#you more than deserve to be around to watch yourself bloom with time

[sukunasweetheart]

This is just a quick rambling i did mostly at like 4am but just a warning for dark content, murder and manipulation 🤞🤞🤞

Heian era sukuna x op reader who isnt equal to his strength, but close enough to it that he pardons your weakness and keeps you at an arm's length distance bc youre not strong enough for him to belong to you, but youre also too precious to kill, or to belong to someone else.

Youre fun. Youre a pretty thing to look at, and to pleasure himself with. Above all that, youre just like him, thinking only of yourself and plainly disregarding everything else... messing around with you comes only second best to dining on human flesh whenever he's in need of some rich entertainment. And he really believed you'd remain the same, strong/unrelenting/selfish, not by his side per se, but around him, forever.

Until he witnesses you showing a strange interest in someone else... a powerless nobody. An insignificant human man.

That's not right. That's not like you. You should be digging your heel into the man's face from above. You should kill him on the spot. Why are you gazing at him like that instead?

He leaves you be. It must be just a temporary infatuation. Everybody needs a new plaything once in a while, right? And he couldn't care less about what you get up to in your spare time, anyway.

Sukuna turns a blind eye to it for a period of time... and he couldn't have made a bigger mistake. Your little boytoy lasts too long for his liking, and he eventually wants to interfere, to question you on it.

He shows up to where you are, and you're sitting next to the man as if he deserves to even meet you eye-to-eye like that, being such a worthless existence.

He doesn't like it. The way you protectively throw a hand over the vermin behind you. He doesn't like it at all. He considers doing the job for you, to kill him without hesitation, but something stops him from doing so. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to see you get emotional over another's death. The slightest sliver of a chance that it could trigger you to fight sukuna in the name of a third party, other than yourself makes him feel disgusted. That's not what he wants.

He'll drag you away from that insect, instead. He'll remind you of your status, of what kind of man suits you better, suits you best. He'll snip off this growing bud before it blooms.

Sukuna will mock you for getting infatuated with such a lowly being. But you seem shameless. And that irks him. As much as he wants to point out that you're changing, he doesn't, because he knows something is changing in him, too. He shouldn't care this much for a woman like you. If you've displeased him, he should've just killed both you and that man on the spot. But here he is, trying to convince you to stray away from your boytoy.

"But i love him. And he belongs wholly to me. I can see that in his eyes, when i speak to him. He wants to belong to me."

Love? A silly thing. Oh, but maybe that's what sukuna himself is doing to you right now. Loving you. This won't do. Now that he's realised, it's only more reason for him to separate you from the lowlife.

He spends months with you, having you attached to his hip at all times. Not letting you get a glimpse of your little plaything for a while. He pulls on your strings, and seduces you, making sure to confuse and muddle up your feelings, on who you should direct your affection towards. There is only one correct answer.

And when he feels like you're ready, just trained enough to act within his predictions, he brings you over to meet that man once again. To make you kill him with your own hands. Press on his windpipe and watch the life drain out his eyes. Cast away whatever interest you had in him prior.

The man is begging you for mercy, your hands wrapped around his throat, sukuna holding his weak, flimsy body up. His other pair of hands are guiding yours, but not applying any extra pressure. He wants you to do it with your own strength, alone. But he sees you hesitating. It pushes sukuna over the edge, and he does something unthinkable, impulsive.

He makes a promise. A binding vow, no less.

"Kill this man, and I'll be yours forever. Suffocate him to death, and I'll belong to you, the way you belong to me."

You want someone to possess-- and have whole to yourself? You want someone to desire it? Desire you? He'll take that spot. He can fulfill that for you. Nobody but him.

And he continues whispering sweet nothings into your ear from behind, leaving a couple of kisses down your neck, every action coaxing you to grip his throat tighter.

Sukuna groans when eventually the man takes his last breath, with tears in his lifeless eyes, regretful of having ever associated with you. Your hands are steady, and you don't show signs of guilt. You've taken countless lives before. But this one has significant meaning. Marking the beginning of something more important between you and sukuna.

The vow is effective immediately. Something in sukuna is stirring up his guts, but in a pleasantly exciting way. Heat gathers in his lower abdomen, and he drops the now useless body to embrace you instead, and take your lips in his.

This feeling is wonderful. To love, and be loved. You strangled someone dear to you for him, because you wanted him more, and sukuna couldn't be happier.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[undercoverpena]

untangling

frankie morales x f!reader

this little drabble is half my fault and half @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain — so blame the latter for why you’ve seen me post so much today.

WARNINGS: reader gets riled up watching frankie detangle a necklace, competency kink is on full form, a bit smutty, alludes to a blowjob, established relationship. written on my phone, so likely errors. word count: 1k

If only you were more careful. A thought so easy to have now, all in retrospect—the carnage of past actions held delicately between your fingers.

He says it sometimes, comments on it with a small smile when you’re clumsy—when you find yourself tumbling or walking into doorways. This is a little different, a little less clumsy and a little more careless.

Hunched over the bed, back aching, sweat beginning to build on your lower spine—just hoping it doesn’t ruin the fabric you’d slipped over your head only ten minutes ago. Because now you’re running late, behind on the time you told him.

All because you’d haphazardly thrown your necklace into your jewellery box the last time you’d worn it. Giddy, excitement building in your muscles as you stripped and rid yourself of everything that could stand in the way of feeling him. The necklace’s removal had been cautionary, not wanting it to be ruined.

The irony.

Each attempt at untangling the knot comes with a fresh, heavier exhale from your flared nostrils. Irritation weaves itself into your muscles with each minute that ticks on by, as another blow of hot breath dances down the V of your dress.

Tears begin to prick, distantly hearing him moving around just below. Waiting, likely checking his watch out of fear of being late—because he loathes being late, a thing from his army days, a part of his character.

The only thing soothing you is the lingering scent of his aftershave. It floats in the air of the bedroom the two of you share, even if he left it over half an hour ago for you to get dressed.

Which, technically you are—just not completely.

Because you can’t go to dinner with him without this.

The gift from your first few months of dating. A present, a thing picked, chosen and given by him. All hopeful almond-brown eyes, relief flooding through him when you told him you loved it as fingers on your neck—all warm, calloused—helped fasten it.

It’s why you have to detangle it. Fix it.

“Fuck,” you mumble. “Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck—“

“Querida?”

It’s soft, laced with concern. A tone you don’t deserve when you look over your shoulder and find him in the doorway—looking even more handsome than the day you first met him.

It’s a rush, a collection of words that make an amalgamated sentence he’s somehow able to decipher. But then, Frankie speaks you; he knows you. Can read your body as though it talks directly to him, spills secrets to him your brain is not yet willing to provide.

You suppose it’s why your body relaxes at his touch, fingers on the back of your arm, knuckles up and down in soft lines.

“Let me try, baby.”

All calm and collected, his hand gesturing out—nothing but soft brown eyes that meet yours as you slide the chain and the pendant into his palm.

It’s like watching magic happen. His fingers—all thick, worn, weathered—somehow able to begin to loosen the crime you committed. The metal listening, doing as he commands as he begins to undo the work from you hurrying all those months ago.

Some part of you is in disbelief, because it shouldn’t be a thing. Those fingers compared to your thinner ones, and yet, you’re watching it happen—seeing in real-time as once again he does the impossible. As the chain begins to sit flat, no ball of shambles, just a beautiful necklace in his finger.

And it makes heat bloom in your stomach, a knot forming and tightening that makes it hard to think of anything but how good his hands are in other places too. Your thighs pressing together, teeth biting down on your lip, all desperate to alleviate, unsure how watching him do such a mundane task is making you so wet between your legs. So much so, you struggle to swallow when he flicks his eyes up to you and smiles.

Because how can you be so impressed, dumbfounded and utterly turned on that he did that so easily, so competently—as though it was the easiest thing of all?

“Stand up and turn around for me,” Frankie says, voice low.

And you do. Better that than question the swirling thoughts of dragging his mouth to yours, to sliding fingers into his hair and having his competent fucking hands slide your dress up your thighs—have him ball it up, show you what else he can do (for the billionth time) with limited time.

The bed squeaks as you stand, almost wobbling, heels clicking on the floor as you move and stand before him, turning, as you see his hands in your peripheral and feel cold metal on your skin.

“Have I told you how good you look?”

Smiling, heat warms your cheeks—it fizzing in your ears. “Not yet, Morales.”

Fingers pressing the pendant to your chest, hearing him fastening—imagining the tip of his tongue poking through his lips, face full of concentration and focus.

“You look beautiful, querida,” he whispers as his breath dances over your neck, necklace fastened, perfectly in place as his fingers slide down over your shoulders, resting on your arms as he

Taking in a measured breath, you turn your head, catching his gaze—seeing it flick from your face to the deep V of your dress.

“How long have we got, Morales?”

It leaves your tongue calm, plain. But you suspect he knows what you’re getting at, likely already knows you’re soaked—seemingly caught on to the competency kink you have going on.

Licking his lips, he smirks, all-knowing as a snort half escapes, “Querida…”

But you’re already turning, mouth suddenly desperate to have something inside of it that doesn’t come on a plate. Hands finding refuge on his shoulders, using them to slip from your heels, before dropping to the waist of your dress.

“How long, Frankie?”

He swallows, visibly. Curses under his breath as more of your thighs are unveiled, cool air kissing over your already-soaked panties. And he mumbles a number, a frame of time to work in.

“Perfect,” you whisper, fingers working his belt, it clanging, loosening before you find his zipper. “Want to still feel you in the back of my throat every time I try and eat tonight, Morales. You got that?”

Whatever comment he’d been about to say is taken, stolen, by your mouth wrapping around his half-hardened cock.

You’re not sure you regret your necklace tangling now.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #Frankie morales Drabble #Frankie morales fanfiction #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales x you

[utahimeow]

swan song — satoru gojo

summary — why work so hard when you could just be free?

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — major jjk spoilers, graphic depictions of violence, hurt/comfort, angst, happy endings, reader has a cursed technique (mentioned once), established relationship

word count — 1.3k

author’s note — based on swan song by lana del rey. this is the most self indulgent selfship coded thing i’ve ever written but i needed to give gojo the happy ending he deserved idc if its cheesy or out of character

He’s dead.

Dead.

The strongest. Dead. 

Satoru Gojo is dead.

A flash, then his body becomes two — legs here, torso there. 

He’s not moving. Scarlet splatters the ground, blooms like a lily. 

The air is disgustingly thick, and it hangs like a noose, and it cuts your throat. Nobody is breathing. Everybody knows. 

This time, he’s not getting back up. 

A scream claws its way out of your throat, vicious as it pierces through the air. 

Someone else is stepping up to replace him already, a sorcerer with hair like seafoam. The King of Curses turns towards him, his stolen face twisting into a demonic grin, dripping with victory.

Right now there’s just one thing on your mind. Like instinct, like it’s your destiny. You don’t care about the politics, the consequences, the implications of his death. None of it matters.

You just want to be with Satoru.

Your feet are moving. They almost take off, but a steady grip pulls you back. 

“You should leave.” Shoko’s voice quivers as she speaks. You’ve seen her composure crack so rarely that when you do it feels like your first time witnessing it.

Your face is hot, and it’s wet now. Your eyes sting. You don’t try to stop the tears, or even wipe them.

If you were to look up, you’d find eyes full of sorrow and shock and pity—you’re the grieving widow. His students have lost a teacher, his friends have lost a friend. At least I’m not her, they all think, I haven’t lost the love of my life. 

Without another word, without even so much as one final glance at Satoru’s corpse, you leave. You can’t bear to be there any longer. 

The taxi driver does not question why you’re crying. He pretends he does not hear the way you sniffle and gasp for air. He drives you to your home and drives away when you’ve paid him.

You breathe out. Your shoulders sag with relief. You will yourself to stop crying.

He’s in the living room, a thick arm thrown over his eyes as he half-naps. As soon as he hears you enter however, he springs up, beaming like the sun. 

Satoru laughs a little at your puffy face and your glimmering eyes. He gathers you into a hug, his body hard and imposing and warm, and you cling to him. His heart pumps blood around his body and it’s loud in your ears.

“That was traumatic,” you say, but it gets muffled when you bury your face into his chest. He smells fresh, like the wind on a warm day. He must have showered since he teleported home. 

Satoru’s laughing again. You wish he’d never stop. “You knew it was fake the whole time, how bad could it be?”

“I had to watch you die, Satoru! It was horrible even if it was fake,” you admit, tightening your arms around his waist, where his torso meets his legs. 

He laughs, and it reverberates in his chest and rumbles through your body. You’re angry. You can’t climb inside of his skin and live there and you’re angry about it. His giant hands draw circles all over your back.

“I’m here, baby. I’m all yours now,” he tells you. For the first time, he means it without any exceptions.

…

“What if you faked your death?”

Satoru’s head whips over to look at you, scanning your face to find something that will tell him you’re not serious. But you are serious.

One word, he asks, “why?”

“So we can give up being sorcerers and leave Japan and never come back.”

Satoru grows quiet. There’s a pit in your stomach. He tells you constantly that he’d give you the world, and you believe him, and he loves you more than anything, yet he can’t bring himself to give up on humanity. Without him, the world doesn’t stand a chance. He’s the strongest, after all.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. It’s sincere.

“Yes,” you tell him, swallowing as you consider your next words. “I just got you back from the Prison Realm and now you have to fight Sukuna, who might actually kill you… You just give and give so much to the Jujutsu world and what do they give you back? Shit all. And I’m tired of watching you be wrung dry.” 

He’s silent again. All the years that you’ve known him make it easy for you to know what he’s thinking. More than likely he’s thinking of Yuuji and Megumi and Yuuta. Maybe he wonders what Nanami would tell him to do, or what Geto would say.

It’ll be selfish. He’ll be abandoning everyone at the worst possible moment. He turns your words over and over in his head. Then he thinks of a life with you, a peaceful one, where you’ve left behind your days of sorcery, where he doesn’t have to be some pseudo-god. 

Where he can grow old with you.

Perhaps, he thinks, it’s necessary for him to disappear. It’ll be a struggle without him, but he has faith. They’ll persevere. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks eventually.

“I’ll use cursed energy to create a clone of you. Since my clones can’t use cursed techniques it’ll have to be right when Sukuna is about to kill you. You switch out and teleport out of there.”

For a moment he stares at you, then he chuckles, shifting sideways so he can lay on his back and stare at the ceiling with resolve.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he says. 

“I have,” you say. “For as long as I’ve loved you.”

…

He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. 

He’s convinced of it, actually. Life has filled your cheeks out and erased your dark circles away. Your eyes shine brighter. Fear no longer lives in them, nor does hopelessness.

Your fingers are gentle as you pluck fresh, plump tomatoes off the vine. Satoru’s heart swells because you’ve been so excited to harvest them.

“It’s just a handful for now,” you tell him, letting him peer inside the basket you have on your arm. There are a few bunches of rocket and basil leaves, and a small squash too. 

He reaches in, takes a tomato and pretends to take a bite out of it until you snatch it from his hand and scold him. 

“They just look too good, baby,” he says between laughs. You roll your eyes, but you don’t manage to bite back the smile that grows on your lips.

“Go finish building my chicken coop,” you tease, calling him by his last name, the one he took from you, then brushing past him to head back inside your home.

“I told you it’s almost finished!” he exclaims, trailing behind you as you make your way to the vintage renovated kitchen of your house. 

Satoru settles on a stool at the island at the centre, observing the way you rinse the vegetables in the sink. To him it’s fascinating—well, you’re fascinating. The way your brow scrunches slightly with concentration. He hopes you never run out of vegetables to harvest and wash. He’ll make sure you don’t.

“By the way, what do you think about getting some mini goats?”

“I don’t care as long as you take care of them,” you tell him. “Do you want salad or roasted vegetables for lunch?”

Satoru’s heart races. He’s transported back to 2006 for a moment, when for some reason he wanted to be around you all the time and thought it was weird that he liked it when you teased him. Before he realised.

“Roasted vegetables, please. I love you.”

Satoru doesn’t look much different now. He’s gotten a little more toned, put on some muscle from some of the heavy work he does on the farm. 

And when he smiles, he’s not pretending anymore. 

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo imagine #gojo satoru imagine #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk imagine #jjk x you #jjk spoilers #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — gojo

[ghouljams]

Alright!! Here's the end of the first act of the Medieval AU, in which I hit poor reader with a stick multiple times and Knight!Ghost makes it better.

TW: this handles some stuff around sexual assault/sexual trauma, virginity politics, and period typical misogyny

You’ve always thought of sex as something that will be forced on you. Dreading your marriage night has become the norm for you. Even before Ghost came into your life. Though after his entrance it came to mean so much more than just an unpleasant night. It’s losing Ghost, losing the spare hope that somehow you could be his. Because you think if it was with him it might be nice. The way he touches you, the way he takes care of you, he’s kind, terribly so. He’s good to you, he’d be good to you.

Ghost presses his lips against yours, gentle pressure you instantly crave more of. He turns your head to kiss your cheek, your jaw, to press his nose against your pulse and breathe you in. His fingers in your hair direct you as he likes, and you’re more than willing to let him. Your eyes are heavy, everything wonderfully soft and ever so slightly out of focus. You run your hands over his bare shoulders, feel the firm muscle, trail them up to feel his jaw as he kisses your neck. 

“You’re beautiful,” He whispers to you, his voice low in your ear. Your stomach clenches, your skin prickling with heat. Ghost’s hands are so gentle with you, exploratory as they run down your sides and up your stomach. His lips follow them over your chest, making you squirm and press into his touch. 

“My lady,” He presses his words into your skin. His, you think, just his for as long as he’ll have you. No one matters like him, no one holds you like him, keeps you like him. You want him to keep you. You want to be his, greedily, you want him to be yours too. It’s not a quality you’re supposed to have. You aren’t supposed to want like this. 

You aren’t supposed to dig your fingers into his shoulders, not supposed to let your legs fall open when he nudges his knee between them. “Just like that Princess,” He tells you, his voice raspy in a way that makes heat bloom over your cheeks, “spread your legs so everyone can see what a selfish little whore you are.”

Your head is jerked to look at the crowd of shadows gathered around you, their eyes so wide and watchful you don’t know how you didn’t feel them raking over your exposed skin before. You feel panic well in your chest, grabbing the sheets quickly to try and cover yourself. You scramble away from Ghost and he lets you, hardly bothered by your rapid breaths or the tears quickly gathering in your eyes. 

“They already think you’re ruined,” He doesn’t sound like Ghost, voice cruel and taunting, “All because you value a knight over the only thing you’re good for.” His eyes aren’t Ghost’s, the shifting and changing shape and color, his face flickering through your previous suitors. “He won’t want you anyway once you’re sold, he doesn’t even want you now,” His hand grabs your cheeks between rough fingers and you push at his face- their many faces- you don’t like this, you don’t like this, you don’t- “Are you really so stupid as to think he’d protect you from your husband. This is your duty princess, and his is not to interfere.” Their hands push between your legs.

Your sobs shake you awake, heaving, trembling things. You scorn propriety and wail. Let the whole castle hear you, you don’t care. You’re a horrible princess, a terrible, selfish, greedy thing that hardly deserves the title. You know all of this, and yet you still sob because you want Ghost. You want your knight, you want the man that’s slowly leading you to ruin. The man that’s planted an altar of thorns around your heart and laid his kindness upon it like a lamb to slaughter. You want him to hold you and tell you it was all lies. That he wants you like you want him.

You sob, feel the fat tears roll down your cheeks and fall on your blankets. You sob, feel it scratch your throat raw, your chest barely expanding enough to compensate for the despair that rattles out of you. One of your nightly guards comes into the room to check on you and you scream at him. Force the sound out of you like a banshee until it rips your vocal cords. You hope it shreds them. 

What a picture you’d make then. 

What a picture you must make now. 

The guard leaves in a hurry, apparently having deemed you safe from external threats, but mad enough not to stick around. It feels good to scream. You do it again, and again, curling in on yourself as you clutch your pain to your chest. The world can fall away like this, leave you to your self infliction. Who cares. It’s all bullshit anyway.

"How long has she been like this?" The voice is furious, unfamiliar. You’ve never heard anyone that mad in your life. You can barely hear the reply over your hiccuping sobs. You don’t want people in your room, you don’t want them to see you like this. Not when you feel like a child throwing a tantrum. Some part of you is still clinging to decorum even now. How well trained you are.

“Get out!” You shout, reach behind you to grab a pillow to throw blindly at the intruder.

Big warm hands grab you and pull you from your misery, wild brown eyes dart over you searching for injury. Ghost pushes your hair from your face, and you scream at him the same as you screamed at your night guard. 

He’s not wearing his mask, in the back of your mind you wonder if he came here like that. He pulls you against his chest, presses your face to his shoulder to stifle your screaming. His frame curls over you, shielding you from the world you were trying to drown out. You can feel the rapid expanding and contracting of his chest, his breath quick, as he drops his head to your shoulder. You wonder if he ran here.

“I’m sorry I was late,” He tells you, and you fall apart again.

The way you shake and curl up in his arms, guarding yourself against whatever hurts you, breaks his heart. His poor love. Ghost wraps his arm more tightly around your shoulders, holds the back of your head as he turns to kiss your temple. “You’re alright,” He whispers, “I have you, you’re safe.” Your sobs feel like a full body effort. Each one wracks your chest and forces the air from your lungs. He can feel your tears soaking through his shirt. God, you- you’re safe. You’re safe.

He repeats it to himself, presses his lips to your cheek, your shoulder, keeps you held as tightly as he dares. He’d seen the maids running from your room for the court physician, and assumed the worst. Assumed you’d been screaming due to some grave injury, that he’d find you bloody, and- But these were just tears, anyone should have been able to help you through your tears. How long had you been screaming alone? How long had you been left to deal with your pain while others whispered about sedation?

Ghost feels his anger bubbling again, feels the hot licks of fury against his ribs as your sobs settle into gentle hiccups. You don’t need his anger right now, but it will come. Later. Now he does his best to keep his voice from shaking, to keep it gentle for you.

“Tell me what happened.” So that he can take his revenge on whatever hurt you.

Your breath shudders. “You let them touch me,” you sob, your hands desperate where they hold onto his shirt. Ghost’s heart stops, he feels his grip on you tighten more than wills it. 

“Never,” He growls, forcing himself to look at the remaining staff in your room, “No one is coming near you.” It’s a threat, he means it as a threat. He’s never felt more dangerous than he does in this moment. Never felt more sure of his own deadly precision. At least your court lady is smart enough to usher the rest of the nervous onlookers out of the room. “Who touched you?” He watches the door shut tight, tries to keep the anger out of his voice. Who the fuck would be stupid enough to touch what was his?

“I-” You hesitate as Ghost slides his thumb against your tear stained cheek, “I want to be selfish.” Your poor hoarse voice, he’s almost willing to let you change the subject when you sound like that. Screamed yourself raw, and they all let you. 

“Who touched you princess?” He asks again.

“No one,” Your voice raises and breaks without your willing it to. 

“No one,” Ghost repeats, feeling his shoulders drop with relief. 

“What would you do if they did?” You ask him, and he knows exactly what he’d do, “Nothing.” Ghost stills. “You’ll throw me to my wedding night the same as the rest. Give me up as is your duty and ask me to forget every time you’ve touched me. How can you ask me to forget that, when every time I touch you I ache for the next time you’ll let me close? How can you hold me like this before you throw me to the wolves?”

Blood rushes in Ghost’s ears, his breaths short as he listens to you swallow your heart. No. He’s not so noble as to give you up like that. He imagines it, how chivalrous he’ll be letting you go. But he knows. He’s not a noble man, not kind, not half as honorable as he pretends to be. He can’t leave you in anyone else’s hands. No one else can have you, no one deserves you. Not when they’ll let you scream yourself hoarse. Not when their first thought is to sedate you in your grief. No. He knows.

He’d kill your husband before he ever reached your wedding bed.

He tips your head back and kisses you. You all but melt against him, your soft lips wet with your tears, sweet and salty. And warm. You’re so warm. How could he ever delude himself into thinking he could give you up? You’re right. You slide your lips against his with a sigh, and all he can do is ache for the next gentle kiss you give him.

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #knight!ghost #princess!reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #medieval au #when you only hear about how awful sex is and how it's your duty to give it up #you tend to develop some complicated feelings about it #I was explaining this whole chapter to my therapist and she was like #woah and people like when you write this? #no but it's cathartic for me so I'm writing it anyway

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡No Is All｡⋆.

Thomas Shelby x plus size reader

No is a full sentence and maybe you need someone to remind you of that

Warnings: past abusive relationships, implied past SA, angst, reassurance, this is totally not a self-indulgent fics about my own relationships shut up, feeling pressured to have sex

WC: 1.1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The thrill of a new romance is like nothing else. The tentative touches, the soft brush of his lips against your cheek, the butterflies that take flight in your stomach whenever he smiles at you. It was all so perfect but it would end soon.

Thomas Shelby was by no means a patient man, he took what he wanted and he always got it. Even before he set his sights on you, you had seen the way he killed and maimed, bribed and blackmailed until he became the most powerful man in all of Birmingham and you knew he was well on his way to conquering England.

And when he finally asked you out after months of his icy gaze watching you from across the Peaky Blinders’ offices, you knew this day was inevitable.

You steeled yourself when he told you that dinner would be at his house that night, “wear something nice” he said. You hid the bolt of terror that shot through your body with a smile. “Don’t I always?” His blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he pecked your full cheek before he left.

Your hands trembled as you picked out the nicest undergarments you owned, laying them out on your bed beside the dark green dress Tommy loved you in. The hot shower was a welcome distraction, you could focus on the familiar routine of washing yourself instead of the anxiety churning in your stomach as the sun gradually got lower in the sky.

Thomas was a handsome man, probably far more handsome than you thought you deserved, and he respected you. There had been times where you ended dates early just so you could go home and relieve the ache between your soft thighs because he was so overwhelmingly attractive. You knew he was talented in bed too, practically everyone in Small Heath knew that.

But you didn’t know if you were ready for the next step.

You reassured yourself that it was just nerves, the natural ones that come with the beginning of a new relationship. But as your doorbell rang, you felt your heart drop. You took in a shuddering breath and opened the door.

Tommy was lazily smoking a cigarette, the blue-grey smoke curling around his cap like a halo. “Hi.” Immediately the cigarette left his lips and he put it out under his expensive black shoes. He was wearing that charcoal grey suit that you loved and you could smell his cologne (the nice one) from a couple feet away.

“Ya look gorgeous.” Heat crawled up your neck and bloomed across the apple of your cheeks. He lovingly offered you his arm as you stepped down onto the street. Your heart was beating so loudly in your ears, you thought he might be able to hear it. But Tommy just pulled you closer to him as you set off towards his house.

The wine bottle was empty, dessert finished, the dishes done. The flickering light of the fire illuminated the small living room in a comforting orange glow. The couch cushions cradled your body as you were pushed into them, Tommy’s weight keeping you pinned.

His jacket and tie had been discarded the second he asked if you wanted to have a glass of whiskey by the fire, leaving him more naked than you had ever seen him before. His white button-up did nothing to hide the supple muscles of his arms and torso.

The kisses started off sweet, just soft pecks on your cheeks, then your nose, then your jaw but soon enough, his face was buried in the crook of your neck, biting and sucking at the delicate skin. Your soft moans carried through the room as you clawed at his back.

It was nice, it felt good but when his right hand travelled from where he was gripping your wide hip to your thigh, you froze up. It was only for a second but with Tommy so close to you, with his lips against your pulse, he felt it.

“What’s the matter?” He was firm, straight to the point.

You shook your head. “It’s nothing. You can keep going if you want.” You tried to cup his angular jaw but he caught your hand before you could touch him.

“No. Tell me.” Light flickered across his face and for a moment, you were scared. 

Thomas Shelby could have anyone he wanted and he chose you, you should be giving something to him in return. Your blood ran cold with panic. “Y-you want to have sex with me.”

“Yes.” 

“So do it, I won’t stop you.” His eyes darkened and you saw the muscle in his jaw clench. Tommy squeezed your wrist tightly and suddenly you could see why so many feared him, calling him evil and a monster. You were powerless to stop him if he did decide to take you.

“I won’t take what I’m not given freely.”

“But-“

“No is all you need to say. I will wait until you are ready and not a moment before.” With a gentle kiss to your knuckles, he pulled away and sat back down on the other end of the couch, leaving you reeling.

This wasn’t right. “But I can take care of you.” The look he shot you shut you up immediately. 

“You aren’t ready, that’s the end of it.”

“But you’ll go to someone else!” Tears burned behind your eyes as you sat up.

“I’ve made do with my hand before, I wouldn’t cheat on you.” His voice held a note of irritation and you curled into yourself, the tears now dripping down your face, staining your dress with your despair. He sighed heavily through his nose before he took your hand once more. “You are more than just your body. I did not ask you to be mine because I just wanted to fuck you. I asked you because I wanted you.” He emphasised.

You sniffled and he cupped your cheek with his other hand. “So while I do want to fuck you, I won’t because you do not want it. I may be an evil man outside of these walls but I will never be that to you. Do you understand?” You nodded. “Good. Now be a good girl and come here.”

You fell into his arms as you continued to sob but Tommy just held you close as your tears faded and exhaustion won out. As quiet snores escaped your lips, he reached around to his jacket and grabbed a cigarette. One day, you would take him to your bed and he would worship you the way you deserve, the way you should have been worshipped. But until then, he was happy enough getting to hold you as you slept.

And he was right, no was all you had to say.

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#thomas shelby x plus size reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x plus size reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #female reader #plus size reader #reader insert #angst #thomas shelby #peaky blinders

[silverbladexyz]

TW: Mentions of death, injuries, self-loathing. Part 2 to this. Part 3 is here.

"I can't believe you sometimes. What if you had actually been killed because of your recklessness?!"

"But I wasn't! Even if combat isn't my strong suit, I had it all under control; and besides, these wounds are nothing compared to what we've faced before!"

In the normally tranquil environment of the Port Mafia's infirmary, two voices argued back and forth. One laced with worry and anger, the other laced with guilty adamance. A pair of best friends seemed to be the reason behind this noise; with their stubbornness a guise of the true feelings that they harboured for each other.

"Are you seriously kidding me right now? Even if you had it all under control, that doesn't mean you can gamble your life away like it's nothing! How do you think everyone would feel if you died? Do you want to put them through more pain and suffering that could've been prevented if you were more cautious? Do you even care?!"

"..."

Instead of replying, you turned away, suddenly finding the window to be more interesting than whatever was going on right now.

He was right. You didn't think properly about the consequences before you jumped straight in to engage with the enemy, even if you may have had a backup plan.

"... I'm sorry."

It was soft, but Chuuya managed to catch it.

He gave a small sigh, his shoulders dropping as the tension in them wore out. You fiddled with your bandages, not having the courage to look at him in the eyes. Did you even deserve to, afterall? When you worried him sick after he learnt that he almost lost you?

You heard his footsteps approaching you, and mentally prepared for the next thing that he was going to say.

Only for him to somewhat tug you into his arms.

Your eyes widened, and you blinked several times before realising that Chuuya Nakahara, your best friend, was hugging you.

His breath fanned against your collarbone as he buried his face into your shoulder. Strong arms held you close to him, being mindful of the injuries that you sustained on your body- yet the grip they held you in was tight but secure.

"... You idiot. Don't you dare do that again."

It was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him.

You hugged him back, inhaling his rich scent as an unknown heat bloomed in your chest.

"I won't. I promise, Chuuya."

His warmth never left your memories.

Now, you watched as he stood with her, holding her hand. They were too far away for you to make out their words, but whatever she said made Chuuya laugh. A genuine, happy laugh that seemed so much more different from the short chuckles he normally gave you.

He put his arm around her shoulder, and you unconsciously hugged your body as you felt yourself getting colder. It was the third of December- the start of another winter in Yokohama. Marking the six month anniversary of their relationship.

A wry smile made it's way on your face as Chuuya pulled Yasuko in for a kiss. Even though it was a short peck, it was enough to make your heart twist in longing that exemplified whenever you were around him. It was stupid; you knew that your best friend deserved to have someone much better than the monster you were, but it didn't stop you from wishing that you were her. Someone that was a sight for sore eyes, with an aura brighter than the blue skies- someone that could get Chuuya mesmerised.

You even noticed how he became slightly more distant in the friendship. You knew that he wasn't doing it on purpose; he was still the great best friend that he always was, but the little signs were there. Holding your hand so that you wouldn't get lost in the crowd had diminished to just staying close to you. Whenever you called him on a free day to ask if he wanted to hang out with you, he would apologise, saying 'I have a date with Yasuko later'. And the fact that you had the same free days really said something about how much they meant to him.

You walked away, the sight getting too much to handle. Once you were at a safe distance, you crumpled against a wall, biting down on the inside of your mouth to stop the tears from leaking out. A higher-ranking mafioso like you, crying over some crush? Pathetic. An unfitting model for your subordinates who looked up to you as a great unflinching leader.

"Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half as pretty." You chuckled bitterly, digging your nails into your palms. You hated it- the soft gaze in Chuuya's eyes whenever Yasuko was mentioned, the way that he gently held her hand, the way he became much more sweet and patient with her that was almost nothing like how he acted around you- you hated it all. You regretted not confessing to him sooner all those years ago.

But you were only the side character in their romance; forever doomed to support them while you suffered in silence.

Was there something or somebody that you could blame for this agony that you were currently in? Destiny, perhaps? Or even Cupid? Those names only made you scoff as you stuffed your hands into your pockets.

There was nobody you could blame except for yourself.

Perhaps it would have been better if you were the one who saved Yasuko, not Chuuya. They would have never spent as much time with each other, and you'd still have a chance at romancing him. None of this would have happened if the roles were reversed at that time.

But who were you kidding? One way or another, they’d end up together by the red string of fate. The most perfect match in all of Yokohama that could put every other couple to shame. And you'd always be the third wheel- the 'best friend' whose sacrifices went unseen just so that they could be happy.

Or maybe it would have been better if Yasuko didn't exist in the first place.

"-Y/N? Y/N?"

A voice broke you out of your thoughts, and you blinked a bit before refocusing onto the girl in front of you.

"Is everything okay? N-not that you have to tell me what's wrong, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I'll always be here for you."

Yasuko looked at you with a concerned expression, her eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

Those innocent, beautiful eyes of hers that had held Chuuya captive in their gaze.

Ah, right. You were currently in the shopping mall with her, because her boyfriend had asked you to accompany her like some sort of bodyguard. And who were you to refuse, as his best friend who was always there for him? Well, you were grateful that Chuuya trusted you enough to let you near Yasuko. You had seen how protective he was of her.

"... Nothing. I'm alright."

You smiled at her, all traces of your previous emotions now gone. How could you have let your composure slip so easily? This hangout was so that you could 'get closer' with her, not reminiscing about the pathetic past that held you captive in this agonising love.

She frowned a little, but before she could say anything else, you jumped at the opportunity to distract her. Anything that could make you temporarily forget your pain for one moment was what you desperately needed now.

"Oh, looks like they're selling discounted jewellery! Let's take a look! You might find something that you like."

Grabbing her wrist, you dragged her towards the jewellery store despite having no intentions to buy anything. You simply wanted her to be distracted by the precious stones, so meticulously cut and fit into fine metal that it was laughable how they were mostly for show. A valuable trinket only made to be admired and forgotten at the end of the day, even when so much blood had been spilled over them. Blood that would forever stain the hands of a sinner such as you.

"Oh! I remember Chuuya taking me to a similiar store! He bought me a ring; I said that there was no need, but he insisted." Yasuko glanced down at the gold-and-red circlet that lay snugly around her index finger, her gaze becoming shyer as she profoundly remembered the day that her beloved boyfriend had bought it for her.

Your own silver ring that he gifted to you on your 18th birthday paled in comparison to the 5-carat Burmese ruby that sat atop her finger. It was a harsh reminder of who the buyer really preferred from between the two of you. That twisted feeling in your gut resurfaced, but you pushed it back down. You had no more frivolous hopes that he would one day realise you were the one whom he truly belonged with.

"Haha... did he now? I didn't know Chuuya was such a romantic. Did you know that rubies symbolise passionate and undying love?" You smiled as she blushed; the redness on her cheeks rivaling the shade of the precious gemstone that was proof of his commitment to her.

People were right when they said love hurts, but they never mentioned that it was the most painful sensation in the world. All the stab wounds and burns and whatnot that you had experienced from your enemies were nothing compared to a broken heart. A heart that was made to be torn apart to pieces as it weeps for the love it would never get.

Something cold brushed against your wrist, and you looked down to see a bracelet made up of the most exquisite yellow topaz. Yasuko held an identical one in her hand, her expression almost bashful as she faced you.

"I... I wanted to get matching bracelets for the two of us. I know it's only been a few months since we became friends, but being around you has really brightened up my life. I'm glad that we got to meet each other, and I hope that our friendship continues to grow and strengthen!"

She smiled at you; a smile so full of purity and beauty that it would've made many men fall onto her knees in front of her. It was a smile that didn't belong in the dark depths of Yokohama- instead, it belonged to a goddess that was too good for this world. A goddess that clearly deserved to call Nakahara Chuuya hers. Just seeing that smile made you feel infinitely more guilty about the nasty thoughts you had about her each night.

Yasuko's smile faded, worried that she might have overstepped your boundaries due to your silence.

"S-sorry... I should've asked you beforehand if you wanted to buy matching bracelets. Please don't force yourself to buy it just to make me happy-"

You shut her up by slipping it onto your right wrist, the topaz seeming to reflect the sun's golden rays back at you. Shooting her a smile, you grasped Yasuko's hand and put the other bracelet onto her left wrist joint. It fit nicely; just like anything else that she wore.

"May our friendship last until death do us part." It was a pact that you had sworn with Chuuya before. And you always kept your word, never breaking a promise to someone no matter how bizarre or extreme it was.

How unfortunate, really, that death did you apart too early.

@circinuus @riiwrites @ruanais @justcallmesakira @yasu-masashige @oldworldpoolhall @heartsfourdazai @ashthemadwriter-uwu @sariel626 @yuugen-benni @chocsra @iridescentdove

#silverbladexyz #no way did I just pull a Heather in my fic #it's a good song though #i hope this was okay #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x female reader #chuuya x gn reader #chuuya x fem!reader #part 2 of unrequited love fic #yellow topaz symbolises friendship btw #unrequited love

[twstowo]

May I request Heartslabyul and Azul with an S/O who’s a very hard worker when they dedicate themselves and adore occasionally spoiling those they’re close to? (COUGH COUGH THEM AND GRIM ESPECIALLY)

when they first moved into Ramshackle, they spent much of their time working at cleaning and renovating it, they can be slow at times to understand things but their dedication to things they decide to put their all into is truly remarkable!

like for say giving their s/o the love the deserve on every level 👀

they may or may not have cried more than once when they showed them love and affection completely forgetting that they deserve love too but shhhhh

I sincerely hope this isn’t too confusing or too much of a request, and I wish you a lovely night!

♡︎Bestie don’t overwork yourself, there are flowers literally blooming in antarctica

♡︎Includes: Heartslabyul and Azul

⋆⋅☆Riddle

Riddle fully understands you since he is also a hard worker. To a certain point, when he arrived at Ramshackles with a strawberry tart that he had made for you with Trey’s help, and he saw you crying from his actions, he felt that he had to do something about you overworking yourself. To be honest, he got so worried when you started to cry in front of him; he just didn’t understand why you were crying, to the point he thought that he had done something wrong.

He is quick to invite you to Heartslabyul, where the two of you can walk around the fields, check the hedgehogs, and eat some more sweets that Trey prepared just for the two of you. Riddle totally called him asking for help. He also assures you that if you need help ever again, to call him, and he will be there to help. He tries his best not to turn the moment into a lecture, as you should not overwork yourself to this point. Please bear in mind that he deeply cares about you, and he only wants the best for you.

⋆⋅☆Trey

He is quick to notice when you are overworking yourself and also quick to make sure you get a break. If you cry when he is being nice to you, he will fully understand that this is duo all the pent-up emotions you have been building up and he will be there for you, hugging you until you stop crying. Probably gives you the best life advice ever and later on just bakes you something.

⋆⋅☆Cater

Cater senses that something is wrong with you; he will know right away if you are masking how tired you feel from overworking yourself. You can't hide it from him. He invites you to hang out with him, and the two of you can just have a pajama party, gossip about everyone, watch movies, and eat junk food.

If you cry in front of him because of it, he will hug you. He understands how you feel, always trying to put up a happy facade while you just feel so tired and detached from yourself.

⋆⋅☆Ace

Ace is likely to tell you to chill every time he sees you overworking yourself. However, he may not actively assist unless you specifically ask for his help. It might take observing Deuce stepping in to encourage you to take a break and offering assistance for Ace to realize that he should be a better friend and lend a hand occasionally.

If you happen to cry in front of him, Ace could become awkward and unsure of how to handle the situation. He might resort to patting your back in an attempt to provide some comfort.

⋆⋅☆Deuce

As mentioned earlier, Deuce is the proactive friend who consistently advises you to take breaks and frequently lends a helping hand, even when you insist that you can handle things on your own. He'll show up at Ramshackles, encourage you to sit down and rest, insisting that you've already worked more than enough for the day.

If you ever find yourself in tears in front of Deuce, he may be taken aback at first. While he might not fully comprehend the reasons behind your emotional state, he'll gradually approach to offer a comforting hug, always ensuring that you're comfortable with him being this close.

⋆⋅☆Azul

Very attentive, he recognizes when you're overworking yourself. Riddle goes above and beyond to help you relax. He offers you a complimentary 5-star course meal at Monstro Lounge, arranges for Jade to provide a back massage, and even provides a spa coupon for you to unwind. Will also use some of the people he has under contract to help you clean Ramshackle.

If you find yourself in tears in front of Azul, he responds with a comforting hug, gentle head pats, and whispered words of solace in your ear to help calm you down. Following this, he aims to engage in a conversation to understand what happened and how he can further support you.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst reader #twst x reader #x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #trey clover x reader #cater diamond x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader

[sc0tters]

In The End | Mat Barzal

summary: ultimately in the end fate realised that you were simply better suited for the man in New York. At least this one had your heart.

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating.

word count: 1.59k

authors note: you guys probably haven’t been waiting for this one but the final part of this series is now here! Honestly it started off as a fun take on a request but I’m so glad that it bloomed into something more. We might not love Tito in this series, but he deserved the sorta ending he got.

part one | part two

What the fuck is going on y/n?

That was the last thing you had heard from Mat before he walked out of your apartment.

Two months had gone by and you had convinced yourself that this was for the best. Without Mat, it meant you had the time to truly focus on your relationship with Tito.

And that was going really well, Anthony and you spent three weeks in France where you found a ring in his suitcase.

Whilst no proposal came you were relieved to not have to turn him down. Time and time again you found your mind slipping back to Mat and you grew to hate yourself for it. How one night could make you so unhappy as you longed for the boy who wanted nothing to do with you.

But what you didn’t know was that Mat was longing for your message, your phone call, anything that showed him that you were done with Anthony. Yet as the posts came along highlighting the best moments from your trip he lost faith.

With weeks until the season was meant to start up again you thought that this was a battle that you were going to win “babe can you go get that?” Anthony called from the kitchen hearing his phone ring in the bedroom.

You thought nothing of it truly, so you stopped doing your makeup and went to his side of the bed to grab his phone “what the fuck?” You asked seeing Jenny🥰 appear as a FaceTime call.

Stupidly you answered with not a thought in your mind as you had more questions than answers “oh my god!” She shrieked seeing you appear on the screen instead of Anthony.

The girl was in nothing but some lingerie as she was forced to quickly find a robe to cover herself up. Anthony came back into your bedroom as you hadn’t responded to his messages of concern “baby?” His voice was nervous as he was met with the sight of your back.

You hadn’t realised that you were crying when you turned around to face him “h-how l-l-long?” You croaked out as you turned the phone around so that he could see what you had seeing.

His face dropped at the sight “I can explain-” Anthony reached out for you but you pulled away “answer my question?” The hockey player sighed as he watched her hang up the call.

If there was a moment that he knew that he was going to get caught then it would have been this one “we started in February.” Anthony confessed as he sat on the bed “and your ring?” Your lip quivered as his eyes widened.

Anthony let his head fall to his hands “for her.” In that very moment your sadness turned to anger “look I’m sorry-” the hockey player went to apologise but you cut him off “go find her.” You blurted out making his eyes go wide.

Your fingers ran through your hair “if you don’t love me anymore go be happy with her.” The logical part of your brain was only thinking about Mat.

The hockey player looked up at you “you’ve got someone too don’t you?” It was the fact that the spark that Anthony once lit in your eyes came up when you told him to go find her.

All you could do was nod as the boy got up to hug you “go get him.” Anthony smiled as you wrapped your arms around him giving him a squeeze “good luck.” Was the last thing you said to him before you left the apartment.

New York seemed to be on your side as the weather was warm but the cool breeze helped you as you ran through the city “pick up please!” You groaned as it went to voice note again.

Hey it’s Mat, I can’t come to the phone right now leave a message!

You grumbled something under your breath as you hung up feeling defeat slap you in the face as you sat on the sidewalk as your feet grew sore after you were met with nobody at Mat’s door.

It looked like you were an emotional girl who had just been dumped or something as your hands buried your face hiding it from the world.

You wanted to cry as cars whizzed past you “girl come with us!” Some random girls smiled at you as one of them held their hand out for you to grab.

They looked like they couldn’t have been any older than you so with their friendly faces you nodded getting up to face them “where are you going?” You asked wiping your eyes as you realised that your cheeks were wet “Still Partners over there!” The girl who helped you up explained as you could hear the sound of music coming from the bar.

So you followed them curious to know what caused the big crowd of people at the bar.

The soft sounds of a guitar played over the hum of the crowd “they’re really good.” You mumbled surprised when you were met with nods of agreement.

Your real shock of the night was when you finally got to see them, most of the members of the band were people you hadn’t met before. But of course there stood Mat, guitar in his hands and a look that was once nervous but then turned happy as he saw you.

Mat had this grin on his face as his eyes never left you “hi,” you mouthed sending him a salute as the boy responded with a nod trying to focus on what he was playing as your presence got rid of most of his nerves.

The hockey player practically jumped off the stage when their performance was done as he made a beeline for you as you stood by the bar “you did so good!” You smiled ordering him a beer to congratulate him.

Mat couldn’t believe that you were stood there in front of him “why are you here?” The Canadian wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you into a hug “I came looking for you.” Now that wasn’t exactly the reason why you were in the bar but as the girls you hung out with waved goodbye you couldn’t help but smile “f’me?” Mat repeated as though you spoke a foreign language.

You looked up at him as you nodded “Anthony and I broke up.” You awkwardly explained as your ego tried to hold onto the fact that he let a smirk form on his lips for a quick second before he let you two sit down.

In that very moment the boy let his hand run up your knee as he looked at you like you two were the only people in the packed out bar “how do you feel about it?” Mat didn’t know if you were there for some kind of comfort or instead for what he hoped you would eventually say, that you would be there for him.

Whilst a million answers seemed to come to your mind you couldn’t help but shrug “relieved, a little embarrassed even-” you raked your fingers through your hair as Mat cut you off shaking his head.

He wrapped his fingers around the freshly poured pint glass that they bartender had placed in front of him “did he do something stupid?” The Canadians question made you feel dumb “he fell in love with a girl in Vancouver.” Was all you needed to say for Mat to bring his hand to his mouth.

Although he was surprised, he couldn’t say that he was fully shocked. Anthony hadn’t mentioned you in their weekly calls since February “which is sort of comforting cause then I don’t feel bad admitting that I love you.” You were very much so the kind of girl who kept your cards close to your chest but in that very moment you wanted Mat to know exactly where your head was at.

Mat slowly nodded as he took in the information “I tried to tell myself that if I ignored you and just worked on Tito then I’d be able to ignore you.” The ramble that came from your lips seemed to be like a weight that was lifted off of your shoulders “but the truth is that I grew to resent myself for pushing you away.” At this point you hadn’t realised that tears were rolling down your cheeks for the second time tonight until Mat leaned over and brought his hand to your cheek.

His calloused finger wiped away from your cheek as Mat frowned “you never pushed me away.” He cooed slotting his legs between yours as he got himself as close as he could to you.

The Canadian tilted your head up as he was now stood “fucking love you baby.” Mat’s confession had a grin on your face that probably gave the Cheshire Cat a run for his money.

You made the next move as you pushed yourself up on the chair letting you peck his lips “hey I tell you I love you and that’s how you respond?” Mat playfully scoffed letting his hands land on either side of your stool locking you in.

A giggle left your lips as you leaned forward again this time meeting his request as your arms wrapped around his neck pulling him down with you. Your tongue ran over his lower lip as you seemed to be in control of it until Mat pulled away “that’s more like it my shining star.”

#mat barzal imagine #mat barzal x reader #hockey oneshot #hockey imagines #nhl oneshot #nhl imagines #oneshots #imagines #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #amber writes fics

[shirefantasies]

LoTR Characters When You Give Them Flowers

Sorry for the absence, been crazy times 😅 Just something cute I couldn’t get out of my head, enjoy~ Also, correcting my Faramir drought let’s frickin go 🤙🏻

Aragorn

The last town you’d stopped in, there’d been a girl. A little thing, hardly more than seven or eight years old, and there she stood with a basket in hand. She was selling flowers, long and dainty stems with white blooms, no doubt to help her family sitting off in the distance.

The moment he laid eyes upon her, Aragorn had bent over, pressing the loaf he had just bought into her hand and whispering some words of hope you wished you could hear. Heart leaping, you watched him move along before approaching the girl yourself.

~

When night had fallen and a fire began crackling, you took the flowers from behind your back and held them out to the ranger you so dearly loved. The smile that instantly graced him was truly a worthwhile blessing.

“I know where you found these,” he remarked, turning them gently over in his hand as his smile softened.

You mirrored the expression. “I thought they could use a bowl of soup to split the loaf with. And you deserve a gift, even to the smallest gifts of the earth.”

Wordlessly, Aragorn took your hand with the one not holding the flowers, clutching it tight as his blue eyes gazed into yours.

Legolas

“Do you elves know anything of the language of flowers?”

Legolas’s brows furrowed a bit at that, and you couldn’t help giggling at the sight of his expression, his next choice of words. “Words of the trees, yes, but flowers? Perhaps an old tale.”

“No, no,” you shook your head, still smiling, “my people have quite the elaborate custom around flowers. Different blooms in different colors make quite unique statements. Take roses for instance- they come in a whole slew of colors.”

“I see,” he nodded, “so a yellow rose would speak volumes apart from a red one, then?”

Your heart leapt at Legolas’s choices, his unwitting contrast between the blossoms of friendship and passionate, deep love. “Indeed. There are even flowers that say ‘your letter was received’! But if this is unfamiliar to the elves, any flowers would be quite the surprise, would they not?”

“We have always had appreciation for the earth’s beauty.”

You took that as as close of a yes as you’d get, shaking your head as you shifted in the hard base of your seat, turning back to grab the vase of flowers you’d made for your friend, the one who made your heart beat like no other. White lilies could symbolize mourning, but also that one’s love was pure. Perfect, perhaps, if unrequited. Pink irises for hope, though. Hundred-leaved roses in pink for a love truly sincere. Bursts of snow and sunset pink dotted with faint yellow, all curated by your hand to shine with words you hadn’t the heart to speak aloud.

“As do I. These I arranged for you, in fact!” Hands curling around the vase, you held your gift aloft.

Legolas’s dark eyes lit up, mischief crossing his handsome face. “Now that I’ll be guessing the meaning?”

You flushed, rising from your seat as his hands covered yours, accepting your offering. “Well, I was just curious if you’ve heard of-”

“Oh, it is far too late for that! I’m certain Lord Elrond has books on the subject. By tomorrow I’ll be an expert, and who knows? Perhaps you’ll find some flowers of your own.”

You couldn’t help shakily smiling as Legolas’s eyes peered into yours glittering so, his hands still resting warmly over yours.

Boromir

“Boromir! Look!”

The man in question turned his head at the sound of your voice, watching as you bounded his way with hands full of flowers. Their bright color perfectly brought out the tone of your twinkling eyes, eyes that glittered unlike anything Boromir had ever witnessed before.

“Lovely, truly,” he inclined his head toward them as you reached him, “the finest. Where did you come by these?”

“Off at the far end of the meadow!”

Boromir chuckled deeply. “The firewood may have been forgotten, then?”

Pouting suited you, didn’t it? Adorable indeed. “Well, I just saw these and-”

“Worry not,” he slid an arm about your waist, “firewood is no emergency. You deserve this small joy- we all do.”

Glancing down a bit, you extended your hand, raising your treasure such that it practically brushed you both as it connected you. “Well, they are for you.” Were you flushing?

“For me? Well, what a gift! I suppose they do suit me more than you. After all…” Smiling, Boromir tightened his grip around you just a bit. “The most beautiful blossom in leagues is right here. If you keep this little bouquet they will envy you forever.”

Gimli

You stand beneath the awning’s shade, swaying slightly as you tend to the baskets placed along your cart. Your favorite is one filled with mountain poppies collected near the base of the snows, cheery and delicate and brisk as it had felt to be there trimming them. Truly you love your life, though it gets lonely having only plants to speak to. Sometimes you find yourself drifting into fantasy, imagining someone to protect you. You like to think you’re no damsel in distress, but the truth of the matter is you’ve never been a fighter and the village ravagers have been drawing closer.

~

A woman purchases a simple vase of sunflowers, nodding gratefully as you pass them to her. Behind her, though, emerges a shorter figure- a dwarf, by the looks of his armor and beard. You smile. That trip to the mountains introduced you to a host of very friendly dwarrowdams who bid you stay in their boardinghouse, boisterous though it may have been.

“Good afternoon,” you greet him from aside an arrangement of daisies.

“Good afternoon indeed! Tell me, though, why one as fair as yourself is hiding behind a lot of old daisies, eh?”

Flushing, you shrug and step around the side of the cart, removing all obstructions. “I suppose I’m just a bit used to it is all. Were you looking for anything in particular?”

The dwarf shakes his head. “Nay, I was just struck by the sight of the one smile this town seems to have.”

It is a fair point. Rohan has been downcast of late, hope in short supply with all the attacks. Your lot was seen as mere peasants in the way of it all.

“Times have been hard. The orc packs have been running rampant for a long time. I- I don’t know how much longer we can hold out.”

Smirking victoriously, the dwarf leans on his axe. “You wouldn’t happen to mean the pack of stragglers that just got slaughtered, would you?”

You lit up. “You’ve seen them?”

“With my own eyes. They certainly won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“Pick anything you’d like here, please, it isn’t much, but it is the least I could do to repay your gift,” you insisted, waving a hand over your display.

He scanned your cart before a look of comical shock burst across his face at the poppies. Noting it, you lifted the basket gingerly into his hands.

“Those are my favorites, too! And they are yours.”

“Only if you keep one to remember me by. Gimli, son of Glóin,” he introduces himself sweepingly, outstretched hand deftly producing a poppy to hold out your way.

Frodo

“What is this one?” Frodo inquired, holding up a small leather tome.

“Oh,” you tilted your head, “that one is a bit different. Here, let me show you.”

Shifting to sit at his side, you took the book from his outstretched palms and opened it, revealing pages blank save for the flowers you’d pressed in them, splashes of yellow, red, purple, green.

“I try to add one from everywhere I’ve been,” you added, turning the pages, “I even have a page from the Shire.”

The spread of the next pages revealed stems of lavender you’d plucked from gardens, Shire daisies, even some pansies you’d plucked from Bag End itself, and plenty more, too. Frodo’s bright eyes widened at the sight of it, a smile growing upon his lips.

“This is a treasure to see- a reminder of home, and one I can touch, too,” he sighed, brushing his fingers softly over the crisp petals, “I remember the feel of them again.”

His relief was practically palpable in the air as his eyelids fluttered shut in content, smile growing. Heart swelling, you pushed it closer to him.

“It’s yours.”

“I can’t-” He protested.

Handing the leather-bound book over to him, you nodded. “Yes, you can. Your happiness, your relief, is a much greater gift than these to me. The earth will renew it over again on my travels,” you told him with a smile.

One of Frodo’s hands left the petals long enough to linger atop yours. “I will never be parted from it.”

Sam

“Sam! Oh, Sam, wait up!”

Turning his golden head your way, Sam smiles the moment he sees you, sending your heart leaping from your chest as he speaks your name softly in reply.

“What is it?”

“Well, nothing, really,” you reply shyly, hands behind your back, “I just saw these and thought of you.”

Alight is the only word you could have used to describe Sam’s face as your hands leave your back and bring forth the bunch of little bluish-white blossoms you had just discovered a little off the road.

“Absolute beauts, those are,” he breathes with a grin, “harebell, they’re called. They like to grow in rocks for some reason, the little buggers.”

His knowledge sweeps you off your feet, but you can’t help asking. “Do you like them?”

“Of course I do! These are some really pretty ones, very bright indeed!”

Holding them out, you giggle nervously. “Well, good, because they’re for you! I picked these to give you, Sam.”

Jaw dropping and green eyes widening, Sam reaches forward and gently takes the miniature bouquet from your hands. “You mean it?” He asks with another bright grin.

“I really do,” you smile and nod.

For the rest of the day those harebells don’t leave Sam’s hand, and any time he has a moment’s idleness he’s looking at them, fingers gently caressing the blossoms as he glances your way with a smile.

Merry

Normally Merry dipped you. But you changed that that night. Normally he was the one to sweep you off your feet, charm you, but it was you who stole his breath away that night. The way you took his hand and pulled him closer into the dance, twirled him and brought him inches from your face, only had him wanting more.

What really got him, though? The rose you’d handed him at the end of it all. Such a simple gesture and yet he couldn’t tear his eyes off the thing. Or you.

Surely you noticed. The two of you were quite comfortable, else you wouldn’t be dancing so, but no one had gone beyond any teasing. It was all in good fun, unspoken attraction that suddenly grew, enveloping and consuming Merry’d beating heart as he looked at you with new passion. He needed someone who made his heart race so by his side. Someone like you could keep him up being the best hobbit he could be.

And that was why he marched right up to you later in the evening, taking one more massive swig of ale before he approached, rose twirling between his fingertips all the while.

“I hope you meant this,” he nodded down to the bright red bloom, “as much as I mean this.”

Your lips parted, the beginnings of a question fell from them, but not much escaped before your lips were pulled into Merry’s, your hands falling against his chest.

Pippin

Never had you felt so light as when you were around one mister Peregrin Took. All your time with him, it seemed, was spent in joy, laughter, comfort. One look from him was all it took for a smile to creep onto your face. One song from him and it was all you could do not to kiss him right then and there.

For your part, though, you weren’t sure how he felt, thus you acted accordingly, enjoying the time you had with him as much as possible without pushing your feelings. Well, not too much- he was quite fun to tease, after all!

A flower had caught your eye as you strolled, some little cousin to a daisy bursting from brush in a merry little yellow spark you couldn’t help taking for yourself.

Well, mostly. “For you,” you said in a playful lilt, holding it out his way.

The manner in which his smile and shoulders rose had you shyly grinning. “For me?” He repeated, ecstatic as he was incredulous.

The moment you nodded the flowers was all but snatched from your hand. “Where do you think it would look better, here?” First he tucked it into his mess of curls. “Or here?” Tucking it next into the buttonhole of his coat, he grinned at you.

Giggling, you told him he didn’t have to wear it.

“Oh, I want to. I want the whole of Middle Earth to know you’ve given me this gift.” Comical as his words were, the shine in his eyes told you Pippin was sincere.

Faramir

The steward of Gondor had gone up before the people to address them on some perceived victory. To his side he had pulled up his son, the elder one, and named him spearhead of it all. Boromir was a great man, certainly, but so in no shorter words was his brother Faramir, the dearer sibling to your heart.

The moment you met Faramir in the crowd of people, mostly men celebrating in their keep outfit, dented as it was, you rested a hand upon his shoulder. “Let nobody so insignificant taint your victory, Faramir. Were it not for you, half the city would not even be standing.”

“We could have kept it as it was if we-”

“No,” you shook your head, leaning a bit further on him, “none of that. You are a man, not a miracle worker. And so is your brother and everyone else in your family. You have fortitude of mind, strength of heart.”

“Yet less the swing of a sword,” Faramir chuckled.

“The swing of a sword alone a kingdom does not make,” you teasingly chastised, waving a finger, “besides, you have something none of them will ever have.”

“And what is that?” He asks, gently lifting your hand off his shoulder and up to his lips.

“My heart,” you reply, pulling one of the flowers woven into your hair out to press it into his other palm.

Faramir pulls those petals to his lips, too, twirling the stem thoughtfully with a hum. “Then I am, indeed, blessed.”

Eomer

Every time it felt like your heart would shatter. He left again and again but it never got easier wondering if the man you’d grown to love would be torn from you in a brutal battle, one lax moment ending it all.

Tears pricked at your eyes as he looked into them with a smile far too easygoing to you. Too assured.

“Do not look so defeated,” Eomer told you, reaching down with a hand to caress your face in a way that sent your heart leaping, “it’s a small raiding party, that is all.”

“I know, I just-” Your breath hitched, words caught in your throat. “I care about you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

At that, he smiled, releasing his hand again. “You should worry more for the orcs.”

“Still, though, here,” shaking your head, you produced the bundle of flowers you’d tied together for him, face warming, “take these. For luck.”

Eomer’s smile widened even as his horse grew a bit restless; giving its mane a quick pat, he reached down to accept your proffered gift. Sweeping some golden hair off his shoulder, he tucked your blossoms into his saddle.

“Now I know I’ll make it,” he replied, and with a wink he rode off.

Needless to say, he has gifts of his own planned when he returns: a confession, once and for all, and a kiss.

Haldir

"Come now, keep up!"

"Whatever for?"

Laughing, you turn to face Haldir once more and see him ascending the spiraling steps behind you with a look of exasperation. Perhaps, too, amusement. Long, fair hair whips about his face in the breeze as a smile teases onto his lips.

“Is it so bad to spend a little time together?” You shot back merrily, feet still eagerly tapping upon every plank that raised you higher amidst the boughs.

“I only ask because I know of your schemes,” Haldir teases in response.

“If you must know,” you stopped, hands on your hips before you waved one about a spray of vines snaking over the tree’s bark, powder-blue blossoms extending from them, “my scheme was to see if you'd noticed these in your travels."

"I had not," he murmured in response, stepping to your side to caress a pale petal gently, warmth filling you at his proximity.

With a small smile, you took up the age-old habit you'd developed in childhood so many years past, deftly plucking and weaving stems together as Haldir watched with amused interest. Unsure as you were how much time passed, he stood stock-still even as you finished your work, placing the crown of flowers atop his head.

"Here you are, My King," you jested with a smile, taking two steps forward.

Grey eyes staring into yours, Haldir took your hand, shaking his head softly and taking a blossom of his own. "Wait here. No king should rule alone, after all."

Eowyn

Riding brought such joy and exhilaration as one could hardly know elsewhere, especially with a fair and fearless maid like Lady Eowyn at your side. The smile you so longed to see bloomed across her face as you both urged your horses on, picking up speed into a run across the green of the plains. The thudding of hooves invigorated you as the pair of you pressed on, riding like the wind until whim took you to dismount and stop for a breather.

As you sat upon the grass, a dotting of pink flowers amidst the waving green caught your eye; joy seizing you, you picked one after the other until you had a tiny handful. Eowyn’s eyes, you saw, drifted over your work, but she said nothing.

Nothing, that was, until you broke the silence. “These remind me of you, you know. We often think of flowers here as signs of mourning, but these? These are hope. Bits of brightness out of nothing.”

She smiled faintly, shyly, blue eyes shining. “Sometimes it does not feel so.”

“Well, to me it is so,” you replied, extending your little bouquet her way.

The glitter of her eyes somehow brightened as she looked upon your gift, smile opening all the way. You were overcome at the sight of it, the return of warmth to the fairest of faces, and before you realized it you had leaned in and pressed your lips to hers.

Arwen

“But surely you have already received so many mighty gifts!”

“None were from you,” Arwen replied simply, breathily, waving a hand, “come, show me.”

Her smile, breathtaking even in the simplest of moments, encouraged you to pull your hands from behind your back, revealing the bouquet you’d recently tied. With the best ribbon you’d found on hand, of course, beautiful white silk lined with thin silver.

“You see, I wanted to honor you with gifts pure as your heart- gifts from the earth. These are-”

“From the garden where we met!” Arwen was one to remain composed, often feeling the pressure of her years and upbringing and, surely, wisdom. “Of course I remember! You tripped and I caught you!”

Unable to help flushing beneath her grin and the rush of memory, the heat across your face as you pitched over a stone and were captured by the hand of the most graceful maiden you’d ever seen, you simply smiled. “That would be the time. Ever since that day I cannot walk past white roses without thinking of you. And that seems fitting,” you added.

Arwen pursed her lips, eyebrows raising curiously. “Oh?”

“Pure,” you repeated, “fair and beloved as all. Delicate, but formidable. More than capable of defending themselves.”

“Are you saying I have thorns?” She teased, leaning an arm upon your shoulder, breath warm against your ear.

“I’ve seen what you can do,” you shot back, “perhaps I am.”

“Well, at any rate, I love this gift far beyond all displays of wealth. This is a gift of your heart, is it not?”

The moment you nodded, her arms were thrown about your neck, pulling you into the warmth of her chest and letting your heart beat against hers.

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr x reader #lotr imagines #the fellowship of the ring #aragorn #aragorn x reader #legolas #legolas x reader #boromir #boromir x reader #gimli #gimli x reader #frodo #frodo x reader #sam #sam x reader #merry #merry x reader #pippin #pippin x reader #faramir #faramir x reader #eomer #eomer x reader #haldir #haldir x reader #eowyn #eowyn x reader #arwen

[maximotts]

𝔡𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔱 ☾ 𝔴. 𝔪𝔞𝔵𝔦𝔪𝔬𝔣𝔣

pairing ❦  sorority!Wanda Maximoff x sorority!reader

summary ❦ it's Halloween horror movie night at your sorority and your best friend, Wanda, is more than a bit squeamish; but funnily enough, it's not the movies she's worried about

warnings ❦ smut, 18+ only content; bottom!Wanda; lap sits because they seem to be a running theme in your requests this year; thigh riding; handsy cuddling; soft kisses because Wanda deserves them; copious pet names; humiliation; not really degradation, but Wanda gets talked down to playfully; clothed sex; public sex, but like.. in secret

words ❦ 3.4k

a/n ❦ yeaaaah this fic is late, but motivation to finish my Kinktober requests has been low so uhhh I hope you like lil baby sorority Wanda, I sure do

kinktober masterlist.

“Hey, guess what?”

Wanda turned her head, searching mirthful eyes for a clue. “What’s up?” 

“If you’re a baby then you’re my baby.” Her cheeks bloomed tomato red, Wanda suddenly grateful for the pitch dark room. You couldn’t see the color, but you could feel the heat on your shoulder through your t-shirt as she hid her face in your chest.

“Shut up, don’t say that.”

Wanda only joined the sorority because of you. She was shy and reserved, so opposite of your outgoing nature that when she ran up to you on rush week, declaring her pledge to the same group you’d been planning to your whole freshman year, you were shocked. Pleasantly so; the one downside to Greek Life was the reality of spending less time with your best friend. Wanda didn’t like it either, the idea of a huge group of girls she didn’t know occupying your attention with her nowhere around nearly kept her up at night. So she decided to join alongside you, simple fix.

She’d gotten in with no problem; quiet as Wanda was, she was so easily beloved it’d been easy to win over the council with her addictive laugh and sweet demeanor. Still, it was clear to anyone that saw the two of you together that Wanda only got in to be with you; Wanda being assigned your roommate in the house wasn’t a coincidence. The girl was at your side constantly, had been since she and her brother first transferred to your high school and you’d offered the twins a spot at your lunch table. 

You didn’t mind; Wanda was cute, fun, and all around a supportive friend. There wasn’t a dull time to be had with her around, which is why you wanted her to hang out with you now. “It’s just one little movie marathon, Wands. It’s not that bad.”

Wanda was still hovering at the entrance to the expansive living room, lights dim as the other girls found their spots and decided what film to watch first. The Halloween movie night was a long upheld sorority tradition, a fun start to the month of October— too bad Wanda had always been too jumpy for the ones on their lineup. “It’s a horror movie marathon…”

“I don’t want you to be upstairs all by yourself on a Friday night, that’s sad.” Wanda didn’t budge, not even when you grabbed her arms and gave them a playful tug. “Come on, I’ll let you sit with me! And you don’t have to watch anything you don’t want to. I’ve got our favorite blanket?”

“I’ve got our favorite blanket!” Natasha brushed past you both, mocking your encouragement as she carried popcorn in for the group. She was something like friends with Wanda, but nowhere near as patient with her clingy nature, poking fun at it more than anything. 

About a month ago, Wanda drunkenly confessed her crush on you to Nat, crying outside on the lawn after you’d taken some other girl to bed; since then, Natasha tried her best to encourage Wanda to come clean. As visible as Wanda’s dependence on you was, your reciprocal love was evident as a neon sign above your head. You’d never reject her, but so far, Nat hadn’t convinced Wanda. Plan B was to antagonize incessantly. 

The redhead ruffled Wanda’s hair, poking the tip of her nose before backing away. “I see you’re babysitting again tonight or else I’d ask you to sit with me. Movies can get a little boring without something to do while watching.” Wanda wound her arms around you at her insinuation, holding tight while she glared daggers at the older girl. 

“She won’t be bored! I’m right here.” It was no secret you thought Natasha was hot, even joked about sleeping with her a few times, but nothing serious. You only had eyes for Wanda and Natasha, well, she found you attractive, but she would never stomp on Wanda’s feelings so blatantly.

But she saw no harm in teasing you until Wanda decided to spill her secrets. All in good fun. “Possessive, are we? Don’t worry, I won’t take your toys, little one.” 

Natasha walked off then, unbothered by Wanda’s prominent scowl and making her rounds to deliver snacks. Wanda wanted to be as mad as she looked and she was, to a point. Her crush wasn’t her only secret. While she hated being picked on, she couldn’t deny the taunts always left a dull ache in her belly that she never quite knew what to do with. 

“Hey, don’t let her get to you.” You were already leading Wanda to the couch, settling in against the arm before motioning her to sit next to you. “I don’t care if you get scared, we’ll still have plenty of fun.” 

“Yeah…” Wanda couldn’t be upset with your kindness, it was the opposite really. The only thing that changed the aforementioned ache was how much worse it got each time you reassured her. For years, her guilty pleasure had been basking in how good it felt to be doted on by you specifically, often playing up her worries just to get an extra pat on the head or kiss on the cheek. 

It’d been annoying, but manageable until other people started calling her out for her behavior, the sick combo of being ever so slightly humiliated and then subsequently coddled by her favorite person never failing to set her off. Whenever you’d notice her blushing or how she folded into you each time she was questioned, you read it as shame and stuck up for her, protective friend that you were. How was she supposed to explain that made it all the worse? Now, in this house surrounded by girls who were always pointing it out, Wanda was growing more and more exasperated. 

The lights shut off and Wanda curled up beside you, folding her knees under her and leaning against your shoulder. You were quick to pull the thick blanket over you both, taking care to make sure Wanda was nicely cuddled in before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “This okay?”

“Huh?” Wanda was too preoccupied with Natasha plopping down on the other end of the couch, making stupidly obvious thumbs up motions at her to fully understand what you were saying until you asked again. This time, the hand you’d placed behind her was smoothing out her hair and she had to swallow a gulp before she could respond normally. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Really, don’t worry about me.” 

Your eyes followed Wanda’s focus and you spotted Natasha who, upon seeing your curious look, instantly shot a “have fun looking after the baby!” your way. You sent her an indignant finger back before turning your attention on Wanda once more. “Hey, guess what?”

Wanda turned her head, searching mirthful eyes for a clue. “What’s up?” 

“If you’re a baby then you’re my baby.” Her cheeks bloomed tomato red, Wanda suddenly grateful for the pitch dark room. You couldn’t see the color, but you could feel the heat on your shoulder through your t-shirt as she hid her face in your chest.

“Shut up, don’t say that.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first movie was… okay. Wanda only ducked her face under the blanket three times which was a new personal record. Most of her issues stemmed from you honestly, how insistent you’re being in keeping her calm. Each time a jumpscare ran, you looked down, whispering your reassurances and nuzzling your cheek against your forehead. You’d been rubbing circles over her hip for the better part of an hour now and Wanda was dangerously close to losing her composure. 

“How’s she holding up?” Natasha stretched herself across the couch until she was inches away from the cozy space you’d created for her and the younger woman huffed, stamping down the urge to push the redhead away. Instead she stayed quiet and let you do the talking; it wouldn’t be the first time. Besides, if she spoke up now, she’d give herself away. Natasha was too sharp to miss it.

“She’s fine, Tasha. Leave her alone.” You rolled your eyes, but your tone was light; Natasha was clearly still just joking. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you take her?”

She instantly shook her head; she couldn’t peel Wanda away from you if she tried. “I’m just surprised the little princess isn’t bundled up on top of you by now is all.” Wanda couldn’t be mad that Natasha was pointing out the obvious; if she wasn’t next to you, she was on you, but you claimed it was never an issue. 

Never one to be too outdone, Wanda wiggled her way into your lap, settling down once her legs were on either side of yours. Surprise was clear on your face when Wanda looked your way, but she only grinned and stuck her tongue out at Nat. So much for staying quiet, “Go away, the next movie is starting.”

Natasha backed up, hands in the air as if to admit defeat, but her shit-eating grin never faltered. If she had to shove you two together by being annoying, so be it; unfortunately for Wanda, she was completely unaware of the other ways the taunts affected her.

Surrounding conversations quieted down as the second film choice started to play and Wanda let out a deep breath, figuring she’d survived another wave of torment. Until you bounced her on your lap, “Don’t be so grumpy, Natasha is just messing around.”

“Yeah? Well then you can stop messing around too and don’t jostle me. I was comfortable.” She grumbled, trying to ignore how much she actually liked it. Just enough friction for her to feel it, to hold back a groan.

Your mouth poked out in a pout, hands coming to cup Wanda’s pink cheeks, “Aww, is someone upset? What’s wrong, you’ve been weird all night.”

Wanda shook her head, craning her neck towards the television across the room as the movie’s intro blasted through the speakers, ignoring you in favor of whatever creature was crawling out of the lake. It didn’t last long; the instant that thing attacked, Wanda was cowering, shuddering against your chest. 

“Wands…” Through her fear Wanda registered your hand on the small of her back making small circles that were supposed to be soothing, but currently only left her shivering for a completely different reason. When she whined, you took it as further distress and you’d had enough. “You’re having a bad time, I’m taking you upstairs.”

“No!” She gripped your shirt before you could move her away and this time when you looked her way, Wanda was close enough to really take in her flushed cheeks and nervous lip biting. “I’m fine, quit worrying!”

You were worried about her; when you all went to college, Pietro made you swear you’d look after his twin and you’d rolled your eyes because everyone knew there wasn’t a day that’d gone by where you weren’t taking care of your friend. You chose her over anything, always, even if tonight that was a movie night you’d been looking forward to for months.

“I won’t make fun of you for leaving, not seriously.” You nuzzled your face into the top of Wanda’s head before brushing your lips against her temple to hopefully calm her as you felt her fingers skirt over your hips. The actions made her the opposite of calm, but as her shuffling increased, so did your affection. It was a vicious cycle and Wanda was quickly falling behind.

“It’s not what you think.” If you knew the true source of her discomfort, she’d never be able to look you in the eye again. After you allowed her a few long breaths, you pulled her closer, missing how her legs tightened around yours as her clothed center met the top of your thigh. This was certainly how Wanda was going to die, she was sure of it. 

“Then what is it? I only want to help, sweetheart.” You wouldn’t if you could see inside my head right now. She didn’t want to lie to you, not ever. Wanda wished you were more intuitive, really; as often as you’re together, you apparently never actually noticed her behavior. It was cute at first, having her little crush, but it was comforting.. the coddling… fuck, she couldn’t last another second. Not without you knowing how it made her feel. This wasn’t where she wanted to tell you, but you’d start to make a scene soon otherwise.

“You and Natasha, mostly you…” Wanda wasn’t looking at you, if she could, she’d surely lose her nerve. She changed a small movement of her hips, rolling them over your leg and hoping you could feel the ever building heat between her legs. You did. And as soon as you did, your concerned frown curled into pure mischief. 

You let her fidget for a while, taking a cursory scan of the room before cupping Wanda’s face in your hands. No one was watching, even Natasha was giving all of her attention to the movie; there was no way you could pass this opportunity up. “What’d we do, hm, are you that annoyed with us? All you’ve done is complain about us bugging you all night.”

“That’s not- I’m not annoyed,” She’d hoped that much was clear by now, what with how she’d been rubbing herself on you like a horny teenager for the past few minutes. You weren’t stupid, maybe you’d only just caught on, but you were more than experienced enough to not have to ask what Wanda’s problem was.

“So you’ve been lying? What are you then?” Wanda didn’t say a word, face scrunched as she fought to get out of your grasp. You let her go and for a second, Wanda thought she was free. But then you were grabbing her hips, guiding her into your own pace, slow and deep, and Wanda gasped audibly. 

It might’ve been better if you did just laugh and take her off your lap; she was terrible at keeping quiet. “Well it’s.. mostly it’s when you’re nice to me.” 

“When am I ever not nice to-” Your brow furrowed, thinking over your behavior until that last piece clicked, your lips falling open in a shocked ‘O.’ Of course Wanda would be into that, of all things. Your heart swelled, now reliving every time she’d wiggled around happily when you’d tucked her into bed, smothered her in kisses, called her the loveliest of names; she was so precious, it hurt. “My darling girl gets off on being babied, is that it?” 

It’d be stupid to deny it when her arousal was so obvious now, her underwear soaked and quickly giving way to the thin material of her shorts. You bounced your leg like you had earlier when her response didn’t come immediately and Wanda nearly drew blood biting the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t see anyone else in the room and she didn’t want to; your egotistical demeanor was more than she could take on already. “If you’d stopped like I asked, I’d be fine-”

“Not a chance! We’d be right here and you’d be so upset if I didn’t bring your favorite blanket or made you sit upright next to me. You hate when I’m not giving you my full attention.” Wanda so badly wanted to shout how untrue that was— but she’d be too loud and severely wrong. 

You ducked down, peppering her face with kisses, innocent looking enough that anyone would think you’re just comforting your jumpy friend— only you knew Wanda was shaking not from fear, but lust. “Wish you’d told me sooner, I would’ve taken care of you, sweet pea.”

Wanda wanted to hear those words for so long, but actually experiencing them, whispered low in her ear was more than she could ever fantasize. “Then do it..” She grabbed your hand, tugging it further under the blanket between the two of you until you could feel the light cotton on her waist, “ Please? I’ll be good.”

“Yeah? You wanna be my good girl?” She nodded painfully fast, but you didn’t go where she’d hoped, hand skirting around to her backside, gripping her ass. The new angle was as perfect as she could get on a couch in a room full of your sorority sisters; her thighs parted further, neglected clit hitting the top of your leg as you steadily led her along. 

Wanda left kisses along your exposed neck, clumsy and messy in her desperation. She longed to push you down, force your leg right where she needed, beg you to sink your fingers where she was currently clenching around nothing… For obvious reasons, she couldn’t  — not here — and it made her so frustrated she could cry. “I know, I know, but you have to keep quiet.”

Much easier said than done; Wanda buried her face in the crook of your neck, muffling the moans she couldn’t force herself to contain any longer. The movie might as well have been yards away, the audio just a dull noise behind her as she worked to find her release on your lap. 

You’d known Wanda for years, she wasn’t an open book, but you knew her better than she did. Her grip on your waist tightened, her hips stuttering as she lost focus, “Are you gonna cum?” 

You felt more than heard her yes, a low hum of a whimper against your skin. “Go on, I wanna see you cum for me.”

A stray giggle from across the room reminded Wanda of her surroundings, suddenly tense in a bid to hide how close she was to falling apart. “B-But… everyone’s here…”

“Oh, shy little thing.. no one will know, I won’t tell.” True, no one was looking at you, too engrossed in the action on screen or their own side conversations. You’d never dream of saying anything about this anyways; you were never one to brag, especially at Wanda’s expense. “Our little secret, pinky promise.”

It only took a few seconds for Wanda to let go, shaking against you as she sank her teeth into your collarbone. When she settled she realized how uncomfortable she was, too warm under the blanket, but unwilling to look more vulnerable than she already did curled up in your lap. You kept her close, shushing her as Wanda pulled herself together. She could feel her release pooled where she sat, embarrassment creeping up in her chest the longer she had that wet reminder. “Now I’m all sticky…”

“And whose fault is that?” She hated that you pulled her away, even if it was just to give her a cautious once over. You didn’t seem to mind that Wanda ruined one of your favorite pairs of lounge pants, but that didn’t make her feel any better. Your face softened as you took in her awkward squirming and nervous eyes, for as much as you teased her, Wanda really was a delicate little thing. “What’s wrong, baby doll?”

“I don’t want to watch scary movies anymore…” Wanda didn’t regret it, not at all, but where she’d let it happen was possibly the most risky thing she’d done her entire life and while she seemingly hadn’t been caught, she was mortified as the mess she’d made.

“Want me to take you upstairs?” Gentle thumbs smoothed over Wanda’s cheeks, feeling their lingering heat under your fingertips. Your favorite movie was up next, but you wouldn’t enjoy it with Wanda so unsettled and it wasn’t in your nature to send anyone off after sex, especially Wanda. Never her. “I’ll get you all cleaned up, then we can sit in bed and watch whatever you want, does that sound better?”

She agreed instantly of course, the offer of having you all to herself once more too good to pass up. Wanda was being selfish, she knew it, but she’d always been this way when it came to you. This time when you held her to your chest it was so you could stand, securing her legs around your midsection, arms under her for support. 

The movie was at its climax, making it easy to slip away without anyone noticing, well, mostly everyone. As you rounded the back of the couch Natasha caught your attention. Wanda didn’t notice, her face firmly attached to your shoulder to avoid accidentally making eye contact with anyone who might’ve caught her being quite literally carried away, but you felt your friend swat at your thigh when you walked past. 

You only looked down for a moment, not wanting to worry the girl in your arms, but the split second you locked eyes was enough to catch Natasha’s satisfied grin. “Fucking finally, I was getting tired of bothering Wanda every day.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff au #sorority!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fic #maximotts #motts writes.

[disillusioneddanny]

Spread the Love Fic Recs <3

There's been a bunch of negativity lately and I think that means we as a fandom need to spread some love around. If you get tagged please add some fics that you think deserve more love, only request is that they aren't insanely popular fics (think like fics with less than 50k hits) this way we can get some other fics out there for others to read and enjoy!!

1.) Premeditation by Chromatographic (Lia)

The problem is that so few people are even able to see what the problem really is. The problem is that things that manage to find the balance on the knife’s edge of life are so, so hard to kill. The problem, Jasmine Fenton realizes, two weeks after she moves into Gotham, is one that almost no one, in any dimension or realm, is able to solve. The problem is simply put, though, even if it’s almost impossible. The problem is this: The Joker is a Halfa.

this fic has the hardcover ship (Jazz/Jason) and everlasting trio (danny/sam/tucker) it's beautifully written and keeps you on the edge of your seat as you watch the story progress. Absolutely amazing. The writing is just amazing, Chroma sucks you in with beautiful storyline that just blows my mind. And the ending is just absolutely perfect!

2.) Halves by TourettesDog

Jason wasn't sure why Dick thought it was a good idea to drag him along with Tim to Amity Park. His brother seemed to think the strange case would offer a decent opportunity to bond-- without Gotham (and Bruce) close at hand, perhaps it wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had. Unfortunately, Amity Park is far stranger than Dick anticipated, and Jason hasn't quite been himself since they arrived. Going to FentonWorks for answers was their first big mistake.

honestly one of my favorite fics atm, I just love Gothamites going to Amity Park, i'm just such a sucker for the idea and we just don't see it enough so this fic is just my dream come true!

3.) Pitch-Dark Shades by SummersSixEcho

Danny Fenton is trying to build a new life in Gotham after closing up the connections to the Ghost Zone. Not that all connections are entirely broken, still being able to perceive shades and give them strength when he connects to one of their prized objects. Tim Drake is trying to find his own place in the world, focusing on becoming a better detective by solving cold cases in his spare time. When Tim and Danny meet, a new (begrudging) partnership starts to bloom to solve even the hardest of cases. Or it would if only they told each other the truth.

I truly just love Danny and Tim together in literally any kind of capacity. They just cause so much chaos together and it's amazing. This fic is just absolutely lovely and the prose is amazing. Summers fics are truly enrapturing and just pull you in so easily.

4.) Beneath A Different Light by AKelaNakamura, SummersSixEcho, TourettesDog

When a convergent event hits unexpectedly, Damian and Danny find themselves in the last place they’d expected: In the body of the twin they’d thought long dead. With the after effects still coursing through them and danger lurking in both cities, the brothers must figure out who they can trust—all while slowly learning about the life their twin has led without them. Or, none of these bastards can catch a break.

Demon twins. Just--just Demon Twins my beloved. This fic is two chapters in and i'm just so utterly in love with it. Summers, Akela, and Dog are just a match made in heaven when it comes to cowriting a fic. The fic just yanks you in so easily and you find yourself thinking about it even after reading the fic. Just a wonderful fic!

5.) Come Little Children by Die_Erlkonigin6083

American Chestnuts were once one of the most important trees along the East Coast. The blight destroyed most of them, but not all of them. There was one chestnut tree, one that entranced a child, and then, what it wrought, enchanted an entire city or two

YALL when i tell you that the storytelling in this is absolutely breathtaking I'm serious. This fic has brought a tear to my eye because of just how beautifully it's written. It's got cool fantasy aspects to it, it's based off of an old fairy tale, it's just so amazing and it's one of my favorite fics to reread if i'm having a bad day. Just truly a lovely fic.

Now, I would like to see @halfagone @spite-sapphic-starlight @noir-renard and @midnightenigma recommend some of their favorite fics if they're willing <3333 let's spread some more love in this fandom!

also even if you aren't tagged--please feel free to recommend any fics you enjoy!!

#dpxdc #dpxdc fic recs #danny phantom #dc universe #detective comics

[yeyinde]

SFW Alphabet | Captain John Price

(It takes a long time to chip away at the scar tissue that covers him, hide-thick. But when you do, when those walls fall, his head lifts, eyes shining bright like a pool of azure in the morning glow, full of love and affection, and now—finally, finally— catching sight of what was there all along, that he's what you deserve, it's all worth it. Every moment.)

—notes: so sorry this took forever!!

A—AFFECTION | how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?

B—BAD HABITS | what bad habits do they have?

It's subtle at first. A gradual build, a slow burn. Ever the pragmatic leader, he's always checking on everyone. Looking them over, eyes darting between everyone. It's normal. Expected. There is something reassuring in the weight of his gaze. No matter how bad things go, there is stability to be found in the cerulean that skims over you.

It's brief, fleeting. He trusts those he surrounds himself with more than anything, and he sits on the belief that if you were injured, you'd tell him. 

But then changes. The quick seconds stretch a little longer each time. His gaze lingers, and you find yourself meeting his stare more often than not. 

It grows from there. The deeper you fall into his orbit, the more it branches out. His gaze is accompanied by a touch—knuckles bushing over your forearm (“alright?”), his fingers curling over your wrist ("careful, love, watch the pothole;"). Small touches that begin to linger, blooming into more. His hand is steady on the base of your spine. fingers ghosting across the small of your back when he leads you somewhere, knuckles brushing when you walk side by side. The heat of his body when he stands close to you (that becomes progressively warmer the closer he gets). His eyes find you, instantly. Cutting across a crowded room. 

It warms you when you notice. When you step away to go to the washroom and find him looking up periodically, searching for you. 

His affection comes in shades that get darker and darker the closer you get to him, until you find yourself feeling almost naked, bare, without his eyes on you, his hand on your body.

Price has his vices—cigars, scotch; blame and anger. 

The weight of the world rests solely on his shoulders, and while he trusts the men around him to do their job, he takes the losses harder. It’s he who failed. He carries it with him, tucked into the scar tissue and the tension lines in the creases of his forehead, and the corners of his eyes. The headaches from clenching his jaw so tight. 

He's an intense man. A looming storm, always battle-ready. His anger simmers low in his veins, a constant buzz under his skin. It gets easier to reign in when he has an outlet for his rage, but he slips. He's animated and biting. He'll cut you to the core, and mean everything he says. There is no hold-barred in a true battle. Claymore at the ready, he'll dig into your vulnerable points (a finely crafted captain; a man made in death), until you're leaking hurt. 

But he'll never get to that point with you. He holds himself back until his nails bite into his palm. He'll storm away first. Leave. He needs space to work through his emotions, and the last thing he ever wants is to be a man like his father—throwing dishes and hands—but he gets agitated, and he can't help himself. He feels the urge to break brimming in his joints. 

He'll tell you he's leaving, and he expects you to understand why. There is a line there; a delicate precipice he walks each day. 

He will never hurt you. Ever. But he doesn't trust himself as much as you do. He needs distance because all he can see on your face is his mum, and he hates that his words sound just like his father. 

C—CUDDLE | do they like to cuddle? how do they like to cuddle the most?

D—DATE | ideal date

He likes to have you on him. Wants your head tucked under his chin, your hand on his chest, your leg thrown over his hip. He wants to keep you there forever, nestled to his side, nails carting through his chest hair. He wants to breathe you in and feel the weight of you, solid and steady, over him. Secure in his arms. Safe and sound. 

Sometimes, he likes to be on top of you, keeping you warm and secure in the bracket of his being. Tucked away from the world where nothing can hurt you. His back will take the brunt of it all as he shields you from everything.

E—ENDING | if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it? 

His favourite place would be this dingy little pub that plays classic rock and serves the best scotch in town. He'd bring you in the evening, tuck you into the corner where you both can sit together, and talk. He isn't a man who likes to chit-chat, but he likes the little ways you show your embarrassment whenever you have the full weight of his attention. You're smart and funny. He could listen to you talk for hours about nothing. It relaxes him. 

He knows you probably had better—fancy french restaurants, sunset strolls by the sea—but this is the place where he feels he can truly let his guard slip just a little bit, and he wants to share that with you.

This is where he'd spent a great deal of time in his early career, nursing shot after shot until the demons were chased away in the malt that burned his lips, and stained his chin. It's where he picked himself up from his bootstraps and became the man he is today. 

You won't know any of this, and he'd never tell you, but he thinks you somehow feel it. You ease into him. Words softer indoors. You share stories over chips, and he gets to enjoy the way the fairy lights outside catch your eyes. 

For him, he prefers to bring you places of familiarity, of comfort. Small, intimate alcoves away from the worries of life. He likes to see your eyes grow a little hazy as you try his scotch, and misty when you choke on his cigar.

Direct. Blunt. There is no sense in dragging it out or mincing words. He's shattering your heart, of course, but it's a surgeon's cut. Precise and exact. You barely feel the blade when it slips into your flesh, but it's doused in finality. He's made his mind up, and there is no changing it.

F—FAMILY | do they want one?

G—GIFTS | how do they feel about gifts? how do they give them?

Yes. A big one. As big a one as you'll give him. 

The idea of family has been ingrained in his head since he was young. A nuclear unit. A traditional British household. His ideals are much less rigid compared to his father's, but he's always been a man who craved kinship. He wants to bask in the extraordinary, the mundane, and the ugly with you and any number of children you'll allow him. It’s something he dreams and thinks about quite often. 

If he had it his way, he'd fill up a house. Every room full. All bursting with life.

H—HUGS | how would they hug you? is it common for them to hug you?

Open moments of affection make him shift in his seat, a touch uncomfortable. He was raised a certain way, and often finds himself feeling undeserving of whatever is given to him. He's very subtle. Will stand somewhere, arms folded, lingering. He waits until it's just you and him. A private moment. He both does and doesn't want to be around when you open it.

Sometimes, he'll leave it somewhere for you to find. Other times, he stands in the background as you carefully pull it open. This, too, makes him a touch uncomfortable. The look on your face makes him feel shades softer than he has any right to be. You make him want to be a better man (and the greatest gift you've ever given him was the conviction in your voice when you tell him that he already is.)

In a casual setting, it would be one arm looped around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. The front of his body would be positioned away from you. It might seem distant and unfeeling, but he likes having you against him, and folded into the crease of his body where he can protect you the most. 

Sometimes, he’ll break. After a long mission away, when he finally has a chance at peeling off the skin he wears that keeps the world in check, he’ll latch onto your wrist, and pull you close. One arm will brace against your back from hip to mid-back, and the other is looped tight around your shoulders. He locks you in completely, and crushes you to his chest. Not a silver of space will exist from where his heart beats beneath his fatigues, and where yours pounds from under your shirt. 

(He is also quite a big fan of wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling your back to his chest as he leans over your shoulder in the morning, and brushes his teeth or helps you chop the veg.)

It takes a moment—a second for that part of his brain to begin to ebb into civilian normalcy, the one that is always (forever) locked in combat, one that he only gets to lock away when he’s with you; when he’s safe—and then he melts into you. A sigh leaves his chest and you feel the rattle of it through your bones as it travels through his esophagus, and out of his raw throat. It leaves his lips, stifled in the net of your hair. 

Price will pull you in closer, closer still, and then draw a deep, deep breath. He’ll hold you for as along as he can.

(He is also quite a big fan of wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling your back to his chest as he leans over your shoulder in the morning, and brushes his teeth or helps you chop the veg.)

I—INJURY | how do they react if you get injured?

J—JEALOUSY | are they the jealous type? how do they deal with it?

Apoplectic fury. Enough to rattle the ground in the sheer magnitude of his anger. 

Sometimes, he's good at stifling it. If it happened on the battlefield, when people's lives are at stake, he'll stem the geyser with responsibility. With purpose. No mistakes can be made out here. He has one focus, and that's getting everyone out safely. Other times, it erupts. It froths over in the hoarseness of his voice, words ripped out from deep within his chest. It's an aching cry, drenched in desperation. His rage is palpable. His eyes are burning sapphires, sharper than daggers. His fury is molten, but his resolve is ice-cold. Whoever did it, no matter who it was, will pay. 

He stands tall, firm, amid it all; weathers the storm until it's finished.

But in the quiet of his own mind, his home, he crumbles. 

He blames himself for it all. If only he was stronger, faster, smarter, better he could have saved you. No amount of absolution, no words nor evidence, will ever shake this guilt, but he won't wallow in it. Like all of the losses in his life, he sharpens them into weapons and wields them like a claymore. You can tell him you're fine, you're okay, but it is another weight added to the rest.

K—KISS | their favourite way to kiss you

He isn't a very jealous person. He's confident in himself, in your devotion to him. He knows you'd tell him if you were ever wavering. 

But sometimes, he wonders if you're sure. If you're okay with a gruff, irritable man like him. 

You deserve better than a man shaped by rough hands. 

Seeing you with someone better makes him jealous, makes him seethe. He wants to give you distance, and trust, to let you decide what you want for yourself. But he can't. 

He stands behind you, hands curled into the straps of his vest or on the lapels of his jacket, and stares them down. 

"There a problem here?" He lowers his voice when he speaks. The muffled sound of a denotation in the distance. Eyes narrowed into slits. "No? Then fuck off." 

It's childish, really. Stupid. But he likes the way you ease into him when you know he's standing behind you. When you turn, eyes wide and dark, and breathe out a shaky word of gratitude. It's become routine for him to pull you away into his office, and fuck you stupid. Until all you think about is him, and how good he makes you feel. 

(Sometimes, he thinks you stage these little moments because you like his possessiveness, his jealousy, more than you let on. 

And maybe he just likes to indulge you a little bit.)

L—LOVE CONFESSION | how did they confess their love?

His fingers thread through your hair, gripping a fistful at the base of your skull, and the other slung around your waist, locking you to him. No escape—not that you ever would, but he likes trapping you in the heft of his body. Likes when you squirm against him. When you push and push at his broad chest, and tremble when you realise how very negligible give there is. It makes him feel powerful in a way that is so different from orchestrating a successful recon, a mission. A man made of granite touching something soft. 

Price kisses with finesse. A burning cigar left smouldering in an ashtray. He batters you into submission and kisses you like he's teaching you a lesson in discipline. In docility. 

He doesn't relent until your knees quiver, and your lips and cheeks are rubbed raw, chafed by the coarse hair on his face. He locks you to him and takes his fill of you. 

He leaves you feeling ruined, and conquered. And when he pulls back, taking in the heaves of your chest as you gulp for air, the redness of your lips, cheeks, and chin, and the dazed look in your eyes, you've never seen him quite so satisfied as you do then. 

M—MEMORY | what are their best and worst memories?

Like everything about him, it's pointed. Concise.

He plays the long game—has to, really—and by the end of it all, of years dancing around each other until the steps become ingrained in your joints, saturated in muscle memory, he sneaks up on you. He takes you somewhere private. Tells you about his past, the scars he carries, his guilt, his failings, his shortcomings, his regrets, his selfishness—it almost feels like he's pushing you away, and giving you a laundry list of reasons to reject him. And in many ways, he is. He won't tell you about any of the good, only the bad. He'll lay his ugliness out to you, bereft of sympathy, and force you to reconcile the notion of good within him. 

It doesn't work, of course. He might just see the residuum of artillery fire on his skin, but you see the grit of a man determined to sacrifice himself for it all. 

You think it's a bittersweet moment when you accept, when you turn to him and say I love you, too, John. 

There is winning the war and the celebration of your victory, but John is not a man who would ever forget the battles lost, and you see those shadows amid the happiness that simmers. 

"Hope you know what you're gettin' yourself into," he says, as if he didn't give you every reason possible to say no, but you still said yes. "It ain't gonna be pretty, love."

And it isn't. It's ugly and brutal and full of empty promises and barren words spoken with the flavour of his vices, of things he'll never give up, and everything he wants but won't take. It's a lesson in patience and fortitude and tests your mettle every day, but you would never pick differently. 

There is a stunning, ethereal beauty in the breaking of it all. In the way it shatters around you. You're cut up and scarred along with him, but it's a battle you fight together. One you win, hand-in-hand. 

(It takes a long time to chip away at the scar tissue that covers him, hide-thick. But when you do, when those walls fall, his head lifts, eyes shining bright like a pool of azure in the morning glow, full of love and affection, and now—finally, finally— catching sight of what was there all along, that he's what you deserve, it's all worth it. Every moment.)

N—NIGHTMARE | do they have them? what are they about? reactions?

His best memory is getting out of Hereford. Of graduating and leaving home for the first time at eighteen. Everything was purged from that moment. He had a path, direction. 

His worse memory is all the men he lost, the ones he promised to bring home when he was a novice, idealistic, in his youth; and all the widows he made along the way.

O—OPEN | how long did it take for them to open up to you?

He has them. Always. They sneak up on him in slow increments when he lets himself be lulled into the false sense of security that the comfort of your embrace brings. 

They're always about the same thing. Isolation. He's locked in a room, shackled to a chair. All around him are bare walls. Empty. Grey. Nothing. He can hear sounds coming from just outside of the room. Yells, screams of agony, terror. They rise each night. Every dream sharpens the howls around him until they bleed with clarity. 

They're the agonised shrieks of his men. His men. The ones he implicitly promised to help, to bring home. 

He has to get up. He has to. Has to. The shackles fall. The chain clatter to the ground. 

And—

He can't move. His legs are paralysed. Not from some phantom weight or some outside force, but from—

His commander stands above him, drenched in the blood of his comrades, and says: don't move. Let them die.

He tries to fight. To open his mouth. But he can't. Can't. He—

"Let them die." 

(He does. He does. He—)

He wakes up with his heart in his throat, choking him. Cutting off the air from getting into his lungs. He presses his hand to his jaw just to feel his skin under his palm. Just to know he can. Freedom. He's not trapped. 

You will find him hours later in his study or standing on the deck, smoking a cigar (two, three…), and drinking scotch. Black label. He's half finished. 

His eyes are red when he looks up, bloodshot and blistered, and—

Vacant. Hollow. He offers a nod, says nothing. 

(You don't think he can speak.)

He wants silence. Normalcy. You leave him for a moment, and bring back tea for two, and a book tucked under your arm. You sit with him, drinking your tea, and wait until the shadows dissolve from his eyes.

Until he's back. 

His hand falls to yours. His thumb brushes over your pulse point. His skin is clammy. Cold. You let him touch you until the spasms in his joints cease. 

"Sorry, love," he'll say. 

You always shake your head. "Nothing to be sorry about, dear." Dear. Dear because it's soft and gentle and familial. 

You hear his breath stutter in his chest. "Y'right?"

"Are you?" 

It takes him a moment to answer. The heat of your skin bleeds into his. 

He clears his throat. Then: "getting there. Sit with me for a moment longer, will you?"

You tuck a smile behind the pages of Ulysses. "Always." 

A long time. Price is not a soft man on the battlefield. He is a leader, shouldering the lives of every man and woman who crosses paths with him. He might not remember every name at the start, but when the dust has settled, and the loss stack higher and higher. He carries them with him, tucked deep in the pockets of his heart. He's guarded, and distant. A protector, despite his insistence that he isn't. He doesn't want to burden you with his woes, his grievances. He keeps them, a rotten secret, as close to his chest as possible.

But he breaks slowly. The crushing of a geode. It happens when he loses someone he trained with, someone from his youth. It takes a tragedy for him to unfurl, to open up. 

It is a little bit like chiselling a dam. The first splinter is a trickle of water. Then a rush. Then a spray. And finally deluge. 

It's still held back by crumbling concrete, but he's open with you, now. When he comes home, he likes to lay his head in your lap, and tell you about all the things he couldn't do. 

He isn't looking for sympathy—he never is. He just wants you to listen.

P—PAST | how has their past changed them, has it made them better or worse?

His past changed and shaped him in many ways. It’s the catalyst for him becoming the man he is today and instilled a strong sense of justice within him. However, it’s not a happy one, and it also moulded and cultivated that necessary darkness he carries in order to complete the mission given him to—no matter the cost. 

Like many things, he takes it to the chin. Brutal, blunt. 

It takes a lot to crumble him. He locks his vulnerable emotions in a brassbound box, and keeps it tucked inside a crevasse where it can't be seen, nor touched. 

The spillover seeps into his veins where bubbles into anger, an old comfort for him. He's an apoplectic storm on the horizon. Sadness is bottled lightning; a livewire in a stagnant pond.

He uses it to push forward. 

Q—QUIET | what are quiet moments like with them?

Price sits in his favourite velvet green armchair, a report spread out in front of him. A glass of scotch is on the table. A cigar pinched between his fingers. The game plays on the television, turned low but still loud enough to keep track of what was happening. Everton was losing. He huffs when he sees it, and mutters something about messaging Simon later to really rub it in.

You read, mark papers, play on your phone. 

No words need to be uttered. The atmosphere is rich with tranquillity. 

It's the cosiness of a warm home in the middle of winter. A hot cup of tea within reach, made perfectly and still billowing with steam. It's pressing your fingers to the pages of a well-loved book, and falling in the margins of a story you never grow tired of. 

It is simplicity in its purest form.

His hand stretches over the end table, palm facing up. Your fingers slip in the gaps. It's not a perfect fit, but his worn, rough hands are the closest to home you've ever felt. 

R—RAINY DAY | what are they like in the rain?

He gets a touch morose in the rain. A shade quieter, distant. Lost in thoughts of a time you're not privy to, a world when he was a boy on the verge of becoming a man. A man following in a path carved out of blood and grit. Soot and ash. Battles play in the recesses of his eyes; sapphire artillery smoke, gunpowder in hues of blue. 

You wrap your arms around his middle, pressing your chest to his warm back, and listen, in silence, to the rain pelting the window until he's ready to come back to you. 

Other times, he basks in the nostalgia of his childhood. Wet pavement, thick smog and petrichor. Says it reminds him of Hereford. 

He got shot, he tells you, off-handedly, when he was a grunt in the mountains of Bulgaria, and ever since his leg acts up when it rains. 

Swats at you when you tell him that's just old age. 

S—SADNESS | how do they deal with sadness?

It takes a lot to crumble him. He locks his vulnerable emotions in a brassbound box, and keeps it tucked inside a crevasse where it can't be seen, nor touched. 

The spillover seeps into his veins where bubbles into anger, an old comfort for him. He's an apoplectic storm on the horizon.

(Sadness is bottled lightning; a livewire in a stagnant pond.

He uses it to push forward.) 

T—TIME | how long did it take you to get together?

Years. He's known about his attraction to you much earlier, and—of course—your attraction to him for just as long, but he’s a slow-burn. The equivalent of lighting a cigar and leaving it to smoulder on its own. He won’t act on his feelings until all the variables have been weighed, and measured; until he knows, unequivocally, what he wants from this. 

And even then—he still holds out. 

Pursuing this man isn’t easy. He won’t make it so. He’ll linger in the equinox of pushing you away and keeping you close; know he shouldn’t but he yearns. 

U—UNMOVABLE | what opinion will never change, no matter what goes against them?

Sometimes, he has to do things that are considered questionable or morally dubious. He has to get blood on his hands; to him, this is just another facet of eventual peace. He doesn't regret any of his actions—can't, really, or he'll crumble under the weight of his guilt. 

V— VICIOUS | what makes them vicious, do they try to hide it or overcome it?

Injustice makes him seethe—a lingering byproduct of his past, his childhood, when he was too weak, too brittle, too young, to do anything to help anyone. Seeing it now makes him brim with fury. 

Betrayal, too. He's quick to anger, especially when the lives of his men, innocent people, and those he cares about are being threatened or stifled by politics and political gain. He has little patience for the process, and prefers to operate under his own moral compass. 

He uses his viciousness on the battlefield to his advantage. He does not try to hide or overcome it. 

At home, he tries to keep it locked away. He isn't a bully but his anger makes him quite cross a lot of the time. Irritated.

He's biting. Condescending. A gruff cut of a man with not just a chip on his shoulder, but a gorge. He fills the gap with duty and obligations, but it surprises you at just how surly he is sometimes. Snide comments, the Looks. It stacks up. 

He isn't cruel, and outside of tense situations with enemies, it's quite funny. His biting sarcasm is toned down with a gruff sincerity. 

When out on a date, or grocery shopping, expect to hear something mean slip from his lips if the person in front of you is walking too slow, or there are no more shopping carts. 

It's often easier to hide your smile behind your hand, and give a weak apology on his behalf. 

(But he's very typical of the English—they could serve him raw chicken on a plate, and he wouldn't say a word to the waitstaff until they came around again, finally noticing the squawking bird. He'd glance at his plate, and mutter: "a few more minutes, I reckon.")

W—WARRIOR | how do they feel about you fighting? would they fight for you, beside you, etc?

Price would be your biggest ally and your biggest opponent. 

If it's your choice, then he would accept it. He understands the fire, the want to protect, to save. But if you didn't measure up, he would tell you. If you couldn't make it through the tough training regime, he'd be blunt and honest. 

He would fight the world for you, and himself as well. He fights for you, really, every day. 

He wants to fight beside you—to be there to offer that extra inch of protection, to be the stopgap between life or death, but he also knows you can't be a distraction. You can't be someone he worries about when he has others to bring home. 

X—XTRA | a random headcanon for them

He doesn't like the silence. Doesn't like being alone with his thoughts for too long. They creep up on him in stagnancy. 

Y—YEARN | how do they deal with yearning?

He compartmentalises it. Pushes it aside. It itches under his skin, but he's long since learned not to scratch at phantom wants. 

When it becomes unbearable, he allows himself a small moment to simply gaze at something that reminds him of you. Abstract concepts that will never lead back to you—a family passing by, a weeping willow, lilacs in bloom, the bright moon in the inky black aether—but each one holds a special meaning to him, and makes him feel closer to you than ever before. 

(Sometimes, he might crack. Might call you once, and only once, just to hear your voice. A random number a world away. You never answer, but he doesn't want you to. He knows he'll never be able to hang up if you did. He listens to your voicemail, saccharine and soft, and then he turns his phone off before the beep.)

Z—ZEN | what makes them calm?

—I absolutely want to stress that these are just my own personal thoughts and headcanons on Price. If you don't agree, that's perfectly fine! character interpretations are entirely subjective, and what I infer from a character will differ from people's perspectives. 🖤

You. Your head on his chest. Your hands on his skin. The weight of you pressing into his marrow. 

And a clean cigar. A neat scotch. Comforts, vices. It's all the same to him.

#captain john price #this too so long #ugHHHHH #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x you #john price x reader #cod price #john price cod #captain price #captain john price x you #captain john price headcanons

[thenewblackcanvas]

At around 1 am, you arrived to Chan’s studio. He’d been working constantly, putting himself on the back burner again for work. He said he would be home earlier tonight but you knew it was not going to happen. You told yourself if he didn’t come home by midnight you would call him. If he hadn’t answered but 12:45 you were going to get him. Now here you are finally arriving home hand in hand close to 2.

He was silent the whole way home. Really since you showed up, save for the string of frantic apologies once the shock of your presence wore off. You simply said it was time to go home. Though graciously letting him finish the last thing he was doing, you were packing his other things in the background. The quiet stretched from that point on.

You stop him in the door way as he takes off his shoes.

“Hey” you say casually. “You know I love you right?”

“I love you too.” he looks scared and worried as it seemed to come out of nowhere.

“Well you don’t need to worry so much over it” you say running your thumb over the crease in his forehead to smooth out his worried creases.

His head tilts in confusion, “Hmm?” Did he say something aloud?

“You think I don’t know what’s going on in the big genius producer brain of yours? ‘You make her worry too much. Oh you fell asleep here again she’s probably mad’. That’s you in your head but in an Australian accent.”

He laughs and you smile.

“You need to take that worry and put it into worrying about yourself. I’m not going to leave just because you worked yourself to exhaustion. I’m going to bring you home and love you and take care of you until you can function properly again.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“I think the same about not deserving you but I know I love you too much to let negative thoughts ruin what we have. I just try and be a little better everyday. For me and you.”

He kisses you with a smile, feeling such adoration for you blooming in his chest. He never thinks he can love you more than he already does, then you go and make him love you even more.

“Now c’mon I was gonna ask you to eat a little something but you seemed two seconds away from a deep sleep even in your studio so let’s just get in bed. We can watch something together until we fall asleep.”

He follows you hand in hand as you lead him to your bedroom, looking at you holding his hand so gently but securely that he hopes you never let go

#bang chan comfort #bang chan fluff #bang chan drabble #stray kids comfort #skz comfort #bang chan angst #stray kids fluff #bang chan comfort fic

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

Sweet flavor of your lips - TF141*Fem!Reader

TF141 members with different types of reader and her lipstick.

The reader from Gaz is inspired by one of my friends. No matter your gender, I hope everyone knows you are perfect, and please don't be affected by mean people's words, they don't deserve you to think about them.

Price*Wife!Reader

He noticed you have been wanting that lipstick for quite a while, you added it to your cart at least 5 weeks ago, but every time you opened the cart, you just stared at it and closed the app eventually. so he secretly took note of the brand and the tone.

“Have a gift for you, love.” One day, you are folding the laundry on the couch, and Price sneaks to your back, and you let out a surprised weird squeal which makes him laugh.

He hands you a well-wrapped black box, and you pull the ribbon and take off the lid.

“Oh my god, why do you know I want this?!” Your head snapped up to look at him, eyes wide like a plate when he chuckles.

“Try it?” He brushes off your question, instead, he takes the clothes you are folding from your hand to put it down on the couch.

His arm immediately wraps around your waist to pull you close to his side when you walk to the living room together.

You two stand in front of your dressing table, and he watches you carefully take the lipstick from the box, and put on the lipstick just in a few seconds.

“How do I look?” Your face is full of excitement when you ask him.

“I can’t remember who looks more perfect than my beautiful wife, but...” He leans down, and that sexy voice you always enjoy a little too much now blooms just beside your ear. “I wonder how it tastes?”

His lips touch yours gently, and you let him lead you into a lazy kiss. From those groans leaving his chest, you know he must love the lipstick just like you, but you still question him when he breaks the kiss and cradles you in his hug.

“You like the flavor too?”

“Peach. My favorite.”

Soap*Cocky!Reader

“What does yer lipstick taste like?”

Your eyes fixate on the mirror, not sparing a glance at the man standing behind you, the red lipstick in your hand's grace over your plump lips, adding some rosy to it, and you finish the process with a pop of your mouth.

“What? curious?” You raise an eyebrow when you turn your swivel chair, facing Soap who leans at the table with that cocky smirk on him.

“Aye, mind if I know?” His smile grows wider when he stalks towards you, the calloused hand taking your chin in it, tilting your head up.

“Oh.” you challenge him with the same arrogant tone “How bad do you want to know?”

Standing on your tiptoe, you slowly approach him, until you and he can feel each other's breaths linger on your face.

“Understand it by yourself?” He quips back.

Shoving his chest, you pull back and return to your heels. “Fuck off, Soap.” You start walking towards the doorway, and the sound of footsteps from behind lets you know he’s following you just a foot behind.

“Please, Bonnie? I want to- oof!“ Soap keeps rambling, and yelps when his chest bumps on your back because you suddenly come to a halt.

His mind hasn’t had a chance to progress through the whole thing before you turn around, fist the collar of his shirt, and those glossy lips of yours meet him in a furious fervor.

but he quickly takes back the control, a hand reaches and cups your nape, tongue swipes your bottom lip, and you open up for him to let his tongue slip in, dance with yours, and make a chord of shameless melodies.

Soap pulls back when you tap his shoulder to remind him you are out of air.

“Taste good?” He hears you asking, and the mean smile returns to his face.

“Aye, strawberry. just like I imagined every day.”

Gaz*Unconfident!Reader

You barely wear makeup, because you always wear a cap and a face mask to cover your face when you go out, because you lack confidence in yourself — no specific reasons actually, you are above average, but you became this due to those bad memories from your past — so you hate showing your face to others, even your friends, which Gaz feels sad about.

He did a lot before you finally broke your walls and started showing more of your face to him, and it took a long time for him to win your trust and become your boyfriend. Now you can show him your face when you two are alone, but you still refuse to take off your face mask let alone your hat in public, he doesn’t want to push you to do something you’re uncomfortable of , so he respects it, but Gaz thinks you’re gorgeous, and it’s always hard for him to tear his eyes off you.

Although you're adamant to cover your face, Gaz knows you still have an interest in wearing some makeup, he sometimes finds you watching tutorial videos on YouTube secretly.

So when he gives you a lipstick on Valentine's Day, you stare at the gift for quite a while.

Gaz is afraid this gift is pushing your limits too far. Actually, you are delighted, but you are nervous, you have imagined countless times showing yourself confidently just like other girls, and you own some makeup products too, but you never have the courage to use them.

But on this special day, with the person you love the most, you are willing to gather your courage and try one time.

Gaz stays patiently outside your bedroom, you tell him to wait for you for 20 minutes, it’s already past 20 minutes now, but he still sits on the sofa waiting for you to come out when you feel comfortable enough.

He hears the door open, he turns towards the sound, and he feels like he’s fallen in love again.

You look majestic, and the color of the lipstick he chooses fits you perfectly, you are slightly covering your face out of shyness, but he takes your hand in his when he comes to your side.

“Can I look at you, babe?” He asks tenderly.

Slowly, you move your hands fully away from your face and lift your head to give him a good look.

“Do I look weird?”

He can hear the nervousness in your voice, but he just shakes his head and leans down to give you a kiss, a short and careful one, because he doesn’t want to ruin the lipstick you put on.

and when Gaz stands straight again, he cups your face and whispers sweetly when he nuzzles his nose with yours.

“I can’t find a person prettier than you, and sweeter than the apple flavor of your lipstick in this world.”

Ghost*Makeup-Seller!Reader

Simon doesn’t understand why someone can put lipstick on them and not feel gross by the smell, but you are a makeup seller, it’s your job to wear them to advertise your products, and he adores how the lipstick brightens you, to be honest.

He is unable to distinguish those lipsticks even if you say they are all different colors, his jaw drops when he sees you recognize each color without a single second of thinking.

Today you plan on shooting some photos for your products, and when he wakes up and comes out of the bedroom, he spots you kneeling in front of the table in the living room, lots of lipsticks scattered across it, with a vanity mirror beside them.

He sits on the couch behind you, so now you are trapped between the table and Simon.

“Good morning, Simon.” You can feel his gaze on you, but you are busy smearing the lipstick on your lips, so you just meet his gaze for a second in the mirror and go back to what you are doing.

Unbeknownst to you, Simon is staring at your lips through the mirror, the light pink makes you look more vibrant and puts some color on your face, and he feels a desperate will thriving in his mind to know how your lips might feel like.

so when you turn around and give him a smile, he can’t help but lift your chin, making you straighten your body to meet his lips.

He bites your bottom lip shallowly, pulling it before he licks your lips, and maneuvers you into his lap for further kisses.

The kiss lasts long, you can feel how his lips move with yours in sync, the voice in the back of your mind tells you the makeup must become a mess with Simon’s perseverance for not letting you go and keeps deepening the kiss, but you pay no mind to it when it feels so good to let him lead you into a celestial amusement.

You laugh when you see his lips are stained with your lipstick, and you glimpse at the mirror. Oh, you definitely need to do the whole thing again.

“You idiot, now I need to do it all over again.” You smack his thigh “But don't you hate the taste of lipstick?”

You watch him swipes his thumb across his lips, and your cheeks heats with what he says.

“Not that bad when it’s on you.”

#price x reader #price x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #soap x reader #soap x you #gaz x reader #gaz x you #cod x reader #cod imagine #female pronouns

[fandxmslxt69]

Loki (TV) - Speak Now(TV): Enchanted

Loki Laufeyson x f!asgardian!reader

Warnings: some swearing, few thoughts of insecurity, but that';s it. Bad writing lmao. horrible plot too. lazy makeouts too.

Synopsis: You escape to the royal gardens after a shitty start to the ball, but running into an enchanting stranger turns your night for the better. Based on Enchanted by Taylor Swift. Part of a series In The Works.

A/N: Wow this is so bad lmaooo I'll fix it another time but I'm posting it now so I can get into the schedule and be done with!! This is my little very rushed entry for @sarahscribbles Birthday Celebration I LOVE YOU SARAH and you deserve SO MUCH BETTER than this lmao i had so much more planned for this but sadly it all failed with having no wifi this entire vaca, so this is the best I can do. I do promise a part two some time though.

Tags: (I';m tagging everyone who asked to be tagged for this part AND part 2 so I have everyone in one place <3) @divine-knight-hand @the-fox-den @nyxlaufeyson @under00s616 @mischief2sarawr and ofc @sarahscribbles

Word count: 3.5k

There I was again tonight

Forcing laughter, faking smiles

Same old tired, lonely place

The night, in conclusion, was an utter failure. You had been truly excited as the weeks neared to tonight’s ball. You had hoped for an evening full of dancing and laughs, twirling around in the arms of a handsome guy and enjoying light conversation, maybe even some good food.

So far, the food was the only thing that held out. 

You watched from your corner as pairs danced across the floor as music and easy chatter filled the room. Women in dresses of all colours of the rainbow, and men in nicely fitted suits and uniforms. Everyone wore masks, elegant and with elaborate designs that complemented each person’s attire. “This is a waste.” You grumbled to yourself as you tugged at your mask to adjust it in place.

“Perhaps,” One of your friend’s slid into the vacant seat beside you, face flushed from dancing. “You should go ask someone for a dance,” “What?” You snorted. “That’s an ugly look. It’ll seem like I’m desperate,”

“But you are,” She pointed out. 

You rolled your eyes, picking at the plate of fruit delicacies in front of you. “It’s alright. I don’t feel like dancing anyway,” She raised an eyebrow, “Were you not talking about how excited you were to spend all night dancing just this morning?” You threw her a look, getting up without bothering to finish your plate. “I think I’ll go for a walk in the gardens,” You said as you quickly fled out of the room.

Being out of the stuffed ballroom should have made you feel better, but you couldn’t help but feel as if you were still caged. 

Tonight was meant to be fun. It was meant to be an opportunity. For..for socialising, and meeting people, and making friends and, funnily you thought, perhaps meet someone for the night. 

Instead, you walked further through the gardens, trying to ignore all the giggles you heard from lovesick couples as you passed them. When you got further enough from the palace, you slipped off your mask, huffing as you carefully sat down in the wide fields, surrounded by blooming flowers and trees basking in the moonlight. 

You took a deep breath, trying to ease the sense of disappointment that grew like an ugly beast in your chest. Caught up in your feelings, you hadn’t realised someone snuck up on you until you heard a soft crunch from behind you. Your head whipped around immediately, assuming a danger perhaps, until your eyes fell on the man. 

Good gods. 

The man smiled briefly, his mask dangling from his fingers as he seemed to look you over. His hair rested in dark curls on his shoulders, and with the way the moon peeked lightly through the trees and shone on him, he looked heavenly, with a perfect jawline and flawless skin, cheekbones that looked sharp to cut, and eyes that shone with curiosity and mischief.  He fit nicely into his suit, with a lean frame that filled the clothing perfectly. 

He was, as mortals said, a work of art. A being artists and sculptures would surely sell their homes and families to try and capture his beauty. 

I need to calm down.

But he’s gorgeous. There was no hiding it, and you were absolutely sure you stared too long because he raised an eyebrow and the corner of his lips twitched upwards.

Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy

Vanished when I saw your face

All I can say is, it was enchanting to meet you

“Sorry,” You muttered quickly, turning your head back to stare holes at the vast openings of the field. This had to be a joke, but a little part of your brain couldn’t help but get excited. 

Handsome young man, a moonlit gorgeous garden, at a ball. 

Could it get any more romantic? 

But that was stupid- the man probably found you a little pathetic, out here all alone rather than enjoying the ball. And you firmly reminded yourself that there would be no making out and naked activities in the royal gardens. And maybe your friend sent him, and if you were too eager you’d seem truly desperate and it would be oh so humiliating and you’d never be able to show your face again in public and-

“I see you’ve found my secret place,” His voice interrupted your spiral of thoughts. 

“Sorry,” You said quickly again. “I wasn’t aware that people could own areas of the royal garden,” You covered your hand with your mouth in horror, refusing to look at the man behind you.

What the fuck was that? 

It was quiet and then you heard him chuckle, as if amused by such a rude remark. He made his way to another part of the garden and took a seat. “You’re right, forgive me, it is open to everyone during the balls,”

You didn’t answer him, or even acknowledge him. Your cheeks were blazing red with horror. From the corner of your eye, you could see him sitting under a tree a little away from you, head ducked low as he…

Is that a book? Is he reading? At a ball? 

You looked behind you to the sound of the light music and chatter coming from the palace, then back at the man by the tree. “Why aren’t you inside?” 

“Why aren’t you inside?” He replied, not even looking up from his book. 

“I asked first,”

He looked up slightly then, raising a perfect eyebrow. So? He challenged silently. 

You rolled your eyes, turning away from him to watch the leaves dance lazily in the evening breeze. You folded and unfolded your hands in your lap. “I got bored of dancing,” Right. 

He didn’t answer right away, a few beats passed as soft music and gentle wind filled the space. Then, he said slowly, as if entertained by all this, “Liar,” 

Your head whirled back to stare at him. “Excuse me?” “Liar,” He said, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

“You’re calling me a liar?” “Is there anyone else here to call a liar?” You could see the small twitch of his lips, and how a little smirk forms as he watches you.

Shit. You had to fight down your own little smile. Perhaps he’s an ass, and maybe a little suspicious- but he’s got a lot more banter and brain in him than everyone else back in the ballroom. 

“And why are you calling me a liar?” 

“Because,” He closed his book dramatically, leaning forward and you could feel trouble radiating off of him. “No one comes to a royal ball to ‘get bored of dancing’,”

“You don’t know that,” “I absolutely do. It’s the biggest event of the year, people come specifically prepared to dance until they can’t feel their feet,” “Fine,” You huffed. “It was getting stuffy, and I was tired of all the war talk and gossip, so I came out here for fresh air,” 

Again, that stupid smirk. “You’re lying,” He said in an overly annoying sing-song voice. “I’m not!” You glared at him. “You are horribly rude,”

“Yet you find it amusing,” “I absolutely don’t,” Childishly, you stuck your tongue out at him, and he laughed, throwing his head back lightly and filling the space between you with such a warm, delightful sound. 

The playful conversation starts

Counter all your quick remarks

Like passing notes in secrecy

You really couldn’t stop the smile that broke across your face. “Alright then, if you suddenly know everything, why do you think I’m out here?” You asked after his laughter died down. 

“Hm…” He tapped a finger to his chin. “No one wanted to dance with you,” You gasped loudly. “Are you calling me undesirable?” “No m’lady,” He had that awfully cute smile again. “You said that, I just said I think no one wants to dance with you,”

You shook your head. “You are unbelievable! You know what, you’re terrible company,” He shrugged. “Then go back inside, perhaps get a chance to dance with the prince,” He said it easily, like he could care less if you stayed or left, but you had the strange feeling that he was challenging you to stay. 

You hummed, pretending to think it over. “You know what, I don’t want to go inside,” “But I thought I was terrible company?” “You are,” You smiled innocently. “But I like the gardens,” He’s too funny to pass up on. 

“Or perhaps you like me,” He had that shit-eating grin, and something in your chest started tingling, secretly hoping you could get more of his smiles. “Besides, you’ll pass up the chance to catch the crown prince’s attention just to sit in some garden?” “Blond isn’t really my type,” Stop talking stop talking stop talking. 

He frowned, staring at you weirdly, clearly taken aback but such a dumb statement. 

“Blond…isn’t your type,” He repeated, and you simply nodded. “So…you’d give up the chance at marrying the next ruler of this realm…because he’s blond,” “Exactly,” Like it made perfect sense. “What can I say? It’s less competition for the other women. I’m being kind,” 

“You’re insane,”

“You asked!”

“Yes but come on, it’s the crown prince,” He raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather marry the farmer’s son? The baker boy, perhaps?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, stupid. There’s other royalty around, obviously. But it’s not like anyone has a chance,” “Other royalty?” He got up then, gracefully making his way over with his book and mask in hand. He sat down beside you. “Do indulge me, what other royalty is there?” Holy. Shit. 

It took you a second to properly process his question. Maybe you lacked romance in your life, maybe you were too isolated, or maybe you were just really desperate for some decent conversation tonight, but you felt like you were losing your everloving mind.

He was breathtaking. You thought from afar he was beautiful, but now this close? You felt the air die in your throat as you properly looked over his face, your eyes catching on every detail. 

His sharp angles.

The exact green of his eyes- emerald, pretty much identical to the jewel. 

And the way he looked when the light shine of the moon hit his face? And the wind gently combed through his hair? He looked heavenly. 

Godly, even.

And it was enchanting to meet you

All I can say is, I was enchanted to meet you

You were definitely staring (again) and he turned to look at you, those pretty lips forming another stupid smirk. “Yes?” You looked away. “Nothing. What was the question?”

He chuckled. “What other royalty is there?” “Oh, yes,” You frowned. “Are you new around here?” “No, why?” “There’s two princes. Prince Thor, and prince Loki,” “Ah right,” He pursed his lips. “But only one is looking for a bride,” “Yes well, all princes must eventually find a partner, no?” He shrugged. “I suppose so. So, if you won’t go for the blond, you’ll go for his brother? Woo him with your snarky comments and strange conversation habits?”

You smacked his arm lightly. “You really do not know how to talk to a lady. And no one ever said I’m “going for” anyone’s brother. I don’t want to marry a prince,” “That is the biggest lie I have ever heard,” He pointed at you accusingly. “Everyone wants to marry royalty,” 

“Nope,” You shook your head. “Not me,” But you could tell from the way his eyes shone with mischief and the smile on his lips that he could so easily read through you. 

“So you don’t have epic fantasy daydreams about marrying a handsome prince and gaining status, riches and power and living in the palace? Absolutely none about becoming royalty of Asgard? Nothing?” 

“Weeellll,” You smiled wide. “Perhaps,” “Was he blond, your prince?” “I just told you, I’m not into blonds,” He nodded, like this was absolutely serious and he was understanding it better. “Right, so you had dreams about prince Loki then,” “What?!” Your eyes widened. “I didn’t say that!” “You hinted at it,” He pointed out.

“You- I did not! You are so arrogant, thinking you know everything!” You glared at him, face flushed from his accusation. I don’t even know why I’m even having this conversation with a strange man I met less than 10 minutes ago,” You plucked a flower from nearby and started plucking off the petals one by one, watching them slowly fall onto your skirt. “You think you’re so smart and you make horrible accusations-” “Why are you getting so defensive?” He sounded amused by this.

“I’m not!” You definitely were. “You’re just getting on my nerve,” You turned to glare at him again, but he had a funny look on his face, he didn’t even look upset, or confused, or insulted. He was simply…..looking at you. “I think you need to work on your manners,” “And I think you’re beautiful,” He said suddenly as he leaned in, the words a soft whisper, a secret shared between two strangers hidden away from the world.

You felt your face heat up, and your heart started beating faster. A swarm of butterflies erupted in your stomach, and you suddenly had the urge to fall back and kick your feet in the air while giggling. 

Oh. Oh. Oh. 

“Oh..um, oh,” You laughed nervously, looking down shyly. But you could still feel his eyes on you, his face close enough that you can see his bottom lashes brush his cheek lightly, and the small movements of his face. “Thank...you. Thank you,” You swallowed hard. “You’re…uh, really beautiful too,” You rushed the words out. You looked up a little to see his green eyes widened a fraction, a little smile tugging at his lips, and then the faintest colour red dusting his cheeks. 

“Thank you,” 

You nodded dumbly and looked away again, biting your lip to keep the laugh bubbling inside of you to stay down. 

“What’s so funny?” He whispered. 

Fuuck. You could feel yourself panic a little. He was so close. So pretty too. How could a man be so pretty? He had to be magic, right? He’s too gorgeous to be anything less than ethereal. 

“Nothing,” You paused, biting your lip harder before a smile broke across your face, and a light laugh escaped you. “Sorry, sorry nothing’s funny,” His face broke into a smile. “You know, it’s rather rude to laugh at someone and avoid eye contact. It insinuates that you’re laughing at me,” His tone was teasing.

“I’m not!” You laughed again, shaking your head. “I’m not. Laughing at you, that is,” “Then look at me,” His finger lifted your chin up, and you sucked in a breath at how close you were. A few hairs apart, his pretty eyes looking at you in a way that made your heart flutter and insides melt to goo. And that smile. 

You felt your chest squeeze with a sense of familiarity. That smile…it’s familiar, like you’ve seen it before a million times but yet, you can’t place where. 

“I…” You started, and his eyes fell to your lips. “I want to kiss you,” He declared suddenly, and you swore the earth danced faster. 

“Kiss me then,” You replied, and just as fast, his lips fell lazily to yours. 

This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go

I’m wonderstruck, blushing all the way home

There were no good enough words that could describe how his lips felt against yours. In the back of your mind, you grabbed desperately at the languages you know, mortal and beyond, to find something to put this in words, a phrase, a string of letters, to explain the feeling of melting completely at his touch. 

His soft lips moved slowly against yours, his hand moved up to cup the side of your face and pull you closer. It wasn’t a heated or lustful kiss, nor overly passionate. More of…a gentle caress, a lazy press of plush lips against yours in a pretty garden under the moonlight. He pulled away just as fast, his eyes searched your face.

You were…breathless. It was the most simple kiss and yet, it seemed to have turned your world upside down. Your mind was empty, yet at the same time it spun a million miles an hour but with no coherent things.

Just the thought of him. His lips. His kiss. His pretty eyes and perfect face and gentle hands. Your heart stuttered. You couldn’t help but think, if you went a lifetime without another kiss like that? You might go insane. You’d rather him kill you. Death would be better, more merciful than knowing you’d never experience this again. 

There it was. 

“Ya’aburnee,” You muttered softly, and when his eyes snapped up from staring at your lips to your eyes, you realised you said that out loud.

“What?” “Nothing,” You shook your head. “Nothing,” “Not nothing,” He moved closer, your knees now touching and you felt the renewed need to kiss him. “What did you say?” “A word,” Your eyes fell to his lips. 

“Mm,” He leaned in, eyes fluttering shut and brushing his lips against yours. “What does it mean?” “Um,” You felt a hazy rush course through you, and you couldn’t form proper words. “I don’t know,” You lied quickly, chasing after his lips. 

A look flashed across his face, as if he knew you were lying, before it disappeared. He pressed his lips against yours again and you sighed happily. He kissed you deeper, his tongue slipping into your mouth and suddenly, you were both all over each other. 

He pulled you onto his lap, your dress bunching up at your thighs as you straddled him, your kisses growing sloppy as your tongues tangled together and your breathing got heavier and turned into heated pants. His hands tugged at your hair, and yours ran through his soft curls, making their way down over his shoulders and down his chest, searching and feeling the clearly built body underneath. 

You pulled away after a few minutes, eyes searching his face. His now slightly bruised, and the flush of his cheeks and the wildness of his eyes. He smiled softly and your heart did another flip. He opened his mouth to say something before snapping it shut, a frown forming on his face as his eyes wandered to stare behind you. 

You shifted around to turn. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” His hands fell to your hips. “Just…do you hear that?”

You frowned then too, straining your ears to listen. 

“No…? What are we-...oh.” You heard the soft ticking of the palace clock, and the soft slow instrumental signalling the last dance of the night. “Oh. I guess we lost track of the hour,” He hummed. “Yes, it does seem so,” He paused, as if thinking something over before smiling. “Dance with me,”

Your eyes widened. “What?” “Dance with me,” He repeated again. “You didn’t get a dance tonight, did you? Well, let’s fix it.” “But we’re all the way out here,” You stated dumbly. 

He raised a perfect eyebrow. “And?” “I-...well…I mean-...” He stared at you intensely, his emerald eyes searching your face. You sighed, shaking your head. “Okay,” You finally gave in, because with the way he looked at you there was no way you could’ve said no anyway. 

You got up off of him, dusting off your dress and patting back into place. When he got up and you caught his face in the light of the moon, your heart soared at the smudges of lipstick on his lips and on the corners, you couldn’t help but give a satisfied smile. His hair fell in messy curls now and he needed a minute to adjust his suit. 

You softly patted down your hair, trying to fix the hair do and your appearance despite the lack of mirrors. 

He took a step towards you, holding out his hand. You took it and he pulled you flush against him and you had to strain your neck full up to meet his eyes. He grinned that same wicked smile and placed a hand on your waist as he carefully began dancing through the music with you. 

It was a magical experience, to be in this gorgeous garden and have the chance to dance away under the stars with a beautiful stranger. It felt straight out of a fairy tale. 

All too soon, the music faded and you could hear the faint sounds of clapping and cheers from the party guests. You looked around, then back up at your pretty stranger with a small smile. “That was fun,” You whispered, as if scared that too loud of a noise would shatter this delicate moment. 

“Mm, very much,” He smiled back softly, his other hand dropping to rest on your hips. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours and you felt that lazy hazy cloud over you again. “We should get back,” He mumbled between kisses. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and pressing your lips to his. His smell was intoxicating, and the feel of him so close made you dizzy. “We should,” You muttered, before kissing him again. He fumbled with the fabric of your dress, but before he could even think of getting further you pulled away quickly, straining your ears to hear the far away noise of horses and loud chatter. 

Right. End of party. Oh god.

You looked back at him, a mournful ache coursing through you. “I have to get back,” He frowned. “What? Why? Stay here,” He pulled you closer but you only shook your head. “I can’t! I came with my family, they’ll be looking for me soon,” You reluctantly detached yourself from him and quickly worked to fix yourself up. He looked like he was about to argue, but he simply nodded. “Very well. I’ll…walk you back?” You grinned and nodded back. “Thank you,” You quickly grabbed your discarded purse and mask before linking your arm to his as he began to lead the way back, his mask swaying back and forth in his free hand. You snuck a few glances at him as you neared the palace, and you swore in the light of the surrounding palace area he seemed to almost…stiffen, and something slipped over his face. He looked so damn familiar, you cursed yourself for not being able to piece it together properly. You still felt dizzy from the eventful evening, and who could blame you? 

When you made it to the carriages and turned to face him, smiling a little nervously. “Bye I guess,” A small smile ghosted over his lips as he let go of your arm, his hands now resting behind his back as he stood in all his beautiful glory. You basked in his beauty for a few seconds more, before something in your mind clicked. 

There’s no fucking way. Your eyes widened, but you tried to keep your mind from spinning out of control. The way he stood now, the expression on his face- empty- but with eyes as wild as a storm, no wonder you thought he looked familiar. He held himself like royalty, he was regal and elegant and majestic in a way no other person could ever be. 

He was, in every sense, magical. 

You felt…enchanted by his presence, and you were sure you were staring. 

You swallowed hard, mentally calming yourself down from the fact that you’ll probably never experience this again. 

“Thank you for the dance, your highness,” You said as quickly and politely as possible. You caught sight of the way his eyes widened and his expression went from emotionless to absolute shock. You turned around and practically ran for your life towards your carriage, already spotting your friends waiting by. 

As you got into the carriage, greeting your friends and ignoring their very obvious questions, you felt a pang of sadness hit through you at the thought of the night ending, but then a bit of joy, because you just got to dance with the prince, and nothing would get more magical or enchanting than that. 

I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki fluff #Loki (TV) #Loki (Taylor's Version) #<- YES thats the name of the series now idc??? STAY TUNED FOR MOREE <3

[hyeque]

adored and admired [kuroo tetsurō]

notes: just reader fawning over kuroo in glasses, definitely not projecting any simping of my own into this

word count: idk

“tetsuro, you’re cute.”

“eh?”

your husband quickly jerks his head up, wondering if he heard your statement correctly.

“i said you’re cute.” you repeat, pinching his cheek. he scowls and pushes your hand away, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration.

“‘m not cute, men aren’t supposed to be ‘cute’.” he huffs, cheeks puffing up into a pout. you laugh because the action only makes him appear even cuter than he already is.

“but you are, so why is it a crime for you to be cute?” you argue, leaning into his body. “are you saying that i’m wrong?”

he sputters, becoming even more flustered, “n-no! you’re never wrong, you can’t ever be—” he rubs the back of his head sheepishly, “but don’t you think it’s a bit much?”

you tilt your head to the side. “what is?”

“your comments,” he answers, “they’re just glasses. it’s not anything special.”

recently kuroo had gotten glasses and while not outwardly saying it, you can tell they’re an insecurity of his. he doesn’t always wear them—most of the time putting in contacts—but when he does, it’s usually at home or when he’s doing work late in his office. only you have the pleasure of seeing him in them.

“kuroo tetsurō, you deserve to be adored and admired.” you say, booping him on the nose and planting a kiss on his forehead. you get up to go back to your errands and he sits there, eyes following you like a lost puppy as he reminisces over your words, a warm feeling blooming in his chest. he sits up a little straighter.

adored and admired. huh.

you think he looks handsome and particularly soft in the way that he concentrates on what he’s working on. at times he pushes the frames up onto his bed of hair to rub the tiredness out of his eyes. his work tie loose and shirt wrinkled beyond repair from the day’s work. this is when you’d slip by with coffee and tell him to take a needed break.

he’d wear them when the two of you would be curled up on the couch watching a movie, and you couldn’t help yourself some times; you’d find yourself admiring and staring at him in awe because the rounded frames flattered him so well. he looks so soft and studious.

you told him to take better care of them after you find yourself cleaning them frequently and putting them away in their respective case so that they don’t get damaged. often times when he’d lose them he turned to you to ask where they were since you always knew.

kuroo often complains of the tiny indents left behind on the bridge of his nose from the frames, in which you only lean over, lift the frames, and kiss the spot. he instantly grows quiet every time.

the soft greeting of a, “good morning pretty boy” makes a pink hue appear on the apples of his cheeks when you two pass each other in the kitchen and his bleary eyes are hidden behind the frames. post sleep kuroo is a sight to behold and cherish.

on a facetime call with kuroo’s old collegues from high school, bokuto protests that he’s “outnumbered” by the glasses freaks. akaashi and tsukishima ignore this statement. to your shock, hearing kuroo proudly proclaim that you thought he looked cute, and that bokuto’s “small brain” wouldn’t understand unless he has a pretty significant other to appreciate him. this statement would’ve made you scold him, but it was the first time he seemed confident in wearing them.

you always thought the day that kuroo didn’t have his eye contacts would be the day the world would end. but seeing him bustle around one morning before work with his glasses on as he brews coffee makes you stop in your tracks.

the glasses and suit combo may be too powerful.

kuroo hums a good morning, secretly awaiting the “pretty boy” comment but is met with silence. he looks up to ask what’s wrong, but is met with your eyes wide as saucers.

“why are you staring at me like that?” he becomes shy under your gaze, shifting a bit. it’s a wonder how even after marriage, he still manages to get that way when you look at him for an extended amount of time.

you try to play coy for drooling. “i can’t admire how pretty my husband looks?”

he rolls his eyes, a crooked grin on his face as he rests a hand on his hip in typical fashion. “of course you can, but you’re scheming,” he narrows his eyes, “so what is it?”

“it’s just…you’ve never worn these at work before.” you nod to his glasses, resting your chin on your hands. “are you going to be okay until you get your contacts?”

he shrugs, grumbling, “yeah, it’s not a big deal…what’s wrong with changing things up?”

“nothing, i just remember you vowed to never wear them while at work.” you shrug.

kuroo turns his nose up, “i never said that, that’s an entirely false statement. you said i looked cute, so why would i care about what anyone else thinks?” he puffs out his chest a bit, “you think i’m pretty in them and that’s all that matters.”

you giggle and he scolds you for laughing while he’s trying to be serious.

“sorry, sorry,” you say, laughter dying down, “and you’re right, you’re very pretty in them tets. are you happy now?”

“yes, now can your pretty husband have a kiss please?” he begins to make grabby hands at you, forcefully tugging you within his vicinity as he leans down to your level.

you giggle, “of course he can,” before grabbing the side of his face and planting a kiss on his cheek. when you pull back, a frown is stitched upon his face.

“what’s wrong?”

“that’s…not good enough.” he pouts. his fingers dig deeper into your hips.

you feign confusion. “what do you mean?”

“you missed a spot.” he huffs, fidgeting.

you laugh and push up his glasses before kissing his nose and then moving down to his lips. he relaxes on command at your touch, chasing after your lips with his own to prolong the kiss.

a warm feeling resides over you when you pull away, noting how he’s practically glowing. “is that better?”

“much better,” he hums, smiling, his hair tickling your neck as he briefly nuzzles you, “now i’ll have a great day at work.”

raising a brow you say, “you depend the outcome of your day on my kisses?”

“of course i do, what kind of husband would you take me for if i didn’t?” he sniffs, “your lips score me great business deals.”

he laughs obnoxiously when you hit him playfully in the chest at this statement. you only push his lunch at him.

“okay, glasses-kun,” you nod, before starting back to your shared bedroom, “have a great day and come home safely.”

kuroo immediately starts after you, “h-hey! i thought i told you to stop calling me that!” he protests.

do not copy and or repost. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated though! (c) 2022 hyque

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo drabble #kuroo fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq drabble #hq fluff #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurō x reader #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsurō #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro fluff