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#i should get to writing it soon!!
capn-o-my-soul · 5 months
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okie i made an art but there is some context to it
so my sister was studying in the haunted theology building on her college campus because it was open and it had rooms to study in . and since it is a theology building lots of people who like catholicism go in there. so my sister finishes working on her paper or whatever and it's like 2 am and she sees a piece of paper in the hallway that says "what is your favorite saint?" with a bunch of names of catholic saints that people like that they put on there. so my sister (an atheist) makes up a fake saint name (st. chadwick the bold) and writes it on the paper.
however, since it was darkish and lateish she accidentally wrote "bold" in a way that it could be misinterpreted as "bald"
now the next day she's having a movie night with friends and tells them about it and one of them draws a very reverent, very bald monk-saint on a whiteboard . and then they make a prayer to st. chadwick the b[o/a]ld
and then when she told me about it this weekend i thought i could use it as a chance for calligraphy / gothic graphic design practice so i made this
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behold
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vulpinesaint · 1 year
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want to post on ao3. don't want to write things to post on ao3. want to post on ao3.
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psychopomparia · 1 month
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Imagining Sunday when he got his wings pierced:
CW: Mature, erogenous zone, NEEDLE, suggestive. I...had thoughts and I wanted to write them; no proof read btw; wrote this on a whim. I hope this is not too OOC, we only know so much on Sunday so...
What if Sunday's wings were sensitive? A light touch to them causes him to flinch; those calm eyes widen for a split second at the interaction. Yet, Sunday wears those studs on his wings. Two spiky studs to be exact. If a mere graze of a hand caused his shoulders to stiffen slightly, how did those piercings make him react?
The sight of Sunday going to Halovian piercing studio in his youthful days. As a member of the Family, he ought to look presentable. Perhaps, an added accessory to his wings would increase his aesthetics?
Yet, a Halovian's wings are a bit..sensitive to say the least. They are one's pride and joy, but also one's weak point if messed around. If anything, it might seem like a form of masochism for a Halovian to even get piercing on their wings. As the representative of the Family, he is willing to endure all types of pain - even for the sake of the Harmony.
So, there he was, in a private lounge with his hands folded on his lap. He reclines back on the leather chair, and the smell of rubbing alcohol lingers around him. His gloved thumb fiddles with the satin handkerchief to calm his nerves. The man tending to him reassured Sunday that he was a professional. Any unsightly behavior from the Halovian would remain in this room; no one would hear of what happens in this room. This is a private matter.
As soon as the man started cleaning his wing, Sunday's shoulders tensed up. Cold liquid pouring on his wing meant to disinfect it, but all it did was send shivers down his spine. He bit the inside of his cheek to remain composed and his eyes remained shut. While the piercer searched his drawer for the needle, Sunday squirmed around in in chair. One hand rests on the armrest while the other rests under his chin -the handkerchief grazing his lips.
He knew the next step. He's had his ears pierced before with his sister. That needle would mark him and stab into his flesh. But, that was their ear. It lasted a few minutes and only felt a dull, sharp pain. No, this time it's his wings. A more erogenous area for him.
The area for his piercing is marked. He asked for two piercings, so double the penetration. Double the consequences. The hairs on the back of Sunday's neck rose yet his outward appearance seemed placid. Despite the lingering cold sensation on his wings giving him goosebumps, that signature calm smile bore on his face.
Would it change once the needle went it?
Yes.
The needle's penetration into his wing causes the carefully crafted facade of Sunday to slip out. Now, his hand gripped forcefully on the armrest while the other clenches the handkerchief; the one he's currently biting into. It's difficult to suppress the whimpers, but muffling them is the least he can do. His eyes rolled back slightly while tears crept in. An overwhelming sensation of pain and arousal bubbled inside him. It hurt, but Aeons, it felt so good. The needle struck again for the second hole causing him to whine softly. His body squirms around like those origami birds stuck in cramped spaces.
"Too much," Sunday babbles to himself. It's too incoherent and soft for the piercer to notice. Dazed, Sunday didn't realize the piercer had already inserted the studs into the new holes. Soon, he began cleaning the area again. Sunday's jaw slacks as the liquid coats his wings for the second time. Any thoughts he had faded and only heat consumed him. Everything felt numb to him. He was unaware that the piercer completed his job and begun explaining the aftercare.
Sunday took the handkerchief loosely hanging from his mouth quickly and dabbed the corners of his mouth. He blinked quickly to regain his composure, even if his cheeks were flushed. The piercer jotted down a few remainders on a notepad to reinforce his explanation. He could sense Sunday's disoriented state. The man patted Sunday on his back and made his way to the exit. All Sunday could understand was that the man needed to attend to other clients, but he could feel free and calm himself down in the room. The room is a private longue after all. Equipped with soundproof padding and a lock. As soon as the man left, the words finally hit him.
His gaze peered at the hand mirror on the work table, and now he understood what the man meant by "calm himself down." Sunday looked absolutely debauched. His eyes were cloudy and watery from the impending tears. Mouth agape and lips glossy with saliva. His face was flushed, and small beads of sweat dripped past his cheek. He could clearly see and feel how horny he was. The blood flowing down south made itself present through twitching thighs. A gloved hand snakes down to palm his erection. A soft groan escapes him, and he closes his eyes to enjoy the sensation. A libidinous thought occurs to him. Perhaps, he could indulge in "calming methods."
After all, aftercare is essential in any piercing.
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if i start posting a super long and rambling introspective messy chainshipping road trip fic that blurs all the weird boundaries of their relationship and features codependency and daddy issues and messed up stupid emotions and no guarantee of a happy ending and really no guarantee of me ever ending it at all would you guys still think i'm hot
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epiclamer · 1 year
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THIS HAPPENED IN MY DREAM— so you get part 2 tomorrow <333333
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
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Bait
It was the first time Hero had ever actually felt raw fear. The pit that was gnawing a hole through their stomach was nerve-wracking and every second that past made their situation less and less bearable.
A blindfold was secured tightly around their eyes, a cloth gag shoved in their mouth and wrapped around the back of their head. Ropes dug painfully into their skin and around what Hero guessed was a large metal pole.
All of these measures keeping them quiet, tense and on edge.
They were sure that the soreness in their muscles wouldn’t be gone for a long time to come, not with the bruises that were sure to appear if their bonds weren’t loosened soon.
Everything was uncomfortable.
It must’ve been around an hour since they had woken up, a pounding in their skull explained that half of the story Hero was trying to piece together. They hoped that if their kidnappers showed up they could fill them in on the rest.
The thumping of footsteps sounded to their left and Hero’s head snapped towards the commotion. The creaking of floorboards and stairs sounded next, confident steps that strolled practically lazily into the room.
“Well would you look at that? Finally decided to join us in the land of the living, huh? Have a nice nap?”
Hero let out a muffled response as their captor made it to their side, chuckling at the crime-stopper’s attempt to speak.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
The hero listened intently, focusing on every movement they could pick up from their captor, using just their available senses.
They could hear them moving, circling, a soft brush of movement on their forearm made the hero flinch away violently. Only to provoke another chuckle from the other.
“Lighten up, will you? I’m not going to hurt you.”
Somehow, Hero found that very doubtful.
Without another word from their captor, the hero recognized the sound of a blade opening. Something quick—maybe a switchblade?
Before they felt it at back of their head and the crime-stopper braced for an attack, for the pain that was to come. But the sharp edge never broke skin, in the blink of an eye the hero’s blindfold had been cut away and their surroundings appeared in full force.
They were in a room, dark and dreary as ever, something that could maybe fit the description of an abandoned cellar? But the countless weapons and chains that decorated the walls made it seem less so.
“Like what you see?” Their captor asked, grinning down at them, knife still in hand. Hero recognized them now, they were a lower scale villain that prowled the city streets.
Mainly, they committed burglaries or break-ins, but in the big picture they were near the bottom of importance to the heroes. This, however. Kidnapping a hero? That was a bigger deal.
The villain did them the curtesy of untying their gag, holding both pieces of fabric in one hand and their blade in the other. The hero swallowed, it was dry and scratchy on their throat from how long the gag had been in their mouth, but they spoke nonetheless.
They needed answers.
“What do you want.” The hero rasped, wincing as they tore their throat up with a simple question.
The villain couldn’t help but laugh, moving back until they hit the large, human sized metal table in the middle of the room. Leather straps, for lack of a better word, shackles were attached to each end.
Hero didn’t even want to fathom what the drain on the floor beneath it was for.
It made them sick.
The criminal pushed themselves up on the table, using it as a simple seat. “I don’t want anything from you, sweetheart. I just need a bit of leverage to carry out my next plan.”
If the villain could grin any bigger, they did.
“I need you as bait.”
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bootyful-seventeen · 3 months
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Oh gosh okay so I went back to marinating more on long haired Jihoon, but specifically long haired Jihoon getting pegged has me chewing on the bars of my enclosure to get out
Like just think of how pretty he'd look when he's on all fours and your fucking into him!! His chest blushed and heaving from how needy he is for you and the way your touch just feels so good and electric running along your skin! Your fingers then threading through his hair to pull his head up to see his thoroughly fucked out and flushed face in the mirror you placed in front of the bed. His eyes rolling back into his skull as cute little whimpers and cries slip from his lips when you brush your lips along his shoulder and licking up his neck before nibbling on his earlobe. Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh and even the louder moans he'd make if you gripped his cheeks in your hands and pounded him into the mattress, his back arching so nicely that you can't help but run a hand up his spine and wrap his long hair around your fist while he trembled underneath you whimpering about how he's gonna cum. Your eyes dropping down to watch his slick hole swallowing your strap on with ease from being played with for so long before getting bent over. Jihoon's whines getting louder from hand slipping between his thighs to jerk off his leaky cock until he's releasing spurts onto the sheets under him. Tears springing from his eyes as you fuck him at a harder and faster pace until he was left gasping for air, his thighs shaking from keeping his ass up when your strap slips out of his trembling hole and a relieved smile on his face as you cooed about how good he was for you, and how he looks so pretty all fucked out like this between kisses along his spine
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watmalik · 5 months
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Happy Halloween 🌙⭐️
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sparring-spirals · 4 months
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i wanted to wait until i actually caught up and watched it to make this post because i dont know if it actually applies but. since idk When That Will Be. im putting a note here for future me to SOMEDAY. take the time to chew over the ashton shard choice juxtaposed against beau in the hag hut. sacrifices where you think its fine if you make the call (but you forget the scarifice isnt just yours, but the people who care about you). Its not a 1-1, not at all, but. I feel like theres something there and also i will Die on my Ashton And Beau Reflect Each Other Surprisingly Often hill. anyway. someday. that will happen. okay back to radio silence. i hope Bell's Hells have some fucking crunchy conversations.
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merakiui · 5 months
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he came in the 30 tenfolds i had....... he's saving me from jade!!!!!
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ashtronomyys · 8 months
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Too Much (+18)
18+ MDNI John "Soap MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley Size difference lovers come get ya'll's juice! Basically just Simon being too big for Johnny and Johnny losing himself on Simon. Hope ya'll enjoy <3
They had been going at it for over an hour now, Simon slowly working Johnny open on the ends of his fingers, pulling all kinds of moans out of the sergeant. He had worked two, then three fingers inside of him, brushing them against his prostate and reveling in the way he arched back against his hand.
"Lt.... c'mon already! I can take it!" Aggravation seeped into Johnny's voice as he egged him on. Simon chuckled to himself.
"Patience, baby. Gotta take it nice and slow," he dragged out the last vowel in tune with the rhythm of his fingers. "We don't want to hurt you now, do we?" He punctuated the question by pressing down on Johnny's insides. The man yelped into the pillow he had fisted under him, another shameless groan getting muffled by the fabric.
"Fucking bastard," he had sighed into the sheets. Simon continued working him open until, finally, his partner relaxed into the sheets. The breaths escaping his chest having slowed down and his back and shoulders finally resting onto the mattress. Ever the impatient man, the lieutenant often found himself having to reign Johnny in, lest he hurt himself in his eagerness. This usually resulted in Simon working him over until he melted into his touch hours into the night. And enduring several complaints along the way.
He reached back for another pump of the lube, most of the bottle's contents already used on the sergeant's hole. As he pulled the thick digits out of him, Simon felt his own dick throb at the sight of Johnny's hairy ass open and clenching at the air, practically begging for something to clamp down on. With Johnny a pliant, open mess under him, Simon finally lined himself up and slowly pushed at his entrance.
The head of his cock was gradually enveloped by the tight warmth, both men openly moaning into the space at the sensation. Simon reached around to hold one of Johnny’s arm behind his back, grabbing and holding onto his hand. He used the ferocity of Johnny's grip to gauge when it became too much for the sergeant. More often than not, he'd become an incoherent mess of cries and whining during this next part.
Now, Johnny wasn't inexperienced by any means. In fact, when flirting between the two had veered further beyond the line of what was deemed appropriate between colleagues, he would proudly purr into Simon's ear about how he'd wrap himself all along Simon's length. The cocky arrogance and lopsided smirk thrown his way would send Simon into a tailspin out on the field.
All that arrogance went out the window though when Johnny, at last, got his hands on Simon's cock. Johnny was a sizeable man in his own right, tall and defined with muscles covering every inch of him. But next to Simon, he nearly looked like a dwarf. Simon TOWERED over him, with just as if not MORE muscle than him. He easily tossed him around on the training field, his hoodies draped over his arms and legs, and his hands completely shrouded his. And the daunting length and girth of his cock sent shivers down Johnny's spine. It took both his hands to wrap around it, left him gasping and chocking when he tried to swallow it, and honestly just did not fit in him yet.
It had been a work in progress trying to get him used to all the length. Johnny kept trying to apologize when they first started, but Simon shushed him every time. He'd damned-well tried his hardest, and he had been such a good, pliant lover with him. Simon was just simply too BIG for Johnny.
Despite that, they'd made good progress so far. The gradual push into him went smoother and smoother each time. Simon's hand kneaded circles into Johnny's hip as he steadily thrust forward. His hand seized every so often and Simon stilled to let him adjust, deep guttural moans escaping Johnny's lips.
They make it to about halfway down his cock before he feels Johnny's hand shoot up to grab his wrist. "Fuck, hold on! Don't--Agh!"
"Y'Alright? Need me to pull out?" Simon freezes, not wanting to add to the sensitivity by moving.
"Nae, nae. Just...--Ah, fuckin' Christ Si." He sits up on all fours, looking back at Simon and lets out a drained laugh. "Ah'm good. Just give me a second."
He gets a hum in response. "Take as much time as you need." A soft grin spreads across Simon's face as he locks eyes with his sergeant. His hair sticks out in various places and there's a light layer of sweat on his forehead. But there's still that bright glint in his eye reserved just for him.
He doesn't dare move, but /fuck/ is it tempting with the way he stares back at him. His breathing evens out and Simon drinks in the view of him leaning back down. Broad, muscled back giving way to the lithe dips of his waist, and coming down to the built, round ass currently clutched onto the better half of him.
He allows his hands to roam over Johnny's body, lets out a low groan as he fondles the tanned flesh. God, even his hands seem to make the man look smaller. Black skeleton gloves nearly able to cover the entire expanse of his ass.
"You're so perfect for me, Johnny." Simon cups his right cheek, slaps down on the meat of it before rubbing the irritated skin. "Why don't you take over for a bit, hm? Show me how much you love riding this cock for me."
It sounds like it's a go if the wanton moan Johnny lets out is anything go by. Simon chuckles as he watches Johnny start to rock back against him, his fist curling under him and finding his own dick to stroke. The hot, slick hole slowly rises to the head before achingly bearing slowly back down on him. His hole strains around the girth, sheathing and locking him into the warm, velvet embrace. They both lose themselves in the sensation as Johnny begins to fervently lose himself on Simon's cock.
"Yeah, that's it love. So good for me..." Simon's groans hit a new pitch when the angle is switched and his head presses along his inner walls. What they may lack when it comes to accommodating his body, Johnny more than a hundred times makes over for in enthusiasm. It doesn't even matter that he can't take the full length right now. He's a man of many skills, and he knows how to make the lieutenant see stars in a matter of minutes regardless.
Besides, he has to admit that part of him finds the thought that he's too much to be so fucking hot. Some perverted part of his brain turned on by the thought that he's breaking Johnny in. Revels in watching the rim of him stretch beyond its limits around his cock, the tears and spit falling down his chin from the exertion of wrapping his lips around him, and the way he leaves him a gaping, open mess afterwards.
And God, does Johnny love it too, evidenced by the way he keeps coming back for more. Spurred on by promises murmured over comms, making it his mission to take him in even further than last time. Nearly hurting himself in his haste. It almost feels like he's corrupting him in a way. Here he is, a bright beacon of joy and sunshine to everyone he comes across. He lights up any room he walks in with his charm and good looks. He could have anybody he wants, find love with anyone more suited for him. And yet here he was, losing his mind with Simon, the Ghost, of all people. Crying and moaning so loudly on a dick far too large for him that anybody walking by in the hallway would hear them. Hear the way his happy-go-lucky sergeant was splitting himself open on just a fraction of his full length.
Simon firmly gripes his waist, hands nearly wrapping all the way around him and carefully bucks forward against his body, testing the waters and gauging his reaction. Immediately, his body shivers underneath him. Simon moves barely an inch more into Johnny and the loud cry he lets out pitches up into a gasp. It takes little to no effort on his part to overwhelm the sergeant and have him crying into the pillow. Simon can't help but feel a sense of pride fill his chest, his ego being stroked by the whines that leave Johnny's lips. He splays his hand out onto Johnny's back and leans over him.
"Fucking hell Johnny, do you hear yourself? Practically broken on only half of me." Simon can feel the deep groan rumble throughout Johnny's chest in response.
He wraps his arms around his front and leans them both back to sit back against his chest, his upper body trapping the sergeant. "Makes me wonder how wrecked you'll sound when I finally get all the way inside you." Simon licks and nips at the curve of his neck and starts thrusting into Johnny.
"Holy Fuuck S-Si," he whimpers. One of Johnny's hand claws at Simon's forearms, the other reaching behind and try to find purchase. His right hand finds Simon's neck and cards through his hair, tugging a fistful of it with every thrust.
"Fuck Lt--so fucking big-Ah!" His voice falters as Simon slides his hand down between his legs, giving him a few playful swirls around the head before starting a rhythmic pace.
"You love it though," he remarks.
"Ahh, yeah I do. Want ye to fucking break me with it." The challenge elicits a possessive growl out of Simon. "Don't tempt me, sergeant."
Said sergeant actually has the gall to look back at him with a brazen stare. "Try me, Lt." There's a fire hidden behind those eyes as he winks and bucks into his grasp.
Goddamn snarky bastard.
Simon fulfills his request by sliding his grip down to his hips and knocking that sly grin on his face off with the drive of his thrust. Johnny began to howl and shout his name as Simon jackhammers as much as he can into him. He braces one palm onto the bed while the other goes back to his now abandoned dick jumping below them. He's unabashedly whining at the continued onslaught, sinfully arching his body towards Simon's touch.
"Taking that cock so--fucking--well for me, Johnny!" Each syllable was punctuated by another slam into him.
"Fuuck Si! I-Ah'--Ah!" The sergeant was becoming more and more of a sniveling mess by the minute. Tears streamed down his face and he had nearly ripped a hole in the bedspread from clawing at it.
Another few minutes of the bombardment and Johnny's head began to loll forward, the man seeming to lose a bit of strength. He had half the mind to stop and check on him, his pace faltering for a moment to give Johnny a breather. "Johnny? You solid?"
It took another bated breath for him to turn and face behind him. Johnny's hair was in a complete disarray, water pooled in his tear ducts, and his blown out pupils were lined with red. He looked like he was in shambles. But yet, he was still able to give a cocky smirk over his shoulder.
"Mhm, hell yeah Lt. Don't want t' stop til ye've finished off inside me," he teased. The sight of the man with his tear-streaked face bucking backwards on his dick was downright obscene. "Wanna feel ye pump yer load inside me."
"Fucking Christ.."
If there was any trepidation left in Simon's body, it was gone now. He picked up a fierce rhythm, pumping unforgivingly while the other man lost it on him. They were unabashed in their chase of ecstasy, letting every moan that rose in them fill the room. Johnny especially was being shameless with the sounds that escaped him, the creaking of the metal bed frame and his shrieks having a competition on who could be the loudest. At the rate he was going, he'd probably wake the whole base up with his shouting and pleas for more.
Not that either of them cared at this point, teetering too far close to the edge to care about anything else other than the friction between them. Simon chases after the feeling, swaying his pelvis to grind down on Johnny's prostate. The unrelenting pressure on that sweet spot finally sends him over the edge, face falling onto the bed and biting down on the pillow. His orgasm causes him to clamp down on Simon, his hole becoming impossibly tighter. It's not long after that he follows suit right behind him. He pushes in as deep as Johnny's body will allow him and rides out the wave after wave of searing pleasure.
It takes them a few minutes of labored breathing before they're ready to move. Johnny's the first to break, gradually getting more antsy and slowly pulling himself up. Simon helps pull himself out, sitting back on his heels to watch the way his spent dick leaves Johnny's hole gaping open. He watches a string of his load steadily spill out of him and drip onto the sheets. Simon grabs a handful of his ass and leans down, lapping up the remainder that continues to fall. The act sends shivers through Johnny's body.
"Alright ye fuckin' horn-dog, ease up," the voice that comes out sounds particularly rough. He languidly rolls over and laughs into the palm of his hand as he looks back at Simon. "So, how far'd we get that time?" he asks. Simon looks down at his half-hard erection and points to where he made it, a shy smirk on his face. His fingers point to a little past the halfway point, just under three quarters of the way down.
Johnny groans out of frustration. "Ah, come on! Tha's ridiculous. What the hell was yer mother feeding you!?" They both break at the outburst, Johnny's face lights up at the way Simon throws back his head in a full body laugh.
"Hey, you did pretty good, Soap! We'll get there someday, we've got plenty a' time."
"Not before ye kill me with that fuckin' thing," he playfully knocks his leg into Simon's side. He reaches for a glass of water on the nightstand while Simon laughs at him, downing most of the water in one go. "Steamin' Jesus Si. Ah'm gonna be walking bow-legged all week!"
The lieutenant just shakes his head, the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile as he falls down to straddle the man's side. "Believe you were the one that asked for that. 'Want Ye to break me in' if I'm not mistaken?" Simon plays up the Scottish accent in his mocking tone.
"Awh, shut up and go to sleep ya bampot," the name-calling is emphasized by an elbow to the side. It doesn't hold much strength though, as the Scotsman's eyes are already drooping from exhaustion.
Simon squeezes Johnny into his side, hums with delight as he rests his head on his chest. "Alright, alright, I'll quit teasing you." He presses a kiss to the top of his mohawk. "G'night love." Johnny barely manages to murmur a good night before he's already out cold.
Simon gradually relaxes into the mattress, relishing in the endorphins coursing through his body and gently stroking his lover's back. As fatigue finally begins to overtake him, he reminisces on the whirlwind that is Johnny. Behind closed eyes, he secretly thanks the universe for dropping this mad little ball of trouble into his life.
And he thanks the universe for letting him ruin him time and time again.
....................
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softguarnere · 1 year
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Can I requests a oneshot with Ron Speirs x reader? everyone in easy thinks that big grumpy speirs holds a grudge against the reader bc he often gives her paperwork or smth but in reality he just wants to keep her around him out of protectiveness bc he likes her? But she doesn't know and thinks he doesn't like her either so shes kind of intimidated but also has a massive crush on him? But when he sees the reader with some other easy members he gets jealous and snaps so now he has to tell her that hes in love with her. Don't stress yourself, i just thought it could be interesting, thank youu
From Scratch
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Ron Speirs x reader
Summary: No, what bothers you is that ever since he gained control of Easy Company, he’s done nothing but take opportunities away from you. You’re proud to be a lieutenant. But what’s the point of holding the rank if you never do any of the work that comes with it?
A/N: Thank you so much for the request, Anon! I swear I didn't forget about this - or the other prompts in my inbox. School has been keeping me busy this semester, so this took me a long time to write. But it's here now, and I hope you enjoy it! (This is written for the fictional depiction from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) 💕🕊️
Warnings: mentions of war
“Uh oh!” Nixon singsongs when you step into the command post. “Looks like someone is in trouble.” He flashes you a broad grin as you make your way over to his desk and drop a stack of files with a heavy thwack! “What’d you do this time?”
Anger boils in your chest. Not towards Nixon. It’s not his fault. For his sake you try to keep your voice just as light and joking when you shrug and say, “Oh, you know, just the usual sort of thing. Got the scouting mission that I was supposed to lead taken from me and given to one of the sergeants.” You shrug. “No big deal.”
Except it is, and you both know it.
Nixon lets out a low whistle. “Damn. And might I inquire as to who arranged this?”
You roll your eyes. “Do you really need to ask?”
Speirs. It’s always Speirs.
Which seems unfair, somehow. You can still remember the first time you saw him, way back in Camp Toccoa, when he was in a different company, but already gaining a reputation for himself as one of the best runners. One time you passed him as you were going up the mountain and he was going down. He had nodded at you as he passed, and something about the niceness of the gesture made your heart jolt so fiercely that you almost tripped as you started on the switchback.
Then he went on to distinguish himself in other ways – the ever present whispers of rumors and stories that follow him like a cape made out of mystery – and suddenly, after he was put in charge of Easy Company, he didn’t seem so nice anymore. The rumors have never bothered you; Ron is a good leader, and you trust that he’s making whatever choices he needs to in order to keep the company safe.
No, what bothers you is that ever since he gained control of Easy Company, he’s done nothing but take opportunities away from you. You’re proud to be a lieutenant. But what’s the point of holding the rank if you never do any of the work that comes with it? (Well, besides paperwork, that is.)
The most frustrating part of it is that as angry as you are with him, you still feel your heart begin to hammer away in your chest whenever he enters a room – or race into triple time if you think he’s looking at you. How dare your own heart still feel so fondly towards him when your eyes can clearly see the obvious fact laid before you?
The fact being: Ronald Speirs dislikes you. Which kind of makes it feel as if someone is crushing your heart under their shoe, like a cigarette being ground out on the sidewalk, when you think about it.
You push the thought – and the feelings – aside. Or try to, anyway.
“I hate paperwork,” you mutter as you take a seat across from the intelligence officer. “Almost as much as he hates me.”
“I don’t think Speirs hates you.” When you fix him with an incredulous look, Lewis holds up his hands in surrender. “I mean, he might hold some sort of grudge against you, maybe, but hate you? If that were true, I think you’d be dead by now, (Y/N).”
You roll your eyes; it’s a conversation you’ve had before, and one that never fails to fill you with the smallest shred of hope that maybe Nixon is right about Speirs not completely hating you. “Well, now I hold a grudge against him for making me do all this paperwork.”
“You sound like somebody else I know. Ah, and if you speak of the devil, then he shall appear!”
Quick, confident footsteps approach the desk from behind you. Neither you or Nixon can stop the smiles that spread across your faces when Dick appears. Even something as simple as his presence has always been able to lighten the mood, and today is no exception.
He returns the smile as he pulls up a chair from a nearby desk to join you, but not before glancing over both shoulders, searching.
“The devil?” He huffs a laugh. “Weird. You were already here, Nix.”
“Oh ha ha,” Nixon deadpans. He props his feet up on the desk and leans back in his chair.
Dick gently pushes his friend’s feet off the desk, which makes Nixon sit upright. For his part, though, Nixon doesn’t seem to mind it. Or mind that Dick sets more paperwork in front of him. Well, at least someone seems okay with filling out forms. Maybe if you’re extra nice, you can trick him into doing all the work that Speirs assigned to you.
Just as you’re trying to sneak your stack of files in with Nixon’s, Dick raises an eyebrow at you.
“There a reason that you’re stuck inside again, Lieutenant?”
You shrug. “Oh, you know how I just can’t stay away from office work. And how much I love to be bombarded with company gossip by Nix.”
Lewis puts a hand over his heart and gasps. “What?! You mean to tell me that you don’t hang around here because you enjoy my witty banter and winning personality?”
“Actually, I would rather – “
You’re cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you.
Slowly, you turn to see Speirs standing a few feet away from where the three of you sit. Upon first glance, he looks a bit like a child standing on the fringes of a friend group on the first day of school, nervously waiting to see if he’s going to be invited to join in. But when the shock clears off, it’s impossible to miss the look in his eyes – there’s a darkness lurking beneath the surface that suddenly makes it so easy to see why every rumor thrown his direction sticks to him like he’s covered in paste. It makes your heart drop.
“Good afternoon, Captain,” Dick says, leading the charge bravely, as always.
After a nod and a brief salute, Speirs turns his attention to you. “Lieutenant (Y/L/N), I forgot to give you this.”
Your heart sinks when you realize that he’s holding yet another file full of paperwork. It’s such a setback that your heart can’t even bring itself to run wild when your hands briefly brush his as he hands it to you.
“Oh.” The words feel rough as sandpaper as you force them out. “Thank you.”
When you manage to meet his eye, Speirs has furrowed his eyebrows, which makes him look thoroughly annoyed. Standing so close, it’s easy to see the striking features of his face – like a marble bust of a Greek hero. He’s so handsome, even with the lines between his eyebrows and the frown tugging at his lips. It makes you want to reach up and smooth them away, let him lean into your touch so you can soften his features, molding them like clay into the gentle man that you imagine he might be under his tough exterior and the cold armor of rumors that make every line so harsh and so jagged to everyone else.
But you can’t do that. Instead, you’re separated from him by his armor, just like everyone else. You hate that you’ve caused him to look this way – to look at you this way.
“You know,” Speirs says, his voice quiet and as cold as the look he’s giving you. “it’s a lot safer here than it is on the line.” He glances back at Nixon and Winters before looking you up and down. “Get to work, Lieutenant.”
Then, just as quickly and as silently as he appeared, he’s gone.
It’s so cold, so impersonal. Your stomach turns to a block of ice.
Behind you, Nixon lets out a low whistle. “Well then.”
Get to work. Part of you wants to scoff, brush it off, and go back to your friends. The other part of you is chasing after him, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. Instead, you’re stuck standing there, staring after him, looking forlorn.
No, you decide. You can’t carry on like this.
The file falls unceremoniously onto the desk in front of Nixon as you toss it at him. “Finish this for me, will ya?”
Dick can’t contain the small laugh that escapes him when he sees the surprised look on Nixon’s face. You’re out the door before either of them can offer a proper response.
Outside, you don’t make it far. The door clicks shut behind you, and when you look up, you see him. Ron is a few feet away, coming towards you, closing the distance between you. Unlike a few moments before, he doesn’t look mad. The hard edges of his expression have softened into something like concern.
You stop in front of each other, each waiting for the other to say something.
“Can we talk?” You ask at the same time that Ron blurts out, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”
You blink. “You’re what?”
Voices fill the air as a small group of officers approaches the command post. Ron gently takes your elbow and guides you aside so that they can pass, not seeming to notice or care what it does to your poor heart.
He lowers his voice as the group passes. “Can we talk? Privately?”
The Ronald Speirs wants to talk, alone, with you. There’s no question about it – you follow him.
He leads the two of you into one of the remnants of a building that soldiers have been quartering in. The skeletal remains of the structure probably provide no protection for whatever words he wants to exchange, but at least you can be away from prying eyes.
Alone, his dark eyes look you over. The motion isn’t as harsh as it was back in the command post. No, this is . . . gentle. Like he’s studying you.
You find yourself nervous under his gaze. Clearing your throat, you try to find your words. “You wanted to talk?”
Ron looks unsure of himself – something that you never would have imagined was possible. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, the sound filtering through the hollowed out room you stand in like it’s the building’s last raspy breath.
“I was an accountant, back before the war.”
Whatever you thought he was going to tell you, it certainly wasn’t that. You raise an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
He nods. “I’m good with numbers; that’s my strong suit. Words . . . don’t work themselves out as easily. Some people mistake quietness for cruelness.” The dim light casts shadows on his face as he tilts his head. “You’ve heard the rumors, just like everyone else?”
Who hasn’t heard the rumors, the stories? Speirs can’t walk through a room without turning heads and leaving a trail of whispers in his wake.
“Yes,” your voice comes out as a whisper. Are they true? you stop yourself from asking, because with his sudden openness, you’re starting to question everything that you’ve ever known about Ron Speirs – everything you’ve thought you’ve known. Who is this man, really?
“I . . . didn’t mean to snap at you,” Ron admits, his voice as soft as the look that he’s giving you. “And I’m sorry about all the paperwork. I don’t have a grudge against you.”
You cringe. So he did overhear that part.
He wets his lips, not quite meeting your eyes. “I try to keep you off the line so that you’ll be safe. There’s no grudge or dislike or . . . I just wanted to keep you safe because – “ He cuts himself off with a deep breath.
With the quiet all around you, the frantic beating of your heart fills the silence. “You want to keep me safe?”
“Yes. If you’ll let me.”
Being in the same room as him felt impossible a few minutes ago. Now though, some inexplicable force draws the two of you together. You both step forward so that there’s hardly any space left between you. Something in the back of your mind wonders how things have changed so quickly. What else have you been wrong about?
“Who are you, Ronald Speirs?”
So close to him, you can see the smile tugging at the edge of his mouth when he replies, “There’s your answer: Ronald C Speirs. That’s all that I am.”
An accountant. Someone’s son, brother, friend who got drafted into the war. A man. The rumors and myths that shroud him fall away until someone you don’t know stands before you. You want to get to know him.
“Well, Ron, it’s nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).” You smile at him, and it feels natural when he returns the gesture. “Can we maybe start over?”
Ron lets out a laugh and you could swear it was the sweetest sound in the entire world. “I would like that very much.”
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loveackermannn · 1 year
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roommate!levi is so pretty with his tattoos and piercings.... i'm sighing very dreamily rn....
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My wilmon shipper heart, right now:
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My August/Sara shipper heart, right now:
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chromatographic · 27 days
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"You should really read more canon before writing your fic!!! If you want I can give you recs! It'll make your fic better!!!" Okay then, maybe my fics are not for you then! There's the door ~!
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silverbladexyz · 28 days
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CHOOSE :)
Would greatly appreciate it if you voted :DD
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desultory-novice · 8 months
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I don’t have much to show so...more sketches/warm-ups!
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