#i think i had one with scar and his hat but i lost it :(

[bountydroid]

Darlin' pt 7

pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3 / pt 4 / pt 5 / pt 6

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (SMUT)

Description: After a close call Cooper gives in to his feelings for Reader.

Notes: This chapter is half smut. For those who don’t want that I don’t think you’d miss anything of importance in the story if you skip it.

TW: p in v, unprotected sex, irradiated cream pie, pretty vanilla (sorry pervs lol love you I'm just not good at smut).

His scarred lips were rough against mine, one of his hands on my hip the other tangled in my hair. This was a moment I dreamed about my entire life. Someone who cares about me was never something I thought I’d have. While having a couple of fleeting flings here and there with my brother's friends, I never had a true romance. This feeling? It was straight out of one of my novels. When he finally pulled away, I couldn't help but let out a breathy sound of dissatisfaction. He gave me a teasing smile before taking the vials from my hand and shoving them into his bag.

"Let's go find you some Radaway, Darlin'. We’ll have ya feelin' better in no time." He said as he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the building.

"Thank god Lucy left the door open." I thought to myself as we made our way inside. 

The place was huge and felt like a relic of the past. The rundown storefronts and flickering lights left much to be desired. I pushed my body against Cooper's back as an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Noticing my discomfort, he gave my hand a small reassuring squeeze. He was still in bad shape, clear as day, as he stumbled through the building.

After some exploration, we came across a room full of bodies. "Didn't know Lucy was capable of this." I gasped.

"I imagine these fellas did most of it." He said, kicking the boot of one of the men on the ground. He was holding a gun, but it didn't seem to have done him much good. While Cooper scanned the bodies, looking for anything of value, I started to wander over to some of the other rooms. One room in particular caught my eye, some of the things inside reminding me of the medical center we found Roger in.

"Don't go far," Cooper said as he huffed another vial before rummaging through the men's pockets.

"I won't," I mumbled as I looked back at him one more time before entering the room. I swallowed nervously as I looked around the room before setting my sights on some drawers in a cabinet. After some searching, I could some syringes with the word "Radaway" written on the side. 

"Found some!" I said happily as I made my way back to Cooper to find him shoving vials of Jet into his hat. “That's so much!" I yelled in shock.

The happiness radiating from the two of us could have probably lit up a city. He looked up at me with the biggest smile I have ever seen on him before his eyes flitted to the syringe in my hand. He dropped his hat on the ground as he held out his hand expectantly. 

"Let me help you with that." He stated.

I was perfectly capable of injecting myself, but I liked the idea of Cooper taking care of me, so after a moment of hesitation I passed it to him. While he was looking over the syringe, almost like he was making sure it wasn't fake, I took the time to look over his face. REALLY look it over. His leathery tan skin and his beautiful hazel eyes. I knew that many people looked at him with disgust, but I don't think that after getting to know him I could ever think of him as anything other than beautiful. I was so lost in thought I barely registered the needle going into my arm.

"There," He said with a satisfied tone. "All better."

"Thanks, Coop." I beamed up at him. I had some Radaway, Cooper had a lot of Jet, and he finally kissed me. Everything felt perfect. 

Cooper knelt down to pick back up his hat when something caught his eye. A rectangular black box with glass on the front. 

"What is that?" I asked curiously.

"That, darlin'." He responded, a look of shock on his face, "That is a television."

I ruminated on the word, trying to figure out if I knew it from anywhere as he grabbed something and inserted it into the television. He slowly made his way to the couch and plopped down. The expression on his face was something I couldn't recognize. Amazement? I sat down next to him as I looked at the television curiously, whatever it was it was affecting Cooper. The box sprang to life, lighting up as he pressed a button on the controller he was holding. The television played a video. "Of course!" I thought to myself as I remembered the stories of moving pictures. The man on the video reminded me a lot of Cooper. The western attire, the confidence, and of course the gun he was holding. 

"Reminds me of you," I said innocently, not realizing the weight of my words.

"Nah, He ain't nothin' like me." He said quietly before looking over at me to scan my face before looking back at the video.

The man in the video was talking and I was trying to pay attention, I really was, but It was so long since I had sat anywhere but the ground, and while under normal circumstances I would call the couch uncomfortable, it felt like the most comfortable thing in that moment. I put my head on Cooper's shoulder and yawned. 

"Tired already, sugar?" Cooper teased.

"Maybe a lil' bit," I admitted. "I could stay up a bit longer, though."

"For what?" He mused, almost like he knew what I was thinking. 

I giggled, blush coating my cheeks as I whispered, "Maybe some more kissing?"

He hummed happily before pulling me onto his lap. I yelped in surprise at his sudden movement, grasping at his shoulders. “Now why would you want to kiss lil’ old me?” He was mostly joking, but an undertone of seriousness hung in the air.

“A better question is why wouldn’t I want to kiss you, Cooper? You are strong, you take care of me, you are handsome-“ I started to explain.

He scoffed, interrupting me. “I ain’t handsome.”

“You are!” I try to explain, “You have pretty eyes.” I said like I did days ago, back when he barely tolerated me. “And the way ya hold yourself is very… sexy.”

His eyes snapped up to mine, they were darkening, hungry. The embarrassment coursed through me and I could hardly stand it, so I buried my face in his neck.

“Awww getting shy, sugar?” He mocked. Before I could respond I felt his lips on my cheek. He stayed there for a moment before he started trailing down my neck, leaving tiny kisses in his wake.

I sighed happily as I pushed myself closer to him. I could’ve stayed that way forever, but Cooper had other plans. His hands were still on my hips from when he pulled me onto him. He slowly started to massage them before pressing me harder down on his lap. I let out a sound that was a mixture between a yelp and a moan.

“You like that?” He whispered in my ear.

I shook my head yes, my face still hidden in his neck.

“I wanna see you, darlin’.” He stated, his southern drawl slurred. He wasn’t demanding it, the tone in his voice was soft and hesitant, like he was worried he was going to scare me off.

Holding my breath I slowly pushed myself up. I was sure my face was red as a tomato as I made eye contact with him. When our eyes met, it felt like a damn had been released, lust flowing through me. “Coop,” I whisper before I start moving my hips on my own.

He let out a growl as he squeezed at my plush hips. “So soft.” He said.

“All for you, I’m all for you,” I say before crashing my lips into his.

The kiss was heady and passionate, I felt like I was drowning in him.

“Too many clothes,” I mumble against his mouth. Before I started to tug at his tattered duster jacket.

“I agree,” he sighed. Instead of helping me with his jacket, he ripped my hands from him and quickly tugged off my shirt, almost tearing it in the process. He sucked in a breath as he took in my bare chest. It was a sight to behold. Hair messy, half naked, and pupils blown. There was no way he could question if I wanted him, not anymore.

“God damn.” He groaned before leaning forward to kiss my chest. It’s like he wanted to kiss every inch of my body and I was starting to get impatient.

“Stop your teasin’,” I grumbled out, tugging at his jacket again.

This time, he obliged, quickly shucking it off before his hands started fumbling at his vest buttons. I cursed at him for wearing so many layers. I took this time to slide off his lap to take off my boots and pants, leaving me in nothing but my underwear. His hands stuttered as he threw off his vest and pulled off his shirt, distracted by the view in front of him.

“You, sugar, are way too good for me.” He muttered, his hands reaching out to pull me back onto his lap.

I moaned at the feeling of his rough jeans rubbing against me through my underwear. I could feel myself getting wetter, smearing my arousal on his pants. I rubbed my hands down his scarred chest before finding myself fiddling with his buckle.

“You want me?” I asked as I bit my lip. “Then take me.”

This seemed to flip a switch in him as he quickly spun me around so my back was on the couch. He hovered over me before kissing me fervidly. I undid his belt before popping open the button on his pants. He briefly pulled away from me to pull on his pants completely before slotting himself back on top of me.

“Darlin’,” he moaned as he rubbed his erection against my core.

I was so lost in the feeling I could barely respond, “Yeah?” I moaned out.

“There was more Radaway, right?” He asked. It was sweet that even in his lustful state he was still worried about me.

“Yes, Coop.” I responded, “Now fuck me already.”

He chuckled before mocking me, “So eager.”

He continued to tease me as he slowly pulled down my underwear, kissing down my legs as he went. I started to get dizzy, the arousal was becoming too much to bear. Finally, he pulled my panties off completely, kissing his way back up my body. I widened my legs as far as they could go, silently beckoning him inside of me. I heard him curse under his breath before slowly pushing himself into me. We let out moans in tandem, reveling in the feeling.

I put my hand on the back of his head and pulled him down so our foreheads were knocking against each other. I looked deeply into his eyes before I started to plead, “Fuck me, Cooper. Make me feel good. Please!”

“I could never say no to you.” He whispered before sheathing himself completely, his head brushing against that sweet spot inside of me.

He gave me a peck on the lips before trailing down my neck again, sucking as he went. The idea of having marks on me that everyone would see made me moan loudly. He was claiming me as his. I started to wiggle, silently begging him to move. After a few moments, he gave in, starting slow. It was intimate, sweet even. He wasn’t fucking me he was making love to me. He had barely started but I was already a babbling mess. Repeating his name like a prayer I begged for him to go faster. It didn’t take long for him to oblige, picking up his pace. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room. The bodies on the floor were long forgotten as we got lost in each other.

“Y/n,” he groaned my name, causing me to squeeze around him. “Sugar, you keep feeling this good I’m not gonna last long.”

I was feeling too good to respond, letting out soft squeaks and moans as he pistoned in and out of me. He snaked his hand down my body to start rubbing at my clit, causing my body to tremble. I was close and he knew it, trying to get me to the edge before he arrived there himself.

“Cooper!” I cried out as I convulsed underneath him, succumbing to the pleasure. I could hear him swearing above me before he stilled, letting out one last moan as he came inside of me.

The both of us were breathing heavily. Saying we were exhausted would have been an understatement. He took a moment before starting to pull out of me. I let out a sad whimper at the lack of contact, grasping at his arms. He let out a breathy laugh at my actions. “I’ll be back.” He said, reassuring me. I watched him with half-lidded eyes as he went into the medical room for a moment before coming back to me with another syringe of Radaway.

I snorted, “That could have waited.”

He didn’t respond, instead opting to give me a smirk before sinking the needle into my arm. Once he was done he grabbed ahold of me, rolling us over so he was underneath me on the couch.

As he was rubbing reassuring circles on my back he told me, “Sleep, darlin’.”

I hummed happily into his chest before giving way to his request.

Tag list: @bruhidkjustwannaread @msrawog @valdemarismynonbinarylove @whizbang-cap @topiramateagreeable @sitkafay @lightan117 @eykismyfav @ajeff855 @madelinealexandra @justme12200 @sihlaryn @raviolisenpai @ellabellabunny123 @impossessedbyjeongyeon @leviathanleva @v3lv3tf0x @fallout-girl219 @savanahc @booksbabes @gauky76 @green--beanie @fanfictiongirly23 @gobbodoggo @erissco @helveticabold @katgirl05 @tfamidoingwithmylife @miketastic25 @alex-does-art-things

#cooper howard #the ghoul fallout #fallout tv series #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout #the ghoul smut #cooper howard smut

[apollos-boyfriend]

my favorite genre of gif is cubitos fucking beefing it

try and name something funnier than these. you literally can’t

#icarus speaks #also if you have any PLEASE add them #i need more for my collection #the bdubs one genuinely sends me into tears every time #his head just. pops off him #i think i had one with scar and his hat but i lost it :(

[hearts4renaa]

OH MY, LOVE IS A LIE!

summary: it's all over now, but he's still thinking of you. featuring alhaitham, diluc, kamisato ayato, and zhongli. part 2 to you're losing me.

w/c: 2.1k in total a/n: i am really churning out angst for yall. inspired by hits different by taylor swift

I find the artifacts, cried over a hat. Curse the space that I needed.

“There’s no way you still have that.” Kaveh comments as he walks past Alhaitham in their little library of the home. Kaveh looks at the small crystal in the scholar's hands, cringing.

Alhaitham glares at the blonde. “Shut it.” He grumbles, twirling the gem in between his fingers. He intended to give it to you over dinner, as an apology for the stunt he pulled two weeks ago. The guilt took over his body like a fever. He was sleepless for a few nights, and you slept in the guest bedroom. Eventually, he drew to a conclusion. The two of you had been dating for quite a while; maybe it’s time to take it to the next step.

He invited you to a proper dinner that night, and you accepted despite the growing tension between the two of you. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t realize the two of you had very different plans for that night. He was there to take it further. You were there to end it.

Kaveh’s scoff takes Alhaitham out of the depths of his memory. “Don’t you have better things to do than nag me?” Alhaitham spit out. “Pay your rent, perhaps?” 

Kaveh rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “It’s crazy how you’re talking to me how you talked to them.” A glare made its way into his amber eyes. “Thought you would’ve learned to watch your choice of words after what happened.”

Alhaitham had no rebuttal. He knew Kaveh was right. He didn’t think his words or actions carried much weight until you were crushed under them. His words and actions chipped away at what he loved until eventually, nothing was there at all. How did he not notice? How did he not see the storms in your eyes? How did he not hear the tiredness in your voice? How could he let you fight for the relationship alone, while he stood on the sidelines as it withered to nothingness? His eyes redirect from Kaveh to the gem in his hands. It’s like he can still see your face in the reflection. Like the love was still there, shimmering and sparkling the same way the gem did in the afternoon sun.

“And yes, I do have better things to do.” Kaveh says, walking towards the entrance of the house. “I’m heading to lunch with a friend of mine.” A knock pierces their conversation, effectively saving Alhaitham from having to face the harsh truth from Kaveh of all people. “Ah, they’re here!” Kaveh leaves the library entirely, leaving Alhaitham in the room alone. He hears the front door open. “Y/N!” Kaveh greets. Alhaitham freezes.

What the fuck?

“Just one second, I forgot something in the study.” He hears Kaveh say, and footsteps are fast approaching. Kaveh retrieves his left behind item, but not before Alhaitham stops him. The grip he has on Kaveh’s forearm is almost painful.

“What the hell?” Alhaitham’s voice is bitter. Jealous, even.

Kaveh yanks his arm away. “Just because you lost the love of your life Y/N doesn’t mean I have to lose my friend Y/N.” Kaveh’s voice is firm. Soon enough, he’s walking away and out the door.

Alhaitham feels the sorrow truly kick in. All the times he asked for space from you. All the time he could’ve spent with you. Now, the space between the two of you was farther than ever before. And he can’t do anything but look at the gem in his hand, wishing he could run to you more than ever.

I trace the evidence, make it make some sense, why the wound is still bleeding?

He won’t admit it, but Diluc’s hands were beginning to ache from the endless action of polishing the glasses. He insisted on working the bar tonight, letting the usual bar staff have some well deserved rest. Peering down, Diluc takes the time to examine the many scars on his hands. They were dotted on his skin, and they all held a story. A burn. A scab he kept picking at. An accidental cut. Either way, they all had an experience leading up to each wound.

He realizes how much of a hypocrite he is. Scolding you for wanting the adventure, for getting a minor injury as if he doesn’t do ten times more fighting than you did. Worried endlessly for your safety, as if he doesn’t risk his life on the daily. Diluc has faced many wounds over his life, but the worst one he’s experienced was losing you.

The breakup wasn’t dramatic. The two of you sat across from each other next to the fire, and you told him of how you lost the love. Of how the flame burned so slowly than it burned out. The two of you agreed to end things together; at least, that’s what you think. He didn’t lose anything. His flame still burns as brightly as it did in the beginning. Perhaps his flame burned so bright that it overtook yours. You packed your things and left Dawn Winery. He saw you off with a polite wave, but the moment the door shut, the dam burst and the tears flowed.

Now here he was, without you, repeating a stupid polishing action until the door opened. There you were, with the Traveler and Venti of all people. It’s awkward for a moment, both of your eyes darting around to avoid the other’s. Eventually, the three of you get a table to sit at. As your group passes by, he hears the Traveler quietly say something to you. “Sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think he’d be working today.” He hears you laugh. Oh, how he wishes he was the source. 

“Don’t worry about it,” You say. “I’m basically over him.”

Diluc feels a sting in his chest, and he has to stop himself from dropping the glass in his hand. That hurt. He certainly wasn’t over you. The night passes, and you are engaged in conversation. Diluc takes the chance to steal fleeting glances in your direction.

The weapon on your back has more wear and tear. Your bag looks heavier, more used. He sees minor scars on your skin. A few on your arm, one on your cheek, some on your calves. It takes everything in him to not fret over you, but he knows he can’t. You’re not his to lose anymore. But most of all, Diluc sees the way you exude light. Cheer radiates from you, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you more beautiful than you were right now.

You may bear more scars than when you were with him, but he’s never seen you happier.

You were the one that I loved! Don’t need another metaphor, it’s simple enough.

Ayato runs a hand through his hair while walking the streets of Inazuma City. He was on the way to a wedding attire fitting, for his wedding to another Inazuman noblewoman. The wedding isn’t for another month, so it’s crucial to ensure that all clothing is prepared and ready to allow ample time for unforeseen circumstances. On the way to his appointment, Ayato passes by a familiar restaurant. He softly smiles, remembering how he used to visit often. Then, his smile is replaced with a frown when he realizes he hasn’t been in two months. There was no reason for him to eat there anymore- he used to eat there with you.

He’ll never forget how puffy your eyes were when you broke things off with him. It was obvious you were crying, and with how the conversation was going, Ayato was about to cry too. “I can’t do this anymore, Ayato.” Your voice sounded exhausted. Ayato hated knowing he was the reason for your sleepless nights. He didn’t understand why he snapped at your skepticism over the arranged marriage. He couldn't, and wouldn’t ever imagine you marrying someone else. He understood. The problem is, he understood too late. Now, it’s been two months and he still doesn’t go a single day without thinking of you. 

Finally, Ayato arrived at his destination. The tailors was a quaint little shop in a less busy corner of Inazuma, but many of the locals purchased ceremonial clothing from the owners. They’re said to have a very keen eye, even when it comes to choosing employees. Ayato slides the door open, and he is greeted by a worker.

“Welcome! Are you here for a fitting or-”

He could recognize that voice. There’s no way. His eyes widened at the realization, and you did too, seeing how your words trailed off. 

“Y/N.” He breathed out your name as if he had been suffocating prior. You take a second to compose yourself before putting your professional facade back on. He is a customer. He is no more than that.

“Are you here for an appointment?” You ask.

Your formal tone throws him off. He remembers your cheery usual tone from back then, and he wishes nothing more than to go back to those times.

“Yeah.” He nods. “It’s…wedding attire.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat. Of course, he’s still going forward with the marriage. After all, he made it clear that you have nothing to offer for the Kamisatos.You nod curtly before gesturing him to a fitting station. “Please allow me to grab my tools.” You give a small bow, ignoring eye contact. You turn away to head towards the shop’s tool drawer with measuring tapes and such. When you’re certain he cannot see your face, you allow your bottom lip to tremble slightly. 

Meanwhile, Ayato’s eyes stay trained on your figure. For the two of you to break up, then have you be the person attending to him during the wedding fitting? The Seven must be laughing at him as he experiences this cruel twist of fate. Suddenly, it hits him. The two of you are part of each other’s past. It’s over. You aren’t in each other’s present lives, and you most likely won’t be part of each other’s futures.

You might be a stranger now, but he will forever recognize your voice in a sea of people.

A wrinkle in time, like the crease by your eyes. This is why they shouldn’t kill off the main guy.

“Who do you think the lucky one is?” The women of Liyue gossip. Their eyes are fixed on Zhongli, following him like a hawk. The man in question is shopping for flowers. However, he seems to be interested in the large bouquets of flowers, the ones far too large to be classified as “just felt like it” flowers. He takes his time to examine each flower thoroughly. He checks the stems, petals, if they’re fully bloomed. Uncommon than most men nowadays, Zhongli was truly looking at every factor while shopping for these flowers, which is why the women were so interested to know who they were for.

On Zhongli’s end, his senses were being absolutely bombarded with the signature floral scent. Zhongli’s taste in flowers only gets incredibly picky around this time of year. After all, the anniversary of your death is upcoming. He only wants the best flowers for you, since he couldn’t give you the best when you were still alive. If there’s one memory he’ll never forget, it’ll be how you still told him that you loved him, even in your final moments.

“Excuse me, are you looking for anything in particular?” A worker asks him.

Normally, he’d politely decline and continue about his day. But he can’t. Not when said worker looks identical to you. His eyes are wide, scanning the person up and down. Same hair, eyes, facial structure. If he didn’t know better, he’d think you were right in front of him. Unfortunately, Zhongli does know better. He knows that you are no longer alive. And he knows that he is the reason for your death.

He regains his composure. “I’m alright, thank you.” His smile is polite, but not sincere.

"Ah, alright. I’m sorry if this sounds weird but…” The worker started. “Are you doing alright? I’m sorry, I just felt like I had to ask you. Gut feeling, I guess.”

For a second time, Zhongli was taken aback, but he answered nonetheless. “Yes, just trying to find some nice flowers.” The worker smiled. It amazes Zhongli how much they look like you.

“Are you buying flowers for someone?” They ask.

“Yes,” Zhongli pauses. “They’re for someone who is very dear to me.” 

The worker points to a bouquet. “How about this one, then? It’s one of my favorites.”

Zhongli smiles. They were your favorite too. He lets out a chuckle at the situation. He had always hoped to see you again, but he didn’t think you’d visit him like this. “That one looks great.” He responds.

He looks up at the sky, and he hopes you know that in every other universe, he would’ve chosen you.

#genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #diluc x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #ayato x reader #genshin angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin #morax x reader

[enchantedanimal]

All of the QSMP eggs as dragons!

Now for my design notes/headcanons! (There's a lot lol)

- The color pallettes are (for the most part) based off of their parent/parents. In lore terms, l'd imagine that more time they spent around their parents before they hatched, the more their color developed to mimic them. It would usually be used as a survival strategy with their dragon parents, however sometimes their personality overcomes this and they develop their own color.

- Being dragonets, none of them can fly due to their currently underdeveloped wings.

- Tilin's yellow spots would make Quackity think that Wilbur was supposed to be the other parent.

- Tallulah's colors/features are close to that of a duck. It would likely be a coincidence, but it'd be enough to Quackity to feel like the island was mocking him.

- Tallulah's "hair" is feathers. She's the only one with feathers, and it may either be a cause or effect of her being left in the attic (possibly being mistaken to be an egg from a different species and not a dragon, or the coldness of the attic caused feathers to form).

- Tallulah and Tilin have the same colored eyes since Quackity once said that she reminds him of Tilin.

- Chayanne has fins bc he likes doing mlg water bucket clutches and fishing with Missa.

- Chayanne's tail fin, Leonarda's ear, and Richarlyson's wing are ripped in a spot due to loosing a life. Bobby lost one of his after I designed him but one of his horns would be chipped, and forgot Ramón only had one as well so let's just pretend he's got a scar on his left leg lol.

- Its kinda subtle, but Chayanne has protruding bottom canines, similar to my (and many others') Techno design.

- Fun fact that usually in my style I have the neck spines start from the top of the head. Ramon is purposely "bald".

- Ngl I don't have much to say about Trump bc he died so quick (rip) and I never saw much about him; but his hat is too big for his head.

- Bobby is a wyvern bc it's easier to slap everyone with his wings. He also headbutts and slaps ppl with his tail (those hurt more).

- Bobby's colors are less based after his parents, but the orange/blue complementary colors are kinda more of a nod to Jaiden being an artist (which doesn't make a whole lot of sense now idk my brain just defaulted to that), but feel they match his personality as well. Also his scleras (part of eye that's not the iris/pupil) are black unlike the rest who's are normal.

- Leonarda has a tiny mushroom pin on her hat and their back has mushroom-like spots for the hat she always wears.

- People keep saying that Leo somehow looks like Foolish which is funny bc that wasn't even intentional- in fact was worried that she would be one of the only ones who didn't resemble her parents enough. I did try to make her slightly taller but I'm going to guess that it's the jawline lol

- [Edit bc I just thought of it] Leo's wings are bigger bc they've grown faster due to using them more to glide off of Foolish's/Veg's builds

- Dapper is built to be more bipedal than quadrupedal (their dewclaws on their back feet act more like a normal toe for better traction/ stabilization). This makes it easier to grab (or steal) things for their collection. And hold a taser.

- Richarlyson is based after an iguana! thought it would fit well (it's kinda hard to base him off of 5 different people lol)

- Had to go off of a secondhand info + auto translations (I can understand a decent amount of Spanish but have no idea when it comes to Portuguese so this could be off) but think there was something about Richarlyson having a bad leg both in and out of rp, and think maybe Cellbit said something about him having a prosthetic for it and I thought that was so so cool! It's based semi loosely off of a dog hind leg prosthetic and a human running one; probably wouldn't actually be functional but tried to keep the general shape of the leg.

- Richas and his dads cover it in stickers :)

- Juanaflippa's tail and probably the lower half of her front legs (which aren't visible) are semi transparent from Charlie (yellow comes from Mariana), and it shifts around a bit! It looks more like slime than it feels like it. I've been calling her Bananaflippa endearingly

- Gegg intentionally looks like Juanaflippa a bit (but he's way more slimy)

- Gegg's inventory basically consists of him absorbing random things which are sometimes visible (he is so full of avocado toast). He's like Bob from Monsters vs Aliens or smth idk haven't seen that movie in forever.

There some smaller less exciting details and other headcanons I have for them (such as extra accessories they'd have like Tallulah wearing sweaters) but that's about it! Feel free to ask about anything I like talking about them lol

#qsmp #qsmp fanart #qsmp eggs #qsmp chayanne #qsmp ramon #qsmp tilin #qsmp dapper #qsmp leonarda #qsmp juanaflippa #qsmp trump #qsmp tallulah #qsmp bobby #qsmp richarlyson #qsmp gegg #gegg fanart #mcyt #mcyt fanart

[cowgurrrl]

cardigan

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Author’s note: *gasp* a stand alone drabble

Summary: “You can have my heart if you have the stomach to take it.” - Yves Olade, from Bloodsport; “When rome falls” aka you and Joel talk about scars [1.6k]

Warnings: talks of Joel’s attempt, grief, talks of self-hatred, feeeellliiinnnggggsss, learning to live despite it all

"Tell me bout this one." He asks as he traces over the jagged scar on your bicep. It always started with one, and then, before you knew it, you were mapping out each other's bodies like cartographers with sacred valleys and mountains never seen by another. You laugh and move your hair out of your face to see Joel better. He looks gorgeous in the calming orangish light of your room, his eyes bright and his muscles relaxed.

"I got into a fight with a tree branch and lost," you say, and he laughs, burying his head into your neck to hide the sound. You smile and shove at his shoulder. "I don't know why you're laughing at me. It was very scary."

"'M sure it was." 

"Alright, asshole," you say as you grab his hand and trace the scar littering the space between where his thumb and pointer finger connect. It's long and silver and barely noticeable, but it looks like it would've hurt when it happened. "How'd you get this one?"

"Workin' my first job."

"What was your first job?"

"Mechanic."

"Your first job ever was being a mechanic?" You ask, and he nods like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "How old were you?"

"Sixteen. Maybe seventeen." He says. You try to imagine a much younger Joel with softer features and darker hair. That little creature of habit probably wore the same things he wears now, but with more Texas paraphernalia. Cowboy boots and a hat. Maybe even one of those absurdly large belt buckles. Just the thought of a skinny, sixteen-year-old Joel wearing a huge belt buckle makes you laugh. 

"I bet you had all the cute girls coming in to get their car fixed, huh?"

"Somethin' like that." He smirks, and you roll your eyes.

"So, how'd you get the scar?"

"I cut it tryna fix an engine in an old car. It barely ran as is, and my boss wanted me to just gut the whole thing, but my dumbass wanted to see if I could fix it, and I cut my hand open on something. I still don't know what. Got blood all over the shop and had to get one of the guys to drive me to the hospital," he raises his right hand and traces the scar. "Ten stitches all through here, but other than that, everything was fine. Scared the shit outta my mama, though."

"D'you ever figure out what was wrong with the engine?"

"Nope. Boss replaced it before I could come back." 

"Bummer." You say, and Joel hums, reaching up to feel for the thin scar on your neck. His fingertips are warm and gentle as he traces the bumpy skin like braille. Like he could know every piece of you through touch alone.

"Another fight with a tree branch?" He asks, and you chuckle.

"A fight with a pissed-off client. Held a knife to my neck because I didn't give him his usual supply." 

"And is he still with us?"

"You're cute," you say as you brush some hair from his face. You try to smooth it down so it doesn't look as crazy, but your fingers catch on the scar on the right side of his head. You pause and let yourself memorize the feeling of the raised skin. It's long and rough as it peeks out of his hairline. He must've needed a lot of stitches if it's still so prominent all these years later. His breaths get shallow, and his eyes search your face. "Can I ask about this one?"

He takes a deep breath and nods. Wordlessly, he grabs your hand from the side of his head and kisses your fingertips. He traces circles into the back of your hand and stares at the ceiling. You watch his face change ever so subtly as he thinks, a quick pursing of his lips or a muscle in his jaw jumping when he glosses over the memories. You're convinced no one else in the world can read him like you can. You're a little smug about it, but you'd never tell him that. God forbid he try to school his microexpressions too.

"It happened the day after Sarah died." He starts, and your heart sinks. He swallows thickly and shakes his head. "I didn't care anymore. She was gone, and there was nothin' I could do to bring her back, but I thought... I don't know. I thought I could make the pain stop. So, I tried," he mimes pointing a gun at his head. "But I flinched. Still don't understand why. Tommy hauled me off to a FEDRA medical tent, and they patched me up. Scared him half to death findin' me like that." Your eyes flutter shut at the image of a frantic Tommy trying to get Joel medical help, both choking on their grief as they stumbled through. Joel always told you how much he worried about Tommy and made sacrifices for him. You wonder how many nights Tommy stayed up and watched Joel sleep so he wouldn't reach for his firearm again. You wonder how much pain they were in and never talked about it. When your eyes open again, Joel stares at the scar on your neck to avoid your gaze. You reach out to trace the shell of his right ear.

"That's why you're deaf in that ear." It was meant to be a question, but it comes out as a breathless realization, and he nods.

"It's why I'm deaf in that ear." He mumbles. You look at the scar with a new understanding and sadness. Your fingertips graze the rigid skin again, and his eyes fill with tears. He's waiting for you to flinch and pull away. He's waiting for you to ask him to never talk about this again. He's waiting for you to get angry at the past like he is. In slow, precise movements, you sit up until you're half on top of him, your eyes heavy with emotion. Then, so slowly he thought he dreamt it, you lean down and kiss the thing he hates the most about himself. 

You linger for a few seconds like you're trying to repair the skin with your touch alone before moving to kiss the ear he's deemed useless. You kiss his forehead, nose, cheeks, and jaw, catching his tears as they fall. He holds you close and tries to bury his face in your neck to hide from the love he doesn't think he deserves. You put your hands on his cheeks to keep him in place and stare down at him. 

"I'm so fucking happy you flinched." You whisper, struggling to keep your voice steady at the thought of him being gone before you could meet him. Then, you obliterate his world. "I'm so happy you're alive." You say.

In all his years on this earth, nobody has ever told Joel Miller they were happy he was alive. He doesn't know how to react. He just catches your lips and tries to press the words he can't find the strength to voice into you. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. It's okay if you can't love me like this, but Jesus fucking Christ, I hope you can try. I won't be weak anymore. You make me want to live. Nobody's been able to do that in a long time. Please forgive me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You let him flip your positions and hover over you, tears still falling down his cheeks as he kisses you. 

Rays of early morning sunshine filter through the dusty window and cast shadows across the room. You both have to get up for work soon. You know what'll happen if you don't go, but you also want to get lost in the cartography of Joel. It's okay, you think. We have the rest of our lives. You rest your forehead against his, and he takes a shaky breath, thoughts crackling loudly in the quiet room. You grab his chin and turn his head so you can kiss the scar one more time before forcing him to look at you. 

With determination and longing in your eyes, you say, "Stay with me." And you both know you're not just talking about the crisp October morning. Like so much of your lives, intention slips between the cracks for the other to pick up and examine like a long lost earring you find and wonder, "Where have you been this whole time?" He kisses you again, feeling his eyes prick with water before nodding.

"Okay," he says. "I'll stay with you if you stay with me." 

"I'm not going anywhere, Miller." 

"Good." He smiles. 

The grief will never go away. It will never be fair that Sarah died that night. You can never go back to the people you were before that day. But you can do this. You can find ways to live not despite the pain but because of it. Because he loved Sarah. Because you were kind and empathetic before Cordecyps wiped that from memory. Because grief is a conglomeration of memories so jumbled together you can't tell them apart anymore, but you can still feel the love left behind. So, you'll continue to kiss the tears away and soothe the nightmares and stitch the wounds that will heal over into nasty scars with nastier stories. You'll endure as long as you can have more mornings like this. 

And little by little, step by step, you'll learn how to do more than survive with him. You'll learn to stop waiting for the darkness to find you. You'll learn to be kind again, and he'll learn to forgive himself. Together, you'll make something whole and beautiful and worthy from your pile of broken pieces. It can't change the past, but goddammit, if it doesn't make the future look pretty good. 

#the last of us angst #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller hurt/comfort #the last of us hurt/comfort #tlou angst #tlou fic #tlou x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #tlou hbo #tlou game #the last of us fic #the last of us x reader #joel miller angst

[devnmon]

𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐜𝐬 ♡

𝐩𝐨𝐯 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧. [𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] 𝐬𝐟𝐰/𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭 𝐱𝐱

𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝟏𝟖𝟗𝟗/𝟏𝟗𝟎𝟕 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 [𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐝𝐫𝟏 𝐲𝐞𝐭]

First off, John is one to not realize his feelings for you until a certain point. He's oblivious to his OWN feelings. That's how long he's liked you. Perhaps you were captured by one of the local gangs or got severely hurt... his heart dropped when he found out. John is a real overthinker... so obviously his mind went right to the worst case scenarios. Though, when Arthur got back to camp with you in tow, he was so damn grateful.

He's taught you to ride a horse, but absolutely flushes when you clutch onto his waist tighter than usual when he picks up speed on the back of his.

His morning voice is almost too sexy to reply to the g'morning he sends your way as he huddles over the campfire, coffee in hand.

John doesn't understand why out of all the more honorable men in the world, you chose him to love and care for with your whole heart.

He's the first to initiate hand holding, especially in public– oh my god. Maybe there's a random man in the bar looking your way... and John, well he just couldn't take someone thinking you were up for grabs. You feel his grip around your hand as his fingers intertwine with yours, the glare he held as cold as ice watching the man turn away from you.

John is reallyyyyyy fucking good at five finger fillet. You're surprised he's not lost all his fingers with the way he moves his knife so swiftly. It's one of the things that made you realize your feelings towards him.

John started crushing on you after you stitched up his face in Colter. Checking his scars every day to make sure they weren't getting infected; the close proximity was just another factor that made his heart race around you.

He becomes comfortable with touch as he falls for you. At first it's just a touch on the arm that has sparks flying, then you're touching his shoulder or back– his cheeks all but flush bright red every time. [Arthur teases him about it. It's adorable.]

John often takes you on rides outside of camp just to get some air from everyone. He really appreciates having alone time where the two of you can talk and bond and wink wink ;))

He also lets you wear his hat when the both of you go out riding together. John tries to get you your own but you think his suits you just fine.

When you tell him 'i love you' for the first time, it takes him a minute to register it. But when he does, he goes "say it again" and just kisses you before saying it back.

Calls you "Miss" around camp, but in private he prefers to call you honey and sweetheart. He feels like calling you your name is something to be kept private too. John Marston is a sucker for closeness with you.

Sometimes you catch him staring from across camp, and you tried so damn hard to hide your smirk from Sadie and the other girls... that you had to excuse yourself from the group.

He cannot be normal or stay still when your hands are on him. You're laying on his bedroll with him, lightly tracing your hands up and down his body and he's all but begging for you to keep going until you can't.

John can never have you close enough; being too close isn't a thing for him. If he could be glued to you, he would.

John would love to learn to cook together. He gets his kicks out of placing his hands on your waist while you're preparing the food, feeding him bits and pieces of veggies you're chopping up.

NSFW

Here's the thing about John. He's suchh a touched starved boy that he absolutely cannot get enough of you from the time you get together. And obviously he's grabby too. Loves putting his hands everywhere on you. Like– everywhere. So much so that he leaves marks mostly every time he gets more than half an hour with you.

His love language is words of affirmation, so of course he basks in the glory when you say "you feel so good" or "right there" . Basically amps him up x10000.

Also John is a cocky little shit and mocks your cries in the bedroom. Then he'll go "Yeah? What ya screamin' my name for? Feels good huh?".

You don't know where he's learned it, but John has such a talented tongue– like, toe curling, back-arching, messy and desperate to please you without ever coming up for air.

John loses all ounce of shame in bed with you. He knows how to please you and if he's letting you be in control... he will beg and pleadddd for you. Like I said– no shame.

Loves when you pull his hair. The first time you did it he went "Atta girl..." with a groan– and you all but came right then and there from the gravel in his voice.

Is such a praiser;; gets off on hearing you whimper underneath him. Stuff like "doin' good for me, doll" and "such a mess for me, huh? look at you..." GOD.

That's another thing with John, he's always on top. Prefers missionary to observe the way you sing for him– and he's smitten all over again.

You're able to convince him to let you be on top– to ride him like the cowboy he is. He even puts his hat on you [mid ride might i say].

Is also a definite cuddler afterwards, he loves hearing your heartbeat steady while he’s pressed up against your back. He’ll suggest the two of you get cleaned up before you fall asleep.

a/n: heyy so i know this is not a lot of hcs but they're the best i got for rn while i ponder on how to write my silly little drabbles :))) stay tuned for those heheh

#john marston #john marston x reader #john marston x you #john marston x female reader #john marston hcs #rdr2 hcs #rdr2 john marston #red dead redemption 2 #john marston fanfiction #john marston fic #john marston fanfic #rdr2 spoilers #dividers by saradika-graphics #dividers by cafekitsune #devnmonwrites #devnmon writes

[phyrestartr]

Vampire | Miguel x M!Reader

Vampire!Miguel x Reader W/C: 5.9k

#NSFW, vampires, blood, gore, violence, bottom!reader, top!Miguel, mentions of sex work, mentions of assault, it's kinda cute idk, posessive behaviour, questionable relationship, reader is morally grey, reader is lowkey a criminal though lol, Johnny Blaze = Nic Cage 5ever sorry not sorry

Note: I FINISHED IT! Lost steam with editing so some bits may be kinda weird and word-y, but I really enjoyed writing this honestly :clap: ty guys for voting for me to finish this o(--( I actually finished it so quickly wtf--

--

Vampires. Blood-sucking, man-killing, devil-calling creatures. Many feared them, even now, even after the legends of Dracula faded into obscurity and out of the minds of mortal men. But there were some who kept weary watch on the old castle looming before your meager town: older folks, the ones with bleached scars and haunted voices, with quivering hands and a phobia of the dark. 

You thought they all spun tales, convinced themselves of a time that never happened thanks to whatever their parents hushedly told them come the waning of the sun. “Don't leave the house after dark,” “be wary of the man you know not,” “pray to God for his protection,” is what you figured they'd been told. You couldn't blame them. Not really. Mass hysteria, mass lies told to the young had a penchant for warping their minds, destroying their futures. 

But still, you'd listen. Face alight with a smile, one ear turned their way as you poured drinks for whatever patron came bumbling your way that night. There was one man, one who claimed to have been touched by the devil himself, momentarily transformed into something wicked and unholy, who frequented the establishment. 

“Come on now, Johnny,” you chided with a laugh, “you don't really believe all that rubbish. Touched by the devil? You Americans really are the dramatic sort, aren't you?” 

“You don't need to believe all of it,” Johnny said mildly. “You just need to believe a sliver of it. It'll do you some good. Keep you safe.” 

You smiled to yourself as you busily made a drink for a new customer. “Yeah? Keep me safe from what, exactly?” Your eyes met his, then, and you found your blood stood in place for a moment. 

“You know what.” The devil. He'd said it too many times to count without uttering his name. “Just be smart.”

“I'm always smart,” you said with a phony laugh, the sort you used to lull women and men into some cheap sense of comfort. 

“Smart people do dumb things, too.” He took a swig of his drink before peering down at the amber pooling against crystal. “Like sneaking around old, unhallowed castles.” 

You pursed your lips. “I'm just curious, old man, you don't need to worry. I've not been inside, yeah? Just looked ‘round the outside of the old place.” That's probably filled with loads of goods. 

But Johnny only stared at you, calculating, thinking. It almost unnerved you. 

“Just be careful.” 

And in that moment, a man whose name you didn’t know, but whose body you knew too well, walked into the bar. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his frame unnaturally tall, and from the glimpses you were allowed of his face hidden away under the brim of that hat, you remembered strong lines and proud cheekbones. His eyes, a bizarre colour, always glimmered ruby in the firelight thanks to some strange disease you never quite remembered the name of, and his hair, a dark oaken hue, wisped like tendrils of shadow rolling off his strong neck. 

He didn’t look at you, but you couldn’t look away. Your gaze followed him to where he found a quiet seat off to the side by a small table. He wouldn’t order anything. He never did. He only ever waited for your shift to end. 

“Kid?” Johnny prodded, freeing you from your momentary curse.

You blinked and sputtered, nodding in earnest to whatever Johnny had said. “I–right. Careful. I’m always careful.” 

–

Just be careful.

But that was impossible with this otherworldly spirit around you, waiting for you every other night just for the sake of bedding you, and leaving before morning with nothing but a stack of bills (or sometimes some jewelry, if you were lucky) to remember him by. Your favourite client by far. Your only client, per his request.

Your fists twisted into the bedsheets as you gasped with every brutal crashing of the man’s hips against yours as he took you from behind. He was in a bad mood tonight, it seemed. Normally, he liked to take it slow, he liked to savour his meal, but for some reason–

His hand clasped over your mouth when his teeth tore into your neck again. The cry that left you was hoarse and tired, but not so surprised, no; the man had his kinks, and one just so happened to be biting. He did quite the number on you, too, always breaking skin and leaving scars and scabs in his wake. But it felt good. It felt right to be claimed. The greedy, ugly little part of your heart wanted people to know you were taken and owned by this strange, captivating man.

“Fuck, I–” You buried your face into the mattress as another orgasm hit, striking your dull nerves like hammer on hot iron thrust after thrust. Soon enough, you felt his body stutter against yours just before an uncanny, liquid gold filled your guts and seeped into your core–he was finally done. Finally. Though part of you wished it didn’t have to end. 

His teeth, the pointed, feral things, dislodged from your neck before he ran the flat of his tongue against the weeping wound. Somehow, that always staunched the bleeding. You didn’t quite understand it, but you weren’t exactly well-versed in medicine.

“Tired already?” He mocked in that smokey, American accent. “Thought the young had more than that to offer.” The purr of his voice soothed the pulsing start of a headache as you came down from your high. Yet another strange effect he had on you. 

You took a good handful of moments to catch your breath before you tried to hazard an answer. “I’m–you’re in some kind of mood, darling; can’t blame me for your brutality.” You turned your head to rest your cheek against the scratchy sheets, and the beast took the opportunity to leave nips and kisses along your jaw. 

“Tch. I’m just reminding you who you belong to. Where you belong.” Sharp teeth grazed your skin again, and you shuddered. “No one likes to see theirs fawning over another man.” 

You strained to look back at him. “You–you mean Johnny? He’s not–I wouldn’t let him bed me, are you mad?” A rough push of his hips against yours reprimanded you. “H-He’s a mate, love, that’s all.”

The man twitched. “A mate?” 

“A friend, you bloody idiot.”

He relaxed, but still sought confirmation. “A friend.”

“A friend, indeed. Father-figure, maybe.” With a bit of effort, you managed to wriggle free from the strength of the man pinning you in place, and laid on your back to gaze up at him. “I’m not interested in him, he’s not interested in men, so you needn’t worry a thing.” One of your worn hands reached up and smoothed over the curve of his sharp cheekbone, drawing a pleased hum from the chamber of the beast’s chest. 

“Fine.” He rested his weight on you, and you sighed, content and warmed. But that bony chin digging into your chest was a tad bit fucking irritating. “Then if he’s not trying to fuck you, what makes you listen to him for hours on end, hm?” Hah. Annoyed. Jealous. Quite endearing. 

“He has stories to tell,” you offered. “Words about the devil and the curse of the undead. About Dracula and that old castle.” 

The man’s brows raised in interest. “Oh? And you like ghost stories, is that it? Here I figured I'd be enough to keep your mind entertained,” he said with a taunting smirk, like he thought your suggested belief in those spooky tales was laughable. 

Heat washed over your face. “I–you–shut up, I just like me a good story, is that so wrong? Tch, stupid American.”

He laughed, a sound you adored to hell and back. “I’ll keep it in mind. Might have a few good stories up my sleeve, too.” His head tilted the slightest bit. “Maybe then your eyes won’t wander.”

“Terribly jealous one, aren’t you? I never would’ve guessed it.” You raked your hands through his hair and he sighed, deep and ancient. But your words were true–this man, your mysterious client-turned-lover, he captivated all wherever he traveled. With so many eyes on him, why did he want you to look nowhere else but to him? 

Greedy man. That’s what you decided. He wanted everything and more. 

“Other men don't get to look at what's mine,” he mumbled after a time of you pampering him with pets and scritches. “And you're mine, for the record.” 

“Hm. I quite like the sound of that.” 

“Then marry me.” 

“I'm not sure I can,” you lamented. “I find myself in trouble too often. It puts me on the run, jumping from town to city and back again.” 

“You'd never have to run again if you let me have you.” He picked himself up and loomed over you, brushing his nose against yours as he spoke against your lips. “You'd be safe, cared for, never want for anything. None of those sacks of shit would would lay a finger on you again.” His lips trailed down, brushing against the thick vein in your neck. “I think it's for the best if you agree.” 

You almost argued back, but the large hand engulfing your throat gave you pause. He didn't hurt you, no, but gave you a silent warning. The power that man held over you contradicted his weakness to your wants and desires, and twisted your thoughts into unorganized knots. 

“I'll think on it,” you breathed, not wanting to say yes but unwilling to say no. You didn't want marriage, but commitment was a tantalizing idea. You'd just never thought it'd happen to you. 

His eyes came back to yours again. Your heart fluttered at the glints of carmine shimmering in candle-lit eyes. God, he was beautiful. 

“I better like your answer.” 

–

You left. You hated doing it, you hated running from your problems and whatever seemed to haunt you day to day, but too much happened in too short a time. 

For one, the landlord demanded more and more rent money from you when he noticed your gifted jewelry and newly tailored coat, and then, when you didn't give it to him, he took to trying to get payment another way. You shot him, obviously. 

Which led to your second reason for leaving–you'd shot a man and fled the scene, unknowing if he was alive or not, and uncaring of the outcome, quite frankly. You figured the lowlife would be more pressed about the money than dying, anyway. 

And third, the bar you worked at found out you'd been swindling and stealing on the job, pocketing tips and taking home near-empty bottles to refill with something of your own design to sell on the streets. Admittedly, it was fine work, but you'd long abandoned that method of money-making once that stranger wandered into your life and offered you more cash than you could imagine.

But you liked that bar. You liked those patrons. No strings attached.

And that's why you were back. Not with the intention to stay, no; you were back to scout out the castle after getting confirmation from some university lads about how valuable the old place was. You figured you could find enough in there with the scoundrels you'd come with, and maybe you could pay the old owner back before leaving for good. 

You'd never have to run again if you'd let me have you. 

Maybe you should've just said yes.

– 

The castle stood beautifully, even with the screams of the slaughtered ringing through the halls. It was big, too, eagerly letting you get lost in its enchanting halls and inviting rooms as you tried in vain to remember the way out. 

That's when you crashed into one of the uni snobs you'd come with, Harry. He was a mess, clothes and hair out of place for once, with a spray of sticky blood coating his face and white shirt. Osborn must've seen their tormentor. 

He grabbed your shoulders as you grabbed his arms. “We have to go, we have to go–” he chanted, pulling and pushing you in undecided directions. 

“Osborn, where did you see it? Where–” Another scream gave you a hint. Your eyes snapped down the hallway, staring deep into the torchlit halls and finding nothing but the unknown staring back. 

Then, there were footsteps. Slow, methodical things that rung to a tune hidden in your memories.

“We have to go,” you whispered, like that'd help. “Osborn, we have to–” a splitting pain electrocuted your senses and sent you stumbling backwards. The world spun. Your head ached. Funeral bells shrieked. Worst of all, that dress shirt and that fancy jacket you loved so much were stained suddenly, a foul colour of darkness that reeked of pennies and iron. It took you too long to look back to the student, and to see the smoking pistol held out in his shaky hand. 

“I had to,” Osborn whispered, so, so haunted. “I had to. You understand.” And quite frankly, you did understand; wounding a lamb to leave behind for a wolf to indulge in was a sure way to let a farmer escape. 

Harry took off. You grasped your stomach and leaned hard against the wall, trying to pull yourself together to make some kind of run for it before those languid steps found you and cut your story short. But you felt so tired, so dizzy. The red weeping under your hand and the bewildered pants leaving you left you colder and colder. You wondered if Osborn had shot himself in the foot with this one (hah), killing the sacrificial lamb, rendering it useless to what was believed to be a vampire of all things. They devoured the living, not the dead. 

Clack, clack, clack. The haunting echo of fine shoes on wooden slats passed you by, then vanished all together. You collapsed to your knees and heaved in the burning air just as a deafening screech ricocheted through the halls with the echo of frantic gunfire, and the slosh of viscera. You fought back the burn of bile in your throat when you braved a look; there laid a body on the floor, and a corpse standing above it, illuminated just barely by torchlight. 

His shoulders were impossibly broad, his frame unnaturally tall–

“We could have avoided all of this,” the creature growled. 

–from the glimpses you were allowed of his face hidden in the swath of darkness around him, you remembered strong lines and proud cheekbones–

“But you didn’t listen.”

–his eyes, a bizarre colour, glimmered ruby in the firelight thanks to some strange disease you never quite remembered the name of– 

“Why couldn’t you just listen?”

–and his hair, a dark oaken hue, wisped like tendrils of shadows rolling off his strong neck.

He appeared beside you so suddenly, so soundlessly, you wouldn’t have known he approached if it weren’t for the strength of your fluttering eyelids seeking the truth. You stared hard at the tips of his leather shoes. Perhaps you should’ve known it was him all along. Perhaps you had known. 

He knelt before you and forced your chin up, making your eyes meet his as he stared down through you. Blood marred his face, matching the wine-red hue of his furious, gem-cut eyes; even like this, teeth bared, about to kill you, he was beautiful. 

“Look what you’ve done. This is your fault–”

But that beauty was wasted on such a foul-mouthed monster. 

“My fault?” You spat. “Fuck you.” You tore your chin from his grip, but his hand sought out your throat instead. “Don’t fucking touch me–”

He smiled, bitter but so wholly and infuriatingly amused before he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll do whatever I want with you.” And before you could lash out, before you could throw a fist at his stupid face, he yanked you in and bit.

A winter breeze rippled through you. Cold. Piercing. And you gradually froze like water dripping from the gutters, no longer able to fight back, too sluggishly slow to do anything about your fate. You breathed hard, feeling the hole in your stomach and ache of your heart weep and worsen with every shattering breath you took. Your hands, gentle in their weakness, pawed at his chest and sought a spot to dig in and hold on to for dear life as the waking world turned its back to you.

But despite the bitterness, and despite words exchanged, he held the side of your face as you faded in and out of consciousness. He called something, and a flurry of orange wisps appeared above you. 

–

You awoke to the echoes of a dream, one you hadn’t had for a while. A cloudless night where you’d been caught in bed by a taken woman’s man and beaten half to death; in return, you shredded through the man's chest with a knife from the kitchen while the wife watched on in silence. You'd been ready to kill her, too, slit her throat in one easy motion, but she never screamed, never looked at the wild animal with fear. 

Tell the police he attacked you, miss. 

Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

You fumbled through the alleys after leaving the scene, but others, foul things that roamed the streets where not even rats lingered, found you, threatened to use up the last of what you had to offer this pitiful world. It seemed as though they disappeared in the time it took you to blink, though, and a man was left, standing in their wake. He looked somewhat disheveled, like he’d just finished some grand task, but he was just so put together, too. You struggled to make sense of it, but you didn’t really care to. 

“Well, isn't that impressive,” you said with a breathless laugh. “Not a shred of blood on you. Are you the ripper the paper’s gone on and on about?”

The being glanced over his shoulder, eyes alight in curious mirth. He turned your way and stepped closer. You saw it then, the slightest bit of dark smears on his face.

“Is that what they're calling me?” He adjusted his cuffs, and rolled his shoulders. “Huh.” 

Adrenaline poured into your heart. “You're quite the dangerous man, aren't you, sir?” you swallowed thickly as you looked him over: fine shoes, expensive coat, luxurious rings. “And, ah, well-off. You wouldn't happen to be interested in spreading the wealth, hm?” 

His hand cupped your jaw, sticky with freezing blood, and he leaned in. The pungent scent of iron curled your gut as he breathed you in, making up his mind with what to do with you. Then, with the dry, warm back of his gloved hand, he caressed the side of your face and watched your eyelids flutter, devouring the simple gesture. 

“Let's see if you can convince me to.”

-

“I know you’re awake,” he mumbled.

Curiosity willed your eyes open, and you gazed down at the hollow tube connecting you to the walking corpse. You fought to ease the jump of your heart, but it became impossible when a dark red raced from the vampire's arm down into yours. 

“Is that going to make me like you?” You whispered, nerves twitching and burning with the bite of restless fire ants. 

Crimson eyes found yours and looked deep. “It won't. You can relax.” But you weren't convinced, and your lover could tell. “You'd have to drink my blood.” 

“Why're you giving me your blood, then?” 

“You'll die without it.” He pumped something, you now noticed, and realized it was what drew the blood from his veins and drained it into yours. 

Curious. “Were you a man of medicine?” 

He scoffed. “Still am.” He threw you a wary look, one brow raised. “How many more questions are you–” 

“Your name?” That was something you'd requested before, but always through a veil of uncertainty. You didn't like to ask much of him. He didn't ask much of you. But you didn't know him, yet he knew you. 

Your vampire frowned, unapproving. “What difference will it make?” 

“You asked me to fucking marry you,” you bit out. “And yet you keep so many secrets from me, still. I've given you more than I have, and you can't even–” 

“Miguel.” You both paused–him to gauge your reaction, and you out of shock. “Miguel O'hara.” 

The cracks in your chest mended, just slightly. Miguel O'hara. What a name that was. Formidable and wholly suiting the beast of a man you'd known and craved for far too many years. 

“Miguel O'hara,” you whispered, staring tiredly at the red thread connecting the two of you. The name felt good on your tongue. 

Nothing more was said, then. He must've still felt the tension in the air, or maybe the coil of apprehension in your body, for he worked on in silence, quietly saving your life for no reason. 

It was when he pulled free the needle that you found the will to break the silence on your own. 

“Why didn't you tell me?” It came out a pathetic whisper, sounding as broken as your mind felt. 

He paused before pulling the needle from his own arm. “Tell you what?” 

It was a good question. You didn't know what to ask him to elaborate on. You didn't know if you wanted him to elaborate on anything, actually, because it'd make it too real, too tangible. 

“Everything.” And when he stayed silent, you narrowed it down to just, “all of…you.” 

Miguel licked his thumb and stroked it soothingly against the pinprick of a wound while his brows furrowed and his lips twisted into something of a frown. “How could I?” You both watched the tiny dot of red cease weeping. “If you'd moved on and you knew, it could put everything at risk.” 

If I'd moved on. It felt wrong. It felt uncomfortable to know he felt that somewhere between his ribs and his heart. And for how long? How long had he not trusted you? Did he even trust you in that moment, knowing what and who he truly was? Or were you now doomed to this castle just as he was? 

“I'll let you rest,” Miguel said as he clasped his medical case shut and stood. “Lyla'll bring you food.” 

Thump, thump, thump, echoed his footsteps, those fine shoes muffled by old carpet; but the sharp clack, clack, clack in the hollow echoes of your memories, just before the truth revealed itself to you, swallowed up your thoughts.

“(Name),” Miguel said, and your eyes opened to find the tall, proud back of his silhouette stood at the door, one hand clutching the knob. “Don’t leave this room.” 

And he left you there, heart aching, mind melting, soul shattering. 

–

Solitude reminded you of what else happened. The lads you'd come here with, nothing more than acquaintances, were missing, or perhaps dead. It ate at your mind. Could you have done something different? Could you have convinced him to let them go?

More importantly, would Miguel let you leave? He claimed he wanted to marry you, but words were just words if not put to use with actions. Staying by his side would mean stomaching the fact he'd consume countless other people, wouldn't it? How were you expected to watch your partner(?), your groom-to-be(?), hold and pierce others the way he promised to you and only you?

But could you let him stay here alone, hunted and hated by believers, laughed at by the average skeptic? If you were not here, how many more would walk in on a dare, and meet a terrible end? They didn’t matter, no, but the legend of a vampire would turn more and more true, summoning devil-hunters to his doorstep, stake and flames in-hand.

The thoughts plagued you, filling your head with the terrible buzzing of bees. You couldn't fathom why you cared so much; most of your life you'd lived for your own sake, doing what needed to be done to get by, to have a better tomorrow. You hated other people. A few of them you'd personally buried six feet under, whether they were dead or lived still, and you never batted an eye. You had no patience for those who'd oppose you. 

You would have killed Osborn yourself if O’hara hadn't. And that was the truth. That'd been the truth the whole time, ever since you saw just how expensively he and the others lived; gold dripped from their tongues, silver ran through their veins, diamonds fell from their eyes. You wanted to claim a bit of that for yourself. 

And Miguel had shared his wealth with you, just in exchange for a bit of blood and your body for the night. Surely you could look past what he did to survive, even if it put your heart into a spiral. 

Lost in thought, you found your way to his chambers, freely disobeying his orders

He lounged in a clawfoot bath. Stuffy heat lulled you into a daze, something like a carefree summer evening wherein the sun took too long to vanish. Though when he noticed you approach, shedding clothes the entire way, the heat grew near unbearable.

Miguel's claws creaked against the enamel in anticipation when you stepped into the water. You watched him with the same delicate intrigue as prey investigating something that could be a threat as you found your place between his spread legs, getting close enough to feel the pounding of his undead heart. You'd only seen his body in dim candlelight or withering rays of the moon, never truly illuminated by the glow of floating chandeliers nor the collection of sconces arching from the wall.

Slowly, your fingertips dragged along muscle, warm and firm under your calloused touch. The scars littering your hands and knuckles shone so stark against his perfect complexion. He really did seem too perfect. It would have sparked jealousy in your gut if he didn't apparently belong to you, and you to him. No one else got to touch. No one else got to see. 

Now, you were built finely yourself, but the man before you was something entirely different. You didn't know if it was thanks to his supernatural existence, but his body was built in a near-animalistic way that screamed power and speed, not similar enough to a human. Though, looking back, you did always think his manners in bed were more beast than man. The growling, the clawing, the marks of claim on the nape of your neck, it all clicked and made sense in the whirlwind of your mind. 

“I think a werewolf would suit you better,” you admitted. “What with the claws and biting and general uncouth behaviour.” 

Miguel huffed. “You must be talking about yourself.” His voice rang low and quiet, too aware he might scare off his prized hare if he put too much into his words. “You're the one acting like a rabid animal.” 

“No, you.” 

“Don't think so.” 

“You're difficult.” 

“You're one to talk.” 

“How long have you been like this?” Your fingers combed through his hair, and his eyes fluttered shut. “A vampire. Or whatever you are.” 

“Lost track,” he said, sounding too honest. “I have records. Notes. From experiments. The dates on those are close to when it happened.” Experiments? Colour you intrigued.

“So you weren't exactly practicing white medicine?” You tilted your head in thought. “You were doing something more–” 

“It wasn't black magic,” Miguel scoffed. “It was science. Genetics. Studying how other organisms function, learning about them.” His expression darkened just the slightest bit. “Trying to…recreate them.” 

Your head spun a little trying to fill in the blanks. It wasn’t too hard, but it was hard to accept as reality. But if anyone were to unlock the damned secrets of immortality, of course it'd be this man. This cocky, genius, charming man. God really did have favourites, though they always did seem to disappoint him.

“I see. So you're telling me you're a genius who rebirthed vampires,” you summed up, letting your hands melt down his body, below the water's surface. “How is it you only get more and more impressive, Mr.O'hara?” 

A smug smirk bloomed across his lips. “It's just in my nature.” His head tilted back with a pleased sigh when your touch finally landed on that annoying thing prodding your thigh. “I have no choice but to succeed.” 

“Tch. Americans are so arrogant.” You hummed and leaned in, ghosting kisses along his vulnerable neck while your hand pleased him slowly, teasingly. His talons screeched against the tub again. “But maybe you have reason to be, hm? Given how accomplished you are.” 

A dark, scarlet haze like the sky of the blood moon illuminated Miguel's eyes in the few moments they slipped open to catch a glimpse of you. You wondered if he needed a reality check. Maybe he thought he was hallucinating, maybe he thought that you weren't really there despite being pressed up against him and murmuring useless quips into his skin. You'd be sure to leave an impression on him; your hand quickened, gripping tighter and pulling the way he directed you to far too many years ago, but his barbed hand caught your wrist. 

“Stop,” he gasped. His chest rose and fell with his light panting as he stared you down. Want radiated off of him like an animal starved. You knew what was rattling around in his mind before he even spoke. 

“You want to fuck me, is that it?” 

Miguel's breath hitched. 

–

You made him ravenous. You were the only thing he wanted to feast on, delicacies and sanguine temptations be damned. 

One of his large hands held your waist in a death grip while his other hand held your head down, forcing your incoherent ramblings into the soft, silken sheets as he rammed you from behind like a beast in heat. You took it well, too, not that you hadn't before–he always held back, appeared to you as human when he fucked you previously. But now that you knew the truth, now that you knew what lay hidden in the dark nooks of his bones’ marrow, he felt complete. And that meant he could completely lay claim to you, too. 

He matched the curve of your back with his chest when he leaned over you, burying his nose into your neck and shoulder to indulge in your scent. Your vampire's desire to breed slowed and steadied into deep, thoughtful rolls of his hips. Perhaps his mind had caught up with him and ushered him to slow down, to abandon some of that reckless excitement. 

Miguel heard the slightest mumble of his name on your lips and leaned down further to touch his own to your cheekbone. One arm looped underneath your throat in a benign chokehold of sorts, while his other hand threaded through your hair–if he wasn't fucking you like an animal before, this makeshift mating lock he had on you sealed the deal. 

“You feel good,” Miguel murmured, voice tickling the shell of your ear. 

“Hah. I, ah, always feel good,” you tried to quip back, but your expression betrayed the fraying threads of whatever self-control you still desperately clung to. “You’re, uh…unhinged, hey?” Miguel scoffed. “Like a…a wild beast.” 

“Oh?” A purr hummed through his chest, piercing your body and rattling through your own lungs in seismic pulses. “A wild beast? Flattering.”

“Really, darling, you don't have to be such a sarcastic asshole when you're–” a hard snap of his hips sent you spiraling for a moment, “--in my ass.” 

“Maybe you should watch your mouth,” he suggested. 

“Maybe you could watch it for me,” you countered. 

The warmth of his laugh sent chills scattering across your skin. He pulled out of you and turned you over, dragging your hips back against him before his powerful body engulfed yours again. Miguel liked this more. He liked the feeling of your hands grabbing and clawing at him, the way your thighs attached to his waist, how you bit your bottom lip while your eyes screwed shut from the overwhelming feeling of your partner destroying you.

And of course, his lips could meet yours like this. The sweet tang of copper and berries, a taste so familiar and so you, was shared between tongues, kept secret in the crevices of teeth. It amazed Miguel how much one little kiss could push him over the edge and make the bed creak and groan with you as he loved on you and made sure to send the message straight to your core. 

Your hands fisted in his hair when you came undone. That lovely voice of yours poured into Miguel's eager mouth, and you tightened, pulling him to the edge and pushing him over with the might of a wild stampede. Claws nipped your skin, fangs pierced deeper, yet his rutting hit deepest, and burned you alive with unbearable, liquid heat.

–

“Why me?” You asked into the stillness of the room. 

Calm silence answered you for a long moment. The sun bloomed beyond the thick curtains, you noticed in your wait, and you wondered if you would ever miss the sight. England never truly had bright, sunny days from what you recalled; stretches of smokey, grey overcast clouded the skies and your memories more often than not. Could your vampire walk amongst the living like this?

Miguel sighed, leaning into the hand carding through his hair. “Figured you’d understand.” 

“I’d understand what?”

“Killing to survive.” 

“How long have you known?” You wondered, unsurprised. 

“Blood tells stories,” he whispered. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered a moment before crimson eyes peered open the slightest bit. “Your story’s long. Complicated. You’re too young for it.” 

A smile twitched onto your face. You adjusted in the bed, getting more comfortable on your side in those pooling, satin sheets. “So you thought I’d be an easy target for sex, then? Desperate and young as I was.”

He found your eyes, his gaze earnest and bleeding. “I–you–fine, at first it was like you said. Maybe. But after enough time, I decided you weren’t like the rest. You’re as supernatural as I am.”

“Supernaturally handsome? I agree.”

“Stop.”

“You didn’t think I’d be afraid of you.”

“I’d hoped as much.” 

“And you still didn’t tell me.” Your fingertips danced along the arch of his cheekbone, leaving pleasant sparks against his skin in their wake, unbeknownst to you. “Were you scared?”

“I’d rather have you as a man for whatever time we had together than to lose you to a beast,” he explained, cryptic as one would expect an old legend to be. “I’ve lost too much already because of…this. Because of me. I didn’t want to lose more.” Miguel’s dark brows furrowed. “If you ended up fearing me to, I–”

You silenced him with a hand over his mouth. “Enough. I understand.” You palm smoothed back up to cup his face. “You needn’t be afraid of me–well, being afraid, I suppose. I’ll stay.” You took a deep breath and leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “This bed’s too comfortable to give up, after all.”

His breath fanned against your skin as he chuckled, tired and perhaps tinted with disbelief. “Well, you can stay here as long as you want.”

“Brilliant. Would you even let me drink your blood?”

The rumble of a growl, or perhaps a purr, rolled through his chest into yours. You searched his eyes, wondering, hoping, and found mere slices of ruby peeking out from behind eclipsing pupils. 

“We’ll see.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv imagine #atsv reader insert #male reader insert #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x male reader #male!reader #atsv male!reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #phyrestartr #vampire miguel #vampire!miguel #Vampire Miguel O'hara

[tibby-art]

Given how much Scar’s character knows. (From him connecting series that we don’t think he should know about to his character. And him knowing things he shouldn’t…) I’m on the band wagon that Scar is some sort of Eldtrich God.

Righttt like, my best guess is he's some sort of dimension-hopper or something... a traveling trickster god.. mentally i'm at a corkboard w/all the red strings connecting to different scars trying to piece it all together, holding my head in my hands

It's like. Okay. He had an encounter with s8 tycoon scar where he stole his hat, and he killed him (?) but today he said he simply broke a wheel on the wagon and stole the hat? He says each hat has a story. Does Jellie's hat also have a story. Jellie obviously travels with him across every universe. He seems not to mind when people don't remember who he is but he gets VERY upset when people don't know who Jellie is; just thought that was interesting

Did P!Scar travel to the hermitcraft season 8 universe? After the moon hit the server? Did tycoon scar travel to the pirates universe? Or are they the same person and it's just a lie? When he first spawns in Pirates SMP he makes it a point to mention a mysterious flower crown in his inventory. He says it's an important crown, and it's the only one on the server. Buttercups??? (Sidenote he also spawns with some blocks of cyan glazed terracotta. Not sure what that's about but it's dangerously close to being light blue glazed aka the vex magic. I would have lost my mind)

At the very beginning Scar says his ship was called the Flying Jellie. The Flying Jellie. What if it wasn't a boat. What if it was a space ship. He calls it a pirate ship but that doesn't necessarily mean a boat, ti could be a space pirate ship. (He's done loopholes with his phrasing like this before, like today when he sold michela a sword that was "nearly full" durability, only to later clarify it was "nearly full-y depleted"). He says he won an important battle with the ship, but he lost the ship and the crew. I've seen people say that the crew is supposed to have been boatem, not sure if that's canon? Is the ship story even true?

He made references to both Pearl and Grian today, are they his Pearl and Grian from the pirates universe or is he referring to the hermits? He mentions Pearl by name to Sausage, who says he doesn't know who that is (and yet Sausage goes on to casually mention the moon at the mention of Pearl, either Sausage is also a dimension-hopper and he's bluffing or he has a subconscious connection to his other lives). He doesn't say Grian's name but he talks about a man on his crew who sunk with the ship that's very obviously meant to be Grian (says the man's head looked like a loaf of bread, that he wore red, would have been a Kite). He doesn't seem too upset about the loss.

He greets Cleo, Scott and Martyn when he first sees them even though they don't know who he is. Cleo flat-out says "I don't believe we've met" after he greets her by name. Interestingly enough when he first calls Martyn by name, Martyn doesn't question it (I know Martyn also has some Lore going on, maybe he recognizes Scar too) Also I saw someone point out that his pants resemble mayor scar's pants. Possible season 7 reference, season 8 reference with tycoon scar and a possible? season 9 reference?? with that flower crown???

I literally can't tell if he has this planned-out intricate lore that connects all of his minecraft SMP characters like Martyn does or if he's literally just saying random stuff for fun. His character could be lying about his entire backstory, we don't know. i have no idea what's important to the lore and what isn't. this man is such a trickster god its not even funny. tldr WHAT IS GOING ON

#sorry i so went on a tangent here #goodtimeswithscar #pirates smp

[themushroomofdeath]

zoro x reader | rotten fluff just a short one, for me and the stinkers @sleepymarimo @zoros-ball-sweat @bby-deerling having a shitty day, just wishing zoro would hold me against his 110cm tatas. 😔

Outside, the rain pours down the ship's deck, like icy curtains, cold and mean, unforgiving. Matching your early mood. But now, you can feel only warmth and safety, loved and protected, as strong arms hold your form against a sturdy body, skin to skin, head pressed to the expanse of scarred chest, focused on the gentle rhythm of a heart that was entrusted to you, and you only. 

You couldn't sleep, but still felt completely in peace, comfortable in this position - never happier than now. The downpour outside turned into music when combined with his heartbeat and even breathing, your favorite kind of song. 

It was significant to be trusted enough to rest so close by him - bodies almost mingled into one. First-Mate of the Straw Hats, Pirate Hunter, a man used to be always on high alert to possible danger around him and his loved ones, now fallen into deep slumber, lulled by the safety of love, holding you in his arms like he was only a complete piece with your heart close to his.

Roronoa Zoro is not a man of public displays of affection, by any means, never one to pour his heart's content into the open, always private to this fragile thing called love. But as his partner and confidant, you could feel and see it just as clearly, an open book that he was for you, the one who was able to decode his language - the one who he allowed to, heart yearning for yours. 

And how you loved this man, words not enough to express the warmth spreading through your limbs, pure affection and tenderness pouring through your veins, by being in his close proximity. Safe and protected by his arms, love and devotion clear by the simple act of existing together, a reminder his love was yours as well.

You hadn't noticed how fondly you were gazing at his features all this time, till a raspy voice vibrated through your connected bodies, waking you up from your daydreams. “What'cha staring at?” A slurred question, from a sleepy man. You haven't noticed he was awake till now, so relaxed he was in your embrace, but with a fond smile, you could feel the slight increase of his heart frequency. Such a shy man, even after all those years.

“Just thinking about how much I love you. Adore you. Admire you. Want nobody but you. You know… Nothing much.”

With a giggle escaping your throat, you had earned a large calloused hand covering your eyes, in exasperation for how soft you made him. “Shut it, 's too early” As much as he tried to hide, his cardiac rhythm gave his secrets to you, experience with his reactions enough to know how a fine blush probably dusted his tanned skin now. Adorable, you thought.

“It's true, though. I love you, so so much.” Reaching to take his hand in one of your, you busied yourself by deliberately kissing each of his scarred knuckles, nuzzling his calloused and warmth palm. And he allowed it, as he always did - in the privacy of your quarters, quietly melting to your displays of affection, heart bursting with so much love, unable to contain all of it, despite his bashful nature.

“Yeah… Love ya too.” 

Sleep was lost to you both now, but none cared to go back to it. The awake world was better, when you had someone like Roronoa to hold and kiss your worries away.

#zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro fluff #hold me to your tatas zoro ): #zoro is shy but he loves you #rage writes

[lollytea]

Imagine if Willow sprinkles Hunter with pixie dust, and she's about to explain he needs to think happy thoughts to fly, only to see he's already floating off the ground.

"Whoa, what happy thought were you thinking?"

"Well, nothing really, I was just listening to you."

Her just being there is his happy thought.

[Now on AO3]

"It doesn't work on me," He claims, like the Know-It-All he is.

Willow is already coaxing a daisy into existence as he says it. It pokes through the forest floor, unusually exuberant for dusk hours, dimly illuminated by a fairy's magic touch.

"Are you calling my dust faulty?" She scoffs, plucking the flower out of the ground and twirling it teasingly beneath her chin. "How presumptuous."

"No," Answers the pirate. If you could even call him that right now. He's shed his immaculate gold coat and that large and ridiculous (but oh, so funny) hat of his.

He's taken every measure to be as inconspicuous as possible. Nobody aboard that ship can know about his little late night rendezvous with a fairy. Especially not if he doesn't intend to bring her back in a jar.

He has long since retired that ambition.

"It's no different than any other fairy's dust," He says, slow and cautious. "The crew has....obtained it a few times in the past...."

Willow doesn't say anything but her presence still makes him squirm. She already knows what becomes of fairies that pirates get their hands on.

"And it doesn't work on me...." He concludes.

"You sound disappointed."

"I'm not."

He's a liar, among other things.

Willow opts to not mention how transparent he is in his longing to get tangled up in the stars, to test the feel of foamy cloudstuff in his hands, to soar the way the Lost Boys do.

He's so enraptured with winged creatures, she notices.

This boy wants to fly. This boy wants to become Lost in a way that matters on this island. And the only thing stopping him is his own stupid heart.

He's my uncle, he had whispered the last time she begged.

"I refuse to believe you're immune to dust," Declares Willow. "You are no different from any Lost Boy."

She means that in more ways than one. He even looks like one tonight. Young and sloppily dressed, his bare hairless face spotlighted by the fat silvery moon hanging overhead.

It bothers him that it's so difficult to grow a beard. It makes her heart sink a little every time he laments how impatient he is to grow up.

"I'm nothing like a Lost Boy," He retorts for the billionth time.

If she felt a little more argumentative, she'd ask him to state their exact coordinates on the map. And he'd flounder for an answer, because he's never been in this part of the island before. Willow led him into the depths of the forest by the hand in the dead of night.

He's a boy.

He's lost.

It would make him all mad and huffy if she pulled that on him. Which would be funny. But she doesn't want to make him mad and huffy right now.

Willow shimmies closer, rustling the leaves underneath her. "I think you just never learned the trick of dust. It's not like fairies to give the secret away to just anyone."

He's not looking in her direction. Which is annoying. She could get drunk on how it feels to have his eyes poring over the sight of her.

It was once an impish sort of delight. A delicious satisfaction that he found her such an irksome creature yet he was unwillingly attracted to her shape, to her smile, to her eyes.

It's different now. Less unwilling on his part. And at some point or another, she found herself blooming pink roses beneath the skin of her cheeks when he looks at her like that.

She likes being looked at. But she now understands that she likes being looked at by him. She wishes to hear the thoughts in his head as his eyes hang off her bare shoulders.

"So..." Willow croons, her fingers finding the sharp bend of his jaw. She brushes the skin, gingerly avoiding the sensitive edges of his scars.

"How about...." her palm connects to his cheek and she still marvels over how perfectly fitted her hand is for cupping his face. She guides his gaze towards hers. The eyes that she finds pretty to settle on the face that those eyes find pretty.

"You trust me on this...." Her soft spoken utterance is emphasized with an affectionate rub of her index finger on the sweet spot behind his ear.

He likes being touched there. She found out back when he was trying very hard to not like her.

Once his eyes are set on hers, confused but hopelessly soft, Willow lifts the daisy to her lips and blows.

A string of glowing pollen rises from the buttery pistil and drifts in his direction. It's as though it already knows tonight's assignment is proving a Know-It-All wrong. It's the only way to needle a big pretty smile outta him.

Willow is gonna get that smile, whether he likes it or not. She's a rascal like that.

Dust clings to his cheeks, spilling down his neck and sinking under skin.

"I promise you're not immune to dust," Says Willow, because she won't allow him to be. If he wants to fly, he'll fly.

He's staring at her with wild eyes now, every blink an agonizing interruption of his beholding.

She hasn't realized until now just how close their faces are. Nose to nose.

Feeling the tickly heat of his breath makes her smile.

"All you have to do is..."

He gasps.

Willow gasps.

They are no longer nose to nose because he is jerkily rising off the ground.

Amusingly, once he's a few inches into the air, he awkwardly tips forward and his feet continue to ascend. He's floating upside-down now, startled and confused yelps erupting from his throat. Willow stands up, trying to swallow her giggles as he desperately stretches his arms out to claw at the ground for some sort of anchor.

He's wobbling further and further away from her now and with a flutter of wings, she rises to meet him by the heads of the trees.

"Hiiiiiii~" She singsongs in an imitation of something he said to her so very long ago when things were so very different.

His flipped body has caused his shirt to hitch. It hangs in a baggy pool at his armpits.

Willow cannot help herself. She pokes his bare belly with a silly sounding "boop!" making him squeak ("Willow!") and scrabble to yank the fabric back over his figure. His legs are kicking erratically, attempting to put himself to right.

She doesn't indulge in the antics for much longer, instead opting to take pity on him. Lost Boys are like this sometimes too. But only in those first few minutes before they realize that they're perfectly safe, just a little inexperienced.

"Don't you worry," Says Willow, taking him by the waist and flipping him rightside-up. "You just haven't got your sky legs yet,"

She lets go of him once his position has been righted but he is not having it. Willow lets out an embarrassing noise herself as a pair of arms awkwardly throw themselves around her. His breathing rattles in her ear, his heartbeat a thick pound against hers.

Willow blurts out the first thing she can think to say. "First time?"

"Obviously!" He snaps, though there's a tremor to his tone.

She laughs to hide her brain's stubborn fixation on how defined the arms around her are.

"Hey now, I gotcha," She says comfortingly. With a bit of effort, she manages to rearrange their entangled bodies so it's not so...so much.

They now float at the respectful distance of any two teenagers having their first dance, complete with his arms loosely looped around her neck and Willow's hands rested against his hips.

Hm. Well. It's no longer so much but...

Now it's not enough.

To right that wrong this instant, Willow hums mischievously. "After all...."

Those respectful hands slide up his sides,

"I finally got my diabolical little fairy hands on a pirate."

They linger on his ribs.

His breath gets caught.

"I'm not gonna let him go."

They travel back down to his hips.

He's frozen in the way he tends to freeze, but it doesn't deter the heat. It blotches his face, his ears, even seeping down his neck.

He used to slap her touch away when she got playfully handsy with him. That stopped a lot time ago.

Instead, his grip around her tightens, though his gaze falls bashfully.

Willow grins.

He liiiiiiiiiikes it.

"How does flying work?" Asks the pirate.

"Well, it basically means not being on the ground," Answers Willow intelligently.

"No. I mean....why am I flying right now?"

Oh.

Right.

She had forgotten that he went blasting off before she could even explain the trick of it.

He looks troubled, a little bit on the scrunched up side. She expects that the reality of his situation will sink in sooner or later but...he needs answers first.

He's wanted this. He's wanted to fly. But it isn't like him to be satisfied without knowing the How and Why.

"Well," Says Willow. "What were you thinking? Before you began to fly?"

His eyebrows shoot up. "I-I wasn't thinking anything specific."

He's out of his depth and it's making him panic.

"Why? What was I supposed to be thinking?"

She smiles. "Your happiest thought."

"Oh...."

"Why?" She asks, leaning into his space. "What were you thinking?"

His brain is bizarrely shaped and she's obsessed with the idea of rummaging around in it.

She likes it when he allows the makings of the contraption to sputter out through his lips.

What are your happy thoughts, pirate?

But he never gives her an answer.

He doesn't need to.

What that boy does instead is give her a look. It's a strangely quiet look for such a loud face.

She can't gather together the words to describe that look because it feels too much like a secret. What she will say is that it's hers. It's all hers.

Her secret pirate.

His secret fairy.

"Oh..." She doesn't like how her voice shakes but what can she do?

He makes her feel so very fragile sometimes.

It's happening.

Aw thorns, it's happening.

Willow's wings speed up without her say-so and the two bodies shoot higher into the sky, the pirate howling in surprise.

She laughs. What else can she do but laugh?

But now that she's laughing, it's very difficult to stop. It's getting to the point of hysteria.

She's his happy thought.

She's his happy thought.

She's his happy thought.

And you know what? He might be hers too.

The sudden lift has made him lose his grip on her and he's now paddling through the sky, reaching out his hand to hers.

Willow takes it.

And while she's at it, she takes his other hand and gives him a giddy twirl.

He's accustomed enough to the weightlessness by now that he doesn't react with horror. But rather, it surprises a giggle out of him.

Terribly encouraged by the bubbling sound, she spins him again and he laughs harder.

He makes those dumb snorty noises.

She's going to spin him unconscious if he keeps doing this to her.

It's in his eyes now, she can see it. Something is beginning to kindle, the realization that this is it.

He can fly.

He can fly.

He can fly.

His smile is gold.

She never would have taken the air above the forest for a dance floor but there's nothing conventional about anything she does with this boy.

Their bodies rotate across the stars, like the little dancers in that music box she found once.

They try to imitate the grown-ups in those books he likes to show her. It's his idea.

Two hands, one small and round with short fingers and a cushiony palm, and one long and narrow, fingers all lean and knobbly. They find each other and the mismatched fingers intertwine.

Willow's other hand is on his shoulder while his is on her waist. It's loose, no longer fearing his life up here.

He can't dance while standing on the ground, so he certainly has no footing in the sky. But that's alright, floating and touching is enough.

He tells her stories.

She listens.

She flirts and she jokes.

He blushes.

Sometimes he responds with something just as immaculately phrased.

She blushes.

Her cheek is resting against his chest when she utters the words. "Guess what..."

"What?"

"There was a fairy ball tonight."

She wasn't supposed to tell him that.

The subsequent silence leaves her to wonder why she told him that.

"So why are you here?" He asks, which is even worse.

Willow doesn't give him an answer.

She doesn't need to.

It's her lips buttoned in an pointed 'You know why' sort of way that spells it all out. As wrung tight with nerves as she is, her lips quirk up with amusement as that heart of his begins to riot against his ribcage.

"Oh..." He says.

"Oh..." Willow responds.

The night dances on. The stars observe with indifference.

Neverland itself doesn't care if a fairy waltzes with a pirate.

Its only those with a pulse that take issue.

He doesn't say the words. Not exactly.

Instead, he says "Willow. I think...I think there might be a problem...."

The warmth of his body is soaking into her. It's making her sleepy.

"And what's that?" Willow asks, looking up.

After a moment of contemplation, she adds "Hunter,"

The pirate's name is Hunter.

She likes that his name is something that's allowed on her tongue.

She feels his shoulder stiffen beneath her hand at the mention of that name. It seems to tangle up the words he already had on the tip of his tongue.

She squeezes the spot she's holding, hoping to relieve a little of the tension.

"I..." The hand holding hers is damp. She can feel it tremble. "I don't think I can get down,"

"Is that so?" She teases with a tilt of her head.

Like she's forgotten. He's her happy though. It's so cute she almost wants to let loose an undignified squeal.

But the lines of Hunter's face only tighten. Every worry etched into his features is naked underneath the moon's glow.

"I don't think I can ever get down again," He states, simple and soft.

His eyes are on her and they burn like always. She doesn't know what kind of fire Hunter was born in but his eyes never stop burning.

Willow's mischievous smile dips as his words pierce her through with the viciousness of a dagger, yet her stomach doesn't fill with blood, but warm liquid gold.

You don't fall in love in Neverland.

You don't fall at all.

You fly.

#drabble written in my brainrotted haze #its kinda messy and unpolished #i wrote it all in one go #on my phone too #also it is very late and not a lot of people are gonna see this #yippee tho #vibrates about fairies #huntlow #neverland au

[astrxq]

chad x reader who’s dewey’s god daughter

she’s been distant lately and after an incident at a frat party he comes to check up on her and she apologizes out of nowhere and he’s all confused and she just vents and cries about how guilty she feels

(maybe she’s the one who called dewey instead of gale and that’s why she feels guilty)

a shoulder to lean on

chad meeks x reader

notes: warnings: (underage drinking, mention of scars, slight mention of weed, drunk!reader) i think that's all?? ughh i don't really like this but the lack of chad fics is criminal

words: 2.6k

Maybe letting Tara get you a drink hadn't been such a good idea; the taste of pure vodka with a hint of lemonade burned your throat, making you involuntarily wince. You turned to Tara, who was smirking mischievously, clearly amused by your reaction.

"You alright there?" she asked, her voice tinged with amusement.

You coughed lightly, trying to regain your composure. "Yeah, I just wasn't expecting it to be that strong," your voice is slightly hoarse.

Tara chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "You said you wanted something strong, didn't you?"

You managed a weak smile, nodding in acknowledgment. You figured you'd get used to the taste, just like Tara seemed to have from the looks of it. Her pirate headwrap was about to fall off her head, and she had been talking and dancing with people she barely knew all night, even introducing you to three or four "new friends" she had made.

"Yeah, well, I didn't mean 'knock-me-off-my-feet' strong," you retorted. Tara laughed, taking a sip from your cup before walking back to a new target to befriend.

As Tara disappeared into the dancing crowd, you took another sip of the potent cocktail, determined to get through it. Trying to make your way to the couch where Mindy sat with her new girlfriend, you bumped into a few people along the way, each one giving you a dirty look or a friendly nod as the brim-filled drink spilled a bit every time you brushed past someone.

While trying to pat your dress dry, you didn’t pay any mind to Chad calling your name, only noticing his presence when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned to see a tipsy-looking Chad with a cowboy hat on his head, the varsity jacket now long gone.

He reached out his hand to flick the cat ears perched on your head. "Nice ears," he slurred, grinning widely. You couldn't help but smile back at him.

“Nice hat,” he grinned, his hand moving to your waist, and the other one reaching for your cup. “I thought you were coming with Tara?”

“Yeah, she’s…” you gestured around the crowded room, “I might've lost her.”

Chad chuckled, his laughter slightly slurred from the alcohol. "Classic Tara," his hand squeezed your waist, making you look at him. "Well, you're not alone now. What are we drinking?" he asked, his eyes scanning the cup he'd just taken from you.

You shrugged. "Vodka and lemonade," you replied, gesturing to the cup. "Consider yourself warned, it's pretty intense." 

He gave you a look before chugging some of the drink, immediately cringing. You couldn't help but laugh at his reaction. "Told you," you teased.

Chad’s roommate approached, a cardboard costume covering most of his tall frame, and he rambled about how the loud music mixed with whatever shots Chad and him had done before made his head hurt. 

You couldn’t help but zone out, taking small sips of your drink and trying to ignore the taste as you stared at Chad. The whole friend group had been through so much in Woodsboro, and you couldn’t help but wonder why they didn’t seem to be hurting as much as you were. 

The stab scars on your left arm and your stomach felt like a constant reminder of that hospital. Of Dewey. As you continued to pretend to listen to Chad's roommate's complaints about his throbbing head, your mind drifted to the events of the past year.

The Woodsboro incident had left you scarred, both physically and emotionally. The loss of Dewey had hit you hard, and the memories of that terrifying night still haunted your dreams. You couldn't shake the feeling that the danger wasn't entirely over, and you had become more vigilant and cautious, constantly looking over your shoulder. 

Sam was the only one that knew about the nightmares that left you shaking and sweaty with fear about the masked killer and your godfather. And she made sure to reassure you that you weren’t going insane, that she also had those dreams. Sometimes, when you get in your head, you can feel the scars start to hurt again, you remember the pain, the fear, and the loss all too vividly. 

You only focused back on the conversation when you felt Chad’s arm wrap around your shoulders, and a single tear on your cheek, which you quickly wiped before the boys could notice it. The topic had changed from Ethan’s poor alcohol tolerance to Chad forgetting to take his dorm keys. 

Chad continued to talk to Ethan, while keeping his arm around you and his thumb tracing eight-figures on your shoulder. You leaned into his side, taking solace in his presence. The relentless pounding of the music and the swirling chaos of the party seemed to fade into the background as you felt the soothing rhythm of his thumb and the drink that, just like Tara promised, didn’t taste so strong now. 

Soon enough, Ethan was dragged away by a smiley Anika, begging him to dance because Mindy refused to. “What’s up?” Chad asked, moving your hair behind your ears and cupping your face.

“Hm?” “You’re really quiet,”

You sighed softly, gazing into Chad's eyes as you tried to remind yourself that this is just how Chad was, touchy and flirty. "Just tired, I guess," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. He nodded in understanding, his hand gently stroking your cheek. 

“Do you want to leave? I can walk you.” 

You looked around at the swirling, chaotic party and then back at Chad, his expression filled with concern. The offer was tempting, and you appreciated his consideration, but you couldn't help but feel that you needed to confront your fears and the memories that still haunted you.

"I appreciate it, Chad," you said, a soft smile touching your lips, "but I think I need to stay here a bit longer. I'm not ready to let this party beat me." you joked.

He eyed you for a second, hesitating, before letting go of you and giving you a smile. “Let’s find Tara, yeah?”

Finding Tara, giggly and sharing a joint with Mindy outside, also meant that Chad saw the beer-pong game you walked by on the way. “Ohhh, I see something I like.” he said, dragging you towards the table as the girls started a joke-telling competition in gibberish. 

Tara and Mindy's laughter echoed in the background as you and Chad approached the table. Two sweaty boys on one side of the table, dabbing each other up and chugging drinks to celebrate their win.

Chad grabbed a nearby ping pong ball and turned to you with a mischievous grin. "You ever played beer pong before?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

You chuckled, feeling a bit of adrenaline rush through you. “Uh… I've seen it in movies. Does that count?" you replied. He shrugged, “Eh, I’ll teach you.” He passed by a couple to stand on the opposite side to the boys, holding two ping pong balls in his hand with a grin. 

He handed you one of the balls, leaning closer so you could hear him talk. "Okay, so you see those cups over there?" He pointed to the triangle of red Solo cups arranged at the far end of the table, each filled with beer. "We throw the ping pong balls into their cups. If we make it, they drink. If they make it, we drink."

You stared up at him, feeling fuzzy because of the drink Tara had made you earlier and because of how close he was standing, his chest almost touching your back. “Ready?” you hesitated, not really trusting your tipsy aim, but Chad gave your hip a squeeze before focusing on the cups again.

Chad took over, having sobered up enough to not miss his shots. You, on the other side, missed enough shots to empty your cups, "Alright, don't worry," Chad reassured you, a playful grin on his face. "You're getting the hang of it. Just focus on the cups and take your time."

Feeling the alcohol begin to take its toll, you hoped your drunken state didn’t lead to an embarrassing display. You aimed for the last cup, missing by mere inches. The beer pong ball bounced off the rim and rolled across the table. Chad leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Don't worry, it's all in good fun. We can make a comeback."

His warm breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else – the scars, the nightmares, and the chaos of the party. It was just you and Chad, engaged in a playful game with the world fading away. 

And just like that, it downed back on you, all at once.

Chad must have noticed the change in your demeanor because he gently took your hand, his touch offering a reassuring anchor in the midst of the emotional storm. “Hey, hey, it’s fine. It’s just a game.” 

Your eyes met Chad's, his gaze warm and understanding, but you could see the concern etched in his expression. The chaos of the party seemed to intensify around you, the laughter and music becoming a cacophony that threatened to drown you. The weight of the past year bore down on you, the memories of that terrifying night in Woodsboro, the loss of Dewey, and the constant guilt that ate at you for calling Dewey for help.

He wrapped an arm around you, “You drank too much,” he said, putting down the cup you were holding because of your last miss. “Let’s get some air.”

Chad led you away from the beer pong table, guiding you through the crowd of partygoers. The night air felt cool against your skin as you stepped outside. The chaotic sounds of the party faded behind you, and he led you outside with a strong hold on your hand, and an arm around your waist.

You took a deep breath, trying to clear your mind and steady your racing heart. "I'm sorry,"

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice soft and reassuring. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "You don't have to apologize for anything. We all have our moments."

He didn’t say anything when you stayed quiet, looking down as he walked you to your dorm. Once you reached the building, Chad stopped and turned to face you, “Keys?” 

You fumbled around in your bag for a moment before finally locating your dorm keys. You handed them to Chad with a grateful smile. "Thanks," you said, still feeling a bit overwhelmed. 

You stepped inside your dorm, and Chad followed. The room was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the party. You sat down on your bed, and Chad took a seat beside you. He didn't say anything for a moment, allowing you to collect your thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, he rubbed your back, “Why?”

“For Dewey.”

Chad's expression softened, and he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Hey, don't blame yourself for what happened to Dewey. None of this was your fault," he said in a soothing tone, his thumb gently rubbing your shoulder. "We all lost someone we cared about last year, and we're all still trying to come to terms with it. It's okay to feel the way you do."

Wiping at the tears that covered your face, you hiccuped as Chad stared at you. "I know, but sometimes it's just hard to shake that guilt, you know?" 

“None of us blame you for what happened. Dewey was trying to protect us all, including you.”

Chad pulled you into a comforting hug, his arms wrapping around you securely. "We all have those thoughts, but it doesn't change what happened. You're not alone in this, okay? We're here for you."

He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands like he’d done earlier that night. “Why haven’t you told us about this?”

“Sam knows,” your voice broke as you shrugged your shoulders, “but I didn't want to burden everyone with it. We've all been through so much, and I didn't want to add to the weight on your shoulders."

Chad's eyes held a mixture of concern and understanding. "You're not a burden, and you shouldn't have to go through this alone," he said softly. "and we've got your back. That's what friends are for." 

He kissed your forehead, lingering for a few seconds before pulling back to give you a small smile. “You know we all love you, right?” you stayed quiet, not really knowing what to say. You’d distanced yourself from the group since the murders, not enough for them to stop talking to you, but seeing their faces made you go back to that night.

"I do," you finally whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. "I love you all too."

Chad's thumb gently wiped away the tears from your cheeks, “I’ll make you something to eat, yeah? So the alcohol goes away a bit.” you nodded and he kissed where your tears had been just seconds before he wiped them.

While Chad prepared a simple meal, you took the opportunity to wash your face and change into more comfortable clothes. When you returned to the kitchen, the aroma of grilled cheese sandwiches filled the air, making your stomach rumble. He handed you a plate with a smile, and you both sat down at the small table in your dorm room. 

“Thank you," you said, your voice filled with genuine appreciation. "I don't know what I would've done without you tonight."

Chad smiled, "Of course,” 

As you both finished your sandwiches, Chad cleared the plates and put them in the sink. You watched him, a soft smile playing on your lips. "You're a great cook," you remarked, genuinely impressed.

Chad chuckled, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Well, I've had a lot of practice. Ethan is a horrible cook."

You appreciated his lightheartedness and humor. It was moments like these that made you feel like you could truly escape the darkness that had been haunting you. "I'm glad you're in my life, Chad."

His smile widened, and he approached you, gently cupping your face. "I'm glad I'm in your life too," he said, his voice filled with warmth. He squished your cheeks with his hand, pushing you to chuckle as he showered your face with kisses. “So, so glad.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, and he pulled you back in for another hug. After a while, you both pulled away from the hug, but Chad kept his arm around your shoulders, his touch grounding you. 

“So, what now?" you asked, looking up at Chad, feeling a sense of peace you hadn't felt in a while.

"Well, we could watch a movie, or we could just sit here and talk. It's up to you." 

You considered your options for a moment, feeling the weight of the past year slowly lifting from your shoulders. 

"A movie sounds good," you finally replied, a genuine smile gracing your lips as Chad played with your fingers before standing up to lead you to the couch. He places another lingering kiss on your forehead as you sit together, his arms wrapped around you and, just for a moment, you think about how he makes you feel safe, how his presence eases the ache in your heart, even if just for a little while.

The two of you settled on the couch, wrapped up in blankets, with a comforting movie playing in the background. Chad's arm remained around your shoulders, offering silent support as you both immersed yourselves in the storyline. Occasionally, he'd squeeze your shoulder or run his fingers through your hair, a wordless reassurance that he was there.

#chad meeks martin x reader #chad meeks martin #chad meeks x reader #chad meeks #chad meeks smut #chad meeks imagine #chad meeks fluff #mason gooding #scream movie

[captain-mj]

Can we get a cowboy hat rule one short with a shop of your choice? Or a part 3 for the stripper AU did Ghost finish thinking about Soaps offer of dating? 👉👈🥺

Part 1 Part 2

Stripper au!! I can definitely do that!! They fuck in this one finally

Alejandro threw open Soap's office door before closing it with just as much gusto. "I have a date with Rodolfo!!"

Soap smiled. "That's great!"

Alejandro nodded. "I'm so happy. Something must have changed his minds, but he's finally said yes."

Soap had a funny feeling of a certain Simon Ghost Riley was behind it but he didn't say anything. "Good. Where do you plan on taking him?"

"Nicest restaurant I can. I'm going to be woo him." Alejandro grinned.

Soap nodded. "Have fun dude! I'm happy for you." He watched Alejandro leave, going straight to Gaz's office. Once he was sure he was gone, he texted Ghost. "Thanks for Ale."

"It was mostly for myself. Rudy was upset he hadn't come back in a few days. Said I could pull some strings if he'd finally ask the guy out."

"Well, thanks anyway."

"Of course, Johnny."

Soap stared at the text message for a minute, trying to think of a response when Ghost sent a follow up text.

"I've been thinking."

"Made a decision?"

"You really have no ulterior motive other than getting dicked down. It's funny."

"No, no. Not just dicked down. I want to wine and dine you too."

Ghost took a while to respond. "You a gentleman, huh? Alright. Come to my office."

Soap rushed out and over to Ghost's office. He knocked excitedly and Ghost opened the door. His mask was up and he was in a dark green cardigan that looked oversized despite how big he was.

Simon was... well. Dorky. Soft. Always dressed in comfy but still dark clothing.

Johnny felt such a rush of affection for him. Simon lost a tiny bit of the confidence he had when he saw the lovestruck look on Johnny's face.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Being sappy. Do I have to take my shirt off to seem cool to you?"

"Nah, but I do think it would be nice."

Simon rolled his eyes and motioned for him to come in. Johnny did what he was supposed to and followed after him, grinning like an idiot.

Ghost sighed and locked the door. "Fine. I'll date you. Only because you've been so cute about it."

Soap threw his hands up in a cheer before quickly bringing them back down when Ghost turned to look at him. He got to see him laugh.

Simon took his mask off carefully. "It's okay. If you need to do a little celebration, I'd love to watch." The scarring. It look old, clearly stuff from childhood even if Soap couldn't think of a reason why a child would have a snake that close to their face.

Johnny smiled. "Nae, I'm much more interested in the bonnie in from of me."

"Bonnie?"

"Means pretty."

Soap felt his heart skip a beat in his chest at Ghost's blush. His whole face turned red, all the way down his neck. "Shut up."

"Aye? You're bashful?"

Ghost scoffed but he couldn't hide it.

Soap grabbed his cardigan carefully, not wanting to move too fast just yet. "You do look nice. Thought I'd say it in the Queen's english in case you had any doubts."

Ghost looked down at him and shook his head. "I'm already regretting my decision."

Before Soap could think of something clever or even something smart, Ghost leaned down a little. He kissed Soap's cheek. "Maybe you can give me the lap dance next time. So we're even."

Soap turned bright red and had to look away.

Ghost laughed. "Now who's a bashful bonnie."

Soap swiped at him and laughed. "Oh fuck off. So our first date."

"I was thinking right now. Coffee."

"This is why you're the man for me, Ghostie."

Ghost hit his shoulder but without his mask, Soap could see him blushing. Before they departed, Ghost unfortunately put the mask back on, fortunately though, he did let Soap get a kiss before he did.

Soap followed him like a moth to a particularly bright lamp. He sat with him at a coffeeshop and ordered his drink before talking with him for a few minutes.

Then hours.

Then it hit night and they were still there. Talking.

The poor barista had to gently tell them they needed to leave since the place was closed.

"Want dinner?" Soap asked, smiling at him.

Ghost nodded. "I could eat."

Somehow, they ended up at Soap's place. Soap was pressed to his counter, Ghost kissing frantically down his neck and chest.

Ghost picked him up by his thighs and put him on the counter, kissing him properly without having to lean down. He slotted perfectly between Soap's thighs.

Soap pulled away, putting his hand firmly on Ghost's chest. "Simon."

"Yes?"

"I don't actually know how to lap dance. I'd just sit there like a dead fish."

Ghost stared at him, almost unnervingly long before kissing him. "God you're such a loser."

"Hey-"

Ghost started to unbutton his pants and Soap quickly shut up. He closed his eyes and groaned once Ghost finally got a hold of him. He had been thinking of this moment for weeks. Ever since he saw those leather bound thighs and lovely abs.

Soap had to stop him again though and Ghost glared, clearly telling him he better not be making another joke. "Don't want your hands."

Ghost leaned in, noses bumping each other. He then threw Soap over his shoulder and carried him towards the bedroom. He dropped Soap on the bed, watching him bounce before going through his drawers. "Where do you keep your lube?"

"Bottom drawer."

"Good boy."

Soap groaned and started to kick off all of his clothing. He grabbed one of his pillows and got comfortable on his stomach.

Ghost looked him over appreciatively once he found his target. He got on top of Soap and pressed him down a little. With one hand, he pulled his ass up, squeezing.

His hands were skillful and patient as they got Soap ready. Soap was not patient at all, thrashing and pushing himself back and telling Ghost to please speed it up.

Ghost ignored him, working him open over and over again. He took the rest of his clothing off and set it on top of Soap's clothing. He laid on top of him and pushed in, holding Soap in a death grip.

Soap buried his face in the pillows and groaned. "Holy fuck you're big." He arched his back, determined to get Ghost as deep as he could.

Ghost put his hand on the back of Soap's neck to pin him and rocked his hips gently. "Thank you. People at the club certainly like it."

Soap's eyes flashed and then narrowed. He pressed further back and grabbed Ghost's other hand, kissing it. The two of them moved back and forth in sync, something just working between them.

Soap groaned and his body tightened when he tensed. Ghost pressed tighter against his back and, although he was quiet, he was right in Soap's ear so he could hear him. Small groans and curses.

Soap bit his wrist and he arched. He tried his best to be quiet, but Ghost was dragging out noises Soap didn't know he was capable of making. Every thrust or grind was in just the right spots and Soap was pretty sure he only lasted as long as he had out of the fear of embarrassing himself.

Ghost sped up though and Jesus wept.

Soap came hard, untouched and so flustered he was sure Ghost could tell it wasn't all from exertion.

Ghost breathed gently right next to his ear. "Good lad. Let it all out for me."

Fucking hell.

Soap closed his eyes and felt his cock twitch.

"Is it okay if I come inside?"

He nodded quickly and bit the pillow as Ghost slammed into him. His eyes rolled back as he started to get overstimulated but he wanted, needed, Ghost to finish in him.

Ghost wrapped both arms around him and buried his face in his hair as he came, squeezing tight.

Soap reached up and ruffled his hair.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #cod #soapghost #ghoap

[oneatlatime]

The Earth King

As always, commentary off.

No. Sokka. No. Stop. This is your stupidest idea yet. I want to LEAVE Ba Sing Se.

Sokka. Listen to your sister. And your other sister.

Toph embodying my will manifested on screen.

What makes you think the Earth King is going to listen to four teens and their fluffy dog? When I put it that way, this is Scooby Doo. Scooby Doo plus Momo. Does that make Momo Scrappy Doo?

We're going back to Ba Sing Se. Great. Yay. I'm so excited.

It is rapidly becoming apparent that Sokka has lost his mind.

Surface to air rocks is funny. I'll give it to them, that's good.

This fight scene music is fantastic.

Aang took a level in badass at some point without my noticing.

I know these hats are inspired by real historical hats, and so I really shouldn't make fun, but these look like the lovechild of a toilet brush and a feather duster.

This fight is majority Toph and Katara. RIP the egos of these several hundred Earth Kingdom soldiers.

Please ensure your fluffy little butt is securely stored in the overhead bins before takeoff.

There's no way these guys are still alive. This is what was done to Jet, doubled. They dead.

The girl who doesn't even want to be here is doing all the work. Typical.

My congratulations to Toph, Katara, and Aang for demolishing an army without breaking a sweat. If only season 1 Katara could see you guys now.

I said in my previous write up that Zuko doing something good always comes back to bite him. I didn't mean it this literally. Did he have to take the jug out with him, or was that for the drama?

Good job guys!

Soka steals my job and points out the fulfillment of the Beat Up Sokka quota.

His earthiness has an interesting set of priorities.

So... is this episode just going to be talking?

He brainwashed your friend? Did you miss that he killed him too?

I said in my last write up that Long Feng was Avatar's first competent villain, but the tone he takes with the Earth King is so unsubtle that I'm thinking of rescinding that claim. Unless the King is so dumb that subtlety isn't required?

Toothprints. Sokka the idea guy coming in clutch. Too bad his brain wasn't engaged at the start of the episode.

Appa is a herbivore. Confirmed. Although he should have fangs for aesthetic reasons. Fanged Appa would be metal.

This king is a confusing mixture of endearing and infuriating.

No mere fever will prevent me from doing mundane actions in the most dramatic way possible!

Way back in the 90s there was a print ad for Chevy trucks that I remember seeing in magazines. It had a shirtless guy in jeans sitting on the bed of his truck in a field, pouring a bucket of water over himself. It was kind of at sunset and had a very late summer vibe. I had completely forgotten about it until I saw Zuko's bucket shenanigans in this scene, at which point I was abruptly -ABRUPTLY- reminded of how much time little me spent staring at that ad.

OH MY GOD. The King doesn't know about trains!!! BLASPHEMY.

Huh. So the King isn't stupid, he's just horrifically naive.

Positive attitude Sokka is kind of frightening. I do not like.

If I told this King that I had a bunch of puppies in my windowless van, he would totally fall for it. So much about the Earth Kingdom suddenly makes sense.

That one guard is having a doozy of a day.

Did the King just show a smidge of self-awareness? Wasn't expecting that.

Who is this? I have no idea who this is. I didn't realise how integral the scar was to the character's design. Give it back.

Yikes. A bunch of shmymbolism. I suck epically at decoding shmymbolism unless it's really spoon fed to me, so I'm not even going to try to understand this dream beyond 'poor guy has a really bad fever.'

Has anyone seen the Spencer Tracy movie Father of the Bride? There's a bit where he has a dream that the floor on the way to the altar does pretty much exactly this. Hungry floors must be a common dream experience.

Pretty.

If the King is really this completely ignorant of the war, who's been directing the army?

It's pretty neat that Sokka is the spokesperson of Team Avatar, and that no one disputes that.

Aang says "there's a comet coming this summer," but I heard "comic" and I know they made tie in comics for the show, so I was like "ooh a crossover episode!"

"You're already vulnerable. The Fire Nation won't stop until the Southern Water Tribe falls. You can either sit back and wait for that to happen, or take the offensive, and give yourself a fighting chance." -Sokka's dad speaking to the men of the Southern Water Tribe, while his son listens perhaps a bit too closely.

If the King really was completely in the dark about the war, how does he even know who the General is? Did Long Feng have the power to keep the General from mentioning the war?

"Your majesty I'm General How, head of the Council of Five." "What's that?" "It's in charge of your army." "Right. And what's the army up to these days?" ... " ...I planted a lovely tomato garden this year."

I love that earthbenders don't wear shoes, and that it's culturally normal. Makes an intriguing visual contrast to their fancy duds.

I have GOT to know what Mushi the teamaker's secret file says.

Toph can't read guys.

Sokka, Katara, I get it. You miss home too. But how would anyone at all from your tribe know to send a message for you to Ba Sing Se? Last time you all touched base, you were headed to the Northern Water Tribe. And those guys sent you off to Omashu, not Ba Sing Se.

Nitpick time! Katara starts reading the text of this letter out loud before she unrolls it.

Katara's voice acting while she's reading the letter is sweet. She's so excited.

Iroh. Priorities. Tea can wait.

"Huh? What's happening?" "You huffed a bit too much cave slime under Lake Laogai. Just ride it out."

This vase is lit like a main character.

"You're going through a metamorphosis my nephew." Iroh, he's a bit too old for that talk. Hang on I just realised that Zuko went through puberty on that ship. I bet that was rough.

I don't trust this. This news is all too good.

Aang referring to them all as "the family" hurts a little bit.

It is unbearably sweet to let Sokka go see their dad while Katara helps the Earth Kingdom plan, but Katara sucks at planning. Then again, the Earth Kingdom sucks in general, so maybe having a sucky planner will be a net improvement?

Either way it's good little sister content.

But there are six Kyoshi warriors. I counted in Appa's Lost Days.

Oh they didn't

Attack hug!

Airbender Zuko is a very effective jumpscare. Don't blame him for freaking out.

You know it's bad when finding the scar intact comes as a relief.

Nope. Don't trust it.

Fuck this guy.

Long Feng even eats rocks maliciously.

Fuck these guys.

Oh they did. Fuck these guys.

Final Thoughts

And just like that, it all went to shit. Or it will.

I was braced to be annoyed by how conveniently quickly the Earth King got with the program, but it actually fits well into the rest of the episode. Instead of a thing that goes improbably well, it's the one thing that goes right in episode filled with set up for everything falling apart. That bothers me less.

This episode was actually fun. At least until the end. It was mostly talking and Zuko on a bad trip. But it was win after win for everyone but my Ba Sing Se hating self, and it's always good to see your favourites having a good day. But! I have a glimmer of hope! So long as Sokka and Aang aren't completely written out until they return to Ba Sing Se, at some point I'll get some episodes outside of the city. And I have Appa back, so things aren't too bad in the grand scheme of things. I wonder that Appa wasn't upset at having all his people back for five minutes then having them split up again.

I do not like positive thinking Sokka, and I especially don't like that I have no idea where he came from. That point wasn't set up at all. I want my baby cynic back.

If letting Appa go was enough to trigger Zuko's morality crisis to the point of physical illness, why didn't letting Aang go in The Blue Spirit, or choosing to chase after Iroh rather than the Gaang in The Winter Solstice Part 1, cause a similar illness? What is different about this time?

Toph was once again the voice of reason in this episode, or rather my personal audience insert. Although it did surprise me how excited she was to see her mom. I thought that sending bounty hunters after their own daughter was kind of unforgivable, but either Toph doesn't know, or she's a more forgiving person than I am.

I realise now that this should have occurred to me when I watched Appa's Lost Days, but what idiot didn't take the Danger Ladies into custody when the Drill was stopped? btw I keep calling them the PowerPuff Girls in my head.

This episode was simultaneously a finale to a lot of threads and an introduction to a lot more. It was a chance to breathe between crossing the finish line of the 'find Appa' quest and starting the 'season finale' quest. It was also structured backwards. The big fight was like six minutes in. The 'what are we doing this episode?' was one of the last scenes. But it still works. I'll be interested to see what I think of this one when I rewatch it. It was such an info dump that I wonder if my opinion of it will be different once I watch it with all of the relevant facts known to me already. Either I'll appreciate the episode's other parts like the comedy, or I'll be bored. We'll see.

Two episodes left this season! I don't think I'll be getting to those before next year. See you all in 2024! (time needs to slow way down)

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #the earth king

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

After being in complete denial about the movie for the past 2 days I want to know if you happen to have nah recommendation or some good fanfics that is either based on Harry Potter or in the Harry Potter universe I’d appreciate so much. I think I’ve been scarred by this movie completely 😬

Yes. I am always happy to share uncredited works of she-who-must-not-be-named.

Amortentia by raspberrylimonade

(1/1 I 1,113 I General I Stydia)

Potions was always terrible in the week leading up to the full moon. Scott’s already heightened sense of smell was especially sensitive during this time. All the scents and fumes, on top of the typically gunky smell of the poorly ventilated dungeons, drove his nose crazy.

Today they were brewing amortentia. It was a rather difficult potion. Half the class was over-excited and making mistakes, which meant weird smells hitting his nose from all directions.

And then there was Stiles and Lydia’s potions.

shirley temple, on the rocks by orphan_account

(1/1 I 3,006 I Teen I Sterek)

“Are you sure you’re a Gryffindor?” Derek says.

“The hat did try to put me in Slytherin,” Stiles shrugs. “But I asked for Gryffindor, so," and he drains his drink, crunching on the bits of syrupy ice at the bottom.

kickstarts again by 1001cranes

(1/1 I 3,544 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek has known Stiles was his mate since Fourth Year; Stiles keeps getting lost on the way to the Common Room - these two things may very well be related.

That Witch! by sapphireginger

(1/1 I 3,580 I Teen I Hermione/Stiles)

“Are any of your books damaged?” he asked, prepared to pay to fix them if needed.

The girl quirked a brow. “Would it matter if they were?”

Stiles nodded seriously. “Absolutely. Books are knowledge. The destruction of knowledge is blasphemous in my book. Anyone who says otherwise is a bloody fool and—”

“I’m sorry,” she said between giggles. “You’re American. I wasn’t expecting you to say ‘bloody’.”

Mischief Unleashed by Artemis_Charmed for one-fandom-became-all-fandoms (Sara36913)

(1/1 I 6,241 I Teen I Sterek)

The thing was, magic was real. And the entire school was magical. Literally. The stairs moved; statues winked. There was a room that seemed to be around when you required it. So nothing should surprise him. Except. There was a large black wolf lying in a corner, under the half moon light shining through the window.

"The Enigma: Shadows of Magic" by uronthinicepal

(2/63 I 6,512 I Mature I Sterek)

When Stiles Stilinski finds himself at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he's placed in Ravenclaw. In a world where werewolves and wizards exist in the same universe. Instead of Scott navigating his own way, he is sent to Ilvermony, the school for magic in America, to assimilate into werewolf life. Stiles is magic, he is a spark. He is sent to Hogwarts to learn and for his own safety. Join Stiles on his enigmatic journey into the world of magic, where the unexpected can become the greatest hero. Oh, and Derek's here too.

Hufflepuffs Are Awesome by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion

(1/1 I 10,524 I Teen I Sterek)

"My fierce firecracker,” Stiles gasps out, between laughs, “my precious little shortfuse.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says, his voice muffled as he hides his face in his hands.

“Captain Aggro, defending my honour,” Stiles chokes out, heaving himself upright. “My champion of love.”

“If you don’t shut up,” Derek warns him, “this bed is going to be your only companion for the next month.”

Or the one where Derek and Stiles are in Hogwarts, and there are shenanigans.

Dead Faint by MaddieStilinski

(1/1 I 29,872 I Not Rated I Sterek)

A few things happened in very quick succession once the potion had left Stiles’ hand. Derek brought it up to his eyes to look at it, shook it a little and uncorked it.

It took Stiles a couple of delayed moments to notice two very important things. The first, being the iridescent colours that danced across the top when Derek shook the potion. The second, that the room had started to spin around him. From very far away, Stiles registered the calming potion in Derek’s hand, transparent where it should have been blue. Derek brought the potion to his lips.

‘Wait-‘ Stiles started. Then, the room still spinning, he collapsed in a dead faint.

Moonwalkers by twinklingpaopufruit

(68/68 I 531,781 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles had his entire Seven Years of Hogwarts all planned out:

Prank and Prank Hard. Woo Lydia Martin. Avoid detention and Potions at all cost. Have crazy fun.

Enter brooding werewolf to send this plan to the bottom of the Black Lake.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #hogwarts au #stydia #lydia martin

[galacticspaceguy]

Post Cars 3 human!lightning headcanons:

(Also leans into a bit of AU territory but the AU starts after cars 3 so it’s ok)

-mid 30s

-doesn’t race with the rookies officially anymore. He holds dirt track races for him and all the older racers. People are allowed to come and watch. These races get real popular, but they quieted down after a while.

-he didn’t get a new car cause he’s to attached to his old one, and he refuses to alter it either.

-uses Docs old car a lot. He fixed it up because being a mechanic became a new hobby of his

-had a couple a scars due to the assassination attempt and the crash. he also takes a bunch of meds cause the crash messed him up real bad. A lot of people consider Lightnings crash one of the worst.

-has ADHD. It was really bad when he was younger (cars 1) but it’s calmed down now

-people talk about Cruz getting in a potential car crash due to it being almost a curse. Doc, Strip, McQueen, so people think Cruz is next. It doesn’t help that this is one of McQueens biggest fears.

-races Cruz as a part of her training

-hates it when people call him old. Everyone calls him old.

-usually wears sweatpants, a white shirt, a jacket that’s both his old logo and Dinoco themed, and his own merch (a hat and lightning glasses) as a crew chief uniform

-he let Cruz use his old racing suit (he also let her alter it a bit by adding some of her signature yellow to his red)

-lost a bit of his professionalism but not a bit of his charm

-gets a lot of appreciation from the rookies on the track (cause he’s practically a dad to everyone on the track now)

-Lightning is to Cruz like Doc is to Lightning but way more chaotic

-part time teacher at Rusteze racing center. It was a horrible idea to hire him, but the rookies love him

-Harv made him keep his hair cut short and clean, but now he lets it grow out.

-He also has a heavier accent now due to all the time he spends in radiator springs.

-Married Sally. Fans started calling her Mrs. McKing. Though there’s already a Mrs. The King. They are best friends and have their own fan base.

-Always carries a cup with him to all of Cruz’s races. None knows what’s in it, and when anyone asks, he always gives a very vague answer, so none knows. It’s become very popular online for people to guess what Cruz Ramirez’s crew chief is drinking.

-convinced all his old racing friends to help out in the pits or become crew chiefs of their own rookies

-doesn’t usually let Cruz race internationally. He knows it’s unfair, but he’s still a little wary after the whole assassination attempt. A few of the racers from the world grand pix actually reached out to him to tell him he should be less paranoid in the nicest way possible- but then again, people strapped a bomb to his best friend in a attempt to murder him

-tried to teach Sally to race. He always lets her win even if he knows he can beat her easily.

-either really rough with Cruz or really soft with her; but over all incredibly over protective of her

-casually mentions/references things that happened in movie 1/2 and the majority of the time, no one but the Radiator Spring residents what he’s talking about

-hasn’t let Cruz get an proper agent yet. He knows he should, but he and Dinoco are enough right now.

-can throw Cal over his shoulders and drag him around (no matter how much Cal screams at him to put him down)

-broke off his contract with Harv and put Harv on a no contact list. I don’t personally think Harv was physically or extremely abusive- I thinks he’s more exploit-y and mostly cares about fame and money. He was really distant with McQueen but he did have a good hold over the kid, I mean we all know how excited Lightning gets when he gets to talk to or even see Harv. The entire court case was about Harv taking more of Lightnings winnings than what’s legally allowed, and it really changed Harvs attitude towards Lighting, which led to a restraining order and a no contact order.

-I have another headcanon that Harv became Jackson Storms agent, which led to a whole other court case

-Sally was the lawyer for both those cases

#pixar cars #cars movie #cars #lightning mcqueen #headcanons

[glassrowboat]

Orange Ribbon

Word count: 1000+

Authors note: mentions of the reader being short, but to be fair when I think of Itto I still imagine that one photo of him next to Zhongli back before he was released. Itto is seven foot in my heart damnit-

Perhaps this is the perfect hiding spot, tucked behind grandma Oni's house with a stray slab of wood leaned against the wall to cover a few boxes from the rain whenever a storm comes crawling through, and currently yourself too. The treated otogi wood had a familiar smell that filled your senses. Though admiring some lumber wasn't your prime objective of this little game of hide and seek.

Not that you really needed to bother. Shinobu said the boys would be busy today helping put up posters for one of the many odd jobs they tend to pick up just to rake in some cash. Meaning you had all the time in the world to-

And the safe haven shook, the wood peeling back from this old paneled wall of the hut to reveal red horns and wide eyes right on you. A wide smile with pointed teeth that could only belong to one man, or in this case oni. “Look what I got for us!” He called out, hand holding up a small bag that, knowing him, was undoubtedly full of snacks.

So, no time in the world then.

Heh….

Taking a lid to the box you had set the onikabuto in to keep him all nice and secure as you subjected him to dress up time you slowly tried to slide it over the little guy as Itto excitedly talked. “Well my favorite sweetie pie, my bro, I got some strawberry daifuku, melon pan, and I even scored dorayaki!”

Dropping his bag on the box you were slowly sliding the lid over with a nice, hefty thud you couldn't help but jump. Itto was right about the snacks, they were something to get excited over, but not so much so when the little bug inside made a noise from the fright he was unwillingly given. You couldn't even fully click the lid over the box in time as Itto's black nails were poking the lid off as he made a small huh?

“What are you doing to my little buddy?”

The real answer to that? Well, the stray cats in the village have taken to running away from you everything they even caught a sight of your presence. Fully self done, but it still hurt as they turned away from you, fleeing from the person who would snatch them up and cover them in bow ties, little sweaters, or on the rare occasion a top hat for the less squeamish ones. It seems that you've completely lost every cats good graces after treating them like dress up dolls so you were stuck with no choice but to turn to a creature that reasonably couldn't run away. So now there's Crimson Staff being revealed to both your eyes as a bright orange ribbon was wrapped In a neat bow around his horn.

Deflect. Deflect. 

“What have I told you about calling me bro?”

“Don't call you bro when I've had my tongue in your mouth? Sorry, babe.” As he spoke, an awkward laugh slipped out of him, sharp fangs on show as he tried to brush it off with a smile. “But what are you doing to my star onikabuto beetle battler?”

Can't have his little champion getting distracted from the ring and all that. 

Okay, the first deflection didn't work.

“It's actually for your beetle battles!” You claimed, eyes flicking down to the bright orange fabric. “It's a warning. You know how in nature the most colorful animals are the dangerous ones, right? So this is just like war paint.”

Poison dart frogs are characterized by one very important feature that could only help solidify your point, so clearly, this claim has some backing. Backing Itto only seemed to nod at as he raised a hand to pat the little guy on the back, always so careful to make sure he wouldn't do any actual harm as he did so. “Interesting way to see it.”

Not at all….

“Though I'm not sure an orange ribbon would look more menacing than the bright red color he already has. Or what about that badass looking scar? But I respect the decision.” 

“Why thank you for your approval, I'm honored.”

Teasing him didn't work well though when he moved his hand over to pinch at your cheeks, pulling and squishing them at his leisure. “You’re a goof, you know that?”

“Says the town idiot.” A little uncalled for? Yes. Did you care when he was still trying to egg a reaction out of you? No. You didn't even feel bad as your tongue stuck out to point at him.

“Who you callin’ an idiot, short stuff?” How you could see his eyes flicking down to your tongue, or maybe even your lips as he leaned in closer, towering frame crouching down to where you were kneeling close enough to kiss. 

So how could you help yourself from pressing a quick smooch to his nose, trying not to giggle outwardly as his eyes crossed to watch your actions. So cute. “You, tall stuff.”

“Oh now you're asking for it, babe.” Reaching his hands out you didn't even have time to squeal as he picked you up, raising you up and into the air as Itto stood back up. There would be no freedom for you to have like this. Especially not when he had such easy access to grab at your ass. “Alright, so let's play a guessing game, yeah?”

Without even bothering to wait for you to say yes, you're down for this, Itto kept talking. “This is because you can't dress up the cats anymore, isn't it?”

Ah…you've been figured out.

“No. Maybe. Okay, yes.”

“Then I volunteer.” Katniss? “Why bother the onikabuto when I'm right here, babe? You can tie all the ribbons you want in my hair. Get some clips too if you want. I'm down for it all.”

“Is-”

“Better yet!” Itto started, cutting you off as he jostled you in his arms to keep you from falling. Mother fucker could've given a warning. “We can get the entire gang in on it. You could make us look all cool and stuff with all sorts of things. So let's get you some ribbons so then I can be the manliest oni on the block.”

“You're…ridiculous.”

“No, I'm all yours.”

Fair. “Yeah, you are.” Grabbing a tussle of his white hair you twirl it around your finger, unable to help yourself from thinking about tying it in all sorts of ways with all the little hair accessories you have back home. Maybe the ones with little skulls, more ribbons, or that one charm Itto had got you after first becoming official. (Shinobu had only told you later Itto had worked for a week straight to get it for you). “Then you're my dress up doll for the next hour, mister. No backsies?”

“None at all. Do to me as you wish, I'm so ready for a makeover!”

Oh, you're gonna make sure he'll regret saying that.

“Challenge accepted.”

Sucker.

#itto x reader #arataki itto #arataki itto x reader #itto #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #x reader #gn reader #hoyoverse