#sorry for taking so long with the prompts too :(

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Smoking with Price

F!/AFAB!Reader x Price fluff piece. Word count 2.7k (oops it got away with me) Warnings: Weed and Cigar smoking, alcohol mention(brief), Soap is a menace, a little angst, happy ending.

Price Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | AO3

You met on a riverside patio in a pub in Hereford.

Him nursing a large measure of whisky and a fat cigar. You with a soft drink and a fat spliff perched between your lips.

It’s balmy, bloody Mediterranean your grandfather would have said, as you exhale a heady cloud of smoke from your lungs. The cheap tobacco aftertaste heavy on your tongue as you feel the buzz brewing deep in your chest. You hate how the UK smoking culture always cuts weed with tobacco, but that’s your fault for buying pre-rolled.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you hear someone groan behind you, the heavy thunk of the patio door follows soon after the stranger’s grunt of disapproval.

“Sorry,” you say flatly, not really caring for the wanker’s comfort when he’s likely to just be coming out here to rapidly huff a few Lambert & Butlers – worse yet, Sterling Super Kings – before going back to the poor girls he has been dry-humping against all night.

“What’re you apologising for?” The gruff voice asks as you turn over your shoulder to address him.

“Thought you were bitching about this,” you say as you wave your dominant hand back and forth, spliff caught between your index and middle finger as the orange tip glows angrily against the darkening sky. You don’t know if it’s the high or the fact you haven’t gotten laid in months, but the moment your eyes connect with him you’re done for.

He has eyes like blown glass, bright blue with an intensity that makes you feel almost shy beneath his gaze. His beard is thick but well kept, despite clearly being able to grow it full, its styled into a heavy set of mutton chops. On anyone else it might look comical, but he isn’t anyone else.

You know you’re staring, but he’s not shy either. Those baby blues raking up and over you as he clearly fights a battle in his head over whether or not to join you. You don’t mind the pause, the indecision, it gives you a little longer to ogle.

He’s broad, like ridiculously wide with strong shoulders that pull at the seams of his white t-shirt. You never thought you were into body hair, but here you are practically salivating at the way his chest hair teases up out of his collar. His khaki cargo shorts sit low on his hips and your eyes are drawn to his thick calves. His hair is thick there too, prompting you to wonder how hairy he is elsewhere-.

“Christ, no, didn’t even see you there.”

Ouch.

You meet his gaze as he cringes, clearly realising how abrupt that sounded.

“Sorry,” he starts but you shrug him off, bringing the spiff back to your lips to take a long drag, trying not to grimace as you fully realise how high the tobacco to weed ratio in the blunt really is.

“S’okay, don’t owe me shit,” you say with a shrug.

“My mother raised me better than to make a beautiful woman feel dejected,” he says, voice softer now, almost sultry, as he settles a metre or so to your right. A respectable distance. He pulls a white tube with red detailing from his pocket, you smile at the familiar sight as he pops it open to reveal a hefty cigar.

“Going to give me whiplash with that turnaround, soldier,” you scoff as you feel the heat rise to your cheeks. You look over the banks of the Wye, unsurprised at how high the river is this after the recent rainfall. You can just about make out the cathedral on the far bank, it’s an oddly romantic scene.

I must be fucking baked.

You think to yourself with a coy smile as you’re jolted back to the here and now as the stranger speaks again.

“What makes you think I’m a soldier, love?”

“A hunch,” you say with a smirk as you turn to face the handsome man, you’re not going to give up your secrets so quicky.

“Oh?” he smiles right back as he pats his many pockets, looking for a lighter, “Enlighten me?”

“You’re not local,” you start as you watch him grow more frustrated, the furrow in his brow endearing, “At least, not in the traditional sense, accents all wrong,” you say slowly as you reach into your pocket for your own lighter.

“Go on,” he grumbles as he looks to you with a silent plea for help etched on his face. You toss him your lighter as you tease your spliff back to life, you caught it just before the last embers had died.

“Your choice of smoke is the dead giveaway thought, you’re not stuffy enough to be one of the local rich pricks, so it’s soldier or hipster,” you say with a breathy exhale as he rests the cigar between his plush lips. You swallow dryly as you look down to see your glass empty.  

“Good observational skills,” he says with a smile as he ignites the lighter, “I’m committed to this the moment I light up,” he warns as he takes your lighter from your outstretched hand, “Fancy sticking around and keeping this old Captain company?”

“Fuckin’ knew it,” you smile in triumph as you nod, “And yeah, I’ve got nowhere to be.”

He cocks his head to the side for a second before nodding in appreciation, he slowly lights the cigar, fingertips gently rolling it around to get the right heat distribution. You’re mesmerised as you watch him work.

“Thanks,” he says softly, his fingers brush yours as he gives you back your lighter. You pocket it without a word. There’s a tension churning in your gut as you try not to get your hopes up.

“Want another round?” He asks as he finishes the amber liquid in his glass, “I’m buying.”

“Sure, I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you nod as he passes you his cigar.

“For safe keeping, you’re welcome to some if you want,” he says with a wink before heading back into the pub. You’re left to your thoughts, as you try to decide if you should shoot your shot with him or not. You’re desperate for a good lay, but there’s something about him that makes you want more than that. You’re not sure you could deal with the bitter aftertaste of a one-night stand with him with no promise of seeing him again.

You shake off the creeping negative thoughts as you refocus on the here and now, you place the cigar between your lips and take a short, tentative puff. It’s rich, the flavour coating your tongue with warm woody notes and hints of coffee.

You’re warm, fuzzy even, as you imagine what it would be like to kiss him. You wonder if he would taste like the cigar trapped between your lips as you take another slow, savouring pull. Or would he melt on your mouth like the rich, peaty whiskey you assume he drinks. You can make believe, even if you may never find out.

You hear the patio door open and close once more, you’re about to make a silly quip about getting back here double time when you hear an unfamiliar Scottish lilt in place of your cockney companion.

“So, you’re the reason Price is rushin’ to get out of his birthday party.”

You snub out the last dregs of your joint on the ashtray as you try not to snort at the Scot. First a man with mutton chops, now one with a mohawk? You couldn’t make this shit up.

“Price?” You ask a little fuzzily, the high blurring things around the edges a little as you try and connect the very obvious dots, “Oh, you mean John?”

“Oh, la-dee-dah, he’s given you his name and his cigar, that’s practically betrothal right there, lass,” The Scot barks out a laugh as he flops back against the low wall, grinning at you like a Cheshire cat.

“Respectfully,” you roll your eyes as you bring the cigar to your lips but don’t take another drag as you eye up the objectively attractive man, “I’m not interested in the dick waving, negging, or whatever this is.”  

He’s in jeans and a Metallica t-shirt, he’s similarly strong and broad to Price, with ice-blue eyes. You wonder scathingly if the SAS has a beauty standard these days.

“Ouch,” He groans, clutching at his heart as if you’d physically wounded him, “I can see why he’s so giddy, he likes them feisty.”

“Alright, piss off,” you grumble, mood souring at the overly familiar ribbing from the stranger, it screams of boys will be boys or some other misogyny-riddled play. Sending the asshole friend out to rile you up so Price can sweep you off your feet, big strong Captain to the rescue.

“Ah, hen, I didn’t mean t’ upset you,” he starts but you can’t shake the ick, this was a mistake.

“Save it,��� you say as you rest the cigar on the ash tray, “Asshole.”

“Fuck,” you hear the Scot groan as you slip down the side steps that lead down to the near bank of the river.

Maybe it’s because you’re high and a little jumpy, but you’re not in the mood to be toyed with. There’s a small voice in the back of your mind that thinks you overreacted, that the Scotsman maybe came on a little strong but meant no harm.

But you’ve already made the impulsive decision to leave, following the river back towards your Air BnB where a cold shower and a lumpy bed await. You feel stupid, but know you’ll feel worse if you walk back to the pub now.

Made your bed. Now lie in it.

You scold yourself inwardly as you slow your pace from an angry lurch to a pitiful bimble. You’re walking for a while before you realise you should have gotten back to the red back door of the riverside property you’re staying at already. You pull out your phone, bringing up the address of the Air BnB on Maps. You watch as the GPS calibrates and your stomach drops.

You’re going the wrong way.

You’re rooted to the spot, caught between the river and the prospect of trying to navigate the winding residential streets of Hereford. You know Uber doesn’t operate in the area, and you don’t fancy tracking down one of the Beryl Bikes to cycle back through the small town. You know it’s a straight route from here to the property if you just suck it up and risk being spotted on your way back past the pub.

“Fuck it,” you grumble to yourself as you turn back around, power-walking back the way you came, knowing it’s the logical, and most direct route back to your accommodation.

You’re passing back by the pub when you hear the commotion, you almost ignore it, but you hear John’s voice loud and clear.

“She was nice, Soap, did you really have to scare her off?”

You pause, hidden from view above as you see John leaning back against the balcony wall where you had been only minutes before. His back is turned to you as he chews out someone further in on the terrace - you guess the Scot from before.

“I’m sorry, I was just havin’ a bit of fun, didn’t think she’d scarper like that,” he admits and you think you hear remorse in his heavily accented lilt.

“Well, you thought wrong, fuckin’ hell,” John turns around at the last minute, just as you’re about to leave and his eyes meet yours in the murky gloom of dusk. You smile up at him before forcing yourself to walk on, a small part of you hopes he follows you.

“Goin’ for a walk, I’ll deal with you later,” you hear him as you maintain a casual pace, the sound of the river gurgling in your ears as you breathe in the cool night air.

It doesn’t take long for John to catch up to you, a gentle call of your name giving you pause as you wait for him to level with you.

“Hey,” he says with a sigh as he keeps a respectable distance, “Sorry about Johnny, he’s… full on.”

“Johnny?” You laugh, “You SAS boys share names these days?”

“Just a funny coincidence,” John says with a shrug as he matches your pace, “I am sorry though, truly.”

“Appreciate it,” you hum as you look ahead, not trusting yourself to make eye contact, “But I’m not fucking you tonight, I hope you know that.”

“Reasonable,” he chuckles, “Can I at least walk you home?”

“Sure,” you shrug as you feel the flutter of excitement deep in your chest.

“So, you local, or?” He asks as you see the amber glow of his cigar in your periphery, the taste still lingers rich and heavy on your tongue from earlier.

“Just visiting,” you say as you spot the red door up ahead, dread forming in the pit of your stomach as the inevitable end of the night looms over you. John doesn’t press further, and you feel a little dejected as you realise, he may have just been being nice.

 “Well this is me,” you say as you pause at a small wrought iron gate, “Walk me to the door?”

You bite your lip, it’s cheesy, but you’re grasping at any extra time you can here.

“Sure,” his lips quirk up around his cigar as he opens the gate, holding it for you as you slip past.

His presence behind you as you ascend the short flight of stairs has the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you say softly as you linger on the stoop, John hovering on the top step as he looks from your lips to your eyes in a brief flash. Blink and you would have missed it.

“Any time,” he says as he plucks the half-smoked cigar from his lips, “If you’re free tomorrow night, I’d like to take you for a proper drink.”

“Bold of you to think I’m interested,” you smirk as you take half a step towards him, “But yes, I’d like that.”

He lets out a heavy exhale and your cheeks burn with giddy anticipation as you realise he is interested after all. You blame the weed for making you double and triple guess him.

“Can I get your number?” You ask as you pull out your phone to see a message from Kate, you swipe the notification up as you pull up your keypad. John inputs his number and you play out the dance of calling the number to give him yours.

“Tomorrow night then,” John says as he pockets his phone, already turning to descend the steps back onto the riverside.

“Hey,” you call out, fingers circling his wrist as you pull him back to look at you, his deep blue eyes go wide as you fawn up at him, “Happy Birthday.”

You cup his jaw with your other hand and pull his lips against yours. You gasp at the way it feels, like electricity sparking between you as he places his free hand around the back of your neck, holding you to him as he holds his cigar to the side.

Your lips slot together like you’re made for one another and you have to muster every ounce of self-control not to deepen it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you whisper against his lips before slipping from his grasp.

He watches, dumbfounded, as you disappear inside, his cheeks rosy and lips wet as he chuckles to himself. He whistles merrily to himself the whole way back to the pub, messaging you on a whim, wishing you a good night.

~*~

The next morning, John is making his way into the briefing room, distracted enough that he runs into a person he doesn’t immediately recognise.

“Sorry,” he grunts, “Didn’t see you there.”

You turn with a grin on your face as you recognise the sound of his voice.

“Morning Captain,” you say with a wink as you revel in the awestruck look on his face, “Hope you had a good night?”

Smoking a J with Simon Smoking with Soap Smoking with Gaz Smoking with Kate Price Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | AO3

#john price #captain john price #captain price #captain johnathan price #task force 141 #john price x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #captain price x reader #price x reader #price x you #price x y/n #captain price x you #captain price cod #john price cod #captain john price x you #cod x reader #cod x y/n #cod x you #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mw3 #141 fluff series #Theywhowriteandknowthings fluff #weed #Tw weed #cw weed

[hughes86-43]

prompt - “If we both want to fit, we’ll have to cuddle”

note- idk what this is, I kinda just started writing it out.

warnings - none? some grammar mistakes.

For several years now, it has been known that you and Jack did not get along. Honestly, you’re not really sure when it all started that you two just did not like each other. You just know that both of you haven’t let up with the comebacks you both throw toward each other, and people and friends know how aggressive you both get towards each other, nothing bad but it can get heated. Despite how good of a friend you are to Luke, you just cannot get past arguing with Jack, and he wastes no time doing the same to you.

Summer was right around the corner, and to celebrate the end of the hockey season and to bring everyone together, it was decided that a vacation was the best option for everybody. You were excited as you haven’t seen everyone in forever, but that would mean that you would have to see Jack, and he was the last person you wanted to be around.

Everyone decided that the perfect vacation spot was to a beach house in Tampa, Florida. Quinn, Trevor, Luke, Jack, Cole, Alex, and some other girls and guys that are friends of them arrived earlier than you. Once you made it, Luke picked you up from the airport. After hugging you he wasted no time to tell you to be on your best behavior around Jack. Throwing an arm around your shoulder, Luke says, “Now I know how you and Jack can get around each other, and me and the others are just begging that you keep the arguing on the down low.”

Smirking at him, you say, “And did you tell this to Jack as well? It’s as much him, as it is me, ya know?”

Luke throws his head back laughing, because he expected you to say something like that. “Yes, we all told Jack the same thing. Now let’s go, everybody has been waiting on you!”

Finally arriving to the beach house, Luke grabbed your bags and helped you inside. As soon as you were inside, everyone came and welcomed you as they were so excited to finally see you. However, that happiness died a bit for you when you saw Jack.

After hugging Cole last, you see Jack out of the corner of your eye leaning against the wall. He speaks up when he notices you looking at him, “Glad to see someone finally made it, ya know this whole thing started hours ago?”

As soon as he started speaking, you wanted to pull his hair out, one by one. However, Luke told you to behave so you would do just that. Repeating in your head, be nice be nice be nice.

Breathing out, you say with the biggest smile, “Glad to see you too, you ass.” Technically, you were still being nice, you smiled and greeted him. Everyone just stood there glancing between the both of you, waiting to see if this exchange would turn into a full on battle.

“Nice to see you haven’t changed, now have you heard the news?” Jack says with a smirk.

Giving him a glare, you ask, “What news? Oh my gosh, are you leaving?!”

“No,” Jack replies with a glare, “Since Lukey here didn’t tell you, I guess I will, we are going to have to share a room.”

As soon as he said it, you start busting out laughing, “You’re joking, aren’t you? You and me share a room? That’s crazy!” You look around to everyone but nobody is laughing along, mostly just taking in this whole scene.

Slowly Luke and Quinn move forward, wincing Luke says, “It’s not a joke, you two are going to have to share a room. I should’ve said that, but we’re down on rooms compared to people, and Jack drew your name in the “roommate” draw for this weekend.”

Quinn reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder, “Sorry, my advice is just to not kill him, but I know he can be a bit too much sometimes.”

“Hey!” You hear Jack yell out.

Speaking up, “Okay, it’s okay! It will be fine! I won’t kill him, as long as he doesn’t do anything that would require me to do so.”

Jack walks forward toward you, “Well don’t make it difficult, and I won’t do anything!”

“Me make it difficult? Have you met you? You make everything difficult!” You point a finger into his chest.

Quinn quickly goes between the two of you before this argument gets blown out of proportion. “Okay! That’s enough, you two can argue all night long! For right now, it’s late and tomorrow is a big day of adventures, now go to bed!”

Feeling like you were scolded by your dad, you follow through with what he said. “Okay, you’re right. Let’s head to bed,” you grab your suitcase, turning back to Jack, “Cmon roomie! Let’s go check out our room!”

Jack grumbles, but leads the way to your shared room.

Faintly behind you down the hall, Quinn says to the others, “You think they know there is only one bed in there?” The others just laugh. Five seconds later, they soon figured out the answer, and then start making there way to their rooms so they can’t deal with the aftermath.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” You yell.

“One bed! You’re joking!” Jack yells.

“You!,” you turn towards Jack, “you did this, didn’t you! You knew there was only one bed, so I could get the floor!”

Jack spins around, “Me? I had no idea there would only be one bed! I just drew the stick!”

Sighing, you bring your hand to your throbbing head. You walk towards the bed and sit down, trying to think this through. “Okay, I’ll be the bigger person, I’ll sleep on the floor and you can take the bed.”

Jack immediately shakes his head, “No, you can get the bed, and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Jack, you were here first, you can get the bed. It’s just a couple nights, I can sleep on the floor.” To prove your point, you grab your pillow and blanket and make a spot on the floor. Once the spot is laid out, you lay down and act all bundled up, despite the fact it’s the floor and it’s hard as a rock.

You close your eyes, but you immediately hear Jack laughing. Opening one eye, you glare at him. “What? I’m trying to sleep?”

“Y/N, take the damn bed, we both know the floor isn’t comfortable.” He extends his hand towards you to help you up. You think for a few moments on the idea, and then take his hand.

Once you’re up, you put your pillow and blanket back on the bed. You can feel Jack staring at you behind you. You know you’ll regret the words that are going to come out of your mouth but you say them anyway. “You know, we would just both sleep in the bed?”

“And share the same bed as you?” Jack says, but he immediately regrets it. “Wait, I didn’t mean it so badly.”

“Wow, if you’re going to be all rude again, just go sleep in the bathtub,” you sigh.

Thinking about it, the bed is not really that big so it would mean you both would be super close to each other. However, you didn’t want to sleep on the floor and he didn’t want to sleep on the floor, so it made since to share the bed.

“Ugh, fine, we can share the bed,” Jack says, immediately bringing his pillow to the other side of the bed. “Just don’t steal my covers!”

“Mhmm,” you agree.

Going back over to your suitcase, you pull out some pajamas. “I’m going to change real quick, I’ll be back.” You thought you would be sleeping in a room by yourself, so you brought your tiny shorts and tiny tank top to wear, and now you’re regretting that decision. Making your way to the hall bathroom, you notice someone is already in there, sighing you turn back around to go back to the bedroom.

“Welp, someone is in there, so I’m just going to change in here, you don’t have to leave, but do you care to just turn around?” You ask Jack, as he is laying down scrolling through his phone.

He nods and flips over onto his side that isn’t facing you. You hurry and change into your pajamas. Clearing your throat, you say, “Okay, you can look now.”

Jack flips back around, and immediately notices your tiny pajamas and takes in the sight. He notices how much bare skin is showing between the bottom and top of the tank top and shorts. Swallowing, he says, “Cute pajamas.”

Turning around from grabbing your charger, you look at him. “Thanks, I guess,” you reply, “Um, I thought I would be in a room by myself, so I didn’t think these pajamas would matter that much but I’m not by myself.” You shiver under the intense glare that he is giving you.

“Nah, they’re cute. Now, I’m tired, let’s head to bed,” he says from his spot still laying on the bed.

You grudgingly make your way to the bed and plug your phone up before getting under the covers. You slowly realize this bed isn’t big enough for the two of you. You’re practically smushed into his side, and he has a leg already over yours. Not knowing where to put your arm, you just decide to awkwardly put it above your head.

You’re still moving around ten minutes after Jack turned off the lights. Sighing, he flips over to look at you. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get comfortable, what are you doing?” You say back to him.

“I’m trying to sleep is what I’m doing, but I can’t when someone keeps moving!”

“Well, I can’t help it when this bed was only made for one person!” You throw your hands up, frustrated once again by this situation.

“If we both want to fit, we’ll have to cuddle, ya know?” You hear him say next to you.

Slowly moving your head, you glare at him again. “Cuddle, with you? I’d rather just sleep uncomfortable.”

He just gives you a smirk back before saying, “You know what, we’re going to cuddle. Because I know if you don’t get good enough sleep, you’re going to be in an even more grouchy mood tomorrow! So come here!”

You just stay right in your spot, not moving. That is until you feel arms move around you. “What are you doing!”

“We’re going to have to cuddle to fit, I just said that so that is what I’m doing!” He moves you closer to him so that your head is on his chest and his arm is wrapped around your shoulder. He has one leg over yours.

Not wanting to admit it, but he is right that this was the better option. You slowly relax into his embrace.

He must’ve noticed, because you can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “See, I told you it was the better option.”

“Yeah, yeah, go to sleep,” you say with a small laugh.

The next morning, you wake up still in his embrace. He has the softest look on his face while his hand is covering your arm and leg stilled wrapped around you. For some reason, you realize that there is not any where else you would rather be, and you’re finding comfort from the one guy that has been anything but to you. So you just continue laying there in his arms until the alarm goes off with the biggest smile on your face.

#jack hughes #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagines #nhlhockey fic #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey fics

[shipmansflannels]

"who asked first" with the yellowjackets

yay! I'm back! the decision to open a new blog just for yellowjackets wasn't easy at all, but since it's been a year since this obsession has barely gone away and I already had an extremely confusing blog with layouts and the like, I wanted to start over with this one. hope you like it. I'll make a very simple and small prompt first, and then I'll make the masterlist and the oneshots/fanfics. stay tuned! sorry for any grammatical or coherence errors, english is not my first language and I'm trying to improve!

--------

who asked first with the yellowjackets girls...

jackie taylor.

well, if we're going to be honest here, you definitely asked first.

of course, jackie had already been rehearsing for weeks how he would ask you out. but she's obviously a girlfaillure, so you definitely asked first.

it was probably when she least expected it. it could be at soccer practice, or when you were coming home from school together and you had the audacity to ask her to go out with her to some hypothetical and boring place in the middle of the street… whatever.

all I know is that this little loser was eager for you to ask, and she definitely rolled out the classic, "took you too long…"

shauna shipman.

again, you asked first.

shauna doesn't have the social tact to ask you out (she's just like me), and drunk is even worse, so you actually had to make the first move most of the time.

just like jackie, it could have been when she was at soccer practice, or when she was alone enough to vent to her journal and you were able to get close to her without scaring her. anyway, the thing is, shauna was already secretly expecting this to happen (a lot of her journal pages were about you btw), so it wasn't a surprise either when you asked her out.

despite everything, you didn't have any difficulties on your first date. she's pleasant company, I suppose.

natalie scatorccio.

one of the rare exceptions where she asked first.

okay, don't be fooled, either. natalie is very cocky from time to time, but asking to go out with you is definitely one of the times she tends to weaken. so, kevyn probably dared her to do it and she just took advantage of her cooler personality to use it on you.

but that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. in fact, it's kind of a good thing (and probably depressing for her) because she only felt like herself when she asked you. I see in nat a huge tendency to ignore some of her feelings, especially when it comes to people she likes.

the invitation was probably also full of teasing on her part, from body language to the words used for it. and somehow she made it look cool and convinced you to accept it.

things that only natalie scatorccio could do.

lottie matthews.

for some reason, I'm 100% sure you asked first.

I know many of us think of lottie as a completely carefree, liberal and often bitchy enough person to ask someone out on a date. but, if we count the pre-crash, I think she was a very insecure person and uncertain of her feelings, more due to the influence of the pills.

so, as incredible as it sounds, you asked first. it was in an extremely relaxed conversation between you that the invitation ended up unintentionally, and she was visibly panicked when she agreed.

lottie is probably the type of person who has a rehearsed speech in front of the mirror while getting ready, and with her enviable style and expensive clothes (some stolen), she would do anything to make your date the perfect date.

taissa turner.

she asked first.

taissa is confident enough to ask you out, I have no doubt about that. but she definitely spent weeks planning the perfect invitation, just in case everything went wrong and she needed to run (just like what happened when she thought about breaking allie's leg before nationals).

anyway, taissa would certainly ask first and it would be quite a surprise for you. taking into account that, from the moment you accepted, you would discover that van also knew about her friend's ideas, and later that half of the team also knew. it would be a shock because you wouldn't understand tai's intentions at first.

but none of them are necessarily bad. one, is that tai was really excited if you accepted, and her anxiety couldn't stop her from wanting to tell the world. two, because she was overly excited that you had agreed to go out with her, and wanted the world to know it as well.

van palmer.

as much as I would really like to prove otherwise, you asked first.

van has the same problem as lottie, but in her case, it's excessively because of the sarcasm jokes and high charisma. she thinks she's being too much for you and that asking for something like that on this level would end up scaring you away.

in the end, it's totally the opposite, but it's going to take van a long time to figure that out, specifically. the invitation would happen when she least expected it, probably when you were feeling confident enough to pass notes to her during classes.

it's a cute invitation, and one that van would hold in question for a long, long time.

misty quigley.

there would be no other answer. she asked first.

misty has no shame in admitting that she has a crush on you. and of course, to ask you out on a date, this shame decreases even more. she doesn't even care if she will be made fun of by her colleagues, what really matters is that she planned everything for you to accept.

and when I say everything, it really means everything.

from the moment she will slide up to your table and quietly ask if you accept, to the tone of voice she will use to persuade your brain to accept, to the place she will take you hand in hand and then let it slide. … she literally thought of every detail.

and, well, knowing misty quigley's ability to create plans, the whole thing worked out… until you figured it all out and admitted that you liked it even more, much to her surprise.

laura lee.

you asked first, of course. there would be no other answer either.

of course, not ruling out the possibility of laura lee asking first, given her hidden impulsive personality, but, in this case, taking the obviousness into account, you asked, and had to be careful with every line said in the invitation.

of course, it needed to be at a time when you were alone, because you were afraid that pressure from other people would make you feel suffocated. this, of course, did not happen. she thought it was a classic weekend outing, like you guys usually did, until she realized your real intentions.

and, truly, at no point did it make her feel restrained or scared. she was ready to be vulnerable and be herself around you, no matter what.

(but, if you casually ask lottie at some point, she will definitely claim that she saw laura lee rehearsing some speeches and compliments for you in the locker room mirror…)

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #lgbt #romance #preference #prompt #jackie taylor x reader #shauna shipman x reader #van palmer x reader #laura lee x reader #lottie matthews x reader #taissa turner x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #misty quigley x reader

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Feel the Same Way | Park Seonghwa

-> Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader

-> Request: From Anon. I'm sorry I didn't use all the prompts you sent through.

-> Synopsis: When Y/N kissed her best friend the night before, she doesn't expect him to feel the same.

-> Warnings: Friends to lovers trope.

-> Word Count: 457

-> Requests: Open.

ATEEZ Masterlist | Tag List Sign-Up | Requesting Guidelines

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. Likes, comments & reblogs are welcomed and appreciated. Thank you.

“So, are we going to act like nothing happened last night?" Seonghwa quietly asks Y/N as he follows her into the kitchen, away from the prying ears of the others.  

"What happened last night?" she questions, pretending to be clueless. "I have no idea what happened last night."  

Seonghwa sighs in frustration, not in the mood for her games. He wants to confirm that he's not imagining things when it comes to her feelings for him. Until last night, he didn't believe the others when they insisted that she likes him the same way he likes her, and that they were both just dancing around the truth to avoid what everyone else could see.  

He gently takes hold of her arm, preventing her from walking away after grabbing another drink, and turns her to face him. "Just tell me if you feel the same way. If not, I'll never bring it up again." 

Her heart races, memories of their shared kiss from the previous night flooding her mind. It was she who had initiated it first.  

"I do feel the same way," she admits, her voice barely audible. "I've been trying to hide it, but last night I couldn't hide it anymore. I don’t know what came over me."  

Confusion fills his eyes as he asks, "Then why are you trying to push me away now?"  

She shrugs, "I suppose I'm just scared."  

"You have nothing to be afraid of," he reassures her, stepping closer and gently tilting her head to meet his gaze. She still tries to avoid looking at him. "I'm so in love with you." 

"I... I never thought you would hear you say that,” She stammers, her eyes finally meeting his. 

He smiles softly, his thumb gently caressing her cheek. "I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I just didn't want to ruin our friendship and lose you if you didn’t feel the same."  

Tears well up in her eyes, "I'm sorry for trying to push you away after kissing you last night. I was scared of losing you too."  

He shakes his head, his eyes filled with understanding. "I don't want to hide anymore. I want to be with you, Y/N. For as long as you’ll have me."  

“I want to be with you too,” she nods, her voice barely above a whisper. A mixture of relief and longing washes over her. "Now kiss me already.” 

He leans in, his lips meeting hers in a tender and passionate kiss.Their kiss is filled with years of unspoken emotions and confessions. As they pull away, their foreheads rest against each other. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

“I love you too,” she replies, bringing him in for another kiss. 

Tag List Sign-Up

@staytiny2000 - @kpopmenace143 - @treehouse-mouse - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea

@rainydayteacups - @green-agent - @tinyelfperson - @yeonjunnie – @hollxe1

@laylasbunbunny – @deltamoon666 - @skz1-4-3 - @pinkies-things - @everythingboutkpop

#park seonghwa #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #ateez #ateez x reader #park seonghwa fics #park seonghwa imagines #park seonghwa scenarios #park seonghwa fan fics #ateez fics #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fan fics #seonghwa fics #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa fan fics #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop fanfics #kpop fics #ateez x y/n #park seonghwa x y/n #park seonghwa x female reader #ateez x female reader #author: dancinglikebutterflywings

[neet-elite]

↳ EVENT 19. M!Whitney (Breeding & Incest)

Pairing: M!Whitney / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 3,432 Warnings: stepcest, breeding, creampie, pregnancy ment, baby trapping Prompt(s): 04 — breeding + 07 — incest Event Masterlist: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: big brother whitney my beloved!!!!!!!! probably my most favourite trope ever to pair with him ugh </3 such a nasty man. such a gross guy. i hope you can tell just how much fun i had exploring this request!!! and thank u for sending it in !!

The number one worst thing about having a hot step sister glued to his side at all times is that every day he has to fend off all the disgusting creeps that show up to his door, because you're too fucking dumb to see their true intentions and rely solely on him to be your moral compass. You've got a tight fucking body, don't y'know that? No, they don't wanna date you, idiot. They don't wanna court you, or take you on some romantic trip like they so often claim. They just wanna use your holes and milk you for all your sorry ass is worth because you're too pretty for your own good. How does he know that? Well, because he isn't any fucking better himself, truthfully. Throw him in with the rest of the town and you'd not be able to tell the difference between him and the guy next door— but you trust him too much, don't you? More than that, you need him to protect you. It's what big brothers do, despite how he may feel internally, and despite how often he speaks against that ideal; he wants to keep you safe, too. Even if only for more self serving reasons, driven mostly by how his cock thinks, rather than his brain.

Because of that, the second worst thing about having a hot step sister within his immediate vicinity is the fact that he's always hard when you're around. And he can't easily escape you, given that you're literally right through the fucking wall from him. Pining, yearning to bury himself balls deep in your little sister cunt to seek solace for the feelings resting sickly thick in his tummy every time he sees your stupid face. A burning bile, rising to the tip of his tongue when he sees you smile, threatening to spit venom at you when you act all aloof and cute like that. Like you've got no idea what sort of things you do to him, or the general public. Ignorant to how pretty you are, so fucking annoying, especially when you unknowingly leave him with blue balls every night, causing him to fuck his fist to only the memory of you like some sort of seedy stalker.

But isn't he kind of just that? Watching your every move, making sure you don't step too out of line or too out of his eyesight in fear of you straying too far. Late at night, when his fist is wrapped too tight around his fat cock and even fatter beads of precum drool from his red hot tip, he convinces himself that he's just looking out for you. Just being a good big brother at the end of the day. Pleasuring himself to the thought of you in private because that's what good big brothers do. Stealing secret glances of you in the kitchen while petting his fat bulge because that's what good big brothers do. Stealing your panties to sniff at them while his fist fucks his needy cock before placing them right back where he found them; only now a little stained sticky with seed, because that's what good big brothers do. In that, he's tried so hard and for so long to treat you as he's supposed to. Protective, perhaps a little too much so, but nonetheless genuine in his attempts to shield you from the harsh realities of this world. Even at the cost of his own sanity, and his poor cock.

But as he lingers around your open door, shoulder resting against the frame, one foot tucked behind the other, he gets an idea. An insidious one at that, borne out of sheer desperation to reconcile with himself in such a selfish manner it's almost shameful, but an idea nonetheless. Encouraged by the tiny little sleeping shorts you've decided to wear tonight, ass facing him like an invitation, face pressed close to your phone as a display of submission. He briefly wonders if you've even picked up on his presence yet, caught on to the fact that your big brother has been busy for the past few minutes simply staring at your ass, nursing a growing erection with an open palm circling his tip. Because if you have, you certainly haven't let on. But the thought of you being so fucking dull, enough not to feel his ever watching presence at your back side, has his cock twitching for your attention, drives him insane with sexual frustration. Horny at how well you ignore him, God, you're so pretty but so dumb. Fucking slut, you better not be doing this on purpose— riling him up without even fucking trying, it's so beyond frustrating that he has half a mind to treat you as unfairly as you do him, just like how all those abusers outside would like to ruin you. Though, on a more positive note, your complete and utter lack of self preservation only strengthens his secret resolve. You need to be taught a harsh lesson, at the very least, to be more aware of your surroundings.

There's really only one way to keep you by his side forever, to be the best big brother you could ever ask for; eager to provide you with whatever you may need so long as you can satiate the ever growing hunger he feels for you. And besides, it's not like he's technically going to be doing anything wrong... Right, step sis?

Carefully, he creeps towards you. Stalking prey, straying from the creaky floorboards he intimately knows about, reaching the foot of your bed before you know it and pounces. Calculating his fall so that he's got your wrists pinned above your head and your legs locked under his own. A breathy laugh follows, he can't quite believe just how easy you are to catch, but isn't that further proof that you need big brother to be by your side forever? See, he's doing you a fucking favour by keeping you under him.

"Got you." He mumbles absentmindedly, smiling down at your squished into the pillow face as you writhe and wriggle around for freedom under him. You're not helping his hard on, y'know that?

"Whitney! What's your fucking deal— Ouch, that hurts, asshole—"

"Quit yer fuckin' whining." He sighs, dismissing your petulant cries by tightening his grip on your wrists anyway to show how serious he is, and tilting his head to the side, lowering his upper body to get closer to your face. And for a few moments he merely stares at you. Takes in the sight of your confused expression, the furrow of your brows. Cute, he thinks to himself, cautious not to let his hips drop down too low in fear of rubbing himself against you. Usually others appear more scared when he's on top, but like a good little sister you intrinsically know the trust him, right?

In that case, fuck it, he thinks. A split second decision, coaxed into giving in to his more baser instincts by the pretty pout you send his way, a low mutter of you're heavy, can you please get off? as if it were even a fucking question. It's your own fault, really. Should have known that displaying your innocence in such an honest fashion would only lead to others wanting to corrupt. To dirty you, stain you as vile as they are.

Which doesn't exclude your own brother, especially as he yields to his perverted fantasies and drops his hips in one fell swoop, heavy hard cock resting between your ass cheeks that he knows you can feel the outline of. Shoulda worn something less provoking, then. The pretty gasp you let out at the contact causing his own brows to knit together in focus, biting down on his tongue to withhold expletives when you question his ethics.

"Are you— Are you hard, Whitney? Really?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

There's no use denying it, not when his hips are pressed flush against your backside. His heart racing, thumping hard against his chest at the prospect of finally getting a taste of you, his precious, highly sought after, baby sister. He's in your room for only one reason tonight, a selfish seeking to protect you. Whether you agree to it or not is of no consequence, he's only doing what's best for you, okay? And besides, he's so much stronger than you, isn't he? Bigger too... There's nowhere you can run that he won't find you, if you ever get the opportunity to escape.

Given his nonchalant answer, he hears you sigh in response, a deep sound that has his cock dripping more pre just for you. And he can't stop thinking about how lucky he is to hear your resignation. To be resting his weighty cock on top of your pretty ass just to have you simply accept it as par for the course.

And though he'd love to take his time with you, to really enjoy everything you have to offer, to make you cry on his cock— he's been wanting this for a long time. Seething in secrecy, longing for a taste of your sweet sister cunt; he can't wait any longer. Not now that he has your unvoiced blessing, watching as you bury your face back into your pillow and wiggle your ass against his cock— fuck, you already feel so good against him.

"C'mon then," Your voice is muffled, but nonetheless encouraging. A pang of pain in his heart at the way you seem to be wanting him too, a comfortable hurt borne out of disgusting adoration for the one person he isn't supposed to have. And here you are, supporting his lewd love for you. Releasing one of your wrists with the intent to get a move on like you're asking, but instead his hand stops mid air when he witnesses you tugging down your shorts for him. "Before mom and dad get back, okay? Just want you out my room so don't... I don't wanna do it when they're here."

"Fuck me—"

He hears your stipulation, of course. It makes total fucking sense. Fucking his little sister? Perfectly fine. Fucking his little sister when other people are in the house? Fucking weird, don't fucking do that. But he curses loud and proud at the sight of your no panties, like you knew he was coming in to steal you away for the night. Had he stolen your pair tonight? He can't quite remember, mind empty beyond the thought of finally attaining what he's worked so tirelessly for. Helping you pull down your shorts the rest of the way; or at least until they rest by your ankles because he's too eager to get his cock wet already.

Immediately, impulsively, he spreads your legs wide enough to accommodate him. Letting go of your other wrist to allow you breathing room, but also so he can selfishly explore your body. Running his hands up and down your ass, spanking you a few times for good measure. Cock pulsing at the yelps his hands smack out of you, biting down on his bottom lip when he drops his pants low enough only to let his cock spring free. The cool air that hits his sopping tip is almost sobering, if not for the way you pout his name so prettily. An effortless attempt to turn him on, no doubt.

"Yeah yeah, I got it. Want me to hurry up and fuck my slut, right?" He sneers, not even gracing you with eye contact as he spreads your cheeks apart to get a greedy look at your holes. His hips fucking forward on their own at the small glimpse he gets, prompting him to hang his head in shame so that you don't catch the way his cheeks heat up. How the idea of keeping you all to himself, truly turning his baby sister into his little slut fills him with so much joy that he can't help himself from rubbing his cock against your ass, humping his hips against you in barely there snap thrusts just to provide himself some sort of stimulation. Just something to take the edge off as he gathers the courage to put it in already.

Because once he does, he knows he won't be able to stop. And that's a little worrying, considering he's so used to having control over you.

He hadn't intended to wait for you to respond to his rhetorical question, but the way you practically beg "Please." is music to his ears. God, he can't even compare it to the countless faceless sluts he's fucked in the past, completely focused on how his baby sister drips slick for his tip to collect, angling his cock down to catch on your pretty little hole for the first time ever.

And it feels so fucking good to finally have contact with you like this, holy shit. Even just letting precum bead out against your hole would be enough, he thinks. Enough to have him feeling better than he has before, dirty slut, you've only went and ruined his hand for the rest of his life. You better fucking own up to that, yeah? Let him cream your cunt with the intent of knocking you up so that he can be your big brother for life, that'd be a good start, don't you think?

With the way you wiggle against him, leaking all over his cock as if he wasn't providing you enough lubrication with the abundance of precum your simple existence coaxes out of him, he automatically rolls his hips into you. Into your cunt. Gasping for air the second he pushes past your entrance, choking at the way your insides wrap around his tip, and soon enough his whole length when he can't stop himself from ruining his pretty little sister now that you've given him permission.

And after the first few little humps he has you endure, he's settling an unfairly fast pace. Pent up frustration, almost resentment expressed in every relentless thrust over how fucking perfect you are, so much so that your cunt practically shuts him up for once in his lifetime spare some crass comments about your pretty body, or about how fuckin' tight are you? fuck, can barely fit inside, God, look at how pretty my little slut is bouncing on my cock. Mean words as an attempt to hide how downright in love he is with you, how he wants to fuck only baby sister cunt for the rest of his life, moaning openly at the sound of wet skin on skin slapping with how hard and fast he thrusts into you. Like a dog in heat, drool collects in his mouth as his eyes roll to the back of his skull, hands innately finding home on your hips for stability, like they were always meant to be there.

You feel so fucking good it's cruel, cock aching with every pulse your cunt offers around him, every suck of your insides begging to keep his cock inside as he repeatedly fucks you up the bed. You were right, it's best to do this was no one else at home, else you get exposed for being the dirty little sister slut that you are— taking big brothers cock so well, aren't you? Fucking made for him, babbling cute strings of nothing from how frantic his humps are, accidentally cutting you off mid mumble with every greedy fuck; he just can't stop himself. Hasn't a hope in Hell of showing a mere modicum of control while inside of you, head empty and cock hard for you.

And as he's fully sheathed inside, groaning out at the feeling of his balls slapping against your backside, intimate with the way his thighs are tacky like your own from every gush of your wet little cunt around his too big cock, he remembers exactly what he came here to do. The sole reason why you're a moaning mess on your bed right now, tangling the sheets in your cute little fists as if that was gonna help the stretch of his fat cock bullying your insides. His voice comes out hoarse, having to choke on a cough to clear the lust coating his tongue as he continues pumping away inside of you.

"Gonna fuck ya pregnant, kay?

Almost immediately, lagging a little from that good dick, aren't you slut? You start to whine. That same petulant tone you used earlier, and just like earlier, it goes straight to his throbbing cock, makes his balls all taut and his muscles all tense as he keeps you pinned in place with large hands. Greedy hands, bruising in their grip of your body so that you know who's in charge. So that you can't escape him, this is all for your own good, remember?

"Whit— don't, stop I— Ah—!" It's no use though, is it? His cock feels too good in your tight little cunt, big brother just wants to make you feel good, okay? He just wants to feel your cunt suck him off so well, your body is begging for his seed, right? And because he's such a good big brother, he's more than happy to give you a taste. Over and over again, until his seed takes to your womb and you're stuck with him for life, tension building in his tummy at the thought of walking around with you hand in hand, big pregnant belly scaring off anyone who even dares to look at his sister. His slut, whining like a pretty bitch as he drags your ass back down to meet his every thrust, can you feel how desperate he is for release? So eager to stain your insides white in an effort to prevent others from touching you, to keep you safe forever; it's just big brother duties, it's okay if dumb little sister minds can't understand his reasoning. All you have to do is lay there and fucking take it. Take his pounding, take the pinches and slaps on your ass, take his sticky precum coating your thighs, just as well as he honours the ring of your cream at the base of his cock. You're so pretty, his eyes trained on the spot where he disappears over and over again into your tight little hole, greedy little cunt. But he's fucking it too fast for it to truly capture his attention, instead his head is thrown back with a dopey grin tugging on his lips, sheer pleasure rolling down his spine with a gasped: "Shut up, doin'— 'M doin' ya favour. Fuuuck, jus' like that—" before shooting a load deep into your sister cunt. Still fucking himself through the orgasm that washes over him, that has him drooling from how fucking good it feels to finally claim you as his own, hopeful that his stink will scare off anyone else from even attempting to get close to you in order to abuse you the same way he has tonight.

And, if he's lucky, the continued thrusts he provides your tender, swollen hole, milking himself for all he's worth against your cervix, he'll have successfully filled you up enough to impregnate you. Doesn't that feel good? Poor baby was probably just a little worried like he was, right? His breathing is laboured, heaving for air by the time he's done emptying his balls inside of you, but still the first thing he does is collapses on top of you. Smiles to himself at the soft little oof you let out with his added weight, but he's not here just to laze around.

From now on, you're officially his. And he likes to take good care of his sluts, especially if they're as precious as his little sister. Step or not, he cares about you enough to wrap his big arms around you with a chaste kiss to the back of your head, hiding his face against your neck to nose at your scent as he calms down.

"Gross." You whine at his affections, and he agrees. Rolling you over onto his side with him so that he can sneak a hand between your legs, warming his spent cock in your hole still as he brings attention to your puffy, touch starved clit. The resulting moan you let out is thanks enough for securing your future with him.

Though, what's worse is that he's thinking about doing the exact same thing tomorrow, planning to leave the house only once.

You'll need some pregnancy tests, won't you?

#500 event! #degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity smut #dol #dol smut #whitney the bully #whitney the bully smut

[freelancearsonist]

all that we see or seem

➔ Dieter Bravo x AFAB!Reader

➔ 5.7k words

➔ You moved to Hollywood in hopes of chasing your dreams; you get a lot more than you bargained for from your new boss, Dieter Bravo.

➔ Rated MA // dark fic, reader is afab (female anatomy, no pronouns used) and generally able-bodied, age gap (unspecified, reader is younger than dieter), vampire!dieter, blood/both consensual and non-consensual blood drinking, knife use, slight self-harm, gore of the mouth variety, pet names, takes place in 1983 bc i’m a sucker for changing settings

➔ this was requested from this prompt list by the very lovely @sp00kymulderr!! happy birthday darling, sorry this took so long but i hope it's worth the wait <3 thank you so much to @missredherring for this AMAZING header graphic ily 🖤

Los Angeles is a far cry from the little town you grew up in. It’s a seemingly endless maze, with more possibilities than you ever could’ve dreamed. It’s a little daunting, really. You step off your plane with your suitcase in hand, and you feel like the world is in the palms of your hands.

The harsh reality comes crashing in without warning.

LA is expensive, especially on your own. As the money you’d saved up to get you started dwindles much quicker than expected, your dreams only get further and further out of reach. Life always finds a way to fuck you over, and the city of angels does it quicker than anywhere else. The glitzy neon nightclubs and the glamor of Hollywood swiftly become an omen of doom rather than a beacon of hope. You’re in over your head, but it’s too late to back out now.

Auditions get put on the backburner. You work yourself to the bone as a server in a dumpy little diner, but it’s still barely enough to cover your basic expenses.

You wake up, you go to work, you come home, you go to sleep. The cycle repeats itself so quickly that your days all merge together into one, long, neverending nightmare.

The light at the end of the tunnel appears shortly before the first anniversary of your move. You’re scanning through the paper during your meal break when you see a help wanted ad. It’s normally the type of thing you would ignore, but a few things about it draw you in. The part that really catches your eye is the large, bold letters that proclaim “work closely with one of the biggest names in hollywood!” It seems too good to be true, and certainly something you’re not qualified for. But it could be a start–a way to get your foot through the door of the industry that brought you out here in the first place. Really, what’s the harm in trying?

You go to the library, type up your resume, and mail it in to the address listed in the ad. Realistically, you know that there must be hundreds of other applicants and you probably won’t get so much as a rejection letter back; but the needling little ‘what if’ in the back of your mind gives you a boost of hope that you’ve lived without for an achingly long time.

You get better than a letter–a broad, handsome man shows up at the diner late one night asking for you three days after you drop your resume into the local mail slot at the post office. Janine, the shaggy-haired waitress you work with almost every shift and have sort of become friends with, nudges you excitedly while you’re handing a ticket back to the kitchen.

“Honey, do you know who that is?” She nods her head over her shoulder towards a table in the corner of her section and you try to look over as nonchalantly as possible.

Of course you know who that is. His face is everywhere in this stupid town–magazine covers, billboards, movie theaters. Even with sunglasses obscuring the dark brown eyes that have made thousands swoon, you recognize Dieter Bravo. He’s bigger than Hasselhoff and Swayze combined.

“He’s asking for you,” Janine whispers. “By name. You know him?”

“Not yet,” you answer truthfully. You know without a doubt that he’s here because of your resume and that your entire world is about to change.

You’ve seen him on the big screen before and now you can definitively say that it doesn’t do him justice. He’s more handsome than any man has a right to be. He’s wearing a black hoodie and black trousers, an ensemble that stands out in the brightness of 1983 but yet perfectly complements the tanned tone of his skin. His shoulders could fill a doorway and his smile might actually melt you into a puddle. You can’t help but notice–with a hint of trepidation–that his canines are the sharpest you’ve ever seen, although that thought is quickly pushed from your mind when he greets you by name.

“Your resume is impressive.”

“No it’s not,” you respond with a little laugh before you can stop yourself, then you have to refrain from banging your head into the wall. What a great start to an interview.

But he laughs, and you can’t help feeling you’ve done something right. You’d do a hell of a lot worse just to hear that gorgeously deep, hearty chuckle again.

“Okay, I’ll rephrase. You said all the right things. You’ve got exactly what I’m looking for as an assistant.”

You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, because this is much too good to be true.

“You’re not from LA,” he states factually. “What brought you here?”

You consider lying–coming up with some story that’s less pathetic than the truth. He’s appreciated your honesty thus far, though, and you don’t want to break a streak. “I wanted to act, but… it’s hard to get started when you don’t have any connections. So I’ve just been kind of… getting by.”

He nods and gives you a look over–assessing, you think. “We all have to start somewhere. But this isn’t an easy job.”

There’s something unreadable in his voice, but you choose to ignore it because you want nothing more than a chance to impress him. It’s not about ‘making it’ anymore; it’s about proving to Dieter Bravo that you’re worth taking a chance on.

“Neither is this,” you reply with a vague wave at the diner around you. “If I’m not covered in fryer grease at the end of the day, it’s a good job to me.”

He chuckles again and it washes over you like fresh water after years of drought. You want more of him–more of his charm, more of his warmth.

“When can you start?”

You ask for two weeks to leave your diner gig on good terms, and he’s gracious enough to accommodate you. As the days tick past, the anticipation ramps up and time seems to move slower. You’ve never been so excited for a new job. Normally, your gut twists with anticipation and your mind swirls with every little minute detail that could go wrong–but not now. No, now you’re just excited. The possibilities of Hollywood finally seem to be within your reach again, and it all starts with this job.

You learn a lot about Dieter within five minutes of starting on your first day. For one, he’s incredibly personable. He greets you himself and vows to show you the ropes. There’s no third party to teach you everything you need to know, it’s just him. Just the two of you. You appreciate that immensely, because you’ll be serving him directly as his assistant. There’s no better person to learn from when it comes to his desires and routines than the man himself.

Two, he wears many different masks. It’s a little spooky, the way his demeanor changes depending on who he’s dealing with. He can be the sweetest, most charming man you’ve ever spoken to, then turn to a producer and be a complete hardass all in the name of getting things done. He knows exactly what persona he needs to wear for each person he interacts with–it’s all very calculated. You suppose all actors have to be capable of that; the mark of a good thespian is being instantly able to pretend you’re someone you’re not.

Still, it’s a little chilling. If you didn’t see it in some form or another with every person you meet on set, you’d be a little concerned. Dieter just makes it look like adaptation–fitting into his surroundings as a means of staying afloat. He’s been in this industry for a long time, he knows what works; and, subsequently, what doesn’t.

As far as the job goes, it’s a nice change of pace from what you’ve become accustomed to. You spend nights on set with him, fetching his coffee order or running little errands while he’s busy shooting. The hours aren’t unreasonable, and it pays double what the diner did. Now that you’re not struggling to get by financially, you have the free time you need to start pursuing your dreams again.

You have only Dieter to answer to, which is a definite learning curve. Directors, producers, and even other actors chase after your favors, but Dieter tells them unequivocally to fuck off. You’re his–it’s a heady feeling each time he  reasserts it. It makes for easy work when you’re not being pulled in thirty different directions simultaneously. He asks for what he needs when he’s around and he gives you a list of tasks to complete when he’s not. He’s a little eccentric–he tells you he can only work after dark because his eyes are sensitive–but it’s nice, falling into a routine after so long of working unconventional hours at a job where no two days are the same.

Still, as days turn into weeks by his side, you wonder exactly what version of Dieter he’s presenting to you. Which face is the most authentic? You want to believe he’s himself with you, but you’re not quite naive enough to convince yourself of that. The thing that bothers you the most is that you want him to feel comfortable enough to drop the facades around you. You want to get to know the real Dieter Bravo, underneath all the masks. But you also swore to yourself, when you accepted this job, that you would be nothing but professional–and wanting to get to know him so intimately is definitely a step beyond just being his employee.

To his credit, he’s strictly professional–even if you wish he wasn’t at times. There’s a lot of rumors and gossip about him, about his hedonism and the life he supposedly leads at night, but you don’t see that facet of him. With you, he’s friendly, kind, and respectful. He’s the perfect gentleman–and that’s how you know that you’re not getting a full glimpse of the real him. There’s too much contradiction between the rumors and the Dieter that you interact with. 

No matter how straight-laced you try to be, you can’t help wondering what it’ll take to get a look at the real Dieter Bravo.

You think he starts to peek through when Dieter asks if you would be willing to work longer hours and be more of a personal assistant than a production assistant. You know him inside and out, he tells you, and it would be a pain in the ass to teach a whole new person how to deal with his errands. He even offers you a sizable raise when you pretend to be contemplating it, like you weren’t bursting at the seams to say yes before he even finished asking. 

The sad–maybe even pathetic–truth of the matter is that you’re falling for him. Every facet of his charm, from his darkly passionate eyes to his easy humor, have you completely bewitched and ready to ignore the way your hair stands on end each time his gaze meets yours. You’ll take any small fraction of him that you can get.

He eases you into your additional duties, at least; that much can be said in his favor. He starts you out with small tasks, like ordering his groceries and picking up his dry cleaning. Dieter’s so kind and patient as he explains how he likes everything done–he’s particular, but not unreasonable. He even gives you a grand tour of his home so you can see exactly where and how he likes everything done–it’s like finally getting that real glimpse of him that you’ve been hoping for.

His Sherman Oaks mansion looks like something straight out of a Bram Stoker novel on the outside, yet the inside is a testament to the warm side of his personality that you’re more familiar with. It’s decorated in shades of orange and red, with patterns that are a little out of date but still manage to feel intentional. It gives the impression of someone who was more comfortable and sure of himself in the 70’s, or at least someone who hasn’t quite adjusted to the new trends that came with the turn of the decade. The walls are covered with art–most of it signed with his familiar “DB” in the bottom right hand corner. It’s neat, but not so neat that it feels staged. It fits the Dieter Bravo that you know perfectly, and it even starts to feel like home to you when you start spending more time there with him.

There’s never anyone else around when you’re there. For someone who has a reputation for throwing the liveliest parties in all of Hollywood, he doesn’t actually do a lot of partying. Not when you’re around, at least. It’s almost like he’s trying to hide that aspect of himself from you. If he has to host, he sends you home early or lets you know in advance that you’re getting a paid night off. You’re almost disappointed–parties have never really been your thing, sure, but you feel like you need to experience at least one of his.

Plus, people are starting to talk. You hear it on set first; his co-stars whispering about how he’s gone soft, how he’s gotten boring. Even the tabloids are starting to wonder if they’ve seen the last infamous Dieter Bravo party, which were once highly coveted and exclusive events. The few times he’s hosted lately have been small, quiet affairs–definitely not the big, star-studded shebangs that he’s gained a reputation for.

A rumor even starts circulating that he’s finally decided to settle down with a nice girl, which makes your stomach twist with a little green monster that shouldn’t be there. He’s your employer, you reason. That’s all. No matter how friendly he is, no matter how much he flirts with you, no matter how much he compliments your perfect cup of coffee, that’s all he is. Your boss. And yet, despite your constant self-assertion, your brain just can’t seem to accept it. You know you shouldn’t want anything more than that, and yet you just can’t seem to stop yourself from hoping.

“What’s going on with you?”

You’re in the midst of trying to sort through the files in his upstairs home office so you can find out when his insurance needs to be renewed when you hear the voice, loud and clear due to the open floor plan downstairs. Sound travels like crazy up the double-wide staircase with Dieter’s office door right at the top. You couldn’t shut it out even if you wanted to–and you don’t. God help you, you’re a little nosy and a little curious.

“Nothing.” That’s Dieter’s voice, but you don’t recognize the other.

“Bullshit. You’re not yourself.” It’s a deep, rich tone that you’ve never heard before and it immediately has your interest hooked. Dieter doesn’t get many visitors, much less such purposeful ones. Most people like to schmooze him, but evidently not this unidentified man.

“I’m trying to be different,” Dieter explains half-heartedly. “It’s time I cleaned up a bit.”

“No. Cleaning up your act is nothing more than a good way to get yourself caught. Things happen in the party climate, that’s how you fit in. Things don’t just happen to nice rich actors.”

Caught? Caught doing what, exactly? You creep closer to the open door on light feet, curiosity peaked.

Dieter sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I’m tired.”

“So what are you going to do? Just give up? Waste away after… how long?”

“Maybe I should,” Dieter retorts–there’s grit in his tone now, maybe even bitterness. “Maybe I never should’ve taken the deal in the first place. You don’t see how fucked up this all is?”

“So, what? You’ve gotten everything you could’ve possibly wanted, and now you’re tired of playing the game? Pathetic.” There’s a sneer in the tone of this unidentified speaker and you don’t like it. You want to jump to Dieter’s defense, but something tells you this is a conversation that you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on.

“Whatever, man,” Dieter scoffs dismissively.

There’s noise downstairs now–a slight thud and what sounds like Dieter grunting as if the wind has been knocked out of him. 

“What changed?”

“Fuck off,” Dieter spits.

“What. Changed?”

“You weren’t fucking honest with me.”

“Bullshit,” the stranger growls back. “You knew exactly what you were getting into.”

“No, you said everything I wanted, that was the deal. Remember?” It’s quiet for a long moment, and you wonder if Dieter’s pacing. He does that, when he starts to get stressed. “I’m still alone, though.”

“That’s your own fault,” the stranger replies–voice a little softer now. “I didn’t say I would hand you your dreams on a silver platter. You make your own destiny. Surely it hasn’t been so long that you’ve forgotten that little qualifier.”

“I can’t bring someone else into this shit and you know it,” Dieter replies. The venom is gone from his voice now–he just sounds done. Exhausted and spent.

“You can, but you won’t.” There’s a moment of silence, then a heavy sigh. “Start acting like yourself again before you raise too much suspicion.”

“Fine,” Dieter sighs heavily. 

There’s a few long moments of silence, and then you hear the heavy solid oak front door shut. Presumably the guest has gone, and while you’re eager to sneak down and see if you can catch a glimpse of who it might’ve been, it’s far too risky with Dieter down there. Something tells you that he should never find out about the way you just eavesdropped on that conversation. You don’t know who he was talking to, or what kind of deal they were discussing–you just know that it’s serious, and definitely above your paygrade.

“Did you find that paperwork?”

You didn’t hear Dieter come upstairs–his sudden question from right behind you makes you jump and whirl around to look at him. You fight to keep your calm as you catch your breath; the last thing you want to do is clue him in that you overheard his conversation with his unknown guest.

“Yeah, I’ve got it right here,” you answer after a thick gulp.

“You’re a doll,” he proclaims with a wide smile. How easily he picks up the face he wears with you after a conversation that clearly upset him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you hum with a smile. “This entire room is a nightmare. It’s a miracle you ever find anything. You need to get, like… some filing cabinets. At the very least.”

“I’ll, uhh… get right on that,” he says in a way that makes you sure he definitely won’t get right on it.

Despite the nerves still thrumming through your veins, you laugh. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re a doll,” he repeats with his trademark grin. “Oh! Hey, uhh… you have tomorrow off. Paid, obviously.”

“Why?” You ask before you can think better of it. 

He seems surprised–you don’t normally ask questions, especially about paid vacation days. “Work stuff I gotta take care of. No big deal.”

“Okay,” you answer with a slight frown. “Sure I can’t help?”

He actually does seem to be contemplating it for a moment–his eyes scan over your body, and it’s like he’s considering you more than the actual offer. “No, honey, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.” You take a short breath, then head towards the door–this was the last task on your list for the night. “Anything else you need before I head out?”

He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head as he follows you down the stairs. “No. Thanks, sweetheart.”

You feel heat fluttering underneath your skin at the pet name–he uses them often and they never fail to make your heart pick up pace. It’s like he can tell, because his eyes linger on your lips for a moment before trailing down to the pulse point on the left side of your neck. You wonder for a second if he can actually see it beating, but you quickly push that ridiculous thought away.

“You’re sure there’s nothing I can do for you tomorrow?”

His eyes are still trained on your neck like he’s completely zoned out or something. You watch as his tongue slowly glides over his bottom lip, trance-like; it makes your breath hitch in your throat.

“Yeah,” he whispers after a long moment–he’s standing so close now, you didn’t even notice him closing in. “I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

“Okay.” You want nothing more than to grab him and pull him in, to kiss him like your life depends upon it. He sounded so upset and every bone in your body is screaming to comfort him. The way he’s looking at you right now, you don’t think he’d mind at all. 

Instead you take a deep breath, grab your bag from the bench next to the door, and bid him goodnight.

Dieter doesn’t seem to realize that you’re always working, whether you’re on the clock or not. Even on ‘off’ days, you get loads of calls for scheduling requests and other tasks. Your saving grace is your trusty day planner—it holds both of your schedules, all neatly color-coded for maximum efficiency.

The worst thing you could’ve done on a weekend leading up to awards season is leave it in Dieter’s home office—and yet, as you frantically dig through your tote bag and your desk, that seems to be exactly what you’ve done.

You know Dieter’s got whatever event he’s hosting at home, but you can’t keep taking calls and scribbling notes on napkins without your schedule in front of you. The last thing you want to do is overbook him at a time where every single interview counts.

With a heavy sigh, you dial Dieter’s home number. It rings for what seems like eternity, and just as you’re about to hang up an unfamiliar voice answers.

“Hello?”

With a sigh of relief, you ask, “Hi, is Dieter there?”

“He’s busy.” The voice is high and sweet, yet her tone says she couldn’t be more irritated.

“Okay… umm, it’s kind of important.”

The stranger sighs dramatically. “I can take a message.”

“I just… I left something there, and I need to come get it as soon as possible. But I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

This time when she speaks, her tone is considerably more friendly. “Oh! Yeah, come on over. The more the merrier!”

You can’t help your intrigue, although you really don’t want to intrude without Dieter’s say-so. “Are you sure? I could always come tomorrow, I guess.”

“No no, come! It’s a party, everyone’s welcome!” Then the line goes dead without any further discussion.

You consider redialing in the hopes of speaking and clearing your visit with Dieter, but you doubt you’ll actually get through to him–and really, what harm would a quick visit do? You know exactly where you left it, on the desk in his office. It’ll be five minutes tops, a quick in and out. He might never even know that you’d been there.

You shake off the curious sense of foreboding that overtakes your mind as you grab your keys and lock your apartment door behind you.

It’s a twenty minute ride to Dieter’s house–a lot of time to spend thinking. At the forefront of your mind is that peculiar conversation you overheard last night; you’re not entirely sure why, really. Whoever that man was sounded almost as if he was in some kind of position of power over Dieter, and you don’t have even an educated guess at who that could possibly be. Dieter’s his own boss and he doesn’t take bullying–you’ve never heard someone get away with bossing him around like that before. He’s constantly in some weird form of pissing match with the directors and producers of whatever film he’s working on; he’s never seemed to be good at taking orders, even when he’s supposed to. You’ve heard many a rant about how much he values the ‘freedom of expression’. It all serves to make the mysterious visitor more confusing. Who does Dieter have to answer to?

The cab pulls up in front of his gated home before you’re able to find a plausible answer. You instruct the driver to keep the meter running since you’ll only be a minute before you step out into the crisp late-January air.

The grounds are a lot quieter than you expect them to be as the guard on duty opens the gate and closes it behind you. One thing Dieter’s famous for is noise–his parties are always reported as loud and exciting affairs akin to the fraternities in his favorite movie Animal House. There's no noise at all today, though, and it makes you curious. Is it really a party? Or was the stranger who answered the phone maybe his only guest? If the latter is the case, why would she want you to join in?

There’s a pale man in a cheap-looking suit waiting just inside the door, a tray of filled wine glasses in his gloved hands. “Take one,” he instructs, his eyes distant like he’s looking through you rather than at you.

“Oh, no thank you, I just need to–”

“Take one,” he repeats. “Master’s orders.”

Master? Of course Dieter would be into that. 

The wine is a deep red, probably that expensive vintage shit that he’s always raving about. You prefer the grocery store stuff yourself, not just because it’s all you can afford. A drink never hurts, though, and you could certainly use something to take the edge off–because that tingling sense of foreboding has only gotten stronger since your arrival.

You take a glass and swirl its currant-colored liquid around. It seems more viscous than any wine you’ve had before–probably a mark of its age, but that’s just guesswork on your part. You take a small sip, then nearly gag. It’s like drinking a pile of melted pennies. You swallow it down with a grimace anyway since you don’t want to make a scene of spitting it out in front of the server. It leaves a metallic taste in your mouth that you’re eager to wash out–thankfully, the kitchen is on your route to the stairs. You quickly deposit the glass on a table once you’re out of the server’s eyesight, then head down the hall in a desperate search for water.

Once you’re out of the foyer, there are people everywhere. Very subdued people, at that–draped over furniture like throw blankets, some even laying on the floor. You consider checking one’s pulse until he twitches and lets out a muffled groan. Clearly high on something, you’re just not sure what. You nearly trip over one person and they actually hiss at you like some kind of feral cat. Your skin starts to crawl with every step you take. Even more important than your discomfort, though, is finding Dieter. What if he’s like this, too? Do you need to call someone?

You notice a dull ache starting in your gums as you make it to the kitchen–thankfully you’re familiar with his home, and you have a glass of water in your hands within no time. It seems that no matter how much you drink, though, that coppery-bloody taste never leaves your mouth. What the hell was that stuff?

There’s a short-haired blonde woman propped up against the wall underneath the mounted phone; she reaches out a lazy hand in some sort of greeting. She looks vaguely familiar, like someone you might’ve seen on the set of one of Dieter’s films.

“You made it!” She says with a lazy smile. She must be the woman you spoke to earlier, although you’re not sure how she can identify you.

“Yeah. Where’s Dieter?” The longer you’re here, the more worried you become. Something isn’t right, and your skin is prickling with apprehension.

“Upstairs,” she murmurs, then her eyes flutter shut and she slumps a little further down. She’s visibly breathing, at least. 

For a moment, you consider picking up the phone and ringing the police. Would that cause more harm than good? Dieter must be aware of what’s going on here–you know you should talk to him before you do anything.

Your mission to find your planner momentarily forgotten, you make your way through the living room towards the stairs.

You check the office at the top first–there’s a few bodies zonked out on the couch, but none of them are Dieter. With trepidation in your very soul, you make your way down the hall. Each room is more of the same–people in varying states of unrest, no sign of the man you’re looking for. Most of them have red-stained lips and you eye more than one smashed glass along your journey. Your own mouth is starting to get alarmingly sore, but you ignore it in favor of finding Dieter.

Each step you take drives your worries deeper into your skull. What if something’s happened to him? What if he’s knocked out like all of his guests, or hurt, or something worse?

This is the first time you’ve breached the bubble of his bedroom. None of your work has ever involved this room, and while you’re a naturally nosey type of person, there’s something deeply personal and sacred about the space someone sleeps in. 

Ignoring the steady throbbing in your gums, you knock once before pushing open the door.

Dieter’s alone in his room, sprawled out like a starfish in a sea of rumpled sheets at the center of his massive bed. Something akin to a groan of horror escapes your throat as you see the state he’s in. He’s paler than a corpse and drenched in sweat, chest barely rising and falling with breath.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place. Your entire body breaks out in a cold sweat as you notice the knife in his right hand and the deep gash in the crook of his left arm, right where an IV would normally be set. You can smell the blood draining from him, you can even taste it in the air–or maybe that’s just the lingering taste of whatever you drank downstairs.

Your stomach churns violently with the sudden realization of what you’ve done, of what you’ve drank.

“Dieter!” You manage to choke out while your brain tries to remember how to send the signals required for your body to fucking move. 

He lifts his head shakily, brown eyes widening after a long moment of trying to recognize the face he’s looking at. “No no no,” he whispers hoarsely, “you’re not supposed t-to be here. You’re.. y-you’re supposed to be a-at home.”

A sharp, shattering pain in your top gum snaps your brain back into action. In a flash you’re crawling across a seemingly endless desert of mattress and it feels like you’ll never reach him. Everything is moving so slowly–each movement seems to take a hundred times the effort it should.

You spit out a mouthful of blood as the pain heightens, barely registering the two upper canines that go with it.

“What the fuck have you done?” You sob, uselessly pawing at his slashed left arm. It’s a precise cut straight across the artery–your hands are sticky and soaked with red the moment you touch him. Pressure, your brain screams at you. Put pressure on the wound.

“A real artist must suffer,” he mumbles weakly–then, even quieter, “I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’re dying.” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own anymore. It’s higher, breathier. 

“You drank it, d-didn’t you?” He asks, ignoring your statement. His distant eyes are trained on the sharp fangs that have pushed your canines out. “Fuck. Fuck! You were n-never supposed to…”

“Shut up, shut up,” you plead. Every shaky breath seems to cost him years. “How do I fix this? How do I fix you?”

“Thirsty,” he mumbles. There’s water on the sideboard, your brain reminds you. You don’t even remember bringing the glass with you, much less setting it down. Everything is so fuzzy. Your arm doesn’t move nearly as fast as it should when you reach for the glass, and Dieter’s hand weakly comes up to stop you.

“Not water,” he croaks. “Need… need…”

He can’t seem to form the words required to tell you what he needs. He doesn’t have to, though. You know.

“You’re not dying on me, Bravo.” You take the knife from his slack right hand before he can stop you and grit your sore teeth together as you slash it across your palm.

“N-no, don’t…” But he doesn’t resist as you hold your bleeding palm to his mouth. His empty eyes flash back to life with the first taste, and then he takes your hand in his own and drinks greedily. You watch with nothing short of disbelief as the cut on his arm seals itself right before your eyes.

“You were supposed to stay away from this,” he murmurs as his tongue sweeps across your palm. “Why the fuck are you here, baby?”

You don’t even remember anymore. Everything is hazy, everything hurts. It’s a chore just to keep your eyes open.

“Damn it,” he growls–pushing your hand away from his blood-smeared mouth seems to take all his willpower. “I never wanted this for you.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur as you slump down against his sheets. They’re so soft and light, and you want to cocoon yourself in them for the rest of time. “It’s just a dream.”

“Why’d you have to come save me? Huh?” His voice sounds so far away that you’re not even sure he’s really speaking. 

“I love you.” It’s okay to say that, because he’ll never actually find out. It’s just a dream, after all; you’ll wake up in the morning confused but totally okay.

“You were never supposed to,” his voice echoes from some plain of existence far, far away. “Damn it honey, stay awake just a minute longer.”

You try, but your eyes are so heavy. He sighs heavily, as if he knows it’s useless.

“Promise you’ll still love me when you wake up,” he pleads through the tunnel that separates you.

Nodding saps the last of your strength, so you let your eyes flutter closed. “Okay.”

You feel his lips against yours and his coppery kiss nearly brings you back from the verge of sleep. In the end, though, your throbbing head wins. Sleep takes hold quickly despite your feeble resistance. 

How strange it is to fall asleep in a dream.

➔ beta: @schnarfer and @futuraa-free thank you my lovelies <3

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :) any feedback or comment is always greatly appreciated!!

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction #cece writes

[ken-dom]

3. Cold hands in warm hands

Lars (... or any of the Goose characters*swoons*) being warmed/warming up the reader after they have to be exposed to the cold.

Melts. My. Cold. Heart

Hand holding 3. cold hands in warm hands

Lars Lindstrom x gn!reader

∘₊✧ We have @heresthestorymorningglory to thank for clearing my head with this one. To quote her — ‘not to sound too much like Lars but…’ — and then she proceeded to resolve all my writers block 💕 sorry it took a while anon!

∘₊✧ Pure fluff! Please don’t take any advice from this about being cold or frostbite!!

∘₊✧────────────────✧₊∘

‘It’s better to warm yourself slowly. If you’re too quick you could go into shock,’ Lars said confidently. There was an air of concern that he tried to hide, but it showed in his eyes and it made your heart leap that he would worry about you.

You nodded dutifully, standing before him with hands frozen stiff, unused to the cold here and having spent too long outside without gloves, believing it wouldn’t bother you. Turned out it did bother you, quite a lot more than you’d realised it might.

So thank goodness you ran into Lars at the Lake. You trusted him with ease, never having doubted him a day since you first met.

‘It’s scientifically proven that…’

He trailed off, mumbling the last couple of words as though he regretted speaking at all.

You leant forward, waiting for whatever he was hesitating with, whatever could help you regain the feeling in your fingers and avoid frostbite.

‘Yeah, Lars?’ you prompted.

‘It’s nothing… uhm… here-’

He pulled off his gloves and immediately dropped to his knees, a dull almost silent thud in the snow, the pressure of his weight wetting his trousers on the surface of it without a care. He was entirely focussed on covering your hands with the gloves, forgetting himself along the way.

He was careful not to graze your bare skin with his as he slid them on, but when he stood, he took hold of your gloved hands and placed one on top of the other, sandwiched between his own, and rubbed slowly.

He was strong. You knew this, but now you could feel it, from the firm way he gripped your hands in his and the vigour with which he massages them, gentle and careful, but firm.

And his hands must be huge because yours feel tiny inside the gloves. The thought makes your cheeks burn.

‘It might take a while,’ he muttered, staring down at your hands. You could feel him trembling as he rubbed, now, too. ‘You’ll experience some pain, and some tingling most likely, before they’re warm enough to move your joints comfortably. That’s normal, though. Try not to worry, ok? You’ll be ok, I’ll make sure of it.’

‘Thank you,’ you breathed, voice shaky.

Lars’s head was dipped, but you could see the way his mustache moved and you knew he was smiling. He always liked to be useful.

‘Hey, Lars, what were you gonna say to me before?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Something that’s scientifically proven?’

‘Oh… well,’ he cleared his throat, ‘it’s scientifically proven that… in cases like this, skin to skin contact is technically more effective because it’ll warm you the fastest way while still being safe.’

‘Oh, ok.’

You know he couldn’t do that, that it would only cause him pain or in the very least, distress. He was already doing his very best to help you; you wouldn’t ask him to try.

‘I don’t mind giving it a go, if it’ll help you,’ he looked up at you from under those gorgeously long eyelashes, partly hopeful, partly scared.

‘I couldn’t ask that of you, Lars. Really. This is fine.’

‘It’s fine, but it’s not the most effective method and…’

He stopped rubbing your gloved hands, took a deep, steadying breath, straightened his shoulders, and looked you dead in the eyes as he gently pulled the gloves from your hands and let them fall to the ground.

Visibly trembling now, his hands moved tentatively toward yours.

‘Is this ok?’ he asked, eyes glittering with nervous energy.

‘Yes,’ you said simply. ‘As long as it’s ok for you.’

He nodded, chest heaving, his heavy breath creating a cloud in the frosty air between you.

And then his hands covered yours once again. This felt warmer, all encompassing… intimate. His hands covered yours completely, confining your theory that they must be big. It felt safe.

His breath hitched and you could have sworn a little whine escaped his throat.

Lars’s shoulders dropped and he began to rub with confidence again, warm palms sliding over the backs of yours hands, skin to skin.

‘Does that- f-feel… better?’

‘Yes, it feels good. You sure you’re ok?’

He felt a feint pain, burning somewhere in the background where your skin met his, but it was nothing compared to what he felt when he had touched, or been touched, by anyone else.

This was new. It was kind of nice. He never wanted to break apart.

He nodded, worried he might make an embarrassing sound if he tried to speak now.

‘The science was right,’ you huffed out a laugh, ‘it’s working. I feel so much better now, thank you Lars.’

He stopped rubbing, but he didn’t move away. He was frozen to the spot, hands clamped around yours.

‘Want to hold my hand and walk me home? Better make sure I’m not out here too long without protection against the cold again…’

Lars beamed at you. ‘Yes. Yes! Oh! Hold on…’

He let go and bent to pick up his discarded gloves from the fresh layer of snow.

‘Here — you wear one glove…’ he slipped a glove onto your right hand, ‘and I’ll wear the other,’ he slipped the other glove onto his left hand, ‘and we can hold hands with the other two to keep warm!’

You beamed back at him.

The fingers of his bare hand interlocked with yours so easily it felt like they were made to fit together. ‘It might be warmer if…’

‘Go on,’ you encouraged, squeezing his hand with yours.

He don’t answer but you saw the blush creeping over his cheeks. He guided your connected hands into the pocket of his coat.

‘There. Now let’s get you home.’

#lars lindstrom #lars lindstrom x reader #lars lindstrom fluff #lars and the real girl #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling fluff #ken-dom answers #ken-dom writes #writing game

[softspeirs]

Ooooo heck yes, one word prompts! I'd like to submit #12 - stranger for whoever you heart feels most inclined.

Ema, I'm sorry this took me so long! I had to do something with our guy Rosie for you. Fellow reader, I am still taking one word prompts for my OCs if you're interested!

Her laughter filters through the air towards him, and his grip tightens on the glass in his hand.

"I see what the plan is." Douglass says on his left, and Rosie struggles not to roll his eyes. "Get so annoyed you break the glass, and then she has to pay attention to you. Y'know, to give you stitches."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Rosie replies, tone even, betraying nothing, even as his gut roils, hearing another trill of laugher from a few feet to his right.

Grace is at the officer's club tonight. She looks lovely. She always looks lovely, but he so rarely sees her out of uniform.

It burns him a little that she got dressed up for someone else.

A stranger, someone he doesn't know. Someone who, out of the corner of Rosie's eye, he can see is standing a little too close to Grace. Acting a little too casual.

"Really didn't think you were the jealous type, Rosie."

Rosie is saved from having to reply when the woman in question rejoins their circle, her cheeks pink from drink and laughter. His body relaxes when she's close enough that he can smell her perfume, and he doesn't even feel bad for the way he sways towards her a little.

"Boys." She says, greeting Douglass and Crosby. "Major." She says, softer, addressing Rosie directly.

"Who's your friend?" Douglass asks, not even attempting to be subtle.

"Doctor Abbington is over from London. He's pioneering a few new techniques and teaching here for two days before heading back to the city."

"Huh." Douglass takes another swig of his drink. "Well, good luck with that." He says, gesturing at Rosie before leaving them alone, dragging Crosby with him.

"What was that about?" Grace asks, a furrow between her brows.

"Nothing." Rosie says, voice soft as he looks down at her. He opens his mouth to say something else, when they're interrupted.

"Captain Fleming," The doctor says, ignoring Rosie completely.

Rosie, not one to normally care about rank, or standing on ceremony, raises his eyebrows so high they disappear into his hairline at the brush-off, Doctor Abbington standing with his back to Rosie entirely as he speaks to Grace.

"I'm headed out. I hope to see you in the morning?" He asks, tone brusque.

"Of course, we'll be at the lecture in the morning." Grace confirms, sending an apologetic look over the doctor's shoulder at Rosie. "Let me walk you out..."

"Grace." Rosie doesn't know what possesses him to reach for her hand. He doesn't want to embarrass her in front of a colleague, but he's feeling a little forgotten, and yes, a little jealous. It makes him grit his teeth.

"I'll be right back." She assures him, and then she's gone, one last look over her shoulder at him all he gets as she walks off with a stranger.

It's not five minutes before Crosby comes barrelling inside. Rosie, having taken a seat with Kidd at the bar, is instantly on his feet, hackles up.

"You gotta come on," Crosby is saying, yanking on Rosie's arm.

"What happened?"

"Grace."

Rosie doesn't need to hear anything else. He and Kidd are hot on Crosby's heels, Rosie's heart pounding so hard he can barely hear anything else. He knew he shouldn't have let her leave alone with that doctor. Jesus Christ but he knows better, he has sisters--

He stops abruptly. The scene is not what he expected.

Ev Blakley is there, hands up in a placating manner in between Grace and the doctor. "Come on, Fleming. Leave him with some dignity, huh?"

"Dignity!" Grace's voice is high-pitched, irritated. "He wasn't so concerned about his dignity a few moments ago."

"You've been spending too much time with these fly boys, Captain. DIsappointing." The doctor says, voice tight as he holds his nose. He's -- he's bleeding?

"I'd shut up if I were you, or I might let her have another go." Blakely says calmly. He sees Rosie, Kidd, and Crosby out of the corner of his eye and gives a half shrug, as if to say I'm trying my best, here.

"Grace." Kidd's voice is hard, the sound of authority. "What's going on?"

"What's going on is she hit me, Major, and I have never experienced this type of treatment--"

"She hit him after he tried to get fresh," Blakely adds, his jaw clenched.

"Doesn't know that no means no." Grace says heatedly, her fiery eyes softening a little when she meets Rosie's gaze. "I'm fine."

Something like pride wells up in Rosie's chest as he starts to put the pieces together. This doctor, this stranger, who doesn't know Grace Fleming from Adam, tried to kiss her. He had been trying all night, really, if Rosie remembered right from inside. A lot easier to evade him in a crowded room, so looks like he tried to take it outside.

By the sight of his bloody nose, he certainly got what was coming to him.

"That's my girl." Rosie says quietly, taking a few steps closer so he can take her hand and pull her away. "Let's get you back to your room, yeah?"

"But--"

"We've got it, Grace." Jack Kidd says. "Go, before the matron sees you. She'll have your head if you hurt your hand."

"Her hand? What about my face?" Doctor Abbington protests.

"That busted beak is going to be the least of your problems if you don't shut it." Blakely drawls.

With a laugh, Rosie slings an arm around Grace's shoulders and begins to walk her the other direction, back towards the nurse's hut.

"Did you hurt your hand?" He asks, worried.

"Just bruised, like my ego."

He makes a face. "Your ego? What for?"

"I thought he really respected me, us, the other nurses--" She stops, frustrated. "The other girls have been complaining since he got here, and I thought they were just..." She stops, embarrassed. "I should have listened to them. I shouldn't have assumed just because he's a doctor that he was a good person."

Rosie stops her, reaching to hold her face in his hands. "You're determined to see the best in everyone, Grace. So he took advantage of that. But you know what? In this war, it's good that you're holding on to that. Plus, you got the better of him, didn't you?" He grins.

"Oh, shut up."

"I'm just sorry I missed it." He says, laughing and ducking out of the way as she swats at him. "Hey! Not me too, I've seen what you can do."

She settles back against his side as they walk, their laughter fading into the night as he walks her home.

#rosie rosenthal x oc #robert rosie rosenthal x oc #masters of the air fanfiction #rosie rosenthal fanfiction #softspeirs mota fanfiction #oc: grace fleming #rosie x grace

[castiwls]

the prophecy - s.w

Paring; sam x reader

Prompt; 'please change the prophecy'

Requested;anon? (i can't see the req in my inbox so if it was you and you didn't req on anon pls lmk)

Notes;so sorry this took so long <3 p.s reqs and inbox are open again :)

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Love had always been a complicated thing. It seemed to come easy enough yet slip away even easier. Sam knew falling for you could be a fatal mistake for both him and you, yet he did it anyway.

He ignored that voice in the back of his head which picked and picked at him about how asking you out would only end in heartache. How being around him put you in danger, how simply knowing his name placed you in danger.

The voice continued to nag at him every waking moment. It reminded him constantly that every day could be your last, that when you met your end it would be his fault.

“Sam.” A hand on his chest pulled his attention from his thoughts. Your smile was bright as you lay on your side gazing at him. Pushing yourself up you lent your head on your hand. “What’s wrong?” 

He stared at you for a moment before shaking his head. “Nothing. Just can’t sleep.” He spoke quietly. You hummed quietly looking at the wall for a moment. “Really?” You looked back to him moving now to sit up fully, crossing your legs under you.

You knew him too well. Taking one look at him was enough for you to know that something was up. That the voice inside his head was winning again. 

“I’m fine. Seriously.” He sent you a weak smile reaching out to place a hand on your thigh. 

“No. No your not.” You shook your head. 

He let out a quiet sigh before moving to sit up against the headboard. He would never admit to you how he really felt. Admitting it would only make it real and he was determined to prove those thoughts wrong.

He was determined to keep you safe. To break the pattern.

He opened his arms reaching out for you. Taking the hint you moved into his arms, falling back against his chest your legs tangling with his. “I’m not gonna die.” You whispered after a moment.

Your words caused his breath to catch in his throat. His arms which were wrapped around your middle instinctively squeezed you closer. “Don’t say that.” He mumbled pressing his face into your hair. 

Ice-cold fear ran through him as he tried to calm his breathing. People had said that to him before. Most of those people ended up dead.

Sam had never asked for much in his life. Food, a warm place to sleep, all the normal things anyone wanted. His wishes had always included someone who could give him that love and affection he craved so desperately and now he had that the thought of losing it left him frightened in a way he’d never been.

“I mean it. I’m not going anywhere.” You turned your head slightly, moving your arm back to gently cup his face. “Promise me…promise me you’ll stay.” He stared down at you, eyes wide like a child who was afraid of the dark.

Accept it wasn't the dark he was afraid of.

“I promise.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut holding you impossibly closer as you gently stroked his cheek.

Maybe you were right. Maybe you were the exception, you would be the one who stayed. You’d be the one who he managed to keep safe. He knew nothing was for certain, no one could tell the future. 

#supernatural #spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #spn fanfic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester angst #sam winchester drabble #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester headcanon #sam winchester fluff #jared padalecki x reader #jared padalecki #spn angst #spn x you #spn x y/n #spn x reader #spn imagine #spn fandom #spn reader insert #supernatural imagine #supernatural drabble #supernatural headcanon #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #.mine

[graysparrowao3]

Heyyooo!

I'm popping in cause i just wanted to let you i really love your stuff and miss seeing you on my dash.(why tumble timeout??) I'm sorry someone felt the need to come at you with unkindness but i bet there's a lot more people who LOVE seeing you roll across their timeline (self included). I love your writing, its super sweet and i adore how you present the characters. I do hope that person didn't dampen your spirits too much, You're a gem!

Helloooo! 💛 This was such a kind thing that you took the time to say, thank you so much. It really, really lifted my spirits and to hear that you enjoy my presence and writing is so touching (and especially as I absolutely adore all your content and posts too!). You're absolute royalty. I'm so glad to actually be able to be back in your presence and respond to you now as well!

I don't know if you remember this post, but in celebration of being freed from Tumblr jail and in gratitude for your kind words, I finally wrote you something based on this prompt. It's just a series of three short scenes but I hope you like it! I'll put it below a cut.

Summary for bonus part 4 of the Rolan, Cal, and Lia sneaking in and out for dates series: Cal and Lia are sneaking around trying to hide their romance liaisons from Rolan, who, unbeknownst to his siblings, already knows about them both...

Words: 1,174

Cal gathered up the usual stack of envelopes, scrolls, and a copy of the latest Baldur’s Mouth that filled the postbox and began to sort through them as he sauntered into the kitchen where his family was seated.  

“For the owner of Ramazith’s Tower.” Cal handed an unusual, sealed paper over, then dropped the rest of the assorted junk onto the middle of the table.

Rolan tucked the envelope quickly away.

“Love letter?” Lia teased.

“Not that it would be your business if it was.” Rolan returned the light-hearted tone.

“Just joking,” Lia leaned casually on her shoulders, “but now I’m interested.”

“Never you mind.” Rolan waved her away, taking another bite to break his fast.

“Not that you have to tell us,” Cal settled back onto the table and flipped idly through the Gazette without reading it, “but it would be nice if you found someone.”

“I’m sure it would,” Rolan mumbled, “alas, your curiosity will remain unsatisfied. I promise it is not about my personal affairs.”

“If you say so,” Cal was already distracted by one of the illustrations, dropping crumbs onto the page as he chewed. “Weird thing the other day. Could’ve sworn I was being followed.”

“How’d you figure?” Lia’s brow creased with concern as she placed her drink down.

“Pass that here,” Rolan ignored the conversation and gestured for Cal to hand him the newspaper.

“Not sure exactly. Might’ve been imagining it.” Cal grimaced as he tried to recall, “was probably nothing.”

“Worth checking, though,” his sister insisted.

“I’m sure you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” Rolan glanced briefly over the top of the page.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “you’re probably right.”

“Rolan,” Lia pulled down the top of the paper in front of him, “think it’s worth a check – to be sure.”

He opened his mouth, then scoffed, reluctantly agreeing,

“Fine, fine, I’ll check up on it today. I’ve got more than a few favours I can call in. I’ll keep us quite safe, fear not,” he folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm.

“Thank you, Rolan.”

When they were done and the crumbs cleared and the plates cleaned, Rolan restrained his interest long enough to nonchalantly stroll to his office. Once inside, he quickly applied an Arcane Lock to the door and hurried to the desk, eagerly taking out the envelope and opening it with rushed hands. The letter unfolded, finally the favour he’d called in had paid off. He huffed as he read – they could’ve been a little more subtle about it, at least; he wasn't supposed to have been aware of them.

Archmage Rolan – as you wished, please find below the following information regarding the individual that has been seen in the company of your brother. Stand up member of society, as far as I can tell. Boring, honestly. And not that you asked my opinion, but they did seem rather happy in each other’s presence. It was sickening.

No, I didn’t ask, Rolan thought, but he couldn’t help but smile.

Rolan sat, legs and arms crossed. Eyelids falling gently shut before he commanded them to remain open. It would be morning soon. Lia should have been back long ago. His foot tapped restlessly against the floor. Then… a sound. He leant forward in the chair, ears willing it louder. Two sets of poorly concealed footsteps lazily approaching the door outside. He exhaled. At least she was alright. A click in the lock and the door creaked open. With a quick flick of his wrist, Rolan shrouded himself in Invisibility.

An uncharacteristic giggle followed by a soft gasp of excitement. His sister stepped backwards across the threshold,

“Shh,” Lia pressing her finger delicately against her partner’s lips, “lest my brothers hear.”

Rolan raised an eyebrow.

Lia fell back in, replacing her finger with her own lips. She pulled them in close, willing them to step into the tower with her body, hands in their hair. They obliged, their hands on her, searching the edges of her corset, exploring the material tight against her sides, sitting on her hips, teasing at her waist.

Oh, Gods, no. Absolutely not.

A sudden sound caused Lia to pull away. She turned to see a heavy tome that had slammed onto the ground nearby. She crept over and looked around, finding no obvious place where it could have fallen from or been dislodged.

“Tower is Gods damned cursed.” She muttered. She returned to her lover at the door, lacing her arms around their shoulders and pulling them in for a passionate goodbye. Rolan rolled his eyes and shuffled away, grateful to find his bed.

Rolan was enjoying a glass of his favourite red and warming himself by the fireplace after a long day. Long, but rewarding. Honestly, he couldn’t have imagined better, more fulfilling days. He heard the comforting noise of two tieflings moving into the room to join him before the night called to them all.

“I thought we might,” Rolan gestured lazily with his glass, “spend some time together tomorrow evening. Games, drinks, what have you.”

“Tomorrow?” Lia stopped before she made it to a chair, her question tenser than it ought to have been.

“Does it have to be tomorrow, Rolan?” Cal exchanged an uneasy look with her.

“I suppose not, though,” Rolan took a sip of his wine and smiled indulgently into the glass; he’d let them sweat just a little, “what’s the problem with tomorrow?”

“Just…” Cal stumbled, “something else might come up.”

“Might it,” Rolan raised an amused eyebrow.

“I just mean, there was something going on, maybe. I’m not sure. Better to be free for it than not.”

“Is that so,” he took another sip, enjoying himself immensely.

“All got our secrets,” Lia crossed her arms defiantly, “don’t ask you about yours.”

“I think you’ll find you do,” Rolan waved his goblet, “all the Gods damned time, actually.”

“Fine, have it your way.” Lia said, wishing she didn’t sound as disappointed as she did.

“No, no, by all means, do have your mysterious plans tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll figure it out sooner rather than later.”

“Don’t know about that,” Cal relaxed.

“You are many things, dear brother, but a master detective is not one.”

“Is that so?” Rolan’s smug smile loosened by the wine.

“Not saying you’re not good at other things,” Cal added, quickly.

“Just that you’re not always the most insightful. That can’t be news to you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rolan swirled the claret liquid around the class, “I might have picked up a thing or two over the years.”

“Go on then,” Cal tempted him, “if we’re hiding something, what is it?”

“Let me guess,” Rolan feigned ignorance, “a friend I might disapprove of – someone from the guild, perhaps? Or perhaps an unwise game of chance in someone’s basement somewhere.”

Cal and Lia shared a cheeky look.

“Yeah,” they settled into the chairs beside him, “something like that.”

“You see,” he relaxed back, a smile of contentment on his face, “I’m sure I wouldn’t have a clue.”

#bg3 rolan #rolan #rolan bg3 #cal #lia #bg3 cal #cal bg3 #lia bg3 #bg3 lia

[starry-bi-sky]

i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc prompt #man i just really need more dpdc stuff where danny and bruce have a good relationship. like man i NEED it. like i need to see these two #bonding together. and not in a cracky 'oh danny is a distant friend/cousin/etc' stuff but like. active participants in each other's lives #or as active as can be in this case. i neeeeed these two getting along and caring about one another #this idea came to me like last night and hasn't left since nd it was driving me up the wall to think about both positively and negatively b #i neeeded someone to hear about this or i was gonna implode #danny is the first son #tried to just get the general gist of the idea down but i definitely thought of the idea that bruce lowkey suspects vlad for having a hand #Vlad allows Danny to sneak off because he thinks Danny is alone. if he knew Bruce was there he'd be piiisssed and would put a stop to it #Sam and Tucker are alive they just got ghosted for a bit by danny bc he was in Major Grief and didn't wanna socialize. He couldn't go to #them because he didn't wanna put them in danger via Vlad. #oh that thing he handed Bruce? Yeah that's his ghost core. I have a headcanon (that isnt always applied) that ghosts can take their cores #out of their bodies at will and painlessly and without issue. and its common practice actually to do so bc they can be a not insignificant #distance away from said core before problems start to act up. and its common for ghosts to leave their physical cores at their lairs for #safekeeping because as long as the physical core is fine: so is the ghost. they can reform if their body gets destroyed. it also acts as a #fast travel sometimes. where they can reform at their core in an instant. its not inspired in the slightest by SU but i do see the overlap #most cores are pretty small for safety sake: its harder to hit if its small. and they're pr resilient too but its better to be safe than #sorry. so yeah. danny essentially gave bruce the physical embodiment of his soul and indirectly said #'if anything happens to me at least i'll be safe with you' #danny doesn't know he's batman btw #starry rambles. #was gonna go into danny becoming a vigilante beside bruce but im sleeeepy so i'll do that in a reblog. he's gonna go by nightingale if #anyone is interested. stereotypical but to be frank it is a *good* name imo. has a good amount of syllables and consonants to it #and the bird theme. and since its part of an ancestral name it has even more backing for it being bird-y without being meta

[smokbeast]

👍 Watcher

he really do be fine in that top of crop

#sorry im taking so long with each of these im just having #so much fun drawing them i know i go too hard on asks im so sorry i JUST THEYRE SO FUN #THATS WHY I LET THEM STAY IN MY BOX SOMETIMES CAUSE IT INSPIRES ME LIKE A PROMPT..I HOPE THATS OK SOMETIMES #BUT UH YEAH HERE YOU GO ANON #I M NOT SURE IF THIS IS TOO MUCH IM SORRY IF IT IS AAA #I JUST MY SON...HOLDS HIS FAT FUCKING TITTIES.. #asks #art #my ocs #watcher #froggy mail time #i will try to sneak one more tonight but i think i will continue the rest tmrw

[the-feral-one]

✌---Oki :-]

Oki tries his best to fit the theme using what he could find in Mesagoza shops.

Wo shows his approval too~

#pokemon #pokeask #pokemon art #okidogi #sorry for taking so long! #gonna reblarg the prompt again soon too

[overdevelopedglasses]

Tojoctober Day 12 - Gamble

(I see your star, you left it burning for me)

Alt title is from “Setting Sail, Coming Home”, the end credits theme to Bastion

Akiyama arrives at Morning Glory to take Haruka to the arcade. Little did he know Kiryu's other kid would show up.

(no spoilers!)

—------------------

“Akiyama-san?"

“Dojima-san!?"

The two men standing at the entrance to the Morning Glory Orphanage stare at each other in disbelief. Akiyama's almost too stunned to speak. After all, it's not everyday that you're face-to-face with the leader of one of the most powerful yakuza organizations in Japan. 

“What..." Akiyama clears his throat, regaining his composure, "What are you doing in Okinawa?"

“Kiryu-san asked me to come here. What about you, Akiyama-san?" Daigo responds in kind.

“Kiryu-san asked me here too..." Akiyama stares at the younger man in confusion. “Did he double book a babysitter?"

"I'm not sure. It's not like the fourth chairman to do something like this." Daigo ponders, his face wrought with confusion.

Akiyama almost opens his mouth to offer to take Haruka, since there are probably better things for the Sixth Chairman of the Tojo Clan to do, but it's at this moment that Haruka walks up to the two of them, and glances at them both.

“Akiyama-san? Daigo? Are you two here for me?"

Akiyama glances at Haruka, and then the chairman. There's no way Haruka would need two babysitters. Besides, the last time he saw Daigo Dojima, he had overheard what he was saying to Kiryu….

Wait.

This was a bit of a gamble, sure, but what did Akiyama have against the guy? Whatever issue that went between them, Kiryu seemed to have diffused. He remembered how the two acted towards each other. And if Akiyama's hunch was right...

“That we are, Haruka-chan!" Akiyama says with vigor, swinging an arm around the young girl's shoulders. “Uncle Akiyama is here to take care of both of you!"

This statement brings a joyful giggle from the girl, but a confused noise from the man.

“Us...?"

“Of course, Daigo-san!" Akiyama responds, partially wondering why the hell he just first-named one of the most powerful people he knows. "Now then, let's not waste any time. The arcade?"

Daigo opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it. Haruka starts running down the path towards the town. "Hooray! Come on guys, to the arcade!"

“Yeah! Let's go, Haruka-chan!"

“Wait, hold up, Akiyama-san!"

Daigo's words fall on deaf ears, and he can do nothing but follow the other two people.

The arcade in Okinawa was pretty small, but the proprietors of the establishment went for quality over quantity. The place had Virtua Fighter, Taiko no Tatsujin (which Haruka really enjoyed, and Akiyama had a sense Daigo liked it too), and even a new Puyo Puyo machine. 

But of course, what the three people were currently surrounding was one of two UFO catchers. This one in particular housed some Bun-chan plushies, and Haruka was determined to get them. 

She had already won one. A yellow Bun-chan was clutched under her arm, as she used the other to aim the claw at a pink Bun-chan that sat right on top of the rest. 

The claw lowers, and grabs the Bun-chan, but the grip is too loose, and the plush falls almost immediately.

"Come on!" Haruka says, exasperated.

This is Haruka's fifth try at this particular plush, and Akiyama could tell it was stressing the young girl out. 

"Let me give it a shot, Haruka-chan."

Haruka steps aside, letting him take a shot at the controls. Akiyama moves the claw deftly and precisely. He sees the claw tense as it completes its drop; while it misses what Haruka was aiming for, it does end up grabbing something.

“Oh?”

Out pops not a pink, but a green Bun-chan, firmly within the claw. The claw moves over and drops the prize into the chute.

“That was… not intended” Akiyama mutters to himself, but looks at Haruka, who has stars in her eyes.

“WOAH! That was awesome, Akiyama-san!” 

Despite how much she’s grown since he last saw her, Haruka still held some childlike innocence within her.

“Hehe… all in a day’s work, Haruka-chan. You still want that pink one?”

Haruka nods. Akiyama looks back at the machine. With the green Bun-chan gone, the pink one has now fallen halfway into the hole that was made. It would be a hard grab, that’s for sure. Akiyama ponders the situation for a second, before a voice catches his attention.

“Can I try getting it?”

Akiyama and Haruka look at Daigo, who was leaning back on one of the arcade cabinets, watching silently the whole time.

“Ok, Daigo.” Haruka says with a bit of hope in her voice.

Haruka hands the two Bun-chans to Akiyama, who steps away from the controls. Daigo walks up and places a coin into the machine, which comes to life. Akiyama had never seen the chairman so focused, as Daigo moved the claw with precision and skill he somehow possessed. He even walks overs and looks through the other side of the machine, and lines up the claw in both directions. Daigo inhales, and presses the release button. The claw drops, and it's right on the mark. The pink Bun-chan is snug and secure in the claw, all the way until it’s dropped into the prize chute. As the celebration jingle plays, Akiyama lets out an excited holler.

“Nice one, Daigo-san!”

“You’re the best, Daigo!” Haruka wraps her arms around Daigo’s waist. He hesitates at first, standing stationary but Akiyama sees a small smile that reaches the chairman’s eyes. 

“It.. was nothing, Haruka. I hope you like it.”

Akiyama, with his niece and all-but-confirmed nephew, the former holding a couple bags of prizes, arrive at the entrance of Morning Glory. When they arrive, Haruka sets the bags on the stoop, digs something out of each bag, and turns to both of the men. She holds out both of her hands. In her left hand, stretched to Akiyama, housed the yellow Bun-chan. The other hand, out towards Daigo, had the green Bun-chan.

“Surprise! I wanted you to have these!" Haruka said with pride, beaming at them.

Akiyama is beside himself, “Haruka-chan! You shouldn't have." He takes the plushie from her hand, cradling it with both of his hands. Bun-chan stared back at him. “Thank you. I’ll treasure this.”

Akiyama looks over at the other man, who takes the green Bun-chan without a word. He nods at Haruka.

“Well, I have to get started on cooking for the others, but thank you guys so much for today! I hope we can do it again soon!”

“Of course, Haruka. It’s always a pleasure.” Daigo responds with a small smile.

“We’ll see you later, Haruka-chan!” Akiyama says with a wave.

After leaving her behind, the two men walk to the station in Okinawa in silence. As they wait for their train, Akiyama turns to the chairman. 

“Hey, I’m sorry if I just roped you into that. I kinda talked before I really thought of what I was saying, and I didn’t want to take you away from any duties you had, and I know you’re busy since you’re the chairman, and-”

“Akiyama-san.”

Daigo stares intensely at him, and Akiyama stops talking. The chairman, holding the green Bun-chan in his arms like a little kid, hesitates for a moment, then speaks his mind, “Today was… very fun. I really enjoyed spending time with the both of you. We’ll have to do it again sometime, without Kiryu-san having to intervene.”

“Of course… Dojima-san.” Akiyama says with a bit of hesitation.

Daigo smirks, “When we’re with Haruka… Daigo is fine. And uh… I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble, either today or in the past, Akiyama-san.”

Akiyama lets out a laugh, “That’s Uncle Akiyama to you, Daigo!” Daigo lets out a small laugh himself, as the two of them board the train to Kamurocho.

Somehow, in some way, Uncle Akiyama’s gamble paid off.

#tojoctober #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #akiyama shun #daigo dojima #haruka sawamura #how did it take me this long to write akiyama in a prompt??? or daigo???? #akiyama would also be a great uncle #i had a completely different idea for this prompt but this one was too good to pass up #even if i had to write it all in 2 days whoops #so sorry if this isn't the highest quality #claw machines are essentially gambling devices. I will not elaborate

[eregored]

every day i look at my ask box and just kind of giggle and twirl my hair because you guys actually love interacting farah like huh

#˙♱ ‎ ⋆ ‎ ☠︎︎ ‎ . ◞‏‏‎ ‎ OOC ‎ ‎ : ‎ ‎ general ‎. ‎ ‎ ‎' #she was my first OC coming to tumblr and now #it’s been two years and you guys show so much love for her #like she’s just a gal OH GOD ): #but that also makes me happy cuz ): damn you guys followed me all the way here ? #ILY GUYS SOBS #i just really didn’t think she would become this big thing #like farah was just supposed to be a cheerleader in ST #and now she has her own lore and she’s a fandomless horror character #and UGHAJWHEDJ #I’m sappy I’m sorry ignore me #never be afraid to spam my ask box I swear #sometimes I take way too long to answer things but #I love seeing prompts and imagining replies and going feral

[dragon-tamer-1]

Ok seriously, I promise to get to the requests I have soon, just gotta do a few things first but I promise to start drawing/writing them as soon as I get done with these.

#dragon talks #i took these requests for a reason and i can't help but feel a teensy but guilty for making people wait so long for them #especially the writing requests i took like #almost half a year ago now??? i think? #which I'm so sorry it's taking so long to do #brain was like: ooh i want to do these requests stuff #but then shortly after it gets distracted by other things and then it doesn't want to do them but also wants to do them and so on #but then i also have Flighteningverse Week coming up and i want to do all the prompts and that will get me wanting to take a break after #why do i always get these ideas and then have too many things to want to do at once?? #cause then there's all the different aus i want to work on #and my fics that i want to write the next continuation to because some of them haven't been updated in over a year now #probably two years now if im honest #i swear they're not discontinued i just have very much things i want to work on #or just play games #and there's also my dragon adopts side blog i want to work on. and the song comic that i thought i would finish before the end of the year #and the Cross/Error shipkid #and that guardian of my aus and worlds that i think i still have to pick a name for #and dino!tale #and the fnaf au animatronic stuff #and more recently the kaijuverse au #so many things that i want to do #dragon rambles #<- #new tag for when i do the rambling in the tags #if you read all this then have a cookie 🍪