so far beyond presentable and the whir of Ramattra’s internals, so close to you now, crouched down to your level, only makes you wish you had declined this promotion entirely.

“Sorry,” You try to force another fake smile, but don’t know if it even really makes it past the intention. “Don’t know what that was.” Ramattra’s head tips, looks you over. He waits there, watching as you struggle to pull yourself together before you finally wave him on, “Give me a minute, please.”

He makes some sort of noncommittal noise before standing up again and wandering down the walkway, giving you some space. He watches, however, keeps you in his field of view.

When you’re sure he can’t see it, you uncurl your clenched hand. Inside, is a pale purple flower bud, just beginning to open.

It doesn’t get easier. A week passes and a small collection of lavender flowers has gathered on your nightstand. Each coughing fit is all-consuming, burns out every other sense until the next part is hacked up. Here, at least, in the privacy of your makeshift quarters you can reach into your mouth and try to grasp at the stem. You touch it- and retch as it twitches deep in your throat, tears springing to your eyes as you reflexively begin to cough again.

On the counter, your phone lights up, buzzes with a call.

You can’t even entertain taking it, no matter who it is. Another failed attempt to catch the stem- which is prodding painfully into the roof of your mouth- launches another round of coughs and tears. The mirror- maybe you can see it? You stumble across the room and switch on the light. Opening your mouth as wide as you can, you still can’t quite make out the shape that’s lodged itself in your windpipe. The flashlight on your phone, however, does help.

And amidst the red, inflamed flesh of your throat is a single, green-brown vine curling against the roof of your mouth. Just beyond your tongue, another purple flower clings to your tonsils, glistening with spit. With the aid of the mirror and light, this time you catch the end of the stem firmly between finger and thumb. You pull--

And pain shoots through you like lightning, sharp and crackling down your throat, across your chest, clawing and twisting into your lungs- and around your hand you cough, eyes pinching shut, dropping your phone as you struggle and yank.

It’s caught somewhere. The vines dig into every crevice they can find, desperately latching onto you. You brace yourself, take as deep a breath as you can and yank again. This time, the stem snaps. A red-dotted string of flowers splatters into your sink.

Your chest clears somewhat, still burning from where you’ve ripped the vine free. Even as you gasp in air, another growth wavers in your chest, dancing with each inhale. Before long, you’ll be back here, pulling another one out.

You really didn’t think it was that bad. Sure, you thought about him often and enjoyed every conversation that managed to veer away from Null Troopers and omniums… but the flowers? How could it have gotten so bad?

You press on one purple petal, swipe away the blood that stains it crimson. The flowers range in ages, a few at the tip not yet opened, tight, darker indigo buds, while the ones at the other end, where the stem is thicker, broken, have popped into lilac blooms. A large flat, open petal atop one tightly still curled.

You love him.

You knew, honestly, but having it be presented to you so blatantly is still… unnerving. And-

bzzt. You startle, drop the flower and look down. On the floor- where your phone had landed- is a face you really do not want to see right now. With a grimace you pick the device up, wipe any blood away from your lip, and answer.

“Hello?”

“You’re lucky I bothered to call twice.” Her voice bites out. You’ve just answered and she’s already bored with this conversation.

“Sorry. What can I do for you, Dr.O’Deorain?”

“Actually,” She almost singsongs, “It’s about what I can do for you. Your gracious host informed me that you are unwell. And while I’m sure he must have bothered to make his workshop more habitable for you, there are several fascinating viruses that live in glaciers.”

Oh.

Ramattra called her.

You grimace, feel another wave of shame that you’ve been sick enough he’s bothered to contact Moira of all people. “It’s not…” You pause- because on one hand, Moira would know how to deal with this. And on the other… even admitting it would show much of a liability you’ve been. Your chest itches already, another creeping vine ready to climb out of your throat. “I know what it is.”

“Oh? I somehow doubt even an omnic would be so concerned about a cold.”

“It’s… Hanahaki.“

She sighs and you can hear her rolling her eyes. “Just because you’re coughing-”

“Full flowers.” You stare down at the purple and red in your sink. “It’s Hanahaki.”

All the frustration leaves her voice in a heartbeat. “Send me a picture.” You do, of the one you just coughed up and the handful of flowers and petals you’ve collected. After a minute, she says something under her breath. “Wonderful.. You, what, had a crush on someone here in Rome and couldn’t confess before you left on a months-long Antarctic tour?”

You bite your tongue. Wouldn’t that be nice? A friendly coworker you could just message about your feelings. As it turns out, you don’t have to say anything at all. She’s too sharp, your silence a little too damning.

“You’re joking.” She scoffs, “Actually unbelievable.”

The urge to cough settles in your chest. Through the tightness you bite out, “Just… tell me what I can do.”

Moira sighs once more, “I don’t suppose talking it out has already crossed your mind?” You don’t answer her. “Of course. Then the only other option would be major surgery. That has its own assortment of risks, the least of which would be you would feel nothing for him anymore.”

That… should almost be comforting. Tears prick your eyes. He’s about to wage a war on the vast majority of humanity, has lectured at length the atrocities he’s seen your kin commit. There’s no chance. And yet… it hurts. Despite the damage that’s come to your body and the shame that follows: being unfit to continue working, for making things awkward, for having feelings for… him. Despite that, it’s still been nice. The warmth that follows him, that settles inside you when he speaks, the way he tips his head when he’s sketching out a new idea, the way his posture shifts, relaxes, when he must think you aren’t looking. Would that all become nothing to you?

A cough sneaks up your throat. You hold your phone at arm’s length, would mute yourself if you could focus long enough. You can’t; another flower has broken loose, tumbles from your lips into the sink to join its brethren.

On the phone, Moira curses in Gaelic. “I am advising you as a doctor to talk to him. I’m sure you kids will be able to figure it out.” Silence is your only response. After all, what was there to really talk about? You’re human.. She sighs irritably, but slowly perks up as she speaks: “Fine. I have some colleagues in Oasis who should be able to assist. You might be the first case of omnic-borne Hanahaki. Would be a fascinating case study.”

It takes a few hours to work up the courage to message him. Taking medical leave, No more than two weeks. Need transport to Oasis.

His response is almost instantaneous: Understood. Shuttle ready.

You pack lightly. Very little of your clothes are appropriate for the wildly different climate awaiting you after a ten hour flight. It’s mostly your work gear, things you haven’t needed while so firmly stationed away from any wetwork. Regardless, you enter the shuttle bay with a single suitcase, in casual clothes covered by a heavy jacket. As it is, the coldness already seeps through the single outer layer, bringing a chill to your toes- and to your chest.

The itch becomes unbearable as soon as you lay eyes on him. The back of the shuttle is open, waiting for you- but so is he. Why? Why must he see you off now?

Ramattra straightens up, folds his hands behind his back. With how thin his waist is, the action doesn’t hide much of his arms. “Agent,” He greets you stiffly, awkwardly, as you approach. “I assume this is more than a simple cough, then?”

“Afraid so.” The back of your throat burns just from two words and his head shifts, almost bobbing back in surprise. Has your voice gotten so bad?

“I see. It is… serious?”

“Yes.” You clear your throat, hope to shoo away as much hoarseness as you can. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience. I’ll return as soon as I am able.”

Ramattra’s white faceplate tips off to the side, a blatant display of curiosity. In what exactly you don’t know. Probably why Talon isn’t just replacing you, reassigning you after your treatment.

“I hope you…” He pauses, seems to taste the words before he says them, “feel better soon.” It’s awkward in his voice, stilted, a phrase so wildly unused, perhaps he’s never even said it. But he gives you that courtesy, even if only because it’s polite- and it makes your heart ache.

And that makes your lungs itch. You can’t even suppress it down to a small cough into your hand. All at once you’re doubled over, heaving coughs into your elbow. The thick taste of iron coats your tongue, blood spraying from your lips. Then, the smooth, suffocating feeling of the flowers.

Purple follows red- and you quickly fall to your knees, unable to catch a single breath between thundering spasms in your chest. Your ribs creak, strain from each movement, the pain in your lungs radiating out and you pinch your eyes shut, wait for it to be over.

His knee clanks to the floor- you don’t need to open your eyes to see that it’s him. A cold, firm hand touches your back. It’s… skittish, unused to the contact, too light of a touch to be reassuring, but it’s alright because every cough jostles you away, brings waves of pain and nausea as a string of buds clings to your uvula.

Another good cough and the vine breaks, half expels the raceme from your mouth. With the other hand you rip it from your lips, throwing it to the floor while gasping for air. For the moment, your lungs are clear- despite the burning pain of frigid air on the open wounds of your throat, the joy of breathing again overtakes all.

Until you open your eyes- and through tears you see the splatters of red- and the long string of purple. In fear, in shame you snatch the evidence of your illness- but it was hardly just the one raceme. A half dozen little buds and broken flowers dot the floor- and as quickly as you can grab them, you still can’t stop Ramattra from picking one up. He pulls his other hand off you, bringing both up to cup the tiny thing.

It’s paler than the purple enamel coating on his plates, laughably delicate as he prods open the two petals, revealing the pistil inside. He stares at it, then mutters, “Wisteria sinensis .” You fight to read any emotion in it at all- but it doesn’t matter, because his next question drips with confusion. “You have… Hanahaki’s disease?”

You can’t bear to look at him, staring instead at the flower. It’s so small in his hand, more like a stray drip of paint than proof of your traitorous heart. All you can give him is a nod, lips held in a tight line, unwilling to address what feels like the obvious.

“I see.” He says quietly, bringing his palm in closer to his faceplate. “Your trip to Oasis is for treatment?”

You nod again, “Surgery. Have to cut the roots out.”

Ramattra stays quiet, his focus not leaving the purple petals. Even when you find the courage to meet the slits of his optics, he does not return your gaze.

“I am… sorry.” As soon as the words leave his synth you look away. This is what you didn’t want. Fuck, it’s what you’ve been trying to avoid. You don’t need his pity or the undeniable knowledge that you loved someone who would be happy to end your entire species- who must hardly spare you a thought beyond the annoyance of financial oversight. Tears burn at your eyes again, but you blink them away, biting your tongue and willing yourself not to cry in front of him.

But he notices your turmoil, and speaks anyway. Hesitantly, a faltering in his voice you’ve never heard before. “I understand suffering because you care for another, yet human relationships confound me. I hope your treatment lets you find peace…” He trails off, but a low hum of his synthesizer lets you know he’s not done. His tone turns quiet, severe. “Know that they are foolish to reject you.”

In an instant you’re dazed, head swimming as your mind parses his words again and again. It doesn’t make sense. That’s- it’s Impossible. There’s something more there, under his words- more than just an empty placation. Something else builds in your chest and you can barely bring yourself to ask “What?”

Ramattra shifts awkwardly, clarifies: “The object of your affection.” His big fingers smooth out the tiny petals as he thinks, “I scarcely think they will meet another more interesting than you.” He draws your hand open to reveal the half-crushed raceme. The sight darkens his voice, “Do they even know how they’ve hurt you?”

Your chest feels tight- and not, for once, because of the flower’s roots. “Ramattra…”

His gaze lifts from your hand to your face. Unemotive, you can’t even begin to read what he’s thinking, but you stare into the black, angular slits for his optics and hope. Hope that he understands what you want to say, the words that have burned in your mind for days, weeks.

Something changes: the soft purr of his system builds, until he makes a noise like an inhale, his ventilation kicking up hard.

And you laugh, feel the tears gather in your eyes again because how could you be wrong? “It’s you, Ramattra.” You smile and you can breathe.

“You…” He starts, looks at the cluster of flowers again, his voice straining, his synth slipping. “Me? I did this to you? I- I thought-” And before doubt can take your heart, Ramattra’s hands move to you- just barely ghosting your side before you’re all but throwing yourself in his arms. His voice drops, quiet in disbelief. “I thought I was protecting you.”

His cowl is soft, silky on your cheek. It chafes where the tears have begun bubbling over. “From Talon? I don't care.”

“From me,” He murmurs. So close now his voice box buzzes in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I… I couldn’t swear how suitable a partner I would be; a relationship cannot be a priority to me when liberation is so close.”

You sigh, focusing on the feeling of his cold ribs under your palms, on the smell of machine oil and incense. “I wouldn’t ask you to set that aside. It’s just- I thought you wouldn’t…” Your lip wobbles, disappointment or fear fighting its way forward. “Since I’m… human….”

“Believe me, I was as reluctant to accept that as you are.” His hands drift over your back, drawing shapes onto your coat.

As nice as it is, there’s a faint itch in your chest. You need… you need to hear it. You draw back- and Ramattra’s idle shapes still as his hands resettle onto your hips. You look up, stare into the black slits once more. “But you… you do have feelings for me?”

He stiffens, voice turning uncomfortable, reluctant to speak it into existence. “You… were an unexpected complication. I had not planned on… caring for any one in such a way.” His fingertips are cool on your skin, tracing chilled lines along your jaw. “Yes. And I am… so sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s okay,” You murmur back, touching each side of his neck. Wordlessly, you draw him down. His movement stutters, awkward as he follows your lead- pulling him closer until you can lay your lips across the lowest part of his white faceplate. His head is somewhat warmer than his hands, leaving your lips tingling and you laughing softly at the absolute unreality of being able to kiss him.

You almost expect him to be offended. Instead, Ramattra’s hands guide your chin down, tipping your head forward-- and the bright reds of his array press to your forehead. You sigh, and slowly open your eyes to peer into the black void of his optics’ slits. Anything else in the world ceases to exist, all that matters is the slowly building warmth in his head and chest, the hum of his components and fans, and the soft press of his hands to your skin.

#ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch #overwatch x reader #reader insert #ramattra x you #overwatch x you #hanahaki #almost typod the title as cockwise lol

[carrotsofthepirabbean]

I will say I think part of the reason OG Kirk isn't more popular on Tumblr is because he can't be crammed into the 'If one part of a ship is the unemotional logical one the other one MUST be the bouncy himbo sparkle softboy' cliche. Kirk can be goofy and has a good sense of humor, he teases and laughs, but speaking in Lord of the Rings terms, Kirk isn't Pippin, he's Aragorn.

Which is SO much tougher for the 'must distill every variety of character into the same 5 different people' crowd on Tumblr. There isn't an 'Aragorn' slot because 'incredibly complicated' isn't descriptive enough for cliche. Like yes, he's charming, but it's the quiet sort of charming. Yes, he's a strong athlete and a fighter, but he's fundamentally a shockingly huge nerd and spends his private time reading poetry and thinking about philosophy and what it means to be a leader. Yes, he's haunted, but he has a fundamental hope that keeps shining through. Kirk's got a serious job, and he's a serious person. He's an Adult kind of adult. He's one of the last survivors of a horrific genocide. He's killed people with his bare hands.

Spock wasn't bowled over by how bright and shiny and cuddly Kirk was. Because underneath everything, there's a fundamental sadness and loneliness to Kirk, and a simmering possibility of rage that most people would consider Abnormal. And Spock shares those qualities, though for different reasons. The thing that really shakes Spock (besides Kirk's iron sense of loyalty) is that there are times where KIRK is more coolheaded and professional than Spock is. In everyday terms, Kirk is easily and confidently emotional in a way Spock was always taught was a weakness, but when the shit hits the fan Kirk gets this shine of cold, calculating, James Bond-like brutality/practicality that not only meets Spock's Vulcan control, it will at times go PAST it. Surviving that genocide gave Kirk access to both a level of iron-willed 'do whatever is necessary to live no matter what' and a level of genuinely bloodcurdling rage that, when death is on the line, reads sometimes like a Vulcan on steroids. In a battle-type situation Kirk has absolutely looked at Spock and snapped like 'for god's sake, control yourself', and that is some whiplash a Vulcan doesn't just get OVER.

At the very start OG Kirk is already both wildly famous for and frighteningly good at being a commander, better than Spock is by miles, which forces Spock to confront his self-hate fueled 'Vulcans are better' prejudices over and over again until Spock has a starry-eyed admiration for Kirk that knocks him so hard into love that Spock's teeth rattle. Kirk isn't Some Soft Boy that grows on Famous Vulcan Spock against his will. Kirk is the most talented Starfleet officer in generations- He's Horatio Nelson, except not an imperialist asshole. Spock is (at first) just Some Science Guy who managed to nail one of the most coveted jobs in Starfleet.

Like, what is Tumblr going to do with a Kirk (who is supposed to be the bouncy soft boy half of Spirk) who looks coldly at an alien who is killing people and without hesitation goes 'I am a military man, we have a mission, we don't have time to understand motivations, kill that thing' and calmly walks off? And then Spock, (the unemotional logical one) is the one going after him going 'please, this is a thinking creature, it could be scared or hurt, think of its feelings, at least let me try to talk to it'. And like, the big lesson of the episode is KIRK being convinced by Spock to care more and be more empathetic?

Like, that's not some shit Tumblr can fit into its 'five acceptable personalities for every single ship ever'. There isn't a category for 'one is the logical one and the other one is the guy in charge on the battlefield that the men point their swords at while yelling "to the king!"'

But, it does make me a bit sad, because god, the relationship between Kirk and Spock is unique. Because Kirk is SUCH a freak. If there's a fictional personality grouping Kirk is a part of it's like Kirk, Chris Evans' Captain America, Aragorn, and nobody.

I super agree! AOS Kirk fits the bill more for the ship dynamics tumblr focuses on (and I do really love Chris Pine's performance, not half because it was what introduced me to Star Trek in the first place), but I do find TOS Kirk more intriguing because he has such layers. He's scarily competent, youngest captain in Starfleet and it's not like you get in that position by being a sunshine flower boy - he's got a streak of cold practicality that, yeah, is super apparent in Devil in the Dark. But he's also warm, loving, and physically affectionate with his closest friends, professional with his subordinates and his duties, calculating with his enemies, and overall an exceedingly intelligent individual who does not take his position and responsibilities lightly. And in terms of his relationship with Spock, it was all those things that drew Spock's respect and interest, and not (checks notes) his being a "bouncy himbo sparkle soft-boy". He's just a wonderful character <3

#I do however love a good 'spock blushes cause jim is physically affectionate' thing though #as is clearly apparent in the last drawing i posted. but i love jim for being a responsible and mature leader #including the kind of cold and practical decisions he makes #as well as being a warm and affectionate man #god i do fucking lvoe that man god help me #ask #star trek #jim kirk #star trek tos

[tloubraininfection]

People often claim that Joel is unemotional and cold at the beginning of the series and I disagree. It is a bit more accurate when it comes to game Joel, as he is far more detached and angry kinda character with everyone except for Ellie, but Pedro Joel is always one step from having an emotional breakdown and you cannot convince me otherwise. There is always something brewing just beneath the surface. He`s also very observant and attuned to people around him and it only gets worse (better) once Ellie joins the party.

Even at the very beginning, when he was not even really done beefing with her, he still cared enough to cover her with his own jacket at night, cause she’s a kid goddamn kid and she’s not going to be cold on his watch! And then he just keeps noticing things or thinking ahead and factoring Ellie in, because that`s what he does, he cares about people enough to notice little things.

So when they make it Bill`s place and he sees that sad-looking pot plant, all dry and withered, he knows immediately that something is wrong. You can see it in his eyes. He`s been there many times and he knows Bill and Frank well enough to notice immediately that something is out of place.

And this is the part that breaks my heart every time, cause after the initial 3 year time skip Bill and Frank argue, because Frank wants to keep the place nice and Bill is all about the essential. But fast forward another 10 years and Frank has all the art supplies in abundance and Bill is taking care of the space around them, because Frank is too sick to do it himself.

And that`s how those flowers should look like btw

But there is no one to take care of them anymore.

#i don’t know what this is #I`m not crying over a sad plant #i swear #but like #yeah #i live in a strange world lately #and it was a long day #and I made it worse by watching this episode #i cannot explain my logic behind that #tlou #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller #ellie Williams #Bill and Frank

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hi so I have a kind of specific request but it doesn’t matter at all what you do with this information could I request a Thomas Shelby and reader fic where the reader only has one eye after some form of circumstance (it can be completely up to you if you want to list it) and after that they are rendered emotionless and have no care for what happens to themselves or others and towards the end they show some form of emotion (example would be a small smile or Wrinkle of the eye to show a form of gratitude etc) this was out of the blue and I thought it sounded cool so I thought I’d request (I’ve never requested something in my life from here)

Dear Anon,

I loved this request. I changed a couple things up a bit and hope that's alright. I'm always struggling to find gifs for fics and thought I would try out making little pictures for it.... not sure how I feel about it yet. Anyway thank you for waiting so long, hope you enjoy it!

Warning: reader got injured as a child and has lasting damage from it

Tommy was never sure what to think of you, he wondered if that’s how people felt about him. You had an elegant voice, the kind that made him think without a doubt that you could sing. It was soft and feminine, none of which reached your features. You were very pretty but completely unemotional. There was a large scar over your eye, but you didn’t cover it. The pink glass orb replacing your right eye was sparkly, part of him thought you enjoyed how unsettled it made people. But that would imply you enjoy things at all. 

He could set you on a task and you would always come back in a timely fashion giving him a nod then going back to your desk at the betting shop. You stayed out of trouble, kept out of family drama, so much so that it made him feel the need to keep a closer watch on you. 

All day you were professional, speaking the bare minimum. You drank black coffee but only once it was cold and took small sips. You would give John a swift shake of the head when he offered you a glass of whiskey. 

He could tell you gave John the creeps, John would talk for hours if you let him, and you would barely give answers to his questions.

“I don’t know how you trust her.” John had whispered to him before running out the door. He wondered this himself. 

“Where bout’s do you live, love?” Tommy asked coming over to stand in front of her desk. 

“A few blocks away.” You said softly, he hated how badly he wanted to hear you continue. 

“Want me to walk you home.” For her protection, he told himself. With the days getting shorter he should make sure someone walks her home. 

“No thank you, Mr. Shelby.” You said politely. 

“Call me Tommy.” He said wanting things to become more casual between the two of you. 

“Tommy,” She said his name in a way that made his heart lurch. He knew he was in trouble. Your green eye looked at him with a cold stare. Surly he could make you feel something if you gave him the chance. 

“Well, help me carry something to the pub then? That on the way to yours?” 

“That would not be a problem.” You gave him a nod before he went into the back room trying to think of something to carry to the pub. He tossed some bottles into an old crate. Coming back into the main room he watched you pull your jacket on. 

He Put the crate down on the desk and pulled out his wallet. He handed it to you and picked up the crate of empty bottles. Your expression was the usual stony mask not even a hint of confusion. 

“Ready?” You gave a nod then followed him out. 

“I’ve never had someone want to walk be home this badly before.” Her voice had him feeling tangled up inside.

“It’s dark.” He said dismissively. 

“As it is every night.” She said softly. She wasn't going to let him win, he couldn't think of anything to say as he felt your eye on him again.

You followed him to the pub and he left the crate at the doorstep. You stared at him for a long moment and he swore he saw a slight twinkle in your eye.

You turned on your heel, moving into the dark alley way. You lifted your arm up showing you still had his wallet. 

Tommy didnt need more of an invitation. 

____________________________________

Tommy walked you home every night, and every night you left him on the doorstep. You avoided gatherings at the Garrison, so that was his only real time with you. A part of him felt that he should be asking you questions, try to figure you out. But the desire to be silent with someone was greater than his curiosity. 

This routine continued as the nights got colder and he wondered if you enjoyed it at all. 

The shop was closing up and he was making his last phone call. You were organizing the papers on your desk. The door opened to the shop and Charlie ran through. Tommy’s stomach clenched wanting to know why he wasn't home with Polly. He assumed the boy would come right to him and continued his phone call while keeping an eye out. 

He went to you and he felt a sense of discomfort. Charlie wouldn't understand that you were closed off, he was only four. He came around the side of your desk and peered up at you. 

_______________________________________________

You were almost done you work when the door opened and shut, you paid it no attention as it probably didn’t concern you. You were about to open the bottom drawer of your desk when you saw a little boy peering around the edge of your desk. He was quiet and observant. You wondered what had messed him up to make him that way. Ah, yes this was Grace’s son, that explained it. 

“Are you a pirate?” He whispered, his eyes focused on the pink glass eye. 

“No, but I was taken by pirates when I was young.” You tapped your eye, feeling a flicker of enjoyment as the boys eyes got wide. 

“What happened!” He was so eager, and you remembered being that way as a child. You opened your top drawer and pulled out some candy you kept in there. 

You slid a piece across the table and the boy smiled. You felt Tommy come out of his office. 

“Maybe your dad will let me come over sometime for a bedtime story, I can tell you all about it.” You ruffled the boy's hair, knowing your words were more for Tommy than him. 

You gave the boy a smile, it took a bit of concentration but the boy took in a breath. You thought maybe it didn’t look right and that maybe you frightened him. 

“The pirates took you because you're so pretty.” The boy's eyes were wide. You let out a small laugh and winced with the familiar pain that followed. 

“Feel like a sleepover?” Tommy asked picking Charlie up. Typical Tommy, willing to use his kid as a bargaining chip. The boy clung on to his father but moved so he could keep looking at you. 

“No bottles for the pub tonight?” You were being cheeky, but he wouldn't understand that. 

“Nah, we can deal with it tomorrow.” 

You gave him a slight nod and followed the boys out of the betting shop. Polly was there talking to a lady in a house coat. You assumed they must have been neighbors at one point. She greeted Tommy with a smile but looked slightly startled to see you there. 

“Thanks Pol.” He said and she gave a warm smile to you. 

“You have a good night.” You gave her a nod then she continued her conversation with the woman. Tommy carried Charlie back to his car and he opened the passenger side for you. You got in, pulling your long skirt in after you. 

“Can I sit on your lap?” Tommy was closing the door and you held out a hand to the boy. He got settled on your lap and rubbed his cheek on the fur collar of your jacket. 

“So soft.” He murmured. You held on to the boy enjoying the embrace. Thankfully the boy was very still and easy to sit with. The drive was about a half hour and you realized Tommy added about 20 minutes to every night just to walk with you in silence. 

____________________________________________

You let the maid take your jacket and didn't miss the way Tommy’s eyes looked over your figure. You felt a twinge of anxiety, how badly you would like to be touched in a way that wouldn't hurt you. 

Charlie was rattling on about something and grabbed your hand leading you up to his bedroom. He showed you his various stuffed animals. Tommy took him into the bathroom to get him washed and dressed. 

“Promise you’ll wait!” He called out of the little attached bathroom 

“Promise.” You called back, you sat on his bed, and took in the space. He had a lot of books and soft toys. A knot in your throat formed as you felt the little girl in you scream in envy. You assumed Tommy had the same type of kid somewhere deep inside of him. His boy was kind and polite, observant and smart, and never had to worry about things. He had clean clothes, a nice room, books to learn from, and a dad who came home every night. 

He might have been smoking and drinking, murdering after breakfast, whores for lunch. But you knew that unless he was away for business, Tommy came home to his kid. It was a work ethic you had a great deal of respect for. 

The boy ran out of the bathroom in a soft pin-striped pj set and took a leap up onto the bed landing next to you. 

“Now tell me about the Pirates.” He said with hungry eyes. 

“Well, it all started when I was small.” You told him a wild story. About being left behind by your family, how the forest took you in as one of its own, growing up with magic. One day you were dancing along the cliffs, spinning in the wind and singing, when a pirate captain snatched you right off the rocks. How he had carved out your eye in hopes of gaining the ability to see the magic in the forest. It didn't work and eventually, the mermaids crashed his ship, leaving you stranded in the water. You floated along until his dad pulled you out of the cut. 

“How did you survive in the water that long!” He whispered in awe. 

“My magic’s not in my lost eye, it's right here.” You pointed at your heart, wishing people could see more of it. 

“Can you get a blue eye so we can match?” He asked and you could feel Tommy’s discomfort. 

“I suppose I could try and ask the fairies to make me a new one.” 

“Time for bed Charlie,” Tommy said softly. 

“Will you come back again to visit?” Charlie said grabbing your arm as you tried to stand up from his bed. 

“That sounds like a nice idea.” You tried to smile again and it ended up as more of a wince. He didnt seem to notice. 

_______________________

You followed Tommy down the stairs, amazed he hadn't just taken you down the hall to his bedroom. Maybe you upset him, thinking about it you were a little bit gruesome with the details and Charlie was really small. 

You kept following him surprised when you moved away from the front door, he walked towards the other end of the house and then pushed open a heavy door. 

He pulled you into a warm and well loved kitchen. It smelled like lamb stew and you realised he was going to try and feed you dinner. You panicked slightly before taking a breath, he invited you to his home. If he doesnt like you, he doesnt have to have you back. 

He motioned for you to sit and poured two glasses of whiskey. 

“I have wine, gin -” 

“I can’t drink -” You said hoping you didnt seem rude. He simply raised and eyebrow and then put both gasses in front of his spot at the table. 

“No alcohol.” You clarified. 

“Oh, Tea, water, juice?” You thought about which would be easiest and settled for juice. 

“Juice please.” You watched him pour a glass of cranberry juice into a whiskey glass. 

You thought about sipping it but you felt too shaky at the moment. 

“So Pirates eh?” 

“Sorry if I scared him -” 

“Nah, he liked it. Got me curious as to what actually happened though” He brought you a bowl of stew and a spoon. You looked down at the inviting warm mixture. Would it be worth risking it? 

“Hmmm.” You sighed and then realized that he kept you around because of your work ethic, telling him the truth just meant he wouldn't have a romantic interest in you. A sadness flooded you but it was better to get these things over with. 

“Well, I dropped a glass in the kitchen when I was little. My dad hit me and I hit my head on the kitchen tiles. The glass got in my eye I have -” You took a shaky breath. “A lot of nerve damage in my face. Sometimes it’s a bit hard to talk or move my face. I’m in a great deal of pain everywhere most of the time actually.” 

Tommy studied you carefully. 

“I’m sorry.” The words hit you like a bus, another failed conquest. You took another breath. He motioned for you to eat and you looked down at the large pieces of lamb.

“Might not be graceful.” You whispered, hating the anxiety humming through you. Can’t he just say this won’t work out and take you home? 

“Nothing about me is graceful.” He shrugged. “Do you - Can I help?” his kindness took you off guard. 

“No thank you.” You took a spoonful of broth and slurped it down. It took you the better half of an hour to get the soup finished. Tommy talked though which was nice. He was quiet like you, something you enjoyed about his company.  

“Stay in my bed?” 

“Oh.” You wanted to say yes. Even if it was just for night you wanted to know what it felt like. “I’ve not - I don’t know if I ca -” 

“Just to sleep then?” 

“I can do that” You smiled knowing it was crooked and painful to look at. He smiled back at you and it was also pained and crooked. 

________________________

Her staying in Tommy’s bed for the night. Neither of them sleeps normally, so they end up talking for a lot of the night. He puts on some records and they lay in silence listening to the music. 

He stops seeing whores at lunch after that

After a while, it’s full-on dating and they prefer each other's company rather than lying awake alone. 

He notices her pain now and tries to help her out any way he can.

He asks her if touch is painful and she shrugs not sure how to give a solid answer - he tries a variety of things to make her feel good. 

Charlie is happy and likes your stories but understands that sometimes you can’t talk. He will sit next to you and make up his own stories to make you feel better.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #charlie shelby #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders request

[hobiebrownismygod]

Miles G. Morales isn't "cold"

So...I see lots of people characterizing Miles G. Morales as a cold, arrogant "bad-boy" in their fanfictions. But y'all this just isn't accurate if you want to write him carefully.

Note: Headcanon him how you want, this post is specifically for writers who want to write him as accurately to his character as possible! Think of it as a character analysis.

42-Miles was on screen for approximately two minutes. He says maybe 5 or 6 lines, all delivered with very little emotion and in a fairly cold tone.

Its completely understandable that people would think he would be the "bad boy" type and would be a cold, arrogant person. HOWEVER-

Lets look into this more deeply.

First lets talk about the scene we got of him.

42-Miles ties up 1610-Miles to a punching bag. Where have we seen this before? Oh right-

1610-Miles did the exact same thing when he met Peter B. Parker for the first time.

These scenes mirror each other extremely closely, with 42-Miles even talking in a deeper tone of voice the same way 1610-Miles talked in a slightly deeper tone when he was trying to present himself as more intimidating to Peter B.

So why is this significant?

42-Miles is putting on an act. He just met his doppelgänger, somebody who's wearing a spandex suit, showed up in his apartment and is overall just very creepy. Of course he's going to be a little reserved, of course he's going to be stoic and unemotional. We don't even know if the concept of the multiverse exists in this universe. For all we know, 42-Miles doesn't even know that multiversal travel is possible.

Lets talk about 42-Rio's reaction to seeing Miles-1610

When 1610-Miles shows up in Earth-42 and talks to Rio, she doesn't seem that put-off by him. She makes jokes with him the way the average mother and son do.

Why is this significant?

The difference in the characterization of 1610-Miles and 42-Miles is absolutely insane. People treat 1610-Miles like a baby and they treat 42-Miles like a full grown man. However, the reality is that they're both going to have very similar personalities.

Rio would have noticed her son's demeanor changing and probably would've said something about it. But she didn't seem put-off at all by the way 1610-Miles acted. She even brings up comic-con, which suggests that 42-Miles has talked about comic-con and is therefore a ginormous nerd.

This suggests that 42-Miles acts similarly to 1610-Miles at home. He's also a talkative, friendly kid who spends a lot of time with his mom, and thats why she didn't realize there was anything going on when 1610-Miles showed up.

He's not cold. He's the average, maybe slightly depressed, kid.

Let's talk about Peter Parker.

Every version of Peter Parker we've seen so far is pretty similar. Even Pavitr Prabhakar and Hobie brown have fairly optimistic vibes, cracking jokes and being fairly outgoing. Especially with their masks on, we can see that they seem like they'd be pretty fun to hang out with. None of them can be described as cold.

42-Miles was supposed to be Spider-man. He'd have the same personality. Maybe he'd be a little more reserved, a little more stoic, but he'd still be the lovable goofball Spider-Man is supposed to be.

Miles G. Morales isn't a gangster. He's a teenage boy in a bad situation. Write him as such and do justice to his character. He deserves it.

He's a goofball guys.

ART IS NOT MINE!!! MADE BY @xrandomxpostsx ON PINTEREST AND IS LINKED!!

#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #miles morales #beyond the spiderverse #spiderman #atsv miles #miles molares #across the spider verse fanart #miles 42 #miles fanart #prowler miles #miles g morales #earth 42 miles #earth 42 #earth 42 miles morales #42 miles morales #the prowler #miles morales prowler #earth 42 prowler #atsv prowler #atsv fanart #atsv analysis #wiles morales #into the spiderverse #spiderverse #spiderman: across the spiderverse #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spider verse

[lesbiansforboromir]

Iconic elements of Film!Boromir's character that everyone remembers;

Very into Aragorn, has multiple meaningful scenes with him where he is clearly disarmed, awed, unnerved and yet eager for his approval and companionship. His acceptance of Aragorn's right to the kingship is treated as a vital part of his character arc and even his last words before his death are entirely about Aragorn.

Awkward, often stalling or stumbling over his words, says things that leave uncomfortable silences and often makes loud declarations of intent, very earnest in all his mannerisms and always says everything in a guileless way. Very upfront and open about his emotions, to the point of making Aragorn uncomfortable in his attempts to connect with him about his fear for Gondor's safety and his own inner turmoil surrounding his father.

Immediately ring-obsessed. He argues with Elrond about the Ring's usage and clearly is not swayed by further arguments, in fact is sent by his father specifically to get the ring and so is technically a traitorous element in the fellowship from day one. Eagerly ensures he has a place in the fellowship at the Council of Elrond and is blatantly suspicious with his treatment of both Frodo and the Ring from then on. No one in the fellowship trusts him and for good reason.

Kinda a liability! Doesn't really offer anything to the Fellowship other than another sword arm, and one that seems sub-par in comparison to his comrades considering his underestimation of the Hobbits and the multiple times he has to be saved in Moria. Has no real expertise or wisdom to offer, barring obvious declarations like 'this will be the death of the hobbits'. Indeed the one moment of apparent unique wisdom he offers 'one cannot simply walk into mordor' is so widely viewed as foolish advice that it's one of the most enduring memes of the internet to date. Only has one moment of apparent skill in his final stand against the Uruks where he kills about 5 by himself before he is hit by 3 arrows and rendered helpless. Very much characterised as 'the normal guy' and 'the himbo'.

Has a nice, supportive and loving relationship with Faramir, his little brother that looks up to him adoringly and with a sense that he could never measure up to Boromir and that Boromir is his better. Protective of faramir.

Hah that was fun and now, completely unrelated, here are TRUE AND IMPORTANT FACTS ABOUT BOOK!BOROMIR!!

Has one (1) line of dialogue about Aragorn and his kingship that essentially reads 'Well I don't care about Kings but if mythic heroes from legend could come and help my people we'd be grateful (press x to doubt)' and then he NEVER! VOICES A SINGLE OTHER OPINION ABOUT ARAGORN! FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE. This includes his very last words which don't mention Aragorn or the Kingship once.

Clear-spoken! Makes concise speeches full of relevant and important information when in an official capacity. Always has a tone of well-meaning half-humourous sarcasm, making casual and comfortable jokes at his own expense or sometimes lightly teasing his fellows. Otherwise restrains his disagreements to darkly humourous complaints, strained and weary reactions or clear unemotional declarations of his concerns depending upon the recipient. Takes the phrase 'you'll have to pry my feelings from my cold dead hands' entirely literally, NEVER reveals the true extent of his internal struggles until the moment he is literally dying. In fact is entirely silent whilst Aragorn is asked to describe Gondor and waxes so lyrical he doesn't even notice Boromir get up and leave.

Asks one (1) clarifying question at the Council of Elrond about why they aren't using the ring, accepts the answer entirely and never mentions it again UNTIL Galadriel tempts him with it in Lothlorien. Doesn't even WANT to go on the fellowship and is more dragged along by Aragorn with the pretext that 'Gondor is on the way to Mordor so we'll tag along.' Is utterly trustworthy and has no ulterior motive in arriving in Rivendell other than his search for an answer to his prophetic dream. In fact his whole behaviour and personality changes immediately after Galadriel's mental interrogation and he BECOMES awkward, unnerving and unsure in his speech all of a sudden.

Has a WEALTH of knowledge, experience and personal skill that he uses to save the fellowship multiple times. Saves them all from freezing to death on Caradhras through his preparedness, his arguing with Gandalf and his personal durability. Hacks the head off wargs when they are attacked in the night. Remains lucid whilst the fellowship is paralyzed with fear by the Balrog and stalls it's approach using his horn to allow them time to flee. Fights alongside Aragorn at every opportunity, including charging with him at the Balrog as Gandalf is fighting it. And not only that, he regularly is proven right in his advice (that is rarely heeded) and is well informed on both his own peoples history and Rohan's position, even against Gandalf and Aragorn's doubt of their character. Actually saves Merry and Pippin initially from the Northern orcs whom he drives away entirely before he begins taking them back to the others, is only stalled when they are ambushed by Uruk-Hai. Continues to fight on even with far more than three arrows in him and actually yanks a few out before collapsing against the tree. Definitely not a normal guy, nor a himbo, just exceptional in a more mundane way than everyone else in the fellowship (except the Hobbits).

Never mentions his brother a single time, somehow got him to stand and defend the bridge of osgiliath with him whilst knowing that it would likely kill them both so not all that protective. Faramir meanwhile cannot say a single uncomplicatedly complimentary thing about his brother and in fact cannot stop telling Frodo (a man he has imprisoned for half a day), about what a stupid, reckless and prideful man Boromir was and how he's far better in every single way.

WOW HAHA ISN'T THAT INTERESTING! COOL! Book Boromir is my favourite character by the way haha I'm suffering incomprehensible horrors :)

#boromir #text post #erran vs tolkien #erran vs peter jackson #tolkien #lotr #lord of the rings

[wackyharpy]

A Small Appetence

Aemond x Wife! Reader

Summary: Aemond and his lady wife make love a little in the carriage.

To find more stories — masterlist

A/N: I'd be glad for your comments and reblogs. English isn't my native. Enjoy the story :)

Warnings ⚠️

NSFW 18+, fingering, p in v sex, she/her pronouns.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Prince Aemond Targaryen waits his dear wife at the bottom of the steps outside. As usual, his hands are clasped behind the back. His stance is straight and intimidating. The thin line of his lips is clenched. He is calm, understands clearly that it takes longer for women to get ready. All those laces and skirts require time to be put on. The hairstyle has to be intricate, jewelry should be well-chosen for a perfect look — they are going for a reception.

Aemond is patient. He is so only towards three main women of his life: a mother, a sister, and a wife.

The prince vividly stands apart the surroundings, always getting attention of the female staff that works outside. They sure are afraid of him, although at times dare look his way. The leather doublet is blacker than the night sky, the hair is whiter than the snow in the North.

The expression on his face is cold and unemotional, but it softens a bit the moment the prince's wife shows up on the porch. She takes the base of her dress in order not to trip over the hem and fall down. Reaching the last steps, she puts her small hand into the calloused palm of her husband, which he has stretched out to help her.

She smiles to him genuinely, and gets just light sincere smiling from him. Then Aemond immediately changes the face expression to stoic one.

The royal carriage with four white horses in harness already awaits. The door is being opened for them, and Aemond helps her to get into.

The carriage sets off leaving the Red Keep behind, goes in the direction of the royal road.

They are silent. His dear wife looks into the window with the clasped hands on her lap. Aemond looks at her. He slowly delineates the outline of her breasts that can be seen thanks to the deep neckline. A light blush blooms on her skin — she is probably a bit anxious.

She is slowly getting used to her lord husband since the day of getting married, but they have never gone somewhere together. Alone. Especially for a reception, mostly with a focus on political issues. She doesn't want to spoil everything, to let the prince down. She is eager to show what a good wife she is.

These intrusive thoughts are swirling in the head making her more nervous than she already is. Bites the bottom lip without realizing how Aemond watches her attentively. This action of hers doesn't escape his attention.

Aemond breathes out through his nose silently keeping on viewing his small lovely wife. He doesn't know what feelings he has towards her. Not yet. But now, as he has been sharing his life with her for some time, he can say confidently that he respects his wife, he feels comfortable and peaceful beside her. Moreover, he feels lust. And it is important.

First, it was a politically forced marriage. Sure, it was. His mother informed he was soon to get married, and he accepted it without hesitation. After all, Aemond is a dutiful prince who knows what part he has to play in the realm. Unlike his elder brother.

Since the day when Aemond "got it wet" for the first time, when Aegon introduced him to a carnal part of the life, he has had quick affairs with some whores or ladies of the court who desired him. Was he satisfied? Yes. Probably. Only physically. Mentally? No.

He figured out how to please a woman. Not that he was eager to please all of them, mostly he was seeking to satisfy his own needs and desires. Though, every time Aemond gets involved into something new, he can't help himself but find more information in order not to be ignorant. He hates ignorance.

He thought he would lay with his wife several times to conceive a child and then wouldn't interact with her. But she turned out to be so beautiful, intelligent, witty, well-read, kind, and his.

Nobody has ever been his.

On the wedding day, she was apprehensive. She knew something was awaiting for her. This was a wedding bed. Duly prepared.

The closer the evening was the more worried she became. He recalls it clearly. And he remembers how she was quietly crying underneath him when he was taking her maidenhead.

That night he promised himself he didn't want to be Aegon. He couldn't understand how some lords didn't care about their wives forcing them, raping them, satisfying only their men needs. It was disgusting for Aemond.

That night he couldn't sleep. Sat in the armchair in front of the fireplace sometimes looking in his wife's way. Her petite figure was asleep. She was lonely. Ripped vilently out of her family, brought here, presented to him, made his wife, forced to open her legs, to endure the humiliation.

He knew exactly what humiliation was, what loneliness was. What it was when the world turned away from him. He knew what it was when flames of the life had faded away from the woman's eyes. He saw such eyes every time. His sister's. His mother's.

Next time they shared the bed, he made sure she came. He felt proud constantly all the time she reached her peak.

And now she is sitting opposite him. Her eyes are alive. He knows she feels safe and protected. Because of him. Thanks to him.

Aemond clears his throat to drag her attention, and feels a swift rush of heat to his cock the moment she casts a glance at him.

"My Lord husband?"

He is already aroused. She is so beautiful, and this dress... The one he gifted. It will be pity to rip it off of her.

"Sit on my lap," he commands.

She looks at him questioningly.

"What?" Her voice is sweet and soft.

"Sit on my lap. Now, dear lady wife." Aemond orders again.

She bites her lip — this action drives Aemond crazy, and obediently reaches him straddling. She gasps at the feeling of the bulge in his trousers. Aemond immediately embraces her cuddling his nose into her chest. Her flowery scent conquers the space around him. The mind reels.

He starts covering her neck with gentle kisses, licks the silk skin. He doesn't want to leave any hickeys as he has no desire others to look at his wife as if she were a skank. Her small hands rest on his shoulders clenching a tight doublet. He knows it feels good. Very good. She loves being kissed and cherished.

"Please half rise," Aemond whispers against her cleavage leaving a sweet kiss there.

She rises a bit, and he tries to get under her numerous skirts to reach her core.

"Aemond..." She gasps from surprise. He quiets her, but the worry on her face doesn't disappear.

"Here?"

"Yes, here and now," he is very confident about fucking his wife in this carriage. Although, he sees she's hesitant.

"What if we are heard?"

"Then be quiet," he smirks knowing it'll be difficult for her and he will definitely cover her mouth.

Finally, his horny fingers touch her labia starting rubbing it. She closes her eyes and half opens the mouth falling into pleasant sensations. Aemond leans and kisses her bottom lip, at this time opening her warm core feeling moist inner labia.

His breeches already feel too tight for his cock that screams for attention. She breathes heavily and rocks her hips back and forth lightly on his fingers that rub the clit. Aemond knows she needs more friction for this part of her body and he initiates faster movements. She releases a moan and he stops abruptly. His other hand smacks her buttocks through the fabric, and she flinches.

"I said be quiet," his voice is firm.

She just nods and purses her lips.

Aemond continues teasing her pearl and then suddenly enters her with two fingers making her to shudder. His palm covers her mouth in time to silence a groan.

His wife pants blushing when he sets a fast pace with his fingers desiring to prepare her for him. Her pussy is wet and sticky, and Aemond smirks contendetly.

With one easy move he turns her on the seat pinning her under him. Her eyes are wide when he unlaces his breeches having no patience to wait more. Freeing his hard member, Aemond lifts up the skirts that wrap around her waist, and make himself comfortable between her lean legs.

Entering her is like coming through the gates of heaven. Divine. Her mouth is covered with his hand again. She clenches his doublet made of rough leather and moans into his palm. His thrusts are swift and crude. His strong trained after long fighting sessions fingers find her clit again rubbing it in circles.

Aemond knows he won't last long — too aroused, too adrenalized. But he'll make sure she reaches her end properly. He admires her red face and gorgeous breasts that are heaving from hard panting. He feels pleasant tugging in his lower abdomen, something tickles in the bottom of his back — he is close. Almost. He can't come before her.

Aemond increases the speed of his movements literally pumping into her hot insides that welcome him delightfully. He sees how her legs begin shaking and she fusses, twitches, grasps his waist to go through her orgasm.

Her fleshy wet walls clench him too tightly he can't last longer — ultimately bursts releasing his semen deep inside his lovely wife.

He catches himself, abuts his hands on the back of the seat in order not to crash her. His lips instinctively find hers and he drags her into a long passionate kiss.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #prince aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aegon ii targaryen

[sensitiveheartless]

Saw your 'The Horrors' comic and 1. Absolutely loved it, and 2. I love love LOVE the progression of Dazai's fears and his reactions to it. There's the immediate fear of Chuuya dying, and his response is to go numb and emotionless. In RESPONSE to that reaction, the mirror switches to copying that apathetic state he was in his mafia days, and he snaps back to being emotional and keeping his priorities to 'keep Chuuya safe' to distract himself, which is what he does in the ADA now and critically, what Oda wanted for him. So of course, it latches on to THAT fear, and without the cold, analytical side of him on the front, it completely catches him off-guard. The build-up and progression is SO good and my God you're amazing.

!! Yessss oh my gosh I'm so happy you noticed all that!! I spent a lot of time thinking through the different shifts of form it takes — and how because the only thing the mirror-ability can do is reflect, Dazai initially thinks he can beat it by remaining unemotional. The problem is, the mirror-ability can reflect the darkest part of any side that Dazai shows it, including that lack of emotion, so he can't beat it at all. I thought that would be a really messed up antagonist for him to face :0

Also, another backstory tidbit because this made me think of it, is that whenever no one is looking at the mirror it starts borrowing elements of forms that have scared people in the past, which leads to it becoming big and fucked-up looking. This is because in the past, one of the people that it reflected was afraid of the mirror gaining a memory and intent. So the mirror now intentionally hunts people, and tries to scare them into looking at it with ominous noises and such. But yeah, that's why it takes on these forms when nobody is watching!

I just love the idea of a monster that essentially weaponizes the fear of the unknown. It's that whole concept of "not seeing the monster is worse because the real monster can never be as scary as what you imagine it to be", except in this case it can genuinely be as bad as anyone imagines, and if they think of a way to make it worse, the monster will immediately get worse. A complete runaway affect as people get more and more scared of it.

Anyway, this ask made me super happy, I'm really glad the motivations behind the shapeshifting came across, as well as the shifts in Dazai's mentality!! Thank you so much for this ask, it made my day :D

#related: I need to check my inbox more often because I keep not getting notifications for new asks aksdjfksdjf #oh tumblr. truly a cursed website #but yeah I had waaay too much fun with this ability creature aksdjfksjf :D #and seeing people enjoy the comic makes the effort really feel worth it! so thank you again #I appreciate everyone who commented on the comic so much ;; #ask box #the horrors comic

[fumifooms]

And now I’m truly going off the rails bc of last asker but I have thought about what plant fits who and it’s my time to shine…

Mithrun is a succulent because they look like flowers but aren’t (tougher and also kind of duller), are elegant yet minimalist, and they’re low maintenance (you could definitely argue that Mithrun is high maintenance instead but I went the opposite route of him never feeling like he needs much water, attention and whatnot). I prefer the classic one that’s a pale greyish green for him but there are so many that are neat…

Kabru as a big floating bladderwort… A carnivorous aquatic plant that traps little aquatic critters. If you just look at the flower it looks so pretty and harmless, distracts from the roots scheming murder… Also it’s an aquatic plant, gives me the vibe of something surviving/thriving in an environment that shouldn’t be theirs but they’ve adapted, like a tallman in elf society…..

I also associate him a ton with himalayan blue poppies, for obvious reasons. Insane that the shade of blue of his eyes is associated with the throat chakra btw, Kui’s always doing 8d chess my god.

For Izutsumi, Faassen's Catmint. It's a species of catnip but a man-made hybrid and not a natural species. It kind of looks like a long puffy cat tail with the shape, and it has a lot of little flowers… Kind of subtle/bland and unassuming at first look, but colorful and sweet if you take the time to look. Feels sort of vulnerable/or even cold at first but like they’re just looking out for themselves even if they are not someone unemotional….. It makes sense to me. Babygirl. Purple is an unexpected choice for her but it feels right

Chilchuck echinopsis calochlora or golden barrel cactus… The first one is smaller, but I was trying to find the perfect lil cactus guy with orange spines and couldn’t really find any that was just perfect. Chilchuck "I am so approachable" Tims, literally round and spiny with his little hairs but also metaphorically fitting… Also the gooden barrel cactus has a bunch of lil yellow flowers that sprout on its top while the calochlora has HUGE stalks with a big white flower that sprouts so like, if you want to take that to be his big heart once he reveals it or the little flowers of his care……

Falin is the funky living rocks plant. They have cryptid energy and are just so weird and colorful and unique. A little unfeeling. Sad that she doesn’t get a plant that’s fun to eat but come on.

I feel like Laios would also be a cactus, with maybe juice that has funky properties kind of like peyote… He’s reserved and [spoilers], but he either has no spines or small/few spines so he doesn’t look all that uninviting or tough… Probably has very pretty colorful flowers! Or he’s like Falin and loves dandelions and bishop’s lace because he can eat it. Or maybe he’d be a vegetable. Sweet potato… Someone said carnivorous plant to which I suggest pitcher plant or sarracenia.

I see Senshi as basil. Enough said. Something that can be turned into spices and is all greenery that’s all I need

Thank you for coming to my ted talk. I had these thoughts months ago while sick and feverish </3 Possessed by the want to draw the cast as little plants…….. That would be nice……

#Dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #mithrun #kabru #izutsumi #Is this anything……. Ok stopping tagging chars here #Flower symbolism #Fumi rambles

[grandmasterswife]

Secrets Above the Stairs

->Pairing: Childhood Bestfriend!Reader x Rafe

->Summary: Rafe comes to you distraught with a confession after helping his dad commit a crime.

->Warnings/Tags: Vulnerable!Rafe, mentions of doing coke lol, angst

->A/n: This is incredibly short, but I loved writing it. I am such a whore for comforting the vulnerable. Anyway, this takes place during Season 2, episode 2 when Ward kills Gavin bc he's blackmailing him and then comes home and asks for Rafe's help to get rid of the body.

First time sharing my writing, pls be nice <;3.

Your eyes burn at the bright light in contrast to the dark room that you had previously been asleep in. Your phone is dinging with messages that you figure you’ll ignore and read in the morning, until the obnoxious ringer goes off indicating you’re getting a phone call.

‘My fucking god.

You snatch the phone into your hand and squint your eyes enough so you can see the answer button without bothering to look at who was calling. Your eyelids scratch against your eyes like sandpaper, and you can’t fight the heaviness weighing them down.

You try to say something into the phone but all that comes out is a gravelly murmur.

“Can I-,” There’s a short sniffle, “Can I come up to your room?” His octave is low and soft, if he was anyone else you would have second guessed who was calling.

Rafe’s distraught voice pumped adrenaline into your body, forcing you to sit up in bed.

“Are you okay?”

“I just- I need to come up. You’re home, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Grabbing pants wasn’t of importance to you at the moment, mostly because you didn’t want to dig around your drawers to find something and waste more time. You were just glad tonight was one of the nights you decided to wear an oversized t-shirt to bed.

You hurry down the stairs, using your phone screen as a flashlight to find the steps and illuminate the space between the halls and door. The metal handle is just as cold as the tiles on the floor, and as goosebumps raise all over your body, you're desperate to get him to your room so you can jump back into your warm covers.

Your selfish desire ceases the second you open the door. Rafe Cameron, the usual cocky but otherwise unemotional boy you were once bonded with, is at your doorstep with wet cheeks and a heavy expression that left you with about a hundred thoughts running through your mind of what could have happened. You pull the door further open, and he walks in past you. The moonlight disappears as you close the entrance, leaving you in pitch black. You wait to ask any questions till you’ve made it to your bedroom.

“This w—” You started to whisper.

“I remember where it is.”

You momentarily forget that this used to be a second home to him. He knows how many steps lead up to your second floor, and which dishes are in which cabinet. He knows that you wear little to nothing at nighttime because your room is hotter than the rest of the house, he knows which part of the couch you prefer to lay on, and most of all, he knows you’re the only one aware of the kind of person his dad is.

You get to the top of the stairs and after a few more steps and turns, you push your door open and close it behind him. After turning on your lamp, your stomach sinks at the sight of your former best friends' dazed expression and nervous fidgeting. You barely manage to suppress the urge to wrap your arms around him, instead you wrap them around yourself and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“What’s going on?”

“I haven’t been in here since freshmen year of high school.” He says flatly, looking around the dimly lit room. The rays of orange from your lamp display across the walls and furniture.

He sounds distant when he speaks, and your arms tighten around your torso. Rafe Cameron was not one to be fazed. At least not the one you knew. Not your Rafe. You heard about his short temper and drug habits only after the two of you had stopped hanging out. You saw him at a party last summer with a rolled-up bill up his nose sniffing white lines from a table. Maybe you should have intervened then, but you weren’t sure what your place was in his life anymore.

“Yeah, I know,” You clear your throat, “Are you gonna talk to me?"

“I have this- this... stuff that I’m dealing with. And uh, I don’t think I can tell anyone else. I’m not even sure I should tell you.” He sits down beside you and curiosity fills your mind.

“Rafe,” you tuck a leg underneath yourself and adjust so your body is facing him, “what happened?”

In this moment, you weren’t just ex-friends who grew apart over the years, making small talk in the name of nostalgia. In this moment, you’re the kids cannonballing into your pool at the family barbeque, the teenagers sneaking alcohol from your parents’ liquor cabinet just to get drunk in your room, the friends who spent every day together. In this moment, you never grew apart and you still understood each other.

“I did something. And- and I- I did it to protect my dad, you know? But someone knew. He fucking knew I did it and he was trying to blackmail my dad for money. And so, he—”

“What’d he do? What did you do?”

His blue eyes observe your face like he’s trying to determine his next words. You want him to talk to you, so you lean closer to put a hand on his knee for support.

“He killed our pilot, Gavin. He asked me to help him-” He lets out a shaky breath as he rubs his face, like he's trying to wake up from a nightmare. “Help him get rid of it.”

“Did you…?”

Even with him turning away, you see his eyes moisten. He opens his mouth like he's about to answer but instead, he clenches his jaw shut and looks up to the ceiling. Your face twists with concern at his reaction, but you don't want to say anything else until he answers.

“I did, Y/n.” His voice cracked.

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to criticize Ward or ask what the hell happened to him after you stopped being friends, but neither would do him any good. Instead, you sigh and give in to the urge telling you to pull him into you. You wonder why he didn't go to Topper or Kelce; you never spotted him in public without one of them at his side. But as he embraces you tightly, you quickly realize what he wants is comfort and you wince at the sobs that start to erupt out of him. In between sniffles, he starts to tell you everything. Not just about what his dad did tonight, but about what he did that led to it in the first place; he killed a cop.

“I think there might be something wrong with me.”

Might is an understatement.

“That is some pretty fucked up stuff, Rafe.”

“I need you. I don’t know how to fix this on my own.” He lifts his head up. His face is only an inch away from yours, you can feel his warm breath on your skin as his eyes gaze into yours like he’s searching for something.

“Okay,” You put your hands on his shoulders to create space between you, “Stay here tonight. I’ll help you. We’ll fix it.”

#rafe cameron #rafe #fanfic #obx fic #rafe obx #outerbanks #obx fanfiction #obx x reader #rafe x reader #ward cameron #angst #soft rafe cameron #grandmasterswifefic #grandmasterswife #rafe x y/n #rafe imagine