#to convince themselves that this is what they really want. that they chose this. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ccrites · 27 days

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chokehold

listen, I've had this idea in my wips for a while (since the begnining of the year actually) and the fat reader worms have been wiggling in third gear with all the awesome stuff early ( @391780 ) has been putting out lately. So have 6.4k words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him

(also on ao3 if you prefer the formatting there, or if you want to drop a kudo)

The second the doors swing back closed behind you, you start feeling the scratchy feeling of doubt at the back of your throat.

It was predictable, really.

A small gym in a small town, heads turn when the hinges creak, not because they’re staring at you specifically, but because it’s a reflex.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to keep the scratchy feeling from turning sour in your mouth. Or make you throw up from embarrassment.

Perhaps your New Year’s resolution should’ve been to start on a home gym type of situation. Buy yourself some girly weights, a mat, and some sort of stepping device, and do those easy exercises every slim, pretty, high-ponytailed YouTube instructor seemed to preconize people out of shape do. Like a hamster on a wheel inside their cage. A rat chasing its own tail, maybe.

No, you promised yourself no more fake promises. Perhaps the money spent on the gym membership (stupid fucking New Year’s promotion) would motivate you to use it, lest it’s just money down the drain.

You wore the stretchiest, thickest pair of black leggings you owned, hoping no one would see the terrible shape of your underwear through it. On the opposite spectrum of things, you knew the largest hoodie you owned would smother you and make you boil with sweat, so you chose the next best thing: the widest black t-shirt you owned. It was definitely not black enough, the dye faded into a dark gray from use over the years, but it was the only thing that camouflaged your body enough from the others’ sight. God forbid they imagine what your body actually looks like underneath.

The heads pretty quickly turned back around as you started walking towards the empty treadmills. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but the combined weight of at least a dozen pairs of scrutinizing eyes would’ve been enough to make you turn on your heels and back to your car, fuck the membership price.

At the very least, you could convince yourself that walking in place (no better than a hamster on its wheel but oh well) would be enough to get you started. Baby steps, and all.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize the treadmill fucking sucks. Why would anyone suggest looking at a parking lot while suffering instead of the pretty scenery of a park or forest (while also suffering, but still).

The timer you’d set for the warm-up (ten minutes, just like the pretty blonde coach suggested!) crawls by way too slowly for your taste. You’d be all but whooping with joy when it beeps if you weren’t so out of breath and conscious of a gaze on you.

You’d seen him as soon as you walked in.

Between figures of balding men trying to get rid of their beer gut with abs, two thin women whispering to themselves in a corner while trying to look inconspicuous, and a few other, completely average-looking men and women, there he stands, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he deadlifts an impressive amount of black plates.

He immediately looks straight ahead, correcting his stance, as if there were anything to be corrected, in your unathletic opinion. The muscles in his arms bulge even through the thin, grey hoodie, and the ones in his legs coil tight as the weight is lifted off the ground in a slow, controlled motion. Not even a grunt escapes his lips, at least no one you could hear from where you stood, completely mesmerized.

There was always something almost unappealing about overly muscled men. Their wife’s not feedin’ ‘em enough, your granny would grumble when passing by the rows of magazines at the checkout of the supermarket.

Yet this man.

Yeah, he was muscled. But in a way, he looked… almost normal. Like he was built for strength, not necessarily vanity. Each bend of his legs, each twist of his arms…

You’d swoon if you hadn’t lowered your standards so low he’d trip on them. Accepted it a long time ago. Fats belong with fats, thins with thins, and if there’s a thin with a fat, either one’s getting fattened up, or the other’s getting dumped. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and one you’d rather not be a part of.

You walk with shaky legs to the water dispenser, then get ready to grab the second to lightest weights to try some bicep curls.

You try to remember the positioning from the videos. Rotate in… or out? Should the wrists be like this? You go through ten repetitions on each side, before you think that you should’ve gone for the abs straight away. God knows there’s fat to burn there, and that the flab under your arms can wait.

You turn back from the rack and walk straight into a wall.

No, a chest.

Fuck.

“Sorry there, miss,” says a deep voice. You detect some sort of accent, unable to quite place it right away.

Your eyes run up, instinctively stopping for a second at chest level (holy heavens that’s a Chest with a capital C if you’ve ever seen one) before finally meeting that same pair of eyes you met a few minutes ago, through the mirror.

Double fuck.

“S-sorry, it’s me, wasn’t watching,” you stammer out, gesturing to the weights in a panicked way. “Just, y’know, switching exercises,” you sputter with a nervous laugh, like it was a completely normal thing to switch exercises after one rep.

He chuckles, and you really need to start planning your escape, because holy shit the way his pectorals rise and fall as his chest puffs up is getting a bit too much for your poor little humiliated self to handle, but he doesn’t let you as he speaks in a soft tone.

“I’m getting arms aren’t really your thing, eh?” he asks, not unkindly. Gosh, did it have to be a Scottish accent?

You can’t meet his eyes, they’re too blue, too piercing for your liking. “To be fair I don’t know what’s my thing yet, I’m just starting out, y’know?” you shift your weight on your legs, conscious of the size difference, and not in the way you wanted to be. Your neck is very warm all of a sudden.

He laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and you almost want the floor to open up and swallow you whole, but the words that come out of his mouth are completely unexpected.

“Figured! A girl with thighs like yours, I’m sure you can deadlift more than me with just a lil’ training. I’m Johnny, by the way,” he adds in passing, as if offering his name is the least of his concerns. “You ever got someone to train you?”

You’re entirely unsure if you’re dreaming or not. Did this Scottish hunk of muscle really just offer to be your personal trainer?

“Never - uh… lifted anything, I guess. Just when moving, my couch and bed and all, but I had a friend help me.” You definitely feel like you’re oversharing and you’re struggling to ignore the weight of the gaze of the two thin women, burning through you as they whisper among themselves, when you realize you hadn't answered the second part. “Oh and, uh– no. I’ve never… trained. Been trained. It’s my first time in a gym since- a while. I don’t want to bother you.”

You finally look up at him, and you’re unable to read his expression. There’s a sort of curiosity, a fascination, that blends fast into a wide-eyed joy that’s so open, so sincere that it makes your head spin as he gently but firmly grabs your wrist and pulls you where his bar stands on the thick mat, ignoring your sputtering protests. “Not a bother at all, lass!” He lets go of you as he bends down and effortlessly racks the barbell, starting to remove plates as he continues. “We can start by measuring your max lift, then the one where you can easily do three reps, then we’ll hike it up till failure, so I can calculate your starting training weight!” he rambles on excitedly. You nervously shift on your feet, conscious of more curious gazes on you, but then he’s back in your bubble, pulling your attention towards him like a magnet.

His smile is like a blazing sun, and you don’t have the heart to tell him to prepare for disappointment.

He’s infinitely patient as he shows you how to place your feet, and the angle of your hips (oh, how you feel your knee weaken at the feel of his light tough through the leggings, nothing short of electrifying, despite being perfectly friendly), the hold on the bar. It’s all a blur till you find yourself bent over in front of him, looking in the mirror at your position and trying not to feel conscious of the way he’s placed behind you. Or let your mind wander in inappropriate places.

“Whenever yer ready, hen.”

You brace yourself, close your eyes for a brief second, wondering how the hell you’d landed on this planet, then breathe in, open your eyes-

The weight is in your hands. Not on the floor. You’re holding it.

You almost drop it when he cheers behind you, warm palms rubbing down from your shoulders to your elbows and back up. “Easy! I told you you’d be a natural! ‘S all in the legs and you’ve got awesome legs, bonnie! Let’s add twenty more.”

It’s a blur of racking and de-racking and lifting once and setting back, and redoing it again and again. You’re out of breath, sweating like a sinner in church, but you’re smiling along with him, finding yourself giving him double high fives, and doing small, excited jumps.

“Next one’s exactly my weight, if y’can lift that, I’ll be losing my bloody mind! D’you realize how well yer doin’ for a first-timer?” He says as he bends next to you, adjusting the bar for the next set of weights. With a wipe of his forearm over his forehead, he crouches slightly down, placing his head right above your shoulder and looking your reflection in the mirror straight in the eyes with a conspiratory grin. “Swear to God, if ye can lift it off the ground, I’m buying you the most expensive drink at the bar next door!” he says, grin blending into a blinding smile, too genuine for your own good.

He’s just friendly, just friendly, just friendly, you say to yourself like a mantra as you position yourself. He stands again to his full height behind you, hands ready under the bar, a safenet.

Deep breath in– hold it…

Slowly but surely, you lift the weight off the floor, your ears ringing from the effort. You see his lips move as he cheers you on, but the blood pumping in your eardrums makes it impossible to hear him. Suddenly, the weight is back on the ground and your feet are off the floor as you’re lifted in a tight embrace and spun around like you weigh nothing.

You yelp and flail but he’s holding you tight, face pressed smack-dab in the middle of your chest, between your tits, rumbling praises about your prowess while you’re trying to figure out whether this can be something that your brain is capable of summoning as a dream.

“Put me down, Johnny, oh my God, put me down!”

He thankfully complies but not before squeezing your ass tighter, and suddenly nothing feels real anymore.

“Jesus, I knew ye were perfect,” he says, pulling back reluctantly to rerack the bar and put back the weights. “I cannot wait to properly start training ye’ tomorrow, but for now, I have a promise ta’ keep, and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind using those strong thighs as earmuffs with this freezin’ weather. On the way back from the bar, what d’ya say?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked smile that lets you know he’s joking around. (Is he?)

You laugh with him and for a second, you forget what you were here for.

+++

The way to the bar is short. It was just a block away (Good for business, he jokes), but the conversation with Johnny made time really fly by.

He seems genuinely glad when you tell him you’d decided to head to the gym not just as a New Year’s resolution, but trying to simply become a better you. There’s no condescendence, no talking down, no (God forbid) pity, just an overall nice interaction the whole time. He tells you about being on leave as a soldier (Medical leave, he specifies, a fucked up knee can work in a gym, but it’s a different story out in the field), you tell him about your studies and how that led into a “big girl” job that left you no time for yourself.

“But I’ve always been a big girl,” you feel the need to justify. “Just… gotten bigger as I stopped finding time to move. The desk and the laptop are pretty stationary,” you joke, still trying to make sense of why a man like him (broad, and tall, and strong, and… gosh, just perfect-looking) would even deign to accept being seen with you.

(It’s not a date, you dumbass)

“I happen to like big girls,” is what you don’t expect him to say.

Wait, what?

His blue eyes glue you to your seat, and you respond dumbly. “What?”

“I mean, why do you think I’d offer to train you?” he continues, placing his hand, big and warm over your thigh. It’s squished as you sit, wide and flattened in your seat, yet his hand covers a good amount, almost covering the whole width.

Your brain is short-circuiting but you have to answer something.

“Out of– uh… out of niceness?” you stammer out, feeling your insecurities climb back out of the hole they’d been sleeping in all this time, making you shrink even more, trying to cover yourself as if he didn’t see right through you with that piercing gaze. “To feel good seeing you be the reason I lose weight?”

He chuckles, squeezing your thigh as his head hangs down, almost as if to hide the smile that spreads on his lips.

“Strength training doesn’t work like that, bonnie.” He looks back up, and his eyes are blue, and wide, and so pretty, that you can’t find anything to argue back. “Ye’ think building glutes underneath that fat arse does anything but make it bigger?” He shifts, inching closer as he licks his lips and drops his voice lower. “Ye’ think growing your quads will make this,” he gives an even firmer squeeze, wiggling the fat back and forth, and you tense under his grip, but he’s got you pinned down, “any less wide and soft?”

He presses closer, and the booth has no escape room, you’re practically squeezed into the corner as he pushes his body against yours, bending to whisper lowly in the crook of your neck.

“I did not joke when I said I want yer pretty thighs wrapped tight around my head.”

You can’t be blamed when you don’t remember how you ended up in the back of a cab, Johnny barely taking the time to bark an address to the poor driver and throw fifty quid on the front seat before kissing you absolutely senseless, shamelessly groping your tits with a hand and wrapping the other around your thigh, squeezing you close.

You should probably think more about going home with basically a stranger, no matter how hot, but when he presses his entire palm against your cunt, cupping it over the quickly dampening pair of leggings that didn’t seem so thick anymore, you can’t think at all. He swallows your quiet moans, and hums contently against your lips, taking each gasp for air as an invitation to slither his tongue into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten what a good makeout session was like, and you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed when you see the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, instantly looking away when you see him staring.

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind either, and when he notices you looking in the front again and again, he crowds you against the door behind the driver with a huff, half-climbing over you until his knee is pressed against your core, and the only thing in your field of vision is him.

“Johnny,” you try to say, but it’s getting hard to think, with the way you’re being squeezed in a corner, this hunk of a man of pure muscle pressing against you like a weighted blanket, kissing you like you were a drop of water in the desert and he was a parched man drinking you for his salvation. You feel his excitement pressed against your thigh, and it gives you enough lucidity to try again. “Johnny,” you gasp out again, “aren’t we going a little fast?”

He laughs instead, choosing to focus on the side of your mouth, pressing fervent little kisses down your neck before starting to suckle the delicate skin over where your clavicle is. “I can go as slow as you’d like, bun.” He takes the spot an inch next to the previous one into his mouth and sucks again, this time more forcefully, marking you, and oh God you’re going to have to conceal it before work tomorrow, unless you can find a turtleneck to wear–

The cab driver clears his throat, and you notice that the car is stopped in front of a small apartment complex. Johnny says a cordial thanks as he pulls you out of the car and throws another twenty on the backseat, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and taking all of the thinking out of the equation as he walks you to the entry.

His flat is pretty well furnished, all things considered, but he doesn’t give you enough time to observe the deco as he presses you against the door and slides his hand under your leggings.

“Got me starin’ at that ass the second you walked in, best fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in months, d’ye realize that, bonnie?” he breathes out against your ear as his entire palm cups your sex, and you can only whine as you press your forehead into the crook of his neck. “And by how wet this pussy is, I think you liked starin’ at me, too.”

“You are–” you say, but he curls his middle finger in, spreading your lips and spreading the wetness to your clit, making you choke on your words, “-very nice to stare at.”

“Yeah?” you hear the grin in his voice.

“Mmhm,” you nod, as he keeps the back and forth of his finger, never dipping in too far, just keeping you hungry for more.

“Then how’d ye like to stare down at me as I taste this wet cunt of yours?” he purrs in your ear as he stops moving completely, letting the words process.

Brain.exe has stopped functioning.

Had you ever had a boyfriend willing to speak filth like that to you when you were down to do the deed, maybe you would’ve gotten enough practice to know what to answer something sensible and intelligible to that, but as it stands, all you can muster is a very dumb-sounding “Huh?” as you stare back at him.

And that, apparently, is the funniest thing in the world to him, because he dips his head down and laughs, almost like a boyish giggle. Not only does that not stop him from kneeling in front of you, but it also somehow gives him more confidence to keep talking like that.

“How about you look down into my eyes as I eat out your pretty little pussy and make you come around my tongue, how’s that sound?” His baby blues bear no trace of maliciousness, no trace of a joke, as his fingers hook around the waistband and trace it around your stomach. You have to make a very conscious effort not to suck it in immediately in preparation for the letdown, but he doesn’t pull them down yet, only moving his hand alongside the edge. Your silence as you try to process what is happening only seems to spur him on instead. “In fact, how about you close your eyes, I close mine, and you hold my head close as I devour you, would you let me do that, pretty girl?”

“I’m not-” you can’t think of any way to properly let him down, not when he looks up with such pleading eyes, so the words stumble out gracelessly. “I’m sweaty, you don’t wanna–”

But he interrupts as he pulls your leg closer by gripping your thigh and squishing it against his cheek “But I do.” He inhales deeply, and your own breath shakes at the sight of how blissed out he already looks. “God, I want it. Let me have this.”

A voice somewhere inside yells at you that this has to be some sort of weird fetish, and that he most certainly won’t be having the same aura of desperation around him tomorrow, when post-coital rationale shows up and he sees your body past the veil of lust, but for now, you think that getting some with Johnny cannot be that bad compared to any one of your past encounters. Might as well enjoy it when you still can.

You wrap your hand around the one he still has around your waistband, and see his face positively light up as you softly caress his cheek.

In the end, you’re the one that pleads.

“Johnny, please.”

Your pants are off you and your leg is over his shoulder before you realize what is happening.

The feel of his warm tongue against your slit makes any thought, any doubt, any fear positively vanish, and the content sigh that he lets out as he licks at you is the same sigh as finally removing a bra at the end of a long day, it’s the sigh of laying down carelessly onto a soft bed after standing up for hours, it’s the sigh of the first bite of the best meal a man has after starving for weeks.

It should be awkward the way his arm wraps around your thigh and sinks into the softness of your stomach, using it to pin you up as he uses his other hand to spread you out enough for him to work his jaw the same way he did when he was making out with you in the car… Yet it’s not. It’s natural, the way his hand squeezes you as he licks, and sucks, and kisses around your pussy, unhurried yet passionate, languidly but firmly, pressing his tongue in, licking around your lips, and maddeningly avoiding the place you wanted him to touch most.

“Johnny,” you moan as he grazes his teeth around your sensitive nub in response. You almost buck out of his hold, but he’s firmly keeping you in place. “Please, don’t tease.”

He hums in response and dives back in, eyes fluttering closed as he ignores your whines. Every time his tongue or lips graze your clit, he works his mouth the opposite way, holding your thigh harder and pressing his palm up as he counters your hip movements with a clever swipe of the tongue. It’s absolutely maddening. “Johnny, please!”

He chuckles as he pulls back, an obscene string of spit lengthening as he pulls back, only breaking when he runs his tongue against his reddened, swollen lips. “Thought ye’ wanted me ta’ go slow, bun.” His eyes sparkle with challenge, but you can also discern a veil of unhidden desperation, of waiting for you to give the go-ahead for him to let loose.

“I’m fine with faster–” you start, but the words dissolve into a barely restrained moan as he hikes your leg up more, getting you closer to him, and immediately singling onto your neglected clit.

His forehead rests onto your belly now, and if you had more than two functioning neurons you’d wonder how he is that he’s breathing, but his hums and moans let you know that he’s perfectly content burrowing his nose in your pussy, nudging at your clit with the tip of it as he licks you with all the dedication you’ve never been shown from a man of his caliber.

He builds it up, and soothes it down, knowing exactly when to put more pressure, or when to teasingly swirl his tongue around your entrance, or to lave broad strokes of his tongue, so much so that the knee that’s not hooked over his shoulder almost gives out on a particularly forceful suck of your clit.

“Easy there,” he groans almost petulantly, as if you’re interrupting him. “Can’t have you fallin’ over when I’m not done wit’ ye.”

“My legs are gonna give out,” you say honestly, trying to catch your breath and avoid having the perfect man at your feet steal it again. “You’re a bit too good at this.” He grins up at you, “Am I?” and you want to give you a playful swat, but instead decide on carding your fingers through his now disheveled mohawk. “Guess the mess on my face speaks for itself… Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

You throw a glance around the apartment, assessing your options. “Couch is closer.” His smile is blinding. “I like how ye’ think.”

It’s now the second time he surprises you by scooping your legs from under you and picking you up like he couldn’t wait any longer and that carrying you bridal-style was the only way he could think of moving you. You yelp out a protest but he swallows it with another hungry kiss, shamelessly smearing your own wetness over your cheek as he walks you both to the couch.

You sink into the cushions where he places you gently without so much as a grunt of effort, and oh God, there they are, the standards are rising.

You reach over to pull him closer as he straightens up, but he only gives you a peck on the lips in return, like he hadn’t been kissing you sloppily the entire time.

“Come back,” you whine, hoping you can get it done before he comes back to his senses, like they all do, but he just smiles and kneels between your feet, hands pressing your thighs apart. The squelch of your lips parting should be embarrassing were he not looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes full of adoration, like a child staring up at the full moon on full display on a clear night’s skies. Maybe you are his moon, his goddess, judging by the lust-clouded look directed at you.

“I did say I was gonna make you come on my face,” he says lowly, the gravel in his voice making you squirm as he places a trail of kisses up your thigh. “And I intend to keep that promise.”

With that, he dives in again, using his forearms to pin your legs open on the couch and his fingers to tease around where his tongue can’t reach. You mewl when you feel his tongue at your entrance, circling it around it briefly before delving in as deep as he could, his right hand stroking your clit rhythmically. The fact that he’s so good at somehow playing all your buttons like a maestro directing an orchestra has you thinking that he must be some sort of womanizer, some freak who does this kind of thing every night, but then his lips wrap around your nub and he gives a firm, long suck, and any restriction that you could’ve conjured up simply vanishes. Your thighs want to close around his head, but you can’t move under the iron grip he has on you.

You fist his hair more forcefully than necessary, and he looks up, wet eyelashes framing his beautiful eyes as he hums in response.

“Please,” you moan, and he hums affirmatively again, closing his eyes to focus on licking and suckling harder. He heard you, he simply doesn’t seem to care. “Johnny.”

“What,” he asks, voice muffled and why is this so hot?

“I need… I need,” you whine, unable to string the words together, and desperately trying to buck your hips under him, for lack of strength to actually close your thighs how you want to.

That seems to get his attention, and he chuckles, before pulling back with a gentle kiss on your mound. “Guess you’ll have to keep tryin’, pet,” he sussurs, a condescending pat on your thighs before he dives in slower than before.

Oh, the absolute asshole. Now he wants you to work for it?

You think that doing the opposite, relaxing your thighs open and letting him go to town however he wanted would help, but he seems hell-bent on riling you up every once in a while, getting you closer and closer with each lave of his tongue over your poor, overstimulated clit, but never enough to actually push you over the edge.

After what seems like an eternity, and almost, almost starting to think that this was a mistake, halfway ready to let him do this thing before your hip starts to cramp up, you feel a finger nudge at your entrance.

“Fucking finally–” you start, ready to curse him out, but he’s faster than you can think in your blissed-out state, and he slides a second finger alongside the first one, immediately zeroing in on that spot that makes you go cross-eyed and buck under his hold.

“Thassit– there you go, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your clit, and oh, okay, maybe you were closer than you thought, because the rhythmic curl of his fingers doesn’t need to last long before you’re off like an arrow, back arching and thighs squeezing, coming harder than you ever thought was possible. If he were any less skilled at making you completely lose the ability to think, you’d maybe notice that you’d managed to close your thighs almost completely around his head, but he wasn’t, so you don’t, twitching helplessly in the aftershocks of the most wonderful orgasm a man had ever given you.

Limbs that somehow still belong to your body hang uselessly off the side of the couch, and you struggle to catch your breath. You blink lazily, noticing him smugly wipe his face with the back of his hand, his half lidded eyes not any less blissed-out than yours.

You didn’t believe a man like this ever existed, until now. It aches that this might not be something that would last, so you make grabby hands at him, unable to find the will to speak just yet.

He laughs softly and gently grabs your arms, kissing from your knuckles slowly up your arm, to the crook of your neck. The patience he has is almost inhuman, as he takes the time to let you regather your senses, matching the marks he made earlier on the other side of your neck. You cup your hand around his head in response, and he smiles at you.

“Ye’ with me, bun?”

“Mmhm.”

“That slow enough fer’ ye’?” He holds himself up, an inch fron your face, and you reach up to kiss him.

“I’m gonna kill you dead,” you mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.

“Let me at least fuck you properly, first,” he whispers, and you notice that he’s long since unbuttoned his pants. You barely get a view of the massive size of him over your belly as he holds himself in his hand, large palm not enough to cover the whole length of him as he strokes himself, angled in such way that his tip rubs against your clit on each downstroke. The word “Please,” is not even halfway out of your mouth when he sinks into you in one swift motion, the rest dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan.

“Fuck-” he grunts, “so tight, cannot believe it.”

He guides one of your legs to wrap around him, keeping it flush against his body with his elbow as his palm grips your ass tightly, the other holding him against the backrest, forearm near your head as he pulls you closer for a sloppy kiss as he starts rolling his hips. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them greedily, leveraging each trust of his hips with a pull with his hand, helping you move in tandem with him, readjusting when your thigh threatens to slip out of his hold. The slaps of his pelvis to yours should sound obscene, his hard muscles hitting against your soft, jiggly skin, but his groans into your mouth are like music to your ears, the fact that he’s vocal about it has you almost reaching your peak again in no time, but he seems to sense it, and slows down immediately.

You try to kiss him harder, but he makes a small noise of protest, muttering something that sounds vaguely like “no, let me, let me just–” and you want to ask what he wants to do, to help him, but he instead reaches down both hands to grab your hips and pull you off the backrest. You yelp as your ass suddenly hangs in the air, his cock speared inside you the only secure point as he pulls you halfway off the couch, but he directs you firmly, “Here, around me,” helping you wrap your legs tightly as he starts thrusting again, harder than before.

“Oh, God, oh God,” you flail around, but each thrust in pushes your back into the cushions, and he reaches behind his back to hold your feet in his hand as he presses his palm near your head for support, spewing more filth as he does.

“That’s it, hold me tight, squeeze my cock like ye’ almost squeezed mah heid off earlier, huh, bonnie? Show me what those thighs can do, fuck-”

Your whole body is jiggling with each thrust, and you don’t have it in you to even feel self-conscious with the way each time he fills you, the tip of his cock nudges against the spongey spot inside, making you mewl in tempo with his relentless rhythm.

“Johnny, Johnny,” you moan, and he bends over to kiss you again, swallowing his name like communion while you chant it like a prayer.

“Don’t give up now, bonnie, keep squeezin’, fuck, I can feel ye’, yer so close.”

You try to get some leverage with your upper body, trying to push yourself up the cushions, but his cock suddenly slips out of you as your thighs almost give out, and an apology is already halfway out your mouth when he kneels back down and burrows between your legs, tongue first with a rushed “Need ta’ taste us, fuck, both of us, together-”

One hand wraps around your hip and over your pelvis, reaching up to knead desperately at your stomach, to pull you closer or push you away, you can’t tell, the other pulling your lips apart to settle his entire lower face against your pussy firmly– before letting go as he starts humming.

Your thighs are free to squeeze around his ears, and he nods encouragingly as he keeps licking, and then you hear it: the sounds of wet stroking. You don’t see him fisting his cock, but you hear it, fast and desperate. As your hand tangles in his hair to pull him closer, and another hum– no, another moan vibrates through your core, it’s the last thing you hear before you’re absolutely gone, gasping out a curse as you tense up in his hold, trembling as you come.

It’s even more intense than the first one, and as you buck out of his hold, he stands up shakily, his hand moving faster and faster around his cock, the angry red of his tip at the same level as your face. You gesture for him to sit down, trying to signal to him that you want to reciprocate despite the post-orgasmic haze and exhaustion, but he shakes his head, and, seconds later, you feel warm wetness land on your belly and slowly trickle down as he moans your name when he comes.

You feel like you still have to give something back, and, when he slumps down next to you with a content sigh, you climb over to place a delicate kiss on the tip of his cock, letting out a huff of laughter when it twitches under your touch.

“Ye’ absolute menace,” he whispers fondly as he pulls you up and tips his body to the side to lie down, using his legs to push you up halfway over him, trapping you between his body and the cushions, yet protectively shielding you from falling over. You place another kiss on his stomach, and you see his abs tense under your touch as your warm breath moves his hairs as you hover for a second, before deciding to shift up and use his pectorals as a cushion. He hums softly as his arm wraps around under yours, reaching to pull the plaid off the back of the couch and settle it around you both. Ticklish, eh? That’s a piece of information best stored for later.

You’re still breathless, absolutely done for. God, best decision of your life, going to the gym. “Now what?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the same fear that always creeps up, the fear that he got to try out a fantasy, and now that he was done with it, he had no need to want to continue anything possibly serious. Not that eating a girl out on a first date, if you could even call it a date, was a sign of a one-night stand, you can’t help but feel awkward and insecure now that it’s all done, despite the comforting cuddle.

He chuckles in response, that same chuckle from earlier in the day, a What a silly question chuckle. Like he’d read into your thoughts and insecurities and found them absolutely laughable.

“Same time at the gym, tomorrow? I want you to squeeze my head off next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

He pulls your leg over his pelvis, trapping his still half-mast cock between his belly and the crook of your knee, hand firmly wrapped to shift you up, almost completely on top of him. When both of you are comfortable and you start feeling the tendrils of sleep pull you deeper, he gives a last, playful squeeze to your ass.

“Next time.”

#cc writes #soap #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #fat reader #chubby reader #john soap mactavish x fat reader #pwp #call of duty #fanfiction #call of duty fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod #plus size reader #john soap mactavish #my man knows how to eat pussy and he ENJOYS it #ignore my attempt at writing his scottish accent i tried okay?

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always-a-king-or-queen · 6 months

Text

C 👏 S 👏 LEWIS 👏 WAS 👏 NOT 👏 MISOGYNISTIC

IM SO SICK OF THIS TAKE

“But he said girls shouldn’t fight in battles—" No, actually. What he said was “Battles are ugly when women fight.” Which literally translates to “in a war where women are required to fight to help win it, it means the war itself is really bad.” And this literally just means that the war has gotten so bad that women have to fight, not that women shouldn’t fight. Just that they shouldn’t be forced to. Anyway, remember Lucy?? Lucy who rode to battle in The Horse and His Boy?? Lucy who fought as an archer?? “But Susan didn’t—" Yeah. Because she didn’t want to. No one was forcing her not to fight. She had free will to fight or to not fight, and she chose not to because she didn’t want to, not because a man made her stay home.

“He punished Susan for growing up—" S i g h. This is the one I see the most often. “He did Susan dirty” “he made her suffer because she liked lipstick” “etc etc blah blah blah” First of all Narnia is a children’s book series. For CS Lewis to delve into why Susan forgot Narnia, talk about her dealing with the death of her entire family, discuss her grief, and write about her eventual return to Narnia (more on that in a second), it would’ve made for a pretty dark and heavy children’s book, and Lewis said that he didn’t think that was something he wanted to write. But he also encouraged people to finish Susan’s story themselves, and said she might eventually make her own way back to Narnia. Not only this, but Susan’s name means lily, and the waters around Aslan’s country are covered in lilies. Coincidence? I think not. I think it symbolizes she was going to go back. (Especially considering I think Lewis was very careful in choosing each of the Pevensie’s names, since they all relate to their character).

Also, Lewis did not condemn Susan simply for growing up and liking makeup and clothing and boys. If so why would he have written about Aravis and Shasta/Cor, or Caspian and Liliandil? Why would he have written about Susan and Lucy being beautiful and having many suitors? So no, he wasn’t condemning her for that, and in fact he wasn’t condemning her at all. It’s extremely probable that her family’s death would have brought Susan back to her senses. Because here’s the thing: she forgot. She threw herself so much into the world and approval and convinced herself that her life as a queen and her acquaintance with Aslan was all a silly game they played as children, that it wasn’t real. But, she very well could remember again, and I 1000% believe she did.

“All his female characters were weak and did nothing—" My friend. Lucy Pevensie was a female. She discovered Narnia. It was because of her. Her siblings would never have found it without her. Lucy is one of THE most important characters in the entire series. And her title? The Valiant. Lucy’s very title as queen denoted her bravery and fortitude without one even knowing her. As for Susan, she was not any weaker for being “The Gentle.” I would say gentleness is honestly one of the strongest traits a person can have, because it takes a lot to live and be gentle. Also remember Aravis? A major character in The Horse and His Boy and future wife of Shasta, Aravis literally nearly killed herself to escape an arranged marriage. She was not someone to be dictated to; she made her own choices and escaped rather than submitting. And in the end, she’s still fiery, just a little more humble and with less of a chip on her shoulder. Then there’s Polly, who is the more logical person in The Magician’s Nephew and tries to stop Digory from ringing the bell that wakes the White Witch. A boy causes her to awaken, not a girl. It was Digory’s fault she woke up, not Polly’s!!

Also, Peter and Edmund do not ignore their sisters because they’re girls. They listen to what they have to say and speak to them as equals. They don’t forbid them from fighting; Susan chooses not to, but Lucy goes straight into the heart of the battle with them! So don’t even say Lewis made his female characters weak. They were the backbone of much of the series and without them much of the plot would never have happened!!

So don’t you ever say to me that CS Lewis was misogynistic because it’s the furthest thing from the truth

#I REALIZED I ACCIDENTALLY TYPED JILL INSTEAD OF POLLY #IF YOU SEE THAT PRETEND IT SAYS POLLY #cs Lewis #narnia #lucy pevensie #susan pevensie #Polly plummer #aravis tarkheena #the chronicles of narnia #I could’ve mentioned Jill but it was long enough #ramblings from the void

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carlossainzwho · 6 months

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daddy's little girl

the poll's final result was YES I'M IN NEED OF ONE so here ya go!

pairing: dad!oscar x mum!reader

warning: nothing just pure fluff! enojy!!

(can i just say that soraya is such a sweet name?? thx.)

oscar peered at the little cupcake plushie his little daughter soraya was pointing at. covered with rainbow sprinkles and super fluffy, it definetely seemed like the want and need of a little four-year-old. but was it really needed?

'are you sure you need this, love?' oscar asked looking down at his girl.

'yes daddy, it will go with my collection of unicorn and princess plushies!'

'right.' oscar said. 'alright then, better call your mum, then! y/n!!!!'

and up came oscar's wife, soraya's mummy.

'oh come on oscar, any toddler would want that toy for themselves!' y/n retorted, after hearing her husband waffle about why the little toy wasn't really necessary.

'it's also my birthday soon!' soraya giggled

'yeah, right. it's june, and your birthday is in september!'

'please?'

and then the world's most beautiful doe-eyes stared into oscar's soul, stabbing him with guilt of not getting his daughter a toy she really wanted. her messy hair, much resembling her daddy's, rested on the vibrant toy. 'shoot,' oscar thought. 'even the toy is giving me a death stare'.

as if things couldn't get any worse, his wife was staring expectantly at him. and that was the final straw.

'oh, alright then.'

'yayy!' its was the simplest cheer ever. watching his daughter smile made him smile.

and off the three of them went, all smiles.

back at home

'daddy!'

'yes, darling'

'i named the cupcake plushie lando norris!'

'that's avery interesting name, i must say'

'i know, that's why i chose it!' soraya hopped away, with a cute little grin planted on her face.

oscar could only chuckle to himself. he loved his family.

❤

yourusername

out plushie shopping! prizes won for guessing the name correct! (hint, initials are LN)

tagged: oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, logansargeant and 283,814 more

landonorris: is the name lando norris? yourusername: correct! ding ding ding! landonorris: woah! can't believe i guessed it right! yourusername: yeah, there was most certainly not the most obvious hint in the world! liked by landonorris

logansargeant: oscar, can you get me a plushie? a unicorn one will do.

oscarpiastri: absolutely not, sargeant. it took a lot of convincing to get the cupcake one in the first place! logansargeant: aww yourusername: it's ok logan, i'll get you one! logansargeant: oh oscar, if only you could be like your wife oscarpiastri: eh i can't be bothered yourusername: that's because you're always sleeping!

user: aww such a cute plushie

user: i want a plushie from oscar too

user: that family is so damn cute!!

mclaren: mclaren's favourite child look so happy!

liked by oscarpiastri and landonorris

user: awww

user: soraya is so lucky!!

heh, you got what you wanted :) thanks for reading, ily! reblogging and liking will help so much!

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whynot-tryit · 9 months

Text

Angel of Small Death: Chapter 1

John Price x female! reader

Summary: Laswell convinces Price to hire a team medic. You spend your first day meeting each one of the men and you take an instant liking to the captain, and he does so too.

Word count: 5,528

Warnings: inaccurate medical stuff, mentions of blood, insomnia, body parts, body touching, lmk if there’s anything I should add.

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

“John, in the past six months your team alone has made up almost forty percent of overall med bay visits. I’m not saying your team isn’t fit, I just think you should hire a team medic.”

This isn’t the first time the idea has been brought up to Price during his and Laswell’s debriefings in his office. His hands run over his face, racking through his mutton chops before laying them down on his desk with a grunt of annoyance. “I know you guys can take care of yourselves on base and out there on the field but come on John, you guys need someone. You need someone to help you.”

Price wasn’t fond of asking for help but it was starting to get on his nerves with how much Laswell was bringing this up. “I already said no, Laswell.” His annoyance makes his words come out gruffier than usual. Laswell rolls her eyes and rests her back against the chair posted on the other side of his desk. “How about I choose for you? If you hate them then you’ll never hear me talk about it again.”

The sigh that rolls through Price’s chest is the only sound that radiates through the small room for a couple seconds. He hasn’t had the time to finish the mountain of paperwork on his desk along with the daily training regime for the team, along with all the meetings he’s been dragging his feet to day in and day out. Maybe some help would be nice. Did that mean he was unfit in his role? His eyes come up from the papers on his desk to Laswell’s. Her eyes seem to read his mind and her eyes get softer trying to voice her thoughts.

He was good at his job, getting help wouldn’t be a bad thing, he deserved it. The bags under his eyes and stiff shoulders were a tell tale sign of how much he worked, an extra set of hands wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“Fine. You pick ‘em.”

..............................

You were an experienced medic, having been stationed in multiple locations, saved a multitude of civilians and soldiers. You were proud of your work. Moving around so much, feeling like you were being tugged in one direction to the other was getting quite exhausting. Once the rumor of a job opening as a team medic passed through your small base you hesitated for a small moment, you had no idea what team, where, but you knew it would be good to get some fresh air and maybe to have a new place to find stable ground for a foreseeable amount of time. It took months of rigorous interviews and paperwork but they chose you. Laswell, chose you. You had asked her why the captain of the team didn’t pick you, asking why they weren’t present for any of the interviews if you were going to be working with them. She had only hinted that they seemed to be a close friend of hers who needed the extra hand and didn’t have the time to pick someone themselves, so she was doing them a solid.

You had always liked the idea of helping someone, that's why the idea of being a medic, a doctor, was one you had had since you were a child. One that you worked very hard to make a reality, so the thought that whoever it was that you were going to work for really needed you made you even sounder in the idea of taking the new opportunity.

Duffel bags are still packed and laying on the floor of your new living quarters, hands on your hips and eyes trailing around the four walls, all the way to the small bed and desk. This would have to do. Since the process of getting here had taken so long you wanted to jump right into introductions. You hadn’t heard a single thing about the team, 141. Cute name, you thought.

Unpacking and making the room somewhat livable for your needs was going to have to wait, changing into your scrubs and grabbing the four manilla folders you made your way to the medical wing on base. Laswell had helped you set up one on one meetings with the team so you could go over their medical files. Military medics, especially ones who didn’t work with the team directly and personally were always known to look over things and forget to file symptoms and problems properly so you wanted to make sure you went over some things. You wanted to do your job properly.

First up was Kyle Garrick.

As you walked towards the curtain which separated your little appointment room for your little meet and greets you noticed the feet underneath the small sliver of space made by the floor and the bottom of the curtain. He’s early, 15 minutes early to be exact. That earns a check in your book.

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves and reach out a hand to pull the curtain to the side and take a quick step inside before pulling it back to its place behind you. “You must be Kyle.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You greet the soldier with a kind smile, moving to place the folders in your arm on the small side table in the corner before pulling out the rolling stool from underneath and taking a seat, scooting yourself a little closer to the cot located in the middle of the room, closer to Kyle who is seated right on top.

“You don’t have to call me ma’am, makes me feel older than what I really am.” You say with a small chuckle. He doesn’t seem to be much older than you, a little younger than the other members in 141, you presume. Your eyes make their way from his eyes down to his shoulders, then to his arms, hands interlocked in his lap, all the way down to his legs and feet. “You can call me Gaz then, that's what everyone calls me around here anyway.” You file the nickname into the back of your mind.

You splutter out a greeting, a more friend like one at least, your name and medic title. “I already went through your medical history and you seem to be pretty healthy or at least your file is a lot lighter than some I’ve seen.” You mentally flinch when you realize that it might come off as you think he’s inexperienced in his field, new to the military, although his age hints at him being quite the opposite. But Gaz smiles, “Means I’m good at my job. Don’t get hurt too often, at least I try not to.” Oh thank God, you think, he didn’t take it that way.

“Well then, I guess me and you are gonna get along just fine then.” You chuckle. “Is there anything you wanna tell me though? Anything like trouble sleeping? Appetite problems? Joint Pain? It doesn't seem like you’ve complained about anything, ever. At least according to your records.”

A deep hum can be heard coming from his chest as he seems to run through his own mind, trying to come up with anything he would deem reasonable enough to complain about, at least to a doctor. As he’s doing so you take note of his clothes, the medical wing is set up like most hospitals, AC blasting, it’s cold, sure, but not enough to be bundled up for. Your eyes focus on his shoes, more specifically his socks, they’re not the military issued kind. They seem to be wool socks, which is odd, not something you see that often. Maybe his feet get cold, at least to a level that he takes an extra precaution to keep them warm.

While you’re finishing reeling in your thoughts after noticing your observation, Gaz finally finishes rummaging through his mind for anything to tell. “I don’t have anything I think is worth complaining to you, Doc. I mean if complaining about the food on base to you can actually change anything then that's about it.” A deep chuckle makes its way out of his throat. You smile.

“Can I see your fingers?”

The odd question makes Gaz raise a brow but he pulls his hands from his lap and lays them out to the space between you and him, palms up. You take a soft hold of his fingers, wrapping yours around them almost like you would grip onto a handle of something. They’re oddly cold. You take note of it in your mind and move his hand to be palm down so you can take a look at his fingernails, softly running your thumbs over them.

Gaz stays silent, watching you as you bring them level to your eyes as you take note of the very subtle vertical lines that run through his nails. You let a slight hum almost like an aha moment and Gaz is very confused. “What is it?” The question comes out with a slightly worried tone.

“Do you get cold easily, Gaz?”

“I don’t think I get any colder than the average guy, why?”

You finally drop the hold you had on his hands and scoot to the desk, opening a drawer to quickly take a pair of gloves out and slip them on before scooting back to your previous position near him.

“You wear wool socks, which aren't really military issued so I’m guessing your feet get cold easily and your fingers too. Your fingernails also show symptoms of an iron deficiency. Is it alright if I check your eyes and gums?” You always try to explain the best way you can, talking slower than you normally would- trying to come off as understanding as possible. He gives you a nod of approval before shifting closer to the edge of the bed so you can do your little investigation.

You take a hold of his face, placing your thumbs underneath his eyes before pulling down his water line to get a good look underneath. The spot is oddly void of red, a classic sign of anemia. You move on to do the same with his mouth, pulling on his bottom lip to look at his gums which are a pale pink- not the exact color that they should be..

Retracting your hands and pulling the gloves off you scoot to the manilla folder, pulling out a pen from your scrub pocket to jot some things down. “I think you’re anemic, an iron deficiency, nothing too serious since it doesn’t seem to affect your work but I’m gonna order a blood test to confirm and to see if it’s just a dietary issue or if you need a supplement to get you to normal.”

Gaz is kind of taken aback. He felt fine, or at least he thought he did. Sure, his feet and hands got cold but he had trekked through waist high levels of snow and water. The soldier thinks of how he gets winded when moving from one sparring match to the next. Was that what that was? “You got that because of my socks?”

Shit, you’re good.

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

Next was Johnny MacTavish, or “soap” at least that's what the red mess -doctor handwriting, right next to his real name on his file read. You had stayed in the curtain enclosed room after Gaz had left, writing out a referral for the blood test you had mentioned when you heard the slight squeaking of boots on the shiny floors headed right your way before they stopped right on the other side of the curtain. You looked up right as they were pulled aside and a friendly face greeted you, and a mohawk- which surprised you.

“You must be the new Doc, names Soap.” He greets you and steps inside, extending a hand to shake yours. You take it, giving him a light shake before introducing yourself and directing him to sit on the cot. Soap’s introduction didn’t seem rushed yet happened all before you could even stand up from your seat. It somehow exuded this confident aura off him, which somehow in your mind explains the haircut for you.

“I see here that you're a demolition expert?” To be frank, when you had read that in his file while going over all the men’s information, and seen all his med bay visits you knew he would be the one that would take up most of your time. You had seen first hand the aftermath of the explosions his people have dealt with. On enemies and on your very own. The thought and images are quickly pushed to the back of your mind.

“Yes ma’am.” He laughs, it's deeper and louder than Gaz’s. “You are the second person to call me ma’am today, please just call me anything else.”

“My bad, Sorry, Doc.” He raises his hands in a mock surrender. “I’m guessing you also know that your file says that you frequently find yourself in the medical wing.” Soap winces, a hand coming to rub the back of the neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. Kind of comes with the job. But, hey! We’ve got you now, so no worries.”

Yep, you had your work cut out for you on this one. “I guess you do, can’t wait to see what you get yourself into that I have to bandage you up for.”

Soap enjoys your replies, the banter settles nice under his skin. His smile doesn’t seem to fade, maybe slightly but never fully gone. “I’m guessing that since you’ve been at this a couple years you know about the annual hearing tests you should be taking.”

His smile drops instantly. “What.”

“You did know that all personnel that deal with explosives regularly are supposed to be given a hearing test once a year while for others it’s every 3, right?”

A laugh bubbles up in your chest, past your rib cage right near your spine as you watch him gape at you- like he’s grappling to find the words that he clearly doesn’t have. “I’m pulling your leg, your file doesn’t have anything on them either so I'm guessing you never had them.” Soap lets out a sigh before shrugging, flashing you a sheepish smile.

You chuckle, “Alright, I’m gonna have you do one for me and let's just hope to God you’re not deaf yet.” That earns a chuckle from him, again. He was a lot more talkative than Gaz yet around the same level of openness. Thank god it seems like you got a good team, no weirdos so far.

“Can I ask you one thing, lass?” Your eyes dart up from your folder where you were jotting down your notes. “Yeah, of course.”

“How fast does hair that's been burned off, by let's say- an explosion- take to grow back?”

Oh boy.

………………………………..

It had taken a while to finish up with Soap, he had too many questions for his own good. But the interaction puts a smile on your face at the thought. Your next patient was already waiting outside, Soap greets him right on the other side of the curtain before he comes in.

“You must be Ghost.”

You had heard of him before, small whispers of a skull masked man who never showed his face. To be honest with yourself, it wasn’t quite unfamiliar to have a soldier that preferred to cover their face most times, so the thought of it that wasn’t unsettling to you in the least. Even as his huge frame slips past the curtain before moving to the other side of the room, or at least to the other side of the bed. You suppress a frown, he’s purposely distancing himself from you- normal in his case, you try to tell yourself. There's a long moment of silence where you’re at least expecting him to somewhat introduce himself but it doesn’t come. Alright then.

You introduce yourself instead, trying to get rid of the silence. “Did you know that most of your files are almost completely redacted?” His eyes finally meet yours after making their way across the room. “Yeah, I know.”

There's silence again, this isn’t gonna be easy.

Ever since you were a kid you had always been able to read people, their eyes, their hands, the way they walked. You look at his eyes and the skin around them, at least the small amount you could see through the baklava he wore. They move down to his neck and shoulders, they’re stiff- almost painfully so. Then onto his crossed arms.

“So, how often do you get nightmares?”

Even Though you can’t see his face you know he’s surprised. “Excuse me?”

You give him a soft smile, “Your eyelids are kind of droopy, you have serious under eye bags, both indicative of an inadequate sleep schedule and your right shoulder is higher than your right even though you're standing straight which tells me you sleep on your side very often. It's actually an effect from what we call a sleeping soldier position. You lay on your side, one arm under your head and the other most likely holding onto some kind of weapon.”

He doesn’t answer straight away, it almost seems like he’s sizing you up. Trying to guess if you’re serious, if you’re being condescending in some way but Ghost can’t seem to find anything behind your eyes except kindness. It almost scares him more than what he was expecting. You know you're right, you’ve worked with dozens of cases of PTSD, diagnosing it and treating it. “What have you tried in order to help?”

You almost think he’s not going to answer you, that he’s just going to storm out of the room and somehow you’d lose your job before you even got the chance to do anything about it.

“I don't know how to fix it.” It’s a quiet, muttered reply. You almost miss it.

Ghost feels like he’s out of his comfort zone, sure soldiers had nightmares and maybe he had had them when on a mission, sleeping just a few feet away from his teammates but you were new and somehow could see through him. “Does your captain know?” You hoped the answer was yes because then it meant you wouldn’t have to tell his superiors about his personal problems and you could just help him without anyone having to know and judge him which is what you guess is making him uneasy. “Price knows.” You nod- they seem to be the closest in age on the team so you guess they’ve known each other for at least a decent amount of time, knowing things about each other that only a close friend would. “Then I can help, I don’t have to tell the captain unless he asks and neither do you.”

“No drugs.” Ghost had lost hope on ever truly resolving his problems when he lied awake at night thinking about it. Drugs would be written down, stored and used against him. He’ll be seen as an unstable soldier- a sick man.

“I can do that.” You offer him a small smile, at least you’re getting somewhere- doing your job.

Soap might not be the one to worry about, you thought.

—----------------------

You let out a quiet sign to yourself, the back to back meetings have had you cramped inside the room for hours. The team seems to be a good one, funny and kind, thank god. The last meeting was with the captain. You were nervous even though he had hand picked the three men you had met earlier so he couldn’t be too far off in comparison. But the thought that you were going to be working with him and he hadn't been involved in choosing you was gnawing at you. If he hated you or thought he didn’t need you he could have your bags packed in an hour tops. You try to take a deep breath, he couldn’t be that mean- none of the boys seemed to warn you about him so that means he had to be nice or else they would complain about him somehow.

The thoughts in your mind seem to be clouding your senses, you barely hear the steps coming towards the curtain and how they come to a halt right before the fabric is slowly pushed to the side.

Still lost in your thoughts and sitting in the stool, it seems like you’ve been glued to the whole day at the desk that's been housing all the manilla folders, referrals, and notes you’ve been working with for hours on end- you don’t hear the steps get closer and the figure who they belong to standing just slightly past the threshold. Price knows he should probably make himself known, maybe clear his throat or rustle the curtains so you know he’s here.

He plans to, or at least that's what he tells himself, he can’t help taking your form in, your back to him- legs crossed, seated, elbow resting on the desk, chin in your hand. He gulps, he hasn’t seen your face but somehow he knows that you’re beautiful. He would bet money on it without you even having to turn around. Surprisingly, it's the very gulp that makes him let out a small cough that finally has you turning your head to face him. A part of him wants to back out of the room and call Laswell, curse her out for this idea of hers but that thought seems to slip out of his mind as your eyes meet his.

You’re quick to stand up, wiping your hands off on your thighs before reaching one out for a greeting. “Shit, so sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in. You must be the captain.” Price takes your hand but his eyes don’t leave your face- that smile that he can already feel is going to get him in a load of trouble and gives you his own. “It’s alright, love.” You try to hide the sharp inhale you seemed to have involuntarily made when the name hits your ears.

His hands are calloused, not in a way that scratches you but feels sturdy, warm, somewhat comforting. The grasp he has of your hand lasts a little longer than what anyone would deem normal and you stutter out a soft command for him to take a seat on the cot.

Price does as you say and lets go of your hand before taking a seat, interlocking his hands in his lap. You take the time to turn and rearrange your papers, trying to get your breathing under control, of course no one mentioned he's handsome. Fuck.

“I hope my men haven’t given you a hard time so far.” You finally turn around after hearing his voice, it matches his face- handsome, charming. “ No, they're nicer than I expected.” That makes Price raise a brow, questioning what you mean by that and you catch on. “Gaz doesn’t like talking so much, Ghost is an enigma of his own, and well soap is one hell of a character.” You chuckle while taking a seat on the stool once again and scooting over til you’re a few feet away from him.

To be completely honest, Price had almost forgotten about the deal he made with Laswell. She had come by to drop your file at his desk- for him to look over- but in reality, he had forgotten. He feels what he thinks is guilt eating at him in his chest. He had been adamant for so long on not needing a team medic, that they were a waste of time and money- yet here you were, nice, beautiful and he didn’t hate you one bit.

“Well, Gaz is called Gaz for that very reason and well Simon is Simon, and soap- well he’s most likely the reason you’re here.” Soap had been the sole reason for 141’s increased med bay visits which is what had tipped off Laswell to initiate the month long debate of hiring someone.

“I’m glad you did, it doesn’t seem like you guys have been keeping up with protocol.”

“What do you mean, love?” Concern is laced into his words, the thought of his men not getting adequate help makes the knot in his chest grow tighter.

“I’m having Gaz checked for anemia since he’s got some of the tell tale signs. Soap hasn’t had a hearing test in over five years and Ghost has a severe case of insomnia.” You know that not a lot of teams have the opportunity to have a team medic, often resorting to rotating med bay doctors who aren't very keen on prevention and treating for mundane things. The look of guilt spread across the captain's face, his brows furrowing and lips taut. “It’s not your fault, I’m here now so I’ll be taking care of you guys and I’ll be trying my best, captain.”

Your words seem to settle the man down but you can tell he still seems anxious over his men. You place your hands on your knees, “Let’s worry about you right now.” You offer him a kind smile before standing up from your seat and taking a few steps forward before coming to a complete stop when you're standing right in between his spread knees. Your hands are held up a few inches from his face, silently asking for permission. Price pushes the feeling of apprehension to the back of his mind before tilting his chin slightly up, granting you to do so.

“Any past surgeries I should know about Captain?” The tips of your fingers press into the skin right below his ears, feeling the tension underneath while you slowly make your way down his neck, dotting your fingers into his hair clad skin.

“No.” You don’t know if it's in your head but his reply almost comes out as a whisper, your fingers run back up his neck applying pressure directly under his jaw on both sides of his esophagus. You hesitate for a moment when you don’t feel the usual clump of cells that should be there. You spare a glance at his eyes, taking a second too long to remember the shade of blue you find yourself trying to jot down in your mind. “You sure about that?” Your voice sounds softer, closer to the whisper he seemed to have let out before.

You slowly remove your hands from Price’s head and reach for the pen in your scrub pocket and turn to write something in your manilla folder that's laid out on the desk. “I think I would remember going under the knife, love.”

A small smile graces your lips while you finish writing your notes, scooting back to him. “Well Captain, I’m sorry to break the news to you but you don’t have tonsils.” You try to keep a straight face looking at the man sitting on the medical wings cot, barely a foot away. Your knees brushing up against his. “What does that mean?” You hear what sounds like a hesitation of concern laced in his voice and it almost makes you break the stoic look you’re trying to maintain.

“Either someone drugged you and ripped them out of your throat in your sleep or you had them removed when you were a kid and you didn’t remember and no one ever bothered to check or write it down. I'm gonna go with the ladder so you can sleep better at night.” You let out a little chuckle at your imaginative story to pull his leg. Before Price seems to catch onto your joke you ask a follow up question. “Do you smoke?”

“Does that matter?” He looked like the type to smoke, maybe not exactly a cigarette but maybe a cigar, your eyes flash down to his hands and look at his fingers which are laid out on his knees. Yep, he looks like the type to smoke cigars. Your eyes come back up to meet his.

“Cigars?”

Price doesn’t have to answer your question, the look on his face alone answers for you. Before the words reach your ears you’re already back to writing some notes in the folder. Sparing a glance back at the man you notice how out of place he looks. His dark clothes stand out against the pristine whiteness of the blanket laid out on the medical bed, and the slightly off white colors of the walls, the freshly mopped shiny floors. You have the sudden urge to comfort him even though he’s not here for any actual type of medical treatment.

You can see the questions brewing underneath his lips and behind his eyes. Turning your body back to face him, inching your stool a little closer til your knees are almost back to pressing against his.

“If you got your tonsils removed as a child you have a slightly increased risk of upper respiratory infection and you smoking- even if it’s an occasional cigar increases that risk even more.” You try to show some sense of empathy through your eyes while they meet his. A sense of understanding seems to cross his face from your words and it causes a warm smile to find its way on your face.

“It's not that big of a deal but since it’s now in my job description to make sure you and your men are as healthy as can be I just want to make a note of it in case of anything.”

“Alright, love.”

The gruffness in his voice makes you fight back a shiver. “Do you not like doctors, Captain?” His eyes wander around the room, taking note of the fluorescent lights and sketchy wallpaper with a not too fond look on his face. “Not exactly, just not fond of the medical wing itself.” You nod, “yeah I can agree with you on that, not exactly friendly.” John smiles, it's small but something and you feel a tightness in your chest just from the sight of it. “Well since I’m your doctor now we can always just meet in your office instead of here, as long as I can just bring my supplies when needed.”

Price doesn’t understand why you’re trying to be so understanding, so comforting. It’s strange, out of the ordinary for the man, especially in his line of work. His eyes rack your face, down to your hands where you’re fiddling with your fingers. “I’m here to help you Captain, that's it.” You can tell he’s thinking, trying to take you in- read you.

Price decides he likes it, likes you.

“You gonna cook me dinner too, love?” He chuckles. You let a small laugh slip past your lips. “Ask Laswell to see if you can upgrade to the doctor deluxe package and maybe I will.” You’re enjoying this, and judging by Price's reaction he seems to be enjoying himself too.

“Deluxe package?”

“Yeah, cooked meals, back massages, the whole nine, Captain.”

“Sounds like a dream if you tell me, love.”

You both break out into a chorus of light laughter and quiet chuckles. The room doesn’t seem so small and suffocating like you had thought a mere thirty minutes ago and that pit in your stomach has seemed to all but dissipate. You finish going over some more of his medical records, confirming some information and filling in some gaps before you realize that it's been over an hour and the day is coming to a close. It doesn’t even hit you until Price brings it to your attention by looking down at his watch.

“I’m so sorry, I’ve probably kept you here for longer than you planned.” You say with an apologetic smile, nervousness etched into your words. “It’s alright, love.”

The boys were most likely waiting for him in his office for the past twenty minutes but he didn’t have the heart to tell you. Your eyes seemed to have glued him to the cot and your voice lulling him into a daze. Maybe having you around wasn’t so bad after all.

He stands- you follow him. “Well, it was nice meeting you, captain.” You hadn’t had time to take him in when he first came into the room. He’s tall, wide shoulders, tapered waist, and a nice strong set of thighs you have to force your eyes off of.

“John.” You raise a brow, lost in thought from seeing him in his full form. “You can call me John.” His smile is warm and it's almost like the warmth of it radiates onto you and you feel a rush of heat crawl up your neck.

“Okay, John.”

“It was nice meeting you, love.” Price gives you one last kind smile, the crows feet along the edges of his eyes come out at the gesture as he walks towards the curtain before pushing it aside and stepping out. The curtains don't go back to their previous place. You watch him as he walks away until he’s out of eyesight and you finally feel like you can catch your breath. Fuck, your captain is hot.

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

Taglist: @sharkiestory

#john price #john price x reader #fluff #cod modern warfare #cod men #x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #slow burn

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radiance1 · 9 months

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A Dp x Dc idea that isn't Danny-centric!? Say it ain't so!

So I think that this'll be a relatively short one but anywho.

Pariah Dark forcing the entirety of Amity Park into the ghost zone did not come without consequences, even with the ghost shield the Fenton's put over the town.

Said consequences come in the form of the entire basically becoming a ghost portal in and of itself. It mostly happened slowly over time, with the town experiencing quakes that spread quakes that lead to the Ghost Zone.

Everyone had to evacuate when it got really bad, well, mostly everyone. You see, Sam didn't want to leave Amity Park at all so he tried to find ways to convince her parents to let her stay even if said city was basically crumbling.

Then she had an idea.

What if she became one of Undergrowths allogenes? (taken from genshin impact)

So she persuaded (read: bullied) Danny into taking her to him so they could make a deal and let her stay in Amity. Undergrowth was surprisingly accommodating to the both of them, what with Danny becoming the new Ghost Prince and Sam already leaving a good impression on him.

He gave her a task, take this seed and place it within the middle of Amity Park and watch over it until it fully grows, then, and only then, will he accept her as one of his allogenes.

So Sam very obviously took said seed, said yes, and went to plant it.

The center of Amity Park was basically a giant ghost portal, it was small, at first. But with each and every quake it expanded and expanded until it couldn't be ignored anymore, so after Danny and Sam got back and went to it, Sam just dropped the seed in the middle of it and watched it sink.

Luckily Overgrowth gave her a proper method she should follow to ensure its growth, at the very least.

It took 4 years for the seed to grow, 4 years of relative isolation for Sam. Danny was usually busy with High Prince duties, what with being summoned and the likes, while Tucker was busy with taking over the outside world.

They still made time for her however.

When it grew Undergrowth gave her praise, not many would willingly keep themselves in isolation to grow an interdimensional seed from the other world. Such, he made do on his promise and gave Sam a portion of his powers, turning her into one of his allogenes.

He did however tell her that she was only Allogene he's ever had in multiple eons. Some of them chose to reenter the reincarnation cycle, while others sacrificed themselves for the greater good and such, some of them among the living are still alive, however, so they should be at least, vaguely aware of her existence.

Sam trained her new powers, familiarizing herself with them until it was as easy as breathing, which took a few months of non-stop training. Thankfully her new stamina is leaps beyond that of her previous human self. Eventually, she was even able to create a few lotus' that acted mostly as transport around the giant ghost portal.

Oh yea, did I mention that the Ghost Portal expanded enough to take over all of Amity Park? Well, a few buildings here and there stilled survived, mostly like small islands but still.

So Sam was living a pretty fine life, all things considered. Her days were very peaceful, tending to a few plants here and there, taking care of the giant tree that sprouted from the seed she grew, training her powers and talking to Danny and Tucker whenever they dropped by.

It was repetitive, but a nice one.

Then her daily cycle was interrupted by people claiming to be the Justice League, and she honestly did not have a clue as to who they are. She didn't really keep up with the news after planting the seed, or the outside world at all for that matter, the only one she regularly kept in contact with was Tucker.

She thought back on, and Tucker did mention them once or twice. Mostly painting them as irritating individuals yet worthy of respect, not that she knew why but she wasn't going to just let them step in here regardless. It's pretty rude to just step into someone's home without permission, no?

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #sam manson #undergrowth #tucker foley #ghost prince danny phantom #the justice league #Sam became one of Undergrowth's Allogenes because she didn't want to leave Amity park #Said city became a few floating mini islands in a ghost portal #Ngl my first thought was to have this idea be something to do with the league of Assassins coming to check out what they believed to be a #Giant Lazarus Pit only to find it wasn't that but a portal to the land of the dead #But I decided not to do that #So have this instead!

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aziraphales-library · 24 days

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Hi!

Thanks for your hard work keeping your system organized! Really helps during my 3AM reading sessions lol.

I was wondering if there are any “and there was only one bed” fanfics for Aziracrow? Thanks!

We have #there was only one bed and #sharing a bed tags, so take a look at those! Here are some more to add...

Away by HopeCoppice (G)

They can command reservations at the Ritz at a moment's notice. They can perform miracles, or the demonic equivalent, for- well, for Somebody's sake. There is absolutely no way that they should ever be able to find themselves in a situation where there is only one bed. And yet.

Welcome to the Petty Party by Mimsynims (E)

Oh fuck. It was him. Crowley tried to make himself smaller where he was sitting in the back of the Greyhound bus. It had been almost a year - and another continent - since he last saw him, but there was no mistaking that blonde fluff of hair or those strong shoulders on the man entering the bus. It was Aziraphale. Fortunately there were very few other passengers, and Aziraphale chose a seat in the middle of the bus, sitting down without spotting Crowley further in the back. Seeing him now catapulted him back in time, to that fateful night in Birmingham - the one and only time they’d met. Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves stranded in a motel for the night - sharing a room. Last time they met, they spent the night together. Now they are both - wrongfully - convinced that the other never wanted more than a one night stand. (Basically, this is a "there was only one bed" PWP)

Warmth by HolyCatsAndRabbits (E)

The excitement of spending a day traveling with Crowley had turned to deep embarrassment. Rather than a flight followed by a late dinner somewhere and then a night apart, Aziraphale was cold, wet, hungry, and injured, in the wrong city, and facing a night sharing a room with his secret crush in which there was only one bed. And— Aziraphale looked down at what he was holding. Flannel pajamas, tartan ones. He was going to have to go back out there and face the ever-elegant Crowley in his night clothes.

No Such Thing As An Omen by FeralTuxedo (E)

On a snowy New Year’s Eve, rock star Anthony Crowley arrives at Tadfield Manor Hotel to check into his room. Under a fake name, naturally. But to his dismay, it has already been claimed, and the deceptively angelic impostor with the audacity to have stolen Crowley’s alias as well as his room doesn’t appear to want to vacate it any time soon.

Romancing The Tome by Anti_kate (E)

Romance novelist Aziraphale Wilder is pulled from his carefully ordered life when his sister is kidnapped and held to ransom. With the help of antiquities forger Anthony J Crowley, he braves the wilds of Scotland to rescue her and keep a priceless book from falling into the hands of dangerous book thieves.

Waking Up Slow by the_moonmoth (E)

“Then you’ll just have to come back with me," Aziraphale said. “You what?” “You’ll have to come and isolate with me, at my cottage.” The thing about messing with people, Crowley thought, was that sometimes, they genuinely surprised you. After both being exposed to coronavirus, total strangers Crowley and Aziraphale are forced to wait out their isolation together. A tale of soft winter romance by the sea.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #adult omens #there was only one bed #sharing a bed #mod d

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disaster-theysbian · 10 months

Text

Gotta say, I've been out as a lesbian for 3 years and nonbinary for a year and a half. And I've noticed something.

Just because someone *always* gets your name and pronous correct, and angrily calls out anyone who forgets, doesn't necessarily mean they support you.

Conversely, just because someone struggles to remember your name and pronouns, or can't wrap their head around gender neutral/neo pronouns at all, doesn't necessarily mean they DON'T support you.

This is applicable to any situation really not just queer shit. Watch what people do, not just what they say, and you will find your friends. Someone might shower you with compliments and have common interests with you, but what happens when you tell them no? Do they get angry when they are corrected? Do they have kind things to say about other people?

My colleagues wouldn't know a gender-neutral pronoun if one hit them in the face with a dictionary, but they make sure I've had a lunch break and get home safely. They have my back if I have a difficult patient. They defend me against other staff members who like to create drama and bitch about people as if they're still in the school playground. If someone has something to say about me being a big ol' queer, they make it known that discrimination has no place in our unit.

My best friend in the whole entire world forgets my name and pronouns every day. When the organisers of her therapy group changed "men and women" to "people" and "he/she" to "they" in order to be more inclusive, there was outcry. Everything from the "it just doesn't sound right" grammar-policing nonsense to the "f*cking special snowflakes are offended by everything". She came down on them like a ton of bricks. She said if the organisers hadn't told them that it was changing, that they wouldn't have noticed. She told them they obviously haven't loved someone outside of the gender binary and they were missing out. She then told them how she had seen me grow and develop since I came out, and how in awe she was of the person I had become. No, she doesn't understand it at all, but why should that mean that she can't be there for me and appreciate how happy I am to be able to be me? Why should that mean, because you lot don't understand it, that someone with the same issues as the rest of the therapy group feels unsafe and unwelcome and doesn't get their issues resolved? As a result, a few of them changed their minds, INCLUDING HER OWN FATHER, and the rest at least shut the hell up about it.

ON THE FLIP SIDE...

A queer person who used my correct name and pronouns delighted in making me walk on eggshells, inventing reasons to be angry with me, convinced me I was a terrible person and even went as far as to try and turn me against my own therapist. They tried to tell me that my therapist only said I was a good person because she was paid to, and that because they themselves had a psychology degree that they could tell I had all these complexes and needed to work hard to be a good person, and it was unlikely I'd never get there. (I chose to listen to my therapist and stop being friends with this person).

A queer person who used my correct name and pronouns continued to do things that made me uncomfortable when I asked them to stop. Never said in as many words "you're not allowed to hang out with your friends" but conveniently had an emergency every time I had plans, and accused me of being uncaring if I needed my own space. They knew I had difficulty asking for help, but still got angry with me when I asked because I didn't ask "soon enough".

A queer person who used my correct name and pronouns told me they would look after me and they didnt. .

A queer person threatened to misgender me MORE when I corrected them.

I'm just saying, that if you choose to yeet everyone who doesn't get your name and pronouns right... that doesn't necessarily make you safe. We live in a very binary world. As much as we want that to change, it won't if we ignore or shout at the bits we don't like. (Believe me, I've tried).

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angelltheninth · 1 year

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Hihi! I noticed that your requests are open again, which is perfect because I, like so many others, have been stuck in an avatar fic hunt. So could you maybe write something about aonung x human!reader (bc that pairing honestly has so much potential and for some reason THERE'S NOTHING)

Maybe something where the reader is really curious of the na'vi in general and since they got to the islands, just really fascinated with the metkayina, but because they know that the clan would be uncomfortable around them and they dont want to bother anyone, they just kinda watch from the sidelines and keep to themselves, which doesn't really mix well with drama searching king aonung, but they end up getting to know and even liking each other

Thanks!! ^^

This is the second time I've gotten a request like this so might as well give the people what they want:

Pairing: Aonung x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, developing feelings, crushes, protectiveness, flirting, confessions, tail shenanigans, flirty Aonung, shy Reader, flustered Reader

A/N: I agree there should be more Aonung content.

Aonung always sees you on the edge of his vision, keeping to the side, not closer to the Sully's but always keeping a distance from the rest

He tries not to pay you much mind at first but he sees that you keep writing something in your book

His own curiosity gets the better of him

You don't hear him approaching and his greeting sends you falling into the water below

Luckily you do know how to swim, that doesn't stop Aonung from jumping in after you, only to laugh at you when you yell at him how he almost scared the life out of you

Your notebook is still safe and dry, which is good because he really wants to know the things you've been writing

At first he tells himself that he's only keeping an eye on you as you're even more of an outsider then the Sully family

That's what he tells his friends as well

Aonung's dad doesn't like that he's spending so much time with you but since the Sully's vouched for you he lets you stay

He doesn't leave you alone for long however, beginning to point things out about himself, and about the Sully's

Teases you for getting handsy with him while you're admiring the differences between you two, like his ears, hands, his tail

Enjoys seeing how flustered you get and decides he wants to see more of it

Often has to sneak out with you before eventually deciding to bring you along with his friends and the Sully kids

Despite you being part of the group you're still an outsider and as such Aonung takes a very protective stance when it comes to you

Stands up to many of his peers for you, even hissing and growling at them, it never escalates into a physical fight because no one wants to deal with a lecture from his dad, and frankly neither does he

Brings you little gifts, with your favorite being a necklace similar to his own which he made by himself for you

Kisses your hands and shoulders a lot

Likes to sleep with you on top of him so he can drape his tail around you protectively

Takes you out to sea at night, keeping you close to him while riding his ilu

It was on a night like this that he chose to confess to you, vowing to protect you and love you always

He was very happy when you told him you liked him too

A little hesitant to introduce you to his father is his hopefully future mate but with your hand in his he gets the courage to do so

It takes a lot of convincing, a many months of you having to prove yourself worthy of dating Aonung, many of which you've been grilled by both his dad and mom, but eventually, with some support of the Sully family, you and Aonung officially start dating

#avatar #avatar x reader #aonung #aonung x reader #avatar way of water #avatar imagine #aonung imagine #avatar x you #avatar imagines #avatar the way of water #x reader

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flowerandblood · 7 months

Text

Glass Cuts Deepest (1)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: angst, mention of trauma and violence ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She remembered exactly the one sunny afternoon when, still being a small child, she walked with her father into an old, gigantic Gothic church that seemed to her to be so high that it reached up to the sky.

As they stepped inside they were struck by the distinctive smell of incense, dampness and a strange, disturbing echo with each of their steps, as if reminding them that they were in the House of God.

She remembered clearly the narrow, long windows filled with figures of saints, shimmering with various colours of glass, as if they were really looking at her from the heavens themselves. The rays of the sun shone through them like the glory of God himself, and she thought then that she wanted to learn more about them.

She quickly began to draw, at first it was just her favourite cartoon characters, but as she got older she began to take an interest in art and paintings. On all her school trips she would look curiously at the works of the old masters in art galleries and then read about them at home.

When she managed to get into a painting department at a state university, it seemed like the happiest day of her life. One of the specialisations she could choose after the first year was that of stained glass, and it made her face flush all the more because she knew who taught there.

Although there were as many as three professors in the stained glass department, only one, the youngest of them, namely Professor Targaryen was so spectacularly successful internationally, to which he also owed his quick habilitation being only six years older than her.

For all she knew his talent had already been recognised during his studies and he was now carrying out gigantic commissions for new churches built by the richest archbishops.

She had seen his work in one of the churches in her town and had to admit that he was one of the best stained glass artists of their generation.

The holy figures in his works seemed light and halting, partly Baroque and partly Mannerist, their faces expressing some kind of heavenly anticipation, wonder or melancholy, the colours of the glass he chose contrasting wonderfully under the sunlight, creating a breathtaking composition.

He was a genius.

During her first year at university, she saw him fleetingly several times during a class on the basics of stained glass design, where everyone, no matter what specialisation they wanted to choose afterwards, learned how to cut glass with diamond blades, paint it and apply patina.

They were then taught by his assistant professor, Cregan Stark, and Professor Lannister's doctoral student, Meera. Both were very warm and patient – she took great joy in these lessons and stayed after hours to complete her work.

One day Cregan stood over her and seeing her painting her saint's face for the third time, this time with satisfying results, he nodded his head in approval.

"You are very hardworking and you are doing well. You should choose stained glass as a speciality." He said softly. She blushed all over and hopped up in her chair, happy.

"I am so pleased to hear that. I would love to study in your workshop under Professor Targaryen." She said quickly with excitement in her voice, and he raised his eyebrows and laughed. She blinked, confused.

"Forget about it, I advise you well. You're a good girl and you don't deserve what would happen to you there." He said, scratching his chin, looking at her apologetically, as if he resented himself for getting her hopes up. She felt a tightness in her throat not understanding what he was implying.

"What do you mean, sir?" She asked uncertainly and he sighed heavily.

"Ask your fellow students."

His words kept her awake and made her feel very uncomfortable – she had heard that Professor Lannister sometimes liked to flirt with his female students.

Was Professor Targaryen the same way?

Or worse?

Reflecting on this, she realised as she walked past the room where his students worked that she had never seen any women.

She asked this out loud the next day to her female colleagues, who looked at her surprised.

"Didn't you hear about that incident two years ago? He slapped one female student in the face during class. And she wasn't even his student! It landed him on the rug with the rector himself and he almost didn't get fired from the university. He owes his position only to his achievements and that thanks to him our university keeps getting new assignments from the curia." Said Ellyn, and she swallowed loudly, shocked by her words.

"Is it known why he did it?" She asked uncertainly. Lysa shrugged her shoulders.

"Apparently it enraged the rector the most. He didn't explain why he did it, he just said that she deserved it and that no whore – he probably meant woman – would cross the threshold of his workshop. He has one artificial eye and a huge scar, maybe because no woman wants him he behaves this way."

She lowered her gaze, heartbroken, feeling the cold sweat on the back of her neck, her heart pounding like mad.

What kind of man was this?

Now she wasn't surprised why Cregan had told her to let it go.

However, the closer she got to choosing a speciality and a workshop, the more she felt the need to fight for what she wanted. Maybe if she stayed away from him and just worked hard he would give her a break? Maybe he was annoyed by the way the girls dressed or behaved?

She decided to give it a try.

Despite everyone warning her not to do so, she submitted the papers, writing his name as her supervisor, whose workshop she applied to. She had a feeling that it would lead to some kind of earthquake, but in the field of stained glass she wanted to be like him.

She thought through how she would dress – she decided that since she didn't like women, she would try to look as neutral and bland as possible.

She put on a large black hoodie from under which neither her breasts nor her buttocks were visible, tight black trousers and trainers. She tied her hair up in an elaborate braid to keep it out of her face, applied only foundation and no other make-up.

Dressed like this, she came to the first meeting of the new semester, where students found out what classes they had and met their lecturers.

She entered the room full of men and complete silence fell; she saw that the professor wasn't there yet, so she sat down with her notepad and pen at the very end of the table to just disappear. One of the boys with dark, curly hair turned to her.

"You're brave, but I already feel sorry for you. He'll kick you the fuck out of here." He said amused, several of the other boys laughed nervously.

She lowered her gaze, horrified, beginning to regret doing this instead of going to another professor who would have welcomed her applications with open arms.

When the door suddenly opened she curled into herself, not looking in that direction, resting her chin on her hand, swallowing loudly. She heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and someone sighing, then the rustling of pages.

"I'll start by reading out the list and welcoming the new students." She heard a cold, indifferent, stern voice that sent shivers through her, felt her breath get stuck in her throat with fear.

"Allan Baratheon."

"Mark Arryn."

"Royce Hightower."

"Matthias Martell."

"Well. I welcome you and will get straight to the task ahead of you this term." He said calmly, putting down the sheet of paper – she felt the stares of all the students on her.

He hadn't read her out.

She was sure she was on the list.

She pressed her lips together lifting her gaze to the boy who had spoken to her earlier – he just raised his eyebrows with a shrug of his shoulders in an I told you so gesture.

For a moment she wondered what she should do, feeling tears of helplessness under her eyelids – still not looking at him she raised her trembling hand slowly upwards. She heard him fall silent for a moment, but then he continued as if nothing had happened.

"− I have decided to hold a competition for the best design for three window quarters with a representation of the Virgin Mary surrounded by saints. The design will be chosen by me and the bishop, who will pay for the whole order, and then the whole workshop will work together to make this chosen design. Cregan will send you by e-mail the dimensions of each window and which specific saints are to be depicted. That's all."

He said and simply stood up, taking his papers and coffee and left, not paying any attention to her or her hand. Her classmates looked at her in shock.

"Oh fuck, that was horrible. He completely pounced on you. I'm so sorry." Her year mate said, patting her on the back, and she burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands.

"Don't cry. This is not about you. Go to Lannister and don't spoil your nerves." Said one of the older students and everyone slowly began to leave the room.

She looked blankly at her notebook and decided that she would try one last time.

She would try to talk to him.

She left and approached the locked room where a placard with his name on it was posted. She heard two voices coming from it, in one she recognised Cregan.

"She's not like that, Aemond. Really. She focuses on her work, she's diligent. Three times I made her start the same face over and she did it without saying a word. She is humble and learns quickly. It's a shame to give her up to waste to Jason or Floris." She heard Stark's voice and felt warm in her heart at the thought of him trying to defend her. For a moment he was answered by silence.

"No. There are always problems with them sooner or later. She was almost crying by now. I don't want any weepy scenes in my workshop. I −"

He didn't finish because there was a loud knock on their door. She heard someone stand up inside, then the door opened and she saw Cregan standing in front of her. He shook his head quickly letting her know that this was a very bad idea, but she had already made up her mind.

She wanted to look him in the face before she gave up completely.

"Please, find five minutes for me, Professor." She directed her words to him rather than Cregan.

He sighed heavily, stepping back and it was only then that she noticed a fair-haired man with his short hair pulled back in black turtleneck, looking at her as if he had never seen a more disgusting thing on earth.

He was silent for a long time and then rolled his eyes, sighing heavily and hummed under his breath, pulling out his phone, turning on the stopwatch.

His artificial eye was cold and lifeless, his nostrils moving restlessly, his jaw clenched tight – she thought he looked more like a sculpture rather than a human being.

He seemed empty to her, created from stone rather than flesh.

"Five minutes." He said lowly, and Cregan quickly walked out, leaving them alone, closing the door behind him. She wanted to come closer, but his voice stopped her.

"Don't come up, just stand there and talk. You're running out of time." He burst out coolly, still facing her in profile, tapping his fingers impatiently on his armrest. She swallowed loudly, feeling her throat dry up, and opened her mouth to tell him all that she was holding inside.

"I know what rules you have set in your workshop and I wish very much now that I had been born a man, but unfortunately I am not." She said with difficulty hearing her voice tremble. She glanced at him and saw that he was still listening to her, so she continued.

"I saw your artworks while I was still in high school at St. John's Cathedral, and having always dreamed of creating stained glass for churches, I wanted to be taught by someone who is such an accomplished specialist in the field as you are, sir. I know how difficult the job is and I promise to do what you tell me to do without a shadow of dissatisfaction. I will not approach you except to revise my designs or projects. I will always work at the furthest table and sit in the last seat as far away from you as possible, dressing in such a way that you do not notice me and forget my existence on a daily basis. Please." She whispered the last word weakly – she saw his adam's apple rippling as he swallowed loudly, tense.

He remained silent.

"Just because you're a fan of my works doesn't make you a talented person. What good is it to me that you work in silence if none of your pieces will be at least satisfactory and your colleagues will have to correct your mistakes?" He asked dryly, lifting his stern gaze to her – she swallowed loudly, feeling small, feeling like a nobody.

She did not bring her designs with her.

"Well. All I have with myself now are quick sketches in my notebook. They're portraits of people I see travelling on the bus to my classes." She said quickly and he sighed heavily, frustrated, and ran his hand over his face.

"So you are unprepared." He summarised, and she furrowed her brow, shaking her head.

"None of my colleagues had to −" She began, but he threw her a sharp, annoyed look and she realised at once that she had to back off, had to humble herself.

"− I − yes, I'm unprepared. I'm very sorry." She mumbled, fiddling with her notebook in her hands, her lips tightening.

He turned his head away from her, but extended his hand towards her in a movement full of impatience. She approached him uncertainly, handing him her sketchbook without touching his skin. He sighed and began to look quickly through what was inside without interest.

She saw that he had stopped at a few drawings, depicting a young woman with a child on her lap, an old man wearing a large black cap and winter scarf, and a stooped man asleep leaning his temple against the glass.

She saw him massaging his forehead and closing his eyes, clearly fighting with himself internally. He closed her notebook and waved it in his hand.

"Three of your fifteen sketches I would consider good. Do you think that's enough?" He asked dryly, without even looking at her. She felt a squeeze in her heart and a wave of disappointment knowing what he meant to say.

"No. It's not enough."

He hummed under his breath agreeing with her opinion, and then with a light flick of his hand, he tossed her notebook into the bin that stood by his desk. He glanced at her reaction and she gasped.

He wanted her to cry, to run out hurt and humiliated, to leave him alone.

No.

"So I'll do 200 sketches, 40 of which will be good. Or 300 of which 60 will be good. I will do as many of them as you see fit, Professor." She said with an effort, trying with all her might not to cry again.

He looked at her coldly in silence, the bell on his phone ringing out like something final. She felt cold sweat on the back of her neck as he reached over and muted his app, turning his profile back to her again.

"400 sketches. And they're all supposed to be good. Without them, don't even show yourself to me. Anything else?" He asked, and she shook her head.

"No. Thank you for the chance, Professor." She muttered and just walked out, closing the door behind her, feeling her whole body tremble.

He wasn't a man, but a walking monster breathing fire.

Cregan walked up to her, looking at her in horror, clearly seeing how pale she was.

"Did he agree?" He asked in a whisper, as if he was afraid he would hear them.

"He told me to bring him 400 good sketches and not to show my face to him without it." She mumbled apprehensively, wondering how long it would take her and how she would decide which were good and which were not. Stark looked at her in disbelief.

"I know it's no consolation, but you've just achieved the impossible." He said with some kind of admiration, and she sidestepped him, not knowing if she could call it that herself.

When she got home she started searching the gossip portals in the hope of finding out something about the incident from a few years ago, guessing that it must have been a big scandal and she was not disappointed.

Admittedly, she couldn't find his statement anywhere, and the student he slapped gave a wide-ranging explanation.

Professor Targaryen showed an unhealthy interest in me from the beginning and was also unpleasant and disrespectful. When we were left alone and I went to him to ask him to proofread my work, as my professor was on sick leave at the time and I wanted to move on with my job, he rose with anger and slapped me on the cheek shouting that I had no right to enter his workshop and invade his privacy. I believe this stems from his complexes and fear of women, and I regret that no justice reached him for this. Unfortunately, in this university everyone cleans each other's hands.

She recalled her sketches he had stopped at and wondered what they had in common. She thought that as well as a study of the body there was a kind of melancholy and lightness in them, a snapshot of some fragment of life and situation.

She read this, and she decided that she needed to be wary of him and keep her distance, not to approach him or frustrate him.

She spent the next week from morning to night sketching, sitting in the park and looking at people passing by, but she wasn't satisfied with her results.

She decided to go to church.

She made sketches of figures from the paintings in prayerful exultation, sculptures facing the heavens with outstretched hands, close-ups of their faces.

She thought he meant a character study like Leonardo da Vinci did, who caught facial expressions and gestures on the fly, making the viewer of his drawings go through a thrill of excitement.

She went round all the temples in her city and ended up with 500 sketches, from which she selected the agreed 400. She decided for her own satisfaction to bring him 401 drawings, which she managed to pack into two big folders.

She did not find him in his office so she set off towards his workshop where his senior students and her year mates were gathered. However, she didn't cross its threshold but knocked on the doorframe, eager to get his attention, to get permission to cross that magic line.

He was just leaning over another student's projects and glanced at her with a sharp, disgruntled look, clearly hoping he would never see her again. She lifted up her folders showing that she had brought what he wanted – he sighed heavily and moved towards her, avoiding her by a wide margin.

"Follow me." He said dryly, so she went straight after him. They entered a room with illuminated tables on which glass was usually cut and painted.

"Lay them out here. Show me the top 40." He said impatiently, and she swallowed loudly, wondering what she should show him. Her hesitation frustrated him.

"Can't you judge which of your works are suitable to be shown to me?" He growled and she shook her head, quickly searching for the works that were most memorable to her.

The woman turning to her over her shoulder with an enigmatic smile, the angel looking up to the heavens with his lips parted, the distraught Mother of God looking at her suffering son, Mary Magdalene humbly bent over in prayer, the nun covering her face with her hand, leaning over in thought.

She put down sheet after sheet, counting in her head, but then she lost track, stood up, trying to count them all over again, her heart pounding like mad.

"That's enough." He commanded coolly and walked over to the table, this time looking at each of her works in turn.

She stood at a great distance from him, not daring to come close, his face thoughtful, sharp and tense, his brow furrowed.

She was afraid he was about to humiliate her again, start crumpling up sheet after sheet and throwing them in the dustbin. He picked up a few, however, taking a closer look at them.

It seemed to her that his silence lasted for ages.

"Is that a figure from the church of St Michael the Archangel?" He asked indifferently, and she nodded quickly. He hummed under his breath and added nothing, putting the piece of paper down, watching further, his hands entwined at his back.

"A month. For a trial. If you disappoint me, I'll kick you out." He said low and unenthusiastic, turned and walked out, simply leaving her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hiding her face in her hands, and burst into sobs.

She had made it.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

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kairiscorner · 10 months

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(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

what would it be like to be miggy's sole friend? (aside from my bbg lyla)

imagine being one of my miguel's only friends in middle school. like he was a bullied kid in middle school (i think he was in middle school in the '92 comics, correct me if i'm wrong) and like, i think our miguel (movie miggy) wouldn't really give a shit if you were his only friend, he just wanted it to be you.

like if you asked him why he didn't try to make other friends if he knew you would be there to defend him if someone tried to mess with him, he'd just shrug and admit that he doesn't really want anyone else. and if you'd follow up that question with another why, he... he wouldn't know himself why. he just feels better and at peace knowing you're all he has to call as his 'friend'.

he wasn't shy nor anti-social either, he did talk to people and make connections, but he never really went to anyone else but you to talk about problems, unburden burdens you both never realized you were carrying, and just... be yourselves around each other.

like miggy has to put up fronts, he always did, he always does. even as an adult, if you chose to stay by his side, you would always see different sides of him, it was never just one or two versions, but a whole spectrum of miggy that you witnessed and grew up with.

and he appreciates how you understand him despite you not agreeing with him a lot, like that shit comforts him, how you have tried to see things his way. and despite them not working/being agreeable for you, he likes how you at least try, for him, to see how he sees it.

you also know how much he hates other people telling him what to do, that riles him up the most. he hates not having things in control because when things aren't in control, nobody, not even him, is in control of themselves. you don't encourage his no nonsense behavior, you want him to have fun, but most of all, you are the only person who successfully convinces him to take a damn break and relax for once.

he has joked to you before how many couples he knew lasted long because they knew each other since high school or college, since you knew each other way earlier than that... what would you do if he proposed to you right then and there? what if he said he wanted to marry you, spend the rest of his life with you, have you remind him taking breaks, waking up in his arms in the morning, and going home with his hand in yours, ensuring you'd be safe forever as long as he was there?

"i know i'm not... the most agreeable or friendly man on this planet, but... i want to be better. and to be better, i learn from you. and the more i learn from you... i realize how much i've loved you all this time, all this time i've wanted just you and only you, that... must've been when i started falling for you, ever single part of you, it all makes my heart beat a little faster, makes me want to be someone worth loving by someone so worth it. and that someone is... you. so, what do you say?"

a/n: WHAT DO I SAY, I SAY YES BBG AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

tags !! @miguelswifey04 (him to you fr <333)

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara fanfiction #spider man 2099 #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara fluff #atsv #atsv spiderman

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emojellyace08 · 9 months

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Lookism Men x Female Reader "Their types on a woman" PART 2

A/N: Thanks for the request @misasdeathwish! Here's an another part of it and I'll probably make a part 3 for this since I really enjoy this (series?) so much. And also thanks for 55 followers!!! I really appreciate you guys for following my blog it means so much to me, so here's another post hope you like it! Genre: Fluff☁️and slight angst? (for everyone) WARNINGS: family issues, slight mentions of assault, and a bit sad

Hudson Ahn (Ahn Hyun-Seong)

Considering how much passion in fighting this guy have I bet that that's how his type on a woman is.

A girl doesn't have to be super physically strong completely just for Hudson to get to like them. I headcannon that just like Jay, Hudson can't handle whiny girls and causes lots of high school dramas. But girlish or not, if a woman has good morals, a good perspective in life and hardworking enough to reach her goals and dreams in life I think Hudson's attention will turn his focus on you.

It makes it even better to get a bit closer to him if you know martial arts and you still you use it in a responsible way. Business is just business. If your job is to take down anybody who gets in your way, you got to prepare your knuckles for some fight just to finish it.

So imagine saving Hudson and his gang when they get into a fight with some other mfs, he and his crewmates will be definitely surprised on a girl having the balls (well actually having no balls) to confront his enemies. It's not that he's thinking that girls can't fight and stand up for themselves. He's thinking on why you're helping him when he can fight for himself and getting into someone else's business. "Who is this hot chick over here?" a tall and skinny man cooed as his eyes trailed down your figure while rubbing his chin. "Sorry, I was on my way home just saw you beating up these poor dudes". "HEY! WE AIN'T POOR KIDS WE CAN FIGHT FOR OURSELVES!" a man with a baby face and curly black hair with yellow stripes/strands of hair shouted back at you while his nose is bleeding. "I'm the Sun of Ansan. I can't just lose like this or else I'm putting Taesoo Ma, my master's name out of shame" a blonde haired man replied while standing up. Feeling a dark aura surrounding the male, you smirked as you feel his fighting spirit getting back to beat the hell out of these creeps. "Since it's been a while since I kicked someone's ass, I think this should be a good exercise". you stated as you smiled widely and cracking your knuckles getting hyped up for the fight "You should go home and don't get involved in somebody else's business. It's my fight." "Sorry boo I just got here so I can't go home just yet". He was about to refuse when one of the opponents chose to attack him. With you being aware of your surroundings, you immediately kicked the high dude on his face making him fall on the ground. And the rest is history.

Well after all the fighting, his crewmates managed to convince Hudson to join you on their team. "C'mon Hudson! She's a good fighter she can be a good human weapon!" Jacky begged with those puppy ass eyes while it sparkled like stars. "He's right. She can be a great side member when we're off for other businesses." the tattooed male replied back as Hudson sighed finally giving in for their requests. Despite not wanting to add more members in his crew (since most of them are a headaches), he admits that your fighting skills is above average. Though what he worries about is about your attitude. Since the others are all childish and too prideful, he worries is that if you're like that too he would be bothered to join you in their team.

So he tries to approach you before you leave, him awkwardly talking about how his crew gain lots of money and if you're interested in it. "SORRY! I'm not making money out of illegal stuff!" you denied his offer with a smile but the curly black-haired dude keep pushing you so you got no choice I guess. So if you're part of his crew up until the end that it got destroyed because of Daniel Park, I think Hudson will start to realize on how you managed to stay loyal on him even when he knows that he's probably going to lose on this match. And that's how he started liking you. It's because of your loyalty and you believing on himself that he can be much more stronger. And that what makes him strive for more success. It's for you and Taesoo, the most important people in his life to be proud of him.

If you're not the type to know about fighting, I think that him saving you from a man trying to assault you in a different bar will make you interested in him after his crew got disbanded. He'll convince you that you should never come back in places like this since he knew from himself how these things happen all the time in the illegal side of his business before. So it makes him a bit guilty about all the horrible things he have done before. And if you coincidentally saw him again beaten up and you took him to the hospital or cure his wounds, he might show an interest in you (I swear this men likes babying them so much they just won't admit). His ideal date would just be probably cuddling and staying at home ;)

Overall hype him up, be passionate about your goals and dreams in life, and being loyal and honest can bring out the best of him.

Eli Jang (Jang Hyun)

Is it weird that I put Eli next to Hudson? lol. But seriously blonde Eli? I simp

Considering how this male went through so much things in his life, expect him to like someone who will be always there for him no matter how things turn upside down. His life is full of trauma and since his parents (his father passed) and how his step-mother don't really care about him forcing him to turn back and run away hoping that things will get better. But things turned worse when he's exposed to all the gangs and doing bad things like stealing and fighting at a very young age. When he met Warren, Sally and the rest of the gang he thought everything will be great but it all went wrong when Heather passed away everything fell apart. He felt that his whole life everything is just a tragedy to him and Eli felt that everything won't find true happiness until Yenna is born and when he met you.

It was in J-High when he moved schools to start a new life for himself and his daughter. Most girls were interested in him since he's good looking and as much as he appreciates their compliments, he mostly wants to focus on himself before getting to date someone. It's not even his priority since the last time he truly thought that he finally met his perfect soulmate, the worst things have gotten. But he changed his mind when you caught his attention. Your attentiveness in class and your will to help others will always make him turn his head around just to look at you. And the fact that you befriended out of pure kindness him makes his stomach grumble and feel butterflies. Sure, you wouldn't deny that he looks majestic. But the thing is you got more interested in him since despite the smile that he's trying to show to everybody, he always looks tired and sad (you can see it in his eyes). So you thought befriending him might not be a bad idea.

Like some Lookism guys, he will be a bit hesitant at first at making friends with anyone because of his trauma is consuming him for not being strong enough to take care of the people who he cherishes the most and he's thinking that you just probably wanted a date. But you proved him wrong. Your calm spirit and voice helps him ease his mind a lot. Your happy and go lucky personality makes him remind of Heather the most. So slowly but surely, he'll get used to your presence even craving and looking for you sometimes when your not present. I also headcannon that he's definitely the type to like mature and understanding women. Since he needs (or tries) to be independent throughout his childhood and not experience freedom, a whiny and immature someone can turn him off the most. After getting to know you more and able to build a special connection with you he'll definitely open about his issues/struggles in life and about his daughter (please don't discriminate him for it).

Eli would be probably into more of the soft and quiet women too. Bonus points if you know how to do household chores like cooking, cleaning the house etc. since being a single dad can be hard. Eli have to balance his school life and focus all his homework on time while taking care of Yenna and making sure she's safe is a stressful challenge. So having someone who can help him babysit the little girl is something that he'll appreciate so much. Though it's okay that if his someone doesn't know how to cook since he knows the struggles of it and it can be a great quality time for the both of you learning different recipes! (but it can be a bit disastrous at times lmao). What matters is that you don't stress yourself of taking care of the child. He doesn't like seeing you tired and it's definitely not a requirement for you to take care of Yenna since you have to study too. Though his trust for you will gain more if you insist to take care of the little girl (and you tried your best to be a mother figure).

Though at times, his past issues about Heather can get into his relationship. If you noticed that he often talks about the girl all the time, please be patient and understanding about it. You can talk about it with him without letting your negative emotions getting in the way. If you let your jealousy get into you first, this can form a BIG MISUNDERSTANDING between the two and I mean it. He'll probably think that you don't understand him enough and it can tore your relationship apart.

And after the 4 major crews got active to rip families and friendships apart, Eli is afraid to hurt everybody especially you, Yenna, and his family. So when joining the Workers is the only "solution" for Yoojin to not destroy Hostel, you immediately try to stop him but he knows he can't turn back now. Your caring personality is also one of the reasons he loves you, though he felt like he doesn't deserve it. You gotta thank Vasco for bringing Eli back home again.

Be understanding, helpful, and patient with Eli hon. Form an amazing relationship with him and his family that he never got to experience. And Yenna might even call you Mama!

Warren Chae (Chae Won Seok)

A devoted simp lmao.

Headcannon: Warren likes shorter and cute girls (And having the same age as him don't think that way>:(. Though after some time, realizing that a sweet, positive and a helpful girl actually catches his attention more (plus being short and cute is a win for him). Warren would also be into mature yet a bit playful women. He really likes it when he gets a cute reaction out of someone he like when he's easing them and he gets really flustered when his someone flirts back.

So imagine just meeting him at school and him saving you from the other thugs AHHHHHHH. The moment he saw you getting harassed by those fuckers, he can't help but to feel the urge to protect you. Who the hell treats a girl like that?

He was on the way home with Eli, Sally and Heather when he notices you getting blocked in the way by other teenagers from the other university. As much as you want to get away from this mess, the old-looking students won't let you go. "Aww c'mon let's go to my house and grab some beer". An wrinkly-faced guy embraced your shoulder just to pull you closer to him which makes you uncomfortable. "So-sorry I-I'm good" you gulped harshly as the three men keeps whistling and making pouty faces insulting you. "Sorry miss if you don't complied we will have to keep bother-" "Oi, what the fuck (are you doing?)" a familiar male voice shouted as you turned around to see if it's really him. "The All Mighty Warren Chae". You heard about him and in fact, he's your classmate and he's one of the most known trouble maker in your school. Not only he can't finish his sentences full, he doesn't also finish doing his homework (You weren't close anyways). He's also with three unfamiliar people who are probably in another campus. "Hey is he your boyfriend? I'll go talk to him". "Hey wai-" you tried to stop the skinny dude and now he's face to face with Warren. "Are you her boyfriend? Sorry if I was hitting on your girl but she's mine now". he smirked clearly insulting and challenging the other male. "Nah, (if you try to harass a girl) you gotta fight me". Warren replied while unconsciously not finishing his sentence. As the skinny dude tries to land a punch on him Warren easily blocked his move and punched him to the ground beating the guy down (getting what he deserves).

And that's how you met and became friends with the Hostel. You got close to everybody especially with the guy who saved you, heck you even talk to Olly Wang. You'll also teach him about grammar when you have extra time so he can construct his sentences well not only on the assignments but also when he's talking. Your helpful and generous personality is enough to make Warren burst. He really appreciates it when you help him through his complications and you being patient and understanding about it makes him less insecure about his disability. And that what makes him love himself more and try to get stronger to protect you and his family. You will always visit your friends and sometimes sleep on their place (even if it's a bit messy). You'll also help them clean up and you'll always bring their favorite food especially Warren's. I also headcannon that he likes clingy and cuddly women. Though he will always ask for consent if you're willing to hug or kiss him back.

But not everything and everyday is all about rainbow and unicorns. Everything went wrong when the adults find about Hostel and with Heather getting pregnant and passing away from labor. It even got worst when Eli ran away again. You have to move out from another city to start a "fresh life" because your parent/s got so worried for being involve into "low-standard" run-away teenagers which is far from truth. And no matter how much you want to protest to them, you can't do anything and you have to get through the burden of it.

But when you find out that you study with Eli at the same school, you get to make contact with him but it was a really hard task. First he tries to avoid you at all cost thinking that Sally or Warren contacted you to follow him and convince him to get back to Hostel. But with great communication and understanding with one another, you and Eli started being friends again and you managed to have contact with Hostel again after a few months (years rather). You're really excited to meet Warren again and that you hugged him a bit too tight making him and Sally chuckle. "Warren! I missed you so much!" you cried as your arms wrapped around his waist which he doesn't mind (he even loves it). "I-I missed you too." he replied while blushing back loving your warmth that brings him comfort. "YOU COMPLETED YOUR SENTENCE!" "(I've) Been studying (reading)." "At least you're getting better now, little boo!" you gleefully smiled as he kissed your forehead. He knows that it's dangerous for you to be involve with him especially when all the drama about the 4 major crews are getting a bit spicier and heated. But can he just enjoy this moment for a while? To hug and cuddle with you and forget the world in just a moment?

If you really like Warren, be understanding about his condition. Also having a warm and positive vibe around him can make his heart melt.

Johan Seong (Seong Yohan)

Not really clingy but he still cares about you if you're not too much of a bothersome.

If you know Johan before the cult incident or if you're childhood friends with him along with Zack and Mira, he'll be more open and awkward around you. Since he's really shy around this time he's still developing himself as a whole. He wants to get strong like Zack as he always watches him do boxing. Yet when he tries to stand up for himself from the bullies he still get defeated which makes him feel unworthy. Though if you saw him getting bullied as you tried to stand against the other kids, he'll start to see you as an inspiration. An emotionally strong women can really catch his attention.

The thing that he calls admiration soon becomes deeper as he explores your personality even more. If you're accepting and understanding even on the smallest things he'll literally develop a crush on you. You may be still be developing as a child (same age as him), but your good set of morals makes him inspired to do better in life not only for you and himself but most especially his mom.

But things took a bad turn when the cult incident happened. And the addition of his mom loosing her eyesight and getting involved/addicted to drugs stresses him out the most. He just wants the best for her and his friends too. And he hates it when you and Mira get hurt by other people. That's why his fueling rage and anger makes his way to encourage himself to be strong. Stronger than Zack, stronger than anybody. That's why no matter how he thought that it'll be toxic for him to just leave you and his family without any words or context, he felt like he has to. To protect you and find a cure for his mom.

Of course his sudden leave will make you devastated. And after some years, as hurtful as it sounds he'll probably start forgetting abut you since he's focused on the major crew business. But after his crew disbandment and lost, he's probably going to meet you without plans on a food stand (considering how much this guy loves food). He would panic and pretend that he's just a random stranger but your gut feeling got the best of you and you'll ask him if he's the boy you're looking for. Of course he'll deny it at first but seeing his sweet someone will make him iresistent. He misses you no matter how hard he tries to deny it. And when he goes to visit his mom (without her knowing it's her son since she's getting blind), she'll always tell him about you on how you always take care of her especially if you have free times. Johan likes helpful women especially in household chores just like Eli and if his someone/crush also takes care of his mom she's definitely his type on women too just like Daniel.

He has to explain to you that once this is all over and his mom's eyes got better he'll come back to your hometown and back to you. But it still hurts you Johan suffering from all of this when all you want is for him to be happy.

If you haven't met him in his childhood, he'll definitely be more cold and reserved. He won't give a damn about everybody (except his mom and his friends ofc) but women? He doesn't have time for them especially the loud ones. But if you're the emotionally matured and understanding type he'll definitely have an interest for you (despite him denying it).

Even if he's not a clingy person, your caring, gleeful and emotionally strong personality can make him relax a bit from all this chaos. Just ask him for a good and warm hug and he'll sigh and open his arms for you (he secretly likes it trust me).

A/N: WHEWW! Johan, Hudson and Warren are so hard to write for! (It's my first time writing about them so please don't judge it too much lol) Eli is much easier since I can express my way of writing more to emotionally unwell characters. But feel free to give some criticisms if you're not satisfied!

Looking for Jake, Gun, Goo, and Sinu one? Part 3 will be coming up ;)

#lookism x reader #lookism x you #lookism x y/n #eli jang x reader #johan seong x reader #warren chae x reader #hudson ahn x reader #lookism #manhwa x reader #manhwa x you #character x female reader

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wutheringmights · 14 days

Text

I finished rereading The Song of the Lioness quartet by Tamora Pierce a couple of days back. I already talked about the first book in a post that garnered more attention than it deserved. I guess we were all happily reminiscing about the menstruation scenes together, or Tortall fans are so starved for content they (we) will reblog anything.(Understandable. I too am starved for a thriving Tortall fandom.)

I'm too lazy to make separate posts about each book, so we're just going to do a mega post covering the second, third, and fourth book.

Unlike last time, I will be giving a little criticism to this series. I still love it endlessly, but there were a few things about the prose I thought was interesting that I want to talk about a bit.

So, without further ado~

In the Hand of the Goddess

I think this one is my favorite one, despite how rushed the plot it. It contains all of my favorite plot points, like awkward romances with George and Jon, attending knight lessons, and a little summer war. Fun stuff.

But it definitely feels rushed. I really wish someone told Pierce to make this a 12 book series, expanding on Alanna's years at the castle. It would have gone so far to better develop the romances and the friendships in these books.

I am fascinated by what Pierce chose to skim over. Characters would die or kiss for the first time off screen, with the prose resuming with Alanna reacting to it. It demonstrates an understanding of character work that I personally adore and try to emulate in my own writing-- the real bones of a story being in how characters respond to fantastic events as opposed to the fantastic events themselves.

Also, the whole veil spell Roger cast in objectively stupid, and I mean that in the most affectionate way possible. You're telling me that Roger used magic to make Alanna lose interest in doing anything about the obviously evil things he was doing? That's fucking hilarious. You know an editor came back to Pierce and asked her to come up with a reason why Alanna wasn't just going to spring into action at the first sign of Roger trying to kill her, only for Pierce to come up with this. It's so silly. I love it.

Woman Who Rides Like A Man

Did this book age poorly? Yes, but not as badly as I remembered. That's not a stirring defense, and it's really not meant to be.

The Bahzir are a mess of Orientalism, and Pierce definitely deserves criticism for not only the way she wrote them but for the ways in which she frames their cultural practices as something that needs to be fixed. Having Alanna want to force them to change their culture to suit her beliefs is not a great look for both the character and the writer. And that's not even getting into the whole assimilation plotline.

But I did enjoy Pierce's attempts to expand on the definition of womanhood, especially as a part of Alanna learning to embrace femininity. There is this running thread in these last two books of Alanna learning about all the different ways to be a woman and choosing for herself what her gender means to her. It's not done particularly well, and anyone looking for a revolutionary examination of gender roles and identity is going to be sorely disappointed. But there's an attempt here that I can't help but appreciate.

This book is also where Pierce starts to slow the plot down, which lends it to having the most reasonable pacing out of the bunch. That being said, it's also the book where the lack of development for a bunch of the side characters start to hurt. I really wish Gary or Raoul joined Alanna in the desert. Raoul gets his moment in the sun with the Protector of the Small books, but Gary remains largely forgettable. In fact, I spent this entire read-through convinced this man dies at the end of the last book, if only because I can't remember where he appears in any of the other books.

Lioness Rampant

This book somehow has the improved pacing of the third book while still feeling rushed. The quest for the Dominion Jewel really should have been it's own book, if only to give Thayet and Buri more room for development. Thayet in particular really needs her moment to shine, especially when she continues to be an important character in the other series.

But do you know who did get a lot of screen time? Liam.

Remembered shit about this guy before going into this book. I could only vaguely recalled disliking him as a kid, but not as much as I venomously hated Jon. (Speaking of which-- I love the way this man is realistically shitty. Him getting dumped by Alanna is always my favorite scene.) But Liam? Fuck that guy. Holy shit. I give full applause to Pierce for portraying the important milestones every girl goes through growing up, which includes having a situationship that is so shitty that it becomes essential character development.

Roger's return feels very... cheesy? I think Alex should have stepped up to be the final villain on the story. Unlike Roger, Alex was Alanna's friend. They have history. The betrayal would have imbued that final fight with so many more emotions than it ultimately had. I also would have liked Alanna to have at least meaningfully talked to Alex sometime before the climax.

Honestly, it's impressive how reactive Alanna is as a character in the last half of the book. She doesn't seek out how to stop Roger's plan, or fix Thom, or anything. Other characters make plans and she just... waits for something to go wrong.

That being said, by virtue of Alanna's relationships with George, Liam, and Jon all happening sometime in this plot, this book becomes a good place to look to get the full berth of how Pierce handles romances. Which, I love her approach. The romances are never over the top or, for lack of a better word, too romantic. It's very down to earth, with characters dating, marrying, or breaking up for realistic reasons.

Jon and Alanna were friends who broke up because they had different life plans. Liam and Alanna broke up for having fundamentally different values. As much as I bitch about how shitty Jon and Liam are, they're not cartoonishly evil. They're just a little shitty the way most of your exes will be. Jon and Liam are men could find love with someone else. They just aren't suited for Alanna.

Meanwhile, the most romantic things George does are wait for her and be supportive. He doesn't fight or get territorial. He makes his feelings clear, then waits for Alanna's cues. Alanna definitely loves him, but she ends up with him in the end because their lifestyles and core beliefs meld together. There's no grand romantic gesture or whirlwind affairs. They are just a good pair.

I have read stories with far heavier focuses on romance, and none of those couples feel as perfect as Alanna and George. Those stories prioritize all the gooey moments over showing why the main couple should get together. For how little romantic interactions they have, you believe these two could have a successful marriage. Perfect stuff.

---

Over all, I really enjoyed rereading these books. For all my griping, I still love the story. I love Alanna. She's a character who is fundamental to my soul. No matter where I am in life, I will always want to open these books and find her again, to walk back into Tortall and join her on her quest to be a lady knight.

My copies of the series come with forewards from a previous edition. In one of them, Pierce wrote that this series started off as an adult fantasy story that was much darker and edgier. I need to know what that story looks like, what happened in it. Pierce can claim as she wants that she hardly remembers what it looks like, but I refuse to believe that. Release the unedited first draft, Pierce. I am begging you.

#it probably has on screen gay sex for thom and roger #anyway that's the alanna series. the library book i ordered is still not here yet so now I'm off to find another short-ish book to read #this book better come in before june or else i will lose it. i am putting off reading the illiad for this #me rambling #bookish #books and reading #books #bookblr #tortall #song of the lioness #tamora pierce #me reading

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altheasmeadow · 4 months

Text

Every Slytherin

wc: 1.2K

warnings: none

pairing: jungwon x reader

The room was frozen, everyone watching with a bated breath as they took in the scene before them. Tonight was supposed to be the most memorable night of the year, everybody was dressed in their finest gowns and suits, looking their best. Well, except for her… She was clad in the prettiest dress in the whole ball, only it was now covered in butter beer, courtesy of Ni-ki who was now cowering behind Jungwon. It was almost comedic seeing the young giant trying to hide behind the shortest member of his group. Jungwon stood with a grimace as he watched his chances with the girl disappear into thin air, he was hoping to confess his feelings towards her. As she opened her mouth Jungwon was expecting the worst, after all, her dress was ruined and all the witches and wizards had their attention on them.

This had all started because of Ni-ki, no not the spilling of the drink but the ball. He had spent too long inside the archives one day and sprung the idea of reigniting the balls that Hogwarts used to throw so often. Coming to the group one day at lunch excitedly boasting about his idea and all of the ideas he could throw together. He was convinced that this would be the best night of the year.

╔═══════════════╗

“Guys! Guys!” The 6 seated heard their youngest shouting across the cafeteria, since the war the school had been trying to integrate bonds between all the houses rather than building the school based off of rivalry.

“Oh Please, Riki, I cannot handle another detention in your place.” Jake said exasperated, looking up at their maknae with tired eyes.

“What no, I didn't do anything this time, do you really think so low of me?’

“Yes.” The 6 answered in unison, before a couple moved to high five each other.

“Whatever, I found an old yearbook in the library and back then they had these huge balls thrown in the great hall” he exclaimed excitedly, however the others were dumbfounded.

“So what about it?” Jay didn’t understand why this was of importance right now, all he cared about was his meal that waited to be eaten.

“We should throw a ball!”

The group of 6 seated froze for a moment,they shared a quick look before bursting out into laughter. “No offense Riki but that has to be the stupidest idea you’ve had in a long time, how could we possibly manage that?” Sunoo cackled, he wasn’t wrong the 7 were in short losers. It wasn’t like they wanted to be popular though, they could’ve easily become the most popular group if they chose to open up to the school but they kept to themselves happily not trusting many. Except one…in Riki’s case at least.

╚═══════════════╝

The sound of laughter broke Jungwon from his thoughts, such a beautiful laugh that he couldn’t have been more happy to hear after the tension had appeared. His head snapped to his right, turning to face the ice princess of the school with wide eyes wondering if she had lost her mind all of a sudden, why was she laughing after just being drenched in butter beer publicly?

“Oh I am so getting you in trouble for ruining the dress mom made me Riki!” She giggled, moving to grab a napkin Sunoo had rushed to grab for her and began patting down the wet patches.

“Wait no please don’t tell mom I’ll do anything!” Niki screeched, jumping from around Jungwon in a panic rushing to grab more napkins and begin trying to fix his mess.

“Mom?” Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay asked together tilting their heads in confusion at the same time.

“You never told your friends that we were siblings?” She wondered looking up at her little brother in amusement.

“And have them all try to date you? No thanks.”

╔═══════════════╗

“I will help under the condition that Jungwon is my date.”

“What?!? Jungwon?!?!? Why not Sunghoon or even Heeseung?” Riki asked knowing of both her crush on the boy and his crush on his sister, more like obsession with his fellow prefect. Jungwon, despite being a Hufflepuff, was beyond obsessed with the prefect of Slytherin, reciprocated of course but he didn’t need to know that.

╚═══════════════╝

It took a few more negotiations to get Riki to agree to talk to Jungwon for her but finally it was done, and here they were the duo had gotten unbelievably closer throughout the planning process of the ball, having used any chance to partner up and get to know each other better, despite Riki’s protests. Sunoo has been a big help in making sure the two had time alone together by dragging her brother to do other tasks even as he kicked and screeched.

“So… How’d you manage to make all of this happen so seamlessly?” Jungwon wondered, kicking his shoe tip at a rock as he walked her back to the Slytherin Dungeon.

“Hmm, with your help of course.” She answered coyly, running a hand through her hair to begin pulling out all of the pins that were beginning to cause a headache.

Noticing the reluctance to answer he instead switched to a different route, “Why me? You could have any guy or girl in the school?” He wondered, twiddling his thumbs to relinquish some of his nerves. He wasn’t wrong, she was top of her class, most beautiful in the school and excelled in a lot of extracurriculars so why did she choose one of the biggest losers in the school to be her date to the biggest night of the year.

“I like you, is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

“Well believe it. I’ve noticed you many times throughout the years, the first year you pranked the professor because he made Sunoo upset in front of the whole class. Second year you cast a spell on Riki to turn him into a mouse because he was too hyper that day, very thankful for that by the way, quietest day ever. Third Year you tripped Yunho after he made me uncomfortable. Yes I knew it was on purpose I saw your cute little smirk. And Fourth year is when I really fell for you, you fiercely protected Riki from his bullies despite them bullying you too. You have heart Jugwon, and I happen to have really liked you for a really long time.” She rambled, not noticing the boy frozen behind her as she continued to walk ahead. When she shivered from the lack of body heat she snapped her head to the side trying to find the boy, and when she turned around she spotted the boy 5 feet away, almost trembling with emotion. He had been seen. He’d been noticed for years and he never knew.

“Won?” She questioned, looking at him worriedly almost flinching when his head snapped up at the sound of her voice and he made quick pace to meet her, gently grabbing her wrist and bringing it up to his jaw, turning his head to press a kiss at her pulse point before looking up at her with pleading eyes since she is currently wearing heels.

“If you mean that, Prove it.” He begged, lips pursing into a slight pout as he tried not to let the overwhelming emotions drive him insane.

And as her lips collided with his, he felt like it was his first breath of fresh air after years in a dusty room.

“Be my Hufflepuff,” She asked after pulling away despite his chasing lips.

“Who am I to deny a Slytherin the perfect Hufflepuff for her.”

beta read by: @adorawritesalot and also written with @explorewithd's help

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malum-forev · 11 months

Note

Ooo hiiiii! If it’s okay (I’m sorry if this is too detailed!!),

Can I please request a Everyone lives au! (All of the Avengers are alive and well, and the team is still together as a family😅) Bucky x fem!civilian!reader where they first met when he was The Winter Soldier, and again in TFAWS? He miraculously had saved Y/n’s life back when he was the Winter Soldier, something that he had never told anyone about (as Hydra probably would’ve had her killed for seeing the Winter Soldier). It all comes to the surface years later when Bucky, Steve, and Sam are out at a restaurant when they run into Y/n, who is their waitress, and drops their food once she sees who Bucky is (he thinks it’s because she’s afraid, but she’s not, it’s because she recognizes him as the man who saved her life). + she hugs and thanks him? Sam and Steve being proud of him🥺 + Y/n and Buck falling in love?

I feel like it’d be really meaningful and emotional for Bucky to have someone see him as their hero, rather than the villain that he thinks he is (POOR BBY)🥺🥺

Hiii thank you sooo much for your ask!! This is my first one! I hope I do it justice!

The chill of the midnight breeze made Bucky shiver, he shouldn’t be out right now and he knows he doesn’t need to be. It’s a conscious decision. Steve, Sam, and Bucky are veterans and they have no business taking on the graveyard shift but they didn’t care. They didn’t care that the new recruits were younger and would adapt to the bizarre sleep schedule better, they didn’t care that they had to bundle up with an extra layer of clothing before leaving the compound so they wouldn’t get a cold, they didn’t care that now they understood the term: ‘I know tomorrow’s gonna rain, my knees always hurt before it does.’

After they ‘gently convinced’ (as Bucky would say) the person who supposedly knew information about the new mission they were on, the three men found themselves at a 24hr diner at 2am. Hoping to get in their third cup of coffee on the shift.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” Sam groaned, leaning his head on the back of the squeaky red booth.

“I knew I was going to stop at some point, I just didn’t know that the end would come with me having to crack every single bone before fighting.” Steve laughed into his coffee.

Bucky looked up at the flickering fluorescent lights. “I dislocate my shoulder every time, I’m starting to think I should just keep it out of the socket. It’ll give me less trouble that way.”

“When did we get so old?” Bucky said with a groan, putting his face in his hands.

“We should get some food in, wouldn’t want to get acid reflux before a fight.” Sam flagged the waitress down.

Bucky didn’t know what he was expecting, scratch that- he knows exactly what he was expecting and it wasn’t you. He thought his waitress would be an older woman, she would smell of stale coffee and fryer oil. But suddenly you were here, with him, and everything started moving in slow motion.

At first you didn’t recognize him, it had been years since you’d last saw him. And even that time you first met, you didn’t get to truly see him. You were too afraid to even peek through your hand covered eyes. You balanced the tray of food, meant for the person a few tables behind them, with one hand while the other one rummaged through the pocket at the front of your apron for a pen.

You finally found it and clicked the top.

“What will you guys be-“ Your mouth suddenly turned dry as you met his crystal eyes. In a matter of milliseconds your world shifted. Like one second you were working the late night shift your obnoxious boss had forced you into doing and the next your back in time. Exactly eight years ago, the night your life changed.

Everyone around you worried, your first-time leaving home and you chose a big city. “You know they have pickpockets there, right?” someone had told you, trying to convince you not to go. But you’d roll your eyes and say: “I’m more scared of the guys around here who drink and drive than a couple of pickpockets.”

You were surprisingly autonomous for a person who had never been apart from- well- anyone you knew. All of your family, friends and safety net now resided a couple of thousands of miles away.

But there was something about that day eight years ago, the first day where everything went wrong. Maybe it was your brains way of giving you some sort of bad omen. You had stayed out a little too late that day and missed your train, now you had to take the bus. But the only route available took you to an unknown part of town. From there you would have to walk some 40 odd minutes to get back home.

Your boots clicking on the hard cobblestone was the only thing to be heard, the light of the moon the only thing that was shining. A strange feeling took over your being as you looked around the foreign place. And just to make things worse, it started raining.

As you started feeling the droplets becoming more aggressive you decided to wait the storm out in what looked like an old hotel. But as you pushed the door open, you realized it was abandoned on the inside. You stayed close to the door and took in your surroundings.

There was an old wooden door to your left, it was slightly open so you peered inside. It creaked as you opened it and your heart sank as you saw what was inside. A man tied to a chair, his cheekbone was cut and bleeding, a knife was sticking out from his upper thigh. You gasped as you came closer.

“Help me.” The man groaned but before you could do anything, something came out of the shadows.

Half of his face was covered and his hair was long, but your eyes were glued to his. His dark cerulean eyes were lit by the moonlight coming in from the skylight.

He marched towards you until you were backed up against the wall. You’d heard about him before. The Winter Soldier, but you thought he was a character made up by mothers across the world so their children would do as they said. A sort of Boogeyman.

Your life flashed before your eyes as you saw his metal hand come up to your throat. You closed your eyes tightly and waited for the light at the end of the tunnel, but it never came. You opened one eye and saw the shining red star at his shoulder slightly shake, the only indication that he was there because when you saw his face it was blank. The dark hue in his eyes you saw a second earlier had disappeared. In its place was a light crystal blue shine. His silver hand was still around your neck but he didn’t apply any pressure.

“Who are you?” He muttered through gritted teeth. The lines in his forehead a clear indication that he was battling with himself.

“I’m nobody.” You squeaked, your eyes never leaving his.

He opened his mouth to say something but turned his head to the side, listening for something. “You have to leave.”

“What?” You gasped.

He took your hand in his right one and lead you to the window in the room. He smashed the glass, making sure there was no sharp edge as he picked you up to sit on the windowsill.

“What are you doing?” You asked quietly, not sure how you even got one word out. You finally heard some voices coming closer to the room you were in.

“Leave!” he ordered looking from you to the door. “They’ll kill you if you don’t!”

You jumped out into the rain and looked back at him.

“Run!” he yelled before taking a knife and stabbing it into his right arm. He groaned in pain.

“What’s going on down here, Soldat?” You heard someone ask.

“Someone came in, wanting to take the prisoner out. I took care of them.” The Winter Soldier said.

Your fight or flight finally kicked in and you ran, you ran until your legs gave out and you were far away from him.

He recognized you too, you saw it flash in his eyes. You took a step back in shock and bumped into the table behind them, dropping the contents of your tray on the floor. You gasped.

“I-I’ll-“ You stuttered. “I’ll bring over a mop.”

You rushed back to the kitchen, taking the cleaning supplies from the closet and passing them over to your coworker, Frank.

“What’s this about?” He rolled his eyes.

“I’ve covered for you hundreds of times.” You spat out. “Clean up the mess at table 17 and call it even.”

Before he could even answer you rushed out the back door, desperately needing fresh air. Your breaths were shallow and no amount of air could relieve the pressure you felt in your chest. You ripped the apron off and threw it on the ground, pacing back and forth.

You heard the back door creak open. “I don’t need your shit right now, Frank!”

But you could recognize the sound of those boots anywhere. You lifted your head and saw the Winter Soldier walking towards you. Your breath got caught in your throat. He picked up your apron up and brought it closer to you.

“We’ve met before.” He gulped. “When I was someone I no longer am.”

His voice had a strange quality to it, like he was unsure as to what to say. Your eyes widened at his tone.

You wanted to find a way to say what you felt but how can you put into words: ‘Thank you for saving my life eight years ago and not killing me even though you were programmed to kill anything in your way back then.’

Maybe you could find a Hallmark card?

He looked down at the floor with shame as you didn’t answer, almost embarrassed.

But before you knew it, you were wrapping your arms over his shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. Now it was his turn to widen his eyes.

You let go after a few seconds. “I’m sorry about that. The hug, I don’t know if you’re a hugger.”

His mouth opened slightly and his cheeks had a pinkish hue to them.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

His eyebrows furrowed. “Did you- did you just say thank you? You’re not afraid?”

“Afraid?” You asked. “You saved me that night. You fought all your instincts and saved me, even when it would have been easier to just get rid of me. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“I- I don’t understand. I don’t know what to say.” Bucky was shocked, he thought you were scared of him. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be on the other side of the Winter Soldier. A young woman being almost choked to death by a machine. But here he was, being thanked by you.

You shook your head. “Don’t say anything, just listen. Thank you, you saved my life.”

A rare, small smile tugged at his lips. Those words changed him. Six silly words that came out of your mouth like sweet honey seeped into his fractured heart. He felt something, for the first time in decades.

Bucky cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You smiled at him, brushing back your hair.

When you returned to the table much more composed, you finally asked for their order. One cheese and spinach omelet for the Falcon, one BLT for Captain America and just a black coffee for the Winter Soldier. Was this real life?

They asked for the check a while later, surprised when you said it was on the house.

“If I’d known you guys give food for free, I would have come by sooner.” Sam laughed.

“It’s not every day you get to see the man who saved your life.” You said with a smile.

Both men turned to look at a now blushing Bucky.

“Please, it was nothing.” He said shyly, not looking up.

You nodded your head, a feeling of pride filling your body. This man who has only felt feared deserves to be awarded for his good. “He saved my life eight years ago when I wandered into a place I was definitely not supposed to be in.”

A smile appeared on Steve’s face as he patted his best friend on the back. “I’m proud of you Buck.”

----

The shift happened immediately after that day. Suddenly Bucky started to push Steve and Sam to take the graveyard shift with him more often, and when they stopped going he decided to go by himself.

“My head feels clearer at night.” Was Bucky’s excuse once.

But everyone could see the Sergeant’s true intentions. He had quite literally fallen in love with you, he’d slipped on the linoleum floors one night after missing the caution cone you’d put out, but Bucky couldn’t for the life of him figure out a way to ask you out. And today was no exception.

“Can I get you anything else?” You asked as you placed his regular order in front of him.

His lips were sealed tight and he shook his head furiously.

You smiled. “I’ll be around if you need me.”

You’d become quite confused, he had flirted with you a couple of times now. Cute compliments would flow out of his mouth constantly, he’d even called you beautiful once as a pet name. But maybe you had mistaken his kind words for something other than what they were.

“I’ll leave this here, whenever you’re ready.” You placed the receipt in front of him after he’d been in the diner with only his coffee for around 30 minutes.

You didn’t expect him to grab your hand, and you certainly didn’t expect the sparks that shot.

“I will not be paying this.” He said, his eyes on yours.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “If you want I can get my manager.”

“I will not be paying this.” He repeated. “Until you accept my date offer.”

You went from confused to truly shocked, and he noticed because he immediately backtracked. He slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead, mumbling under his breath.

“I am so sorry, I don’t know why I just said that. I sounded like a total creep. You obviously don’t want to go on a date with an old man like me it- it’s just I think you are beautiful but more than that you are kind and I would love- if you gave me the chance to, maybe I’m not used to this modern way of courting but I think that-“

You placed your hand over his babbling mouth. “Of course I’ll go on a date with you.”

Bucky let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding.

“Thank god.” His muffled voice said.

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