#I've got time to catch up to all the prompts later this month

[ohbo-ohno]

Prompt requests: 1) Price x Reader - abandoned farm / waking up in a random room with no idea who/where/why/how you got there 2) Soap x Reader - forest / dealing with strange natural (or not-so-natural) phenomena 3) Ghost x Reader - the only other car in the abandoned parking lot / being followed

1k game here

i went ahead and just did one of these! i've got several requests in my inbox still, but i might come back and add another one you had later :)

1.7k of your ex-boyfriend ghost catching up with you. no smut!

The car's been tailing you since you left work.

It's a discreet car, and you probably wouldn't have even noticed it if you hadn't run several errands before starting to head home. The driver isn't even trying to be subtle - he never parks more than a spot away from you and he never lets another car get between you and him on the road.

You already know who he is. You hate to admit it to yourself, but you know.

Ghost always was possessive. It's not a leap to think he'd be pissed at the idea of anyone getting close to even your car.

Plus, he probably wants you to know he's following you. He always was a sadistic bastard, always liked the see the pain he was causing.

There's no one you can call for help. You didn't rat him out the first time you ran, and you're not going to now. There's no way you could get the police to keep you safe without telling them all about Ghost and his secrets, and you'd be better of just surrendering to Ghost's wrath at that point.

You take a deep breath and tighten your hands around the wheel.

You can't get help.

You can't run - he's tailing you too closely for that.

You can't fight - you don't keep your gun in your car, and you've never been a match for Simon hand-to-hand.

You pull into a dark parking lot, one that's almost entirely empty save for a few people waiting at the bus stop. You take a few deep breaths as you pull to a stop as far away from the bus stop as you can, trying to prepare yourself for the inevitable confrontation.

The car parks a spot away. Just seconds later, he's climbing out of the driver's side and striding towards you.

You knew it was him. He'd never send a henchman after you, even all these months later with so much distance between the two of you.

He's clothed entirely in black - like he always is on the job, apparently black hides bloodstains best - and comes to a stop right in front of your window, so your just staring into a wall of darkness.

You roll the window down, the awkward silence heavy.

The first thing you notice when he ducks down is that he's wearing the mask. Not the one sewn onto a balaclava, but one with the skull pattern printed onto the balaclava itself.

"Get out," he grunts. His first words to you in nearly a year and they're a command.

You scowl. This is exactly why you ran in the first place.

"No." You try to infuse as much confidence into your voice as possible, but you know you fail.

He huffs. "Love, c'mon, I'm not playing games. Get out of the car."

You shake your head, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white.

"No! I don't have to listen to you - especially when you've been stalking me all day-"

He sighs loudly, and before you can complain he's reaching through the window and opening the door for himself, quickly ducking into your car.

"Hey, stop!" You try, batting away his hands when he unbuckles your seatbelt, pulling you up by the waist until your standing unsteadily against him. "You have no right-!"

"Baby. Shut up." He growls, reaching around you to tug the key out of the ignition, the hand around your waist affording you no wiggle room.

"Don't you tell me to shut up!" You complain, pushing against his chest as he starts to nudge you in front of him. "I haven't had to deal with you in nearly a year and the first things you think to say to me are an order and shut up? Fuck you, asshole!"

There's a low chuckle at your back, and he turns you around to pin you to the car. Your breath hitches as he presses your chests together, ducking low enough that you can't look anywhere but his eyes.

"I missed you," he says, low and secretive.

God, you wish you could hate him. Everything would be so much easier if you hated him.

"Let me go," you say, forcing sternness into your voice.

"No."

"I'm serious," you try, pushing at the center of his chest. He only uses the pressure as an excuse to lean closer, draping himself over you.

"I'm serious too, love. You're never leaving my line of sight again."

You shut your eyes against the wave of longing that brings. He used to talk like that all the time, back before you realized how deep he was in his life of crime.

Gonna keep you forever, love.

Might chain you to the bed. Keep you safe at home, make sure I always know where you are. Little fuckdoll waiting at home for me, hm?

Never letting you leave me. Never.

I can't stand to be apart from you, love. It feels like I'm missing a limb.

You can't leave - you know that, don't you? I'll hunt you down, baby. This isn't a relationship you can get away from.

Simon was always a little possessive, a little controlling. Sometimes it got you off, and sometimes it scared you. In the weeks leading up to your escape, it did a lot more of the latter.

"We're broken up," you say on an exhale, looking back up at him. He's tugged the mask up to his nose, and his warm breath ghosts over your face. "I left you. We're not together anymore, Ghost."

He nearly flinches at that name, stiffening against you. "Don't call me that."

You don't correct yourself, and one of his hands comes up to collar your throat.

"I'm not joking. You don't call me that, understood?"

He applies just the slightest bit of pressure on either side of your neck and you fold like wet cardboard. Nodding quickly and taking a big deep breath in when he stop squeezing.

"What do you call me?" He bites, leaning closer until you're almost brushing noses. You try to flinch back but can't make it very far. "Say it. What do you call me?"

"Simon," you blurt out, nearly a plea. You haven't been near his intensity in so long, it's hard to handle now. You drop your eyes shamefully, unable to look at him.

"Good girl," he purrs, hand moving upwards to cup your chin and tilt it up. You can't help but meet his eyes, and the softness there nearly breaks your heart. "I'm never Ghost for you, only Simon. You got that?"

"You hunted me down like a dog."

He smiles at that, leans close enough to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. "I got you back. You're the one who ran away, love. It's a scary world out there, I can't leave you all alone."

"I don't need you to help me."

"You will. You'll need me again. Everything will go back to just how it was, and you'll see how good it is again. I'll take care of you."

That makes your heart beat a little faster, makes your breath quicken.

The first few months with Simon were... well, not heavenly but certainly good. Things were at their best when you first moved in - when he was still eager to dodge work for you, and when you didn't realize how violent "work" really was. Things only started getting bad when you started putting the pieces together.

"You can't protect me from your world, Simon," you whisper, tilting your head towards him just enough to bump your foreheads together. That's the whole reason you had run in the first place - nearly getting kidnapped and having a gun held to your head had been more than enough to scare you out of his world.

"I can," he growls, pressing closer to you. "You just have to let me. You didn't know before, but now you do. Now I can make sure you know how to keep yourself safe when I'm not there."

"But I shouldn't have to!" You exclaim, tears welling in your eyes. Why can't he just understand? "I don't want to always be looking over my shoulder, always waiting for someone to hurt me, or to hurt you-"

"That's not going to happen."

"You don't know that!" You explode, shoving at his chest as he tears slip past your waterline.

"I do," he snarls, the first hints of anger painting his words. "I can keep my woman safe. I can keep what's mine safe."

You sniffle as you look up at him, bottom lip quivering.

You're not even sure what to say at this point. What else is there?

He seems to realize you've run out of words and deflates against you, curling both of his arms around your waist and holding you as close as he can while resting his chin on top of your head.

"It'll be okay, love," he comforts, swaying side to side. "I get why you ran, alright? I know you were scared, and that's my fault. It won't happen again. But it's time to stop running and to come home. You know that's where you're meant to be."

You sniffle against him, blinking into the dark fabric of his shirt.

"You scare me," you confess quietly, safe without his eyes boring into yours.

He only stiffens for a moment, then goes soft against you again. "I know."

One hand moves up to pet over your hair, stroking across your head in the exact way that always makes you feel a little loose limbed. It works now, and you give him a bit more of your weight.

"You're scared because you're smart. I'd be worried if you weren't scared. I shoulda known before that I couldn't keep my job from you, and that's on me. If I had told you, you might not have run."

"I would have."

He snorts, tugs a lock of your hair. "Shush. I promise, things will be different this time. Better. All cards on the table."

Your hands tentatively wrap around him, linking at the small of his back. You've always loved how big he is compared to you, how protected you feel in his shadow.

Even now, knowing what you know, you still feel that way.

It's that thought that has you finally breaking down, leaning into his hold and squeezing him tight to you.

"Oh, love," he sighs, squeezing you as tightly as he can without hurting you. "It's alright, you're okay. Just get it all out. Everything's going to be alright."

As much as you hate it, you think he might be right.

#1k celebration #bo writes #ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic

[luke-o-lophus]

In Your Image, In My Eye

Marc Spector x Reader (Minors DNI)

TW: Allusions to child abuse and neglect, and to past eating disorders (nothing descriptive), body image issues, very minor talk of food controls, mentions of sexual activities and some innuendos

Prompt by @apollo-enthusiast: Imagine settling down with the moon boys, just living a calm and stable life without khonshu to bother you. You bake and cook a lot, and are really good at it. As a result, Marc gains a bit of weight and now has a little tummy. You catch him judging himself in the mirror one day, maybe fighting over it with steven and jake, maybe they're feeling the same way, and find out he's feeling insecure about it and needs some love

Word count: 1541

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"For the thousandth time, Steven, we have the same body."

Marc sounds exasperated. He looks exasperated. Just out of shower and towel wrapped low on his hips, he usually doesn't spend this long in front of the full length mirror in your shared bedroom. But today, Steven got his attention. "You still look handsome", he'd muttered. And refused to budge when Marc pointed out the obvious.

"You don't get it. I've got this...ugh", Steven hides his face in their shared headspace. "This thing. I have a..a pooch belly."

Marc mentally groans and pinches his forehead. "Steven I can assure you we're doing fine", he grunts.

"Are we though Marc, are we?" Steven throws up his hands. "Look at this." He incredulously points to his midsection. Marc tilts his head with a raised eyebrow. Steven's fashion in the mindspace is similar to when he's fronting. All Marc can see is the body swimming in a shirt three or four sizes too large, in a pattern that hurts his eyes.

"Steven I literally can't see anything", he sighs and turns to remove his towel and start getting dressed. That's when he sees it. A soft..chunky roll in his belly as he bends to pick up his t-shirt. He slowly turns back to the mirror, shirt in hand, and pokes his finger in his belly. Nearly two segments of the finger sink in easily, and the flesh springs back as he removes his hand. Marc's never seen anything like it on his own body.

Here's the thing. Marc Spector in the past has never really eaten. He's consumed food in order to sustain. In the army and as a merc, he had standard rations and a standard body type he had to maintain. And before that, he had always been a skinny kid. It's no secret he wasn't exactly nurtured at home. And he's even starved himself to points where Jake has had to step in to take care of the body. Until quite recently, actually. Until he met you. Or rather, three months into meeting you.

You'd brought a tupperware of chocolate cupcakes to your fifth date. You were meeting after nearly a month, a month of thinking Marc is going to ghost you. That day Marc came bearing a harrowed guilty face, and you came bearing cupcakes. Who does that? Marc wondered as he bit into one. And almost forgot to chew. It already tasted so, so good he stared at you with wide eyes. You giggled bashfully, a shy finger wiping away ganache from the side of his lip. Later that night those same lips had devoured you over and over until all the tension of the month prior was forgotten.

It had never even occurred to Marc it is possible for the body to gain some stomach fat. And it damn well had never crossed his mind, that would be what's bothering him when he looks at his reflection. But here he is. He can almost hear Jake groaning somewhere in the depths of the mindspace. A groan of "Here we go again".

They moved into your apartment a month later. Steven still kept his, and turned it into a library slash workspace for them. Your place was home. With your warmly lit study, kitchen that always smelled good, the eclectic wooden chandelier in the living room, and the twelve pillows on your queen bed: it was a better home than marc had ever seen himself living in. And then there was you. Who had given him so much love, so much grace, so much understanding. Because of him, you had moved away the large full body mirror to your study the day before he had moved in. The men liked having mirrors around, mirrors made it easier to communicate, but just...smaller ones. It took Marc a long time to be able to look at all the scars and marks on the body without feeling sick in his stomach. The day he asked if you could move the mirror to the bedroom to make dressing up easy, you'd hugged him and kissed him silly. And later baked a batch of apple tarts as a treat.

"Maaarc what's taking you long?" your call sounds impatient. He can hear faint muttering coming closer and your head appears in the doorway. Marc's instinct is to quickly cover his torso with the t-shirt in his hand, almost letting loose an embarrassing squeak.

"You haven't dressed? We gotta do a grocery run quick or we'll get very late for lunch!" you whine with your hands on your hips.

"I don't want lunch", Marc mumbles and you pause in the midst of your woeful rant of delayed lunches.

"What..why? Is your stomach upset? I told you that fish tasted funky, Marc, I swear.." you immediately start fussing over him, coming close and checking his forehead for a temperature.

"No..no...I'm fine. Just ... not hungry" he shakes his head away.

You were familiar with Marc's 'not hungry'. It could mean a lot of things, but very rarely the fact that he actually wasn't hungry.

"Everything alright, bubba?" you ask, hand moving down to caress his cheek. Marc sighs and smiles wryly,"Yeah..yeah don't worry. It's just...it's silly..."

You raise your brows in question, egging him to go on. "It's just...I have this thing.." he rubs his neck and moves the tshirt from his torso slowly, as if revealing the deepest darkest secrets. You blink owlishly at the display, then back up at him. "Honey...uh..I'm sorry but....what am I..looking at?" you ask.

"This!", Marc almost whines, poking indignantly at his belly. You look just as lost, helplessly staring. "Does it..hurt there or something?" you offer with concern.

Marc doesn't look convinced so you prod a little further, asking if that's something that feels uncomfortable or just...looks different to him. "I..I've always been skinny...before the army and the...Khonshu." he sighs, head hanging. "Didn't really have someone cooking me a three course meal every time."

"No...I'm...I have...this..." he bends over to a side and pinches his tummy roll between his fingers. You stare at that for a few moments before it clicks. "Oh honey", you call with adoration, gently prying away those fingers and kissing the tips. "But your tummy looks so nice. So healthy. You look so nice and healthy"

You take a cautious pause at that, almost hurt for a moment. Marc catches onto it quick, and stumbles directly into an apology. "No..no...that came out wrong. I love that you cook, I love everything you make, I'm so grateful. You're..., baby..please..."

It always breaks your heart when Marc apologizes, because of the way he does it. He says sorry for a simple slip of tongue as if you'd be packing your bags and running off before he had a chance to finish his sentence. So you smile at him, a cheeky little smile.

"You like my cakes?" you ask him innocently, a playful glint in your eye.

"Huh? Of course I do...yeah? The...the one you made on my birthday, and...and.."

"No no no...", you stop him, moving closer. "I mean, do you like my cakes" You give your butt a playful wiggle. Marc stops in his tracks, then groans at that awful joke. "Babe!" he groans. You giggle and wrap your arms around him. Your head nestled in the crook of his neck with practiced ease, you mumble softly,"You look great. If you feel healthy, and enjoy what you're eating....you're good. Okay?" You pause a bit then sigh. "I...I can't see you starve yourself again, bubba. It...hurts to see you like that." You still remember when Marc had showed up on your fifth date with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, looking like he's missed half his meals the past month. It's an image you can't get out of your head: him standing with a small souvenir clutched so tight in his palm the packaging was ruined, looking all shades of tired and starved.

Marc stays quiet, but he holds on to you tight, kisses the top of your head. "What's for lunch?" he mumbles meekly after a while. You pull back and smile wide, eyes shining, and continue your grocery run rant. From the increasing price of eggs to the doubtful durability of milk, this new meatball hack you want to try, and a vegan substitute idea you'd just gotten. You follow Marc around the room as he gets dressed, talking a mile a minute. He takes a last glance at the mirror and rakes back his curls, then swiftly pulls you closer. You squeak and hold him on instinct, and he laughs softly while nuzzling the side of your face. "So...remind me the plan. We...are getting groceries, making lunch, so...after eating.." He pauses but you can hear the laugh in his voice. The laugh and the shyness.

"What, Spector?" you tease. "What do you want after lunch?"

"Well maybe you....you can show me how good you think I look?" he says hopefully. You turn around to kiss him, nodding excitedly. "Deal", you whisper, before pulling back and giggling. "I thought you're about to ask me to have you for dessert"

Marc facepalms with another groan.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector #steven grant #moon knight #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #luke shares #luke fic recs

[maraschinomerry]

Hi! Could you please write a Lockwood x reader fic involving the prompt: You aren't well, but you don't want to skip training and make them worry, so you continue on as usual, thinking it's not that serious. But that's proven wrong when you faint right in front of them mid-fight. Mixed with the dialogue: "You hold it like this and- why are your hands trembling?" Thank you in advance! 💙

Pretty Boy

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x gn!reader

Content: mild swearing, whump (fainting as in the prompt), mentions of not eating or sleeping, cute flirty ending

A/N: thank you for such a great request!! I've actually also just got over being not well while I was writing this (I'm fine now and wasn't this bad!) so it was weirdly cathartic 😅

Word count: 2.3k

The blissful quiet of the kitchen at 35 Portland Row was shattered by an incredibly loud, almost violent sneeze. You threw your arm across your face just in time to catch it. That was weird. You never sneezed.

"Bless you," Lockwood frowned over the top of his magazine.

That was day 1.

On day 2, you were all out on a case, in a dilapidated Victorian house. In a divide-and-conquer strategy for such a big place, Lockwood and George had headed upstairs while you and Lucy stayed on the ground floor. Fumbling around in the dim light of the dining room, Lucy threw open the curtains to let in what was left of the evening sun, accidentally unleashing a cloud of dust which shimmered in the beam of your torch. You both coughed a little in surprise.

Your coughing didn't stop for the rest of the night.

Day 3 was spent relaxing, recovering from getting home in the early hours of the morning after a gruelling fight with a pair of Type Twos. Or rather, everyone else was relaxing. You were in your room, fluctuating between wrapping your shivering form in your duvet and throwing it off so you wouldn't melt into a puddle. The bowl of soup you'd made yourself for lunch grew cold where it sat untouched on your bedside table.

A sleepless night heralded the arrival of day 4. Your symptoms had mostly abated by the evening, and you desperately hoped to claw back a few hours of rest. By dinner time, bleary-eyed, you forced yourself downstairs to try and get at least one meal of the day. Fortunately, the kitchen was empty, so at least you didn't have to explain your recent lack of presence to anyone. Unfortunately, none of the contents of the fridge were even remotely appealing right now. You settled for a slice of toast which you took back upstairs. Two bites in, you felt your stomach flip. Great. The rest went straight in the bin.

A gentle knock sounded on your door the morning of day 5, after another night of tossing and turning without ever drifting off.

"Yeah?" you called wearily.

Lockwood poked his head in, dressed in a loose Henley T-shirt and sweatpants. "Morning. Just thought I'd check you were alright, you didn't come down for training." Oh shit. You and Lockwood had been doing weekly training together for months - it started not long after you joined the agency, when he'd come down to the basement for practice and found you already there, and you'd ended up sparring. It had happened a few more times, and eventually you fell into the habit of both going down on Friday mornings so much it became an unofficial appointment.

"Oh, sorry," you swallowed a yawn. "I lost track of what day it was. Give me five minutes."

"I sort of assumed you weren't coming down dressed Iike that." He nodded to your fuzzy pyjamas with a smirk, and you tugged shyly at the hem of the top. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Yeah." That was a lie. Lockwood studied you for a moment, and you wondered if he could see right through you, but then he nodded to himself.

"Alright, see you downstairs." He began to leave, but popped back at the last second. "I'm not saying the pyjamas are a bad look, by the way, they're cute, just maybe a bit warm for fighting in." He grinned again, and disappeared. What was that supposed to mean?

—

Five minutes later, as promised, you traipsed down the basement steps in runner shorts and a tank top. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing right now, but you loved getting one-on-one time with Lockwood and knew how much it would hurt him to break the tradition and how concerned he'd be about you if he found out you'd been ill.

Lockwood gave you another puzzled look. "Are you sure you're okay?" He'd seen you this low energy before, but normally only the day after a case.

You gave the most convincing smile you could muster. "Fine. What's the plan?"

He furrowed his brows once more, before apparently deciding against whatever he was thinking. "Okay, there was a new move I figured out on the last case. I thought I could teach you and see if you think it's any good?" That last part sounded so open and vulnerable. You could imagine what he was thinking - was it a fluke? Was it him overselling his talents? Did it look ridiculous? He got like that sometimes, needed snapping out of it. Reassuring. Your smile was more genuine this time.

"Sounds good, it certainly seemed effective."

You tried your best to concentrate while Lockwood demonstrated the move, really you did, but you were running on empty and the basement was so delightfully cool. Maybe if you just lay down on the floor for a bit, you'd sort yourself out.

"Did you get that?" Lockwood's voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, and you dragged your eyes up to meet his, which were nodding to your hands. You hadn't the slightest idea what it was he expected you to have got.

"Uhh…"

To your relief, he mistook your distraction for confusion and stepped closer to help, carefully off to one side to avoid the blade as his hands rested over yours.

"You hold it like this and- why are your hands trembling?"

You barely registered the alarm in his voice, or the uncontrollable tremor that was indeed present and spreading up your arms. Nothing in your body seemed to be responding properly any more. Did you still have hold of the rapier? Why was your chest so tight, not allowing any air in? An invisible wad had trapped in your throat, and you desperately sucked in a breath through your nose. Gosh, Lockwood smelled good. Lavender and bergamot. And he was pretty, too. So pretty. Those deep dark eyes, gazing at you with so much longing. No, not longing. He didn't do that, did he? Plus, he was frowning too much for longing. Concern? You didn't like it when he frowned. You tried to pout, but your lips didn't move. That was annoying. So were the lights. Had they always been this bright? It hurt. Everything hurt. You needed to leave. Now.

Panic took hold of the last working corner of your brain and sent a jolt of electricity down to your legs which finally reacted, carrying you shakily towards the stairs. You muttered something incoherent, mouth not quite as functional. The effort drained the last dregs of energy, and your legs stopped working again.

"Whoa, whoa-" a voice behind you gasped, hasty footsteps echoing. Who was that? There was someone else down here, wasn't there? You couldn't remember. Wait. There was a pretty boy, right? He seemed nice. You tried to tell him you were okay, you wanted to. As you pitched backwards, the silhouette of the pretty boy swam into view, blocking out the harsh lights above. That was better.

Everything went black.

—

You were laying somewhere warm and soft. That was odd. And it was less bright behind your eyelids. Where were you? Hadn't you been down in the basement? With the cold floor and the cold lights… and the pretty boy? Was he still here?

You tried to call out for him, succeeding only in a groan. The surface beneath you shifted by your feet in response, and your eyelids fluttered open a fraction. There he was. Framed by the golden rays filtering through the window behind him and dappling across his dark hair.

"Hey, pretty boy," you murmured. Proper words; that was more like it. Next step: opening your eyes fully.

Ah.

The pretty boy was Lockwood, brows knitted upwards as he shuffled further up what you gradually realised was your bed.

"Hey." His voice was thick, with the hint of a shake. "How are you feeling?"

You groaned again, moving to sit up. Lockwood instantly reached out, one hand on the small of your back and the other lifting the pillows to prop up behind you. "Been better."

Under any other circumstances, you think he'd probably have laughed. As it was, he huffed out a breath and you spotted a brief tic in his jaw. "That's a mild way of putting it. You collapsed in the middle of training. I had no idea what happened, I thought…" His gaze dropped to his lap as he trailed off. The silence clenched tightly around your heart. Eventually, he spoke again, still not looking at you, voice cracking and barely above a whisper. "I was so worried about you."

The tension in your chest pressed down further, and you thought you actually heard your heart shatter.

"Hey, Lockwood, look at me." You raised a hand, still trembling but for an entirely new reason, up to cup his cheek. At last, he looked. Those beautiful dark eyes were watery, and his nose ruffled as he tried to hold back the tears. "I'm okay, see? I'm here, I'm okay, and I'm so sorry for making you worry."

A warmth spread over the back of your hand as he brought his up to meet it. His fingers curled over yours, thumb rubbing calmingly across your knuckles. Whether the calming was for you or him, you couldn't say. "But are you sure you're okay? People don't just collapse like that, and you've been out all day." Your eyes widened a little as you glanced at your alarm clock. Almost 6. Wow.

"Honestly, it's nothing serious. Kind of stupid, actually; the irony is it all happened because I didn't want you to worry." That made him chuckle. That was promising. You continued. "I was ill - I don't know if it was a cold or flu or what - but that wasn't great to begin with, and then with it ruining my ability to eat and sleep I just… didn't have anything left to give."

You don't know what reaction you expected from Lockwood: frustration, confusion, disappointment perhaps. You certainly weren't expecting him to look quite so… guilty? "Why didn't you say something when I came to find you? We could have cancelled training." It came out sharper than you were expecting. Oh. There was where the guilt came in.

"I didn't want to break the tradition."

"To hell with the tradition if this is what it does to you!"

You faltered. Was it just your current condition, or had your mouth gone very dry? "Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" You took a steadying breath. "It's not just that. I don't mean it like it's some obligation. I love our sessions! Getting to have that time just for us, having it be our thing, it's the highlight of my week. And it's been a pretty shitty week so I wanted this one thing to be nice."

The fire in Lockwood's words died out, and he almost visibly deflated. His free hand reached up unexpectedly to brush a strand of hair from your face.

"Well, I'm glad it means that much to you, but next time will you please tell me when something's wrong? I can survive missing our date more than I can survive missing you."

Hold on.

You were definitely still ill. Your cheeks felt warm and your heart was pounding against your ribcage. That was the only possible explanation. Definitely nothing to do with the fact that the boy you'd been in love with for months had just called your training sessions a date. Oh god, you'd infected him too, his face was flushed. "Date?" you breathed.

"Only if you want it to be, of course, I don't want to jump to conclusions. Although you did call me 'pretty boy' barely five minutes ago, so I'm sure even George would agree with the legitimacy of my hypothesis." Oh, how you'd missed seeing that smirk he'd grown all of a sudden.

"I'm not entirely sure you can take the high ground on this one, love, when you said even more recently how you couldn't survive without me."

"I think so long as I'm right I can. Especially since, if we're going off who said something last, you couldn't even argue without calling me love."

"I wish we were still holding rapiers, I've got a chance of beating you at that."

Lockwood laughed, all earlier emotions replaced with nothing but tender affection. "Get some sleep, and then we can test that theory." He made to leave, but where your hands were still entwined you tightened your grip a little.

"Will you stay? Please? In case I didn't make it clear enough with fainting, I haven't been doing so great at the whole sleep thing."

When he nodded, you wriggled over to one side of the bed, allowing him to slip under the covers behind you. Everything about him felt cosy, and you snuggled towards that feeling. It took him aback for a moment until he draped an arm over your stomach, gently tugging you closer so the two of you slotted together like you'd been designed to fit one another from the start. His breath tickled your ear, but its constant rhythm slowed yours in turn. Your eyelids grew heavy.

"You know," you mumbled sleepily, "you could take me on a proper date. Only if you want to, of course, wouldn't want to jump to conclusions."

He squeezed you playfully. "I think I've got enough evidence to consider it. Lunch tomorrow if you feel up to it?" You hummed a contented agreement. As your eyes drifted shut, a feather-light kiss pressed against your temple. "Good night, love."

"Good night, pretty boy."

#lockwood & co fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #gn!reader #lockwood & co

[yellowkitkieran]

Boyfriend (Kieran Tierney)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: You and Kieran are on different pages regarding your situationship, which leaves both of you broken hearted.

Hunting for your trousers in a man's bedroom should heart your cheeks with shame. This is relatively normal for you now though, having hooked up with Kieran more times than you can count- and only twice having been invited to stay ren'night in the guest bedroom. 

“They're here,” Kieran says and tosses a pair of jeans your way. “Can you pass me my kit bag? Thanks.”

Kieran rushing out after sex has become commonplace. It stings a little less each time, though it has yet to fully fade. Your phone chimes, and you pick it up to see a message from a dating app, confirming the time for your impromptu dinner later tonight.

“Who's that?” Kieran says, tossing shirts from his closet to his bed. He doesn't bother to fold them because he isn't concerned with wrinkles. 

“Just some guy I've got a date with.” You keep your eyes on your phone and your voice even. This is new- up until now, you've remained fixated on Kieran. You only downloaded the app with the hope that it would kick Kieran's arse into high gear and prompt him to finally ask you out. 

“Sorry, did you say date?” Kieran blinks and turns towards you when you nod. “With who? Why?”

“Some bloke I met on an app- why do you care?”

“Because I don't want anyone else touching you, that's why. You aren't supposed to be dating anyone.” 

That sets you off. You purse your lips, vision tinting red. Who does he think he is? you've provided him with countless chances and he has squandered each and every one of them. “You aren't my boyfriend. Why does it matter if I go on a date with someone else?”

With all the patience of a parent speaking to an unruly child, Kieran pinches the bridge of his nose. “Because…” Each word comes loose like pulling teeth. “Because-”

“Because what Kieran?! Spit it out!” You're tired of waiting. For a date, for affection, for a finished sentence. You deserve to be put first for once, not cast aside like an out of date toy. 

“Because I don't want you to be with anyone else! Alright? There- are you happy?”

“Well for fucks sake Kieran! Do something about it then!” You're on your feet now, pacing the length of the room. There is far too much energy bundled up inside of you. Kieran's confession has spurred you into a frenzy and awoken the storm that has been brewing for weeks.  

Kieran shakes his head and continues stuffing things in his bag. “I'm not doing this right now. I have a plane to catch.”

How can he be so indifferent? The Kieran you know has a soft, tender heart. Now it is as if his is made of stone, the organ sitting solid and impenetrable in his chest. Doesn't he care? Doesn't this eat at him the same way it has eaten at you?

“I just don't want to think about this when I'm going to be in Scotland for a while-” 

“Where you'll probably spend the next two weeks snogging other women and letting them grind their arses on you in clubs.” The words are poison tipped, turning his own jealousy back onto the man himself. “Lord knows you won't be loyal, you'll neck the first bird who smiles at you.”

“I haven't so much as looked at another woman in months,” Kieran snaps. He stands at his full height now, his muscular frame filling your vision. You hold your ground, glaring up into his chocolate brown eyes that currently lack the sparkle you've grown to enjoy. Now they are filled with ire instead of affection and you are disturbed to discover how much that hurts you. 

“Liar. You're a liar Kieran Tierney, last week there were rumors, I saw-” 

“There's always gonna be rumors! We could be married and there would still be rumors about some model or influencer or someone that has paid tabloids to say they saw us together!” Kieran runs a hand through his hair. His laugh carries no humor, “and I know you can't handle it, which is why I agreed to things being casual!”

“Oh, you know I can't handle it, do you?” Tears prick your eyes as tears threaten to spill down your cheeks. You refuse to give Kieran the satisfaction of seeing how deeply he's wounded you. “You always assume. You assume I want to see you, assume I can't handle pressure, assume I'd rather be nothing more than fuck buddies, someone you can call in the middle of the night after a loss. But you know what? I'm done, Kieran. I'm done.”

“Just like that then? You're walking away from me?” Kieran tips his head back and the laugh that spills from him is not one you recognize. You aren't sure if it's pain, or maybe disbelief. You can scarcely believe it yourself; five minutes ago you were ready to cancel a date on his behalf. Now, you wouldn't dream of something like that ever again. 

You grab your coat off his bed and sling it over your shoulders. “Yep, just like that. Last chance Kieran.” 

“Just get out,” Kieran half growls. His back is already to you, which is just one more reason for you to go. Against your will, your feet remain rooted to the spot- you don't want to leave. What you want is for Kieran to fight for you, or maybe beg for forgiveness. You know in your heart that you haven't imagined the spark between you. That one night he took you out for a drink, there had been a genuine connection. You know that if he would get his head straight, he would recognize it.

But you value yourself too highly to remain in a situation where there is no progress. For months you've entertained this situationship in hopes that one day soon Kieran might wisen up and ask you on a proper date. But he hasn't, and someone else has come along to beat him to the punch, and now is when he chooses to be salty about it. 

As your feet carry you along the path you've walked dozens of times, you catalog the details of Kieran's home. The gallery wall containing photos of his favorite memories and people. A framed kit from his Arsenal debut. The bowl of apples on the kitchen island that will no doubt spoil before they're consumed. All of it, every detail down to the neatly placed shoes near the front door, is distinctly Kieran. 

An ache settles in your limbs. The weight of it threatens to crack bone. Somewhere deep in the house, you swear you can hear Kieran sigh. Probably with relief, thankful that you're finally out of his hair for good. 

At the last second, you take the slip of paper out of your pocket. It's no more than a discarded piece of scrap, but you hunt for a pen and write three words before you can think better of it. It's the truth- no sooner than the words are written do you feel the ache start to ease slightly. You fold the paper in fourths and slide it into the pocket of his coat, knowing full well that he never wears it anyway. But at least you've put it into the universe, and your secret no longer lives solely inside your soul. 

You do not look back as you leave. Once the door locks behind you, you only pray that Kieran washes that coat before he discovers the paper.

I love you. Three words, so simple to write, yet impossible to speak. Three words Kieran will never hear you say. Because now that you've gone, you'll never come back. 

#kieran tierney #kieran tierney fanfic #kieran tierney imagine #kieran tierney fic #kieran tierney fanfiction #kieran tierney x reader #kieran tierney oneshot #arsenal fc #jac writes #forbidden fruit

[gamerbearmira]

CAN'T YOU PLEASE MAKE AN EXCEPTION

I'VE GOT GOOD INTENTIONS I JISY CRAVE PROTECTION FOR MY BALL OF PERFEVTION <\\\333

No but uh. I was listening to No More Birthdays while writing this. It was so sad, so fun <3333 I need to do more for other aus tho. Gonna post a housebroken one later, though if anyone has an ideas for an au I haven't done any writing for in a while. Lemme know any prompts or ideas <333

ANYWAY ESKETIT

-----

Camilo sat on a bench, underneath a tall tree. He was watching the kids play. The human kids. It was rare that they were able to go out and play in the daylight. They didn't burn to ashes like the stories, but they did get sunburned easily. That's why their Abuela made them stay in the shade.

Isabela and Dolores had parasols that they used sometimes, but it wasn't the same. It was worse for Antonio, because he wasn't allowed outside really at all; Alma rarely left him alone, but when she was gone, she always had someone over at Casita keeping an eye on him. Thankfully Señora Guzmán was happy to do it today.

Camilo looked over next to him, where Mirabel was sitting on the other side of the bench, staring longingly at the kids.

"Hey, Mira?" Camilo asked, looking at the ground while Mirabel turned to him. "Do you...do you ever miss playing in the sun? Like we used to?" Camilo asked, not making eye contact with Mirabel.

Mirabel looked at the kids again, her eyebrows furrowing. "Yeah, but...you know we can't..."

"I-I know! Abuela said. And I don't wanna make her upset," Camilo quickly said, sighing. "But I just...I just sometimes wish we were still normal. Like the other kids. I know Abuela saved us but...I'm still sad."

"Mirabel nodded. "Yeah. I don't like being hungry all the time," Mirabel said heavily, leaning on her arm and looking out at the field. "And whenever I eat, it doesn't help."

"That's the worst part," Camilo pouted. "He saw his sister across the market, her parasol above her head. Luisa was nearby with Isabela, clinging to her older sister's dress. He blinked a couple of times before sighing, catching Mirabel's attention. "Well. I guess we can't complain. I mean, Abuela saved us."

"Yeah," Mirabel nodded. "You are right there. Plus we get to have a ton of birthdays. Speaking of, what do you wanna do for your 27th birthday?" Mirabel asked. It was strange saying that, yet she and Camilo still physically looked 5 years old. But she had gotten used to it after year 23.

"I wanna invite our friends over and stay up all night," Camilo said, smiling. "I think this year we can pull it off and go into the morning," He said, and Mirabel giggled.

"Abuela always says we fall asleep, but...I think so too," Mirabel giggled.

The two were laughing and giggling, making jokes about their "situation". They didn't even notice their Abuela, Alma, behind the bench they were sitting on.

"What are you two laughing about?" Alma asked, and Camilo and Mirabel jumped but quickly recognized her.

"Abuela!" Camilo exclaimed, smiling and turning around, Mirabel following close behind. "We're planning my birthday party."

"But it's not for another 4 months?" Alma asked, laughing softly. "You're not going to stay up again, are you?"

"We can do it this time!" Mirabel said, pouting and Alma gently squeezed her chubby cheeks, shaking her head.

"Yes, of course you can," she said with a small smile. Camilo and Mirabel laughed, clinging to their abuela's dress. They seemed fine until Camilo's face dropped. He grimaced and looked up at Alma.

"A-Abuela?" Camilo asked, pulling away from his Abuela. Alma frowned, her gentle hands holding his face. Mirabel frowned, her face twisted into an adorable pout.

"What is it nieto? Are you okay?" Alma asked and Camilo looked up at his Abuela, his fangs having extended, peeking out of his mouth. His eyes had a red flint in them as he frowned, grimacing again as he clutched his stomach.

"My stomach hurts," Camilo said, holding his stomach. Alma felt her heart shatter with guilt and sadness as tears welled up in his eyes. "I'm so hungry."

"Oh, mi pobre bebé," Alma cooed, picking up Camilo. Mirabel made her way around the bench, her small hands clutching her dress. She felt Alma's free hand rest on her curly hair, the girl's round green glasses reflecting.

Alma kissed Camilo's forehead as he buried his face in her chest. "Let's gather your older sister and primas. Then we'll get you something to eat, okay?"

Camilo nodded, his face still in her chest. Alma sighed, her heart heavy with guilt and she guided Mirabel alongside her, heading toward Isabela, Dolores, Luisa. She felt so bad for her little grandchildren, so guilty, and she wished it didn't have to be this way. But it was and...she would do anything in her power to make them feel happy and safe.

-----

YOU HAVE TO STAY MY PRECIOUS BABY <\\\\33333

No but you know how devastating it is for Alma to celebrate their birthdays and not see them age??? She feels bad for other kids too; I mean her grandchildren do have friends, but they're all most vampires as well, and it's honestly heartbreaking to Alma that they'll stay kids for so long until they age again 😭😭

ANYWAY. MORE KATER <333

#my asks #my asks are open #encanto #encanto au #au #encanto mirabel #encanto camilo #encanto alma #encanto vampire au #vampire au

[vbecker10]

OKAY! OKAY OKAY OKAY! SO.... REQUEST....YES...IDEAS 🤣🤣🤣

Bucky x Reader, maybe they had some sort of mission in a cold place? I don't really have a preference on details but here's the prompts (that I definitely didn't pull out of a giant prompt list I have saved)

"Let's go home, you're freezing, and I don't want you catching a cold"

And

"Mmm.. you're warm."

KNOCK YOURSELF OUT, FRIEND! (Please don't actually do that...I just mean have fun 🤣)

@high-functioning-lokipath I'm so excited about this! Thank you for the request 💚💚 so here goes my first Bucky x female reader fic... hope you like it!

Mmm... You're Warm

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Warnings: some swearing, just fluff

Summary: You and Bucky are on a mission somewhere cold and just as you complete it, a storm settles on the area. The two of you get caught in the rough weather and can't make it back to the jet. Bucky insists on keeping you warm while you wait out the storm... and you have no complaints about.

Word Count: 2k words

Prompts:

"Let's go home, you're freezing, and I don't want you catching a cold." (Changed this a little bit)

"Mmm... you're warm."

Dividers by: @harlequin-hangout

"What's your status Barnes?" Tony asks over the coms. 

"I’ve got one more lab to check. Looks like they cleared this place out same as the other bases,” Bucky answers. 

You weren’t surprised by that, this was the seventh abandoned Hydra base you and Bucky had swept through in the last six months. What did surprise you was how close you and Bucky had become in that time.

A few months after you started with SHIELD, you and Bucky were given orders to clear fifteen bases that were no longer active. At first you were intimidated by the idea of being alone on missions with the former Winter Soldier but now you couldn't imagine having to work with anyone else.

Bucky was easily the sweetest man you had ever met and you knew you were going to be in trouble the moment he first smiled at you. The two of you quickly became friends, spending the long flights to the middle of nowhere talking about anything and everything. You truly felt like you could tell him anything, except that you were falling for him. Your biggest fear was that you would finally get the nerve to tell him only to be rejected and have it ruin your friendship so you decided it was safer to never tell him. You would rather have him in your life as your funny, caring, incredibly hot, over protective friend than nothing.

"Y/N, how are things on your end?" Tony asks you.

"I can try to do it in twenty minutes but half an hour would be better. I'm through the last firewall but these servers are a mess, I think they set off a virus in here," you answer, not looking up from the computer screen.

"You've got less than ten," Tony responds and you roll your eyes at how dramatic he sounds. "The storm they predicted is shifting. Bruce says it's going to hit sooner then we thought."

"I'll do my best..." you say vaguely as you go back to focusing on what you need to do.

You continue working, scanning the files and copying them to take them back to SHIELD. "I've got them," you say as you pull the USB out of the computer triumphantly less than fifteen minutes later.

"Good, but it looks like we have a problem. Bruce checked the reports again and we were wrong about the storm..." Tony starts but you interrupt him.

"Umm... we might have several problems," you tell him and Bucky as your heart begins to race. As soon as the USB is in your hand, all of the computer screens in the control room go red and the alarm over the door starts to blare. One screen flashes a digital clock that quickly begins to countdown.

"Bucky, where are you?" you call for him over the coms as you leave the room.

"On my way up to you, are you ok? What’s the alarm from?" he asks, you can hear in his voice he is running up the stairs from basement levels.

"No... we need to leave now," you answer him as you run down the hall towards the nearest staircase. You slam the door open and start to make your way down.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Tony asks, you know he can hear the alarms in the background when you and Bucky talk.

"I screwed up Tony. I must have missed something when I was extracting the files and it triggered the self destruction protocol for the base. We've got about fifteen minutes to get as far from here as possible," you tell him. 

"Shit," you hear Tony swear angrily.

“I’m sorry I-” you start to apologize as you finally get to the second floor. You hate feeling like you failed, you felt like you still needed to prove you were good enough to be on the team.

“Y/N, where are you?” Bucky asks, cutting you off. You can hear concern in his voice and you tell him you’re almost at the main level. You open the door to exit the stairwell and pause when you see Bucky at the far end of the hall. He motions for you to head towards the exit and of course he easily catches up to you. The two of you continue to run towards the main doors, he slows to match your pace as he informs Tony you are going to make your way to the jet.

“No, you can’t take off,” Tony says as the main door comes into view ahead of you.

"What's going on Stark?" Bucky asks. "We're almost out."

"The storm Bruce was tracking shifted again..." he says just as Bucky shoves open the large, metal door to the base.

"Its here," you say in disbelief. The sky is completely white and the tall evergreen trees that surround the base shake violently in the harsh wind. The snow was already almost three inches high and still falling steadily. You wrap your arms around yourself and brace against the cold, your heavy breathing now visible in quick puffs of air. 

"What are we supposed to do? The jet is over a mile from here, we won't make it there in this weather," you look up at Bucky, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The woods surrounding the base had been too thick for you to land any closer. "And even if we did, it would be hard for me to fly it in these conditions," you tell him.

He steps out into the snow, seemingly unfazed by the sudden drop in temperature. "I don’t know but we can't stay here," Bucky says as he looks out into the forest and then back at you. You can barely hear the alarm over the whipping wind but he’s right, the base won’t be standing soon.

"Hill says there's a small cabin less than half a mile east from the base," Tony says. "The two of you should be able to wait out the storm there," he suggests.

"Yea and I bet there's only one bed," you mumble to yourself, trying not to smile in the middle of such a serious situation.

"What?" Bucky chuckles and you blush when you realize he heard you.

"Hmm? No, nothing," you say quietly as you make sure to look anywhere but at him. "That sounds like its our best option," you respond to Tony, trying to make your voice sound serious.

Bucky agrees and the two quickly enter the woods heading east. Almost as soon as you make it past the tree line, you hear a low rumbling coming from the base. Bucky stays close behind you, watching over his shoulder as the building starts to collapse in on itself. Most Hydra bases with a self destruct feature imploded like this one was doing, thankfully. Bucky had told you on a previous mission that it was meant to keep the test subjects and secrets buried. If the bases exploded, there might be information found in the debris and that would defeat the purpose of destroying the building.

Once the base is nothing more than a cloud of smoke, you and Bucky slow from a run to a fast walk and he takes the lead. The snow is almost six inches high now and you can feel your chest tightening with each breath. You keep your arms wrapped tightly around yourself but it does nothing to help keep you warm. Your SHIELD issued uniform was not made to be worn in a full on blizzard and you had of course forgotten your gloves on the jet. You continue to walk with your head down, trying to shield your face from the wind. You follow Bucky as close as you can so you are able to walk in his footsteps but every step is exhausting and gradually the distance between the two of you grows. 

“Y/N,” Bucky says and you come to a stop as you look up at him. He looks worried and he quickly closes the distance between the two of you. You stand in front of him, shivering and he says, “I can see the cabin, we’re almost there.” He turns back in the direction you were walking and points just beyond a few trees.

You nod, unable to answer as your teeth chatter uncontrollably. He takes another step towards you and suddenly he picks you up in his arms and holds you close to him. You wrap your arms instantly around his neck and hide your face against his shoulder. He continues to walk towards the cabin and whispers in your ear, “Let's get you inside, you're freezing and I don't want you catching a cold.” 

You close your eyes while you carries you, clinging to him tightly. When you finally reach the cabin, he gently sets you back down on your feet so he can open the door. Its locked so he uses his metal hand to break the handle. When he swings the door open, he laughs and says, “You were wrong about this place having only one bed.”

You look at him confused as he takes a step inside and you follow him. “Oh... no,” you say quietly while he closes the door against the wind. The cabin is one large room and it was clear to see it had once been someone's home.

“I guess when Hydra moved in, the people who used this left pretty quick,” he says as he walks over to the stone fireplace. He looks around a bit and shrugs. “I’m going to grab some firewood and see if I can get this going. Let Stark know we found the cabin?” he asks and you nod as he heads outside.

You decide to take a look around the cabin, mostly to keep moving and warm yourself up if possible. The inside of the cabin was slightly warmer than outside and at least there was no wind. Across from the fireplace, in the center of the room was a couch and a small coffee table sitting on a rug. A flannel blanket was folded carefully on one end of the couch and a pillow rested on top of it.

In the back left corner was a round table, only big enough for the two wooden chairs which sat on opposite sides. A glass vase was placed neatly in the middle of the table, as if the owner just just about to add flowers when they left. You thought it was odd that there was no place to sleep as you wandered into the bathroom. A soft blue towel still hung by the sink and you sighed when you saw there was only one toothbrush in the holder. They must have lived here alone, you thought to yourself, that meant the couch was most likely their bed.

Just as you walk back into the main area, Bucky walks through the door carrying a pile of wood. He closes the door quickly to keep the storm from entering and smiles at you.

"You're looking less like an icicle," he jokes as he brings the wood over to the fireplace. "And that's from someone who's actually been frozen."

You pick up the pillow off the couch and throw it at him but of course he catches it with a laugh. You take a seat in the middle, your legs tucked under you and watch him work on the fire in silence. You can't help thinking how romantic this would be if you weren't just friends. Your mind starts to wander, imagining what it would be like to tell Bucky you wanted to be more then friends.

A few minutes later the fire sparks to life and he looks up at you with a wide smile. He looks so proud of himself and you giggle at how cute he is. He stands up, picking up the pillow you threw at him and walks over to the couch. You sit up an slide to one side of the couch, putting your feet back on the ground as you lean forward to get a bit closer to the fire.

"Thank you Bucky," you tell him with a smile as you rub your hands together. He sits closer to you than you had expected, there is plenty of room but he sits so his legs are almost touching yours.

He doesn't respond, instead he carefully takes your hands and warms them between his. You don't know if you're more surprised by the gesture or the fact that his hands are so warm, his metal fingers seem to be gently radiating heat. You try not to blush as his hands move slowly over yours, you keep your eyes down until you hear him say your name softly.

He lets go of your hands and you instantly miss the feeling, which apparently shows on your face. You hear him chuckle softly as reaches for the blanket and unfolds it before laying it across both of you.

"I'm not going anywhere, Y/N," he whispers to you as he puts his metal arm around you and pulls you to him. You rest your head on his chest and cuddle close to him under the blanket.

"Mmm... you're warm," you say quietly.

He laughs again and you close your eyes while his metal fingers gently move up and down your arm. His cheek rests against your forehead and your arm settles around his waist as if you had sat like this hundreds of times before. You've never been so comfortable in your whole life, Bucky made you feel safer than anyone ever had and you decided its now or never.

"Bucky," you say quietly without looking at him.

"Y/N?" he responds.

"I... can I tell you something?" you ask him. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest and you worry he will be able to feel it if it gets much faster.

"You know you can tell me anything," he says, still lightly running his fingers up and down your arm. He was almost right, you had never had a hard time talking to him about anything before but this was different.

You pause, taking a deep breath while you think about how to phrase it. You had pictured yourself telling him so many times but now that you were really about to do it, your mind had gone blank. After a few moments of silence you say, "Bucky, I..." but you stop yourself. You can't get yourself to say the words, too afraid of how he will react. Instead, you shake your head and mumble, "Its nothing," before closing your eyes tighter.

"Its not nothing," he says in a caring voice. He lifts his head and gently touches your cheek, sliding his fingers under your chin until you are looking at him. When you lift your eyes he is smiling at you but not the fun, joking smile he usually offers you. Your gaze quickly drops to his lips and then back to his eyes when he says, "Tell me what you were going to say, Y/N."

You nod slowly and take another deep breath. "Bucky, I'm in love with you," you tell him, barely above a whisper but you could tell he heard it.

You hold your breath, waiting for him to respond. He slowly slids his hand from your chin back to your cheek and cups it gently. You look up at him nervously hoping he would say something, anything. "Bucky?" you ask and as soon as his name left your lips, his lips were on yours.

You close your eyes slowly as his metal arm gently holds the back of your neck, his other hand moves to your lower back, turning you to face him better. He kisses you softly at first and when your fingers run through his hair, he bites your bottom lip then sucks on it lightly. He pushes his tongue into your mouth and you can't help but moan when he slids his tongue against yours. His hand grips your waist tighter and you press your chest against his, wanting to be a close to him as possible.

When you finally break the kiss to breath, he places his forehead against yours. "Y/N, I love you too," he says with a smile.

@michelleleewise @ace-of-gay @fic-recs-from-lokis-gem @poetic-fiasco @soubi001 @lokisninerealms @lovingchoices14  @justasecretwriter @theaudacitytowrite

Let me know if you want to be taken off or added to this list! 💚

(Some of you have no choice in the matter mwahaha 😈 - love all of you)

#bucky #james bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x original character #bucky barnes fanfiction request #asks requests #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns x y/n

[randomfoggytiger]

Hey there! I saw your post about sending you prompts. And since I've been following your first Fictober with great excitement, I couldn't help but comply with your request. If this isn't what you're looking for, please just ignore it:

Scully contemplates the ever-changing meaning of her cross. From getting it from her mother to Mulder wearing it when she was missing to her getting it back from Mulder after her abduction.

Thank you for writing!

Thank you for the prompt! Here we go~!

"Watch Over You Wherever You Go"

(Fictober, Day 28)

*****

Maggie watched Dana reclaim her necklace, under no illusions that her baby girl embraced it for its old purposes: a symbol of her childhood religion. (The quick look Dana gave to and away from the Catholic devotion beaming in her eyes laid that hope to rest.) 

For now. 

As a girl, her daughter had been a little tomboy. She'd swung ropes and thrown rocks (but had drawn the line at spitting) with the best of them-- the change began when an innocent snake had died by her own hands. Dana withdrew, crushed; and started asking questions about God, about Heaven, about being locked out forever because she’d done a bad thing. So, Maggie purchased cross necklaces for both her girls and gifted them at Christmas. Dana was awed, grateful, joyful (Melissa not so much); but she got into the habit of fiddling with it, twisting it around, and it was broken within a matter of weeks. By the time Maggie bought her a birthday necklace barely two months after the first, little Dana was determined not to break it, curbing her more fractious impulses and slowly shedding her rough and rowdy tomboy habits like a second skin. 

Teen years were tough for her baby: Dana had braces and seemed more interested in sneaking onto the porch with her mother’s smokes than any particular boy at school. Maggie was glad she’d figured things out by her senior year-- Marcus-- before she headed off to college, taking the second necklace with her. 

Collegiate Dana had wanted to find herself; and Maggie knew that would include questioning her childhood faith. The day she'd been dreading was the day her daughter spent the holidays Christmas shopping with Melissa instead of joining the rest of the family for Mass; but she knew God was just, Dana was good, and that everything would work itself out in the end. All the same, it was that day when Maggie sensed the necklace had been reinvented: a symbol of Dana’s love for her mother, not for a shared god. 

When Dana dropped out of medical school, Maggie had been as incensed as her husband: medical school expenses, years seemingly down the drain, and a dangerous, lower-paying career to boot. It was one thing for Dana to play with her soul and another to play with her safety. Nothing they said could convince or deter her. Everyone had an opinion, and her daughter was fiddling, twisting her necklace again. Then Melissa arrived. Scolding her family into peace, she promised her parents to have a talk with-- "only a talk"-- her little sister before they all parted ways.  

Dana recruited anyway. And after a year on the field and a few months back in the labs, she was gone. 

Then Maggie met Fox Mulder; and he'd surprised her by handing over her daughter’s necklace, subtly apologizing for having to ask about something so fundamental to his partner. She’d admitted Dana's lack of faith while staring at her cross; and tried to assure Fox this wasn't his fault, trusting him with its safekeeping.

And now here they were, on the other side of death. 

Maggie kept her eyes fixed on her baby girl, knowing Melissa would fill her in on the nuances of the young couple later. Dana’s forefinger and thumb were already inching up to her necklace, subconsciously waiting for Fox’s second exit before fiddling, twisting like old times-- as if she feared he’d catch her doing the wrong thing in a moment of weakness.  

Maybe that’s why she left the faith, Maggie realized, staring at the exhaustion puddling under her daughter’s eyes. Perhaps Dana felt she wasn’t good enough; and that the faith would reject her. 

Perhaps that was why she was striving here, even on her hospital bed, to be a rock of strength for Fox. He, at any rate, accepted everything about his partner, even forgave the sense of failure weighing her down; and her daughter came alive under his gentle smiles and encouragement. 

Fox left; and Maggie followed his lead, gathering up Melissa so Dana could be left in peace. They all needed time to sort through their emotions in private; and she, for one, had a lot to examine in-depth. 

The image of Dana cradling her cross and staring at Fox like he’d hung the moon burned itself into her mind-- Maggie knew, as clearly as if it had been said, that the necklace was no longer a connection between herself and her daughter. It was now a lifeline between Dana and her partner, forged over the months and miles they'd survived apart. Not that this was a surprise-- it was exactly what she'd intended, months and miles ago when she’d handed her little girl’s necklace back to Fox. “When you find her, you give it to her”, and she’d meant for the rest of your lives. 

And beyond, Maggie mentally added. After all, she believed in the goodness of God.  

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

#txf #mine #Fictober #Day 28 #2023 #“Watch Over You Wherever You Go” #Maggie Scully #Scully #Mulder #One Breath #S2 #fic #xf fanfic

[prager-lover]

Recom Prager x F!Recom!Reader

I got so damn bored also this is my first time writing for a Recom, i've been obsessed with them since I saw the second movie. Feel free to send me hc or fic ideas for the recoms cuz I love them so much.

When you cant find the fanfics you want, write em yourself

Content overview: Swearing, reader is straight/bisexual(says they like men, doesnt specify if they are straight or bi), cringe fluff, Prager being dumb (i love him), Prager being a little nerd that can't talk to women, awful writing get over it this is self indulgent

Word count? Dont know. A lot. Ignore how bad my writing is

Pandora, twenty years later.

Being woken up in this new big blue body kind of threw you for a loop. Years ago, we were fighting these giants and now you were them. What the fuck. The first face you saw was Lopez and Christ Almighty he was the wrong person to see. All up in your face, the blue Latino was yelling, probably running off an adrenaline high.

"AYE COÑO WAKE UP"

Prompting you to shove him away and jump off the gurney, backing into a corner. Other large blue bodies closed in on you, yelling to calm down. You took the time to realize they were Marines. Your friends. You calmed down when one of the Na'vi that looked alot like your old friend Ja started talking. He started explaining that you guys were recoms, you'd died and now you're back.

Well Shit.

Y/N's Pov

It's been a few months since I woke up as a Recom. Thankfully, everyone seems to have adjusted. Lyle is still an idiot, flirting with every breathing thing at Hellsgate (Im pretty sure hes even tried making passes at the Colonel). Being in this new body is actually pretty cool once you get used to it. The stripes and shit look awesome. Besides, the improved strength is nothing to sneeze at. When we're not out trying to find Sully, I spend almost every free minute in the gym, or at least outside trying to do something active, any chance to be around my friends. I'm glad Ja is here, back when we were humans, he was my damn rock. Always there with a joke and a smile, it's nice to be so comfortable with someone, considering theres only a few of us recoms. Everyone else on base is either a scientist trying to probe me, or some puny human that jumps a mile high when I go in a room. Tiresome.

There is a new guy though, Prager. He was in the room when I woke up, wide eyed and ready to hold me back if it was needed. Not so good for first impressions. Ja gave us a formal introduction afterwards. Apparently him, Brown, and Ja were pretty good friends. His facial features did look kind of familiar, I probably saw him around base a few times. I can't lie, he was kind of striking. In a weird way. He looked so tired all the time. We got to talking, and eventually became friends as well. He was reallyyy into working out. It was kind of obvious, Jesus his muscles were big. Kind of muscles that you just wanna smack. It started with us running into each other at the gym, polite "Heys" and "How're you?" but after a while we started working out together. He'd spot me on the bench, making it kind of hard to concentrate when he's standing right on top of me. Almost dropped the weight a few times. We'd hang out together for a little bit, going outside on the basketball courts and watch animals flying around, and sometimes when it would be near eclipse, we'd stay and watch. We'd both be hungry, and sometimes he'd forget a snack so I'd bring extra protein bars I snuck from the mess hall. Sometimes when he'd turn away I'd look at him. He was pretty, especially in this lighting. Very soft and relaxed, unlike when we were on missions. When it was just us, no Ja or Lopez coming around the corner to tackle him, he'd let his face fall or just close his eyes. Call me delusional, but I swear he did the same to me. I'd turn my head around and catch him quickly turning, light purple blush spreading across his cheeks. Cute.

3rd person Pov

"Hey, Y/n, wait up!"

Y/n turned around, smiling when she saw Prager jogging towards her, green headband ties swaying behind him.

"Damn girly, what happened to waiting for eachother?" He said, feigning hurt while slightly out of breath.

"Sorry man, maybe you're just too slow. Pick up the pace." She joked, lightly punching his bicep, being met with pure muscle. God Damn. He wont admit it, but that touch sent butterflies right to his stomach. He'd been harbouring this crush on Y/n for months now, and everyday it seemed like it went deeper. Ja would groan loudly when Prager brought up y/n for what seemed the thousandth time that day.

"Just stop being a pussy and ask. her. OUT." He'd say, enunciating the last 3 words with smacks on Prager's head.

"I know but what if she says no, I'd rather get trampled by a direhorse." He lamented, throwing himself onto a bunk like a melodramatic Disney princess. Ja just decides to give up.

Y/n and Prager started their typical workout routine, stretching, muscle building, then cardio if they could bear to look at a treadmill or bike. They didnt talk much during their workouts, mostly shared smiles or raised eyebrows. It was late now, the workout was probably 3, 3.5 hours. Too long. They left the facility, heading out to the basketball courts to cool down.

Y/n's Pov

Fuck. Too long. Way too fuckin long for a workout. I should be used to it at this point, i'm a damn marine but it was too much weight for too many reps. I think Prager feels the same way. Everything feels too light in my hands, the dumb bells ghost weight still pulling my arms down. One upside, Prager still somehow looked good. I'm not sure how its possible but the man just looks handsome without trying. Pisses me off to a point, he probably doesnt realize how good he looks to me right now. Asshole.

We stopped in our tracks and flopped to the ground.

"Fuck almighty." He groans out, sprawled out on the concrete, tail flicking lazily next to him.

"Yeah, you're telling me." I say, sitting down next to him. "It's gonna be a pain in the ass to get up tomorrow."

We sit in silence for a while, just soaking in the fresh and cool air. Thats the beauty of Pandora, all this beautiful scenery, nature preserved and fresh air not polluted by billions of people over-populating the planet. Sometimes I don't like what we're doing here. General Ardmore, all the other humans. We're going to fuck up this planet, just like we did our original one. Prager must have noticed my shift in mood, my tail flicking around, agitated. He sat up on his elbows looking at me.

"You alright there?" He asked, big ol eyes looking up at me. I was knocked out of my trance.

"Yeah i'm good, just thinkin'."

He was about to reply when a loud laugh erupted from the side. There was Lyle, hands on his knees while Z-dog was wiping tears from her eyes. Of course. Those guys were inseparable. And insufferable. Lyle would always be giggling about some stupid shit. I love that bald bastard but when you're trying to unwind it can get on your nerves. Prager and I shared a look. Yeah, he knew. We both started laughing, somehow our two voices still overpowered by Lyle's hacking guffaw across the courtyard. We watched them walk off, Z-dog clapping his back.

"Do you think they have something going on?" Prager asks me. I was taken aback. He said it so nonchalantly, but I never would have thought he was one for gossip.

I chuckled as I answered. " I really doubt it, I think Z-dog's gay. Never seen a girl that looks like that without an ounce of fruit in her. Never knew you were a gossip queen Prag, didn't know you had it in you." I raised my eyebrow suspiciously at him. He threw his head back laughing softly, his Adam's apple withing perfect striking distance. Why did I think about that. We were quiet for a few seconds. when suddenly;

"Are you gay?" He was looking at me again. The question was so quiet I thought I misheard him for a second. Again, taken aback.

"Uh, no. No, I like guys."

He let out a breath of relief. "Oh thank god."

What the fuck. I started laughing. Loud, violent laughs as he quickly gets from his comfortable position, obviously panicking from what he just said.

"Wait wait wait no I- no no I didn't mean it- well I didn't mean it like that no no you got it all wrong." He was shaking his hands at me, cheeks blushing a deep purple. I was rolling on the fucking ground. my sides hurt from how hard I was laughing. I tried gaining composure, but his stupid handsome face was looking at me with a panicked face and I came undone again.

"did-didn't know you didn't agree with-" I hiccupped. "-that sort of lifestyle Prag." I was still giggling when he got louder.

"Wait wait NO I didn't mean it like- like that no no it's- no I have gay friends and stuff-" Again I lost it. His ears were pinned back against his skull, tail swishing adamantly behind him, pupils big.

"No no no no no no no I just meant it like I like you so I hoped you didn't like girls cuz that would suck cuz I like you and I don't want you to not like me..." He covered his face with his hands, mumbling after that sentence. What he said, I don't know but I think it was along the same lines. All that was replaying in my mind was " I like you"

Prager liked me? ME? I turn so I'm Infront of him, he's still babbling on and on, incoherent.

"Prager.."

"I'm sorry I don't know why I asked that-"

"Prager."

"I know I know I'm sorry I can just go I'm sorry I don't know I just got nervous I'm sorry."

Fucking Christ he was cute. I grabbed his wrists, yanking his hands away from his still blushing face.

"PRAGER."

He looks up to me so mopey, poor kitty cat with his ears drooping. I couldn't stop myself. I kissed his nose. That shut him up.

"Prager, I like you too."

He's looking at me with his mouth half open. Idiot. His hand reached for mine, holding me tightly.

"You do?" He sounded so small and helpless, like a kitten.

"Yes, you fucking dipshit" I said with a toothy grin.

His shoulders slumped over and he leaned into me, crushing me in a hug.

"Thank god oh my god you had no idea how long I've wanted to hear that thank GOD-"

I kissed his nose again. I'm finding this to be a very effective way of shutting him up.

"Maybe ask me out now instead of rambling."

He grinned at me. We left the courts a few minutes later, I reached to hold his hand and he took mine gladly. He dropped me off at my room.

"Night y/n, see you tomorrow." He beamed down at me, his ears perked up and tail moving quickly.

"Goodnight hotshot."

Prager scampered off. He felt like singing but he knew no one around would appreciate it, so he settled with whistling. The man wanted to fucking skip. It was obvious to Ja, who was playing cards with Brown and Lopez when Prager came in, that something good had happened.

"Prager? You alright man?" they all turned to look at him, his usually tired looking eyes bright and wide open.

"This guy on meth or something?" Lopez muttered.

"No no nothing like that I'm just a happy camper fellas."

Ja figured it out.

"No..."

"ohhh yes."

"NO."

"YES."

"YOU ASKED HER OUT?"

"FUCK YEAH."

Loud noises, Brown whooping and Lopez hitting Prager's back filled the room. Ja tousled up Prager's hair, laughing at his scaredy-cat friend's (Long overdue) courage. They made him stay up and tell them all the details.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Is this my best work? probably not. But I am both sleep deprived and Prager content deprived so let me live my life. I'm living for the recoms right now. tell me what y'all think bye have a nice day

#feral for prager content #so I made my own #Avatar #Avatar way of water #Zdnarsk #recoms #recom zdog #recom prager #corporal lyle wainfleet #recom prager x reader #recom brown #recom miles quaritch #james cameron avatar #atwow x y/n #atwow x reader #atwow quaritch #atwow fanfiction #avatar 2 #avatar twow #avatar the way of water #avatar 2022 #recom ja x reader #Colonel miles quaritch #lyle wainfleet x reader #recom brown x reader #miles quaritch x reader

[miyuhpapayuh]

15. Do you know what today is? It's our anniversary.

"For today's prompt, I want you guys to dig deep. I want this to be about the passion that's in your hearts— whether it be for something you love, someone you love— whatever it is, I need you to put it on paper."

Stevie taps her pen against her cheek twice, before beginning to scribble something down.

Her head may as well have been in the clouds, since today was her and Rod's six month anniversary.

God, time has flown!

Being woken up out of her sleep to a phone call that lasted all of an hour, listening to him explain all the ways that he loved her, was definitely the best way to start her morning— even if it was a tad bit, before the birds woke up, themselves.

Halfway done with her paragraph, the door opens and Miss Johnson clears her throat.

"Well, Stevie, you have a visitor."

Stevie's cheeks immediately turn red. She places her pen down and looks up to see Rod with a bouquet of red roses in his hand.

"Oh my God," she covers her face as a couple of her female classmates giggle.

Quickly standing from her seat, the pair head into the hallway and away from the door.

"Babe," she grabs each side of his face and presses her lips against his, "you're so cute!"

"Would I be cuter if I said, this was just the beginning?" He wiggles his eyebrows, making her laugh.

"What else do you have planned, boy?"

"You'll just have to wait and see," he opens her hand and places the bouquet inside, "I just came by to drop these off, cause I couldn't wait to see your face."

"A whole bouquet, again. I peeped the switch up, babe." She giggles, messing with the petals.

"Well, you deserve more than just one rose, at this point. You deserve more than roses, at this point. I wanted to up my game." He smirks.

"Com'ere." She beckons him with her long, pink fingernail. He happily obliges, pressing his lips back to hers.

"Happy anniversary , beautiful."

"Happy anniversary, baby."

"I'm gettin' lucky, tonight?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Hm... whatchu think?"

He wraps his arms around her waist, going back in for a kiss, sloppy enough to make his entire bottom lip shine in her strawberry lip gloss.

Briefly tugging on his bottom lip, she lets it pop back in place.

“Your lips are shiny." She softly giggles, slowly moving out of his grasp.

"I wear it, proudly." He jokes, releasing her to move back towards the classroom. "I'll see you later."

"Okay," she blows him a kiss as he walks backwards down the hallway.

She heads back into her class, confidently strutting back to her seat as a couple of jealous eyes follow her.

"Hey.... Stevie, right?" The only ginger in her class, whispers from beside her.

Turning towards her left, Stevie gives her a smile. "Yeah. I didn't catch your name..."

"It's Brittany. You and your boyfriend are the cutest couple I've ever seen!"

"Thank you." The blush is still evident on her cheeks.

"Does he have a brother or..." another girl chimes in, causing Stevie to giggle.

"No, but he's got a couple friends!"

"Put us on, girl! We want that mushy love, too!"

"Alright, ladies," Miss Johnson says with a slight smile, "lets refocus."

"Happy anniversary, you dorks." Tyler sits on the opposite side of the table and slides a tray of homemade cupcakes their way.

"Awww, thanks Tyler!" Stevie coos.

Rod pulls the lid off and hums a laugh, staring down at the pink and red cupcakes with tiny stick figure couples drawn on each one.

"Very creative, my g."

"You're welcome! So, what y'all got planned?"

"I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you." Rod replies, biting into one of the cupcakes.

"And, we know you're a man of his word." Tyler throws her hands up, laughing. Stevie rolls her eyes.

"He's only acting like that, cause it's a surprise."

"Well, it must be something extra special, then."

"It is! She's just gotta trust me and be patient." He scoffs.

"I just wanna know if I should dress up or not."

"Hm.... you actually don't have to. It'd be best to be comfortable."

She raises an eyebrow at him, trying her damnedest to figure out where he's taking her.

"You're not gonna figure it out, babygirl."

"That won't stop her from trying," Tyler wheezes a laugh, watching Stevie's nose wrinkle up.

"Screw the both of you."

"Ooooh, pretty roses and pretty people!" Claire claps at the sight of her favorite couple, besides her own.

"Wassup, clairvoyant!" Rod teases, leaning on the freshly cleaned countertop. Claire sucks her teeth.

"What did I tell you about that nickname?"

"I thought you liked it." He shrugs.

"Her exact words were, what kind of corny ass nickname is that?" Stevie interjects, earning a high five from Claire.

"Nowhere in that, did I hear dislike. I just heard you call me corny." He chuckles.

"Boy," she rolls her eyes, "get your arms off my counter!" She grabs the towel out of her back pocket and swats him with it.

"Yes, boss lady." He salutes her, causing Stevie to snicker.

"You're super annoying, Roderick."

"Alright, Alaina. Keep it up and you won't be going anywhere." He half threatens.

"I don't even know where we're going." She quips.

"And, you won't." He deadpans.

"That's fine. I guess I'll just take back all the things I bought you, then. I've still got the receipts." She blinks, grabbing her apron off the hook.

"Hm." They stare at each other for a solid five seconds, before he cracks a smile. "What you buy, daddy?"

"Oh dear God," Claire balls up a napkin and tosses it at his head, before walking into the back.

"It doesn't matter, cause I'm taking it back."

"Gimme them flowers, then."

She moves them away from him, before he can reach out to grab them.

"No! They're too pretty, babe." He stares at her pouty expression.

"You're such a baby, you know that?"

"I'm your baby, so that makes it okay." She leans on the counter, meeting him halfway for a goodbye kiss.

"Thanks for dropping me off."

"Mm, if we had more time, I woulda did more than drop you off." He kisses her again, muffling her groan.

"The day isn't over, yet."

"Keep talkin' like that and we won't make it out of the house."

"No, we're gonna go wherever it is that you planned."

"You're gonna love it, too."

"You promise?"

"I do." One more kiss and he's backing away from the counter. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"What time do you get off?"

"Six."

"Aight, I'll be here around 5:45."

"Alright."

He heads out of the door and a couple of people head up in his place, along with Alana.

"Hey, beautiful!" She greets Stevie with a kiss on the cheek.

"Wassup, girlfriend?" She replies, before tending to her customers.

"Runnin' a little late, but I'm here." She puts on her apron and pulls a couple of people from Stevie's line into her own.

"Everything alright?" Stevie glances in her direction, before reaching behind her for a napkin to wipe off the cup of coffee.

"Yeah. As soon as I left school, I went straight home and took a nap. I guess I lost track of time."

"Ah," she nods, "I got you. Well, Claire understands, I'm sure."

"Yeah, of course. I just like being punctual, you know?"

"I do." She pats her back.

Back across town, Rod locks his front door and drops the shopping bags onto his hardwood floor.

He heads into his kitchen and slides the buttercream cake into his fridge. As soon as he sits his keys down, the house phone starts ringing.

He immediately answers. "Hey, mama."

"Happy anniversary, baby boy." The boyish grin spreads across his face.

"Thanks, ma."

"What do you have planned for the occasion?"

"I'm taking her to Coney Island."

"Aw, that's cute! I haven't been there in so long. She's gonna love that."

"Man, I hope so. I didn't wanna do the traditional dinner date, like we usually do. I wanted to put some excitement in it."

"You're doing great, dear. Don't sweat it."

"Okay. I've got a few hours to kill, so I might take a nap to kill these nerves—"

"Go smoke a blunt, like you normally do, chile. You'll be fine!" He laughs at her brash response.

"You'd think I was talkin’ to one of my boys, right now.”

She hollers in response. “I'm not that bad, am I?”

“That shit was hella funny, man. But, ima go take a nap, I'll talk to you later."

"Alright, I love ya. Give Stevie my love, too."

"Will do. I love you, too."

"You smoke? Your eyes are red?" She asks, lacing up her orange converses.

"That and I just woke up, not too long ago." He leans against the wall, watching her pull her matching hoodie over her poofy hair.

"You look good." She tugs on her jeans and smiles.

"Thank you. So do you."

Sliding her chapstick in her pocket, she meets him near her bedroom door, staring up at him like a little kid.

"You ready?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

"Duh!"

He chuckles, grabbing her hand and leading her out of the house and into his Jeep.

"I got something for you." He reaches inside his jacket and hands her a blunt.

"You know the way to my heart, don't you." She grabs the lighter out of his glove compartment and sparks it.

"I would hope so. Plus, your gifts are waiting for you on your couch, when we get back."

"Yours are in my room. I'm surprised you weren't peeking around."

"That's cause I know what a surprise is."

"I know what a surprise is, Roderick." She rolls her eyes. "A girl can't be surprised?"

"You checked my pockets as soon as I got in the door!" He chuckles.

"Maybe, I was looking for gum..." she trails off, turning her gaze towards the window, continuing to smoke her blunt.

"Yeah, you knew that sounded stupid, too." He shakes his head.

Roughly an hour later, Rod parks his car down the street from their destination, so Stevie can still be surprised.

"Where are we?" Stevie asks, pulling on the strings of her hoodie.

"We're here." He sarcastically responds, poking her nose.

Her low eyes light up. "Really?"

"Really. Stay put for a second, okay?"

"Okay." She grabs his face and kisses him, causing him to smile against her lips.

Getting out of the car, he opens the back door and grabs his camera, hanging it around his neck by the strap and turning it on.

Pulling the key out of the ignition, he puts it in his pocket, closes his door and heads over to her side, opening her door and focusing the camera on her.

"Aight, babygirl." He holds his hand out for her to grab, but she just looks up goofily at the camera.

"Babe," she giggles and covers her face, "you're taping this?"

"Yes! I gotta get your reaction on camera. Is that okay with you?"

“Of course!”

He reaches out to grab her left hand, pulling her out of the car, closing the door behind her.

"Ugh, you're so cute." He locks the car up and pans the camera down to the linked fingers.

"I love you, Vie."

"I love you too— oh my gosh!"

Releasing his hand, she covers her mouth and stops walking, staring at the carousels, rides, ferris wheel and red and white striped tents ahead.

"You really brought me to Coney Island?" Her voice comes out small as her eyes start to water.

"You like it?" An underlying trace of uncertainty follows his question.

"I love it!”

Forgetting about the camera for a split second, she clings to his body like a second skin, smothering him with her kisses.

"I love you," she kisses his cheek, "I love you so much."

"I know," he proudly shrugs on the outside, while internally thanking God that she actually likes it.

"Come on!" The pair practically run to their unclear destination.

"Where to first, babygirl?"

"Hm... let's go to Luna."

"Lead the way." She cheeses and grabs his hand, heading through the pink and green, wheel- decorated gate. Rod pans his camera up to catch the view, along with the deep periwinkle sky above them.

"Ooh, I've always wanted to go on the thunderbolt!" Stevie jumps up and down like a little kid.

"Let's go ride it, then!"

After riding almost everything in both parks combined, they find a table and plop down, along with their snacks, prizes and funnel cakes.

"You got enough footage, there?" She asks, watching him stare at his camera.

"Mmmhm," his eyes dart to hers and back down, "I just need one more thing, but it can wait."

"What?" She asks, licking the powdered sugar off her fingers. He shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it. I'll capture it, one day."

"You're such a freak, Roderick."

"I didn't even say any—"

"Mmmhm." She mocks him, tearing off another piece of her funnel cake.

"What time is it?"

"A little after eight. You ready to go?" He asks.

"I just wanna give you your gifts, before it gets too late."

"Aight, we can head home, then."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. We've done everything there is to do. You got your bear, one of those goofy ass pictures they drew of us, ate your body weight in sweets— I'm just glad you enjoyed yourself." A satisfied smile sits on his lips.

"I always enjoy myself when I'm with you. This was the cutest date we've ever been on and it's definitely my favorite."

"Your favorite? Ya boy got it like that??"

She playfully rolls her eyes and stands up from the table.

"Get your goofy ass up and take me home."

"Yes ma'am."

"Okay, so at first, I really didn't know what to get you, cause shopping for boys is damn near impossible, but because I know you like the back of my hand... I found a couple of things!"

Placing the bags in front of him, she sits on the edge of her bed, while he scoots closer to her in the rolling chair.

Rummaging through the first bag, he pulls out a dark blue hoodie with a matching velvet durag. "Aw man, shorty done bought me the velvet!"

"I take it, you like it?"

"Duh! What else's in here?"

Picking up the smaller bag, he pulls out a long black box. He raises an eyebrow in her direction, but she just motions for him to open it.

"What is this, vie?"

"It's a gift, negro. Open the box!" He slowly opens, revealing the fourteen karat gold necklace with the word 'Vie' written in the prettiest cursive.

"Wow," he runs his finger along the necklace. "I don't know how to express this, without soundin' like a bitch." They both laugh.

"You love it, don't you?"

"Man, you make me wanna cry, sometimes. This is beautiful."

"Aww, don't cry!" She grabs the box out of his hand and pulls the necklace, standing up to put it on him.

"Now, we're twins!" She cheeses, widely.

"Your turn." He taps her thigh and quickly slides the pink bags her way.

She instinctively goes for the smallest bag, but he stops her. "Let's save that one for last."

"Okay..." she drags out, going for the next bag. She pulls out a notebook with different poems stamped on the front of it in calligraphy.

"Awww, I needed a new one, too!" She playfully thumps his knee, before reaching further into the bag, pulling out a photo album with a picture of them from one of their summer dates, taped to the front; Stevie clad in a figure hugging blue dress, with a slight tinge of attitude in her eyes from it being so humid, and Rod on her left with a wide grin on his face.

"Oh my God," she opens it up and finds a couple more pictures of them, standing in front of her full length mirror. She hadn't even noticed that he was taking pictures of her, because she was busy fixing her hair.

"Ugh," she drags her finger underneath her eye, catching the tears before it could actually fall. "Why you gotta make me cry?"

"You've got one more to open, babygirl." His eyes dart back to the small bag.

"Jesus," she reaches inside and grabs the small black box, immediately looking up at him. "Rod, what is this?"

"Hm, open it and we'll find out.," he smirks, watching her shaky hand pop the box open. The gasp that leaves her mouth delights him.

"You got me a promise ring?!" She gawks at the silver oval diamond with purple accents, before he takes it out of the box and slides it on her finger.

"It's really corny, but you deserve it. I'll never break any of my promises, babygirl. We're half a year in and I don't ever wanna stop, you hear me?"

She giggles, wiping away another tear.

"Heard you. I love you," she pulls him in for a kiss. "I love you so much."

"I love you, more."

"I've got something else... it's a gift for both of us."

She strides towards her closet and then scurries to her bathroom with a bag in her hand.

"You should've put it on for me," he shouts, chuckling to himself.

"Nope, cause I'd never get it on!" She shouts back.

"Shit... you've got a point."

Giggling to herself, she steps out of her remaining clothes and pulls out the silk, baby pink negligee that she picked up from saucy.

Tyler finally told Stevie about the boutique that she shops at and she didn't waste a second, heading inside and almost going broke on their selection.

Dropping her clothes into her hamper, she heads back across the hall, stopping at the doorway.

Rod leans forward and places his arms on his knees, beckoning her with a single finger. Biting her bottom lip, she strides towards him, stopping a couple centimeters from his face.

"You look so fuckin' good." He rubs his hands up and down her sides, smirking when he doesn't feel anything underneath. She bats her lashes.

"Fuck panties, huh?" He looks up at her.

"Who needs em, when they're just gonna come off, anyway. It's easier access." She throws her leg over his, leaning down to kiss him.

Pulling his T-shirt off, she tosses it behind her and pushes him back into her pillows, reaching for the button on his jeans.

"Wait, wait.," he grabs her hands and motions for her to come closer. She crawls into his lap and he moves her up on his chest.

"What are you doing?" She asks, watching him lick his lips.

"Trying something different. You aight with it?"

"Y-yeah, just warn me next time." She jokes, while he pulls her lower body onto his face, lightly trapping her clit between his plump lips.

She places her hands on his shoulders, while the bottom of her dress slightly covers his face.

"Oh shit.... that feels so good." She moans, pressing her fingers into his skin as he dips his tongue into her.

Gripping the bottom of her dress, he travels back up to her clit, suckling it into his mouth. Tossing her head back, she cries out.

"Fuck, baby!" His sucking becomes fervent, causing her to try and lift up, but he grabs her hips, keeping her in place.

"Okay— oh fuck!" Her hands cover his own, trying to pry them off her hips.

He groans against her, making matters worse. "You're gonna make me cum!"

Her hands grip the top of his head as she gyrates against his mouth. A chain of profanities fly from her lips as she unravels right on his tongue.

Pressing kisses against her inner thigh, his deep chuckle sends her closing them around his face. "I can't feel my legs..." she breathes.

Sliding off of him, she lays on her back as he hovers over her, wrapping her left leg around his, still clothed, waist.

Snaking a hand in between them, she unbuttons his jeans and tugs on them, "take these off."

"Yes ma'am." He pecks her lips, before stripping down, putting a condom on and crawling back between her legs, sinking into her in one fluid motion.

He swallows her moans with a french kiss, while he digs into her as deep as possible. Her hands wrap around his body, tightly.

Pulling away for air, she deeply gasps, feeling him tap on her spot. "Right there, baby..."

Staying right where she needs him, he stuffs his face into her neck, sucking and kissing on her hot spots.

Tingles of pleasure shoot through her body, making her chest press against his, involuntarily.

"Shit..." her nails dig into his back, making him wince slightly. "Faster,"

Obliging, his strokes increase as he begins slamming into her. Her mouth falls open, her harsh breathing runs in with her never-ending moans.

Pulling away from her neck, he hovers over her, pecking her bottom lip. "I'm making you feel good?"

"Yes,"

"Yeah?" He smirks, watching her eyes roll back.

"Yessss— don't stop!"

Sliding a hand underneath her head, he gently grips a handful of her hair, pulling it back to expose her neck. Placing sweet kisses along her skin, he continues to dig into her.

Moving her hands up to grip his shoulders, she wraps her legs around his waist. "I'm gonna cum!" She whines with her head tossed back into the pillows.

"Cum for me, babygirl." Her body goes rigid against him as her walls suck him up, causing him to slightly hunch forward and firmly plant his hand on the bed, beside her head.

Continuing to rock inside of her, her grip on his shoulders tightens.

"Fuck!," her body shudders as he gradually comes to a stop, knowing she can only handle so much.

"I love you," Rod whispers against her lips, unhooking her legs from around his waist.

"I love you, too."

"Roll over on your stomach, for me."

Sensually flipping over, she pulls her dress off and puts that famous arch in her back, causing Rod to grunt from behind her. "I really wanna go easy on you, tonight.... but you play too much."

"What if I don't want you to go easy on me?" She looks at him over her shoulder, as he bites down on his bottom lip.

"Is that right," he chuckles and grips her hips, pulling her towards the edge of the bed and pushing the middle of her back down, further.

"Mmhm— ooh!" He slaps her ass.

"You sure this whatchu want?" He asks, wrapping her hair up in his hand, ultimately pushing the side of her face into the mattress.

"Yes, daddy." She places her hands on his thighs, feeling him slide all the way inside of her.

"Daddy, huh?." He chuckles to himself, beginning to drive in and out of her with an intense force that sends her clawing at his thighs.

"Ohh fuuuuck!"

"Shut up," he grunts. If this were any other instance, she'd be pissed, but in this case, she's more aroused than ever.

The clapping of her ass against his thighs, sounds throughout the room, adding to their pleasure.

"What we celebratin' today, babygirl?"

"Mmm! Our anni–fuck!" Her legs tremble as he hits her spot. Releasing her hair, he wraps his hand around her throat.

"Come on, babygirl... what's today?"

"Our anniversaryyyy! That's my spot, baby!" She pushes his leg, only to have him grip her arm up with his free hand.

"Right here?"

"Ughhh,"

"This the spot that make that pussy cry? Huh?" He speeds up, knocking up against it, heavily.

"Yes! Fu-uck! I can't— I can't take it—"

"You gon' take this dick. What's my name?"

"Daddyyy," a shiver goes up his spine at the way it rolls off her tongue.

"Goddamn... what daddy say?"

"Take this dick," she repeats through clenched teeth. Her toes curl as her orgasm begins to quickly approach.

"I'm gonna— I'm gonna cum! Ohhh shhhhit!" She unravels for a third time, trying desperately to move away from his strokes as he continues to pound into her.

"Ah! Sto— stop!" She taps his thigh with her free hand, signaling that she's tapping out. He finally stops and releases his hold on her, watching as she lays flat on the bed and catches her breath.

"I told you." Rod shrugs, cockily.

Stevie eventually faces the opposite end of the bed, beginning to stroke his thick, shiny length in her tiny hand. "Can I try something?"

"You can do whatever you want." Keeping eye contact with him, she licks the underside of his dick, earning a grunt from him.

Giggling to herself, she lowers her wet mouth down onto him, watching as his bottom lip disappears in between his teeth. "Fuck, vie."

She hums as she bobs her head, being offered a strangled moan in return. "Just like that."

Reaching out with both hands, he gathers her wild hair into his hands as she continues to bring him to his peak. Her eyes never leave his.

"Fuuuuck," he tosses his head back, feeling his restraint slip. His hips start to gyrate against her face as he gets closer.

A slight gag alerts him to look down, but she just sends a wink his way. He shakes his head at her, completely surprised in this moment.

"I'm gonna cum, baby." She moans, egging him on. He grips her hair, fighting the urge to fuck her mouth with the same passion as he did her pussy, a little earlier.

"Oh fuck.... I'm cummin.," his brows scrunch as he shoots down her throat, growling as he watches her swallow every drop.

"Mm," she releases him with a pop, "you taste good, Daddy."

"You're gonna be the death of me."

@thegifstories @sheabuttahwrites @soufcakmistress @supersizemeplz @harmshake @blackerthings @blackpinup22 @zataria @neewrites @blowmymbackout @lemmewritesomeish @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @cecereads209 @nayaxwrites @ibeoutchea @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @abeautifulmindexposed @awerkofart @headcannonxgalore

#miyuhpapayuh #soulff #rod x stevie #black romance #poc writers #blackwriters #90s romance #black reader #x black!reader #black!reader #joey badass fic #joey bada$$

[theycallmebecca]

Drabble: The Five Step Plan

Well this story for @the-slumberparty turned into a BEAST... I can't tell you the last time I've written something this long... it took a few days, but I'm happy with how it turned out.

As I mentioned, this is for @the-slumberparty and the Week 3 challenge to try something new in regards to tropes. The prompt I used was baby/child acquisition, but with exes to lovers.

In the end, this story turned into an AU version of how Frank Adler ended up as the guardian for his niece Mary. So not only was it new tropes for me, but also more dramatic and emotional than I normally get. Hence the warnings.

Title: The Five Step Plan

Pairing: Frank Adler x female reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: some language, AU version of how Frank became Mary's guardian, minor character death but mostly dealing with the fallout from said death

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Usage Disclaimer: This work is for fans only. This author does not give permission for it to be shared, spoken of, referred to in any public manner (podcast, tv, online, etc.) that wants to either make a celebrity uncomfortable, mock fan fiction/fandom in any way, or the author themselves. Requests can be made, but it is unlikely the author will change their mind. If no response is given to a request then the answer is a solid no, not interested and the work cannot be shared, spoken of or even referred to, regardless of the manner or context. 

The call came in minutes before Frank was due on stage for a discussion panel at a conference.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Adler, there’s been a car accident," the police officer said. "Your sister's car was sideswiped and she did not make it.”

“My niece? Mary? Is she… is she ok?” he panicked.

“She’s fine, she wasn’t in the car,” the police officer answered but there was a hesitancy in his voice.

“What's going on?!” Frank demanded.

“She was the one who called to report it,” the police officer said. “It happened right in front of her.”

“Oh Mary!” Frank cried out, his heart breaking in two for his 13-year-old niece. “Where is she now?”

“She’s currently at the hospital, she insisted on riding with her mother,” the police officer said. “She threatened to sue the city for child abandonment if they didn’t take her with… she said you were in California.”

“My wife,” he heard himself say. “I’ll call my wife, she’ll come get Mary and do whatever needs to be done.”

“Give her my number, I’ll wait for her call,” the police officer said, his voice sounding relieved.

Frank mumbled goodbye and then hung up, totally numb. His sister was dead. Gone forever and…

“Mr. Adler? They’re ready for you,” a voice said from behind him.

Frank turned and somehow managed to say, “I can’t. I have to leave. My sister…” He couldn’t say the word, so he just said, “accident. Bad.”

Then he fled. It wasn’t until he was in the privacy of his hotel room that he called you. Technically, you were still his wife, even though the two of you had been in a trial separation for almost six months. But he knew you loved Mary, too, and would drop everything to rush to her.

————

You got to the hospital less than twenty minutes after hanging up with Frank. The police officer was waiting for you and within minutes you were reunited with Mary.

The teenager was wearing her signature brave face until she saw you, then she melted, the events of the afternoon catching up to her. You rushed to her side and gathered her into your arms, giving into your own emotions as she sobbed.

Eventually, the police officer cleared his throat and apologetically said that there were some legal things you had to take care of on behalf of Frank before you could take Mary home.

“I want to go, too,” Mary said, standing up. “I don’t want to be left alone.”

You nodded your head and gave the police officer a look that said not to argue. After all, Mary had already seen her mother immediately following the accident.

An hour later, you unlocked the front door of Frank’s condo, the place you’d called home for five years. You ushered Mary to the master bedroom and then held her until she cried herself to sleep.

It was only once she was asleep that you called for more help, asking your best friend to go to Mary and her mom's apartment and get their cat Fred and pack a bag of clothes for Mary.

You knew Frank wasn’t the biggest fan of cats, but you also knew he wouldn’t make his niece give up her cat, not after losing her mom.

As you waited for your friend to show up, you wandered around the condo and eventually realized that Frank hadn’t changed a thing in the six months since you’d moved out.

It made you both mad and sad that he hadn’t changed anything, because it just reaffirmed to you the choice you’d made to walk away. You weren’t a materialistic person in the least, but you wanted to be loved and appreciated and Frank wasn’t good at expressing love or appreciation. You’d hoped your walking away would wake him up, but it clearly hadn’t.

You heard Fred yowling in protest before your friend knocked on the door. Getting up, you let her in and took the cat carrier from her.

“Shh, Fred,” you whispered to the cat. “Mary needs you.”

The cat quieted instantly and didn’t fight you as you pulled him out of the carrier. You carried him down the hall to Frank’s room and set him on the bed.

He made soothing cat noises as he walked towards Mary and then he snuggled up close to her. You held your breath until you saw Mary’s shoulders visibly relax and knew that Fred was exactly what she had needed.

Leaving the room, you helped your friend with the rest of Mary’s stuff, putting it all in the guest room.

“Do you want me to stay until Frank gets here?” your friend offered.

You shook your head and said, “We’ll be fine.”

Your friend gave you a look that said she didn’t believe you, but she gave you a hug and made you promise to call if you needed anything.

————

It had taken Frank nearly twelve hours, but he was finally home. He took the stairs two at a time and quietly let himself into the condo since it was nearly 5 in the morning.

He set his bag down and he made his way to the guest room, where he assumed you’d put Mary to bed. He was surprised, therefore, to find the door open and the room empty save for things he recognized from Mary's room from her apartment.

Turning towards the master bedroom, he crossed the hall and turned the handle slowly. Stepping inside, he was surprised to find Mary alone, though a telltale purr alerted him to the presence of Fred, too.

He was annoyed for half a second before it dawned on him that of course you’d put Mary in his bed. The girl had been through a traumatic experience and you’d both agreed to take her some place she knew that wasn’t home. He hadn’t been there, but the bed had smelt like him, which would have helped calm Mary more.

Stepping out of the room, he pulled the door closed and made his way to the heart of the condo, only seeing the blankets folded up on the couch as he passed.

Hearing noises in the kitchen, he followed them and found you in the kitchen starting coffee and wearing one of his shirts and a pair of sweats.

You finished with the coffee pot and then turned towards him, your face showing the same grief that he knew his own showed, too.

He crossed the room and wrapped you in a hug, both of you giving into your grief.

————

You’d been in the waiting room the day Mary had been born and she had stolen your heart the first time you'd held her. She wasn’t your niece biologically, but she had been the one to make you an aunt and the two of you had had a special bond because of that.

Therefore, there was no way in hell you were going to abandon her when she needed you the most. Even if it meant having your heart rebroken nearly every day loving a man who would never love you back the way you deserved to be loved.

The first few weeks had been the hardest. The funeral had been planned and then had taken place. You and Frank had packed up his sister’s apartment, all of her things going into boxes in his garage while Mary’s stuff was unpacked in the guest room.

Then, at the will reading, you and Frank had found out that his sister still had you and Frank named as Mary’s legal guardians. You'd known she’d made the change following their mother’s passing, but you’d assumed she would have changed it when you and Frank had separated. Obviously, she hadn’t.

“I’ll move into my office,” Frank offered one evening after Mary was in bed and you were preparing to go home to your apartment. “You can move into the bedroom. It’s the only thing that makes sense when you’re here all day.”

You wanted to argue, but you were starting to get worried about Mary. She was seemingly just going through the motions and you were sure having both you and Frank within reach at a moment's notice would be helpful.

“Ok,” you said. “For Mary.”

And thus, that weekend, you moved back into your old home and went to bed in the bed that had been yours and Frank’s. The bed that smelled like him and made your heart hurt even more.

————

After you'd moved out of the condo, Frank had spent as little time there as possible, choosing to stay late in his office at the university over being bombarded with memories at the cold, sterile condo he lived in.

Now with you back in the condo and the addition of Mary, and even Fred, the condo was quickly becoming the place that Frank wanted to be. He adjusted his office hours at the university, mostly so he could take Mary to her therapy appointments, but also so he could spend time with the two of you.

Losing his sister had made him realize that he had been a fool to let you go without a fight. Thanks to a few therapy sessions, he had an idea of where things had gone wrong and he was determined to fix them.

Step one was spending more time with you, and Mary.

Step two was proving that he still loved you.

Step three was proving that the two of you couldn't live without each other.

Step four was getting you to fall in love with him again.

Step five was recommitting yourselves to each other.

He was going to do it.

————

You were looking through your list of text messages for something for work when you saw Frank's sister's name and guilt flooded you at the message next to it.

Promise me you'll never give up on him.

The two of you had been catching up, just days before the accident, and she'd sent that message and you hadn't replied.

"I'm sorry," you whispered to her spirit. "I should have replied, I was just scared."

Despite the awkward situation of being a sister-in-law and friend, she'd been as supportive as she could. She never pressured you for information, but was always willing to listen when you needed to talk to someone who understood Frank as well as you did, if not better.

"You're probably laughing up there," you muttered. Not over being gone from her daughter, of course, but over forcing her brother and you back together with no option but to spend lots of time together.

To Frank's credit, things were different now than they had been before you'd walked away. He was more attentive and, while he wasn't overzealous with his emotions, he wasn't as stoic as he had been before. There was not a single night that he sent Mary to bed without telling her that he loved her.

The changes you saw in him, made your heart hurt a little less each day and gave you a little more hope that things would all work out in the end.

"I promise," you whispered. "I won't give up on him."

————

It took six months of hard work, but Frank successfully got through the first four steps of his plan to get you back. It hadn't been as simple as he originally outlined, at least not after he'd let you in on the plan and you'd made your own suggestions. But in the end, the two of you had made it to the other side stronger than ever.

On the anniversary of the day you walked away from him, the two of you decided to renew your vows in a spur of the moment ceremony with just you guys and Mary in the backyard of the house you'd purchased together.

Mary insisted upon you both dressing up and said she'd take care of the wedding vows, which turned out to be a pair of wedding themed mad libs that she had gotten you both to fill out under the guise of being bored.

Needless to say, the intimate ceremony had been perfect, even though you and Frank had been crying from hysterical laughter rather than the normal emotions associated with weddings.

But finally, once you had all calmed down, you and Frank had sealed the crazy vows with a kiss.

#navy and roo’s sleepover #theycallmebecca #theycallmebeccawrites #frank adler #frank adler fanfiction #frank adler fanfic #frank adler fan fiction #frank adler x you #frank adler x female reader #frank adler x y/n #Becca writes drabbles

[liiilyevans]

"we still got it." "hell yeah we do."

exs to lovers prompts

Thank you so much for this!

"we still got it." "hell yeah we do."

Hermione didn't plan on coming home to shag her ex-boyfriend. That had not been her intent at all. In fact, when she went out with Ginny, it was to prove that she was over Ron and quite ready to move on to someone else. Nevermind the fact that she'd never had a one-night stand in her life.

Well, her plans had been foiled when George and Angelina had shown up. Angelina was all for the idea of her taking someone home, and just as the girls had picked out someone they all thought was suitable, Ron had shown up. If Hermione had to guess, George was the one who texted him.

Flirting was never her strong suit, and she was not about to fail at it in front of Ron. Timing had really been the issue with her and Ron. When they'd broken up five months ago, it was due to distance and Hermione's tendency to overwork herself. Her internship had ended a month ago and now she was back in London. And doing a shit job at avoiding her ex.

"When were you going to tell me you were back in town?" Ron asked lowly when Ginny got up to go to the loo.

Hermione tried to send Angelina a warning glance, but she was too busy giggling as George rubbed his beard against her neck.

Great.

"I've been busy," Hermione said as she took a sip of her martini.

Ron scoffed. "With what?"

"My job," she said, sending him a glare. "And moving into my flat."

"Right."

Ginny returned then and suggested that they get up for a dance. Hermione quickly agreed. Anything to get her away from an interrogation. As she stood up, Ron grabbed her arm.

"I wanna talk to you," he said, bending down so his face was within inches of her own. She'd forgotten just how tall he was.

"We already talked," she said, watching Ginny and the others making their way to the floor.

"Really talk," Ron said, and there was sincerity shining in his blue eyes. So, Hermione followed him out back and they proceeded to have a conversation that turned into an argument, as they always did, and that turned into snogging.

Hermione had also forgotten how much she loved kissing Ron. He was so much taller than her, lean and muscular. Her fingers snaked through his hair and his hands found her ass. Luckily there was a taxi out front. That poor driver probably saw more of her legs than he wanted to.

Then they were in her new flat that never really felt like home and Ron was tugging her jeans down and she was pulling his shirt over his head, once again mesmerized by the constellation of freckles across his chest. Once he'd carried her into his bedroom, she was missing her shirt and knickers and Ron was only sporting his boxers.

He was just as good at pleasing her as he was before they broke up. So, he hadn't forgotten the long lessons where they'd both discovered what the other liked. The thought made heat lick up Hermione's core. Ron was moving on top of her, his breath fanning against her neck in the most sinful of ways.

Then his thumb was moving across her clit, and Hermione was coming apart underneath him like a tidal wave. Ron wasn't far behind, loosing himself a few seconds later. Both of them remained tangled together catching their breaths.

"We still have it," she muttered vaguely surprised that she Ron could still make her feel this way after months.

Ron chuckled throatily against her neck. "Hell yeah we do."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved at his shoulder until he rolled off of her.

"Does this mean you're happy to see me?" he asked cheekily.

She glared at him. "Don't be so cocky."

"That's a yes," he said as he wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her against his sweaty chest. "Do you want ice cream? I know this place down the road and I can Door Dash it here."

"Maybe later," she muttered sleepily because nothing felt better than falling asleep in Ron's arms.

#romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #hp #my writing #answered

[aciddaffodil]

When fandom and media are how I express love to important people in my life:

I express my love for people through media, it's the way it's always been for me. My brother and I went through every phase under the moon: Scooby-Doo, Power Rangers, Romcoms, every Tom Cruise movie in existence. My mom when I'd wake up from night terrors or just plain insomnia would always have some horror related thing on, I vividly remember Friday the 13th episode plotlines even if it's been 15 years. I've watched my other mum beat Breath of the Wild and Super Mario Odessey to near 100 % completion. Whenever I make a new friend and I'm trying to find a common ground, I almost always end up watching something for them- it's how I got into Hermitcraft and what pushed me to be a cosplayer. I finally gave Critical Role C2 The Mighty Nein another try, and now send updates to my brother and get cryptic replies back. The first time I watched Mob Psycho 100 S3, I waited weeks for my best friend to fly in to visit and we binged all the episodes that were out together. And then 9 months later when my partner flew into town to visit, we watched all of season 3 again for her first time watching the series.

And to get to the point of this post and what prompted me to write this: my papa, my adopted dad of sorts, has been watching and reading One Piece for 10-15 years. We share the Crunchyroll account and as I've watched and continued on my One Piece journey, I noticed he hadn't been watching it recently and I didn't think much of it- maybe he's been too busy or busy watching seasonals. Come to find out, he's put watching One Piece on hold for me so I can catch up and we can watch it together. Which is just a huge expression of love, in my eyes at least. I cried about it and just wanted to share :3

#nerd talks #love langauges #media #fandom #anime #growing up #one peice #hermitcraft #mob psycho 100 #just a bit of everything #sappy

[r0-boat]

So like, Imagine.

Emmet is ranting to the substitute hero.

"Honestly, Months of scheming all for some Nobody to waltz through the door."

"Wow harsh."

"Ah well, even with your sub optimal brain activity you'll make a verrry good meal for my Joltiks."

"Wa-wait a minute I didn't Ask to cock block you. Ya know! I've got my own nemesis who's probably really confused why (Reader Hero Name) is crashing our work date instead of me...crashing my own work date. You get the idea!"

"I am Emmet and I am confused. You did not Choose this assignment?"

"Nope, I'm supposed to be down town watching a terribly adapted book flick. I mean, stopping my nemesis from destroying a movie theater...playing the terribly adapted book flick. We'd throw some one liners, throw some debris, Accidentally destroy those awful movie files in the process. Then sit in the wreckage and eat some popcorn together."

"But instead I'm Here being insulted by, you, because one of our company supervisor's doesn't believe Hero Nemesis relationships should be encouraged. So neither of us is having a good day."

"I see...and what is the Name of this supervisor?"

"..."

A few minutes later after the Substitute hero is untied.

"Okay so this is the Supervisor's name and image on the company website. Asshole doesn't even set Foot in the office half the time. Just constantly telling us 'lowly workers' where to go otherwise we get our asses chewed. Last week he said if he catches us taking 'too long with our villian interactions' we could suffer a pay dock. Can you believe that shit?"

"How awful." Ingo agrees as he buzzes around readying their transport.

"Verrry unprofessional. But please continue." Emmet prompts taking notes.

"Oh that's the Tip of the iceberg, there's also a gag order on heroes communicating with their nemesis on the clock otherwise it's Major disciplinary action. Like how does that make sense!? How are heroes supposed to go Meet their villains in battle if we can't communicate!? Also his car looks like this...and..."

Meanwhile at the Movie Theater. The Hero Reader is consoling the Substitute Hero's Villan.

"Like, we planned this date for Months. I know Pookie said work was really cracking down, but I never expected they'd pull This!" CRASH! "IT'S SO NOT FAAAAAAAIR!"

You patted the now monstrous form of the villain on the shoulder as they sobbed. Slow day at the movie theater meant minimum evacuations and without your own villains your heart really wasn't in it for battle.

"There there, I know the feeling you're going through. My day as a hero just isn't complete until I've heard my villains' monolog at least once."

"WELL WAIT NO LONGER MY DARRRLING!"

The hero reader swivels to see the twins and the substitute hero standing in the entrance to the movie theater with snacks from the concession stand.

"Boys!?"

"POOKIE!!!"

"Hi babe! OOF!" You were too stunned to laugh as your coworker was engulfed in a twirling hug by their nemesis. "I'm So sorry babe. I wanted to tell you what happened but-"

"Shh," The other villian assured, now back in their more humanoid appearance. "I know you didn't mean to hurt my feelings Pookie, I'm just happy you found a way to be here."

"Well, I can't take full credit for that idea." You coworker gestured to your own villains. "Now, let's go tear that movie to shreds!"

"YEEEES!"

The two ran further into the complex with a STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP to find the flick that had apparently offended them so.

You were still a little bewildered but smiled after them. Two peas in a pod it seemed.

"What's on your mind, dearest?" Emmet cooed, draping his arms over your shoulders and pressing his lips to your temple.

You leaned into the warmth. "That was a sweet thing you two did." You commented. "Giving up your own plan so those two could have their date I mean."

"Technically it was a mutual exchange." Ingo supplied coming to your side and taking your hand so he could bring it to his lips for a kiss.

"Indeed, coming here led us to you. We would not have done so otherwise." Emmet assured, with almost complete confidence.

"True, but you could've goaded my coworkers villian into coming to You. But instead you did the opposite." You felt Emmet tense. "Gotcha, you big softie."

"I am Emmet and I am Not Soft."

"Okay but you are though."

"I am Not!"

"Are."

"NOT!"

"Are~"

"No-Mmph! Mmm...mmm..." His protest was cut off by him melting into your affection.

You smiled against Emmet's lips as you broke the kiss. Then you whispered "are~"

Emmet blushed and grumbled, but didn't release you from the hold he had on your back. Ingo even let out a small chuckle before taking his turn for some of your affection.

"Mmm," Ingo's lips parted from yours only briefly before he went back for more. You'd all missed this.

"But don't worry. That's why I adore you both so much. My nemeses." You cooed happily. "Now Ingo could you step back a moment dear?"

"Hm? Of course." He did so. "But may I ask wh-?"

You wrapped your arms around one of Emmet's and fuckin TOSSED his ass, (but landed him gently) over your shoulder onto the movie theater carpet.

He was stunned for a moment, before a huge grin broke across his face even as he lay flat out on the floor. "You are going to regret that Hero!"

You felt warmth pool in your cheeks and body. "We'll just have to see about that. Villians!" You hopped back, feeling your power course through your veins as your twins readied their offense.

"En garde Boys!

And so on that day a new loophole was discovered regarding heroes and nemesi double dates, the public loves a good collaboration after all.

Well, there was One person who wasn't thrilled about the outcome. But as one person might say "They had barely enough brain activity to satisfy a Joltik, so who cares what they think?"

Can you imagine a giant monster of a villain just sitting in a tiny seat being consulted by the hero and the just hand them a small tissue. The huge monster thanks them politely and takes the tiny tissue with their sharp claws.

Also thank you so much for this Beaker! this describes exactly the kind of tone this Au would have.

Also also, I would like to imagine the Board is confused and very concerned when all of their Heroes just started banging their villains, and they don't know what to do. Obviously, they couldn't fire all their workers, so they basically just said no work PDA...lol.

Emmet had "no talk, me angry" energy and I love it.

#ro.chatting #submas #villainmas

[coconutcordiale]

Yay! Congrats on the 1k, babes!! You know I love your writing so I’d love a drabble. How about for the closer prompt? BB x reader or hangster. I love them both. ❤️

hours don't turn into days (pt one)

full fic on ao3

pairing- rooster x hangman

synopsis-

There’s fog edging into the corners of his vision, surreal and dream-like. He’s going through the motions, operating on instinct. The only place his head is clear is in the air. In the silence of his jet, with nothing between him and endless miles of the sky but clouds and the crackle of the radio in his helmet, he can see vividly, can feel at peace.

or, bradley's struggling post-mission and hangman keeps calling him for some reason

warnings- 18+ explicit sexual content (blow jobs, anal sex, dom/sub undertones, praise kink, orgasm delay), angst, anxiety, bradley bradshaw's bummer of a life

length- 7.7k

an- MONTHS LATER i'm so sorry ash hahahaha

i'm back!!!! school is still kicking my ass so i can't be as active as i used to but i'm baaaack kinda. i've been posting this on ao3 (the chaps are split up nicer on there but i'm lazy so it'll be 2 parts on here) but since i finally got to the point that kicked off this whole fic - the lovely ASH requesting "make me" with hangster i figured i'd post the first few chapters on here as well. linking the fic on ao3 if you'd prefer to read there. fair warning....i've not scratched the surface of the angst that is planned for this one

Me carrying this mess Is tearing me to shreds I’m so far away from what I need From here it’s hard to breathe

hours – again&again

Bradley’s been measuring his life in hours since the moment he added up the first page in his logbook. He still remembers the excitement of penciling in that 11.4 of flight time into the bottom, already feeling as cool as Maverick, already one step closer to flying as close as he could to a mustached blonde guy and his bright Hawaiian shirts.

It took three hours for him and Mav to talk, actually talk, and hash things out, tears falling as they soothed old hurts and cautiously built new promises. Took them half that to even start.

Took one hour before he left his mother’s bedside, to believe she was gone, but Bradley tries his best not to think about that hour.

All that to say, it’s been nearly a thousand hours since Bradley came back to his stale East coast house that’s never really felt like home. A thousand hours since Hangman showed up in Virginia Beach, seeing as the Navy’s favorite way to say thank you for saving the lives of fellow pilots and surviving the un-survivable is to uproot someone's life and toss them across the country with little to no afterthought.

Phoenix got reassigned to Oceana too, but Phoenix’s presence across from him in the dim lighting of Haddy’s Bar isn’t trying to make Bradley lose his mind.

The problem with being near Hangman post mission – in light of the tenuous truce they’ve struck, with the debt Bradley feels like he owes him – is that no matter how many decent interactions he has with the guy, that flighty feeling in his stomach every time he sees him out of the corner of his eyes never seems to go away.

Must be his anxiety.

“Bradshaw.” Phoenix’s voice is sharp, slicing through the haze in his mind. She waves a hand in front of his face, annoyed. “Bradshaw.”

Bradley shakes his head, clears his throat. “Sorry, zoned out. What were you asking?”

She rolls her eyes, albeit mostly fond, he thinks. “You ever gonna bring the Bronco out here? You’ve been stationed here for, what, two years and you’re still keeping your most prized possession in California?”

Bradley blinks. Two years. He didn’t realize it had been that long and opens his mouth to admit it when he glances up, words dying on the tip of his tongue as he catches sight of blonde hair moving across the bar, amidst a group of pilots Bradley recognizes as VFA-37.

He wonders how Hangman feels about trading out the Vigilantes for the Ragin Bulls, wonders if Hangman insists on wearing his khakis because he knows how good he looks in them.

Then kicks himself for wondering.

Hangman grins when he clocks them, sauntering over like the cat he clearly was in a past life. “Bradshaw, as I –”

Phoenix shakes her head in disgust. “Nope. Not this again.”

Hangman mimes zipping his lips. The fact that he actually shuts up is a testament to how much the dynamic has changed since the mission.

Bradley tries, really tries, not to look but he can’t help the way his eyes flick to Hangman’s lips where they’re turned up slightly, a miniature version of his signature smirk. Phoenix’s derision is the only thing keeping him from saying something stupid at this point.

It doesn’t go unnoticed if the glint appearing in the other man’s green eyes is anything to go by.

“Hangman.” He nods, somewhere in the realm of normal, he thinks.

A blonde eyebrow quirks, telling him he wasn’t even close. “Cool shirt, birdie.”

Bradley wants to protest the obvious sarcastic slander of his muted yellow and white shirt, which is frankly pretty tame but can’t be bothered to put any real heat into his tone. “I see you’re still allergic to civvies."

Hangman lets out a chuckle, his face bright and open for a fleeting second before schooling his features back into something more familiar. “How could I not be, when I make khakis look this good?”

Bradley’s gaze leaves Hangman’s face yet again to rake up and down his form, almost involuntarily, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks as he barrels through his last remaining shred of subtlety.

Hangman looks like he might have some choice teasing about that little display, but his squad is waving at him with extra beers in their hands, trying for the blonde’s attention.

“Sorry to cut and run.” Hangman tilts his head in the direction of the pool table they’ve taken over towards the back. “But I’ve got some fuckin’ new guys to put in their place.”

Bradley decidedly does not stare at his ass as he saunters away. “How is he not the FNG in this squad?”

Phoenix snorts, ignoring his whining as per usual. “Glad to see him saving your life hasn’t spared the rest of us from being subjected to your shameless sexual tension.”

“It’s just regular tension because we don’t like each other very much. You only think it’s sexual because we’re both attractive.”

Pure glee immediately takes over her wry expression. “So, you do think he’s hot.”

“Christ,” Bradley sighs, the word coming out more clipped than Phoenix probably deserves. “Yes, Tash, I have eyes.”

Eyes that can currently see the line of Hangman’s throat as it works to swallow half of his beer in one go.

“Don’t bite my head off, Bradshaw,” she chastises. “I was wary when I heard he was coming to Virginia too, but insufferable horniness aside it does seem like things have changed between you two. For the better, I’d say.”

“Sorry,” Bradley says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I just don’t know what his angle is lately. Maybe he wants to feel better about being such a dick for so long. Maybe I’ll feel better when he’s done.”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow, and he tries not to balk at the contempt she manages in one minuscule expression. “Yeah, because you’ve always been your most cool-headed with him.”

Bradley makes a face. “Fine, I could probably stand to stop being a dick to him too.”

“There may still be some hope for you yet.” She tips her empty glass toward him. “Now extend that newfound graciousness in this direction and get me another beer.”

+

As nice as it is to have Phoenix on the same side of the country with him for once, Bradley still feels off-kilter.

There’s fog edging into the corners of his vision, surreal and dream-like. He’s going through the motions, operating on instinct. The only place his head is clear is in the air. In the silence of his jet, with nothing between him and endless miles of the sky but clouds and the crackle of the radio in his helmet, he can see vividly, can feel at peace.

The issue is on the ground. And it’s always worse just after a hop, just after he’s pleased to finally have his head clearing, crossing his fingers that it’ll last.

He must be obvious because Hangman lingers after getting ready for a flight of his own, leaning against the locker next to Bradley’s, arms crossed but relaxed as ever. “Y’all looked good up there.”

Bradley nods, curt. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches out between them, only muffled voices moving down the hallway outside the locker room and the plink plink plink of the dripping showers to be heard.

“You good, Bradshaw?”

“Peachy,” Bradley responds gruffly, slamming his locker door with a little more force than is probably necessary. He’d feel bad for his complete shutdown of Hangman’s attempts at friendliness, for doing the exact opposite of what he promised Phoenix he’d do if he could string together a single coherent thought.

As it stands, his brain feels like it’s been in a blender on high, so he nods goodbye to the blonde and makes his way to his car without registering a single other face he passes.

When he gets tired of aimlessly wandering around his house and only half-finishing tasks, he runs. Black New Balances pounding the pavement, lungs burning. It could be three miles or thirteen, he has no idea. It should tell him something about the state of his brain that a man who previously avoided cardio – as much as anyone in the military can actually avoid it – has no idea if he just ran a half-marathon.

It would tell him something. If he were at all interested in listening.

When he finally looks up from the cracks in the sidewalk a new problem becomes apparent; he has no idea where he is. His legs are starting to feel like jelly, putting a mark in that half-marathon column.

Bradley pulls up Uber, not even bothering to consider running back home. It’s twenty minutes out and he tries not to grumble too much about having to wait. It’s his own fault anyways.

Just when he’s looking for a way to bide his time on his phone, Hangman’s name flashes across his screen.

Why the hell is Seresin calling him?

“Hello?” Bradley asks tentatively, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Rooster,” Hangman drawls.

“Yes?”

“What’re you up to?”

“What?”

“Currently,” Hangman says, enunciating every syllable, slowly like he thinks Bradley might be stupid. He probably has a leg to stand on; Bradley feels pretty stupid right now. “What are you doing?”

“I’m, uh,” Bradley rubs the back of his neck awkwardly even though Jake can’t see him, “in Mount Trashmore Park.”

Hangman snorts. “Doing what? Watching your brothers and sisters fly around?”

“Ran here. Waiting for an Uber back home but it’s a ways out.”

“You ran there.” It’s not even a question. His tone is clipped, dry, and flat. Bradley can practically hear the judgmental curl of his lips through the line.

He grunts. Why doesn’t he just hang up? “Yep.”

Bradley hears the other man exhale, wondering if he imagines the amusement that comes across as just a little staticky. “You know, most people run in a loop. I know you’re new to this whole cardio thing, but it makes it easier.”

“Thanks, never thought of that before,” Bradley deadpans. “Did you just call to give me unsolicited personal training advice or was there something you needed?”

“Cancel your Uber, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Bradley stares at the phone in his hand quizzically for a good thirty seconds after Hangman ends the call. Weighs his options. It’s easier not to argue, honestly, as stubborn as Bradley is, he knows Seresin can be just as much of an immovable object when he wants to be. He cancels the ride after a little deliberation, left to the muddled nonsense that’s made up his brain since the mission.

The breeze feels nice on his face, at least. The leaves always look pretty this time of year. It’s something he misses, when he’s home in California, the only downside to eternal summer sunshine.

True to his word, Hangman’s unnecessary F-150 pulls up eight minutes later.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks in lieu of a greeting after Bradley’s buckled his seatbelt, magnanimous like he thinks he’s doing Bradley a favor.

Bradley decides to ignore the fact that he kind of is.

He aims to keep the crisp air out of his voice, trying his hand at Hangman’s brand of measured casualness. “Talk about what?”

Hangman rolls his eyes. Bradley refuses to let his hackles raise, unclenching his fist where it lays next to his thigh one finger at a time.

“You’ve hated running ever since I’ve known you. I have quite literally never witnessed you run by choice.”

“It’s bad for me to start taking care of my cardiovascular health?”

The blonde sighs, knuckles tight on the steering wheel, jade gaze on the road in front of him. Bradley finds himself wondering how much energy it’s costing him, to skirt this close to compassion. “You live at least ten miles from here.”

“So?”

“This is kind of a shitty area, dude.”

Bradley shrugs. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

Hangman lets out a frustrated huff. Bradley knows he’s being deliberately obtuse but can’t find it in himself to care, so he looks out the window, counting the cookie-cutter houses as they drive by.

“Look – I – you don’t have to talk to me,” Hangman says when they pull up in front of Bradley’s little craftsman house. It's clear this is even more uncomfortable for him than it is for Bradley. “There are definitely better options. But you should talk to someone. It’s obvious, it’s been obvious, that something’s off with you.”

“My flying’s fine,” Bradley responds tightly. Great, actually. Better than ever. The only thing that feels right these days, he doesn’t say.

“Your flying isn’t what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

Bradley fights a full-body cringe. They’re treading far too close to something Bradley has been professionally avoiding since the mission. Since before, if he’s being honest. Introspection has never been where he shines.

“Thanks for the ride,” Bradley says pointedly, getting out of the car determined to remain steady on his feet in front of the other man even though his legs feel like they’d give out underneath him at any moment.

“You’re welcome, Bradshaw. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Only after Bradley shuts his front door behind him does he realize that Hangman never told him why he called in the first place.

The word maybe was beginning to annoy me, because the only thing that was fixed was that maybe would be with me forever.

- Markus Zusak, Underdog

Even at the height of their antagonism, Bradley has always been able to recognize that Hangman’s attractive. Everyone knows he’s attractive. Hangman knows he’s attractive, with his broad shoulders and a slim waist, that dimple that everyone’s eyes are drawn to whenever he wants them to be.

It’s not Hangman’s fault, not really. The guy’s magnetic; always has been. It used to grate on Bradley, the ease at which Hangman carries himself, the way he makes everything look natural – it’s never once failed in its mission to make Bradley feel inadequate.

Until now. Now, he watches pink lips curl into a smirk and all he can think of is biting them red.

He just doesn’t remember ever looking quite this much. Hangman’s always been on the periphery of his radar but lately, it’s more like Hangman’s a flame and Bradley the moth doomed to its death. Bradley makes a point not to sleep with coworkers, and it truly is a terrible idea in this case. Even though they’re on different squadrons it’d be reckless to upset this new balance they’re coming to. Not friends, exactly, but a sort of peace treaty, nonetheless.

A peace treaty that Bradley considers lighting fire to every time Hangman bends over the pool table to reach an impossible shot.

Maybe he just needs to get laid. Celibacy is clearly fucking with his head.

Because none of his internal crisis seems to matter with the way Hangman’s drawl gets a little syrupier as he straightens up so he can look down at the redhead in front of him, laughing as she meets his sarcasm with quips of her own. Red nails, a shade brighter than her hair, wrap around Hangman’s arm, inching underneath where the sleeve of his uniform strains against his bicep.

Bradley looks away. Tries to focus on Phoenix and her new backseater Cage across from him at their high top. Fails. Why did he choose to sit so close to the pool table anyway?

She’s beautiful. Her laugh is lyrical and gorgeous, but it settles uncomfortably underneath Bradley’s skin. He’s refusing to think too hard about why that is.

He knows he’s getting more and more unbearable to be around, quiet and sullen and surly for no apparent reason. He’s only had two beers but figures it’s time to go home as he ambles to the bar; before everyone gets a glimpse of the real, moody Bradley they’d probably rather not know.

“Close me out instead?” He asks when Isaac makes his way over, holding up an unopened beer in silent question.

Isaac’s eyebrows raise but he nods, taking Bradley’s proffered card without any questioning.

“Gonna head out,” Bradley tells Phoenix and Cage when he returns empty-handed.

“I want to give you a hard time for bailing so early when we have a full day off tomorrow, but I know your students were a pain in the ass today, so I guess I’ll let it slide,” Phoenix grumbles. “Plus, old men need extra beauty rest.”

Bradley rolls his eyes, tone dry, even though the smile twitching underneath his mustache carries nothing but fondness. “Back in my day, we went to bed at a reasonable hour but thanks so much for the mitigated support, Tash.”

Phoenix tilts her beer at him. “Anything for you, birdie.”

Bradley tries not to clench his jaw at her use of Hangman’s nickname for him, adding his visceral reaction to the list of things he is adamantly not-thinking-too-hard-about.

When Bradley tosses a lazy salute in goodbye over towards Hangman and Red, something unreadable flashes across those sharp green eyes but before he can make heads or tails of it, it’s gone. He’s out the door and driving home in a daze moments later anyways, hoping the couple of beers he’s had will shut his brain up long enough for him to fall asleep.

+

Bradley's cursing the country station he’s had on in his car as of late, wondering which stupid song convinced him beer was the answer to the muddled nonsense that's been making up his brain. As he stares up at the ceiling fan and its endless circles, trying to decide at what point he should just give up on going back to sleep and do something productive, he hears his phone buzz, a text from Hangman lighting up the screen.

You up?

Bradley snorts in amusement as he replies, think u have me confused with that redhead from the bar

He watches the three dots in their message thread appear and disappear a few times, brows furrowing as he sends another text, u need a ride home?

Maybe they’re not friends but Bradley probably owes him one after the whole park debacle.

Hangman calls him almost immediately after the text shows as delivered and Bradley’s so confused, he picks up on the second ring.

“You good?”

The shaky exhale across the line answers that but he hears the blonde’s voice a moment later. “Bradshaw, you know the answer to that.”

It feels like a deflection in his ears; Bradley decides not to call him on it because he's nice like that. Or because he's really too tired to be throwing stones. Glass houses and all that. “What’re you doing up? Need a ride or something?” Hangman doesn’t sound drunk, but Bradley feels the need to offer again anyways.

“Could ask you the same thing. No, went home not long after you did.”

Bradley’s a little surprised by that, trying to shrug it off before speaking again. “Sleep and I haven’t been on great terms lately.”

Another shaky exhale. “Yeah, same.”

He could just hang up. Should hang up, probably, and do breathing techniques or count sheep until his mind shuts up long enough for him to fall asleep.

What comes out of his mouth instead is, “Think I’m gonna go to CVS for snacks. Want to come?”

“It’s two in the morning.” There’s the barest hint of amusement coming across the line now and Bradley barely resists feeling too proud about it.

“The one on Booth is open 24/7.”

Hangman huffs out what could be an actual laugh or what might be an extreme form of judgment. “You would make me get out of bed for sour straws in the middle of the night.”

“Says the one that called me. You wanna come or not?”

Hangman grumbles something unintelligible before Bradley can hear the rustling of sheets, what he assumes is the other man getting out of bed. “You better be picking me up.”

+

When Hangman walks out of his house, he can see the blonde looking at him like he doesn’t fully believe he’s there, dark circles prominent underneath his usually flawless golden skin. It shouldn’t be this obvious in the dark, with only the streetlights and full moon to give Bradley enough light to see him.

He wracks his brain trying to remember if Hangman looked this gaunt earlier at Haddy’s, but he’s tired enough to acknowledge that he was a little focused on the way the other man’s khakis stretched over his ass and not so much on his face.

They drive in a comfortable silence that always feels right for this time of night, both humming along to George Strait playing on the radio. Bradley succeeds in keeping his eyes mostly on the road, if only because the pensive way Hangman's staring out the window is freaking him out a little bit.

Four seconds after being under the headache-inducing fluorescent lights of CVS, Hangman wanders off mumbling something about moisturizer that Bradley doesn’t have the mental capacity to needle him about at the moment.

Chips and Nerds gummy clusters, he repeats the other man’s request in his head, because Hangman snacks like a ten-year-old let loose without parents. He throws trail mix into his basket because he’s an adult in his thirties. Even if he is at a drugstore in the middle of the night; with his only company a weird sort of-work-friend and high schoolers whose fake IDs haven’t come in the mail yet.

He slows to a stop in the packed chips aisle, swallowing reflexively as he takes in the selection.

It’s absurd. There must be fifty different kinds of chips in here.

Bradley’s eyes flit left and right, hand halfway to the nearest bag of Doritos. It drops back by his side, fingers flexing against his worn jeans.

His throat is drying, bright colors in myriads of packaging blurring at the edges of where his vision is starting to tunnel. Fluorescent lighting flickers overhead, the floor beneath his Converse shiny and speckled with black marks with absolutely no rhyme or reason.

This is where Hangman finds him, the other man stopping short with undoubtedly overpriced moisturizer in his hands, blonde eyebrows creeping towards his hairline.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I –” Bradley clears his throat, trying to blink the glare out of his eyes. “Wasn’t sure what kind of chips you wanted.”

Hangman plucks a bag of salt and vinegar off the shelf, seemingly at random. “These are fine.”

“Right.” He manages, words scraping against the sandpaper in his throat. “Didn’t get your candy yet, either.”

Hangman gives him a look that’s far too knowing for Bradley’s liking but thankfully doesn’t comment on it, stalking to the candy aisle while Bradley follows him like a lost puppy.

They pay the uninterested cashier who checks them out without even bothering to stop texting her boyfriend before heading back to Bradley’s car, tracing his path back to Jake’s on autopilot.

Hangman is staring straight ahead out of the windshield, measured indifference painted across his angular features. “You wanna come in? I have episodes of Bachelor in Paradise to catch up on.”

“Yeah,” Bradley croaks. “Should’ve known you’d be into that crap.”

It must sound even more of a pathetic attempt at snark than it feels because Hangman doesn’t even bother to defend his choice in TV shows, doesn’t take the obvious shot at Bradley’s usually vintage taste.

They settle on a shockingly comfortable grey couch and Jake nods off twenty minutes into the show with his hand still in the bag of trail mix, head lolling onto Bradley’s shoulder. If Bradley’s brain finally shuts up long enough for him to fall asleep only when he can hear the even rhythm of Jake’s breathing and smell the faint spiciness from his cologne, well, that’ll be between him and no one else.

Tell me where it hurts, she’d say. Stop howling. Just calm down and show me where. But some people can’t tell where it hurts. They can’t calm down. They can’t ever stop howling.

- Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

The first thing Bradley thinks when he wakes up with a crick in his neck is that his mouth tastes horrible.

The second is that he’s not sure he’ll recover from the glimpse he catches of Hangman, tiptoeing past him from what’s presumably the bathroom to the kitchen, towel slung low around his waist and hanging on for dear life.

Jesus Christ, Bradley grumbles silently. How hard is it to put on pants when you get out of the shower and not waltz around with maybe-maybe not-friends-probably-still-just-coworkers in your living room? Some of us need our brains in the morning. To think.

“Hey – uh – sorry,” Bradley croaks, easing himself up into a sitting position and trying not to audibly groan since he’s far too old to be sleeping on peoples’ couches. Judging by Hangman’s facial expression, he’s not very successful.

Hangman has a weird look in his eyes. If Bradley didn’t know him any better, he’d think there was a softness there.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Hangman hums noncommittally. Bradley’s brain is still working at half-speed, trying to figure out how strong his coffee needs to be to combat whatever died in his mouth.

“Breakfast?” Hangman asks, shaking himself out of whatever stupor he’s in. “There’s a spare toothbrush or two in the hall bathroom, under the sink.”

“Never took you as the morning-after-breakfast type, Seresin.”

Hangman narrows his eyes, but Bradley doesn’t miss the slight flush rising to his cheekbones. “I’m a fucking gentleman. Shut up.”

Bradley grins, fighting the urge to whistle as he gets up to head towards the bathroom. He’s just glad to have recovered quicker than Hangman for once. When he gets back Hangman is thankfully wearing shorts and standing at the stove pushing egg whites and spinach onto plates with a spatula. Bradley bites down on a joke about his gym bro breakfast since Hangman’s being nice enough to make him food, settling on a stool at the kitchen island.

“Black?” Hangman tosses over his shoulder as he finishes plating.

“Huh?” Bradley asks eloquently, willing his eyes away from Hangman’s back dimples.

Hangman shoots him a look. “Black coffee fine with you? I don’t think I have milk.”

“Yeah, however,” Bradley responds. He’ll blame staying up far too late and sleeping on a couch for how slowly his brain seems to be functioning. “Thanks.”

Hangman waves it off, mumbling something that sounds like it’s nothing before setting Bradley’s food and coffee down in front of him, then circling the counter to sit next to him.

“What got you up so early?”

“Gym,” Hangman mumbles around a mouthful of omelette. It’s disgusting but Bradley’s more nauseated with himself for not being put off by it.

“You got up and worked out already?”

Hangman grins, nudging Bradley with his shoulder conspiratorially. “Yeah, some of us actually like it. Unfathomable, I know.”

“Hey I like it sometimes,” Bradley insists. Faced with Hangman’s skepticism he amends, “Okay, I mostly work out so I don’t hurt myself throwing heavy things around, not because I like it.”

Hangman looks him up and down out of the side of his eyes at that, more subtle than Bradley ever is, but noticeable enough that Bradley fights not to fidget in his seat. One second longer and Bradley’s going to start getting some real idiotic ideas, so he changes the subject. “You going to Rebound’s wedding today?”

Rebound’s an okay guy, one of the pilots on Hangman's new squad. Bradley’s known him since they were both in Pensacola for API. They get along, but Bradley gets along with almost everyone he meets. Present company excluded, at first.

He’s not particularly looking forward to the wedding for some reason. He knows Rebound tends to act single on deployment regardless of relationship status, and Bradley has never understood why you’d bother getting married if that’s not the life you want. He doesn’t know what’s worse – that Rebound might be marrying a girl only to get a boat boo the moment he steps on another aircraft carrier or that he might’ve finally grown up well before Bradley has bothered trying.

Hangman snorts, pulling Bradley out of his selfish deliberation. “Yeah, have to. Only narrowly avoided being a part of the wedding party.”

“He wanted you to be in his wedding, and you’ve known him, what, a month?” Bradley knows the flare of possessiveness that’s flashing through him is not only misplaced but also completely irrational. Rebound’s getting fucking married today, what is his problem?

Hangman blanches. “Don’t act so surprised, Bradshaw.”

Bradley swallows the sorry that wants to leave his lips. “Everyone being obsessed with you is the least surprising thing to happen this week.”

Something indecipherable flashes across Hangman’s face at that but he tries not to read into it much.

“Guess I’ll see you later,” Bradley says awkwardly when they’ve finished eating and making fun of people they work with. “Thanks for breakfast, and for letting me crash, seriously. You didn’t have to.”

“Anytime, Bradshaw,” Hangman answers, clearly not intending to say anything more.

So, they’re not talking about it, then.

+

Bradley tugs at his choker whites where they feel too tight across his collarbones, already regretting wearing them, regretting coming to this wedding at all.

His back is always stiff in a church pew. The hardwood digs into his thighs, the angle of the seat twinging his back. He doesn’t know how people do this every week. Maybe believing in God makes the seats more comfortable.

Hangman settles himself down next to Bradley with the grace of a much smaller man and Bradley tries his best not to react. He looks relaxed on the uncomfortable wood, because does he ever look uneasy? No. Probably grew up in chapels like this one, down to the dusty windows.

“Don’t know why everyone insists on getting married in a church,” Jake mumbles out of the side of his mouth like he can read Bradley’s discomfort. “Rebound isn’t even Christian.”

Bradley snorts. He agrees but is a little surprised Hangman does too. “Not a weekly attendee? Thought you would’ve practically grown up in a place like this.”

Hangman’s eyes slide sideways, disapproval of Bradley’s intelligence clear on the curl of his pink lips. “Churches in the small towns of Texas don’t usually look kindly on my interest in dick, Rooster.”

Bradley freezes.

Hangman’s brows furrow.

“Sorry – I thought you were – I mean you and that guy Matt…” Hangman trails off. “Anyways, I thought you knew. Or I didn’t think you’d care.”

It’s almost funny, seeing Hangman trip over his own words for once. Almost.

Might be if Bradley wasn’t so busy making a colossal ass of himself.

If Bradley hadn’t thought Hangman was straight for the better part of the last decade and wasn’t currently having his entire world flipped upside down, it’d be hilarious.

“No.” Bradley clears his throat. “I didn’t know, but of course it’s fine. Obviously, it’s fine.”

Hangman nods tightly, pursing his lips like it’s anything but. He’s right, on some level, but not for the reason he thinks he is.

+

Fine. The word of the day for Bradley.

The ceremony is fine. It’s all fine and cheesy and forgettable with 1 Corinthians being recited at the altar. It makes Bradley’s skin itch, the talk of the future and building a life together when he himself can barely understand what’s going on in his life day to day.

Fine despite putting his foot in his mouth with Hangman earlier. Who seems to appreciate Bradley buying him a tequila soda in silent apology (because really, Rebound, a fucking cash bar?) and sitting down at an empty table with him on the outskirts of the dance floor, anyways.

Jake repays him with a running commentary of who he thinks will end up going home together, both men with eyes on their friends and coworkers acting rowdy and generally making an ass of themselves. It’s amusing at least, even if Bradley can’t put his heart fully into it. He’s willing to put money on Jake’s predictions being dead on.

Someone convinces the band to play Taylor Swift. Bradley tries not to wince.

Jake snorts a laugh into his drink. “Not gonna laud us with Jerry Lee Lewis renditions tonight?”

“Pretty sure Big Ray & the Kool Kats wouldn’t look too kindly on me taking over just so I don’t have to hear ‘Love Story’,” Bradley responds wryly. He has no idea if that’s the band’s actual name and can’t be bothered to check.

“You would hate T-Swift, pretentious hipster,” Jake grumbles.

“I don’t but her songs always get stuck in my head for weeks on end and then-” Bradley cuts himself off when he sees Cage beelining for them, holding his breath to see if the WSO makes it all the way to them without knocking anything over.

“Hey,” Cage says as he plops down gracelessly across from them, the stunning conversationalist that he is.

Despite feeling out of it, Bradley fights a chuckle. He’s known Cage since well before he started flying with Phoenix, and in all that time his alcohol tolerance has somehow never increased. Hangman opens his mouth to say something but stops when he clocks the minute shaking of Bradley’s head, Bradley is well-versed in the face drunk Cage makes when he’s about to say something amusing and stupid.

He doesn’t disappoint. “D’you think that girl over there likes me?”

Jake squints. Bradley tries not to get sidetracked by the little crinkles around his eyes.

“Don’t make an ass of yourself, buddy,” he advises when he regains focus.

Cage’s eyes get comically large. “I would never, Rooster. You would though. Because your ass is dumb. A dumbass,” Cage slurs. He must be hanging onto the clever comebacks for tomorrow. “I might be drunk.”

“Wow, really,” Jake replies, drier than the Sahara. “We couldn’t tell.”

“But you guys don’t get it. Look at you,” Cage laments, turning directly to Jake. “Those cheekbones could cut glass. You could have any girl you want. And Rooster doesn’t love love, not like I do. He doesn’t want the white picket fence. I’m jealous. I wish I wanted to be alone forever.”

Bradley blinks.

Cage isn’t exactly right but he’s not entirely wrong, either. And Bradley shouldn’t be surprised that’s what his friend thinks of him. He’s always shied away from serious relationships, always had a hard time opening up to people enough to get them to stick around. Emotionally unavailable, more than one previous girlfriend has shouted at him in frustration.

He thinks of his mom, eyes far away and glassy for most days of every June that Bradley can remember. Thinks of the wedding ring she never could take off, the way she would always run her thumb across it without realizing it. He can still picture how stiff her smile seemed at his aunt’s wedding, can still feel the resentment that burrowed its way into his chest throughout the ceremony.

He feels defensive all of a sudden, like he has every time a partner has begged him for a shred of vulnerability, like even though he was already pushing himself it still wasn’t enough. Cage gets distracted again before he has to respond anyways, stumbling up and to another group – presumably to find someone more supportive of his quest for the love of his life.

“Need some air,” Bradley mutters to Jake, words scraping his throat like sandpaper.

He makes it outside, facing the ocean. It should calm him down, should be familiar enough to quell the anger simmering beneath his surface, bubbling up to swirl and mix with the little tinge of grief that never seems to fully go away.

Should, but doesn’t. The ocean air tastes different in Virginia. It always has.

He hates it less than being stuck somewhere like Fallon, or even Lemoore, but the humidity of the East Coast has always settled under his skin wrong, lungs fighting for their lives in a steam room.

He doesn’t have this guy in him, hasn’t for a while now. Likable Bradley: the guy that buys everyone a beer and doesn’t leave the dance floor. The person who can play Jerry Lee Lewis and sing his heart out, waltzes into a bar, smiling and happy. The person that’s easy, that gets along with everyone and rolls with the punches. He doesn’t have it in him to play the part. Not anymore.

He feels his chest tightening, bile rising.

Bradley leans over the railing, eyes fixed on grains of sand below. For a second, he’s back home in California, steps away from his childhood home, Fleetwood Mac drifting from the open windows, those old red gingham curtains flowing in the wind. His mom humming under her breath in the kitchen, wooden spoon gently folding whipped egg whites into sifted flour for the signature Carole Bradshaw angel food cake.

Jake appears at his elbow, because of course he does. Because he’s everywhere, all the time, his laugh always distant but just within Bradley’s earshot, that smirk painted on his face like he knows a secret no one else does, at the edges of Bradley’s vision. His eternal tan glowing insistently against his dress whites.

“Sorry,” Bradley grits out. “Not in the mood.”

“He’s drunk,” Jake offers, even and calm like always.

“I’m not mad at him.”

“Evidence to the contrary,” he answers, hands out in a sweeping motion displaying their location, waving over where Bradley’s gripping the railing like he’s trying to crush the wood out of sheer force of will.

“Leave it alone, Jake,” Bradley warns, closing his eyes.

“Make me.”

Seven things flicker like a movie behind Bradley’s eyelids. Maybe not deadly but definitely all sins.

When he opens his eyes Jake’s eyebrow is raised, but there’s heat fighting its way through the snark. “Gotta stop bottling it all up someday.”

Bradley turns and takes half a step closer to Jake, moving like he’s going to box him in against the railing but stopping a little short, giving the other man plenty of time to tell him to fuck off.

He doesn’t.

“You’re angry about something. Death grip on the yoke and frozen in a spin.” Jake tilts his chin defiantly but doesn’t move, eyes locked on Bradley’s, challenging.

Bradley leans in closer, crowding Jake against the railing, hands going to his waist to mar his pristine, white uniform. He slots a thigh in between Jake’s so he can watch green pupils blow dark until there’s only the thinnest line of color left.

He doesn’t say anything. Knows he doesn’t have to.

“Come on,” Jake goads, that infuriating smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Whatever you have to work out – you know I can handle it.”

“That what you need?” Bradley growls when Jake pushes against his hold, fingers tight enough to leave bruises. “Need me to hold you down and make you take it?”

“Don’t act like you don’t need it too,” Jake sasses back, fire still burning under hooded eyes. “Like you don’t need someone to help you feel like you’re in control for once.”

Figures. Of course, he’s a brat who won’t make it easy on Bradley.

He shifts his thigh against where it presses against the blonde. “How’d you get here?” Jake’s eyes flutter closed, teeth raking over his bottom lip. Bradley squeezes his waist, trying not to preen at how responsive Jake already is. “Asked you a question, sweetheart.”

“Took an Uber,” Jake breathes out, eyes reopening slowly and recentering on Bradley’s face.

Bradley doesn’t kiss him, not yet, not here. Doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. “Let’s go,” he says instead, hands regrettably leaving Jake’s sides so they can make their way to the parking lot without drawing too much attention.

They’re quiet in the car again, but amusement floats from Jake's side of the car as Bradley drives a little faster than normal, his braking at stoplights a touch jerkier, entire body brimming with tension.

Bradley’s self-control cracks the moment he follows Jake through his front door.

“Off,” he mutters against Jake’s skin, fingers working open the buttons of his uniform as he presses him back against the door, using his slight height advantage to tower over him and slot their lips together.

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost all that famous Bradshaw patience,” Jake pants when Bradley comes up for air.

Bradley shoots him a dark look, one hand moving to Jake’s jaw to hold him in place. “Don’t be a brat or I’ll have to show you how patient I can really be. String you out all night, bring you to the edge again and again but never let you go over.”

Jake’s head thumps back against the door at that, a high-pitched whine leaving through gritted teeth as he presses into Bradley’s grip. “Bedroom now, Bradshaw, come on.”

Bradley raises an eyebrow, hand frozen in place around Jake’s neck, thumb rubbing across his pulse point but otherwise refusing to move.

“Please,” Jake whines.

“There we go. Was that so hard, sweetheart?” Bradley finally lets up, allowing a modicum of space between the two of them.

“Sadist,” Jake tosses over his shoulder as he heads towards the bedroom, unbuttoning the rest of his uniform before Bradley can even react.

Bradley would be impressed by how fast Jake undresses, quick and efficient like only Hangman can be, if he weren’t busy taking in the strong lines of his back, the muscle rippling beneath his golden skin as he turns around to lay on the bed against the pillows.

“Fuck,” Bradley murmurs. “Perfect all over, aren’t you?”

Jake lowers his eyes at that, a flush rising up his chest. Bradley divests himself of his own clothes while Jake twists to rummage in the nightstand drawer for a condom and lube.

Bradley shoulders Jake’s legs apart with a little more force than is strictly necessary, probably, but the way Jake’s eyes glaze over whenever he gets manhandled makes it hard to resist. He warms up the lube in his fingers, kissing down Jake’s stomach and nipping at the Adonis belt on his hips. Jake tangles his fingers in Bradley's curls and Bradley feels his cock jerk in response.

He mouths at Jake’s cock where it curls up against his stomach, leaking precum on the stark lines of his abs, light and teasing. When he finally licks a stripe up the shaft and takes the tip into his mouth Jake groans, hips jerking.

Bradley takes as much of Jake’s cock in his mouth as he can at the same time he slides one finger in his hole, all the way to the knuckle. Jake tenses before forcibly relaxing and Bradley slides his lips over Jake again, relishing in the breathy noises leaving him without his permission as he can’t seem to decide whether he should fuck himself down onto Bradley’s finger or up into his mouth.

He hums around the length and darts his eyes up to look at Jake where he’s writhing on the pillows, head thrown back against them. He gets a good rhythm going, adding another finger and pressing down on Jake’s prostate on every other pump in to hear his whines rise another octave.

When he feels Jake’s abs start to tense, when Jake is whimpering yes and fuck and Bradley in a continuous loop, he pulls off, trying to hide his amusement at Jake’s now indignant protests.

“Bradshaw, what the fu-” Jake starts before Bradley moves up to kiss him quiet.

“Always so mouthy,” Bradley teases, moving down to nose underneath Jake’s jaw, to drag his teeth along his collarbone. “Be good and you’ll get what you want.”

He latches onto a nipple and proceeds to wind Jake up again with his fingers. Brings him to the edge one, two, three more times until Jake is a whimpering mess, tears leaking from the corners of his pretty eyes.

“Fuck me, let me come, something, anything, please.” Jake’s begging now, words starting to slur together with desperation.

“All right, princess,” Bradley coos, gently wiping tears from Jake’s cheekbones with the pad of his thumb rolling the condom onto himself with his other hand in a feat of coordination he never thought himself capable of. “I’ll give you what you need.”

Jake’s eyes are completely glazed over, staring up at Bradley hazily and unfocused. Bradley has to grip the base of his cock tightly not to come at the sight.

He could probably stand to be gentler but at this point, Bradley doesn’t give a single fuck. He lines himself up and pushes in, slowly as he can manage, groaning when he bottoms out. Jake’s hole stretching even further around his length has his eyes crossing, ears ringing and he knows he won’t last long, watching Jake having keyed him up past the boundaries of his willpower. He wraps a hand around Jake’s cock, stripping him in time with the building pace of his thrusts, Jake getting louder and louder even more rapidly than before.

Jake clenches around him as he comes with Bradley’s name on his lips, making Bradley’s eyes roll back in his head at the force of it, at the way his legs wrap around his hips as he arches in pleasure. Bradley’s own orgasm snaps through him, with Jake whimpering from overstimulation but somehow still asking for more.

He barely manages to hold his weight and avoid crushing Jake, pulling out as gently as possible and tying off the condom, tossing it into the trash can underneath the nightstand letting himself collapse next to Jake.

“You okay?” Bradley asks quietly, clarity having made him a little self-conscious about acting like a neanderthal.

Jake nods against Bradley’s chest and when Bradley leans back to look, he’s smiling up at him with his eyes closed, blissful.

Bradley eventually finds the strength to go get a washcloth and clean Jake up, throwing it in the direction of what he thinks is the hamper before pulling his boxers back on. He hopes Jake doesn’t mind him spending the night again, because the drinks from the wedding are catching up to him and his eyes are practically slipping closed already as he flops back down onto the bed.

He’s halfway asleep but he thinks he feels Jake curling into his chest before he slips under.

additional an-

mt trashmore is a real park in VB, have been informed it's in a nice area hahahah oops sorry the name is funny

cvs scene inspired by the cereal aisle scene from the hurt locker, though the intents are way different have to give the shout out because that scene is straight up brilliant

f/a-18s have a stick instead of a yoke but i'm not gonna write death grip on a stick for obvious reasons lol

thanks for reading!

#hangster #sereshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x jake hangman seresin #rooster x hangman #rooster top gun #hangman top gun #hangman angst #rooster angst #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #bradley bradshaw #jake seresin #hangster angst #bradley x jake #hangman x rooster #hangaroo #tgm fic #rooster fanfic #hangman fic #hangman smut #rooster smut #rooster fic #tgm

[charcoalstardust]

got inspired by this prompt by @gingerly-writing and now i've got a new favorite duo to think about (and draw eheh)

nothing like some supervillain/journalist writing

-----------

The sun was barely staring to rise, people were beginning to leave their homes for work, and Clement Thyme found himself power walking down the pathways to his workplace. He had a deadline to make and if he didn't get there early, he wouldn't be able to rush to finish the article before everyone else got there. He hadn't exactly slept or eaten anything, but he'd find time for that later! Maybe... Probably not.

There was just a shortcut through here, and...

"Hello there, dear."

Clement skidded to a halt and took a few steps back. Shit. Of course they'd be here. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. Maybe he could get them to leave so he could continue on with his day.

"Please, please, leave me alone." It was a back alley and too late at night to gel with the journalist's rocky 6am start. The single streetlamp in the area spotlit the city's most dangerous supervillain, Alvah. Inconveniently, there was no one else here to help him get out of this situation. Great. Just great.

"Now, why would I do that?" Alvah was already closer to Clement than he wanted them to be, and they were circling around him like a hawk.

"It's early. I'm too tired for this. I know you never slip up on anything that might even slightly count as a scoop, but it stopped being a thrill to see you six months ago," he bluntly responded, "I don't know who the big main hero is under the mask, where she lives, who her family is, or anything about her. It's all just theories and speculation by everyone else that I'm asked to write down for the blog."

"But everything you write is so... Detailed," Alvah commented. They practically towered over him, and the way they were eyeballing him was making him more nervous by the second. "I'd say you're quite the little detective for someone who simply writes down "theories and speculation" for the news."

"Okay. Fine. I do look further into the details, but they're still just theories," he sighed and dragged a hand through his unwashed hair, wincing at the amount of grease that was trapped in it, "Look– if you're here to kidnap me, could you at least knock me out? I'd hopefully have reasonable grounds to miss my deadline that way. Could actually get some rest for once."

Alvah stepped away, looking surprisingly mortified. At least, if it was actually genuine. It was always hard to tell. "I didn't realize you weren't enjoying these little games. My apologies, dear. It's hard to remember that people aren't pawns when the whole world looks like one big chess game." They paused, then held out a hand with an apologetic smile. "Please, allow me to kidnap you to a comfortable bed so you can sleep in peace. As recompense."

Despite his exhaustion, Clement raised an eyebrow. Usually supervillains didn't care much about bystanders and innocents. Or really anyone that wasn't their ally. Not without some sort of ulterior motive. "Alright. What's the catch?"

Alvah's apologetic smile turned into a mischevious grin. "Oh, I do love when the humans know they're being manipulated. Makes it all the more interesting."

"It's not that hard to figure ou– Wait..." Clement stopped to think about what they had just said. "... "humans?" What does... Are you not–"

The journalist let out a yelp of surprise as he was swept off his feet and into Alvah's arms without so much as a single response to his query. Great. He really was being kidnapped this time. No heroes around to scare them off from doing so either!

"What? No knocking me out with magic powder or a solid hit?"

"I'd never lay a hand on you, dear," the supervillain purred, "Afterall, you are my favorite little journalist."

"Your... Favorite?" Clement's face turned red. He always assumed they just wanted information from him with how often they'd bother him... That would still be the case, right?

Alvah chuckled, which caused the journalist to try and cover his face with his jacket. This was not going how he expected it would have. If his coworkers ever found out, he'd never hear the end of it.

Hopefully this was good enough of a reason to miss his deadline...

#fandomless #ly's ocs #ly's writing #universe: vitalious #story: clementine #oc: alvah #oc: clement thyme #jdbdbx i don't usually tag prompt blogs bc i am an anxious fellow :') #but i'm deciding to try and start doing that at least for my fandomless stories #i'm just a sucker for detective/journalist characters who get wrapped up in unexpected situations fjshbf #also i just started building up this universe a few days ago so these two were just recently added :) #decided to name their lil story 'clementine' bc it's cute and also funny bc of clement's name #update: no one's gonna see the art bc i'm an idiot and didn't double check the link lol #fixed it btw if you're curious :^)

[bellafragolina]

I was gonna ask this with the twins in it, but I genuinly don't think they could handle being away from the station for too long so ya boy gets all the attention here:

Guzma and his partner traveling to another region for a while because reader mused that they would love to take on a gym challenge? Guzma may not necessarily care all that much for the league and all, but honestly some of the stuff he says in game make me feel it would do him some good to get away from Alola for a while and go on a roadtrip, don't ask me why. See some other places, meet some bug type trainers who absolutely loose their minds when they see his Golisopod instead of running for the hills, eat some new foods, see what's the big deal about contests and at the end of the day call back home in a video call, holding up a Venonat to the camera while 12 Grunts and Plumeria are squeezed together because everyone wants to say hi to the boss at the same time.

Oooh, I agree! Some time away from Alola to allow Guzma to operate without his Team Skull stigma would do ya boi some good

🍓🍓🍓

Guzma is reluctant to follow you to Unova. You're going to be gone for a few months, at the least, and he doesn't know if he can leave everyone behind like that. Plumeria and the grunts encourage him, though, and you promise that if he's too homesick, he's allowed to go home whenever he wants, so he agrees.

You both take a plane, which Guzma hates, and make it Unova a nice twelve hours later. He's pissy when you touchdown, but getting to the hotel and sleeping off your jetlag gets him ready to go again.

You explore the region at a casual pace, taking on the gym challenge together as you go. Your teams are easily able to get you to Castelia City, where Guzma meets Burgh, who fawns so much over his Golisopod that Guzma's ego inflates like ten sizes. Golisopod is also happy for the attention, and for the chance to play with Burgh's Pokémon as the artist pumps out drawings of the large bug at a record pace.

Despite their differing personalities, Guzma and Burgh get along great, and discuss bug Pokémon at length. You spend a lot of time in Castelia City because of it, traveling to the surrounding area to go bug hunting with Burgh

During one of these trips, Guzma stumbles upon a Venipede. He tosses it berries to ease it out, and catches it with such a large, boyish grin. His excitement as he shows the bug to you makes you smile.

The nights are all spent cuddled in bed together, a laptop before you to video chat with the grunts. All of them try to squish into frame, resulting in the wrath of Plumeria, which they never seem to learn from. They're just excited to see you both, and eager to tell you about what they've been getting up to

The riot they throw when Guzma shows them the Venipede he caught and is going to bring home to them earned you both a few noise complaints. But it's worth it to see how excited everyone is, Guzma included

But after a month, you're both ready to go home again. You got enough badges to satisfy you, and Guzma is more confident in who he is as a person outside of his Team Skull role. So the trip was a major success, in your books

🍓🍓🍓

The only other regions I could think of were galar and unova, and unova has a bug gym leader, so I was like perfect! and then I realized I've only gotten to the second town in pkmn black and i was like shit!

all of this to say that I hope you like it and that it follows along the prompt you asked for! I hope you have a great night, love!

~Renee

#guzma x reader #pokemon imagines #pokemon x reader