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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 2 days

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Just a Little Sick

Wandanat x little!fem!reader

Summary: You're sick and your Mommy and Daddy are here to take care of you

Word count: 3K

Warnings: None fluff and comfort

A/N: I'm sick and I just want Wandanat

In the Avengers compound, the living area was unusually quiet, save for the occasional sneeze or cough from you all bundled up on the couch, swathed in your favorite blanket. Your trusted stuffie sat beside you, offering silent comfort.

Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself, moved around the room, ensuring you had everything you needed. Your occasional whimpers caught Natasha's attention every time, making her heart ache.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Natasha asked softly, brushing your hair off your forehead. You sniffled, your eyes watery.

"Sick, Daddy," you murmured, your voice hoarse. You clutched a lollipop lozenge, the soothing taste providing a small comfort. Natasha smiled gently, adjusting your glasses for you.

"I know, sweetheart. Just rest, okay? I've got you." She tucked your blanket more securely around you.

The bond between you two was unique. In a world filled with heroes and battles, you two had found solace in your relationship. Today, as you battled your cold, Natasha's protective instincts were in full force, ensuring her little girl felt safe and cherished.

Natasha's fingers danced across the keyboard, rapidly typing up a report for Fury. Every few minutes, she'd glance over at you, ensuring you were okay. The juxtaposition was stark: the fierce warrior, known and feared by many, caring for the young, vulnerable girl who had a power greater than most could imagine.

A soft snore broke Natasha's concentration, and she looked over to see your chest rising and falling rhythmically. Smiling softly, Natasha reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, careful not to disturb you.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha continued her work, answering calls with a hushed voice, ensuring the noise didn't disturb your slumber. Every so often, she'd pause to jot down notes or sip on a cup of tea, the room filled with the sound of rain gently tapping against the windows.

Despite the pressing demands of her job, Natasha's priority was clear: ensuring you felt loved and protected, especially on days like this. The bond the two of you shared was unbreakable, built on trust, care, and a love that transcended the ordinary.

As the day carried on and Wanda came rushing in. "How is she Tasha?" Wanda asked in a panic, seeing the little one's sleeping form.

"She's got a cold. Trying to give her medicine was hell, but she enjoyed those lollipop lozenges you got. I wanted to make her soup, but I know she'd want yours more." Nat told her girlfriend. Wanda smiled, giving Nat a kiss.

"I'll get it started right away." Wanda got up going to the kitchen which was attached in an open layout with the living area.

Wanda's nurturing nature made her a perfect fit as "Mommy," complementing Natasha's protective instincts as "Daddy."

From the couch, you stirred slightly, your brows furrowing. Natasha was by your side in an instant, placing a gentle hand on your forehead. The medicine seemed to be doing its job; your temperature felt slightly lower.

A short while later, the aroma of homemade soup filled the air. Wanda emerged from the kitchen with a steaming bowl. "I made her favorite," she said, placing the bowl on the coffee table.

Together, they carefully woke you, who blinked up at them sleepily. "Mommy?" she murmured, her voice raspy.

Wanda smiled warmly, brushing your hair back. "Hey, sweetheart. I made some soup for you."

Your eyes lit up a bit, and you nodded weakly, allowing Wanda to help you sit up. As Wanda fed you the soup, Natasha couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. In the midst of chaos and battles, they had found a semblance of home and family, and she cherished every moment of it.

°○°○°○°○°

Natasha observed from a distance, her brows furrowing with concern as she watched you shiver from the cold sensation of the fever patch. The bond between you and Wanda was evident in moments like these—Wanda's gentle reassurances calming you despite the discomfort.

Once the patch was in place and you were comfortably nestled back under your blanket, Wanda sat beside you, softly singing a lullaby, an old Sokovian one. The room was filled with the warmth of their love and care, a stark contrast to the chilly patch on your forehead.

Natasha approached, placing a hand on Wanda's shoulder. "You're amazing with her," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda's temple.

Wanda smiled softly, her eyes never leaving yours. "She's our girl, Tasha. We'll always do whatever it takes to keep her safe and happy."

°○°○°○°○°

"In a little bit we should give her a bath." Wanda mentions taking the empty bowls to the kitchen, Nat following behind.

"You cooked dinner, let me take care of the dishes." Nat said, putting her hands on Wanda's hips, kissing her shoulder. "Go be with our little one. I'm sure she wants Mommy cuddles." Nat mentions Wanda turning, kissing Nat on the lips,

"Thank you Daddy." Wanda whispered going back to the couch and moving onto the couch, having you lay on top of her.

°○°○°○°○°

Once the kitchen was in order, Natasha joined her two loves on the couch. You, now clean and wrapped in a fluffy towel, snuggled comfortably against Wanda's chest. Wanda softly stroked your damp hair, humming a lullaby as the trio settled into the quiet comfort of their makeshift family.

Wanda got you dressed in comfy pajamas and helped get your dry. “How about we watch something little one?” Wanda asked softly, kissing the crown of your head.

“Please Mommy, can watch Bluey?” You ask as Wanda gets your paci, popping it in your mouth.

“Of course we can little one.” She smiled softly, pushing your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

°○°○°○°○°

The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as you snored peacefully, still wrapped up in your favorite blanket. Wanda's emotional admission filled the air with a mix of vulnerability and love. Wanda smiled, tears pricking the sides of her eyes.

"What's wrong Wands?" Nat asks, noticing her girlfriend's mixed expressions.

"I always knew I wanted to be a mom. I just never thought it'd be like this, but," Wanda looked up at Nat, the tears spilling over, "I wouldn't trade being her Mommy for anything in the multiverse or having you by my side as her Daddy." Wanda reached a hand out, Nat lacing their fingers together and smiling,

Natasha's eyes softened, and she squeezed Wanda's hand reassuringly. "We may not have expected this journey, but it's our own unique adventure, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Y/N is lucky to have you as her Mommy, and I'm grateful every day to be her Daddy with you by my side."

Wanda nodded, wiping away a tear with her free hand. "She's our little miracle, isn't she?"

Natasha leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda's forehead. "Absolutely, and our family is stronger for it.”

°○°○°○°○°

The three girls all ended up falling asleep with Bluey playing in the background. As morning came, Steve, Bucky, Tony, and Bruce made their way down to the kitchen for breakfast finding the three girls there all the Avengers knew of the girls special relationship and your needs at times. "They probably had a long night, Wanda was telling me as we came back from our mission about Y/N being sick." Steve mentioned.

Bruce, pouring himself a cup of coffee, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Nat mentioned it to me. It's good they have each other, especially on days like this."

Tony, flipping through a digital newspaper on his tablet, chimed in, "We've all seen how strong their bond is. It's heartwarming, really. Makes the compound feel a bit more like home."

Bucky, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, glanced over at the sleeping trio. "They're a team within a team. It's nice to see they've found their place here."

Steve smiled, looking at the scene before him. "Let's give them some space. I'll whip up some breakfast for when they wake up. They'll need it.”

Steve decided to gently wake Nat first. Who stretched out, bones cracking and popping from the way she slept. "Hey I made breakfast for you three. How's Y/N?" He asked softly. Nat leaned over feeling your forehead.

"She's going to need more medicine." Nat stood up. Going to the cabinet, grabbing the grape flavored liquid medicine along with a sippy cup of apple juice. Moving back over to the other two as the boys watched their dance with practiced ease. "Baby girl, it's time to wake up." You stirred in Wanda's arms, which made Wanda wake up as well. Nat smiled, kissing Wanda. "Good morning love." Wanda smiled back,

"Mmm morning sweetie." You rubbed your eyes, coughing up a storm.

"Owwwww" you whined. "Daddy..." Nat moved back to the couch, scooping you up,

"Medicine first baby girl and then your apple juice to get the yucky taste out." You pouted, but took the medicine, making a gross face and took the apple juice and sucking it down.

"Easy baby." Wanda rubbed her back,

"Yes Mommy." You eased up on your juice.

Steve watched the exchange with a sense of admiration. Despite the challenges and the morning's routine, there was a tenderness to it that he found endearing.

"Need anything else for her?" Steve asked, referring to the medicine.

Natasha shook her head. "We're good for now, thanks, Steve. Just need to keep an eye on her fever."

Bucky approached with a gentle smile, ruffling your hair playfully. "Hey there, kiddo. You had us all worried."

You gave a weak smile, leaning into Natasha. "Hi, Uncle Bucky.”

Tony, holding a tray with breakfast plates, smirked. "I made sure there's plenty of bacon. Thought it might tempt a certain little one."

Wanda chuckled, "You know her too well, Tony."

As the group settled around the dining table, the room was filled with the comforting sounds of a family breakfast, laughter, and the unmistakable bond that held them all together.

°○°○°○°○°

Wanda held you close, you were nestled against her, comforted by the warmth and love of your Mommy. Natasha had gone off to shower first as the room was filled with the hum of conversation as the remaining Avengers continued their breakfast.

Steve, sipping his coffee, remarked, "We've got a briefing later today. Nothing major, just some updates on potential new threats."

Tony, scrolling through his tablet, nodded. "Yeah, I've been monitoring some unusual activity. Might be worth looking into after the briefing."

Bucky, leaning back in his chair, added, "Well, if it's anything like last time, it'll be a team effort."

Wanda listened intently, her focus shifting between the conversation and the little girl in her arms. "Just another day in the life, huh?”

Wanda and Nat switched spots so Wanda could take a shower, you whined as she was shifted around after having fallen asleep.

"Shhhh it's okay Detka, Daddy's got you." Nat ran her fingers through your hair, calming you back down and grabbed a paci, rubbing her knuckle gently over your lips first to make you open up and then stuck the paci in.

"There, there, sweetheart," Natasha cooed softly, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back. The pacifier worked its magic, and soon, your breathing evened out, your little chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Steve, observing the tender scene, remarked softly, "You two have something truly special."

Natasha looked up, her eyes reflecting gratitude. "We do. It's a bond unlike any other."

Bucky nodded in agreement. "It's clear she feels safe and loved with you both. That's what family's all about."

As Wanda returned from her shower, refreshed and ready for the day, she smiled at the sight before her. "Thank you, dorogaya.”

Natasha nodded, carefully handing over your sleeping form. "Anytime, milyy. We've got each other's backs, always."

°○°○°○°○°

As the meeting began, Nat kept a hold of you who unfortunately for everyone had to be awake. You never enjoyed being forced out of little space for missions and debriefing. So a grumpy half little half adult was currently in Nat's arms as the secretary of state droned on and on and on.

Natasha tried her best to keep you calm, gently rocking you back and forth while the Secretary of State continued with the briefing. Your discontent was palpable, your little space clashing with the serious tone of the meeting.

Steve, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. "If we could just summarize the main points, please. We have a lot to cover."

Tony, ever the provocateur, leaned over, whispering loud enough for those nearby to hear, "Think Grumpy Bear needs a timeout?"

Bucky smirked, "Or maybe just a nap."

Wanda, sitting beside Natasha, reached over, gently stroking your hair. "It's okay, detka. We'll be done soon.”

After hours of them being force fed information it was finally over and you were the exact opposite of happy between having to pretend to be an adult and being sick made you fussy beyond belief as everything Nat and Wanda tried currently wasn't helping so when they got back to the common room, Nat set you down as you started throwing a tantrum that turned into a full blown meltdown. Wanda wanting to intervene, but Nat stopped her. "She needs to let it out.”

Natasha's experience with you over the years had given her insight into your needs, especially during moments of distress. As painful as it was to witness your meltdown, Natasha knew that suppressing it wouldn't help.

The common room fell silent as the Avengers watched, their concern evident. Steve approached cautiously, "Should we give them some space?"

Wanda nodded, her eyes filled with worry. "Yes, but it's hard to see her like this."

Bucky, leaning against the doorway, sighed, "She's been through a lot, even for someone her age."

Tony chimed in, "Is there anything we can do?"

Natasha shook her head, her focus solely on you. "Right now, she needs us—Wanda and me. We'll handle it.”

Slowly, as the minutes ticked by, your cries began to subside, replaced by soft whimpers. Natasha approached, offering a comforting embrace, her voice gentle. "It's okay, sweetheart. We're here."

Wanda joined them, her own voice soft and soothing. "We love you, detka. Always."

You clung to your Daddy, sniffling and hiccuping out a 'sorry for being so cranky.' Nat just soothed you, "no baby it's okay." Nat spoke up rubbing her back, "you're sick and forced out of your preferred heads pace at the moment so it's expected. We still love you.”

°○°○°○°○°

You started nodding off, Natasha smiling at the scene as she got up, picking up the littlest Avenger. "Come on baby girl." Natasha held you close, grabbing all of your things and bringing them down the hallway.

The two loves of her life walked through the door as she finished getting changed after her shower.

"What are you two doing up here?" Wanda asks.

"Shhhh...she's finally gone down for a nap." Natasha responds, setting you on the bed. Making a cocoon of blankets and pillows, putting your stuffie back into your arms. Wanda leans down and kisses your forehead.

"Oh she's getting warm again." Wanda goes to the bathroom grabbing a cooling patch to put on your forehead, making you shiver as it got put on, but you didn't wake up, only turning over. "Nat I love her so much. She's too precious for words." Wanda spoke softly as Natasha wrapped her arms around Wanda's waist, trailing kisses up the witches neck and jaw.

"You're such a good Mommy to her. You were meant for this." Natasha whispered.

"And you are the Perfect Daddy for her." Wanda responds, turning to cup Natasha's face, kissing the older woman's lips.

"Let's go watch something that isn't Bluey while she naps." Wanda says turning on the little baby monitor so they could watch over and listen while they headed back to the common area to watch something together finally having some time for just them.

As they made their way back to the common area, Natasha intertwined her fingers with Wanda's, the warmth of their bond filling the space between them. The weight of the day seemed to lift as they settled onto the couch, the soft glow of the TV providing a welcome distraction.

Wanda snuggled into Natasha's side, her head resting against her shoulder. "I'm so grateful for moments like these," she murmured, her voice filled with love and contentment.

Natasha pressed a kiss to Wanda's forehead, her heart swelling with affection. "Me too, my love. It's moments like these that remind us of what's truly important.”

Natasha and Wanda were actually able to make it through a movie before they heard you stir. Wanda gave Natasha a kiss before getting up. "I'll get her." As Wanda was heading out she heard the whimper from you,

"Mama...?" Wanda smiled, picking up her pace just a bit. Opening the door to their shared room, you sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking a bit like a disheveled mess as she sniffled and coughed. "Mommy!" Her calling out started a coughing fit that made Wanda grab the little trash can near the bed.

"It's okay baby, cough up the yuckies." Wanda rubbed your back as you coughed up the phlegm and mucus. "That's it baby get it all out. It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here," Wanda whispered soothingly, gently wiping away the tears that had welled up in your eyes.

You sniffled, clinging to Wanda tightly. "I don't feel good, Mommy," you whimpered.

Wanda pressed a kiss to your forehead, her heart breaking at her daughter's distress. "I know, baby. But Mommy and Daddy are right here with you, okay? We'll take care of you."

Natasha appeared in the doorway, concern etched on her features. "Is she okay?"

Wanda nodded, giving Natasha a reassuring smile. "Just a little coughing fit. She's doing better now.”

°○°○°○°○°

Your two girlfriend's took care of you the rest of the night and by morning you woke up feeling much better as you rubbed your eyes. As the other two stirred beside you, you smiled down at them.

“Thank you for taking care of me, my loves.” The two redheads smiled up at you,

“Always dorogaya.” Wanda's voice full of sleep as Nat sat up and kissed your cheek. You felt so much gratitude towards your girlfriend's for always taking care of you when needed.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @mrsromanovaa

#ley writes #wandanat #wandanat x reader #mommy wanda #daddy natasha #wandanat x you #wandanat x y/n #wandanat x fem!reader #little!fem!reader #little!reader #mommy wanda x little reader #daddy natasha x little reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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lou-struck · 2 days

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The Hall Of Faces

Diavolo x reader x Barbatos

WC: 2.9k

~ After a trip through the palace’s art gallery, you find that a picture of Diavolo may need to be updated.

Warnings: Mention of eating humans, moments with both Barbatos and Diavolo showing their love of the reader.

No matter how many times you find yourself visiting the castle, you can't help but think it is one of the most beautiful places you have ever seen.

Despite being thousands of years old, its gleaming marble flooring looks brand new, and the historic art and statues line the halls with museum-level prestige. Every time you walk the long, carpeted hallways you always seem to find something new to captivate you.

On this visit, you find yourself following Barbatos down a grand window-lit hallway. Although he tries to keep his excitement at your visit to himself, you notice there is a joyful spring in his step as he leads you. "Thank you for joining the young master and I for tea this afternoon. I prepared a wonderful selection for us on the west balcony that should be to your liking."

"Of course Barbatos, thank you for the invitation," you say watching as his deep green eyes shimmer under the moonlight. "I don't believe I have been in this wing of the Castle yet."

"Then it is my pleasure to be the first to guide you," he replies with a smile. He slows his pace, allowing you to walk beside him. The two of you walk in content silence, enjoying the comfort of each other's presence, until you notice a strange-looking vase resting on an elegant pedestal. It seems to be composed of two types of clay: one looks like melted pearls that seem to absorb the light of the moon, and the other is a matte ebony material. The contrast between the light and dark is so captivating you stop to look at it.

Barbatos, sensing your distraction, chuckles behind you, "I thought that would catch your eye," he muses. "Would you like to know the significance of this piece?"

"I would," you nod. It takes so much self-restraint to not trace your fingers along the priceless art, but somehow, you manage to resist the urge not to touch it.

"This vase contains two different types of clay, one from the Celestial Realm and one from one of the depths of the Devildom. Usually, these substances repel from one another, but thanks to a bit of water from the human world, they are able to come together and create something beautiful."

"That's amazing," you breathe, looking at this art, this manifestation of what can happen when all three realms work together.

"I knew you'd appreciate its beauty," he smiles. "Shall we continue?"

You nod as he holds out his arm to escort you down the hallway.

The palace is a labyrinth, and after turning right, then left, and then right again, you find yourself staring down a long hallway littered with portraits on the walls.

"What is this place?" you ask, passing the painted eyes of regal-looking demons that seem to follow your movements.

"This is the hall of faces," Barbatos answers. "It is a place to honor those who have made a difference in the Devildom, past royalty, war heroes, and other notable figures."

"I see." your eyes rest on a figure with broad shoulders and familiar-looking eyes. "Is that?"

Barbatos' face falls slightly, "Yes, that is his majesty the King, the young master's father."

"Diavolo's father," you repeat, letting your eyes wander from the darkened painting to the one next to it. One of the Prince himself. But instead of the tender warmth in the Prince's features, you find him looking stern and cold. "That doesn't look like him," you murmur. "I hate that someday people will walk by this portrait and not see him as the ruler he is."

"I agree," Barbatos says. Although it is a subtle shift, you detect a hint of disdain in his voice as he pulls his gaze from the painting. "The artist who painted this portrait, and many others, is well renowned but does not know or care of the true light of the Young Masters' smile."

"He sounds like a jerk," you grumble, stepping away from the painting.

Barbatos laughs; the sound is light but pleasant. "That certainly is one of the many words to describe the Artist. Come, let me escort you to the balcony. I fear the Young Master will become jealous if I steal you for the entirety of your visit today."

You take his outstretched arm and allow the Butler to guide you away from the Hall of Faces and to the eagerly awaited tea party. But as you get farther and farther away from the portrait, you cannot rid yourself of the effect Diavolo's portrait had on you.

The balcony air is warm and comforting as you raise a hand-painted teacup to your lips. It's warm, rose-scented steam tickling your nose with it's tantalizing fragrance,

"Mc, is something troubling you?" The Prince asks gently from his seat next to you. He places his large hand on top of the one you have resting on the table's edge. "You seem troubled today."

You place your teacup back onto its saucer on the table and look at his handsome face fondly. "It's nothing, just lost in thought."

Barbatos lets out an amused chuckle as he comes up behind you to top off your cup. His gloved hand rests gently on your shoulder. "Mc and I walked through the Hall of Faces today, Young Master."

Diavolo's smile falls slightly as he shifts nervously in his seat. "Oh. So you saw my portrait?" There is an embarrassment in his gaze that makes you wonder if looking at royal portraits of the past is the Devildom equivalent of looking through your friends' old middle school yearbooks.

You nod hesitantly. "I did."

"And what did you think of it?" he asks, his golden gaze coaxing the truth out of you.

"It didn't look like you," you admit. "I mean, it was you in the picture, but it was weird seeing you look so serious and unhappy.."

"So you think I am unserious?" he smiles amusedly.

"No. I just really like your smile," you admit, shyly grabbing a lemon cake from the three-tiered stands.

"Well then, I suppose it's about time for me to update my portrait," he says, looking over to his Butler. "Barbatos, can you please fit that into our schedule?"

"Absolutely, young master. How about midday tomorrow?" The Butler hums thoughtfully. He knows the Prince's schedule by heart.

"Wonderful, and does that work for you Mc?"

"Me?" you ask with a mouthful of cake; a bit of the glaze drips down your chin as you look at the two demons in bewilderment.

"Of course," the Prince laughs, handing you a handkerchief to wipe your face. "You are the one responsible for this appointment, so It is only fair that you join us for an afternoon."

He says it lightheartedly so you know that if you truly had something going on, or if you did not want to go. You would not have to. But in truth, sitting for a royal portrait probably isn't something that happens very often; your curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself happily along with the Prince.

Both demons, seeing your acceptance, look absolutely elated. Diavolo flashes you a sincere grin as he claps his hands together. "Wonderful, then we look forward to spending the afternoon with you."

The next day, you find yourself sitting in the Parlor at the castle. Diabolo is finishing up a meeting and Barbatos is greeting the Artist at the doors. Apparently this Demon is older than the Butler himself, having been the one responsible for painting most of the portraits in the Hall of Faces. The idea of meeting such an ancient being makes your stomach bubble up with nerves as you wonder what they are like.

Looking around the Parlor, you notice that the room looks a bit different than normal; the furniture has been tastefully rearranged to make room for a lavish-looking armchair and an art station across from it. Instead of the typical moonlight streaming in through the large windows, some kind of enchantment on the glass fills the room with something close to sunlight.

When you close your eyes, you can almost feel the warmth on your face.

You hear a soft chuckle from across the room as Barabtos comes in carrying a large, worn case with little streaks and splatters of color on its surface. "The artist prefers to work in the light." he smiles, setting down what must be painting supplies.

"Can't say I mind it," you smile as the demon strides across the room, around your chair, and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. This little act of affection is reserved for the moments when the two of you can be alone.

"Then I'll make sure to use this spell more often." he smiles, placing his gloved hand on your shoulder. You find yourself getting lost in the warmth of his emerald gaze just as the parlor doors burst open.

A short demon, swimming in a bright smock, takes quick, impatient steps into the room. His skin is the color of dried dandelion petals, and his tail is tipped like a paintbrush. "Canvazu," Barbatos greets, stepping between you and the Demon politely. "It is a pleasure having you join us today."

"Yes, yes, you said it before; now, where is my subject?" he says with a wave of his hand.

"the young master will be here momentarily," The Butler says. In the meantime, Lord Diavolo would like to invite you to enjoy some refreshments."

"Diavolo?" The Demon, you now know as Cavazu, questions, "Haven't I painted that one before?"

"Indeed you have," Barbatos answers calmly, but you know him well enough to know that the Artist's disrespectful question irritates him greatly. "But as he plans to take the Devildom into a new era, he wishes to have an updated photo."

"I see." The Artist says shortly as his eyes take on a slightly red hue. Curiously, you lean forward to get a closer look. His pupils look like splatters of paint and seem to change color depending on his mood. Your movement catches his eye, and he notices your presence for the first time since he has arrived.

"A live one, eh?" he says, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "This Prince of yours has some questionable taste. I prefer my humans slow-cooked."

You shift back in your seat as the hair on the back of your neck stands up straight. Do you know that eating humans has been outlawed and the Devildom for quite some time? Maybe this guy is so old he missed the memo?

Barbatos clears his throat and takes a step toward the Demon, who is looking at you like their next meal. "Clearly, you are mistaken; this is Mc. A distinguished guest and friend of the Devildom."

The Artist opens his mouth to surely make another snarky comment, but he's interrupted by the doors parting and Diablo's timely arrival.

He looks just as handsome as ever as he greeted you with a smile, "Sorry I'm late, Canvazu. Thank you for taking the time to meet us today."

The Demon, who is becoming one of your least favorite beings in the three realms by the second, looks the prints up and down. "oh, I remember you. You look the exact same as the last time I saw you. So why do I have to immortalize your face again?"

Your jaw drops, how could he say this to the ruler of Hell?

You look at the Prince, but to your surprise, he only laughs. The wonderful sound fills the room and calms your nerves. "I suppose I wish for the Devildom to see the true me~"

"Actually, I don't care." the Artist says in an annoyed tone. "Go sit over there so we can begin."

Diavolo is unphased by the Demon's rude behavior but shoots a quick look at you and Barbatos, whose smile is murderous, to not intervene. If this Artist is as well respected as he appears to be, he certainly can get away with this attitude toward nobility.

"Is there anything else you need before you start?" The Butler asks, clearly wanting to get this whole exchange over with.

"Yeah, Silence." the Demon sneers, his voice low enough for Diavolo to not hear from his chair across the room. He dips his long- brush-shaped tail onto his palette. And painting the backdrop.

You see Barbato's jaw clench, and you gently reach out and give his hand a little squeeze to calm him down. He relaxes and looks at you warmly. "I apologize for my rudeness, Mc. You have been here for quite some time, and I haven't given you any refreshments. May I fetch something for you?"

"That would be lovely; thank you," you say, happy to give him a distraction. He nods and goes to make you something in the kitchen, leaving you in the room with the Artist and the Prince.

It kind of sounds like the start of a corny joke, and you smile to yourself, thinking up all the different ways you can set up the punchline.

You watch in amazement as Canvazu works, his tail flicking back and forth; his paintings are so lifelike, so realistic it looks like you can step onto the canvas and still be in the same room.

Diavolo sits perfectly still in his seat, but despite his best efforts to hide it, he looks extremely bored. He meets your gaze and gives you a little wave.

You stick your tongue out at him teasingly in response, and he beams back at you; at the change in his subject's face, Canvazu's head snaps toward you, and he glares into the very depths of your soul. "You, human. You are distracting my subject; stop that at once! Do you realize how privileged you are to be sitting in on one of my sessions?." Embarrassment boils beneath your skin and you open your mouth to apologize, but Diavolo stops you standing abruptly.

"There is no need for that; Mc is doing exactly what they're supposed to do, making me smile.

"As the artist, I will capture your image as I see fit." Cavazu objects. "I cannot immortalize your face looking so undignified with a silly grin."

You sit up from your chair, "there is nothing wrong with his smile," you say defensively, your patience finally running out . "will you really not paint him if he doesn't look miserable in the chair?"

"Absolutely not." The Demon says, throwing his pallet on the floor. Paint splatter everywhere. "Watch your tongue, Human. You are nothing but an insignificant pest. You have no right to speak to me that way."

Immediately, Diavolo is at your side, looking furious. "I believe we are at an impasse then, Cavazu. I tolerated your disrespect as a courtesy for your continued service of the Devildom, but you have crossed the line. As of now, you will no longer be contracted by the crown."

Canvazu looks absolutely frazzled, for once having to actually deal with the consequences of his actions. "You cannot be serious, My lord. I have served the Devildom for years and you choose this, your pet? Over me?"

"A thousand times over." Diavolo declares with certainty; he looks down at you and takes your hand, pressing it to his lips. "And this Human may one day rule the Devildom at my side. They mean more to me than anything. I refuse to let you rob the Devildom of its smile any longer." Diavolo says, his authority clear in his voice.

"Barbatos, if you please." The Prince says, addressing the Butler, who you haven't noticed come back into the room.

"At once, young master." The Butler says, and with a snap of his fingers, the Artist disappears from the room, leaving the three of you alone in the Parlor. "I must say, kicking that oaf out has been one of the highlights of my existence, Your Majesty. Thank you for that opportunity."

The Butler sent the two of you into a fit of laughter and, despite his prim and proper nature, lets out a genuine smile in response.

"Are you alright, Mc?" The Prince asks softly, the anger on his features disappearing as he looks at you.

"I'm alright; I'm sorry your artist was such a jerk, though." You reply. "Is there another artist you can use to paint your portrait?"

He shakes his head, "this situation has made me realize that I do not want to have my portrait painted anymore."

"But I thought you wanted a new painting to replace the one in the Hall of Faces," you say in surprise.

He smiles, "I do, but I was wondering if you would do me the honor of sitting with me in my portrait."

"Is that really okay?" you ask in bewilderment.

"Of course it is," Barbatos says simply. "You have done more than enough to earn your place up on the wall."

"I-I don't know what to say."

"How about yes?" The Prince asks, his golden gaze overflowing with hopeful affection.

You smile and nod eagerly, your heart feeling tender with love. "Yes, I will."

"Wonderful," he replies eagerly, looking like an excited golden retriever. "Barbatos, would you do me the honor of painting our portrait?"

"I would be delighted to," he replies, striding over to where the Artist once stood. "I have not practiced my oil paintings in quite some time, but I believe I can capture your feelings appropriately."

"So. Shall we begin?" The Prince smiles leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network, @starbbyy

#obey me!#obey me nightbringer #x reader #obey me #obey me x reader #diavolo #diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo #barbatos #obey me barbatos #barbatos x reader

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star-hoon · 2 days

Text

VERSION OF ME — (p. sunghoon)

"CAN YOU LOVE THE VERSION OF ME, I DON'T LET ANYBODY ELSE SEE?"

— MASTERLIST

pairing: sunghoon x fem reader (oneshot)

includes/warnings (16+): comfort/healing from dark past! au — fluff, angst, profanity, comfort, implied reader has scars, mentions of food/eating (let me know if i missed anything!)

word count: 1.8k [not proofread]

synopsis: you and sunghoon have been dating for a few months now and he is the definition of your prince charming. but you are finally forced to uncover what you've been hiding from him, and it makes you fear you’ll lose him.

DISCLAIMER: this fic does mention/imply reader has SH scars. it is mentioned without detail and sunghoon is comforting reader about them. *as someone who used to SH, i would never ever mean to trigger anyone. so if this could potentially trigger you, do not read/please proceed with caution.*

author’s note: omg thank you to everyone who read my 'obsessed' & 'intermission' AND for over 110 followers!

i hope you're all okay with this fic idea even its a little on the darker side. but i promise its fluffy n hoon is a sweetie. this one is dedicated to all of you out there who have overcome hardships in the past or dealing with hardships right now, with physical or mental scars. you are so strong, beautiful, and loved!! <3

VERSION OF ME SOUNDTRACK

it was yet the end of another long and arduous day at work. you dragged your feet into the doorway of your apartment, hanging up your bag on the hook in the entry way and removing your shoes that you could feel were forming blisters on your heels.

sighing, you make a beeline to your bedroom. nothing sounded better than a hot shower to change into some comfy clothes. well, maybe one thing sounded better.

cuddling with your boyfriend sunghoon. and his deep voice and hearty laugh. and his silly puns and dad jokes. and him getting so excited talking about film cameras. just—him.

you had never been one to be very clingy nor dependent with your boyfriends. you just valued your own time and pursuing your own goals, but that doesn't mean you care about them any less.

that's why when you and sunghoon started dating 4 months ago, you felt something click in that regard. he fully understood your introverted ways and wouldn't be like the previous guys and complain about feeling 'neglected' or that you were too cold because he knew exactly how it felt to need alone time/your own space and he respected it.

but even still, when you are together he treats you like an absolute princess. carrying your purse for you when you go shopping, opening the car door for you, standing on the side of the sidewalk that faces the street. he also emotionally cared for you, listening to you rant about things big and small and always reassuring you the day before you have a big presentation at work. you felt so deeply cared for and understood, it made your affection for him blossom even more every day.

today was a day that both you and sunghoon had busy schedules so you weren't going to see each other. but you missed him and wanted nothing more than his comforting presence to fill your currently empty apartment.

you made your way to the bathroom, removing your uncomfortable work clothes. as you stood there uncovered you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. you stared down at your arms, the dark marks that littered your skin. you knew you couldn't hide this from him forever.

before you could let any more negative thoughts consume you, you hopped into the shower hoping the hot water can wash away your stress and worries.

after your shower that probably lasted a little too long in some water that was probably a little too hot, you heard a knock at your front door. you peeked to the corner of your phone amidst the tik tok scrolling 10:38 pm.

considering how late it was you were suspicious so you tiptoed to the front door, glancing through the peep hole. it was sunghoon. even though you should feel giddy and excited at the sight of your boyfriend, a twinge of panic arose. you were just wearing a tshirt so your arms were fully exposed, not expecting company. you ran and grabbed the first hoodie you could find. it happened to be one of his.

you opened the front door and there sunghoon stood as handsome as ever, with a bouquet of flowers and a takeout bag. you pouted at the sight in front of you—you were the luckiest girl alive. this was exactly what you needed after a day like today.

"hi hoonie" you softly greeted him, gently hugging him and he leaned down to give you a peck on the cheek. "...what's all this?"

he spoke as he took off his shoes and made his way into the kitchen. "sorry for dropping by so suddenly, i knew weren't planning on seeing each other today but i knew you had a long day and you were gonna be home late so i thought you would want some food. it's your favorite from the restaurant downtown." you nearly started crying, how could be so sweet?

"don't be sorry. thank you, you are seriously the best hoon i missed you a lot today."

"i missed you too. just sit and relax baby, i'll plate everything up for you" sunghoon always insisted on plating food even if it was takeout. he believed it made it taste better, the notion always made you laugh.

despite offering to split the meal with him, he insisted he didn't want any saying he ate dinner earlier. but as you two sat at the dining table chatting about your day, you fed him forkful after forkful anyways.

after finishing the meal you convinced sunghoon to let you wash the dishes. he eventually complied, standing next to you at the sink drying the 3 total dishes you had to wash.

no matter how small the gesture sunghoon was willing to do anything and everything to make it easier for you. you were convinced he came straight out of a fairytale—but your fantasy was going to come crashing down.

"y/n...why do you never roll up your sleeves when you wash the dishes? they're gonna get all wet!" his tone playful.

"i-its fine hoon, these are just a few dishes anyways" you try force a small laugh as a chill runs down your spine.

"come on sweetheart lemme roll 'em up for you..."

"i said it fine-"

his hand reaches towards your sleeves, pulling them up your arm slightly. you reflexively move away from him, your mind went into overdrive.

"SUNGHOON STOP! I SAID IT'S FINE!" your arm harshly shoved his body away from yours, the glass you were holding flying out of your hand. the sound of the glass shattering on the kitchen floor seemed to echo in the room.

silence fell between you two. your eyes wide and brimming with tears, your chest heaving from your heavy breathing. all you could was cup your hands over your mouth, your eyes looking at the broken glass a few feet away from you and then to your boyfriend. his expression made you sick. he has never looked at you this way. you couldn't tell if he was scared, angry, sad. it didn't matter.

"hoon i-i'm so so sorry, i didn't mean to push you. fu-fuck the glass i'm sorry i'll clean it up" large streams of tears flowed down your cheeks and you managed to get the sentence out in between sobs.

you felt yourself spiraling. you dropped to your knees and crawled towards the broken glass. the sight of the the pieces blurry from your tears and you picked up the pieces with your hands and putting the shards in your palm.

sunghoon was more confused than angry at you, it all happened so fast he barely had time to react. but seeing you pick up the shards of glass with your bare hands snapped him back to reality. he dropped down in front of you on the floor.

"baby stop! what're you doing?! you'll hurt yourself" his voiced laced with concern. he put a hand on your arm and cupped the side of your face with his other hand, wiping the tears away with him thumbs.

you couldn't stop the tears from escaping you. you couldn't believe what you just did. sunghoon was just trying to do a sweet, innocent gesture for you and in the end you hurt him. you didn't deserve him. you knew you couldn't hide it from him forever but you didn't think it would all end like this.

he leaned his forehead to yours, searching to meet your eyes. you just couldn't look at him.

"please y/n, what's going on?" his eyes wide and he pleaded for an answer. catching your breath after what felt like countless sobs, you gently placed the shards back on the floor.

"i need to tell you something hoon."

you followed sunghoon's order to meet in your room as he swept up the broken glass. you sat on your bed as you prepared how you were going to explain all of this.

you didn't want to lose him. he was the best thing that has ever happened to you. all you could imagine was his mortified or disgusted face when he sees your arms. the thought made all your tears resurface. sunghoon sat down next to you on your bed.

"i'm sorry for pushing you hoon. i shouldn't have done that." you took a deep breath before continuing.

"i-i've been hiding something from you since we met. i knew i couldn't h-hide it forever, but i never knew how or when to tell you." you didn't know what else to say to explain. you silently pulled up the sleeves of his hoodie you were wearing.

your arms illuminated by the lamp on your bedside table. silent tears ran down your face as you exposed yourself to him. you have never felt so vulnerable, bare, and scared in your entire life.

"sunghoon i-" before you could say anything else, he pulled you into a silent embrace. one hand pushing your waist to be flush against him, and the other to the nape of your neck.

you eventually muster up the courage to pull away to look up at him. silent tears flowed down sunghoon's cheeks. your eyes widened, sunghoon never cried. your lip quivered at the sight. it was your turn to wipe the tears from his cheek as he did for you earlier.

"um i don't really know what else to say but this explains why i've always covered up my arms around you, why i never was intimate with you...even though i really really wanted to..." you let out a chuckle through your cries trying to lighten the mood.

"...i-i'm sorry i'm such a mess. i know you probably didn't want this going into the relationship. i just- i'm so sorry hoon... i get it if this too much for you."

"you don't have anything to be sorry for y/n..." he grabbed your hand to lace it together with his.

"...this is definitely not an easy thing to share. it just breaks my heart to see someone so kind, smart, and beautiful could do this to herself" he kissed your lips, one of his salty tears landed on your lips.

he used your currently intertwined hands to lift up your arms, placing gentle yet tender kisses to each mark on your arms, your breath hitching at his every touch. this was the first time anyone has been so close, seen you at the most vulnerable. and yet he is treating you like you are made of porcelain.

"this isn't too much y/n. i still think you are the most beautiful person i've ever met—inside and out. this is just a reminder or how strong you are and you overcame whatever you faced in the past. i hope one day you can open up and confide in me because i'm here for you baby. through the good and the bad, especially the bad. because i love you."

your heart melted at his comforting and sincere words, now shedding tears of joy.

"i-i love you too hoon, thank you"

taglist (open!): @laylasbunbunny @blackberryrains

ramblings: this made me so soft and healed my past self 🥺 would you guys like to see more full fics/series or oneshots like this?

thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think <3

reblogs, likes, & comments are always appreciated!!

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lunaroserites · 2 days

Text

Art and Ice - New Perceptions

Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Characters: Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, Loki, Bucky, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, a lot of the avengers cast is mentioned.

Summery: This kinda a filler chapter, some cute fluffy moments between Bucky and Doodle happen.

This might a 2 or 3 parter (it's gonna be more because cannot help myself). College AU, our boy Bucky is on the hockey team, and reader is an art major (because I love that trope and couldn't help myself)

Warnings: Not beta'd! All mistakes are my own. Friends fluff, swearing, mentions of college students being college students. Bit of friendly harmless flirting between friends. Bucky is a playboy. Flirting. Mentions of not eating or drinking for a hours (ADHD Brain)

Word Court: 3539

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! ❤️

Please do not repost, translate or otherwise copy my work elsewhere, without my express permission, thank you! Lunaroserites on tumblr and ao3

Catch up here: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

It wasn’t a surprise that your college finished out the regular season on top. Your college was known across the country for its sports programs.

It didn’t surprise you when Bucky showed up with a bright cocky smile the day after the last away game. “Ooooh Doodle!” He said in a sing-song voice.

You looked over your shoulder setting the paint brush down, raising an eyebrow at him, “yeeees Bucky?” You matched his tone perfectly. With all the away games you haven’t seen him since the weekend, you have made some decent progress on the painting of him. You were giddy to show him what you completed in his absence.

“Guess who scored a date with Mandy, the head cheerleader?” He was beaming. Your heart sank momentarily, your facial expression dropping slightly before you composed yourself and gave him your best dazzling smile.

“I’m not sure Buck, I’ve always been terrible at guessing games,” you murmured, trying to hide the discontent in your voice as you looked back at the canvas to compose yourself. He didn’t seem to pick up on your change in mood.

“Ah come on Doodle, I’ll give you a hint. He’s charming, on the hockey team and incredibly sexy,” he sounded so cock sure.

You turned to face him and tapped the end of the brush on your lip, feigning that you were deep in thought and then a bright smile split across your face.

“Oh! I know who it is,” you said excitedly. “Sam!” You faked enthusiasm before turning back to the painting but not before catching his face drop for a moment.

“Pfft, he’s about as charming as an out of tune piano,” Bucky deflected. “Come on Doodle, it’s easy.”

“They’re easy huh?” You mused. “So must be you then,” you said flatly without missing a beat. He laughed awkwardly behind you.

“Uh, yeah it’s me,” his cocksure attitude was gone and he sounded a little deflated.

“That’s nice Buck, have fun,” you said quietly.

“It’s not until tomorrow night,” he said, “I wanted to come hang out with you tonight,” your heart clenched and you bit your knuckle to stop the pang of hurt that threatened to crush you, you didn’t trust your voice at the moment so you just nodded.

“How much of the painting have you done?” He asked quickly, changing the topic. You were grateful. “Last time I saw it you just had some base colours on.”

You had the puck almost done, you were painting as if the puck was being shot at the person viewing it. Slightly different from your original idea, but you liked how it was turning out. Bucky was now standing next to you and you could smell the deep woody and amber tones of his cologne. He always smelled good, even after playing a game or practice. It was something you appreciated about him, Thor would smell like a locker room after practice. It was awful.

You quickly focused back on the canvas and not how much you wanted to stick your nose into the crook of Bucky’s throat and inhale the heady scent he wore. This little crush was getting out of hand, you needed to squash it quickly.

“That looks amazing, Doodle,” Bucky said in awe as he looked at the painting. “How do you make it seem so real?”

“Practice, and a little luck,” you said with a shrug. Bucky moved out of the way when you picked the brush up and started to work on it again. “The inspiration was also a big help,” you looked over your shoulder at him and winked. He gave you a dazzling smile back. “What are you doing today?” He had pulled some books and notes out on the table and was staring down at them.

“I’m studying for my astronomy final,” he said, his tongue caught between his teeth. His arm crossed over his chest and the other hand held his chin as he looked down at his notes.

“Mind if I put some music on?” He hummed and you clicked the play button and let the music wash over you. You got to work, getting lost in the music and the brush strokes.

The soft notes of Work Song by Hozier played soothingly over the speaker and you hummed softly along to the song and swayed gently back and forth. You jumped when you felt Bucky’s hand cup your shoulder and slide down your arm clasping your hand in his.

“Can’t have a pretty thing like you dancing by herself,” he said softly. He pulled you to him and started to sway you two gently to the beat. Your heart was racing a million miles a minute, your cheeks were a bright shade of red as you hid your face against his firm chest.

He moved you two effortlessly, he guided you in a small sway. He was smiling down at the top of your head as you leaned your cheek to his chest. His hand held the small of your back gently to him.

You couldn’t believe this was happening, he was dancing with you randomly. It was completely out of the blue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to complain. He was firm and warm under your touch. He held like you were as fragile as blown glass, his touch feather light and respectful. You usually hated dancing but something about this moment felt right.

As the song came to close and Bucky took a step back from you, you started to miss the contact as quickly as you lost it. He was smiling down at you and kissed you knuckles of the hand he had been holding at the time. “Thank you for the dance m’lady,” he tipped his chin and gave you a devilish smile. You couldn’t find words to express who you felt at the moment.

“Thank you kind sir,” you stuttered back. He laughed his beautiful rich as chocolate laugh and made his way back to his studying and you went back to your painting feeling lighter than before. The pit in your stomach growing deeper, you could still feel his warm hand on your waist and the way he held you so carefully.

“Loki I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you whined as you draped over his lap dramatically. You had texted him “code red” before you left the art studio, Bucky had offered to drop you off at your apartment but you declined like you usually did. Code red meaning ‘I need you please come get me.’ Which he did without hesitation.

“Darling you’re being a little dramatic,” he ran his fingers through your hair trying to sooth your nerves.

“Loki, I’m not being dramatic. We had this whole conversation about just being friends and spending time together without him waiting to get me in bed,” you exclaimed.

“Which he probably still does,” Loki added, you glared at him.

“Not the point, how can that conversation mean anything if I can’t even hold myself to it,” you said in an exasperated tone. “Loki, he danced with me, out of the blue. Just took my hand and danced with me,” you peaked up at Loki who was running his long fingers through your hair, he had an unreadable expression. “Who does that nowadays, it’s something my grandpa would do with nana.”

“Little brother,” Hela’s sing-song voice called as she poked her head into the room. “Oh hello sweetling! I didn’t know you were visiting,” she smiled at you. You had always liked Helena, she was always nice to you. She gave Loki and Thor shit when we were teens and they were acting like typical teenage boys, insensitive and immature. She looked you over, draped over Loki’s lap, your arm thrown over your eyes. You looked miserable, she entered the room further and sat down on the edge of Loki’s bed and gently touched your shoulder.

“What’s the matter sweetling,” she asked soothingly.

“Nothing Hela, stupid feelings and a crush a stupid boy,” you whined. She laughed at that.

“Men tend to be like that, this is why I like women,” she chuckled. “Seriously sweetling, it can’t be that bad, who is it?” She asked softly. Her eyes drifted to Loki for a moment and he made a face.

“Bucky Barnes,” you groaned. Hela’s eyes widened and she groaned.

“You’re telling me you’re upset over that overgrown toddler on skates?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, you looked at her, god she was so pretty. You nodded and sighed heavily.

“I know, I know. He’s just so.... Ugh.” Loki chuckled and Hela glared at him. She grabbed your hand and rubbed her thumb over your knuckles soothingly.

“You know a couple years back he tried asking me out. I rejected him. He called me a stuck up bitch,” she said, you raised your arm off your eyes and looked at her. “He wouldn’t even let me tell him I had no interest in men, especially younger men.” You nodded and that was what Loki meant when he was rude to Hela. “He later saw me with Val on a date. He felt like an idiot and apologised for how he acted.”

“He did?” Loki asked, he sounded surprised. Hela nodded.

“He learned his lesson. Learned a few things too. From my understanding he’s not as pushy as he used to be,” Hela added. “Shame what happened with his girlfriend and her sudden departure to Alaska. He was apparently a lot different when she was here. She broke his heart. It doesn’t excuse his behaviour but it definitely gives perspective.”

“You know Nat mentioned that he had a long term relationship that suddenly ended,” you said back, thinking back.

“Val knew her better than I ever did, she apparently just packed up and left. No explanation, not warning. She was just gone. Barnes was devastated,” Hela said thoughtfully.

“Huh, well that definitely adds perspective,” you agreed.

“It doesn’t excuse his behaviour though,” Loki reiterated. You and Hela nodded in agreement.

“What should I do?” You asked Loki after Hela left. He sighed and looked down at you, eyes swimming with uncertainty.

“I’m not sure darling, if you told him what do you think would happen?” Loki asked softly.

“He would probably pick up on trying to sleep with me again,” you groaned.

You ended up spending the night at Loki’s house with him, falling asleep on his bed.

“You know, it's a good thing you don’t share a bed with anyone,” Loki shoved you away from the centre of the bed. “You’re a fucking bed hog,” you couldn’t help but laugh at his groggy disgruntled voice.

“Apologies Loki,” you laughed as he huffed.

“Bull shit,” he exclaimed while standing up and going into his ensuite bathroom. You stood and leaned against the door frame while Loki pulled a brush through his hair and did his skin care routine. “Do you want me to bring you home so you can change and stuff?

“I would appreciate it,” you smiled at him.

“Morning Wands,” you called as you came through the front door, Loki right behind you, he grabbed your coat and hung it up as you pulled it off.

“In here,” she called out as the toaster popped. You and Loki walked into the kitchen together. “Morning Loki,” she gave him a dazzling smile, which he returned.

“I’m making cinnamon toast and eggs, hungry?” She asked.

“I’d love some, I’m going to grab a quick shower and change.”

“Princessa!” Peitro wrapped you in a hug tightly as he walked behind you and snagged a piece of toast off your plate.

“Get your own,” you batted his hand away.

“But I want yours,” he teased. You heard Wanda and Loki chuckle at you both.

“I have a plate for you too, stop stealing hers,” Wanda ushered him over.

“What plans do you have today?” Wanda asked as she sat down next to you. You looked to Loki, it was his turn to plan the Saturday plans.

“The new book I’ve been waiting on is finally here so we have to stop by the bookstore in town,” Loki said, “then I think we’ll drive up the coast, we need pictures for our photography class.” You smiled at him, so thoughtful. “Then maybe some dinner and a stroll through the park,” he finished.

“God Loki you’re making me look like a terrible boyfriend,” Pietro whined, you snorted into your juice and leaned back laughing loudly.

“Maybe you should take notes,” Loki teased. You and Wanda were laughing together. Loki was an incredibly thoughtful friend. That’s why you adored him so much. But that’s where it ended. You two were the best of friends and that was where the line was drawn and there was never a need to cross it. It took time for people to understand your friendship and the boundaries you two had in place.

“Sounds like a fun day,” Wanda said thoughtfully.

“What about you Wands? Vis is still abroad isn’t he?” She nodded at your question.

“I’m going to practise with Pietro, it’s a nice day to be out in the sun,” she answered. “Vis gets back next week.”

“I had fun today,” you said softly as you and Loki walked through the park after having supper at a sweet little Mexican restaurant. Loki had his hand on the small of your back guiding you and keeping you close.

“I did too,” he hummed. You two walked around a little more, taking a seat on a bench to watch the setting sun. You looked out over the green space and saw some couples sitting in the grass relaxing. One couple caught your attention.

“Is that bucky?” You said quietly, tipping your head in his direction. Loki squinted and nodded.

Bucky was sitting a little ways away leaning back on his hands. Mandy sat next to him completely ignoring him. Something twisted in your heart as you looked at him looking up at the sky and she was scrolling her phone. Loki rubbed your shoulder soothingly. Drawn back to him you gave Loki a sad smile.

“She probably just wants to sleep with him,” Loki whispered. You nodded in agreement.

“He likes space a lot. He’s talking to her and she is not even pretending to listen,” it broke your heart. Soon his date leaned over and they got up from their spot. He trailed behind her as they waltzed across the green space toward Bucky’s truck. You watched him follow after her like some love sick puppy.

But then for a brief moment his eyes connected with yours. His eyes narrowed in on you and he paused for the briefest moment as he looked at you across the field. You couldn’t place the look in his eyes, but it was something akin to longing, maybe you couldn’t be sure. As soon as it started it ended and Bucky was gone with Mandy into his truck.

“Darling,” Loki’s smooth voice filled your ears and you looked at him. “You okay?” You nodded and sighed.

“I think so,” you mumbled while shaking your head to clear it.

You didn’t see much of Bucky over the next few days, practice and studying seemed to completely take over his days. He would text you little updates, ask how your day was going, remind you to drink and eat snacks. Your phone going off startled you out of the trance you were in.

It was a FaceTime request from Bucky. You slide the answer button and gaze at him with a quizzical look. “Hello,” you chuckled, propping the phone on the easel.

“Hey doodle,” his hair was wet and he was shirtless, you tried to not look at his shoulders. “Miss me?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“Like a toothache Bucky,” you mused. Your shirt rode up as you stretched your arm to reach up on the canvas. Your phone left you a perfect anglee for Bucky’s eyes to follow the now revealed skin. You didn’t catch him licking his lips at you.

“I’m hurt doodle,” he feigned hurt and clutched his hand over his heart being dramatic which made you laugh. There was a sudden knock on the art studio door, you looked over your shoulder and then back at the phone. Bucky was trying really hard to not look suspicious.

“What did you do?” You asked as you grabbed the phone and opened the door, you looked down and he shrugged. Opening the door you were greeted by a delivery driver. You raised an eyebrow and squinted at him.

“Delivery for Doodle?” The driver said, he looked completely over the day and didn’t bat an eye at the nickname.

“I didn’t order,” you looked down at your phone and were met with Bucky’s shit eating grin. “You cheeky bastard,” you accused him. “Thank you,” you took the food and sat down at the table in the art room.

“Thanks Bucky,” you were touched. He had ordered your favourite, everything completely how you liked it. You had only ever ordered this once in his presence, weeks ago. He remembered. “You even remember the extra sauce,” you could feel tears well up in your eyes from how sweet of a gesture it was. You quickly rubbed the tears away and smiled at him.

Everyone in your life had been so busy you barely spoke to them, Bucky had been the most consistent person by far. You didn’t blame the others, you had barely kept in touch being swapped with final projects and finals. Everyone was just busy. The fact he took the time to send you food, made your heart soar.

“I figured we could eat together,” Bucky said as he sat up and positioned the phone so his hands were free and you could see his full torso and face. You almost choked on air seeing him. He was fucking hot, you stoped the that train of thought immediately and looked at his face and not his peaks or squishy tummy. He was a big dude, firm but soft looking. You wanted to run your fingers over his torso.

“I’d like that,” you were impressed with how composed you sounded in that moment.

“How’s the projects going?” He asked. You shrugged and sighed.

“They're going. I’m almost done with three of them and I finished the last one this afternoon,” he nodded. Silence fell over you two again but it wasn’t uncomfortable. That was something you noticed shortly after his visits to art studios became more frequent, silence with him was comfortable and you never felt the innate urge to fill it. “How’s studying?”

“Good, the practicals will be easy. I hate written exams,” Bucky was a kinesiology major, doing astrology classes for electives. What surprised you early on was that he was actually doing well in classes. It made you question those Reddit comments you read saying he cared little for academics. He wasn’t a valedictorian or anything but he was passing with 3.1 GPA overall. You weren’t surprised when he mentioned he wasn't interested in the arts, and that he only did the two mandatory English classes.

“You got this,” you said to him with a smile.

“So do you,” he gave you a dazzling smile back. “I'm sorry I haven’t been coming to visit,” he said quietly.

“It’s okay, we’re all busy right now. I haven’t seen Nat in 4 days, she was hauled up in the dance studio getting ready for her practicals and the final performance,” you shrugged, the performance arts program did a big show at the end of exams the whole campus was invited to purchase tickets for. The funds raised went toward funding future projects. You had your ticket, and an extra because Loki had bought his and forgot to tell you.

“She hasn’t been at practice either, Barton has been insufferable,” Bucky said with a mock exasperated sigh.

“I’m not surprised,” you chuckled and smiled at Bucky, he admired the way the corner of your eyes crinkle when you smile like that.

“You’re still coming Friday?” Bucky asked.

“Of course,” you nodded. “Actually I have a question to ask you,” he looked at you attentively and waited. “I have an extra ticket to the performing arts final show after exams, did you want to come with me?” You didn’t build your hopes so high that he would say yes. “If you don…”

“Yeah, love too Doodle,” he cut you off. Your face lights up with a bright smile.

“Awesome,” you cheered excitedly, you wouldn’t soon forget the beautiful smile that graced his face, you both looked into each other for a moment, smiles morning one another. You didn’t want to look away from him, his eyes snapped from yours at the sound of a crash from another room and some yelling.

“Dammit Scott,” Bucky groaned and looked at you apologetically. “Gotta go Doodle, I’m going to try and swing by the art room tomorrow.”

“Bye Bucky,” you waved at him as he waved the call ended. You saT back in the chair for a moment before giving up for the night and packing up to go home.

AN: Thank you all so much for reading! I've have been really enjoying writing this series!

Taglist: @vicmc624, @calwitch, @learisa, @aaqua-tofana, @charmedbysarge, @blackbirdwitch22

Feel free to send me a message if you have a request or would like more, or would like to be added to the tag list!

#bucky barnes x doodle #hockeyplayer!bucky x artist!reader #college!bucky #college au #college fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x you #bucky barnes #fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction

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sleepyconfusedpotato · 13 hours

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Do Ghost and Jade's kids don't know about their careers (or in Jade's case, former career)? Cause the comic you made of Andrew seeing Ghost in the middle of the night sorta implies they don't know about their parents' military background.

HMMM HM HM Good catch right there 👀👀

So this is also a part of what I've been thinking inside the Riley family after they have kids.

- I feel like the kids would definitely know about Simon's career as a soldier. BUT, as they are still in their early teens, I'd imagine that Andrew, Gracie, and later Orion know that their dad is a soldier, but that's the extent of their knowledge. They do know about Simon's nickname "Ghost", but they don't know how Simon operates inside the Task Force, they're not aware that their dad is an officer of one of the most elite and dangerous task force in the world. As far as they know, their dad only has edgy hobbies that involves black outfits and skull/skeleton themed. Heck, they even made fun of his preferences in outfits.

- But dear God, they never saw him in a full-on combat gear, in the dark of the night.

- Ghost is an officer, so day by day, he'd left the house with open face, and only wears the mask inside the car. After work day, he'd take off the mask before entering the house. If he's too tired, he'd try to sneak in in the deep of the night without making a sound. He'd sworn to himself that 'Ghost' will never enter his family and children's house/lives. They do not need trouble and his dangerous line of work to enter the one thing he cherishes the most.

- However, once you have kids, you can't hide anything forever. They'll find out by themselves (in this case, Andrew is entering his puberty and needs some midnight munchies). Simon and Lottie knows this, so they already have everything figured out. What would Andrew's reaction be, what would Gracie's reaction be, what would Orion's reaction be. They've discussed what they'd reveal, and what they'd still keep a secret, again, until they're old enough to know. They tread VERY carefully about it.

- About their mother though, that's a whole different story. After their marriage, Jade has strictly commited to be a mother for her kids, and opened a branch of The Garden in Herefordshire. She's an ✨ entrepreneur ✨. She's not that active to be called into deployment as before she had kids. If she's used to be 60% florist and 40% TF141 ally, after she had kids she'd be 98% Mum and Florist, and 2% TF141 Ally. Her kids literally only knows her as a florist, and that's it. Up until their late teens, Andrew, Gracie, and Orion would have no clue nor idea about her past with MI6. She didn't lie, she's just holding the truth until they're big enough to understand.

- In fact, Ghost BEGGED and asked Jade to not be active inside the TF141 or any conflicts anymore, considering Ghost would be deployed a lot (and how he's promoted to Captain and above), he'd want his wife to be with her kids. Jade herself also agreed, but she also told Ghost to not die and do stupid stuff. Even though married and less involved in the TF141 business, her resolve stayed the same. If he's missing, she'd pick up the guns in a heartbeat.

- Now, back to the kids. I'd imagine that because of how eventful each of Simon and Lottie's lives are, it sort of like become a game to the family. Each birthdays of the kids, Simon has established a "3 Question" rule game, where the kids can ask their parents anything about their lives. From Andrew and Orion, it's usually trivial and simple stuffs like "What's the naughtiest things you've ever done" "What's your favorite bla bla bla". HOWEVER, with Gracie, its always "What's your favourite mission?" "What's the worst condition of a dead body you've ever find?" "Who's the most difficult bad man you've ever encountered?" "Where is he now?"

- Ghost and Jade would answer with only two sentences. Looking at each other for approval. Gracie is most definitely Simon's daughter with that line of questioning. BUT, again, with every birthdays, and with their increasing age and they become more mature, they'll reveal everything bit after bit.

- By the time they finally know everything about their parents, they'd be in college years, probably, and Simon would no longer be the Ghost (he might be one of the higher ranked officer at this point), and Lottie would be completely out of the Task Force 141 game, becoming a regular civilian. Still, it'd be a legendary story to tell.

WOOHOO I kinda yapped a bit there, but hope that answer your question!

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw #simon ghost riley #sleepy answers #charlotte jade le jardin #call of duty oc #Ghost x oc #ghost x jade #ghostjade #riley family #married life #ghostjade kids #call of duty hc #call of duty headcanons #headcanons #domestic ghost #domestic fluff

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killerbananas · 3 days

Text

Deluge

Levi quells the overwhelming need bleeding through your soul.

🔞 mdni | masterlist | 1,382 wc | afab!reader x Levi

Warnings: smut; feelings of overwhelm, masochism/spanking, biting, dom/sub relationship, bratty behavior, fingering, unprotected PIV, spit-as-lube, creampie, ??lmk

AN: I am calling myself out here. Someone spank the feelings out of me, please? Wrote this, gave a quick reread and then went for posting so forgive if the quality shows that.

The chaotic thoughts have plagued you all day. One right after and on top and behind before through around and in another again and again and again they rush through your head, drowning you in overwhelm. Your eyes glaze off into the distance as you drift in the onslaught, mired to the couch. The fuzzing whitenoised cacophony only breaks when your partner snaps his fingers in front of your face, staring at you with a concern that is discernible from knowing Levi’s tendencies, his behavioral code, the non-twitching raised brow and minute frown showcasing more care than he would afford most. Of course, you are one of his most–his most everythings, but where words may fail him at times, his actions held up in any court of count. At the lost look reflected in your own visage, he takes the same fingers that audibly brought you back to reality and uses them to ground you further, touching your chin to tilt you at the precise angle he needs to peer into your soul.

“What’s wrong?”

A groan catches in your throat as unbidden tears lap the edges of your lashes. The break in your voice when you try to put it to words happens at the same time the droplet tears from the suspension of your waterline to Levi’s swiping thumb. The softness and care cracks the rest of your resolve as more fall again and again and again.

“Hey.”

It would hardly sound affectionate to another’s ear, but paired with him tugging you to his chest and enveloping you in an embrace you’ve practiced for years, it only opens the chasm of your soul wider for him to inspect. Your hands, a mind all their own, travel to wrinkle his shirt in the grip with which you tether yourself to him. As you work to subdue the downpour, the gentle sound of humming worms its way into your ears once you can start to hear past the buzz of your thoughts. Nuzzling the chest that cages lungs providing such a euphonious calm, you let out a sigh that releases some of the strain left in your body.

A new undertone creeps into your consciousness when you take in your positioning on Levi’s lap. Legs wrapped around his body as you cling to him, his hands rest clasped on your lower back while you wind down from the weathered storm. That is, until you look up enough to reach his neck and beg so softly.

“Help me, please, Levi. I…”

You trail off, lost for the right words to ask for what you need. You’ve gone this route before, but still have a hard time explaining yourself. Frustration laces your jaw as you pout, brows furrowed.

“What do you want, little one?”

The rare sobriquet presses on a vulnerability that moves you further from being able to think clearly in the way you wish you could, pulling on baser instincts. A hum of a whine vibrates between you as you close in on his neck more, moving to place soft kisses along the skin bared to you. Tiny laps of your tongue and a nudge of your hips in the right direction begins to guide the change you desire, but not quite as specifically as you need, and fuck do you need.

“How can I help you if you don’t tell me, hm?”

His hands move down over the curve of your ass and as soon as he reaches the exact spot you want, a subconscious urge that you follow thoughtlessly overtakes you. You bite down on his neck with just enough force to draw a hiss at the sensitive spot.

“Hey! Don’t be so damn fresh.”

The admonishment is barely audible as the blood starts to pump in your ears, feeling how he grows hard in his sweats, but it is the accompanying slap to the exposed skin that draws a mewl from deep in your chest and a reflexive rutting of your apex over him.

“Please, Levi, please.”

You hear a whispered “brat” as he tugs you into a better position across his lap, giving him unfettered access to lay his hands exactly where you’re begging as he tugs your shorts down to tangle at your ankles.

“This is what you want? Biting me aside, you haven’t done anything to be punished for you know. Do you feel like you need to be punished or do you just need the pain?”

“I just need. I-I don’t know how to put words to it, but I want you to make me feel every hit, please.”

The callouses on his hands rub the soft skin of your cheek as he exhales, parsing your words past his own arousal that prods at your hip.

“What’s the safe word?”

“Rain.”

He doesn’t make you wait, mercifully. The first slap has you yelping in bliss as his hand stays in place where it made contact, fingertips eventually trailing down feather-light to the corresponding thigh until he rears back again to go just as hard on the second hit. He prefers it this way, feeling the tinged warmth of fever that spreads along your body while you writhe on his lap. The heat breathing from the tender skin of your cheek is tantamount to the bleeding relief flooding your system. Rather than the chaotic thoughts smothering your mind, the thrumming of arousal takes its place with a vengeance. Head floating with each hit that begins to hue your skin, you lose yourself in the moment. On the last strike, his fingers trail between your thighs instead of down them, searching for the dripping ardour that his direct actions pulled from your body.

As he makes contact with your labia, he swirls his capable digits through the satin folds of your apex until the sensitized skin and his fingers are coated in your essence. Sliding effortlessly inside with his pointer and middle, he curls and draws the moans from you in spades. Erection leaking a perfect wet spot at the tip, he grinds gently at your hip while you squirm. Satisfied with the way your body opens for him, he carefully moves you off his lap to lay you down on your stomach.

“Mark me on the inside too, please, Levi. I want to be full of you, just you.”

A groan catches him as he tugs his own pants down just far enough to bury himself in you after wiping off his fingers along his cock in addition to a little extra spit. As phenomenal as the burn of each hit felt, nothing compares to the stretch of his cock inside of you. He rests there for a moment, enjoying it with you, this carnal joining and connection, before he revels in the pull back. He lays his weight on top of you as his hips work a rhythm that hits all the spots inside of you that his fingers didn’t reach.

He can feel the way you grip him as you get closer, balancing precariously on the precipice of falling apart. It surprises you entirely when he flips you both over, back to his chest as he tugs, bounces you up and down his length.

“Touch yourself so I can do what you asked. I want you to cum with me.”

The command has you clenching and obeying immediately. It’s only a few swipes of your finger against your clit before you’re falling further into that headspace that makes you forget your own name, but not his as it slips past your lips easily over and over and over again and again and again in prayer, stars bursting behind your eyes as your cunt grips his cock with fervor. He pulls you tight against him as he fills you with every ounce of his cum.

Labored breaths teetering off as you rest on his chest once again, you let out a blissed giggle. It’s music to his ears and a smile graces his mouth as he embraces you from behind to kiss the top of your head. You can’t even remember the spiral that had cascaded your psyche earlier and for that, you are grateful.

“Thank you.”

You tug one of his hands up to place a return kiss to it, smiling against his skin.

Taglist: @aotwarriorsimp @alexpro-nwn @animediplomat @antoxsmith @armoredpotato @aviinnit @beffjurky @casuallyck @cherrxs @dearbaji @erwinsbaby @eyesucket @fairypiku @fandomficsobsession @fujoneshi @holographicceo @hinasakuino @interfectio-mortales @kenryug @koulakoukoula2003 @kxkyuu-main @lavenderdaisyhoney @mybadluckshouldmakemefamous @chaotic-nick @nathalunalune @notgoodforlife @arsonszn @pockcock @poursomesunaonme @scouts-stuff @seychellse @shigarakiapologist @downbadpie @soaringmirror @sparklekitteh @stigandr-the-cat @syrma-sensei @reiners-milkbiddies @tiffanyy-21 @theinariakuma @tonaken @torapologist @touyyes @we-are-so-close @witchycamisado

#this took me places i didnt know i needed to go so welcome to the rollercoaster my loves #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot smut #levi #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman #aot x reader #aot x you #writing with kbee #aot x reader smut

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live-laugh-lenney · 1 day

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Hi, could you please write a little something about george looking after his girlfriend while she's ill? Xx

i am such a sucker for soft boyfriend looking after ill girlfriend :')

whatever he had planned, it was dropped.

except he never told her that he cancelled his work schedule or any of his upcoming video shoots that he was due to film because he knows her like the back of his hand. he knew, deep down, how much she was going hate being the reason that he stopped working just to take care of her when, really, she could do it herself.

'i need to cancel our dinner date with max and andrew tonight, not well at all. don't come and see me as i'm just gonna sleep all day and look like a mess. love you. <33'

george cancels on her behalf. informing max that they could move the date to another night and that he wasn't sure what was wrong with her but that it must have been something terribly bad if she was cancelling plans and had added on that she didn't want to see her boyfriend in the state she was in.

except, george doesn't always listen.

and its time like when she was sick where he was thankful he had a key to her flat amongst the keys on his keyring. arriving at her door with an abundance of bags filled with tablets and medicines, dry crackers and packs of biscuits, and whatever trinkets he could grab from the tiny supermarket shop at the entrance of her flat complex so he was prepared for any kind of sickness.

"i know you asked not to see me but i wasn't doing anything today in regards to work and i couldn't leave you here by yourself," his voice fills the quiet space of her home and he waits for her to make herself known before he unpacks the bags for her, "babe?"

when she doesn't appear after a couple of minutes, he feels guilt low in his stomach - he forgot she may have been trying to sleep off whatever had struck her and he was suddenly more aware of how loud he had been upon his entrance. he toes off his trainers and sets them beside her front door, sets the keys down quietly on the side table and leaves the bags in her kitchen before he goes on a look for her around her home.

she wasn't on the sofa; her living room hadn't seemed to be touched and her tv remotes were left where she would normally leave them the previous night, the blanket was still draped over the back of the sofa and there was no dip in the cushions to signify that someone had been sat there recently.

she wasn't in her office; he wasn't expecting her to be working, at all, but it was a much cooler room in her home since it was facing away from the sunshine and she had a fairly comfortable sofa to lounge on.

she wasn't in her bedroom; except he could tell she had taken refuge there for the majority of the day because her sheets were still messy and ruffled and her pillows looked laid upon, a glass of water on her bedside table and a mop bucket down by her side of the bed which she must have kept there in case she couldn't make it from the bed.

his next guess was her en-suite and as he poked his head around the doorframe, he was met with her eyes closed and leaning against the side of the bathtub with a sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. his t-shirt, which he had given to her when she first stayed the night at his place, loose on her figure and it swallowed her up and he just wanted to scoop her up and put her to bed so she was more comfortable.

"i know you're looking at me," she grumbles lowly, cracking an eye open and staring at him through one eye, "i said not to come over. i don't know if this is a contagious thing or not."

"i'll be fine," he waves his hand in her direction as if he was brushing off the comment and he steps into the room, reaching over to flush the toilet from the contents inside, "how long have you been here for?"

she shrugs before taking a deep inhale, exhaling slowly, and she stretches out her legs to rid the pins and needles feeling tingling at her toes. she feels george sit down beside her and she can't help but lean towards the body heat radiating off his body, his arm sneaking around her shoulder and pulling her into his side.

"just feeling sick?"

"just feeling a bit icky. woke up feeling weird, breakfast didn't stay too long in my belly, can't really keep anything down."

"maybe it's a viral thing?" george wonders and he reaches for a wet flannel to dab across her forehead and to clear her face a little, "chris went down with something a couple of weeks ago, seen a lot of stuff saying people are going down with a sickness bug."

"just my luck to get it."

george laughs softly and sets the flannel down on the side of the tub, removing his arm from her shoulder and standing to his feet, holding his hands out for her to take and pulling her slowly to her feet. letting her get some stability before he lead her back to the bedroom so she could get comfortable in bed.

"i brought some crackers and biscuits if you're hungry and want to try and eat something," george suggested and she shook her head, settling herself down in bed and pulling the duvet over her body, "i'll leave them in the kitchen for you, okay? they're there if you want them."

"thank you," she smiles softly and he climbs onto the bed, careful not to jostle her too much, laying down beside her and cosying under the covers, "love you."

"i would kiss you but," he looks her and she rolls her eyes, "i love you too. get some sleep. i'll be here when you wake up." xx

#george clarkey #george clarkey imagines #george clarkey blurbs #george clarkey fics #george clarkey headcannons #george clarke #george clarke imagines #george clarke headcannons #george clarke blurbs #george clarke fics

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neet-elite · 2 days

Text

↳ EVENT 16. Alex SDV (Dry Humping)

Pairing: Alex / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,388 Warnings: dry humping, established relationship, ab riding, public Prompt(s): 09 — dry humping Event Masterlist: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: alex my beloved </3 i feel like he's not written enough, including by me. he's just so precious though ughh i wanna dote on him forever n ever, so ty for giving me this opportunity !! i hope you enjoy <3

One of the best benefits that comes from living on the farm with you is the extra room he gets all to himself, separated from the rest of the place, secluded behind the admittedly large house in privacy. Sure, he had his own room back at his grandparents house too; but it was nothing like this! His favourite part is the little retreat you had made solely for him, an outdoor gym fashioned specifically for his own needs. It's great, even. Fucking fantastic to be able to walk outside early in the summer morning, the sun already beating down on him harsh enough to cause his shirt to suddenly go missing, sweaty back sticking to the bench under him as he lifts heavy weights above his head. This, is love.

It's perfect, in all honesty. And he couldn't ask for more, not when you've provided him such adequate space to get in all of his workouts, morning, noon, and night.

Except, as his workout continues and you still yet remain on his lap, squirming around in the heat, he has the audacity to ask for something else.

"Can you, uh... Can you get off, please?"

It's not that he's uncomfortable with you sitting there, the additional weight from your body on top of him provides an interesting challenge to his usually straight forward and routine work outs. It's just... Well, fuck, he's getting hard under you, isn't he? Sweat trickling down his toned body, muscles tight and engaged as he does his best to focus on not fucking dying by dropping the weights on his chest, and yet all he can seem to concentrate on is how his dick twitches so nicely against your clothed cunt, tenting in his pants if not for your ass sitting squarely on top, inadvertently grinding on him with his lifting movements. All he can think about is; already? You've just woke up, haven't you? And you need him already? So fucking hot to him, God.

And is request isn't so much of a complaint as it is just trying to stay safe, y'know? Wouldn't wanna accidentally hurt you if he were to drop anything. Confident that he wouldn't, but he cares too much about your safety to put you in harms way like this, despite the fact that it's your fault he's so hard right now. The summer sun surely basking you in all its warmth too, uncomfortably so, right? That's why you're wearing barely anything at all, his brows knitting together when you pout down at him so cutely that his tummy fills with butterflies. You know exactly what kinda buttons to push, don't you?

"Don't wanna." You reply simply, sharply. Stating, more like. Akin to telling him: no chance. Which is fine, really, he loves spending time with you just as much as you seem to enjoy making his life more difficult, his heart skipping a beat at the way you knowingly shuffle around on his lap, an exasperated sound escaping him in response. A moan? Probably. Though he'd be hard pressed to admit it when he's supposed to be working out. Which you can clearly see, obviously. And besides, he can't rightly fuck you in public like this, right? What if someone was to randomly show up while he's balls deep in your tight, wet, warm, little cunt. Milking himself inside of you, forcing your cute body into a tight mating press on his bench—

Fuck, he's not helping himself. Forcing his arms to push up again, letting them fall back down slow and controlled, determined to move forward with his workout in spite of your ass wiggling on his obviously rock hard cock. Cool pre tacky on his skin as your ass coaxes fat beads out, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull when you giggle sweetly down at him.

So you do know what you're doing to him. "Makin' it difficult for me, babe." He warns you, but his tone is light-hearted and full of love, ending with half laughter before he's lifting the weights again, huffing and puffing with the amount of strain and sheer focus it requires not to fuck up into your covered cunt with every bench press. But he resists, if only to make your life a little more difficult too. This, too, is love.

"I know." You beam down at him, and he's hit with a sudden realisation. He doesn't think he's ever loved anyone, or anything, as much as he does you. Especially right now, cursing you mentally over how well you know his weak spots, in love with the way your ass rides his cock so well, exactly how he likes. Despite it all, he feels lucky to have you, yknow. "Do you really want me to get off, or...?" You ask, gently digging your nails into his exposed chest, a pleasant pain that really helps convince him otherwise.

"God, no—" He ends up sighing, perish the thought. Bliss filling his lungs when you drag your nails down, leaving a pretty red streak over his abdomen, ending at his waist which you hold on to for stability. It's cute, actually, how heavily you rely on him for everything. For comfort, for stability, for getting off so early in the morning when you know damn well you have free reign to toys and pillows galore in the chilled farm house. And yet still, you decide to torture him with your pretty ass sat right atop his fat, throbbing cock. He can't say he blames you. If he had to choose between his hand or your cunt— it's not even a question. Your tight little hole wins every single time; but that's the thing—

You're not even properly riding him right now. Content enough to simply feel his outline pressed against your slit, biting down on your bottom lip so seductively that he can't help but gasp in response from how downright brazen you're being.

"Your training is paying off..." You eye him up and down suspiciously, but he knows what the underlying meaning of that look is actually trying to convey. He's given you the same one time and time again; you're fucking him with your eyes right now, aren't you? Pride swelling in his chest as you continue, blood rushing to his cock to throb against your cunt when you hum contentedly, as if just looking at his sweat soaked body gives you satisfaction. His tone is cocky when he offers you a lopsided grin.

"Yeah? Like what y'see?" He questions rhetorically, doing another rep just to show off his bulging muscles to your feasting eyes, smiling up at you when you nod your head so innocently despite straddling his covered cock. "I'd love t'show ya more later, babe. I'm almost done. Promise." He pants, placing the heavy bar back in it's home for a moments breather, though his hands still remain on the bar itself. Knuckles white from how tightly he holds it, an attempt to remain calm and collected in the face of your unbridled want for him.

But it's so hot seeing you like this, watching as you carefully crawl forward so that you're more sitting on his tensed tummy; which isn't a problem for him. He takes great pride in being strong enough for you, working tirelessly day in and day out to show you how fit and dependable he is for you. So as you take the opportunity to exploit his brief break by way of rocking your hips against his tummy slowly—really, barely noticeable! If not for how hard he stares at you with pure adoration—he feels a boost of confidence, his hands on the bar slipping a little not just from sweat, but from subtle need. Chest tight as you plant both hands there to keep yourself steady while you ride his abs, the sight of your bitten bruised smirk causing his cock to twitch some more, only he has the freedom of movement now that you're off his lap.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, too in love with the sight of you literally humping his abs to know what to say, mind a little numb as he dumbly asks; "Havin' fun?" because of course he knows you are, he can see the wide smile you adorn, can feel the way your thighs squeeze around his ribs, your feet kicking up to reach his hips. But he just feels so frozen despite the heat, doesn't wanna disturb you too much in fear of missing out on the show of a lifetime. Pretty baby just needs to get off, don't you? Wanna hump his abs till you feel better, s'at it? A deep sigh crawling up his throat as he forces his muscles to remain engaged, a hard surface for you to feel every ridge and bump— shit, you're probably leaking all over his tummy by now, right? Those little shorts you've got on are more than likely soaked through from how long you've been sitting on him, turning his tummy all sticky with your slick. God, that turns him on so much, to just watch you have your fun while he's forced to endure the sweet sexual tension below you.

"Atta girl," He encourages you with a brief wolf whistle, gasping into the feeling of your nails once again digging into him, only he's not so stupid yet as to not pick up on the different meaning behind them this time round. Feels good, doesn't it? To have him submit under you like this, let you bully him and push him around a little, interrupting his precious workout time just so you can selfishly use him to get off. It's fine, he thinks. Because he's having fun too, allowing you to take control of the situation by hooking your feet under him, giving you more precision to rub your clit up and down his washboard abs. "C'mon, you can go a little faster, can't you? Wanna see you really enjoyin' yourself." He coos, dropping one hand from its iron hold on the bar to softly prompt you into a quicker pace. Home on your waist, manhandling you up and down his abdomen enough to help settle you into a new tempo, something more similar to when he fucks you. That should do it, right? The wide, pretty smile you wear sure make it seem like it will, the beads of sweat trickling down your face making his throat feel dry as he's made to sit and watch.

But there's pleasure in that too, right? Below, he holds all the power. God knows he could easily lift you up off of his tummy, flip you over so that you're the one laying on the bench, and fuck you so hard that they'd hear you sob his name all the way from the town centre. And he knows that you know that too, which is why it's so fucking infuriatingly sexy to him that you're testing him right now. C'mon, wanna fuck me so bad, right? he can practically hear you taunt. And he does! Fuck, he does. Lust pooling under your clothed cunt, cock aching from how hard he's begging to be buried balls deep in your pretty pussy. Wants to stretch your hole so bad, force you into fitting him in just as you're forcing him to remain still right now. They're about as painful as each other, aren't they? A shaky moan slipping past his otherwise sealed lips when you gasp his name through a pout, begging with your eyes for a little more help.

And all he does is tut in return. A simple sound, lasting no more than a second. But the look you wear upon hearing it has his shorts bulging more, a cool breeze travelling through them from how fat his cock gets. If anyone were to show up right now, they'd surely be greeted to the sight of his taut balls and pulsing cock peeking out from behind barely there clothing. And it's all your fault.

"Thought you wanted this, baby? It's okay, you can do it. I believe in you" He faux pouts up at you, mocking your frustrated attitude when all you do is huff in response, bucking your hips faster still against him, really grinding your clit down and up his abs, and all he can think about is how he wishes it was his cock instead. How he'd treat you so well if only you hadn't been so impatient, and if only you hadn't tried to exude some non-existent power over him. You wanted to fuck with him so bad? Congrats, you made your bed, now lie in it.

Still, he loves you. Loves you so much that despite his want to watch you suffer, he can't help but yearn to comfort you. So, his other hand leaves the bar to hold your waist too, eagerly helping you into humping him silly with large, rough hands. Setting the tempo himself, practically fucking you without fucking you as he helps you ride up and down, his hips matching your glides a little in an effort to pretend he's actually fucking you too. So down bad for you, can't you see? That even the act of mimicking being inside of your perfect little cunt is enough for his breathing to grow laboured, his grip of your hips tightening as he feels you shake from under his unfair hold. Perks of being your husband, he muses to himself. He knows how to get to you too.

It's not long before your staining his skin with cum, gushing all over his tummy with gasps of air, a pretty smile on your lips from how he helps you ride it out. Nice and slow, grinding your slit against him until you pat for him to stop, hearts in his eyes as he watches you collect your breath enough to calm down from the early morning orgasm.

And yet still, he's hard. Uncomfortably so, if he's honest. Bouncing behind your back in an instinctive need to be tended to, his head thrown back when you shuffle down far enough to rest your ass against it once again.

"Your turn?" You ask sweetly, as if it was ever a question.

"Please, babe."

#500 event!#sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv alex smut #stardew valley alex smut

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greghatecrimes · 2 days

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I had a thought for your baby thirteen au!

I always see house as the type of parent to have separation anxiety,so logically he'd take thirteen with him to the hospital and it'd actually go great,house barely had any contact with the patient so he could just chill and be silly with her while the ducklings took care of the patient

But this time it was different,the case got too complicated and he had to step into action,but he can't bring his baby daughter to an autopsy so he lets her in the care of the ducklings while he's in surgery.

Oh but little Remy isn't having none of that,she's restless and pouty and constantly asking for her daddy,but its when the water works start that the ducklings really panick

The quick solution would be take her back to her father but he was knuckles deep in someone's liver right now so they would be needing the next best thing

So they take her down to Wilson's office

I imagine one of them just barging into the room and handing her over to Wilson as she enthusiastically spreads her arms to him and saying "here,take her, all she does is ask for her daddy and we don't know what else to do" and leave with a very stunned Wilson behind.

What they didn't realise was Wilson had a patient a sweet old lady who misunderstood the situation and immediately assumed Remy was Wilson's daughter and she'd be all "aawn doctor Wilson your daughter is really sweet,whats her name?"

And before he can explain thirteen isn't his daughter she's just clinging to him and resting her head In the crook of his neck making that point very hard to believe.

"Remy,her name is Remy" that's all he'd say before keeping the appointment with the sweet old lady while holding a very sleepy yet content thirteen!

Anon, I cannot express in words how adorable this is and how much I love it!!!

I so agree w/you about House being a bit of a parent with separation anxiety. I think he'd be like 'well if she's with me all the time, then she doesn't have as many chances to get herself into something and then that eliminates the need for worry. if it works it works.' i think bby thirteen would have less separation anxiety than him when she's very little (lol) but he's definitely her favorite person in the entire world, and so of course she ends up missing him when he gets pulled away for something intricate on a case.

i haven't given thought to who the ducklings would be in the au (besides taub vaguely), but i LOVE the ducklings trying to fix things and failing, and being clueless and eventually taking her to wilson. of course they go to wilson. it would be even funnier if house and wilson are like, together at that point, but not publicly out/together yet? so the fellows don't know that house and wilson are in a relationship; they just know wilson's always with house and bby thirteen/remy, and that bby thirteen trusts him and adores him.

ough. her nuzzling into the crook of wilson's neck and clinging to him. and wilson inadvertantly saying/accepting that she's basically his daughter too. stepdad wilson!! i'm emotional and melting into a puddle.

House comes back from the autopsy to find his office filled with ducklings, but very childless. After the initial burst of panic and snapping at them "What did you idiots do? Where is she?!", he immediately goes to Wilson's office once he gets an answer from them. And he just stands in the doorway for a few minutes, watching Wilson do paperwork with bby Thirteen cuddled up to him, and House has the softest smile on his face. the kind that only comes out around wilson and his kid. and then he'd break the reverie to say to Wilson "Aw, you sap. you like her."

And Wilson looks like he's about to protest, but then thinks better of it because he glances down and sees Thirteen smiling up at him (because her dad's back! yay, both dads together!!). He grins a little and very softly says, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

#ask #anon #IM DYING YHIS IS SO SWEET I ADORE IT #greg house #remy thirteen hadley #james wilson #hilson #baby thirteen au #baby ducks au

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fernandopiastri28 · 2 days

Text

first serve 🎾 ~ oscar piastri x logan sargeant

Oscar looks up at his face, noticing that he’s been ogling at the patch of exposed skin on the boy for a few moments too long. He still has that hat over his head, but now it's turned backwards, a few stray hairs escaping just over the backstrap. “Oscar,” He extends his arm again, just like he had with Alex, and this time it’s not rejected. “Logan,” His grip is sturdy, but not painfully tight around the other boy’s hand. His lips twist into a smile, his crows-feet deepening as the expression reaches his eyes, which are a deep, pale blue. Oscar focuses on them, feeling a lack of embarrassment as Logan’s doing the exact same stare to him in return.

wc: 5,112 || no warnings

“Do you reckon we have to go?” Oscar leans back in his seat, his position giving him a picturesque view of the outstretching tennis court- the bright blue ground decorated with neon green tennis balls and white sneakers.

Lando, in the seat next to him, snorts, “Of course we do, Oscar,” Osc-uh. Drives him mad how he pronounces his name like that- he puts more emphasis on it when he is in a mood like now. “We've paid- we rented rackets and paid a whole lot to even get into this club,” He takes a long drink of his glass of milk he’d managed to convince the waiter to bring over despite it not being on the menu. Oscar visibly cringes at the sight.

“We didn’t pay a cent mate- perks of working here,” Oscar scoffs, grabbing his white cap off the glass table and squashing it over his head, blocking the piercing sunlight from hitting straight into his eyes.

“Yeah well, what’s the point of working at a country club where you’re pretty much allowed to play tennis whenever you want to if you’re never gonna take the opportunity by its balls?” Lando wipes a line of milk that’s gathered on his top lip, squinting at his friend and watching as his face turns into an even more hardened scowl under the brim of his cap.

“I don’t know, money?” He shrugs, tilting his head to crack his neck, the muscles flexing at the action. “Because, I don’t know if you know this, but not everyone can be crazy rich like the Norris’ and only be working because their parents are convinced they’re gonna blow all your money the second they move out if they never have to work for it?” Oscar cocks an eyebrow, shifting his attention to look at his colleague who had an offended glare painted across his face.

“No need to bring my spending habits into our civil conversation,” He huffs, grinding his teeth. For being a whole year above Oscar at school and almost 18 months older- Lando is surprisingly immature. “But I actually do know that. Obviously, I know you,” He smirks, turning it back onto the younger man.

“Nice one,” The Aussie clicks his tongue, checking the time on his watch, having to hit the plastic screen to get it working- the downside of still using the watch he got 7 years ago for his 10th birthday. “When are we heading on to play?” Through where the sun hits into the cracks of the cover and reflects back into his eyes- he can just barely see the watch hands hovering over the time 1.43.

“Three?” Lando kicks his legs up onto a chair he’s dragged in front of him, slumping back down and tucking his arms behind his relax. A long sigh escapes his mouth, acting as if he’s had a massive day- when in reality he froths up milk and pours it into ginormous cups to be served around to guests by Oscar, and if the younger boy isn’t busy serving customers- he's in the back cleaning.

“About the ‘crazy rich boy’ thing, you know who’s an even better example of that than me?” Lando drops his head back against the head of his metal chair. Oscar blows bubbles down his straw into his coke, nodding along as his eyes meet Lando’s in a sun-avoiding squint. “The fucking Sargeant family,” He barks out a laugh.

Oscar drains the last of his drink, setting the glass down on the table again before humming in response. “Yeah, they are pretty well off,” In reality, Oscar hardly knows the guy. He’s heard of the Sargeants- his mate back in Australia, Caio, somehow knows the older Sargeant brother, Dalton. Apparently he’s pretty nice and certainly very wealthy.

There’s another son, who he knows is his age, a few months older but also a junior- just at some way richer school, likely the same as Lando. He doesn’t know what his name is though- something like Liam. Given his lack of knowledge about the family, Oscar doesn’t see himself as the kind of person to make a judgement on someone’s financial situation- unless that someone is the spoiled brat of Lando Norris.

Not only does Oscar just not have a particularly extroverted personality, which doesn;t help with getting to know people, he also only moved to the UK a year before to start year 10. And now halfway through year 11- he’s still struggling with people at school’s names- let alone people outside of it. He knows of a few of Lando’s friends, but that’s the extent of his reach out of a friend group. He knows George who’s very polished and almost aggressively British, Alex is very tall and smiley, Max is sarcastic and almost Lando’s carbon copy- just a bit more serious at times, and finally, Carlos who speaks with a thick spanish accent and Lando seemingly has a bit of a crush on.

Oscar would say he and Lando are ‘friends’ to an extent, but he doesn’t think they’re quite at the point that they’d discuss their dating lives yet. So beyond how Lando will take any opportunity to bring up the dark haired Spaniard, Oscar has no further reason to believe the curly haired man isn’t straight.

He doesn’t even know Lando’s views on that, it’s not something that’s come up in conversation yet. Oscar knows he isn’t fully straight himself, but it’s not something he goes around telling absolutely everyone. It’s not a shame thing, more so protecting himself from a potential bad reaction. So when there’s the occasional time where Lando points out a girl and asks if she’s pretty to Oscar, he hums out a noncommittal yes and leaves it at that.

“Lando!,” A familiar voice shouts out from directly below the ledge where their table is situated. “Is your ass ready for tennis yet?” Both boys crane their necks, looking down at the person who’s yelling at them. Standing below with a tennis racket in one hand and adorned in a grey sports shirt, his tan skin and recovering bleached hair is Alex Albon. “Hey guys!” He perks up seeing Oscar, waving his arm dramatically at the younger boy. Oscar waves back politely, greeting him in response.

“Alex is here?” Oscar looks at Lando in slight surprise as they make their way over to the stairs that lead down to the court. The brit nods, combing his fingers through a clump of tangled curls. There’s another figure next to Alex, a boy who’s not as tall but certainly broader. His head is facing the floor, a fitted black hat over his head, only revealing locks of naturally blond hair on the back of his neck.

“I think he brought a friend too, we can do doubles now,” He pats Oscar on the back, insinuating for him to walk faster. He picks up his pace, tugging down on his shirt as it rides up slightly. They reach Alex who is now alone, the other guy seemingly gone to do something. “Albonoooo,” Lando embraces his friend, wrapping his arms around him. “You remember Piastri, yeah?”

Oscar cringes at the use of his last name rather than his first. It’s very typical private school-rich kid stuff, which is right up Lando’s alley. In terms of wealth, the Norris’ are known for being rich, the Russells too. The Albon’s are well off too, the Sainz’s have a lot of money in investing and all that shit. Where the Sargeant’s money comes from, Oscar hasn’t had the chance to ask yet- or more so, Lando hasn’t randomly just dumped that information on him yet.

The Piastris aren’t a household name in terms of their affluence, nor would they be regardless. Oscar has three younger sisters which means his parent’s salaries go towards splitting evenly for a family of six unlike most around the area for three or four. It also doesn’t help that they only moved just under two years ago- so they haven’t had a major chance to build up their net worth, disparate to the families who have been in the area for decades and are living off of the prior generation’s profit.

Oscar extends a hand to Alex to shake, which is ignored in lieu of, “Of course I remember my favourite Australian,” a tight embrace, the strong sandalwood smell of his cologne slamming his senses. He hugs him back tentatively, giving him a few awkward pats on the back before he’s finally released.

“Ha, do you even know another one?” He grins, wiping off a line of sweat that’s already appeared just where his cap hits his hairline. Alex shrugs, murmuring out a ‘fair point’ with a wide grin still plastered across his face as his chest continues to rise and fall from enervation of clearly a few games done already.

“Shit,” Lando clasps a hand over the vibrating phone in his pocket, digging it out and checking caller ID. “Carlos is calling, I’ll be right back,” He hurries off, leaving the two boys who hardly know each other to interact. Just in Oscar’s luck, the boy who was with Alex before returns. He has his shirt hitched up, wiping sweat off his face. When he pulls it back down, it doesn’t cover his stomach fully- instead snagging up on his abdomen, showing off some of his defined torso.

“Logan,” His grip is sturdy, but not painfully tight around the other boy’s hand. His lips twist into a smile, his crows-feet deepening as the expression reaches his eyes, which are a deep, pale blue. Oscar focuses on them, feeling a lack of embarrassment as Logan’s doing the exact same stare to him in return.

“So!” A loud clap sounds next to them, Alex stands with his hands clasped together and the handle of his racket leaning against his shin. “You guys will be partners?” He raises his eyebrows at Logan, and then at Oscar. They look at each other, the question showing up in both of their expressions. They both nod and head off to an empty court while they leave the brit to wait for Lando.

Logan extracts a ball from his pocket as Oscar goes and grabs a racket, feeling around with it to make sure it feels comfortable enough. He’s not really a tennis guy- more into cricket growing up in Australia, but it’s not as if he doesn’t have any experience with hitting a ball. “So,” He sighs, walking towards the net where Logan is standing with his hip brushing against. “How long have you been playing tennis for?” He regrets the question almost immediately, realising it would’ve been a safer question to ask if he even played it in the first place.

Luckily, his worry about how dumb he sounds dissolves as Logan replies, “Ah,” He scratches at a patch of almost invisible stubble on his chin. “So long,” He laughs, “I’d say since I was about… five?” He bounces a ball against the ground, repeating the motion a few more times before taking a few steps back. “You?”

Oscar only notices when he speaks then the American accent that lays heavy over his words. It’s pretty uncommon in the UK- a lot of proper British accents with the occasional Australian one like his own- but not many like Logan’s. Logan serves the ball, sending it flying over the net with a thwack. Oscar makes a desperate attempt to hit it back but ends with just hitting himself in the chest.

A winded laugh escapes Oscar’s mouth, “Nah, never played.” Logan raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes widening in effect. “Could you tell?” He grins. The other boy has a sympathetic look on his face paired with a slight grimace. Ah, He’s already disappointed.

“All good,” He shakes his head, “Wanna try it again?” Oscar nods awkwardly, shifting his weight back and forth from the balls of his feet to the heels. This time when the blond serves, Oscar tries to whack it as hard as possible, sending it soaring a mere few inches over the other boy's head, who ducks instinctively.

The younger of the two goes dark red as the other remains crouching on the floor for a few moments after, his blue eyes huge and almost scared. They look at each other in silence for a few moments, fear on both of their faces. That is until the American bursts out laughing, a strange comfort to the other. He stands up, quickly stretching his legs out before walking towards the net separating them.

“I can teach you how to hit?” Logan drops his racquet, the plastic head hitting the ground with a dull thud. The Australian nods, watching as he jumps the net, slipping into place behind Oscar. “Okay, you hold your racquet like-” Two sturdy hands rest on the backs of Oscar’s, guiding his fingers on how to hold the handle properly. “this,” His breath is hot against the other’s boy's neck, almost unnoticed given how warm the rest of his body feels.

“This is forehand,” He positions Oscar’s arms to be out by his side, letting one drop down to the side so it’s only his right hand to be around the racquet, “And this is backhand,” He does the same, but his right arm is now crossed over his side, “Which is considerably easier,” He smiles when he sees the brunet relaxing with the position.

“Alright,” Oscar nods, going through the notion of swinging it infront of him, hitting an imaginary ball. “Good?” He looks over his shoulder where Logan has taken a step back, watching the other boy in a look of almost awe.

“Fantastic- you’re a natural,” He grins, a pat to the back of the Aussie’s back- a well done, definitely not just another reason to touch him. “You wanna try forehand?” Oscar shugs, going back into his initial position and swinging, noticeably not with as much ease- but good enough. “I think you’re ready to rally,”

Oscar cocks his head, an eyebrow raising in unison. “Isn’t rallying like driving cars?” It’s the American’s turn then to look confused, tucking his bottom lip under his teeth. “Like, driving a really fast car on dirt roads?” He scratches the hair that peeks out from under his hat.

“Uh, no.” Logan purses his lips. “Well, yeah, I mean I guess it’s also that,” He breaks back into a smile, comforting Oscar’s worries about sounding like an idiot again. “I don’t really know racing or anything, but rallying is essentially just a series of successful hits made by players,”

“Ahhh,” Oscar leans back a bit, flexing the hand that was previously gripping around the taped handle. Logan walks back around to the other side of the net and picks his discarded racquet back up. “Gotcha,” He kicks a tennis ball to the side, watching it roll over to where Alex is still standing waiting for Lando to return from his surprisingly long phone call with Carlos.

Alex has a wide grin on his face, one hand firmly planted onto the net pole closest to the pair, his other hand on his hip as he leans awkwardly. “You guys are getting on well,” he teases. Oscar rolls his eyes, looking to where Logan is unphased and almost looking a bit out of it as he waits for the other boy to speak.

“Right,” The brunet tries to wipe what feels like a hot flush off his face with his palm, hoping if he is red, it just looks like a sunburn. “You serve?” He itches his neck, his nails digging into his skin as an attempt to focus on the forming stinging pain rather than how Logan looks from his spot across from him where the sun is hitting perfectly against him.

“I can,” Logan grins, extracting a ball from his pocket and bouncing it against the ground a few times. Oscar makes note of it, remembers that he needs to do that when it comes his time to serve so he can impress Logan. He remains light on his feet, able to move around to hit the ball so he doesn’t make a mess of himself again. “Please don’t try to take my head off with this one,” He teases.

“I can’t make any promises but I can try,” he rolls his eyes, waiting patiently for the ball to cross into his side of the court. When it does, he drags his racquet back just slightly, lining up to the ball so it taps right into the centre of the gridded wires. It bounces back off it, hitting into the floor over the other side. He doesn’t let himself celebrate, too busy focusing as the ball comes straight back towards him.

He uses a bit more force this time, hopeful to send it past Logan and get a point, being somewhat impressive while still not hitting him again. It doesn’t hit him, that's for sure, but instead Logan controls the ball perfectly in retaliation, sending it straight back across in a line that slips straight past Oscar. “One-love,” The American uses his foot to nudge a ball closer to himself as the other boy’s already big brown eyes grow wider.

“Huh?” His top lip twists upward, a confused guise painting across his pale skin. He swings his racquet in practice, his eyebrows tensing in question of what that means. Logan doesn’t notice the confusion on his face, dipping down to pick up the ball under his shoe.

“Love- means zero basically,” Alex calls out from next to them, that same cheeky grin still spread across his mouth. “It means you’re losing mate,” He jeers lightheartedly. Oscar scoffs, ignoring him as he gets ready for another ‘rally’. This time, Oscar manages to hit it just past Logan, securing himself a point.

As time stretches on and Lando remains elsewhere, the three boys get further into chatting- discussing school, where Oscar learns that Alex and Logan are in the same school year, along with Lando at some posh private school the Australian can’t quite pronounce. Alex has a girlfriend who’s actually in the year above Oscar and at the same school, a girl called Lily who plays golf for their school’s representative team.

After a while, they get back onto the topic of tennis, which Oscar is slightly distracted from given how Logan’s hat has been tossed to the floor, allowing his messy and tangled blond hair to shine bright in the sun, a few strands reaching downwards towards his bright blue eyes. He wants to ask if Logan also has a girlfriend like Alex does, but since they’re off that topic- it feels weird to bring it back up.

Instead, he decides to reinvolve himself in the topic at hand. “Why did you start playing tennis anyways?” His question is directed at the American, unknowingly cutting off the conversation the other pair were having. Alex and him look at each other knowingly, a quiet laugh escaping the dark haired thai. He nudges the blond, his mouth moving to say ‘he doesn’t know?’

Oscar furrows his eyebrows again, looking in between them to try and figure out firstly, what’s so funny, and secondly, what is it that he doesn't know. “I’m, ah, how do I say this casually,” Logan grits his teeth, a pause. “I’m Logan Sargeant,”

Oscar somehow feels even more confused by this. Alright, yeah, it’s an aggressively American name, sure, but does it mean anything to Oscar? Not at all. Why him reintroducing himself has anything to do with tennis is incomprehensible to the Australian. The last name is slightly familiar if anything, but not enough to spark any recognition. “Okay,” He nods his head once, looking to Alex for more context that he doesn;t think he’ll find in his tennis partner.

“Logan Sargeant, son of Daniel Sargeant-” He continues. Oscar wants to interrupt and let him know that he’s not good with names, so that really doesn’t mean anything to him- but he doesn’t have to, because someone else does it for him.

“The Daniel Sargeant who owns this country club.” Oh shit. Super rich Logan Sargeant, the wealthy family Lando had been talking about less than an hour ago. The voice who interrupts is the previously missing member of their group, his jaw tight and his phone shoved haphazardly into his pocket in a way where most of it still hangs out.

“Logan Sargeant, the Sargeant’s who own Bayside Hills Country Club?,” Oscar’s voice is a mix of surprise and taken aback. Alex laughs awkwardly, seemingly his response to everything. The American nods, looking shameful that he didn’t have the opportunity to even tell his new mate before Lando jumped the gun.

“Fuck,” He clicks his tongue, his eyes still wide as he looks down at his shoes. In comparison to Logan, his outfit is scruffy and inexpensive. His shoes are beaten up and muddy, while the other boys are pristine white- clearly new. His shirt is baggy in all the wrong places, stretched from too many wears, while Logan’s clings to his body like it was made for him. “You’re like… rich,” He cringes as he says it, reminding himself that he shouldn’t be making a comment on someone else’s financial situation.

“Why are you here?” Lando is straight to the point interrogating the unexpected member of their tennis group, raking his hand through his curls, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently as if he wasn’t the one who left the other’s to go answer a call. “You know Piastri?”

He shakes his head, “Alex- only just met Oscar,” He corrects, looking at brunet rather fondly. “Where’d you go off to?” Logan queries, checking his watch, which Oscar notices how nice it is- a clear representation of his status that he’d managed to not notice until now. “It’s been over an hour

Lando’s lip straighten into a tight line, almost embarrassed, “Sainz needed to talk,” He murmurs, dragging the back of his shoe up to gather some of the peeling ground up off the floor. The way his cheeks turn rosy is enough of an indication that Oscar’s theory about him and Carlos were right. “Now, are we gonna play or what?” He looks expectant, confused as to why they’re still standing around and talking.

Logan looks at the Australian, his lips curling into a look of disinterest. “You wanna?” He mouths, his eyes roaming over the sweat coating the brunet's face and his clear expression of exhaustion. He receives a mouthed ‘not at all’ in reply. “Nah, you guys can though,” Logan gestures between the two other boys as Logan and Oscar pick up their racquets and walk off.

Lando hurls a few exasperated half-arsed insults at the pair, before eventually giving up and settling for playing with Alex. Oscar removes his hat, shaking his sweaty hair out before raking his finger through it- not caring too much about how it looks. That is until he sees in his peripheral, Logan staring deep into his soul. “You have nice hair,” His accent is thick and low, his mouth barely opening as he says it.

Oscar tilts his head, his eyes looking up to the mop of somehow perfectly done golden hair belonging to the American. “You too,” He grins, looking back ahead at the stairs they’re beginning to go back up.

“I have like uh, a room here,” Logan blurts out, catching the eyes of Oscar who has far too many thoughts spinning through his head at that sentence. “I was thinking we could hang out there? I have a tv and couch- we could play fifa or… mario carts- if that’s your thing?” He exhales nervously. The aussie accepts graciously, a tinge of red appearing under his eyes.

They wander around just talking and laughing for the next hours, discussing the club, their respective schools, sports, friends, families, everything. Oscar learns that Logan’s been learning to play tennis since he was so young because even back in the states (where he lived up until 5 years ago) and tennis was the main appeal and aspect of the club. He in fact has a brother called Dalton who moved to Australia for university the year prior and they learn that he and Oscar’s mate Caio are roommates.

Despite his family’s wealth, he has a job at the club doing tennis coaching- which always happens early morning during the holidays, which is why they’ve never ran into each other as Oscar works late afternoons. Lando is in his year at school and dislikes him as he believes he’s a pretentious asshole- despite never bothering to get to know him. Confirming Oscar’s previous unasked question- he doesn’t have a girlfriend.

Oscar tries not to smile too hard at that.

They sit down at one of the club’s restaurants as it nears toward 6pm, the prior hours they’ve been talking for seeming far shorter then its actually been. They share a pizza and far too many fries, drinking milkshakes until they feel completely ill. By the end, they decide to finally go back to Logan’s ‘place’ at the club to take up the suggestion of playing games.

As they walk over, they remain pretty silent, both clearly feeling the same way about each other but equally as oblivious that it’s requited in any way. They arrive at a thin brown door down the hall of the management office where Oscar often has to retreat to when someone asks for his manager when being difficult. There’s a small gold plating drilled into just above the door handle, ‘Logan’ it reads, branding his ‘room’. Logan presses a keycard to a sensor on the right of himself, pushing down on the handle as it clicks open. “My place,” He gestures inside, stepping aside to let the other boy in.

It opens up into the living room, surprisingly big in comparison to management next door. It has floor to ceiling windows, looking out of the golf field that opposes the tennis courts, separated by a fifty metre pool. “Shit,” Oscar looks out at the view, an impressed painted on him. “This is nice,” He murmurs, turning to look back at his friend.

“Thirsty?” He somehow has two bottles of water in his hands, extending one hand out to Oscar as he pressed the spout of the other one to his own lips. Oscar accepts graciously, guzzling it down greedily from dehydration from the previous hour. When Logan finishes drinking, Oscar can’t help but stare at how the water has left his lips with a wet and glossy sheen over them. Think Oscar, he repeats to himself mentally, say something.

“Mario,” His voice cracks, ignoring it from exhaustion and gratefulness that he even managed to speak at all. They adjourn to the couch, slumping down into the plush and squishy cushions. “Who do you play as?” Strained, his throat aching with forcing words out.

“Bowser,” He tosses a controller into the brunet's chest, turning the tv on and selecting Mario Karts, multiplayer and then looking at Oscar expectantly.

“Not ideal how heavy he is, weighs down the car. Any extra weight makes you slower” God, how dorky, snapping back into talking about karting once again. Logan smiles regardless, moving ever so slightly closer that it's almost unnoticeable.

“That’s okay, I’m strong,” The corner of his mouth twists upward, eyeing Oscar rather intensely. “Who do you play as?” He rests his free, non-remote wielding arm on the back of the couch, his hand just behind the other boy’s head.

“Yoshi,” He selects him, trying to keep his burning gaze off of the american. The back of his neck is scalding hot now, desperate with the wanting to be touched. Logan’s eyebrows flicker upward, almost inquisitive. “I think he’s cute,” He explains, a stupid tight smile on his face.

“Ahh, fitting for you Piastri,” Weirdly, him using last name to address, Oscar doesn’t mind it too much. On the other hand, he’s hardly focused on that because he’s thinking about what he meant by that, was he calling him cute?

“Why’s that?” He challenges, his body heating up even harder as he feels two fingertips toying with the hair on the back of his neck, goosebumps forming all over his skin. Eyes are rolled at the question, ‘isn’t it obvious?’ Logan wants to ask.

“You’re cute,” He murmurs, his eyes focusing down at Oscar’s pale pink lips. Following suit, he admires Logan’s thinner and darker pink, almost red, ones- still wet and glossy. “Very fucking cute,” His hand settles on the back of Oscar’s neck fully at this point, his body shifting to readjust so he’s face and body onto him.

Blue eyes meet brown, pink grazes red, blonde brushes against brunet. Logan takes initiative, his bottom lip slotting in between Oscar’s pale ones. They both close their eyes, their breathing getting heavier and louder as they lose themselves in the moment. Oscar’s kissed a girl before, a few at that. Kissing a boy is different though. Slightly harsher, more chapped, a thousand times more nerve wracking. His hand releases the controller and presses down on one of the other’s thighs.

“More,” Logan grants his wish, licking into his mouth rather tentatively, taking his time to not pressure him or make him uncomfy. Taking his time also allows him to enjoy the sheer moment of pure bliss. It’s all he’s wanted for hours now, the second he saw Oscar, heard his voice- he just wanted to feel his arms around him and his lips on him.

He just had to make the first move, first serve.

#tennis fic #logan x oscar #oscar piastri #logan sargeant #f1 2024 #f1 #formula1 #formula one #mclaren f1 #williams racing #lando norris #alex albon #carlos sainz #country club #rich boy activities

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frozenjokes · 1 day

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Put Me In Perspective, Or At Least In My Place (Another Retrospective On Aromantic Love)

“Above your head like this. Both hands, look at me. Both hands, Grian. It doesn’t take a lot of strength, just step forward and release around eye level.” Cleo demonstrated, holding the axe at the end of its handle and releasing the weapon. It flew in what had to be a perfect arc before burying itself in the wood, a bullseye of course. She threw the axe like she’d done it a thousand times, and honestly, she probably had.

“Don’t people throw them with one hand, too?”

“Yes. It’s just harder. Try this first.”

Grian pursed his lips, stepping forward, throwing, then squeaking when the axe bounced terrifyingly off the wood, hitting the wall before rolling and bumping the curb that separated the stall and his feet. Ah. That was frightening.

“Nearly took out our ankles there,” Cleo said, not sounding all too concerned.”

“It- Can it bounce over that?”

“Not easily. But not uncommonly either. Try not to do that.” Cleo strode forward, plucking the axe off the ground and handing it to Grian. “Don’t throw it while I’m in there.”

“I wasn’t going to!”

“Maybe you won’t, but some people need to be told,” Cleo grunted, ripping the axe she’d thrown from the wall and spinning it thoughtlessly in her hand before burying it in the stump that split their twin alleys. “Try again. Keep your wrists straighter, release at eye level.”

Grian shifted his weight, frowning, “Surely you brought me here to talk about something else other than axe throwing. ‘Cancel your plans, I’m picking you up,’ is an extremely ominous message to receive from a stranger at 8:00 at night. How did you get my number again?”

“Pearl. And we aren’t strangers, we’ve met at least once at that big friend get-together thing, you know. That awful pizza place? Regardless, I’m friends with runners, so force is necessary 90% of the time. If you want to skip to the talking, we can talk, but I don’t know if you want to hear what I have to say.”

“I probably don’t.”

“Then start throwing and I’ll do the work. You’ll get it to stick, just give her a few tries.”

“You seem to have a lot of faith in me.”

“Everyone gets it eventually.” Cleo looked relaxed, unconcerned, and Grian tried to match the energy, but he couldn’t quite shake his anxiety. Well. He was here, so he might as well make the most of it.

It took six more tries before he got an axe to stick. Wow that was satisfying- but the air seemed a little too heavy to celebrate more than Cleo’s tasteful clapping. Maybe he should come back here with Pearl and Impulse.. Jimmy maybe? He’d kill to see Jimmy try this actually, even if he’d likely crush Grian in the end. When Grian went to collect the two axes from the stall, Cleo finally spoke.

“I’d like to know what’s going on between you and Scar. Properly. It’s been a particularly shitty week for our friend group and Scar’s been in a foul mood for more reason than one, so we haven’t talked. And I’m not just here to interrogate you about Scar either, I’d really like to know what’s going through your head as well. Have you seen each other this week? Have you talked at all?” Cleo was firm, but nothing about their voice was hostile. There was a worried longing there, the kind of urging that came from a deep concern for a good friend.

Grian took a deep breath. “Not much. I saw him a couple days ago when I was getting lunch with Pearl at the zoo. He only texted me one other time to tell me he wouldn’t be.. we have this mutual place we hang out, and he just told me he wouldn’t be around this week. Too much going on. I’m really sorry about Etho by the way, I hope you guys find him.”

“Thank you. Bdubs got in contact with him yesterday, so we know he’s alright. We still don’t know where he is or when he’s coming home, but from what I’ve heard, he’s keeping frequent contact. Hasn’t called me or Scar, but that’s typical. With any luck he’ll be back safely soon. That’s what Etho said anyway. Still all sorts of concerning, but we’ll take what we can get.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Grian tried not to be hurt that Scar hadn’t updated him, but failed miserably despite the fact it probably wasn’t any of his business. He just would’ve liked to know, that’s all.

“It is. So how did that clusterfuck of a night happen between you and Scar? How did that start?”

“Oh,” Grian mumbled, fidgeting with the axe still in his hands. Cleo took the other from the stump, throwing it almost lazily, like the question didn’t matter to her much at all. Grian decided to do the same, focusing on the secondary activity instead. “Well.. he invited me over. That was a couple hours after our first spat, and I was still feeling weird about it all. Wasn’t well.”

“I figured. He reached out to you first?”

“Yeah. We weren’t supposed to do anything though, just.. get it out of our systems. I was so mad at him- I’m still so angry, and not even for any reason in particular. I’m just mad.”

“Then how’d you end up in his bed?”

“Oh. I kissed him. He was pissing me off.”

“Right.”

Grian scoffed, snagging his axe off the floor of the alley after a failed throw. “How did you think this all went down? He told you the jist, basically. Not nicely, but he told you.”

Cleo shrugged. “I just wanted to know a few more details. Place my judgment a bit more accurately. From where I’m standing, you’re both idiots self destructing in the dumbest way possible. I would like it very much if this didn’t happen again, not only because it’s bad for both of you, but quite frankly, it’s embarrassing.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion.”

“Come on.”

Grian curled his lip. “Listen, I don’t understand why it’s such a huge problem for Scar and I to work out our differences with a little violence. We're consenting adults and the sex was kinda nuts, so if we’re both having fun there’s no issue. In any case, I’m pretty sure this is solving all of our problems.”

“Oh? Do explain.”

Grian rolled his shoulders, throwing his axe and getting it to stick for the second time, “We’re just letting off steam, Cleo. Two months of awkward tension does a lot to a man, it does a lot, nothing good. This is like a shortcut to the whole ‘tiMe hEaLs aLL’ bullshit, we’re like- getting it out of our system.”

“Uh huh. And this is going to resolve your unrequited feelings for Scar how..?”

“I’m getting it out of my system, Cleo.”

“Ah, so having really good sex with a man who isn’t looking for the same things in a relationship as you is going to fix you.”

“You got it.”

“That’s the dumbest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” For the first time, Cleo’s axe bounced off the board. She strode to pick it up wordlessly.

“Alright.” Grian landed another axe, just inches from the bullseye.

“Grian,” Cleo sighed harshly, and Grian avoided her eye, uninterested in her scrutiny, “Listen. As dysfunctional as the both of you two are, I don’t actually believe this couldn’t work. You two have been as thick as thieves for ages, and as much as you’re scrapping now, I don’t think that’s indicative of how you actually feel about each other. You’re just hurt people hurting each other, and you don’t have to be. For goodness’s sake, Scar would have been happy to be in some sort of relationship with you, he just didn’t want to lose you altogether. Somewhere I think that got lost in translation.”

“Scar doesn’t want to date me. He only offered to appease me, it was as obvious as anything.”

“I don’t doubt there’s truth to that. He doesn’t do well under the pressure of a love confession, and that’s no one’s fault. But his feelings on romance are a lot more complicated than ‘wanting’ or ‘not wanting.’ You did the right thing to refuse him, Grian, he wasn’t ready. But I think it’s worth talking to him again. Laying everything out on the table. And I can’t speak for what Scar wants, his brain is a mess of tangled wires and sparks, but he’s obviously had plenty of time to think about this, and he might surprise you. If there’s one thing I do know about Scar, it’s that he loves to give things like this a try. And I mean that. He does love it.”

“But Scar won’t love me. Not like I want to love him.”

Cleo hummed, thoughtful as they considered the ceiling, “You know, I don’t know if that’s true.”

Grian huffed, “Unless I’m misunderstanding what ‘aromantic’ means, I don’t see what you mean.”

Cleo shrugged. “Scar loves everyone in big sweeping gestures. That doesn’t change from person to person, whether they’re family, close friends, lovers.. it doesn’t change. But there are still levels, right? There’s still loyalty. You’re thinking of Scar as loving you like a friend, but I think that’s the wrong approach. Making that distinction makes it seem like his love would be less intense, like he wouldn’t still give you everything he has. Try.. a scale, 1 through 10, maybe. For you, you’re looking to give Scar your 10 on the scale, right? A 9 or 10, whatever it is, that’s the kind of love you want to give, the kind of love you’re looking to receive. In Scar’s brain, he’s been giving you that 10 for months, and if you asked to spend the rest of your life with him, he’d probably go ahead and accept without hesitation. That’s just how he feels about the people he’s close with.”

Grian didn’t speak, still working out how to process those words, but Cleo did not mind continuing in his absence. “If you’re worried about not being #1, then I’m afraid you’re fighting a losing battle, friend. With anyone. You’re contending with mothers, brothers, sisters, friends that go back to high school, grade school, diapers. Being intimate doesn’t outweigh those bonds, not for most people. And this isn’t to say that a relationship with Scar would be exactly the same as it would be with anyone else, it won’t, and if you’re the type of guy that gets insecure when your partner is physically friendly with other people, then forget it, but in my truest of hearts, if you’re looking for someone to love, I believe Scar would be more than good for you. He would treat you well,” Cleo paused, thoughtful before continuing, “And honestly, things literally can not get any messier between you two. There are zero stakes to giving this a shot. You’ll either feel a lot better about yourselves or you’ll go your separate ways, both of which are a huge improvement to whatever the fuck is happening between you two now. Maybe you’ll even stay friends after talking all this shit out. Who knows.”

Grian returned his axe to the stump, needing to sit down. To think. He was quiet for a long time just sitting there, the only sound being the bustle of other customers and Cleo’s own axe hitting its mark time and time again.

“You really think he’d want to give it a shot?”

Cleo shrugged and shook her head noncommittally, “Who knows. But it wouldn’t surprise me. So long as you two actually talk this all out, I think anything could happen. And Christ, if you two decide to get together and still want to ‘fall down the stairs’ then have nasty sex afterward, that’s your prerogative, but for crissakes, at least wear some sort of padding or a helmet or something, don’t actually kill each other.”

Well. He had gotten Scar that helmet, hadn’t he.

“I’ll think about it,” Grian mumbled, eyes lidded. And he was. He was thinking quite hard about it.

#suggestive #hermitshipping #scarian #hermitcraft #hermitfic #grian #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #zombiecleo #I forgot to post this lol #mumbomaid au

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twost3ps · 1 day

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Hazbin Oc voiceclaims LETS GOO

Ok so I've been brewing a bit and have been kinda busy. I got one last exam coming up and then I'm FREEEEE but I wanted to push something simple out so I decided to do voice claims because that is somehow easy (not)

These are partially for the scott pilgrim au, it makes it a bit more immersive to me

Anywayyysss: Heres the video of the voices (it's 4.5 min I'm so sorry)

and if ur interested: let me break down whyyy :3 + small oc blip (I still don't really know how to chracterize them it's all over the place) they go in order of appearance

Micheal: Johnathan Groff

Micheal is pretty closed off and cold. His answers are cold and short, and he doesn't like wasting time. Working 24/7 is his way of ignoring everything bad that has ever happened to him, until recently. He's trying to go back to his roots and have some fun. B4, in Eden he was basically a fun loving party guy who liked to bend the rules, but since his brother's betrayal, he grew angry and to snuff it out he just worked super hard. Super straight laced. But after a while he's trying to be silly again, people find it weird though because it's just been so long.

Initially, I wanted something deep- like deep deep. And while true, Micheal could have a fitting deep voice-

I think Groff just fits really well. He hits all my boxes.

His voice is rich and smooth but has a bit of dorkiness to it?? (Kristoff) The closest thing I can go into describing my Micheal is, again, an ex frat boy that caught depression when things got too real but now is recovering and healing. Idk Groff's voice just gave the vibe. His voice is kinda similar to Jordan's (Lucifur's va) imo, especially when they sing. Of cousre they're not gonna sound identical, but its like Emily and Charlie, it's just similar when they sing. Also Groff can pull off a rocker voice (the Bohemian Rapsody clip) and I need that. I want that rocker Micheal FEAFSEF

In general though, Groff has been my #1 option. Not just for my Micheal, but like, a lot of Micheals I've seen. I look at them and all I can hear is Groff soooo. Yeah. I also think that if Micheal were to be part of the actual series and be Lucifur's twin he'd be the kinda guy they're looking for. But yeah, hes always been #1 choice

Gabriel: Chris Fleming/Jshlatt

Gabriel balances out Micheal's colder demeanor. He's loud and a bit obnoxious about. But overall, this man is a goober. He's a man that can't keep a secret and keeps it real, a bit too real this man is way too honest. Won't shut up once you get him going especially when he's excited. It's bad when he peaks at one emotion because he goes all out. Overtime he's gotten better but still out af.

I wanted Gabriel to have some sort of gruffness. Some edge. Gabriel's thing is spreading the word of God and all but I can't think of him having a smooth voice. (I mean he yells all the time, how can he not???) I wanted something expressive, loud and gruff. A voice that you know does not stfu and does not hold back.

Fleming came to mind when I head him from bigtop burger (love that series) his voice is fun, low and gruff. Jshlatt was recommended by one of my friends when I showed them Gabriel. I was pretty unfamiliar with him b4 and when they showed me him my jaw dropped. His voice is what I kinda want it to be, just a bit higher. And the singing voice fits really well too :)

Raphael: James Earl Jones/Thurl Ravenscroft/Nat King Cole

Raphael is supposed to be this chill soft guy you can go to for comfort. He's like a marshmallow of a man and can be very empathetic. But underneath all that is a unit of a man who could throw you thousands of yards away.

I wanted something rich, deep and smooth. I had to ask my friend again with this one and we got Mufasa (James Earl Jones) Fits really well! So yes, smooth and soft, but an underlying tone of powerful. I also wanted his to have just a lot of bass to it. Something you could sleep to. Why Nat King Cole for the last option? I genuinely have no clue but it fit to me so I slapped it on this bad boy.

Azreal/Dumah: Steve Blum

Ok. Both of them are idiots. My version of them anyways. They fight a lot. I mean when you are suck together it’s bound to happen (They share one body but only one can take full control at one time- mostly Azreal because Dumah hates people. I’ll just show you guys one day. They can separate but only when they are given permission. Big fussy babies). They finish each other’s sentences a lot when talking. Azreal is the goofier brother who likes making jokes and Dumah is the more serious one. When retrieving souls Azreal is the one who takes it while Dumah judges. Dumah hates when people joke while on the job (he hates Azreal for this this) but he hates it even more when they go against God's word. Azreal could give less of a crap, he just finds reaping super fun.

Blum fit for me after watching Puppycat seeing his role as space outlaw. It shows his ability to be goofy but his other roles consist of also very serious characters which fits Dumah and Azreal pretty well. Blum has this crazy rasp about thing going on (is that what it is?) it makes him stand out which fits for the angels that deal with the dead. Makes you very awake imo. Idk there’s just something about it. While Azreal and Dumah share the same voice, Azreal is higher than Dumah’s. What I mean by that is (when looking at the audio clip from the video) when Blum’s voice is generally higher, that’s Azreal. When it’s pitches lower that’s Dumah. Dumah in general doesn’t speak much unlike Azreal- they’re what comes to mind when people think of introvert and extrovert lol

Sadly I couldn't find a sining voice for him :(

Eve: Lisa Hannigan

To me, Eve holds a lot of motherly energy. She's soft and kind, but she actually holds similar feelings to Adam about sinners. Don't get me wrong, she feels bad for their eternal punishment, but in the end, it's on them. Like, if she was presented with the hotel, she'd comply but try to take over it becoming this overbearing presence that would put you in your place without lifing a finger if you didn't fird her standard. If she'd hear one complain shed be like, "i know it sucks but really, you did this to yourself." But besides that, to everyone else, she's kind. In heaven, she's recluse, only really going to Adam for anything. Her punishment on earth did something to her, and unlike Adam, she does not like seeking comfort from others. Shes subtle about it, but you can easily tell by the vibes she gives off - they are STRONG (Idk about this over all this may change)

I feel like this is kinda a given. Then again it could be just me. I wanted Eve to have this soft motherly vibe. Like her voice is just barely above a whisper sometimes, but is still kinda deep. Blue diamond came to mind like immediately. There were other options like Esmeralda’s VA, especially the one from the musical, but I wanted to give Eve this sense of solemn, sort of driftyness and chill. Ngl her character really resonates with blue diamond so it kinda just fell into place. It’s in contrast to Adam’s sharper and more gruff voice, where he can hit more highs, she hits more lows.

Eve is literally Adam’s other half (and while in my au they aren’t in love anymore or maybe they were never in love at all idk, they were definitely soulmates who loved each other dearly)

Again, notes on the floor and everywhere. They thoughts are always super scatterbrained

But yeah that’s pretty much it! If you guys have any recommendations or suggestions yourself feel free to tell me I am welcome to anything!!!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel michael #hazbin hotel raphael #hazbin hotel gabriel #hazbin hotel eve #hazbin hotel azrael #hazbin hotel dumah #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel ocs #voice claim #pls be kind im so bad at making ocs :')#i will get to that scott pilgrim au tho trust

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joe-keerys-wife · 2 days

Text

Send me requests!

Eddie munson x fem!reader

Warnings: my first smut, sorry if its bad! Masterbating, slight edging, thigh riding, praise kink, p in v, slight hitting. (letme know if i missed any!)

Summary: you are eddies best friend, your sleeping over at his trailer and he goes into the shower you decide to have some fun by yourself while he is gone... Whats the worst that could happen?

fingers teasing your folds, your gasp being muffled by your hand pushed tightly against your mouth. You imagine its his hand instead of your own. Wishing it was his hand brushing lightly over your clit.

It feels wrong, masterbating in his bed in his room. But you cant help yourself. You need it, you need him. You know you cant have him though what if he doesnt like you back and you have ruined everything? You can't do that.

Your so wet, easily accepting one finger inside of yourself, thrusting it in and out at a agonising pace. Your thumb working over your clit, you can already feel a familiar feeling growing inside your stomach.

Your back starting to arch, the pleasure needing to escape. Moans getting harder to conrol, only caring about how good it feels you let out some loud moans, so loud you couldn't hear the shower turning off, but somebody could hear you.

Eddie hears something coming from his room, getting worried beacuse he thought you were asleep. Putting a towl around his waist, he walks over to his door thats slightly open.

Peaking his head in, just the sight nearly made him cream his pants immediately. You laid out on his own bed, pants down to your ankles, wet fingers gliding in and out of you at a rough fast pase while your thumb is rubbing in an eight motion.

Back and neck arched, legs wide open. Your other hand is holding a pillow to your mouth trying but failing to keep your screams in. Your thoughts were only on him, you dont see him standing there drooling over you but your thoughts only wish it was him instead.

Your getting close, and by the looks of it so is eddie just watching you. Nearly there moans getting louder 'e-eddie!' you accidentally moan out. You dont even realise you said it just getting closer to the edge.

A thin layer of sweat coated your body, panting while moaning, head thrown back your suddenly interrupted by eddie walking in swiftyly grabbing your wrist with one hand the other pulling the pillow off of your face.

You look at him in pure shock as he is just smirking at you. Quickly scrambling off the bed with weak legs from being edged. 'eddie' you say not as a moan now but panicking pulling your pants up he stops you 'no no sweetheart these can stay off'

Eddie looks at you like a giddy child on christmas, your a deep shade of red. 'eddie i can explain i swear i-i just needed to get-' your interrupted by eddie smashing his face against yours, still in shock you dont fight it. Your tongues glide together, pushing his tongue inside your mouth biting down softly on your lip.

You let out a hungry moan, his bulge pressed against your thigh with your wetness dripping down. 'w-what was that' you say breaking the kiss for air. 'you could've just told me you wanted me, i could've had you bent over for me by now'

You gain more confidence pushing him back towards the bed, him sat and you are leaned over both of you making out. He grabs your waist pulling you so you are straddling his thick thigh. Hands on your waist, but he doesn't move instead admitting 'I've liked you for ages i can't believe you didn't tell me sooner' you both share a chuckle.

'cut the crap munson, just fuck me' he tightened his hands on your waist, moving you so you are dry humping his thigh your pants still around your ankles. 'lisen to me little girl, you will wait. You'll be lucky if i even let you come tonight' his movements and words making you see stars quite quickly since your already nearly there from earlier.

'fucking yourself on my bed, how pathetic couldn't get the courage to ask me? why didnt you?' You can tell by his tone that his question wasnt rhetorical. But your to close to think straight. 'i asked a question, better answer me. Naughty girls dont get to come'

After he said that you try to say something but only a loud moan comes out instead. Looking at him with pleading eyes. 'answer me' his voice is demanding, you know he isn't bluffing.

'i-i im gonna cum!' you head is thrown back in pleasure legs starting to shake. 'thats not what i asked little girl.' his hands are sure to leave brusies on your sides, exited to see the marks in the morning.

'i-' your moans start to turn in to wimpers and panting as you begin to get more tired. 'i-i dont know' you say not looking anywhere but him, your clit rubbing on his jeans making a large mark with yohr wetness.

'dont you lie to me' he says sounding really dominant. 'p-please' your begging now multiple muffled pleadings leaving your mouth. 'answer the question' you try to put your thoughts together, eddie looking at you with a giddy and loving smile or smirk you can't tell.

'i didnt wa-want to scare you off' he looks at you with a wide and loving smile for a few seconds, you getting impatient looking up at him with a pleading gaze. 'okay sweetheart cum'

Them three words pushed you over the edge. 'Fuck! Eddie p-please f-fuck' a bunch of curse words tumble out, pleasure running through your body his hands at your waist holding you down. His movements only stopping when your high finished.

Removing his hands you fall into his shoulder, catching your breath. You look up again onky to find him looking down at you with a cocky smirk. 'not so cheeky now eh?' teasing you. You kiss him again, still wet.

'Fuck me' you say quietly into his shoulder, wanting it but too shy to ask properly. 'what was that baby? I couldn't quite hear you.' your turn red again, kissing him trying to tell him through your actions instead.

'sweetheart if you want something you gotta ask first' you can ear the smirk in his mouth. 'Eddie' you say again, moving your hips on his rock hard dick. He groans slightly, his sound going directly to your pussy. 'ask me.' he repeats.

Getting needy, 'eddie, please! Fuck me.' you say louder now. Dragging his finger down he teases your clit, inserting a finger thrusting it once hitting your g spot straight away, taking it out, pushing it inside your mouth.

Summisive you suck it clean. 'good girl' he praises, that making you turn red. 'awh does my girl have a praise kink?' you move your hips again desperate for some friction.

'please eddie!' he pulls you so your standing, bending you over the bed in a quick movement making you wimper. You hear him fumble with his belt, he seems desperate, if not more than you.

'Your safe word is red, say yellow if you want to change, red is an complete stop. Do you understand?' your wetness is dripping onto the carpet underneath you, quickly nodding your head to his question. There's a sharp pain to your thigh, moaning out at eddie slapping you. 'be a good girl, and give me words.'

'Yes eddie please!' you cant take it too much longer. 'i need you inside of me please!' your needs getting the best of you. 'good girl'

You dont even have time to blush at the praise, eddie pushing himself inside you. Not giving you time to adjust not like you need any anyways. 'thats it good girl, you can take it'

Your a moaning mess, gripping onto the bed for support even though eddies hand is on your waist again. 'fas-faster please! Fuck eddie!' your walls are squeezing him tightly. Both of you are sweating, your head is thrown back, him groaning and moaning into your ear.

'gonna-gonna cum' you warn him. 'show me' he says with a grunt. Your walls hug him, your whole body jurking forward with the orgasm. Eddie hasn't stoped his pace, still going. 'can-can you take another one baby?'

You nod quickly, lifting your hips up to give him a better angle, pushing them to meet him halfway. His hand comes down meeting your clit again. 'you got this baby, come with me sweetheart'

He hits your sweet spot one more time, and thats all it takes for you to come undone. Your 3rd orgasm of the night, pulling him down into the pleasure. He groans loudly, filling you up.

Pulling out of you slowly, all you manage to say is a weak 'wow'. He chuckles. 'i know baby, lets get you cleaned up yeah? You did such a good job' your face turning red at the praise again.

'Hey, look at me' he gently grabs your chin. Making you look at him, 'your my girl' you nod still blissed out, giving him a short peak.

#eddie munson #smut #stranger things #oneshots #eddie x reader #eddie smut

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ineffablecpp · 2 days

Text

OK so my first Johnlock fic. Canon divergence. Post Reichenbach. Scifi AU. HE (sort of).

English isn't my first language so if you find any mistakes pls tell me!! Thanks so much!!!

I'm Here.

John had just exited the door of 221B Baker Street and was about to call a taxi when he saw the car.

It’s been over a year since he last visited this place-- he only came today because Mrs. Hudson called, and wanted to return some of his personal items left in the apartment. She insisted that paying a visit could better John’s mental conditions, though John wouldn’t agree. Yet she seemed determined about it.

“You should know that he loved this place, John. He loved the time he spent here, with you.” She said.

There weren’t many things he needed to retrieve. A mug, a few of his clothes, and a notebook that hasn’t been written on for ages. But he lingered in the room he was only too familiar with.

“Moving on” was never his thing. Any time he lifted his head up and gazed at the two vacant seats, the dimmed fireplace in between, and the dusty mirror above, everything would rewind inside his head.

His roommate would put his palms together under his chin, his smile as mysterious and proud as always. “You simply see, but not observe,” he’d say in his low and magnetic voice, “What is going on in your funny little brains? So confusing-- the evidence is right in front of you, yet you do not know how to analyse it.”

He might even be sitting on the chair now, looking up banteringly at John. *Sentiment*, he’d say, *you’ve always been like that. Fascinating.*

It took as much courage to come as it took to take up the mind to leave. John felt his heart hallowed out as he stumbled down the last step, opening the door of 221B and said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson. But the hole seemed to have been there for ages-- once, three years ago, it was filled in the echoes of “Afghanistan or Iraq?”-- but now it has reappeared along with the sudden Fall. But revisiting this painfully familiar place reinforced the presence of the hallowed space, as its roars were too much of a sting to be ignored.

A black vehicle was parked by the road. At first John didn’t take notice, nor was he in the mood to care-- probably just a passenger who happened to have reached their destination. But before he could walk away, his phone started ringing.

“Get in the car.”

He knew who it was without asking. But the question was-- he hasn’t heard of the voice in ages. So long, it made him wonder whether it was in his past lives that he’d gotten used to being pulled on a car without reasons.

“...Mycroft? I really couldn’t guess what you possibly could need from me now.”

The voice on the other end sighed after a moment of silence.

“It’s about Sherlock, John.”

The name cut through his heart like a blade. Everyone was still talking about him, as if it’s not over yet. But he was the only one who knew that it was all over. Everything from the past, every memory, every nuanced flutter he felt had been buried into a tomb called time.

Even so, Sherlock’s name was like a spell that could compell John to do anything at his own will. If his friend was in trouble, even after his death, John knew he had to help. It was his deepest and most desperate wish.

John sighed, and pulled open the car door.

The elder Holmes in front of him didn’t change much since their last encounter, which got John wondering in frustration whether Sherlock’s death had effected him so destructively more than anyone. But Mycroft seemed to have been fatigued by his work-- even though all the Holmes had a sort of talent for hiding their true emotions and mental status, John could feel that Mycroft’s workload in the past years have only been increasing.

For a few seconds they just stood there in dead silence until Mycroft took out his empty hand which wasn’t holding the umbrella to break the ice: “Good to see you again, John.”

“Likewise.” John shook his hand and took a deep breath, “So. What you said. About Sherlock. What is it? His will? Or something about the media?”

Mycroft hesitated-- not something he normally does. This fueled the doubt in John’s mind since his arrival. Mycroft only had three reasons to see him: 1, Sherlock wouldn’t accept his help, and he needed John to look after his brother; 2, The government needs Sherlock’s help but he refuses to, so Mycroft needs John to persuade him; 3, Sherlock’s in danger, and he needs John to figure out what’s going on to protect him. This time, however, doesn’t fall into any of the categories.

Then his words froze John on the spot.

“...Sherlock isn’t dead. But, precisely, he isn’t alive either. I’m truly sorry we haven’t told you earlier, John. But now that it’s all settled, we think you have the right to know.”

John blinked, staring puzzled at Mycroft.

“What do you mean by... He’s not dead, but not alive either?”

Mycroft thought for a while before he started: “As Moriarty became to much of a threat to be overlooked, Sherlock and I started to come up with a few possible plans. He saw it coming that Moriarty wouldn’t make things easy for him, and he foresaw that Moriarty was going to hold his dearest friends as hostages-- Moriarty would never stop until he sees Sherlock’s dead body. One way was for Sherlock to fake his death, change his identity and leave the country for a few years, returning after his reputation has been cleared. But Moriarty blocked every way out on that roof of Bartz. He took away Sherlock’s phone and cut all possible communication pathways, so all the plans that required him faking his death wasn’t going to work. But, we still had a plan B. The last resort. A plan that could barely be called one.”

John nodded, signaling him to continue.

“This plan requires the most advanced scientific team at my disposal. It’s an unprecedented risk, a huge, long-shot bet. --preserving human organ at low temperature. This technology has appeared long before, but even a few hours of preservation takes strict environmental conditions and advanced equipment. You’d know best as a doctor. We did it with little hope, but miraculously, it was a success. Within minutes after Sherlock’s fall, we managed to preserve his brain. But what came next was only more complicated and impossible.

A super bio-computer. In fact, the government had a blueprint for this plan several years ago, but due to its high technical difficulties, cost and energy consumption, it was never implemented. Using the human brain to connect sensors for data transmission, after connecting to the Internet interface, you can access all the information currently possessed by humans, and have ultra-high computing power.”

“So... you made him... into a computer? Is that even moral? Did he agree?” Overwhelming information and a series of perplexing nouns rushed into his brain, and for a moment John felt as if his legs were giving up.

“You can put it like this. In other words, he is now basically a computer working for the British Government with self-entertaining software installed.”

John lifted his chin up, staring unbelievably into Mycroft’s calm eyes, to which he responded with a helpless sigh, “It really was the worst move.”

John closed his eyes. Though he’s always considered his roommate “a machine with no human feelings”, it now seemed like an unfortunate prophecy he did not wish to have made. He was now imagining Sherlock’s brain floating in a tank filled with nutrient solution, multiple sensors and intersected data transmitters attached to it, the entire cabin lit with dim lights, performing countless calculations within second -- from the probability of a terrorist attack to the likeness of a traffic accident, from one side of the world to the other-- all the while joyfully extracting interesting cases from documents and cracking them one by one at a rate countless times faster than before. He had to admit that Sherlock was probably enjoying this. But beneath all these absurd yet rational incidents a question still lies, one that he cares too much to ignore.

“Then... can he still feel everything? Feel the world around him? Or... communicate with us?”

“Sadly we’ve never succeeded in doing so. We haven’t completely mastered this technology yet, so all we could do is to solve one problem after another and analyse what we get like a Black Box. For now, what he could know, and what he could feel, remains unknown.”

Not dead, yet not alive either. It was now coming to John how fitting a description it was.

Sherlock was never someone who blended into the society, or someone who’s used to complicated social relationships. On the contrary, he always seemed to be walking on the edge of everything, a sane lunatic, a sober drug addict. This way of being now is like a portrait of him "before death" : an emotionless machine, an observer outside the world.

But without a body, with out the final proof of being “human”, will you remain to be “you”?

John realized he couldn’t come to a conclusion.

Mycroft lead him through winding hallways, one locked room after another, and they finally reached a small door that didn’t seem to stand out at all.

The sign at the entrance reads in large, bold letters: "Experimental Base - Do not enter".

“Whenever you’re ready, John.” Mycroft nodded slightly, and laid his hand on the silver door knob.

John closed his eyes, and nodded after a few deep breaths.

The door opened, giving way to him.

Things were very different from what he had imagined. There was no brain floating in the middle of the tank, no flickering lights and darkened halls, no shrill whining of instruments. It was just an ordinary room, in fact, quite similar to his memory of a high school classroom-- only that where the whiteboard should be, there was a giant display screen; On the desk where the lectern is supposed to be, lies a computer with a small screen and only one input box that took up half the screen.

Then it came to John. Such delicate thing as a brain culture tank could never have been accessible for tour. This was just the operating interface connected to the biocomputer for testing inputs and outputs.

He turned around, but there was no one else left in the room. Mycroft had given him privacy.

John sighed, forcing himself to turn to the blank screen. This *is* Sherlock, he told himself, this is who your best friend is now. Whether you like it or not, it’s him.

And now you’re here to visit.

Slowly, he walked towards the table, and placed his hands on the keyboard. After a few moments of silence, he typed out his first question.

“Tell me about identifying 243 types of ashes.”

Enter.

The cursor on the large screen flashed for a moment, then waves of information began to emerge. John could tell that a considerable percentage of them came from Sherlock’s essay from his website, but other information came from different sources, so its identification methods and usages could be explained clearly to whoever asked the question. The narration seemed Wikipedia-styled, calm and objective, exactly like the answer of a machine.

It *is* a machine, John reminded himself. That’s what he is now.

“You still remembered quite clearly.”

The keyboard clicked as he typed.

“Please tell me the basic structure of the Solar System.”

Again, after a few seconds, it gave a clear and precise answer, even presenting a graph showing the spatial relationship between the sun and the various planets, and giving the orbital parameters of each planet.

“I see you finally have enough memory for this,” he lowered his head, a giggle escaping his lips.

Then he tried asking many other questions -- mostly things that a normal person with a lot of spare time on their hands might Google. He also tried searching some of the cases they investigated together, and Sherlock-- the computer-- gave every single detail without mistake. John marveled at the amount of advanced technology used in this project, but at the same time, he found himself reading the information in his head using Sherlock’s voice, an impulse he couldn’t resist. Every word he read echoed with Sherlock’s voice in his mind like a prerecorded audio.

“Please tell me the stories of Sherlock Holmes.”

This time it took longer for the computer to buffer. Then, Sherlock’s identity, main achievements and relevant information started appearing on the screen. First his personal information, date of birth and death, family relationships and so on. “Working partner: confirmed bachelor John Watson.” Smiling, he shook his head. *These media workers are ever so rude.*

This was followed by a brief synopsis of a series of cases he has solved, many of which derived from John's blog, and some of which even canonical references to his blog's "literature review." The text scrolled along at a pace John’s comfortable with.

Then followed the media’s comments on him. First they were news before Moriarty messed with people’s minds. “The Reichenbach hero”, “Hat-man and Robin”, “Highly intellectual detective”, all of which John was familiar with. Seeing them again pulled on John’s heartstrings. But it was just pain-- it was a bittersweet warmth, a sense of retrieving a long lost possession.

Public opinions seemed to had turned against him overnight. The forces of group polarization were so powerful that all it took is a groundless suspicion to condemn someone once on a pedestal, to hell. There's a fine line between a hero and a demon. John didn't want to read any further -- he clenched his fists, felt the cruel words whirling and screaming in his head, rattling his already fragile nerves again and again.

*No, he's not like that. I know him, and I know him best. He is the wisest and bravest man I have ever known. He would never do such a thing. He would never--*

“THUMP!”

The next thing he knew he punched the desk with his fists.

The output on the screen came to a sudden halt. The cursor stopped at the last unfinished sentence, flashing like a puzzled child’s eyes.

He had an impulse to smash open the obnoxious screen in front of him, and scream to Sherlock himself. But what could he possibly say? What could he possibly do? Not to mention that yelling at a brain that’s already lost its sensing functions cannot solve anything.

It’s too late.

It’s always too late.

*You’re* the mad ones, *you’re* the arrogant people-- he’s gone already, so why on earth does he deserve to be treated by the world like this.

John felt the flames inside slowly consuming every last part of him, burning his throat, and spreading into his stinging eyes.

He shoved back the keyboard, and slowly allowed himself to bend over the table, lying on his arms, until all there was left in the empty room were suppressed, sobbing sounds.

He didn’t know how long it had been-- probably to the point where John worried Mycroft couldn’t wait any longer-- until he finally straightened up, refocusing his sight on the screen from a blurred vision.

The last search record has been cleared, and the screen has returned to a blank, vacant image, like how the universe was before the Big Bang.

He gently pulled the keyboard back in front of him, typed, slowly but solemnly, and not pressing enter.

He heard footstep drawing near-- possibly from Mycroft. Straightening his collar, John took one last look at the screen, turned around, and left.

The unsent message lit a silent white light in the room, like a calm, grieving soul.

“I love you.”

John hasn’t written anything on his blog for a long time.

Occasionally he still helped out Scotland Yard on some trivial matters, but they were nothing compared to the excitement and thrills that constantly struck him when he was on a case with Sherlock. The feeling of blood pumping through his veins once reminded him of what “being alive” feels like. And now, everything was back to normal. Sometimes the thought would hit John, that maybe everything that happened in the last few years was just a dream too good to be true. Maybe he never met such a man after returning from Afghanistan, a man who could tell everything you did yesterday, who liked to talk to skulls in a surprisingly fast pace, who could solve the strangest and hardest cases in the world.

But everything around him was a constant reminder that it was true. Everything did, in fact, happened.

And he couldn’t tell which was more painful.

On the way back, John allowed himself to replay every single memory he had since he met Sherlock like a movie, as he watched the rain picking up outside the car window.

Sherlock taking his phone, asking, *Afghanistan or Iraq*?

Sherlock rushing down the stairs then turning back towards the door, the light flashing dangerous signals inside his eyes, a fascination that took him spellbound. *You’ve seen a lot of blood and injuries, violent deaths, then? Want to see some more?*

Sherlock at Angelo’s, pausing slightly after being asked “do you have a boyfriend, then?”

Sherlock’s look of shock and subtle delight after he blurted out “amazing” without thinking.

Sherlock’s proud and effortless look after every time he solved Moriarty’s puzzles.

Sherlock standing in front of the door of 221B, looking at him with a smile. *I’d be lost without my blogger*.

Sherlock pulling the coat embedded with bombs off him by the pool, for the first time he’s ever seen, in panic and relief.

Sherlock walking behind him in Baskeville, in his most sincere tone, *I don’t have friends; I just got one*.

The Woman looking at him, an either teasing or scornful tone, *Are you jealous? You are a couple.*

Sherlock handcuffed together with him, raising his hand to fire a gun into the sky.

They were dashing as fast as possible on the streets in London as accomplices. He heard Sherlock utter, *take my hand*.

Then he did.

Sherlock standing on the rooftop of Bartz holding his phone, alone.*Goodbye, John*. He said.

Then he did.

...

He felt himself reliving those years as Mycroft parked his car in front of 221B.

Every memory were brand new, yet so fresh they were dipped with bright, red blood, dripping down along John’s heart, dripping into the very depths of his aching soul.

When he came home this time he opened his blog website once again. He wanted a formal farewell to the Sherlock of his past, and he wanted to continue their story. It may be a lot more plain and dull than it used to be, but he believed that Sherlock, now a machine for calculation, could see. No matter if he could comprehend, or if he could remember, every letter John wrote would enter his database through the transmission lines and become a part of him.

Entering username. Password.

Wrong password.

Perhaps he mis-typed a letter.

He deleted it, and tried once more.

Wrong password.

John frowned. He didn’t remember changing his password even once in the past years. Though Sherlock had cracked it within a day, he didn’t really care that much, nor do something about it; even if he changed his password, all Sherlock would have to do was to crack it again. It would be useless. --Furthermore, even if Sherlock saw it, it wasn’t a big deal. He’s Sherlock Holmes.

...He’s Sherlock Holmes.

The sentence echoed louder and louder inside his mind.

*He’s Sherlock Holmes.*

Who could’ve possibly changed John Watson’s password except him? He’s always kept the laptop beside him, and even Moriarty, who once broke into his account, had now killed himself and was no longer here.

“When all the other possibilities are ruled out, and there is only one left, no matter how impossible it is, it’s the truth.”

It was Sherlock who changed it, John. A voice inside his head said ever so firmly.

John could feel his heart racing faster and faster. Yes, Sherlock has access to all the information possible on the internet now. It would only take a few lines of code to alter the password of a blog account. But why would he? And what would he change it into?

*Think, John, think.* He heard Sherlock’s voice.

What is a code that only belongs to them? What is a metaphor that only they knew? What code could only be cracked by John Watson?

His fingers trembled as he started typing.

*Vatican cameos.

...

Logged in.

John could barely contain the tremors in his fingers as he scrolled down the page in great effort.

He clicked into some of his most read blogs immediately. No new messages, no new comments. The numbers of views were still rising.

For a moment he started to doubt whether he himself had changed the password in memory of their past, but forgot about it after grieving day after day.

Until he scrolled back to the top of the page.*

You have one new private message.*

Unknown address. Unknown sender.

The message was simple.

“I’m here.

-- S.H.”

His hand hovered above the keyboard. For the split of a second he seemed to forgot how to breath and how to make his own heart beat. The word spun and collapsed from around him, falling apart into an ocean of chaos and darkness. The only anchor in thunderous waves and dizzying swirls was the computer and the simple message on the screen. It kept him from falling down, and kept him safe and steady.

John felt his phone vibrate inside his pocket.

One new message.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face.

-- S.H.”

A complex wave of emotions flooded him. He felt himself smiling, so uncontrollably like a child who retrieved his favorite, lost toy, but there were uncontrollable tears streaming down his face, dripping hard onto the keyboard in front of him, a symphonic harmony with the pouring rain outside his window.

“You’re a complete jerk.”

“When all that’s left of you is a brain, it’s likely you’ll also become more reckless. No one can ever punch you in the face again.

-- S.H.”

“...Utterly unbelievable.”

“John, for your information, I can still see the messages in the input box even if they weren’t sent.

-- S.H.”

“...”

“John?

-- S.H.”

“I’m here.”

“I heard you.

-- S.H.”

END.

#bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock #bbc sherlock holmes #long post

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krazyyyyyy · 3 days

Note

Hey hey! I love your Geo (and Hyugo) work so much I wanted to make a request! If this is too much, or potentially graphic, just ignore this. :] Geo x reader who's suicidal/depressed, but hides it well. (totally not mirroring here nooo) Or Hyugo with the same prompt. Or both, whatever you want. Thank you in advance either way, and I hope you have an excellent week!

Always by your side ( Hyugo/ Depressed Reader)

TW: Suicidal thoughts, Drug usage

Words: 1284

Notes: I'm so sorry if you're going through some difficult times at the moment. I hope this short little fic gives you a bit of comfort.

When will it go away? Does it ever go away? Are you stuck with this? The heavy weight of misery tugs on your heart, causing a lingering ache in your chest that shows no signs of fading. You struggled to catch your breath, as your anxieties got the better of you, making you feel small and vulnerable.

You just wanted it all to end, the pain, the misery….everything. Every day, you woke up, things only got worse; food started to lose its taste, colors lost the vibrancy that used to bewitch you, and your hobbies seemed pointless and useless. At night, you would lie awake unable to sleep with the same question repeating in your head: ‘Is life worth living?’

You lean against your hands, which were clamped on your bathroom sink's counter. You raise your head to look at yourself in the mirror; you looked a mess–a broken mess, with tears streaming down your cheeks and your hair out of place. What were you going to do with yourself?

A sudden tapping from outside the bathroom door startles you.“Y/N? You okay in there?” Hyugo’s muffled voice speaks from the other side of the door

You’re quick to wipe away the tears with the sleeves of your hoodie, composing yourself to the best of your abilities before speaking. How long have you been in here?

“Y-yeah, I’ll be out in a sec!” You prayed that he didn’t hear the strain in your voice, the last thing you wanted to do was worry him.

“Are you sure?” He persisted

“… Yeah, just need a minute.” You lay your head in your hands, as an instant migraine overwhelms you.

You hear him sigh, “Okay… Let me know if you need anything.” Faint footsteps let you know that he had walked away from the door, more than likely heading to the living room to watch another Sherlock Homes movie.

… Your pills… you have to go take your pills… they might be able to clear your head from all these dark thoughts. You hated having to rely on them every time you felt like this… but what other choice did you have?

You hated yourself even more, given the fact you took the pills behind Hyugo’s back. He remained unaware of your current mental state, as you did well to push all your feelings deep down inside, and then wear a smile to cover it all up. You hoped that your condition would get better with time and would disappear one day. But, instead, it got much worse with each passing day. Yet, you still didn’t have the heart to tell him about it; you knew he’d do anything to help you get better, but you couldn’t let him drop everything to help you…you didn’t deserve that from him.

After adjusting yourself, you give one last look in the mirror, before rushing out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. You kept the antidepressants hidden underneath a stack of clothes in your dresser, somewhere you thought Hyugo would never find them.

You’re quick to open and search the contents of the drawer for the pills, but to your horror, they are nowhere to be found. In an act of sheer desperation, you search through every single drawer in hopes that you have just misplaced them by mistake. Alas, the medication is still missing, meaning you would just have to go on without them until you got a new bottle.

Your body shook anxiously, feeling the intense waves of depression hit you like a steel drum. There had to be something you could do to get rid of the emptiness that started to overwhelm you… Maybe watching that movie with Hyugo would take your mind off things…hopefully.

Closing all the drawers of your dresser, you stand up and start making your way toward the living room, which is right down the hall from your bedroom.

After walking the short distance, you make it, but are immediately confused to find Hyugo standing in the middle of the living room with his back turned to you. He seemed to be intently looking at something he held in hand.

“Hyugo?” You called out to him, as you stepped closer to where he was standing. He remained unmoving where he stood, making you think he didn’t hear you at first. But after a brief moment, he finally turned his body to face you. He looked at you with worry and hurt in his eyes, nearly on the verge of tears. It broke your heart to see him look at you this way, and just when you were about to ask him what was wrong; your gaze shifted to what he held in his hand, and you instantly felt your heart drop.

In his hand, were the pills you had desperately tried to keep hidden from him for the longest time. Your secret was out, and now you had to deal with the backlash that came with it; this wasn’t something Hyugo wouldn’t let go so easily.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He gestures toward the pill bottle in his hand, his voice filled with deep hurt. After being together for a few months, he believed you two could tell each other anything…or at least he thought so. While you were in the bathroom, Hyugo, who could tell you were unwell, had opted to help you with some unfinished chores around your apartment. While putting away some of your folded clothes, he discovered the pills, and upon finding them, he felt his heart shatter. His mind was swarmed with questions, ‘Did you not trust him?’ ‘Was he the reason for your unhappiness?’

You choked back on a sob, “… I-I’m so sorry… I couldn’t… You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” Why should someone as bright and jovial as Hyugo have to deal with your darker, and painful inner struggles? This was supposed to be your fight…not his.

Hyugo’s expression softens at your words. The hurt he had felt was eclipsed by the concern he had for you and your well-being. With the pill bottle falling to the floor, he reached out toward you, gently cupping your face in his hands, “Hey,” he spoke softly, with a warm smile on his face, “You don’t take to go through this alone, Whatever it is you're going through, I'm going to help through it. I’m here for you, always.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you meet his gaze, feeling the comfort and safety that his eyes often reflect. It hadn’t left completely, but the burden you felt had gotten just a bit lighter. With the unwavering support you received from your boyfriend, there was finally a glimpse of hope for the future.

“… I just…didn’t want to worry you,” you admit, tears streaming down your face. “I thought… I thought I could handle it on my own…”

Hyugo leaned down to press a soft kiss where a stray tear lingered on your cheek. “You don’t have to do anything by yourself, not when I’m here.” He said, his voice firm yet still cordial. He didn’t hesitate to pull you into a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck.“I love you, but please don’t hide things like this from me anymore.”

Wrapping your arms around him, you rest your chin on his shoulder, relishing his warmth. “I won’t… I promise,”. From your response, you can feel Hyugo smile into the base of your neck.

You may have a long journey ahead you toward getting better, but with Hyugo at your side, it felt as though you could accomplish anything.

And you couldn’t be any more grateful.

#tkatb hyugo #tkatb vn #the kid at the back #hyugo sugimoto #the kid at the back hyugo #hyugo x reader

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