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lyriumcoloredskies · 5 months

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Overdrive ft. (Law, Sanji, Zoro, Kid, Nami)

Pairing: Multi-character pairings ft. Law x Reader, Sanji x Reader, Zoro x Reader, Kid x Reader, Nami x Reader WC: 1.2k Summary: Things that drive the OP characters wild. CW: 18+ MDNI Suggestive but no smut, teasing, mild not very descriptive violence in Kid's, food and eating mention in Sanji's, swearing, reader is described with breasts, no beta. AN: I've gotten way sicker and I feel like a small sickly victorian child, hoping that the country air will help my ailment. D:

Trafalgar D. Water Law

"Let me whisper in your ear, tell you something you might like to hear"

It’s been hours since Law decided to hole up in his office, sinking all his attention into a thick medical textbook. He’s halfway through a page when he feels a pair of soft warm lips press onto his neck. Instantly he feels his body erupt into gooseflesh.

His breath catches in his throat when he feels your warm hands make their way across his sides, lifting his shirt, before caressing his bare chest. Your lips work their way up his neck, stamping his skin with searing hot kisses, the slight smacking noise sending tingles down the base of his spine. As you grow closer to his ear, Law can hear your soft breathing, the sound going straight to his groin. Law stifles a moan that threatens to escape his lips as your feverish tongue makes contact with his ear lobe, slowly trailing its way up the shell of his ear. The obscene wet noises near his ear sends static through his brain, down his spine, and straight to his cock which continues to grow hard at your teasing. “How about you take a break?” you whisper before pinching his left nipple with one of your roaming hands, the other finding its way down his happy trail. Law quickly realizes he has no choice but to oblige.

Vinsmoke Sanji

"With the taste of a poison paradise, I'm addicted to you"

For the last few weeks, dinner has proven to be a difficult time for Sanji. It isn’t because he’s hit a creative slump with recipes or because he has to fight off a hungry Luffy from sneaking snacks. His troubles all stem from a certain other crew member – you. Sanji’s grip on his cutlery tightens as you let out a practically pornographic moan the moment a bite of his Poulet a la Provencal hits your tongue. You let out a few more obscene noises as you chew. Sanji swears the room is spinning. “Sanji~ this tastes divine, the chicken is so moist! And this sauce is just orgasmic~” you sigh out before dipping your finger in said sauce. Sanji nearly drops his fork as he watches your pink tongue dart out to lick off some of the sauce from the digit before you suckle it clean. Sanji thickly swallows at the sight, “A-ah thank you for the compliment y/n-swan!”. You let out a giggle before returning your attention back to your plate. Sanji is suddenly aware of how hot the room is and how tight his pants feel. Sanji tries to compose himself, taking a few deep breaths before returning to his own plate in front of him. He gets a few bites in before he nearly chokes on a piece of chicken when he feels a roaming foot caressing his inner thigh, he looks up only to catch your seductive gaze, a teasing smile plastered on your lips. Dinner would be another torturous affair.

Roronoa Zoro

"Girl you look so good, won't you back that ass up?"

Zoro loses count of his reps for the third time this workout. It’s been this way for the last few months. He would start his workouts with the full intent of giving everything he had, only for his eyes to wander, watching as the sweat traces a path down your body. Today was no different. His eyes graze over the curves of your butt as you work on your squats in front of him. Your muscles shake in effort as you let out several loud breaths. The entire thing turns Zoro on, his grey sweatpants no longer doing a good job at hiding his erection. He watches for a few more moments, carefully palming his length over his sweatpants. That’s when he sees you stutter a little bit in your last set. His body moves instinctively, stepping closer to you, your body only a few inches from pressing into his as he hovers his arms near the barbell bar. “Here, let me spot you” Zoro grumbles out. You give him a nod, adjusting your stance and grip. Zoro dutifully watches as you go in for another squat, only for your tight ass to brush Zoro’s erection as you went down and came back up. The pressure causes a filthy moan to rip out of Zoro’s mouth. In his embarrassment he can see you look back at him, a knowing smirk on your face. He had fallen right into your trap.

Eustass Kid

"She's hatin' 'cause I'm up and you can tell on her face"

Kid sits sprawled out in a booth with Killer on his right. His crew sits around him, everyone occupying nearby tables with a plethora of drinks flowing between them. He’s only half paying attention to Killer before their conversation is interrupted by a woman sliding up on his left side. He doesn’t bother to pay her any attention as she presses her hand to his chest and whispers in his ear asking if he would like some company. He waits patiently, secretly growing excited for what was to come. That’s when he hears you slam two mugs of beer on the table, liquid sloshing out everywhere. You were back from your run to the bartender. “Get the fuck off of my man you fucking whore!” you snarl out as you reach for the woman, grabbing her by the hair as you rip her off of Kid. There it was. Kid feels the first rush of blood to his cock as the atmosphere becomes fueled by adrenaline. The woman screams obscenities at you, flailing helplessly, while the crew eggs you on by yelling out vulgar encouragement. The whole scene turns him on, and he soon finds himself rock hard as he watches you throw the woman out the bar door. Your face is thunderous as you stomp back, gnashing out the crudest angry words at the woman’s gall. You don’t skip a beat as you down whatever was left in both the beer mugs before sliding into your rightful spot next to him, smashing your lips into his in a forceful hungry kiss. Fuck, Kid loved when you got possessive.

Nami

"I'm the First Lady of Juicy Couture, got a little cash now so the skirt is Dior"

Nami’s smile hasn’t left her face since she ushered you into the women’s dormitory, her arms overflowing with her latest clothing haul. “Y/n-chan~ you have to try these on! I picked them out just for you!” she says, pushing the bags into your arms. She relishes in the way heat takes over your cheeks as your eyes widen at the amount of shopping bags, clearly flattered at Nami's generous gesture. Despite your bashful look, you don’t say no to Nami’s demands, quickly stepping behind the changing screen in the corner of the room. Nami’s eyes trace over your shadowed figure behind the screen as you peel off every bit of your clothing, heat rushes to her core. “N-Nami? A-are you sure you handed me the right bag?” you ask, your voice full of anxiety. Nami is patient, flooding you with words of encouragement. She’s rewarded when you step out from the screen. Your body barely covered by the most vulgar bikini money could buy. Nami’s eyes greedily soak up the sight of your breasts, spilling out over the small triangle top, your hard nipples barely covered. You’re so cute as you fidget in the bikini, your face red in embarrassment. “D-does it look g-good Nami?” “Hmm it looks okay, but I bet it looks better on the floor.” One outfit down, 26 more to go.

#fanfic #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #trafalgar law #law x reader #eustass kid #kid x reader #nami #nami x reader

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fruitcoops · 3 months

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In the Beginning

Going back to my roots this year with some pre-Coops PT fluff :) This is definitely going to turn into a short series (with exceptions for Leo's birthday, of course) and I'm really excited about it! Hoping for some more time to create this spring <3 Character credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW canon injury (Sirius' ankle)

“Sirius.” Despite the whiteboard with his name scrawled next to 11:00, Remus still managed to sound pleasantly surprised. “Hi, how are you?”

“Fine.”

God, he sounded like an asshole. Remus’ smile didn’t falter. “Glad to hear it. Come on in, take a seat wherever.”

Was this it? The first test? Sirius glanced between the chair by Remus’ desk and the exam table. Hell, maybe he was supposed to sit on the stool. Was he? Was that a ‘Remus spot’ everyone else was smart enough to not even consider?

He picked the chair. Lowered himself gingerly to the cushioned seat, crutches propped on the armrest next to him. A spot on his ankle itched under the Velcro of his stiff boot.

“Thanks for making the time today,” Remus continued, as if Sirius had been any sort of friendly or welcoming. “I really appreciate it. This’ll be quick and easy—just a check-in, figuring out what’s going on and where we want to be. Sound okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Sick.” Remus dug around behind his desk for a moment; Sirius could hear papers riffling. Remus’ brow furrowed for a second before relaxing with satisfaction as he pulled a sheet free. “Alright. Sirius Black, meet your new best friend.”

Sirius blinked. “You?”

“Ha! No, I think Pots still has me beat,” Remus laughed, sliding a clipboard across the desk. He pulled his own chair around as well, even though Sirius could see him fold his knees out of the way of the desk. It couldn’t be comfortable. “I don’t like sitting back there when you guys are in here,” Remus said, as if he could read Sirius’ mind. The side of his nose scrunched. “Feels…bossy? I dunno. Can’t really write upside-down, either.”

“Ah. Ouais.”

“But that’s—” Remus waved a vague hand and picked a pen from the broken-handled mug tucked by his computer. “It’s not important. This, on the other hand, is your two-week chart. Decorate it, marry it, I don’t care. As long as you know it’s yours and can find it in that—” He pointed to a wire bin by the door. “—box. Capische?”

Sirius shrugged one shoulder and readjusted his ankle under the table. “Sure.”

“Shweet. There are some forms under the top sheet, if you can fill those out for me real quick.”

Remus stood as Sirius bent his head to write; he puttered in Sirius’ periphery, collecting tape and bandages and a handful of other things from the drawers lining the walls before moving to the exam table behind him. Something spritzed, filling the air with the faint scent of lemon. When he glanced back, Remus was wiping down the exam table with a washcloth.

The table. Of course. He should’ve known. “Do you want me to move?”

“You can if you like.” A lopsided smile found him over Remus’ shoulder. “I’m just cleaning, though. Take your time.”

Feels like I’m taking nothing but time, he thought with no small amount of bitterness. At least Remus meant well. Arthur kept telling him he could have all the recovery time he needed, but Sirius could tell he was getting impatient. He hadn’t even been allowed to think about physical therapy before the six-week mark was up. On some teams, that was long enough to justify rumors of a trade.

Ink smeared under the side of his hand. Sirius cursed under his breath and licked his thumb to smudge it off, but only succeeded in blurring it more. He gave up and scribbled it out, leaving the check mark next to the box instead. Remus’ handwriting was at the top of the page. Sirius Black, printed with a gentle slant to the right. Numbers looped, their tails snagging into one another. Sirius had never met someone who wrote their ‘2’s that way.

“Done?”

He jumped.

“Ope, sorry,” Remus half-laughed as he rolled behind his desk again. The wheels of his chair squeaked. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Sirius shook his head. “You’re fine. And ouais, here.”

“Thanks.” Remus flipped through the clipboard with easy neutrality. Sirius had expected him to take this a little more…well, seriously. “Looks good. Like I said before, today is just getting the boring stuff out of the way. Forms, building your exercise plan, making sure you don’t run screaming from the room.”

Sirius frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“Hopefully, you won’t.” Remus gave him a look—a joke, he realized a second too late.

“Oh—yes, no, not at all.” Great recovery. It took everything he had not to roll his eyes at himself.

Again, Remus seemed unaffected by his awkwardness. Did he just not see it? Did he think Sirius was playing along? But Remus was always like that, with every one of them. Unflappable and infallible. The world was smooth and calm for him, like a lake on a windless day in the dead of summer. He was wearing a shirt of the same blue-gray as the pond in the park by Sirius’ house.

“How’s your ankle feeling today?”

Get out of your head. “It’s…fine.”

The side of Remus’ mouth pulled up. “Gotta give me something to work with here, Cap.”

“A little sore?”

The light caught his sandy hair as he tipped his head back and forth. “Sore how?”

“Just…” Sirius shrugged. “Sore. Like normal.”

“Stabby? Dull? Lightning-y? Can you feel your heartbeat in it?”

“Um.” The cool air of the PT room siphoned into the small gaps of his boot when he wiggled his toes. “Mostly dull. Sharper when I take the cast off.”

Remus nodded. “You haven’t been putting weight on it?”

“Non.”

“Good. That sounds about right for this point of recovery. Is it an ‘all the time’ kind of pain, or just when you do certain things?”

This was a lot more talking than Sirius had anticipated. He had assumed Remus would sit him on the exam table, poke around, and then send him off with some ice packs and stretches. More time, he said when Sirius had imagined it. You just have to give it another week or two, and you’ll be fine. A hopeful part of him figured they’d let him back on the ice as soon as the bone was healed.

“It’s sore a lot,” Sirius admitted. “The dull kind. It gets worse when I move around, I guess.”

“Even with crutches?”

“Ouais.”

“Do you sleep with it on?”

“…my crutches?”

“The boot,” Remus snorted, though it wasn’t mean. He was rocking slightly in his chair, back and forth. Sirius could see the armrests turn with each light push of his foot behind the desk. The tense thing in his belly eased. If Remus was this casual, maybe he was allowed to take some deeper breaths.

“They gave me a different one for the night,” he said. “It’s softer.”

“Are you more of a back sleeper, side sleeper…?” Remus trailed off, gaze darting across Sirius’ face, and gave a sheepish grin. “That sounds super invasive, wow, sorry. I promise I’m just trying to figure out if you’re sleeping on it weird.”

Sirius tried to school his expression. He didn’t want to know what face he had been making at Remus’ question—they knew each other well enough to not fix him with a media glare. “Uh, my back,” he answered. “Usually. The doctors said to put it up on a pillow until it healed.”

“Cool, cool, sounds good.” Remus nodded again, then drummed his hands on his thighs. “Alright. Those are all the questions I have. Any on your end? Concerns, preferences…?”

How fast can you get me out there? Something told him Remus wouldn’t have an answer he’d like. “No, I’m good.”

Remus had a dimple on his left cheek. It made a divot with his small smile. “Great. Ready to hop on the table so I can take a look?”

It took a moment for Sirius to get to his feet; he reached for his crutches, only to find Remus already holding them steady for him. He hobble-hopped the five or so feet from the desk to the exam table; six and a half weeks in, and the crutches still did their best to stymie him at every turn. Horrible fucking things. His underarms were rubbed raw after fifteen minutes. Clunky and awkward and—

“Hold on.”

Sirius paused.

Remus was frowning at his leg. “Those don’t look right.”

“Quoi?”

“You’re…what, six-three?”

“About.”

“Sit, sit.” Remus ushered him to the edge of the table, but took the crutches as soon as Sirius perched himself on the cushions. He pressed a small button near the base; aluminum squeaked as the foot shortened by a few notches. “That’s better,” Remus muttered, almost to himself. “These pads are all worn out, too. Did they give you towels?”

What the fuck? “Uh, no?”

A disgruntled exhale made Remus’ nostrils flare. He leaned the crutches against the wall with a similarly irritated tilt to his mouth. “Remind me to give you some before you go, or the tops are going to wear the hell out of your armpits. I reset the height, too. They were two inches too tall.”

“Oh,” Sirius said helpfully.

“It’s not, like, a huge deal or anything, but it’s uncomfortable.” Remus cocked his head. He regarding Sirius with a critical, but not harsh, eye. “Has your back been hurting?”

Sirius shifted in his seat. “…yes.”

“That’s probably from the height issue.” Remus’ nose twitched with clear displeasure. A pen turned between his fingers, glimmering in the pale light. Sirius hadn’t noticed the bandaid on his knuckle before. The pen stilled with a sigh, then vanished into Remus’ pocket. “Sorry, I just—Moody and I have been trying to get the guys to come in here sooner, because of shit like this. Crutches at the wrong height, no towels, not knowing you’re allowed to wash braces. You’re already uncomfortable, you know? No need to make it worse.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, god, it’s not your fault,” Remus said immediately, pumping hand sanitizer into his palm. “Just sucks that we have to ask permission. It’s not like we’re going to do anything stupid while bones are still healing.”

Sirius swung his legs up on the table while Remus rolled a stool across the speckled linoleum; his ankle twinged, but he managed to keep his wince light.

It was no use. “What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“Face.” Remus pointed at him, arching a brow. “You’re in my rink now, bud. You made a face. You can either lie about it, or get out of here on time.”

Perhaps Sirius had been a bit overconfident in how well he could hide pain. “Just sore when I lift it.”

“Where?”

“Uh. My ankle.”

“Right, I—” Remus broke off with a short laugh. “Sorry. Is there pain in other places when you lift it?”

He let Remus wave him further onto the table before answering. “I can feel it in my calf and foot. A little into my knee.”

The plastic was sticky from cleaning solution, but the cushions were perfectly firm on his lower back. He let his head rest back against the wall with a slow breath and wiggled his toes again. It was nice, being able to do that without lancing pain. Remus tapped his thumb against the edge of the table a few times before moving to stand by Sirius’ feet. “Can I take your shoe off, or do you want to?”

“Oh. Um…” He sat up further, but his fingers just barely brushed the hem of his pants. With a grind of his back teeth and a quick flash of pain, he bent his opposite knee and pulled the shoelace free. His ankle began throbbing faintly as he nudged the shoe off—sock too, thanks—and a puff of air slipped out when he finally leaned back.

Remus was watching him with a sad sort of wariness. “Can I make a request?”

You could ask me to do literally anything. “Yeah, sure.”

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

If he didn’t look so sympathetic, Sirius would have bristled. “What?”

“That—” Remus gestured at him. “Looked painful as fuck. This is an anti-pain establishment. If you think something’s going to hurt, we’ll work around it. No judgement.”

The thing was, Sirius hadn’t actually done this before. He knew where the ice packs were kept, and that the big steel container in the corner held heat pads in boiling water. He knew where the support bandages were, where Remus kept extra stick tape, and that the set of small drawers next to the desk would each be labeled with the name of a teammate so they could find specific gear. Remus had given him stretches for his sore back and arms and legs and whatever, but this—the shoes, the touching, the gentleness—there was no rulebook. No captain’s log to rattle through when he needed guidance.

“Okay,” he finally said. “That’s cool.”

“Cool.” Remus gave him that half-smile again. “Can I take your boot off?”

“Ouais.”

Remus was a lot nicer to the Velcro than he was. The rip was quieter than Sirius thought it could be, peeled off by practiced hands. He felt the pressure on his skin release immediately and took a breath at the tender feeling. Not pain, but something close. It made his heart spike every time. “Hurting?”

“Non.”

“You sure?”

“Just—makes me nervous.”

“Makes sense,” Remus agreed. “You’ve had it all wrapped up. Feels safer in there, right?”

Right. Exactly right. Something tightened in the center of his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

Remus nodded. “Is it okay if I take it the rest of the way off? I can do most of the exam like this if that’s better.”

“You’re asking me a lot of questions.” He tried to sound wry. He wasn’t sure it came out that way.

“Lot of people don’t like touching,” Remus answered easily. He hadn’t moved to touch the boot again, hands flat to the maroon plastic covering the table. “I’d rather you tell me to step off now than make something hurt more.” He gave Sirius an apologetic sort of grin. “Plus, you’re probably sick of people grabbing at you. Don’t really want to be one of them.”

Sirius was sick of it. Hands and fingers and grasping through slivers in plexiglass while he was trying to move, goddamnit, when he just wanted to go back down the tunnel and finally be able to catch his breath. People grabbing him on the ice, pushing. Snape’s body against his own—a shoulder in his sternum. Fingers digging into his skin. A tight grip on the back of his neck.

“You can take it off.”

Remus had a crooked canine tooth. Had he noticed that before? “Thanks.”

Sirius’ fists clenched at the touch of warm hands on his heel and calf. It was…fucking strange, but not painful. Not unpleasant, either. Remus had calluses in the bends of his knuckles and on his palm when he carefully transferred Sirius’ foot to one hand and set the boot up by his hip.

“I’m sweaty,” he blurted. “Sorry.”

Embarrassment flooded him before Remus laughed. “Dude, you have no idea how nasty your boys are when they roll up here. Did you know I had to send a reminder to shower before seeing me? And to wear clean clothes?”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.”

“They don’t cut their toenails, either.” Remus’ eyes flicked up to his face, bright and teasing. “I’m not telling you who, but if you can throw a little captain-y weight around…”

“I’ll try.” It almost came out a laugh. Surprise tingled in his lungs. “But seriously, you don’t need me. They listen to you like gospel.”

“Oh, please.”

“They do,” he insisted. Remus rolled his eyes. “Non, non, I’m serious—”

“Yes, I know.”

“—fuck off—you could tell them to brush their teeth four times a day and they’d be at it. They listen to you more than me.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Remus informed him. “And I also think you’re healing really well.”

“I—what?” Sirius looked down; his ankle was back on the cushion, cradled lightly between Remus’ palms. It jolted something in him. Had his skin always been that pale? He could see the line where the boot ended halfway up his calf. His foot looked ghostly in the light and everything else looked…thin. Skin and muscle, even bone.

He propped himself up on the heels of his hands. The angry, puckered scar from surgery had faded to a narrow line. When had that happened? Surely not overnight. It had looked so ugly in the shower yesterday, which was exactly why he tended to avoid looking at it. He glanced up at Remus’ patient face. Was he grossed out? That wasn’t how Sirius’ ankle was supposed to look. The knobbly bones on either side were practically gray in comparison; they stuck out, as if someone had stuck two marbles under his skin. His stomach turned.

“Sirius?”

He hummed.

“You okay?”

The joking tone had gone from Remus’ voice. The pit of Sirius’ stomach was heavy. His ankle looked weak; his calf, skinny all the way to the weird lump of his knee. “Mhm.”

“We can be done.” Slight movement caught his attention as Remus ducked to catch his eye. There was the solemnity he had expected. It was odd to see it now. “Any time. Just say the word.”

“The exam?”

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.” Firmness had never sounded so kind. “These first steps are visual, anyway.”

Am I done? Sirius looked back at his foot, the strangeness of it, the sickly mirror of his healthy one. “Keep going.”

“Are you—”

“I’m okay.” He mustered a deep breath. “I’m good. Keep going.”

“Okay,” Remus said quietly.

They sat in relative silence, but it wasn’t bad. Sirius was glad for a break. It was easier to watch Remus work than hold a conversation. The tenderness faded somewhat under the gentle touches of Remus’ fingertips—a tap here and there, faint pressure in the soft spots. Murmurs of feeling alright? and tell me if this hurts filled the buzzing static in Sirius’ ears.

“Ow.”

“Here?” Remus’ first two fingers hovered at the arch of his foot. Sirius nodded. “Cool, thanks. Your swelling isn’t too bad. I think I’m going to hold off on big exercises until Monday, okay?”

Disappointment, bitter and tacky as molasses. “Yeah.” He couldn’t keep the sigh out of his voice.

“We’ll get there.” When he remained silent, Remus poked the peak of his kneecap. “Hey. We’ll get there, I promise. I want you to work on the rest of your flexibility this week. Keep the boot on, but stretch out your legs and back. Your other muscles have been compensating for this and I don’t want anything to get strained.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to get you back on the ice.” Sirius could hear the but in his voice before he even finished speaking. “But I won’t rush through this and throw you out there just to get hurt again.”

Hurt again. Pain, cold and consuming, flashed in his memory. “Okay.”

“If anyone gives you shit, I want you to throw me under the bus, alright?” The last strap of Velcro fell into place. Remus was even careful with that part. The pressure on his skin was familiar and welcome. He felt a light pat to the table. “Tell them it’s all my fault. That I’m being overcautious and mean and keeping you here, whatever. If the coaches have a problem with your care, they can talk to me and Moody about it. Not you.”

“Okay.”

Remus let him get up unhindered. That was nice. Sirius was pretty sure he’d lose his mind at one more helping hand. He waddled back to the desk chair at an incline of Remus’ chin and was once again relegated to watching while Remus taped some small, folded towels to the tops of his crutches before joining him by the desk.

“You did great.”

Wasn’t that a thing to imagine. Could barely get my shoe off, but alright. “Merci.”

“It’s hard to get people to come in here and actually want to get better.” Remus scribbled a few things on the chart. His forehead crinkled in the middle with concentration. “Lotta guys think they’re fine as soon as the doctors’ visits end. But this is the part that’ll make a difference in the long run.”

The chart slid across the table, followed by a smaller, far more sparkly sheet. A smile pulled at Sirius’ mouth in spite of himself. “Gold stars?”

“Very serious stamps of completion, actually.” The corners of Remus’ mouth were tight with restrained amusement. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his eyes. “You can pick a different theme if you want. Talkie’s got Lisa Frank, which was kind of a power move.”

Sirius snorted—it was over from there. It took a minute for them to collect themselves, and as much as he hated to admit it, he did feel better after peeling a star from the sheet and sticking it in the first box. “Regarde,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Success.”

“Perfect.” Laughter still lingered in Remus’ voice. It was a nice sound. It was nicer when he looked up and smiled, like Sirius had put one of those heating pads right in the valley of his ribs. “Alright, well, that’s all I need. We can do the same time tomorrow, or you can check out the schedule. We technically have office hours, but you can shoot me a text if we need to find a different one. Number’s on the board. Make sure you give your name in the first message.”

“Okay.” Those ‘2’s again, in green marker this time. That weird feeling in his chest was softening. “Yeah, okay. I think tomorrow works for me.”

“Awesome, see you then.”

“Awesome.” Why can’t I talk? Sirius stood and took his crutches back with a slight stumble. He hoped it passed off as broken-ankle unsteadiness, not—whatever else was going on. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when the tops didn’t immediately begin to chafe his inner arms. “Oh, wow, thanks. This is great.”

“Yeah?” He could hear Remus’ smile before he even turned. He looked pleased, fiddling with the edge of Sirius’ chart. “I’m glad. Sucks to not have what you need, and not even know it.”

“Lucky we’ve got you then, eh?”

Remus’ cheeks flushed. It was rather warm in the room. “Nah. I’m the lucky one. Best job in the world.”

“Got you beat, there.”

Another laugh made Sirius’ chest squeeze pleasantly. It was good to see Remus happy, with all he did for them. “Guess you do,” Remus admitted, then shooed at him with the chart. “Get outta here, your boys are waiting. And check the box by the door for this when you come in tomorrow, got it?”

“Très bien, Loops.”

Maybe it was the adjustments to his crutches, or the promise of something like progress on the horizon, but Sirius didn’t feel quite so awful as he made his way down the hall. He almost felt good, actually. Almost hopeful.

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #pre-coops #pt room #fluff #sweater weather #my fic #fanfic #lumosinlove

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nattikay · 7 months

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this was originally a response to another post but it seems OP blocked me for it so idk if people can still see/interact with said response but heck it i spent a fair while collecting the panels/typing it up so i'm just transferring it over to a new post for anyone else who might be interested in readin'

"Neteyam has to act like a full grown adult [and we should feel bad for him because of this]"

No. Neteyam acts mature because that's his personality, not because it's been forced on him. He chooses to. The idea that he is forced against his will to "act grown-up" and is miserable about it is fanon, not canon.

James Cameron on Neteyam (from the WoW bonus features): "Jamie Flatters plays Neteyam, he's the older brother. He's kind of the guy who most wants to be Jake. He wants to be that warrior."

Jamie Flatters in that same clip:"He just pretty much wants to walk in the footsteps of his father. He's constantly seeking approval [from Jake]"

Note that neither of these, nor anything from the movie or comics, mention anything about external "expectations" or "pressure". Any "pressure" Neteyam experiences to live up to Jake's legacy comes from himself, not from external expectations that have been forced on him. Neteyam WANTS to be a warrior. He WANTS to be like his father and do brave mature grown-up things.

And for the most part, he's pretty good at it too. He's the "golden child" who "excels in all things", the youngest Omatikaya warrior to ever make a clean kill on a sturmbeest. He's strong, smart, brave, noble, and highly skilled for his age.

He knows this, and he wants to do more. Neteyam seeks out more responsibility, especially where fighting is concerned, and it's actually Jake who is hesitant to give it to him, because naturally he fears for his son's life (a very fair and well-founded fear, all things considered :P).

In fact, on the rare occasion that Neteyam does disobey orders, it's in this context of wanting to be part of these adult matters.

"he's too busy training and patrolling instead of acting his age" He is acting his age. His age is "cusp of adulthood". He's not quite there just yet, no, but he's getting close and is eager to get there. He trains and patrols with his parents because HE WANTS TO. He begs to participate in warrior's work.

And if by "act his age" you meant "do teenager things like tease his brother, snicker about immature things, hang out and goof off," etc., guess what he does that too

[originally had a list of relevant GIFs here but tumblr decided it was allergic to them apparently; anyways you can find them all here]

As for looking after his siblings, as a certified Oldest Sibling™ myself, I can assure you that parents expecting you to help look out for and set a good example for your younger siblings is very normal and nowhere near the mountain the fandom seems to make of this molehill.

There are valid reasons to feel sorry for Neteyam—he, like the rest of his family, had to leave his home and start over in a new unfamiliar place among a new clan of strangers with unfamiliar customs. He—not unlike Lo'ak!—desperately wants a chance to prove himself to Jake, and is frustrated when his dad doesn't want to let him participate in battle. And, of course, the big one—his life was tragically taken far too soon.

But "overworked little sadboi who just wants to Be A Kid™ but can't because his meanie parents force him to act like a Grownup™ because he's under Pressure™ to be the perfect future olo'eyktan" is not one of those reasons. That's pure fanfiction and a fundamental misunderstanding of his character. Neteyam is not "wannabe-carefree kid trapped under the crushing weight of expectations forced upon him against his will"—rather, he is "talented noble young warrior who wants to live up to his legendary father of his own volition and strives to do so".

#very sorry that movie neteyam and fanfic neteyam are different idk what else to tell ya ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#avatar #avatar 2 #neteyam #sully family #[edit] ok good removing the gifs worked it's properly showing up on my dash now #why are u like this tumblr -_-

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in1-nutshell · 2 months

Note

Hello! I am SOO sorry that I have been cramping you with asks, so feel as free as you can be to push this one alll the way back, or deny it, I am not desperate at all. I just want to type this before I forget this. So after the Megatron with a daughter who was his opposite post, I, too, am in love with this opposite personality daughter series. Like just all of our favourite men as fathers of daughters with individual personalities of themselves but also more or less all resonated their fathers one way or another, or someone they knew! I LOVE IT! And I realized how this formed a perfect trilogy now.

So I am real curious. What if the three daughters exist in the same universe? And, may or may not interact? (would we need individual names for them all? Or Buddy 1 and 2 and 3 like Spider-Man: No Way Home and no one questions it?)

Hello!

I've actually been thinking about continuing the 'daughter with different personality' thing. Maybe in the future you'll see more!

Originally the plan was to have all the Buddy's to be in the same universe, but I ended up scrapping the idea and decided to create separate universes for each one (unless the plot tells me otherwise :))

When I saw the Spiderman part my mind went to this.

(Who knows for the future)

Hope you enjoy!

Optimus Prime, Ratchet, and Megatron's daughters meeting each other for the first time.

SFW, Platonic, Familial, groundbridge and relic shenanigans, Cybertronain reader

TFP

In TFP Rats universe.

Buddy was just minding her own business cleaning and wiping down her father’s tools.

It’s a nice day on base.

There was low Decepticon activity for the past few days, the children were playing their games, Bulkhead and Smokescreen were trying to get Bumblebee and Arcee to play Lob with them, Ultra Magnus and Optimus were reviewing plans for something, and her father, Ratchet, was with Wheeljack looking at a new relic they found in the Artic.

“It’s not another scraplet trap, right?”--Raf

“Nope! Completely checked it with the scanner. We should be good now.”--Buddy

“We ‘should’ be good?”--Bulkhead

“There is always a percentage of things blowing up, I’m not counting that out.”--Buddy

Without warning, the relic whirled to life jumping and shaking onto the floor.

Everyone jumped and backed away from the whirling sound it made. Bright light came out of it as the shaking intensified. The noise was loud enough to get everyone to come to the main room.

The machine scanned the closest bot, Buddy, and opened a portal, shooting out tons of air.

The children nearly flew back, but thanks to Ultra Magnus and Optimus, they were caught before they flew off the ledge.

“Hey Ratchet! What’s it doing?!”--Bulkhead

“Oh, it’s putting on a rock concert. OBVIOUSLY, I DON’T KNOW!”--Ratchet

Machine whirls louder.

“Buddy! Hide behind the med slab!”--Wheeljack

Buddy already behind the slab, clutching onto dear life.

“With all due respect, WHAT DO YOU THINK I’M DOING?!”--Buddy

Meanwhile in megs dimension

Buddy calmly walking down the halls of the Nemesis with some data pads.

“Hmm… wonder why they need so many data pads…”--Buddy

Sudden portal pops up on the wall next to them.

“What in the—”--Buddy

Portal starts sucking her in.

“AHHH—”--Buddy

Portal sucks Buddy in leaving the discarded data pads sprawled in the middle of the hallway.

In op dimension

Buddy is resting her arm on the handrail while talking with Miko.

“How’s the playlist going?”--Miko

“Haven’t been working too much on it. Patrol has been up my tailpipe lately. Do you have any more recommendations?”--Buddy

“Yeah! How about—”—Miko

A sudden portal opens.

“Umm, I don’t remember Ratchet opening up a groundbridge.”--Miko

Buddy grabbing a grenade from her subspace.

“That’s because he hasn’t!”--Buddy

Buddy chucks a grenade at the portal.

BAM!

Nothing happens to the portal.

“What!”—Miko and Buddy

The portal starts sucking them in.

Buddy grabs Miko as she starts to get dragged in, pounds a hole in the ledge and places her in there.

“Buddy? Buddy what are you—”--Miko

Buddy groans as she tries to keep her footing but gets sucked in and the portal closes.

“BUDDY!”--Miko

In Rats dimension

Two figures pop out of the portal and slam into Ratchet’s daughter.

The portal closes.

The two figures groaned.

Op Buddy sits up rubbing her helm.

Meg Buddy sliding off the med slab and onto the floor on her back.

“Urgh… my aching helm…”—Megs Buddy

Rat Buddy gently massaging her helm before looking at the two strangers.

“Who are you?”—Rat Buddy

Op Buddy looks at the others.

“Who are you?!”—Op Buddy

Meg Buddy looking at all the Autobots in the area.

“WHERE AM I?!”—Meg Buddy

Optimus carefully approaches the younglings.

Megs Buddy quickly moves back while the other two just stare widely.

“Buddy—”--Optimus

“Yes?”—All Buddy’s

All Buddy’s turn around and point at each other.

“Your name is Buddy! I’m Buddy!”—All Buddy’s

Meg Buddy standing up pacing a bit.

“Maybe this is some alternate universe…I always thought something like this was possible from what he said… It’s the only logical explanation for this…”—Megs Buddy

“That seems to check out. Which explains why Dad hasn’t started giving me the ‘speech’ again.”—Op Buddy

“Dad?”--Kids

“… Oh, this is going to be fun.”—Op Buddy

“This is not going to be fun…”—Meg Buddy

Everyone is confused.

Come to find the relic would scan someone and find ‘alternatives’ of them. It could mean alternative of the bot or by their names.

To avoid confusion the Buddy’s are labeled.

Op’s Buddy would be known as Buddy 1.

Rats Buddy would be known as Buddy 2.

Megs Buddy would be known as Buddy 3.

“How come she’s Buddy 1? Why not our Buddy? She was hear before you guys showed up.”--Miko

“Cause I’m older and cooler.”—Buddy 1

“Yeah right.”--Miko

“Don’t believe me Miko? Watch this.”—Buddy 1

Buddy 1 transforms into a monster truck.

“I take it back! That’s so cool! Can I ride you!?”--Miko

“Of course!”—Buddy 1

“Miko no!”--Bulkhead

“Miko yes!”--Miko

“Then why is our Buddy number two?”--Raf

“Because I’m the second oldest. Three is the youngest one here.”—Buddy 2

“Guess it makes sense. You she is kind a smaller than you two.”--Jack

“Hey! I’m a minicon! Of course, I’m smaller than everyone here!”—Buddy 3

“You’re a minicon?”--Arcee

Buddy 3 shrinks back a bit at Arcee’s gaze nodding.

Buddy 1 made the Team guess who her father was, bets were on the table and ready to be thrown. Buddy 1 managed to get Buddy 3 to get in on the guessing part. Buddy 3 guaranteed that no one would guess her creator.

A part of her didn’t want them to know either.

“All right we are ready.”--Miko

“Wow so soon?”—Buddy 3

“Too soon if you asked me.”—Buddy 1

“We’ve narrowed down three bots for each. If we win, 1 needs to take me out dune bashing in her alt mode.”--Miko

“Miko!”--Bulkhead

“I can stand by that.”—Buddy 1

“And if you don’t guess right?”—Buddy 2

“You’ll have to tell us.”--Miko

“…”—Buddy 3

“Lets get started!”--Miko

“Okay these ones are for Buddy 1.”--Smokescreen

“Got it, lets hear them.”—Buddy 1

“First one… Wheeljack!”--Miko

Buddy 1 laughing at the response.

“HAHAHAHA, Sorry, its just, just that Jackie here is more like my Uncle. Definitely not my dad.”—Buddy 1

“All righty then… Bulkhead!”--Miko

Buddy starts laughing at that one too.

“Nope! Bulks also like my Uncle!”—Buddy 1

“The last one… Smokescreen!”—Miko

Buddy is now on the floor laughing her tanks and near crying.

“…I’ll take that as a no then…”--Raf

Buddy finally stops laughing.

“You lose.”—Buddy 1

“Got that. Now spill it! Who’s your Dad?!”--Miko

Buddy stands up rather stoically.

“One shall stand, one shall fall.”—Buddy 1

Everyone stares at Optimus, who looks equally as surprised.

“Your—your Boss Bots kid!? How!?”--Miko

“A question everyone has been asking since we met.”—Buddy 1

Miko turns to Buddy 3.

She hoped that they would have forgotten her, but alas here she was.

“Your turn!”--Miko

Buddy 3 nervously sits next to Prime and Ratchet

“First one… Arcee!”--Miko

Buddy 3 looking terrified.

“NO! I mean no.”--Buddy 3

“How about… Ultra Magnus!”--Miko

Buddy shakes her helm while looking at Magnus.

“Sorry try again.”—Buddy 3

“Okay… Optimus!”--Miko

Buddy 1 looks at Buddy 3.

“Are we siblings!?”—Buddy 1

“I mean aren’t we all in a way?”—Buddy 3

“Buddy.”--Ratchet

“Sorry, the answer is no.”—Buddy 3

“Dang it!”--Miko

“Then who is your Dad?”--Raf

“…Megatron…”—Buddy 3

“…”—Everyone

“HOW!”--Jack

Buddy shrinks back at the sudden movements.

Buddy 1 and Buddy 2 immediately stand by Buddy 3

“Hold it now. Just because 3 dad is Bucket head, no offense.”—Buddy 1

“None taken.”—Buddy 3

“Doesn’t mean she’s bad. Right?”—Buddy 2

“No, no I’m not.”—Buddy 3

“Really and how can you prove it?”--Arcee

“Arcee—”—Buddy 2

“Well think about this. If I was truly bad, why haven’t I hurt you.”—Buddy 3

“Because your short?”--Smokescreen

“… Okay that one’s asking for it… but beside the point, I could have easily hurt the kids, yet I haven’t. I could have attacked or given any other hint that I had malicious intentions. But I haven’t, have I?”—Buddy 3

Pause

“I stand by 3.”—Buddy 1

“And I stand with 1 and 3.”—Buddy 2

“I will stand by her as well.”--Optimus

“Prime!”—Most of the team

“Prime?”—Buddy 3

“She is our guest and so is 1. We must treat them with the respect they deserve.”--Optimus

“…Thank you Prime.”—Buddy 3

After the confrontation a little more research is done on the machine.

Thanks to Buddy 3’s expert decoding skills, she was able to read the full effects of the machine as well as how to reverse it.

The good news was that the effects were reversable.

The bad news was that the machine needed time to recuperate before usage again.

The Buddy’s decided to kill time by hanging out with each other and the team in the meantime.

Aka shenanigan time.

1 tries to start a conversation with her alternate family especially with Prime.

She is curious to see if there are any differences between her father and her alternative father.

“You always did have a thing for the Halls, didn’t you?”—Buddy 1

“The Halls of Iacon was where I worked.”--Optimus

“You mean, where Orion worked.”—Buddy 1

“…Yes.”--Optimus

“Sorry, but I see Orion and Optimus as two separate bots sometimes.”—Buddy 1

“It is understandable.”--Optimus

3 tended to stay with 2 for the most part.

2 was a soft soul and was quiet for the most part.

2 did entertain 3 with the occasional story here and there.

Buddy 2 and 3 talking to each other near the med bay.

“What do you think they’re talking about?”--Smokescreen

“Beep boop bep bop boop. (Probably about medical stuff.)”--Bumblebee

“Yeah, probably.”--Smokescreen

“So, then Arcee raised her blasters at the wannabe Cybertronians and started blasting.”—Buddy 2

Buddy 3 listening intently.

1 likes to place 2 and 3 on her shoulders.

1 being the tallest and bulkiest of the Buddy’s could support the weight, not that they did weigh anything to her.

The other two Buddy’s liked feeling tall.

“Hey! Hey! Look at this!”—Buddy 1

Buddy 1 supporting Buddy 2 on her shoulders while Buddy 3 was on top.

“We are Buddy Supreme!”—Buddy 2

Buddy 1 has a bright smile on her face.

Buddy 2 has a wobbly smile trying not to laugh while carrying 3.

Buddy 3 is just staring in amazement.

“So, this is what it’s like to be tall… this is nice.”—Buddy 3

Soon it was time for them to leave.

3 really doesn’t want to leave her new friends behind.

She certainly doesn’t want to go back to the dark halls of the Nemesis.

But this pleasant experience was soon to be the spark to ignite the flame for peace between the two fractions again.

She was going to do everything she could to end this war with peace.

Whether Megatron liked it or not.

“It was lovely seeing you all and knowing there are alternative versions of myself out there. I hope we meet again on much pleasanter terms in the future.”—Buddy 3

“Same goes to you 3!”—Buddy 1 and 2

Buddy 3 walks through the portal.

A flash of purple shines before returning to its natural color.

“It’s your turn kid—”--Wheeljack

“SEE YA!”—Buddy 1

Buddy 1 back flips into the portal before a flash of blue shines.

The portal turns off and all is still.

“…Well, wasn’t that an eventful Wednesday afternoon?”—Buddy

In megs universe

Buddy bounces off the wall of the Nemesis.

Literally.

“For once I’d wish for a smooth landing…”--Buddy

“Buddy.”--Soundwave

Buddy looks up to see Soundwave.

Buddy waves.

“Hey Soundwave.”--Buddy

Soundwave starts walking forward.

“Sorry about the data pads—”--Buddy

Soundwave is in front of Buddy.

“I swear I meant to go straight to the room when—”--Buddy

Soundwave gets down on his knees and pulls Buddy in a tight hug.

Buddy freezes for a moment before hugging back.

None say anything, just holding onto each other in one of the empty halls of the Nemesis.

In op universe

Buddy gets thrown at Bumblebee and Smokescreen.

“OW!”--Buddy

“BEEP! (BUDDY!)”--Bumblebee

“BUDDY!”--Smokescreen

Both bots hugging Buddy’s sides tightly.

“We heard from Miko that you go sucked into some groundbridge or something!”--Smokescreen

Buddy patting both bots helms.

Bumblebee digs his helm further in Buddy’s neck cables whirling in concern and relief.

“Boy, do I have a story to tell you guys. But let’s wait till everyone gets here, I can’t wait to see Doc bot’s reaction to his daughter.”--Buddy

“HIS WHAT!?”—Smokescreen and Bumblebee

“MY WHAT!”--Ratchet

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp x platonic reader #tfp optimus prime #tfp ratchet #tfp megatron #bot buddy crossover

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cyborg-franky · 7 months

Text

Another piece I did for the @op-xreader-zine

Marco x GN Reader x Ace TW: Age gap ship - polyam SFW WC: 1,300

Opening the door to your room you saw Ace spread out on the bed, legs hanging off the edge, boots still on, hat thrown over the chair, and a book in his hands. There was a look of concentration on his face, only broken for a brief moment when he waved his hand in greeting. “Have you seen Marco?” you asked and peered around the room, seeing no sign of your other partner.

“No, and I doubt we will for a few hours.” Ace sighed and set the book down on the nightstand before turning to face you, leaning on his elbow with his brows furrowed. You sighed along with him.

“He’s still in the office isn’t he?”

Ace nodded.

“Marco needs to take more breaks… This is insane, he can’t keep doing all his work as a doctor and as the captain, he’s taking on too much,” you said as you flopped down next to Ace, feeling an arm snake around you and his chin coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Yeah, I agree, but he’s such a stubborn old buzzard that blames himself for everything that happened.” You could see a look of sadness cross his face, replaying the events of Marineford over and over.

“Come on, let's go pay him a visit. He can’t brush off both of us, can he? We’ll bring him some snacks and tea, remind him he’s not a machine,” you said as you leaned over enough to kiss Ace’s freckled cheek before pulling yourself up off the bed.

–

Armed with a tray of drinks and snacks, you and Ace headed to Marco’s office. He never took up the captain’s chamber; he just didn’t have the heart to work there, to be reminded why he was the new captain, the wounds still not healed; wounds that deep would emotionally scar him for years to come. You tried not to think of it like that, but you and Ace hadn't been there half as long as Marco and hadn’t known Pops as he had.

All you could do was try and lift him when his heart became too heavy. You knocked on the door with no reply. Another knock, still nothing. Ace rolled his eyes and handed you the tray before he just opened the door, barging in. “Birdbrain!” Ace called and got a very sleepy look in return from Marco.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you, yoi,” Marco hummed, leaning back in his chair watching as you and Ace came inside. Ace walked over to the desk and started to move papers and maps, earning himself a scornful look and a tsk from Marco who kept trying to pull things back.

“No more work tonight,” you piped up, helping Ace clean the table before Ace retrieved the tray of snacks from its perch on the side table, setting it on his desk instead, Marco’s little personal mini office when he brought work back to their room with him.

“I still have so much to do, I’ll stop in an hour.” Marco stretched over the desk to grab at a log book, just to have his hand swatted by you and Ace at the same time.

“No, it’s time to rest, have a midnight snack with us,” Ace said firmly, using his own commander voice on Marco.

“See, midnight isn’t bad.” Marco was still trying to protest as you pulled up a chair closer to him, Ace doing the same as he started to help himself to the snacks you’d brought.

“Marco, you need to take it easy, you’ve taken on so much. Too much.” You placed your hand on his, stopping it from reaching for his pen. Feeling your fingers lace together, you gave him a concerned smile.

“I don’t have time to rest. There’s still so much to do, yoi.” Ace added his hand to the two of yours and gave Marco a firm look, nose wrinkled as he huffed.

“You won’t do anyone any good if you work yourself to death, I don’t think the phoenix will be much help then.”

“He’s right Marco,” you agreed and saw how Marco slouched in his seat, knowing you were both right and not liking his partners teaming up on him. He was such a stubborn man, trying to carry everything on his shoulders.

All together, Marco was trying to carry his old duties, new duties, the grief, the guilt, everything. He was carrying a bigger weight than anyone could ever imagine and you just wished you could lighten his load.

Marco’s half-lidded eyes stared at the tray of treats, watching steam from the tea twist and turn in the air. When he breathed in to center himself he must’ve gotten a whiff of the tea, his favorite, the smell lingering in the room before he let out a shaky sigh, nodding defeatedly. “Okay, I’ll call it a day.”

“That’s a good birdy,” Ace teased, leaning in and kissing Marco’s cheek, as you did the same on the other side.

Pulling away and seeing the normally cool and collected captain with a pink hue across his cheeks was cute, as was his smile that just grew as he enjoyed being the center of attention.

“You work so hard, you can have breaks. Everyone understands Marco, no one expects you to be used to it yet, to be over it.” You cupped his cheek, feeling him lean into your palm as your thumb brushed his skin. “Let us help you a little more, yeah?”

Another sigh but at least Marco nodded. Ace added the sugar and milk to Marco’s tea and handed it to him. He gladly took it and took a sip, trying to get absorbed in the moment, to just relax and fade away on calmer waters within his mind. Ace handed you another cup and you smiled back at him.

“I know, I know, I just...” Marco sipped his drink again, trying to organize his thoughts before you set down your cup, linking arms with him.

“I know Marco, but you are trying to fill literally gigantic shoes. You're doing great, you're an amazing captain.” You leaned against his arm, feeling his shoulders sag, relaxing slowly. You could tell he was struggling with his inner turmoil but appreciated your words.

Ace, with a mouthful of snacks, wrapped his arms around you both, swallowing his food before he kissed Marco’s cheek. “We are all going to be fine, we can do this as a team right?” Ace asked with a determined gleam in his eyes.

You watched as Marco let his gaze slip to the huge scar in the middle of Ace’s chest, thoughts churning within his mind. You nudged Marco, causing him to meet your eye, the lazy smile growing on his face when you held him tighter. “Riiight?” you prompted him, and he chuckled— such a lovely sound, you’d missed his laugh.

“Right, thank you both.” He wriggled himself loose, this time pulling you both against him, arms around you and Ace, nuzzling his cheek against yours. “I needed this, yoi,” Marco confessed as you and Ace kissed him on the cheek once more before sitting down and digging into the snacks you brought.

“We love you, so we will always be here to make sure you don’t overdo it,” Ace said and closed his eyes, you smiled enjoying the moment with your partners.

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bigfan-fanfic · 1 year

Text

The Clinic (Male!Reader x Mafia!Bucky and Steve)

Requested by @jayfeather965 for Your response to the captain and batdad ask has my creative juices flowing. The captain and iron arm Barnes are equal partners in a mafia, lovers and stuff. But then one of them, Bucky or Steve gets shot and separated from from the gang. Ends up going to a street clinic, with doctors who don’t ask questions. And naturally he’s fascinated by the doctor who helps him but calls him out for his arrogant attitude and takes no nonsense. Could you write a long story on this? Lmk please

Trigger warning blood, crime, mob au, etc.

"Babe."

"Yeah, boss?"

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

The Captain grips Barnes' chin in his fingers, tilting up his face. Barnes knows better than to resist.

Barnes is shirtless, the bandages wrapped around his chest and over his shoulder where he had been shot. His cheekbones still have the stitches in them.

The Captain is impeccably dressed, their states incongruous.

"What can I say, pal? It's hard to find a man that ain't afraid of me."

The Captain lets go, grabs the tumbler of whiskey in Barnes' hand, and tosses it aside.

It shatters in the fireplace and the alcohol makes the fire burst in a roar, but neither man hears it, because they are locked in a bruising, harsh kiss.

Barnes' hands frame the Captain's waist as the big man straddles him, clutching Barnes' face, his thumb brushing over the not-quite-healed gash in a way that is painful, but also grounding.

Cap growls, knowing that even with the pretext of healing, another man has touched what is his.

Only Barnes has been able to calm the raging beast inside him, this thing that makes him the most feared boss in the city, The Captain, and his iron right hand, Iron-Arm Barnes.

But maybe he's too hard. Like a callus that grows from overuse and dulls sensation. Maybe this sawbones has a tender touch Barnes has been missing.

For his part, Barnes has always been given to obsession. If the Cap had never had that growth spurt and hit the gym like a train crash, Barnes knew he'd have taken him. The little punk would be his precious little pet instead of his boss. But they would be together no matter what.

For Barnes, his blood wasn't his own, it flowed in the Cap's veins. So there wasn't a question of loving instead. They were parts of the same organism.

Barnes remembers you.

He dragged himself to your clinic after being shot, after his men had gotten away and he had been left for dead.

It's attractive, he won't lie, to see a man cool in a crisis. You get him on a table, strip him of his dirty and bloodstained clothes without a hint of lust or a sneak at his body, and you get to work picking shrapnel out of sensitive areas and stitching him up.

Barnes waits for a while after he wakes up post-op, knowing that he's not at full strength, before he reaches for his gun.

And you slip it out of his reach.

"No guns in my clinic."

"Do you know who I fucking am, sweetheart?"

"I don't care who you are. Bullets left at the door, or I let you bleed out on the floor."

"So much for the damn Hippocratic Oath."

"Fuck you. I have my license, and I don't ask questions. So maybe lose the attitude."

"Touché, sweetheart."

"Wipe that grin off your face. You lost a lot of blood."

"You gonna pump me full of morphine?"

"Bold of you to assume we have that kind of funding. The bullet passed through you clean. We're gonna need to change your bandages regularly for the next ten hours or so, and you're out of commission the next six weeks, at least."

"Really? I feel like a million bucks. A million bucks with a big hole in it."

You shake your head and take his gun, locking him in the room behind you.

"You gonna call the cops?"

Nope. That's not what you did.

"Name's Bucky."

You didn't tell him yours.

He talks incessantly, you answer some questions, remain silent for others

By the time the next morning rolls around, he's head over heels. "You're a shithead, Bucky. I don't wanna see you in here again, OK?"

He can hear the concern in your voice. You don't want him injured like that again. There's a connection there. A dangerous man, the battlefield angel.

And now he wants. And he wants his other half to want too.

They break their steamy kiss. It was a claiming, but Barnes is already owned.

"You still love me?"

"To the end of the line, pal. Never a question."

"You want the sawbones?"

"I'm yours, punk."

"Not what I asked."

"I want him."

"Then you'll have him."

"We."

The Cap grins. "I never met a guy with more heart. You think I have it in me to not get murderously jealous?"

Barnes kisses him. "Stevie, you're gonna be as head over heels as me. We're a team."

"I don't get you, pal, but I love you more than life."

"Then let's get us a sawbones."

#male reader #bucky barnes x male reader #steve rogers x male reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x bucky x reader #marvel headcanons #headcanons #marvel x male reader

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mistydeyes · 10 months

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undercover with undiscovered feelings

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summary: Your codename is Belladonna and one thing is clear you have a mood more sour than Ghost's. You hated the limelight, the shock and awe of it all, preferring to take your enemies out discreetly and quietly. Suddenly Laswell throws you to the wolves along with Soap, your fake French American fiancé. As if that wasn't bad enough, you have one secret. You're in love with him but you won't let him see past your hard exterior.

pairing: Soap x fem!Reader, sunshine x grumpy trope

warnings: SWEARING, violence, depiction of wounds, feelings being brought to the surface

a/n: thought it was time my scottish boy deserves some love

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Belladonna, the infamous 141's specialist in stealth and toxicology. Price took you on board due to your decorated resume and ability to discreetly take out your target. From day one, a certain mohawk soldier would not let you live down that your code name was also one shared with a porn star. God you hated him. Although maybe not hate, more like "unwillingly attracted to." You were polar opposites. While Johnny always was one for the theatrics, you were not one for shock and awe. You preferred to blend in the crowd, a grey man if you will. But stealth wouldn't help you here as Laswell planned to put you on in the limelight.

God, you should've known that breaking a mirror with your stray bullet would have its consequences. Now, you were sitting in this debrief in a safehouse in Italy wishing you had taken that bullet instead. Your legs bounced with nervousness as Laswell went through the planned covert op.

"I see you looking at me, Bell. I'm sorry but this mission is going to require you to get more intimate and not hide in the shadows," she said as you tried to silence your rapid heartbeat. All eyes were on you as Laswell continued, the mission was a simple one. One team would enter through the vents and gain access to a museum's records, a front for child trafficking. Another team would work undercover and make sure no one noticed the information extraction. What was your role? Oh Laswell made sure to painful describe how you would pose as a wealthy art collector accompanied by your body guard and your fiancé to be. "And who would those be?" you asked, fearing the worst. "Soap will be your dutiful boyfriend of 5 years while Ghost chaperones you through the night." You couldn't believe what you were hearing, out of all people why did they pick the Scottish idiot who you secretly liked. "What about Price and Gaz?" you wondered as Laswell had not reached the end of her debrief. "We'll be doing the hard work, you're just the distraction, Sweetheart," Price said and soon you would realize what he meant as a distraction.

"Stop shaking, Y/N," Price said as Ghost delicately tried a ring on your finger. "First, you all expect me to go undercover. Next, you make me act all cozy with this sweaty idiot. And now, you're having me try on rings to be fake proposed too?" you shouted as Soap held your hand to stabilize it. "Not just any ring, bonnie. A ring hand picked by me with the finest Japanese saltwater pearl and a band of 3 ct of diamonds set in pink gold. Now let me put it on your finger and you can go." You huffed as he and Price examined the fit of the ring, ensuring it was perfect for the planned engagement.

To your dismay, the night had finally arrived. You nervously checked the mirror as your hair lay loose around your shoulders. It was parted to one side, covertly hiding a comm in your left ear. Earlier, the boys had been relentless as you applied your makeup and curled your hair. Soap almost gained a black eye when he joked, "Well, our wee Bell actually cleaned up for once." The mission might end up being the death of you and your heart.

You felt nauseous looking at your self, examining how the dress flowed from one shoulder and ended with a waterfall of restricting pink tulle. The only thing you liked about this dress were the navy blue pearls adorning the layers of fabric, a subtle nod to your code name. "Lass, it's time," you heard Soap knock. You bunched up your skirt as you made your way to answer him. You were thankful Laswell had graciously gifted you with a knife tucked in a garter along with a set of Clostridium botulinum syringes. You opened the door to see him finely dressed in a midnight blue cashmere wool, silk blend suit. You couldn't deny he was handsome. Your pulse quickened as you examined him further, he had been asked to shave his famous mohawk and instead had a simple haircut. To him, you were also a sight to behold. Your cynical demeanor had endeared him, he loved making fun of you until he noticed a slight reaction. But now you looked even more gorgeous, he felt his breath hitch as he saw how the dress fit your curves perfectly and showed off your frame wonderfully. "Soap, let's go," you said breaking the silence and ending his trance. "You look breath-taking, Lass. Couldn't help but stare." You were glad he walked behind you as your face was bright red.

You exited the safe house marveling at the black Aston Martin Laswell had obtained for the op. As you got in the car, you noted Laswell driving along with Ghost in a black suit fixing his cufflinks in the passenger seat. "We're bringing you out of the shadows tonight, Bell" Ghost began, "don't worry we got you covered" he said and flashed his inner coat to show a gun tucked in its lining. Laswell, ever the observer, could feel your nerves. "Bell, there's some tequila in the console for you," she said and you quickly leaned over Soap's lap to grab it. Bless this woman, she knew your favorite. After taking many sips from the bottle, you tried to offer it to Soap but he disgustingly replied, "that shite tastes like dog piss." More for you, you guessed. You nursed the bottle as Laswell drove over the rolling hills of the coast. You tried to calm your nerves reminding yourself this was just another mission, something that you could add to your resume. You kept mentally telling yourself, "keep it professional".

Finally you felt the car come to a stop as Soap lightly tapped your shoulder indicating your arrival. "Let's go, my pearl," he said in a surprisingly convincing American accent. In this narrative, you were from a wealthy Portuguese home while Soap was your new money, New York City-transplant French American. He held out his hand as he helped you out of the vehicle. As you felt the cold coastal chill on your shoulders, you made your way to the entrance.

You made your way to check-in, Ghost silently following behind. You forcefully smiled, introducing yourself as Elaine de Rosales and your date as Renoir Cretin (dumbass in French). The host stifled a laugh at Soap's fake last name and allowed you three to enter.

As you entered the large gallery, you noted some familiar faces from the endless files Laswell had "gifted" you with. "Fucking bastards," you said under you breath and Simon whispered behind you, "that's no language for a lady." He was definitely getting his ass kicked next time you had a training exercise.

When Soap went for your hand, you could feel your heart jump. You should've downed that entire tequila bottle. He held your hand, gracefully leading you around the gallery as you made painful conversation about each piece. You were never one for arts and your horrible comments made that clear. "This looks nice," you said with a questioning tone and you heard Price laugh at your comment. He remarked, "Kid, you're so dry. Just try to act like you don't want to inject yourself with botulism right now." Every one was seriously out to get you today.

"You look more breathtaking than this painting, darling," Soap said aloud as you admired The Birth of Venus. He was laying on this whole couple thing, hard. You hoped he couldn't feel the heat radiating from your face as he planned a soft kiss on the crown of your head. "My love, you're too kind. You're practically carved from marble," you replied back, catching a glimpse of a pink blush on his cheeks.

After you examined yet another painting, Price notified you that they had gained access into the main server room. You gave Soap a subtle set of three taps with your thumb. He knew it was time as he lead you over to the main attraction. You lifted your eyes, gazing upon the large rendition of Eros and Psyche in front of you. Soap let go of your hand as he set himself on one knee.

Weeks before, Soap attempted to relieve your nerves as he described the masterful speech he would deliver to you. There were many revisions as he practiced the fateful moment to you. "You know, Soap, if I were a dumb, I'd say you're in love with me" you joked, "that speech was disgustingly romantic from the likes of you." "Oh fuck off, Bell. The first nice thing you say about me ends with an insult," he shot back. To anyone watching, the tension was clear but you remained your grumpy self, hiding your emotions.

Brought back into the moment, you could hear the crowd hush, eyes focused on you and him. "Elaine, ever since I saw you lost in the streets of Versailles, you have captivated me with your beauty and elegance. Your vast knowledge of art has shown me that there's more to a painting than a canvas with paint. I love you and will forever be there to listen to your musings about Monet and Degas," he began and you waited for the fateful words to fall out of mouth. However, to your surprise he continued, "I have never met anyone who entertained my antics quite like you have. You challenge me constantly with your fiery words and quips. This little dance of ours makes me a more humble, more loving man. Looking at you tonight, I realize that you are the woman who inspires me to surmount all obstacles. Will you make make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?" You were shocked, that was definitely not part of the script. Your face flushed at his kind words and he looked deep into your eyes.

"Oh yes, Renoir!" you whispered as tears fell from your eyes. He triumphantly picked you up, spinning you in his arms. He set you down and held your chin gently in his hand. He raised your face to his and placed a long kiss on your mouth. Your lips moved in sync as he held you tightly with his other arm. You were lost in each other, ignoring the full attention of the crowd. As you parted, the crowd loudly clapped at the spectacle. You took this moment to lean over to your new fiancé and whispered, "You went off script." He gently kissed your cheek and whispered back, "meant every word, Bell." Ghost returned to your side as older couples gathered, congratulating the "new couple." Your smile was genuine as you showed off the expensive ring, giddily detailing how your mothers would be so proud you bagged a good one.

You walked around the gallery more, now linking arms with Soap. You hadn't acknowledged the speech since your whisperings and went about downing numerous offered glasses of champagne. You made your way to a private gallery adored with more opulent paintings of historic love stories. Ghost positioned himself next to the security guard, allowing you both to sit on a bench and admire the artwork. After what seemed like forever, you in your tipsy state, broke the silence.

"My love, I appreciated your kind words. I never thought you felt that way about me," you said quietly, eyes trained on a depiction of. "Well El, you never gave me the chance. When we first met in France, I thought you disdained me," he replied, moving to hold your waist.

"I never disdained you, just ran away from my feelings," you whispered back. As you finished your sentence, he again placed his hand on your chin to lift your face. Just as you were about to kiss again, you heard through the comm, "Bell, Soap, we've been compromised. Gaz jammed their signals but security is heading to our location as we speak," Price said in a rushed tone.

Immediately, you feigned a dizzy spell as Ghost and the museum security guard rushed to help you. As they helped to carry you to a private room, you mumbled incoherently about how you were drunk on love. Once the security guard set you down, Soap shut the door and you discreetly injected the man with one of your toxins. As he lay on the velvet couch, Ghost replied to Gaz and Price that you were on the way.

Exiting the room, Ghost stopped a patrolling security guard and said, "There's a young woman in that room. Try not to disturb her, I believe she may have had one too many drinks and her father doesn't want a fiasco for the family."

With that, you made your way through the various guests, loudly whispering to your fiancé that you desperately wanted some alone time. No one questioned you as Ghost made his way to the stairwell and you both split into the elevator.

Descending to the ground floor, you could hear gunshots echoing through the elevator doors. As it opened, a guard yelled that you both shouldn't be down there before becoming distracted by another gunshot. You took this time to pull out another syringe and injected it into his neck.

"Nice work, Elaine," Soap said and armed himself with a hidden pistol from his suit pocket. Ghost joined you both soon after as you made your way to the other team's location. You three worked in unison as the boys provided a pleasant distraction with their gunfire. You were able to sneak you way and subdue the guards with your knife as they were distracted by the noise of falling bodies and shots fired. You finally made it to the room, notifying your presence with a coded series of knocks. Price heaved the door open as you noticed Gaz behind him, drive in hand but with a bleeding arm. You quickly tore the layers of fabric from your dress and provided a makeshift tourniquet.

"How are we getting out of here, Captain? They're gonna have this place on lockdown," Gaz asked. "There's a delivery area on this floor, we'll have to hurry," Ghost said and navigated you all through the winding corridors.

You finally snuck you way to the area but noticed 5 guards standing watch. "Gobshite, they must've already put this place on lockdown," Soap swore quietly. With the adrenaline rushing to your ears, you had an idea, "follow my lead, Renoir. Danger close, boys. Just listen for my signal" you whispered. You quickly took some blood from Gaz's leaking wound and applied it to your dress and ripped skirt. You rubbed your hands on Soap's pristine white shirt and pooled it around his stomach. You then motioned for him to cover his hands with Gaz's blood. "Thanks, mate," Soap whispered to Gaz and you quickly rushed into the large delivery room.

"Please help us!" you shrieked, you held on desperately to Ghost. "My fiancé and I were attacked by some crazed gunsman, I think he's been shot," you cried as the men rushed over to help. Your loud wailing and statements saying how you couldn't lose your love distracted them and allowed for you 5 to take them out. The minute you took one of the men closest to you out with your last syringe, you shrieked, "MY GOD, Kate's been shot!" That was the queue as the boys knew Laswell was nowhere near the museum. Soap quickly took out the two men trying to find the source of his bleeding while Price and Ghost handled the other two.

With the men down and the area cleared, you loaded into an armored van, presumably one that transported all the expensive art. With Price at the wheel, Ghost provided cover as you raced into the night.

Finally away from danger, you all breathed a sigh of relief. Gaz lay in the middle of Ghost and Price, tending to his wound while you and Soap lay in the back amongst the plastic wrappings of paintings.

"You were a great actress, lass. Who knew you had it in ya," Soap said as you sat next to him. You both were propped against the steel interior of the van, experiencing every bump Price hit. "You as well, that proposal was something else," you replied back. "Like I said in the gallery, Bell, I meant every word." With that, you finally were able to share your second kiss and Price smiled looking in the rearview mirror. "Be careful with that one Sgt, if you mess up she'll slip some ricin in your mouth." he joked as you and Soap rested against one another, you'd deal with the repercussions later.

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap mctavish #soap mctavish x you #mw2 #izzie is writing

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nixedsignals · 1 year

Text

confession // Captain John Price x reader

summary: a mission gone wrong leaves you in the hospital and Captain Price hasn’t come to see you yet.

warnings: descriptions of torture and injury. language. angsty, fluff at the end

a/n: tbh i just really wanted to write a Price thing <3

“It’s been a month, boss,” Gaz leans in the doorway of the hospital room, his voice pitched low. Next to him, John Price stands with his arms crossed, eyes never leaving your sleeping form under clean, white, hospital linen.

“I know that, sergeant,” he murmurs, glancing for a second at his subordinate before returning his gaze to you. “What’s your point?”

“She thinks you’re pissed, sir,” he pauses, seemingly considering his words before adding; “Are you?”

“Am I what? Pissed?” the captain turns his sapphire gaze on Kyle, who nods. “Yeah, I’m pissed. I’m fuckin’ furious. They could’ve killed her, an’ when I find ‘em-“

“She thinks you’re pissed *at her*,” Gaz clarifies, gesturing to you. “Sir.”

“Christ, ‘m not. How’d she get that into her head?” John returns his focus to you, watching you roll halfway under the covers before wincing and rolling back.

“Well you haven’t come to see her when she’s awake. For all she knows, you haven’t even been here,” John nods along with Kyle’s words. He’s right. A second passes before John speaks, voice almost completely absent of his typical commanding tone.

“I’ll stay, talk to her when she wakes up,” he claps a hand on Gaz’ shoulder, a tight smile on his face. “You should go home, get some rest.”

“Yes, sir. Be careful with her though. She’s been through it already,” Gaz casts a last look over you before nodding at the captain and taking his leave.

John sighs, quietly entering the room and sitting in a very nearly comfortable armchair next to your bed. He knew you deserved better than his last month of treatment. The memory of *that* day was fresher than he’d like to admit.

You’d been infiltrating an enemy base. It was supposed to be an easy op, in and out, low hostile count. Easy.

What a joke.

They’d set up on two buildings: Ghost and Soap on one, Price and Gaz on the other, ensuring overwatch cover. You had been sent into the bulding. Alone.

Christ, John wished he could take that order back.

At the time, it’d been a good move. The target building had open floorplans and cieling high windows. They should’ve had no issue covering you. Until you’d radio’d in:

“Cap, there’s a stairwell going down in the back corner of the first floor. Wasn’t in the floorplan,”

And you’d gone down.

The dead air time alone was enough to make the ever-stoic Captain John Price sweat in his fatigues. And after 20 minutes of incrimental “What’s your status?”-es, he finally received a response.

“Boss, I fucked up,” your voice was hushed over the comms and Price’s heart dropped.

“Status, sergeant?”

“This place is crawling. Fifty hostiles, maybe more. Entrance is blocked and there’s not another way out,”

“Find another way out, now. That’s an order,”

“Can’t. ‘m sorry. Gonna cut comms and strip my fatigues. They won’t know who sent me. Won’t give anything up. Promise,”

Before Price could stop you, the snap of the walkie cord and static filled his ears.

It took a week to get you back. They found you in a back room, ankle chained to the bars of the dog cage around you. Malnourished, dehydrated, sleep deprived.

It took everything he had to look at you long enough to recognize the muzzle flash burns on your temples and telltale scars running aross your chest and legs from cigarettes being put out against your skin.

Now, your muffled voice drags him from his thoughts. You look better, curled into the stark white sheets. Your cheeks are regaining their fullness and color, and the dark circles under your eyes have all but vanished.

Can still see the scars on your temples though. He shoves that thought away, willing his blood to a light simmer instead of the boiling rage that threatens to consume him.

“Sorry, what’d you say, kid?” His eyes find yours, now fully paying attention.

“Water, please?” you rasp, gesturing to the cup on the bedside table. He nods, grabbing the cup, gently pulling you into a half-sitting position and holding the straw to your lips.

You take a few sips, wincing a little before nodding, a gesture that your finished for now. John sets the cup down, eyes on your throat, brows furrowed.

“They waterboard you?” his voice is even. Clinical. He doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment that crosses your face, however.

“Yes,” you mumble, turning to face away from your superior. “Is that why you finally showed up? To get my report?”

“No, no it isn’t,” he closes his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. “I’m sorry, for not being by ‘til now.”

“S’fine. What are you gonna do now?” your voice grows softer and he can hear tears in the back of your throat.

“About what?”

“To punish me,”

John’s gaze snaps to yours, only just catching a tear on your cheek before you wipe it away.

“You—you think you’re in trouble?” he asks, voice dropping to a deadly low tone. You nod, face contorting at the motion for a brief second. John shakes his head. “Bloody hell, you’re not—I’m not mad at you.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me? I’ve been in here a month and I haven’t even seen you,” now your tears flow freely, streaking down your cheeks. “For the first week, I figured you had paperwork to do, but after a month? Even Ghost came by and you know how he is about going out.”

You curled your arms around yourself, bringing your knees up to your chin, sobs ripping from your chest in a hellish attempt to keep you from breathing evenly.

“I’m sorry, lo-“ he stops himself. He can’t say it, the ‘L’ word. Even as a nickname, it could open the floodgates.

“Tell me then,” you whisper, hiccuping through your tears. “Tell me the truth, why would you stay away like that?”

“Christ, I just-I couldn’t. It was too hard,” he drops his gaze the the floor, suddenly finding the linoleoum tile fascinating while waiting for your response.

“Hard? It was too hard? You don’t think it was hard for Soap or Ghost or Kyle? He’s been here every goddamn day!” your tears begin running down your cheeks, hot and fast as anger replaces sorrow. “You don’t think it was hard for me, sitting in this fucking room thinking that my captain was mad at me because I messed up our mission and lost the intel and got tied up and beaten and—“

“I know that, love,” John snaps, standing quickly and turning away. “I know that it’s been hard. And I know I should’ve come sooner. And you want the truth?”

You nod, eyes wide. John drops back into his seat, reaching out to brush some of the tears from your cheeks with calloused fingers.

“You almost died. You’re lucky you didn’t. An’ the whole time you were in surgery I knew that if I saw you, I’d say something stupid,”

“Why?”

“Because-Christ-because I love you. An’ I shouldn’t ‘cause I’m your captain. But I can’t lose you, knowing I never said it, hell. I’m sorry. For all of this. I’ll never bring it up again. An’ if you wanna put in for a transfer, I’ll approve it. Promise,” he slumps back in his seat, looking more defeated than you’ve ever seen him. His hardened outer shell has worn hundreds of missions and storms and losses, and this is what broke him?

You start to laugh, a small giggle, but it grows and John’s head snaps up. You look happier than you have in a while, even before the incident, and warm blue eyes widen in wonder at your sudden change.

“Say somethin’ funny, did I?” he grins, charming and a little bashful and it only makes you laugh harder. After a minute, the sound dies down, leaving you to ask for your water again, throat shredded from the rollercoaster of emotions.

“I’m sorry, just-didn’t expect you to say that,” you quietly start, hand venturing from under the blanket to find Price’s much larger one. “I, um, I love you. Sir.”

“Don’t-have to call me ‘sir’. Not when it’s just us,” then a pause, his eyes find yours and he lets out a slow breath.

“Will we get in trouble?” your voice trembles a little and John winces, knowing you might cry again.

“No, no, I’ll-I’ll talk to Kate, sort something out. Promise,” he gently moves his fingers tighter around yours, thumb brushing over you knuckles. You smile, brighter than the sun and he swears he gains ten years on his life everytime he sees it.

“Can you kiss me now then?” you ask breathlessly, and John laughs, standing and leaning forward. His lips gently press against yours. It’s chaste and soft and short, but it’s perfect.

-—————-———-—-

“They’ve been like that since I got here,” Kyle Garrick stands in the doorway to your hospital room, arms crossed. Soap is leaned against the opposite doorframe, while Ghost sits in a chair a few feet away.

“‘Bout time too, I swear they’ve been makin’ eyes at each other for ages,” Soap shakes his head, gesturing into the hospital room.

The topic of conversation there, you sleeping soundly in the haze of white linen around you, fingers holding the hand of their captain, who’s snoring at a truly ungodly volume from the chair beside your bed.

“Laswell, 10 o’clock,” Ghost mutters, glancing at Gaz.

“I say we let her try to wake up the captain. ‘Cause I’m not gonna,”

#captain john price #john price #call of duty #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #smx

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shirefantasies · 2 months

Note

Hello again! I have another request that came to me as I was submitting a different one. How do you think Thorin's or the LOTR companies would react to reader having a buzzcut. Especially for dwarves who pride themselves in long intricately done hair and braids. Would they think something bad must've happened to the reader for them to have short hair. Cue misunderstandings and fluff, with maybe hair petting(buzzcuts are super soft!) Hope this sounds interesting enough to do, have a good day again! :)

(I literally lied on my last post THIS is my last pre-op post by the 45 minutes left before my operation appointment)

Heck yeah friend I love this! I don’t quite have a buzzcut but my hair’s far shorter than the average lady’s & definitely so for a dwarf, so I wonder about this too 😁 hope you enjoy 🥰 Warnings: a little violence in one reaction, injury mention in another

Thorin’s Company When You Have a Buzzcut

Balin

“You’re causing quite a stir with everyone, you know that?” Giving a chuckle at Balin’s cheeky look, you lean forward with your chin upon your hand. “And why is that?” “At risk of offense,” the older dwarf answered, “they all want to know what happened to your hair.” “Yourself included,” you shot back with a grin, “or else you’d not be asking.” Taken aback, Balin stutters a bit. “Ah, well, I confess I am a bit curious, after all. Reminds me of when my brother first took all his off. What a stir over something so silly. Do what you like, I was just wondering if Dwalin was trying to get you all painted up too.” “Not yet,” your smile softens and you give him a wink, “but if he does you’ll be the first to know. Ahead of all the sensation.”

Dwalin

You start the conversation on this one, seeing that Dwalin is the other company member with little to no hair upon his head and considering it a bonding opportunity. “Well, I’ve got a reason,” he shoots back to your comment of similarity, arms crossed but expression teasing, “what’s yours? You need some tattoos up there at least.” “No thank you,” you tell him, “if I’m adding any tattoos it won’t be on top of my head! Feel how soft it is up here.” Dwalin looks at you, prompting you to take his hand and put it on top of your head, his eyebrows raising at the sensation. And perhaps because touching one’s hair is a much closer and more intimate thing for him than perhaps you realize. You are quite forward, aren’t you?

Thorin

Pays little mind to how you wear your hair…or lack thereof. In fact, by your appearance he gauges you to be a warrior of some kind, thus taking command of your actions in a fight and seeking proof of your prowess. Before your first encounter with a threat the king’s questions are more along the lines of “What is your weapon of choice?” and “From where in these lands do you hail?” The day the company fights a pack of orcs, you manage to take down more than Thorin expected and at one point, you even jump in front of Dori to parry before a potentially deadly strike takes him off guard. Rising from the struggle of battle, black blood splattered across your layers and even your shaven head, you feel a hand upon your shoulder. Thorin. "It can be hard for us to look beyond our own kin," he tells you, "but you have well proven yourself today. We may not always understand each other, but there is a beauty in that, too, I see."

Oin

Wincing despite your gratitude, you shifted in your seated position while Oin packed the poultice into the wound your side had suffered. "Don't worry, you'll go numb in a bit. If it stings, that is quite alright, that simply means you are getting clean again." Thanking him through heavy breaths, you watched as the dwarf reached a hand up toward your head, running a hand over the soft, shorn little bit of cover it had. "And this one's healing quite nicely, quite nicely indeed. Why, I cannot even see the scar!" The sting in your bloody side faded down a bit as you tilted your head to fix Oin right in the eyes. "What scar?" "Did they not have to sew up your head at some point? Figured that's why they shaved you down," he answered, finally removing his hand from your head. You giggled at that, regretted stretching yourself at a new, though much smaller, arc of pain. "No, my dear Oin, I am afraid the only thing my head has suffered is my typical madness," you teased, waving your hands mystically and grinning at the way the healer laughed.

Gloin

"Pardon me, my dear," your name rolled smoothly off Gloin's tongue as he shuffled forth, hands folded in front of him in the picture of innocence. Oh, this was going to be good. "Yes?" You indulged him, swiveling to give your full attention. The auburn-haired dwarf pointed to his head, his own flowing locks. "What happened t'yer hair?" Perhaps sheepishly, his voice suddenly quickened. Feeling your eyebrows involuntarily raise, you tilted your head- this was not exactly what you’d expected, after all. “I cut it,” you shrugged, “got tired of how it was before. Simply wanted a new beginning, you could say.” Gloin’s eyes never left yours. “So no accident?” “No.” “Ha!” The dwarf bellowed, waggling a hand at his brother and a small scattering of company members a ways back. “I was right! By choice! Now pay up and remember I told ya it was worth the risk!” Shaking your head, you playfully smack him on the shoulder. “I’d better get a cut from this, you ol’ scallywag!”

Bifur

Catching Bifur signing, you turn his way, seeing the motions he performs by his head. “Did you cut your hair yourself?” You realize he is asking. “No,” you sign back, “another did it for me.” “You must trust them a great deal.” Simple enough words signed and yet there is something in the way his eyes shine, the fond inquisition in his smile, that brings a little shock of joy to you. Barring royal dressings, it was far more common for one to do their own hair or entrust it to a loved one, and you could see intimacy in the act. It almost brought a pang of regret that it was just some small-town hairdresser that sheared it at your asking and payment. Your hands freeze for a moment as your eyes search Bifur before you finally sign a response. “I suppose. Perhaps if you ever want to do something different with your hair, I could help you, too.”

Bofur

A mix between caring and teasing, he offers you cover! “Your head looks cold. Need to borrow my hat?” Thinks he’s so funny he laughs at his own joke whether you roll your eyes or joke back. “But really, any particular reason you took it all off?” "It was uncomfortable having it long," you admit, "I was tired of it all being in my face." The way everyone spoke of dwarven culture, you half expect disapproval, but this is Bofur you speak of. Instead he nods acceptingly, smiling in that way that always has you feeling seen and reassured. "I understand that." "You do?" "Sure I do! Why do you think I keep mine braided out to the sides like this?" At that, you smile back. "Besides," he continues, "helps me see all the best sights. The trees, the flowers, that smile of yours..."

Bombur

“Singe all your hair off?” Bombur nods sagely despite the fact that he couldn’t be more wrong. “I’ve been there. Burned my beard leaning too far over the stove.” You can’t even correct him right away because you’re too busy laughing. Finally, though, you explain to him that your hair was simply so unhealthy it needed to start over. “Ah, I see, I see! Trying to take better care of it, then?” At that, you nod. He looks at you with new interest, eyes shining eagerly. “So what would you like to do with it next? I’ve got some things you might like to put in it, and I think it would look mighty nice if you wanted to try…”

Dori

"Sometimes I wish I could do that, too," Dori remarks one day, rolling blue eyes illuminated beneath the sun that peeked between the branches. Shifting carefully so as to not disturb your pony, you turned back to face him. "Do what?" "Cut all my hair off just to save some time in the morning!" He replied with a wave of a hand in your general direction. Chuckling, you gave a conceding nod. "I suppose you would gain back an hour, wouldn't you?" At that, it was Dori's turn to laugh. "But then again," you continued, "then you couldn't wear as many of those nice clips and cases. That is one thing I miss about having it all." Puffing up like a proud little bird, Dori smiled. "They are quite nice, aren't they? You know, if you ever get so bored you're tempted to let it all come back, I could make you some of your own."

Nori

Abrasive as it was, Nori's question found you in a way that raised such amusement you forgot to be upset with him entirely, instead simply falling back with a bark of laughter before you answered. "Looks like you're tryin' to hide your identity. You on the run from someone?" He continued musing, in fact, as you laughed. "Law somewhere? A scorned lover? Simply run off with something too valuable not to do that?" Finally, your voice returned. "All this because I've sheared my head down?" You burst out incredulously. "Ever consider," you gasped in mock-scandal, "I like it like this?" "Sure, but that's not exciting," Nori shot back with a smirk, "I like a good story." "Well," you crossed your arms, "perhaps I still have some of those, too."

Ori

Shuffling up to you was the youngest dwarf in the company, sweet Ori; Ori was one of the dwarves who accepted outsiders most readily, and you spent plenty of time at his side watching his drawings and records come to life. That day, though, what was in his hand was not his book, rather a bundle of fabric. "I made this for you." Eyes widening, you extend your hands to accept the soft knitting, peering back at Ori. "I thought your head must get cold," he explained his craft as you unfolded it, revealing a thick, sturdy cap you immediately began pulling onto your head, "does it fit?" Yarn hugging your head perfectly, you nodded. "It's just my size. Thank you." Before he could speak again, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. "This is the kindest thing anyone has done for me in some time. Thank you."

Fili

“One of my braids came undone. Kili?” The younger Durin prince seemingly did not hear the request for his presence, so you stepped forward. “I can help.” Goggling at you, Fili posed a question. “Do you even know how?” Hand falling to your hip, you shot him a look. “Though I may not possess them myself, I am quite capable of doing them up.” The golden-haired dwarf looked sheepish, a bit of the mischief fading from his blue eyes. “Suppose I assumed you didn’t much enjoy doing them either,” he told you with a nod toward your head. “Well,” a teasing smile drifted across your face, “I certainly would…unless you are scared.” You were no fool. You knew how the Durins were with challenges. And if you remembered correctly, you knew how dwarves were with braids…

Kili

He cares some of the least out of the dwarves being the least traditionally presenting himself. He’s sort of the type to be a little attracted to everyone, enjoying the unique traits of all types of people. You still cannot help being a bit surprised when he flirts with you, though, not expecting someone with a cut like yours to catch his eye or draw his teasing. “Not one for a courting braid, I see? No one worthy of putting one on you, no doubt.” For all his jesting questions, he never actually demands an answer, though. Instead he simply launches into a story about a haircut prank he pulled with his older brother once to keep light conversation flowing. “Well, by the end of it our uncle looked quite like you! Except he didn’t pull it off half as well.”

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins | Let me know if you'd like to join!

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mmkin · 4 months

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Shark Bait - Arlong x Reader

Arlong x Fish/Human Hybrid AFAB Reader

Content Warning – This is a darker story than my other Arlong Pirates related work (and has no connection to said works, consider this my dark Arlong AU) and was inspired from a prompt/headcanons from @sheisabitchbicth here on Tumblr and contains elements of yandere, dubcon, and noncon. (and yes, this work is 18+/NSFW!)

If no likey, there’s the Back button. I have other OP stories or other works that may be more your taste.

If you like this kind of thing though, then read on. I’ve been wanting to do something dark for a bit, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so, so have fun with this guilty pleasure project of mine :) All feedback is very much appreciated. (Update - the story is now available to read on my AO3. The story will be updated here and there, follow where you wish. Enjoy!)

Shark Bait - Part 1

You had never met another fishperson in your life until Arlong’s crew came across you. Your parents were slaves who had escaped together, using their combined skills to make their way out. From what your mother told you, they became friends while they were slaves, and after their escape they were lovers for a while. Eventually, they parted, though on amicable terms. Your mother never told your father that she was pregnant, though.

She did not want to return to her family or native land, though. So she found an island that seemed out of the way, and settled there. People felt bad for her for being a former slave, so when you were born, they looked in the other direction, so you for the most part led a quiet life. Your father’s heritage gave you the ability to breathe underwater, so you would go fishing, or search for various items that would augment your mother’s meager income. Sometimes you might help out neighbors in a similar manner, so even though you were half fishwoman, you found some acceptance in your community.

By the time you were in your late teens, you were used to most people not noticing your gills, or the color of your skin. You stayed out of trouble and often out of sight. If you dressed appropriately and wore a large hat or hood, you could escape the notice of Marines who touched upon your island during their trips. It was a quiet life. Were you happy? Sometimes you were not sure. As you’d gotten older, you wanted to know more about your father’s people, and there was only so much your mother could tell you.

So one day, you’re out swimming, and looking for treasures that you can bring home. Since you’ve pretty much picked clean the areas closest to the island, you’ve had to venture out further, which hey, it’s great swimming practice. You feel at peace in the sea, feeling it move through your lungs as you move through the water. You know there are fish- and merfolk and Sea Kings and beasts out there, but at the moment it’s easy to imagine that you are alone in this world. You drift past the coral, admiring it.

Suddenly, you see movement out of the corner of your eye and turn around to see what you are almost certain is another person darting off in the murky distance, if it’s not a large fish. A few of the people on the island dive, but you know that none can dive this far or deep. So maybe it’s a big fish that would probably be a welcome meal for your mother. You’re debating whether you should go after it before a shadow passes overhead, and you look up, wondering if it’s another fish, when in shock you realize it’s a ship. You were so absorbed in your work that you’d failed to notice the coming of a ship, nor did you expect one as the Marines did not come by often. You drift towards the hulking dark shape before something much, much closer swoops down in front of you, close enough that you feel the water displacement against your body as he fills the space.

You see clear blue eyes and the longest nose you’ve ever seen, and there is a grin full of the sharpest teeth you’ve ever seen or even imagined. A short shriek bursts from your throat before a wave of lightheadedness overcomes you.

The next moments are a haze as you try to fight passing out. You are pulled to a strong chest before you are dragged to the surface, a red sun filling much of your vision as you stare dumbly at the chest of the person who’s taken you. You gasp softly as the two of you break the surface of the water, and your limbs hang limp as you’re hauled onto a ship that is most decidedly not a Marine ship. Or even a merchant ship, from the looks of it.

As your head lolls back, you get another look at the face of your captor. No, you didn’t imagine that serrated nose, or the mouth full of sharp teeth, and you start to panic, finding your strength and starting to push against him.

“Oh, we have a feisty one here,” Sawnose chortles, letting you go for but a moment before he grabs your wrists in his large hand, hoisting your hands above your head, leaving you helpless under his scrutiny, and he is not the only one staring.

“Let me go!” you cry, trying to kick him as other men surround you, with a variety of skin colors, some of them having fins, or other fishlike features, in a wide assortment. One thing they all have in common – and you do with them – are their gills. If you were not so frightened and anxious, you might be reveling in the fact that you’re finally meeting other fishmen for the first time in your life.

You are lifted off your feet, and can not help but feel like a hooked fish that is being held up by a fisherman for inspection or display. You try a few more kicks, but Sawnose is incredibly tall and his arm is long enough to keep you at just enough distance to keep you from any effective kick. He laughs as your feet graze his upper legs and stomach.

Your next instinct is to curl up as you see the hungry gazes that are fixed on your damp and near-nude form. You’ve found that diving is more comfortable the less clothes you wear, so you’re in a tank top and briefs, which both cling to you, your net bag hanging empty at your side. The way you’re being handled makes you wonder if these fishmen might try to sell you into slavery. You know your mother will worry about that if you do not come home.

“So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” Sawnose asks with an amused tone. You try to be silent, but he snarls at you, and it’s obvious he could cause serious injury, so you have no choice but to answer his question, and any other that he wants to ask you. You confirm that you are indeed the child of a fishperson. When asked what that parent’s name was, you utter it, and his eyes widen.

You are dropped to the deck, wincing as you land on the bare wood. It is then that you learn that your father was once a crewmate of the man who’d just kidnapped you. For a moment you feel your heart leap up in your throat. Will you have the chance to meet him? But your heart plummets to the pit of your stomach when you learn he’s been dead for years. You start crying, and surprisingly, Sawnose kneels next to you, stroking your hair.

“I want to go home,” you plead.

“Silly girl. You are home,” he asserts as you give him a confused stare. He informs you that since you are the offspring of someone from his crew, it means you belong to the crew, and to its captain above all else. So… this means you’re not going to be sold into slavery? You’re just going to be conscripted into a pirate crew?

Fuck. Your mind races as you wonder how you can find your way out of this predicament. Because this can not fucking happen to you. Just because your father was a pirate… a father you’ve never met, who’d never even held you in his arms after you were born. What cruel fate has wrought this?

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” you manage to inquire as you rise to your feet, crossing your arms to maintain as much modesty as you can. It’s one thing to dive near-naked, when there is no one else around to impede on your enjoyment of the sea, and another to be ogled at by so many eyes. When’s the last time these men saw a woman?

Sawnose laughs, and introduces himself and his crew. He is the mighty captain Arlong the Saw, leader of the Arlong Pirates, and Lord of the East Blue. Your island is his next target in the expansion of his territory, and his men have been scouting around it for a couple of days, staying out of sight. You are an unexpected – but not unwelcome, Arlong assures you – find. Since you’re now part of the crew, you will be spared the tribute that Arlong and his crew are going to extract from the island.

Your thoughts fly to your mother. As a single mother, your mother never had much money. Usually there was food in your belly, and always a roof over your head. Your mother occasionally managed to scrape together enough money for a treat, for what was life without small enjoyments, she would say. You knew she had a bit of money squirreled away for medicine or doctors, and to your dismay, you remember how she has needed more of these in the last couple of years. How will she be able to afford all that on top of Arlong’s tribute, especially if you’re not there to help her?

As Arlong’s words sink in, and the reality of what your mother and the rest of the village faces, you feel light-headed again. Since you were a child, you would get an attack like this rarely, usually after being dealt with an emotional blow.

And this isn’t just an emotional blow. It’s a fucking emotional sucker-punch, and you actually pass out.

Someone is stroking your forehead and hair, and for a moment, you think it’s your mother tending to you. But you’re not in a bed, you’re… on someone’s lap, and your head and neck is on top of what you’re pretty sure is an arm. You hear conversation going on around you, footsteps bustling about, commands being given as the island comes into sight. A quiet whine escapes your throat as you struggle to gain consciousness.

“Looks like the little clownfish is coming awake,” you hear someone chuckle. You would come to hate being called that, for your captor uses it when he thinks you are being silly or stupid.

Who is calling you that, you wonder, and it all comes crashing upon you. Arlong. Arlong the Saw. Who just claimed you for himself and his crew. Who just told you the ultimate fate of your father. And who will terrorize your island and collect tribute from villagers who only want to live a quiet life. You try to bat away the hand that’s touching you, and suddenly find your wrist ensconced in the iron grip of the hand you just tried to defend yourself from.

“Now, now, there will be none of that,” you hear him chide, and you open your eyes, seeing these bright blue eyes and that impressive nose hovering over your face. Your first instinct is to scoot back but the arm that had been supporting you now holds you in his lap in an iron grip. It’s hard to not feel vulnerable pressed up against this impressive specimen of a fishman. And as your gaze darts around, you realize that the other fishmen are pretty tall too. Taller than even the tallest man in your village.

Now you really do feel like a little clownfish, surrounded by all sorts of predatory sea creatures.

#yandere #arlong #arlong pirates #one piece #arlong x reader #opla #opla x reader #one piece x reader #writing #fanfiction #arlong/reader #sharks are sexy #arlong the saw

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mayullla · 2 years

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Title: Virtual World Genshin

Character(s): Multiple Characters (Genshin Impact)

Summary: Sagau; Placing a device on your head, you lay down on your bed and entered a virtual world. Hanging out with npcs and teaming up with them to fight your missions or theirs. Well, maybe you were wrong about them being npcs?

Note: This is inspired by sword art online kinda? I thought of VR at first but I could not really make it interesting enough for myself to write then I thought the chars in sword art online got trapped in a virtual world...

Warnings/tags: Gn!reader, yandere themes, cultish, sagau, kidnapping (technically? you will be taken from your world), can be seen as platonic or romantic but the kids (Diona, Klee, Qiqi) are just platonic and nothing more.

Genshin is an interesting game, you thought to yourself yet whined when you remembered how much money you spend on this one game. It was expensive.

Placing the headset on your head, you lay down on your bed and logged into the game.

You felt like you were floating on air as you watched the world load in, first the terrain letting you stand on it, then the trees and buildings far and near that looked far too realistic sometimes when you watched all the small details load in.

The smell of glazelilies and delicious food and the sound of crowds, people talking to each other you can hear them as they talk about their day or how they try to haggle the price down in the shops.

"Ahh, you are back! How are you? Gouba missed you!" Xinagling smiled at you when you entered the restaurant, the smell of spice and the heat radiating of the stove... too real.

"Hey, Xiangling."

The game is simple enough more often than not you are just helping the traveler of your choosing either Lumine or Aether find their other sibling. (The sibling that you didn't choose.) You were like Paimon in a way, that you would be in their life when they need you.

How you would see a notification screen suddenly pop right in front of your face telling you to help the traveler and Paimon in their own missions. The archon quest and all but unlike Paimon you can leave the team whenever you want.

Able to roam free and do whatever you want. This was your own world and your world alone.

The game had co-op too, sending you to another world specific for that (always crowded with people) but when it came to your own world it was you and the npcs only.

You are just you here with the weapon and element you picked at the beginning of the game. Unable to change too much of your features except for the color of your hair or maybe a few tattoos.

Instead of the traveler who too focused on finding their other half, you have dailies and resin for yourself. Building your weapons, artifacts, talents and such. (gifts for the npcs is also another things that you often spent your mora on)

The daily missions are a mix, some designed so that you could do them by yourself while the other which usually involves a lot of fighting would involve asking certain characters to help you out.

It was fun really when you got Kaeya and Diluc who you met at the angel share to go with you to clear out the hilichurl camp.

"Oh, it seems that you have gotten a lot stronger than before Diluc. Could it be because of our lovely little traveler here?"

"Hmph."

Or maybe helping out Yoimiya and Thoma in protecting the hot air balloon goods from monsters.

"Thoma! Get that box that fell off from the ballon! Me and ____ will deal with the hilichurls!"

"On it, Yoimiya!"

Cleaning the anemo archon statues with Barbara or Venti is also fun.

But really the best is the Archon quests or World quests, this one is more specific when it comes to teaming with others. Sometimes would team up with one character only, sometimes with three but not over. The four of you work hard together to figure out puzzles, travel new terrain, steal or help others.

The more personal missions are usually nerve-racking more often than not seeing others' lives play out for a certain character and whatnot. And all you can do is be by their side.

You will morn with those characters their lost, you help them find what they are searching for, overjoyed when the other is happy. You are particularly close with the traveler seeing as they are the main characters in the story.

But in the end, this was just but a game, this isn't reality but a dream, virtual reality, and when you wake up from it you have to face reality.

It is hard at times when you have to log out when you were talking to one of the many characters. Telling them that you gotta turn in for the day, and that you need sleep. Them just smiling as the two of you say goodbye.

They never understood that this was a game you thought, after all you watched others play the game managing to get a video telling a character that they were nothing more than a game, codes and pixels.

Yet the characters never acknowledge that they were, looking at the player funnily as if they were just joking around or have gone crazy.

Walking around the game one time you wondered how the devs were able to make such a beautiful game. Again everything all looked so realistic the characters' emotions, thoughts, troubles and all that you just can't believe this was a dream or even a digital world!

When you got hit in-game you could feel the pain the hilichurl gave you, it was a little less painful than real life but the fact that you could feel surprised you the first time you got hit. What's more when you watched other characters get a heavy hit... you wondered if they too feel pain, when you watched Diona too panic to use her burst to heal Rosaria who was on the grass... hurt.

When you rested in the grass you could feel the pointy tips of it lightly tickling you and when you ate their food, everything tasted delicious, did they too also taste how delicious the food was? Sometimes you wished to believe so when they ate with you complimenting the food that you cook at camp that day.

The kind npcs who greeted you as a hero or sidekick with the traveler you knew why many in your world fall so far into the game wanting this world to be their reality far more than their own. Yet you could not help to also cherish this a little sometimes.

Sometimes.

You would be the same, but you understood that this was a dream and that this wasn't real but all just a game. Because in the end when you wake up the pain you felt in-game from getting hit by an arrow was suddenly gone, and the food that you ate with the characters did not fill your stomach. It is small things like that bring you back to reality and help you understand that all this was just a game.

Sometimes it is hard sometimes it is not but you learn how to separate reality vs game here.

How disappointing.

It was often when Yunjin and Xinyan would try to invite you to a show or two. Asking you to stay for a while longer when you have to leave soon.

"You must see this amazing show of ours! Yunjin helped me so much with this new song, you just gotta listen."

"Could you just stay for an hour, please?"

How the children would give you those pitiful eyes that made your heart pull when they ask you to play a little more.

"Klee wanted to play with you a little more... Are you sure you won't play with me anymore?"

"Qiqi wanted to watch the flinches with you..."

"I wanted to show you this new drink... not that I made it just for you... but it would be nice... hmph."

You thought that maybe it was because you are someone who played a hero that they adore you so much. Because of all the missions, they thought of you as a close friend.

It was nice when you, Diluc, Kaeya and Roasaria are together having a bit of banter whenever you got to the angel's share.

"You should drink a little more, it would only be a waste after coming all this way."

"They would like grape juice more, Kaeya. Too much drinking is also bad for you."

"Leave them alone you two."

Ninguang would tell you about her plans, never in full detail, but every so often she would slip a thing or two to you all the while Beidou and Kazuha would barge into the jade chamber (mostly Beidou) to play with you and Ninguang.

"So that is what I was planni-"

"Yo! I heard that you guys were together so I thought of dropping to the jade chamber to say hello!"

"Seriously Beidou, have a little sense."

Zhongli would often tell you stories of his own. Suspiciously stories that the internet never heard about when you look it up, made you wonder if there were hidden missions that you by mistake completed. Those stories are often the reason why you stay in-game a little longer, just to hear everything because you weren't sure you will be hearing them again.

"Have I told you about this?"

Childe would drag you together with him, telling you that you and he were comrades and that you and he must stick together!

"Since you are my comrade, you better watch my back alright."

Ayato and Ayaka would often invite you to the Kamisato home telling you that you stay for a while.

"You haven't been to the Kamisato home for a while, Ayaka misses you. Come and rest there for today."

"Ah! You are here, I am so glad to see you again."

Somehow just somehow Itto gets into more fights and trouble than necessary or even normal when you are around that you must stay a little longer to help Kuki Shinobu fix things up.

"Thanks without you I am not sure what to do with this guy and his group sometimes."

"Oh come on Shinobu! You love me, and so do you!"

When did this start?

There was always something that made you stay a little longer, there was always someone accompanying you where ever you go.

Sometimes you wondered if it was timed... you remembered that when you first started playing the game you were mostly alone if not with the traveler and Paimon searching and fighting monsters alone for their loot, finding beautiful sceneries as you traveled and marking them off your map.

Now you don't even have that moment of silence, as someone is always there with you. Don't get it wrong... you liked being with them, they are your friends in some form of way... complicated... and you would never say no when all they wish was a little bit of your time but also fight alongside you.

But you can't shake that feeling that when you look at their smiles there was a hint of desperation. That they were just clinging to you as if you are just going to disappear at a moment's notice.

When you promised Albedo, Ei and more characters that you will come back after taking a small break for yourself, some alone time. How they hold your hand or arm so tightly as if afraid only to reluctantly release them, smiling as they said goodbye.

You will come back...

What were you supposed to do when suddenly you aren't able to log out of the game.

That your body was stuck unable to wake up, as you tried and tried to leave. When you begged the system to let you out yet there was no answer, no notification just errors and errors which every button you picked to get out.

You didn't see them come close, surprising you when you suddenly heard their voice asking you if you were okay. Their words of worry you didn't trust when you saw the satisfaction in their eyes, the hesitance in them gone as they bring you into a hug clinging to you telling you that it was alright.

You belong to their world.

#genshin #genshin impact #sagau #genshin sagau #self aware au #genshin cult au #genshin yandere #tw yandere #platonic yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin self aware #genshin x you #childe #kaeya #diluc

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whatthebodygraspsnot · 3 months

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#me going ‘hot new neighbor older ian and smitten flirty mickey / is that anything’ and just thinking about it a lot -> 🤲 right here pls

oh boy cross. oh boy cross.

(age difference - 22/32)

mickey and mandy live together and are really close to the handful of neighbors on their street (all ages/personalities/occupations). like they've formed this family and spend a lot of time together. it's so normal for them to eat dinner together during the week that they have a rotation on who hosts and cooks. lil commune, almost.

this new guy moves into the empty house next to mickey and mandy and everyone's kinda ehhh about it until they start introducing themselves one by one. mandy gets a call from Joan two houses down and is on for a LONG time. when she gets off and comes into the living room it's with some scalding gossip for mickey. the new neighbor is apparently a total dreamboat and the kindest mf on the planet and mandy declares that she's going over to welcome him IMMEDIATELY.

when she comes back she is BUZZING with how charming and funny and down to earth this guy is and mickey is all uh huh...yup...etc. because surely this is just female hysteria (mickey you can't say that). but then he actually meets ian. idk how. idk when. running into him coming home from work? idk. and like.......wow, god damn the ladies were not kidding. dude may have a decade on him but he's all built and strong and has a beard and glasses and possibly worst of all, he's very nice. very charming. but all the fawning behind the scenes is really getting on mickey's nerves, so it kind of taints it a little.

yada yada yada oh my god ian is coming to dinner. Joan has invited him into their little circle. it goes really well and everyone gets along really good and mickey's just sitting there wondering how one man can look so impossibly hot while sheepishly dodging stray compliments. eventually theyre cleaning up and it's somehow just mickey and ian and it's nice. it's really comfortable. ian is really cool and has good advice from that extra decade.

time jump. lots of dinners and hanging out with the group. one night mickey hits up his other gay friend and they secretly go to the gay bar a little past the city limit. mickey's still in the closet, even to mandy, so he needs these nights to just like...exist. him and the friend are getting drunk as fuck. mickey is laughing and goes to wobble his way to the bathroom and accidentally runs into this tall dude who turns around and ope! guess who it is! uh oh! but is it uh oh? because mickey may be getting outted, but ian's also here for the same reason. and they're kinda just standing there for a second, their smiles falling and their brains turning with this new information, and then ian gets pulled back along track by someone.

next dinner. everyone is very normal and fine but ian and mickey are chomping at the bit. when dinner's over, mickey practically drags ian into another room and goes through the whole "you can't tell anybody, alright? nobody knows" song and dance. and ian is like "yeah no of course not. and i hope that would extend to me too." and they make a pact that this knowledge will stay between them.

which is very easy. except for the fact that mickey comes to the realization that oh fuck, they are compatible. oh fuck, he really likes ian as a person. oh fuck, he knows there's that decade between them but he would drop to his knees for him in a heartbeat if ian asked him to. which he doesn't. and doesn't. and doesn't. but mickey's getting more and more attracted to him and actually, the whole beard/glasses/life experience thing is really fucking hot to him.

so he starts trying to flirt. starts laying the groundwork. mowing the lawn with his shirt off. asking ian if he wants to work out in the garage together. keeping his bedroom light on while he undresses in front of the window. he even opens it one night when he sees ian's window open too and lets just say...puts on a show, not truly knowing if ian can hear him, but hoping so.

idk how it ends. idk how far it goes. all i know is ian is Very cognizant of the age difference and makes great strides to keep everything at an arm's length. SEXUAL TENSION (bass boosted). but mickey is mickey. and mickey has a lot of fun trying to get ian to fuck him.

#i didnt look this over even once so i hope it's comprehensible #asks

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your-space-brain · 8 months

Text

Would You Say I’m Worthy?

Harry “Opie” Winston x Reader - One Shot

Gif does not belong to me.

Hey guys! It’s Blaire from @spacedbrainnn . Just moving my writing onto a main blog!

You were head over heels for the man and there was no stopping it. He was all brooding, troubled and mysterious and you could do nothing to stop yourself from the head first dive that you’d taken since you met him.

He hardly spoke, but he left you notes here and there. You’d been assisting SAMCRO for the longest time since Chucky arrived, who was a good friend of yours, and you’d caught one another’s eye. After that, it was subtle glances and a smile here or there, or even a wink if you were lucky.

‘Have a good day.’

‘Here’s a shitty daisy like flower.’

‘I hate the color of this sticky note.’

‘How’s our two fingered friend doing?��

‘I’m keeping this pen.’

Those intimate sticky note letters were barely legible and hardly anything to scoff at. What he thought was just a running joke, you enjoyed, and kept each one in a little container beneath the bar top. He didn’t know the effect he had on you, or anyone for that matter, since he lost both Donna and his kids.

“What’s it say today?” Chucky was the first one to ask as he began to wipe down the top of the deep mahogany bartop.

“‘What’s the sky look like from your end?’” You read to Chucky with a little laugh. “He asks me these questions but doesn’t give me a place to reply to them at.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want you to.” Chucky offered as he shrugged, getting back to work on making the bartop shiny and clean.

“How would you put it? ‘I accept that’?” You teased, earning a smile out of the chipper, barely fingered man.

A roar of bikes signaled that some of SAMCRO’s finest had returned, making both Chucky and you raise your heads slightly to peer through the window.

Opie was trailing Jax and Bobby as they pulled up, his long hair flicking beneath his helmet as he pulled into the drive. He stopped a bit after his parking space and backed it in, before hitting the kill switch and discarding his helmet on the handle bars.

He didn’t speak when he came in, all leather and hair being smoothed out below silver ring clad fingers. “Hey darlin’.” Jax greeted as she threw him a wave, ignoring his charm, but Opie didn’t stay long and disappeared down the hallway.

“He doesn’t speak too much, does he?” You asked Jax, and he shook his head.

“Nah, not too much. It’s been a while since he spoke freely.”

—

Every Friday night was a Crow Eater party. It was a time when you would come for a while, before things got too terribly wound up, and then you would leave. You were sipping a beer, leaned on the bar, looking around but there was a pair of familiar eyes missing.

“Where’s Ope?” You asked Chucky, who shrugged.

When you didn’t get a reply, you handed the amber bottle over to Chucky for safe keeping before you wandered off down the hall to see if he was in his dorm.

Lo and behold, through a crack in his dorm door, he was kicked back in bed, still fully clothed minus his boots, an arm over his eyes with only the lamplight on. He looked peaceful, until you disrupted that by lightly knocking with one knuckle.

“Come in.” It was a slurred mumble as his eyes finally opened again. They were dark and swirling as you stepped into the meticulously neat room, the only thing out of place being a couple of motorcycle parts out on the desk.

“Hey, not joining the party?” You asked as you came to sit in his wooden desk chair.

“Nah. Not my scene.” He replied as he grunted, moving to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and sit up, his back popping while his muscles protested wickedly.

“Oh, that’s fair.” He nodded as you said it, having been half asleep, but he just yawned quietly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

He wasn’t prepared for what you were going to ask him next. “Why don’t you ever give me a chance to reply to your notes?” The man, for once, looked absolutely dumbfounded. He ran a hand over his beard as he thought about a reply, before clearing his tatted throat.

“I guess… I didn’t think you’d want to.”

This shocked you. Your brows knit for a moment as he calculatedly watched him, a frown on your lips. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

Several reasons popped in the burdened man’s head. He was a killer, he lost everything he loved to this club and if he let you in, you were pretty much signing your own death warrant to Mr. Mayhem. You were putting a black listed card in your own hands.

Finally, he gave a heavy sigh and replied, his eyes dropping to his socked feet. “If I let you in, you very well could be ending your life by picking me.”

This caused you to recoil a bit. “So you’re not even giving me a choice?” You asked him.

“No. I’m not worth anyone getting themselves killed or hurt.”

He seemed so cut and dry with this response, as if this was already made up in his head, as if he didn’t want to risk being the sole reason another life dropped for loving him. He already beat himself down to know he wasn’t worthy.

“You don’t get to make that choice. You don’t… get to pick what’s best for me.” You told him with a shake of your head. “Why can’t you let me try?”

The words were stuck in Opie’s throat as you reached out and caressed his beard. He swallowed carefully, before he pressed his lips to your palm.

“I can’t make your decisions for you. I can only advise you that this might not be best.” He murmured, before you made him look you in the eyes.

“I’m picking you.”

— end —

#Harry Opie Winston #Opie Winston #Opie #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagines #Opie x reader #soa #Ryan hurst #your-space-brain

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starflungwaddledee · 2 months

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do you have any tips for leaving compliments on other people's art ?? your tags are always so well phrased !

oooo oooooooooooooo uuhhhhhhhh hmmm!

firstly, thank you!! i'm rather glad to hear that! i try quite hard to leave meaningful comments so it's nice when folks notice or appreciate it!

outside of commenting on the work, i first consider the tone of what i'm saying and who i'm saying it to.

i always try to make sure that what i'm saying will be appreciated by the person! that's the point. for the most part i leave comments to bring joy to the op, and thank them for their hard work, for being here and sharing art that made me happy! if i'm speaking to a mutual or friend, there's gonna be inside jokes and probably an amount of casual yelling. possibly even a little friendly roast, if i know them well enough. if i'm speaking with someone i don't know as well i try to keep it a little more professional, but i keep in mind that this is a fandom so an amount of yelling and screaming is expected. i tend to think about what i would like from someone else.

also if i notice that a caption or a blogs about is not in english i double check. if english is not the first language of the artist i make sure to construct tags that are easily translated and i use only and exclusively positive phrases. saying things like "delete this!!!! /pos" or "eating my own hands" can be totally lost in translation. i also keep in mind the age of the OP. don't tag as though you're Looking Disrespectfully at the art of a minor, even if that's your favourite blorbo.

as for how to comment on art or storytelling itself, this is indeed a learned skill, and it can be helped by training your eye to understand different things in artwork. but it's easy to start practicing! this is intuitive to me now, but an easy way to begin is to pick out one or two things that really stand out to you on a piece. (examples could be line quality; is it smooth? neat? textured? full of emotion?, shading: is it crisp? atmospheric? realistically rendered?, or colour choice: is it vibrant? is it moody? is it perfectly on model?) and draw attention to them and how the artist successfully used them to make the piece work.

if the piece includes design-work, pick something of that which you like as well. (clothes, colour choices, abilities, parallels to other characters, totally new or unique concepts that you haven't seen before. if you see your favourite colour combos or notions, let them know, but if it's a stranger remember they made the design for themselves, and you just share (good) tastes!) if you really want to make an artist/designer/storyteller's day, try to find the Little Thing that they've snuck into their art or design that ties into the story or lore that they are telling. even guesses to this end tend to be appreciated!

generally useful things you can also comment on are how well an artist has utilised a medium for its strengths, especially if the medium is a little unusual. if someone @'d me in particular i make sure to acknowledge that too because they probably read me for something and i should acknowledge the effort!

another thing i also always, always encourage, is to try to periodically share and comment on the work of people who are either less experienced or who have less visibility than you. especially if you have more of a platform! if you want to keep your blog clean of too many reblogs for aesthetic or professional reasons you can even go through and remove them later, but sharing the work of smaller accounts- even temporarily- makes such a huge difference! and encouraging + supporting younger or beginner artists is something we should be endeavouring to do as much as possible!

at the end of the day, i always just try to be very earnest in my tags.

there is generally no reason to withhold any praises i can think of, because it's usually nice to have your work perceived and appreciated! i personally loooovvve long rambling tags, screaming tags, stuff like "AAHH NOOOOOOO (THE BLORBO)" and so on. i try to leave the kind of thoughtful comments that i like (and am lucky enough) to receive, and i try to share artwork from a wide variety of people!

#asks #it's something you can get better at with practice and with training your eye to see Little Things in artwork #at understanding the components that an artwork is made up of; and picking the bits that are actually Popping Out to you in the moment!#i hope this helps?? it just takes a bit of Time. moreso than just hitting the reblog button! so i understand why not everyone can do it #i tend to shove stuff into my drafts for weeks/months and will go through and add tags when i have some downtime.#but all my stuff is also queued for the most part.#also if i ever tag something an OP is uncomfortable with; i am trusting they would reach out to me!!#sorry to all the folks who's pictures of galacta knight i have reblogged just going like UHHHHHHH because my brain short circuited #starflungs personal tag #<- sorta?

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