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izzabela · 19 days ago

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based on a very real text from my very real boyfriend...

pregnant!reader x price

reader probably in the second trimester

MDNI: smut, graphic descriptions of sex, p-in-v, pregnant sex, pregnant!reader, f!reader = f!genitalia, prone-bone? (yeah i think so), we are rawdogging tonight! is breeding still possible while pregnant...? (if so, then breeding),

Price is just a guy

a chill guy who loves his pregnant wife

maybe a little too much...

because when you came to him with the announcement, the blue lines a heaven-sent message from the God he didn't believe existed, everything about his brain chemistry changed

you smelled so nice, lovely in fact. intoxicating, sickeningly sweet that he put in paid paternity leave much earlier than the intended date he was supposed to. you giggled every time you felt Price's scruff over your shoulder, arm, legs- any body part that Price could get his hands on

"darling!" you'd squeal, voice pitched in ticklish joy every time his thick hairs brushed over your skin.

he didn't want to leave you, not now and certainly not in the near future.

you're so soft too. maybe it was the bundle of joy in the middle of its creation in your belly, or maybe it was the constant massages that Price gave you whenever your back hurts. whatever it was, Price's calloused hands from war meeting his angel's, it the closest thing he has to purification.

"your hands...." you'd coo at his scarred limbs. "have you been using the healing cream i gifted you?"

cream? the only ointment he needs was your supple body- his holy grail

but the thing that did it for Price, the thing that made him go insane was the obvious sign of your pregnancy- the lil' bump that showed God's immaculate gift of a woman

for every cuddle session, Price's hands swarmed your belly with feathery touches. his lips would whisper the softest promises into your plush and growing belly. "papa'll show you the world" was your favorite

for every outing you and Price had, a hand always found your belly still! touchy thing, he is, because he would not stop talking about the little pumpkin you and Price were growing together

and for every night in bed...

"mmm, honey..." you writhed in his warmth, your back against his chest. if his stubbly beard rubbing the nape of your neck was one point of bodily irritation, then your back was tingling on fire with the fine hairs of his chest

"'s nothin' love," Price mumbles against your skin, leaving little kisses that were slowly going lower and lower. "Jus' checkin' on the baby, makin' sure she's healthy."

you felt rough hands scale your body, one resting over your mouth to muzzle you, and the other slithering down before making its home over your damp underwear. if your cunt was the magic lamp, then your muffled moans were his wishes come true

"stay quiet fo' me, love," he murmurs into your ear, nibbling a little bit in the process. compliance was a new thing for you, and you were damned that listening to him made you feel... real damn good

"there's a love...." he practically growled, swiping your panty to the side and easing his fat digits into your cunt

"h-honey, the doc said-" you tried to reason with him, but a quick grip to your jaw and you were reminded about the law of your darling husband. without saying anything more, you melt into Price, letting him make work in your aching pussy

how is it possible that you were so much softer inside? so much more wet? practically coating his fingers in slick as he pumped, pumped, and pumped, his nubs in you

shaking his hand off your mouth, you looked over your shoulder with those eyes he could never say no to, and the magic word

"inside?" you plea. and who is he to deny you the pleasure?

switching positions, he lays you on your tummy (with copious blankets and pillows to support you). of course, the fucking tease makes sure to irritate you by prodding his cock at your entrance, his head kissing your sopping folds down there. you mewl, whining for him to stop playing games with you

"sorry, dove," he leans over to kiss your cheek. "was 'at mean? oh, don't cry love," he hushes you some more, before a little smile peaks through and his number one girl is back

your lips lock with his like animals in heat, like you haven't seen him in years, like it's the first time in a long time since he's had you in his arms. and as your tongues dance, his cock finally makes its home inside of you, nestling nicely in your warm, gummy walls. in fact, you're certain his mushroomy head is just touching your cervix

he doesn't fuck slow, he fucks intentionally (that's how you're carrying his future in the first place...). after getting used to your insides, his hips buck in and out, a steady, constant pace that hits every. single. spot. and his cock, oh his that lovely cock of his, stretching you out until you're crying (again) out of pleasure and wanting

"greedy lil' thing, aren't'cha wife?" his voice low and gravelly in your ear. one of his hands is over your mouth, two digits in your mouth to gag and choke, while the other arm holds your little hands in place

"y'wan' anotha one? hm? wan' another baby inside? givin' 'm a lil brother o' sister?" he teases, cock practically engraving itself in you for your walls to memorize

he does everything in his power to not cum inside, even though his words have you drooling for more. but when you squeeze him, tightening around him as he's about to pull out, his chest is on your back again as he drives himself to his own finish

"playin' dirty, lil' girl," he snarls, and you can't help but lick over his fingers in response

you can't speak with his fingers gagging you, but your mind roared with "more, more, more" and "fill me, fill me, fill me" like a mantra

and isn't the best way to thank God through worship and prayer?

your finish is visceral, flashes of white clouding your vision as you feel your thighs and legs shake. you pussy is no better, slick leaving and coating your sheets

Price is practically there, hips smashing into your round ass, hearing his flesh collide with your to create the symphony of his dreams- bonus points for your cunt adding even more music

"ah, fuck, honey i'm-!" but there's no point for Price to finish his sentence when the rest of it filled you up

you melted at the feeling of his spunk coating your walls, filling you to the brim, the fatigue of sex finally caught up to you as you began to doze off

"c'mon love," he chuckled, a little rough in his throat as he tried to keep you awake. "gotta 'elp me to not hurt our lil' one..."

you weakly flip over back onto your left side, but there's no point in fighting the sleepiness when you've already drifted into the land of subconscious. Price can only sigh at the sight, but who's he to complain? you're growing his little pumpkin

as you dreamed of your baby, images of your baby all grown, Price was tending to his garden. after all, how can she create more if not taken care of properly?

#price x reader #john price x reader #oh captain my captain #OH MY GULAY #I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND SO MUCH #captain price x reader #captain john price #call of duty john price #call of duty modern warfare 2023 #call of duty modern warfare

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cambion-companion · 1 year ago

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"Hold Monster"

Based on this amazing post and artwork. I couldn't help but write something for our beloved INT 8 Tav from 1st POV since that's what I feel most comfortable writing.

Raphael x reader!Tav | Tav thinks the hold monster spell works in a very different way

You certainly hadn't intended to trip and fall into the portal, landing face-first on the polished marble floor of Raphael's entryway.

Your presence had been noticed immediately by Raphael who, upon recognizing you, wore a rather aggrieved expression. He set down his quill carefully and rose to full towering height, a slight twist of bemusement curling his lips. "Here I assumed you could go an hour without indulging in foolishness." He strode toward you and gripped you by the scruff like a wayward kitten. "You just caused me to lose a bet with Korilla."

"I really don't know how this happened!" You protested against his grasp as he dragged you back towards the portal. "I would've knocked if you had a door!"

Raphael released you with a slight push, his wings flexing as he glowered down at you. "Innocent or not, a trespass will be received as such."

"Ah! Raphael, it was an accident!" You began to panic as his eyes glowed a bright gold and flames began to dance upon the tips of his fingers. "Oh, not again." You groaned, wracking your brains for something to counter his retribution."

You withdrew a small amount of silver from your pocket and shrieked. "I cast hold monster!!" Then charged at the cambion head-on.

So surprised was he by your yell and sudden movement, Raphael couldn't react in time before you leapt upon him. You wrapped your arms and legs around his torso and hips, clinging to him like a rabid spider monkey.

The force with which you jumped him caught both of you off guard and Raphael toppled to the floor, his wings failing to catch his weight in time. You felt his grip pierce your sides as he stared up at you in utter shock for a moment. The spell had worked, it seemed.

You panted. "I don't want my bottom singed again like last time. That wasn't very nice."

Raphael grimaced, his face sharpening again as his surprise subsided. Emotions warred across his features. "You are a most confounding creature. If I believed you at all capable of rational thought, you'd be a pile of ash this very moment. Now...get off."

"Sorry, I can't." You shook your head sorrowfully. "The spell lasts a minute."

Raphael growled low in his throat, his wings stretching as he slowly got to his feet. You still clung to him, holding him tightly as you could.

With great care and powerful restraint, Raphael removed you from his person limb by limb.

"Wow, you're strong." You said with awe, panting a little from the exertion. Seeing the look on his face you backed slowly towards the portal. "Okay, I can see you're busy. I'll be going now."

"I should think so." Sparks of hellfire danced between Raphael's fingertips as he looked at you, his expression much like one who is considering how best to skin a deer.

Once you'd disappeared back to the material plane, Raphael grunted and looked around his immaculate manor. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the infernal air. "For the crown."

#raphael bg3 #fic #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #raphael the cambion #raphael baldur's gate 3 #int 8 tav #drabble #raphael fanfic

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impala-dreamer · 11 months ago

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Wonderstruck

A Magical Short Story

~ Attending a wedding alone is rarely fun. Add to it a bunch of people you don't know all hidden behind masks, things can get a little shaky. But sometimes, if you're lucky, magic can happen...~

Henry Cavill x F!Reader

3,160 Words

Warnings: Nothing but romance and magic and fluff and mystery!

A/N: Yes, it's me. No, I have not been kidnapped. This was written in part for my personal goal of branching out a bit, but moreover as a Valentine's gift for @mariekoukie6661 and @kittenofdoomage <3

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

Her dress was sleek and as dark as midnight; her heels were high and deadly. Her lips dripped with crimson; a silver mask hid beautifully sad and strikingly painted eyes.

She kept to the edges of the ballroom, ducking behind round tables clad in expensive linens and gold inlaid china, skirting billowing gowns as they spun on the dancefloor. She slipped in and out of the shadows with a slowly emptying champagne glass pinched delicately between two fingers.

Despite her annoyance in being there, she could not deny the beauty of the night. The massive room was decorated in glamorous gold and pearl accents. Heavy velvet curtains hung over the windows on each wall, letting in a glimpse of the moonlit garden outside. The floors were marble that had been polished to perfection, and a warm candlelight glow illuminated the room.

It felt as if she’d stepped into a fairy tale.

A fairy tale about a sad girl watching the party from afar, alone but for the bubbles in her glass.

Which, sadly, were now gone.

Y/N sighed heavily and looked across the dancefloor at the long bar that stretched across the back wall of the ballroom. A hundred guests in suits and gowns, feathers and masks, twirled in front of her, blocking the path. Silently, she weighed the pain of entering the waltzing throng over going another moment without a healthy buzz in her head. She took a breath. She took a step.

Her heels clicked rhythmically as she laid her course for the bar. She kept her eyes on the goal, carefully maneuvering through the dancing couples, wondering if they’d all been to some class she hadn’t been invited to. All their steps seemed identical; all the women spun with the same flourish. She shook her head. Life should never be so choreographed.

After nearly tripping over a dragging tail of taffeta, Y/N finally made it to the bar and braced herself on the top. As she caught her breath, a deep but soft laugh hit her ear.

She turned toward the sound and spied a large man leaning on the bar a few feet away. He turned as she did, leaning one elbow on the bartop and kicking a long leg over the other. His tuxedo was immaculate and perfectly tailored; his shoes shined like the stones below. He wore a mask of black with silver adornment, and two crisp blue eyes scanned her form from beneath. She could feel them sneak down her body, lingering a bit in the deep curve of her waist and at the globe of her ass.

She cleared her throat, drawing his eyes up to hers.

“Something funny, Slick?” she asked, lips pursed in clear annoyance.

The man grinned. His lips were full and pink beneath a thin scruff of a beard.

“I liked your dance,” he said in reply.

She was startled by his accent - elegant and somehow too perfectly English, as if he were pretending to be from across the Atlantic. She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure him out.

It was nearly impossible. The masks were a problem.

Y/N rolled her eyes. She didn’t know why, but she felt that he needed to work a little harder to get her attention. Maybe she was bored, maybe the shock of his voice had her aflutter. Whatever it was, she turned up the sass.

“Yeah, well, I was a ballerina in a past life.”

Again, he laughed. A little louder, a little more enticing.

“I can see that. Prima ballerinas often trip over themselves and end up slamming into tables.”

She bit back a laugh and turned back to meet his gaze. “We take a special class for that.”

The man cocked his head towards her champagne flute. “And with an empty glass, no less.”

“What can I say, I’m very good at my job.”

Slowly, he pushed himself up from the bar and took a step closer. “May I buy you another?”

Her eyes slid up from his shoes to the loose, curly mop of black hair atop his head. He was tall and broad, and looked as solid as a statue. Her pulse quickened.

“I’m pretty sure it’s free,” she teased.

He stopped a foot from her side. “Still…” With a quick snap of his fingers, he called for the bartender and ordered them both another round.

“A dirty martini, Mr. Bond?” She smiled at his order.

“Shaken, not stirred,” he replied, lifting his glass.

His smile was as intoxicating as the golden liquid in her glass and butterflies swirled in her stomach.

Each took a sip, swallowing slowly with their eyes locked. The blue crashed over her and Y/N lost herself in the sparkle of his smiling gaze.

Worried that she was staring too hard, she tore herself away and let out a hard breath.

“So… how do you know the bride?” she asked, trying to pry his identity free.

He licked a drop of vodka from his lip. “I don’t.”

She laughed gently. “Wedding crasher, huh?” She leaned closer, dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don’t worry, I won’t turn you in.”

He moved in even closer. A warm scent pulsed off of him, flooding her senses with leather and vanilla and something she couldn’t place. Something spicy that made her mouth water so much she forgot that she was supposed to be playing hard to get.

“That’s kind of you,” he whispered. “I don’t think Charlie will press charges though.”

She smiled. “Ah, you’re on the groom’s side.”

“And you?”

His eyes fell to her lips and Y/N’s cheeks burned.

“I, uh… I work with Chloe, the- the bride.”

He nodded and took a sip of his drink. “Charlie and Chloe,” he said with a light laugh. “So many Cs.”

He was too cool, too confident yet sweet. She almost hated him.

“Who are you?” she asked, confused and irked. She had not come to the wedding to meet anyone, let alone a gorgeous, blue-eyed Brit, who may or may not actually be British.

Another slow sip guided her eyes back to his lips and she wondered if he tasted as good as he smelled.

“Henry,” he said softly.

She laughed. “Of course you are.”

“Why’s that funny?”

“Because of course your name is Henry. With your perfect accent and your sexy tuxedo…”

He stood up, suddenly towering over her, and tipped his head, eyes swiping over her again.

“And what about you? You’ve got to be called Celeste or Audrey or something classic and elegant.”

Y/N drained the rest of the champagne at the bottom of her glass and stood to face him properly. “Well, Prince Charming, why don’t you just call me Cinderella.”

Henry reached for her hand and she gave it jokingly.

His kiss was no joke, landing softly on her skin and making the rest of her shiver. She held her breath and nearly fainted when he looked up.

“Pleased to meet you, Cinderella.”

Her head swam a bit and she wondered if that was what swooning was.

“Charmed,” she said with a dreamy smile.

He held her gaze, swept a warm thumb over her knuckles. His touch was like fire and she wanted to run. Away from him or into his arms - she couldn’t decide. All she knew was that there was magic in the air and she could not seem to tear herself away from the mystery of his face. His eyes were tragically beautiful, as if she was lost at sea on a broken raft, thirsting and alone, but she had the comfort of the blue waves to keep her safe. She thought herself insane. He was just a man in a mask at a fancy wedding. Just a tall, impossibly fit, perfectly dressed man at a masquerade ball. A deliciously gorgeous man who smelled like drinking in front of a roaring fire in a cozy library filled with old books in some ancient castle in Scotland. A man who was still holding her hand and her gaze, stealing too many moments and breaths from her day.

Y/N shook herself and pulled her hand from his.

“I should… go…” She turned toward the room. She had to get away, had to free herself from the captivating stranger and return to ignoring her coworkers and the bride’s overly friendly family. “It was nice to meet you, Henry.”

His frown nearly cracked the earth beneath her feet.

“Don’t leave just yet,” he pleaded. “I… Well, I don’t really know anyone here and you’re…”

She looked back over her shoulder as he hesitated. “Yes?”

He blushed and sought comfort in his shoes. Such a beautiful sight: a strong, confident man instantly melting into shyness.

Blue eyes looked up. “Beautiful and enchanting and… I was hoping that we could dance.”

She nearly fell over, knocked out by his voice and charm. A quick breath steeled her nerves. “Sadly, I cannot.”

He stood up fully but somehow still seemed small. “Dance with me?”

“Dance at all,” she corrected.

He laughed. “Well, how about another drink and some conversation?”

With a sigh, Y/N looked back at the crowd, into the sea of indistinguishable masks and unfamiliar forms. Giving in, she nodded politely and spun around to the bar.

They ordered another round and took up residence at the end of the counter, half hidden in shadow, invisible to the other party-goers. Music soared above their heads but they could barely hear it, so engrossed in each other’s stories.

They spoke of simple things- movies they’d loved as children and that well-worn paperbacks were still tucked into their bookcases. She asked him about home and he talked about the London traffic and how he preferred to stay around the house on rainy days playing games on his PC. He poked her about work and she glossed over her job, insisting that they keep the conversation light and free from day-to-day struggles. They drank and laughed and fell even deeper into each other’s gaze.

It was strange to have a conversation with a stranger in a mask. She knew that he was handsome- his eyes were brilliant, his lips perfectly plump. His jaw was tight and his neck was thick. He was big and sturdy, yet gentle and bashful. Though most of his face was hidden, she knew he was perfect.

Perhaps a little too perfect.

But as the alcohol flowed and the night wore on, Y/N couldn’t find a reason anymore to run. The night had cast a spell around them and there was no escape. There was magic in the gilded accents around the room, in the symphony of violins that danced above their heads, in their true smiles and tentative touches.

Even if he wasn’t perfect, she thought, the moment was.

And the moment was suddenly broken.

A firm hand on her wrist dragged Y/N from her place at the bar and onto the dancefloor. The bride would not be ignored and refused to take no for an answer. Pained by the intrusion and the demand, Y/N reluctantly took Chloe’s hands and twirled her around. The skirt of the massive wedding dress billowed like a cloud around Chloe’s small frame and Y/N laughed as she was nearly caught up in the fabric.

Heart racing and smile wide, she turned back to Henry but was shocked to find his place empty. Their glasses sat abandoned on the bar and Prince Charming was nowhere to be found. She felt a tug in her chest and a dampness behind her eyes.

Before she could shrug it off as just a random encounter and push his blue eyes from her mind, a tap on the shoulder made her gasp.

She spun on the spot and found him there with a sweet smile and open arms.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, dipping into half a bow.

Excitement rushed through her and Y/N bit her lip. “I told you, I’m not a good dancer.”

Unwilling to let her back away, Henry scooped her up and held her close, one hand capturing hers and the other pressing gently into the small of her back. He leaned in and teased his lips at her ear.

“Then let me lead…”

His fingers pulsed against her back, guiding her to move against him. They turned a few times until she was dizzy in his arms, laughing as he whispered into her ear:

“Left… right… back… you’ve got it…”

His breath on her skin was like a gust of summer air, warm and delicious, flooding her body with calm.

“See? You’re not too bad at this.”

Y/N looked up into his eyes and felt the world fade away. They rose up together off of the dancefloor, floating gently above the other guests, impossibly alone in the crowd. She knew she was drunk, knew she’d pay for it in the morning, but she didn’t really care. She didn’t care that her friends were watching, probably whispering about the mysterious man she was dancing with. She didn’t care that she’d twice stepped on his toes or that there was no way she could hide the fact that being so close to him wasn’t turning her into a melted, lustful shell of what she usually was.

The music crescendoed and Y/N held her breath. Henry dipped his chin, blue eyes locked on her hers. The world slowed down, the seconds stretched on forever. She closed her eyes, savored his exhale against her lips. His hand slid gently up her back, fingers wove through her hair. She felt her legs grow weak, her stomach tensed, her heart skipped. He took a breath.

The band stopped short and Y/N startled as the crowd shited. The moment was gone, ripped away once more by the party swelling around them.

A rush of silk; the click of hundreds of heels. Cheers rose throughout the room as a giant cake was rolled out onto the dancefloor. It towered up to the ceiling with beautiful rows of white creme roses and pearls strategically placed to make the fondant glow in the warm light trickling down from the chandelier above.

As the guests closed in, Y/N was pulled out of Henry’s arms and her heart ached as he once again was out of her sight.

Black suits swarmed around her, heavy gowns brushed against her legs. Voices rang loud. Bodies closed in on all sides.

Breathless, she spun, searching for an exit, for a way to push through the throng.

A hand appeared and reached for her. She clasped his fingers and Henry raced toward the big doors to their left, pulling her free of the mob.

They tumbled out into the cool air and found relief as the doors closed behind them, blocking the music and the excitement, leaving them alone in the night.

The garden was dark but magically aglow with warm, golden light. Fairy lights twinkled around them, strung from bushes and topiaries, highlighting a stone path. Beyond, a labyrinth of tall evergreen waited for curious souls to venture inside, daring the branches to keep them from reaching the end.

Wonderstruck by the evening- the dramatic escape, the music, the champagne and Henry’s crystalline eyes- she stumbled. One single step turned her ankle and the deadly heels she never wore took her down.

Her gasp tore through the garden, but Henry was there to catch her fall. She swung in his strong arms and her fear turned to laughter.

“This is just absurd!” she said, steadying herself with a palm over his chest.

Henry was calm and stable, easily holding her upright. “What’s that?”

“I mean… You literally just swept me off of my feet.” She shook her head and with a blushing smile, pushed away. “This is getting silly.”

Away from his grasp, she teetered again and Henry took her hand before disaster could strike.

“Why don’t you sit down for a moment,” he suggested, nodding towards a stone bench not far away. “Those shoes are dangerous.”

“You have no idea.”

She let him help her to the bench and watched in awe as he fell to one knee. Like an actual Prince Charming, he took Cinderella’s ankle in his hands and gently ran his fingers over the thin strap holding the shoe in place.

“You’re not swollen,” he reported. “That’s good.”

When he looked up, concern fading from his eyes, she gave up trying to suppress the enchantment of the night and took a deep breath.

Hands cupped around his face, she leaned in and finally met his lips.

Startled but delighted, Henry pushed up to meet her, taking her once more in his strong arms and kissing her properly.

Tiny lights flickered in the breeze, soft music seeped out into the garden, and Prince Charming and Cinderella found each other in the dark. Lips hungry and hands wild; heat mixing between them like a budding fire.

When the clock struck twelve, it chimed loudly and they broke apart, laughing.

“Seems about right,” she joked, looking towards the wedding. “Party ends at midnight.”

Henry dragged a thick finger over her collarbone. “Does that mean you’ll turn into a pumpkin and disappear?”

She laughed softly. “I don’t know when the last time you read Cinderella was, but… no.”

He licked her taste from his lip. “So you don’t need to go then?”

Her smile fell. “I do…”

“You could stay…” He dipped his chin and looked up through the mask, blue eyes dark in the light. “We could… find a spot-”

Y/N shook her head and reached for his hand. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I have to be back in the city tomorrow for work.” She lifted his fingers to her lips and left him with a final kiss.

Henry sighed. “Pity.”

She nodded and gathered her strength to stand and do what she should have done hours ago- run. Except this time, she was certain she meant it to be into his arms. Only this time, she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry…”

Quickly, she turned, carefully stepping back onto the stone path and away from the mystery man with his intoxicating voice and perfectly engrossing kiss.

He stood and called to her, desperate for one more look at his Cinderella.

“Wait-”

She paused, hand on the big glass door, heart in her throat. “Yes?”

“Don’t I even get to know your real name?”

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “It’s Y/N.”

Henry bowed his head in thanks and when he came up, the mask came off, slowly revealing a face she’d only imagined in her dreams.

He blushed at her shocked stare and laughed gently.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

She sighed, blissful and lost in a dream that she prayed would last the rest of her life.

“You too…”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@akshi8278 @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #fluff #romance #one shot #maybe more if it goes well i have ideas

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zephyrrhiesfyrian · 4 days ago

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Can they even throw pokeballs with those claws?

Also, Lady Sneasler can scruff them like actual sneasels now. Do dumb stuff get scruffed

They will find a way.

Ingo at least tries, but Emmet is content traveling with his pokemon out of their pokeballs. Strong throwing arms translate surprisingly well to learning how to swipe with massive sneasler claws.

Emmet gets scruffed for picking fights and Ingo gets scruffed for being pathetic KAJSDFHKGJ

Once Emmet shows up (with his new fur and immaculate feather), Lady Sneasler just looks and Ingo and goes "why can't you be more like your brother. Look at his feather. He will have no trouble getting a mate."

Ingo is scandalized and Emmet is hysterical

#zef askbox #pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon ingo #submas #subway boss ingo #warden ingo #pokemon emmet #subway boss emmet #lady sneasler #sneasler!ingo #lady sneasler loves her weird sons

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brodygold · 9 days ago

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Twelve Days of Christmas: Day Nine

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: nine ladies dancing.

Brody and his teammate Logan sat near the front row of the theater, the warm glow of the stage lights illuminating their faces. This was Brody’s Christmas gift to Logan—a night at the ballet. Logan, ever the good sport, smiled as the lights dimmed, though Brody could sense his teammate's excitement waning as the first act unfolded. It was obvious this wasn't really Logan's typical scene.

The nine ballerinas stepped gracefully onto the stage, their every movement a testament to years of training. They wore flowing white tutus adorned with glittering sequins, their hair styled in immaculate cuts. The orchestra began to play, and the dancers twirled, leaped, and floated across the stage with an elegance that enchanted the audience. Logan clapped politely after each sequence, but his eyes occasionally wandered toward the ornate ceiling or the glistening chandelier in boredom.

Brody leaned over with a sly grin. “Hang tight, Logan. You’re going to love the second act.”

As the curtain rose on the second act, Brody discreetly focused his magical energy on the stage. The transformation began subtly, as if woven into the rhythm of the music itself. The lead ballerina, spinning at the center of the stage, began to change first. Her delicate arms thickened, biceps bulging as veins traced across her growing forearms. Her shoulders broadened dramatically, straining against the straps of her costume until the fabric shimmered and morphed into golden material. The tutu melted away into a sleek, shiny leotard, hugging every contour of what was now an impressively muscular frame.

Her soft features hardened into a square jawline, a dusting of scruff appearing across her face as her delicate nose became stronger and more defined. Her long, graceful neck thickened with cords of muscle, and her once-feminine voice deepened into a resonant baritone as he spun to a stop, now standing as a burly, hairy, and undeniably masculine figure. The dancer didn’t miss a beat, moving seamlessly into the next pose with the same precision and grace.

The transformation rippled through the ensemble like a wave. Another dancer, executing a flawless dance move, began to stretch taller mid-air, his legs thickening into tree trunks of sinewy muscle. His slender waist expanded, his torso growing broader with each leap, pecs and abs visibly pressing against the golden leotard that replaced his once-delicate costume. The dancer’s long hair unraveled into a tousled, rugged cut, and his smooth face took on a sharp, handsome edge.

One by one, each ballerina was transformed. As they leapt and twirled, their limbs thickened into powerful, muscular arms and legs, their slim frames replaced by the hulking forms of massive, hairy jocks. Their pale skin gained a healthy bronze sheen, glistening under the hot stage lights. Even their movements shifted subtly, no longer just delicate and light but brimming with a raw, masculine energy that added a striking dynamic to the performance.

The dancers’ synchrony remained impeccable, each pirouette and arabesque executed with a mix of power and grace that captivated the audience. Yet, no one in the crowd seemed to notice the miraculous transformation. The nine burly jocks, now towering and muscular in their shimmering gold leotards, moved with the same elegance as before, their performance flawless and awe-inspiring.

Logan’s mouth hung open as he watched the spectacle. “Brody,” he whispered, his voice tinged with amazement, “am I losing it, or...?”

Brody just grinned. “Just enjoy the show, bro. Merry Christmas.”

The finale arrived, and the dancers lined up for their grand conclusion. Their massive frames gleamed under the spotlight as they struck a final pose, muscles taut and glistening with exertion. The orchestra’s final note echoed through the theater, and the audience erupted into a thunderous standing ovation. Cheers and whistles filled the air as the transformed dancers bowed, their burly forms exuding a magnetism that had the crowd roaring with approval.

Logan clapped with newfound enthusiasm, his earlier boredom entirely forgotten. “That was insane! Best ballet I’ve ever seen.”

As the audience began to file out, Brody nudged Logan. “Wait here. I’ve got an idea.”

Brody slipped backstage, where the nine dancers were cooling down, their massive forms towering over the backstage crew. They were still in their shimmering gold leotards, their muscular frames seeming to pulse with energy as they chatted and laughed, their deep voices filling the space.

“Gentlemen,” Brody called out, catching their attention. The nine turned to him, their expressions friendly yet commanding. “That was an incredible performance.”

“Thanks, mate,” one of them said with a grin, his thick accent laced with warmth. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

Brody stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly. “You know, I’m part of a team called the Golden Army. We’re always looking for guys with talent, strength, and charisma. You nine seem like a perfect fit. What do you say? Care to trade the stage for the field?”

The dancers exchanged curious glances before the lead, the first to transform, stepped forward. “The Golden Army, huh? Sounds intriguing. We’re open to hearing more.”

Brody grinned. “Great. Let’s talk after you wrap up here. Welcome to a new kind of spotlight, bros.”

#golden army #thegoldenteam #golden team #male transformation #jockification #gold #male tf #jock tf #hypnotised #female to male

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batwritings · 1 year ago

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Kinktober Day 9 - Face Sitting

I finally have one piece for every member of 141! Enjoy!~

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You weren’t sure what Soap’s fascination was with having you sit on his face so he could please you. Granted, Soap was a switch and you by no means were looking to take charge here, so it wasn’t a dominance thing. And it seemed like such a calm thing compared to some of the other stuff you two got into in bed, so it couldn’t be from adrenaline.

So when those pretty baby blues gave you puppy eyes the next time he was back from shore leave, you knew what he wanted. “I don’t see your obsession with this,” you chuckled, slipping on an old sweater of his. That was another condition to all of this; you had to be wearing something of his.

“Don’t need to love, don’t need to,” the Scotsman smirked, laying flat against your shared bed. “Hang onto the headboard if you need to yeah?” At this you rolled your eyes playfully as you carefully placed your thighs on either side of his head. Rough hands rubbed up and down the tops of your bare thighs lovingly.

“You think you’re about to rock my world with this little trick MacTavish?” you laughed, only to squeak loudly when your body was pulled down so your sex was resting right against the flat of his tongue. You had only been teasing him when you said you were unsure about this whole situation. But you could certainly see the pleasure behind this.

You bit your lip as a soft whimper escaped when Soap trailed his tongue from your back entrance up to your sex again. It felt like the heat from his mouth was everywhere all at once. The blend of his physical presence and his scent surrounding you was intoxicating.

“Still think you don’t need that headboard darlin’?” Johnny teased, nipping at your inner thigh. Before you could respond, that amazing tongue was back on your sex. You gasped a little, choking down a moan as your hips rocked against him. The mixture of pleasure of his tongue and burn of his scruff was immaculate.

One hand flew out to grip the headboard while the other covered your moans that were growing in volume with each lewd lick and suck. You were building a rhythm, the two of you; with every stroke of his tongue, you rutted your hips forward. Not that you needed more friction at the moment, you were pretty content.

Soap’s hands were rubbing soothing circles on your thighs, just enough to distract you. You hadn’t realized it at first, but he was slowly easing you down further and further to actually properly sit on his face. You didn’t even realize you weren’t at first, but one solid shake of your legs let you know you’d been effectively hovering.

“D-don’t wanna suffocate you,” you mumbled in your haze of arousal. And it was true; your goal here wasn’t to choke your lovable demolitions expert. Unfortunately for you, Soap had other ideas.

See, he may not have entirely looked it, but your sweet Johnny did have quite a bit of strength in his arms. He pulled you down fully to sit on his face, tongue never stopping it’s ministrations. You let out a loud moan, hips rocking with more fervor now.

The pleasure building in the pit of your stomach was slow, almost unseen as the Scotsman continued to slick and suck at your leaking sex. His baby blues were closed in absolute bliss, humming contently as his lips are coated in your essence and his own saliva. His calloused hands were firm on your thighs, holding you in position for him to pleasure as he saw fit.

“C-close,” you mumbled, hips rutting back and forth more erratically. On occasion you’d lose your rhythm and whine in frustration. You were teetering on the edge of orgasm and it was becoming to be too much, too quickly.

“C’mon mo leannan,” Johnny growled against your skin. “Come for me.” And it was like something snapped in the both of you. The sergeant returned to his ministrations with a fervor as you reached down to pull his head further flush against you. One moan that vibrated against you was all it took to have you spilling yourself across his face, crying out in pleasure.

A mixture of whines and moans filled the room as you came, Soap slowly easing himself back from your pulsing sex. His movements were at a snail’s pace as he got out from underneath you, helping you lay down curled against his chest. Such rough hands were so gentle as they stroked your cheek, little kisses being placed on your forehead.

Needless to say, you’d be sitting on Soap’s face more often.

#bat writes #cod smut #cod x reader #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader

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newtonsheffield · 8 months ago

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Mollyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!

This man is literally too handsome. He’s so handsome it should be illegal actually, I feel. But also this is giving immaculate Author Anthony vibes and the way I love that for Kate is something else entirely. He might be the boy who once nearly hit her with a frisbee but now he’s a tweed jacket wearing man with a scruff and his hair greying at the temples even at 28 and she is… feeling some kind of fucking way about how handsome her best friend is.

#you never called it what it was

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star-dust78 · 20 days ago

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Old Godzilla was hopping around Tokyo City like a big playground When suddenly Batman burst from the shade And hit Godzilla with a Batgrenade Godzilla got pissed and began to attack But didn't expect to be blocked by Shaq Who proceeded to open up a can of Shaq-Fu When Aaron Carter came out of the blue

And he started beating up Shaquille O'Neal Then they both got flattened by the Batmobile But before it could make it back to the Batcave Abraham Lincoln popped out of his grave And took an AK-47 out from under his hat And blew Batman away with a rat-a-tat-tat But he ran out of bullets and he ran away Because Optimus Prime came to save the day

Godzilla took a bite out of Optimus Prime Like Scruff McGruff took a bite out of crime And then Shaq came back covered in a tire track But Jackie Chan jumped out and landed on his back And Batman was injured, and trying to get steady When Abraham Lincoln came back with a machete But suddenly something caught his leg and he tripped Indiana Jones took him out with his whip

Then he saw Godzilla sneaking up from behind And he reached for his gun which he just couldn't find 'Cause Batman stole it and he shot and he missed And Jackie Chan deflected it with his fist Then he jumped in the air and did a somersault While Abraham Lincoln tried to pole vault Onto Optimus Prime, but they collided in the air Then they both got hit by a Care Bear stare

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be This is the ultimate showdown

Angels sang out an immaculate chorus Down from the heavens descended Chuck Norris Who delivered a kick which could shatter bones Into the crotch of Indiana Jones Who fell over on the ground, writhing in pain As Batman changed back into Bruce Wayne But Chuck saw through his clever disguise And he crushed Batman's head in between his thighs

Then Gandalf the Grey and Gandalf the White And Monty Python and the Holy Grail's black knight And Benito Mussolini and the Blue Meanie And Cowboy Curtis and Jambi the Genie Robocop, The Terminator, Captain Kirk, and Darth Vader Lo-pan, Superman, every single Power Ranger Bill S. Preston and Theodore Logan Spock, The Rock, Doc Ock, and Hulk Hogan All came out of nowhere lightning fast And they kicked Chuck Norris in his cowboy ass It was the bloodiest battle that the world ever saw With civilians looking on in total awe

The fight raged on for a century Many lives were claimed, but eventually The champion stood, the rest saw their better Mr. Rogers in a bloodstained sweater

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be This is the ultimate showdown (The ultimate showdown) This is the ultimate showdown (The ultimate showdown) This is the ultimate showdown Of ultimate destiny

#the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny #lemon demon #neil cicierega #inanimate insanity #artists on tumblr #osc #fanart #ii fanart #ii lightbulb #lightbulb ii #ii paintbrush #paintbrush ii #lightbrush

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seravphs · 2 years ago

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — AKI x FEM READER

Aki’s always rescuing you.

wc — 1k

tags — suggestive

“Have you drank before?”

“Of course,” you say with more confidence than you feel. You neglect to mention that you’ve only had a sip of beer at your father’s knee, or just one half swallow of a shot from someone else’s glass under someone else’s watchful supervision.

That someone else steps in to defend you now, as he always does. You feel a strange surge of annoyance and gratitude, always needing to be looked after like a puppy that’s wandered too far from its owner. Aki’s right there to scruff you when you get too reckless.

“Cut that out,” he says, annoyed. “You’re pressuring her.”

“Ooh,” Arai smirks. “You hear that, guys? Aki’s got a crushhh-“

He’s cut off by a near collision with Aki’s leg as he gets up to almost effortlessly pluck you off the floor. You yelp as he raises you up so smoothly it’s like it takes nothing out of him at all.

He’s so cool.

Aki tugs you away from the crowd and outside.

“You didn’t have to,” you start lamely, then stop. It’s too awkward. You know Aki always spoils you, but you don’t know how to get him to stop when part of you knows you deserve it. Not his attention, but his overprotectiveness. You’ve gotten yourself into enough sticky situations that he’s then had to bail you out of to protest.

Tonight alone, he’s taken half the shots that are meant for you. He doesn’t even make you suffer for it, casually swiping it out of your hand before you can bring it to your mouth. It makes you uncomfortable, not with him, but with the care he handles you with.

Aki’s patient. He waits while you collect your thoughts. It crosses your mind suddenly - an idle thought wondering what would it take for him to snap - before you bat it away like a particularly annoying fly.

“I feel bad, y’know? You’re always looking after me.”

“Someone has to,” he says off-handedly before your hurt expression tells him he’s clearly said the wrong thing.

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just- You don’t have to feel bad. I’m happy to.”

He takes your hand in his gently, not thinking much of it. His skin is cool to the touch, a soothing balm against your frayed nerves. You hate work parties. The alcohol makes you dizzy, everyone’s too loud, and the heat is headache inducing. Power’s body is too warm next to yours, and she jostles you with every loud anecdote she recalls. You’d rather be here with Aki on the balcony. Absentmindedly, you play with his fingers.

Aki’s hands, like everything about him, are elegant and beautiful. His nails are constantly trimmed within a centimeter of standard protocol, as immaculate as the guidebook’s. Denji’s nails are too long because he can’t be bothered to cut them. Sometimes he paints them black because Kobeni told him girls are into that, other times they’re the color of whatever gunk is trapped underneath them. Aki tells him off often for it. His demands that Denji wash his hands fall on deaf ears.

Aki tries to set a good example, though he doesn’t succeed. He moisturizes every night, slicking his hands up to his wrists with lotion so they stay soft, even in this line of work. The drag of skin over skin is delicate, scented oils perfuming the pulse points in his wrist. His knuckles are slightly bigger than the width of his fingers, making them appear bonier and more fragile than they are. Each finger tapers to a soft curve, his nails ivory crescents.

His thumb presses against the divot on your hand between your thumb and forefinger as he readjusts his grip. Long, graceful, pale fingers belonging to a hand that swallows yours whole. Your throat is dry. The point of connection between you two feels like everything and nothing at the same time.

With his free hand, he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. This isn’t hard to accomplish with one hand. Lighting up is much harder. Aki struggles to hit the wheel, sparks flying but never igniting.

You can’t tell if that’s a blush or if the evening light is playing tricks on you. It doesn’t matter. He’s still cool to you.

Wordlessly, you take the lighter from him and ignite his cigarette. He tips his head back ever so slightly as he takes his first drag of tobacco that hour.

Addict.

There’s no rebuke in your thoughts, only fondness.

You can see the sweet relief on his face as his eyelids close. The profile of his face in the dim flame is stark, shadows like bruises against his cheekbones. Smoke haloes his head. He looks like a remorseful saint from an old painting, the paper yellowed with age around the edges.

While he’s distracted, you try to sneak a hand in his pocket. He traps you instantly, hand caught between his and his side.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He narrows his eyes at you, the way he does at Denji and Power when they’re being suspiciously nice. When they do it, it usually means they’ve ruined something in the house. He knows full well what it means when you do it.

“Getting a cigarette?” You try for an innocent smile.

“Nice try,” he laughs in your face as he pulls your hand out of his pocket. You grab at it anyways, fingers closing around empty air.

“But Aki-“

“Actually, stand back.”

Confused, you retreat an inch. He can’t really be that mad at you for something so small, can he?

“More.”

“Aki!”

“Second-hand smoke is bad for you. Maybe you should head inside.”

His smile is too crooked to be fake. All at once, you realize he’s messing with you.

“Tease,” you grumble. The wind picks up again and you resist the urge to sneeze. Aki opens his coat and gestures you closer. His skin is as cold as always so it doesn’t help much, but his body blocks out the elements. The circle of his arms is tight around you, his chin hard where it digs into the top of your head. His hands slide to your waist, gentle pressure wrapped around your hips. He smells like ash and tobacco, a little unpleasant but nullified by the warm vanilla spice of his perfume. You know he doesn’t like cologne.

Aki is muscle, sinew, bone - alive, painfully so. You sear this moment into your memory, knowing all too well what a miracle life is in a profession like yours.

“Stop thinking,” Aki mutters against your ear, muffled by the stick of his own death he holds between his teeth.

You obey as his hands creep up your body.

#sera writes #aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #aki fluff

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nadvs · 26 days ago

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Have you seen the recent interviews where Drew’s wearing a striped purple sweater? I feel like it’s sooo Zach Maclaren coded!!😋💕🫶🏼

-💘

OMGGGG YOUR TIMING IS IMMACULATE?? i just reblogged a gifset of that interview and i’m not okay… the scruff?? my god. so zach coded. that man in a sweater is my weakness 🫠

#ask #💘 anon

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animeomegas · 2 years ago

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Hello!! I’m so happy that the 4K event is here you totally deserved it!! Your writing is immaculate and makes me want to make my own blog :,)

I love anything you write with Kiba, your characterization of him so fun. So could I Request a story with him, where him and reader are not so secret lovers👁️ Like Kiba has made it CLEAR that that’s his alpha. Nobody else’s.

And ik this is isnt in the activity list which ik you said was fine but I’m not sure if it counts as an activity😭 but maybe kibas reaction to Reader’s parents trying to force them into accepting concubines ( either bc they don’t approve of kiba or thats just the tradition or culture in Alphas nation)

If that doesn’t count I totally understand!!

Kiba and Alpha getting fortunes told together would also be really cute!!😊😊maybe the fortune teller is appalled about how many pups they see in their future💀

CONGRATS AGAIN!!

Thank you! You're so sweet!! <33 And you should totally start your own blog, just saying 👀�� The fortune telling thing is part of it, but I decided to go for another little plot. Enjoy~

...

KIBA + NOT SO SECRET LOVERS + A CONVERSATION WITH PARENTS

Warnings: minor n-sfw themes

"Is it Kiba?" you demanded again, fiddling with the ridiculously fancy clothes you had been forced into.

"Stop asking impertinent questions, child," you mother reprimanded, rolling her eyes. "Your fiancé will be arriving in a moment and I'm sure you have eyes that function well enough to discern his identity when the moment arrives."

"If it's not Kiba, then I will refuse to marry him," you sulked, crossing your arms.

Your father simply cuffed you over the back of the head.

You huffed, turning away from them both.

"It better be Kiba," you mumbled. They ignored you.

You were sitting in one of the drawing rooms and the plan was for some of your servants to bring your new husband and his family in to meet you.

As the door creaked open, you stood up with your parents, heart jumping in your chest. Who was it?

All the stress melted out of you when you were greeted by a grinning Kiba and his mother.

"Kiba," you breathed, grinning back at him.

Kiba launched himself forward, adeptly dodging his mother's attempt to pull him back, and pressed his lips against yours. You flailed for a moment, but the feeling of his lips on yours was a familiar one, and quickly your hands settled on his waist and tugged him every closer. The wet heat of his lips had heat pooling in your stomach, and you forgot about your audience until Kiba was suddenly dragged away from you.

"What did I tell you about staying by my side, you brat!" Tsume had Kiba by the scruff of his neck.

You didn't hear Kiba's response because your own mother gripped your arm and pulled you back as well.

"If anyone finds you knotted before your wedding night, you will not enjoy the consequences," she whispered into your ear. You noted that she didn't try to forbid you from knotting Kiba, just knotting him where someone could find you.

Your father cleared his throat.

"If everyone has come to their senses-"

"I was perfectly sensible," Kiba grumbled, his mother tugging his ear to get him to shut up.

"The final arrangements and negotiations can be made."

Everyone sat. Kiba tried to sit by your side, but his mother's grip was solid, so he sat facing you instead.

"Firstly, we must-"

"When is our wedding?" you interrupted, feeling the heat come back as Kiba winked at you.

Your mother closed her eyes for a moment like she was praying for patience.

"We will get to that, but there are some negotiations that must-"

"Negotiations?" Kiba interrupted this time. "I want at least seven pups."

Your father sputtered, choking on his tea while your mother closed her eyes again. Kiba's mother whispered something harsh in his ear.

"I'll give your fourteen," you pledged. "As many as we can manage."

"For heaven's sake!" your mother exclaimed, reaching the end of her tether. "If either one of you says another word, the wedding will be off!"

You knew better than to push your luck, but there was no rule against heated eye-fucking, so you and Kiba managed to amuse yourselves without words.

#4k follower event #kiba #kiba x reader #royal au #x reader #reader

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sweaterkittensahoy · 9 months ago

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MoTA prompt: Croz and Bubbles drunken shenanigans (please)

[This got Jack-centric, but it starts with Croz and Bubbles being drunk and adorable, so I hope it passes muster.]

Jack stands in front of them, hands on his hips, looking very, very tall. But Crosby and Bubbles are both sitting on the ground, legs crossed, holding each other's hands.

"What..." Jack sighs very deeply. "...the entire hell are you doing?"

"Hand claps!" Bubbles yells, letting go of Crosby's hands to throw up his own. Crosby makes grabby hands, and Bubbles puts his hands back. "Well, not right now, Sir. We're holding hands because you told us to stop fucking clapping, but we were clapping when you said it, so we held hands so we wouldn't clap."

"Because you said not to clap," Crosby says. He sways forward towards Bubbles, then sways back far enough that Jack wonders if he's going to hit his head.

"Harry, come back!" Bubbles says, pulling at Harry's hands. Harry overcorrects and tumbles into Bubbles's lap. Bubbles falls backwards but does not hit his head.

And then they're kissing.

Jack stares at them, wishing desperately to be struck by lightning. "I will say this again, though you two never fucking remember: Stop. Drinking. Lemmons's. Hooch."

Bubbles stops kissing Crosby to look up at Jack. Crosby snuggles into Bubbles's neck and goes limp. "But it tastes like home!" Bubbles says.

"So you say," Jack replies. "Every goddamn time."

"Because it's true, and I don't lie," Bubbles says.

"Yes, I know," Jack says. He counts to ten. Bubbles stays on the ground, seemingly fine to lie there and let Crosby sleep on him. Also just like always.

He turns on his heel and walks to the tents by the runway. Lemmons is outside of one already, not even trying to look innocent.

"I tried to tell 'em, Sir. I really did," Lemmons says.

Jack sighs. "Rosenthal!" he hollers.

There's a brief pause, then Rosie sticks his head out of the tent flap. He's shirtless. "Sir," he says, his poker face immaculate even as Lemmons turns his back so Jack can't see him laugh.

"Peel the navigators off the ground and put them to bed. Where you end up after that, I don't fucking care."

Rosie nods." Yes, Sir."

"Lemmons, you better have an extra bottle nearby for my bribe."

"Sure do," Ken replies. He reaches into the tent without looking and pulls out a bottle. "Enjoy, Sir."

Jack wants to pick him up by the scruff of the neck and shake him like a puppy. Instead, he waits to make sure Rosenthal is headed towards Bubbles and Crosby, then goes back to his own rack.

He leaves the bottle on the nightstand and flops down into bed. There's a soft knock at the joining door, and then Chic sticks his head into the room.

"Boys all quieted down?" he asks.

"For the moment," Jack says. "I give it an hour until Egan clocks in for his shift as the pain in my ass."

"He does like a late start," Chic replies. He walks into the room, holding up two glasses. "Care to share your bribe there, handsome? We could make a little noise of our own while the boys figure out who's up next to make a fool of themselves."

Jack huffs a laugh and pops the cork in the bottle. "I swear, half the reason Egan didn't want Air Exec is that he can't stand to miss his turn."

"No argument here," Chic says and sits on Jack's bed, holding the glasses out so Jack can pour.

#bubbles payne #harry crosby #crubbles #rosielemmons #clegan #masters of the air #no idea what one would call jack and harding #but they're here too

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malcontentswanns · 5 days ago

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who: @fishermansknight when and where: flashback, in which a group of travelling fisherman visit the lands of house swann specifically to attempt to get the best catch out of the river slayne. context: wylliam on his rock gathering adventures found himself being pick pocketed; walys ended up getting him back his coin, considering he is much faster - wylliam eventually catches up to him.

the chase had been anything but graceful. wylliam swann, all long limbs and no athletic prowess, barrelled down the muddy path with an urgency that would suggest the crown jewels of the targaryens themselves had been snatched from him. his boots squelched unpleasantly with every step, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his spectacles slipped precariously down his nose with cheeks that were bright red. ahead of him, the figure of walys bramble was already a blur, darting through the trees with the ease of someone born to the wilds.

when wylliam finally stumbled to a halt, he found walys leaning casually against an ancient oak, the pouch in question dangling lazily from his fingers. the fisherman, all broad shoulders and self-assured smirks, looked at wylliam as though he were an amusing curiosity—perhaps a stork that had wandered too far from the riverbanks. “right,” wylliam wheezed, doubling over with his hands on his knees as he continued to attempt to catch his breath. “i imagine you think yourself terribly clever, sir knight, snatching the spoils before i could.” his large brown eyes returned back to his full height, looking around as though to expect the apprehnded bandits to show up; and yet, they were nowhere to be seen. "you let them go?" wylliam asked incredulously; his mind thinking of how dangerous the situation would be now they had been freed in swann lands.

he held out his hand expectantly, long limbs winding over fallen logs on the banks of the river slayne which continued to rush by them. “the pouch, if you will. i assure you its contents are quite irreplaceable.” as the pouch was placed in his palm, he opened it with care, his fingers shaking—not with fear or exhaustion, but the thrill of recovery. his eyes lit up at the sight within, and he began to extract the contents one by one, carefully, as though he were counting. “ah! there you are, my beauties.” he fished out a small, reddish stone, turning it over in his hand with the reverence one might afford a precious gem.

“a garnet schist. flawless. and here—look at this fine specimen—rhyolite, with a texture so immaculate it could bring tears to a geologist’s eye. i thought i’d lost you forever.”

he glanced around, realising the silence had grown heavy as the other seemed to be staring at him with an expression he could not entirety read. "yes. it's not coin." his voice softened, almost confiding now, as though the stones were listening; a level of self consciousness momentarily coming over the younger lord of stonehelm. had he allowed himself to get carried away? “you might think me foolish, running after a simple pouch. but this isn’t just a collection of rocks—this is months of exploration. countless hours tramping through marshes and riverbeds. the thief could have snatched my gold, my boots, even my dignity—well, most of it—but this? this is priceless.” he tucked the stones back into the pouch, patting it gently before securing it at his belt.

“there. safe and sound. i’ll have to catalogue them properly when i’m home. garnet schist always requires precise notation, you know—can’t just scribble any old thing and expect a coherent record. a weak foundation in mineralogy is the first step to chaos. the first step, i tell you.”

he sighed, brushing at the mud on his tunic, though it seemed a losing battle. “now then, shall we return to the others? i imagine the fishermen have already concocted a tale of lord wylliam, who dashed through the woods like a madman to recover... well. best not let them guess. they wouldn’t understand, anyway.” he leaned downward to wipe scruff and mud from his elongated legs, a man who appeared not in control of his limbs. "what's your name again?" wyllliam suddenly asked, remembering he had not even asked the name of the saviour who had brought home his most precious beauties.

#c: walys #walys 001 #where's wally? (will&wally)#im cackling

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