#I’m not watching a boxing show for completion’s sake

[bitten-fruit]

you re-enlist

And Captain John Price absolutely doesn't want you to. He begrudgingly takes you to his office to sign the paperwork - and shows you what your decision has brought you.

18+ MDNI - 5k words

tags: John Price x f!Reader, power play, oral and vaginal sex

a/n: To get some content on here I've pulled this from my longfic Licking Wounds on Ao3. Trimmed/tweaked it a little to make them tumblr friendly :)

“Just... let me sign what I need to.” You breathed, exasperated.

Captain Price sat behind his desk, leaning back insouciantly in his chair, bouncing his knee in irritation. His cautious and tired eyes flitted between yours, considering his words before he spoke.

“This is your last chance to change your mind.” He grunted.

You sucked your teeth frustration. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“You should.”

“Why? Will my presence really be that fucking draining for you?”

He quickly absorbed your sudden anger, mirroring it as he stood from his chair, leaning against the surface of his desk on white knuckles.

“You know that’s not what this is about.”

His tone was by turn seething and pleading, glowering at you with gruelling severity.

You scoffed. “Oh, so it would be.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t be childish.”

“Childish?”

Evidently fed up with your petulant bickering, his head dropped from his shoulders as he grunted in frustration. “I just... I can’t understand why you’d come back to this.”

“You can’t?”

“You had the chance to get away from it. You got out.”

“Got out. You think I got out, do you? That once I got shipped back to London I was done with it all?” You groaned, impatient. “Just let me sign the goddamn paper."

There was visible dispute burgeoning behind his lips, but he stayed silent – leaning forward to tug open one of the drawers of his desk. He pulled out a pad of blank paper forms, hesitantly but methodically tearing one sheet free along the perforated line. He flipped it, placing it down on the wooden surface and twisting it so it faced you, pushing it towards the edge in your direction with his fingertips.

He plucked a ballpoint pen from the steel mesh cup on the edge of the desk, before dropping it on top of the paper form with a quiet clack.

Crossing his arms, he stood upright with a huff and watched you scrutinisingly; glare challenging yet reluctant.

You quietly swallowed, stepping abashedly towards the desk and leaning over it, holding the pen between your fingers and pensively clicking the end of it with your thumb.

Jaded eyes scanned each word, the tip of the pen trailing each line as you read. You checked box after box, writing down the answers to probing questions as though you were completing an exam under the shrewdly watchful eye of your professor. Existing health conditions, current medication, family lineage, previous rank, promotable status. It would almost be nostalgic, answering questions such as these again, for the first time since you were promoted to sergeant four years ago – if it didn’t carry such painful weight, and weren’t so rife with sordid history.

The nib of your pen met that dotted line, finally, at the bottom of the form. Your eyes looked at the conditions and implications of your signature, that thick paragraph above the box, though not a single word was absorbed by your busy mind. It didn’t matter – you knew the consequences of that pen meeting the paper. Even if the Captain wished it, signing your life back into the hands of the SAS was not something that could be easily revoked.

He seemed to relish hopefully in your hesitation, his breath slowing as he watched you consider, pen hovering cautiously over the paper.

You briefly glanced up at him, from under your challenging eyebrows, meeting his eye. His stiff gaze wordlessly pleaded with you, his mouth in an austere line.

Steadfast, you ignored his silent dispute.

You signed the dotted line.

There.

Done.

No backing out now.

A soldier again.

You were astonished at the adrenaline a mere signature could pump from your heart, quivering with it, as you dropped the pen to the desk and stood upright.

His steely eyes did not leave you, face replete with a medley of discernible emotions; ire, anxiety, remorse, solemnity. Arms still crossed firmly over his chest, you listened as his heaving lungs drew in a deep, exasperated breath.

He licked his teeth before he spoke.

“That’ll be all then, Sergeant.”

He dismissed you bluntly, coarse voice dripping with derision. A crease formed in your forehead, taken aback by his sudden dismissal, breath hitching at his use of your rank instead of your name; sergeant, a title he hadn’t referred to you by in two years.

It was as though he was satisfied, doing his best to show you what your decision had brought you, to make you regret it. You were his subordinate again. Just his sergeant.

“I knew you’d enjoy it in the end, Captain.” You seethed, tone draped in sardonicism, an immediate retaliation.

His brow furrowed as he looked down his nose at you. “Enjoy what, eh?”

“You finally get to order me around again, don’t you?”

“You-”

“Am I dismissed? Or are you going to command me to drop and give you fifty?” You growled pettishly, scowling up at him. “It must’ve been hard, not being able to command me to do your bidding while I was a civilian. But that didn’t stop you from trying, did it?”

He grunted, an increasingly enraged sigh escaping his chest. “I didn’t want to be giving you orders again.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, I didn’t. Just because you don’t know what to do with yourself when you’re not being commanded to do it, doesn’t mean I’ve been waiting for the chance to.”

A kick to the stomach, you worried you’d lose your balance with the blow.

Grimacing at him, you stepped your weight onto your back foot in reaction to his venomous accusation.

“Fuck you.”

You hissed it through your teeth, unable to conjure up any intelligent rebuttal, only lashing out with the reprisal that your frenetic emotions scrambled together.

He sniffed irately, adjusting his arms over his chest.

“Can’t talk to your captain that way, Sergeant.”

Your jaw hung loose in disbelief, overcome with a cold rage that made your body quake as it flooded your arteries.

“Fuck you,” you repeated wryly, daring. “Are you going to order me not to talk back to you, sir? You prick?”

He glared at you with challenging contempt.

“You want me to give you an order, do you?”

“I want you to get off your fucking high horse.”

“Yeah? Am I too honourable?”

“Honourable? You’re a sanctimonious p–”

He put his hands on his hips, brashly sucking his teeth before he interrupted you.

“Take off your shirt.”

His hoarse command pierced the thick air like a bullet.  

The wind was viciously sucked from your lungs, then, your racing heart jolted under your ribs with such voltage it felt as though you had been shocked by a defibrillator. You could only stare at him, stupid, waiting for him to relent, to take it back, to say that he was kidding.

His expression, now, was unreadable. You weren’t certain whether he was purposefully keeping his countenance devoid of emotion – or, if, you had abruptly lost any and all ability to understand him or his intentions.

He was a stranger, but a familiar one. A captivating one.

Before you could stammer out a semblance of a response, he continued.

“That’s the sort of order you’ve been wanting from me, isn’t it?” He goaded darkly, seemingly smug at his ability to render you flustered and wordless with one short sentence.

Dumbstruck, still, you could only swallow a pointed breath as you desperately tried to read any clear objective in his shrouded blue eyes.

“Go on.”

He’s not kidding.

“You wanted an order, I gave you one.”

Fuck.

You were completely staggered by the whiplash. Your distended heart thumped so vigorously in your chest you thought it might crack a rib.

There was a conviction within you, somewhere, to question him. To question if he was being serious, to ask him if this was some kind of sick joke to make you regret your decision.

And while you believed that was the case, that it was a derisive retribution, a game to get back at you – there was a stronger urge to play along. To meet his challenge, to execute his dare.

Meeting his indignant gaze with yours, you tucked your fingers under the hem that sat between your waist and hips, peeling it up your torso and stretching it over your shoulders, then past your head. Sweeping your loosened hair out of your face, you held the thin black fabric in the other hand before dropping it to the linoleum floor. You shivered a little in the cool air of the room, your stiffening nipples concealed by the cups of your rarely-worn grey marl brassiere – practical and unsexy.

But the look on his face was telling; he hadn’t truly expected you to comply.

That surprise waned quickly. His dark eyes tried their best to hold your stare, but they failed him – raking over your torso, jaw clenching as his gaze stuck brazenly to your exposed cleavage.

Trembling with adrenaline, you waited for him to say something. Anything.

You expected dispute; you anticipated he’d say, I wasn’t serious. And that would be a satisfying reaction – your effort to make him uncomfortable would prove a success, a victory, you’d have the last figurative word.

He wiped down his face with an open hand, rubbing his beard anxiously as he wrestled with what to say, how to react – maybe some attempt to restrain himself. He leaned against the surface of the desk, resting his weight on his knuckles.

Through gritted teeth, he uttered his next command.

“Bra.”

You swallowed timorously.

It was surreal, really, you worried you were hallucinating – you imagined that in reality he was shouting at you to stop, but you were unable to hear him over your carnal psychosis.

But it was too late now, to stop yourself. You were driven to finish what you started. Changing your mind now, pulling your shirt back over your head and running out the door – would leave you questioning whether any of it was real. You wouldn’t survive in that oblivion, between reality and dream, fact and fantasy.

You needed proof.

You reached behind your back, contorting your shoulders to allow your fingers to grip the clasp against your spine. Your breasts pillowed out of the top of the soft cups as you stretched the band to unhook it, before slipping the straps down your shoulders. It slid from your chest, down your arms, gently – it, too, fell to the floor; you dropped it on top of your abandoned t-shirt.

You drew in a quivering breath, the skin of your breasts tingling as the goosebumps elicited by their exposure trickled across their soft flesh.

He sucked in a heavy breath, deep and slow, rugged and rasping. He took a step, and you retracted slightly; but you watched like cautious prey, as he walked around from the far side of his desk, to the front of it. He leaned on the very edge of the surface, not quite sitting on it, as he insouciantly crossed one boot over the other. His lascivious eyes did not leave you, absorbing every feature, every curve, like he was admiring an artwork.

Despite the metre and a bit of distance from him, you felt the dense heat that hung in the air between the two of you, radiating from him like he was a fucking oven.

“Trousers.”

A brief conflict almost escaped you, but he quickly smothered it.

“Off.”

Whatever reluctance that lingered melted away, then, dripping off of you like a layer of sticky ice cream – by virtue of the unwavering sternness of his command. And that, you realised, was where your comfort lay; where there was no ambiguity, no remorse for a poorly made decision, no culpability for your actions. If you were following an order, the onus was on him.

So you followed it.

Your kittenish fingers went to the button of your grey cargo trousers, popping it undone, slyly pulling down the zip of your fly. You flayed back the open waistband, pushing them down your hips, struggling briefly to pull them past your ass; its recent plumpness made your pants a touch too small. The polyester fabric loudly shuffled in the distended silence as the trousers fell down your legs, into a puddle at your feet; you stepped out of them as though out of a pond.

By the time you looked up to meet his gaze once again, though, he had already charged at you; quickly taking the base of your head with large hands and pulling you towards him. He forced his eager lips against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, such an aggression that your first primal instinct was to resist him with claws against his chest.

But you were quick to surrender to him, relishing in the taste of him, his tongue, his breath hot in your mouth, you sucked it deep into your chest. Your starving hands coiled up and around his neck, scratching at the tense muscles in his heaving back through the fabric of his uniform jersey; hooking into him in some feline effort to make sure he was real, to prevent his escape, to keep him from being stolen away.

His mouth wasn’t on yours for long, though, dragging wetly across your jaw to your neck, the crook of your shoulder; he chewed at your soft, fervid skin, teeth skimming and barely digging into the tendonous flesh. His vicious hands gave you no reprieve, clutching at any part of you that could force you closer, tighter against him – ensnaring the meat of your hips, your waist, kneading at your sensitive breast with the other.

He separated from you only briefly, though his possessive hands didn’t leave you. Crouching slightly, he hooked his arms behind your thighs, under your ass – deftly hoisting you upwards with no visible effort. You clutched the back of his neck, wrapping your legs around his hips to maintain your balance as he lifted you, turning on his heel and carting you towards the desk. He quickly used a free hand to sweep aside the papers, flinging them to the floor in a confetti; he put you down hastily, keeping you close, the cold surface of the varnished wood biting at your bare skin.

He gave you a transitory respite, carefully checking your face before he went any further; likely ensuring you weren’t crying this time, that he hadn’t crossed an unspoken boundary. Whatever look you gave him in return was outside of your control or perception – but it was an invitation, evidently.

He dove down to kiss you again, but fleetingly – his savage lips trailed down from yours, biting their way along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. You leaned back slightly on the desk to allow his avid venture, his ravenous mouth biting and suckling wherever it landed; drowning momentarily in the softness of your breast, cupping it with his wide hand to push the pillowy flesh against his face.

That wasn’t his final destination, though. His mouth only brushed over your nipple, sloppily kissing down your tensing stomach as he lowered himself to one knee, clutching your waist with both hands on his journey downward to hold you still. You felt your heart in your throat, in utter disbelief; you could only suck down jagged breaths as his lips grazed against your lower belly, just above your hip, teasing the elastic hem of your underwear. He gingerly kissed your mound through the thin cotton, controlling hands holding your hips by the bone.

Too rapacious to taunt you for long, he tugged sharply at the hips of your panties, leaning back so he could pull them down your thighs, over your knees, off your ankles. Your foot rested gently on his collarbone as he paused in apparent admiration, your exposed, spread pussy mere inches from his face; his breath despite its heat was cold against your wet, feverish skin. You felt embarrassed at his close inspection, his unashamed reverence – but his murky gaze broke away from your intimacy, instead meeting your eye. He wore an expression of unassailable pride, though cloaked in an avaricious hunger; he stared at you cruelly from under his brow, daring you to deny him.

Hitching your legs over his arms so that they rested on his shoulders, he clutched the side of your thigh with his mammoth hand while he pushed his lips into the inside of your leg, high enough, close enough, to make you quiver in desperate anticipation.

Piercing eyes still locked on yours, peering up from your eager flesh, his husky voice murmured deeply into your skin.

“Is this what you wanted?”

He jibed, almost a growl, as though teasing you for your recent behaviour – scolding you for acting out instead of asking for it, causing a scene instead of using your words like a grown-up.

Another kiss, higher, closer, teeth grazing the supple meat of your inner thigh, coarse beard prickling against the burning skin of the edge of your cunt.

You couldn’t think of the right answer, if there were such a thing, to his question – your head was by turn empty and running a million miles a minute. Really, you didn’t even know the answer.

Was it what you wanted?  This entire time? Has it been what you wanted since the last time, in his barrack in Urzikstan? Since the gala? Or, even, since you met him?

Your answer left your wet throat before you had the sense to question it, or rationalise it.

“Yes.”

You breathed, a whisper, barely, almost a squeak. You weren’t certain that it was the truth, either – but it was what you wanted now, so it was honest in some sense.

With firm hands he adeptly tugged your hips so you perched precariously on the very edge of the desk, allowing him ease of access to you.

He cruelly denied you still, placing maliciously soft kisses against the slit of your pussy, torturing you with only a light pressure while you willed him to dive deeper. An ardent whimper fled your chest, quiet and pleading.

Whatever carnivore he was doing his level best to restrain escaped its prison at your sheepish sound; his monstrous hands dug deep into the flesh of your hips, maw lunging forward and pointed tongue parting your slick folds like he was searching for water. It dipped into you only briefly, a momentary taste of the dripping syrup he seemed to take pride in inducing from you – before he used it to glide up to your clit where it was nestled. With ravenous lips he suctioned it into his mouth, devouring you; dextrously chafing your sensitive bud with a flat tongue, maintaining a vacuum that made a dangerously loud and needy moan escape your throat.

He only hastened his torment in response, drinking you like he might die of thirst, breathing heavily through his nose so as not to allow you even a second of relief from the unbearable suction. Feverish claws clasped at the top of his head, running through his short hair and scratching at his scalp, holding his head where you wanted it. Your head hung back off your shoulders, briefly staring at the panelled ceiling before your eyes unwittingly fluttered shut, doing your best to swallow the choked cries that threatened to make the whole army base aware of your depravity.

Your constricting legs inadvertently tried to push him away, your body overwhelmed and desperate for a break from his ruthless consumption, almost too oversensitive to be pleasurable – but not quite. He restrained you tightly, though, not allowing you to flee from him for even a second; his firm hands controlled your hips with an alarming strength, head moving with you as though predicting the direction of your attempts at escape, mouth not separating from you once.

One hand retreated from your side, but to quickly prevent your bucking his constraining arm slithered over your lower stomach, clutching the far hip and using his elbow to hold you down to the desk. His free thumb, then, crept to your cunt under his chin. Despite how slick your skin was, drenched in both your clear sap and his saliva; the clenching muscles of your vagina were squeezed so tightly he had to push his thumb into you with effort, almost popping as it broke past your resistant entrance.

That seemed to weaken his resolve, the tightness of your muscles clamping around him rhythmically, in tune with the burgeoning, forcible orgasm that threatened to crash over you like a tidal wave; he released a ragged, resigned exhalation into your skin. You felt yourself beginning to drown in it, that swirling ocean. The floor, the desk, the room sunk in it, slipping away from you as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, only him keeping you afloat.

But he stopped, then, thumb begrudgingly slipping out from inside you, suddenly releasing his merciless suction and separating his wet mouth from your yearning pussy. You groaned in dispute, cut short, a sharp rush of air escaping your overwrought lungs.

“Not yet.” He grunted hoarsely, barely audible.

Brows twisted in pleading frustration, you looked down at him, meeting his frightening glare as he pushed himself to stand; beard glistening with the wetness of you, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” You whined breathily, panting as you watched him tower upright, looming over you in licentious authority.

“I’m not having you come yet.”

His injunction was authoritarian, uttered darkly, his rumbling voice so hoarse it sounded animalistic; a growl, a threat. He stood between your legs, still, you watched in quiet, anticipating obedience as his livid hands tore at his belt. Ferociously unbuckling it, as though it would fight against him – he tugged open the button of his trousers, ripping down the fly and unsheathing his rigid cock from his straining boxers; menacing, it dropped heavy out of the elastic waistband, the solid shaft landing against your ravening cunt with a hard, wet slap.

You winced slightly at the sore impact, and his humanity seemed to return to him momentarily; softening face inches from yours, his attentive blue eyes scanned your features for reluctance.

“Tell me no.” He urged throatily, “tell me no, and I’ll stop.”

A shaky breath seeped through your lips, your delirious gaze flitting between his eyes, lashes fluttering as you processed his promise.

“I don’t want you to stop, Captain.” You uttered weakly, entreating.

His careful eyes darkened quickly at your bashful plea, watching your lips form the syllables of his rank like you were stroking him with it. His dominant hands returned to your hips, then, clutching at the bone and lifting your pelvis so it was angled right, just where he wanted it.

His clouded glare didn’t leave yours, his fingers dipping into your saturated pussy as though scooping the viscous fluid that dribbled from you; you watched, beguiled, as he rubbed your juices up the thick shaft of his cock, coating the head in it, briefly unable to stop himself from fucking his fist, huffing carnally, while he was lubricated by your watery come.

With a tug of your legs that were coiled around his hips, you grounded him, impatient; his sinister gaze met yours again, watching your wanton expression as he obliged you and dragged the soft head of his cock down your slit, the cruel pressure against your agitated clit making your body twitch. He restrained your spasm with his free hand your waist, keeping your pelvis still, as the tip of his length nestled between your lips, pressing against your clenching entrance.

Gripping himself by the stiff base, he pushed past your tight opening with his full weight; stretching it tautly around the girth of his cock as he stuffed you with it. You let out a pained squeak as it abruptly filled you, ramming against your cervix with a pressure that made you flinch.

The sharp soreness briefly frightened you – you had been deprived of the sensation of that angry thickness inside of you, ever since…

You didn’t let your mind go back there, not for a second; your eyelids shot open, desperate gaze sticking hurriedly to your Captain, his riled and yet gentle expression bringing you back to him, rugged but soft hands holding your hips as he impaled you on the length of him. You clutched the fabric of his jersey tight over his chest, gripping his arms, his shoulders; keeping him real, corporeal, there with you. He let out a strained grunt as he pulled you down onto him, as deep as your insides would allow him to go, to the hilt; he held you there, forcing you to squirm.

Your delicate hands held his warm neck, leaning forward as you pulled his head down to kiss him; mouth open and tongue desperate to taste him again, to feel his hot breath against your face, the soft scratch of his beard on your chin. He returned your kiss, tender, compassionate – a stark juxtaposition to his ruthless incursion; rutting into you powerfully but methodically, slow but hard, deep enough to be painful.

But the hurt was translated by your aroused nerves into a bestial pleasure, using your goading legs to pull him further into you, you felt his cock push against your aching organs. It raked against your sodden walls on its way out, a slight sting as it dragged along your taut opening – before filled you again, abrupt, sharp; it forced a sweet cry from your fevered chest into his mouth. He grinned arrogantly against your lips, a ragged, breathy chuckle taunted you in response.

You separated from him, then, lying back over the surface of the desk; you arched your back, angling your hips so that his length beat your walls more viciously, wrapping your legs around his waist and clutching at the edge of the desk above your head with straining claws. Exposed to him now, on display, his thrusting only increased in vehemence, speed, depth; carnivorous hands digging into the meat of your hips as if you might slip away from him, forcing you down on him with each rut.  

Eager for release, your fingers glided down your stomach, navigating diffidently to your clit; you drew wet circles over it, letting out a soft whine as you pleasured yourself with the rhythm of his accelerating thrusts.

“Shit.”

He groaned huskily at the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, his face twisted into an exasperated rapture, forcing himself to slow down slightly so as not to push himself over the edge too quickly.        

He stopped you, hastily; a stern hand tightly ensnaring your wrist and tearing your fingers from you. He pulled your arm upward, pinning it firmly to the wooden surface underneath you, holding your hand by your head. He leaned over you, then, making you watch as he held his free hand to his lips, spitting lecherously into his fingertips; they found your clit without needing to look, stroking the oversensitive spot inexorably, the pressure cruel and unrelenting. His head hung from his shoulders, mouth landing against the hot skin of your shoulder, placing gentle kisses along your collarbone as he ruined you.

The union of the two sensations – his cock, hard as stone, fucking into your stomach, and merciless fingertips tormenting your swollen clit; it surged within you, frayed nerves electrocuting you as your inevitable orgasm loomed, its delay rendering it incensed and sorely overpowering.

He must have felt the muscles of your walls clamping down on the length of him as it dawned on you, the change in the music of your sounds; aching whines growing louder, crawling from your labouring throat.

“You gonna come on me, are ya? Beautiful thing?”

He growled into your skin, only increasing the severity of his torture, relentless in his goal to finish you.

Your delirious tongue was unable to form a word in response, only releasing a high-pitched and arduous cry as your unforgiving orgasm collided with you, waves of carnal heat pulsing from the base of you, the muscles of your bullied pussy clenching tightly around his avid cock.

“That’s it.”

He grinned against your neck as he kissed you there, moving with you, allowing no escape.

“Good girl.”

With no apparent intention of slowing down to offer you a reprieve, he instead began speeding up, forcing you to squirm and shriek in dispute at the overstimulation. Your desperate, animal fingers clawed at his wrist, struggling to tear his stiff hand away from your cunt – but he relented, eventually, falling victim to his own pleasure as he shifted his focus to fucking you harder, deeper.

He scooped an arm under your back, lifting you just slightly from the surface of the desk as he hovered over you; the other hand holding the bone of your hip tightly, keeping it steady while he rammed you. You listened in rapture to his grunts of ecstasy, gentle hands clutching the back of his neck, nails grazing his hot skin as you coaxed him to chase his own release.

You pressed soft lips into his bearded cheek, comforting, reassuring him; and that seemed to do the trick, bringing him too close.

“Fuck.”

He groaned hoarsely in begrudging pleasure as he paused, for just a hesitant second, before reluctantly tugging his cock out of you and slamming the wet shaft of it it against your mound.

You panted heavily, holding your forehead against his, relishing in the sensation of his hot come shooting over your stomach, painting you; it dribbled down your sides, down the creases of your hips, dangerously close to your cunt. He winced against you, twitching involuntarily as he pushed the last of his semen out of the head, drooling onto your febrile skin.

You kissed him, again; he tenderly pressed his lips against yours in return as he took the moment to catch his breath. His mouth left yours after a moment and landed in the crook of your neck, his heaving body hung over you, propped up by his elbows on the desk under you. You felt him kiss under your ear, his warm breath and prickling beard sending a shiver down the nape of your neck.

You wanted to say something, anything – but there were no words you could think of to offer him. Gratitude? An apology? Your brain was fried, fucked into pliable mush.

Instead you lay in silence, embracing him for as long as it would last, doing your best not to consider the consequences that lay ahead of you as a result of such an unbelievably foolish lapse in judgement.

He’d been your captain for only a few minutes, and you had fucked him already.

And yet you wished the moment could last infinitely; savouring his gentle lips as they planted drowsy kisses on your neck, tired hands caressing your waist in what felt like wordless praise, a silent gratitude.

Despite the reservations, the guilt, the doubts that stormed around you, deafening; your thoughts encircled only one thing, one source of comfort.

He was your Captain again.

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[bby-deerling]

elysium (zoro x fem!reader)

fluffiest of the fluff! you and zoro get lost on his birthday wc: 975 this is so self indulgent

Sweet lavender haze settled quietly in the clearing, overgrown with tiny wildflowers.  The soft midday sun on the spring island you had stopped at for supplies was partially covered by clouds, its warmth broken up by gentle gusts of breeze.  A pair of arms holds you close, back pressed against a hard chest, preventing the wind from dusting a light chill on your upper arms.  The fresh spring growth is as naïve and new as your steps past a mere friendship, and as green as his mossy hair.

You both had no idea where you were or how you had gotten there.

Zoro always appreciated the way you never teased him for his lack of direction; it was out of respect and understanding on your part, but deep down it amused him that your internal compass was almost as offset as his.  The rest of the crew saw him getting lost as something ranging from an annoyance to a burden, but you never seemed to mind.  At times you would even drag him further away from your intended course, eager to drink in the sensations of your unfamiliar surroundings.  Tiny quiet ponds, tidal pools hidden behind perilous crags of rocks, and peaceful, open clearings like this one were secret rifts in the fabric of reality where time seemingly stopped; he held these moments close to his heart.

“Looks pretty.” he says as he presses a kiss to your cheek, voice still carrying the weight of sleep.  You hum a quiet thanks in return, engrossed in your work, but still flushing pink at his praise.  A colorful landscape painting of the field in front of you sits, nearly finished, in the pochade box on your lap; he’s impressed that your brushstrokes hadn’t suffered despite him restricting the movement of your arms somewhat as he held you.

He leans forward and watches the side of your face with a soft, sleepy smile as you squint, concentrating on adding the finishing highlights, trying to capture the warm glow of the sun.  The adorable and slightly eccentric way you scrunched your nose and bit the inside of your cheeks when you were focused was just so fun for him to watch, just as you were intoxicated by the determined look in his eyes when he trained. 

Laying back against the tree trunk that served as his bed just moments ago, he admires the flow of your hair in the wind and lifts a bottle of sake to his lips.  The clear liquor is expensive, rich, and smooth—you had borrowed a fortune from Nami to gift it to him.  Licking his lips and setting it down, he almost feels guilty that the bottle is already nearly empty.

As you clean your brushes and wipe the paint from your palette, Zoro absentmindedly starts picking flowers in reach and placing them in your hair.  By the time you start to pack up your box of supplies, he’s turned you into a sight to rival the field in front of you, a rainbow of petals tangled in your thick hair, at one time straight but turned wild and wavy with the mist of the sea.  As you turn around in his lap to show him the finished piece, he nearly forgets to look, completely captivated by the excitement in your eyes; when his eyes drop to examine your work, his chest brims with pride.  Decisive, impressionistic brushstrokes captured not just the physical but the emotional.  One of your best.

“I’m so proud of you.” he says, unable to hide the grin on his face.  In these quiet moments alone with you, he finds it easier to display his emotions without the shame of being vulnerable; he is also appreciative of the way you effortlessly can read his face during all the other times when he finds himself incapable of peeling back his shell.

He listens intently as you walk him through your process, analyzing your metaphorical leaps forward and steps back, just as you do when he informs you on the outcomes of his workouts; this was your training, and your discipline to your dream enrooted you into his heart on a visceral level.  When you finally finish, he offers you the last swig of sake from the bottle.

“You’ve earned this.” he says, watching as you eagerly tip the bottle into your mouth, making sure you swallow every last drop.  By the time the bottle is placed to the side, his lips are on yours, chasing the taste of liquor, and melting into your soft but passionate touch. 

Pulling away to glimpse the dreamy look on your face leaves him breathless.  Sun illuminating your wispy stray strands of hair, petals scattered in your hair, and barely-there freckles dusting your cheeks from too many naps in the sun, you’re a goddess of spring through and through.  Worn, stamped patchwork pants straddle his thighs as he cups your cheek.

“I love you, Zoro.”

Though you often expressed your emotions through gentle looks and unspoken touches, it’s the first time it’s been spoken aloud.

“I love you too.”

He’s a demon basking in the glory of being bathed in light.  Despite your divine appearance, you require no sacrifice of him, no rituals of humiliation—only a piece of his heart.

He gives it over to you whole.

In return he only asks that you stay by his side, following him to the Underworld and sacrificing your chance at salvation to walk through hell with him.

You take the lead, tugging on his hand as you stumble through the fire licking at your feet.

As Zoro begins a new turn around the sun, he counts the amount of times he’s shared sake with you and prays that twelve sinful sips are enough to keep you in his clutches for all his years to come.

#one piece x reader #zoro x reader #x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x you #roronoa zoro x you #zoro x y/n #who needs therapy when you have blorbos #god i love him #hades and persephone dynamic but make it cute

[illicitlimerence-writes]

teddy bears & blankets | m. verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x leclerc!reader

word count: 2.3k words

request: yes, by anon: “hear me out…single mum who’s a leclerc and max👀”

prompt: character a can’t wrap gifts to save their life. character b is their neighbor and can help. from this prompt list. not my prompts, credits to the person who created it!warnings: a baby, fluffy max, a sick baby:( language maybe, kinda angsty in the middle.

a/n: day 5! i really didn’t plan to write three kid fics in a row, but oh well. REMINDER THAT MY REQUESTS ARE CLOSED, EVEN IF IT’S FOR THE SPECIAL. pls, i don’t want to close my askbox but if i keep getting i’ll have to turn it off.

my masterlist / 25 days of christmas masterlist

he sighed, tossing yet another piece of wrapping paper aside. max was talented in many different things, but wrapping gifts just wasn’t one of them. he was already stressed enough having to buy a gift for a christmas party he had forgotten about, spending almost two hours in line at a store, and now he had no idea how to wrap this box. 

when he was sure that the paper was large enough to cover it completely, once he started placing the adhesive tape either one side was larger than the other or he placed it in a way that just didn’t work. he decided to just give up and place a bow on top. 

he put on his coat, with the gift in one hand and keys in the other. he stepped out and closed the door, and was about to place the key in the keyhole when he heard the sound of the elevator arrive at his floor. he turned his head, seeing his neighbor and her daughter.

“hi, max,” she said, waving her free hand at him, the other one was holding her sleeping child. “i thought you’d be at charles’ by now,” she smiled.

“yeah, that’s where i’m heading, i just… i couldn’t figure out how to wrap this,” he held up the gift, “but i gave up,” he chuckled, watching her shift her weight from one leg to the other, “let me help you,” he said, opening his arms to grab the child. 

when max found out a few months ago that his new next-door neighbor had a one-year-old baby he feared the worst. he was used to the peace and quiet of having a floor all to himself, and a baby would undoubtedly break that silence he cherished so much. but that wasn’t the case with (y/n) and alison leclerc. 

alison was probably the best, well-behaved child max had ever met, he was used to his nephews, rowdy and a little bratty if he was being honest, but alison was soft, gentle, not too noisy and always staring up at him with eyes that looked just like charles’.

“she’ll wake up, can you get the door, please?” she asked, handing him the keys. he nodded and opened the door for her. “thank you,” she turned on the lights, “make yourself at home, i’ll put this little one to bed and i’ll help you with that,” she smiled at him.

“oh, no, you don’t have to- i-”

“my brother has been working all day for this dinner to be perfect, he won’t let you in if you show up with an unwrapped gift.” she raised an eyebrow, “he’s been freaking out all day, so, for the sake of charles’ health, let me wrap that gift for you,” she used her mom voice, giving him one last look before walking to ali’s room.

“yes, ma’am,” max said, running to his place to grab the leftover wrapping paper. he returned just as she was walking back, still with alison in her arms, but this time the baby was awake. “what happened?” he asked, a smile on his face as he looked at the baby, with sleep evident in her eyes, her cheeks an intense shade of pink. 

“it’s like a curse,” she sighed, “right when i was placing her head on the pillow she woke up,” she placed ali on the counter, the baby immediately turning to crawl away, “nope, ali-”

“i’ll play with her, if that’s okay,” max offered. “a favor for a favor,” he said, walking to the little girl.

“what do you say ali? want to play with max?” she asked the girl, who had made her way to the fruit bowl and was playing with a small clementine. 

“mash,” ali said, trying to say max. he smiled.

max entertained the baby, letting her pick whatever she wanted to play with. she kept coming back to the small clementine, and as the girl’s mother was cutting the right amount of paper, ali handed him the clementine.

“you want me to eat it?” he asked, grabbing the fruit and lifting it up to his lips.

alison laughed, squealing and clapping her hands. 

“thank you, ali, that’s the best fruit i’ve ever had!” max opened his hand, lifting it in front of ali’s face. “high five,” he said, grabbing ali’s hand and clapping it against his own. ali laughed, doing it again and again, each time harder than the last. “ow,” he said, shaking his hand after one particularly hard clap. 

“ali, gentle,” her mother reminded her. max turned to the older leclerc girl, seeing her already done with the gift. “here you go, you’re free to leave now,” max inspected the gift, she’d even managed to make a bow out of the same paper.

“how did you do that?” he asked, staring at her in awe. she only shrugged.

“i’m multitalented,”

“can i come to you every time i need a gift wrapped?”

“yeah! we love having guests, don’t we, ali?” she asked, the girl had leaned against max’s torso, he was leaning against the edge of the counter, where ali was sitting to make sure she didn’t fall or crawl away. 

“i think she’s falling asleep.” he said, pressing a hand to the back of her head to support her.

“thank god,” she sighed, “i thought it was going to be another sleepless night.”

“she’s got issues sleeping at night?”

“lately, yeah.”

“i’ve never heard her,” max said, the leclercs apartment was always so quiet it almost felt like no one lived there.

“she’s not a crier. she just stares around,” 

“well…” he said, doubting for a second if he really wanted to say it, but he decided to do it, “feel free to stop by if you need anything. i mean it, whether it’s to entertain ali or… if you need company.”

he knew that parenting was already hard with both parents around, and he couldn’t imagine how difficult it was being a single parent. and he liked her, they knew each other since they were kids and had grown up together in a way, with her always tagging along to charles’ races and events. 

“thank you,” she said, walking closer to them, “and the same goes to you, mi casa es tu casa.” she smiled at him.

alison moved her head, extending her arms

“mama,” she yawned. 

“i think i’ll leave, she needs all the rest she can get,”

“yeah,” she nodded. “have a nice night, max.”

“thank you, you too.”

-

it was two weeks later, and again, max was struggling to decide whether he really should ask (y/n) for help. throughout those two weeks theyy had managed to run into each other more than the entire time they'd been neighbors. max would always pay a little extra attention to them, whether it was helping her with whatever she was carrying, opening the door for her, or holding alison in his arms. 

he could say that they were starting to become close friends, and after two weeks he found himself looking forward to seek her help.

he was standing in front of his mirror brushing his hair to make sure it was in place. he looked down to his bottles of cologne, and he grabbed one, how finger ready to apply it, but thought about alison, if the girl was to get close to him the chemicals from the fragrance could irritate her. 

he walked out of his room, with the roll of wrapping paper and the gift under his arm, something inside of him moved at the thought of seeing them again. 

he lifted his fist to knock on the door, waiting for the usual stomping of little feet or her soft voice. he waited a few seconds before knocking again. 

he heard soft whimpers getting louder, and soft shushing as the door opened. his face fell as he saw the state of both girls.

“what happened?” he asked immediately, seeing them both in their pjs, with alison crying soundlessly and her mother looking like she was on the verge of tears as well.

“i’m sorry, max, i- i can’t help you right now i-”

“no, no, forget about this, what’s wrong?” he asked, and right as he finished talking alison started coughing.

“she’s sick, and she can’t sleep and… god, i feel so… powerless,” she said, rubbing her hand up and down the baby’s back, “i wish i could make her feel okay but-” she shook her head, rubbing a hand down her face as tears started falling from her eyes.

“hey, it’s alright,” max whispered, walking in and wrapping his arm around her, “have you called her doctor?”

“yeah, he already prescribed the medicine, but… i don’t know what to do now, she keeps coughing and waking herself up.”

“mash,” they both looked at alison, watching her extend her arms towards him.

“no, baby, you’ll get max sick-” she explained, taking her arms down, but the baby insisted.

“it’s alright, i… i can hold her, i don’t mind.”

“but you’ll-”

“if it helps her, and you, i would love to hold her.” max said, watching ali lean herself forward. max dropped his stuff on the floor and held her. he placed the back of his hand against her forehead, “i think she’s got a fever.”

“yeah, the medicine should help with that.” she said, wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “god, i’m a mess. let me get your things so you-”

“no, forget about that. i’m staying.”

“what? max you don’t have-”

“i want to. i won’t be able to focus on anything all night knowing you’re both like this.” right then alison started coughing again, and max rubbed her back gently, whispering softly in her ear, “there you go, get it all out. want to look at the city?” he asked, walking to the window overlooking the harbor, “look at the boats and the lights, ali…” he said, the girl leaning her head on his shoulder and yawning. “she’s sleepy,” he told her mom.

“yeah, she hasn’t slept all day. only for a few minutes before having a coughing fit every time.” she explained.

“have you called your mom? or brothers?” he asked, knowing that they would all most likely be there to help them both if they knew.

“they’re all gone. on holiday. we were supposed to join them but… well, look at us.”

“well, you’re not alone anymore. i’m here,” he walked to her, wrapping his free arm around her, careful with the baby between them. 

“you- really don’t have to do this, you had plans and-”

“and i can see them tomorrow or next week, that’s the least of my problems right now. right now you both should get some sleep. this little one is already falling asleep.”

“i just hope she can rest more than fifteen minutes at a time,” 

“you want me to lay her down or-”

“yeah, come,” she said, walking down a hallway and opening the door to ali’s bedroom. everything was decorated in neutral warm colors and was very clean.

“i think this is the tidiest baby room i’ve seen,” max said, hoping to lighten the mood. 

“you should see my room. we’ve been sleeping there since she got sick, and it’s not pretty.”

“i’m sure it’s better than my room even when i’ve just cleaned it.”

she chuckled, preparing ali’s crib.

after placing her on the bed and waiting for her to fall asleep, they both stayed in her room, with max on the floor next to the crib, ready to act in case she started coughing or woke up. they stayed there for about twenty minutes, in silence, staring at alison longingly. 

max had grown attached to both of them, and the feeling he got when he first saw them that night was something he’d never felt before. he’d felt the back of his neck tingling, his heart seemed to sink down to his stomach. 

“i think this is it,”

“yeah?” max asked.

“yeah. she’s not even moving around, she used to squirm around, trying to get comfortable but now she’s… i think she’s finally gonna get some sleep,”

“and you should get some, too,” max said, eyes widening at what he had said, “sleep, i mean- i”

“i know what you meant,” she chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand to muffe her laugh. “i think i’ll just stay here for the night. i want to be here in case she wakes up.”

“well, we should get comfortable, then.” max said, leaning to grab a big stuffed bear and placed it beneath his head as a pillow.

“you’re not staying here, max. you really don’t have to.”

“of course i am. someone’s got to look out for you. and i know you’re both totally fine on your own normally, but these are not normal conditions. you need a little help, and i’m more than happy to be here.”

she smiled, a soft, sleepy smile that made max’s heart beat faster. she pulled out some blankets from the bottom drawer of ali’s wardrobe. scooting over next to max.

“you’ve got the pillow, i’ve got the blankets.” she said.

“i don’t know about you, but that sounds perfect.” 

“a sleeping, sick kid, a mom in the middle of an emotional breakdown, a teddy bear and blankets?”

“yeah.” he nodded, sounding absolutely serious about his posture.

“you’ve clearly not spend enough time in this house.” she joked, sliding down and wrapping the blanket around herself, getting ready to sleep, finally.

“well, i would love to do that. you know, to… get a gist of things around here.” he said, unaware of the smile on her face, since she’d turned her back to him.

“we’ll talk about it over breakfast.”

“that sounds perfect. good night.” he leaned down, giving alison one last look, making sure that she was still asleep before closing his eyes to sleep.

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #f1 x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fan fiction #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen oneshot #max verstappen angst #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x leclerc!reader #f1 fiction #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #formula one x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 #f1 drivers one shot #f1 drivers x reader #f1 drivers #f1 drabble #25 days of christmas

[yandere-kokeshi]

Yandere Obanai Iguro Headcanons

Warnings: Yandere behavior, spoilers for his mask, punishments, and stalking; lmk if I missed anything.

Authors note: Obanai is one of my favorite characters so this may be a bit longer; I also do not own this character!

Rarely, does anyone he encounters or secretly watches is worthy of his time; yet… you, the most prized, kind, and the lovely person he’s ever seen, wrapped his heart in tight strings, making him fall for you. Getting his attention is quite a hard thing to do, but once he realized the feeling of butterflies hitting everywhere in his stomach, making him sweat profusely and act ‘awkward’ around you; almost acting like a different person.

At first, Obanai will try his best to avoid you or rather not let you see him. Not because he hates you or dislikes the emotions that are coming forward, but rather because he believes that he might not be the best decision for you; his clan following him like a trail of blood with an eminence feeling of guilt. He’s rather insecure about his past, including his wide mouth that he rarely shows. He fears you’ll hate him, causing him to make sure you see him as ‘normal’ and ‘human-like’.

Of course, this shows that he’ll be stalking you like no other, watching you from afar in awe, a small smile projecting on his face under the mask. Much like the other Hahsira’s, he will try to find out everything about you: likes, dislikes, pet peeves, and many things that’ll make you happy. Once he does find out, Obanai is leaving small gifts on your doorstep, hoping you’ll like the clothing, hand-written notes, and flowers he left for you.

If you decide to have a crush on someone, or someone has the urge to pursue a relationship with you (romantically), they are immediately taken down by Obanai. Either, he would try to find information that they wouldn’t want anyone to know, blackmail them to never be around you or, threaten them and belittle them to the point they’re scared to be even around you.

This also goes along the same line of your loved ones, not that he enjoys seeing you happy and content with your loved ones, he just has high paranoia about anyone that’s around you. He believes that they’ll take you away from him, possibly stealing you away forever and completely forgetting about him; in which, he fears highly. In this case, if he sees you getting hurt (verbally, emotionally, or physically), they are getting hurt and killed in the most gruesome way.

Most likely, the way you caught Obanai’s attention was the fact that you were a strong Hashira; you had a kind, caring, and gentle personality that drew his attention. You treated him like a human being, something that he wasn’t used to. You always tried to talk to him, in which he'd always blow you off: “Leave me alone, you’re annoying.”

Yet, you continuously approached him, even when he spewed out threats that would hurt people and lead them to tears. But, now, since you’ve caught the eye of a snake, he becomes extremely protective of you, even if you’re a Hashira.

Obanai knows you aren’t weak, you’re a Hashira for damn sake; but the moment he starts to realize he loves you, your privilege as a Slayer is quickly stripped away. Either, he would come up with an excuse to Oyakata-sama about needing you to stay home; resulting in you ‘retiring’. Or, force you to quit by guilt-tripping and manipulating you.

Even though Obanai is very possessive of you, he wouldn’t kidnap you unless you were hurt very badly. Whether that’s you tripping and breaking a leg, someone assaulting you or almost getting eaten by a demon: Obanai would only take severe precaution if needed. He knows what it’s like to be caged inside a box, which he doesn’t wish upon you at all. But, he will manipulate you to keep you home as much as possible, using the excuse: “I can save you if any problems come forth. You have everything you want here, right? So why not stay to keep yourself tight, I’m only doing this to protect you. I love you, you’re safer here.”

Though, if you were to get hurt and end up in the Butterfly Estate with multiple injuries, Obanai is sitting right next to you, holding your hand, planning a way to get you ‘home’. Once you’re awake, he’s right beside you, ordering you to never scare him like that again: “Since you were hurt badly, Master has made it clear you’re retired. You’re not leaving without me anymore, it’s final.”

Back on the track of manipulating, he would order you around to stay by him at all times. This includes ‘accidentally’ slipping into a relationship with him and moving in with him; controlling you from the moment you step foot in your now-shared home.

Obanai’s yandere tendencies consist of being very overprotective, paranoid, semi-worshiping, and possessive. He’s always watching over you, paranoia covering his thick skin as if someone will come into the home and steal you away. Rarely does he allow you to leave the house, at least without him that is.

From his experience, he knows you need sunlight to function. He would allow you to come out, shop, and eat out at your favorite restaurants as long as he’s alongside you. Of course, anyone who dares to eye you is immediately stared down by him.

His biggest problem is his insecurity, fearing that you’ll abandon him and betray him like everyone else. This makes the affection between the two of you (at times) very confusing, he will believe he’s not good for you, pushing you away to the point of desperation of physical contact. Then, other times, he wants a cuddle session the moment he comes home, bringing you in a tight embrace whilst he smells your hair.

Because of his insecurity of his body and face, he would never ever drop off his mask around you, scared you’ll run away once you see it. But, when it comes to a year within the relationship, he’ll allow you to pull it down, unexpected by the gentle kisses plastered on his face given by you; it may lead him to tears.

The punishments you’ll receive are pretty slim in advance; he hates hurting you in any way. Normally, if you decide to act out, he would either ignore you or lecture you to the point you’ll feel bad.

Throw insults towards him? He’ll bluntly ignore it. He’s heard those before, it doesn’t affect him as much as it did when he was younger; go ahead, he’s heard worse.

If you decide to try to break out or try to hit him? He would be annoyed and hurt. Of course, he would snap at you… yelling at you as to why ‘are you stupid?’ or ‘try that again and see what happens next.’

However, the most he would do to ‘hurt you’ is when you escape; bruising your wrists. Either after he finds you stumbled into the dirt outside or he catches you before you make it out into the woods, Obanai is yelling at you and dragging you back to your shared-room. You’d have a few scratches from trying to get away and the now reddish-bruise forming on your wrists from him dragging you inside.

You will be spoiled with everything you want if you act good. You want jewelry? You have a basket full of it, plus that haori you wanted. You love to read? You get as many books as you want, letting you admire the book cover as he blushes at your happy face. Whatever you want, is yours; all he asks in favor is you allow him to cuddle you, get many kisses and hugs from the desperate snake Hashira.

—

Masterlist || Please consider reblogging and commenting instead of liking, stay well!

Do not plagiarize, repost, modify, translate or copy my work.

#yandere blog #kokeshi!! #yandere male #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere anime #yandere headcanons #yandere x darling #yandere kny #yandere kny x reader #yandere kimetsu no yaiba x reader #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere demon slayer x reader #yandere demon slayer x gn reader #yandere demon slayer #yandere obanai #yandere obanai x reader #yandere iguro #yandere obanai iguro #yandere hashiras #yandere hashira #yandere x gn reader #yandere x you #yandere x curvy reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x willing reader #yandere kny x gn reader #yandere

[allyium-inserts]

Title: Picnic Mayhem

Iruka x Mother-Figure! Reader

Summary: Naruto has finally return from his three-year training with Jiraiya, but his mom is just nowhere to be found.

This is based on my mother-Figure! Reader x Naruto head cannons. I’m not very used to writing in this format, so let me know if you prefer the bullet points or this! Also, slight spoilers to the actual show if you haven’t fully watched it or don’t know who Naruto’s parents are.  This isn't proof-read or anything so there may be errors.

Word Count: 884

Konoha was quite peaceful after the neighborhood troublemaker had left to train with the sage. There was of course a teary goodbye between Naruto and the person who practically raised him, so when Naruto returned, of course he would want to see his mother, which seemed to be an impossible task. Since his return in the early morning, he has seen everyone, but Iruka and his mother and he was starting to get frustrated when everyone he asked said “(Y/N) is probably with Iruka, they are always together these days.” Which was even more frustrating because he was sure news of his return has already reached your ears and should be waiting for him with open arms. 

Out in the surrounding forest completely unaware of Naruto’s return was the female in question wearing long pale-yellow sundress that complemented your (S/T) with your hair in a low bun and a couple strands framing your face. Next to you was the brunette ninja with the scar across his face in his typical ninja clothing setting up the picnic for their lunch date. You and Iruka have been together for almost two years before Naruto’s return and on the path to get married if Iruka manned up. “Sweetheart, have I told you that dress look amazing?” Iruka says as he finishes setting up the picnic and sitting down so that he is looking up. You blush softly and smiled, “Yes, at least 10 times already.” You rolled your eyes and joined the ninja before helping him pull out some of the food out of the basket. The food consisted of two bento boxes that consisted of 2 tuna rice balls, mozzarella and tomato skewers, and a fruit salad and a bottle of sake for the two to share.  This was a common occurrence every week that the two would go out to lunch together and spend the entire afternoon together basking in the rare quiet moments. 

You looked down at your food, picking at it before saying, “Naruto should be back soon.”

Iruka nods, “Yea, he should. I know he is going to be so excited to see you and take all your time away from me!” He pouts lightly. You laugh lightly and raise your eyebrow looking at Iruka, “Are you jealous of Naruto?” You teasingly ask while setting your bento down ready to tackle to the man in front of you. He blushed heavily at the inclination of being jealous of Naruto, “Maybe I am. Afterall he got to spend all those years with you uninterrupted!” He crosses his arms and pouts theatrically. You smile widely laughing before, you suddenly charged at him and tackling him to the ground. His hand instinctively grabbed at your waist. 

“Now, Now, is this not uninterrupted time with me?” you asked smugly as you get closer to his face. Iruka started to stutter out an answer before you decided to save him from his embarrassment by kissing him. Your soft lips slowly caress his slightly chapped lips in a rhythmic dance. Before he could even process you were kissing him, you pulled away with a smile and looked into his brown irises which only showed love and devotion to you. He leaned back in giving you a proper kiss and his hand tighten around your waist before pulling you back into to him to deepen the kiss unaware of the approaching blonde who realized that neither of you were in the village!

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY MOM- YA KNOW” 

You both jolted away from the sudden voice, wide-eyed and dark blushes covering both of your faces. You looked towards the voice and gasped with tears brimming in your (e/c) eyes as you stare at Naruto unable to process that he was home.  The resemblance to your brother was uncanny and Minato’s name almost slipped out instead of Naruto. You stood up and rushed to the young blonde placing your hands on his cheeks to really ground yourself back into reality. “Naruto…” Tears starting to fall as you caress his face before pulling him into yourself for a bone crushing hug. “Phat doesn’t uhnswer my queshion. Mphat were you shoing wit Iruka-shenshi?” You sighed and pulling his face away from you, “Can we talk about that later?” Naruto shakes his head and Iruka comes up behind the two resting his hand in the small of your back. You and Iruka had a silent conversation, before turning to Naruto.

“Well Naruto… With your permission, I would like to continue seeing (Y/N).” Iruka asks even though knowing no matter what Naruto said, you two would continue to see each other. 

“Well, aren’t you seeing her right now! - ya know!” You both sighed, “Naruto, Me and Iruka are dating. We have been for the past two years.” The look of shock and betrayal on his face was evident as he looked between the two of you.  

“WHAAAAA” Iruka and you flinched at his tone as Naruto leaves your embrace still in shock at the sudden news. “Me and you are goanna have a talk” Naruto said pointing between him and Iruka.  Iruka nodded at Naruto declaration and laughed a little. 

I guess Iruka would have wait to ask you to marry him as he feels the box in his pocket. 

#anon ask #iruka sensei #iruka x y/n #naruto reader insert #naruto oneshot #Mother-Figure!Reader x Iruka #reader insert #naruto x reader #naruto shippuden x reader #naruto shippuden #ask me stuff #Iruka Unimo x Reader #Iruka x reader #fluff #iruka fluff

[charliehoennam]

black-leathered prince

A/N: filling out a request made by@babygirl8900 made recently here. boy, is it good to write again! send in requests, my ask box is always open.

Pairing: Jackson Teller x gn!reader Word count: 2,154 Warnings: mentions of jealousy, language, communication blockage, anxiety (sorta?)

SHARING IS CARING, SO REBLOG!

Another long and exhausting day had gone by. You were in the final hour of your casual 9 to 5 job and all you thought about was running into your boyfriend’s arms and getting home to enjoy a relaxing night with him. It was a rare night – one where he wasn't working some stupid job that will undoubtedly risk either his life or his freedom of the sake of the club – so you wanted to take advantage of it to spend some alone time together. Maybe finally catch on the show you can never seem to finish. You had tried to watch without him, but it seemed to hurt more than cheating on him. Who would’ve thought Jackson Teller could be so sensitive?

The movement around the office slowed down from the busy rush of last minute documentation processes. Reports to file, contracts to process, enquiries to respond to, charts to update. Fridays were always hectic and usually passed by quickly. However, they sometimes ended like today with anticipation bubbling in your core. Your leg bounced incessantly underneath your desk towards the end of the late afternoon. Your heart pounded with excitement and pride the second you heard the roar of his bike pulling up just outside the building. You knew it was him, everyone knew it's him. 

The club was well known for being bad news. When word first spread of your relationship with Jax, you noticed the swift change in most of your friends and co-workers. Invitations to happy hour ceased, co-workers avoided you as subtly as possible. Of course they wouldn't be rude to you. The distance constructed was much more elaborate out of fear of some sort of retaliation or revenge. Conversations became no shorter than the average small talk on the weather or latest gossip around the office. Their private lives simply became much more private, just particularly from you. It kinda hurt, but you figured you could understand. You knew better than anyone the trouble the Sons caused around town and they knew too. The Sons were trouble and no one decent in town wants trouble, they'd rather avoid it. When Gemma once said the club looks after their own, you didn't realize it at first, but it meant more than just the boys. It meant their families, wives, parents, children. People viewed all of those associated with the club as part of it and that came with a price.

Seeing him waiting there for you - sat on his bike smoking a cigarette with a helmet waiting for you between his hand and his bike - was like a breath of fresh air. It was worth enduring the long, lonely week of work. A smile bloomed across his lips as he caught sight of you. His cigarette was dropped to the ground and stomped out by his sneaker despite not being entirely smoked; he was eager to get you all to himself. 

"Hey there, beautiful" he beamed just before you leaned in to kiss him hello. 

"Hey there, handsome. I sure did miss you" you smiled back. 

"I missed you too, sunshine. Let's get out of here and have some fun?" His question was complete with the gesture of holding the waiting helmet over to you. 

"God, yes. I'm so tired" you replied, taking the helmet to get it on. "Where are we going, your place or mine?"  "Well, actually I was thinking we could go to the clubhouse. Maybe have some drinks and some laughs before heading home?"  Your heart sunk to your stomach. You'd been looking forward all week to having Jax all to yourself. Sure, you knew Jax was often quite the social butterfly. You accepted that about him and didn't usually mind spending a night drinking with the guys at the clubhouse or at one of their houses. The issue was that you had done that already the last few weeks and were craving some romantic alone time. However, you didn't have the heart to tell him you weren't up for it. He loved having you around the guys; it made him feel like his life was complete and that he had everything and everyone he could ever need. It wouldn't hurt to put on a fake smile and muster up whatever fumes you still had in your social energy tank. 

He could tell something was off about you. You didn't really wanna get into it with everyone present. The more he questioned you on what was bothering, the more annoyed you got. You wished it wasn't at him, but you knew deep down it was. You were annoyed with the fact that he hadn't felt the need for your time alone, that he couldn't even summon the thought that you didn't want to be there yet another week. He wasn't trying to be selfish by doing what he wanted to do, you couldn't really blame him. You did agree on going. He was actually being as patient as he could with you, trying to get you to talk but respecting your boundaries. Once he realized that his attempts were angering you for some reason that was still unclear to him, his patience grew thin. He decided to mingle around with his buddies, trying to enjoy his beer and his time even though you were still on the back of his mind. 

Stepping out for a smoke, you tried to clear your mind and think of how you could apologize to him. You felt bad, you knew you weren't right. Communication is key to every relationship. But after a long tiring week, at a place you wished you weren't and surrounded by people when your social energy is exhausted, you thought the best way to avoid saying anything you might regret would be to leave the conversation for another time. With every drag of your cigarette, guilt engulfed you. You were being unfair and you had to own up to that. Jax deserved to know why you were being unreasonable with him. So you stomped out your cigarette, committed to talking things out. 

That was until you spotted the bright redhead propped on the bar beside your boyfriend, chatting and laughing as if they'd known each other for ages. You're not usually a jealous person, but you did feel it shimmer the blood beneath your skin. 

"They're only talking," you thought. "That's barely anything to be jealous about." 

You sat down in a dark corner of the clubhouse where you could keep the two in your line of sight. There was no denying that the girl was pretty. Short red hair, shiny green eyes, a fair complexion that seemed to glow under the lights. She looked young like she'd just turned legally old enough to drink. You knew all the crow eaters too well enough to spot them from a mile away. She wasn't one of them. At least, not yet. From the looks of it, it could've even been her first night in the clubhouse and she was already skinning on thin ice. 

Jax, on the other hand, didn't shy away from the attention she'd been giving him. He respected her space and wasn't treating her any different from his buddies. He could tell she was new and didn't want to be rude without her deserving it. He honestly just felt flattered that she'd chosen him although he was quick to inform her his heart belonged solely to you. 

You watched on as they talked and mingled and laughed at each other's stories. You wondered what they could be talking about, though you did notice moments where Jax would scan the area in search of you. You wanted to see how far things could get without your invention. Every second that passed by seemed to heat the blood in your veins even more. Your jealousy was becoming more and more difficult to tame within. 

When the redhead raised her hand to hold onto Jax's forearm, you drew the line. Someone needed to teach the girl the rules around the club and it was gonna start tonight. You marched over with your shoulders pulled back proudly and your chin up high. 

Jax was polite enough to simply pull his arm back to himself and was about to let her down gently until you showed up beside them, clearing your throat.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met" you smirked. "I'm y/n." 

"I'm Lydia. I came here with a friend to celebrate my 21st birthday." 

"Yeah, I can tell it's your first time here. Women don't usually put their hands on men that ain't theirs here. They could end up losing their hands for that." 

The blank expression on your face made your threat pretty evident. Judging by her silence, she heard it loud and clear so you turned to Jax who was restraining himself. 

"I'm heading home. Don't worry, I'll find my own ride." 

Turning on your heels, you pushed through the door and walked out towards the gate to leave the area. The doors creaked open behind you announcing Jax's following you. 

"What the hell is your problem, y/n? You and I both know you didn't have to go off on the girl." 

"Of course you'd think that. You loved the attention she was giving you" you sneered as you turned to confront him. 

"Probably because I got more attention from her than I did from you the whole night!" he frowned. "I don't get what the hell is going on with you. You've been strange ever since I picked you up from work, you won't talk about it and I honestly don't know what to fucking do because if I push you on it, you get mad at me." 

The confusion on his face made your heart ache knowing you could've avoided this whole scene if you had just been upfront with him. The way his eyebrows pinched in the middle, the way his mouth hung open and the way his eyes desperately searched yours for answers made you take a deep breath to regain yourself. You couldn't lash out at him. This was your fault, not his. 

"What's wrong is that I didn't want to be here in the first place. I wanted us to have some time to ourselves, just us two together. Not spending another Friday night watching your friends drink themselves blind."

"If that's what you wanted, why didn't you just say so?" "I dunno. I just thought this was what you wanted. It's what you always seem to want." 

"What are you talking about, y/n?" he sighed, running a hand over his face.

"I mean you never ask for us to just stay home or go on a date just us. I kinda miss that and I guess I thought you didn't. And seeing you with that girl just made me think that you're tired of me or of us. That maybe you'd rather be here with your friends to avoid me."

"Jesus Chris- no, sweetheart. That's not true in the slightest."  As he closed the space between you and held your hands in his hands, he started to reflect on it. It dawned on him that you haven't had a real date in a while or just stayed home together to join time alone. It was only natural to feel the way you did. Perhaps he could've done more to avoid this as well. Paid more attention to your needs, talked more about feelings even though he dreaded that more than anything. He just wished he would have realized how important it really was to you. 

His head slowly rolled down to close his eyes and you had a sense that you weren’t the only one feeling guilt and regret.

"I just thought you liked hanging out with the guys, sweetheart. That's all, alright? I'm sorry I made you feel neglected. And you're right. We need more alone time away from everyone." 

The warm hand on your cheek brushed away your jealousy into oblivion. Your eyes were lost in his, captivated by the touch of his fingers as you melted like ice upon the contact of warm fingertips. Every word from his lips dripped like a spell, lulling you into his trance of charisma and lust.   

"So let's start with tonight. Lemme take you home, get us a nice bubble bath with some wine and candles, give you a nice foot rub" he smirked whispering inches away from your lips as his thumb grazed your cheek.

"I would love nothing more" you smiled back at him. "I gotta apologize too though. I should've been more open and honest. If I had, we wouldn't even be here right now."

"You were just trying to make me happy. I get that. Now it's my turn to make you happy" he grinned. "C'mon, sweetheart. Let's get out of here so I can have you all to myself."

#jackson teller #jackson teller x you #jackson teller x y/n #jackson teller x reader #jackson teller x gn!reader #jackson teller fic #jackson teller one shot #SOA fic #jax teller #jax teller x you #jax teller x reader #jax teller fic

[lovesosweeet]

better left unsaid // cth

chapter thirty nine

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn’t know.

calum hood x fem!oc

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november 19, 2018 san diego, california orion

Today is the final day of the tour, and it’s also the day that they’re in Madrid. I should be there, and I know that fact very well. Emelia is off for Thanksgiving break, so I would’ve been, too. We could have gone, but instead, we are at my family’s house doing practically nothing. 

I spend a long time in the shower. It’s nice to stand under the stream of water because it camouflages my tears. There’s no clarity whether the droplets are tears or water and that keeps me feeling a little less shitty for how much I’ve been crying lately.

It feels like any time I get a moment alone I start crying. 

Missing Calum is hard enough, but knowing how little life I have left to live is an awful, gut wrenching feeling. 

I’ve had my phone in hand with Calum’s contact open far too many times to count. I’ve typed messages and deleted them. I’ve even considered deleting his contact altogether to make reaching out to him next to impossible since I clearly don’t have the guts to reach out and it’ll torment me every day. 

I want him here with me. I do. I want that more than anything. I can’t even call it a change of heart because I know that’s what I’ve always wanted. Some kind of switch flipped in me when I saw the pictures of him with Paula and I finally admitted it to myself. 

That should be me is all I could think, staring at the photos of them hugging, leaning close to each other to talk at the bar. I’ve craved a hug from Calum from the moment he left me.

One of the worst thoughts I’ve had is what if I reach out and he doesn’t reply? What if I’m too late? What if I’ve fucked it all up beyond repair? That fear is one of the many things holding me back. I’m scared to reach out and it ends up that I’m still alone and aching to have him home with me.

I’m still scared of the idea of watching me die and how that will take a toll on him. The thought is still terrifying, but I still, selfishly, want him to be with me. 

I haven’t told anyone this. I’m sure the second I tell Emelia she will grab my phone and call him herself.

Em and I are planning on streaming the Madrid show if we can tonight, assuming someone goes live to share the show. She said if she has to she will call Crystal and have her Facetime us the whole time, but that’s not my favorite option. 

I finish up my shower and get dressed in another random combination of sweatpants and sweatshirt, putting on my bunny slippers that my moms got me for my birthday. I don’t know how I’ve made it to 22 without a pair, but I’m grateful for the adorable, cozy footwear regardless. I find Emelia in my bedroom when I exit the bathroom, scrolling on her phone, perched on the edge of my bed that she must have decided to make for me. 

“Paula and Lucia are with them,” she announces, holding her phone up to me.

I get closer to her, sitting next to her on my bed so she can give me her phone. It’s opened to Paula’s Instagram story, which is a photo of her hand, complete with her new, dazzling engagement ring, Lucia’s hand, and Calum’s hand, all three reaching for a box of donuts from my favorite donut shop in Madrid. She has the location tagged at Retiro. 

“For old time’s sake,” she wrote on top. 

I tap the screen, letting the next image on her story show. It’s a selfie of Paula, Lucia, Calum, Luke, Sierra, and Crystal. They’re sitting by the water at Retiro. I should be there. I wish I was there. 

I sigh, closing out of the Instagram app and giving Em her phone back. “Looks like they’re having fun,” I say, my voice cracking as I try to stifle the tears I have forming in my eyes.

Emelia wraps an arm around me and rests her head on my shoulder. “I’m sure they all wish you were there just as badly as you want to be there.”

I sniffle and wipe the tears from my eyes. “Maybe.”

She sighs and thankfully doesn’t say anything else about it. “C’mon, come help me write my paper. I don’t wanna have to deal with it on Thanksgiving.” 

If it was up to me, I’d spend the rest of the day in bed alone, but when Em is here, she gives me only one allowance of wallow-in-bed-and-pretend-to-nap time per day. It’s been almost every day that I tell her I want to take a nap and then instead I just lay in bed and cry. I’m sure she knows that’s what I actually do, but we don’t talk about it.

—

As if she could read my mind from all those miles away, Paula goes live for the concert. As far as I can tell, she’s in the VIP section. It doesn’t look like many other people are watching her live, so I’m almost certain she is streaming just for me. 

Emelia and I watch together, curled up in the guest bedroom with a bottle of wine and a huge bowl of popcorn. We sing along the whole time, tears in my eyes for most of it. It’s my first and only time seeing the show from the whole tour. I knew it would hurt too much after the breakup, and before I wanted to be surprised by it in San Diego. Em and I both knew I needed to see it at least once. I didn’t think through the fact that I possibly wouldn’t actually see the San Diego show. 

Calum not singing his verses in Amnesia and Ghost of You cuts me deeply, which has been true since the breakup based on Twitter, and both Emelia and I cry when they play those two. Cal doesn’t even face the crowd during those songs.

As the show nears its end, in a break after Jet Black Heart, Calum steps to his microphone.

“Madrid!” He starts, and Luke and Michael snap their heads to him, shocked. I guess they weren’t expecting him to take a talking break. The crowd cheers loudly at his pronunciation, since he says it like Mah-dree rather than Muh-drid. He hadn’t spoken the whole show, and, if I know Calum, he hasn’t been speaking much on tour at all, especially not in the wake of the breakup. 

“Excuse me if I fuck this up, but I asked a friend to help me with this translation. If it’s wrong, blame her,” he says and he laughs. 

“He’s talking about me,” I hear Paula say. She knows I’m watching. I’m sure of it. 

“Tu ciudad tiene un pedazo enorme de mi corazón. Te he extrañado y te quiero.” Calum fumbles through the Spanish that he reads off a scrap of paper. The crowd screams louder then than they have so far for anything else they’ve done tonight. I’m sure no one expected Calum to have said more than two or three words in Spanish, so it’s exciting to have him say something beyond te quiero and gracias.

“Uh, back to English,” he says while he tucks the piece of paper into his back pocket. “I’m sure some of you know why I love this city, and that’s never going to change. Thank you for having us tonight, the last night of this tour. You’ve been incredible and we will never forget you. This next one is one of my favorites, and again, I’m sure some of you know why. Let’s take it home, okay? This is Want You Back!” 

The lights turn off and the room of people screams when the opening notes resound throughout the arena they’re playing. Throughout this song, Calum actually bobs his head and sways a little, getting into the music the way he used to but hasn’t throughout the entire show. He seemingly stares directly at Paula’s phone, and I wonder if he knows she’s streaming the show for me to watch it. 

“Are you gonna call him?” Emelia asks in the middle of the song.

I look to her, tears filling my eyes again. “I don’t know, Em. I’m scared.”

She doesn’t say anything else then, just nods. 

At the end of Want You Back, which is supposed to be their last song aside from the encore, Michael and Ashton take their bows and Luke and Calum just clap at them. Michael and Ash look confused, but just wave to the crowd. They check behind their shoulders and find Calum and Luke still at their mic stands, but they continue their exit from the stage.  

“Madrid, for an extra something special this evening, Calum and I decided we’d like to treat you to a little surprise,” Luke says. From the side of the stage, an acoustic guitar is being brought to Luke. 

“If it’s alright with you, I’m gonna steal Luke’s mic stand!” Calum says into his mic. The crowd cheers and he hands his bass to the stage tech that brought Luke the guitar. Cal is now center stage, looking incredibly nervous. “We’ve never played this one before, but we hope you like it.” 

Look at the stars Look how they shine for you

Calum sings softly while Luke strums the guitar. Luke is smiling widely at Calum like he’s a proud parent. 

Your skin, oh yeah, your skin and bones Turn into something beautiful And you know, you know I love you so

Cal is crying again, but he manages to sing each word clearly. 

And you know, for you, I'd bleed myself dry For you, I'd bleed myself dry

Every word seems to cause another tear in my eyes. Their cover of Yellow is officially my new favorite of theirs, and I know Cal chose it for me. It’s as clear as day. As they finish the song, the crowd erupts again, and then Luke holds his arms out to Cal, encouraging everyone to applaud him specifically. Cal bows and takes a step back, his hand resting on his chest. He waits for Luke to bow too before they walk offstage together.

As soon as they’re off the stage and the crowd starts to beg for an encore, Paula flips her phone around so we can see her, Lucia, Marta, and Crystal huddled together and smiling. 

“For you!” Paula screams and then she turns the camera back so the boys can finish their usual set.

I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but Calum has just made me feel way more loved than I deserve, and it makes me want to reach out even more, but I still don’t know if I can or how I should. I officially want — no, need him back in my life. I need him by my side. I don’t know what it’ll take for it to happen and I’m terrified of whatever will be in between, but I know I’ll feel much better when he’s back in my life. 

Em looks at me with teary eyes as the boys take the stage again. 

“Em... I miss him so much.”

She hugs me tightly. “I know you do.”

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a/n: something's brewing!!!!!!! :')

#5sos #luke hemmings #5 seconds of summer #ashton irwin #calum hood #fanfiction #5sosfam #imagine #fanfic #michael clifford #calum 5sos #calum fanfic #calum fic #calum x ofc #calum x fem!oc #better left unsaid

[hellcheer-heaven]

Thoughts on Hellcheer:

What I love about Hellcheer is that while technically it is a “good girl/bad boy” relationship, there was a chance for the show to break away from that formula. The “bad boy” is a huge dork with a good heart. The “good girl” has complexities to her.

What I will share here centers on the small amount of canon from the show. As well as headcanons and my opinions. Please feel free to check it out and agree/disagree as well. I’m open to listening to what you have to say as well.

Eddie Munson

When I went back and watched the forest scene between Eddie and Chrissy, he doesn’t try to demean or manipulate her.

He doesn’t try to make a whole speech explaining that he hurts her because he loves/wants to protect her.

Instead Eddie fake stabs himself in the heart and acts like a doofus on purpose because that’s who he is; and it makes Chrissy laugh.

An actual genuine laugh that she probably hasn’t made in quite a while; she smiles to the point where her nose and eyes crinkle up.

When Chrissy admits that she doesn’t remember who he is, Eddie plays around and is on a role with his comedic timing.

He never insults her or makes her feel bad for not recalling who he is (he redirects to himself, “I wouldn’t remember me either Chrissy!”).

When she does remember, the boy is absolutely ecstatic and she’s just as excited.

Even when he says, “You’re a freak,” it’s in a humorous manner.

I also like to think that if Vecna never went after Chrissy and she tried out the substance, Eddie would have stayed beside at her side the whole night.

Speaking to her about what was going to happen and holding her hand as it started to kick in.

While I don’t know how she would have reacted to the ketamine, I have a feeling Eddie would have never taken advantage of her in such a vulnerable state.

While he’s familiar with the effects, I think he would be really scared of how she’d react to the drug during and after it’s over.

He’d help her get better and regret what he’s done.

Even though she did ask for something stronger, Eddie would wish that he never gave anything to her.

Chrissy Cunningham

Regarding Chrissy’s “good girl” status, the show is really able to give us an idea as to who she is and what her life is like based on the hallucination scenes.

She’s someone that has experienced terrible trauma at the hands of her mother.

Constantly being demeaned and called awful names because her mother is controlling and she forces Chrissy to fit into a box based on harmful standards of beauty and femininity.

If the show gave Chrissy more time, we could have seen the way she acts around Laura: Standing up straight, being reminded to look into her eyes, ordered to speak louder, and constantly being reminded that as the eldest sibling she needs to set an example for her brother.

Yet as soon as guests arrive at the Cunningham home, Laura is completely different person: Warm, inviting, and welcoming to everyone.

Laura would be the kind of person that knows exactly which mask to put on when people are around vs. being surrounded by her family.

Assuming her mother is starkly religious, Chrissy could have also have religious trauma (maybe not to the point of what Margaret White does to Carrie, but still just as terrifying).

Chrissy was taught and forced from a young age to be a “good girl” based on her mother’s beliefs and to also avoid being abused.

She learned to listen and obey, to never raise her voice in anger or frustration, and to never stray away from the assigned path that has been laid out for her since childhood.

Chrissy’s smile is a mask that she wears to hide her pain, pain that she feels guilty for because her mother would gaslight her into believing that she’s selfish.

“You don’t know what real pain is Christine. You should be lucky that you have a roof over your head, clean clothes on your body, and food in the fridge.”

Chrissy’s whole perceived self isn’t just, “good” for the sake of “being good”, she’s someone who has to play that part for the sake of survival.

If given the chance we could have learned more about who she is, watch her make mistakes, learn from those mistakes, and see her grow.

I’d like to believe that she could have had a scene where she stands up to her mom and rightfully tell her to stop treating her so horribly.

That all her life she’s been made to feel awful for simply existing and that she’s had enough.

And perhaps even tell her dad that he was never there to stop the abuse.

When they’re together

They would still be a bit shy around each other, but those feelings would start to dissipate as they slowly become a little more comfortable.

There could have been scenes where they reminisce/wince over middle school.

There would definitely be more moments of “You’re not what I thought you’d be like” as they start to open up about themselves (at least what they’re comfortable talking about).

Typical things such as glancing at each other from down the hall, leaving notes in the other’s locker, and yes getting paired up for a project would have happened.

Eddie would have given his guitar pick necklace to her.

Chrissy would have given her green scrunchie to him.

He would start to open up about himself, telling her about his childhood and how difficult things were for him growing up.

She would talk about her life as well, which would surprise and anger Eddie that she’s been treated so cruelly.

He believed that coming from money meant having material possessions which in turn should have made her happy (it’s the 80s, remember “Greed is good.”).

All of the money in the world doesn’t mean much to her, sure the financial security is important, but there isn’t much love going on in that house.

Then you look at Eddie and how he doesn’t have much himself financially, but he’s rich in life thanks to Uncle Wayne, his friends, D&D, Hellfire Club, music, and his guitar.

Now having Chrissy in his life makes the world much more brighter.

Still that won’t pay the bills for the trailer, and who knows if Corroded Coffin will ever get discovered.

In a sense these two characters would be able to connect because they’re openly talking about their childhoods and their struggles.

In doing so they learn to truly see past what’s on the surface.

A friendship would blossom and perhaps something more.

Also Murray would have a blast shipping them together: “Hey I get it, couple of young high school sweethearts against the world.”

Chrissy and Eddie would fumble their words as they tell him that they’re not together.

The gears in Murray’s head would be turning faster: “Oh I see, Basketball Star Ken (Jason) is out of the picture. Looks like Cheerleader Barbie found herself a new boy toy: Trailer Trash Ken!”

Closing thoughts

Stranger Things could have really taken the “good girl/bad boy” couple and given us something really meaningful. We could have seen two characters that fit into their retrospective groups and watch as they break away from the mold of the “mean and scary” cheerleader and metal head. As much as I like to believe that they would have be a wonderful couple, they would have had their moments of anger and misunderstandings with each like most couples do. They would both learn to unlearn their preconceived notions about themselves, each other, and their affiliating groups. In the end, they would have been voted Hawkins’ most unlikely couple that actually made it work out.

#hellcheer #eddissy #munningham #eddie munson #chrissy x eddie #eddie x chrissy #chrissy cunningham #thoughts on hellcheer

[lestatslestits]

so,,,,, iwtv poto thoughts 👀

OH BOY. I have many.

First of all, for the sake of establishing timeline/universes in this specific post, I’m gonna say we’re operating on the TV show universe/timeline for IWTV and the book universe/timeline for POTO. Partially because I think that’s the simplest way of looking at it, partially because I like the idea of the original Erik and Lestat interactions happening pre-Louis. And also before the main events of POTO, because I imagine Erik’s capacity for forming positive relationships with young attractive blond nobility go down considerably after that time.

Under a cut because this got long.

I think Erik and Lestat would meet in Box Five. Couple of options here. One: Lestat would demand to rent it after someone let it slip that it was the only “available” box, but that it belonged to the Opera Ghost, and would offer such an exorbitant amount of money that they couldn’t say no. Two: while renting another private box, would hear that Box Five was off limits and haunted, and would be physically unable to resist the urge to go somewhere off-limits. Either way, he would end up there during a performance.

Erik would try to get Lestat to leave, obviously, using his typical ventriloquism and attempts at terror that had worked on others. Lestat would find it funny and immediately start goading him, asking him why he needed a footstool if he was planning on watching the opera alone, if Lestat was interrupting a clandestine meeting between Erik and a lover, what Erik thought of the opera, his opinions on the singers, etc. He wouldn’t know Erik’s name at that point, would probably just call him “Monsieur le Fantôme” because he had heard others refer to him as the Opera Ghost.

I think this would go on for. A while. Due to a combination of Lestat’s sheer stubbornness and love of causing trouble, and an actual growing appreciation for each other’s enjoyment of music and unhinged personalities. Also Lestat would be INCREDIBLY, OBNOXIOUSLY attracted to Erik’s voice. Even just his speaking voice.

Whenever they DO meet face to face (face to mask, as it were) I’m not sure what the inciting incident would be (but as per the usual it is probably Lestat’s fault). Lestat would probably originally assume that Erik was a vampire due to his unusual eye color and insistence on keeping his face covered. Add to that, an opera house is an excellent cover for someone who needs to sleep all day and stay awake all night, and an excellent source of prey (Lestat has probably claimed a few victims from particularly obnoxious patrons whose disappearances, ironically, got blamed on the Opera Ghost).

Lestat would most likely go snooping around and find his way to the House on the Lake, either before or after interacting with Erik face-to-face. Side note: Lestat would definitely be warned against this by the Daroga. Also, he would find the Daroga UNSPEAKABLY attractive. Look me in the eye and tell me Lestat de Lioncourt, DILF lover extraordinaire, wouldn’t find the Daroga hot. You can’t. But he would also ignore his advice completely. If Marius couldn’t stop him from making the stupidest decisions imaginable, this guy DEFINITELY isn’t stopping him.

Lestat would probably get taken down by The Siren, while trying to go across the lake. This is better for everyone, because I don’t think Lestat would cope well in the Torture Chamber. Not like. Because of the heat or anything. I just don’t think he could deal with the isolation, and the more disoriented he got, the more even the fake “sun” would break his brain. Actually, there’s some pretty good angst in there somewhere. This is a choose your own ending adventure now, decide if you like this or the next bullet point better and roll with it.

Unfortunately for Erik, Lestat can’t be effectively drowned or strangled, and aside from being annoyed about his hair and clothes getting wet, I think he would be surprisingly pleasant about the whole thing. Sure, Erik just attempted to kill him, but he ain’t special. That happens to Lestat lots of places. They are kind of at an impasse at that point. Lestat is unkillable AND he knows his way to the House on the Lake now. Also he definitely still thinks Erik is a vampire, and finding out that he sleeps in a coffin does not help.

I truly think that the two of them would end up in some kind of undefined and kind of messy relationship of some kind. There’s mutual attraction there (Lestat has a thing for violinists and Erik has a thing for blondes), but it’s not exclusively a romantic thing. There’s just some kind of understanding there, under all of the anger and pain and self-loathing between the two of them. Erik’s music entrances Lestat. Lestat is surprisingly level-headed when he sees Erik’s face for the first time (it’s still a bad day for everyone involved, but they make it through).

When he finds out that Erik is human, Lestat offers him the Dark Gift. Erik declines, because he has absolutely no desire to be immortal. Lestat is a little hurt, a little flummoxed. It’s not quite the beginning of the end, but not long after that Erik begins to coach Christine and to fall in love with her. Lestat, of course, doesn’t take that well. He wants Erik to himself. That’s when things start to fall apart.

When they part ways, there’s a lingering fondness and a lot of hurt. Erik works on Don Juan Triumphant for a week solid. Everyone questions where the handsome young man who has somehow been allowed to rent Box Five all this time has gone.

Lestat keeps up with the fate of Christine Daae and Raoul de Chagny through the papers when the events of the novel come to a head. When Philippe’s death comes to light, Lestat knows exactly how it happened.

The message isn’t for him. Not exclusively, at least. But when he reads “Erik is dead” in L’Epoque, he knows what it means. And it hurts.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #phantom of the opera #poto #lestat de lioncourt #crossover #crossover ship #crackship #long post

[cheese-induced-madness]

Some pre-accident Steven Boxleitner headcanons because I have Thoughts about this man.

-Look I know we all as a fandom collectively like to portray Steven as a perfect cinnamon roll all the time because it makes it more tragic, and that is valid, but it is important to my mental health to believe that he and Wordgirl used to dunk on each other all the damn time. Usually in a more lighthearted tone than we see with Two Brains, but you cannot look at me and tell me they didn’t have a cool adult older sibling-gremlin younger sibling type dynamic. Roasting each other is just part of the deal, your honor.

-In that vein he would absolutely pretend not to know about memes and the Youth Culture just for the sake of making wg cringe. He is GRATUITOUSLY misusing the word “sussy” just to watch her die inside.

-Can cook really well but in a way that would make most professional chefs hate his guts immediately if they saw this man in the kitchen. He’s committing every food crime known to man. He is eyeballing his measurements and microwaving shit that nobody else dares to microwave, yet somehow it always turns out really well. You think a man who welds a grilled cheese together fears consequences for his culinary sins? Because the answer is no. He can and will use a laser to cook a steak and there is no stopping him.

-Plays video games but gets weirdly analytical and strategic about shit that does not need that level of thought. He is making spreadsheets in excel to find the most efficient farm setup in stardew valley and actively researching the best type combinations and stat setups in pokemon before he even picks his starter. Though despite whatever he chooses as the most optimal setup, he still ends up keeping a single ratatta he catches at the start of the game one his team because he can’t bring himself to abandon him in the box.

-pretends to know shit about sports if he has to talk to The Straights about things. Very good at bullshitting his way through a conversation but if he gets called out on it he will never recover.

-Ex theater kid. One of the first shows he did was, ironically, cats. He has done his best to keep any and all video evidence completely hidden because if wg ever found it he would never hear the end of it.

-Childrens show enthusiast that will absolutely go feral over dissecting the lore, worldbuilding and the character arcs in something that is probably ultimately not meant to be that deep. [looks directly at the camera like i’m on the office]

-Has a lot of irrational fears. Clowns, puppets, old dolls, animatronics, and for some reason horses. He simply Does Not Trust Them.

-Has a habit of playing horror games or going down creepy youtube video rabbit holes really late at night and then being unable to sleep due to the very obvious and foreseeable consequences of his own actions. This does not deter him from doing it again the next night.

-Gets crushes on the villains pretty easily and always feels a little bad about it because he’s supposed to be one of the good guys and thus should not be having fantasies about being wrapped up safe in the arms of the guys he’s supposed to be helping to stop.

-I’m not saying he would make fucked up weapons with the intent to use them or cause any serious damage, but he absolutely would make something capable of mass destruction just to see if he’s capable, test it once, and then immediately disassemble it and scrap the blueprints while spending the next week or two unsettled at the knowledge of how much havoc he could cause should he choose to, even if he knows he has no desire to hurt anyone.

-Always feels a little guilty that he’s never out in the field helping wg fight villains. He says it’s because he’s not sure if he’d be much good in a fight, and she assures him it’s fine, but he knows that’s not the real reason. He doesn’t fight because he knows he’d be a little too good at it and he doesn’t trust himself not to take it too far in the heat of the moment.

-Overall gets a lot of intrusive thoughts that he finds pretty upsetting. He’s had them for awhile so he’s pretty much learned to just ignore them, but sometimes something will pop into his head that freaks him out enough that he has to just. stop what he’s doing for a minute and just sort his brain out.

-Always worried that, despite all he does to help the side of good, deep down he’s secretly a bad person at his core and always will be. When he fused with Squeaky and started his first crime spree, he had a moment of sheer panic and grief, mourning what he believed was the death of the only part of him that could be categorized as a good person, dooming him to be only the rotten core that remains. Which is part of the reason he started leaning into the theatrics of being a villain once he got used to Squeaky’s presence, even though Steven is still the one with the dominant portion of control over their body. It’s not so much that Steven changed, but moreso that his perception of himself and how he has to act did. His original amicable and caring personality is still in there and still shines through on occasion, but he’s resigned himself to putting on a front of being antagonistic and selfish because that’s what Squeaky demands and the rest of the city expects of him.

#i am the rat man #dr. two brains #wordgirl #it's time to get unreasonably sad over cartoon characters again gamers!!! #steven boxleitner #god i love him so much. [projects my issues directly onto him] #i have Several Ideas for a fic where he's on a cheese heist on a day where he's in a pretty low place #and he just completely drops the theatrics #balls to the wall. angst beam up to 11. tears will be shed.

[gunsatthaphan]

Ok I forgive everyone for making me wait for TMS2 bc the editing is IMMACULATE. Like we’ll have to see how it holds up for the rest of the season but the first two episodes may have been some of the best editing in a BL I’ve ever seen. The way it slid between the past happiness and the current angst worked so well and really played up the emotions of everything, plus I loved seeing the happy moments. The show also looks gorgeous all the sets and the cinematography and everything is fantastic.

The epilogue scene where Seojoon calls Jiwoo out for organizing/cleaning things when he doesn’t want to talk about something was a great callback to earlier in the episode where Jiwoo starts cleaning the moment he gets inside with Seojoon after he shows up too!

I’m really looking forward to the rest of the season! Also did anyone else notice Jiwoo has Seojoon’s shirt in the box of things he’s taking from their house too? I’m excited to see who put it there lol.

agreed anon!!

the cinematography is absolutely gorgeous and the budget raise definitely shows lol. They're going all out and it's what this show deserves. The editing feels a bit more abstract but for the sake of the plot it fits perfectly imo.

I also agree about the epilogue part! That scene with the clothes hanger was easily my favorite out of the first 2 eps. The way Seojoon immediately notices something was going on and then smiles in relief when Jiwoo starts going off about the hanger lol that was such an endearing little moment that speaks volumes about their relationship imo and I loved that so much. Also the acting is A+, especially on woo hyun’s part. 

However, while all the domestic moments were absolutely lovely and all the montages were so beautifully done, I had a very very hard time watching the first 2 eps. I’m just so angry at Jiwoo which is mostly due to the lack of background info because I refuse to believe he bailed because seojoon is “too famous” or whatever like bitch wtf. I don’t buy that at all. There’s something going on behind the scenes for sure. But anyway I knew this was coming but the situation completely caught me off guard. It was rough to watch and I’m very much heartbroken. 

Coming from a place of mostly cotton candy rainbow bls this season is gonna be a bitter pill to swallow lmao. But I’m so ready. So far I’m loving it (while also hating it djngkf) 

xxx

#to my star #to my star 2 #tms 2 #jiwoo x seojoon #seojoon x jiwoo #korean bl #bl drama #reviews #opinions

[manygalaxiesinone]

Anime Digimon Pairings Lightning Round

((At first, I was thinking about which anime should I cover next for this topic since I didn’t want to do JUST Pokemon and I’m sure a lot of people have their own lists about what pokemon teams anime characters would have. I was honestly thinking about doing maybe Yu-Gi-Oh!, Tekken, or My Hero Academia next but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that there are some parings that for one reason or another might make WAY too much sense so I figured might as well make it easier for me and just point out all of those pairings. Just a heads up, I haven’t fully caught up with some of the shows mentioned so take my ideas with a grain of salt, but tell me what you think.

1. First, I want to talk about Jaden from Yu-Gi-Oh GX having Veemon as his Digimon. Jaden is kind of like Davis from Digimon, both of them being energetic, friendly, and the second anime protagonist of the series so I figured that would fit nice, though I can’t say the same for Yugi with Agumon and Yusei with Guilmon. I think Yugi would be better suited with ToyAgumon and Yusei with Hagurumon, but that’s for another time. I pitched it to a few of my friends and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Veemon is actually the perfect Digimon for Jaden. As in, I can’t literally think of ANY other Digimon that would be a better fit for Jaden Yuki in any way. ALL of Veemon’s digivolutions completely suit him, Armor Digivolutions like Magnamon and Flamedramon, DNA Digivolving into the Paildramon line, even the regular Digivolution line into UltraforceVeedramon! Jaden would TOTALLY be able to discover all of them and maybe even more. Plus I would imagine their dymanic to be outright hilarious even though I don’t really watch GX. Most of my knowledge came from when I was playing Duel Links. This next idea literally popped up in my mind while I was at work because nothing was going on at the time. Just a heads up, this might be a bit...TOO on the nose but...

2. Dabi from MHA with SkullMeramon. I mean...FUCKING LOOK!!! They got the blue flames and everything! It also helps that SkullMeramon is one of the few flame Digimon that are actually resistant to water and ice. Remind me who’s Dabi’s parents are again?!

3. Next we have Jonathan Joestar and Angemon. Not only is Jonathan a classic manly gentleman, but I can’t be the only one who thinks that Hamon punch he gave to Dio was a bit like Angemon’s Fist of Fate. Hopefully Patamon can avoid getting boxed in the furnace out of pettiness. Speaking of Dio.

4. Dio Brando and Myotismon. Like with Dabi and SkullMeramon, do I have to say anything here? Yeah it’s a literal vampire, but I honestly can’t think of any other Digimon that just screams DIO as much as Myotismon, though to be fair it has been a while since I’ve seen Digimon Anime.

5. Izuku Midoriya and Pulsemon. I’ve seen this idea tossed around before, but I wasn’t too sure about it since it’s a Digimon I’m not all that familiar with, but after I looked up it and its Digivolutions...at all made sense. Apparently Pulsemon are cunning fighters and go through rigorous training the more they Digivolve depending on the line (which in this case is the main evolution). As a Digimon with similar characteristics to Midoriya even to the point where they don’t discriminate on how they treat others, Pulsemon would be a good motivator to make sure he stays in the game and they can be stronger together.

6. All Might and Justimon. I know some fans are thinking that All Might should be with Gankoomon because of the student/mentor bond they have with Izuku and Hackmon, but even as someone who hasn’t fully caught up with the My Hero Anime, I would have to say Justimon would be a much better fit for All Might. Think about it. Justimon is a super hero Digimon that’s all about saving the day just for the sake of helping others and being an inspiration to younger Digimon. THAT. SCREAMS. ALL MIGHT!!! I can literally see the scenario where All Might retires being changed because he witnessed Justimon go out in a blaze of glory on his own while he was too weak to help out, resulting in Justimon’s reincarnation into a Digitama. It would be like Angemon’s first death all over again.

7. Jotaro Kujo and BanchoLeomon. Do I really need to say anything here?

#digimon #yugioh #yugioh gx #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #stardust crusaders #my hero acadamy

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

“I've finally watched Starstruck and I'm obsessed. Also I'm convinced the character of Ben is loosely based on James. What tipped me is the convo where they talk about his new gf "Anna" (James' new gf is named Hannah) and Ben says he's finally learned how to be a good bf (which mirrors statements he's made on podcasts).”

So, this is a message I got anonymously in the “ask” box, and I’m quoting it instead of replying to it just because there was a bit on the end that I don’t want to actually post. I’m sorry, and to the person who sent it to me, please don’t think I’m saying you did anything wrong by doing so. I really enjoy getting messages from people who thought something about a Britcom thing they watched/heard/read and thought to share it with me, and I enjoyed this one as well. Honestly, I love seeing those little messages and knowing people have Britcom-related thoughts and think I will want to know them. Because I do want to know them! And it’s fun to have a community around this.

To be clear: I think the bit of the message I quoted above was totally fine to say in any context (well in most contexts - maybe not at like, a funeral or something). The bit on the end that I’ve left out of that quote, I think was still fine to think and send in a message, and I wouldn’t judge someone else if they posted it on their own blog or elsewhere. I’m probably being an unnecessary stickler about this, but for whatever reason it just feels like too far into speculative gossip about celebrity personal relationships for me to reply to the message in a way that would post it all publicly.

Honestly, sorry about that. It’s probably silly that I spent several actual minutes thinking about whether it’s responsible for me to post the whole message, given that this is a tiny blog and no one who’s part of anything is going to read it. So this blog is only contributing to the smallest, most insignificant corner of public discourse, and any principles I hold about what is or isn’t “too far” to post on here are completely academic and don’t matter. I just have thing about trying to be internally consistent, and I would judge an actual part of the public discourse for writing something like that (I mean I’d judge a tabloid or something - again, it’s a totally fine thing to say in a message to a friend or to an internet stranger’s Britcom blog or to yourself while watching a TV show, in fact it’s something I did say to myself while watching that TV show), so I try to hold myself to that same standard when posting things that are technically part of public discourse, even though there’s no good reason to hold myself to the same standard besides just avoiding hypocrisy for the sake of it. Also, I realize I’m kind of defeating the purpose altogether because by posting the beginning of the message and saying all this about it, anyone reading this can probably guess what the rest of it said anyway.

Right. Having said that. Being obsessed with Starstruck makes complete sense, it’s a fantastic show. I was actually just re-watching a few episodes of it the other night, because I wanted something fun to make me happy. It is amazing how “relatable” Rose Matafeo manages to be in a TV show about someone dating a high-profile movie star. It’s like all the tropes of all the bad romcom movies in the world, but done really well and applied to likeable characters to make something actually good. It’s so cool, and so funny, and so well made.

...And yeah, I also picked up the implication that her ex-boyfriend character is probably based on James Acaster, for a few reasons. I did not know the name of James’ girlfriend before I read this message and I didn’t know he’d said things like that on podcasts, but that makes sense and you’re probably right. It’s the sort of thing I try not to make assumptions about, but... yeah, the reasons to assume it are there. And there are things you could extrapolate from that.

Someday, when Rose Matafeo is writing and directing and starring in giant internationally acclaimed movies, she’ll be interviewed about that cool show she made that kicked off her acting career, and she’ll say all this, and then you and I will both be able to say, “I totally knew that at the time.”

[x-ceirios-x]

don't want to want you

college au. desmin and dominic have spent a lot of time together, but desmin struggles to identify and admit the feelings he has for him.

warnings: mild cursing, slightly steamy bit but its for the plot (nothing graphic whatsoever), internalized homophobia and ableism, descriptions of anxiety

Desmin liked the cool feeling of the wall against his back as he leaned against it, closing his bedroom door behind him. He had three classes back to back, one of which he had to lecture at (which he hated), then another hour at the library for a midterm. His phone had been off since that morning when his mother called, only to criticize him for his career choice, again, with thinly veiled insults and back-handed compliments. It was yet another reminder of why he and Eleanor agreed to move out together the second they graduated. 

It was seven by the time he got home; he didn’t feel like eating dinner and went back to his room, deciding to relax with some music and a book. He blasted the old rock through his headphones—completely noise canceling, exactly how he liked them. He checked his phone first, though, skimming through notifications. He noticed Isabelle posted something on Instagram and mindlessly scrolled for a while when a text came through. 

Dominic Blackweather

heya handsome

Desmin rolled his eyes. He didn’t exactly enjoy the nicknames he gave him, but he would put up with them for his sake. Their relationship was…complicated, to say the least, but he enjoyed some of the things he got out of it. He was a good friend, but he refused to admit anything more between them beyond physical chemistry. 

Another text showed at the top of his screen. 

Dominic Blackweather

I’m bored. Wanna come over?

He thought for a moment, then stood. Surely leaving him on read for five minutes wouldn’t hurt him. Desmin took the headphones off of his ears and laid them around his neck, poking his head out the bedroom door. He didn’t see his sister, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t home. “El?” he called out, walking towards the kitchen. They had a whiteboard calendar for the week there, and when he read it, he remembered she was having a date night with James. He never liked him, but he learned to tolerate him for her sake. The faster she dumped him, though, the better. 

He shot a text to his sister quickly, telling her Dominic was coming over to give her fair warning. She sent back far too many winking emojis and he texted Dominic. 

Me

Eleanor is out. Come here?

 Dominic Blackweather

omw. bringing food

Me

I ate 

Dominic Blackweather

no u didn’t I’m bringing pizza

Me

No olives

Dominic Blackweather 

you got it 😉 

He sighed and left his phone on the counter, grabbing his book from his room and sitting on the couch until he heard a knock on the door. He checked his watch, noticing it had been about twenty minutes, which was good timing. “Come in,” he called across the small living room. 

He heard the hinges swing open and Dominic’s voice ring through the apartment. “Delivery!” he announced, laughing as he kicked the door behind him. “Extra cheese, no olives on my half, just for you.”

“You don’t like olives on pizza.”

“I don’t. But I thought of you.”

With a terrible smile, he sat on the couch next to him and threw the pizza box on the table. He grabbed one of the paper plates from on top of the box and dug in, serving himself two slices and leaving the box open for him to grab someone. Slowly, he did, taking a slice for himself. 

“It won’t kill you to eat some junk, man,” he said, mouth half-full of pizza. He sat up a little straighter, wiping some of the pizza grease off of the corner of his mouth. “Rough day or something?”

He curled his legs up to his chest and carefully balanced the plate on his knees. “You could say that,” he muttered, taking a quick bite of his pizza. 

Dominic nodded. “Five bucks says it's your mom.”

“I’m not paying you.”

“Bingo!” He laughed, excited for his victory over nothing, and took another bite of his pizza. Thankfully, this time he didn’t speak with his mouth full. “Tell you what. You tell me about your day, and when we’re done with this pizza, we can go back to your room and I’ll help you relax.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but the casual way he suggested such things flustered him. He hid behind the slice of pizza, eating intentionally slow so he could figure out how to respond to all that. After processing it all, he nodded, though he didn’t speak much, other than to say, “I don’t need to talk about it.”

He sighed at him. “Look, that’s your business. I offered. But I am not sitting my ass inside on a Friday night to not get laid. If you're gonna be lame, you enjoy your pizza and I’m going clubbing with Izzy.”

“I wasn’t rejecting you, Dominic, I was just saying we can skip the talking part.”

A wide grin spread across his face. “I was going to eat this entire pizza in one sitting, but I think that’s a bad idea, actually.”

Desmin made a face—as much as he enjoyed Dominic’s company, he still had a few habits he would classify as ‘teenage boy behavior’ and it was…slightly gross. “Brush your teeth first, please,” he muttered, almost under his breath. 

He laughed. “Anything for you, sweet cheeks.”

One of these days, Dominic was going to be the death of him. 

***

Desmin barely stepped inside his bedroom door when Dominic all but sprung on him, like a cat. Surprisingly, his actions were gentle, like he was trying to ease into their plans for the evening. One hand played with the hem of his shirt, and the other ran through his hair. Once this part of their evening started, he mentally closed himself off—he didn’t talk much, tried not to think, and just focused on Dominic in front of him. And after the day he had, he thought it was well deserved, too. 

He was many things, but he wasn’t patient. Dominic moved far too slowly, so he turned the two of them around and pushed him against the door, hands finding either side of his face and kissing him hard. He heard him mutter something about him being eager, but he decided to ignore it. 

After fumbling with his shirt to get it untucked, Dominic ran his hands up his sides, under his shirt. It sent a chill up his back and his shoulders tensed involuntarily. He barely thought when he moved next, just reached for his hands and took them both, pushing his wrists above his head. He pulled away, leaving Dominic chasing his lips, but his cold glare stopped him. 

“Don’t,” he muttered, tone flat and unimpressed. 

He watched as something flashed in his eyes, though he didn’t know exactly what. “Sorry,” he said, so his grip loosened on him. 

Dominic knew his rule full well. If they were going to hook up like this, touching was out of the question. He, first of all, didn’t like it. It felt strange and foreign to him and preferred to be the one doing it. However, he had a second reason, one that he never explicitly stated but he knew was generally understood: there were no attached feelings in this. And touching made it too intimate. 

He noticed Dominic seemed a little less enthusiastic after this, though he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He backed off a little, letting go of his wrists entirely and slowing his pace. He wanted nothing more than to keep moving, but he wasn’t the only person involved with all this. Even though he didn’t want to have any feelings attached to his relationships, he generally respected them as friends, if not something else. Dominic was his friend, first, and he didn't want to hurt him for whatever reason. 

“Talk to me, Dominic,” he muttered, lips leaving his and slowly trailing down his neck, stopping just above the collar of his shirt. “Nothing unless you tell me what you want.”

He felt his hand against his face, guiding him to look at him again. He spoke barely above a whisper, leaning into him. “You, Des,” he said. “Just you.”

***

He didn’t look at the clock again for several hours—the next time he did, he realized he’d fallen asleep for a little while and it was near two in the morning. Dominic was next to him, snoring quietly but sound asleep. He looked a little cold so he pulled the blankets over his bare arms, tucking him in a little more. Now woken up and likely unable to sleep for some time, he went out to the kitchen to get some tea and find the novel he’d been reading earlier. Once he got the tea, he decided to read on the couch, not wanting to wake Dominic with the light. 

His attempts weren’t entirely successful, considering he heard the door to his room squeak open, and as he looked over his shoulder, noticed that Dominic was padding towards him, rubbing his eyes. “What’re you doing up?” he mumbled, words slurred with sleep. “Come back to bed.”

The idea made him freeze for a moment—the way he phrased it, half asleep or not, sounded like this was something regular, something normal, something involved them spending the night in the others bed and it being comfortable and cozy in the morning, not an awkward walk of shame as he got back to his apartment fast enough to get ready for work. 

“I’ll finish my tea,” he said, trying to dismiss the anxious thoughts before they truly upset him. “I don’t mind if you sleep here, just go back to sleep.”

“It’s weird when you’re not there.”

Desmin grit his teeth, jaw tensing. He didn’t want to have this conversation right now, especially when he was trying to wind down for bed. “Go to bed, Dominic.”

He didn’t look over his shoulder at him, but he could hear the frown. He sat down on the other side of the bed, having gotten dressed in, apparently, a pair of his pajama pants and one of his hoodies. For a moment, he thought he looked adorable, but banished the idea immediately. There wasn’t a proper time for that. 

“Are we going to talk about this?” he asked, pulling the blanket from the back of the couch over his legs. 

Desmin closed his book with an impatient huff, leaving it on the coffee table next to the couch. “Talk about what, Dominic?”

“Don’t give me that look,” he said, head hanging to avoid him. He didn’t know what ‘look’ he was giving him, but apparently he didn’t enjoy it. He tried to look a little more patient but doubted it worked. “One moment—one moment you’re a great friend and we’re having out how normal people do. And then we have some fun for a while. I’m fine with that. But you act like I’m some…some disgusting thing for the next couple hours. Why?”

“I don’t think you’re disgusting.”

“That’s not what I asked. You certainly act like you do.”

He huffed—this was Dominic being argumentative, in his mind. He curled his knees to his chest, putting a barrier between the two of them. Clearly, this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to deal with, but Dominic was stubborn when he wanted to me. He wouldn’t drop it. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I thought we were just hooking up. I told you I didn’t want to get involved with anything serious,” he said, his tone plain and disinterested. He could tell it upset Dominic, but there was no point in hiding it. 

“What if that’s not what I want anymore?” The volume and pitch of his voice raised, hugging his arms tightly around himself. He took a deep breath, clearly trying to relax. “I know I’m not kidding myself. Nora sees it too. There’s something more between us but you refuse to admit it.”

Desmin stared at him, eyes wide as he spoke. There wasn’t—he couldn’t believe he would suggest something like that. This is why he didn’t want to get involved with feelings—it made things complicated and messy, and he didn’t like either of those things. “What are you saying, Dominic? That you’d like to date me or something?”

“Is the idea of that actually so revolting?” he asked. “What’s so wrong with me that you think it's so terrible?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but bit his tongue. Literally. There was nothing wrong with him, he needed to understand that. Nothing he said was going to reassure him of that, he was too upset about all this. But this is why he didn’t do friendships and he didn’t do relationships. Before Dominic, it was strange if he saw the same person twice to hook up—this was new territory for him, too, and he was pushing it farther than he was ready for. 

“You don’t understand.” He took a sip of his tea, though he noticed the cup shook slightly. He hated that he did that; if his face didn’t show his anxiety, his hands did. Eleanor, affectionately, referred to him as a chihuahua and received many death glares for it. In a situation like this, he didn’t want to show how much the conversation affected him. 

Dominic crawled forward a little, sitting just in front of him on the couch. “Then help me to, Desmin. You don’t talk to me—not as much as you used to. I can’t know what’s going on in your mind if you don’t tell me.” He reached towards him, going to hold his cheek, but he flinched away just as his fingers brushed his skin. 

A million thoughts ran through his mind at once. He wanted to run, go back to his room and keep the door shut, pretending like the world outside of there didn’t matter. Unfortunately, it did. Eleanor spent ages trying to convince him that he was allowed to feel things, and it made him more human than he liked to act, but he struggled. When it was something he wasn’t used to, it panicked him. His chest felt tight and there was a pit in his stomach, eating away at any confidence he had a few hours prior. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, there was a strange, warm feeling. It was Dominic, after all. Besides Eleanor, he was the person he trusted most in this world and he knew he could be himself, at least to a degree, around him. 

His voice shook as he tried to explain. “All my life, I…” he trailed off, the words leaving his mind as he spoke them. For such an eloquent writer, he struggled to speak frequently, and it frustrated him to no end. “I’ve just learned, over the years, that this—” he gestured between the two of them— “this isn’t possible. It’s not realistic for me.”

Dominic looked like he just kicked a cat when he said that. “Why would you think that?” he asked, very carefully placing his hand on top of his—this time, he didn’t jerk away from him. “Desmin—”

He felt the tightness in his chest worsen, though he forced himself to continue. “I’ve spent the last twenty years being told there’s something wrong with me. Mentally, emotionally—I’ve never been normal, and I finally resign myself to living a life isolated and alone, then you come along and ruin that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you—”

“For the love of God, Dominic, there is.” He gasped quietly, but he didn’t pay it much mind, too wrapped up in his own head by now. “My mother spent all of my teenage years telling me that there was something wrong with me because I was too involved with my damn books, so I threw myself into school work. But that wasn’t enough because I struggled making friends, unlike Eleanor who was the most popular girl and had to drag her friendless brother out. I had no social skills, so when I tried to make friends, it blew up in my face. Then I get older, and I started to realize that I didn’t have an interest in dating, then I realized I didn’t have an interest in dating girls, and—“ he cut himself off with an aggressive cough, the words getting stuck in his throat. He took a deep breath and started over. “My mom went through my phone and found out. Wish I could say it was the first time she hit me, but it wasn’t. Just probably the worst.”

He refused to look Dominic in the eye, pulling his legs tighter to his chest. He still felt tight, but there was something a little relaxing about getting it all off his chest. The silence seemed to last forever, though—he expected him to say something sooner, but all he heard was the muffled noises of the city around the apartment. 

He reached for his mug to take a sip of his tea, but as he picked it up, it slipped out of his hand and hit the floor. He let out a string of curse words under his breath, seeing the mess of broken glass and reddish brown liquid all over the wood floor. 

“I’ll get it,” Dominic said, standing quickly to grab paper towels and something to clean up the glass. He opened his mouth to protest but lost the words the moment he did. He just laid his head on his knees and took deep, deliberate breaths. 

The next few minutes passed in silence, the only noise was the ruffling of paper or glass scraping the floor as he swept. After a moment, he felt the couch sink next to him and Dominic sit, leaning against his shoulder. 

“Can I tell you something that may or may not make you feel better?” he asked. “You don’t have to talk.” Desmin nodded, so he continued. “I don’t think any of that stuff’s wrong with you. It just makes you you. And I think you’re clever and sarcastic and wicked smart, you’re kind of a prick sometimes but I’ve learned to love it about you. And you care about the people you’re around, and you’ve got a heart that’s so much more involved than you like to pretend it is, you love learning and helping others learn—and you’re just confused and scared and we can figure it out, alright?”

He didn’t respond, though he listened to every word he spoke. Sitting next to him like this was comfortable, moreso than he wanted to admit. He didn’t lean into him, but he didn’t pull away either. Not when he leaned his head on his shoulder, either. Confused and scared—he hated the idea that someone thought this about him, but maybe if it was Dominic, he could learn to live with it. But out of all of it, he hung onto one word. 

We.

-

#xx.desmin #xx.dominic #magnus bane #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #alec lightwood #clary fray #shadowhunters oc #shadowhunters ocs #simon lewis #the mortal instruments oc #the mortal instruments ocs #jace herondale #warlocks #shadowhunters warlocks #college au #college #isabelle lightwood #clarissa fray #clary fairchild #shadowhunters magnus #shadowhunters tv #shadowhunters tv show

[allthingsdarkanddirty]

✭☆✭ NEW RELEASE ✭☆✭

Minnesota Raiders Box Set by Pippa Green

Love the Raiders? Want to start the series with our original three single dads? These hockey players will melt your heart and the ice as they work towards happily ever after. The box set includes books 1-3 with all the sexy, steamy, sports romance you could want!

Hot Shot

When my sister told me she had hired a new nanny by the name of Esther to watch my rambunctious kids, I expected an elderly grandmother type.

I was completely wrong. Utterly wrong.

Esther Richardson might have been a child prodigy violin virtuoso in her youth, but right now she’s making waffles like a master and completely showing me up in every way possible. She’s also walking around in sexy outfits and making my life miserable.

As captain of the Minnesota Raiders professional hockey team, I’m all business. I’m Puck Daddy on the ice. At home, I’m trying to keep my hands off of Esther—and failing.

I haven’t had feelings like these for a woman since my wife died. Esther is my kids’ nanny. It’s wrong to want her this badly. Isn’t it? I no longer know.

One thing’s for sure: I want out of the Single Dad Hockey Players Club.

Can I convince Esther to give me a chance? To give us a chance to see where this goes?

Single Shot

I’m the goalie with the most athletic ability and I’m the most charming player we’ve got. So when our PR guru says she needs my help to babysit a journalist for a story, it’s no big deal, right? I have nothing against Fiadora Brown or what she does for a living, apparently she can’t say the same for me.

The sexy Ice Queen hates sports, especially hockey. More specifically, she hates hockey players. She hates me on sight (nobody hates me, and that’s a fact).This is going to be a tough two weeks, to say the least.

Two long weeks fighting with Fia and fighting my attraction to her.

Outside of the story, Fia wants nothing to do with me, or so she says. But she is saying one thing and doing another. Can anyone say mixed signals?

Soon it becomes clear she has a reason to hate hockey players. The woman is looking over her shoulder, running from her past.

Looks like I’ve got a single shot at claiming Fia’s heart before our two weeks are up and proving to her I’m not like the other guys, I’m so much more.

Is this a goal I can manage? Or will I bungle it before the buzzer sounds and my time is up?

Last Shot

It was love at first sight. The instant Victoria Newhouse took my hand, I was a goner. I wanted her with every fiber of my being.

Except she was the daughter of the team’s owner and I wasn’t allowed to want her.

Her father made that very clear, and if I wanted to keep my contract with the Minnesota Raiders professional hockey team, then I’d do whatever he said.

Fast forward nine years: Victoria now sees me as merely the grumpy Russian. I play well. I keep my head down. I make sure to stay out of trouble. Still, trouble seems to find me.

Fate throws me and Tori together again and again. It’s getting too hard to keep my hands off of her, to stop myself from kissing her senseless.

Especially when she starts to kiss me back.

The sparks are still there, but with threats of the past coming back to haunt us, I know I need to keep my distance, for her sake and for my kids. I know a guy like me isn’t allowed to have what he wants. And yet I don’t want to be the strong and silent type anymore. I want Tori today, tomorrow, and always.

This might be my last shot at redemption. And I’m willing to risk it all for love.

@PippaGreenAuthor

Hosted by @LadyAmbersReviewsPR

#NewRelease #NowLive #MinnesotaRaiders #BoxSet #SportsRomance #PippaGreen #MustRead #Romance #LadyAmbersPR #OneClick #Bookstagrammer #Bookish #BookBlogger #ContemporaryRomance #SteamyRomance

[princesswithabraidedcrown]

In case anyone was wondering...I might just have to stick to period cdramas because I literally noped out of two contemporary dramas within the first five minutes.

#random #the blogger watches #cdramas #sorry gong jun #I’m not watching a boxing show for completion’s sake #the second one might be okay if I squint my way through the first few minutes #or I could choose to not do that and go watch people in pretty costumes #run political circles around their opponents #a la nirvana in fire #it’s amazing I got through the first episode of the untamed that first time #apparently it was the perfect sweet spot of ridiculous that meant I liked it instead of had to back away quickly