#Like WHY does he feel like there’s no one back home for him?? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

curtins · 2 days ago

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MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.

#toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #toji x you #jjk toji #works

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the-flaneur · 2 days ago

Text

four-tune favours the bold (mv1)

pairing: max verstappen x alonso!reader [smau]

summary: having won his fourth world title, max finds no better time to tell your father that you're dating (and to maybe also get his blessing)

warnings: none (i think)

a/n: now that we finally have M4X (yipeeeeee), can we please get goatlonso back, preferably in the next few years (pls let the newey rocketship work)

[masterlist] [requests]

-> instagram

y/n_priv

liked by fatherofthree, blackdontcrack, inchident_no1 and others

y/n_priv reactions after max told me he had told dad about us (he lied)

view all comments

blackdontcrack max stop sending your girlfriend into a heart attack, she's already getting one from your kids

fatherofthree she learnt that one from you and roscoe 💀 blackdontcrack HEY. my son is very well behaved

notnowinsnomore I DONT UNDERSTAND WHY YOU WONT JUST TELL HIM, IT'S NOT THAT HARD MAX

fatherofthree DO YOU WANT TO TELL HIM FOR ME 🤨🤨🤨 notnowinsnomore NO???? DO YOU THINK I WANT TO DIE??? notnowinsnomore IT'S ALSO YOUR RELATIONSHIP, NOT MINE

honeyhoney you've got to give him like 10 years to process that you're even in the same social sphere as his daughter...good luck man

fatherofthree thanks dan 😖 fatherofthree padel later? y/n_priv no? we have our date??? 😧😧😧 honeyhoney you beating up max now y/nnie? y/n_priv 😁👍

yourbff_priv babes ditch the men for me 😍

y/n_priv yes wifey 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 fatherofthree @/yourbff_priv stop stealing MY girlfriend yourbff_priv skill issue

fatherofthree

liked by y/n_priv, inchident_no1, notnowinsnomore and others

fatherofthree stopped her from becoming blonde and still got kisses xoxo

view all comments

notnowinsnomore that second picture is exactly is what's gonna put you on top of fernando's kill list

fatherofthree no it wont notnowinsnomore yes it will inchident_no1 yes it will blackdontcrack yes it will honeyhoney yes it will ima5starmichelin yes it will buzzlightyear yes it will y/n_priv yes it will fatherofthree ok maybe it will. but fernando doesn't need to know

inchident_no1 your rendition of my heart goes on is truly...

y/n_priv truly what CHARLES? say it with your pussy fatherofthree YEAH WHAT SHE SAID inchident_no1 rubbish 🙄 y/n_priv BOOOOOOO YOU'RE RUBBISH

y/n_priv

liked by fatherofthree, spicysugarbaby, inchident_no1 and others

y/n_priv PUTTING IT ALL ON BLACK! VIVA LAS VEGAS BABY 🤩 YOU ARE WELCOME TO JOIN US AT THE MGM UNTIL THURSDAY MORNING @/f1

view all comments

inchident_no1 should've bet on red 😉 wouldn't have lost you 100k

spicysugarbaby agreed 🤭 blackdontcrack well i SEVERELY disagree since we won 250k on the next spin on black so.... fatherofthree I LEAVE YOU ALONE WITH THEM FOR 10 MINUTES AND YOU'VE ALREADY BET 250K??? y/n_priv yeah but it's an investment babe 😘

antman can i join you guys? 🥺🥺🥺

y/n_priv not yet little kimi, in another three years (i think; i'll take you to the casino then myself ☺️) y/n_priv and yes you too @/we_are_barebears we_are_barebears YESSSSS 😌

f1 can i come over pls pls

y/n_priv of course admin ❤️ f1 yay 😁

-> messages

-> instagram

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton, fernandoalo_oficial and others

yourusername feeling right at home here, dressed and betting on red

view all comments

user1 HOLY LORD MOTHER IS FINALLY BACK TO SERVE CUNT IN THE PADDOCK 🥵🥵🥵

user2 the sexy spanish alonso genes are real with this one yourusername i would hope so! 🥱 user3 istg ive never seen a spanish person look bad in red

user4 GOD REALLY GIVES US Y/N AS AN APOLOGY CAUSE HOW DOES SHE EXIST????

user5 she's literally a goddess on earth user6 the face economy is unreal with her 😍 yourusername cant just be a nepo baby, gotta make papa proud 😘

user7 super hyped for vegas now that you're here with us y/n 🤩

user8 hopefully we see another alonso top 10 (i can copium for a top 6) user9 he will literally dnf everyone if it means y/n gets to see him podium or win again (2023 was literally iconic) yourusername papa will be ready to make stroll do crashgate 😉 (but i've asked him to refrain for this weekend) user10 ya'll y/n's cooking 😌😌😌

user11 ERM ANYONE GONNA BRING UP PIC 3 CAUSE....

user12 YA'LL GIRLIE I WAS GONNA SAY THE SAME THING user13 who's that @/yourusername 🤨 user14 who's that @/yourusername 🤨 yourusername no comment 🥺👉👈 user15 whoever that is do be looking fine affff user16 also probably fearing for his life, considering she's got like ten godfathers and then over twenty drivers ready to bash a man for her 💀💀💀

user17 THE FERRARI AURA IS STRONG WITH THIS ONE 😆

fernandoalo_oficial who's that princessa

yourusername i will tell you soon papa 😁

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, landonorris and others

maxverstappen1 suited up and ready to take on vegas. 💪 bring on the race 🎰

view all comments

user18 STILL COOKING WITH A SLIGHTLY COOKED CAR, LETS GET TITLE NUMBER 4 💪💪💪

user19 literally salivating over pic one, cause he's so fine 🥵

user20 waiting for "2024 fia f1 world champion is max verstappen"

user21 SIMPLY LOVELY PUTTING YOURSELF INTO A STRONG POSITION

user22 getting the ladies i see in pic two 🤣

user23 he knows what he wants, and what he's going to get afterwards 😏

user24 VIVA LAS VEGASSSSSS, GETTING READY TO RUMBLE

-> twitter

-> irl

as max stepped out of the cockpit of his red bull - his gloved hands trembling slightly - he could feel the relief coursing through him, palpable even under the thick layers of his racing suit and balaclava. the cold autumn air nipped at his damp skin, but he barely noticed, lost in the overwhelming rush of emotions.

after a very, very long season, filled with challenges both in and out of the car, he had finally done it…he had won his fourth world championship.

as he stood there under the vegas lights, savoring this triumphant moment in front of the roaring crowd, his thoughts drifted to you.

throughout the year, your presence had always been a beacon amidst the chaos, a constant reminder of what truly mattered to him beyond the roar of engines and the glare of millions of fans. as he ran towards his team, his chest pounding and blood rushing in his ears, he thought of your earlier message, and his heart swelled with affection for you. he knew now was finally the perfect opportunity to share his love for you with the rest of the world.

as you watched max leap into the waiting arms of his jubilant crew, who slapped his back, clapping and cheering, chanting his name, you tried furiously to blink away the tears. your boyfriend had finally achieved his fourth world title, and he was making both of your wishes come true.

walking over to the other drivers, max felt the hand of another behind him. turning around, the butterflies in his stomach heaved once again, coming face to face with your father, fernando alonso. max's exuberant gaze locked onto the figure before him, and as their eyes met, max felt the familiar flutter of nervousness in his chest, a sensation he'd grown accustomed to whenever thinking of you and your father.

"max," fernando greeted him warmly, extending a strong hand. "congratulations. you've earned every bit of this championship." max clapped his hand firmly, trying to hide the slight tremble behind his grin. "thank you, fernando,”

max blushed for a second, as fernando leant up to pinch his cheeks, while also grinning widely at him. as fernando's gaze lingered on max, he thought for a second that he had found out about the two of you, and was instead ready to pull him by the cheek in for a very obvious threat and kick to the balls.

"i must say," fernando began, his tone sincere, "you've shown remarkable resilience this season. much like myself. i hope to see you continue working hard for many years," his words carried a hint of approval.

max swallowed hard, his mind racing, as he opened his mouth to speak.

“i-i’m dating your daughter,” max’s heart pounded in his chest, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. fernando’s expression remained jubilant, but there was a glimmer of something unreadable in his eyes. the air between them seemed to crackle with tension.

“i…i didn’t know she was seeing someone,” fernando said slowly, his voice low and controlled, as he waved to the crowd, whilst pulling max towards the other drivers. there was no denying the facts now – fernando knew about their relationship. and while max couldn’t read the older man’s thoughts, he felt a surge of nervous energy course through him. would this revelation change things? between him and fernando?

as if sensing his turmoil, fernando turned back around abruptly, causing max to jump slightly.

fernando studied max intently, his expression unreadable. then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "but i'm glad to hear that it's you max. my daughter deserves nothing less than the best."

with those words, fernando extended his hand once more, this time with a newfound warmth that spoke volumes. max grasped it firmly, sealing a silent pact between them. as they released their grip, fernando placed a hand on max's shoulder, pulling him in. "but listen closely mijo," he said, still grinning but his voice low and conspiratorial, "you mess with my daughter, and i will not hesitate to run you off the track or run you over. if you care for her, then show her that she's your number one priority, both on and off the track."

max felt a chill run down his spine at fernando's warning, but he also sensed a strange kind of respect behind it. this was a man who protected his family fiercely, and max wanted nothing more than to earn his place within that circle.

"yes, sir," he replied fervently, meeting fernando's intense stare head-on. "she is my priority, always. i promise you, i'll do whatever it takes to make her happy and keep her safe." fernando studied him for a long moment, searching for any sign of doubt. finally, he gave a curt nod, releasing max's shoulder.

"alright then," he said, "just remember what i told you. and welcome to the family, officially." as fernando walked away, max took a deep breath, his mind already racing. he glanced around at the celebrating crowd, their faces alight with joy and admiration, and couldn't help but feel a sense of pride swell within him.

but more than anything, max yearned to share this moment with you, to bask in the glow of his victory together and celebrate the love that had sustained him throughout the season. max scanned the bustling crowd, his eyes searching for a glimpse of your familiar features amidst the sea of faces. spotting you lingering nervously near the red bull personnel, he pushed through the throng of people, making a beeline directly for you. as he drew nearer, you couldn't help but notice the look of pure adoration etched across his handsome features. his dark hair was damp with sweat, his broad shoulders still trembling slightly from the exertion of the race. but his eyes shone brightly with triumph and something far warmer - his love for you.

"y/n!" he called out, his voice ringing above the din of the party. pulling you through the celebrating crowd, he wrapped you up in a crushing embrace, lifting you off your feet. you melted into his embrace, pouring every ounce of your joy, pride, and adoration into it.

your laughter mingled with the roar of the crowd as max set you back on your feet, his hands lingering on your waist. he gazed into your eyes, his own shimmering with unshed tears of happiness. in that moment, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you, suspended in a bubble of pure bliss.

"y/n," max whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "i did it. we did it." he pressed his forehead against yours, savoring the warmth of your skin and the closeness that came with sharing such an intimate moment.

your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer until your lips met in a searing kiss, pouring years of shared dreams and unspoken promises into that single, passionate gesture. the world around them melted away as max lost himself in the taste and feel of your lips, his body molding perfectly against yours. his hands roamed over your curves, tracing the contours he knew so well, as if mapping out the path to your heart.

when you finally broke apart, both panting for air, max rested his forehead against yours, his eyes shining with a mixture of triumph and tenderness. "i want to spend the rest of my life making you feel this way," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "i want to wake up every morning with you by my side and fall asleep every night in your arms."

he reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the small velvet box that had been burning a hole there since the day he decided to propose. max dropped to one knee, his heart pounding in his chest as he gazed up at you with a look of pure adoration. the crowd around them seemed to hold its collective breath, the anticipation palpable in the air.

with trembling hands, max opened the box, revealing a stunning diamond ring nestled within. the stone glittered under the bright lights of the track, casting glittering cascades of light across your face.

"y/n," max began, his voice steady despite the overwhelming emotions coursing through him, "from the moment we met, you've been the driving force behind everything i've achieved. your love, support, and unwavering belief in me have pushed me to become the best version of myself, both on and off the track."

he paused, swallowing hard as he fought back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

"marry me," max breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "become my wife. let's race through life together because i want to spend the rest of my life with you, and no one else, i love you,"

with a shaky nod, you sank to your knees before him, cupping his face in your hands as you peppered his cheeks with tender kisses. "yes," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "a thousand times yes."

max slid the ring onto your finger, and pulling you up with him to your feet. spinning you around once more, your laughter ringing out like the sweetest melody. the crowd surged forward, enveloping you both in a sea of congratulations and well-wishes, their excitement nearly tangible in the air.

as the celebrations continued around them, max pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss that left no doubt about the depth of his love and commitment. in that moment, surrounded by the people who mattered most, max knew that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of victories, both on and off the track.

-> instagram

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername I LOVE LAS VEGAS BABYYYYY 😘 but in all honesty, i'm so so so proud of you max (more than words or actions could ever express). seeing you grow throughout the past four years into the champion you are today, is more than any gift i could ever receive. there were far more battles and challenges from this season, but you rose above them every time. you are a champion, both on and off the racetrack and you will never be alone in this world, as long as i'm here. keep them coming baby. i love you, forever and always 🧡

comments on this post have been limited

maxverstappen1 i love you very much schatje, thank you for always being there for me 😘

fernandoalo_oficial i am very happy for the both of you 😁👍

yourusername thank you papa ☺️ promise me you wont shunt into max next race? fernandoalo_oficial no promises sorry princessa 🤭

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, francolapinto, yourusername and others

maxverstappen1 four time world champion baby!!! a season full of challenges, but with the support, dedication and the effort of the team, this result would not have been possible 🙌 a huge thank you to all involved for this incredible achievement 👏

and i just want to say the biggest thank you to the love of my life, my girlfriend of four years, and now my fiancee, y/n alonso. i love you so much, and i can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you (even if your dad wants to run me over now)

comments on this post have been limited

yourusername i love you more than anything else in this world maxie 🧡

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16 @tallrock35 @sweate-r-weathe-r @unlikelystay @alex-wotton

@daisyfreecs @euphorihan @louloucs @oikarma @dying-inside-but-its-classy

@fadingcloudballoon @princessminjikwon @chick-from-nz @nina-or-anna-or-nora

763 notes · View notes

hyunjiisa · 3 days ago

Text

jealous jealous jealous , boy ‧₊ .ᐟ

skz ! members when they’re jealous of another guy at a party

incl. ot8 !

chan! who watches you from across the room

his eye twitches when you tell him that you’re going to your best friends party with one of yalls mutual friends and it turns out to be a man

doesn’t say anything about it because he understands you can have friends but hates how painfully oblivious you are to his wandering eyes

convinces minho to go with him even though they both know why he wants to go

stands in the corner like a loser with his drink (non alcoholic because he wants to drive you home) and watches you interact with everyone

jaw clenches at the way he sees your worried face when your guy friend start to feel you up

snaps out of it for a second when you lock eyes and your face lights up

he finds nothing but joy in the way he watches your friend back up when he starts to walk over

“ hi baby , who’s this ..? ”

smiles at him and throws his arm around your shoulder

kisses allll up on your neck barely listening to what you say like “mhm.. mhm..” while you ask about why he’s here

your friend runs away and he just coos at you like “you’re so pretty” when you’re all confused as to why

sticks to you like glue for the rest of the night

flips off your guy friend when you aren’t looking

carries you out of the party when you wanna go home (totally isn’t showing off how strong he is)

hyunjin! who tells him to straight up go away

does go to the party with you, but he leaves you with your girl friend to go get you a drink

comes back just to see an ugly man all up on you asking you questions and his head quirks

giggles in his face and you’re so embarrassed

after a while of you guys talking he’s just like

“ hey , can you like go away ? ”

you slap him on the arm and he just shrugs

the other guy picks a fight all like “what’s your problem bro”

“my problem is your stank ass breath on my girl”

keeps sticking his tongue out at the guy from across the room after that

teases you cause you’re mad at him, “don’t you like when i’m protective??”

really just adores you

walks out of the party hand in hand with you

“yea, i was jealous.. but you didn’t know that”

felix! whos so sickly sweet it scares the guy off

was just fine when you being with your friends at a party, he was going with his friends anyway

after a while of catching up with his friends he starts missing you

walks around like a lost dog till he finds you

immediately comes and wraps his arms around once waist once he finds you

notices one of your friends boyfriends checking you out and decides to mess with him

“ hi !! im felix ! ”

reaches his hand out for him to shake and he takes it with a shaky hand (he flexed his muscles to try and intimidate him. it worked)

drills him with questions, asks how he knows you, if you guys are close, if he notices how pretty you look tonight

when he doesn’t give up trying to get at you, he just flat out says “eyes up here, actually where is your girlfriend..”

just smiles and starts getting handsy with you when he notices him getting agitated

“what? i was just being nice..”

brings you over to say hi to his friends instead

convinces you to go home early because he misses you close to him

jeongin! who guards you like a dog

you guys go to the party together, and when you leave to go to the bathroom he follows you with his eyes the whole way

watches as some guy follows you on your way out, tapping your shoulder and asking you something

his eyebrow quirks up right away, slowly inching closer to you both

you only stop mid politely declining his offer when he stares in back of you like there’s a dinosaur

spoiler: not a dinosaur. it’s jeongin glaring at the guy like he killed someone from not even a foot behind you

when you look behind yourself and see him, he snaps out of it and asks if you’re okay

you giggle and tell him you’re fine and take his hand

random sleaze shouts that you “shouldn’t ignore him”

“ take a hint , ugly ”

tightens his grip around your waist and walks you to another area of the place

starts kissing you along your jawline while he makes eye contact with the guy and can’t contain his smile

“come on baby, let’s leave. i miss you.”

drags you home with the promise of chinese takeout

jisung! who pulls you away from him

at first he wanted you to go to the party with your friends because he convinced himself he was too clingy and wanted you to have some fun

when you convince him you want him there with you and he can bring his friends so yall can all hang out he says okay

y’all are all hanging out together at the party in a big group, and some guy asks you to dance

he notices him waving you towards the dance floor and comes over and literally grabs your waist and takes you to dance with him instead while the guy stands there like ??

“ dance with me , im better anyway ”

you can tell he’s jealous by the way he follows you around after that

tells you you’re pretty like 20 times as if he didn’t already worship the ground you walk on

“ugh why does everyone else have to find you so attractive”

still wants you to have fun with your friends so just checks on you every once in a while with a kiss and goes back to his friends

sees the guy he turned down for you glaring at him and makes a peeing motion with his imaginary penis

only ends up going home when YOU want to. (your feet get tired and he gives you his crocs he keeps in the car because he knows you)

minho! who’s incapable of hiding his jealousy

ik yall are tired of the basic party scenario but it adds to the plot okay

barely even wants to go to the party and tries convincing you to stay home but he always wants you to get your way so he agrees to get dressed up and go with you

knows you wanna have fun so he’s your personal butler for the night

getting you drinks, holding your purse for you, letting you sit on one of his thighs on some random couch while you yell over the music to your friends

immediately turns his head when some guy sits next to the both of you and starts flirting

doesn’t even try to hide the way he’s absolutely mean mugging him. glaring, face disgruntled, tongue poking at his cheek from the inside

eventually the guy notices and he’s bold enough to say some dumb shit like “is your guard dog okay??”

“ yea , i’ll be okay when you stop speaking to my woman . ”

pulls you down to sit in his lap instead and rests his head on your shoulder with his arms around your waist, lipstick stained cup in his hands

only cheers up a little when you giggle at him and tell him he’s silly for being jealous

tells you you’re too nice and you need to start pepper spraying men for looking at you, rolls his eyes when you tell him that’s what your guard dog is for

you only go home after all your friends leave and he’s thanking god silently

bonus: scares the guy from earlier by driving to close to him in his car and feels better immediately

seungmin! who makes you jealous right back

doesn’t take much convincing for him to wanna go with you, he likes a party once in a while

only is slightly jealous when he sees you talking with a guy but it really gets him when he hears you laugh with him like you laugh with him

is so distracted with watching you interact he doesn’t even really catch on that this random girl that started talking to him is flirting (doesn’t even really notice he’s responding till she laughs a super high pitched annoying laugh)

whenever you look back at him (you’re trying to get out of it) you’re confused as to why some girl is yapping at him

only catches on when you look upset because he hates seeing a pout on your pretty face

walks away from her and over to you leaving her offended while you laugh at her face

“ hi baby !! ”

drags you away from him and makes you dance

you go home right after that to bully little kids on roblox ( @cosmicalily ref )

changbin! who texts you to get away from him

comes with you no questions asked because he adores you

coos at the way you say hi to everyone excitedly and how pretty you look in your dress

you end up having small talk with one of your friends boyfriends when she goes to get something from her car

you get a notification from him after like 15 seconds

“ come here , hes ugly ”

you smile at your phone and excuse yourself as your friend walks through the door

he’s pouting at you from across the room where he’s leaning against the wall

you wrap your arms around him and explain and he feels dumb but says he can be jealous cause he loves you

you cling to each other the whole night so just end up going home after being told to get a room 20 different times

ends up taking you for a drive and hot chocolate because it’s getting cold

carries you inside (pretend he’s the hulk)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

a/n: req done ! @furioussheepluminary ,, remember to follow my other accounts and feel free to req ✦

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cregansdingdong · 1 day ago

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ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘʟᴇꜱꜱ.

Cregan Stark x fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: NSFW, p-in-v penetration, outdoor sex(does a tent still count as outdoor?), swearing, Cregan has a breeding kink, semi-public?, slight brat taming, classic doggy style, ass slapping, f!receiving oral, Cregan’s gonna eat her out from the back which is truly the highlight here; so. this has been festering in my drafts for well over two months. Good luck. poison ivy by hemi moore

Hot stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

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“Are you going to explain yourself or do I have to ask why you’re speaking to me that way in front of my men?”

“In what way?” She murmurs, snappily adjusting the furs beneath her, staring above at the roof of their tent. Cregan watched in partial disbelief—and partial irritation—at the sight of his wife going to bed despite their disagreement. It wasn’t often that they argued, and especially not on account of her publicly disrespecting him. The Hunt was meant to celebrate the unity of the North, among other things, and yet she’d been cold to him most of the late afternoon and early evening. They were meant to be setting an example. He couldn’t understand what he’d done to agitate her in the first place. “I’m not going to play this game with you.” Cregan huffs, setting down his cloak on the back of a chair. “Why have you been so cross with me today of all days?”

“I haven’t.” She counters smartly, tone filled with an attitude he wanted nothing more than to fuck out of her. “You’re being childish.” He grunts right back, earning a glare from his cross little wife. If he hadn’t been so ticked off, he might’ve actually laughed at the way her eyes narrowed in his direction—like a pup about to pounce. “I’m not a child.” She snaps, turning to adjust her pillow as he removes his boots. He snorts at that. “You’re behaving like one. Now are you going to resume your wifely duties and speak to me or must I tuck you in and read you a story?” He could’ve done without the mocking, but both their tempers had risen by that point, overspilling and soaking their marriage bed like a tempest.

She ignored him completely, reaching to blow out the candle at her bedside, rolling over to face the wall of the tent, linens and furs pulled up to her chin. As much as he was irritated with her refusal to communicate, he wasn’t going to sulk until she decided to give him the mercy of her words. Cregan continued to undress down to his small clothes, joining her under the covers despite their mutual fuming. It was an agreement they’d reached at the beginning of their marriage: angry or not, their bed was shared. Non-negotiable. He was especially thankful for that condition now—the ground did not look very comfortable if she’d decided to banish him like a hound. He faced her back, arm thrown haphazardly over her middle. Admittedly, he needed to feel her there to get a proper night’s rest. She allowed it.

The tension had seeped into their tent, clearly choosing to remain even with the terms of bedtime they’d set in place. She was still angry, he was still puzzled. Even with her back against him, Cregan could still sense her irritation. It hung in the air like a dark cloud, refusing to disperse. He’d never thought being married would sometimes feel like a storm in his own home. But the Wolf of the North was not a man to back down from a challenge. And it was becoming clear to him that his wife wouldn’t talk unless he spoke first. So he does. "You can’t keep behaving this way,” He starts, his voice gravelly but low. There's about a minute of tense silence between them before her attitude-filled reply breaks the quiet of their tent. “And why not?”

A frustrated sigh leaves his lips as he shifts in the bed, arm still loosely wrapped around her waist. “Firstly you’re my wife. Secondly, the hunt was meant to celebrate the North. And thirdly…” His voice trails off, his jaw clenching. He’d already said too much for his liking. Cregan was never one to give too much away, and giving an explanation for his emotions had never been a strength of his. But with her…there was a part that he couldn’t help but be honest with her. She wouldn't judge him even on his worst days. “Because I don’t like it when you’re angry with me.” His words were heavy with sincerity, which only irritated him more. The Wolf of the North was not supposed to feel so exposed to his little dragon wife’s moods.

For a moment, he thinks he's gotten through to his stubborn wife. "...we can discuss it tomorrow. I want to sleep." She grumbles into the dark. “You want to ignore it tomorrow, you mean,” He retorts, arm still refusing to remove itself from her waist despite the rejection. Cregan lets the argument drop for now, however. But only because he can tell for himself that she's not going to give way to his stubborn badgering that night. He grunts in annoyance, shifting so that his chin rests on her shoulder. “Unbelievable.” He mutters to himself. Angry or not, though, they were going to cuddle. It’s the smell of her hair that pulls him into a steady rest, his chest pressing against her back, his arm still slung over her middle like a claim. For some reason, even in his sleep, he still needs to feel her near him; a possession of the body and mind. The two of them adjust a little, the usual marital squirming in order to get comfortable. Peace even in the chaos of their argument.

On the other hand, his wife could not find sleep even if she had a map. With him snoring lightly behind her—something that always put her to sleep—both irritation and guilt chewed away at her reserve, leaving her restless. It persists. An hour passes, then two, and still, Lady Stark was wide awake, bothered and guilty. The snoring continues through the night, the Northern Lord blissfully unaware of her warring emotions. But even unconscious, he could sense the battle for sleep. The Wolf of the North stirred beside her, his arm now fully thrown over her torso, hand resting against her ribs. Cregan was in no way a light sleeper, but as her frustration grew, he seemed to be silently disturbed from his sleep. His eyes flutter open with a tired hum, his chin buried in the warmth of his wife still. He’s quiet for a few long moments before mumbling in a groggy voice, thick and raspy. “You’re still awake.”

“I can't sleep.” She mutters. It's clear that the heat of their argument had ceased to a smolder in the while she had reflected into the dark. "Probably because I'm still upset." She sighs. "And I'm a little cold...and..” As she speaks, his initial tiredness starts to clear. “And?” He prompts, shifting again to lift his head in the slightest. His hand rubs against her stomach, trying to share any semblance of his warmth with her. “...I feel…worked up. I'm annoyed but…roused.” It's laced with a begrudging admittance and Cregan opens his eyes in disbelief, suddenly more awake at her mumbled words. A rush of heat rolls through his body, his heart skipping a beat. It always does. The thought alone never failed to stop him in his tracks. His hand stills against her stomach for a moment, considering how to respond. “Well, my love, it sounds like you've had enough of keeping your anger a secret. You can tell me no matter what. Even if it's childish and silly. I'm your husband.”

"You didn't eat breakfast with me this morning." She blurts, finally revealing what had made her so irritated all day. "You gave me a kiss and then you just ran off to eat with Torrhen Manderly. Didn't even invite me.” He pauses in his caresses, a low hum leaving his chest. “That’s what caused your little temper tantrum?” He murmurs, tone still somewhat drowsy but now a bit exasperated. Affectionately, of course. He can’t fight the small smile that’s formed on his lips. A temper tantrum over him eating with the second son of the Lord of White Harbor and not inviting his sweet wife. It was such a small thing, but for some reason, it makes his chest feel tight. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in a morning meeting with House Manderly,” he mumbles in response, pulling her closer, his hand once again tracing patterns across her waist.

"I'm not, but I'm interested in sitting with you.”

The corners of his mouth twitch even more at that. A quiet huff of a chuckle leaves his lips, and he moves his chin to rest on her shoulder, warm breath lightly fanning on her jaw. “So I’m to invite you to every little meeting I have now?” He murmurs, teasing and still somehow half-drowsy. There's a very light dusting of indignation in her tone as she answers. "...not all of them, I'd be bored to death." She huffs. "But today was about unity. I didn't feel very unified with you.” He grumbles under his breath in mild disagreement. The Hunt wasn’t all about unity, it was about celebration. Of the North and of the Starks. Unity amongst the Northmen was an important facet of the feast, but it was not the entire point. But he didn’t want to argue about that, especially not when she was still so irritable with him. “You should’ve just come by and sat yourself down then. Torrhen would've liked your company, and of course I had no problems with having my beautiful wife beside me.”

"And intrude? That's embarrassing." He could hear her pout from a mile out, at least. Cregan’s chest vibrates against her back with a low laugh. “And throwing a little fit all day isn’t embarrassing?” He muses, nipping at her shoulder. "...it's more dignified than begging.” She grumbles. One of his hands suddenly moves from her stomach and up to her jaw. In almost an instant, his wife was putty in his grasp once more. He turns her head, pressing a kiss against the corner of her mouth, his tongue suddenly swiping over the skin—almost like he needed a taste of her. A low, gravelly murmur leaves his chest. “There’s no part of you that has to beg for my attention. But I’m not sure it’s dignified to pout all day over me having a morning meeting, my sweet Lady Wife.”

Before she could say something smart in return, Cregan dips his face into her neck, unable to stop himself from taking a greedy bite. She makes a small noise from the back of her throat—a mewl that sends the sleep far, far away from his thoughts. He smiles against her skin when he feels her tilt her head for more. “Sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” He teases, taking advantage of her movement to press another open-mouthed kiss against her neck. “Pouting all day for my attention, and here you are, melting at it now.” In the quiet of the tent, he can hear the low, shaky exhale release past her lips. “I'm sorry…for being impolite to you with your men present.”

“An apology?” His voice holds his amusement, and he continues his trail of kisses up her neck, until his lips are hovering right next to her ear. “Now that is a new one. I’m sure some snow from beyond the Wall will start falling within the hour if you’re apologizing to me. Not something you make a habit of doing, my sweet wife.” He felt her smile just a little, and he mentally counted down for whatever joke she was about to tell him. “At this rate, I'm sure Winter is fleeing.” His nose brushes up against the skin behind her ear, and he lets out a barely stifled laugh. “That’s blasphemous to say in the North…but funny.” He pushes himself up on his forearms above her, looking down, eyes suddenly filled with barely contained heat—as was his usual disposition. "Still annoyed and roused?”

"Not annoyed. Just worked up." She murmurs, tracing the outline of his shoulders in the dark. He hums in acknowledgment, stomach warming at her confirmation. “You want me to tire you out? Make up for this morning?” His voice is still thick and gravelly, a testament of his deep sleep and the hunger that now had him captivated. Her response came out in a quiet ‘mmhm’, reaching for him through the dark. In one swift movement, Cregan flips her onto her stomach, chuckling at the noise of surprise she releases. Furs and linens thrown back, his hands glide over the skin of her thighs, gently raising the hem of her delicate shift. It was a slow, deliberate action, and he didn’t need to see her face to know how much she was anticipating his touch. As her nightgown rose over the curve of her ass, he could feel the goosebumps forming beneath his palms. “Arse up, face down.”

She shivered at the command. Simple, yet drowning her in want. How could she ever deny her Wolf of the North? With a near-silent grunt of effort, she raises herself on her knees, lowering her upper-half down onto the pillows. The hem of her shift pools at her mid back, exposing herself to her husband just the way he loved it. “Perfect.” He murmurs, his hands gripping the flesh of her ass like he couldn’t wait to take a bite out of her. “Look at you. Fighting me all day, and yet here you are. All but begging for me to unspool you. I should make you beg, but you’re quite lucky I don’t have the patience, wife.” Just as she thinks she’s going to feel his hot tongue, a hand comes barreling down on her rear, a loud, searing spank that was probably heard from the next tent over. Her gasp was barely stifled into the pillow.

His tongue dipped slowly between her folds, a measured pace that nearly made her lose her breath. He always knew how she wanted it. Back and forth, savoring her like her juicy cunt was his last meal in the living world. With every languid stroke forward, the tip of his tongue nudged her twitching pearl in a toe-curling rhythm. Her noises only urged him on further. He slurped up her slick like a man starved, wordlessly encouraging her movements as she rocked back against his tongue. Eyes shut, face contorted in bliss, he could only picture what she looked like in his mind’s eye. He was too preoccupied with his meal to bother to light any candles. Not that he needed them, anyway. He knew her body as if they shared a soul. His wife was unable to piece together a single word, reduced to a puddle of whines and squirms.

“All day.” He reiterates. “Talking back to me. I accept your apology, but that does not mean you’re entirely free of the consequences, pup.” And then, another. Harder than the last, and most certainly stinging. Another. Another. He was merciful enough to distribute his spanks evenly, and with every bloom of hot pain, she felt herself grow more and more eager for a release. “Please–” She mewled, on the verge of patheticism. A sixth sear spreads over her left asscheek. The rest of her plea remains locked in her throat. “I’ve had enough of your pretty mouth speaking against me.” He murmurs into the dark, hands massaging the hot skin with an air of tenderness. “Understand?” Head spinning with lust, she can barely form a coherent word. “..Y-yes.” That seemed to moderately satisfy him, and Cregan finally leaned his face down, spreading her for his pleasure.

“I’ll never tire of your sweet taste.” He rumbled against her, fingers digging into the supple flesh of her ass like he was afraid she’d run off. Not that she ever would, but the feeling of her in his hands was grounding—a reminder of who he was and where he was between every dive of his tongue. He was drowning in the tang of her. Every lap of his tongue drove her an inch closer to her peak. “Cregan—Cregan, I can’t.” She cried, on the verge of desperation. If he’d had her sitting on his face instead, it would’ve been much easier to keep her from wiggling, but she couldn’t help herself not to writhe against his mouth and nose. And frankly, he was too hungry to separate himself from her for even a moment in order to change position. No. Not even a snippet of patience. He needed her to release.

“Yes, you can.” Cregan grunts against her soaked cunt, although it was less than coherent—something about the idea of getting caught made him eager to please. With all the pretty noises she was making for him, he couldn’t bring himself to attempt to quiet her. Not that it mattered. He doubted anyone would dare interrupt the Lord Paramount of the North and his Lady wife. And yet, someone walking by? Hearing the private way she cried out for her husband? Thrilling in every sense of the word. The thought alone made his blood pump, and his teeth lightly nip at her sweet pearl. More like a graze, really, but her reaction seemed otherwise. She squeals into her pillow, a throaty, rabid sound that nearly makes him peak. She was coming. And he had the absolute pleasure of lapping up all her delicious juices right from the source.

He couldn't make himself wait any longer after that. Cregan pawed at his small clothes until he was entirely bare behind her, feeling his beautiful wife tremble as he aligned his twitching cock. There was no other sensation in the living world that mattered to him more than the way her walls stretched to accommodate his size. Absolute perfection. Nothing but bliss. A noise of pleasure rumbled from his throat as he sunk into her soaked cunt. Inch by murderous inch, the Wolf of the North felt his sense of reality fade into the background. Much like an animal focused on dragging their kill home, Cregan was fixated on drowning himself inside her to the hilt. No matter how many times he'd experienced that exact sensation, he would never tire of his perfect Lady wife. Not even if she'd throw a tantrum every day for the duration of their marriage—so long as he got to kiss her goodmorning and fuck her goodnight.

“There we go…” He grunts, laying himself over her back as he eased his tip deep inside. Pulling out and back again was a torturous, toe-curling feeling, but the little mewls she whined into the pillows made it worth every teasing drag of his hips. “This is how it should be.” Cregan pants, his nose pressed against the back of her neck. “You, enjoying your fulfilled cravings, and me, balls-deep inside my woman. I hate fighting with you—but I love fucking that attitude right out.” Her thighs trembled as he rutted into her ass, an incessant, fervent type of rhythm that only came out when she truly frustrated him. And she certainly had; all day long, in fact. But his vixen of a wife couldn't bring herself to regret a thing. She knew what she was going to do in the next Great Hunt.

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#house of the dragon #hotd #cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark x female reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark smut #hotd smut #hotd fic #cregan stark x you #cregan fanfiction #hotd cregan #fluffy smut

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alchemistc · 2 days ago

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Part One

Oh, I've got plenty to be thankful for

I've got eyes to see with

Ears to hear with

Arms to hug with

Lips to kiss with

Someone to adore

-bing crosby

He keeps waiting for someone to say something. To accuse him of lingering where he doesn't belong, or remind him he'd never actually made it all the way in. To tell him to go home, maybe get a halfhearted promise to let him know how Buck is at some point.

Maddie lays an exhausted head on his shoulder and Bobby sneaks him a slice of pumpkin pie he's apparently been hiding in the tote at his feet. Hen tosses him a power bank with a lightning cord and Karen makes a joke about his holiday attire.

When the coffee comes, Howie takes the trip to the lobby with him, pulls out his wallet and does his damnedest to strong arm Tommy into letting him tip the haggard looking girl another twenty bucks on top of the fifty Tommy'd figured was appropriate for having to balance a literal stack of hot beverages from the parking lot on Thanksgiving. She eyes them both with a smile and Tommy is more compelled the grab the drink carriers from her tired arms than stop Howie.

They're halfway back when Howie purposely slows his pace, and Tommy fights the urge to pick his up and avoid whatever's coming down on him. "So. Was this the wake up call you needed, or can I expect Buck to order a freezer on a Black Friday deal for my garage to store more baked goods?"

He doesn't know what that means.

He can extrapolate, though. "He's been baking?"

"Tommy, I cannot stress enough exactly how much he's been baking."

He'd tried his hand at a few things here and there, but Tommy's used to experimental chef Evan Buckley, not baking Evan Buckley. To be fair, if he'd seen Evan working a KitchenAid, apron tied loose and flour on a cheekbone, Tommy doubts he'd have actually had the time to finish whatever he had planned. That was then, of course.

"What was he doing on that trail, Howie?" That, too, he could maybe extrapolate. He doesn't want to, but he could.

Howie eyes him. Uses his free arm to elbow Tommy in the ribs. "You were the first person he ever invited to a 118 Thanksgiving, you know. My guess? He wasn't in the mood to be reminded of it while there was no room in the oven to bake away his feelings."

Yeah.

Jax had been over the moon when Tommy offered to take his shift, no trades necessary. What would the point have been, when Christmas and New Year's would be unbooked too?

Evan had bribed like six different people to ensure they'd be able to swing dinner on the day. Hobbes had sounded so thrilled to hear Tommy asking for the time off that he'd approved it without even looking at the shift.

"I'm just warning you in advance. The grovelling process is gonna involve eating your weight in loaves, most likely."

And that's that, apparently. No heavy handed warnings, no suspicion about why Tommy hasn't fucked off yet. Like it's some foregone conclusion that Tommy's not gonna panic and bolt a second time. Nothing has changed, yet Tommy gets the feeling they're all expecting some tearful reunion and a return to TommyandBuck.

Tommy slips the tea into Maddie's hands and watches her sniff it in distaste, which is an interesting nugget he'll have to revisit later if -

If.

There's no guarantees, here. That Tommy will be able to articulate how fucking terrified he is, that Evan will understand it. That the two of them will find a way through it together. All he has to go on is a solo hike on a day Evan should have been with family, an apparent bakery full of feelings spread between the 118, and the quiet calm that had washed over him when Eddie prompted him to make a decision.

Feet to the fire, he'd stayed.

---

Maddie's pregnant. It hits him between the eyes right around hour three of sit-and-wait. He's not an idiot, or a fool, and he hasn't spoken to any of these people in weeks so he's not going to announce it to the world, but somewhere in between the sporadic naps on Tommy's shoulder and the way she is attempting (failing) to power through her now cold tea makes him think. She and Bobby had driven here, and it's clear everyone else had been indulging. Maddie's no lush, but he's seen her knock back half a bottle of wine before when she's got nowhere to be.

She excuses herself to the bathroom for a third time, looking a little green, and Tommy ends up locked in a staring contest with Howie that only ends when Tommy mimes zipping his lips.

He still hasn't gotten the story about Eddie and why he's not here.

Bobby and Athena are apparently closing in on a new house.

Howie is less than a year away from having a second kid.

Athena's kids are apparently at Howie and Maddie's, attempting to keep Mara and Jee from destroying the house in the absence of adults.

And Tommy wants.

Wanting has never really been the problem, though. Wanting is the easy part. Wanting doesn't get him over the hurdle of knowing he's not enough. For Evan, for this family he's built that just keeps growing bigger and bigger. It'd been a relief, those first few days after, not to have to wonder which member of the 118 would land in the hospital next, not to have to rearrange something else on his schedule because Evan was convinced he was cursed, or Eddie'd had another shitty call with Christopher.

The relief hadn't lasted. A week in, he'd stayed up all night demolishing the half-bath off his dining room, because he'd been putting it off for months and he'd nearly texted Evan something that was startlingly revealing and left him exposed on all sides. Two weeks in he'd finished grouting the backsplash in his kitchen. And in between, he wondered how Eddie was doing, if he'd made any progress with his son. He'd wondered if Maddie enjoyed the bottle of wine they'd brought back from a spur of the moment trip to Napa. He'd wondered how Nash was doing, if he was readjusting to having his crew and his station back. He wondered how Hen and Karen were, how many things Denny had already gotten stuck in his cast trying to ease an itch.

He'd wondered, and he'd sat in it, and then he'd rewired the shoddy work an electrician had done in his spare room that he kept telling himself he'd get around to.

The wanting never goes away. He just finds new places to put it when he starts to care too much.

"Kinard and Buckley?"

Maddie's still in the restroom. Tommy - has no fucking clue why the nurse is staring at them like they'll just materialize the right people. She sucks in her lips and gives him a dead eyed stare before her eyes dart to his chest. More specifically, the nameplate on his chest.

Tommy blinks.

---

The having is where he's always floundered. Things are temporary. People are temporary. He's always been borrowing. Borrowing time, attention, affection.

For a few months there, he'd really started to think he could handle the having. That he'd get to keep it.

---

"I'm Buckley, he's Kinard," Maddie says from somewhere over his left shoulder, and he turns in time to see her adjusting her jacket, wiping at her lip. She stabilizes, looking unfazed, and stands tall. As tall as she can, at least. "You have news about my brother?"

The nurse glances around the room. No one is bothering to pretend not to be listening. Maddie hovers a wave behind her.

"Ignore the audience, we're all waiting with bated breath to see how obnoxious my brothers going to be. It depends entirely on whether or not he gets pie tonight."

She gives them all a disapproving look. This must not be one of their normal nurses.

Christ. They have normal nurses.

"Well, no pie tonight, but he should be able to eat a sandwich in the morning."

He's fine. He's fine.

Tommy knew going in that most of his injuries were superficial. The ribs had been a concern but with the pain meds and the collar he hadn't really had a chance to exacerbate those injuries. There's no reason he should feel quite so relieved to know that Evan will have a few annoying splints to work around and he'll probably need to rehab his ankle for a couple weeks once it's healed. The concussion isn't ideal, and he'll need help for a few days, but he's fine.

Tommy can feel the tears building.

"He'll likely be out for a few more hours, but I'll let you know when he's set up in a room. Two visitors at a time," she warns. "The concussion will effect his response time. Don't be surprised if he doesn't remember much, loses his train of thought."

Hen shifts somewhere behind him. It feels a bit like she's being held back from correcting the nurse about the normal side effects.

Things move on around him. The nurse leaves, Hen passes a Stanley cup around that definitely isn't filled with water, the normal sigh of relief is released while Maddie drops into the seat next to him with a groan, the team has a strange competition around him to battle for visitor position.

Tommy breathes.

I should go, Tommy thinks to himself, as half the people in the room raise their phones.

His own phone vibrates against his thigh.

A message from Howie, time stamped two minutes - Tommy squints to make sure - two minutes ago, an update on Evan. Another from Eddie reminding them all to give Buck a patent Eddie look from him while they were giving him shit. A selfie of Eddie, with Christopher somewhat reluctantly bending into the picture over his shoulder.

In another thread, he's got three messages from Eddie.

If I have to remove you from this group I'm sending my kid after you with his crutches.

You guys hiked Griffith Park for your Not-A-One-Month-Anniversary-We-Swear date, right?

Send Buck my love. Not like that, though.

Tommy sends back: When the fuck did he add me to his emergency contacts? and then decides he doesn't want to know anyway so he turns off his phone.

---

Maddie goes alone, and Tommy spends the time alternating between tapping his foot against the tile to distraction, and clamping his hand over his knee in an attempt to stop the tapping.

Bobby and Athena go next, then Hen and Karen. Then they're pulling on jackets and promising to save a plate for Buck.

Howie slips away for a few minutes and then returns, looking amused. "You think everyone else got the same greeting?" he asks his wife, who grins tiredly at him, pats his wrist. Her gaze turns to Tommy.

"Should we stay?"

That's a trap of a question. That's an assumption Tommy doesn't have a clue how to handle. He clears his throat. Shakes a few curls loose.

"What makes you think he'd want me to?"

Maddie's perfected the unimpressed eyebrow. It must be a parent thing.

Tommy barely holds in the sigh. "Go enjoy your meal."

---

Evan's been watching the door. It's clear the moment Tommy makes it to the threshold - he presses up, winces, tips sideways just enough to peek around the corner.

"Tommy," he says, and his expression melts.

Tommy's heard some iteration of that name a million times. Tom, from his dad. Tommy, fond and quiet from his mother, who'd never really learned how to speak up before she was gone. Thomas, in school, from teachers annoyed that he wouldn't just apply himself.

He was Kinard, to teammates, then fellow soldiers, to the firefighters he'd worked alongside for a decade before he ever let any of them know him.

No one says his name with quite so much reverence as Evan Buckley. He's convinced himself, over the last few weeks, that he'd been hearing adulation in that tone. But now it just sounds...relieved. Happy.

Evan slumps back and tries to cross his arms in a pout. There are too many cords and wires attached to him for it to work. "I'm pretty sure I'm mad at you," he says, and Tommy steps over the threshold.

---

Hobbes sounds fucking thrilled to find out he's going to be down a pilot for five days.

Evan throws a fit when he finds out Tommy's plan is to sleep on his own couch for the short duration of Evan's stay. Evan wins the proceeding argument and doesn't even complain that Tommy hadn't argued too hard

Bobby brings over enough leftovers to keep them in turkey sandwiches for a week, and Tommy doesn't think to ask how he got Tommy's address.

Tommy breathes. Tommy thinks. Once Evan can hold a train of thought for more than five minutes, Tommy talks.

Evan listens.

---

"So no Christmas," Evan pouts, and Tommy wants to bite it. "And no New Year's."

Tommy shifts a hand over his shoulder, tucks his chin over top of it so he can't see the pout anymore. "We were both already working those anyway."

"Do people do anything to celebrate Presidents Day?"

"Evan."

"Tommy," Evan mocks, and pulls far enough away to catch his gaze. "In the interest of transparency that was mostly a cover so I didn't ask about Valentine's Day."

"Is this you not asking about Valentine's Day?"

His smile is deceptively sweet. "I need help with my sandwich."

Tommy's seen him balancing a glass of water, his phone, two books and a takeout bag in his one good hand. He's absolutely full of shit.

Tommy leans forward to grab the sandwich off Evan's plate for him.

---

"You should stay," Tommy says, an hour after midnight two days into the new year. He's tipsy on his second glass of cheap champagne and he can't think of a reason to keep this in, anymore. Evan crinkles a brow at him.

"I... wasn't planning to go?"

There's a gold crown perched in his curls, and Tommy still hasn't taken the cheap plastic 2025 glasses off. The house is quiet, and there'd been shockingly few fires started by fireworks this year, so he's less tired than he'd expected to be.

"I meant -." Tommy starts, and then pauses. "I meant permanently. You should live here."

Evan laughs. Takes a bite out of his cake, and rolls his eyes, and then...stops. His entire body stills. "What."

It's ridiculous. The very thing that had pushed Tommy up out of his seat just a few months ago, sent him out the loft door with wet eyes and a heaviness in his heart.

"Tommy," Evan prompts, and Tommy catches the hand frozen on the countertop. He'd planned to hold this back, wait until something significant or poignant. But Evan had baked them a red velvet cake and argued with him the entire drive back from dinner about the proper way to fold a towel, and Tommy's tired of denying this isn't everything he's refused to let himself want for decades.

"You don't have to say yes just to confirm you're not breaking up with me," he tries to joke, and it falls flat.

"Tommy," Evan murmurs, quieter but more insistent.

"I'm serious. I want you here. I want -."

"Yes," Evan says, and squeezes his hand before he ducks his head bashfully. "Sorry. Continue."

"I want a life with you." The tears tickle at the back of his throat. He's gonna fucking cry, again. He'd always fucking known opening himself up to this was just an invitation for more tears in his life.

He can't quite convince himself the rest doesn't make them worth it.

"Yes. Again. Tommy, of course." He tips his chin. Purses his lips. "If you're sure."

Tommy swallows down the lump in his throat. He's never been more sure or more terrified of anything in his life. So he tells him so.

The words are like knives, but he works his way through the soreness, fights up past the fear that he's not sure will ever completely go away, and claws past the reminder that it's been a blink of an eye since Tommy walked out on this.

"Well. You can't walk out of your own house," Evan points out when he's finished, and of all things, it's that that snaps the tension of for once in his life prioritizing something other than fucking survival. He tips a grin, curls his elbow to bring their entwined hands to his lips. "It's gonna take years to coordinate another Thanksgiving with everyone," he bemoans, looking suspiciously watery-eyed himself as he holds Tommy's own wet gaze.

Tommy can extrapolate from that.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #happy Thanksgiving #pls feel free to piss off your relatives at the dinner table this afternoon!#tommy and buck would approve!

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americanwhores · 21 hours ago

Text

SOFTER, SOFTEST !

ft. curly x fem!reader

tags. piv, body worship sort of, rimming, big dick, tit job for like 2 seconds, creampie, size kink, scent kink, balls…

note. hai.. will get back to leon soon and I think mw fandom is lacking noncon and incest fics severely.. so i will get on that with jimmy. don’t know how to characterise him yet so ooc .. just infatuated with his breasts tbh i don’t know anything works in this universe LMFAO like idk just take this with a grain of salt.. for miss @pupwashing please ignore typos !! unedited :3

You miss Curly.

You miss him more than you did yesterday, more than an idiot misses the point, like a dick misses a wet pussy–You just miss him.

It has been four months. Twenty-one weeks. One-hundred and forty days. Three-thousand, five-hundred and twenty hours. Too many minutes, a hell of a lot more seconds, the closer he gets the further he seems to be.

Big numbers make it feel like you’re getting nowhere so you cut those twenty-fours into one day. One day and he’ll be home. One day and you’ll be in bed with his stomach crushed against yours, the warmth of his flesh searing yours, fucking him into next year, until he loses his halo.

Videos aren’t enough, photos don’t do him justice, toys don’t live up to the feel of a real dick. You miss that face he makes when he cums - it’s a block away from his crying face. You miss him face down, ass up, punching holes into his dignity one thrust at a time. God, you miss that dick, how he goes red all over, him in nothing but that stupid fucking smile.

One day, you tell yourself in the mirror that morning. One day, you tell yourself when you take your lunch break. One day, one more microwaved meal for one, one more lonely night.

It used to be a big deal, you think. The whole going to space thing. Curly says it’s no big deal, but you’re pretty sure that in your great-grandpa’s heyday it was impressive. You’ve seen videos of hoards gathering to watch a ship take off, to greet crews when they landed. Today, it’s you and a plump, older woman in her bathrobe waiting in the cold.

You could spot him in any crowd, glowing like a ray of light, mostly because he’s tall, partly because everything fades into abstraction when you notice how tight his uniform is. Good god. Did he get bigger? You’re starting to sweat, it’s hard to focus when your boyfriend is making a long-sleeved jumpsuit look naughty.

Curly’s hair is a little longer, blond curls licking the nape of his neck, falling onto his forehead, his eyes are so bright and his smile is white. He looks like a policeman’s emotional support dog. A really busty support dog. He scans the sad scattering of friends, family and drivers. You’re so taken off guard by the sight of his buttons popping you almost forget to wave at him.

He beams when you spot him, suitcase dragging behind him as he jogs over. Everything is in slow motion. Like that old movie - Baywatch. He’s so excited to see you, taking you into his big arms, shoving your face in his chest like he knows just where you’d like to be. You’re disappointed in your lungs when they beg for air, lifting your head and placing it on his shoulder instead. He smells like sweat, hotel shampoo and something metallic.

“Oh.” You open your eyes and spot Jimmy skulking behind him, an unlit cigarette between his lips. You narrow your eyes at him, and Jimmy does the same. Real shady guy, the type you’d cross the street to avoid. He’s always trailing after Curly like a bad omen. “He can’t come home with us, honey,” you tell him gently, not wanting to sound like a bitch.

Which you are.

You don’t want him smoking in your car, you don’t want Curly to invite him over for takeout because that means it’ll go on for hours and you won’t get your mouth on his big, stupid dick for another day.

“Hm? Why not?” Curly asks, pressing a kiss into your hairline, the tip of his nose bumping yours tenderly.

“I don’t have space in my car for both of you and the luggage, she’s small. What if she tips over? You’re heavy enough as it is.” You smile at him, cheekily, giving his newfound hips a squeeze. They’ve always been there, but now they’re like wow. It’s only been four months, is he on steroids? Did he get pregnant? He is glowing… God knows what’s up there in the atmosphere, some cosmic horror waiting to knock up your poor boyfriend.

Curly shrugs, offering an apologetic smile to his friend. “You heard the lady.”

Jimmy’s permanent scowl seems to deepen, cementing itself in his dermal layer. “Whatever, man.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumped as he makes a beeline for the phonebox.

He lifts his suitcase and loads it into your car and you watch his biceps flex. You see through his clothes, you remember every freckle on his back, mapping them out like stars, leading to those dimples low on his back, the perfect resting spot for your thumbs when you grab his ass. His body is so convenient. Like he was made to be fucked every which way.

“I missed you, I thought about you everyday,” he says against your lips, leaning in to kiss you over the gearshift. “I put your picture in the cockpit actually, Jim didn’t like it, but it kept me going.”

Always so earnest. You almost feel bad for missing his body more than him.

“Aww, Curly, honey,” you coo, pinching his cheek and cupping the other, “I missed you even more.” He nuzzles into your hand, eyes closed as you comb your fingers through his messy hair.

As much as you would like to indulge his sentimentality, you have no patience to spare. If you sit here any longer, you’re going to soak through your jeans and onto your leather seat.

You put the car in drive—

“Captain? Open up!” There’s a younger man knocking on the window, leaving his grubby handprints behind. “I wanted you to meet my mom!” His voice is muffled through the glass.

You lock the windows.

“Did you lock the windows?” Curly asks, lips downturned like he’s about to pout.

You unlock the windows.

“Of course not, baby.” You pat his head and grit your teeth.

They talk for fifteen whole minutes.

Thank you for taking care of him, he can be such a handful—Oh no, not at all, he was a joy to have—I’m glad he came back in one piece—He’s a good kid—Oh, I don’t know about that—Mooom—I’d be happy to have him back for our next long haul—Seriously, Captain?—

You squirm in place, shifting from side to side, thighs pressed together as your panties stick to your core. When Curly introduces you to his crew mate, you offer a strained smile and nothing more.

The window whirs shut. You make it home in record breaking time with four tickets and only a few points taken off your license. It doesn’t matter. You’re home, inside with the curtains drawn and Curly still has clothes on.

That’s not right.

“Take it off.”

“Huh?” Curly pushes his luggage into the corner, the top few buttons of his jumpsuit have come undone and you see the tuft of blond hair on his chest.

“Take it off, please?”

“My clothes?”

“No, your wig, baby.”

He laughs, good-natured, mild-mannered, and so fucking hot.

If he won’t do it then you will.

“I haven’t even showered—“ He starts, but you shush him with a kiss, murmuring a ‘good’ against his pink mouth.

When you part, spit keeps your lips connected, the string of fate or whatever. You go in for another, hands fisting the fabric of his collar, forcing him down towards you. Curly lets out a keening noise somewhere in the back of his throat like a dog scratching at the bathroom door.

“I know, my baby, I’ll give it to you.” You pout at him, thumbing his kiss-swollen lips and watching his eyes droop. “Oh no…” The buttons on his uniform when you try to open them.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles through a mouthful of his own spit, “cheap stuff.”

“I know, but you looked so good in it.” It’s a shame, but you need to see him bare, sweat as his only accessory.

“You think?” He near bats his lashes at you, stepping out of his uniform, and you swoon.

“God, yeah.” You push him down on the couch, Curly falls back with a soft grunt. It’s not very big, especially for a man of his size, but it’ll do for now.

His cock swells in his boxers, you feel it beneath you as you sit atop him, admiring the view below. The wide expanse of his chest, the sweat pooling in his collarbones, those tits. You don’t know what else they could be.

“Wow.” You take a handful of his chest, plucking his puffy pink nipple. “Look at these, I might have some competition.”

“Shut it,” he huffs out a laugh through his nose, and the tips of ears redden.

“I’m serious, baby, you’re, like, huge.” You can’t tear your eyes away from his soft flesh, moulding beneath your fingertips like dough, you could fuck them if you really wanted. “What happened out there?”

“Had a lot of spare time, I guess.” Curly smiles sheepishly, expression contorting when you bend your neck to suck his nipple into your mouth with a wet pop! His jaw slackens, and his cock jumps like it’s been given quite the fright.

You only have one complaint. His tan lines have faded. Floating through the galaxy for months on end can do that to you. You miss them, but you missed Curly more, so you’ll make do with what you have.

And you have more than enough. More than you can handle really. You can’t even get a grasp on his bicep, he’s stupidly big and your hand is on the smaller side.

You shift backwards, wet cunt dragging over his impossibly big bulge where only his underwear keeps you from him - you kind of admire your pussy for being able to take it. Your mouth moves on, hands still groping as much as you can of his chest as you lick the ridges of his stomach, it’s like he’s forged out of marble.

Softly, Curly rubs the back of your head, trying his very best to keep his eyes on you and not let them fall shut. You feel his stomach muscles rippling under your tongue. They contract when you trace around his navel, placing a sloppy kiss just below it, where a patch of curly hair leads to his wet cock.

His cock is drooling through the white fabric of his boxers, they’re soaked enough to be see-through, you spot the fat, pink head that has been missing your kisses. “You’re so wet, baby, is it all for me?”

With a pitiful noise, he tosses his head back and nods sadly. It’s funny to hear a man of his stature whine, but it suits Curly so well.

Your fingers hook in the waistband, tugging his underwear downwards until his fat cock springs out, it’s so fucking fat it weighs itself down. The leaky head twitches, pre dripping down his thick shaft, leaving a moonlit trail to his heavy balls. So full of seed they might burst.

“Oh… Poor baby.” You give them a gentle squeeze, and Curly’s eyes roll back into his skull, hips jolting upwards.

The urge to take it into your mouth right then and there is tempting, you hold back, you want to take your time with him. Make him feel special. You seat yourself between his thighs, one leg thrown over your shoulder so it’s easier to fit on the sofa. Your thumb runs along his pink slit, dribbling out pearly strands of pre that web between your fingers. Curly whimpers, biting down on his fist.

“These are cute.” You take note of his meaty thighs, how they’ve only gotten bigger, a comfier place to sit. The stretch marks don’t go unnoticed, streaking purple and pink along the milky flesh of his inner thighs like faded brushstrokes.

“Mmmph.” He blinks at you, pouty, lashes wet with impatient tears.

“Yeah, mmmph, I know, baby, be patient.” You’re a big, fat hypocrite.

His scent is stronger down here, clean and soapy, but the tang of sweat prospers, and the underlying smell of him. The smell of his pillow, the smell of his few-days old clothes, the smell of his towel after he works out.

A few more kisses here and there, using the flat of your tongue to lave over strips of his sinewy skin, leaving him spit-slicked and breathless and flushed. You hoist his other leg over your shoulder, he’s heavy, but you’re horny and it’s given you a sudden burst of vitality.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, gripping the top of the couch, one arm over his face as you lick up the seam of his balls, mouth latching to the swollen underside, where they feel heaviest.

Curly’s cock leaks into your hair, the weight brings it down to rest on your face, tip pressed into your hairline, dripping down the bridge of your nose like sweat while you make a mess of his balls. Stuffing them into your mouth one at a time, using your hand to give the lonelier one a squeeze when your lips are kissing up on another.

The kiss to his perineum is enough to make him moan. Curly knows what’s coming. You go lower, nose nestled into his balls, breathing him while your hands spread his ass cheeks apart to get to the spot you love most.

Curly’s hole is darker than the rest of him, not quite pink like his cock, ruddier. He’s tight and he smells good. So good. You’ve never minded the hair, you think it’s pretty cute. Curtains match the drapes.

Affectionately, you kiss his puffy rim, and it throbs.

He lets out a groan that is half mortified and half ready-to-blow-his-load.

“Sure,” Curly says, voice breaking as you circle his hole with the tip of your tongue. He tastes like him, musky and sweet and coppery. Curly is home and your tongue is in his ass where it belongs, wriggling its way past his pulsing rim, hopefully all the way up into his heart.

Your thumb and middle finger stretch to meet around the girth of his cock, stroking him slowly as you work open his asshole, tongue pushing back in when he pushes you out. Once you deem him wet enough, you push a single finger knuckle-deep and he cries out, hips bucking up off the couch.

Much to his dismay, which he shows in the form of a pained whimper, your hand leaves his cock to splay over his stomach and hold him down to the best of your abilities. “You have to stay still, honey.”

You feed a second finger into him, his hole squelching as you curl them inside of him. Curly clenches tight enough to cut off your blood circulation, sucking you back in when you ultimately pull them out with a lewd noise. He opens his mouth on instinct, pupils so blown out his light eyes seem dark, you push your fingers down his throat and he sucks.

“You’re so cute,” you mumble, watching him intently, he’s like a pin-up model of some sort. An X-rated action figure. “Taste good?”

“Not really,” Curly says. He’s so honest it makes you laugh. He shuffles back to rest his head on the arm of the couch, cock bobbing, still leaking like nobody’s business, leaving little droplets of wet in its wake.

It’s ready to burst, but you’re not done with him yet. You haven’t had your fill. When you spend half your time with your head between his thighs, you miss out on all the faces he pulls. So you spit on your tits to get them wet, his cock is slick enough, nothing should chafe when you squeeze his cock between them.

“Christ,” Curly grits out, brows knitting together, the second coming and he hasn’t even had his first.

“You wanna cum like this?” You ask, kneading your tits on either side of his cock, each time the tip pops up past your cleavage, it bumps your chin and leaves it slick.

“No…” He shakes his head, curls bouncing, sticking to his forehead, the hair near his nose is curlier with the added sweat. “Inside.”

“I can do that for you, babe.” You smile at him, acting like that wasn’t your plan in the first place, like you haven’t been dying for a warm creampie since he landed back on earth. You give the fat head of his dick one sloppy kiss, making sure to tongue his slit before you clamber on top of him.

It should be an easy task to get him inside, you’ve been wet for the last twenty-four hours, your pussy is throbbing like it’s got a heartbeat. Slick dries on your inner thighs and your clit is buzzing, a rush of arousal passes over you like a cold wave when you lift your hips to guide his dick into you.

Oh. Wow. That’s a stretch.

In theory, you know big Curly’s dick is. It’s a fucking horsecock, and you have eyes bigger than your stomach. You always overestimate yourself. You think you’re gonna be just fine, then his fat tip breaches your little hole, no matter how wet, and you lose it, scrambling to grasp his shoulders as your body is racked with shivers.

Curly’s kind enough to steady you, big hands finding purchase on your hips. His needy noises get through to you, and you push on, sliding down and taking him to the hilt. His dick curves upwards into your cervix, rubbing the fleshy opening as you adjust to his dick after four whole months of nothing worthwhile.

He’s so big. You’re so wet, slippery pussy slicking up his cock, and making things easier for the both of you.

“I love you.” Curly shudders, looking right into your eyes like he’s afraid to blink and miss a single thing.

“I love you too,” you tell him, eyes on his tits.

He’s so deep, feet planted on the couch as he fucks into you, unable to help himself. You get it. You’re tight, warm, and wet. Better than his fist. Your pussy is noisy, squelching each time you bottom you, grinding your clit into his pelvis, feeling his cock twitch each time you tighten around him. The plap of his balls hitting your ass when enough momentum is built up.

Curly’s helpful, when he sees you tense up, throwing your head back and rolling your hips over and over, you want him deeper and deeper, he wets his fingers with your slick and rubs figure eights into your clit.

It’s just enough to make your toes curl—Oh, who are you kidding? You near blackout when you cum, moaning so loud you scare yourself. You see black. Like someone’s drawn the curtains in your mind, ending the show. Your nails dig into his skin, but he’s always put up with that like a champ.

“Holy fuck.” Shaking still, you blink to clear your vision, you’ve wet his navel and his tummy and the couch might be ruined. You don’t even remember when he came inside you. What a shame. Feels good though, still warm. Sighing, you lay against his chest, Curly’s soft cock slips out of your hole, resting on his thigh. “Welcome home, Captain.”

#curly mouthwashing smut #curly smut #captain curly x reader #captain curly smut #mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing x you #mouthwashing smut #curly x reader #mouthwashing curly x reader

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beanarie · 2 days ago

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i never wanted water once part 3

tommy is also breakup baking, prompted by my dear @sanguinarysanguinity

tw: mention of parent death, mention of child abuse

part 1

part 2

Gutierrez eyes him on his way out of the locker room. "Feel like no one ever sees you anymore. You coming back to the pickup game or what?"

"Oh." Tommy gives his damp hair one last rub from the towel. "I wasn't planning on it, to be honest. Too awkward."

Gutierrez frowns. "Why?"

"You know," Tommy says, wishing he didn't have to, "Eddie Diaz. I broke up with his best friend."

"Diaz hasn't shown in weeks. Probably got injured. You know how that crew is."

And that. Well. He and Eddie were friends. They became tight very quickly in a way Tommy hasn't experienced with many people. He shouldn't have thrown a connection like that away without at least trying to salvage it.

He sends a text, a polite, generic one asking about his welfare. Worst thing that can happen is Eddie tells him to fuck off and he's back where he started. He fully expects to be left on read.

He does not expect Eddie to tell him he's moving back to Texas because he's given up on his son deciding to come home. Eddie invites him to a pre-going away dinner at a bar and grill before he goes down South for a few days to scout out homes. And, no, absolutely not. But Tommy proposes getting a drink, just the two of them. Eddie very validly explains that he can't spare the time, since he's already started packing up his life and he's working overtime to save up for a down payment. Tommy gets it. He does.

The day after the dinner, Eddie calls him. "Hey, man. I know we're like two ships passing in the night, but I didn't want to leave without a proper goodbye. I still got some more shifts before I move for good, but the time will go by quick. We'll just stay on the line, okay? Keep me company while I go through my kitchen cabinets."

"It's good to hear from you," Tommy says honestly.

"So yeah." Eddie hums. "Why'd you do it?"

"Text you?" Tommy says. "I heard that-"

"Kinard," Eddie says, unamused.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"You just didn't seem the type to flee."

None of you know me as well as you thought you did, Tommy doesn't say. That's not fair to any of them. "I wasn't, in the past. Well, I tried not being that. A couple times. It didn't work out."

"Oh," Eddie says. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"You've got shit."

"Haven't we all?"

"Hey, I am not denying that." Eddie chuckles. "Do you plan on dealing with it, or letting it blow up every good thing you find until you die?"

"Jesus, Eddie."

"What's the point in mincing words? You did something dumb and destructive. What kinda friend would I be if I let that go without saying anything?"

"So what's the weather even like in El Paso? Does it ever get below 100?"

After a groan, Eddie lets Tommy talk about his shit, about Texas, parenthood, and chess clubs, for the rest of the call. Tommy can't say that he'll miss him. He missed him already and now he gets to continue doing so. All of this sucks.

Tommy tries his hand at gnocchi made with ricotta, lemon, and pepper that subsequently almost causes a fistfight during B shift.

Demetra favors him with a warm smile, taking in the large box in his hands. "Tom, right? Welcome! What's all this?"

"Tommy," he says easily, impressed she remembered his name at all. He hasn't been to this slightly dusty community center in five or six years. "Uh, this is garlic knots and mini calzones."

"Well, hey. You're even more welcome than before. Come take a seat."

December is a stupid time to rejoin group, many of the participants close to the edge from a cocktail of seasonal depression, missing dead loved ones, and generalized loneliness. Tommy knew it would be like this going in. He counted on it. Everyone will have so much to say that there likely won't be any time for him to open his mouth. He's not ready to spill. It will help to just soak in the atmosphere of unashamed honesty for a while.

At his third meeting, Cal, a slender guy in his mid twenties with a curly mohawk, keeps bringing up his mother. "She never wanted me to enlist," he says, "and now that I'm back home and struggling, she can't stop being all 'I told you so' morning, noon, and night. She never says it, but she is thinking it."

"Is she?" Tommy finds himself asking. "Or are you putting something on her that isn't there?"

"Maybe so." Cal pops one of Tommy's fried ravioli in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "I don't know, I should probably give her a chance, think first about what she's actually saying before I react. But it's hard in the moment, you know?"

"Tommy?" Demetra says a minute later, making him feel like a kid being called on by the teacher. "How's your relationship with your mom?"

"Nonexistent. She died when I was fifteen." He crosses his ankles. "Fell asleep in the car on our way back from an away game and we couldn't wake her up. Heart attack."

Demetra frowns sympathetically. "That must've been hard for a kid to witness."

"I've seen so much worse since then. People shot in the head by machine guns, people covered in burns over most of their bodies..."

Demetra shakes her head slightly. "They weren't your mom."

He ducks his head, pressing his lips together. "True. It's just- That's not- It's not trauma. I don't fear falling asleep and not waking up."

"What do you fear?" Cal asks.

Being left, being hurt, being validated in his belief that no one will ever see him for all he is and choose to stick around. "Standard stuff, really. Clowns, taxes, drivers on the freeway."

He gets a pity laugh, a groan or two, and one outright glare. "Okay, okay." He exhales loudly. "Ending up alone by someone else's choice rather than mine."

"So you're cool with being on your own, as long as you're the one keeping everyone away," Cal says.

God, that sounds idiotic. "Yes?"

"You prefer it like this?" asks a woman about his own age wearing a green bomber jacket.

He shrugs. "It's not ideal, but as far as worst case scenarios go, it's okay. It's fine."

"It's spineless," says a gray-haired man with a Desert Storm hat.

Tommy doesn't flinch. "Yeah, that's kind of an inherent character trait. I keep thinking I got it licked, then it shows up wearing another face. Scared of my dad, so I joined the army and became someone he couldn't hurt anymore. Scared of people knowing I was gay, so I waited to come out until I was surrounded by brand new people. Scared of my boyfriend leaving, so." He pushes at the skin above his knees, kneading it. "So I left him first."

"You fall back," says Bomber Jacket. Her name is Annie or Angie. She has conflicted feelings about dating a man with kids. "It's easy to stop being scared when the thing that scared you is far away."

He hears Eddie. You just didn't seem the type to flee.

Demetra holds up a hand. Tommy's face must be doing something concerning. "No one here faults you for what you did to survive. Is it still serving you, is the question, or is that just what you're used to?"

He doesn't bake when he gets home. He drinks half the beers in his fridge and does a shockingly efficient job of cleaning his house, while drafting and deleting twenty-seven different texts. He then wakes up the next day, and goes to the pickup game.

Gutierrez scores four rebounds on him and doesn't shut up about it for the rest of their next shift. Tommy grumbles, and talks shit, and promises he won't have much to brag about next time.

#911 abc #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #my writing #things by beanarie

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dufferpuffer · 2 days ago

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One hyper-specific version of Hinny, my beloved:

Sorry for this... odd outline for a ship concept? Just sorta spilled out, but I wanted to write it somewhere before it left my brain:

Harry loved Ginny because she seemed so normal. Ginny loved Harry because he seemed anything but.

Both of those were true and were beautiful. They kept each other afloat during the war, even when apart. Something to dream of. But they are still childish dreams. They're not built to last.

They get together after the war, mourn together, lean on each other - and it is wonderful. It is over, finally over... ...Harry doesn't know what to do. Being idle feels... odd. Ginny suggests, since he is so amazing at it, being an Auror. It will keep him busy - he can help people while he calms down.

Good idea, Ginny. That feels... right. Yes. That sounds normal... He wanted to do that before everything ended... it makes sense. Ginny goes back to Hogwarts for her final year, overachieving. Harry... focuses on putting one foot in-front of the other. Breathing.

Being an Auror DID feel right. Constantly preparing for the next crisis, taking orders, staying in motion, ignoring how everyone watches him... stepping into a dance he already knows.

When he came home to Ginny she was still so Normal. Enthusiastic about his day. Always matching his mood with whatever balanced it... as always. Just like always. It was Happy... right? ...No... wait... didn't he want things to be different? Didn't he want things to feel 'Normal'? Was this normal...? Was he even capable of-

No time to think: He's going to be a dad!!! :D :D :D Ginny's upset... but that's just pregnancy, everyone tells him. She seems distant. But he isn't sure how. Did she ever feel close...? Or did she just GET close to him before - where now they don't?

She says she is upset he works so much. He's in hospital too much. He comes home too late and gets up too early... She thought, when she was pregnant, he would be home more.

He tries, he really does - but being idle at home... he feels broken. A job he is good at, a wife he loves, a child on the way... But it's a job that feels the same as fighting. A wife he barely knows. A child he is terrified of failing.

Oh shit. Is this how Remus felt...? Years of being trained to survive till adulthood yet not a single lesson on how to be an adult. He just had to keep going. Like he told Remus to. Like his own father did. Be there for his Wife, be there for his Son... ...even though that trapped both of them. Killed both of them.

Ginny thinks Harry was capable of pretty much anything, that if she just kept propping him up a little he would come good. But the weight of his trauma just gets heavier ontop of her the longer it doesn't actually get understanding and support. And she isn't capable of giving it. She doesn't understand him.

Harry breaks - and he feels pathetic. He feels trapped. He feels broken. He wanted a normal life and now he has it but it hurts. His job as an Auror hurts, but not doing it hurts more. He's never been a civilian before - he's been fighting something since infancy.

He has some serious PTSD and cPTSD shit going on. Symptoms he is only noticing now that his life is quiet. As is common for PTSD. Why does he want to run back to the dark times all the time? To the pain that's familiar, that he at least knows how to deal with...

So Harry goes and fucks Draco, probably B^)

Put this in a chat originally, but I'm still thinking about it so it's going here too. I really think Ginny got done so dirty by how Hinny ended up turning out in the books. She really truly does deserve better imho. It's so tragic because Ginny gets kind of overlooked a lot and diary!Tom seems to be the only person to really listen to her...ever. And he doesn't even actually care about her. And once he's gone she never gets that again. He gloats in the end of book 2 that she once told him "no one's ever understood my like you, Tom" and that's still true.

Harry never tells her anything nor does he seem to bother to learn anything about her. Never mind the Horcrux stuff that he only shares with Ron & Hermione and never even considers telling her about. He doesn't even tell her about the prophecy after book 5. And in book 7 he goes into her room briefly and mentions that he's never been there before. All that time he lived with her and he never looked in.

And he shows no sign of recognition when he sees what posters she has up there. He doesn't think "oh of course she'd have that" because he never even found out basic things like what teams or music groups she likes. The one person who ever bothered to care to actually find out these sorts of things and show interest in her was Tom...who turned out to be using her. It's really sad.

I do actually like hinny happening in the books and find it realistic given both their characterizations - given the way Ginny idolizes Harry and probably feels pressured to change to become his "perfect girl" and to not "bother" him with her problems and the way Harry thinks he might be dead soon and Ginny symbolizes to him all the normalcy he thinks he might never get to have, more an idea that a person, and also seems to be physically attractive to him. I just don't like it as an endgame relationship. I think it's realistic they would get together under the circumstances they did. And i think they would break up after the war when Harry realizes he's not comfortable talking to Ginny and Ginny realizes Harry doesn't respect her and they both realize they don't really know or understand one another.

#mywrite #hp #harry potter #ginny weasley #headcannons

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onlinedolly · 2 days ago

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cw: drug use, misogynistic undertones (brief mention of gender roles), degradation, p in v, p in mouth, dubcon (if u squint maybe?), mentions of piss, mean awful leon, i think that’s it? lmk if i miss any ok thank u

an: for my angel 🕊️ annonie who rq more corrupt cop leon!!!! i don’t put tws in tags so please read the list above carefully. if any of those things are too much for you please feel free to bypass this okay thanks so much. also i did not proof read this cuz im terrible sorry ):

corrupt cop!leon is a mean man. a star in the raccoon city PD, an officer who’d spent years building up nothing but a positive reputation, but behind closed doors he was anything but kind. you were his pretty little girlfriend, over a decade his junior and a former rookie at the same place he worked.

corrupt cop!leon who drank the minute he got home until he went to bed, expecting dinner and clean home when he arrived. so pleased to see his pretty little doll and dressed up for him over a hot stove. he got too drunk, like usual, and that’s when he’d become violent and crude.

“why don’t you come over here, little one?”

corrupt cop!leon would say, patting his legs with an almost empty whiskey glass to his side. and like the pretty, sweet thing you are, there you’d go prancing over to place yourself on his lap. smothering him with kisses, asking about his day, complimenting him on what a good cop he was (not that he needed the ego boost). and he’d sigh, tap your pretty cheek to get you to open your mouth big and wide before slipping whatever pills he’d stolen from the evidence locker a few hours prior. it really wasn’t as bad as it seemed, leon would think to himself, he was just helping, right. the pills made you happy, pliable, sweet and made that little brain of yours dumb.

and oh boy, did corrupt cop!leon love when you were hazy and high and oh so fucking stupid.

“ain’t got a thought up there, do ya?”

corrupt cop!leon who’d roughly knock on your head as if someone would answer. and you just smile all bright at him, like you do so often, and tell him the only thing up there is thoughts of him. you were perfect, a small, sweet thing who let him do whatever he wanted to you. and he ate it up.

corrupt cop!leon who was drunker now, meaner, and after supper is when he’d start to push you around. climbing onto his lap to only be shoved into the cold hardwood as he mumbled how ‘fucking hot he was’. pressing down on your tummy with a full bladder until you pissed yourself, getting so angry at you for using the restroom on the living room floor. and still, you looked at him with hearts and stars in your eyes.

corrupt cop!leon who had you so trained all he had to do was pull his cock out and there you were, on your knees in a second.

“dirty thing, this is all your good for, hm? taking cock and fuckin annoyin me’”

corrupt cop!leon would slur out drunkenly, as you kitten lick the top of his cock. leon would let you tease him for only a few moments before he’d grab the back of your head, hand in your hair, pushing you roughly down the length of his cock. you sputter and cough in a feeble failed attempt to tell him to pull back, but it’s to avail (it’s usually not).

“bet you like that, don’t cha? choking around an older guys cock, whore.”

corrupt cop!leon’s cock which is so big you’re terrified it’ll break your jaw, and especially at the rough and fast pace he’s fucking himself. you can’t breathe and tears spring to the corners of your eyes as you desperately try to gasp for air. but leon’s never been one to give up, no. your tongue is swirling around his cock and your hands are cupped around his balls like you’ve been trained to do, despite the lack of air.

“ain’t you something? fucking perfect.”

corrupt cop!leon would growl out between moans. and right before he cums does he let you breathe, pulling you roughly off of him by your hair. you gasp for air, big gulps that can’t seem to come soon enough as you wipe the tears and snot away from your face. before leon even has to instruct you you’re sinking down on his cock, no panties under that pretty little dress he picked out for you this morning.

corrupt cop!leon who thinks you’re going just too fucking slow. so he takes matters into his own hands, grabbing your hips roughly and slamming you down on his cock and you cry out. leon loved to hear your pained little whimpers, especially when they were still paired with that oh so loving, hazy look you give him.

“next time speed up and i won’t have to hurt ya, so bad y’know? stupid little baby, need me to do fucking everything.”

“s-sorry, sir,” you sputter out, “need you to everything your rig-“ a scream rips through your body as he lifts you up and slams you back down on his cock, you lean forward gripping the back of the couch for some kind of support as he begins a brutal pace, pistoning himself inside your tight cunt.

“fuckers at the force think i’m so good, don’t they baby? it’s cuz im the best, ain’t i? go on say it, your old mans the best cop there ever was, hm?”

you want to speak, relay compliments on him like you’ve done a thousand times before. but you’re just so full and so so overwhelmed. you’re sobbing from the needy feeling as leon fucks into you, enough to give you a tinge of pleasure but never enough to hit that soft spongy spot inside of you.

and leon wasn’t an idiot, he was actually very smart thank-you-very-fucking-much, he knew exactly what he was doing. knew your body enough to fuck you until you’re begging for him to hit right where you need him too.

corrupt cop!leon is a mean fucking man, who loves fucking you like one.

“can’t answer me? what? am i a terrible cop? a bad guy? is that what you think of me?” he eggs on, venom laced in his words.

“n-no!” you cry, his grip on your hips so tight it makes you gasp, “leon’s a good man, good cop, good — ah — everything.”

leon’s fucking you brutally at this point, the exact words he needs to hear from his baby has him reeling, and finally he slams you down against his thighs, his cock hitting you so deep it’s borderline pain as he finally grazes that spongy little spot with his tip. it sends you over the moon, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs as your hips involuntarily roll against him, hitting your g spot over and over again until your eyes are rolling in the back of your head.

“god what a slut you are, fucking yourself on my cock, now who told your pretty self you could do that?”

it’s like whiplash the way he picks your smaller frame up, spinning you both around and slamming you into the couch. your legs are spread in the air and he’s fucking you so roughly the couch rocks against the wall.

and corrupt cop!leon is a mean man, but he’s not cruel, so he takes one of his hands and rubs fast circles on your clit until your spasming around him, your orgasm crashing over you like a large tidal wave.

and he’s close too, he can feel it, so he picks up the pace, fucking you hard and ruthlessly as he mumbles pet names into your ear.

“god baby” “fuck, angel.” “cunt made just for me, hm, cupcake?”

finally he cums with a growl that’s almost animalistic, gripping your hip harshly as he unloads his seed inside of you. he’s sweating and panting and you’re looking at him with stars in your glossed over eyes, he takes a few moments to soften inside of you before pulling out.

“you should really clean yourself up, huh? look downright filthy with cum leakin’ out of you like that.”

he says before sauntering away, sure to grab his whiskey glass he’d left of the table.

corrupt cop!leon was a mean man and he was everything to you.

#leon kennedy #resident evil #tw.dark content #ೃ mars writes !#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #re2 #re4 #dead dove do not eat #dd:dne #leon smut

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yuvany · 5 hours ago

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꒰ 🥊 ꒱ ENHYPEN IN THE RING

// ENHYPEN as boxers and you're their number one prize.

─── ( on point ) OT7 x female reader contains : fluff + violence mentioned + pet names + est relationship + cameras + boxing!au + non!idol enha + not proofread 887 wc

reblogs + feedback always appreciated !!

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

Being in the boxing ring felt natural to him, but to you, it just felt as if you were praying for Heeseung to be alright every time he fought someone bigger than him. You didn't worry too much as you knew how talented he was and how he managed to beat people who mocked him for him size. Seeing someone fall to the ground never felt this relieving. You rushed up and enveloped his face in between your palms as you pressed a kiss to his lips for his victory. "Worried? For me?" He asks when you both are on your way home. "Yeah, what if you got really hurt?" You said, fidgeting with your thumbs, avoiding his gaze. "I'll be alright, yeah? I wouldn't want to worry you." Heeseung takes your hand in his.

(rest of the memebers below the cut)

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

always worried what you thought of him doing this sport. He knew the dangers of this sport, and he knew that he could get injured really badly, but something always pushed him to continue. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush. During matches, he'd always contemplate if he should quit or not after seeing other boxers bleed from their noses while being knocked out. That anxiousness quickly disperse as he sees you in the crowd, jumping and cheering his name. He puts on a smile for you. Some time later, Jay asked, "what do you think of me doing boxing?" You take a moment to think before answering, "I'm really happy that you're doing something you like, and I'll always support you." You reassure with a kiss to his cheek.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

He adores the comforting speeches you give him before each match. How they always manage to calm him down when his nerves were playing a trick on him. "baby, I'm nervous." Jake says, his hands clutching to your side, not wanting to part from your closeness while his coach is urging him to hurry up. "Why are you so stressed, Jakey? We both know how awsome you'll be. Just go and do what you love." You say, slowly walking towards the ring so that he can jump in. Jake sighs and hums at your words. "You'll be watching, right?" He asks, his puppy eyes gleaming under the bright stadium lights. "Of course." You say, patting his back before you shoo him inside.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

Sunghoon loves showing you off to everyone just as much as you love cheering him on. Post-match, you'd be the first person he'd run over to as the cameras pan over to the couple. He doesn't care about what anyone says or sees, and instead he presses his lips to your face over and over again making sure that the camera and audience does not miss his love for you. Sunghoon is a firm believer that your love is worth more than any prize he'll ever win in his boxing career. After each match he'd win, the internet would be flooded by news making headlines of you and him, which always managed to put a smile on your face.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

Sunoo didn't brag about his wins, even though he had a swelling ego, he was humble. Before each match, he'd wrap his arms around you, his head snuggled against your shoulder as you pat his back, urging him to let go and get ready for the fight, "Sunsun, it's time to go now." He doesn't let go and you just sigh. "Promise me that we'll go on a date later." He compromises, and you easily agree to it, because it's a date? While in the ring, you cheer the loudest, and he hears you since you're standing in the first row, but when the match is over and he is the clear winner, he doesn't hesitate to shoot you a quick wink.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

You loved watching him combat his friends during practice, but when it was time for the competition, you were starting to feel a bit anxious - your heart beating like a drum against your chest. You whisper a soft "good luck," before he gives you a bright smile and climed into the fighting arena. You watched with dread filling you up, and all you cared for was his safety. Seeing him get hit, you jump out of your seat with your palms hovering over your agape mouth that opened due to shock. You try to reassure yourself that he'd be okay, and luckily he was. "You really gave me a scare!" You lightly hit his shoulder, and he just pulled you against his chest.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

You honestly didn't worry too much about him when he fought. Riki is a strong person, both physically and mentally. While he speaks to his coach during break time, Riki wraps one arm around your shoulders lazily as he leans his body against yours. You can hear his short breaths due to exhaustion, but you don't pull away, even though he is sweating. With a nod, there is little time left to spend and he presses a kiss to your head before he rushes back inside. When he wins, he runs over to you with a bright smile as cameras are aimed at him. One interviewer shouts, "What do you think of the prize you're winning." "What do you mean? I've got her right here!" He shouts back as he motions to you.

TAGLIST : @dollyhoon @itjengirl @saeivra @orimuraa @pshwrldd

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fangsandfeels · 11 hours ago

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>Ok but he doesn't. He thinks he does. He thinks he has Rook all pinned down. It's why he doesn't expect Rook to escape the Prison of Regret but Rook does. Solas is convinced that all of his manipulation to get Rook to drown in regret is enough to keep them trapped in that prison. In his pride, he doesn't expect Rook to escape. He once again doesn't expect Rook to see through his final betrayal about the veil. He also doesn't expect Rook to have enough cards by the end to stop him (which is conditional based on what you do in the game)

I don't think that Varric was thinking that far ahead when he was hiring Rook. Hiring someone who can make decisions during high-risk situations and face the outcome is logical - you know that this person has the resilience necessary and won't back away from a challenging task.

However, to hire them because they're unpredictable and can potentially outsmart or outwit Solas? I don't think they were aiming that high or planning that far ahead. They just needed reliable people to hopefully intercept Solas before he sets his plans in motion.

Also, it's not uncommon for Solas to underestimate people. He woke up and decided that the beings living after the Veil deserved to go extinct because he saw them as terminally disabled due to their disconnect from the Fade - and only later was he forced to acknowledge them as people, which didn't dissuade him from his goals, just made him feel bad about what he was going to do.

He had flawed opinions about dwarves, Qunari, humans - and he still has them, but recognizes the Inquisitor as "one of the good ones" on High Approval. So, his pride has always been his weakness and the reason for his hubris.

The Inquisitor would have gotten out of the Prison of Regret, just like many other determined and strong personalities Solas knew personally - because they made as many, if not even more hard decisions as Rook did, and they didn't let regret stop them.

>Cassandra also spent time in the Hunterhorn Mountains north of Orlais, where she worked to rebuild the Seekers. For a time, the new Seekers remained reclusive, showing no interest in worldly affairs and working to a purpose few outside their order could guess.

"For a time" doesn't necessarily mean "for entire 10 years". Also, Seekers seeming reclusive and working to a purpose few outside their order could guess makes sense in the context of the Trespasser - if Cassandra decided to use the Seekers to assist the Inquisitor with searching for Solas, she isn't going to tell everyone and their mother about it.

Nobody knows what exactly Seekers are working on because nobody needs to know. Cassandra did learn a lot, and she learned how to be subtle. At least, had she been included in the plot of the Veilguard, there wouldn't have been any disconnect between the epilogue and her actions.

As for her not showing up in Southern Thedas due to political reasons, it would have been understandable, especially if there was a particularly intense geopolitical situation (I'm elaborating on this in the final paragraphs below). However, since Solas could be anywhere because of the Eluvians, she still can help in the regions she can go to.

>With Corypheus gone there is a power vacuum. A cult of fanatics don't just say "oh well, guess we'll go home now." According to Tevinter Nights (which the franchise being a mixed-media franchise has it's own problems), while a lot distanced themselves from the Venatori there were still a good number of loyalists who remained active. This leads to Aelia trying to fill in that role. She does gain a decent amount of support for it. Even when she's "captured" she has enough sway to escape prison and cause problems. Why? Because the Venatori's ideology is appealing to a lot of people in Tevinter even if they don't directly associate with the cult. However, with her "failure" we have another power vacuum present - so why is it "lazy writing" to have the emergence of another powerful mage that speaks like Corypheus and offer power similarly to what he did fill that?

First of all, yes, telling the story of the game in bits of other media is a horrible practice. Not all people are going to read them - so, it should be explained in the game. Not just by codex entries, but by the characters. I had no clue who Aelia was and why she was bad news - and Neve's vague explanations didn't make it any clearer.

Second, without Corypheus the Venatori lost their competitive differentiation, so to speak- their ideology wasn't any different from the general ideology of Tevinter, just a tad more honest and aggressive.

Yes, Tevinter is obsessed with the idea of its supremacy. Yes, it believes it deserves to rule the world and is working towards this goal.

Venatori are just too loud and messy about it, especially without an ancient god/demigod backing them up. So, if the Venatori can't serve the Tevinter's cause meaningfully or at least fall in line, the Tevinter's power would have either dismantled them (either forcefully or by destroying them from inside), just so they would stop causing so much ruckus and getting unwanted attention.

Alternatively, Tevinter would have exploited their zeal and fanaticism (for instance, encouraging their unethical magic research or even agreeing to finance their search for magisters like Corypheus) because despite being absolutely despicable Tevinter isn't stupid and it knows an opportunity when it sees one.

What I mean to say is that the game tries to show that the Venatori are the main reason why Tevinter is corrupt and not getting any better instead of showcasing how deep the problem goes and how it's much more complicated than "defeating a group of bad guys with an evil name"

>The supremacist ideology of the Venatori embody everything you're saying here. The examples you're giving are all part of the supremacist mindset. Hedonistic and power-obsessed ruling class? Yep. "Slavery is bad" and "we should treat non-mages as people" Those two concepts are directly against the supremacists ideology. We also do get some notes from Dorian doing just that Veilguard. The Venatori isn't just one shade of ugly, it's the embodiment of everything wrong in Tevinter. It's the supremacist ideology given form.

Then why make such a focus on the Venatori if the entire Tevinter is built on the ideas of supremacy? Why?

By making the Venatori solo bad guys of Tevinter, the writers washed their hands off the entire corrupt system of Tevinter established in the previous games - see, guys, magisters aren't that bad and the entire Tevinter society doesn't need a wake-up call, it were the Venatori all along. The Venatori are bad, Tevinter nobles practice slavery just because they're misunderstood and confused, and I guess Danarius, Hadriana, and all the slavers from Tevinter you had met before were just the Venatori in trench coats.

The reason why Tevinter refused to acknowledge the Venatori in the Inquisition was because of their cultish obsession with Corypheus and unsubtle aggressiveness, which didn't look good for their long-term ambitions and plotting.

It would have made more sense if the Venatori either became an official ruling party by the events of Veilguard (no coup needed) because a) they didn't meet any resistance from Senate or the people of Tevinter, b) they brought proof of ancient magisters actually existing, which gave magisters a huge ego boost and added quasireligious delusions to the Tevinter's program, c) Par-Vollen officially started its invasion (like it was promised in the previous games) by attacking Antiva, giving Tevinter the opportunity to be more active and aggressive (infiltrating Antiva by offering it "protection" from the Qunari, reintegrating Kirkwall under the guise of defensive measures), preying on the neighbor's desperation and vulnerability to its influence.

But instead, they're shown as that malicious cult that is officially opposed and rejected as if Tevinter somehow had an issue with their philosophy.

>Varric is the one tasked with forming a small team. It's his responsibility to form that team and onboard people and vet them. With the way it's framed in "The Missing" Varric had full authority to bring on whoever. He didn't need approval. They kept in touch via Charter and sent correspondence to the Inquisitor but there wasn't any need for approval.

That's the problem, especially considering that the group was going against Solas with his immense abilities and his network of spies. Bringing on whoever is dangerous. There should be at least reporting to the Inquisitor about new recruits because otherwise Varric had been putting himself in a stab-me-in-the-back situation for Solas' spies all that time.

>Given Varric's line to Neve at the beginning, Varric is upfront with the information: "I also told you he was an ancient elven god." Whether the person believes them is dependent on the person. Rook has been tracking Solas with Varric for a year or so. I think by now they've witnessed enough to believe Varric's information.

Having the information doesn't mean being prepared to face Solas - a guy who has been manipulating and doing psychological warfare long before the the Veil. Also, Varric gives a very one-sided perspective on Solas because he only knows him as his former ally. The Inquisitor gets to know a lot more about Solas - after all, they're the one he rants to during his High Approval scene at the balcony, they're the one he subtly confirms his chosen course of action with, they're the one who sees him leave after the Orb is broken, and they're the one to meet him again in the Trespasser. Varric doesn't have this information, he didn't see that side of Solas, so whatever information he gives to Rook is incomplete. Rook doesn't know what they're dealing with. Moreover, Rook doesn't need to know that Solas is sentimental - Rook needs to know that Solas is very good at lying and deceiving people and that he is ruthless.

It all could have been addressed within prologue dialogues, but all we got was Rook asking "So, when we find this Solas...then what?" - which sounded as if Rook joined the group just yesterday. As a result, Rook sounds woefully unprepared.

>You think they wouldn't let that stop them. I think they're smart enough to not continue to play an active part if any information they get or send off is information Solas is spoon feeding them. If their continued involvement would cause more harm then good then yea, I think they would take a step back. I think they would hand off the reigns to others.

The problem is: who are these others? The entire "there is a real elven god walking around and he wants to destroy the Veil" story is very hard to explain to anyone who hadn't been around during the events of the Trespasser. Dismissive and derogatory attitude towards the elven culture aside, people don't respond to the "gods are among us" claims well without proof. It's not the Blight, which is super hard to ignore. It's something new - and it's so challenging to everyone's religious ideas that engaging new allies would have required some thoughtful wording and messaging.

There is a reason the guys who believed that Andraste reincarnated into a dragon were considered lunatics in the DA:O. To find others who can handle Solas (while knowing what he is and bracing themselves for a tough challenge) would take time and effort - meanwhile, both Leliana and Josephine have the burden of knowing the threat, knowing it's coming. I can't honestly imagine them sitting on their hands and hoping that the Inquisitor finds someone.

Now, there could have been a wonderful way to keep them busy and not as involved without making it look odd. For instance, if Par Vollen officially declared war and started invading Rivain and Antiva.

In that case, Josephine would be fully committed to doing whatever she can for her country, while Leliana's presence will be crucial for a) the morale and safety (if Divine), b) working against Ben-Hassrath and gathering intel (if Sister Nightingale).

>They do find new allies through their journey.

We don't see them in the game.

>They do find people who have ample knowledge of magic and ancient history.

We don't see them in the game.

>This idea also continues to play out in Veilguard. We find someone who has connections.

There is only Neve who is more of a investigative journalist/freedom fighter who never dealt with gods, ancient magic or anything like that. She herself admits that she is way over her head.

>We find someone who has ample knowledge of the fade since that's what Solas was directly trying to manipulate.

Aside from Emmrich, there is nobody else available - and Rook employs him after Varric is out of commission, leaving Rook desperate for help and clues because they have nothing. That's the issue: there are no tangible results after the 10 years of search. Rook starts from the ground zero - even though they aren't supposed to.

>I do not think it implicitly means what you've interpreted it to. I think that's how you interpreted that and I think that's a valid interpretation of it. Unfortunately that's not where they took it. That's also now how I interpreted it. I think a lot of the fandom interpreted this in different ways and that leads to disappointment if their interpretation wasn't correct. I think that's what's happening to you here. I don't think Bioware not catering to your interpretation means "they don't care." or anything like that. I think it's just that what you predicted or assumed based on the information provided ended up being incorrect. Other people predicted it correctly. If anything this just means that the marketing team could have done better at setting expectations and making sure everyone was on the same page.

From my point of view, there are things that are meant to be interpreted differently by players, and that are part of worldbuilding that isn't up for interpretation. For example, the Warden can be absolutely merciless and cruel in their decisions - and their motivations depend on the player's interpretation (trauma, anger due to oppression, refusal to be kind to the world that screwed them over, simple assholery). Similarly, the Warden can be heroic and selfless - why are they like that is still up to the player's interpretation. However, the end goal doesn't change: Kill the Archdemon. It doesn't matter how evil or how kind the Warden is as long as they get the job done. They become the Hero of Ferelden regardless.

All the threats created or hinted at were never up to interpretation. Blights are extremely dangerous. The Mage-Templar war caused massive destructive disruptions across the Andrastian regions, leaving mages and templars particularly vulnerable to exploitation. The death of the Divine led to hysteria and massive crisis of faith, while the Breach and the rise of Corypheus led to the emergence of the Venatori and red lyrium zombies. And the characters always responded accordingly to the threats -- either because of their rank and calling or due to them having exclusive understanding of the problem and needing to be in the loop.

The ending of Trespasser implied that Leliana and Cassandra were sticking around, working with Inquisitor and following the Inquisitor's decisions (and certainly taking note of how easily Solas infiltrated their networks). For them to just bow out without any explanation or reason isn't the problem of interpretation - the game didn't deliver its own buildup.

>But Bioware can't just make whatever they want. Bioware is owned by EA (not just published through them. OWNED by them). Bioware has to pay people to make the games. They need to get the funding and approval from EA to do so. This means that no matter how passionate the team is, there's only so much they can do and EA gets a huge say in what that is. EA who explicitly stated earlier AFTER BG3 released that they don't think single player story based games are worth investing in. WHICH IS INSANE TO ME. EA had them start developing the game one way. EA had them change development midway. EA had them remove all multiplayer pieces. EA cut funding to Bioware forcing them to make cuts in staff.

I admit, I don't know whether it was Bioware or EA who decided to completely dunk on the elves and their entire arc in the Veilguard, make a clown show out of Qunari, destroy Loghain as a character and erase nearly the entire Southern Thedas - and then naively hope for Dragon Age series to get the next game.

I don't know whether it was the Bioware's love ruined by the EA (which definitely played the part in it because I know how soulless and greedy management can fuck up the production) or Bioware writing it all out of spite and then releasing the artbook so people could pay $75 to see the content and the story that never happened and will never happen.

The outcome is the same: there is no reason for me to give them money. If Bioware can no longer make it's own creative choices, I will no longer buy its games because it means rewarding EA for its abhorrent practices.

There is no point in believing in Bioware anymore and support it because if this is where EA is taking it, I'd rather let my favorite series die and be put to rest than see them twisted into the parody of their former selves.

I understand your point, but IMHO, the problem of Veilguard isn't that it's not perfect - it has been actively hurt by the choices and management, which is why it's the pale shadow of what it was supposed to be.

Moreover, I don't even know what the writing team thinks because they either lump reasonable criticism together with elon musk fanboys whining, which is downright insulting or carefully pat themselves on the back for the job done. I understand that EA may have made them sign some kind of BS contract that doesn't allow them to speak ill of EA and its decisions for 100 years or so, but even refraining from comments would have sent the message.

Right now, both behaviors create an impression as it's the players fault for having expectations and wanting the proper final of their story, instead of just consuming the content.

And that's just sad.

Bioware writing team has a comfy, sheltered life and it shows

I'm sorry, but how come that the only people Inquisitor sent to look for Solas were Varric and Harding? How come that the only people recruited in 10 years of pursuing Solas were Neve and Rook? Do the writers understand that this is NOT how a serious effort looks like?

What about Leliana? Divine or not, she is still Sister Nightingale with an immense spywork. You'd think she won't mobilize everything she has to track Solas and his followers?

What about Josephine? What, she decided "nah, I'm done" and didn't use any of her diplomatic talents and connections to let the Inquisitor's agents have access, permissions or information they need?

What about Dorian? As a political figure, you'd think he will be the first Minrathous contact for the Inquisitor allies, the one arranging things and providing insights?

What about Cassandra and her Seekers? Isn't she interested in stopping another world-ending threat?

What about Sera and her sabotaging potential? If she organized the group of people for performing vigilante acts, people who are her eyes and ears, how come nobody from her group is helping with the effort?

I get it why Varric takes part in it - he knew Solas, the Inquisitor trusts him and his judgement, but for the game to imply that all the responsibility was lumped on Varric's shoulders is fucking disgraceful. I get it writers, Varric is popular character, and you would use him as bait to your heart's content, but the context you've created implies that Varric might have been the only one to take the threat seriously, while the Inquisitor and the rest were doing God knows what.

Varric should have been handing the Rook information on all the contacts they can recruit, all the useful agents, all the people to work with, not tell them to ask Neve because she might know someone because detective (Neve is a good character, but the fact that people who were supposed to spend 10 years chasing Solas look up to her for finding them contacts is appalling).

"Oh, but all these people were in the previous parts and we don't want to mention previous parts because muh new players" - well, you shot yourselves in the foot. Maybe, just maybe, you should have AT LEAST cared more about the choices made in DAI.

Congrats.

#dragon age: the veilguard #datv spoilers #dav spoilers #da critical #dav critical #that WAS a lot to type indeed :D #i appreciate the discussion honestly

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thrfted · 1 day ago

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꩜ DATING MR. SILVAIR .ᐟ

Mix of other + our world headcanons (Italics is in the other world’s language!)

For the anon who requested! Vry glad you liked Mr. Crawling’s, thanks for the trust w Silvair :D Feel like I see him a lot.. nicer..? than most hcs I’ve seen and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad for mebjfhdsfhjd

(seen in ending 3) Mr. Silvair loves studying and learning about you, but he still feels bad if you seem upset or get hurt. If or when he doesn’t understand why you’re upset, he’ll ask what he did and apologize. He values learning about these differences in emotions, communication, perspective, etc.

He isn’t naturally physically affectionate, but he doesn’t refuse your requests or affection! He at least pats your head or back, not letting go until you do (unless he’s got things to do). Initially confused, he admits it feels nice when you hug him and that he’s started looking forward to (or at least expecting) it.

^ You can ask him for a forehead kiss or two, even if he doesn’t get why. He understands that it makes you happy and it isn’t like it’s doing him any harm anyway! You’ll probably have to show him what a kiss is though. Will he find it amusing if you become flustered kissing him first? Say “Cute”? Probably.

You and Mr. Chopped become close friends too, sometimes (playfully) gossiping to each other about Mr. Silvair while he’s off doing experiments. There’s a few times Mr. Silvair seems to get jealous by the amount of time you guys spend together, especially if he catches you laughing at Mr. Chopped’s antics. He takes initiative and tries to have one-on-one time with you after that.

Maybe he does tie his hair back and we don’t know it, but I think he’d appreciate the idea if you brought it up! Sometimes it’s a half-up look, a simple ponytail, or you braid it back if you want. As long as it’s out of his face and not difficult to take out, he doesn’t mind.

If you enjoy/are comfortable with it, he might ask for your help with experiments, or… you? Your blood sometimes, at least. But he respects you if you’d rather stay away, even if he’s disappointed for a while.

Both of you spend quite a bit of time walking and talking while trying to find a new room when need be. You start to teach him your language, and he uses a few words and phrases when possible.

Mr. Silvair is more focused on experiments rather than interior decoration. But whether you ask to decorate his place in the other world or show him your home in ours, he grows a fondness for your taste. He even brings home things that remind him of you to see if you'll enjoy them.

^ In the same branch, if you bring something you think he’ll like, he takes good care of it, making sure its always somewhere safe!

Of course, he can’t really do the same studies in our world, or at least get his subjects in the same way. Be warned that he may or may not want to go out and find test subjects… somewhere…?

But on the bright side, it’s literally a whole new world! With so much available to him, at least he has other ways to learn than capturing and cutting things or people up.

Mr. Silvair as a good cook / kitchen helper? Really good at cutting up food, even if he doesn’t want to eat it.

In general he’s pretty good around the house! He remembers chores and keeps his space tidy for both your sakes, helping out wherever he can.

His hair is already pretty, but imagine how nice it’d look and feel after a shower! You keep running your fingers through his hair and he tilts his head. “You like? Pretty?” You nod and ask “Me pretty?” and Mr. Silvair smiles. “Pretty.” (Subconsciously, he starts paying closer attention to your hair or appearance, and how you take care of yourself.)

^ He isn’t particular about scents (other than preferring subtler ones) and will likely use whatever you use unless asked otherwise. Don’t expect him to pick up a hair or skincare routine though.

The first few days especially, Mr. Silvair is so focused on seeing and learning as much as possible, that he’ll likely be up late. He doesn’t really get the whole day and night thing, so you have to tell him that rest is good, and that you’re worried for him. “You worried?” “Yes. We rest.” “...Okay.”

His understanding of love is still different from yours, but (I think) he does care about you, and loves you in his own way! He makes sure you’re safe, helps you when you’re injured, and enjoys spending time with you. I’m not sure if he’d say “I love you” (since he doesn’t comprehend what that really means) but he’d at least reassure you that he likes you and finds you interesting :3

^ Though I’ll say if you’re a romance genre fan in our world, he picks up on the usage of “I love you” in media and if it matches his emotions, he might try it out and see how you react

#homicipher #homicipher x reader #homicipher fluff #mr. silvair x reader #mr. silvair fluff #mr silvair x reader #mr silvair fluff #me versus punctuation in tumblr tags lmfao #not sure if i went a little overboard eitherfbsbfb #thrfted #thrft it

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florenceafternoon · 2 days ago

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━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Thank you to all the authors who share their wonderful stories with us. I hope this list reminds you that I come back to these stories often and that your words are loved by many.

As always, these fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon compliant.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries.

A Hundred Visions and Revisions by @yallthemwitches

She loves him like this: sleepy, slap happy, sometimes a bit handsy but willing to meet her where she’s at in the moment. It’s the quiet moments like this that keep her going sometimes, knowing that whatever is happening out there will disappear by the end of the day when they can hold each other again.

To live for the hope of it all

Whispers in the Dark also by yallthemwitches

When Lily is awarded her prefect badge in fifth year, they warn her that James Potter has a talent for disappearing... but if that's true, why does he keep coming to her night after night, hoping to be caught?

Until the Light Takes Us also by yallthemwitches

A series of drabbles and fics following the prompt of Jilytober Fest 2024.

color theory by @clare-with-no-i

Lily Evans learns about love: its hues, its tints, its shades. Some disappoint. Some dazzle.

falling (for fools) by @jjameslily

She hated him. Hated his confidence, his messy charm, the way he managed to take up space even when he wasn’t saying a word.

Absolutely. Totally. Without question.

But, as much as she tried to focus, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought.

She’d never noticed just how distracting James Potter could be.

don’t let it make you cry also by jjameslily

Her eyes glistened, the love within her radiating from her. She let it ripple outward, weaving her spirit into the air around him, reaching beyond the veil, hoping he—Harry, their son—would feel it not as a ghost of a fleeting memory, but as a pulse. Alive. Real.

Quid Pro Quo by StarsAndDiamond (on ao3)

Lily Evans was not ready to go home for her sister's Christmas engagement, but she wasn't the only one up late at night in the common room.

Sharper Than Hope by @maraudersftw

“You’re…” A lick of lips; something sharper than hope on my tongue; another attempt. “You fancy me?”

every single time by @gigglesandfreckles-hp

Unrelated drabbles, fics, ficlets, and word dumps in response to jilytober 2024 prompts

2, 5, 10, 11, 12, 16, 19, 21, 27, 29 and 30 are my favourites

Lucky Number 7 by zipadeea (on ao3)

Lily Evans thought life at Hogwarts was busy enough for her, what with Prefect duties and N.E.W.T classes and meetings with the Slug Club. Then, Marlene convinces her to try out for the Gryffindor quidditch team.

Written because James was a Chaser, and I'm convinced Harry's athletic abilities come from both sides of the family tree.

crawl home by @annabtg

He doesn’t know if he’s alive or dead. All he knows is that he wants to go home.

Exhale by @petalsthefish

"Shhh," James leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. "I’m so sorry, but I have to set the bones again. It’s okay to cry, you're doing so well. So well, baby."

"Fuck," she whimpered through her tears. "I hate this."

"I know, I know," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I hate this too, sweetheart."

Masquerade also by petalsthefish

James was going to jinx Sarah Hitchkes.

It was Sarah Hitchkes who conceived the entire idea, driven by two main motives. First, it was a fun and creative way for everyone to showcase their Patronuses. Second, it gave her the perfect excuse to throw a massive party. Scheduled for July 31st at her sprawling estate, the event was open to all the sixth- and seventh-year students. She dubbed it the “Patronus Party,” and it was set to be the social highlight of the summer—provided you could produce a corporeal Patronus.

this trope will always be a favorite of mine

Coincidence also by petalsthefish

“You look miserable.” Mary commented, noting Lily’s bored expression.

"I need to make out with someone like I need to breathe." Lily Evans hissed as she swirled her butterbeer and peered around the bar.

"James Potter's free."

In Their Short Time by @hogwartslivy

It was one hell of a love story. One that had a most tragic, untimely ending. They could never have guessed as mere children sitting across from one another on the train, all excitement and nerves and emotions, that their stories, all hopes and fears and loves, were to be forever intertwined.

Something Old Something New by @chiechie97

Weddings are the most beautiful things in the world. Unless you accidentally end up at your ex... somethings house to play violin at a family wedding.

Lily Evans just wants to get payed and go home to her cat. Perhaps she should have asked more questinos about the location and clients of her string quartets latest gig.

It’s Always You by @joyseuphoria

5 times jily kissed before they started dating

I'll keep your brittle heart warm by Iphigenniaa (on ao3)

Lily Evans didn't have to wash the blood off her hands that night, but she did have to wash the burning odor from her clothes, which seemed to soak even her own insides.

A Life With You by @kay-elle-cee

A Jily Lives AU collection of small moments from Hogwarts onwards, using the 31 Jilytober tumblr prompts.

7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 15, 17, 18, 20, 22, 24, 29 and 30 are my favourites

don't forget me by blackcanarys (on ao3)

At the height of the First Wizarding War, Lily Evans finds herself contemplating life, death and her mortality after a routine Order mission in 1978.

It's All Politics by acciosalmon (on ao3)

The most constant emotional sentiment in Lily's Hogwarts career was her complete and utter loathing of one William Mulciber

I have yet to read this one, but it was recomended to me because it explores how jily's power dynamic is altered when James isn't potraied as white but Lily is

#lily evans #james potter #jily #jily fic rec list #this is mostly my favourites from jilytober ‘24

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umemiyan · 1 day ago

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𝙄𝙉 𝘽𝙀𝘼𝙐𝙏𝙄𝙁𝙐𝙇 𝘿𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙈𝙎.

𝗬𝗨𝗨𝗧𝗔 𝗢𝗞𝗞𝗢𝗧𝗦𝗨 𝗫 𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗕!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / incest / noncon somnophilia (char. receiving) / so like… kinda dom!reader if you wanna look at it like that, but it’s not really a hard dynamic in this / unprotected piv / some codependent vibes / reader has a vagina but there are no other physical or gendered descriptors / 3.2k words

notes: this was supposed to be for kinktober with the prompts incest + somnophilia, and i'm a whole month late but here we are!!! once again i have managed to have no chill and have overdone it a bit so it took me forever. but enjoy! thank you to everyone who originally voted in my kinktober polls <3 (moon dividers by cafekitsune)

He never sleeps as well as when he’s with you, and that has never been less than fact.

The dark circles under his eyes had settled in after years of strife and the both of you growing “too old” to sleep side by side, at least according to your family. It wasn’t healthy, they said. You needed to learn to respectively mature on your own, they said.

Yuuta tried. He did. Although he had been steered away from his one shining beacon of light in a world full of darkness, what sort of brother would he be if he held you back from growing into the best version of yourself? To be selfish and indulge in his childish wants and needs was a frequent guilty desire of his, but he ultimately forced himself to refrain as much as he could manage.

He never slept well after that; not unless he could find an excuse to sneak into your bed, or you sneak into his. You were a sedative every time, lulling him to sleep with the warmth of your breath and body, familiar closeness stripping the worries of the world away so that he could rest. Nothing else ever worked so perfectly, even now that you both have grown.

That’s why, after the conclusion of a family gathering, sneaking into each other’s presence was a no-brainer.

Yuuta had joined you in the guest bedroom of your childhood home to decompress after his inability to do so alone. The both of you had taken on many responsibilities throughout the day, and while he certainly enjoyed spending time with the family, a restful night alone with you was what he craved the most by the end of it. Thankfully, having felt the same way, you didn’t hesitate to raise the covers and let him slide under until you both chit-chatted yourselves to sleep.

Now, Yuuta’s arms keep you close with their gentle grip around your waist, having at some point pulled you into him until the tips of your noses are mere inches apart. You’ve fluttered out of sleep for a moment to see him resting peacefully with all the grace of an angel, wearing his slumber so effortlessly as though it never dares to evade him.

But it does, because the darkened skin beneath his eyes has made its home there for longer than you can recall, telling all who will listen that he is tormented by the absence of something. Whether it be proper brain chemistry, the responsibility to maintain a schedule, or simple peace of mind, no one knows as he never divulges, but Yuuta is haunted by lack, and not even your keen sense of sibling intuition can sniff out just what it is that he needs. Or so you believe, at least.

Although he receives the brunt of it, you can feel it too—the ache. It settles deep within every crevice to remind you of its presence whenever you dare to forget, no matter how often you seem to shove it away with success. It always rattles your bones until Yuuta smiles in your direction like the sun revealing itself from a place behind the clouds, and you are reminded of fulfillment.

Oh, how he is your sunshine; your magnificent ray of light. It warms the cavity of your chest even as you lie here in the darkness.

Fingertips trace over the matching darkness beneath his eyes and down the slope of his nose to the outline of his pink, parted lips. He doesn’t even stir, too weighed upon by the thick blanket of sleep to pay any mind. You are delirious with awe, stricken by the heavenly beauty of the one who quells the ache. Does he know you love him so? Is he aware of the radiant beauty that compels you to draw closer like a moth to the flame?

Will he know if you lean forward to press an indulgent kiss upon his lips?

It’s a gentle peck that makes his brow twitch with unconscious curiosity. Were you privy to his dreams, you’d see that you’ve entered them, breathing life into his senses with every careful touch until his skin grows hot.

You fear you’ve woken him once his hips stir, but sleep pervades even as Yuuta’s breath seems to tickle your skin with more frequency, every quickened beat of his heart causing the more shallow rising of his lungs. You dare to press your lips to his once more, desperate for the satisfaction of his reaction, and you aren’t disappointed—Yuuta’s embrace tightens around you, breath hitching discreetly like a startled angel’s, and it’s when his hips roll forward again that the hardness pressing against your lower half becomes evident.

He dreams of your gentle kisses, of your breath gracing his skin, and he returns the favor in his mind now that he knows you’ll allow it. It will be a source of shame once he awakens, but dreams of this caliber are few and far between, something to be cherished in the moment without guilt or hesitation. As if he even has a choice.

Carefully, you hike your leg up over his hip to press yourself closer to the part of him that strains against fabric. You want to feel intertwined, strange as it might be; you want to infiltrate his mind like he does yours, sense his want and need, try and be privy to things that cannot possibly be known. But it’s so easy to be close like this, as though it were always meant to be, or always had been.

He’s warm between your hips. Real. The antidote to a deepseated loneliness and need to be with another, even if only in superficial touch. But will you settle for that?

No. You are greedy.

Yuuta, still captured in a dream, is somewhat easy to maneuver onto his back with a few gentle pushes, his body desperate to mold to yours until you are perfectly perched atop him. He slots between your thighs like he was made to be there, and you can almost feel his warm cock twitch through his pajamas beneath the new weight of your hips. The adjacent scenario in his mind grows increasingly realistic while you grow hungrier for every facet of his reaction.

Does he dream of you? Does he long for the sensation of your bodies finding harmony with one another like you do? You can’t say you haven’t imagined it yourself prior, mind drifting to the taboo when presented with his matured figure, though it still holds the same heat of familiarity from when you would curl up next to each other in your youth. It’s the ultimate combination of love and desecration that satisfies this abhorrent hunger you’ve found yourself plagued by, and even if it causes everything around you to come tumbling down, you can’t find it within yourself to care.

Yuuta’s breath hitches once more, brow furrowing as you rock yourself down against him with care. You know he deserves an undisturbed rest, even if the one he dreams of isn’t you, so you daren’t wake him now of all times. You’ll aid in his unconscious need while also indulging in your own.

You grind your hips a number of times, but the results are consequently underwhelming. The softness with which you must do it to avoid waking him is to blame, your lust being inhibited to prevent you from moving against him with the entirety of your animalistic need.

Yuuta, however, grunts with pleasure at the friction while you selfishly yearn for more, so after diligently working the waistband of his pants to sit a few inches lower on his hips, you pull your panties to the side and press your wet cunt directly upon the bulge in his briefs.

You shiver at the contact, resisting the urge to moan out loud into the quiet air as Yuuta’s cock rubs against you through the thinnest of layers. He’s leaky and throbbing below your clit as it drags once, twice, three times over him in an establishing rhythm, fabric growing wetter with each pass you make and his gentle moans escaping with greater frequency. You bite down on the collar of your shirt to refrain from mimicking his vocalization, but upon another scan with your eyes, you recall that there are other things you could be doing with your mouth.

Yuuta’s throat is exposed as his head lolls off to the side on the pillow, and you lean down to busy yourself with reverent kisses upon the sensitive skin. Your hips stutter in their movement now that you have succumb to the distraction of sucking on his neck, but Yuuta doesn’t seem to mind—in fact, he mewls and whines so decadently in his sleep that you are compelled to make the regrettable decision of sucking until there is a mark that reveals itself once you remove your lips.

And oh, does he look gorgeous adorning it.

You pull back to admire his needy image, but Yuuta wriggles and presses his hips up unto yours, apparently dissatisfied with your absence and seeking something more, only to make you dizzy with arousal and irrational need. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing to you, but it’s guiding you down yet another path of no return. Your beautiful angel is sending you straight to the pits of hell, and he isn’t even fully aware.

(If you could know of his dreams, you’d see that he feels quite similarly about you.)

The wet mess of Yuuta’s briefs are pulled down until his aching cock can spring out and dribble a string of precum onto his lower belly. There, a trail of dark hair paints the milky skin with masculinity, and you admire the sight for a good moment before sliding your finger over his wet tip until the muscles in his stomach twitch with delight.

Yuuta is so responsive and so malleable, easy to take in his sleep now that he feels safe enough to fall into a slumber as delectable as this. You are almost stricken finally with guilt for taking advantage of such a level of trust, but even in his unconscious state, it feels as though Yuuta is pleading for you to take him back as your most cherished thing, the one you are closest with and know more of than anyone or anything else. You feel a certain beckoning towards making up for all the years you were forced to maintain an artificial distance, to pretend as though you didn’t ache for the only person who knew you so deeply and so truly.

Stifling the hunger only made it worse in the end, because now Yuuta’s cock weeps when you stroke it and slide it between your wet folds, signaling to you that this is somehow the right decision. Perhaps it’s a matter of delusion rather than truth, but sinking down onto him fills you with nothing but pure, unfettered gratification.

You don’t hesitate to make him bottom out inside you, eager to be overwhelmed by him in every way, even if it forces a whimper to spill from your lips in the process. Yuuta responds in kind as the snug fit allows a cascade of warmth to wash over him, blissfully unaware that he is now closer to you than he ever has been, and that he cries out in his sleep over it. It’s diabolical, really, but your dear brother wears pleasure so beautifully on his face that you can’t help but fall deeper into your pit of depravity.

A wet noise makes itself known amongst heavy breaths when you raise yourself up and drop back down on his length. It’s an act so indiscreet that you can only accomplish it twice more before Yuuta’s moans shift into noises with more presence, brows furrowed, body shuffling, and eyes cracking open to be met with the sight of your hips flush against his, cock constricted by the same blinding heat he felt seconds before waking up.

Eyes growing wide, his heart leaps out of his chest with a sudden surge of panic. “What are you—hah—d-doing—?1”

Yuuta is cut off by the palm of your hand slamming over his mouth to dampen the noise, his sounds of pleasure and surprise reaching a volume that makes you wary in a house in which you are not alone.

“Shh, Yuuta, shh…” you warn in a whisper, allowing him a second to process the danger of letting his voice raise too high, all while keeping your hips moving steadily against his.

Gradually, the panicked breathing through his nose settles to something more manageable, and Yuuta’s eyes roll into the back of his skull with a muffled grunt. “Does it feel good?” you ask, and he nods his answer, having further transitioned from alarm to living out the sinking, heavenly feeling of being coupled with you in his dream.

The morality of it all claws painfully at the back of his skull, but Yuuta is too inundated with the physical and spiritual need that has consumed you both to pay anything else much attention. He conforms to your will because it aligns so well with his own.

“Can you be quiet?”

He nods again, seeking a firm grip against your hips as you hesitantly remove your hand from his mouth. Yuuta swallows down a breath and refrains from speaking despite all the thoughts that race through his head, and you are pleased to see how receptive he is to this unthinkable act.

It could certainly be a fawn response from a peacekeeper such as himself, but you know he is capable of putting his foot down once a certain line has been crossed. He could throw you off him in an instant if he truly felt so deeply wronged by your actions, yet he chooses to stay nestled between your thighs and buried deep in your cunt after you take him over and over, because he wants this.

Doesn’t he?

The look in his teary eyes says he does, and so do the ragged breaths, the quivering lip between his teeth to bite back a moan, the way you swear he almost aids in guiding you up and down his length…

Yuuta, for the moment, looks to be as enthralled as you are by this disastrous development, and that reaffirming image alone will accompany you every day until you have at least one foot in the grave.

He is porcelain and pristine, framed by pillows and moonlight and looking a touch too fragile as though he might break with the next slam of your hips, but you know him to be hardy after all that has tried to chip away at him throughout his short life. Yuuta’s strength in love and spirit is as strong as the pale fingers that dig into your flesh, and he has decided amidst it all to be yours for this moment; a blessing bestowed upon you that could make the gratitude utterly burst forth from your chest.

You want to spill your glee upon his lips, have him know that you are thankful for his gratuity even if this is the first and only time he will give it, so you lean down to steal him for another kiss that he returns tenfold. Yuuta’s lips are more alive in his waking state and more than happy to drink in your taste between shaking breaths, the intimacy of having your tongue slide along his lower lip twisting the tightness in his gut to where it could rupture at any moment.

There’s a muffled whimper as he chases your hips, instincts unveiled but not more so than the part of him that has yearned for this for far longer than he can even recall. Now that it has been offered to him on a silver platter, he will devour and cherish it for the feast that it is, even if he doesn’t last long enough to savor every morsel to the extent he would like.

“I want you to cum,” you breathe, leading him ever closer towards that dangerous edge as if you know what sullies his mind. To hear those words in your voice, even if in a whisper, are like the gates of an abominable heaven opening up for him. “Please.”

Yuuta is incapable of denying you for even less. A plea of such magnitude rattles his bones and nearly strips him of all free-will, commanding his body to succumb to its base desires and seek fulfillment through finishing inside you. He relinquishes control and is punched by the pleasure that follows, hiding his face against your throat and fighting to keep his moan suppressed to an acceptable volume.

His warmth takes over you from the inside in spurts, twitching out of him at your deepest point as you settle against his base and further soak the dark curls around it with your arousal. You let him ride the high until he is empty and panting, and only then do you rise up and place a finger against your clit, circling it with a grind of your hips to enhance the pleasure that had been building in your core.

Yuuta watches in awe despite the sensitivity that spurs from your walls squeezing around his used cock, but he has never been more thrilled to be utilized. It doesn’t take long for you to come crashing down to join him in the orgasmic bliss that has you collapsing against his chest with a series of bone-chilling shivers, the satisfaction greater and more incomprehensible than you could’ve imagined.

The two of you are a heap of heavy breaths and quivering muscles, staring into each other’s eyes as the reality of the situation attempts to set in. As much as it should feel repulsive and regrettable, your actions nothing less than reprehensible, your greatest fear is the selfish one of hearing Yuuta say he doesn’t love you anymore. It would be most understandable after what you’ve done, but it frightens you nonetheless.

He struggles to catch his breath and confirm that this wasn’t just a figment of his dastardly imagination. “What—”

Yuuta doesn’t get the chance to stammer out a question before you cut him off with a kiss—a kiss that is so deep and desperate it screams your despair over it possibly being the final one.

You pull back and curl into his neck with murmured remorse. “I’m sorry, Yuuta. I’m sorry.”

His heart flutters with overwhelm but is ultimately on the brink of accepting that something within finally feels actualized. Will he be damned for submitting to it? Is it an insult to his being to so willingly yield after being explicitly taken without permission? Or was it necessary for him in order to reach this point all along?

Yuuta holds no animosity in his heart regardless of whether or not it is warranted. All he carries is a deep sense of love and appreciation.

Wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace, he fully savors your closeness at last.

“Don’t be,” he says.

He’s just glad it isn’t a dream anymore.

#yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu smut #yuta okkotsu x reader #jjk x reader #my writing.#re: yuuta okkotsu

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iamgonnagetyouback · 3 days ago

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Ohhh can I request prompt number 11- wondering if there might be a way to spend the holidays together "accidentally" and number 15- "YOU want to spend the holidays with ME??""Now that you say it, it really does sound weird." with Barty crouch jr please? You can choose either or both whatever you want ◡̈ thank you in advance<3

barty crouch jr x reader where you both spend the holidays together

The Slytherin common room buzzed faintly with the warmth of the enchanted fireplace, but to you, it felt more like a tomb. The empty couches and eerie quiet of the holidays always did that. You lay sprawled on Regulus Black's bed—his perfectly made bed, which you were mildly ruining with your presence—and shot a glare toward his open trunk, half-packed with the precision only someone as uptight as Regulus could manage.

"That’s my bed you’re defiling," a voice drawled.

You bolted upright, realizing with horror that Reg wasn’t the one who spoke. You’d accidentally sprawled onto Barty Crouch Jr.’s bed. The realization made you leap off it like it burned.

"Ugh," you groaned, brushing yourself off as if the act alone could cleanse you. "Do you even wash those sheets? Actually, don’t answer that—I don’t want to know."

Barty smirked. “Why, jealous of the ‘type of girls’ who—”

“Stop right there!” you barked, cutting him off. “I don’t need a list.”

Regulus, seated on the edge of his own bed, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Merlin’s sake, do you two ever take a break from this?"

You folded your arms. "Reg, I think it’s fair to say that I wouldn’t need to if he didn’t exist."

"And yet, here I am," Barty said cheerfully, settling on the arm of the couch like he owned the place.

"Existing loudly, obnoxiously, and in the worst possible way," you shot back.

Regulus groaned. "You know, sometimes I feel like I’m babysitting. Why do you hate each other so much?"

“Umm, I don’t know, Reg,” you replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe because he’s the most arrogant, annoying, insufferable, self-centered, overconfident, ridiculous—"

"Impressive vocabulary," Regulus deadpanned. "That’s seven insults in one breath. You’re rivaling Evans’ rants about Potter."

"Thank you," you said sweetly, before returning your glare to Barty.

He, for his part, looked far too amused. “I’m flattered, really. That much attention? I must be doing something right.”

Regulus ignored him. “Well, you’re going to have to tolerate him.”

“Pass,” you said immediately.

"Unfortunately, not an option," Reg continued. "You have two choices. Either come home with me for the holidays—awkward, tense dinners with Mother and Father included—"

"Barf," you interrupted.

"—or stay here at Hogwarts with Barty."

Your jaw dropped. "That’s not a choice! That’s Sophie’s Choice!"

Barty tilted his head. “Which one am I in this scenario? The kid that gets—”

"Don’t," you warned, jabbing a finger in his direction.

Regulus smirked faintly. "Well, what’s it going to be?"

You groaned. "Weirdly, staying with Crouch sounds like the better option. How did my life come to this?"

The Slytherin common room was hauntingly empty when the holidays began. The eerie quiet made you itch, and the firewhiskey you’d filched from the kitchens wasn’t doing enough to drown the loneliness. You sat in front of the fireplace, swishing the amber liquid in your glass as though it could conjure some company.

The door creaked open behind you. You didn’t bother turning around, but the low hum of voices made your stomach twist.

“…yeah, just up here,” Barty’s voice carried, warm and smooth in a way that made your teeth clench.

Moments later, he entered your line of sight—his arm slung around a girl whose name you vaguely recalled as Jessica. Or Miranda. Whatever. The two of them were all over each other, and you immediately looked back at the fire.

Barty’s voice broke through the air. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You took a long sip of whiskey. “Please, don’t let me stop you.”

The girl—still clinging to him—smirked, and you resolutely ignored her as she worked on unbuttoning his shirt. Barty, however, seemed distracted, his eyes flickering to you.

"How about we pick this up later?" he said suddenly.

The girl blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Very,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. She huffed, gathering her things, and stormed out.

Barty let out a long breath, plopped down beside you, and started buttoning his shirt. "Well, that’s not going to happen again."

You side-eyed him. “Shame. She seemed charming.”

“Jealous?” he asked, smirking.

You rolled your eyes and offered him the bottle of firewhiskey. "So, you know how I’m like—"

"Absolutely embarrassingly in love with me? Yes, I’m familiar. Go on."

"Can you take anything seriously?"

“Yes, I do. I take you very seriously.”

"Anyway," you continued pointedly, “you know how I’m, like, alone for the holidays?”

He tilted his head. "What are you talking about? I’m right here."

"You want to spend the holidays with me?"

"Now that you say it, it really does sound weird."

You groaned and leaned back against the couch, nursing the bottle of firewhiskey as if it held the answers to your problems.

“Careful,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Wouldn’t want you getting emotional on me.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered. “If I cry, it’ll be because I’m stuck here with you.”

Barty clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me, sweetheart. Truly. I’m a delight.”

“You’re a menace,” you corrected.

“Semantics.” He plucked the bottle from your hands and took a swig, ignoring your glare. “Besides, you’re the one who decided I was the lesser evil compared to awkward Black family dinners. Makes you wonder about your priorities.”

“I regret everything,” you deadpanned.

He grinned, leaning back to rest his head on the arm of the couch. The firelight danced across his features, softening the usual sharpness of his expression. For a moment, you hated how easy it was for him to look so... comfortable.

"Do you ever stop being smug?" you asked.

"Not when I’m winning."

"Winning what, exactly?"

He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "This. Us. Our rivalry. Whatever you call this disaster of a relationship."

"Relationship?!" you choked, nearly spilling your drink.

"Rivalry is a kind of relationship," he pointed out, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Merlin, just hex me now.”

"Tempting," he mused, stealing another sip from the bottle.

You reached over to snatch it back, and in the scuffle, his hand brushed yours. For a fleeting moment, your eyes met, and something in his expression shifted—so subtle, you almost missed it. But then he smirked, and the moment was gone.

“So,” he said, settling back. “What’s your plan? Drink yourself into oblivion until the new year?”

“Bold of you to assume I have a plan,” you muttered.

“Tragic, really,” he replied. “No wonder you need me.”

“I don’t need you,” you shot back.

“Sure you don’t,” he said easily, standing up and stretching. “Come on.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Get up.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m bored, and I’m not spending the rest of the night watching you sulk. We’re going for a walk.”

“A walk?” you repeated incredulously. “It’s freezing outside!”

“Good thing you have that fiery personality to keep you warm,” he said with a grin, already heading toward the common room door.

You didn’t know why you followed him. Maybe it was the firewhiskey, or maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation, but somehow, you found yourself trudging through the snowy grounds of Hogwarts, your breath puffing in the cold air.

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever made me do,” you grumbled, shoving your hands into your pockets.

“Oh, please,” Barty said, walking a few paces ahead. “If this is the dumbest thing, then clearly I haven’t been trying hard enough.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. He turned back to glance at you, catching the fleeting moment of amusement before you could mask it.

“See? You’re having fun,” he said smugly.

“Barely,” you replied.

The owlery loomed ahead, its spires dusted with snow. Barty pushed open the creaking door, letting you step inside first. The warmth of the building, faint though it was, was a welcome reprieve from the cold.

As he wandered to a nearby perch, you pulled a letter from your pocket—the one you’d been avoiding since it arrived. Your parents had written to let you know they were home early from their trip and could come to pick you up if you wanted.

You scanned the letter, your eyes flickering over the words, before glancing at Barty. He stood by a window, his breath fogging the glass as he rubbed his hands together for warmth.

Without thinking too much about it, you pulled out a quill and parchment and began to write your reply.

Dear Mum and Dad, Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. Love, Me

You folded the letter carefully, sealing it before tying it to the leg of a nearby owl. The bird hooted softly, spreading its wings as it soared off into the night.

Brushing your hands together, you turned and made your way to where Barty was perched by the window. His breath fogged the glass as he stared out into the snow-covered grounds, looking strangely peaceful for someone who thrived on chaos.

“Enjoying the view?” you asked, hopping up to sit beside him on the ledge.

“Would be better if you weren’t ruining it,” he replied without missing a beat, glancing at you with a smirk.

“Oh, how tragic for you,” you said, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Should I leave you alone with your deep thoughts?”

“And deprive you of my company? I’m not that cruel,” he quipped, nudging you back.

You rolled your eyes, bumping him again, harder this time. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, smirking as he nudged you right back. “Sitting with me. Bantering with me. Some might call it quality time.”

“Some might call it punishment,” you shot back, unable to suppress the grin tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, before leaning back against the wall. The firelight from the sconces glinted off his features, making him look almost softer than usual.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “for someone who claims to hate me, you spend an awful lot of time in my presence.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, your tone light but your shoulder brushing his again.

“Too late,” he replied, smirking as he met your gaze.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, surprisingly. Instead, it felt… comfortable, even as the cold from outside seeped through the stone walls.

The walk back inside was quiet at first, snowflakes clinging to your robes as you made your way through the dimly lit corridors. The silence didn’t last long, though—because, well, Barty.

As you approached the main hall, he slowed, eyes catching on a towering Christmas tree tucked into a corner, adorned with only the faintest glimmer of lights.

“So, you know how-,” Barty began, his tone casual, almost too casual.

You smirked, cutting him off. “You’re obviously in love with me?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Touché,” he said, not missing a beat. “But as I was saying—before I was so rudely interrupted—we don’t have to wallow in misery here. We could, I don’t know, decorate the Christmas tree in our common room.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you think we’re supposed to do that? There aren’t decorations just lying around.”

He gave you a sly grin, the kind that always spelled trouble. “I’ve got my ways,” he said with a wink.

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “That sounds suspiciously ominous, but fine. Lead the way.”

As he guided you through the castle, you couldn’t help but pester him. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Salazar, you ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Barty groaned, though his tone held amusement.

“Excuse me if I don’t blindly follow someone whose life motto is basically chaos and poor decisions,” you shot back, earning a snicker from him.

Eventually, he led you to the seventh floor, stopping abruptly in front of a blank stretch of wall. You blinked, glancing around nervously. “Uh, Crouch, I don’t think we’re supposed to be here.”

He smirked, completely unfazed. “You worry too much, treasure.”

Your cheeks heated at the nickname, and you shot him a look. “Treasure? That’s new.”

He waved you off, nonchalant, though his smirk deepened. “You’ll get used to it.”

“All right, fine, but if Filch shows up, I’m hexing you first,” you muttered, though you couldn’t stop the small smile forming as you followed him.

As he paced in front of the wall, you crossed your arms. “Crouch, hate to break it to you, but a wall isn’t going to help us celebrate Christmas.”

He paused, turning to you with mock seriousness. “I feel two things right now. One, you’re severely underestimating my brilliance. And two, if I can call you treasure, you can at least call me Barty.”

“Oh, sod off,” you said, laughing.

“Charming,” he replied, grinning.

Before you could retort, the once-blank wall began to shift, stones rippling like water before solidifying into an ornate door. Your jaw dropped as Barty casually pushed it open.

“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing with exaggerated chivalry.

You rolled your eyes, stepping past him. “Such a gentleman.”

“Only for you,” he quipped, his grin widening.

Inside, your breath caught. The room was filled with everything you could possibly need to decorate a Christmas tree: boxes of shimmering ornaments, strings of enchanted fairy lights, and even rolls of tinsel that sparkled like stardust.

“Is that—” you stammered, pointing at a pile of candy canes stacked next to a miniature sleigh.

Barty draped an arm over your shoulders, looking smug. “This is the Room of Requirement, treasure. Think of something you really need, and it appears—within reason. Found it when Evan and I were pranking Snape.”

You shook your head in amazement, eyes wide as you took it all in. “Merlin, I love magic.”

Barty watched you, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “Yeah, it’s got its moments.”

You turned to him, excitement practically buzzing off you. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s turn that boring tree into something worthy of our genius.”

He grinned, grabbing a box of ornaments. “Now you’re talking.”

You and Barty dove into the decorations like kids in a candy shop. He threw a strand of tinsel over his shoulder, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Would you look at that?” he said, holding up a glittery bauble. “This one’s almost as sparkly as you.”

You snorted, grabbing it from his hand. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Crouch.”

“Please, I’m just getting started.” He waggled his brows before draping a garish red-and-gold ribbon around the tree in one dramatic flourish.

“Subtlety really isn’t your strong suit, is it?” you said, hanging ornaments with a bit more care.

“Subtlety is boring,” he replied, holding up a pair of elf-shaped ornaments and making them ‘kiss.’ “Now this is art.”

Rolling your eyes, you flicked a sprig of tinsel at him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he shot back with a grin.

As the tree began to come together, you both stood back to admire your work—or, at least, your chaos. The tree was a glorious mess of mismatched ornaments, glowing lights, and way too much tinsel.

“Alright,” Barty said, clapping his hands together. “Time for the grand finale: the star.” He held it up, the light reflecting off its gilded surface.

“Go on, then,” you said, crossing your arms.

He scoffed. “You think I’m tall enough for this?”

“Why are you holding it, then?”

He gave you a mischievous look. “Because you’re going to sit on my shoulders, obviously.”

“Oh no, absolutely not,” you started, but Barty had already crouched down in front of you.

“Come on, treasure. Unless you want a very lopsided star?” He glanced back at you, his grin infuriatingly charming.

You groaned. “Fine. But if you drop me—”

“I won’t,” he said confidently. “Unless you insult my decorating skills again.”

With a roll of your eyes, you carefully climbed onto his shoulders. He stood up, holding your legs steady as you wobbled slightly.

“Stop moving!” you yelped.

“Relax, you’re doing great,” he said, his voice laced with laughter. “Just don’t kick me in the head.”

With a muttered curse, you reached up, placing the star delicately on the top branch. “There. Done.”

Barty gave a little celebratory bounce. “Perfect. You can come down now.”

You let out a relieved laugh as you slid off his shoulders, landing back on solid ground.

“See? Told you I wouldn’t drop you.”

You smirked. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As you both stood there, admiring your handiwork, something peculiar happened. A small pop echoed above you, and when you glanced up, there it was—mistletoe, hanging innocently from thin air.

You turned to Barty, narrowing your eyes. “Really?”

He blinked, all wide-eyed innocence. “What? That’s definitely not my doing.” He gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Could it be the castle itself, trying to tell us something?”

“Oh, cut the theatrics,” you said, though you couldn’t help but laugh.

He leaned in slightly, his grin softening. “Well, we wouldn’t want to anger the castle, would we?”

You gave him a long, suspicious look. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you’re still standing here,” he murmured, his voice lower now, more serious.

With a small smile, you stood on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He responded immediately, his hands coming up to gently cup your face.

When you pulled back, his grin was back, brighter than ever. “So, does this mean you’ll let me call you treasure more often?”

You shoved him lightly, laughing. “Don’t push it.”

“Too late,” he said, his laughter echoing through the room as he pulled you back in for another kiss.

REQUESTED FROM : this post RELATED TO : this post

#ivy's soft scribbles ೀ #barty crouch jr x reader #christmas fics ❆#barty #barty crouch jr #barty jr #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr x you #barty crouch x reader #barty crouch jr fluff #slytherin skittles #barty x reader #bartemius crouch jr

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