#might have to bust out my old writing of this man

[argreion]

Respect Your Elders.

A/N: Changed my thought mid writing about sleepy sex with Leon so now we just go basic. FUSSY TIRED MAN DIDN'T LIKE BEING CALLED OLD! Transitition from cuddle to sex might be a little weird but EEEEEE! Got really fuckin' invested in writing smut and giving another go. Feel better about this one, ngl. I'm not sorry for this, I literally sat down for like an actual hour so immersed in writng this. ALSO, FUCKING SAW ONE MISTAKE AND I CAN'T FIND IT. So, possibly might have a few mistakes here and there.

Warnings: Just Sex with Leon, so P in V! Breeding kink. Breathplay. Cunnilingus! Small bits of degradation near the end. A little spit exchange too. DI Leon in mind but you can pick and choose! AFAB reader too, btw. All I can say is... Slutty Leon Kennedy :3

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcomed!

Let's be honest, being with Leon wasn't easy. Constantly reminding the poor man to not squint, to take his medication, and to even shave. Watching him pass out on the couch, bed, and even on the floor! Sadly, you can't carry a man that's heavy and full of muscle!

At least he passed out on the bed, and you slowly following afterward…

“Baby, c'mere, it's cuddle time.” He would say in that oh-so lovely voice. Made the girls scream mentally whenever he was just nice. All they could see was the pretty man, unknowingly batting his eyelashes to everyone around him. That pretty smile, too. 

Leon's arm wrapped around you, and chest against your back. Gently squeezing your torso, muscles tensing and relaxing with each squeeze. The T-shirt you wore from him, stolen from his closet. He liked when you did that, made him hard. When you would bend over the kitchen counter and possibly wear his boxers? Old man got a poor boner, daddy is a little horny, baby.

“You're heavy.” You whined, not that you'd admit you liked it. I mean, you loved Leon. He loved you. It was just how the things with you two. Liked the heaviness, the stupidity, the stress, you liked the attention of a broken man picking up his pieces. 

“Mmmm, heavy? The only thing heavy here is your ass.” A snort came from him as he said it. Yeah, he liked ass. Always did a smack-by whenever you walked past him. Especially when you were in the kitchen. Made his little domestic mindset bust a nut, literally.

His stubble brushed into your neck, with the purr of delight that he captured a beauty. Wrapping his other arm around you, under the side of your waist. Uncomfortably pushing into your side.

“So pretty, like an angel, baby. God must've been here to send you from the heavens. Must've hurt when you fell. Could've caught ya.” Oh, those sweet words he would always say. You knew he meant them, of course he did. If you had to say, it was a little depressing. Something just about the way he moved, spoke, and acted made your heart ache. It was probably the drinking he did, albeit it was better than a year ago.

“Don't think God sent me from the sky, Leon.” You responded with, head buried in those satin pillowcases. They felt nice on your skin, and nicer to grab when you got fucked.

“Would've broke a bone, and plus, I doubt you could catch me, old man.”

Oh, you poor poor soul. Don't call him old! He might cry, see, he's crying from his dick! Little slut, he liked that. Go ahead, weep a little more, baby boy! Also, the fact you just called him an old man to his face? Pfft, you're so on.

“I'm not that old, c'mon.”

He grunted, huffing into your neck like an angry toddler when they didn't get to snack on their favorite dino nuggets. Exaggerated heavily, and his grip tightened to push the point, he didn't like that.

“Ever heard the term respect your elders, little kid?” Leon asked, a threat hiding beneath it. Knowing the way he is, you have three seconds before he pins you to the bed and makes you squirt.

Already knowing what was going to happen, you made a lazy attempt to get out the 'terrifying' grasp of this old man. Moving to slide off the bed, but that didn't work.

His hand grabbed your shoulder, screaming this is your fault. You made me do this, and he wasn't going to be sorry at all. Pulling you back into the bed, head pushed into the pillow. Eyes staring wide up at him as he pinned you to the bed. Brows furrowed and face determined to prove otherwise. Hands pushing you into the bed by your shoulders. Yet gentle enough to not leave a bruise. That made your thighs clench, so cute.

“This old man still got it, baby doll. You really wanna play this game? I'll play it, too.” He'll play this game dirty, naughty, sexy.

Leon leaned forward, gently capturing your lips in a kiss. Passionately and slowly making out with you. Twirling your tongues around like it was his day-job. Maybe it was, seeing how he eats pussy so fucking good. Trying to ignite that burning passion he always liked. On the kitchen counter, his motorcycle, the car, work, the list went on and on. Hand trailing lower and lower as he occupied your mind. Tongue occupying your mouth. Expensive cologne pungent off his body, surrounding you in him.

Your whines being muffled from the kiss, making the old man pull away. That damning cocky smirk on his face as he taunted you,

“Oh, sorry, I didn't hear you. Speak louder, honey.”

A moan came from your lips as he pinched your clit. Making you claw at the pillows beneath your head. Hand slapping your cloth panties. Electricity running up your spine to your head.

“Fuck, d-daddy!” You choked out, watching as he teased and toyed you. He just had to fuck around with you. Put the young one in his place, like a rookie at work, the karens at stores. Leaning to your ear

“She's so needy, babydoll. Need your old man to make it better? But you probably don't like an old man, hm? Rubbing his fingers over your folds and clit.”

He hissed into your ear, nibbling on the edge. Pulling away to look down at those cute cotton panties. He always ruined them, sniffed them, came in them. His panties, too. Always will be his panties. Moving to move those panties aside, tugging them to reveal that glistening feast. Sopping wet for him to bury into. Like the breakfast at IHOP or McDonald's he would get. Devoured in mere minutes.

Leon positioned himself between your thighs, nose buried in your folds. Sniffing the sweet scent it emitted. That slightly tangy taste it had as well. He breathed it in like his last breath. The last meal he would have before death row. Being executed for serving his country too well, and serving your cunt, as well.

“Could get used to this any day. Wish my job was as easy as sitting down and eating this precious purr-ty pussy. Mewing for some milk, like always.” He purred, staring at you through his eyes lashes.

“P-purr-ty? What the fuck doe— AH!”

His tongue buried into you, licking up, down, left, and right. Coming up every once in a while to suck your clit. Make him drown in that pussy, baby. He needs it, he needs it like God. Make him get on his knees and pray.

“Didn't say you could talk, baby. Maybe you need a lesson on listening, again.” He tutted, sucking on your nub, again. Making your toes curl and hands clench again. Too good at this, imagine how many moms or younger girls would want this. Those twenty-year-old college girls wanting a middle-aged guy between their thighs. Mmmm, made you wet just thinking about how he's yours.

Tongue swirling, your hips bucking, and hand now buried in his locks. Threatening to pull his hair out. You pressed into his face, in which he pressed back. Drown him, suffocate him, make him die, honey.

Your legs tensed as you neared that high. C'mon, keep going! “I'm gonna— I'm gonna!—”

Selfishly, he pulled away. Wet dripping down his nose to his stubble. Looking at deranged as he looked up, sitting up. Hands fumbling with his shirt as he rushed to fuck into you. He wanted it. No, he needed it. Needed to be buried in that fat fucking pussy. Make it drip with his cum, eat it out, and impregnate it if he could. Wanted to see you leak breastmilk and be full of him.

“Not yet, I didn't say you could. Little slut.”

Noticing the change of pace, you reached out, only to be met with him yanking you. Stomach pressed into the bed, and head pulled back. His free hand tugging his jeans and boxers down. Fuck, he was hard. Harder than steel. His bicep wrapped around your throat, and his nose buried in your hair. Pants of exhaustion coming from him. He got so tired easily, old man in his heart.

Harshly, his hips thrusted against yours. Not even being enough of a gentleman to give a warning shot. No head against your little hole, fully sheathed in. The groan that came from his lips could've made you cum on the spot.

“Oh fuck…”

The claps followed afterward, body moving up and down with his rhythm. Ass moving at the rhythm, as well. Your fingers digging into his arm as he tightened the headlock. Enough to make it pleasing enough, your eyes rolled back. Mouth agape as you sprouted out moans and small noises. Squishy wet sounds following after his thrusts. 

Leon looked down at you, a toothy smile on his face. Always what he wanted, that fucked out look. So sweet, like an angel. Should've gotten his phone, but he was too enthralled in this now. That pretty little mouth needed a little love. So, he pulled your head back more. A small pained moan coming from your lips.

“Need a little loving from daddy, huh? Need daddy to fill this fuckin' cunt with his kids. Wanna stay in this bed full of 'em? Such a good slut, baby. Fuck the Redfield bloodline, Kennedy bloodline is gonna be bigger and stronger than that fuckin' boulder.”

Leon spat straight into your mouth, making you clench. Hitting the back of your throat. It tasted so disgusting, but it was hot. Alongside the few drops of spit, he let drip so slowly into your mouth. The wait was killing you!

“Swallow daddy, baby. Better than Gordon Ramsay, too. With this pussy, you put him to shame.”

Who couldn't obey a man like him? Strong government agent who kills for a living. Wouldn't want to anger daddy, would you? So, you swallowed. Right down your throat, and it made you gag a little. Couldn't say you hated it, it would just make him concerned. He was a softie deep down, always stopping whenever your face changed slightly. Got annoying when you literally just wanted to cum! Like, shut up, and just FUCK ME!

"S'close. Gonna cum for you! Wan' cum!” You whined, moaning pitifully. Ass raised against his pelvis. Balls slapping against your lower half. How would you explain to your parents you're a little cock sleeve to a government agent? I mean, at least it pays in a free apartment, car, and food! Plus whatever you counted Leon as.

“Really baby? That drunk off me? Mmmm, we love to hear that. Let daddy do it for you.” He whispered, voice still like honeyed whiskey.

Hips picking up its pace as it abused your cunt wider and wider. Only for him, and always open for him. Bringing him to the tip of the iceberg as he came inside you. Hips pushing against yours fully, and his tip at your cervix. He panted, burying his face in your neck. Those words, the pace, and his arm. You came on the spot, leaking down his cock and balls. Hands wanting to rip those sheets in front of you. Balled the fabric into your fist. Dripping onto the sheets below.

“Post nut clarity, damn.” Leon chuckled. Arm falling from around your neck. Bringing it down to interlace your fingers. “You good? I didn't, like, y'know? I'm not the best with words, c'mon.”

Mmmmm, body already responding as he gently pulsed around him. Head nodding in response to his query.

“Mhm, happy. Happy you actually didn't worry!”

You smiled, resting your head in your arms as he slowly moved off of you. Not pulling out, of course. He wouldn't do that just yet, gotta keep the package warm.

“Still an old man, by the way.”

His brows furrowed, sighing in defeat. You were supposed to say you learned your lesson! Regardless, he loved you, even if you were very stubborn.

“You're lucky you're cute…” He muttered, kissing your temple. Those very arms from earlier coming to wrap around you again. His chin propped on top of your head. Seemingly pleased he did a good job. Both of you leaking out onto the bed. Would have to clean that up later…

“You're lucky I like old men, Mr. Kennedy.”

He hummed, closing his eyes. A smile plastered on his lips.

“Think this old man needs a nap, honeybun.”

No, Leon DON—! And he fell asleep, right on top of you… In mere fucking seconds. The sex was a 10/10, but the napping part? Wouldn't recommend.

"Dammit..."

Honestly, you gave up right about now. You'll deal with it later, like you always did. Right now, maybe it was about time for a nap. Even if he was heavy, it was a free blanket. Another cuddle, another round of love-making, and a horrible nap?

You'd always do this again and again.

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut

[bobbyonboard]

Peppermint [Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Reader]

Summary: i saw this tiktok of lewis pullman and it was so goddamn sexual my brain wouldn’t shut up until i wrote something about it. also know as--it’s 115 degrees in Lemoore and the AC in Bob’s truck is busted. 

Warnings: swearing, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, hair pulling, please assume the reader is always on some sort of contraceptive in my fics unless i state otherwise, bob is a switch and no i will not be taking any questions at this time, minors DO not interact with me you lil shits 

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: y’all were so nice with my last one regarding Rooster, I had to write one for my main man!!! also cannot get over I have like 300 new followers. never be afraid to come talk to me!!

“Fuck. Off,” you grumbled in the direction of the television as you heard the chipper weatherman inform you that the high today in Lemoore, California was going to be a record-breaking one hundred and fifteen degrees fahrenheit. One hundred and fifteen fucking degrees. You never hated the Navy more than you did in that moment. Who the fuck gets stationed in Lemoore? No beaches, no shade. Just heat, and lots of it. But where your husband goes, you go–and unfortunately, you both were stuck in Lemoore. 

The July air was thick and it wasn’t even nine in the morning, so you made sure that you didn’t have a single thing to do that day except stay inside the apartment, laying upside-down on your couch directly in front of your tiny window AC unit. You’d always loved being a teacher, but days like this, when you thought you actually might melt if you went outside, you were sure as hell glad you had summers off. 

Your day passed by lazily, only shuffling between the couch and the kitchen to get more water what seemed like every thirty minutes. Before you knew it, it was already four o’clock, and you were expecting Bob home any minute. 

Bob had told you that morning he was heading out to run a few test flights on some newer planes, so you expected him to come home freshly showered from the Naval base locker rooms, smelling of Old Spice and car air freshener that had been blasted over his clothes from his aggressive truck air conditioning. But instead, when you lazily glanced over your shoulder to the sound of keys jingling, you were greeted with…well, certainly not that. 

Bob’s hair was frizzed and stuck straight up in the back, almost as if he had just taken off his helmet. His clothes were stuck to his skin, large sweat stains covering most of the material of his t-shirt. His cheeks were a dark shade of red, and his eyes looked as though they were currently in the process of holding back unshed tears. 

“Bobby?,” you frowned, quickly standing up, crossing the room, and quickly taking his duffel bag from his hand to toss on the floor. “Honey, whassamatter? You okay?,” you asked, putting the back of your hand on his forehead and physically wincing at how hot his skin was to the touch. 

“Pipes burst,” was all he murmured out, bottom lip trembling just slightly, and it was quite literally breaking your heart to see him so miserable. “We landed and–and went to go shower and they told us a pipe burst, so the showers weren’t working. So I couldn’t shower and–,” he started to breathe a bit heavier, almost as if his own clothes were weighing him down worse than any g-force. 

“I got to the truck and the AC was just blowing out hot air. So I rode all the way home with the windows down and I’m just so hot,” he finally whimpered, and you just brushed his wet hair out of his face with a soft coo. 

You hated to see him like this. You couldn’t imagine how hot he had to be in that plane today, only to land and not be able to cool down like his body so desperately needed. An idea suddenly popped into your brain, and you were taking off down the hallway. 

“Put your arms up, honey,” you purred ever so gently once you returned, producing a cold packet of wet wipes. You pulled one out of its bag, sighing softly at the gentle smell of peppermint, and you immediately began to wipe down Bob’s face and neck. 

“Thank you-u-u-u,” he practically sobbed, arms stuck straight out at his sides as you began to slide the wipes under his t-shirt, along his shoulders, under his armpits, his chest, and his waist. “What does it do?,” he asked after a moment, almost afraid to open his eyes for fear that this was all some fever dream and he’d be standing back on the tarmac, dripping sweat. 

“I keep these in my little fridge in the bathroom, with all my skin care stuff,” you hummed sweetly, pulling a fresh wipe out and continuing on the bit of skin where you left off. “It helps me freshen up before I go to bed at night, or when I come back from the gym and I’m just too tired to shower before bed,” you chuckle, ghosting a feather-light kiss over his brow as you continued to work on cooling him down. 

“Feels so good,” he whimpered, and his once red cheeks were now only a soft pink, his breathing returning to a relatively normal pace. 

“Good, baby. You’ll feel better in just a minute, yeah? Got this AC on you, and you smell all peppermint-y,” you teased, and you don’t know if it was the practically obscene noises Bob was letting out, or the way he was absolute putty in your hands, but you let the wipes in your hand dip a little lower into the waistband of his pants. 

A strangled moan escaped Bob’s lips, and you just let one hand pop open the buttons of his pants, sliding them down his legs. 

“Gotta get you completely covered,” you whispered, dropping down to your knees where you began to work on wiping down his thighs. After mere seconds, you glanced up to see a ten already forming in your husband’s boxers, and damn, if that didn’t make a girl’s ego soar. 

“M’sorry,” he almost cried, shivering under your touch. “Just–feels so good. You make me feel so good.”

“I always wanna make you feel good, honey,” you purred, peppering his thighs with kisses and feeling the leftover peppermint oil tingle your lips. You eventually stood back up (despite a noise of protest from your husband) and stripped him down to only his boxers, getting a final fresh wipe out of the pack and letting it drag along his skin. 

“Come sit,” you took his hand, leading him over so he was directly in front of the AC unit, resting on the plush couch as he immediately tossed his head back out let out a pornographic moan, which caused you to clench your thighs together in delight. 

“Y’so good t’me,” Bob practically slurred, completely overwhelmed with the lavish attention he was receiving, and his skin began to prickle when the freezing cold air blew against his minty skin. 

“You deserve it all, Bobby,” you whispered, moving to straddle his hips, your thin pajama pants and his boxers the only thing separating the two of you as you wiped his cheeks down for the final time, before pressing a chaste kiss to the apple of each one. 

Bob said your name with a strangled cry, hips immediately rocking up to get some friction, any friction at all. And who were you to deny such a pretty boy something he wanted so desperately? So you just relaxed yourself slowly, lazily rocking down on his achingly hard cock and letting out a soft moan of your own. 

Your nipples were hard from where they were currently being assaulted by a barrage of cold air from the unit, and they were settled right in front of your husband’s face, which proved to make his next task considerably easier. He hooked his fingers in the straps of your tank top and tugged them down your arms before his lips were wrapped around your right nipple, sucking on it lightly and letting it roll between his teeth. You let out a soft cry, your fingers tangling immediately in his damp hair as you began to rock yourself against him a bit faster. 

It was only a few minutes before he pulled off with an obscenely wet ‘pop’, letting his head rest against your sternum. 

“Y/N–,” Bob choked out, his hips stilling immediately. 

“Okay, sweetheart,” was all you said, lifting yourself just slightly out of his lap to give him a moment to focus. 

It didn’t take him long at all, because just a second later you were being pushed onto your back on the couch, with your lover’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts and panties, sliding them down your legs and tossing them to the floor. Not a moment was wasted as he immediately licked a long, hot stripe between your folds, fingers digging into your hips. 

“Robert,” you gasped, and you swear you could feel that son of a bitch smirk, even face first in your cunt. If his hair wasn’t already a mess, it certainly was now, the way you were tugging on it and rocking your hips against his face to try and get the perfect rhythm. 

It didn’t take long. It never did with Bob. He somehow knew exactly what to do to have you coming on his tongue in five minutes flat, keeping your hips pressed down to the couch. 

“Bobby–,” you tried to warn, but it was too late. At your cry of his name, he gave a certain flick of his tongue and you were coming fast and hard, riding his face like your life depended on it, his tongue pressed flat against your clit as you shook with each pulse of your orgasm.  

You barely had time to think, no less to actually say anything, before he was tugging you into a new position. You were bent over the back of the couch, face perfectly aligned with the air conditioning as Bob got behind you, one knee on the edge of the couch. 

“You ready for me, darlin’?,” he asked, and God, you could have died right there. 

“Always, baby.”

You felt him slide into you smoothly, using one hand to guide himself and the other slide up your body to your hair, gathering a handful and giving you a harsh tug. The way he bent you had your chest getting covered with cold air, nipples hard enough to cut diamonds. 

“Fuck, you always feel so fuckin’ good,” he moaned, putting his other knee on the couch as he began to piston his hips against your ass, the slapping sounds your skin made filling your small apartment, loud enough to be heard even over the roaring AC. 

You, however, were unable to respond, due to the absolute overwhelming pleasure that was coursing through your body. Your head and neck began to ache deliciously, and the way the head of Bob’s cock brushed against your sweet spot with each thrust had you mewling under his hands. 

“I’m not gonna–,” Bob grunted, and you understood, Whenever he was needy, he never lasted long, and that was certainly fine by you. Like you said–it was an ego boost. 

“S’okay, baby,” you panted, and he reached forward to play with one of your tits, his chest pressed to your back as he fucked you even harder. 

“So good for me. Fuckin’--fillin’ my pussy up. Fuck, Bobby, you’re gonna make me come again,” you practically sobbed, and the fact that the two of you were sweating from exertion but also cool from the air conditioning made everything that more sensitive. 

The praise went straight to Bob’s dick, and you could feel it twitching already. 

“Please–,” he gasped, trying so hard to last until he could make you come again. 

“Go ahead, honey. Come for me. Come for me, Bobby,” you groaned, wincing in pleasure at how your sensitive cunt was already teetering on the edge of orgasm. 

You had barely finished your command before Bob was spilling himself inside of you, letting out a high-pitched whine as he emptied himself. He managed to let the hand that was in your hair slide down your body and move to your pussy, fingers rubbing quickly at your clit. 

“Baby, come for me. Wanna feel you come on my cock,” he practically begged, even though he had already orgasmed, he would simply die for the chance to feel you clenching on his softening cock still inside of you, practically milking every bit of come he had given you. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, gripping tight at the back of the couch as you felt your orgasm wash over you for the second time that evening, cringing out softly each time your cunt squeezed your husband’s cock, feeling it nestled deep inside of you. 

Soft whimpered and moans spilled from Bob’s lips, along with various words of filth that didn’t exactly form a coherent sentence, but they were so goddamn sexy all the same. 

As he pulled out slowly, he leaned over to press a soft kiss to the small of your back before two of you landed in a messy pile on the couch, trying to catch your breath. 

You curled up next to him, almost (dare you say) chilly from the constant cold air on your skin, and your eyes closed to enjoy those post-coital moments together before you had to get up and clean yourselves off. 

“You know,” Bob started, fingertips brushing lightly over your sides. “Bet we could really cool down in the shower.”

taglist: @walkonthewiidside​

people that might be interested in this idk: @bradshawsbaby​ @callsignbob​ @thebradleybradshaw​

#top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun fic #top gun imagine #top gun: maverick fic #top gun: maverick imagine #robert floyd #bob floyd #robert 'bob' floyd #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd smut #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd fic #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fic #robert 'bob' floyd x reader #robert 'bob' floyd x you #robert 'bob' floyd smut #robert 'bob' floyd imagine #robert 'bob' floyd fic #my writing #smut #my fic #peppermint

[fatkish]

I found this post you made and idk how old it is but it was about writing stories to heal inner child to give readers someone who stepped up for them as a kid since they didn’t have someone… idk if ur still taking requests for that, but if you are, any chance you could write smthing related to saving a kid from sex trafficking? Specifically where it was perpetuated by the parents if that makes sense?? Idk. I want Aizawa to come get me outta there lol(I’m okay now). Maybe he was undercover or smthing for a bigger operation and came in contact with.. that. Thanks for reading my whole request ^^;;

Aizawa x SA Victim Child Reader

TRIGGER WARNING: please be aware that the following content contains allusions to rape, the sexual exploitation and abuse of minors as well as unwanted sexual advances. Please be warned

Aizawa goes undercover disguised as a potential buyer for an illegal quirk boosting drug that the reader’s parents are selling and finds readers parents offering reader to buyers as well.

Reader is 12 and still hasn’t developed a quirk yet. They are a late bloomer and their parents decided that their kid needed to ‘help out the family’ since they haven’t developed a quirk

Reader is forced to take lessons on ‘dancing’ in order to entertain the clients. The reader’s parents have made them believe that they are not worth saving and that heroes will treat them like a villain because what they’re doing is wrong and because their parents are ‘evil’

Aizawa was back in his underground days and came upon the house acting as a corrupt hero. He had found an actual corrupt hero who used the drugs and knew about the kid. Aizawa followed the hero and was talking to the parents when they offered the reader to him.

Aizawa, not believing this, actually went to the room and paid the parents before going in alone.

The reader’s parents don’t really care how long people are along with the reader, as long as they pay them good money. The father’s quirk allows him to distort electrical circuits and signals rendering any device that investigators might use to capture evidence of their deeds, to be useless.

Once alone with the reader, Aizawa was revolted by the way the reader was sexualized by their own parents. He talked to the reader and it took some convincing but he eventually gave the reader a phone that they could use to gather evidence from the inside.

After Aizawa left, because there wasn’t anything he could do at that exact moment that wouldn’t make things worse for the reader, he informed the police as well as the other heroes he was working with about the situation and within the next three days, they had all the information they needed in order to get a search warrant and arrest the parents

Aizawa was the one who was in charge of the kid. It was during the raid that the reader’s quirk finally manifested.

Their quirk allows them to build up and store massive amounts of electrical energy and basically turn their body into electrical energy as well as manipulate it. The reader can travel through electrical circuits like landline phones and computers. They can create a force field of electrical energy that fries anything within it as well as control electricity and shape it.

The reader was being ‘used’ by a rather violent man who was being far rougher than anyone had ever been before. It was during all the stress and anxiety that the reader finally had enough. When Aizawa busted the door down he saw the man had been electrocuted to death and had electrical burns all over him.

Aizawa realizes the severity of the situation and instead of using his quirk he decided to have the reader try to control their ability themselves. Aizawa gently removed his goggles and slowly approached the hyperventilating child. He gently talked to them, speaking in a soft voice, he told them that it was over. That their parents have been arrested and that they will never have to deal with this kind of treatment ever again.

The reader obviously wasn’t comfortable with touching others and Aizawa understood that. Aizawa had given the reader the space they needed and made sure to always be within the reader’s sight and also made sure that anyone who had to be near the reader, followed the reader’s directions.

If they didn’t want to be touched, Aizawa made sure they wouldn’t be. If the reader was uncomfortable, Aizawa made sure that whatever was causing it was dealt with. For the first time ever, the reader actually saw and believed that someone was willing to protect them and after a few months the reader was finally comfortable with sleeping in the same room as Aizawa.

The doctors and nurses were worried about the reader since they refused to be touched and would use their quirk to defend themselves. It was only after Aizawa was able to gain the reader’s trust that the doctors had Aizawa be their proxy and do the tests needed. With every test that Aizawa had to do, he would explain in detail what he would be doing, why he was doing it and made sure that the reader felt comfortable and safe, making sure that they understood that they had to give consent before anything would be done.

Eventually a therapist and counselor where provided to the reader to help them deal with the trauma from their experiences. The reader wouldn’t really talk to anyone besides Aizawa

Seeing this the courts as well as the reader’s doctors suggested that Aizawa become the reader’s legal guardian

Aizawa adopted the reader and had Hizashi introduce himself to the reader. After that, the two of them decided to take the reader shopping since this was more of Hizashi’s area of expertise rather than Aizawa’s. They bought clothes for the reader, toys, books, electronics, snacks, toiletries, bedding, furniture, etc.

Once they got to Aizawa’s house, they helped the reader get everything inside and showed the reader their own rood with an attached bathroom. The reader even had a lock on their door that they could control from their side. Aizawa even helped the reader instal one of those chain locks on their door

It took a lot of time but eventually the reader began to trust Hizashi too. Eventually one day the reader had fallen asleep on the couch next to Aizawa. Aizawa was so touched and smiled softly. He made himself, as well as the reader, a promise, he would do whatever it took to keep them safe and make sure that they were happy and felt loved and cared for

(I hope this helps you and that you enjoyed this. I hope that your inner child finds some peace with this and that this helps them heal.)

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #mha aizawa #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #dadzawa #mha pro heroes #bnha pro heroes #pro heroes x child reader #aizawa x child reader

[the-crustation-sensation]

Even more Hobie x reader hc’s!!

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A/N Just SFW for now bc I have NO ideas for smut currently 😭

I might post some later tho <3

As always I write these for anyone to insert, so non-gendered terms are used (:

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* I am SICK AND TIRED of you guys hcing him as a dirty troll. just bc he’s a punk does not mean he doesn’t have fucking hygiene skills. Yes ofc he’s Spider-Man so he doesn’t have a lot of free time but it’s not like he goes a month without showering

* I feel like most of the time he smells like old cologne (probably something with musk, oak, or vanilla) and weed

* I’m also tired of you guys hcing him as a toxic asshole (bro LITERALLY helped miles without even knowing him, and how already homies within like the first 10 minutes of meeting)

* With that said you already know he’d be the most caring and attentive partner

* He definitely has a note on his phone of things you like, are passionate about, and mentioned wanting. It just keeps growing bc he wants to keep track of everything you love 😭

* Anytime he gives you a gift he hand makes it (or alternatively gets it from a small business) he says it feels more meaningful and personal

* I think his love languages are acts of service and physical touch

* This man is obsessed with showing you off to EVERYONEEE. He would definitely pull you onstage during one of his concerts just to be like “hey everyone this is my S/O”

* He would love walking around with his hand in your back pocket, or yours In his

* He’s a crow, 100% picks up random stuff off of the sidewalk that caught his eye and gives it to you

* kind of a huge klepto He does not hesitate shoplifting from big corporations when he sees something he knows you’d like

* Although he would never EVER steal from a small business

* Just imagine he comes home and gives you a shirt for a band you like and you see the security tag is still on 😭 and he’s like “what 🤨”

* Definitely a “hmm?” “Oh yeah?” “Is that so?” “Make me” type of guy (SCREAMING)

* He’s such a tease, and just a brat in general. Just imagine your fed up and ask him to do something and he pulls the “yes ma’am/sir” move

* He’s the type of help bust you out of a holding cell/help you run from the police (he’s your partner in crime I’ll die on this hill)

* He love starting harmless beef with people online for no reason, specifically getting into fights with kids on ROBLOX just to see them get mad

* Man has like 1029292 emails to make new accounts bc he’s gotten banned from doing this so many times 😭

* He loves playing video games with you. especially if your playing something like cod or a racing game he would aggressively wiggle your controls to mess you up and act like nothing happened

* Ok ok hear me out, he doesn’t believe in games or things having an age limit, so he would play those 2 player ROBLOX obbys with you. He also LOVES playing horror games with you, you guys always yell at eachother over who has to go in front tho

* Y’all can communicate without even speaking ISTG

* He discreetly nudges your shoulder during a meeting and side eyes someone in the room, translates to “you see this shit??” Glancing towards the door then at you “let’s ditch this” peeking over someone’s shoulder and making eye contact with you while he’s talking to someone “HELP ME.” Or alternatively “is this bitch FR??”

* He has the mouth of a sailor, has taught mayday multiple cus words and acts like nothing happened

* He LOVES kids, absolutely loves them, he would be such an amazing parent

THIS IS HIM PROVE ME WRONG

* This might be an unpopular opinion but I don’t think he would give a shit what race/gender you are, he loves you for YOU and doesn’t care what color you are or what’s in-between your legs (in short he’s bisexual and doesn’t give a shit about whatever you are, he’s here for your personality)

* I think his favorite flavor of juice would be cranberry, but like the rlly tart cranberry juice

* Height thing’s but not because your short, just bc he’s freakishly tall

* As a fandom we’ve already established he does the thing where your cooking, or minding your own business, and he hugs you from behind and puts his chin on your head/shoulder

* I don’t think he has a “type” per say, but I feel like he’d prefer people who are also in any sort of alternative culture (punk, goth, emo, alt, and I dare say earthy/fairy TO AN EXTENT counts for that)

* I am biased because you can’t tell me this man wouldn’t fuck with a goth bitch, or just another punk (his WEAKNESS is punk girls)

* He loves doing makeup for you, especially eyeliner because that gives him and excuse to get you to sit in his lap

* If you don’t already play guitar, he would defiantly teach you by sitting behind you with his head on your shoulder to show you the right cords

* And he’s definitely gonna be praising tf outta you “good job” “yeah, you got it love” “mhm just like that”

* He also loves doing your hair/helping you do/cut your hair, no matter what texture it is

* I feel like before he settled in punk he went through an emo phase in middle school, and HATES his pictures from that era, like he would tackle someone to get it away if they found any trace of it

* He probably had some fuck ass fake piercings because his parents wouldn’t let him get real ones, and crusty eyeliner in his 7Th grade school photo

* I think his first face piercing was a nose piercing he got done in the school bathrooms in 10th grade by some girl with a safety pin

* It 100% got hella infected and he got so grounded for that

* He puts you first in almost every situation, like it he’s in the middle of a mission with another spider, and you text him, it will be like that scene with miles fighting the spot because he will text you back no matter WHAT

* I’m not sure about this one but I think his world is set in the early 70s (when punk fashion started getting more popular) so when he first came to HQ and saw all of this new text he was amazed and confused as hell

* It took him like a week to figure out most of that shit at HQ

* Most people don’t know he lives on a house houseboat, but I absolutely love that.

* Shit constantly falls off of his shelves from the waves but he couldn’t give 2 fucks about it

* he hates being called “Hobart” if you call him that he’ll either not respond, or know that your PISSED and shits about to go down

* he’s definitely pansexual or bisexual, like I said he loves pussy and dick equally, I feel like also hes either a transman, or AMAB and gender-fluid. Either way there’s no way he’s a cis man, he ATLEAST is he/they

* if he is a transman he would get top surgery but I don’t think he would get bottom surgery, he loves his man-pussy and he thinks if your too brainwashed by society’s gender norms then fuck you

* I think he would also get vines or mushrooms, or like barbed wire tattooed near his top scars

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Alright that’s everything I have for today! If you have any ideas please don’t hesitate to comment or to hit up my asks! I have a few asks I’m currently working on but I also have a bigger original story I’m writing so I’ve kinda been in writers block

If you want to be apart of my tag list don’t hesitate to ask (:

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#into the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #hobie brown x reader #astv hobie #hobie brown #accross the spiderverse #astv #hobie headcanons #hobie brown x you #spiderpunk x reader #spider punk x y/n #spiderpunk

[exhaslo]

HOLY MURKROW YOU ANSWERED MY ASK!!! SQUEEE!!!! Ahhh, that's so awesome! College is keeping me busy, so I haven't been able to talk much.

But, I had another idea, and since you write for Miguel and did so AWESOME 👍 with the last ask I rambled with.....

😅👉👈 I had an idea! (Hope you don't mind me rambling!)

So.... I had an idea about a witchy spider-person. Like, A spider-person who can use magic! It'd be so cool!

And since I'm addicted to making this big Tarantula man sleep, (because we know he doesn't sleep, don't deny it you know it's true) Miguel or Lyla, in a moment of weakness or (in Lyla's case, out of concern for Miguel) calls the magic spider-person into Miguel's office and while Miguel and our Spell-slinger (Such a cool name) banter and talk, eventually, one of them asks Spell-slinger to cast some sort of spell on Miguel to help him sleep.....

Man, he's out like a light. Super fluffy, super cute. That's all!

Thanks so much! Have a wonderful day! (Also, sorry if your requests aren't open, I didn't see anything about whether they were open or not. Take your time on this one if you want to write it, it'll be great, but don't push yourself friend!)

Aweeee this is a super cute idea!!! Thank you for reading and enjoying my previous stories!!! And thank you for your patience!!!

Warning: None, just Fluff

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"A bark of sandal wood!"

Poof

"A sprinkle of Kiwi seeds~"

Whoosh

"A dash of Jasmine petals!"

Foosh

"And a touch of hoping this works magic!"

Kaboom

"AND WE HAVE IT! Feast your eyes folks, for I, Spell-Slinger, New Myth-York's one and only Spider Witch, has created a new and powerful potion!"

You let out a roar of laughter as you spoke to yourself in your one bedroom apartment. Clearing your throat, you gave a small pout towards your pot since no one was there to witness your wonderful creation.

"Oh, what am I to expect? Tis a city out there of many witches and fiends, yet I be it the only Spider-Witch. How doust thou expect to find such moments amusing?"

"You're being dramatic again, (Y/N)" Lyla spoke as she appeared from your watch. You gave the AI a small pout as you approached your large cauldron,

"Oh, but I must. For you have given me such a....challenging task! Far more than the night of Hollow's Eve when my Goblin tried to ruin the yearly rituals for the Werewolves."

"Another reason why Miguel doesn't like sending people to your world for missions. Your mythical creatures and culture might spark the wrong kind of interest in others." Lyla explained before appearing before the bubbling pot, "Is it ready?"

"Yes. I must say, a sleeping potion is quite rare for us Witches to do anymore. Not with modern technology that is."

"Yes, but Miguel won't take over counter medicine. We needed something stronger."

"And me busting out the hundred year old spell book had to be it?"

Let's back track a little. You lived on Earth-54987. A Earth where everyone was a mythical creature or being of some sort. You were born as an average witch, with no outstanding abilities to separate you and your fellow kin.

That was until you were bit by a radioactive Spider that the Sphinx's were experimenting on. In your world, the Sphinx's the smartest of all races...and now because of their experiment...You were a hybrid like no other.

Your witch casting abilities had intensified and you also gained the abilities of a Spider. It was unique and nothing that anyone had seen before. You could either swing across the city or fly on your broom that you customized yourself.

You hadn't thought about being a Super Hero since it was difficult in your world, but things changed when the Black Market started to steal people's abilities and forms away.

You became the hero known as Spell-Slinger. Fighting villains whom wanted to cause havoc and chaos in your mythical world.

"Can you bottle this up into some sort of drink?" Lyla questioned. You smiled,

"I can do you one better."

Fixing your dress, you approached your cauldron and inhaled deeply.

"Summon thee, oh summon thou, of which minor contraption that can hold. Summon thee, oh summon thou, a tool of how to spray on one wist challenge thy be!"

As you chanted, the liquid in the pot had started to spin and float. Above the smoke an item started to form of its essence. A spray bottle was created from the smoke and the potion made its way inside the bottle with ease.

"Bravo." Lyla chirped. You held the spray bottle in your hand,

"This will be easier. Shall we go?"

---------

Miguel grunted lowly as he sat in his dark, gloomy office, working on some paperwork. It had been a while since he last caught some shut eye, but who could sleep when the fate of the Multiverse laid on his shoulders?

"Not to mention Alchemax is getting on my last nerves," Miguel grumbled out as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Miguel had a bad habit of staying up for days on end. His motto was that the only way work will get done is if he did it. There weren't many people he trusted. Not many people could do the work he could anyway.

"Miguel, you need to rest. Your body is going to crash again at this rate." Lyla warned.

"I'm fine."

"No. You're not, but it's fine. I've enlisted help."

"Help-Lyla!"

Miguel hissed as he watched his AI disappear. Sometimes, he truly regretted allowing his AI to become self aware. Groaning at the thought of what Lyla was planning now, Miguel paused all of his work.

This wasn't the first time Lyla had 'enlisted help'. Honestly, at this rate everyone in the Spider Society knew about Miguel's horrible sleeping habits. They probably thought it was a game to see who could make him fall asleep first.

"Hm?"

Miguel's lazily stare focused on you as you came flying in on your Spider-like broom.

"I don't think your hocus pocus will help." Miguel spat. You gasped softly,

"That is actually an insult to me."

"Ah, my apologies then." Miguel muttered. You huffed in response, glancing towards your handsome boss,

"Lyla says you haven't been sleeping much. Need some help?"

"Thank you, but no thank you. I'm fine." Miguel muttered, glancing at your broom and costume, "Are you fitting in well here?" He asked out of concern. You smiled softly towards his concern,

"Aside from. 'Is the witch of the west your aunt?' kind of questions, I'm doing fine. Thanks for asking."

Miguel grunted in response as he observed you a bit longer. You were a special Spider that he found interesting. He liked how unique and quirky you were, but still stuck to your ideals.

"You can forget about Lyla's task. Sorry to have taken time out of your day."

"It's fine, but could you do me a little favor?"

"Hm?"

"Start pre-dreaming! It will help you sleep better." You cooed, getting close to his face. Miguel furrowed his brows,

"Pre-Dreaming?"

"Mhm, start thinking about what you want to dream about. Gets you looking forward to that sweet rest."

"Fine," Miguel smiled towards you, a rare gem one might say.

"May thy succumb to sweet dreams and blissful rest, oh tense one."

Miguel flinched as he felt his face engulf with a strange mist. Wanting to complain, his body slump as his eye lids dropped.

----------

Spraying your potion against Miguel's face, you hummed happily as Miguel instantly fell asleep. Yes, there was a little bit of guilt since Miguel rewarded you with a smile, but he needed to rest.

"Hehe, it worked~"

Catching the tall man with your broom, you carefully brought him to the softest spot you could find in his office. You casted a blanket and pillow out of air and smiled as Miguel snored. He looked so peaceful,

"Hm, I wonder what he is dreaming out?" You whispered. Lyla appeared and cheered you on,

"You should hide that potion somewhere in this office. That way I can get anyone to use it when he is tired."

"Ah, that would be too dangerous. Best this stays with me. Just summon me whenever Miguel needs to sleep."

"Fair enough."

As you flew off on your broom, you stopped in front of Miguel's door and webbed a sign up.

'Sleeping, Do not Disturb. Curtesy of (Y/N)'

Oh, you knew Miguel was going to chew you out later for it. But it brought a smile to your face. That, and you won the bet between everyone else who was trying to get Miguel to sleep.

This was a good day indeed!

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I hope you enjoyed despite it being short! I liked getting creative with the Witch Spider, haha!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel x reader

[emjiroki]

Bowling Alley Owner! Satoru Gojo x New Employee! Reader

wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings: Coercion, workplace harassment, creampie, exhibitionism, suggestive jokes, me attempting to be funny , reader being a little slutty but we love it

link to song playing in beginning

A/N: Hi everybody! my entry to the slimeball collab is finally here! I had maybe too much fun with this one honestly, Gojo is just so fun to write for. Hope everyone enjoys and gets a laugh or two ♡ Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated (and treasured like gold) @bastardblvd

Please go enjoy all of the amazing works on the collabs masterlist》 Slimeball Masterlist

The animated neon signs glowed brightly against the wet pavement and the ‘Help Wanted’ flier in your hand. Having to move to this hell hole of a town was bad enough but trying to find a job in it was worse, at this point this shitty Bowling Alley seemed to be the best option. You pushed the door open to the smell of shoe polish, floor cleaner, and stale pizza; 'Cold as Ice' by Foreigner playing from the overhead speakers. These facts alone made you want to turn and make your way out, maybe try and get a job at the convenience store down the street. 

“Wait! Hold on a minute! Don’t go anywhere” a voice called out to you from behind the shoe counter a few paces from the door as the electric chime of the door rang out. There was a crash of something being knocked over and then the door to the back office opened. A tall man with a shock of white hair, round black sunglasses, and a red “Grab your balls, we’re goin' Bowling” t-shirt stepped out. Yeah, you were leaving. 

“You here for a game or two? We close the lanes at midnight, but the beer tap is open until three” He commented, nodding down to your feet before turning to the shoe rack behind him, “What size are those grippers?”. 

“Uh, actually some guy was tossing these fliers out of his mail truck this morning and I was hoping to get an application,” You said, ignoring his question and handing him the paper when he held his hand out. He glanced at it with a smirk.

“Good! Suguru’s been giving them out, kinda wanted him to tape them in the laundry mat or something but littering is just as good” He muttered almost dejectedly, before tipping his dark glasses down, his blue eyes so bright you thought they might be contacts, “the names Gojo by the way, Satoru Gojo” He stuck a big hand out across the counter and shook yours delicately. You tell him your name when he expects a reply with an arched brow.

“So do I just come and grab my application from the manager tomorrow or something?” You asked, slightly looking atop the shoe rack to see if could see any and then next to the cash register. None in sight. 

“What size shirt do you wear?” Gojo asked leaning into the back office and rifling through a cardboard box. You told him with a questioning tone before being startled by a bright red t-shirt flying at your face. The very obvious grimace at the near-obscene work shirt had the white-haired man busting into a laugh, wiping a fake tear from under his eye.

“That never gets old” He snorted, smoothing his hair back, “I’ll give you a quick tour of the place tomorrow, your shift starts at five”.

“Wait so you’re-”

“The manager? Yeah. and the owner” He replied, wiping a rag against the already shining counter, “Paid the homeless guy that was holed up in here a bag of burgers for the place, never even had to go to city hall”. You were about to question the legitimacy of his business but decided maybe you didn’t want to know. You needed a job and as long as you were getting paid you didn’t care. And well if you admitted it, the boss was pretty easy on the eyes. 

4:56 pm

You might have been less than enthused to wear the “Company” t-shirt but starting a new job always gave you a small bit of excitement, or apprehension, you weren’t really sure in this case. The door had barely shut behind you before you could hear Gojo shouting.

“You know you’re not allowed in here anymore!”

“Awe come on Satoru, the bar and the liquor joint both kicked me out cause of my tabs, just one beer” whoever it was tried to reason. 

“No! Last time I let you in here you sucked on all the nozzles and gave my customers HPV, Get out!”. Your boss and a heavily muscled dark-haired man came from around the corner from where you assumed the bar was, Gojo whipping him with a cleaning rag in precise snaps against the man’s face and arms as he tried to shield himself. You stepped out of the way as he was herded towards the door, braising his thick arms against the doorframe to keep from being shoved out. The man noticed you standing just off to the side, a lecherous smirk forming on his scarred lips despite the onslaught as he gave you a once over with his vibrant green eyes.

“Pretty little employee Satoru should let me break her in for you” He grinned, catching the rag across the mouth.

“Ijichi! Get the broom!” Gojo called, a spindly man with glasses hurrying from the backroom with a wooden janitor's broom clutched in his fists. The dark-haired man was clobbered twice over the head with the thick bristled end before escaping out the door with an “Ow Fuck!”; Gojo slammed the door and locked it behind him. 

"First tip I'll give you sweet cheeks," Satoru said, turning his attention back to you still standing by the counter, "Don't let him in, he'll huff the shoe polish and get you pregnant". You nodded, not knowing really what to say to that bit of information. 

“Aren’t you going to unlock the doors so customers can come in?” You asked as he stepped away, pushing his hair back and adjusting his black glasses. 

“Toji likes to lurk around and hunt for pizza scraps in the dumpster so Ijichi will handle it once he’s gone,” He said, standing nearly toe to toe with you as your heart leaped to your throat. The way he filled out the tight red t-shirt and his dark jeans had your mouth going dry as he leaned down to get even closer to you, did he look this good yesterday?

“Besides,” He said, his breath warm against your cheek and smelling like those pink strawberry gumballs, “gotta show you around and loosen you up a bit before I unleash you to the customers right?”.

“R-Right, guess that makes sense” You stammered, did he just say what you think he did? He straightened himself to his full height before throwing his arm around your shoulders with a grin, practically dragging you around the corner down the short steps toward the lanes. The alley wasn't big. Six bowling lanes, a small arcade with a couple of out-of-order signs, a bar with run-down stools, and a pizza oven barely big enough to fit two pies. Nothing too big or flashy but just enough to be kinda fun, if you’re drunk enough. 

“Lane two has a bump in it from a burst water pipe if you get complaints just tell them we’ve got a contractor coming and give them a coupon” Gojo explained, long arm still draped around your shoulder as he directed you around manually, your feet stumbling a little here and there.

“When will the contractor be here?” You asked, knowing the answer before he even said it. 

“When this town decides to get one I guess,” He shrugged with a smirk, “Oh, and all the coupons are expired but that’s for Ijichi to handle so don’t worry about it”. Maybe some questions are better left unanswered. 

“Now with Lane Five, the balls get stuck in the return shoot, especially the heavy ones. Sometimes you’ll have to stick your hand in to pull them out”. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling. Gojo stood at the control panel and set a one-round practice game, grabbing a sixteen-pound ball from the rack behind him and playfully balancing it on one finger with a grin before slotting his fingers in the holes.

“You any good at the game?” He asked curiously, his pretty blue eyes making your tongue go dry as peeked over the edge of his dark glasses. You shook your head, never really being that great at any kind of sports games in general. 

“Well I am, but then again I’m pretty much good at everything” He boasted with a smile.

“Not very good at being humble” You retorted, receiving a snort from the tall man in return. 

“Give me some time sweetheart,” He said with a wink, lining up his shot when the pins set themselves, “I’ll show you everything I’m good at”. He took two steps to the lane and let it fly, the orange ball turned basically to a blur and crashed into the pins in a perfect strike. The ball return made a soft grinding whirring sound as it struggled, the machine finally stopping with an error message flashing on the screen and the orange ball snugged just at the entrance of the machine. 

“See? Now it's just the suction behind it because the machine’s a little older so all you have to do” He started, pressing the red cancel button on the side of the return shoot to stop the mechanisms, “Shut the machine down and slide your hand around to find the holes and pry it out”. You stepped up to the machine, sliding your hand around searching for the finger holes.

“I can’t quite get it,” You said in frustration when you were barely able to squeeze your fingers around. The words had barely left your mouth before Gojo was behind you, his sculpted arms going around you, one hand going down to your hip and the other snaking down the length of your arm and into the machine.

“Just feel for the holes,” He said so close to your ear that you couldn’t help the shiver racing down your spine. You could practically feel the smirk forming on his lips as he leaned in, his face almost to your throat as he pressed himself against your back, “Pull a little”. You tugged on the ball but it seemed stuck more than you thought. You felt Gojo’s long fingers graze yours, gently grasping your hand and guiding it forward, the tips of your fingers finally touching the hole edges.

“Good, pull harder” The feeling of his warm palm over the back of your hand had your heart thumping, his fingers squeezing yours in encouragement making your breath hitch.

“Harder”. Did he mean for his voice to sound so silky? like you were doing something far lewder than simply removing a bowling ball from a machine. You could feel the ball turning, easing out of the opening just as the edge of your hips met the machine and you could feel his hardening length press against the curve of your ass. This might have been a bit inappropriate, he was your boss after all and you had only just started working here, but you just couldn’t find it in yourself to care. If he wanted to play this little game then you could too and you’d enjoy it every step of the way, besides, it was hard to deny a man so handsome especially when he was not so keen on hiding his interest in the first place. The soft gasp that escaped him as you arched and pressed yourself back against him had a sly smile breaking across your lips, his hand on your hip gripping just a little tighter. At that moment you tugged just a bit harder and the ball came free, weighing your arm down for a second before Gojo took it from you.

“Knew you could do it, not too hard right?” He asked, moving off your back to set the ball back on the rack.

"Sure, I appreciate you showing me how though," You said, batting your eyelashes to inflate his ego just a bit more. You thought his head was going to swell like a balloon with the wide grin that broke across his lips, his big hand softly pressing against the small of your back.

"Anytime sweetness, now I'm assuming you've got experience with a cash register?" You confirmed that you did, having a few years of retail experience before moving here. Gojo ushered you back the way you had come, the hand on your back guiding you behind the counter you had first met him at and stopping you just before getting to the door you assumed led to his office. 

"Now before we get into the nitty-gritty of all your paperwork, we should probably get your employee physical done first” He mentioned, a smirk that rivaled Toji’s from earlier sending warmth through your belly. 

“Employee physical? Like a drug test and stuff?” You asked, stammering only as he slightly crowded you back, caging you in with his long arms and placing his hands on the counter. 

“No no nothing like that, I couldn’t care less about that,” He chuckled, trailing one of his hands up your arm as if testing the waters before his fingers brushed your jaw, “just wanna see how perfect you are, is that so bad?”. Was this really happening right now? You had never pictured your first day of any job ever going like this. This was like some bad porn scenario, but could you really complain? Not really. He took your silence and burning cheeks as a no.

“Sit that pretty ass up on the counter for me would you?”. You jumped up without having to be asked twice,  your stomach twisting with aggressive butterflies as he walked his fingers of one hand up your thigh while the other gripped your knee, your heart in your throat as one long finger traced the waistband of your leggings. You released the shaky breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding, his bright blue eyes glancing up at you over his dark glasses and freezing you in place.

“Nervous?” He asked, slotting himself between your legs and leaning in, his height almost intimidating despite how you squared your shoulders.

“No,” You said breathily with a shake of your head, shivering as he skimmed his nose along your jawline, his skin soft against yours as he inched closer to your waiting lips. Maybe it should have been embarrassing how your panties were already wet. Still, the soft groan that rolled off his tongue when his fingers made contact with the dampness of the material had all thoughts of shame melting away, only to be replaced with the arousal beginning to boil in your abdomen as he pressed against your clit and began turning teasing circles. Your hips bucked up against his fingers, your breaths coming out in heavy pants as you fought any sounds from spilling out through your teeth clamping your bottom lip. 

“Come on now, don’t hide anything from me,” Gojo chided, the thumb of his left hand moving to cup your jaw and pry your reddening lip from your teeth, “I’m your boss now, wanna know everything about you. What you sound like, what you taste like, the spots that make you shake and shiver”. He was pulling your panties down now too, your wet pussy on full display for him as your cheeks burned. Gojo slid his index finger down from your throbbing clit to where it was wet and warm, positioning to slide in when you grabbed his wrist to stop him. 

“W-Wait what if a customer comes in or-” You stammered, getting cut off by his lips pressing to yours, a wanton moan spilling out against his tongue as he pressed in any way, sliding in until the pad of his long finger was nudging against the tingling soft spot inside of you.

“So what? Their money’s not good enough to pass up on this pretty pussy, probably stolen anyway” He mumbled against your lips, barely pulling away long enough to even get the words out before he back pressing against you, your tongue rolling hotly against his bottom lip as your walls clench tight around his finger and dragging another soft groan from him. 

“But what about the other employee?” You asked as you tugged his white hair to pull him away and catch your breath. A devious grin broke across his pretty lips.

“Ijichi! Come here!”. Your eyes widened, your legs clamping around his arm as you tried to move away in time. 

“Yes, Gojo?” the dark-haired man addressed as he left the back room with a can of roach repellent and a bandana in hand, his expression neutral and unchanging when he saw you spread on the counter, cheeks red and pants nearly around your ankles. 

“You don’t care if we do this here right?” Gojo asked in full confidence, casually sliding a second finger in beside the first to stretch you out and pull a lustful moan from you despite your resistance. Besides the man’s neck growing a bit pink he looked completely unphased, never breaking eye contact with your boss as he shrugged.

“No, as long as I don’t have to clean that counter afterward”. Gojo snorted, retracting his fingers and fixing you with a pleased, almost mischievous look as he popped his fingers in his mouth and groaned.

“Guess that means we’ll finish this little introduction in my office then”. He was too damn good-looking, too handsome for his own good and he knew it. Gojo scooped you up in his arms, fixing your legs around his waist the best he could, and practically kicked the door open, your eyes shut tight so you didn’t have to look at Ijichi and let him see the shame on your face. Your boss's desk was cold against your ass he set you down, pulling your pants the rest of the way off and throwing them over his shoulder onto the floor. You leaned forward and rucked his shirt up to his navel, marveling at the chiseled abs you knew had been concealed not so conspicuously. You felt him shudder under your fingertips as you pressed your soft lips just above the waistband of his dark jeans, lashes fluttering as you looked up into his low-lidded eyes. 

“Getting handsy are we?” He huffed as he stripped his shirt and you worked his zipper and button down, shimming the denim until it was down below his knees with his boxer briefs on display. 

“I can’t be the only one getting undressed here, Mr.Gojo,” You said coyly, running your hand across the prominent bulge. A strained moan dragged from his chest, his hands going to your under thighs to lift and press you back against the wood of his desk. 

“As much as that title makes my dick hard, I think we’re long past formalities,” He said, kissing a trail down your throat to your collarbone, “Call me Satoru, please”. You gasped at the feeling of his hand gliding up your shirt to your bare chest, fingers tweaking and delicately pulling at the pebbled nipple. You could feel the smirk against your skin though he made me comment on your lack of a bra, who was he to judge anyway? Satoru groaned when your hands traveled down to pull at his underwear, his own hands assisting you until you could feel the heat of his throbbing cock against your lower belly. You attempted to lean up and push him away, your mouth watering at the thought of him stuffing into the back of your throat but he stopped you with a chuckle, laughing a little more when you gave him a heated questions look. 

“Trust me, you can have me in your mouth all you want later but right now” He trailed off, fingers moving back down to your heat for a moment to play with your puffy clit and making you arch against his touch, “ I wanna feel you, all of you. Think you can handle it?”. You nodded eagerly, your cheeks burning hot as flames as you looked down to the length throbbing against your abdomen. He was bigger than probably any guy had been with, the head flushed a pretty dark pink and leaking against your skin. It seemed to surprise him when you leaned up to lock lips again, your tongue almost immediately invading his mouth as your hands clenched into his white hair to pull him closer as your hips bucked up against his to rub your wetness along the underside of his cock. You both gasped against the other's lips when the head caught at your entrance. He nibbled his pearly whites against your kiss-swollen bottom lip as he eased his hand down between your bodies, slotting your legs against his shoulders. You cried out as he filled out abruptly, the stretching burning for a moment as you dragged your nails against his shoulders. There was a slight bulge in your tummy from how far he reached, barely able to even catch your breath before he was pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in. 

“Satoru!” You nearly screamed, your eyes crossing as you slammed your eyes shut, your brain feeling like it was going to melt against the onslaught of his hips rolling against yours and battering that sweet spot deep inside. 

“What is Angel? Too much for your pretty little pussy?” He teased, despite the sensual blush dusting his nose as he leaned back to get a good look at your breasts bouncing and your hands clawing the desk at your sides without him to cling to, “Am I gonna break it?”. You shook your head, moving your legs from his shoulders and wrapping them around his waist to pull him closer, deeper, surprising him yet again.

“N-No, more, please” You pleaded, moaning when you felt him twitch inside of you. 

“Goddamn, I think you might actually be perfect” He groaned, digging his fingers into your hips as he pulled out only to flip you over onto your stomach, kissing across your shoulders and lacing his fingers with yours as he stretched you across the top of his desk, immediately bottoming out again and moaning lewdly into your ear as goosebumps raced up your spine. You could feel your climax throbbing in your belly as he fucked into your ruthlessly, his desk scraping loudly against the floor, but you couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed when your mind was filled with cotton pleasure. You were so wet you could feel it splashing up against his abdomen with every thrust; animalistic grunts, and groans pouring from his throat as he ravaged your back in kisses and bites. 

“F-Fuck” You stammered past a broken moan as you clenched around his thick cock, stars bursting behind your lids as your orgasm nearly turned your legs to jelly. Satoru was shaking as you gripped him like a vice, nearly toppling him over the edge before he threaded his long fingers through your hair and pulled your head back. 

“Kick that leg up and lean back baby” He panted, hands encouraging you into the position he wanted as he sucked a bruise up against your throat. He was buried to the hilt again as soon as you had your leg where he wanted and god did it feel deeper than before, your next orgasm beginning to spark on the aftershocks of the previous one as he fucked up into your warmth almost frantically. 

“This pussy’s so good, so fucking good oh my god” Satoru moaned, a trickle of his drool running down the length of your throat as he mouthed the skin. He was impossibly hard inside of you, cock kicking against your inner walls so hard it was spurring you on to your mind-numbing ending. 

“Yes, please fuck me till you cum Satoru, want you to fill me up” You begged, feeling as if you would turn to ash if he pulled away right now, your orgasm growing closer and closer. 

“Cum with me, please gorgeous” He pleaded back, turning your head to lock lips once more as he practically locked himself against you to keep buried in your slick heat. You both cried out wantonly into each other's mouths, drool and heat spilling against your tongues and his cum pumping deep into your clenching body in thick spurts. It felt like you were melting, falling apart in the best of ways and your knees could barely hold you up as he eased down from your position to lay chest down against his desk once more, your sweat-slick bodies pressing together and basking in the thick atmosphere of the office for a few minutes. Satoru had just moved off you and was gathering your clothes when a heavy, deliberate knock came on the door.

“Yeah?” the white-haired man called out, about to go and open the door before you hissed at him and shook your head. 

“Gojo, one of the customers got bit by a rat,” Ijichi said back.

“Did you kill it?” Satoru asked.

“The customer or the rat?”. Satoru sighed, shrugging his shirt back on and opening the door slightly, just enough to not show you but very much showcase he had no pants or underwear on. 

“Now which do you think? Just smash the rat with a bowling pin or something and give the customer a free beer- actually”. Satoru turned to you, a beaming smile on his lips and making you slightly worried.

“Get your pants on sweet cheeks, this is a perfect opportunity for a first day training exercise".

#slimeball! gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #tw exhibitionism #jjk smut #em writes ✍

[adidastain]

just like heaven

college matt stone x fem reader

warnings: smut (vaginal penetration)

notes: first person perspective (I, me, my, etc.), i really wanted to write something fluffy and kinda vanilla so sorry if it’s boring but i love it a lot i think it’s sweet

word count: 5240

—

Nothing was more relieving than getting in bed after a long day of classes and running errands. I’d been busting my ass the entire day, making sure everyone around me was happy and calm. It was what I did best, to be completely honest. I liked taking over. Sure, it made me kind of a bad collaborator, but I preferred to stay positive and think of it as one of my best qualities. Productive, stern, and leaderly. 

One of my classmates had a dorm to himself and had been letting me stay there for a while, since I lived off campus on paper, but didn’t have a car. We both majored in film; he double majored in math as well, and I was minoring in psychology. 

He was cool and funny. Sometimes he’d even say stuff that earned him a clock to the jaw, but regardless, I thought he was funny. And smart. He double majored; of course he was smart.

I sighed heavily, opening the heavy steel door to his dorm, labeled ‘MATT’ with a cute paper cutout of a kid wearing a ushanka and glasses showing a peace sign. It made me smile every time I saw it. His mind was so interesting.

To my surprise, the lights were on inside. He’d told me he was going to a little party in our other classmate’s building a few blocks away, so I didn’t think he’d be home.

“Oh, you’re here,” I said, taking my jacket off. 

“Unfortunately,” he said, grinning. His voice was deep and slightly nasally as always, with just a hint of raspiness. He sounded really tired. 

“What happened? I thought you were going to Trey’s party,” I said softly. I looked in the mirror on the back of the door, removing my hair clip and earrings. I didn’t want to waste any time getting to bed. 

“I just…” Matt swallowed, shifting in his seat in the beanbag on the floor. “I dunno. I changed my mind. Kinda exhausted.”

“I hear that,” I laughed, raising my eyebrows. There was some sort of old comedy movie on the little TV next to Matt’s bed. His whole dresser was covered in empty cans, dirty shot glasses with sticky syrup at the bottom, wrappers, deodorant, shit like that. I guess someone had been over and Matt was too tired to clean up the mess. “I’m gonna change real quick, don’t look.”

“Aw man,” he said, teasing me. I rolled my eyes and turned my back to him, pulling my sweater and tank top over my head all at once. I’d been wearing a sports bra all day and the elastic was starting to dig into my skin. I looked behind me, just to make sure he wasn’t trying to sneak any glances. Not that there was much to see. 

Lo and behold, as soon as I turned my head, I caught his turning too, back towards the TV. 

I grabbed a discarded T-shirt off the floor and swung it at him, hitting him a lot more violently than I really intended to. “You are such a pervert!” I laughed.

“I wasn’t trying to look at you!” he shrieked. I hit him again. “I thought I heard someone at the door!”

“A pervert and a liar!” I accused. Matt stood up, trying to defend himself from my wrath as I exacted my revenge. He yelped and grabbed my wrists, pushing back against me. 

We play-fought like this often. He was a lot stronger than me. He may not have looked like it, being so slim, but he was fit underneath all that fabric he was drowning in. Especially his arms. We’d go on and on, until it felt awkward and drawn out. 

Of course, by doing this, I’d ended up giving him a free show anyway. He’d definitely seen me changing before. Matt had walked in on me on several occasions, but it was mostly my fault, since I would come and go in his dorm without saying anything. He didn’t seem to have a problem, though. 

I bit my lip, pushing against his weight with all my might. He pretty much towered over me and my hands were engulfed in his large ones. He probably wasn’t even using half of his strength on me. 

Suddenly, he let go of my hands, causing me to fall forward slightly. I lost my balance until I felt his arms wrap tightly around my torso, before he lifted me up and pushed me onto his bed and walked away. 

He giggled to himself as he stepped towards his little mini refrigerator to grab a can of soda. I felt slightly warm inside; something about the way he was able to just lift me up and throw me down so easily made my face burn up. 

Of course, Matt acted like it was nothing and sat back down in his beanbag, one of his hands idly rubbing the fuzzy fabric cover with his thumb and index finger. 

I scoffed loudly and stood back up, blocking his view of the TV. My hand politely took the soda can out of his hand, watching his eyes follow it as I brought it to my lips and took a long, long sip. He just stared up at me, but he didn’t look in any way offended. He just looked completely awestruck, a puppy-eyed look ever present in his face. 

I put the soda down on the dresser so that he’d have to get up to get it, and went back to changing. I faced the TV so I could keep a hawk’s eye on him as I peeled off my jeans, rendering me in just my bra and panties which didn’t match at all. 

I heard him grunt slightly as he stood up to grab his soda off of the dresser. He turned around to face me, until he stopped dead in his tracks and his smirk was wiped clean off his face. 

After a second or two of him taking in as much of the sight as he could, his hand flew over his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he whined. “I was gonna play a prank on you. Didn’t know you were changing again. ‘M sorry.” 

“I don’t care, Matt,” I sighed in defeat. “I practically live here now. You were gonna see me half-naked at some point anyhow.”

Hesitantly, he lowered his hand, keeping his gaze on the floor. It was strange; he didn’t sit back down. 

“Just don’t let me find any of my clothes in your bed or I’ll punch you hard enough to turn your teeth into bullets,” I said. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, focusing on my task at hand once more. I dug through my big duffel bag to look for a clean shirt to sleep in, only finding a bunch of dress clothes that I hadn’t yet needed to wear. Right. I sighed. They’re in the wash. 

“Could I borrow a shirt?” I asked. Matt was sitting once more, rubbing the back of his neck and gently tugging on some of his curls. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, glancing at me again. That ‘glance’ turned into more of a ‘good look’. My back was turned to him again and I pretty much had my ass on full display. 

I don’t know when he looked away. I don’t actually know if he looked away at all. I just dug through his closet, trying to find the biggest T-shirt he had. 

It wasn’t uncommon for me to borrow his clothes. My duffel bag had initially only had enough clothes for 2 weeks, so I did laundry quite often and sometimes had to wear the same pants multiple days in a row. When I felt extra lazy and put off doing laundry, he let me borrow shirts, hoodies, sweatpants, pajama pants, the whole shabang. 

I picked out one of his Primus tees that had some fucked up linework drawing of a prostitute smoking a hooka. It was a sick shirt but it definitely wasn’t something you could wear to class. 

It fit me like a dress, which I loved. It was big enough that the hem covered most of my ass, which was good, because I didn’t have any clean shorts to sleep in unless I stole a pair of his. 

Lastly, I pulled my bra off from under my shirt and tossed it towards the door, where I threw most of my dirty clothes. Once I was finished, I turned back around and stood next to where Matt was sitting. 

“Scoot over,” I said. He quickly obliged. It was a pretty big beanbag, so we could both fit as long as we were shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. I must admit that there had been a night or two where we would end up entangled in some way due to the lack of space. My legs in his lap, my head on his shoulder, his arm resting up behind me. 

There was nothing I didn’t like about being close to him. He made me feel safe and he smell good and was warm. Some nights I hoped he’d be in the mood for having me real close. I hoped really hard now, especially after what just happened. 

“What are we watching?” I asked, making myself nice and comfortable and curling up next to him. 

“Groundhog Day,” he said, tilting his head back slightly so he could speak through the soda in his mouth. I looked at him for a moment, watching the muscles in his neck move as he swallowed the liquid. Then I turned my attention to the screen. “You missed the beginning, but basically he’s stuck living the same day over and over again. It’s like, a big allegory or whatever for Buddhism. Pretty good, though”

I nodded, watching as the Bill Murray character talked to a woman and asked her out on a date. A few seconds later, there was a smash cut to them on the verge of having sex. Matt awkwardly laughed next to me.

“Ah, yeah. Buddhism,” I said, mocking him. 

“You’ll like it. It gets better,” he argued. That’s when I felt his arm snake behind me, just a few inches away from laying across my shoulder. Once again, he rubbed the fabric between his fingers, fidgeting. 

Eventually the whole foreplay bit was over and the next scene started. My body subconsciously leaned into Matt’s, sinking my weight into his slim torso and absorbing the warmth that his body generated. I was both extremely comfortable and extremely exhausted. 

The movie went on, and like Matt said, the character was living the same day over and over. It was kind of lulling me to sleep. It was definitely pretty funny; occasionally I would jerk awake at the sound of Matt chuckling softly. I think at some point he pulled a blanket off his bed and wrapped it around me. I swear he ran his hand through my hair for just a moment, pulling me closer to him. 

Now his arm was wrapped around my shoulder, his hand occasionally lifting up to run his fingers through my hair or flatten any stray strands. It felt safe; it felt right. 

I opened my eyes and looked up at him, finding that his gaze was already on me. He looked like a deer in headlights, but exhausted at the same time. I watched Matt’s eyes dart around my face. 

“You ready for bed?” he asked softly, looking at the top of my head as he fixed a strand of my hair. 

One of my favorite parts about him was that he could be harsh and gentle, depending on the occasion. He always had a resting bitch face and was kind of intimidating to a lot of people, but he had such a soft, gentle side to him. 

My hand made its way up to his cheek. Matt had a nice, soft layer of peach fuzz that, paired with the warmth of his face, made my heart beat faster. My thumb tenderly traced back and forth on his cheek bone while my eyes fixated on his lips. 

Eventually, I felt his breath on my face as he closed his lips over my bottom one. I’d been biting the skin off of it all week, so there was a small stinging sensation that quickly faded once he kissed me again. 

I felt so shy all the sudden. Here I was, curled up in his arms, softly making out with him like teenagers with no experience. No second guesses or hesitations, just hearts beating together, breaths melting into each other while we explored. 

How did we get here? The question crossed my mind before I immediately pushed it away. I didn’t give a shit about how we got there, I was just glad that this is where we ended up. 

Without pulling his lips away from me, Matt somehow managed to find the remote and turn off the TV, before caressing my waist and pulling me ever closer. He was hovering over me a little, only making my heart race faster and my desire for him grow stronger. 

Now things were definitely starting to heat up. Matt softly groaned into my mouth, and for the first time since our lips first met, we pulled away. 

His eyes bored into mine, pupils dilated. We sat breathing into each others mouths, catching our breath as we tried to read what the other was thinking. It was almost suspenseful. 

“Can I take your shirt off?” I asked. It wasn’t even a whisper. Nope. I just breathed and moved my mouth to form the words. 

“Uh-huh,” he responded, nodding. He swallowed and I didn’t hesitate to tuck my hands under the hem of his baggy gray-green T-shirt. Matt kissed me again, deepening it. 

In an instant, his lips parted and he gasped softly as soon as my fingertips made contact with the warm skin of his abdomen. I could feel that part of his torso shifting ever so slightly as he breathed. 

I pulled away, making sure to keep eye contact with him while I slowly lifted his shirt up inch by inch. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he exhaled, catching me off guard. I swallowed, feeling my face flush once again. 

A second or two later, I pulled the fabric over his head, finally rendering him topless in front of me. He had a slender, curvy waist and just the smallest little bit of muscle in his abdomen. His hips were prominent, and his upper body was very broad in contrast to his slim frame. He had little dark beauty spot freckles scattered across his shoulders and body. I would love to sit there all day and just count them. I wanted badly to just map out and explore his body, feeling every inch of his skin and memorizing his shape. 

I snapped out of my trance as soon as he kissed me again, letting out several vocal breaths that I honestly didn’t expect to ever hear him make. He remained gentle in his kisses, but I felt the desire boiling and festering within both of us. It was extremely hard to ignore. 

“Do you wanna stop?” I asked, pulling away suddenly. 

“Do you wanna stop?” he repeated, his voice somewhat nervous. Matt swallowed and scanned my face. 

“No,” I whispered. I wrapped my arms around his neck, taking one of his curls between my fingers. 

Matt licked his lips. I could feel his whole body relax, and he leaned closer, ghosting his lips against mine. 

“Do you wanna have sex with me?” he asked shyly, staring down at my lips. My stomach flipped and felt a strong jumping-like feeling in between my legs. 

“I would like that a lot,” I answered, giggling wide eyes. I was so flustered that I was to the point where I laughed at myself. 

“Fuck yeah,” he laughed, out of breath. Matt leaned in to kiss me again, this time opening his mouth slightly wider. “Should we go up there?” 

He tilted his head towards the bed next us, and I nodded, wrapping my legs around his torso so he could pick me up.

“Mmh… c’mere baby,” he hummed softly, pressing my body against his as he lifted me up and tenderly laid me down beneath him on his bed. 

Matt suddenly felt so much bigger than me now that his body was hovering over me. He was straddling my hips, both of his large hands massaging my waist under my (his) shirt while he started leaving wet kisses down my neck. 

I arched my back at the feeling of his teeth as they pinched a small spot below my ear, his tongue coming quickly to the rescue to warm up the spot and relieve the pain. My hands were entangled in his soft, somewhat messy curls, caressing his entire head and holding it close to me. I stared at the ceiling, letting my eyes flutter shut any time I heard him groan and felt his hips subtly buck above me. 

“How about your shirt, baby?” he asked, nibbling on my ear. I could hear him breathing heavily through his nose, each warm exhale covering my ear and neck. One of his hands slid up my body and grazed the underside crease of my boobs with his fingertips. 

“You mean your shirt,” I giggled, rubbing his warm shoulders.

“Okay, my shirt,” he scoffed. “Can I take it off?”

I nodded, sitting up slightly. As soon as his hands lifted the fabric up and over my nipples, I panicked slightly. In no time the shirt was on the floor and Matt’s eyes were tentatively glued to my bare chest.  

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna fuck you so good…” he mumbled, prying his eyes away from my now nearly naked body. His hands squeezed my hips, lifting them up so he could start grinding against me. 

“Matt-“ I gasped. His hot mouth almost immediately attached to my collarbone, his tongue pressing flat against the skin. Meanwhile, I shivered as one of his hands slowly dragged up my waist and tenderly caressed one of my tits. And on top of that, for the first time, I could feel the tent he’d been pitching press into me as he started grinding against my hips with desperation. 

I ran my fingers through his hair and lifted my hips up, supported by my heels digging into the soft covers below me. My hands slid down over his shoulder blades, tracing each muscle as I moved them towards my panties. Finally, I managed to wriggle out of them and fling them onto the floor while Matt was sitting on his knees, towering over me. His broad chest moved in and out with each heavy breath he took with his lips slightly agape. 

He looked like one of those ancient Greek statues. Each muscle so defined under such smooth, warm skin. Natural posture so relaxed and almost ethereal. I wanted to devour him. 

Matt stared at me, the look in his eyes almost anxious but infinitely flustered and filled with lust. In a flash he yanked his flannel pajama pants down to his knees, kicking them off while he crawled on top of me again.!

“Do you like it fast or hard?” he asked me, his voice faltering slightly. He swallowed, looking down at me from above. Matt’s arms were on either side of me, propping his body up as he then got ready to start pulling his boxers off. 

“Fast,” I exhaled, though it really sounded more like a moan. Even subconsciously I wanted him to know that right now, I wanted him more than anything. 

“‘Course, baby,” he hummed softly, bending his arms like he was doing a pushup so he could peck my lips. I felt him smiling in the kiss. “Do you wanna… get me going?” 

He gestured towards his boxers and the hot, throbbing erection beneath them. Without hesitation, I spit in my palm and slipped my fingers under the waistband of his boxers, first untucking his cock from the side and then gently wrapping my hand around it. 

Matt immediately whimpered, holding in as much of it as he could while screwing his eyes shut. He felt so warm in my hand… and thick. I could feel a vein or two protruding from the soft skin and made sure to pay a little extra attention to them. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, letting his head drop down so he could see what wonders I was working with my hand. He shimmied out of his boxers and now I could see that yes, he was in fact thick. Most definitely thicker than I knew I was used to. 

I knew it was going to hurt like a bitch. It was intimidating, but still, as I tenderly stroked up and down his length, I only kept thinking of it as something that was making him feel insanely good and not as something that was going to hurt me. It would only hurt for a few seconds. 

His breath hitched and he practically threw my hand off him, sitting up again to catch his breath for a moment. 

“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, out of breath. Matt raised his eyebrows and smiled. His cheeks were so flushed and it looked like some sweat pearls had begun forming at his temples. 

I laid back, watching his muscles shift and flex as he took his glasses off and reached inside one of his dresser drawers for a condom. 

As he tore open the package, he looked at me, seemingly getting lost in the sight of me. 

I grabbed the hand of his that held the unopened condom and brought it close to my face so that I could kiss it. Then I pushed his hand back towards him so he could do the same, though he looked thoroughly confused.

“What, is that good luck or something?” he chuckled, looking down at his hands and dick as he opened the condom and slid it onto his length.

“It’s tradition,” I said, shrugging. Matt furrowed his eyebrows. 

“What tradition?” he scoffed, crawling on top of me. 

“Messing with you. I made it up,” I grinned. 

He shook his head, adjusting his position and posture while handling his cock, making sure it would slide in easy. 

Matt looked up at me through his eyebrows. It was the last look of reassurance before anything was really about to happen. Our lives were about to change forever. 

I nodded. I was so desperate for him at this point, I didn’t care if he hurt me at all. 

His large hand spread out on one side of my hips, digging into the flesh ever so slightly and likely leaving faint nail marks in my skin. I kept my eyes on him and found him instructing me to take a deep breath in with him. Before he told me to exhale though, he started pushing in. 

“Hmmn- ahh!” I half-moaned, half-winced. 

“Shh… oh, fuck,” Matt whispered in my ear, letting out a deep moan that’s he’s probably kept inside for a little while. 

I let out a groan of discomfort, trying my best to hold it in but ultimately failing. In response, Matt pulled his lips away from my ear so he could get a good look at my face.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, swallowing. 

“Mhm,” I hummed, biting my lip. I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the feeling of Matt’s fingertips brushing my hair out of my face. “Just give me a minute.” 

Matt lowered himself on top of me, beginning to pepper soft, wet kisses on my jaw and neck. His hand massaged my hip and occasionally inched lower to squeeze the soft flesh of my upper thigh. 

I kissed him and became lost in his lips, wrapping my arms around his neck and holding him close to me. His curls tickled my forehead as we kissed softly. I’d completely forgotten about the fact the he was inside of me; I was so focused on how his lips felt and the fact that I could feel his heart pounding with his chest pressed against mine. Our skin grazed together softly with each breath we took, giving me goosebumps. 

“You can start now,” I whispered against his lips. Matt hummed in response, kissing me a little bit deeper as he adjusted the position of his body. 

We remained with our lips attached as his hips started to roll back and forth. I could hear Matt whimper every couple of seconds and he kept holding his breath, pulling away from the kiss to exhale into my mouth. The warmth in the pit of my stomach really started to boil up once he started moving, slowly drawing himself out and thrusting back in. I listened carefully to each little sound and breath he made as he moved. 

I heard him heavily exhale after swallowing. “S’good…” he whispered, grunting slightly. I moaned, running my fingers in his hair and tugging on it gently. 

A loud groan escaped his throat as I did this, encouraging me to do it again. One of his hands suddenly wrapped tenderly around my throat, carefully squeezing my neck. Matt’s head cocked to the side as he opened his mouth and slid his tongue in between my lips. 

I let out a soft moan as his tongue slid against mine, exploring the inside of my mouth with hunger and desperation. I let my hands travel from his head and neck down to his body, caressing his waist and pulling him into me. Matt’s hand left my hip, instead moving up to grip the top of the headboard of his bed, holding it to keep it from knocking against the wall each time we moved. 

He leaned down to let his forehead rest against mine, staring into my eyes. I stared right back. I’d never seen him without his round silver glasses before, but I knew he had a stunning set of dark green eyes and now I could see each little spec of blue in them as they darted around my face, almost nervously. 

His free hand moved to cup one of my tits, rolling his fingers over my nipple to tease the sensitive area. I gasped slightly, arching my back. 

“You have no idea how perfect you look right now,” he exhaled. 

I couldn’t do or say anything else but smile. I always had that reaction when he complimented me, but I was much more used to him saying something about my clothes or my work. His voice always sounded so deep and smooth; to hear him say my name or something nice about how I looked always sent my blood rushing to my cheeks.

“I’m close,” I whispered, touching his chest. 

“Faster?” he hummed. 

“Yeah,” I laughed slightly. 

Before moving again, he adjusted his position, letting go of the headboard. He propped himself up and licked the thumb of his free hand, before lowering it and using it to massage slow circles around my clit. Matt’s body was hovering above me when he bowed his head to start kissing the crook of my neck. Only then did he start thrusting once more, rolling his hips faster and faster. 

The new sensation along with the added pleasure of his fingers working my clit had me in shambles. I threw my head back and let out a loud moan, succumbing to the electrifying, hot sensation that festered throughout my entire body. The pit of my stomach tightened, my legs trembled, my hands gripped anything they could touch. I dig my fingertips into the sheets, his back and shoulders, his biceps, his waist, his scalp. Several times did I pull on his hair like I was holding on for dear life, earning a groan from him each time. I just hoped I wasn’t hurting him. 

Matt let out a loud moan. I opened my eyes to see him struggling to thrust at a consistent pace, faltering every few seconds with his eyes screwed shut and his mouth agape. I watched him look down to see himself pumping in and out of me, his eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip tucked under his front teeth. 

He whimpered, trying his best to hold his breath. The sight of him rushing toward his own orgasm sent me over the edge. I cried out his name, gasping as every muscle in my body tensed up. The knot in my stomach came undone and I could feel my blood pumping through my body. 

Only a moment or two later did Matt’s body shudder and tense up. His muscles flexed as he leaned forward and tried his hardest to keep his hips moving, but he was ultimately overcome by his orgasm as he came, my name spilling from his mouth in the most beautiful way. 

I huffed, my body melting into his bed as my legs twitched and trembled. Matt collapsed on top of me, allowing his entire weight to sink into me. His arms were shaking, as if he were shivering. We both laid there for a minute, absorbing each other as we caught our breath. 

I think he fell asleep after a minute or two. He was completely relaxed on top of me like a big bag of sand. After a little while, my breaths became forceful, so I had to wake him up.

“Matt,” I hummed, tucking a strand of his hair behind my ear. 

He wasn’t sleeping. Matt lifted himself up, smiling down at me. He kissed me, seeming quite shy all the sudden as he had to hold his weight up while he leaned his head down towards me. 

“Sorry about these bruises,” he hummed, tracing a circle on the side of my neck.

“You’re not sorry,” I grinned, teasing him. 

“I’m not,” he admitted sheepishly. “They look good on you.” 

After a few seconds, we sat up and helped clean each other up a little. I could see small red marks in his skin from where my nails dug into his arms and shoulders. While helping each other get dressed again, Matt and I found ourselves a little distracted once more, kissing each other gently and softly as we pulled shirts over our heads. His lips were like air. I almost needed them to breathe. 

“Do you wanna finish the movie?” I asked him, massaging his waist underneath his shirt. 

“Sure,” he giggled softly. 

With that, we snuggled up under the covers in his bed, turning the TV towards us. Matt had me in his arms with my back pressed to his chest and his hand under my shirt, tracing shapes on my skin. It wasn’t long before I fell asleep. 

However, at one point, I opened my eyes to find that the TV and lights were off, rendering the room completely dark. Matt was no longer next to me, but it wasn’t long before he came back over to the bed and laid down behind me. His lips softly grazed the crook of my neck. “Good night,” he whispered, before kissing my neck one more time. 

“Mm… night,” I mumbled, barely awake. Matt pulled his thick pile of blankets over my shoulder, peppering small pecks of kisses on my neck as I drifted off once again, melting in his warmth. 

#i love soft smut #matt stone x reader #matt stone #fanfiction #fluff #x reader #baseketball #fem reader #smut #cannibal the musical #mattrey #fanfic #trey parker #angst #orgazmo

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

North To The Future [Chapter 3: Everlong]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

A/N: I hope you are all having a magical holiday season!! My birthday is Dec. 24th so I’m always extra excited for this time of year. 🎅🎄☃️🍾🎁🥳

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, boy bands, and discussions of sex. Do you know that Tom Glynn-Carney is the lead singer of an alt-folk-rock band called Sleep Walking Animals?? I do and it’s ruining my life!!

Word count: 5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario @meadowofsinfulthoughts @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @b1gb3anz @hinata7346 @poohxlove​ @borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @travelingmypassion​ @graykageyama​ @skythighs​ @lauraneedstochill​ @darlingimafangirl​ @charenlie​ @thewew​ 

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

“Dad, do you have an extra parka that I could borrow? Like, permanently?”

He furrows his brow at you as he scrapes his plate clean with a fork: meatloaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, peas, Rice-A-Roni. He’s curious; he’s concerned. “Yeah, ladybug, sure. Why?”

“I have a friend who needs one.”

“You’re going out again tonight?” your mom inquires, cautiously optimistic. She slathers her roll with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. It’s Thursday, and exactly one week before Thanksgiving.

“Twice in two days!” your dad says. “I’m proud. I’m very proud. You work too much, you know. Which friend is it? What size is she?”

“He,” you correct.

Your mom’s butterknife abruptly stills. “He?”

Your dad is grinning. “Uh oh,” he says.

“He’s a friend,” you reiterate. “And he’s new to Alaska and not properly equipped. That’s it.”

“Is this friend married?” your mom asks.

Great question! No one knows! “Probably not, Mom.”

“Is this friend sexy?” your dad says, then he and your mom bust out laughing. You wait patiently for them to tire themselves out. “Okay, how big is he? Around Trent’s size?”

“Smaller.”

“Let me see what I have…” He lumbers down the hallway towards your parents’ bedroom and reappears moments later with a black L.L.Bean parka. He hands it to you. “Here, this should work. It fit me fifty pounds ago, so it should be nice and roomy on your sexy friend.”

“Your sexy single friend,” your mom amends.

“You’re the worst,” you tell both of them, smiling. “You will rue this day once I reveal myself to be the Ice Fisher and claim you as my final victims.”

Your mom shudders, but your dad chuckles and pats your shoulder three times. That’s how he says I love you. He hasn’t been your dad your whole life, only for about as much of it as you can remember. When you were born, your mom was married to a man named Jesse. He was charismatic and clever and talented and, from what you can gather, a lifelong addict. There was some untold amount of suffering that your mom endured and then one February morning when you were five years old, Jesse washed up on the shore of the Gastineau Channel. This is not something that you carry around as a tragedy—you barely remember anything about Jesse, and you and your mom are surely better off without him—but you do carry it. It is a sort of ancestral memory that travels with you like a suitcase. When you enter a room, you can tuck it away for a while, store it in a closet or under a couch; but when you leave that room, the suitcase always leaves with you. There’s a box full of Jesse’s old journals up in the attic. No one ever reads them, your mom won’t even acknowledge them; but perhaps getting rid of those journals would be like throwing out the best parts of the man she once believed was her soulmate, the parts that he drowned in vodka and Valium and heroin. Perhaps it would be like killing him all over again.

Your dad says: “Have fun tonight, ladybug.”

“Yes,” your mom murmurs, gazing down into her cup of tea, cloudy like the Juneau sky; it clears so rarely you can hardly ever see the Northern Lights. “But don’t go anywhere alone.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“He said what?!” Heather gasps.

“That he likes me. That he really likes me.” You’re in Heather’s usual booth at Ursa Minor. She has a Sex On The Beach; you’re restlessly spinning a blackberry Bacardi Breezer between your palms. The parka your dad gave you is squished beside you in the booth. For reasons that remain unclear to you, Trent and his friends are—loudly, annoyingly, howling out peals of laughter like hyenas—assembling a drumkit in one corner of the room. Aegon has yet to appear. The Christmas lights glow like stars. The staircase that leads up to the rooftop patio—only really useable three or four months out of the year—is adorned with sprigs of holly.

“And what did you say back?!”

You wave your hands around helplessly. “I don’t know, I just…kind of…like…left.”

“You left,” Heather says flatly. “You actually met a guy that you are into—a miracle! water into wine! loaves and fishes!—and you have this completely deranged romantic moment in a Taco Bell, and then you follow him back to his apartment where he lets you pet his adorable golden retriever and admits that he likes you, and then you…leave?!”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“What is wrong with you?” Heather says. “Did you party a little too hard in vet school? Blackout a lot? Are your remaining brain cells lonely? Are your parents first cousins?”

“Look, I have reasons.”

“Let’s hear them. Wait.” She takes a sip of her Sex On The Beach, ruminative. “You, being the sensible and risk-averse person that you are, don’t want to gamble on falling madly in love with some maybe-murderer glorified homeless man who could pack his figurative bags and disappear tomorrow.”

“That’s some of it. Not all of it.”

“What’s the rest?”

You shrug, drinking your Bacardi Breezer, pretending to be distracted by the other Ursa Minor patrons. Kimmie is at the bar flirting with some barely-twenty-one college student who’s wearing a University of Alaska Southeast hoodie. Trent is hooting as he wallops his friend Rob with a pair of drumsticks. Shania Twain’s Honey, I’m Home drifts pluckily from the stereo.

Heather bangs her Sex On The Beach against the table like a judge’s gavel. “The rest?”

You sigh and confess in a vanquished rush. “If nothing happens, then I can always comfort myself with the thought that the sex might have been terrible anyway. Maybe he would have passed out halfway through. Maybe he’s never heard of the clitoris. But if I sleep with him and it just so happens to be earth-shatteringly amazing, then…”

“Then it’ll hurt that much worse when he leaves.”

“Right. I’ll be like a traumatized Vietnam veteran. I’ll never be free of those flashbacks.”

Heather’s eyes are kind, sympathetic, twinkling with the reflections of Christmas lights. “My good bitch, this is a clusterfuck.”

“I’m not disagreeing.”

“You really don’t know anything about him? Hometown, family, ex-wives, credit score, criminal record, horoscope sign…?”

“No,” you say. “I think he might be from Miami. And that’s literally all I’ve got.”

“If only there was some way to instantly uncover a person’s entire personal history and social life.” Heather slurps down her Sex On The Beach until there’s nothing left in the tall glass but clinking cubes of ice. “There’s this thing called Google, I saw it on 60 Minutes. But no one around here has internet. Not in their houses, anyway. Like, maybe the Wells Fargo office has internet, but I don’t think they’d let you use it to research the slutty rando boozer who just slinked into town.”

The metal bells on the front door jangle. You turn—too quickly, too eagerly—to see who enters. It’s not Aegon; it’s Joyce. She stops by the bar to get a can of Surge and then slides into the booth beside you, lifting her book out of her purse and laying it on the table. Across the room, a cackling Trent drops a cymbal on the floor and thus attracts the judgmental stares of everyone in Ursa Minor. Dale, looking tired and irritable, scowls at him as he pops open a fresh Miller Lite for Kimmie.

“Hey,” Joyce says, then is promptly absorbed into the fantastical world of the half-naked, horse-riding man on the front cover of her book.

“You need to find out if Aegon’s a Gemini,” Heather tells you. “That would be absolutely disqualifying. Two weeks spent dating a Gemini and you won’t need the Ice Fisher to end it all, you’ll be ready to strangle yourself with your bare hands.”

“Yeah, totally, I’ll get right on that. Um, what is Trent doing?”

Heather rolls her eyes. “His band is performing tonight.”

“His band? Trent has a band?”

“He has something that he alleges is a band. Dale agreed to let them have their highly anticipated world premier here tonight. I think he’s regretting it already.”

The electric guitar. The electric guitar in Aegon’s apartment. “Who’s in this band?”

“I’ll be honest with you, I didn’t care enough to ask any follow-up questions.”

“Huh.” You watch Trent and his friends as they finish setting up the drumkit, the amps, two microphone stands. Trent spies you and waves, beaming. You wave back halfheartedly.

Like a storm, like a meteor, Aegon crashes through the front door and slams it shut behind him, engulfed in a whirlwind of frigid arctic air. The bells jingle shrilly. He’s wearing a black and white striped long-sleeve shirt, ripped jeans, and his battered jade green electric guitar. His white-blond hair is in disarray. There’s snow all over his Doc Martens combat boots. His eyes scan the room, settle on you, stay there. He smiles knowingly, mischievously. And then he goes to join the rest of the band.

“Oh no,” Heather says. “Oh God. Oh no. He’s hot. Look, Joyce, look. He’s hot.”

Joyce glances up briefly. “He’s okay.”

“He’s hot,” Heather moans. Trent greets Aegon with a fist bump and a bear hug. Rob, even-keeled and stocky and hoisting on his bass guitar, gives him a placid nod. Heather reaches across the table to seize your hand. “Come on. I want front row seats to your willpower’s funeral.”

There is a crowd gathering: you and Heather and Kimmie, Trent’s gang of friends, assorted locals, even Joyce wanders over with her ring finger keeping her spot in her book, as if she might lose interest in these peculiar real-world happenings at any moment and need to retreat back into the oasis of fiction. Trent plops down behind the drumkit and gives the toms a few experimental whacks with his drumsticks. Rob warms up too, plucking at the strings of his bass guitar with his sturdy fingers. Aegon plugs in his guitar and tunes it, a bright green pick between his teeth. Satisfied, he grabs the pick and takes his place at the forefront microphone stand.

“Check one, check two,” he says, tapping the mic. “How’s everyone doing tonight?”

There are tepid claps and whistles. Kimmie squeals enthusiastically. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice her. His eyes—a deep and calm blue, not steely or translucent, not icy or sharp—flit to you. You react before you can think too much, before you can troubleshoot or veto it. You mouth: You look great. Aegon grins, toothy and effervescent.

“Dear lord, that was quick,” Heather mumbles.

“Anyone in the mood for an appletini?” Aegon says, then laughs as the crowd roils with confusion.

“What the hell’s an appletini?” a cantankerous middle-aged logger asks his wife.

“Tonight we have a very special cover for you folks,” Aegon announces. “If I don’t know you already, my name is Aegon and I’m here with my good friends Rob and Trent. It’s the first-ever public performance for our little band, which we’ve named Boat #27 after the commercial fishing vessel we were destined by fate to meet on.” He strums his guitar once. The notes ring out rough, powerful, magnificent. “Special thanks to Ursa Minor owner Dale for making this possible and for letting me have like eighty rum and Cokes on my tab. Alright, let’s roll.”

Aegon begins playing, and it takes you a few seconds to recognize the opening chords: it’s Everlong by the Foo Fighters. The bass and drums join in. Rob is self-composed, so unpretentious you could forget he’s there. Trent assaults the drums with a childish, frenetic sort of energy. Aegon’s fingers move artfully across his electric guitar’s fretboard, confident and nimble.

Heather informs you, regretfully, as if it’s catastrophic news from halfway around the planet, an earthquake or a famine or a hurricane: “I think he knows his way around a clitoris.”

“Goddammit,” you whimper miserably.

“Hello, I’ve waited here for you, everlong…”

In this moment, Aegon sounds very much like a rockstar. He looks like one too: hair shagging in his eyes, combat boots stomping, face flushed and halfway between euphoria and agony. There’s black eyeliner smudged around his eyes and glitter on his cheekbones. He mostly keeps his eyes closed or faraway as he sings, but there’s one line when his gaze finds yours and locks there.

“Breathe out, so I can breathe you in, hold you in…”

“Oh snap,” Heather says. “Do you think you should take a pregnancy test after that?”

“Please shut up.”

“Look, I can read palms too.” She grabs your hand. “I see many Cobainbies in your future.”

When the song ends, the bar erupts into cheers, more convincing this time. Even Dale claps. “Thank you, thank you,” Aegon says. “Have a great rest of your night. We’ll be back soon, I promise.” He unslings his guitar, sets it on top of one of the amps, and begins walking over to you. Kimmie intercepts him, yammering at lightspeed and asking about his jade green guitar, his favorite bands, his boots, his hair. Trent finds you instead.

“Hey,” Trent says exuberantly.

“Hi,” you reply. “Awesome show tonight.”

Heather adds: “Yeah, I’m sorry I mentally muted you as you were explaining this to me.”

“Man, it was da bomb!” Trent says. “You have no idea how long Rob and I have been trying to find somebody who could be our frontman, and then Aegon came out of nowhere, I mean it was like he dropped out of the sky, and he was just perfect…”

As Trent rambles, your attention strays to Aegon. He’s nodding politely at whatever Kimmie is saying, but he’s looking at you. He turns away when he catches you watching him. Trent, eternally eager to impress, ventures off to the bar to procure you another Bacardi Breezer. He gets preoccupied talking to Dale, a sort of idol for him; Dale was a park ranger for years before giving it up to open Ursa Minor, and Trent has been feverishly submitting applications to the U.S. Forest Service. It’s easier work than trolling, more consistent, less backbreaking. You’re still staring defenselessly at Aegon.

“You know what’s interesting?” Heather says, following your eyeline. “He’s ignoring Kimmie almost as much as you’re ignoring Trent.”

“He’s ruining my life,” you groan, rubbing your face with both hands. “I’ve known he exists for four days and he’s ruining my life.”

“Uh oh. I think he’s coming over. Time for another Sex On The Beach.”

“Wait—!”

Heather hurries away. Aegon, having abandoned a patently disheartened Kimmie, appears like stars out of cloud cover. He’s tipsy, but nothing more than that. It is as close to sober as you have ever seen him. “Hey.”

“So you did lie to me,” you tease, nodding to where his guitar rests on the amp.

“Yes,” Aegon admits. “But that was a necessary lie.”

“Is any lie truly necessary?”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” he says. “I needed to know what you really thought of me before your judgment was compromised by the whole cool, tortured rockstar thing. Every chick in this room is looking at me differently now than they were yesterday. Except you. You look exactly the same.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It is.”

Trent returns with a pomegranate Bacardi Breezer for you and a Heineken for himself. Heather comes back with a fresh Sex On The Beach. Rob is trying to chat with Joyce by making fun of her fantasy novel; Joyce is calling Rob stupid with words that are too big for him to understand. Rebuffed by Aegon, Kimmie has pivoted to chatting with Trent’s friends Matt and Gary, who are both entirely enchanted.

“Okay, okay, important question,” Trent asks you. “Fight Club or The Sixth Sense?”

“The Mummy.”

“ER or the X-Files?”

“The X-Files, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Aegon agrees.

“Microsoft or Apple?”

“Apple,” Aegon says instantly.

Trent laughs. “You have some kind of vendetta against Microsoft?”

“No.” Aegon glances at you, smiles, winks. “I just really like apples.”

“Totally,” Trent says uncertainly. “Lots of Vitamin C. Backstreet Boys or Boyzone?”

“Oh, no question, Boyzone!” Heather exclaims. This begins a fierce debate. As they battle it out, you find yourself watching Aegon again. The sounds of Ursa Minor bleed away, the conversations, the giggling, the clinking bottles and glasses, the resumed Shania Twain hits. You are aware of nothing else but these things: the gravity of his voice, his large expressive eyes, that stubborn lock of hair that always escapes from behind his ear, the way he gestures with his hands, the fullness of his cheeks when he smiles.

Absentmindedly, as he is arguing the merits of I Want It That Way, Aegon scratches his forearm and pushes up his shirt sleeve. There, in the crook of his elbow, is something that puzzles you: it is a cluster of small dark patches like bruises, knots of scar tissue that are probably years old. Before you can ask, you realize what they are. They’re track marks. You hear his voice in your hushed skull: I’ve been better than I am now. I’ve been worse.

Aegon catches you watching; your face is horrified, but more than that it is wounded. He rolls his sleeve back down and shakes his head subtly enough that no one else will notice. What he means is clear. Please don’t say anything.

It hits you like a bullet, like a blade: not the past, but the future. He is going to die one day. You all are, of course, but unless Aegon changes he’ll be first. The thought is nonsensical, excruciating. You don’t want to lose him. You don’t want to imagine a world without him in it.

“I have something for you,” you tell Aegon suddenly, interrupting what Heather was saying. You dart to the booth and return with the parka that your dad generously donated. You hand it to Aegon.

“No way!” he says, admiring it. “How? Why?!”

“It’s my dad’s old one, it doesn’t even fit him anymore, so don’t feel weird about it. It cost me less than a Bacardi Breezer. But it’ll keep you from getting hypothermia.”

He dons the parka and models it, hands in his pockets, then on his waist; everyone agrees that it looks very fashionable. “I’m going to go try it out,” Aegon says. “After a quick detour.” He departs to get a rum and Coke from the bar. With his drink in hand, he ascends the steps that lead up to the rooftop patio, which is very much out of commission at the moment.

“Aegon, it’s closed!” Trent calls after him. “Hey! Aegon! Well…what can you do.” He shrugs, blasé now that the cause is lost, and smiles at you. “Ricky Martin or Jennifer Lopez?”

Heather detonates: “JLo, clearly!”

Five minutes later, Aegon comes flying down the steps and pulls you away from the group. Trent almost interjects; Heather stops her brother and diverts him with a passionate diatribe about New Kids On The Block, which Trent reveres unequivocally. “You have to come up to the roof with me,” Aegon says, low so no one else will hear.

“What? Why?”

“You just have to. Right now. You’ll see.”

“Um…okay…?”

You get your own parka off the coatrack. Then Aegon, wildly impatient, takes your hand and half-leads, half-drags you up the wooden staircase. The luminescence of the Christmas lights and clamor of voices disappear behind you as you step out with him into the cold, dark, mid-November air. The snow crunches beneath your boots. The wind is sharp and brutal, harsh enough to crack skin like ice.

“What—?”

“Look!” Aegon insists ecstatically, pointing up into the sky.

And then you see it, what the clouds and fog of Juneau hardly ever leave visible: the rippling curtain of green and blue and purple, fluid like silk, soundless like eternity. The aurora borealis. The Northern Lights.

Aegon is laughing, spinning around, gazing up into the sky with speechless, awed wonder. He flops down onto the snow, bathing in the otherworldly light. After a moment’s hesitation, you lay down beside him. The sky is remarkably clear. You can see stars, the crescent moon, the shadow of the Milky Way.

“This place is so fucking beautiful,” Aegon sighs, his breath white mist in the air. Then he looks over at you. “Thank you for the parka. This would be really painful without it.”

“Thank you for saving me from Trent.”

“Are you not into tall, beefy, obviously hot football stars? Is that not your type?”

“Tragically, my type seems to be alcoholic Greek guys.”

He smiles, the star-fire radiance of the Northern Lights on his face. “Oh no. You poor thing.”

“I know. I’m destined for annihilation.”

He turns towards you, rolling onto his side, and like a mirror image you turn towards him. The snow shifts to accommodate the shape of your body, shoulders and ribs and hips. You and Aegon study each other as the universe wheels by, mesmerizing and yet indifferent. That unruly lock of white-blond hair rests on his cheek.

“Aegon?”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell are you running from?”

“I can’t tell you,” he says. “I mean, I could lie to you. I could give you a million different reasons. But none of them would be true. I don’t want to lie to you. I’d rather say nothing.”

“You’re married,” you try.

“No,” he replies, chuckling, thinking it’s absurd.

“You have, like, twelve kids and are fleeing child support payments.”

“No kids. Not that I know of.”

“You’re a demon who got in trouble and was put on demon probation and as an opportunity to redeem yourself you were sent here from the underworld to ruin my life.”

“No. Me ruining your life is just one brilliant coincidence.”

You reach out through the cold night, tuck the escaped lock of hair behind Aegon’s ear, caress his cheek—smooth, yielding, strangely delicate—with your hand, roughened by a lifetime in this unforgiving alcove of the world. And then Aegon closes the space between you to touch his lips to yours.

What shocks you is not that he does it, but how soft the kiss is, how slow. He’s gentle and careful, not reckless, not insistent; he’s warm while Juneau is freezing, freeing while so much of existence feels like a cage. He’s a key that throws doors wide open. He’s a harmless, weightless fire like starlight. His hands explore your face, your hair, tentatively, as if he expects you to stop him. His tongue leaves remnants of his rum and Coke in your mouth, bitterness and sweetness and spice. There are pounding footsteps on the staircase; you break the kiss not a second too soon.

“Hey,” Heather says as she opens the door, flinching against the cold. “Unless you plan on sleeping up here—or, uh, whatever you’re doing—you’ll want to come downstairs now. Dale is closing up the bar.”

Ursa Minor is in chaos: people are hustling to get one last drink, arranging rides, saying goodbyes, making plans, gathering their things. Aegon fetches his guitar and then joins the melee at the bar, begging Dale for another rum and Coke.

Dale is bellowing over the commotion: “Alright, the rock concert is over. Everyone better be out of here by 10:00, I’m exhausted, I gotta wipe everything down and go home.”

“One more!” Aegon pleads. “Please, Dale, my man, hook me up!”

“Fine,” Dale surrenders. “Just one more…”

“And a Heineken for me too?” Trent says hopefully. Dale groans in exasperation.

“Are you coming?” Heather asks you as she, Joyce, and Kimmie head for the parking lot, parkas donned and zipped. You hesitate and then push through the mob to locate Aegon.

“Do you need a ride?”

“Huh? No, I’m good,” he says. He’s mostly paying attention to the rum and Coke that Dale is mixing. “I’m more than good. I’m great, Appletini, don’t worry about me. Yeah, Dale, can you make that a double…?”

You leave him, a little annoyed, a little anxious, and follow your friends outside. Within ten minutes, your Jeep Cherokee is pulling into your parents’ driveway. You enter to find your mom and dad still awake and embroiled in a heated Scrabble game at the kitchen table. You shower, change into comfy oversized pajamas, and lay on your bed staring up at the ceiling. The walls are covered with posters from your middle school days, your high school days, your college days, your current days: NSYNC, Will Smith, the Spice Girls, Destiny’s Child, Hanson, Winona Ryder, Heath Ledger, Ryan Phillippe, Ricky Martin. You would have chosen him over JLo when Trent asked…if you had cared enough to answer.

The phone rings once, twice, goes quiet. Someone must have picked up downstairs. Thirty seconds later, your mom knocks on your bedroom door and then opens it a crack.

“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

“There’s some boy on the phone for you. I told him I wasn’t sure if you were still awake, just in case you wanted to avoid him. He sounds annoying.”

Oh great, Trent. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll handle it.” She disappears and your hand fumbles to grab the phone on your nightstand. “Hello?”

“Hey,” says Aegon.

You bolt upright in bed. “Heyyy. Stalker.”

“I am not a stalker,” he objects, slurring. “I am an…uh…an investigator. Yes. I investigate. That’s what I do. Not stalk. Investigate.”

“Okay. How did you investigate your way into calling me?”

“I asked Dale if he knew your parents’ phone number and he had it in his address book.”

“Top notch, the CIA is missing out if they don’t recruit you.”

The smile is gentle and hazy and warm in his voice. “You want to come over and watch the X-Files with me?”

“What, right now?”

“Yeah. Right now.”

In his apartment. On his couch. Just the two of us. Alone. Well, alone except for Sunfyre, who hardly counts as a chaperone. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“Oh, no, you misunderstood. I said X-Files, not—”

“Okay, great, as long as you’re aware. I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.” You hang up the phone.

When Aegon greets you in the doorway of his apartment, he is wearing a pink San Diego hoodie and green plaid pajama pants. He staggers when he walks; there are three small empty bottles of 99 Whipped on the counter, along with two mugs of hot chocolate, dutifully topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. “Yours is the one in the blue mug. It’s booze-free, I swear. I double-checked like five times.”

“Are you a Gemini?” you demand.

“No,” he replies, bewildered. “Aquarius.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

You retrieve your hot chocolate and sink into Aegon’s couch. It’s threadbare and sagging, but surprisingly comfortable; he sits all the way at the other end, leaving a full middle cushion of No Man’s Land between you. Sunfyre leaps up to fill the gap, resting his cone-embellished head on your lap. His stitches are healing beautifully; you’ll take them out next week. On the tv is a rerun of the X-Files. Fox Mulder is, somewhat predictably, ranting about a government conspiracy. You are watching, but you are also wondering if this was a good idea. It feels like you know Aegon—completely, inexplicably—but you don’t really. He’s just some stranger, a drunk stranger, a drunk former-addict stranger who you are beginning to suspect you love.

Lyrics from The Distance come back to lurk in the corner of the room like a ghost: She’s hoping in time that her memories will fade.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” you ask Aegon.

“I don’t know, probably making a turkey for me and Sunfyre. He loves the organs, the ones that come in that little plastic baggie they shove up inside the carcass.”

“Charming. But you can’t be alone on Thanksgiving.”

“I’m usually alone on Thanksgiving, I’m used to it.”

“You don’t make friends in all those glamorous cities sprinkled across America?”

“Not the kind of friends who would invite me home for Thanksgiving.”

You stare at the tv, sipping your hot chocolate, scratching Sunfyre’s floppy ears. You are hyperaware of the precise amount of space between you and Aegon. You are alarmed by how natural it would feel to make it disappear, like Northern Lights blotted out by fog.

“Look,” Aegon says, breaking the tension. “What you told me on the phone…that’s not why I called you. That’s not what I’m expecting from you right now. I don’t want to do anything that you’re not totally cool with. And I can see that you’re not cool with it. So nothing is going to happen. Completely off the table. Zero percent chance.” He’s nervous, you realize; you’ve seen him frantic, and you’ve seen him angry, but it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him nervous. “What I mean is that I don’t want you to be sitting here stressing about what you think is on my mind. So I’m telling you flat out, that’s not what I’m thinking.”

“What are you thinking?”

He smiles, opens his hands futilely, looks down at his bare feet. “I can’t tell you. But I promise it’s not that.” Then an idea occurs to him. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that you shouldn’t be alone on Thanksgiving.”

“Are you finally inviting me to your house? Because I invite you to mine constantly and my house sucks.”

“I am officially inviting you to my house. Sunfyre can come too, my parents adore dogs.”

“Is your dad going to be waiting for me in the living room with a shotgun?”

“No. He’s not that kind of dad.”

Outside, there is a swelling whirl of sirens. They build and build as they approach the apartment building, then fade as they shoot off into the darkness towards the lakes: Crystal Lake, Moose Lake, Dredge Lake. Aegon goes to the window and pulls aside the curtain. Then he looks back to you. The lights of the passing police cars paint his face in shades of ruby and sapphire, ocean and blood. “I think they found another body.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine

[sl-walker]

Today in Lines I Loved Writing

From the second chapter of Stardust:

“Heads up!” Ted shouted, cheerily, swinging off of a catwalk like some kind of acrobat, only to smack Random Henchman #3 -- on a shelf below him beside an open crate -- in the middle of his back with both boots, which--

--sent him flying down right into Booster’s outstretched arm, who clotheslined him neatly, saving him from a potentially bone-crunching meeting with the floor. “And down!”  The henchman dropped in a heap with a grunt and wheeze.  Booster winced, looking down at the guy.  “Oooh, might wanna watch the face, those ski-masks aren’t really much protection.”

Random Henchman #5 was running for the doors after #4 tripped and tumbled, because it had frankly only taken three minutes of chasing them around the warehouse to take most of them down.  “Grab him?” Ted asked, sounded surprisingly winded, and Booster glanced down at the guy he’d just dropped before taking off after the one running.

It was a quick collar -- literally! -- and just so he wouldn’t have to babysit, Booster hoisted and hung that guy off of a pulley by the leather belt he was wearing before flying back to make sure #3 and #4 were still subdued along with the others.

In the meantime, the Blue Beetle wasn’t looking so good even in the dim light; he was still hanging from the catwalk and something about his pallor was alarming.  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Booster asked, wasting no time flying over there.

Ted’s skin was sweaty where it was exposed, and up close, he was clearly having an incredibly hard time holding himself up. “Heart.  Ride down?” he panted, and sagged with a grateful sounding sigh when Booster took his weight and he could let go of the catwalk. “I’ll be okay,” he said, shivering. “Just need to lay down.”

Booster was less convinced, but he landed them soft and didn’t let his alarm show when Ted literally stretched out on the floor of the warehouse, thumping against his chest with the side of his fist.

“--should I tie them up?” Booster asked, even as he hit his wrist-comm. “Skeets, call the police, send ‘em to our position?  Then hone in on my position and get here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah, please,” Ted said, though he had picked up his head and was watching; he beamed despite looking like hell. “Do I get to meet your robot?!”

Booster smiled, shaking his head, and went to go figure out how to secure their random henchpeople.  “Your lucky night.  Hey, do you have anything I can use as handcuffs?”

Ted fished something out of that thigh holster, then held up a handful of zip ties that were sticking out of his fist like porcupine quills. “These work?”

“You came to a bust with zip ties?  And while I’m at it, do you actually keep a gun in there, or is it just like your all-purpose junk drawer?”

“Actually, I do have a gun!  It’s called the BB gun, because I’m clever like that.”  Ted let his head rest back on the floor and took a slower, more even-sounding breath.  “But yeah, I also stick random stuff in there because I don’t have pockets.  It’s got pouches in its pouch,” he added, with a snicker. “Like a Liefeld comic.”

Booster didn’t get the reference, but he did happen to think the word pouch was funny, which was why he was giggling like a twelve-year-old as he zip-tied their disgruntled henchfolk.  “And don’t want any civilian games of guess that lump?”

“Give the man a cookie!”

“I’ll settle for some all-night diner pancakes, but if a cookie’s all I’m getting for saving your butt--”

“It’ll be one of those really big cookies.”

“They do make some impressively sized baked goods in this era,” Skeets said, zipping through the half-open man door. “Also, the police will be here in approximately forty-five seconds.”

“Skeets!”  Booster grinned, then nodded back towards where Ted was sitting up gingerly. “Your new biggest fan ever wants to meet you.”

Skeets paused for a moment mid-air, a barely noticeable hesitation, then flew over to hover in front of Ted, offering a cordial, “A pleasure to meet you, Mister Blue Beetle.”

Ted made a noise that Booster might’ve ascribed to an overly excited young dog being shown a new toy.  Like-- maybe a verbal flail of excitement, if that was a thing.  Then he said, “You are so cool.  Booster!  I’ll buy the pancakes if the ‘bot comes with us!”

Booster sat back on his heels and watched, even as the sound of vehicles roaring up outside filtered in; something about the scene -- Ted sitting there in wide-eyed wonder and Skeets hovering at eye level -- grabbed him by the heart.  Good, mixed.  “Blueberry pancakes?” he asked, rising to his feet so he could go lead the cops in.

“Pal, I’ll get you the whole damn blueberry bush.”

“Deal!”

--

Why I loved writing them: OMG, the dialogue. I've had the fortune of occasionally having pairs of characters who, if you give them even the barest kind of space, will take a scene and run away with it. And writing Booster and Beetle is just like that; one of them starts, the other builds on it, and then they just keep going, rolling it along and chasing it down the road.

So, I had fun having Ted taking a potshot at Rob Liefeld because I cut my teeth on comics in the 90s and don't even get me started. For all those fans out there who might be unfamiliar, Liefeld's not like-- the only reason 90s comics are just Like That, but he was a big contributor of it. Like, I really can draw a very clear, unambiguous line between Cable's design and Booster's look post-Overmaster arc. It's not even subtle. So, everyone who ever squinted at that really godawful run of really bad design, you almost have to blame it on Liefeld.

Ahem. Anyway. The other part is the whole bit--

“Give the man a cookie!”

“I’ll settle for some all-night diner pancakes, but if a cookie’s all I’m getting for saving your butt--”

“It’ll be one of those really big cookies.”

--starting with that. It's not the first example of those two kind of 'yes, and'ing' each other in the story, their introduction to each other was the first, but it serves as a good illustration of their easy patter and ability to build on one another. And there's something super charming about them basically turning a joking bit of banter into a decision to go out to eat together, which leads to them spending almost the whole day together, which--

I've also had friendships like that, albeit without the unresolved romantic tension. But where you just enjoy the other person's company so much that you don't want to let them go. LOL! @b-radley66 can attest. @shadowmaat can, too. And many, many other people over the years.

And finally, I just also really love the mental image of Ted and Skeets meeting, just as much as I love Booster's reaction to it.

#booster gold #blue beetle #skeets #michael carter #ted kord #stardust

[mxrcjqckspnchqsc]

Hiii! If you're accepting requests for prince Friedrich (bridgerton), could I get a Friedrich and reader fic where theyre royalty too and frenemies? And they end up at the same ball and have to dance tgt (obv)? The next day lady whistledown and the ton out there shipping the two so they have to keep up appearances and promenade together all the time? Eventually fall in love!! (+ points if they childishly argue through the whole dance) thanksss💕

Is It Love Or Hate?

Summary: Read request above!

Prince Friederich x gn!reader

Genre: Fluffiest of fluff, (It's also the only thing I can write about but moving on)

Warnings: Romantic themes, strong language(not really just good old british slang that I love very much), and It is a gender neutral reader, y/n(aka you or just plain old y/n) is a princess and wears a dress in this one-shot!!

A/N: Omg omg omg this is my first request, this is so exciting! This request is so cute, I hope you like it! Also I'm sorry for some of the writing is in third person, I just don't really like first person. And I'm sorry this took too long, I'm quite busy with stuff(school) atm. And now because of this request, I wanna make a prince Friederich fanfic lol but I hope you guys enjoy this one-shot!!(Also this isn't proofread so if there are any errors do tell me!)

Y/n groaned at the thought, they were going to yet again another ball, y/n loved being a royal and all but that meant they had the possibility of seeing him, Prince Friederich, Y/n had mixed feelings about him, they would love him and then the next minute, they hate him. As I finally laid down on the couch, my mother busted in, causing them to jump up.

"Mother, what is it? Why must you rush in here as if I did something wrong?!?" I asked.

"Oh no dear, it's just your dress is finally done! You just have to wear it for tonight's ball." Y/m/n explained as she gave you the dress. "Doesn't the color look nice?"

I had to agreed, the colors on the dress were absolutely stunning, y/f/c always looked good on them, always.

"Well I must agree, the dress does look nice." I agreed.

"Perhaps you might even find the one," Y/m/n teased.

"You said that as the last fifty balls," I exaggerated. "It seems people only see me for my looks Mother, nothing more, I told you many times that I wanted to marry for love."

"Then find someone you love, my dear. You know I will always support you." Y/m/n smiled at you and left moments after.

Y/n changed into the dress and was suprised on how the dress complimented her very well.

"Are you ready to go-?" Y/m/n asked as she busted in the room but stopped once she saw y/n. "My dear, you look beautiful."

"Yes mother I am ready to go," I placed the tiara on her head. "Thank you but we must not make haste," I reminded.

"Oh yes yes!" Y/m/n exclaimed. "We shall go to the carriage at once." Y/m/n announced.

Y/m/n linked her arm with Y/n and they left and headed to the ball, moments later, they had arrived.

"I'll be on the lookout for potential suitors, and you Y/n shall be the princess you are and dance with two men tonight." Y/m/n said.

"One," I corrected.

Y/m/n sighed knowing that Y/n wouldn't listen to her. "Fine, you must dance with one man tonight."

"Good, Ah I think I see the Duchess of Hastings right there. I'll leave you be mother!" I called out.

Before Y/n could make her way to Daphne, she was stopped by the one of the many men she didn't want to see tonight.

"You highness, Princess Y/n," Lord Gray bowed down infront of her. "May I have your first dance?" He asked, holding out his hand.

Y/n was about to tell him off when someone did it for her and she didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

"Actually, the Princess had already offered her first dance on her dance card with me." Prince Friederich explained.

"Oh, I see," Lord Gray seemed to buy the lie and walked away.

"Shall we?" Friederich held his hand out.

Y/n only glared at him before taking his hand, the two royals made their way to the dance floor.

"Now look at what you did," I whispered. "I only wanted to dance with one man tonight and now you're fulfilling my mother's wishes and I'm going to dance with two."

Prince Friederich only snickered in response.

"Well I apologize for doing that but it seemed like you didn't want to dance with him." Friederich stated the obvious.

"Yeah well I didn't want to dance with you either and here we are." I smiled sarcastically.

"You can blame my aunt on that, she actually insisted I'd dance with you first tonight." He replied.

Prince Friederich dipped you and pulled you close, making you gasp, he noticed this and backed away. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" I asked confused.

"For making you uncomfortable," He answered rather quickly.

"If anything, you actually made me feel more safe from the viscount, I can see him glaring at us" I laughed and smiled at him, causing him to smiled back as he pulled you in close again.

...

"Y/n, Oh Miss Y/n! Wake up! Your highness, it is urgent!" Evelyn, one of the lovely servants shook you awake.

"I'm up," I mumbled, not fully awake.

"Lady Whistledown wrote about you and the Prince from the dance, you must read!" Evelyn exclaimed.

"Can I atleast get out of my bed first?" I asked, Evelyn nodded excitingly before leaving.

Y/n got up and ready and finally headed down the stairs where they was greeted by not only Evelyn but their mother as well.

"So Lady Whistledown wrote about me in her paper?" I asked.

Y/m/n nodded happily and gave you the paper. When you were shocked, Lady Whistledown wrote about the two of you dancing and how you two would make quite a lovely couple but before you could read anymore, you got called upon by Prince Friederich, he seemed to have read the latest issue quickly this morning.

"Your highness," Evelyn bowed down at him before he stopped her.

"Oh please, just call me Friederich, is Y/n awake yet? I hope I didn't wake her, I just wanted to have a little chat." Friederich smiled.

"And does your little chat include those lovely y/f/fs?" I asked.

I made my way to him and Evelyn, who now exited the room once she took notice of my appearance.

"Oh these," Friederich looked at them as well. "I didn't send them, maybe Lord Gray no Gary sent them." He teased.

Due to his teasing, I snorted and I quickly covered my mouth in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I normally never do that."

"It's fine, it was quite adorable if I were to be honest." Friederich smiled.

I blushed at his words and smiled softly but quickly changed my expression as I still had no idea what he was doing here so I asked. "Well if you will allow me to Prince-"

"Friederich," He cut you off.

"...Friederich, what are you doing here?" I asked.

"I was just going to ask if well considering what Whistledown wrote about us, maybe she should write about us even more if you give me the opportunity to court you and take to on a promenade?" He asked.

My eyes widened at his words, he wanted to court me out of all people but I realized that maybe this was just his aunt's doing.

"Are you sure that you want to court me and this isn't your aunt's doing because if it is then I'm gonna have to-" I was cut off again.

"No!" He exclaimed before clearing his throat. "My apologies, I did this on my own. My aunt has no idea I am even here." He chuckled.

"Oh, then yes, I would be delighted to be courted by the only prince I seem to know." I laughed.

...

Y/n and Friederich have been courting for quite awhile now, making this their fifth time going on a promenade, Y/n had developed feelings for him and was wondering just as everyone else was thinking once they saw the latest issue "When will he propose?"

"This is the fifth time we're out to promenade, can we please go somewhere else Friederich?" I asked in a hushed whisper. "The sun is practically setting!"

"Please Y/n, just called me Freddie and to answer your question, we can't go somewhere alone, you know that but perhaps a boat ride would be nice."

"Or hunting or we can pretend to get lost in a flower field?" I suggested.

"A flower field would be nice, hm there is one there," He held up his arm. "Shall we go?"

"We shall," I smiled. "Mother, we'll be right back. We're going to pick some flowers from the field!"

"Okay, stay safe!" Y/m/n exclaimed.

But Y/m/n was distracted with Lady Danbury that she didn't even notice that the two royals weren't going to the flower field but instead the woods.

"Ah the woods, why did you take us here Freddie," I asked.

Friederich blushed at the nickname even though he suggested it but brushed it off.

"I wanted to look at the nature, nature is quite interesting. I mean just look at that bird!" He exclaimed in a hushed whisper.

"That bird does look quite fascinating." I comments, making him smile wide.

"I never saw those in Prussia so they are new to me," Friederich revealed.

"Well maybe if you stay here a little longer then maybe you'll see more," I smiled at him.

"Yeah maybe," Friederich smiled.

I took my eyes off him and laid down to look at the sunset, He laid down beside me.

"It's quite beautiful isn't it?" I asked, referring to the setting sun.

"Yeah, it's breathtaking." He whispered, still staring at me.

I looked back at him when he was indeed already staring, he didn't take one look at the sunset and kept his eyes on me. I blushed and tried to look away when his hand caressed my face and leaned in, he kissed me and I kissed back. When we broke apart, he sat up, I repeated the action and we kissed again, he mumbled something in the kiss that I couldn't decipher..

"Freddie, what did you say?" I asked, my hand resting softly on his cheek.

"I wish to marry you Y/n, I'm in love with you." He confessed.

"The night of the ball when we danced, I lied to you, my aunt didn't say anything about you at all, I chose to dance with you that night because not only are you breath taking, you are the only person that I love competing with and poking fun at with, you're the only person who knows the real me and I love for that, I love that you let me in and that you trust me and you share all your conspiracies about who Whistledown is, you're the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, kids or no kids, in London or in Prussia. I want you just the way you are because I'm smitten and I love you oh so much. And I completely understand if you don't desire me the same but I couldn't keep it in any longer and I-" Friederich was cut off by you kissing him again, more passionate this time.

When you pulled away, you spoke. "I love you too, I would say that I want you but that's a lie, I need you and I just can't possibly see my life without you in it. Without you, I could probably be married to Lord Gray and I know we are both happy that isn't the reality," We both chuckled before I continued. "Freddie, just know this. No matter where we are or who we're with, I will always be looking at him and with you because you are now my husband to be, and I wish to be your wife forever." I confessed.

I rested my head on his chest and I heard his heartbeat making me calm, I closed my eyes and hugged him, he hugged me back.

"Your wish has been granted, my love." Prince Friederich kissed the top of my head.

#bridgerton imagine #prince friedrich x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #x gn reader

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Seeing all your cool home updates && half-watching some HGTV w/my mom while drawing had a simple prompt idea if you might be interested! Basically HGTV reno show Jonsa - Sansa is a designer and finally gets a chance for her own show but loses Rob (her #1 contractor) to an injury before filming starts && Jon jumps in (either to help Rob /or/ the studio execs (maybe Targs?) throw him in) and the two have to work together somehow. Idk idk, just wanted to share! <3

ANON.

No, you have no idea, I already HAVE a house reno wip. It's not super long, but... yeah. I've got that.

Here, I'll post what I have written of it, since we CAN'T GET ONTO AO3.

this isn't exactly your prompt, though I do honestly love yours a lot and sort of want to change mine. If I changed mine, the show Sansa works on would definitely be like Rehab Addict, where she restores old homes to their prior state instead of making them "modern"

But mine is sort of similar? This snippet is just the set up and doesn't include the part where Sansa decides to start a youtube channel for her renovations, (a la WabiSabE, which I used to watch and was probably the inspiration for this fic when I first started writing it like a year ago lol), and everyone starts shipping her with her contractor Jon, who she keeps forcing to be in the videos because she can't really make them without him being in it...

.

Sansa winces as her car hits another bump and jolts her in her seat.

“You owe me,” she huffs out, hands tight around the wheel.

“I know, I know,” Robb's voice comes through her sound system and fills the car. He's distracted, she can tell, and she bites back a snippy comment. Robb's just so busy, he couldn't possibly get away.

That's not fair, the small part of her brain that's still being rational thinks. Of course Robb couldn't drop everything and come out to the middle of nowhere to deal with their Great Uncle Brynden's estate. Robb's got a new baby and his job.

Robb's got a baby, Arya's got her tournaments, Bran has school, and Rickon's still underage. All of her siblings have lives they can't get away from. All except her.

No significant other, no kids. A tenuous career that she can technically do from anywhere.

“Oh no,” she breathes, when the house finally comes into sight through the trees.

“What's wrong?” Robb asks, his full attention back on her.

“Robb,” she whines, the car coming to a pathetic, rolling stop on the overgrown gravel drive. “It's a mess.”

“A mess?”

She doesn't answer, too busy staring at the mansion in front of her. Or, what used to be a mansion, she thinks.

It's still vaguely house-shaped, but... The roof is missing shingles in multiple places, the windows all seem busted out. The steps up to the covered front porch are fine, but the porch itself has a massive sinkhole, and half the wood looks rotted and ready to crumble.

Gods, if this is what the outside looks like...

“What kind of a mess?” Robb asks. She's just about to start listing the many problems when she hears another car approaching.

“I've gotta go,” she tells Robb. “I think the lawyer's here.” She hangs up before Robb can answer, and watches the other car slowly emerge through the trees up the bumpy road, past the broken gates, and onto the circular gravel drive. It stops behind her and a man gets out. She gets out, too, phone clutched in her hand, just in case.

“Miss Stark?” the man asks, and his face splits into a kind smile when she nods. “Perfect, perfect. I'm Samwell Tarly. It's nice to finally meet you.”

Sansa moves forward to shake the lawyer's hand. He isn't what she was expecting. He's young, for one – maybe only a few years older than her. And he seems just as nice in person as he'd been over the phone. She didn't think lawyers came in nice.

“We should have met at your office,” she says, eyeing up the weeds sprouting from between the gravel and brushing against her ankles. “I didn't realize the road here would be so...”

Mr. Tarly laughs. “This place has been abandoned for quite some time,” he agrees. “I never met Brynden myself, but I’d heard about him. Apparently he decided to up and travel the world and left this…”

Sansa looks back at the crumbling mansion and feels her face scrunch up. She tries to smooth it out. “So, how fast do you think I can sell this?” she asks.

That’s when Mr. Tarly’s smile falters. “Well,” he starts, hesitant, “you see, it’s in such a poor state, I can’t imagine anyone would be willing to buy it.”

“But the land must be worth something? They can just knock it down and-”

“Ah,” Mr. Tarly winces, and Sansa’s sentence breaks off, unfinished. “I suppose you didn’t read all the fine print?” At the slow shake of her head, he grimaces. “Riverrun Manor is a historic property. You, legally, are not allowed to tear the structure down. Anything you do needs to go through lots of committee approvals…”

“So what you’re saying,” Sansa says, closing her eyes as reality crashes down around her, “is that literally no one is going to want to buy this.”

“Maybe if you find someone who’s both very rich, and very interested in Riverlands history?”

She opens her eyes and there must be a glare on her face, because Mr. Tarly winces again.

Then she turns back to the manor, and really looks at it this time. Beneath the grime and the moss and the crumbling wood, she can see what it used to be.

“What if I fixed it up a bit?” she asks, turning back to the lawyer. “What if I just did the major repairs, do you think someone would buy it then?”

She doesn’t want to do that, but it beats letting the property sit around even longer and paying the taxes on it. Or, worse, not paying the taxes and having that on her and her sibling’s financial records.

“I’m not a real estate agent,” Mr. Tarly responds, looking at the building thoughtfully. “But this is a good location, lots of historic stuff around. I wouldn’t doubt you could sell it if the building weren’t… well, that.” He waves his hand towards the manor.

“Alright,” she nods. “Maybe we should head to your office to do the paperwork, though? Then I’ll… I guess I’ll look for a contractor?”

Sam nods, and a bright smile lights his face again. “Oh, I know someone you can call!”

#cellsshapedlikeasks #jonsa #jonsa fic #ao3 come back

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Jason's First Christmas

First posted: December 17, 2018

Focuses on: Jason Todd et al

Favorite bookmark: "The many Christmases of Jason. Parts will make you sob, but the ending is worth it."

Tier: In the bottom half of all metrics

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

I'm super fond of this one. It was my first time joining a Christmas stocking fic exchange, and I plucked this one from my friend @starknjarvis27's wishlist (and was suuuuuuper nervous about the reception in addition to the idea of the exchange as a whole.)

To quote my own intro note: Created to fill Cylobaby27's BatFam Christmas Stocking prompt "Jason’s first Christmas back at the manor." When writing this fic, I could only remember "Jason's first Christmas" and was too lazy to look up the details/made a deliberate artistic choice, so I decided to hit all the bases. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Listen, when your brain serves up like five opening lines at once, you gotta write the scenes worthy of those lines.

Speaking of, let me jump out of order a minute and make you look at them all lined up together:

(1) It was Jason’s first Christmas without Willis, and though he didn’t know it yet, it was the beginning of the end. (2) It was Jason’s first Christmas at the Manor. A new beginning. (3) It was Jason’s first Christmas back in Gotham, and he still wasn’t sure if he was living in a recycled beginning or an overextended ending. (4) It was Jason’s first Christmas sober. That was what it felt like anyways. He could still feel the Pit just beneath his skin, like an itch on his arch of his foot with his shoe still on. The pull was still there. The urge to lash out. To run wild. To destroy. The temptation remained. But he was resisting. Maybe, finally, this was his fresh start. Maybe this was his new beginning. (and then the very last line of part 5 and the fic as a whole) It was Jason’s first Christmas back at the Manor, and it was only the end of a new beginning.

I'm poetic as heck.

They’d lost the apartment. Lost the janky little fourth-hand dresser that had held all Jason’s clothes. Lost the fridge that rattled like an airliner coming in for a landing. Lost the couch with its busted springs and his name sharpied under the left seat cushion. Lost anything that couldn’t be stuffed into a trash bag or slung over their shoulders.

It is both a trial and a joy to figure out how to stage a space. To not only puzzle through the logistics of what they might plausibly have had and lost but also what you, the reader, might need to know about and what Jason would have thought about and mourned—things that were his, things that represented his basic needs and his former security that those needs would be met.

Jason wrapped the scarf, his present to her, around her neck as gently as he could manage. The plaid fabric was itchy, but it was warm, and that’s all he had cared about as he smuggled it out of the thrift store under his shirt.

This is a gift that made sense in logistics and characterization and need but also I think I stole it from the American Girl Addy Christmas book. Doesn't she give her hardworking mom a scarf?

Jason still jumped every time the butler said his name. The old man was too quiet, and his mustache was judgey. Jason pivoted on the ball of his foot, turning slowly until he was facing Alfred.

New kids being suspicious of Alfred's mustache is a running theme.

Bruce was sick? Bad sick? Vomiting could mean all kinds of stuff, and a high fever could be real bad, right? Like, hospital bad. Like, brain damage bad. Jason’s palms suddenly felt slick, and he wiped them on his pants as he said, “I didn’t know he was sick. Is he okay? Did a doctor take a look at him?” What if something happened to Bruce? What would happen to Jason? Did that make him an awful person, worrying about himself when Bruce was in danger? Oh god, he was an awful person, grouching over a late Christmas when Bruce was upstairs barfing his brains out.

Turns out! Having no safety net! Or reliable access to standard care! And watching your mom die slowly! Messes with a kid's anxieties when it comes to preventable illness!

Jason felt another flicker of panic at the base of his throat. Bruce looked awful. He was still a huge dude, but he looked small in that big bed with his hair all flat and sweaty and dark circles under his eyes. He looked nothing like Jason’s mom. And yet.

I really should do more with the various kids' uncertainties and insecurities their first few months/years in the Manor. I've leaned on Tim's a lot, but I should play with the rest more.

“Is this a chick flick?” Jason asked dubiously. The movie did not look promising. Sure, the guy had a sword, but the biggest image was of a lady in a tiara. And it was about a princess getting married. Bruce choked back a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “You were so close to asking the right question there, Jay. Trust me on this one, okay? It’s the best sick-day movie.”

There was no other option. None.

Next to him, Bruce chuckled quietly, his chest rumbling deep and low like a cat’s purr.

You will pry this characterization out of my stiff dead fingers. Bruce's kids feeling the low vibrations in his chest like a tiger's purr is everything to me.

He was cold. That was nothing new. He was always cold now. But Gotham itself was cold, which only pushed the aching chill deeper into his bones.

Jason being cold as a corpse is also a thing I'm a fan of.

Jason flicked his lighter once, twice. The flame caught, held, and he lifted it to the cigarette dangling between his lips. The smoke curled down his throat. He held it there, relishing the ache. He’d thought of stopping. Had tried a couple times as a kid, once he’d gotten himself off the streets. Ironically, given her own hangups, he’d always felt a little guilty, wondering what his mom would think of his vice.

I go back and forth on Jason and smoking, whether he would actively and militantly avoid anything addictive or if he would allow himself the one vice as a comfort because it's not one shared by either Catherine or Willis.

Jason scooped up his helmet and put it back on. The fumes were making him feel lightheaded. He surveyed the room once more, grimly satisfied with his work. The red arterial spray on the wall added a festive touch, he thought. He flicked the lighter again. Bent. Touched the flame to the glistening streak on the floor. The fire raced down the trail of gasoline, crackling merrily as it crawled over the bodies and up the wall. Jason closed his eyes as the heat beat against his face. The cold coiled tighter in his chest.

There was a fic I read early, early, early on, when I was brand new to fic and hoovering up everything I could find, long before I thought about writing anything for myself. It was an AU where Jason returned as an arsonist and graffitist. I don't remember anything about it other than that, including who wrote it, but whoever you are, it clearly stuck with me, so thanks!

It was Jason’s first Christmas sober. That was what it felt like anyways. He could still feel the Pit just beneath his skin, like an itch on his arch of his foot with his shoe still on.

As others have noted, I'm also a fan of depicting the Pit through the hybrid lens of addiction and mental illness. That hasn't changed. Good job baby writer me for that itch metaphor though, I don't remember that one.

He popped a fry into his mouth, then stiffened as someone slid into the booth across from him. His mind scrambled for her name, her real name. It was something perky and ponytailed like Kimberly or Tiffany. They’d only met once or twice out of masks, and it took him a moment to place her.

In my semi-cohesive universe of fics, I have no idea when Jason learned who Stephanie was out of uniform. I do mentally clump those 80/90s prep names together, too.

He hadn’t expected his Pit sobriety to be tested in a rundown 50s-style diner on the border of respectable Gotham. Not over an order for a Snickers milkshake, of all things.

A real diner would not have a Snickers milkshake, bad job me.

“To want in so bad for so long that the wanting goes rotten in your mouth.” A smile, thin and bittersweet, flickered at the corners of her mouth. “Keep spitting it out. You’ll get clean eventually.” Jason stared, considering. Wondering. Where did Bruce find kids like them? Kids with bruises on their knuckles and poetry in their chests. Kids so hungry to belong that their teeth turned inward. How do you even go about finding kids like that?

Those bits maybe didn't fit with the voice of either of them, but I couldn't let the lines go. Call them an indulgence. It's Christmas, I'm allowed.

“You’re on some painkillers. And you lost a lot of blood,” Bruce warned. Typical that his first words would be a scold.

Perspective is so fun. Jason: :( stop scolding me. Bruce: I am stating FACTS, it's on you how you interpret the factual context being provided.

“You did,” Bruce confirmed. “You were stabbed. Twice. And then decided to hole up in a safe house and pass out without telling anyone.” Oh. Ohhhhh. Jason did remember something like that. He didn’t remembering deciding to pass out, but the rest…

That was a scold. Bruce's kids make him a little pissy sometimes, poor man.

“You missed brunch with Alfred. He was concerned.” Jason dropped his hand to blink slowly at Bruce. “But that’s tomorrow.” “That was three days ago,” Bruce corrected. “You were out for over a day, just based on your wound. We brought you back here two days ago to rest and heal.”

Ugh, time math, the worst.

Bruce rolled his eyes, a weirdly comforting gesture. If Bruce was able to roll his eyes, it must not be too bad. Jason owed Alfred a make-up brunch and an apology, though.

I have since migrated to the belief that Bruce doesn't roll his eyes, he blinks verrrry slowly and deliberately. (Though I also like @frownyalfred's depiction of him absolutely rolling his eyes but doing it with his eyes closed to hide it.)

Jason hummed, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just them, though, right?” he teased. Bruce rolled his eyes again and knocked a knuckle against Jason’s cheekbone. “How are you feeling?”

hello physical touch is my favorite love language, especially for people who suck at words

They had flung themselves across Bruce’s king-sized bed, careful not to jostle Jason but also, he noticed, careful to casually stay within reach. Jason expected this from Dick and Cass, both touch-affectionate under normal circumstances, but even Damian and Tim had seemed to orbit closer than normal. In the spaces not occupied by bodies were trays of snack foods, including easily digestible soup for Jason. To Jason’s undisguised delight, Alfred had brought up the nibbles and then uncharacteristically had settled in one of the chairs by the bedside after giving Jason’s hand a pat.

Like I said.

“If I fall asleep before Miracle Max, wake me up?” “As you wish.”

And what he meant was, I love you.

#fanfic bts brain dump #batfam

[atonalginger]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @fangbangerghoul! I don't have much but I've got a chunk from a short fic I'm writing with Lila, Sam, and Goose! They were too much fun to not go back and see what they're up to!

---

It had been Goose’s idea to rebuild the Bitter Angel. The War Bard was a powerful ship but it was near impossible to sneak up on anyone with its pastel blue paint job and 40m frame. She’d served well in the battle for the Key and Toilman but they weren’t fighting in the war anymore. They were pirates and needed something zippier and subtler than the Bard.

It was Lila’s idea to use a busted up UC transport they’d stolen during the Toilamn conquest as the base for the new Bitter Angel. It already had some of the parts, including the armory, landing bay, and rear landing gears. The landing gears needed repairs but Jazz’s team could manage that.

Sam was the one who pitched the idea of custom habs for the new Bitter Angel. Nothing crazy, just more personalized spaces for longer jobs. Sam and Lila took a Hopetech captain’s quarters and gutted it, leaving only the water closet intact. They installed a large bed in the back of the hab with a sliding divider to close it off for added privacy. A pair of corner couches and a L-shaped desk formed a more physical barrier in the hab to separate the bed from the living space. Goose swapped the Nova all-in-one of the old Bitter Angel for his own room. He picked a Hopetech captain’s quarters as the base, though like his parents he had it gutted save for the water closet. The back half of his hab looked like a computer core with a wall of servers and monitors and a L-shaped desk to separate the back from his sleeping area. He installed a Murphy bed along the inner wall of the hab with a large monitor mounted on bottom frame to be watched from his couch when the bed was up.

“That’s quite the view,” Lila said from the pilot seat. She was leaned forward to look around the blind spots of the chunky bridge frame, “I don’t think I could design a more aggressive docking situation if I tried.”

“That was the point,” Sam was leaning on the seat, “no time for finesse when you’re raiding someone.”

“Yes but from here it looks like the bridge would slam into the mark,” Lila looked back at Sam and Goose, “not to mention you can’t see shit from here. Hopetech really seems to hate pilots being able to see anything.”

“It’s not that bad,” Goose said with a laugh, “plus she’s squirrelly so if you can’t see just tap the stick.”

“Could be worse, could be trapped in a Stroud cockpit, “Sam poked her shoulder, “all that room and one narrow line of windows to see.

“I suppose,” Lila swatted Sam’s hand away as he continued poking her, “You two can have fun flying her, sitting here is tying my stomach in knots.”

“Really?” Goose said in astonishment.

“Yes this cockpit is claustrophobic,” Lila stood up and made her way back through the narrow fuselage, “I might be ancient but I’ve never fully shook the ol’ Terra Firma Syndrome. Why else do you think I like big ships?”

“But you’d said space travel didn’t bother you anymore?” Goose asked.

“Correct,” she leaned against the clean white padding of the fuselage, “but being in a tiny space inches from the void with nothing but a cluster of dinky windows to shield me is too much.” She turned and left the two men in the small bridge, hopping down to the lower level, an echoing thump as she landed on the closed floor hatch to the workshop at the bottom of the ship.

Sam itched his chin, digging at the growing beard. He still wasn’t sure if he was going to keep it, it’s been years since he’d gone more than a few days shaving. Lila liked him either way, though he noticed she was fussing from the scratchy stubble. He’d probably end up shaving it again, if only to escape the itchiness.

He’d only started growing it out because of Goose. The now 18 year old young man wanted to grow out his facial hair but was getting discouraged so Sam agreed to grow his out in solidarity. So far Goose had a decent disconnected goatee going; the hair on his upper lip, chin, and lower lip had grown in thick. He wanted a full beard but the hair got patchier up his jawline and he started shaving it to not get teased by folks around the Key.

Sam watched Goose check over the systems, recalibrating them just like they did with the old Angel. His hair looked feral with the two years worth of grow-out curling every which way. Lila had convinced him shortly after the fight for the Key, when he was still recovering from his injuries, to let her trim all the fried ends from his hair. He hadn’t bleached or dyed his ginger hair since, his curl pattern free to take over. Both Sam and Lila had encouraged Goose to style it in some way, to keep it out of his face, even just run a comb through it to tidy it up but Goose seemed to like it messy and unkempt so there wasn’t much they could do.

At least he bathes and wears deodorant, Sam thought as he lowered himself into the pilot seat. He had a leg up on most his pirate peers with that. Sam flipped on the ship intercom, “if you’ve got any business with the Key say something now, otherwise we’re outta here.”

Lila’s voice bounced up through hatch and down the fuselage, “Let’s bust this joint!”

#starfield #sam coe #starfield fanfiction #atonalginger writes #wip wednesday #starborn!Sam #Sam Coe x oc #pirate!Sam #the family that plungers together stays together

[dfastback68]

Fair to say I’m about 2/3rds of the way through the first draft of this fic I’ve been trying to write for nearly two months, and for the 1000th time I’ve decided I hate it lmao. For the time being I might have to shelve it until I figure out how I want to go forward, but I still want to talk about it!! I may concentrate on the ‘epilogue’ since that’ll be shorter and stands by itself, even if it’s more goth fam than mishanks.

So, inspiration for the fic, in no particular order: I miss sailing, Black Sails S3E2 (yeah, the hurricane one), the sandstorm in Mad Max: Fury Road, wondering how haki apply to things outside of combat, the one episode of Top Gear where they race a sailboat, and the fact that Mihawk’s coffin boat drives me absolutely wild (but not in a good way). It is very funny yes, because come on. But please. Please Mihawk I am begging you. How do you effectively sail a coffin while sitting on a little throne. How are you sitting with the sword still on your back. My dude. The sail is never unfurled. Where is the rigging. Is it propelled by goth vibes alone? How does this man get around?? I don’t understand it. This anime-ass mfer is ruining my life.

This led to me busting out all the old sailing notes and considering how one man, who is definitely insane, could possibly sail around these ridiculous oceans by himself. This did require a total redesign of Hitsugibune into the kind of boat I know knew how to sail, which was fun. I do miss sailing, even if I only did it for a few summers as a teenager. I also wanted to write about haki, and how Mihawk could use both to navigate and keep himself safe. Observation haki might be used to track weather and wind and currents, Armament to extend to the ship and keep her safe in rough seas. If Armament can cover your body and your weapon, why not your ship as well? This would get tricky though, because keeping the hull from shattering is one thing, but the mast and the sails and the lines need flexibility. 

The best way to explore and test these, I thought, would be to throw him into a hurricane. The original original draft of the story had him sailing into it with Luffy, who would be the absolute worst person to trap on a tiny boat with Mihawk in such dire circumstances. The added layer of Mihawk needing to keep his ex’s adopted child alive because if he goes overboard That’s It was a fun idea. I couldn’t make it do right, though, and the story made more sense when I swapped Luffy for Shanks and it turned into mishanks adventure time. Also the old married couple bickering vibe, because Shanks is used to sailing in much larger ships, with a crew. Terrible backseat driver.

I also started tossing in some spooky elements because the ocean really is terrifying, and old sailor’s superstitions, but I think that’s where things started to get bogged down and the story got too far away from me 🤔 Also Mihawk and Shanks both needed severe nerfing to drive them into a hurricane in the first place and also make it a challenge, so. I’ve written and rewritten the steps leading to this so many times I can’t stand it anymore. 

In the meantime I've got some other stories to pick at, and also wait patiently for it to not be winter in Michigan so we can free the kayaks from their slumber and run directly into the water 😊

#my post #fanfic #one piece #mishanks

[starseneyes]

Chenford REWIND - Lucy Chen / Tim Bradford - The Rookie - Season 4 Ep 14

This one might seem a little weird for me to pick out of the pile, but it really resonated with me for a few reasons that I'll get into once we dive into the Meta.

Season 4 is the era of open Tim and Lucy truly sharing in one another's lives at a level they never did before. It's needed for this episode.

So, bear with me because this is more of a "mini meta", but this episode deserves it, I think.

SPOILER ALERT: In the land of Spoilers I doth play! Merriment is to be had for those who partake of said indulgences, but for those who forsake the foreign finds, atrophy doth await. Okay, I can be a little silly because we've done this enough. Spoilers within. But I do try to write without foreknowledge of what is to come.

Everyone versed on the way this works? Excellent! I'm ready to dive in.

"... since I don't know my biological father, you know, it makes it kind of challenging."

I hate these forms with everything in me. And I. Have. Twins. So every time I start them with a new doctor, I have twice as many forms that have to be filled out in the same time as most parents get for one. So, I'm with you, Lucy.

Also, I remember the first time I had to fill out a School Form after meeting my biological father. I was a lot younger, but I remember my absolute confusion. "Mama, am I Hispanic?" "Just mark 'white'," she responded. Yeah... it was an interesting season.

"Wait. Your Dad's not your bio dad?" "Mmnm." "You never told me that." "It's not really a big deal. My Dad, the man who raised me, is my Dad."

Absolutely, Lucy! Blood does not determine fatherhood.

I remember an episode of The Pretender that took the angle of "Didn't I teach you to tie a tie?" and I was a mess of blubbering crazy on the floor because "Dad" isn't owed to anyone just because they contribute biological matter to an insemination. "Dad" is a special moniker.

And, yes, I call both the man who raised me until I was 7 and my biological father "Daddy". Plus I have a step-dad. My wedding was really interesting with three Father Speeches, let me tell you!

"She told me that he was not ready to be a father..."

I do feel for Lucy's mom on this one. My biological father let his friends convince him my mother was lying... so he never wanted anything to do with me.

She had to go to court to get the blood test for... you guessed it... medical history forms, so she'd be able to fill them out accurately for me.

Yeah, Lucy doesn't owe this man anything and neither did her mom.

Wait... did I just take Mama Chen's side on something? It feels dirty...

"Hey, do you think it's weird I didn't try to find my biological dad?" "No. You don't owe the guy anything."

Thank. You. Lucy, if you're not going to listen to me (just like football teams when my Uncle's screaming at them from his couch), then please listen to your husband.

What I also love about this is that we've caught up with them mid-conversation. It's possible they were talking about this in the Shop, but I like to think that it came up between them before. Lucy's comfortable telling Tim almost anything.

For a man who tries hard to keep the Shop a "personal free zone", by Season 4 Lucy has worn him down, and he's beyond telling her to stop.

She's already versed Tim on the fertility fun, so it's completely natural for her to talk to him about this, too.

"The only thing he ever contributed to your life was measured in millimeters."

Best. Husband. Ever. Get this man an award, because he's busting out all the support for his wife while calling out this no-show sperm-contributor on his lack of parental contribution. We stan a man who thinks fatherhood demands some bloody effort.

Look, I love my bio dad and we have a great relationship. But it took a lot of work and a 13-year-old screaming at her father to put down the beer and drive because he was the adult and needed to act like it. Yeah...

"Seriously, I don't know why I bother talking to you about personal stuff." "Mission accomplished."

This cracked me up the first time I saw it! Because, Tim's beyond telling Lucy to stop talking, right? But that doesn't stop him from being a cynical bitch to get her to stop.

She gives him the look, but his gaze is safely on Bailey so he isn't instantly vaporized by meeting her eyes.

"Why don't you give us a list?" "How about giving me your number?"

Tim turns to her and does his little finger point that he did when dismissing her when they decided to ride together again as Gofer and Sergeant.

He didn't need her involved in his paperwork that night so he waves her away. This time, he's waving himself out of his conversation. Also, he doesn't want to be present so he doesn't have to write Lucy up for threatening the guy.

"Sir, are you okay?" "Do I look like I'm okay?" ... "Did you see where she went after she attacked you?" "Obviously not."

Calm down, Timmy, my boy. About 12 seconds ago you asked a man washing his blood-red, can't-open eyes with a garden hose if he was okay.

Neither one of you's doing great in the common sense department, today, so why not back off on the attitude directed my girl's way?

I've seen a small contingent of people claim Tim's changed too much from Season 1. Nah. What we've seen is a man who was at the lowest point of his life finding healing. It's gradual, but it's there.

And we see that the cynical, sarcastic, dead-pan part of him is still there. But it's not overwhelming all the other wonderful, layered parts of him like before.

Also, I speak cynicism and sarcasm, so in that I've found a kindred spirit in a fictional character.

"People suck." "Amen to that."

He's not wrong. Look, there are individuals who can be pretty amazing, but in my experience, people as a whole generally suck. That's why the kind-hearted, compassionate, considerate, empathetic humans matter so much. That's why people like Lucy matter so much.

Because in a hurting world, the hope-bringers matter. They're the ones who light a torch in the blackest night and hold it high for others to see. And as we're drawn toward that light, holding our own water-logged torches, drenched in our tears... we find warmth. We find hope.

The warmth dries out our torches, not erasing our tears, but ceasing their flow. And then, slowly, the spark within each of us returns, and we can then hold our own torches high for the next weary travelers who've lost their sense of self on the difficult trails of life.

Tim's torch is starting to spark, and he can thank Lucy for a lot of it. But, right now, he's reminding us that he's one of us... still not all the way out of the dark.

Lucy twitches her hand at Tim's remark, almost a "Are you kidding me!?", but Tim doesn't see it.

"Is it better to know? Or to not?" "You talking about bio dad now?"

Kitty! My husband says that to me every time I cock my head to the side in response to something he says. It reminds him of his kitties he grew up with.

So, as soon as Tim cocked his head, I thought "kitty!" and promptly erupted into laughter in an empty room like a madwoman.

But I love how well Tim can read her. There are still times he checks in with her with a "You okay?", but we're seeing the evolution of his understanding of Lucy. He's grown in his understanding of her, and right now he knows exactly where her mind has gone.

And how special is it that she's working through this with Tim?

Look, family stuff can be complicated and we've already seen Lucy's issues with her mother. Tim has likely had several earfuls of all this, but I love how supportive he's being of her, here.

He's not telling her what to do. And that immediately throws me to post-DOD when he didn't tell her what to do with her tattoo. There's a consistency here that I appreciate.

Also, I love this growth compared to when she was vetting Emmett. She pretended to talk to Rachel (not this Rachel... but I'll totally be her second Rachel BFF if Lucy Chen, fictional character, is looking for a new BFF). And when Tim called her on it, she admitted she needs to process orally and knew he wouldn't do it with her.

Look. How. Far. We've. Come. Tim doesn't have to be talked into it. In fact, he's the one who drew it out of her when she started waxing poetic Shakespeare style—"To know, or not to know?"

Tim is Lucy's sounding board, now. Losing Jackson was huge. And while Lucy loves Tamara and talks to her a lot, it's not the same thing since there's more of a mother/daughter relationship at play.

And as someone with incredibly odd parent/child dynamics, I'm not judging. Just saying, it's different.

But in the vacuum that stole Jackson from Lucy's life, there will never be someone to fill that space completely. Yet, certain elements transferred near-seamlessly to Tim. Tim and Lucy are friends, and they are deeply involved in one another's lives, at this point.

Remember, we are post double-date, post Tim's father, post Lucy helping with demo, post so many other things that moved them forward in Season 4. Walls were torn down between them.

It's that thinnest veil now keeping them apart. That, and their placeholder significant others because, wow, were we dealing with some dead weight in Season 4, am I right?

Tim tells Lucy to find out the truth, and I love that. He's encouraging her in this endeavor on the same day he told her "mission accomplished" in scaring her off. He's still Tim. He's still going to be a bit of an ass, sometimes.

But, damnit, he's making more and more exceptions for Lucy. And he doesn't even realize it, yet. But we get the delicious point-of-view of watching it happen, and I love this for them!

"The year your mother became a therapist, she slept with a patient. He was your father... I think the shame still eats her up."

Hold. Up. Mama Condescending slept with her patient!? That is one of the rules you do not break. So rather than own up to her mistake, even with her own daughter, she tried to mold Lucy into the model of perfection without consideration for the psychological damage she might be inflicting?

Oh, Mama Chen and I are gonna fight the next time her face appears on my screen. You don't do my girl Lucy dirty like that.

It's totally in-character. Like, it makes sense. But it also hurts. Because "the shame still eats her up". Lucy's mind can't help but wonder if part of that shame is her.

"You okay?"

Hubby knows when wifey's acting off. And he knows it has something to do with her father. So, he's not going into this blind. Tim Bradford is asking Lucy Chen about her state of mind knowing it's personal.

"Personal Life Free Zone" my ass.

"My whole life, nothing I have ever done has been good enough for my mom. Not, not my grades, my boyfriends, my career. And this whole time she has been a total hypocrite." "Look, uh, maybe she's trying to prevent you from making the same mistakes she did."

Oooh, swing and a miss. Tim, you can't help someone avoid repeating history if they don't know history.

Also, Lucy's never gonna sleep with a suspect, which is the closest equivalence I can make. She may sleep with a certain Sergeant, though, down the line. Am I right?

I've wondered for a while, too, if Tim has a soft spot for Moms considering everything he went through with his own Mom. From what we can tell, he tried to shield her and protect her even when he knew things were bad with his father.

My brother and I had a bad string of babysitters when my mother first became a single Mom. She divorced my brother's dad shortly after her mother died, and it was just the three of us.

We knew how bad it was. How hard it was for her to find good sitters. When we finally found a decent one who would let us stay over at her place when needed... we hid it from my mother when she and her husband got into a physical altercation in front of us.

I was about 7 and my brother was 3. He didn't quite understand what was going on, so as my Nanny ripped us out of bed and drove around town half the night looking for a place to stay... I distracted him. I played games with him.

And as we fell asleep foot-to-foot on her mother's couch across town, I was satisfied to know he didn't understand what was happening. I managed to protect him.

And I protected my mother, too, by not telling her. Because I wanted to shield her. I didn't want her to have one more thing to worry about.

Tim strikes me as a kindred soul in that. So, he looks at Lucy's mother and doesn't quite see the whole picture. After all, he hasn't even met the lady... yet.

Oh, but when Tim Bradford meets Mama Chen and sees the bullshit she puts Lucy through? He's gonna have his wife's back and it's going to be a glorious minute twenty-five of television that I will play on repeat to my heart's content.

"Or she resents me for reminding her of the one time in her life that she messed up."

There it is. The shame. Is that why Mama Chen is always ashamed of her? Lucy has to wonder.

"Lucy, it's..."

No, phone. Not now! I have never wanted to chuck a phone out the window so badly as I did when Lucy's chirped just then.

Because Tim Bradford knows a thing or two about a parent who makes you feel ashamed of yourself. And I really want to know what he was going to say.

One of y'all better have a fanfic to fill in the blanks because, whew, if I find Lucy's phone alone in a back alley, one of us isn't coming back.

Yes, I know I have a beef with an inanimate object and that the whole bloody thing's fictional.

But damnit, I want Tim to have the opportunity to speak love into Lucy's life as often as possible and that. phone. killed. my. dream.

"Patrick Walsh. That's my father's name." "Well, I mean, at least it's not something weird like Dilbert." "You mean like the cartoon character?" "Someone named their kid Hashtag. You never know."

I love this. Tim falls into their natural rhythm, and Lucy goes along with him. It actually coaxes a smile out of her, which is what I think he was trying to do.

Awww, our babies have graduated to responding to one another's needs wordlessly. I'm so proud of them!

"So, what are you gonna do?" "Find out the truth."

She's echoing Tim's exact words to him, which I love. But I also love that Tim is driving this whole conversation.

Mr. "Personal Life Is a No-Go On The Job" is the one coaxing this out of Lucy. Because he knows her well enough to know that she'll stew on it, otherwise. If he wants her focused on work, he has to get her through those personal blocks by talking it out.

This whole episode is a love letter to Tim's understanding of Lucy and how far they have come. Yes, he gave her a little trademark Tim at the top with his no-nonsense assessment of ejaculation's lack of causality to actually being a parent.

But, throughout this episode, he's been the one driving the conversation. He's been the one drawing her out. And he's been the one supporting her in this, which is huge.

They. Have. Come. So. Far.

"He's dead."

I can't even imagine. All of these scenarios Lucy built up in her head, and they're just gone.

I met my Dad at 6. He got clean when I was in my 20's, and that is when we truly bonded. But I've had friends meet their biological fathers into their 40's. It was a wild ride.

And though Lucy loves her Dad (the one who raised her), she was curious about this man who fathered her.

A girlfriend of mine was fascinated when she met her biological father and found out he was an artist... like her. It was so cool for her to connect those dots, even though she still recognized the man who raised her as her real father (because blood ≠ "real"). There was a piece of her that she'd never seen in another human, before, and that was cool.

Lucy will never have those moments. And wanting them doesn't mean she loves her Dad any less. She simply wanted to meet the man who fathered her, to know that piece of herself a little better.

"Maybe I should have tried to find him sooner." "Maybe, but he's the one who made the decision that he wasn't ready to be a parent. Whatever he did with his life after, it's not on you."

All. Of. This. And you can tell Lucy's not completely convinced, because what kid is? Yes, Lucy is a grown woman. But when it comes to our parents, we'll always be their kids.

Lucy hasn't had the best examples of functional relationships. And, frankly, neither has Tim. Neither of them know what it looks like to really work through.

We can argue that Tim was married before, but that didn't work out. For a million reasons, it didn't work out.

And this whole "egg" thing started because Lucy's Mom wanted to be sure she'd have grandchildren even if Lucy never found the right man. And that led Lucy down the path to finding her birth-father... only to find out he died. alone.

If she had reached out sooner, could she have changed that? And, Lucy, honey, I know that "what if" game oh so well. It never ends if you keep playing it. So, you have to step away.

And, you. Yes, YOU! Don't play the what-if game. None of us can change our pasts, but we can shift our paths.

Our past is written, but the future's as twisty and turny as my kids' favorite board game. Lots of options. Lots of opportunities. Don't limit yourself because of the past. Don't "what-if" your life away.

Do what you can with what you have, and bit-by-bit, you'll build a new life. One breath at a time.

As always, thank you for reading. See you on the next!

#Chenford #Lucy Chen #Tim Bradford #Melissa O'Neil #Eric Winter #Meta #The Rookie #Lucy x Tim #Tim x Lucy