#in da masks at least

[calamarispiderart]

hm? whats that?

#my art #chonny jash #heart #soul #mind #in da masks at least

[animation-is-my-jam]

Haven’t updated my teen Wg costume in a long time, trying a concept of it from previous looks I’ve done, might change it but either way I felt like I had to jjjgghhgghj.

#wordgirl #tobecky #wg future timeline #becky botsford #she gets more sparkles and lights because uhhh sure #a mask and her hair being more floofy to try and help concealment….at least xD #the Tobey in da corner bc I had to

[danielnelsen]

i wouldnt go so far as to call the calling a good book necessarily, but it's so much better than the stolen throne and it's actually got an interesting plot & lore, it's very refreshing when im reading them in order

#personal #da #i love grey warden stuff it's so juicy. horrifying! especially in this book! im glad they went that route! #still not a good book! but not on the same level as the stolen throne. god. #one thing about the da books is that they do generally trend upwards in quality which makes reading them a decent experience #or at least a better experience than it would be otherwise #in terms of being a good book the one i enjoy the most is last flight (although the current day chapters are a bit empty) #but for lore the calling probably is my favourite #asunder and the masked empire are better books than these first two but the plots...... god the plots. #if he wasnt the protag of asunder i think i would feel pretty indifferent towards rhys but that book makes me *hate* him #and as for the masked empire........ well ive talked before about how i just cant bring myself to care AT ALL about orlesian politics #some of the elf bits are interesting. give me a book about felassan. but also. yeesh. they did the wlw baaaad #not that i can complain if im saying i like the calling. one of the more jarring instances of bury your gays #like hey could you maybe give us wlw relationships that arent terrible and mlm relationships where they dont DIE

[victory-cookies]

damn it

#it’s da covid 😭 #nearly four damn years I managed to avoid it! #I was doing so well! #I had nearly won at covid! #but no I go to one event (and I mask up!) and I get it #I’m really frustrated #I’m genuinely really worried about long covid and now that that’s a possibility for me im unhappy #I also can’t really afford to be missing classes rn #(I’m v busy. I have a lot of group work to complete. I will be getting docked marks in one class for being absent) #and I also cant really afford to miss work either #bc I need the money #that’s $170 I won’t have 😭 #but I gotta isolate so that’s the price I pay ig #at least I can just buckle down and get my shit done #assuming the virus doesn’t knock me out

[nomaishuttle]

aaa gets scared

#a couple of residents have covid so were waiting for da big boss to get here b4 we start cleanjg #it was also semi funny bc dee came to me and told Me to wear a mask . whichni always do 😭😭 i didnt have it on rj bc im sitting alone #outside lol... its ok tho #im a bittt emoji SCARED but ill survive .. #and idm taking precautions #i rly rly hope the residents who r sick get better but. scary scary scary. #bc i jad umm one of my residents 2 weeks ago she said her son had had it so she was quarantining so we didnt do hers and shes vetter now #or at least was last week bc she was done quarantining last week. so idk . #one of my other rooms i think my first wednesday room had a sign sayinh mask and gloves etc rqed. all quite scary #well. back 2 it .... dee said i dan just do my upstairs for now since its so Ahrvejbhg. the big boss should get here around 9 idt ive ever #met them...

[idontknowreallyidontcare]

KorTac members are WHORES, you’re only safe because you’re Colonel’s favorite.

You never talk, always have your mask on and the clothes and gear you have to wear daily doesn’t give too much information about what you could be. Male? Female? Only you know, and only you’ll decide when and how you’ll tell others (at least that’s what you thought).

When women from the base hit on you, hugging, tugging on your arms, pressing their tits all over you, you definitely get flustered, but you don’t know how to break it to them, that you’re actually a female and pretty much enjoy yourself every night by watching big muscled men jerking off on the unholy sites, with their hairy torsos and their angry looking cocks.

One day, some rookies (too fed up with your mysteriousness) drag you to the communal showers, laughing and calling you out on never joining them for one. Making silly jokes as ‘you’re afraid of us or our dicks?’ ‘What’s it big boy? Your cocks too big to grant us the pleasure of its presence in the same room as us?’ Or ‘no I bet it’s actually small, he just doesn’t want us to see it!’ Or ‘guys leave him alone, you’re gonna get in trouble with colonel’

As you are being dragged, you arrive inside the showers, everything is on display and you know it, there’s no curtains, no privacy, of course, that’s why you shower always at night and ALONE. But when you’re thrown inside and all you can see are huge junks, wet muscles, tensed abs and men moaning, you truly understand how much you actually fucked up for wanting to cover up your identity so bad and leaving people just assume your gender.

Your colonel suddenly facing your way with his hard dick pointed directly at you it’s not making it easier for you. But the rookies starting to trash you around, throwing you from ones arms to another, while starting to jokingly remove your clothes it’s not of help either.

Hlep I have some big ideas w this one c:

I just wanna say that the rookies will definitely not be playing with us in that sense, and this will probably be a KorTac x some other members probably from taskforce141. Probably an orgy thingie or idk, still have to decide.

Under here a poll with the characters I have in mind, just vote and the most rated ones are getting it. I thing of making it with at least 5 men x reader :3

#konig x reader smut #konig smut #cod x reader #cod #cod mwii #ghost cod #gaz x reader #nikto x reader #price x reader #soap cod #john soap mactavish #ghost x soap #task force 141

[the-ace-with-spades]

(I adore fics where Johnny’s family loves Ghost from day one, but, you know…angst)

Soap and Ghost had been together for almost two years. They never name the relationship, really, but it's serious and they both know it.

Thing is, Johnny's seen Ghost's face a total of four times, counting Las Almas.

Well, he sees parts of it regularly, more than others. Ghost will either roll the balaclava up when they're reading together in bed or when they're eating. Sometimes, when Soap wants to go out and Ghost indulges him, he goes in public in just either a face mask or a gaiter and Soap can see his short wavy blonde hair sticking all over the place and 

The four times he had seen Simon’s face in it’s whole — obviously, Las Almas; one time when he was unconscious and bleeding from a head wound and Johnny had to check; one time when they took a shower together, Simon stayed with his back toward him through most of it, but when they finished, he let Johnny dry off his hair; one time, when Johnny asked him to see him for his birthday presents, a few minutes after midnight.

Johnny wasn’t sure why exactly Simon didn’t want to show him his face. It wasn’t a trust thing — he trusted Johnny with more than his own life — and it wasn’t like he was ugly — he was downright sinful. He never drilled the topic because he didn’t care, if SImon wasn’t ready, then he wasn’t ready, but if he had to guess, it was all to do with identity and being seen. No one knew his face — people could know his name, Simon “Ghost” Riley, but they wouldn’t know the man behind the mask. Wouldn’t know the people behind Simon “Ghost” Riley.

(Johnny wasn’t completely off on the assumption — Simon didn’t want anyone to know his face because faceless people weren’t missed. Faceless graves — like his own — didn’t have people to leave behind, and faceless soldiers didn’t have loved ones to find and he was both. No one could get hurt if he remained faceless. Or at least that’s what he’d been telling himself.)

And Johnny is okay with that — if Simon never showe him his face again, he’d still love him all the same. Johnny’s family? Not so much.

They’re supposed to be in Glasgow for five days total, leaving after Boxing Day. Johnny gives them all a warning, that Ghost is a bit shy and doesn’t like showing his face, he’ll most likely stay covered the whole time, he might be wearing a balaclava, or a mask, he probably won't eat at the table.

When they arrive at his parents house, it almost seems like everyone forgot. Like everyone thought it'd be more mild or that Johnny was exaggerating.

There are looks. There is silence. People can't stop staring.

His mam takes one look at Simon’s balaclava once they enter the living room and looks funny at them. “Ah thooght Ah tauld ye boays tae strip doon.”

“Mam, lea him alane,” he tries but he can tell that Simon is getting tense and his mam is getting tense.

His mam, who is usually the sweetest person ever, is uncharacteristically quiet and curt whenever Simon is around. Simon doesn't really know how to make it better — Johnny's never seen him so silent outside of stealth missions, he just stands there like a sore thumb, not making anything less awkward. He didn't expect him to — Simon's social skills are lacking and he loves him that way — but he expected his own family to not make such a big deal out of that mask.

His da is stern and silent, which is as disapproving as he gets. His sisters are a bit weirded out, but mostly focused on teasing Johnny, even making fun of the mask. With a stupid grin, his older sister asks, “Does he keep it oan in bed?”

Johnny doesn't say anything to that, even though his face feels red. His sisters stop laughing.

“He does?” When Johnny tries to step out of the room and avoid the conversation, his sister’s tone changes. “Hae ye e’en seen his face?”

“O’ coorse Ah hae,” he spits out. He doesn’t specify it was only four times — he doesn’t think it’d help. “And ‘s a bonnie ane, alricht.”

It doesn’t save the situation and his sisters are also weirded out and wary from then on.

 The kids do not care — they ask maybe two questions, tilts their head as Simon explains and that’s it — and Johnny breathes a little easier as soon as his nieces push Simon outside to help them build a snowman.

The judgment doesn’t stop. Johnny’s blood boils any time it shows and even though Simon says it’s all fine, he can’t stop feeling angry about this. They just can’t get past the mask.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are difficult to Simon and Johnny knows it. He’s given him the option to omit the family dinner on both those days if he’s not feeling alright enough to spend those days in crowdy house filled with a flock of loud and cheery people of all ages.

Simon knows this. He also knows that if he says he wants to stay at Johnny’s flat for the time being, Johnny is going to insist he doesn’t have to go either, that he’d prefer to stay in with him and not go for the Christmas dinner. Which he also knows is bullshit — Johnny loves Christmas, loves spenidng time with his family, that was basically why he kept on insisting Simon couldn’t stay alone at the base for Christmas another year in a row. It was the main reason why he agreed to go with Johnny in the first place, he was pretty sure if he didn’t go with him, Johnny would insist he stays, too. 

So Simon stays in for Christmas Eve — or rather goes to a pub while Soap spends the day with his parents — but insists they go to Christmas dinner. 

His family is disappointed to see him there, to the point the usual manuevering around politeness and disapproving go onto a backburner.

“John said yer nae a fan o’ Christmas,” Johnny’s mum says to him pointedly.

“That’s right.”

“And yet ye’r ’ere,” she notes.

Johnny is far away from the earshot and he doesn’t want to lie to her so he admits, “If I didn’t come, Johnny would insist on keepin’ me company.”

“How come ye dinnae try to hae a bit mair cheer fur th' holidays then? Put a bit mair effort in for ma baby.” 

Johnny notices and soon enough, he’s next to him, their arms brushing, Johnny’s hand on the small of his back. “Lea him alane, mam.”

“It’s fine,” he says even though it’s not fine. They deserve an explanation, even just to know what they son is getting himself into. “My family was murdered on Christmas Eve. I’m—I’m trying.”

The silence falls over the room — Johnny’s mum, dad, his sister, all present, not looking at them. Simon closes his eyes, tries to breathe.

Johnny rubs his back. “Let’s gae home.”

“I’m not ruining Christmas for you, Johnny,” he says. Before Johnny can deny it — and he knows he’d try — he tries to placate, “Let’s just have ourselves a minute to calm down.”

Maybe it’s the way his voice is perfectly levelled or the way his hand trembles as he squeezes Johnny’s, but he lets him leave the room.

He steps outside — to the backyard. Sits down on the step to the garden and lets the snow soak through his jeans and the top o his balaclava.

The kids come outside, tripping over Simon’s legs. They were all oblivious to the trails and errors of Simon’s integration into the family, so they approach him as always

“Whit's wrang?”

There’s just something so innocent in having a six-year-old girl covered from head to toe in pink and glitter worry about you. Simon would never admit it in front of Johnny, but he finds the accent cute.

Simon takes off the mask.

The kids all look at him and look at him, a bit unsure maybe a bit fearful — it can be a scary sight, he admits, the elongated, jagged smile that sticks to him no matter the mood, makes him more crazy than he already is — but only one of Johnny’s niece keeps her eyes on Simon’s face. 

Shily, she asks, “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he replies. When she smiles, he smiles back.

Not anymore.

This is Johnny’s family. Simon can deny it all he wants, but Johnny’s seen him as family, as someone he’d leave behind, and it hadn’t been unrequited. He can’t hide behind a mask forever and maybe this was the kick he needed.

He steps back inside when his hands turn numb. He doesn’t put the mask back on.

Johnny’s eyes widen. “Simon?”

Simon just—smiles. He can feel the scars pulling on the corners of his mouth, the stiffer skin, but he’s not faceless. He’s not been faceless for a while.

Edit (29/03/24): This is now a WIP for a minimum 15k fic, titled don't shoot me, santa, that will have 4 chapters and will be posted (hopefully) later in the year

#this is like a very shortened version with some points cropped out #maybe this will be a full-blown fic at some point #who knows? not me for sure #idk maybe closer to christmas or sth if i have inspiration #i headcanon soap speaks scots whenever he's home/speaking freely and softens the accent otherwise #i love glasgowian accents but im not good at writing them so #ghoap #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod #call of duty #q #charlie writes #op

[mosaickiwi]

Hide and Seek

950ish word Ren(dacted) drabble off a spicy hide and seek prompt from da discord except I didn’t do the NSFW ending because I’m cringe, my bad. GN reader.

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

Prompt: Playing “Hide and Seek" with Ren in his spacious apartment, except no room is off limits, and he has to wear a Ghostface mask while seeking you out. And if Ren manages to find you, he gets to fuck you. I'M SORRY

~

Ren had given you fourteen minutes to hide. Fourteen much needed minutes to take stock of his pitch black apartment while he waited outside. 

You'd been overly thorough, going room to room, crossing off some spots and keeping note of others, both silly and serious—you were momentarily tempted to hang ass-out of the washing machine for a cheap laugh. At the moment, hiding in the shrine-turned-storage room was your top choice. It was piled high enough with stuff that you were sure you'd sneak by him to some other hiding spot if he tried to corner you. But just in case, you made your way into his bedroom to find another option or two.

You hurried across the room to open his closet door and turn on its light. The rows of hanging and neatly folded black clothes on either side of the spacious walk-in didn't give you much to work with; even if you crouched down, he'd find you in an instant. Maybe you would hide in the storage room.

As you flipped the light switch and turned around to do just that, the front door loudly slammed shut. Your heart sank. You were out of time. There was no way you'd make it to your hiding place now. Halfway panicked, you fell to your knees and slid as quickly and quietly as possible under the bed. An obvious cliche—but it was already too risky to leave the room. You thanked your lucky stars you’d closed all the doors on your way here. It’d at least buy some time.

With bated breath, you waited in the dark, heart practically beating in your ears. The noisy sounds of them opening and closing doors echoed through the apartment. You could clearly hear his footsteps as well. He wasn’t normally anywhere close to loud, so he was definitely making all that commotion for your benefit. You weren’t sure whether to appreciate it or not, thanks to your steadily growing fear mixed with anticipation.

The noises got closer much faster than you expected them to. You only pressed yourself tighter against the floor. It was impossible to see much in the dark, but not even a brief flicker of light showed through the gap at the bottom of the bedroom door. He wasn’t bothering to turn the lights on. You were a bit miffed that he knew the layout of his apartment this well.

A few more loud footsteps, and you knew he was just outside the room. The doorknob faintly clicked as he turned it. The door opened, but thankfully you didn’t hear it shut. You could feel his footsteps, heavier than usual, thumping against the floor. Barely visible, the toes of his boots came into view right in front of you.

“I know you’re in here, Angel,” sang his voice from above you, the taunting muffled by the mask. The bed slightly dipped from his weight as he began to kneel down. Your heart only beat faster against your rib cage as you tried to stay calm. Did they really find you that quickly? You silently cursed yourself for being so picky.

All of a sudden he seemed to change his mind. The bed shifted and he moved back into complete darkness, out of your limited field of view. You squinted, trying your best to keep track of him. But it didn’t do any good. His footsteps reverberated once again as he walked around the room. There was a faint creaking noise from what must’ve been the closet door, then the footsteps got the tiniest bit quieter and quieter until they stopped once more.

You had to take the chance while he was occupied searching the closet. Otherwise, they’d just come back to look under the bed. With your heart in your hands, you trembled as you inched out on the side furthest from the closet, getting ready to bolt. If you were lucky, you’d make it to the storage room. One deep breath, and you started to run like your life depended on it.

Except you didn’t get far at all. You reached blindly in the direction of the door as an arm wrapped firmly around your waist, then a hand clasped over your mouth to mute the absolutely terrified shriek you let out.

“Y’really thought I’d gone in the closet, huh?” they laughed from behind while you struggled for a moment. “Of course you’d try to run.” 

The rather violent thrumming of your pulse seemed to settle in his embrace. He moved his hand away from your mouth once you stopped flailing, and you heard fabric and rubber rustling as he took off the mask. You forced yourself to speak—in spite of the adrenaline still coursing through you, “I thought… I thought a chase would be more fun.”

His arm still around you skimmed low on your stomach before his other hand came to toy with the hem of your shirt, making you tense in excitement. “It would be fun, but we’re not in a movie. Can't make things that easy f'you,” he teased, along with placing a soft kiss to your temple.

You were thankful not to see whatever smug face he had. "You could've humored me a little bit." Your prep time felt like a waste, so you really wanted to put up a better fight.

He pulled you closer in response. The press of his body against you served as a crystal clear reminder for how your little game was meant to end. Eerily confident, his words took a moment to sink in when he began to push up your shirt, lips lingering at your ear to whisper, “Sorry, Angel. You aren’t ever getting away from me.”

#14 days with you #14dwy #14dwy redacted #14dwy ren #momo writing #AND THEN THEY HELD HANDS I SWEAR /silly #idk if i wanna open the smut door leave me alone!! #what's proofreading

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Don't Stop (18+)

Requested by @jinjeriffic: Dead on main, adrenaline fuelled, post battle hookup?

------

This had been a hard won fight, both Danny and Jason were left breathing hard. They could hear fighting still going on outside, and probably they should have gone to help but they had cleared their section and judging by the chatter on radio the other heroes had it under control. Jason was breathing heavily to the point the inside of his helmet was fogging up and he Needed to breath fresh air.

He scrabbled to get his helmet off, glad that he always wore a Domino mask underneath. He fumbled it and growled before managing to rip it off and take a gasping breath of blood soaked air.

When he looked over he was greeted by a pair of wide Lazarus green eyes staring at him. Those eyes still unsettled him, drew him in and repulsed him. Right now they sent a shiver down his spine as he tensed, still hopped up on adrenaline with his own gaze tinged green he was ready for a fight.

"What!?" He snapped.

"You're really hot," Danny blurted and Jason's mind ground to a halt. They both stood there, staring at each other for a moment before Jason moved.

He lunged forward, but not to fight, He grabbed Danny by the front of his black jacket and dragged him down from where he was floating. Danny made a sound of shock as Jason kissed him hard. As soon as Danny processed what was happening he kissed back and it was all tongue and teeth. Jason tasted copper and he wasn't sure if it was their blood or someone else's.

Danny dropped down, wrapping his legs around Jason's waist and trusting him with his weight. It wasn't hard, even when he wasn't floating Danny was lighter then a human his size would be. Jason didn't think twice before slamming Danny against the nearest wall, he knew the other man could take it.

He was validated by a muffled groan and sharp claws digging in to his shoulders. Danny didn't need to break the kiss to breath but Jason still did so after a few more heated moments he broke the kiss with a gasp. Danny cackled, looking like he had won something before he started to scrabble at the buckles on Jason's suit.

It was Jason's turn to laugh as he watched Danny get frustrated with trying to get the thing off! He was about to offer to help when Danny snarled and simply pulled the jacket and shirt off. Jason blinked, he hadn't heard any tearing and when Danny dropped it looking smug it was still all in one piece.

"You can just phase someone's clothes off?" Jason asked curiously.

"Well ya," Danny said like it was obvious as he quickly located a hidden zipper on the front of his own suit and undid it, shrugging it off so it hung around his waist. Jason was immediately distracted from talking in favour of running his hands over the cool, impossibly smooth and soft skin of Danny's chest. He felt like freshly fallen snow looked.

Danny purred and relaxed back against the wall, his legs still wrapped firmly around Jason's waist. The change in angle caused his ass to rub against Jason's hard cock making him moan and Danny purr even louder. He ground against Jason again making him snarl and push back in, kissing the ghost again deeply.

It was Danny's turn to explore, clawed fingers lightly tracing over his pectoral muscles and abs, admiring his physique without looking at it. Jason broke the kiss and bit Danny's throat hard, starting to suck the delicate skin as he moaned and let his head fall back against the wall, turning to the side to give Jason more room.

Trusting Danny to hold himself up Jason reached down and started to rub his dick through his pants making Danny moan. Well, at least he was as hard and eager as Jason was right now.

"Get the rest of it Off!" Jason demanded breathlessly, still nuzzling against Danny's neck, breathing deeply his scent of ozone and fallen leaves.

"So impatient~" Danny teased even as he did what he was asked and turned them both intangible so the rest of their clothes simply fell off.

Jason grabbed Danny's ass before hesitating, he hadn't exactly been planning to fuck tonight so he didn't have any lube or condoms on him. "Do you need-"

"No!" Danny snarled pulling Jason close to him again. "I will be Fine, don't you dare stop!" He insisted so vehemently it made Jason smile even as his cock throbbed.

"If you say so," He agreed and pushed one finger into Danny making him moan. He was cool, and soft, and tight inside and he yielded to Jason's touch with practiced ease. Soon Jason was able to ass a second finger, scissoring Danny open as he whined and moaned. "Fuck, you really do take it so well," Jason gasped, if he was thinking straight he might have been embarrassed by his own eagerness.

"You're damn right!" He gasped rocking his hips down against Jason's hand, shifting and wiggling till Jason's fingers nudged something inside him that made him gasp. "Now give it to me!"

"So demanding," Jason teased and laughed breathlessly when Danny snarled at him. "I didn't say I wouldn't," He purred as he pulled out his fingers, grabbing Danny's hips hard to still his eager wiggling.

Danny moaned openly, his head falling back to bare his throat again as Jason slowly pushed inside. He gasped and shivered at the feeling of Danny's chill against his heated skin but his muscles squeezed and rippled Jason's cock absolutely perfectly. Danny's chest was heaving with shallow necessary breaths, his eyes unfocused as he whined through gritted teeth.

Jason couldn't help put lean in to lick at Danny's fangs. Danny opens his mouth and their make out is as clumsy as it is eager until Jason's dick was fully buried in Danny's body and he was forced to break the kiss to breath.

It seemed Danny wasn't willing to wait for Jason to move though and took matters into his own hands, gripping Jason's shoulders tightly as he pushed himself up and sunk back down with a moan. Jason gasped at the unexpected pleasure and snarled as he took control again, re-firming his grip on Danny's hips and thrusting up into him.

"Fuck! Yes!" Danny moaned, egging Jason in to fuck him harder faster. It was brutal, if Danny had been human this would have been far to rough, far to fast but Danny could handle it. His claws dug in to Jason's back, scrabbling at his shoulders making Jason growl at the pain only adding to his passion and the smell of blood in the air.

"Jason! Jason, Fuck I'm gonna-" Danny cut off with a breathless moan, his back arching as he came, his ass clamping down around Jason's dick like a vise sending him quickly over the edge as well.

"Shit!" He gasped as his hips bucked back into Danny almost too quickly as he shuddered, overstimulated and overjoyed as he came inside Danny.

Their orgasms left them both panting and clinging to each other, adrenaline all used up. Danny rested his head on Jason's shoulder as they held each other for a long moment, broken when Jason started to shiver. His sweat chilled by Danny's cold.

Danny chuckled breathlessly and phased out of Jason's arms. "Let's get dressed before anyone comes to check on us."

#dead on main #danny phantom #dcxdp #jason todd #writing request

[thepublishingpress]

In The Midnight

It all started when Katara and Aang decided to play match maker.

“Hey, Sokka, why don’t you tell Zuko about your crush?” Aang said teasingly.

“Oh, yes,” Katara agreed, grinning, “We all know about him! At least let Zuko in on the secret.”

Sokka turned bright red. Zuko (aka said object of admiration) tilted his head curiously at Sokka. Oh, no. Absolutely not. “I-I do not have a crush on him!” Sokka instantly denied. “It’s just admiration for a capable fighter!”

Toph smirked. Dread instantly filled Sokka. “Oh, really, Snoozles? Your heart rate says something entirely different…”

“Shut up, Toph!” Sokka shrieked.

“Uh, you know,” Zuko said, “It’s kinda confusing not knowing what’s going on.”

Sokka coughed. “Uh, sorry, Zuko, but we’re talking about… er…” Oh, Yue save him, how is Sokka supposed to say they were talking about Zuko?

Toph rolled her eyes. “Since Sokka won’t say it, I’ll fill it in for him,” She offered. When Zuko nodded, she continued, much to Sokka’s horror. “Who we’re talking about is the Blue Spirit.”

“Who I most definitely do not have a crush on!” Sokka hastily added.

Zuko blinked, his cheeks reddening a little bit. Sokka wanted to scream. “O-oh…” He said. This just made the rest of team’s grins widen. 

Oh, how he regretted ever confiding in them about the Blue Spirit.

“So, Zuko, what do you think? Does Sokka have a shot?” Katara asked him, raising eyebrow. Sokka glared at her.

The Fire Lord glanced away, still blushing. “Well, he can like who he likes, I suppose. It's an… interesting crush…?”

“It's not a crush!” Sokka shrieked, though he definitely noted how Zuko didn't seem too disapproving about Sokka’s admiration (and only admiration!) for him. 

Toph scoffed at Sokka’s weak denial. “Yeah, we totally believe that.”

~×~

Sokka was writing in his diary, bemoaning his predicament to it, when he suddenly flinched from a knock on his window. He slowly stood up and walked over to the curtains.

And when he drew them back, he nearly screamed.

Right there in front of him was a blue mask with white accents, dao blades strapped to his back. Sokka had to proccess for a moment before realizing it was in fact the Blue Spirit.

Also known as Zuko.

Zuko knocked on the window again. Sokka hurriedly opened them, fumbling a little bit in his haste. 

“What are you doing here?” Sokka whispered, confused.

Zuko said nothing, simply extending his hand out to Sokka. Come with me, he seemed to say.

Sokka reached out and clasped his hand with Zuko’s.

~×~

It was exhilarating, jumping on rooftop to rooftop, air gushing against Sokka’s face. Also, he was still in shock that Zuko had got through all the trouble to get up in his costume and mask paired with the dao blades just to get Sokka on a da- NO. Sokka meant a trip. Yeah. Like the Boiling Rock.

“Where are you taking me?” Sokka asked Zuko. Zuko didn’t answer, stubbornly sticking to the “silent” bit of silent warrior, instead using one of his dao blades to point to a rooftop with some glowing lanterns.

Tui and La and all the other spirits, did Zuko set this all up?

Sokka was rather flattered.

Unfortunately, they had to make a big jump to reach it. (Sokka may or may not have yelped a little bit like a kicked seal-puppy.) He tried his best to not cling to Zuko too tightly.

They landed peacefully with a small thud.

Zuko sat down cross-legged on the roof, Sokka following suit. 

It was nice and quiet.

Sokka was feeling a bit more bold at this point. So, reaching his hand out, Sokka placed it on top of Zuko’s.

Zuko’s head turned to face Sokka, and Sokka smiled at him.

“You can talk, you know,” He told Zuko. “Or take off your mask. I know it’s you, Zuko.”

There was silence for a few moments. Sokka’s heart raced, wondering if he’d made the wrong move.

Then, Zuko said, “Okay.” His left hand reached up to take of the Blue Spirit’s mask off. “Have you–” Zuko paused. “Have you always known?”

“When you first tried to join our team,” Sokka said. “Aang told us you were the Blue Spirit.”

“And that– and that doesn't change anything?” Zuko asked in a small voice, as if Zuko being the Blue Spirit would ruin everything for Sokka. 

Cursing Ozai in his head, Sokka immediately said, “Oh, Zuko, it doesn't change anything– except for the fact that it might’ve made me like you more.”

Zuko managed a smile. “I got you to say it.” He said. 

Sokka looked at him questioningly. “Say what?” 

“That you like me.”

Sokka jokingly threw his hands up in defeat. “Curses! Foiled again!”

Zuko laughed. Sokka grinned, glad to be able to make him laugh, but there was one question on his mind and he had to ask it. “Do you like me too?”

Zuko stared and stared. Then he burst out laughing even harder. “I set up all of this for you, dress up as my abandoned persona, and you have the audacity to ask me if I like you?”

Sokka glowed red, but he managed to say, “So… we’re together now?”

Zuko nodded, and that was all the confirmation Sokka needed. 

&*&*&*&

honestly screw ozai i hate him

anyway i hate some of the changes natla made to avatar and it makes me mad just thinking about it and i think ive made my parents think ive gone insane

but do i still want a second season because i want to suffer through the changes just to see toph? yes, absolutely

#fanfic #fanfiction #writing #atla #avatar the last airbender #zukka #zukka nation #firelord zuko #zuko x sokka #blue spirit #atla zukka #zukka fanfic #gaang #katara #aang #toph #toph beifong #the gaang #sokka #ozai #fire lord ozai #atla ozai #avatar ozai

[sayafics]

Dragon of Dorne - Chapter IV

This is quite a long chapter (which hopefully makes up for the long wait <3) with lots of fluff and some inappropriate thoughts - I promise so much more Daemon&Alaynha moments in Chapter V, I just wanted to give them something to build a relationship from.

A small change in this is that Viserys doesn't die - at least not yet. Another change is that Rhaenyra also doesn't have a miscarriage yet.

I still plan to stick to the plot-line, but just add in a few extra weeks for some Daemon-Alaynha moments <3 (which I feel so guilty saying but like oops).

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Daemon had bargained plenty that night - the children did not have to stay. Rhaenyra did not have to stay.

But he would.

For Viserys. For his brother.

Of course, such a tale was not far from the truth. His brother was frail - dying, even. The quicker the hours pass, the closer the Reaper drew upon Viserys, awaiting for him to take his last breath.

Daemon had spent years at Rhaenyra's side, he had neglected his duties as a brother and cast Viserys aside. So his words were not all lies and some truth remained.

He would stay in King's Landing until Viserys had recovered or passed. The children could stay at Dragonstone and continue with their lives, and Rhaenyra with them to rear their youngest.

Of course, Rhaenyra was never one to listen and promised to join him after spending a fortnight at Dragonstone and remain by his side until the birth of their child, during which if all went well, their blended family would return to the Keep and claim it as their home once more.

Daemon gritted him teeth at that, frustration swelling within him at the possibility of navigating his countless schemes whilst being interceded by wailing babes and an angered wife.

There was a quiet ache of guilt present, too - knowing how long Rhaenyra had been pining for him because of his deviances as a terrible and power-hungry man all those years ago. For her to finally have all of which she desires, simply for it to be threatened by a kin she did not want - Daemon could sympathise.

But this was not affection he felt, nor lust. Surely it was much simpler. Much easier.

Daemon was curious.

Daemon is a shrewd man - calculating and manipulative, violent and mean. A rogue prince through and through, where all could see his qualities and hold it to the light with assuredness.

But this girl- this princess. So bright and kind and loving. A mask so thick and well-crafted even Daemon had struggled to see the beast that lurked beneath.

It was the darkness that welled up in those pretty eyes of hers, the spark that ached to turn into a raging fire.

It was curiosity, nothing more.

***

When Rhaenyra and the children had left the following morning, he urged them to return to Dragonstone by sea - it was safer with him absent. A worthy excuse for more time.

Rhaenyra had accepted with a quaint smile, a pretentious act at playing a blushing bride - to which he merely mustered a peck upon the cheek in return.

He could see the confusion in her eyes, could see her wonder why her Daemon was changing so quick.

But the truth was his previous marriages had broken him - kept him confined and chained. He allowed himself to become a tamed dragon, and freely handed his reigns over to Rhaenyra for her to wave proudly in show.

He loved her. Of course he did. He loved the girl who rode upon dragon-back to claim a stolen dragon egg, threats of fire and violence spewing from her lips - but even that girl he did not marry.

And yet, before him stood a swollen bride that was a mere echo of the girl he knew all those years ago. A realisation that had haunted him for far too long.

He thought the children would help - hoped they would ignite the dragon fire within him, would give him purpose and life.

Or perhaps they would ignite the fire that had become smothered within Rhaenyra and an ounce of the girl he knew then would return, and he would settle. He would revere and concede and accept.

Daemon felt weightless. Purposeless. Useless.

Pathetic.

***

Daemon suppressed the smirk itching at his lips as he sauntered his way back to his chambers.

His chambers.

The very ones he'd lounged in so many years ago with his wine and his whores, and not the one he had been made to sleep in the last few days.

The Keep was buzzing with life - Lords and Ladies of the Court watched him with sharp gazes, maids and guards were either hesitant to meet his gaze or watched over him with rousing suspicion.

Daemon could barely suppress his grin as he met their stares head-on with raised brows and dark eyes.

There was one thing he had to remember during his stay at the Keep - with Viserys bound to his bed and milk of the poppy poured down his throat in rivulets, he was without any allies in the Keep.

After Strong had burnt to ashes, Daemon was unsure of who led his Gold Cloaks now and was curious as to whether their loyalties had shifted alongside their leadership.

His mongrels were perhaps wastrels instead, eyes begging and hands postulated for any alms in the shape of golden coins.

Although there should be a few loyalists scattered around the Keep - he may not have been well liked, but he was brash and powerful, something that drew people in.

When Daemon returned to his chambers, he searched through his old belongings with renewed vigour. His muscles almost trembled as he pulled out clothing he hadn't seen in so long - too long has he spent in ornate robes and simple tunics. Too long has he gone without the needed release he found in the wiles of a well-earned fight.

Too long.

He stripped with ease, a sense of relief washing over him as the waning material of the tunics Rhaenyra loved so much fell from his scarred skin and he slipped on his leather armour with ease.

With his sword attached at his side, Daemon left his room feeling more like the depraved and nefarious prince he had been all those years ago.

This time he could not help his grin - big and broad and terrifying to all who glanced his way.

This was the rogue prince - no longer was he an ornament for the Heir to parade, no longer was he a dysfunctional and futile man.

No. He was a dragon.

And it was time he returned to the sky and wreaked havoc upon all those who would dare look down on him.

***

Daemon stood under an archway, arms folded across his chest as he watched the scene unfold with amusement.

Upon the training grounds, engaged in a vicious bout of training, was none other than his harrowing nephew and sultry niece.

Aegon watched his brother and sister in amusement, an array of cakes and fruits and wines laid upon a table near him as though he had beckoned them solely for the purpose of watching his siblings fight as a form of entertainment. He seated himself at the edge of the training grounds, unable to control his laughter or his brutal glee.

He would jeer when Aemond aimed too close to Alaynha's delicate face, cackle with glee when she would trip the boy and throw food at the pair when they would become so distracted in passing taunts they forgot to exchange blows instead.

Daemon was impressed by the skill of the girl - out-manouvering her brother with ease. She met blow for blow, with just as much force behind her own hits as him. She doged every cut and met every slash with a brutal one of her own.

Not once did an ounce of blood drip to the ground in failure - she was skilled.

But he could not ignore the possibility Aemond had taken it easy upon her - with the weight of his glares from the previous night, the chances of Aemond willingly hurting his younger sister was close to naught.

Still, Daemon could not help but draw comparisons.

His first wife had been handy with a sword, but he had only ever heard rumours. And those rumours did nothing to gain her his favour, as although she was a fine swordswoman, she was dragonless and, therefore, useless in all the ways a Targaryen would require.

His second wife and third were fierce dragon-riders. Unafraid of the fire of a dragon and the heights they could scale.

But even they could not tell apart the hilt of a sword from the scales of a beast.

But here, before him, stood a challenge and a promise. A swordswoman and a dragon-rider.

Daemon could feel himself stiffen within his breeches at the sight of her panting form, the sweat upon her brow as she dodged every deathly blow and sweeped her brother's feet from beneath him.

As Aemond fell to the ground, she kicked his arm with vicious glee and the sword he held flew from his grasp. She aimed her sword at his throat, her own rising and falling with hurried pants as a gasping laugh escaped her in glee.

Aegon leapt up from his chair, loud claps and a boisterous laugh at his brother's fall.

Daemon had expected Aemond to grow angered at the humiliation - to spit insulting words and perhaps even show her just how placative he had been.

Instead, he smiled - and for once he looked like a young boy again, a shadow of the child who had half his sight stolen from him.

Aemond stood up with a proud smirk when she had relinquished her sword, a conceding nod as he praised her, "a fine swordswoman indeed. I see Cole has taught you well, jorrāelagon mandia (dear sister)."

"Criston has taught me very well indeed, lēkia (brother). I believe if I continue under his wing, kepa will have no choice but to let me join the Gold Cloaks."

Daemon straightened at the mention of the army he had trained as his own, and his body flushed with a pleasant warmth at the idea of Alaynha - so mischievous and small - killing and maiming vile men under the uniform he designed.

It was almost a sign of ownership.

As though she was his - his violent, little dragon.

Almost.

He entertained the prospect of taking over his Gold Cloaks once more - Viserys would accept in a heartbeat.

And if he did, Daemon would pick Alaynha as his protégée in an instant - perhaps he would give her private lessons on the art of mastering the sword, teach her to command the army in High Valyrian simply because such a sight would flood his body in arousal and have her torture men in his name so he could watch her covered in blood, gazing at him with those pleading eyes, begging for his approval.

Fuck.

But he held himself back from his spiralling thoughts - curiosity. This was simply curiosity, he admonished his traiterous thoughts.

He stood straighter, hand reaching down to adjust his hardened cock.

He cleared his throat before stepping away from his hiding space - although it was quite out in the open, he almost grinned when he saw his nephews stiffen at the sight of his approach.

"Kepus," her voice was light and airy, just as surprised as her brothers to see the man still in the Keep when his wife and children had already sailed away.

"You're still here."

"Ah, I am. Although, dare I say Zaldrītsos (little dragon), you almost seem disappointed."

Alaynha rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips, "of course not. I simply thought you would have sailed to Dragonstone with your wife and children."

"They must miss you dearly," Aemond drew closer as he spoke, "perhaps it is not too late to join them. I am sure your dragon will carry you fast and far."

"Ah, but why would I leave such great company for that of whom I've endured for years already." Daemon raised his brow in challenge, daring Aemond to suggest he leave his homeland once more.

He watched as Alaynha gazed between the two of them, her eyes then turning towards Aegon as she sighed in exasperation.

"Come, sister." Aegon consoled from his place, lounging upon a chair with a cup of wine filled to the brim, "let us flee before they bore us with their barbs and insults instead."

Alaynha snorted quietly, an amused grin upon her face as she rolled her eyes at her brother's antics - "might I suggest a better alternative?"

The brothers and Daemon stared at her in curiosity, "well, it seems our dear uncle is prepared for a fight. What better way to bond with the kin he refused to acknowledge than by sparring with them? Do you not agree, kepus?"

Daemon recalled the girl's words from yesterday, the spite that tainted her words as she rightly accused him of despising her family for their Hightower blood.

They were half-blooded Targaryens, barely dragons in his eyes.

But such things could not be true if he saw such a raging beast exist within her, as she was just as half-blooded as the rest of them.

Just as half-blooded as Rhaenyra's children.

But her birth, alongside that of her brothers and sister, had not been tainted by lies and an unsanctimonious vow.

"Mayhaps you are too scared, nuncle," it was Aegon who spoke with a broad grin, "my brother was trained by Ser Cole himself. You must remember the man - he told us the tale of how he knocked you off your horse. And your feet."

"Aegon," Alaynha lightly scolded the boy but could not hold back her own amused smile at his words - even Aemond had cracked a smirk.

Alaynha's eyes widened at the sound of a deep and rich laugh. She feared they had angered their uncle with their taunts and tales, but it only took a glance into the violent hues of Daemon Targaryen to see them swallowed whole by challenge and delight.

So long it had been since he had experienced such provocation, such defiance. A call of like to like as his blood sang with the call of a dragon.

Perhaps there was a kinship here, long denied by tainted blood and half-whispered promises.

"If my nephew is up for the challenge, I will not be the one to shy away."

Daemon tilted his head towards Aemond in recognition, hand placed upon the hilt of his sword as he awaited his answer.

Aemond, never one to turn down a challenge, agreed swiftly by turning his back to his uncle and making his way to the centre of the training grounds once more.

Daemon smirked at the show of confidence that rolled off the boy in tumultuous waves, but even he could not help the ounce of admiration echoing in his mind - had this been Jace or even Luke, they would have quaked and trembled at his presence.

And yet, here was his brother's child - a second born son, a turbulent fire. Seething and wrathful.

The irony of such a thing did not beget him.

Daemon made his way towards Aemond, but a hand upon his wrist stopped him in his place. He glanced down to the delicate hand anchoring him, eyes travelling up the soft skin glowing with a sheen of sweat from a harrowing sword fight, to meet the gentle eyes of a girl much too complex and secretive for him to decipher her with ease.

"Do take it easy upon him."

Her words were spoken pleadingly, as though this was not her idea. It seemed she could hear the words ringing in his head, and she sighed quietly as she continued, "although he may not admit it, he admires you. Truly so. You told me you wanted to know me. Well, know I love my brothers, and I cannot see them hurt - even in jest."

Now, here was a thing Daemon could empathise with. Here was a thing Daemon saw in himself.

He loved his brother, wholly and true. He would conquer worlds in his brother's name, and cut himself upon his own sword if Viserys had asked.

He knew the love one had for their brother, and he could see it shining in her eyes.

Still, Daemon was never one to let an opportunity to tease and test pass without falter - "and what will you give me in return for such a favour?"

She raised her brow in surprise, as though she couldn't believe he was asking such a thing in exchange for a measly request. Still she rolled her eyes and conceeded, "anything."

And such words were the truth.

"Do not spill a drop of blood, and you shall have anything you ask of me, Daemon."

Daemon.

Daemon.

Fuck, she had called him Daemon.

A descending warmth filled Daemon's body at the sound of his name rolling off of her tongue - so familiar, so tempting, so erotic.

Call me Daemon. Say it again.

He was tempted to speak aloud and beg for it.

But he could see Aemond's impatient form and Aegon's restless agitation - "anything, you say? It seems we have ourselves a bargain, zaldrītsos."

***

If this was what he believed was taking it easy, Daemon would be sorely disappointed when it came to asking for Alaynha's favour.

Although, she did have to say - her brother held his own quite well against the battle-worn soldier they knew Daemon to be. She swore upon the Seven she even heard the boy allow a careless laugh to escape his lips as he lost himself in the flurry of lunges and blows they exchanged.

Alaynha couldn't help the soft smile that stretched upon her lips as she watched the pair. Still, she was on edge - whether it was from distrust, enjoyment, or fervent kinship, their fight grew more brutal.

Less and less were there moments of deflecting and blocking and feinting. Every stab and every slash was made to leave a mark.

And still, in place of tension and worry upon the training grounds, there was a growing fever of gratification bubbling in the air - as though this was the challenge they had been waiting for all this time, pushing themselves to the brink of exhaustion to relieve themselves of anger and worry and misery.

This is what they had been missing.

And the realisation only made them fight harder.

"Do try and beat him, little brother," called out Aegon from the sidelines. He stood now, leaning against the back of the chair as he spoke out words of encouragement disguised as mocking jeers.

Alaynha sat upon the chair, reaching back to slap Aegon lightly upon the shoulder. He only huffed in her ear instead, "what? I am being encouraging."

"You are being a nuisance."

"Ah," he grinned blearily, "when am I ever not."

She snorted, "when you a too drunk to raise your head and bat your eyes rōva lēkia (big brother)."

"Oh, but a day in the shoes of a forgotten Prince would have you do the same byka rūklon (little flower)."

She smiled sadly, leaning back so her head rested against his arms - "at least you have your wine," she jested.

"And my whores."

His voice lowered an octave, whispering so dramatically in her ears that she couldn't help the laughter that escaped her in a bubbling concession.

Her laugh was bright and loud and echoed across the grounds. So captivating Daemon felt his heart almost stutter to a pause as he raised his sword, ready to meet a vicious blow from his newphew.

His head turned, as though his body had a mind of its own and his mind clouded with thoughts. Thoughts and ideas and wishes and curiosity.

Just a glimpse.

Just a second.

Instead, he felt his face burn as his sword missed Aemond's by inches, and his hardened slash met Daemon's cheek with vigour.

Daemon hissed, head twisting to the side as blood dribbled from the wound and pooled at the corner of his mouth as a surprised laugh escaped him.

"Aemond!" Alaynha spoke out in admonishment, even Aegon had held his breath for a second.

Daemon tutted, "my mistake, I believe. One should never let their gaze stray from their opponent."

Aemond stared at the man with a gaze so similar to the young boy who had his sight taken from him, almost hesitant to breathe in his presence now.

"Do not tell me you give up now?" Daemon grinned at the boy, eyes simmering with the fire of a dragon, heart beating as adrenaline pumped through him and excitement singed his veins, "come on, nephew. I thought you were better than this."

His words caused a spark to glimmer in Aemond's eyes before a roaring fire was set alight, he raised his sword for another hit, which Daemon met with a fierce one of his own.

Where Aemond parried Daemon's every strike with rigid eloquence, Daemon would meet his with vicious victory - steel clashing against each other as neither was willing to submit.

Alaynha sat straight upon her chair, spine stiffened as her fingers twisted in the material of her own leathers. Aegon's hand came to rest at her shoulder, squeezing in comfort as they watched the two battle out years of anguish and anger upon one another.

Daemon continued thrusting his sword forward, Aemond dancing around him and evading every lunge and throwing back fierce blows as his own sword sliced through the air.

It only took a single second- a breath.

Their swords clashed against one another, and all kindness and civility washed away in face of pure rage and animosity.

Daemon was still Rhaenyra's husband. He still hated the Hightowers. He would rather see Otto and Alicent dead than near the King.

Aemond was a Hightower bastard. A second son only by Otto's manipulations and ploys. He would rather see Rhaenyra dead and sit upon the throne himself.

Teeth gritted and growls escaped their lips as they waited for the other to yield - but neither dared.

A glint of light caught Daemon's attention, and he watched over Aemond's shoulder as Alaynha drew closer in distress.

It seemed Aemond could also hear her approaching footsteps, and the sound caused his eyes to flash and simmer with recognition before the anger, which rolled off of him in flames, settled to a kindling fire as he nodded in ascent.

Almost a show of acknowledgement, a performance of respect.

Daemon smirked, his own head nodding as he reluctantly relieved his sword of the force placed upon it.

They each stood back, shoulders rolling and necks twisting as they came to a stalemate.

Aemond had gotten a blow, had hurt Daemon, and made him bleed. But Daemon had promised to take it easy upon the boy, so truly by what means did the boy succeed.

"You idiots. The lot of you," Alaynha scolded as she reached their side, "what if you had hurt each other? More than you already have."

She glanced between them worried, her eyes falling upon the gash across Daemon's cheek that had crusted and dried but still twinged with pain when his lips stretched into a placating grin - "last I recall, this had been your suggestion."

"Mm, he is right, sister. You cannot fault us for adhering to your orders."

Alaynha's lips parted in disbelief at Aemond's words as she turned to his in faux betrayal, "are you taking his side over mine?"

Aemond smirked at the pout upon her lips, "try as I might, I fear no one holds my loyalties more than you, jorrāelagon mandia."

She hummed, eyeing him in exaggerated suspicion before a grin broke out on her face, "good."

Aegon drew closer upon Aemond's seeing side, clapping his brother on the shoulder and shaking him for good measure, "I believe the Hightowers have won this battle. Do not fret, nuncle. I am sure you will win something, some day."

"Aegon!" She could drag her hands down in exasperation, wondering why her brothers were so desperate to test and mock their uncle until he had enough and unleashed his wrath.

Before she could correct Aegon any further, Daemon drew closer and it did not go unnoticed by anyone how Aegon seemed to shrink behind Aemond, as the younger brother inched in front of the older.

Despite being the younger, one thing was certain - Aemond did not see an heir in Rhaenyra but in his brother and in himself. He may never get the crown, but Aegon could - and Aemond would do all he could to protect the Heir. To protect his brother.

Daemon simply tutted at the action, reaching over Aemond's shoulder to ruffle the shorter boy's hair as he squawked with indignation.

"Do not fault the boy, Zaldrītsos. He only defends his brother's honour - it is what Viserys would have done for me."

Aegon's face heated up at the words, flushing warm as he almost preened under his nuncle's praise, like a child. Perhaps he had already drank too much wine - yes, that must be why.

He escaped his nuncle's petting at the sound of Alaynha's quiet laugh and Aemond's shaking shoulders. He blew a huff of breath so the strands of hair that fell over his face would leave his vision free.

"I am not. I'm just mocking you."

"Ah, of course." Daemon consoled with a teasing grin, words much too enunciated to be well and true, "do forgive me, my Prince."

Aegon rolled his eyes, easily catching on to Daemon's own mocking tone and mumbled under his breath as he stepped away.

Aemond stepped back to follow him, "come sister, we promised mother we would dine with her for supper."

Alaynha hesitated for a moment, a soft frown upon her lips as she gazed at her uncle with gentle eyes. She bit her lip in contemplation, and Daemon found he could not tear his gaze away.

"I shall see you there, I fear Daemon's wound may need some tending."

There it was again, his name - so tantalising, the sound, as it dripped from her tongue.

"Then let the maester deal with him," Aemond spoke in annoyance.

"The maester has much more urgent dealings. It is a simple wound, I shall treat him and join you."

Aemond opened his mouth, ready to protest that if it truly was such a simple wound, Daemon should be able to treat it well himself. But his sister looked at him pleadingly, and he simply pursed his lips and nodded in ascent.

As he turned away, Alaynha hesitated for a second longer before stepping forward and calling out to him - "please let muña know Daemon will be joining us."

She watched Aemond's shoulders stiffen at the order, but knew her brother would never argue with her over such a small and measly thing. He once again nodded his head, waiting for Aegon to swipe his jug of wine before they made their way to their mother's chambers.

Alaynha turned in the opposite direction, only passing a glance over her shoulder to meet Daemon's intense gaze - "come."

***

Daemon sat upon the Princess' bed, his body rigid and tense as he watched her move and gather items scattered across the room.

Whilst Daemon remained in his leathers, she had changed into something much more akin to that of a princess.

Daemon had almost prayed to the Seven to stop his aching thoughts and traiterous body, the temptation to walk behind the dressing screen and see her bare body tremble beneath his gaze.

He had held off long enough, growing hard and stiff beneath his breeches as the dressing screen was almost transparent and gave way to the very shape of the girl hidden behind mounds of fabric.

The gown she wore now was simple, but the material itself was still expensive - a soft satin, perhaps even silk.

As she drew towards him, Daemon couldn't help but part his legs open, ready for her to slot herself between them. She cleared her throat quietly as she stepped in the gap he had made, placing her gathered items next to him upon the bed.

He looked up at her, unable to stop himself from admiring the soft planes of her face, her sharp jaw, her full cheeks, the blush that stained her lips, the eyes that almost gleamed in the light of a setting sun.

When Alaynha peered down to meet his gaze, a damp cloth held in her hand, her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of it, eyes welling with infatuation.

Curiosity, he corrected.

She blinked vigorously, eyelashes fluttering furiously as her hand almost trembled when she took a hold of his face. Her skin felt soft against his flesh, dragging from his hollowed cheeks to rest upon his angled jaw and tilt his fierce gaze away from her own that was growing timid and shy.

The one holding the damp cloth dipped the fabric in a small bowl of warm water, reaching up to brush softly against his gash. Daemon held back a wince, but she could feel the way his jaw flexed in her grasp as he clenched his teeth in pain.

"Sorry," she whispered into the quiet between them.

"You should be." Daemon had meant to mumble the words quietly, but she had heard them all the same.

She frowned at the silent accusation, "excuse me? I do not need to help you. I could always call the maester if you prefer."

Daemon sighed, eyes closing as he realised he had spoken his words much too loud, "I only meant, I would not have gotten this injury was it not for you."

Her head twisted in confusion, stopping her ministrations of cleaning Daemon's gash so she could tap him lightly upon the cheek to gain his attention.

His eyes opened immediately, meeting her questioning gaze as he let out a breath in a huff of amusement, "if it wasn't for that pretty laugh of yours, perhaps I wouldn't have gotten distracted enough to allow my tempered nephew to land a blow."

Her face flushed deeply at his words, eyes rolling as a scoff spilt past her lips, "all I hear are some silly excuses, kepus."

"If it were up to me, I would lock you in my chambers and leave you there, needy and willing, so you never laugh alongside another man again."

He couldn't help the jealousy that tainted his words, couldn't help but tease and test her boundaries once more.

Her hands trembled in truth now as she picked up a small bowl of ointment, dotting it over the gash with a soft touch.

"You speak out of turn, uncle," but her voice still shook under his burning gaze.

"And you do not speak enough. Perhaps you worry of all the others who have been in my chambers, locked away just as I wish you were."

"Perhaps you grow too confident in your own charms and wiles," she sniped as she rubbed the ointment in with care.

"Perhaps."

There was a beat of silence, but his eyes never left hers. Even as she collected her balms and ointments, holding them close to her chest, he watched her.

And when she was ready to step away, he held her waist and pulled her close. Her breath caught in her throat and he simply waited.

Alaynha knew what he waited for, knew what he sought.

She also knew she could not give him such a thing, not when he was wed to her sister - not when he already had a child on the way.

"I am not one of your whores."

"I would never wish you to be."

His voice was earnest, stubborn.

Curiosity, he justified.

She sighed, her hand resting upon his injured cheek and gently rubbing circles upon his skin as his eyes closed as the sensation, her voice was almost a whisper, "my mother must be waiting for us."

And with that she stepped away, and Daemon's hands fell into his lap.

In that moment, Daemon truly did send a prayer to the Seven and begged them to bless him with morals and strength for even he knew his curiosity was giving way to darker desires he would soon be unable to ignore.

An infatuation grew within him. A simmering and burning and aching infatuation- obsession.

If you guys made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed the long read! Thank you to everyone who has engaged with this story by liking, reblogging, and commenting!! I promise to try and update this series more regularly <3

Taglist: @kelssssxd @esquivelbianca @chynagirl13 @luanasrta @kemillyfreitas @americanprometheuss @clarap23 @pet1t3 @your-favorite-god @hypocritic-trash-baby @esquivelbianca @serving-targaryen-realness @toji-girl @queenmendes @the-lil-spud

#daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen fluff #daemon targaryen fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd smut #hotd fandom #hotd fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon #dragon of dorne #hotd x oc #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #fluff

[qqueenofhades]

As someone whose country went through a brutal dictatorship, we still see the bleeding wounds it's left- even 50 years later. The idea of not exercising the right to vote is absolutely unthinkable to most citizens. Granted, voting is obligatory, but everyone I know does it voluntarily and enthusiastically. The discourse I hear around it in the US evidences a narrow perspective, which is so upsetting to see, especially within leftist spaces.

The right to vote is something every citizen must, sadly, defend. Most Latin American countries know all too well what happens when fascism and treason disguised as conservatism take centre stage. I hope it won't be too late when the people peddling anti voting crap to younger generations realise the harm it causes.

All around the world, the reason fascist authoritarian dictatorships of whatever ideology stay in power is precisely either because citizens aren't allowed to vote, the vote is outrageously rigged (think of the 99% margins routinely racked up in places like Russia and Venezuela) or they rely on repressing the vote through intentionally disheartening liberal, left-wing, progressive, or other similarly oriented voters, who often do much of the work themselves with constant internal attacks and purity tests and adopting the rhetoric of anti-voting propaganda in the name of purity. Despite all their populist claims to enact a monolithic Will of the People, all these anti-democratic authoritarian movements are terrified of a genuinely representative popular vote and will do anything to stop it, because it turns out that if you give them the choice, people anywhere in the world don't super like being repressed, extorted, and terrorized in the name of Ideology, and will give your tiresome fascist ass Das Boot.

In the American context, the Republicans have gone full masks-off illiberal authoritarianism and they desperately hate the idea of people voting, which is why they have filed endless lawsuits, passed endless restrictive laws, disenfranchised even their own voters, shrieked election fraud, and everything else to try to jerry-rig their position as extremist minority oligarchic rulers for life. Which is why it is befuddling, to say the least, to see people insist that voting doesn't work, it doesn't matter that much, it isn't an effective tool against fascism, it's Morally Wrong, or all the other idiot "justifications" they come up with. All you have to do is look at how fucking terrified the bad guys are of a minimally equitable electoral system (such as getting rid of the Electoral College, which would pretty much ensure a Republican never won the presidency again if it had to be selected by -- gasp! -- an actual nationwide popular vote). That's why I don't even buy into the "voting sucks and is the bare minimum" rhetoric that gets peddled as a sort of tempting carrot to get the recalcitrants to do it -- don't worry, you can still post your mean tweets about Biden and that totally is more effective! Voting is A BIG DEAL. Voting works. Americans don't realize this because they are lucky enough to never have lived in a country where it wasn't available to be taken for granted and therefore scoffed off.

Voting, having the right to vote, and the large-scale ability that it confers to change the structures of society, is a MASSIVELY powerful tool that has largely not been available to most people throughout history (and is still unavailable to a large chunk of the world today). That's why there were bitter and protracted battles to get women and African Americans the right to vote in America. That is why the GOP still particularly targets those voters today, because the simple act of exercising your civic franchise in your best interests (and therefore not in the MAGA TrumpCult's interests) is so terrifying to them. If it was meaningless, none of this would matter. But it does.

Here, Imma make it real easy for you. If you have any reason to think your voter registration is lapsed, inactive, or nonexistent, if you have recently moved and don't know your status or your polling place or whether you get a mail ballot or whether your evil DeSantis governor has recently taken you off the rolls, or if you have never done it before, or if you want to do one basic thing to oppose fascism today, click this simple link. Do it.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #VOTE YOU FUCKERS #then get off my lawn

[ghouljams]

😈 fae!König who just wants to live his life, why won't you let him live his life? Why do you keep Looking at him? You're not supposed to Look at him.

He only wandered in here because it felt like Fall, all the lovely dying flowers, he missed his season. But it's too crowded for his liking, too many other fae and humans enjoying the ever present feeling of decay. What is it with you? How are you Looking at him?

This guy is a fucking mess, you think to yourself, smiling up at the Goliath that is fidgeting in front of you. He leans forward to stare at you, you lean back, trying to maintain some level of distance between the two of you. He smells like wet dirt, rich and dark and deep, you like it but he's too close. You're used to being stared at though, at least by his kind. You don't really know what they call themselves but they're easy to spot. You do your best to avoid them most of the time.

"Vas ist das?" He reaches a hand toward you and you lean as far back as you can, his fingers pausing where they would have touched you. You've learned your lesson on that little trick enough times, and you can't afford to close up shop to nurse the migraine it'll give you. "Oh," he laughs a little, an awkward chuckle, "Pardon me, that is not polite is it?"

You shake your head quickly, letting him lower his hand back to his side before you straighten up. "Did you need something?" You ask, hoping he's not just hear to enjoy the atmosphere. He blinks at you, slow and purposeful, before his head tips to the side. His hood shifts to accommodate the movement, you wonder what that's about.

"How are you doing that?" He asks, the accent is cute. So he's twice out of place, you think with a frown.

"I'm not doing anything."

"But you are," he insists, he straightens up and glances around the shop, you also glance around the shop not sure what else to do. His hand comes up again, toying with the edge of his weird obscura hood before lifting it up just past his lips. "You are looking! What do you see?"

What you see are some mean looking teeth. Perfectly white in a perfectly neat cemetery row are the sharpest looking teeth you've ever seen in your life. Perfect deadly triangles, like shark teeth on crack. He must see your eyes go wide and fearful at the sight of them because his tongue slides across them with a smile.

"Holy shit," You gasp, taking a step away from him. They don't- They don't do this. They've never shown you anything but their masks before, you don't know how to-

"Ah, that is good," he says, letting his hood fall back into place, "Just the eyes then."

You can't stop it when he reaches forward again, and taps you.

#kicking my feet and giggling #so.. what do we think of fae konig? #fae!konig #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod x y/n #konig modern warfare #konig x you #konig x reader #mw2 #konig mw2 #call of duty mw2 #konig mwii

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 4th

Rimming, Rain x GN!Reader

Masterlist

Words: 871

Warnings: Rimming; established relationship; fellatio; anal fingering; spit as lube; GN!Reader; semi-public; cum eating; cumswap (terrorising @da-rulah with this lmao);

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage

Author's Note: Hello again, everyone! I just want to pop in again and say that I'm still very much overwhelmed by all the support over the last few days! It genuinely means a lot that so many of you are reading my fics, let alone liking and reblogging them! I love hearing all the kind words you have, and can't wait for you to see what the coming days have in store! I want to apologise for how short this one is... turns out the ghouls were much more difficult to write for than I orginially anticipated.

Want to give a major shout out and thank you to @da-rulah for beta reading all of these, and even helping me on some days when I wasn't feeling the writing vibes!

Without further ado, let the debauchery commence!

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Rain was looking and smelling particularly delicious today, either that or you were just exceptionally horny. You couldn’t tell if there was much distinction, though. He was busy with band practice all day, Papa IV feeling particularly anxious about the upcoming tour which meant he was being harsh to the Ghouls and frustrated at each of their little mistakes. Though Rain made the least amount, he was definitely the most effected by Papa’s stress. It made you want to wrap him in bubble wrap but his intense concentration was too much for you to bear.

During their lunch break, when you knew Rain had finished, you waited for him behind the nearest unlocked broom cupboard and ambushed him when he was alone, dragging him into the tiny room and slamming the door shut behind you. At first, he was frightened, but when he saw it was you he was just confused. Any noises of protest, however, were silenced by your lips capturing his in a messy kiss.

“What has gotten into you?” He murmured in between kisses.

“Hopefully you in a minute.” You teased. “But let me get my fill of you, first.”

He groaned when your lips moved to his neck and your hand cupped his growing bulge. “I don’t have m-much time.”

“I’ll be quick, is this okay?”

“Fast, please!”

Immediately, you dropped to your knees and pulled at the button tying his jeans closed. You made short work of freeing his almost hard cock from its confines and immediately got to work, pulling it into your mouth and sucking on it. Your head bobbed up and down as you made sure to take all of him in your mouth and down your throat as much as possible.

“Oh, fuck!” Rain exclaimed, his hands flying to your hair. When you looked up at him through your lashes, you saw that his head was thrown back and his mask was partially off, lifted by the shelving unit Rain was pushed up against.

Your hands moved up to his waistband and pulled his trousers and pants down to have better access to the rest of his body. Rain felt this and panicked a little, but you’d removed him from your mouth with a pop and replaced it with your finger, getting it wet with spit and readying it to go where you wanted it to. Once again, you took Rain into your mouth, but this time you allowed your wet finger to run over his taint and up to his rim, rubbing at the entrance before sticking a finger inside.

“Holy shit!” His voice came out as mere more than a gasp, followed by an incredibly loud whimper. Rain wasn’t much of a talker when you pleasured him, but he was exceptionally noisy. So many gasps and moans falling from his lips. And when you pushed your finger inside him, he bit his lip and released a small scream.

Soon, his hips started bucking as he began chasing his high - your finger in his hole providing him with more pleasure than he could handle. But this wasn’t how you wanted him to cum.

You removed yourself from his nicely-lubed cock and pulled your finger out of his hole, making him whine at the loss. Then, you placed your hands on his hips and turned him around so his ass was now in your face. Then, with no warning, you dove in.

Your tongue licked from his taint all the way up to his rim and you chuckled when he jumped slightly at the feel of you. When your tongue had reached his hole, you began to lick over the nerves and alternate between licking and pushing your tongue inside. You noticed somewhere between all of this, Rain’s right hand was moving in a rhythmic pattern, and when you pulled away, you saw it was wrapped around his cock stroking himself. “No!” He started. “Please don’t stop. I’m s-so close. Sathanas, please more!”

You giggled and dove back in, gripping onto his thighs for support. Your own centre was very much alive with arousal, and you were desperate to touch yourself to his little whimpers. But his pleasure was your priority at the moment.

“I’m so close! Please! I’m gonna cum!”

You began to lick his hole faster, trying to match the pace of his hand’s movements. And sure enough, Rain came hard, his left hand gripping on tightly to the shelves and his cum spilling out onto them.

His pants and groans began to die down as as he remained stood in place, recovering from his orgasm. Though, he turned slightly and saw you crawling towards the shelves. He watched your finger run through the puddle of cum and lick it clean. “Fucking hell!” He said at the sight of you.

He bent down and gave you a deep kiss, tasting himself on your tongue and feeling his own cum get passed from you to him, both of you swallowing it down when you pulled away. “Your turn.” He told you.

You shook your head and stood up, helping him pull his jeans and pants back up. “You don’t have time.” You kissed him again. “Later, okay?”

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

#mel writes #kinktober 2023 #ghost kinktober #the band ghost #ghost #ghost bc #ghost band #ghost the band #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #nameless ghoul #nameless ghouls #the nameless ghouls #nameless ghoul x reader #nameless ghoul x reader smut #rain #rain ghoul #rain ghost #rain x reader #rain ghoul smut #nameless ghoul smut

[laracrofted]

down comes the night

synopsis: on a cold midnight in the dead of winter, gotham city's district attorney is murdered.

pairing: batman!bob floyd x fem!reader (lucky)

warnings: 18+ minors and ageless accounts dni, character death (obviously), mentions of death and mob violence, language (wc: 1K)

note: while i'm not planning to write a full series for batman bob – more like connected one shots and blurbs, because i can only focus on one series – i knew i absolutely had to write this scene, which has been in my head all week.

Tears are frozen in your lashes.

You saw him on Saturday. He was alive on Saturday. You saw him.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, mussed your hair like an annoying older brother and smacked a drunken and damp kiss on your cheek. He was alive.

"Did you hear me?" Bradley asks you – no, Commissioner Bradshaw asks you. His coat hangs around your shoulders, overly large on your frame, smelling like leather and coffee and cigar smoke. He doesn't smoke, or maybe Bradley just doesn't smoke around you.

He has always been so delicate around you. You still remember when another officer in the Major Crimes Division made some crass comment in front of you, and Bradley barked out a harsh, "Watch your mouth. You're in the presence of a lady," and silenced the room.

Or at least, until Jake smirked and not even bothering to look up from his paperwork, drawled, "Oh really? Where? I don't see any ladies around here. I only see Lucky."

You shot him a withering look, and Jake grinned, green eyes glittering in the dim yellow light of the office.

Bradley says your name again, breaking you from the warmth of the memory, plunging you back into the cold of the night, like a frozen surface of a lake, cracking under your weight.

You're so cold. Swallowing is almost painful.

You look at him, cheeks cold, eyes dim and lifeless. "How?"

A croak, barely audible, but Bradley pales. He opens his mouth, but Bradley's voice isn't the one that answers your question.

"A single shot to the back of the head."

His voice is low and hoarse and if the circumstances were different, kind of attractive. He sounds like cigar smoke and aged whiskey, deep and solid.

You've only seen him a few times.

You'd come looking for Jake up here once and found him up here – up here with him. He spotted you before Jake did and sidled back into the shadows, ready to disappear, and Jake looked over his shoulder.

"That's just Lucky. She's good," Jake reassured him. He beckoned you forward with a waved palm. You quietly handed him a styrofoam cup of coffee and watched the shadows. He watched you back, silent and watchful.

You've never heard his voice before.

Under different circumstances.

You don't have the luxury of different circumstances. You only have these.

"Execution style?"

He says nothing, which might as well be a confirmation.

"A mob hit?"

You can only see the bottom half of his face in his mask. His mouth looks vaguely impressed, pitched to the side.

You recall, "He slipped a USB into my clutch on Saturday. He must've done it when I wasn't paying attention or something."

You remember Jake's arm around your shoulders, his lips warm on your cheek, on your hairline.

"He left me a video. He said..."

Trust Bradshaw and Batman. No one else. Everyone else is on a payroll, kid. You suck in a breath and do your best not to cry again. Moisture stings your eyes. Damn.

"He knew, didn't he? He was making plans. He must've known."

You know what Jake would say now.

Everyone wants to kill a District Attorney in Gotham, Lucky. We might as well make, 'Mob bosses want me dead,' the new re-election slogan.

You can almost hear his voice, can almost see his grin.

Bradley nods. "Someone always wants to kill a good D.A., but yeah, Jake knew. He always knew."

You scoff.

Of course, Jake knew.

Jake knew and didn't run. Didn't enter protective custody. Didn't do anything but show up in the court room and smile in the faces of the men who wanted him dead. Damn him and his reckless righteousness. Damn him.

"Hey, Lucky..." Bradley looks sideways into the shadows. "You should probably call in sick for the rest of the week." You look at him sharply, and Bradley holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "You could be in danger. These are dangerous people. We don't know who exactly Jake pissed off."

You could almost laugh. Who didn't Jake piss off?

"He'd want you to be safe, is all," Bradley finishes, stuffing his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. Moonlight glints off of the silver badge at his hip.

You look at him dully. "Jake didn't run. Why should I?"

"And now Jake's dead," Bradley says softly.

And now Jake is dead.

He won't ruffle your hair or grab you coffee in the mornings. He's dead. He's dead.

You abruptly shake your head, almost robotically. Cross your arms.

"I'm an Assistant District Attorney. I can help."

"No," Bradley responds immediately. "For all we know, someone in the DA's office is crooked. You start poking around all of the sudden and..."

He doesn't need to finish that sentence. You could end up like Jake.

You bite down on your lip and cast your gaze into the shadows. "You. What'd Jake say I'd do?"

Batman looks at you, serious and searching, for a long moment, which feels even longer under his gaze. "You'd help. He said, if something were to happen to him, you'd help."

You hold his gaze. "Then I'll help."

And out of the corner of your eye, Bradley sighs.

Bradley leaves before you. He gets a call and heads downstairs – but not before offering to have one of his men drive you home whenever you're ready, which makes you smile weakly.

You expect him to leave soon after. You're surprised when Batman lingers.

You ignore him, mostly, watching the glittering snow dance and glimmer and fall in the wind, pinpricks of reflected light in the darkness, almost like stars.

"He..."

And Batman hesitates.

And damn, isn't that something? Isn't it something to see a masked vigilante – a feared predator, a scourge of the underworld – measure his words?

"He was... a good man. He was my friend. I'm sorry."

You stare. You don't blink. You barely even breathe.

"Thank you."

He dips his chin in a nod – his strong chin – and in the edges of the brightness pouring from the spotlight on the roof of the GCPD building – which bears his symbol, a sign of hope and fear, depending on who bears witness – you swear you catch a glimpse of blue in his eyes.

Before you can look closer, can step closer, Batman is gone, melting into the shadows again, disappearing into the dark and bleak night in a rush of wind.

Standing here alone – without him – feels even colder somehow.

note: will i wish i'd edited this in the morning? probably. do i care right now? not at all. also, down comes the night is now the official name for this universe, which i love, but of course, batman bob is always acceptable 😌

summoning a few friends who might be interested: @sometimesanalice @roosterbruiser @callsignspark @rhettabbotts @yanna-banana @ryebecca @withahappyrefrain

#batman!bob #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd fic #fic: down comes the night #bob floyd fic #laracrofted writes

[luveternals]

paring: 4. simon 'ghost' riley x artist male reader. cw: introvert reader with low self-esteem, there's a waiter whose love language is food, ghost has selective mutism(tell me if I got anything wrong), swearing, the seafront location was originally inspired by Naples' Lungomare, Italy. <- posto da visitare assolutamente, guys. a/n: bam! they thought I was gone, but I ain't. Lol guess whose first language isn't English. anyway, new posts' schedule: still to be decided (check the my pinned post). ~ ~ ~

You've seen this trend around for a while and decide worse case scenario people get offended, call you a creep, and you won’t be able to show your face to the public ever again.

What could possibly go wrong?

Put on the brave face, man, you tell yourself taking in a fortifying breath. It’s not that they don’t know how much of a loser you already are.

Not wanting to be the stalking weirdo on the train or subway, you choose a nearby café. They know you here, at least. Though, you can’t decide if it’s for the better or worse.

The waiter is already setting up a tray on the counter when you open the door, and from the cheeky little wink he gives you, you know it’s for you. Noah knows your goto morning food and drink, though you never told him. He found out all on his own — honestly, you don’t even recall having a favorite to begin with.

“There he is,” he says and pushes the tray towards you when you stop at the counter, “precious little artist. Punctual as ever.”

You try to smile, but it pulls at your lips and you know it looks nothing but awkward. “How do you know I might change my order today?”

“Are you going to?”

You shrug.

“Thought so.” He pokes at the tray and points at your table, set way at the back of the café. “Now, this better not go cold, hmm,” he leans forward and squints at you, “I mean it.”

You huff at him and turn away with the tray in hand. “Whatever, mom.”

“Oh!” you hear him gasp offended, “kids these days.”

Idiot.

One thing is certain, being a loyal customer of theirs has its little perks. One being your usual table has an unspoken reservation on it. Every time you come here, it’s there for you. The fact that people don’t usually sit this far from the counter unless there’s no other option is an appreciated bonus. You place the tray on the table, set your bag on the empty chair next to yourself, and finally take a seat.

Unsure of how to start, you pick Noah as the first subject of your little experiment. He’s been nagging you about making a portrait of him for ages now, so you know for a fact he’s not going to mind.

You start your sketch with his beaming face. A circle for the shape of the head. A downward line at the center to keep everything spaced correctly. Find the position of eyes and nose. Shape of the face. Erase the lines you don’t need anymore.

You brush off the little eraser crumbs away and raise your head to check his face again. He’s turned away though, and your attention slides to the customer in front of him waiting for his turn.

He’s a hulking figure, dark wear and face mask covering mouth and nose. You’ve never seen him around before.

Noah's café is small and cozy, tucked away in a little corner. Tourists don’t really pick this as their first choice.

You move to draw on an empty part of the page.

-

“Oh ho! Looky here.”

You jerk and almost fall off the chair at the sudden presence peering over your shoulder. "Jesus, fu— what the hell is wrong with you?”

He steals the sketchbook and flips through the pages. “Love struck, aren’t we?” he snickers, inspecting the lastest drawings you’ve added to your collection.

You snatch the book back and fight the urge to check if anyone heard. “I thought I told you not to touch without permission.”

“I’m sorry,” he says and raises his hands before him, “I just… it’s been a while since I saw you draw so passionately, and I got curious. thought you lost your muse.” He glances down at the sketchbook and gives you a playful grin, “I guess you found a new one?”

-

“It’s been an eternity, are you ever going to talk to him?” Mr I-don’t-know-how-to-mind-my-own-business sets a second pastry you never ordered beside your empty plate and lean over to look at your current drawing.

“Can you, like, leave me alone?”

“You’re an artist,” he says with the flattest tone, “without me, who would keep you fed and hydrated and alive, you?”

You purse your lips and raise your chin to stare up at him. How dare he? You don’t need no one’s help to take care of yourself, thank you very much. It’s not like you forget time passes when you're drawing and end up with only breakfast in your belly all day. it happened, sure. Still.

“You know what, you’re being a real pain right now,” you say and stand intending to leave the café and head to the park or something.

Of course, your action is too abrupt and you end up bumping into someone who was making their way to a table near yours. And catastrophe happens.

When you turn, you realize the person you knocked into is the man you’ve been drawing these last days. Even worse, his eyes are locked onto your open sketchbook right on the spread littered with portraits and drawings of him.

Fuck.

Here comes the part where he thinks you're a weirdo and leaves the café with the intention of never coming back.

“Oh, hello!” Noah says and wiggles his fingers at the man with an overly cheery expression. “My friend here was just about to come and talk to you about these,” he says, gathering your drawings and shoving them into your arms, “he’s a little shy, so he needed a little push,” he adds, then shoves you towards the other man.

You stumble but recover quickly, and when you turn to glare at your friend he simply sends you a wink and mouths ‘don’t be a loser and ask him out’.

“He’s not even being subtle at it.” You don’t expect the man to talk to you at all, or to stay after that to begin with. There’s amusement in his voice and when you meet his gaze, you find a soft look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. From this close up, his eye color catches your attention and you have to refrain yourself from leaning closer and finding out how it is that it seems to change from hazel-brown to blue and back. “Yeah,” you say again and drop your attention back to your things to stop yourself from staring, “he’s an idiot. But he's a good friend despite it all. He pretty much keeps me alive by shoving food into my face.”

-

Talking to Simon is not as awkward as you'd told yourself it'd be. He doesn’t judge you for all the drawings you did of him and instead compliments you on your skill. He does tease you, though.

“If I knew I was being stared at for so long I would have posed.”

“Shut up.”

“Need a model? I could do naked as well if you want.”

“Ugh.”

His laugh is contagious and you're helpless, so the teasing doesn’t stop.

-

Friendship with him is not the same as with Noah.

The waiter is a beaming ball of life, open and bold and buzzing with energy. You love him but, sometimes, spending time with him is quite exhausting. 

Simon on the other hand, he knows silence. 

He sits at your table, book in one hand and tea in the other, enjoying the simple company that is your presence despite not having said a word since the simple greeting you shared this morning.

Noah gives you a thumbs up from over Simon's shoulder.

-

“Why don't you just use a normal pencil for sketching?”

You peer up at him, hunched over the page. He's not even looking st you, but you know he's waiting for answer, curious and with real interest.

The first time he asked you a question, you've fumbled with your words unsure if he cared at all and if you'd scared him of with your chatter. Words aren't for you, but the longer you talk about the same thing on and on, you figure he doesn't mind and didn't ask just to have some awkward small talk. And so you blabber on about how it makes it easier to distinguish the first quick sketch with a color and the details you've added later with another.

He's eyes are pinned on you now, and you find you don't really mind being stared at like you thought you would.

-

“Ask him out.”

You haven’t even reached the counter and Noah is already at it. “Can you not?”

“Precious, I can see the love struck dreamy smile you give him from a mile away,” he says, adding a second steaming cup to your tray. “Introvert doesn’t mean allergic to people. You’re not the complete failure at socializing you imagine yourself being.” He pushes the tray towards you and leans against the counter. “youst case scenario, if he says 'no' I’ll go with you.”

You grimace. And then wide the look off your face when you register your reaction. “I mean— it's not that I don’t like you, it’s just that—”

“Wow, man. Wow,” he scoffs, “this is worse than when you left the sketch of my face half done.”

Oh, fuck. You forgot about that one?

“Whatever, man,” he says with a roll of his eyes, his lips twitch at the corners. “If he does say 'no', I'll buy you that kit you’ve been swooning over for the past month. Best quality color and all that.” He waves at you to move along, only to pull your tray closer to himself again and popping a tiny little pastry right in the middle. Then sends you off to your doom.

-

“I've been thinking,” you blurt out in response to his ‘mornin’’.

Simon pauses right about to take a seat, raises an eyebrow and finally settles down. “Have you, now?”

“Yeah,” you say and tap the end of your pencil against the table. “Yeah. Do you like the park? No, wait. Do you like going to the park with me— would you…” You take in a breath and raise your gaze to the ceiling, “really, now?”

After a long moment, you shift your attention back to him ready to try again. His eyes are shining, little wrinkles decorating the corner of his eyes.

The mask covers it, but you know for a fact that he's smiling.

You feel your cheeks going warmer and you have to fight the urge to backtrack and hide behind your sketchbook. “Do you wanna,” you say, “go to the park with me?”

-

It's an oddity to find him already seated, no tea in sight either. From the look Noah gives you, after a month of simon coming in every day, this is a novelty for him as well.

You bring your tray to the table and sit beside him without a comment, only a simple greeting and a gentle smile. You set a cup of tea before him, alongside one of the sweets Noah refused to take back when you told him it was probably too much food. He actually looked offended by the comment.

“It’s double the stuff he usually gives me, Simon,” you say when he tries to have you keep it, “just eat it. Or better, help me finish it all, I beg you.”

He stares at the food for a long moment, then visibly gives up on convincing you. He doesn't touch it though.

The tea goes ignored as well.

You purse your lips. Well, that won’t do.

“Say,” you start and tilt your head to catch his gaze, “do you wanna go out for a walk? There’s a place I wanted to show you.”

He watches your face, then shifts his attention around the café, on Noah and finally on the food he left untouched.

“I'll have Noah put everything in a bag. I know he won't mind.”

He hesitates, but nods.

You smile at him and beam when the gesture seems to lessen the tension on his shoulders.

You bring him to a local bookstore. Like with the café, this is a little business famous mostly in the neighborhood. It’s never overly crowded but there’s always a kid or two binging their current read.

You leave him to scan the shelves and move to do the same not far.

Hah! They’ve finally restocked the stationary corner. Hooray! You definitely don’t need another journal, but no one can stop you from staring at them with gut wrenching despair.

Would Simon like it if I bought him one?

At the thought you turn to search for him and find him already making his way to you with a new book in hand.

You've got the membership card here so you manage to convince him to let you pay. Both for his book and the journal you're holding.

-

You don’t know many places to visit, but those you are familiar with are the best for those who don’t care for ‘crowded’.

The seafront isn’t one of them but you hope the view will make up for it.

It’s a risky move, but you think you’ve grown close to him enough to know he's quite comfortable with being by himself, but sometimes silence isn't what he wants or needs.

Noah told you you’re a pretty good observant and that analyzing the world around you is what makes you an artist. So you hope he wasn’t making that up.

There's a little corner towards the end. Here the view is partially covered but when you check his face, you're glad to discover he doesn't seem to mind at all. He hasn't said a word at all since you met this morning, but his attention has been pinned on you all day even after the nonsense rant you've gone on about AI art. 

You pull out a thermos from the café’s cute, little bag and hand it to him like an hesitant offering. His tea has been kept safe and warm inside all morning, but you don't know if he'll accept it after earlier. 

His eyes soften and he takes the thermos with the same care you've handled it with, and holds it in both hands like he wants to keep it safe.

A spark of hope warms your insides, so you take out two pastries and hand one to him. "He's going to make me eat more tomorrow," you say and take a bite, as if to show him Noah does know how to bake — oh, yep, he really does. God. "And you haven't had breakfast yet. Please?"

It takes a moment, but eventually, he turns away from any unwanted gaze, moves his face mask out of the way, and brings the food to his mouth to take a bite.

It slow, delibeate and so very careful, but he's eating, and now you finally understand. How Noah cares so much about keeping you fed. 

~ ~ ~ a/n: I'm not entirely sure if I got it right. Here's what I was thinking: noah is there to keep the reader from neglecting himself; ghost is a new face at the café and with a little push they become friends; reader starts taking care of ghost end consequently takes care of himself. comment, reblog and/or follow. yadda, yadda, yadda, this blog feeds off feedback or it'll go boom! don't just like please...

#simon ghost riley #x top male reader #call of duty #top male reader #dom male reader #male reader #reader insert #x reader #cod x reader #cod #cod mw2 #second person pov #original writing #story day